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Andrluk - Concussions Are Just Another Way Of Showing You Worked Hard The impact against the ground had jostled something loose in Andrluk's brain. The next few hours were glimpses of other scrunts holding him, some scrunts moving him, him beating the poo poo out of a scrunt who tried to take His Favorite Thing, and then darkness as he was unceremoniously dumped on the ground along with some of the trash that had fallen with him. Something spiky landed against his head and stuck there, but he didn't really notice. He was too busy having visions. The world flashed before him. He saw two lines of scrunts, 11 on a side wearing matching garish clothes, fighting over a brown leather sack with spikes in it. Suddenly one of the scrunts broke free, and another scrunt grabbed the sack and threw it in the air. The sack flew in the air, more of a ball really, and landed in the running scrunt's arms. Everyone around cheered as the scrunt ran on his stubby, misshapen legs, towards a white line at the end of the field. They cheered even louder when another scrunt wearing different clothes blindsided him, making him drop the ball ("FUMBL!" everyone cheered). The second scrunt picked up the ball and ran, surrounded by his buddies, and they plowed across the line in the other side. The world cheered and the victorious scrunt slammed the ball into the ground, where it immediately bounced spikes first right into his crotch. Andrluk awakes, and sits up. The thing that landed on his head tumbles in front of him, and his eyes go wide with shock.  He knew what he had to do. There are plenty of undisciplined, idiotic scrunts lying around waiting for something to do. I'm going to teach them Blood Bowl.
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May 28, 2015 02:24
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Accidentally deleted post, scrunt
Skellybones fucked around with this message at 08:22 on Jun 4, 2015 |
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May 28, 2015 05:51
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Andrluk what do you hope to achieve by this. What skill are you testing (presumably Athletics?) and what do you hope to teach the scrunts Murdelia how, exactly, are you retrieving the corpses. Are you using any skills or are you moving them yourself?
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May 28, 2015 07:36
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Athletics would be a good start. The goal is to ultimately organize the scrunts, promote their overall physical health, develop a group-level sense of comradeship and teamwork, and provide us with a source of entertainment. Plus you were wondering how the hell the indirect targeter was going to work and throwing the ball and watching the scrunts run after it seems like a good idea.
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May 28, 2015 12:19
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:Murdelia how, exactly, are you retrieving the corpses. Are you using any skills or are you moving them yourself?[/i] I'll roll out some tarps and roll/scrape/slide the corpse matter onto them with a shovel or stick. I don't want to touch them. Beer4TheBeerGod posted:Athletics would be a good start. The goal is to ultimately organize the scrunts, promote their overall physical health, develop a group-level sense of comradeship and teamwork, and provide us with a source of entertainment. Plus you were wondering how the hell the indirect targeter was going to work and throwing the ball and watching the scrunts run after it seems like a good idea. This could also train scrunts to instinctively chase after and throw themselves on grenades, which could be good or bad.
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May 28, 2015 14:37
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Also it's funny.
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May 28, 2015 19:21
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Andrluk - Long Bomb "HEY FAKKERS!" Andrluk yells and throws the ball. "GO LONG!" The scrunt then immediately runs after it. Gonna use Athletics (50) to long bomb the ball to a scrunt. When (if) he catches it, Andrluk will tackle and force a fumble. This display of athletic prowess will bring forth the age of Nuffle.
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May 29, 2015 00:24
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Yurik Scraglagger The Malbrathia-3 Yurik finished committing every malevolent, malodorous detail of the bloated corpse growing more pungent by the second to memory, then quietly turned and walked back to the tanker, apparently lost in thought. He was, in fact, unusually quiet all the way back to the farm, only the occasional eye-twitch betraying the toll that had been taken. This wasn't the first sanity-scarring, mind-twisting affront to the Scruntfather and man that he had shoved haphazardly into the junk closets of his mind and it probably wouldn't be the last A part of him knew what that wrongness he'd felt was, the thoughts and concepts leaping to the forefront of his mind as the mental duplicate of the grotesque creature malingered in the corners of his brain. The Ruinous Powers. The Dark Gods of Chaos. The fell designs of the Warp, home to daemons and horrors beyond imagining. Before the accident that had expanded his mind Yurik hadn't known anything about Chaos beyond the fact that sometimes scrunts who ate the really bad runoff grew spikes and tentacles and wouldn't shut up about BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD until someone shot them or shoved them in a hole. Now he knew just enough about it to be dangerous, both to himself and others. The one thing he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was that Chaos and these Ruinous Powers of theirs had it out for humies like nobody else, so as far as he was concerned they sounded like an alright bunch. Still, try as he might he just couldn't shake how wrong that wrongness was. *** The Malbrathia-3 The first thing that Yurik did when they finally returned triumphantly to the farm (which, much to his surprise, still remained intact and un-burned-down), was retire to the upper floor of the farmhouse which he had staked out as his territory, a claim that might have been harder to lay before every scrunt of note had witnessed him exuding lightning from every orifice. He brought with him the papers that he had managed to save from the tanker's glove box, and while other scrunts busied themselves with medical attention, tossing ovoids back and forth, or the traditional scruntish pastime of loving around accomplishing nothing of any merit, he settled himself in for a nice, long, knowledgeful cram session. Seated upon a plush chair that might have at some point belonged to the farm's original owners, feet propped up on Hack's back, Yurik leafed through the papers one at a time, eating each one as he committed it to memory. This was partly practical...knowledge left floating around was knowledge than anyone could acquire for themselves, but knowledge that could only be found inside his own mind made him that much more important...and partly because he was simply hungry after a busy day. Imperium-grade paper was fortified with all the chemicals and processed wood pulps that a scrunt's body needed, and a snack was just the thing to shake off the lingering mental trauma of committing a horrifying abomination to memory. Later, belly and brain both full, he wandered out into the farm proper only to spot an unfamiliar technoscrunt (Mung) excitedly grasping Grimply by the throat and shouting about the tanker and something in it besides promethium, which reminded him of his earlier suspicions. The first order of business was keeping Grimply from being choked to death. "Oi, what's with all the racket and carryin' on, you jabberin' junk-fondler?!," he diplomatically interjected, poking Mung sharply about the squishy bits with the end of his thinkin' stick until Grimply was as unmolested as a scrunt ever got. "You've been in the promethium, haven't you?," he went on, the telltale fumes wafting from the technoscrunt's breath. "Huh, so there really is fuel in there. All right, now lay off the go-juice an' use your fackin' words, what all's in there besides fuel, aye?" Humies may not have been as handsome or as tough or as resourceful as scrunts, but Yurik had to hand it to them, when it came to being a sneaky bastard humies were in a class all of their own. A tank inside a tanker, the last place anyone would look! It was so brilliant it made him irrationally angry that he hadn't thought of it first. "All right, all right," he finally said once he'd vented his frustrations on Hack, "first things first, before you go fackin' around with anything else let's get all the vehicles juiced up. No more burnin' logs to get where we're going, we've got the premium stuff so let's fill'em all up. We did all this to get fuel so let's not have it go to waste, aye? Then we'll need to drain the rest of it into something else so we can even get at whatever's inside there...could be somethin' good, and bein' soaked in promethium could fack it all up. And once that's done, then we'll see what it is the humies wanted bad enough to send seven shades of shite after." Okay, so first order of business, Yurik will read over the papers, committing them all to memory, and then he'll eat them. Second order of business, stuff with the tanker. I don't know if the papers contained anything relevant to this particular issue or not, if so assume Yurik smugly puts it to good use, otherwise I have Common Lore and Scholastic Lore (Everything) at least one of which has to cover vehicle design and hidden compartment logistics. I don't think Scrutiny really applies here as it's more of a "lie detector" skill than a "find hidden switches" skill. Any applicable Lore skill to the task at hand has a base TN of 43, +10 with Foresight. Yurik also has a multikey if Security might be a factor. I'll let Tin Tim initiate the investigation into the weirdstone if he likes.
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May 29, 2015 09:02
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Mungly Mung - Gasmaster prime Mungly has a few fuel-based twitches while listening to Yurik's assessment. Obviously disappointed by the fact that he has to drain the tanker before he can loot it (and by Yurik's disdain for guzzling promethium), Mungly's stomache groans a bit in protest as he starts to gather any techscrunt that's not distracted by the ongoing oblong kickyball game going on and rounds them all up to the tanker. His head is still buzzing from the fuel he drank. "Awwright ye lot, we gots this 'ere fuel tank we gots ta get empty afore we can get to the goodly bits inside of it. Get yer..." his words are cut off by the groaning in his stomach growing louder. It appears the fuel he drank is not agreeing with the soap he took from the farmhouse bathroom for breakfast. He lets loose a rancid, raucous belch and releases a soapy fuel fume bubble the size of his head. Mungly stares at it in wonder before getting a bright idea. He turns on one of the pilot lights of his hosed up double barrel flamethrower and jabs it into the bubble dancing around above his head. The bubble bursts into a flash of light and the foul smell of fumes, smoke, and burned soap and digestive juices fill the workshop. A handful of techscrunts break into applause as Mungly continues talking. "Sorry 'bout that. Had a spot a' gas, heh. An'ways, we gots ta empty the tanker. Get sum empty barrels and whatsit containers we can find. Go ahead an' top off the vehicles so'n we got go juice for the next scrunt day out. Get afew big barrels and we'll start filling 'em up. We needs this ta run tha cars, so I wants yous to to only set aside one barrel for scrunt drinkin. Lets get ta work you lot and we'll start getting these vehicles right proper fer scrunts after we get to tha goods." ------- Untrained command check to try and get the tech scrunts motivated to help me drain the tanker, +10 for peer. If that doesn't work, I'll get angry and try to do a trained intimidate check to coerce them into helping me, again +10 for peer. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 18:43 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 16:11
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Grumb Slanger, the operating room Grumb stirs groggily, gradually awakening to find himself considerably less punctured. He stretches achily, feeling himself over. Rough crosshatches of stitches covered the wounds which were closeable, and a series of cigar burns covered the wounds which weren't - this included several bruises and a missing tooth, but it was the thought that counted, really. Looking over to the table next to him, he sees his companion Barry being tended to by the scruntess Arnika. "Wat took ya so long, facker?" Grumb cries, belting his cousin on the shoulder. "Ain'tcha found no wheelyboxes or nothin'?" Barry winces, then opens one eye. It glares at Grumb, and he jerks his head towards the door in a manner which strongly suggests loving Right Off. Never one to respond to social cues, Grumb pokes Barry in the gut. "HAY! Hay wake up! Les' go check out tha trukk we stoled. It's' prolly full of-" "Ain't you got some uvver rear end in a top hat ta push around, Grumb?" Barry jolts upright, twisting arnika's needle uncomfortably in his arm. "And jes what'cha mean by tha-" Grumb's face goes blank. "Oh." poo poo, Grumb thinks, Didn't I have anuvver one-a these somewhere? Where'd 'ee get off to? He gets up from the table, and slowly makes his way to the door. "Well, I should probbly go check out that, eh, that oil truck! Yeah, I'ma go that," he says as he leaves, panicking visibly. "Er, thanks fer tha stitches Murdie!" he calls back, his deliberate stride gradually becoming a full run as he gets more distance from the OR. "poo poo!" Grumb swears to himself as he jogs, searching the farm premises for his human companion. "I gotta finds that fucker Barry! Ohshitohshit where'd I see 'im last? Lessee, we was gonna, but then we found the, and he helped, and we climbed the woah woah woahwoah WOAH WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?" Grumb screeches to a halt in front of a growing crowd of scrunts and scruntlings, all fighting tooth-and-nail over an oblong object. At first glance it appeared to be a durian fruit [itself a highly-sought scrunt delicacy], but when Grumb gets closer he can see that nobody is even trying all that hard to eat it. It appears that they're participating in some sort of... game. "THE HELL IS THIS," Grumb shouts, punching a nearby scrunt in the face and grabbing the spikey oval. "AND WHERE HAS IT BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?" ----------------------- Grumb has completely forgotten about the tanker and his human friend/hostage. At heart Grumb is a jock, and this.... this sings to him. If anyone else is interested in piloting the scruntinel they're gonna need to challenge or bribe me for it before the next mission. If no one has made a case for it by the time we go back out, I'm buying the operate skill. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 00:29 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 00:25
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A Matter Of Downs The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbamxVatGjI Scrunts aren't normally at home with the concept of "games" with "rules". Some of them can handle the idea of doing things for reasons other than "feels good", but this is mostly a learned reaction to danger, where you either get good quick, or get dead quicker. As it stands, most scrunts have limited impulse control, the self-restraint of a crackhead on day three of a drought, and a set of wholly inappropriate instincts to follow. So, when Andrluk hurls a spiked, weighted ball at an unsuspecting scrunt, following the dictates of the hallucinations strobing across his vision, the reaction is a cross between outright panic and outright riot. The ball bounces off the target scrunt's forehead, stretching him out full-length in the mud. Some scrunts scatter like pigeons while others look on incuriously, as the ball rebounds in a high arc before slamming to rest at the feet of the group of scrunts who have expressed interest in joining the militia. No sooner has one picked it up for a closer gawk than Andrluk barrels into him, hollering "FOUL" and knocking him off his feet. The other scrunts exchange glances - yes, he was kind of foul - before appearing to reach a wordless consensus, bellowing "SLAM SECTOR", and diving into the melee. Other scrunts scamper up to gawk and join in. Grumb dashes to a halt on the fringe of the fracas, as Gumbo watches with a kind of fatherly pride, gesturing with his cigar in appreciation at particularly vicious manoeuvres. -------- Studies The Farm Malbrathia-3 Murdelia stitches and cauterises the usual array of scrunt injuries, while pondering the horrible corpse lying in her makeshift triage station, wrapped in oozing tarps. She hasn't actually touched it yet, and tends to hold her breath any time she goes near it, but if she's going to hang around it for any length of time to dissect it, she might want to consider more protective measures than usual. Maybe there's a rebreather lying around spare. Or maybe a diagnosis can be made pre-autopsy, to see if whatever the hell happened to it is transmissible - if it isn't, there's no need to worry. Mung, surprisingly, manages to persuade some nearby scrunts to help drain the tanker of fuel into barrels, troughs, farming vats, and a handy sump tank. They seem surprisingly receptive and willing to help, and the task is accomplished in quite short order. Admittedly, the fuel is now out of one centralised, easily-guarded location, and into a distributed, dispersed network of small storage units, but hey, it's probably for the better. A lucky missile or autocannon round is now unlikely to wipe out the scrunts' entire fuel supply; there'll be a bit more wastage now that every random scrunt can drink as much promethium as they like, but presumably the novelty will wear off eventually. Yurik settles down in his study for some light reading and a snack, legs propped up on a handy scrunt. It looks like he's stolen the operational parameter papers for the task of transporting the tanker - annoyingly, most of the interesting parties and objects involved have codenames, and Yurik's incidental understanding of cryptographic standards means that he knows it is extremely bad practice for the semantic concept of any codename to have any bearing on what it actually represents. In other words, SMALL SMELLY DWARF is unlikely to be a codename for "scrunt". However, and fairly obviously, the very fact that something has a codename is a decent indication that someone thinks it's important. From what hasn't been redacted, he can make out that yes, four different escorts is rather a lot; that the sentinels were redeployed from an already over-stretched and beleaguered front line somewhere to the north ("IVORY HAIL"); that what is presumably a Severan group ("BERYL MODERATORS") has sold an item ("ZEPHYR") to an external party ("DECISIVE NOMAD"). The notes detail that the "ZEPHYR" cannot be allowed to fall into Imperial hands, and that any attack on the convoy should be presumed to be deliberately targeted. On delivery of the "ZEPHYR", the notes are supposed to be handed over to "DECISIVE NOMAD" to make them aware of the security measures surrounding the transport compartment; disarmament and activation instructions will be transmitted once hand-off has been made. All very mysterious. The psyscrunt ambles over to the truck to see if he can figure out a way in; after giving the vehicle a once-over he becomes frustrated and thumps the empty tank a few times. To his astonishment, a section of siding slides back, revealing an intimidating-looking keypad. -------- scrunt Andrluk bombs the ball to a random scrunt, who completely fails to catch it with a 95. Undeterred, Andrluk charges the scrunt who does pick up the ball, sending him sprawling. The others react accordingly, and Andrluk is now at the bottom of a pile of angry scrunts. Maybe this would be a good chance to come up with a loving comrade Scrunts involved in the melee, or who wish to get involved with the melee, don't need to roll attacks or anything. I'm assuming you want to keep it relatively non-lethal, or at least within the usual bounds of not-entirely-lethal. You either skill your way out of it with an entertaining situation (e.g. Athletics to throw scrunts at scrunts, Acrobatics to do amusing melee stunts, Parry to fend off a big gang of scrunts with a handy wrench, the usual gamut of social skills, etc.), or you choose whether or not you win or lose. If you take the cop-out, you pick a subfaction of scrunts (Industrial, Agrarian, Traditionalist, Radical, Regular, Weird, or Militia) who will like you less because you beat the living poo poo out of them / respect you less because they beat the living poo poo out of you. The melee will train up the militia scrunts in hand-to-hand and instill a certain espirit de corps in them. In terms of actually arranging a game of Blood Bowl, maybe communicate this desire to other scrunts?? Wounded scrunts - sort your own poo poo out. Post your rolls. Rules: quote:Murdelia has given carté blanche for medical attention. If you want healing, do a roll for her; you are rolling against 92. Rules as written diagnosticators are only used for finding out what's wrong with someone and if you use it on a scrunt it will simply return "EVERYTHING". However, apparently medkits come with a separate, magic diagnosticator that can't be used separately and DOES give +20. Nice going, game designers! So you're rolling against Int 42 + 10 (trained assistant) + 10 (Medicae+10) + 10 (Medicae+20) + 20 = 82. What vehicle did the unpleasant corpse come back in? Limo or Chimera? Mung got a lucky Charm roll (admittedly with a bonus as now the scrunts have unfettered access to fuel), and Yurik has read his notes and found the hidden latch via an extremely lucky untrained Awareness roll! Also lol at this possible codename that came up in the random generator  Truck keypad detected. Security to crack it, not Tech Use. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 18:37 on Jun 10, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 18:26
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Grimply, in his chappel Disclaimer. Grimply's Chappel is actually just a corner of the big farmhouse where we fought the Yeestealer in. Flet pulled a few pieces of wood, metal scrap, and/or trash into the buidling and made rickety scrunt walls in one corner. He also painted a crude sign that reads SLAM, and made a scribbly crayon drawing of a scrunt with a large beard. Those adorn the entrance(read:hole) in the scrunt walls of the chappel. I deffo told him to do this but kept it secret. This is in no way an abuse of our narrative convenience powers to give me a setup. Nope, not at all. Grimply has been in deep thought. When the scrunt convoy returned to the farm, they were greeted with a great spectacle of scrunts hollering "SLAM SECTOR" and "SCRUUUUNT!!!" as was to be expected. The other scrunts immediately got swarmed by the excited scrunt mob, and some even got carried around on the shoulders of the other scrunts. Booze mugs where handed around, and big dank smoke sticks where lighted and shared. Grimply didn't receive such affections though. Whenever an excited scrunt ran up to him, they stopped a few feet short from him and turned away with an odd look on their face. Mysterious, for sure. But Grimply doesn't really care, as the way of the Father is its own reward. And he also has other things on his mind. So he leaves the other scrunts to do whatever they are up to, and heads for his chappel. Curiously, the crowd of scrunts evades him on his way, as if he had a magic bubble around him. But again, Grimply has other things on his mind. In his chappel, he sits down in front of the crude altar(read: a wodden box with some candles and extra pretty trash pieces on it), and starts to contemplate the events of the ambush. He clearly saw the power of the Father! It was his might that gave Murdelia the control over fire, and Gumbo the power of metal. It has to be his work! What else could it have been? Well, to be fair, the scrunts used these weird needle thingies the humies gave them back before they landed on the planet. Grimply pulls one of his needles out of his belt sack, and inspects it. It reads "EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG", which doesn't make much sense to him. Why would you take drugs in a fight? Fighting is fun enough as it is. But the shimmering fluid in the injector is still very curious. He feels that he needs to investigate this somehow, as the old writings in his holy book tell of something similar. It is said, that the realm of the Scrunt Father, the Holy Slam Sector, has shimmering rivers with the liquid might of the Father. And that every scrunt that gets to drink from it, is blessed with the might of the Slam. So could this be liquid....Slam? Maybe. But he needs another skilled mind to figure this out. Probably Murdelia, she seemed to know about funky medical stuff, and also used the needle thingy herself. Yes, that's a good idea! But before Grimply can follow this thought further, he has to rip a huge fart and while wiggling around, a rock falls out of his pocket and lands on the ground with a weird sound. Oh, right! The magic rock Grimply took from the ambush site. Another mystery that he wanted to explore. He stares inently at the rock before him, but learns nothing from it that he didn't learn before. It's a rock, and it's weird. Seems like he also needs another scrunt mind for this. Someone who knows about stuff that's weird. Well, Yurik seemed to know a lot about weird things so he could be of some help. And despite him sticking up for that blasted humie, Yurik isn't out to kill Grimply so that's a plus for him. Come to think of it, where is that facked humie anyway? Grimply hasn't seen him since they came back to the farm. Well, it's probably for the better. Grimply gets up, and turns to Flet who has been sitting in a corner of the chappel while cleaning(read: fingering around on stuff, pushing buttons, wiping things on his coat) their guns. "Lad, yer gonna sit 'ere and finish yer chores, right? I'll need ta see tha weird scrunt with tha 'at and show 'im this weird rock." "Uhh...Yes mastah..Yes thas right....uhh..but..." "What is it now, lad?" "Well....yer know...I don't...I don't wanna be rude or nuthin...but..." "Say it already! Fack!" "Uhhh...yer stink, mastah...sorry but it's true..Yer...uhh...yer might wanna do something about that before yer meet tha weird scrunt...It's like...tha otha scrunts are already making jokes and things...." Flet looks down at his feet. It's apparent that this conversation is uncomfortable for him. Grimply's eyes narrow when he looks at his student, and then he slowly replies "Roight.." before walking off without another word. On his way through the scrunt camp, Grimply still sees that the other scrunts evade him. Some even start to whisper behind his back. With Flet's words in mind, he now understands why. "YER BLATSED FACKERS! I LIKE THA SEE 'OW YER SMELL WHEN YER SAVE YER SCRUNT BROTHAS WITH YER PISS!!" he shouts to the general world around him. The other scrunts give him weird stares and leering looks, but nobody speaks up as most of them know about Grimply's temper. With a satisfied look on his face, he replies "ROIGHT!" and stomps over to a scrunt who has been filling something into a bucket. Before the scrunt can escape Grimply's smell bubble, he grabs his arm and asks "Oi lad! What yer got there hmm??" "Uhh fack...whassat smell...uhh...I got nothin 'ere! Jus some old wata an oil from tha garage..." "Good enough for me!" Grimply replies before grabing the bucket and dumping the questionable content over his head. "There! Yer 'appy now?!" And indeed, the scrunts seem to be more okay with Grimply's new smell. Oil is familiar and good, so most of them go back to whatever they were doing before. A couple scrunts still give him weird looks, but the situation is overall improved so whatever. With that handled, Grimply questions the scrunts around him where he can find that weird scrunt with the hat. Most don't know who he's talking about, but a scrunt that comes from the big farmhouse has the answer. "Well, 'e's on tha second floor of tha big 'ouse yer see. Made that into 'is 'ome where 'e can do weird stuff I think." Grimply thanks the scrunt with a quick blessing, and heads back into the farm house. On his way he kinda misses his old smell, because he now has to push his way through the scrunt crowds instead of them making way for him. Maybe he needs to teach them a bit more respect for the Father, but not right now. On the second floor of the farmhouse, he enters a big room and finds Yurik digging through a stash of papers. "Oi lad!" Grimply shouts which makes Yurik jump up and grab as many papers as he can hold. "Git away from me papers yer facker! They be my papers!" Grimply stands still and slowly replies "Tha's okay with me cause I don't care about yer papers, lad." "Yeah! And you're not getting them anyway!" "Right....so 'ere's tha thing. I found this weird rock during tha ambush. And tha whole mountain I was standing on was made of this weird rock. It's really weird, and I thought yer be a good lad to ask about weird things?" Yurik gives Grimply a stern look. He's not sure if Grimply just insulted him somehow, but his curiousity is also piqued by the prospect of investigating a weird mystery. He drops his papers for now, and replies "Allright, I'll take a look at yer weird rock.....But stay away from tha papers!" ---------------------------------------------- I'll add a perception test for this mystery, 50 vs 53 which turns out to be crap. Oh well! Either Kai Tave can get in on this with a post, or the GM does rolls for him/us. Whatever happens first I guess. Also the part about Flet "cleaning" our gear wasn't just for fluff. He'll remove the jam from my laser rifle that Grimply forgot in the last fight. Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 01:04 on Jun 5, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 21:11
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, Scruntauros Driver's Seat Groin wakes up from his pleasant nap and farts loudly and proudly. He orders Jekk to guard the vehicle and tumbles out of the seat, cartwheeling freakishly toward the Tech Scrunts. _______ Groin wants to have his leg-arm turned back into an arm-arm, and his arm-leg turned back into a leg-leg. If the Tech Scrunts are busy, Groin will attempt the repairs himself.
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Jun 1, 2015 01:17
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Mungly Mung - Dazed and Confused Upon hearing the keypad slid into place, Mungly dropped his end of the barrel upon the toes of another tech scrunt as he turned and ran back to the tanker. He shouts "THAT'S MINE I SAW IT FIRST"as he shoves Yurik aside. He takes note of this new new and interesting development before realizing that he probably doesn't know the code for the pad. Mungly sighs in disappointment as he turns back to the psyscrunt and picks him back up off the ground. He then reaches down and picks up a clod of dirt and rubs it on Yurik's robes to replace the dirt he knocked off when shoving him. "Sorry bout that, got a bit too 'xcited 'ere. Whatchoo get a code from them smarty papers ya ate?" At about the same time Groin slaps Mungly in the back of the head, jabbering something about un-legging his arm or something, to which Mung properly ignored to say to him instead "Hey, yer good at nickin' stuff, whachya make a' this security whatsit guardin' the extra tank in this 'ere tanker? Mungly ------ Giving Yurik and Groin a shot at getting the auxiliary open. If neither of them are able to I'm going to start DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 18:52 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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Jun 1, 2015 15:09
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Groin owns the lascutter. As far as I am aware you do not have one.
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Jun 1, 2015 18:09
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:Groin owns the lascutter. As far as I am aware you do not have one. Eh, replace lascutter with welding torch and my answer is still the same. Worse comes to worse I'll DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 18:50 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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Jun 1, 2015 18:47
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Well I rolled an 83 on the medicae test, so apparently I need to go back to the emergency room and wait there for another three to five days. Narratively, I guess Grumb reopened a wound in the fracas or something.
Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 19:25 on Jun 3, 2015 |
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Jun 3, 2015 19:23
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You can still do an Extended Care roll for each day back at the farm, rolling against the same target to get 2 x First Aid healing. This is assuming people are sticking around for a bit. I am afraid that your 24hr-care slot will need to start after the melee though as that doesn't really count as "rest or light activity"
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Jun 3, 2015 20:22
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Murdelia Skurvy Fecking with forces beyond comprehension Murdelia peers out the window at the sound of scrunts fighting. They'll end up here soon enough. Turning back to the Gross Thing, she ponders her options. Her resources and knowledge are somewhat limited, so... Murdelia takes a trusty ten-foot-pointin' stick and carefully prods and pulls to unravel the tarp, then pokes at the object within while trying to identify just what the feck it is. ________________ Visual assessment of gross non-scrunt object: 1d100 49
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Jun 4, 2015 08:20
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Yurik leaned back in his chair and took a moment to digest the papers both physically and mentally. Though light on concrete details, they confirmed what he'd suspected since the ambush...it was no mere coincidence or bureaucratic mishap that a tanker of fuel had been assigned a disproportionate escort. Redirecting vehicles all the way from the front lines was a sign of desperation, which meant that whatever it was that was so special about that tanker it had been important enough for someone to risk ongoing military operations elsewhere in order to see it safe. Fat lot of good that had done them he thought with a cackle, idly thumbing through the pages he'd transcribed within his mind. So whatever this ZEPHYR was had been sold to someone or something referred to only as DECISIVE NOMAD. Well the Severans weren't selling anything to anyone now...this was their mysterious object, and if anyone was going to sell it off it was going to be them. Assuming they wanted to sell it of course, but all this talk of security measures suggested that whatever it was the tanker was transporting was the bad kind of dangerous instead of the hilarious kind. Yurik's brows furrowed in thought as his memory cast its greasy tendrils back along the events of the last few days. A nagging suspicion was forming in his mind about what ZEPHYR and DECISIVE NOMAD might just be. It was then that Grimply made his sudden and unexpected entrance, causing Yurik to squawk and jump, scattering a lapful of uneaten papers across the room. After it became clear that Grimply wasn't here to try and filch any knowledge for himself, Yurik's eyes lit up with [...]excitement as the zealous sniper produced a chunk of the strange rock from earlier in the day. "Grimply m'boy, you made the right call in comin' to see me about this," he said, throwing a companionable arm around the other scrunt's shoulder, then just as quickly removing his arm when he caught a closer whiff of the lingering scent surrounding him. "There's plenty that's weird about this rock and that's no lie! D'you remember back during the ambush, after we'd killed all the humies? Remember that fackin' great big noise that reached in through your ears and punched you in th'guts through the inside like the voice o' the Scruntfather hisself?" He pointed triumphantly at the stone Grimply held. "It was the exact same sound Grumb made shovin' those rocks down the cliff! Exactly! Just a scrillion times louder, give or take! Perfect fidelity! I have no idea what it all means! But I'd wager Hack's teeth that it's got everything to do with this here rock." Taking the stone from Grimply and setting the rest of his papers aside for the moment, Yurik set about subjecting it to a battery of extremely rigorous scientific experimentation, the first step of which was to shove part of it in his mouth and gnaw at it. Unknown to many, the scrunt tongue was an astoundingly complex and sensitive organ capable of discerning and identifying trace chemical and mineral elements in substances with unerring accuracy. Most scrunts were too stupid to understand what any of this incredibly nuanced input actually meant, but Yurik wasn't most scrunts. After that would come hitting it with a stick, pondering deeply, setting it on fire, dropping it off the roof onto other scrunts, pondering forcefully, soaking it in alcohol, drinking the alcohol, pondering even more, electrocuting it, shooting it (las and solid projectile), rubbing it all over Hack's face, and formalizing his conclusions. If his theories were correct, a substance such as this could hold untold power...power which he aimed to exploit for himself as hard as he possibly could. Grimply could have some too, he supposed. It was only good manners. *** The Tanker Malbrathia-3 Yurik jumped backwards as the security panel slid open upon the outer wall of the tanker's mysterious inner container, but he quickly cleared his throat and straightened his robes out with all the dignity he could muster. "I meant to do that, obviously," he said, leveling a glare at anyone who looked like they might dare challenge him. So that was how one was supposed to access the container. Unfortunately Yurik's knowledge of bypassing high-level security systems was more theoretical than practical, but he was saved from some potential embarrassment by the arrival of Groin, a scrunt who literally didn't know the meaning of the word. "Ah, just the scrunt I wanted to see," he lied, tripping the driver up with his thinkin' stick before he could cartwheel past them, reaching into the grimy pockets of his robe and pulling out an extremely illegal multikey, pressing it into Groin's leghand. "We could use your, uh, expertise gettin' this thing open. A whole bunch of humies died tryin' to keep us from nicking this so whatever's inside has to be pretty fackin' important. It's our important thing now, an' I want to see what the fuss is all about. Carefully," he cautioned. "Whatever this thing is, they wrapped it up tighter than a ratling's arsehole. Might be a reason for it." Yurik does stuff! First he'll investigate the weird mystery stone that I'm debating calling either slamstone or slamite. Scholastic Lore (hosed-up Xenogeology) seems like it fits the bill, which is base TN of 43 +10 for Foresight. I get a 29 for, I do believe, 3 DoS. For the tanker, Yurik is going to loan (LOAN) Groin his multikey and supervise. I mean that by the way, Yurik should know some stuff about the security measures in place here and will both try to assist Groin but also keep Groin from accidentally activating or awakening something he shouldn't, and if it looks like something bad's about to happen I'll try to safely abort the process.
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Jun 4, 2015 08:50
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Pernicious Kreb, up to no good Kreb is hungry. The promethium fumes of the scruntinel may have filled his heart, but they hadn't filled his belly. He'd sat for a while atop the scruntinel, not seeming to notice the cessation of its movement, but now he springs into action, scrambling down from the walker like a solvent-crazed monkey. His large honker picks up a smell. A smelly smell that smells... smelly. His mouth waters, his long taste-memory dredging up flashes of the food of home: sewer rat slow-cooked in the warm 'waters' of the drains, nutritious ganger-flesh, a vomited-in boot. He staggers towards the source of the smell, dragging his lasgun behind him, like a shark drawn to fresh blood. He finds what he's looking for soon enough. The triage station. But that cursed Murdelia is in there. That nasty, stitching scrunt who'd burned all those tasty brains. Kreb knows he needs a distraction to draw her away from that tasty meat burrito she's poking at. She likes to stitch wounds, right? he thinks. Kreb raises his rifle to point at the nearest group of generic scrunts and pumps the trigger, not really aiming at all. Kreb is firing a full auto burst at a generic crowd of scrunts, not particularly aiming to kill, but not aiming not to either.
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Jun 7, 2015 01:34
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School of Rock The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asYwFnm6X7I Yurik subjects the mineral sample to a number of invasive and deeply personal tests, as Grimply watches approvingly. The loremaster scrounges up a variety of makeshift tools with great pomp and ceremony, occasionally grabbing equipment from the makeshift triage shelter in the dormitory downstairs or from the scrunt workshop in the centre of the farm. It's mostly for show - he's pretty much figured out the what of the rock already, and he claims that his mass spectrometer, which was bodged together out of a discarded broken auspex, the laspistol belonging to the truck driver, and a pair of glasses, confirms the rest of it. He just has no clue about the why. The rock, slamite, is mostly ferrous. Its basic constituents are a combination of fairly standard iron ores, although they're surprisingly pure - presumably these spires would have been mined long, long before if they did not react violently to the sound of impact. These ores are very rarely found together, as they form in different circumstances. There would have to be some surprisingly involved yet restrained tectonic upheavals to mingle them together in this way. There are a few impurities though - silicon compounds, tungsten, and titanium alloys (metallic titanium is vanishingly rare in nature), which Yurik suspects would survive the smelting process. Pleasingly, this means a metal smelted from this ore would probably be named slaminium. The loremaster can't quite get his head round how it works, but the rock is porous with microscopic chambers that act as... the best he can really describe them as is "kinetic capacitors". When the rock is struck, the vibration must travel from chamber to chamber, deforming each one in turn - the harder the strike, the more chambers are initially deformed. Eventually a tipping point is reached - it looks like the rock's natural magnetic field plays some part in this - and the chamber walls snap back into place, which appears to replay the noise of the initial impact, just with a lot more force. Smelting the ore would doubtless remove this capability, as it's the physical structure of the ore itself that provides it. It boils down to this - the rocks have a maximum replay volume depending on size. Bigger booms come back louder. Yurik just has no clue why the hell this stuff exists. It's not obviously man-made - it looks like it's accreted like any other rock. But it's really hard to imagine it forming on its own on a normal planet, too. Maybe there's more answers in the tunnels under the ridges? Or maybe there's some local studies been done on these things - the local Mechanicus would no doubt have taken an interest at some point. ---------- Corpse-Prodding The Farm Malbrathia-3 Murdelia investigates the body from afar. She prods it with her stick, and after some thought, ties her diagnosticator to the stick and prods it with that instead. She can see the weird and horrible bits of the body oozing at her, but her diagnosticator stubbornly insists that the corpse is a perfectly healthy, sound, whole, hale, hearty... corpse. A bit malnourished, but mostly OK. Frustrated, the medic persuades some of her orderlies to rub a passing scrunt on the corpse, and then lock him in a shed to see if he dies. The captive is understandably upset, but after a couple of hours still doesn't appear to have developed any horrible diseases. Any more horrible diseases. Meanwhile, Grumb realises that actually he's feeling a bit better than he expected. ----------- The Melee The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYTb1JknzhM The scrunts joyfully jostle and shove and bite and claw each other, and bodies fly all over the place as they try to get the hang of diving tackles. Grumb and Andrluk hold court in the centre of the feculent maelstrom, gleefully hurling scrunts at other scrunts, lashing out with gnarled fists, and generally beating the living poo poo out of smaller, weaker creatures. The scrunt militia give a good account of themselves, and the brawl turns into an unexpected team-building exercise. Two of the militia are giving a prostrate scrunt a good kicking when they realise he's not a hunchback, he's lying on the ball! Oh, he's also a hunchback. But the ball! They claim it, and wave it around uncertainly - at some prompting from Andrluk, they realise they need to run to the other end of the farm. Trampling a litter of scruntlets en route, baying horde of SLAM scrunts SECTOR hot on their heels, yelling SLAM at the tops of their SECTOR voices, the militia members eventually get between the gateposts and claim victory! Magnanimous in defeat, the rest of the scrunts gather around, whooping and cheering, just before Kreb opens fire on them. Bodies fly all over the place again, but this time it's terrified scrunts howling and diving for cover. By the time the fusillade is over, there's a couple of spare limbs lying around. Several scrunts (and one militiaman) are cradling nasty lasburns. The Bloodbowl ball lies in two smoking pieces, and Andrluk slowly topples backwards into the mud, a neat hole drilled between his eyes. Wary scrunts creep out from cover, scowling vaguely at Kreb, waiting to see what he actually wants. Others wander off. The wounded begin to drag themselves onto their feet to seek medical attention. --------- scrunnnnt Yurik studies rocks. Shout if you want more info that you'd expect to know. I am not a geologist Murdelia studies corpse. Her tests are telling her that the corpse should be fine to approach, and she's verified this with two different tools (diagnosticator and scrunt). She still views it with disgust and would probably be unable to operate on it without willpower tests if she was not Jaded but apparently it won't give her plague. Grumb has in fact had 1 DoS's worth of healing. I didn't realise that Murdelia had Medicae +20, nor did I factor in Foresight. I will edit previous post. Scrunt melee has given militiamembers +3WS, +3S, and the Athletics skill. All scrunts enjoyed it, so you'd get a universal boost to scrunt morale, except Kreb decided to shoot everyone so the morale boost was removed again. Andrluk is dead, RIP.
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Jun 8, 2015 17:46
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Groin Sklunger Farm, Doin Stuffs  _______ Groin attempts to use his security skills to open the security whatsits! Security: 1d100 = 42 Hmmm....
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Jun 8, 2015 18:44
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Gentlemen, The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rI0ODEosRs Ever-paranoid for danger, Groin gives the truck a once-over, and cunningly finds and disarms several booby traps before even getting started on the lock. Well, probably boobytraps. Certainly suspicious, anyway. After he's finished wrenching off the indicators and emptying the glovebox, snorting gruffly, Groin jimmies the side of the keypad impatiently, bracing the multikey between two of the toes on his leg-arm and jamming it into the electronic guts of the lock. He tries to get a sense of where all the wiring's leading, and notices with some dismay that it appears to wend all the way through the vehicle. There's a brief flash-in-the-pan moment of panic as a clumsy shove of the arm-leg appears to set something off, and there's an almighty BANG as capacitors inside the main body of the tanker discharge. If it was still full of fuel, the scrunts would doubtless be looking at a mushroom cloud and would be well on their way into the clammy arms of the Scruntfather. As it stands, it just blows off some of the lingering fumes, mildly frazzling a technoscrunt who's hanging out and enjoying the terroir. A second clumsy legshove sends another spark heading down towards the main fuel tank of the vehicle, but thankfully the small brick of plastic explosives it would have detonated is currently some distance away, being aimlessly chewed like cud by a couple of agrarian scrunts. Eventually, mostly by trial and error, Groin manages to send the right pattern of sparks into the right logic gates. As the locks disengage and the tank hisses and slides open, the operator grumpily turns towards the technoscrunts and waggles his leg-arm, presumably to indicate that maybe if it were in the right place these near-misses wouldn't have happened. Behind him, the guardian sheath retracts and a platform raises up from the centre of the shielded smuggler's compartment. On it sits a byzantine-looking device:  All auspices in the area begin emitting the telltale warning signs of hazardous radiation. On the side of the warhead can be seen, stencilled in Imperial, "Heliophagus Class - Super Low Altitude Missile Warhead". --- it's a nuclear device I told you I'd already told you what was in the convoy. Groin succeeds thanks to multikey and thanks to technical assistance from nearby scrunts. This is a warhead, not a missile. It's also really radioactive.
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Jun 8, 2015 19:08
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, The Nuke Following his successful hacking skills, Groin begins hooting and hollering like an old timey prospector what has hit the mother lode. "Heeeeeheeeee hoooooooo! A nook! We gats us a nook boys!" he hoots while dancing a hosed up jig that kind of looks like a robotic beetle having a seizure. He quickly remembers his double-hosed up bionics and why he came here in the first place. "Fix me goddamn limbs ya assholes!" he spits angrily while continuing the jig. _________ Groin is jigging and wants someone to fix his limbs.
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Jun 8, 2015 21:55
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Mungly Mung The Big One Mungly's jaw drooped even wider than normal when the compartment slides open and the glow of radiation lights his skin up. "The Big fire..." he says to himself in scrunty awe. It was about that time that every scanner and alarm in the immediate vicinity started sounding radiation alarms. Mungly pops out of his trance with a loud fart. Radiation was a fact of life for pretty much every scrunt, but this was beyond anything he seen on his home planet. Time was ticking, so he set about to the most pressing emergency. "Gawdammit Groin I herd ya, an' I can't think with yer yammerin. I said I'd take alook at it didn't I. Lay yer rear end down here in the glow'a tha big fire and hold still." Mungly shoves Groin to the ground and starts dropping rat servitors on his face and limbs. He gets to work with his hosed up little mechandrite arm and the makeshift tools bolted onto the rat servitor's heads to de-arm his leg hole and re-arm his arm hole and vice versa. While this operation goes on, Mung occasionally turns his head to study what he can from the Bomb ------------------- Some Time Later When work is finished on Groin, Mung sighs in satisfaction at a job well done. He stops to contemplate what the noise he's been hearing for the last while was when he suddenly remembers why he was so concerned earlier: The Radiation!. He checks his awwgrr array radiation readout and finally comprehends the situation at hand. "OI poo poo LADS, WE'S GOT A SITI-ATION HERE. DIS poo poo IS SO HOT IT'S GUNA GIVE YER TUMORS OTHER SMALLER TUMORS WE GOTS TA GIT DIS poo poo SEALED BACK UP." Mung scoops up as many of his rat servitors as he can and hurls them at the tanker, following along shortly thereafter. He pulls the glovebox panel Groin just spiced apart so he can get to the wiring and sets about to get the electronics back to working again. The rat servitors would bring him the cabling he couldn't reach and both rats and Mung only occasionally eating some of the wire sheathing or electrocuted themselves while working. ---------------------- Potential narrative gap if something goes bad re-sealing the tanker goes here ---------------------- After sealing the tanker After that crisis is hopefully averted and the radiation alarms mostly quieted, Mung sets about the next order of business. What amounted to the old lead techscrunt has taken to peering off into the distance more vacantly than normal, picking at his belly button, and vomiting at semi-random intervals so Mung did the first thing that came to mind regarding him: Namely ignore him completely and convincing the other techscrunts that Mung is the new boss. Mung goes around collecting the loose scrap and guns to consolidate what he has on hand to work with in regards to the vehicles. Among his search he discovers a block of uneaten explosives that Scurrellious left in the Chimera when he disembarked and a tech-priest-y looking axe that was sitting unloved in a corner. Mung pockets both of these for himself, taking some time to examine the axe in question for anything out of the ordinary, since in his mind's eye 'techpriesty types like multi-purpose toolweapon poo poo an it's probably a weldin' torch or servitor prod or a talkin stick what helps me talk to the tank-spirits or some such poo poo'[. After a while of looking back and forth between the vehicles, Mung gets the bright idea for some modifications and brings in the other techscrunts, chasing stragglers with his newfound axe if the situation calls for it. He gets the oily, fuel-drunk bunch into a huddle and starts talking plans: "Right you lot, we got some modifacations to do on the 'hickles. First thing first, that Sentinel is kinda slow an' pokey compared to the otha vehicles an' all its weapons are short range. I wanna pull that 'eavy flamer offa it and we're gonna put it on the Tauros. The Tauros is faster an' can get in and burn poo poo right quick and get out before it gets retaliated on. That also means we're takin' that grenade launcher offa the Tauros, but I don't know if we wanna mount it to the Scruntinel a'cause I know Grumb wants ta claim it and 'ell wanna put his big cannon on it. So hold that grenade launcher in reserve an we'll decide what to do with it later." "Now, asince 'at Tauros is gon be in front takin a lot a heat, we're gonna weld on some scrap on ta make some 'blative armor and try an' scrunt up something we can use as an anti-grenade mesh." "On the Chimera, I think we're doin' good on it. Though if'n we need ta protect our poo poo we can weld some scrap on to protect the tracts from gettin all hosed up. If'n I talk to Grumb an he doesn't want it on the Slam Scruntinel 'en we'll weld that grenade launcher from the tauros to that empty hull hardpoint" "Speakin a' the grenade launcher, I got a plan ta use it ifn' we don't find any more grenade shells for it. I worked on a schematic fer it...."  "I fink we can turn this grenade launcer inta a big shotgun an fire that silverware and nails and poo poo we've been finding round ifn we run out of the boom shots. I'ma be workin on prototypin' this poo poo when we get the other vehicle work done." "An' one more thing, I don't want none a ya getting near that tanker for a while. I wanna make some sorta suit ta not make myself glow when exposed ta it first. Then I need ta techsniff it some and see ifn I can figure out how big a boom it'll be an' how we're gonna launch it." "An thats 'bout it, lets get ta work lads, keep outa tha way of me techrats else I'm gonna bash ya somefink fierce." The techscrunts scatter, some banging hammers together or going back to drinking promethium, others at least nominally acting like they are going to help. Mung wanders off to find Groin and Yurik individually and takes time to tell them "Oi fellas, this inquisition funbox prolly has a thing ats relevant to our new acquisition an we gots ta try to get it open. When I get done scrunting up our new vehicles we outta put our thinkin and stealin skills together to try and nick whatever is in the box, wiv any luck we got something tasty inside like paper or electronics." After getting his message across, he scampers back to the shop to get to work on the work he set out to do. ----------------------------------- Big scrunt for big revelations and also getting the next several in game days of scruntwork laid out. Priorities are as follows, assume I'm using my techrat servitor assists and foresight whenever applicable. 1) Groin's armleg 2) Seal the nuke back up (SPEND FATE POINT ON THIS IF I gently caress IT UP OH GOD) 3) Gather unclaimed loot laying around in the yard. Take the axe and the demo charge from the techscrunt formerly known as Scurrellious. INSPECT AXE FOR TECH RELATED THINGS. If it is completely mundane in function then add custom grip. 4) Weapons modifications on vehicles: Heavy flamer to Tauros, Tauros GL to empty hull hardpoint on Chimera if Grumb does not want it on the slam scruntinel. Weapon mount for Grumb to stick his autocannon on in that case. If Grumb rather wants the grenade launcher then that on the sentinel instead. 5) Ablative armor and anti-grenade mesh (if available) for the Tauros. 6) Track Guards on the Chimera. 7) Get with Groin and Yurik W/R/T getting the inquisition box open 8) R&D on Tauros GL Shotgun Canister shells 9) R&D on some rudimentary lead-based radiation suit to keep me from getting turbocancer and dying before the next combat. 10) Research on  THE NUKE, or at least as much radiation as my scrunty frame can tolerate. Want to try and figure out Payload, Destruction radius, fallout, and potential ways to weaponize it in a way that's not going to atomize all of us (I.e. Can we load it onto a stolen Manticore missile and launch it at some unsuspecting chump?)
DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 02:07 on Jun 10, 2015 |
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Jun 9, 2015 01:55
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---------------------- Potential narrative gap if something goes bad re-sealing the tanker goes here ---------------------- Groin gets a quick cheeky lick of the nuke before it can be closed up. It tastes fizzley! _____ Groin licks the nuke quickly and erotically.
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Jun 10, 2015 13:42
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Gumbo Bulge, extended care Gumbo wakes in a hospital bed, or what passes for a hospital bed at the farm (a crate with a tarp on it). He sits up, groggy. He vaguely remembers taking a nap in the shade, he definitely remembers getting shot. A lot. One time in the face even. He touches his cheek and finds a small new scar, Scrunts scar easily and quickly, and many are more scar than skin. He looks around and finds Pirk sitting nearby, reading a colourful book about a sheep upside-down. "Ah, Pirk. Feels like ah bin sleepin fur weeks. Them syrin-gees really does a number on ye" he grunts. Pirk discards the book and scrabbles over, concerned. "Sarge? We found ya in a ditch but us wouldn wake up. Doc said ta bring ya here. We wuz worried tha-" Gumbo is touched. He sits up and slaps Pirks hand away from his foot. "Stop touchin me boy. Wheres the troops? The new lads? An wha appened wi the truck?" Gumbo fidgets as Pirk fills him in on what's been happening at the farm. "Still playin ball?! We needs em patrollin, on watch! Them humans cud show up at any time!" he shouts at Pirk, who recoils and cowers as standard. Gumbo worries he has been snapping at the boy too much lately. "Ahh at leas they gettin sum exercisin" he muses. "Sports is good fer the soul. Did ah ever tells us about the scrunt-bowl? I was jus a lad about yer age an - wait did ya say a NUKE? gently caress." Gumbo starts to swing himself from the crate but feels a stabbing pain in his legs and thinks better of it. He grabs at Pirks shirt. "Go fine Yurk, lad, an tha tech too - we need containmen! We cud all ge sick - or them humans cud trace it! They hav tanks Pirk! TANKS!" Apologies for delays - no action in this post except attempting heal Gumbo's many wounds. I will make the necessary med roll when I get home later and edit it in here. Pork has been sent to find people they can come visit Gumbo if they want. I want to get the militia patrolling asap in case the humans can also detect the radiation surge and use it to find us.
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Jun 11, 2015 09:22
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Murdelia Skurvy Fecking with forces beyond comprehension Murdelia ignores the sound of gunshots and clicking radiation detectors, shrugs, and goes elbow-deep on the thing. Exploratory Chaos Autopsy: 1d100  100
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Jun 11, 2015 11:14
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Grumb Slanger, the gridiron Grumb clutches his side, still grinning like an idiot despite having recently reopened several of murdelia's stitches. Seeing the game begin to die down, he trundles over to his friend Kreb. "Oh hay kreb, I see you met andrluk. Nice guy!" He pats kreb on the shoulder and wanders off back toward the extended care unit. There he finds Sgt. Gumbo, making a big deal out of some sort of bomb or other. "Go fine Yurk, lad, an tha tech too - we need containmen! We cud all ge sick - or them humans cud trace it! They hav tanks Pirk! TANKS!" the plucky little scruntling scrambles out the door to go fetch the other scrunts, leaving Grumb behind with him. The Sgt grabs Grumb by the collar and pulls him close. "Grumb! There you is! Listen, we ain't got much time. Them humans could still fine us any time! We need to be ready. We gotta send out patrols. We need soldiers! Anyone who ain't got gunsense needs some stuffed into 'em, pronto!" "Righto, baus!" Grumb dutifully throws up the one-fingered salute. He turns to leave, then looks back at Murdelia, arm deep in a disgusting pile of flesh. She is spreading ichor and bits of sick all over the operating table like a madwoman. "Eh... Murdy... you need a hand with that?" -------------- Later, as he is gathering up the overstimulated football scrunts for target practice, Grumb notices Yurik poking about with the =I= box. Still suspicious of this electric dope-fiend, Grumb waddles up to see what he's doing. "Ey poo poo-head! Whas' the hap-doin' over here, tal'bout got a nice box there! Dangol, whatcha got?" In response Yurik hisses at Grumb and holds the box tight. "None-a yer business, ya stinky overgrown varmint! This's some impor'ant loremaster busy-ness here! Jus' as soon as I can figger out this latch I'm-" Grumb interrupts him by grabbing the box out of his hand and yanking the clasp in both directions. Yurik turns bone white, but his instincts tell him not to get rowdy with Grumb when he's hulking out. -------------- I want to assist murdelia with the autopsy in any way I can. I don't have medicae or anything, but any roll you deem fit to add is fine with me. I wanna know more about that little critter, and I'm worried she's gonna smear it all over. I also want to contribute an athletics roll toward opening the inquisition box. I can't remember if you said that was one of the rolls we could try, but I'm drat well gonna try anyways. Strength 41 + 20 to hulking out at things - I roll a 41. Take that for what it's worth. I still have 2 or 3 days of extended care left before I'm healed up, so I'm gonna spend much of this downtime at the impromptu rifle range I set up prior to our last adventure, attempting to further train our scrunt militia in the arts of war. We can set up shifts on patrol and shifts on combat training, or something like that.
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Jun 11, 2015 16:32
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Scientific progress, as any well-versed Loremaster could tell you, was often a messy process, and plumbing the mysterious depths of this mysterious rock was no exception. The top floor of the manor house had been converted into a laboratory by the expedient process of Yurik sending Hack out to drag back any bit of scientific-looking equipment he could find while Yurik himself passed the time hitting the rock sample with a hammer and going "mmhm" thoughtfully. On one of these expeditions a breathless Hack came running up the stairs with an irate Mungly in tow, having absconded with one of the technoscrunt's works in progress, and mainly to get everyone to shut up Yurik magnanimously agreed to allow Mungly to observe the results. And the results were fascinating, along with the implications. "Awright," Yurik finally said, hocking an iron-infused loogie upon the floor, "so here's what we got here. Since we're the first scrunts that matter to discover this stuff I'm hereby and henceforthly declarin' its name to be slamite." He nodded sagely as the other scrunts vocalized their various agreements at his unparalleled genius. "An' let me tell you lads, slamite's a hell of a rock. Why, the nat'ral properties are such that..." What followed was a surprisingly accurate and profanity-laden summation of everything that Yurik had learned in his studies. Unfortunately one of the cardinal rules for delivering an explanation of something is to know your audience, and so it was to be expected that a detailed analysis including terms like "inherent ferromagnetic properties" or "fackin' microscopic kinetic amplification chambers" would wind up sailing right over the average scrunt's head. Grimply and Mungly weren't exactly average scrunts, but Hack was decidedly below average and wound up dragging the others down by association. Yurik sighed exasperatedly as he saw that the other scrunts hadn't quite grasped the mildly staggering implications of what he'd discovered. "What it means," he said mildly patronizingly, "is that this here rock takes the sound of whatever hits it, charges it up, then KABLAMO!" He spun and walloped Hack upside the head with his thinkin' stick for emphasis. "It all comes back out bigger an' louder than before! That's why it played back the sounds of Grumb kickin' it over but not all those other sounds of facker's screamin' an' dyin' like a passel of arseholes, aye? Which means it's gonna be a right fack an' a half to mine any of it unless we've got a gaggle of deaf scrunts on hand. An' you can melt it down into steel an' such, probably good quality too, but then it loses what makes slamite slam, only the nat'ral rock's got what it takes." That seemed to do the trick. Scrunts, like any sensible people of good taste, loved loud noises, so the idea of something that could make loud noises even louder, potentially bowel-rupturingly so, was met with good cheer. "When we were ditchin' those humie tanks and went through that underground roadway we passed by whole veins of this stuff, some sorta tunnel formation maybe runnin' throughout the planet. There's somethin' I can't quite put my finger on about it, though...I'm thinkin' we need to mount an exploratory expedition once we're sure those humies aren't still nosin' around. This here rock could be the future of scruntkind, lads." Or at least be entertainingly loud. *** The Grumb Malbrathia-3 Yurik tugged at his beard, gritting his teeth as Grumb, the big dumb idiot facker, nearly ripped the mysterious box off its hinges, no doubt triggering a self-destruct mechanism of some sort. Fortunately nothing too destructive seemed to happen much to his relief. "Give me that, you lumbering lunkfish!," he screeched, swiping the box back from the hulking gunscrunt and hissing like a cornered rat, tiny sparks fizzling ominously along the wires of his thinkin' cap. "Get outta here afore I turn your brain inside-out! Get! GET!" Cradling the box in his arms, Yurik gave Grumb the evil eye (both of them), continuing to stare until the other scrunt got bored and left. Then he quickly set about surveying the damage while also wracking his brain for any information he could find on boxes of this type and how to open them. *** The Tanker Malbrathia-3 For a long, wordless moment Yurik could only stare at the concealed panel within the tanker slid away, revealing the conical treasure therein. A long, wordless, irradiated moment. Slowly at first, but with gathering intensity, Yurik began to chuckle, then laugh, descending into full-blown maniacal cackling as words like "megaton" and "blast yield" danced gracefully through the landfill of his mind like predatory seagulls. All of his suspicions about what the desperate Severian forces had been transporting were wrong...he was, uncharacteristically, okay with this since what they were transporting was even better. An atomic warhead. Just standing here he could feel the warmth of the radiation being emitted from its pulsing, destructive heart, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he envisioned the detonation, the apocalyptic blast wave of nuclear fire scouring all life from its path as it shattered buildings and incinerated unsuspecting humies by the thousands, the drifting snows of irradiated ash gently wafting across the ruined hellscape... He suddenly realized that several of the others were beginning to stare at him strangely (more than usual, that is). With an embarrassed chuckle he composed himself as best he could, still trembling with excitement (or early onset radiation poisoning). "Ahem. Yes, well, good work everyone," he said, patting Groin on the legshoulder. "Now, we need to seal this back up...Gumbo's right," he went on, giving the scrunt sergeant a token nod of acknowledgement. "We don't want those thievin' humies to try and steal back their precious nuke after we stole it first, now do we? No! We don't!," he shouted, savagely beating a nearby scrunt that opened its mouth to answer the rhetorical question. "This is ours! OURS! It's our nuke now and by the Scruntfather we're the ones who're gonna set it off, not some fackin' longshanks in a froofy uniform pissin' an' squabblin' with another fackin' bunch of humies!" With unexpected agility he quickly clambered atop the cab of the tanker, a hysterical mania appearing to have swept over him in the presence of a weapon of mass destruction. "Don't you see!?," he shouted to the gathering scrunthorde as they crowded near the tanker to see what the fuss was all about. "Look around you! Does this look like a proper Slam Sector to you!? Grass!? Trees!? Who the fack ever heard of trees! What great big bloody arsehole came up with those? No trash, no runoff, no grit in the air or scum on the water...if this is the Slam Sector then I'm an ogryn's uncle! Nae, there's only one explanation for all of this," he said, fixing the scrunts who were listening with a glittering, beady red eye. "The humies what sent us all here, those cowardly, thievin' sacks of shite...they want the Slam Sector for themselves!" He paused for dramatic effect. One of the scrunts in attendance quickly drew a pistol and shot himself in the head, though whether it was out of existential horror or simply to escape having to listen to Yurik anymore was unclear. "But this, this warhead we've got is a sign! A sign from the Scruntfather himself!" Whether Yurik was as devout a believer as Grimply he was too fired up to stop now. "He gave us this nuke, he gave us slamite, an' he wants us to use them both to wipe every last fackin' humie off the face of this planet and create our very own Slam Sector right here, on this green heap of shite! An' when the humies see their precious world an' precious trees go up in flames, when the last of'em chokes and dies in a big pile of proper, scrunty filth, then they'll know the true fackin' meaning of SLAM!" *** Yurik has become slightly more unhinged than usual, everything is fine and there's nothing to worry about whatsoever, normal operation will resume shortly or never. Rolls! I'm using my Divination discipline's minor manifestation on Grumb Slanger that jerk. I'll doublecheck my books when my computer stops acting like a jerk, but I believe that minor manifestations get a +20 bonus to use and can't trigger psychic phenomena even on doubles, they're basically mostly for fluff. That gives me a base TN of 50 +10 (thinkin' cap) +20 (minor manifestation) +5 (half psy rating) so 85 and I get a 74. Divination's minor manifestation is the ability to cause minor fortune or misfortune, the given examples being finding a spare cigarette or tripping over a root. Yurik will definitely be laying some misfortune on Grumb, I leave it to schlong to determine something appropriate. For the box I will roll Scholastic Lore (Inquisition) or (Security Box Design Techniques) or something equally applicable. Man I love Infused Knowledge. Roll is 43 +10 for Foresight for TN 53 and I get a 42, handily succeeding.
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Jun 12, 2015 10:01
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Grimply, witnessing the power of science Grimply isn't the type of scrunt that would openly admit this, but he's kinda impressed by Yurik's science skills. The way how he hit the rock with a hammer at just the right place, or immediately knew the right cracks to lick was astonishing. You can't learn things like that, you just got to know them. Grimply gets the feeling that Yurik may have been blessed by the father, and can forgive him the error of his humie loving ways from before. While he didn't understand every single word that Yurik told him about the weird rock, slamite sounds really good to him and the prospect of having magic rocks that can make things louder is right up his alley. "Yer a keen lad, Yurik, nah doubt about that one...So this rock can makes things louder, roight? I may jus 'ave ta git myself another piece of it then. Tha otha fackin' scrunts neva really listan to me tales about tha father, but they 'ave to if tha rocks can make em really loud!" Grimply breaks into a hearty laughter, and slaps Yurik on the shoulder. Yurik feels a little awkward to be so close to Grimply because he still smells kinda funny, but the scientific prospects of his new discovery fill his mind and so he just replies with a half hearted "Yee.." With the mystery of the weird rock solved, Grimply takes his leave and waddles back out into the scrunt camp. He sees a lot of commotion around the tanker they stole, but doesn't really care about it. The other scrunts seem to be in the process of looting and fighting, so there is no need for him there right now because that's normal scrunt behaviour. However, there was one other thing Grimply wanted to do. The mystery of the slam needles that filled the other scrunts with holy powers! Right! Murdelia is a scrunt that knows about medical things like weird fluids in needles and things, right? Right, she sure does! A quick walk, and some prodding of other scrunts for directions to the scrunt "Who dun patch yer wounds yer facker", brings Grimply to Murdelia's Grimply pushes his way through the smelly tarps that cover the entrance and stumbles upon a particular scene. Another scruntess is in the process of prodding a tiny hosed up corpse that's placed on a small table, while Murdelia is prodding it from the other side and waves around a knife. Both stop and eye Grimply with suspicion. "Ermm...this be tha medical 'ouse, roight? Seeing how yer doing..uhh..medical things an' all..." "Yee" is all that Murdelia replies, while still staring and holding the knife at the ready. "Well thas good! Thas real good...Uhm...see, I got this 'ere needle thingy tha 'umies gave all of us befoa we gots ta 'ere, roight? And...and yer used one of them in tha fight..and..well...it made yer burn but not in a bad way, roight?" Murdelia still stares but lowers the knife ever so slightly. "Uhm..well...I was wondering if yer could take a look at tha needle thingy? I 'ave tha feeling that it's a way to let tha scruntfather's might fill yer..Seeing how yer burned all tha 'umies without gettin burned yerself, roight? And yer tha medic scrunt so I guess yer know about things in needles?" Murdelia's stare intensifies. "Roight....so if we could get more of this 'ere needle thingy, that be great wouldn't it?....Uhm...I'll just leave it 'ere and yer figure it out when yer can...roight?..Uhmm...bye" Grimply leaves one of his combat drug injectors, and quickly scampers out of the medical center again. He was never good at talking to scruntesses in the first place, but Murdelia's intense stare also made him extra uncomfortable. On his way back through the camp, he notices that the commotion around the tanker seems to have gotten much more rowdy than before. Fearing that those facking scrunts may destroy their new prize, he decides to get over there and see what's going on. ---------------------------------------------- So fyi, since I couldn't really get in on the previous events, my posts are out of continuity. My actions took place before all the fighting, the looting of the tanker and finding the nuke. Other people included me in their posts about that stuff, so now I don't have to pick up on it and can just say that I was actually there and pick up at the right spot of the timeline again. Narrative powers!! Also, Yurik is now officially my friend and replaces Scurr Okay, rolls I'll add another perception test to the drug mystery because that's really all I can do. I mean I saw the effects, and also peered at the injector really hard 80 vs 53 GOOD OL poo poo EYES YUP On topic of the mystery box, I'll go for an agillity check to finger around on the box and find any hidden switches/latches or the actual lock that is maybe in plain sight 36 vs 47 is at least something Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 17:24 on Jun 14, 2015 |
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Jun 14, 2015 17:19
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Acronymically Challenged The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsjXP7jWK0k As the warhead emerges from its housing, Mung is struck by peculiar urges, and enlists the help of a crowd of rats and scrunts to hold Groin down while he reams out his holes. The operator is betrayed by his own bionics - his leg-arm seizes him by the beard and pulls him down, while his arm-leg stomps firmly on his chest as he lies supine, and once the limbs are off he can only thrash feebly as things happen to him. Still, having his joints seen to properly by a technologically savvy scrunt has actually done him some good - the bearings have been loosened, some of the rust removed, and even in the midst of his distress he keeps a weather eye on exactly what bolts and toggles are being fiddled with. He's reasonably sure he might be able to perform the procedure himself in future. While the longest ten minutes of Groin's life takes place, Mung has a gawk at the device on the platform in front of him. Dozens of scrunts are milling around it, rubbing up against it and generally pawing at it, but the technoscrunt's not particularly bothered about the possibility of them accidentally detonating it. He can't make out much from the general shape of the device, but he does recall mention of Heliophagus Super-Low Altitude Missiles in an old Ad-Mech manual he once ate. Basically, the thing in front of him is half-warhead, half nuclear-reactor. It's meant to plug into a specially adapted missile with a special ceramic/alloy engine that can handle operation next to a raging nuclear furnace. The warhead can detonate, sure, but that's more of a cherry-on-top sort of affair - the missile's really supposed to just fly around at supersonic speeds underneath radar and be an almighty pain in the rear end. Depending on speed, the shockwave of its transit can cause surprising amounts of destruction, and of course it'll spew out radioactive fallout once it's up and running, blackening the sky and poisoning the earth. It's a terrifying area denial weapon, but final detonation will be fairly small. Still enough to level a city, or give a Titan pause for thought, but without its engine it won't operate at full capacity. And without a ground-based guidance system there's no telling where it'll go. Speaking of radioactive fallout... Mung realises that it'll be in his best interests to get the drat thing sealed up again before his piss starts glowing green. More green. This is slightly hampered by the fact that there's scrunts all over the drat thing, but thankfully Groin springs to the rescue by licking the warhead all over. Dejected scrunts shuffle off, realising that Groin's now claimed the device, and Mung can close up the smuggler's chamber in peace. It'll take a couple hours but gently caress it, little radiation never hurt anybody. ------- Boxing The Farm Malbrathia-3 "GERAFFITFACKINGFECKBASTARG" Squabbling ensues. Grumb effortlessly holds off the furious loremaster with one hand as he studies the box, before giving his comrade the nod; Barry snickers and crouches down behind Yurik, who screeches as he is unceremoniously shoved backwards by the gunner. Sprawled on the ground, muttering darkly, Yurik's eyes spark briefly. As Grumb flexes, Yurik hexes. Seemingly ornamental bands of dark wood pop off and clatter to the ground as the beefy scrunt attempts to rend the box in two, but apart from that there's no effect. Bored, Grumb wanders off to the medbay to renew his association with Murdelia and to get his stitches looked at. The melee plus the recent exertion has opened them up again, although mercifully Grumb's avoided getting his wounds caked in filth so far. Meanwhile, Yurik scrabbles over to the box again, fearful that Grumb's broken it. Thankfully, he's only exposed what looks like some sort of cipher mechanism! If Yurik can puzzle out the underlying logic he might be able to crack the code, but for now he's fresh out of ideas. Maybe he can get someone else to look at the lock or the workings. Grimply attempts to touch up the box, but his dexterity has no underlying reason behind it and doesn't manage to shed any light. ------- Employees Must Wash Hands The Farm Malbrathia-3 Murdelia really can't get her head around this corpse. She's elbow-deep in it and she can see that it's rotting, that there's unpleasant ganglions of stuff that shouldn't be there, and that there's foul slime dripping from every mangled organ. And yet her diagnosticator is reporting that the creature - she's only half-certain it's human - was in perfect health, fit as a fiddle apart from some malnutrition, and suffering from nothing worse than a minor sinus infection. "'Ere, Grumb she mutters. "'Ave a look at that pus bag", as she pokes a particularly distended red wobbly bit. Grumb reluctantly obeys - he doesn't have the medic's iron stomach. He's already lost his lunch, his breakfast, and at this rate is on course to lose his midnight snack. He takes a peek between slotted fingers. "Urp- dangol horrid shadea green, sure enough" Stupid scrunt, never learned his colours. "That's red ya eejit" "Nay Murdy, s'green. Same colour's all these leaves round the farm, say" A back-and-forth ensues, but soon enough Murdelia manages to establish that the two scrunts are, in fact, seeing different things. A bit of empirical testing ensues, where Grumb goes out and grabs a scrunt, hauls it in front of the corpse, watches it vomit, and then asks what colour the wobbly bit is. This soon gets the pair a reputation for novel and upsetting cruelty, but it helps confirm the hypothesis - something's fucky. This is confirmed when the rabbity-wolf creature has its stomach torn open and the contents examined - definite factions emerge with regards to what's being seen. Some scrunts see maggoty rotten meat, some see horrible tangles of fibrous flesh, every scrunt has a different story to tell. Grimply is vociferous in declaring the corpse to be lilac, gesticulating wildly with his syringe of COMBAT DRUG. Murdelia considers her options. Either every scrunt on this farm is insane and unable to form a consensus on even the simplest - ah, right. Well, assuming hypothetically that this isn't the case - didn't Yurik sense something psykery about this corpse? Is this some sort of warp virus or something? Why the hell would it have evolved to make its host be avoided by other possible hosts? The medic considers this while drawing a long, horrible sample of fluid from deep within the creature's skull. If it is a virus that's causing this, may as well have a sample, although without proper lab facilities and preferably some live hosts, Murdelia will be unable to do much more than guess. She takes the syringe from Grimply, intending to study it and maybe do some chemical tests on it once she's cleaned up, although part of her craves injecting the stuff right now to shake the weird lethargy she's been feeling since her flames died down. She doesn't get the chance - Grumb slips on an indeterminately-coloured puddle of ichor and crashes into her, sending her tumbling to the floor as he topples backwards onto her. She instinctively reaches for her boot knife, but Grumb's up and backing away, mortified and with eyes bashfully averted, before she can reach it. Scrambling to her feet she realises the syringe of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG is sticking out of the gunner's shoulder! The plunger's not down, so if she can- "'Ey Grumb, way t' show that poindexter back then!" exclaims Barry, slapping his cousin on the back. Oh, gently caress. ------- scrunnnnt Groin has a leg and an arm that pop off at will now on a Tech-Use test - failure sends them into a state of spasmodic rude gesturing for ten rounds. Even the leg. Use your imagination. Mung gets minimal success on tech-use but tolerable success on Forbidden Lore: Archaeotech to get to know the missile. In terms of closing up the missile it just takes time, not a roll. For kicks, I rolled anyway to see what would have happened, and you got 84 followed by what would have been a fate reroll of 100 so GOOD JOB MUNG, YOU KILLED EVERYONE. Groin and Mung have mild radiation poisoning, which is indistinguishable from the state of "being a scrunt" and has no in-game effects. Groin has a moderately radioactive tongue. Grumb and Yurik contribute their skill rolls to The Box! Tests to work out how to open it are now at -40 rather than -60; each successive skill test will reduce the penalty by 10. Anyone with a chance and with box contact gets a new roll each time someone applies a skill; so far, no-one's gotten lucky. Agility is not a skill, Grimply!! Murdelia hosed up the medicae test to such a degree, coupled with the misfortune from Yurik, that she accidentally stuck Grumb with the EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG syringe and gave him most of a dose. Enjoy. There's still some to study but it'll be a bit harder unless she wants to use another dose on top of this. Grumb has now Unnatural Strength +4, Unnatural Toughness +4, an inability to understand anyone who isn't a Squiggoth, and an extremely strong urge to climb things, bellow, and fight. In that order. It'll probably wear off in five minutes or so. If he doesn't do anything specific with this I'll handle it in the next update. I will give people a bit more of a chance to do immediate things like militia ordering or more box-skilling before kicking off day-length projects like machine-shopping or drug-studying. I will do difficulties and timings shortly for the proposed workplan from Mung, though. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 20:12 on Jun 14, 2015 |
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Jun 14, 2015 19:49
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Barry Sczemanski-Slanger, The Operating Room "Squeeehl," Grumb utters, dazed. "Wassat Grumb?" Barry asks, leaning closer. "You say sumfing?" "GROOONK," His cousin honks back, stomping his foot on the floor excitedly. "GGRROOOOOOOOONNK!" His arms start to flail about madly, grabbing at nearby scrunts and chairs. He leaps up onto the operating table, wildly gesticulating and shrieking. "SQUAAAILL! SQUAAAAAILL!" He stomps on the horrid little corpse, splattering ichor of subjective description all about the room. Nearby scrunts begin to panic and scramble as the blood and giblets begin to rain down upon them, pushing each other over in a mad rush to the door. Murdelia snatches up a notepad and begins scribbling intently. "GRUMB? YER SCARIN' ME, GRUMB!" Barry nervously screams. Grumb crouches down, loudly shits his pants and leaps up onto his cousin's shoulders. He wraps his legs around Barry's neck, smacking him in the head and squealing. "SQUAAAALE! GRONNK, GREEEAWNK!" he bellows, taking a big toothy bite out of Barry's fauxhawk. Barry begins to spin around, desperate for help. His cousin, while only slightly larger than him, was not Barry's first choice to straddle his face even when he wasn't covered in gore and poo poo. "HAAAAALP!" Barry shrieks, breaking into a run. Grumb yanks his neck wildly from side to side as he makes an earnest attempt to bite Barry's eyes out. The two step over a fallen scruntling and take a tumble, bowling over a handful of scrunts and unseating Grumb from his cousin's shoulders. Grumb rolls up, veins popping out of his neck and forehead as the hyperventilating scriggoth takes in his suddenly unfamiliar surroundings. With a series of honks and gasps, Grumb rolls ceremoniously out the door. A moment passes in silence as Barry confusedly rubs his neck. "He... He'll probb'ly be fine." Barry offers. "Should we take lunch, then?" he timidly asks Arnika. ------------ Elsewhere, Grumb is scrombling about on his hands and feet and gronking loudly, raising a terrible ruckus. Bodychecking several scrunts out of the way, he barrels toward the garage, seeking the safety and status of his nest. Mung looks up from his delicate bombsmithery to see a squealing poop-stained heavy weapons guy galloping towards him. "The poo poo...?" is all he has time to think before Grumb lets out a terrible, spit-spattering "WHAAAARGARRRBLL" and leaps up onto the scruntinel's legs. With unnatural strength he yanks himself up into the pilot seat, chewing on the control sticks as he bellows a muffled challenge to the world. "Facker mus' be off 'is gourd" Mung stage whispers to a growing crowd of techscrunt onlookers. He nervously moves to cover the bomb with a big tarp, muttering "Les' jus' hope he ain' remember how to-" An ominous jingling cuts through the room, and the scruntinel springs to life. "GROOOOOOOOONKKK" Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 04:13 on Jun 16, 2015 |
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Jun 16, 2015 03:57
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Ascension The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XS0fpxjk9TU A Scruntinel on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But on our little planet of Malbrathia, you might say every one of us has a Scruntinel on the roof, trying to stamp out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking its legs. It isn't easy. You may ask, why does it stay up there if it's so dangerous? It stays because Malbrathia is its home... and how does it keep its balance? That, I can tell you in one word. Horrifyinglypowerfulresearchchemicals. Grumb's stained body remembers the lessons of sentinel piloting even as his mind warps; he manages to slam the Scruntinel into gear, blunders out of the garage (scattering scrunts like bowling pins), and charges at the wall of the farmhouse. The aging rockcrete is no match for the machine's armoured feet, and by kicking holes through the brickwork, Grumb scales the side of the building in much the same way as a man in cowboy boots would scale a chain-link fence. The chainblade affords some extra purchase as well, and as he reaches the lip of the roof Grumb simply hauls as hard as he can on anything solid that comes within reach, to bring the body of the Scruntinel up and over with him. His muscles bulge terrifyingly, but somehow his arms are not ripped from their sockets. The shitsmeared Scruntinel stands triumphant on the roof, pilot howling, buzzsaw revving!  -------- Industry The Workshop, The Farm Malbrathia-3 Mung tries to ignore the screams outside as he considers his options. He's sorted Groin's limbs, and collected whatever spare poo poo was lying around the place inadequately defended. It's taken a good couple of hours to get that nuke sealed up again - it's not hard, it's just he doesn't really want to die any time soon and there's no-one else he can really trust to handle the precautions. It is, after all, RKO-tech - none of the other scrunts could even spell that, let alone know what to do with it. He bats a couple of rats off his seat, plonks himself down, and has a think. It's about midday, he's got about eight hours work left in him today, and figures he can manage twelve tomorrow. Maybe sixteen if he can be bothered to push it. Mung posted:click quote 4 plan!!! also click this link for original "here's what you can do" list His rats seem strangely taken by that weird axe that everyone thought Urok took, so he has a gawk - yep, there's definitely more to it than just a sharp edge, but he's damned if he knows what all the gubbins inside does. Hell of a lot of wires and crystals and stuff in there that seem to route some sort of conduits to the blade; he can't see a power source though, nor any place where one would go. It's wholly outside his area of expertise. One thing he does know is that if he tries modifying it, he'll doubtless upset some delicate balance inside the axe. loving around with taking weapons off vehicles will probably be about four hours a pop; they can't just be hacksawed off. Putting them on another vehicle will take another four hours. Mung suspects that mucking about with changing weapon mounts on enclosed vehicles will likely weaken the armour around the join; the Tauros will be alright because the gun's on a swivel mount at the back, but taking the gun off the Scruntinel will probably incur an armour hit. Plus, he's got to get the drat thing down from the roof. He briefly considers modular mounts, to allow the weapons to be popped on and off the vehicles at will; that will definitely cause an armour hit regardless of the vehicle, and probably take twice as long. Ablative armour and grenade meshes will probably be a full day's work, twelve hours in all. That retro-rocket forge will speed things up a bit, otherwise it'd take a fair bit longer. On the other hand, adding ablative armour will probably slow the Tauros down a little bit and make it noticeably harder to steer. On the third, mutant hand, Mung likes seeing cars flip over and explode, so that's all fine. Track guards, too, will be a full day's work. Again, that forge speeds things up nicely, and there's probably some spare limo bits he can melt down for all the metal. He's concious that the grenade launcher doesn't have that many rounds left, so figures some sort of massive shotgun shell would be a decent alternative. There's fuel all over the drat place and there's bits of metal that can be easily scrounged, so making these would be almost childishly easy; however, it'll be about half an hour per round. Mung grimly concedes that there's not much he can really do technologically to avoid getting irradiated, if he wants to study the bomb. A cleansuit on a scrunt is basically a contradiction in terms; there's not enough lead about the place to make a proper shield against the hard stuff, and besides, he wouldn't be able to do anything behind it. He could try and remotely examine the thing with his rat servitors, but that'd be a drat sight harder than just gawking himself. Plus, then he'd have a bunch of radioactive rats following him around. The best bet is probably some sort of anti-radiation drug. A trained medic should be able to synthesise something given access to the proper chemicals. Finally, his interaction with Yurik sparks a sudden idea in the lorescrunt's mind. "Working together"... huh. Looks like there's a bunch of seperate mechanisms at work here, and they all need to be dealt with simultaneously! -------- scrunnnt so, like, there's a sentinel on the roof. it's pretty obvious. it might draw some comment if anyone looks this way. have fun working out a way to get it down again also Mung now has a workplan idk. all times include 10mins foresight; all test difficulties do NOT include this bonus Axe has wires in!! Mung has no idea what it is because he hasn't got the right skill; he knows it's imperial, he knows there's tech involved, but he doesn't know what it does. Adding customisations will remove its Best quality, do you wish to proceed y/n Gunswaps take 4 hrs to take a gun off, 4 hrs to put a gun on. Potential for -1 Front Armour when doing this; won't impact the Scruntmera as you're adding, but taking away will involve weakening armour. All gunswap stuff is a -10 Tech Use test abarmour is -10 Tech use Test, this includes grenade mesh; track guards are +0 test; shotgun shells automatic, or command technoscrunts. Mung contributes the Logic skill to the box-opening procedures; attempts to figure out how to open it are now at -30, and no-one's got it yet. Keep at it, just a couple more tries to go before you get into sensible territory. so, like, how much time do you want to spend on doing tech stuff
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Jun 17, 2015 23:08
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Groin Sklunger Post Op, The Farm Groin attempts to adjust to his old-school arm-arm and leg-leg configuration. He looks like a particularly ugly drunken toddler as he waddles outside slowly. He turns around to notice the Scruntinel loudly stomping around the roof, and promtly rips off his robo arm-arm. "Heeeeeeell yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea bro!" he yells while thrusting his arm in the air as a show of support. ________ Groin is cheering on Grumb with his severed robo arm-arm. Arm removal Tech Test: 1d100 = 71 ...gently caress.
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Jun 17, 2015 23:51
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 After Yurik had spent some time investigating the mysteries of The Box as he'd begin to think of it, capital letters included, as well as making sure that Grumb hadn't done any permanent damage to it, he tucked it safely beneath his armpit and scuttled out of the manor house to watch the results of his evil eye in action. Giving people the evil eye was one of the first tricks he'd learned after the incident that had awakened his brain powers...all he had to do was stare at someone the right way and something nasty would happen to them. He could make something nice happen to them as well, but Yurik wasn't a very nice person to begin with so more often than not his powers were used to hurt, humiliate, and horribly disfigure (in no particular order). He kept a wary distance from Grumb as the hulking scrunt made his way to Murdelia's medicae station, eagerly anticipating the scrunty fruits of his labors. When the syringe went into Grumb's shoulder he snickered. When Grumb's friend slapped him on the back and injected Grumb with the contents he laughed. When Grumb began gronking and squailing like mad, veins popping out all over his body as the full dose of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG kicked in, he was cackling with mirth, and by the time the heavy gunner had managed to clamber into his Sentinel and climb up onto the roof, howling and defecating like a maddened animal, Yurik was struggling to breathe he was laughing so hard, leaning against his thinkin' stick for support as tears streamed down his face. It was better than he could have possibly imagined. They should have sent a poet (if scrunt poets actually existed, that is). After he'd laughed himself into a wheezy coughing fit and spent a few minutes regaining his breath, Yurik had to admit that as hilarious as this all was (and it was hilarious, his only regret that he didn't have a pict recorder to capture the moment for posterity...for other people that is, his own photographic memory more than sufficing for himself) it was the sort of hilarity that was bound to attract attention sooner or later. Attention of the Severan kind, or perhaps Imperial, but either way the last thing they wanted was a bunch of humies sticking their noses into everyone's business, stealing back the stuff that they'd stolen first and generally making a mess out of everything. So they needed to get Grumb down from the roof somehow. It seemed like a insurmountable task, but no task was truly insurmountable when you had a Loremaster's incredible intellect to draw upon. Something about the gronking sounds that Grumb was continuing to bellow along with his overall behavior (belligerent, incontinent, incoherent) was outlining a pattern which even now was emerging from the depths of his mind. Yes sir, any moment now he'd know exactly how to resolve this situation perfectly. *** Yurik is going to try and help! To do this he's going to wrack his disgusting space-brain for any helpful clues on wrangling squigs...how to corral them, command them, assert dominance over them, whatever. And yes, I actually have the relevant Lore skill with which to attempt this bold plan, namely Forbidden Lore: (Xenos). This is going to be at TN 43 and will NOT benefit from Foresight because this isn't a "take 10 minutes to slowly poke at something" problem, it's a problem in need of immediate solving and Yurik is a scrunt of bold and decisive action. And I rolled an 81 which is a hilarious failure. What this entails precisely is in the hands of schlong but I trust him to make it appropriately ridiculous and/or undignified as per usual.
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Jun 18, 2015 04:27
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Mungly Mung The Yard Mung and a gathering of techscrunts stand in the yard of the farm, watching the scruntinel writhe and whirl and gronk on the roof. He hocks a lugie and sighs "Well lads, reckon we should prob'ly leave 'im alone, he done lost his marbles. He'll tucker 'imself out eventually and we'll make him pilot that fucker back down or it can stay up there indefinitely. 'Till then weapons projects are on hold." Mung makes a mental note to take the time to urinate in the scruntinel once it does come down as punishment. As he starts leading the techscrunts back to the workshop, he makes the new plans out. "Get the plasma forge fired up an' start meltin' down scrap. We're gonna at least make some defensive whatsits for the vehicles. " ... After getting the forge fired up and the techscrunts to smelting. Mung makes a detour to Murdellia, acutely aware of keeping his distance from her less he wind up as batshit as Grumb. "Hay doc, I'm needin ya ta make something what to help wiv radiation exposure if'n I'm to get this goatfucker huge missile prepped for anything and avoid havin' my poo poo glow in the dark" He gets a grunt and a shake of her hand to indicate she heard him before he scrambles back to the workshop. ------------------------ Plans for the next two days as time permits: 1) Track Guards for Chimera 2) Anti Grenade Mesh for Tauros 3) Ablative Armor for Tauros 4) Balance of time on shotcannon shells. No rush orders, -25% work time due to Comrade servo arm, minimizing overtime work on fatigue if I can help it. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 22:12 on Jun 19, 2015 |
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Jun 19, 2015 22:10
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Addendum The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wiRivDMIYM Groin believes he can replicate the sequence of events that popped off his bionic arm. He is correct. He also believes he can replicate the sequence of events that involve it being reattached. In this, he is mistaken. He is left forlornly wielding his detached bionic, desperate for a technoscrunt to aid him. The arm itself begins flexing dramatically, and swiping at anyone who comes near to help. Murdelia gets the inkling of a suspicion, and manages to charm a particularly toothsome technoscrunt out of his polaroid. Until she dislodges him, the smitten scrunt will follow her around like a puppy with scabies, but at least she gets a chance to put her theory to the test. It appears she's correct - the snaps come out showing nothing more than the mangled corpse of a normal, scabrous human, posed in exactly the same way as the freakish chaos spawn sprawled and splashed around her operating table. Curiouser, and curiouser. Yurik strides confidently to the centre of the yard, and brings his xenobiological knowledge to bear. He is confident he can perform the exact call required to demonstrate to SquigGrumb that he is the dominant one and Grumb should retire, or at least shut the gently caress up. Unfortunately, he's still choking with laughter as he performs the call. What should have been a call of "GrooOOOoOOOooNKKK!!!", a.k.a. "Cease your violent discourse and return to the fungus patch; you are relieved of patricianship" instead comes out as "GrrRrrRooOOOoOOOOooNK!!!", which is the universal Squiggoth call for "I submit! I submit! You are lord of the patch and I relinquish breeding rights!". Grumb's eyes revolve independently in their sockets as he digests this intelligence. Great gouts of flame jet into the air as he bellows his response. Mung shakes his head and begins revving up the plasma forge. He's aware that the Tauros launcher has two full clips and no spare grenade canisters; if he wants to get the technoscrunts working on oversized shotgun shells he'll have to get them to dump out the incendiary. They'll probably love it, and won't require bullying, but it does somewhat limit the launcher's tactical flexibility if they're throwing away perfectly viable grenades. Maybe.. maybe there's some way it can be used for radiation medication? Maybe there's iodine in there somewhere? No? e: Wait, hang on. The scrunt helping Mung must be retarded. The Tauros in fact has a single full clip of grenades, and a single full clip of empty canisters. ------ Groin needs technical assistance to put his arm back. This can be an NPC scrunt or it can be Mung; Groin's kinda hosed it up, it'll take half an hour to put back on and recalibrate. Murdelia charms a scrunt, steals his camera, gets Grumb a rival. Corpse basically displays as a freakish mutant to anything sentient. Cameras, nonsentient beings have no issue with it - this is why the rabbit was happy to eat the drat thing. Presumably it's some sort of psy-viral thing; as mentioned, the diagnosticator indicates this is a regular human. Why on earth would a warp virus like this exist???? Yurik communicates with SquigGrumb; Grumb's basically been told he's top dog of the camp. There are three minutes of potential mayhem remaining; again, this is up to Grumb what he gets up to, otherwise I'll sort something. Please use taste re: "breeding rights"; I'm thinking more a case of "elephants in musth" than "GRUMB SLANGER: BATTLE RAPER". Mung plans plans! There is practically no chance of scraping together proper anti-rad medication out of farm chemicals, if indeed Murdelia wishes to spend time on this, unless unoccupied scrunts comb the surrounding areas for useful poo poo. Like, this is a farm, there's probably weedkiller somewhere, but you'll need to spend some time on it. Maybe Kreb can search the yeestealer tunnels for secretions, or Grumb (once recovered) can get the militia weightlifting by emptying cluttered storage sheds. I plan to progress to the next game day on Tuesday 23rd June and get on with Mung's workplan, so if you have more stealth mitigation or militia training that you want to get in, sort it out before then even if it's just an italics post. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 18:24 on Jun 20, 2015 |
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Jun 19, 2015 22:37
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| # ? May 16, 2024 00:04 |
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Murdelia Skurvy Fecking with forces beyond comprehension Murdelia witnesses the strange goings-ons with Grumb with a remarkably detached air; after all, nothing had actually happened to her yet. But when he honked over to the garage and gronked the scruntinel onto the roof, well that changed a few things. A combat walker on a roof would stick out a bit from the regular landscape, and the gouts of flame aren't helping. The scrunt gang hadn't driven hard and fast and in circles for hours to get away from the Severans just to have a grunting, dancing display on the roof lead them in. "'ere Arnika, clean up for me" she grunts, handing her assistant a bucket of liberated fuel and gesturing broadly in the direction of the weird corpses. Fire solves everything, after all, and she has her samples. At the request of e other scrunts who had apparently found a nuke, she makes a mental note to look into radiation drugs. Wait no, Antiradiation. The grinding of steel on rockcrete and brick continues to accompany gouts of dust and rubble being freed up from Grumb's squiggy-dance, so Murdelia heads out to get a better look. That Yurik character is already out there, looking sinister and nerdish in that most unscruntious way, and Murdelia takes a few photos of Grumb before throwing the camera back at the tech-scrunt. Yurik roars in a bestial fashion at Grumb, who responds by becoming even more noisy and distracting. Clearly, something has to be done. Murdelia glares at Yurik as if this was all his fault somehow. "Yeh can't just roar an' grunt at him all day, tha' just encoirages 'im. 'e is clearly set on being big an' mean, which is part'lly shoutin', but also mostly phys'cal violence, see. Yeh got ta diversify." Turning towards the still-rampaging Squiggrumb, Murdelia shoots a bit at the wall to get his attention and shouts "OI GRUMB! YEH THINK YER THE KING poo poo O' FECK MOUNTAIN UP THAR? GET A LOAD O' THIS THEN!" before turning back to the unsuspecting Yurik and embarking on a provocatively ostentatious display of martial arts, taking the form of a large, burly scruntess tossing a nerd around in a 'mostly' harmless fashion. "Trust me, oim a doctor" she hisses as she prepares to loft Yurik above her head. "HUUUUUUUUARRRGH" __________ Hoping to lure Grumb down by appealing to his bestial nature of loving a fight, and his scrunty nature of loving to beat up nerds. While not seriously hurting Yurik, if possible. Arnika should torch the chaos stuff before Kreb eats it. Skellybones fucked around with this message at 01:07 on Jun 21, 2015 |
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Jun 20, 2015 17:27
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