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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 After Yurik saw the limousine full of technoscrunts off on its vital counterintelligence mission he quickly took advantage of their absence to get some quality looting in while they were away...the mission he'd sent them on was a vital one of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't avail himself in the meantime. Even in the darkness Murdelia's opportunistic eyes could easily pick out the telltale signs of a wounded scrunt, a chance both to ply her trade as well as do some looting of her own. Unfortunately for all her efforts Yurik didn't carry much that was worth nicking unless one was desperately interested in a variety of tattered and mysteriously soiled papers and bits of colored wire, but the good news was that as she followed him around the farm, taking the time to administer medical attention whenever he paused to mutter over a particular body or bit of wreckage, she found that his wounds weren't as serious as they initially appeared and were handily treated by generous application of synth-flesh to fill in the holes. Yurik, meanwhile, distractedly murmured something that could have been thanks, his attention engrossed by the treasures he'd found. For starters he'd found a map, a useful map this time and not some ridiculously overblown thing that needed to be spread on a floor to read. The dataslate he'd come across had a crack across the screen but was otherwise in working order, and it contained a cornucopia of information...geological survey data, the frontlines of the war between the Severans and Imperial forces, locations of urban areas, and more. A deeply disturbing gleam came to his eyes as he flicked over icons denoting refineries, materiel depots, an airbase... Oh yes, he would be hanging onto this. He redoubled his efforts, buoyed by manic purpose as well as delicious anesthetics. Shooing away a gaggle of scrunts from an important looking corpse he rifled through its pockets and found yet more papers, missives and what looked like more maps drawn out on paper detailing particular areas of note. He shoved them into his robes without even pausing to check what they were yet before moving on, but it was his next discovery that made him pause. The satchel hanging from around the body's shoulder was bloodstained black leather with a silver clasp, and when he opened it he found a sheaf of documents...a strange thing for a soldier to be carrying into battle, but the glimpse he caught at some of the text on the pages caused his brain to jangle. Whatever these papers were, they were important, that much he knew for certain. The papers, satchel and all, went with him as well. Yurik was so flush with excitement that when the technoscrunts finally returned he actually welcomed them back, grinning and slapping shoulders amiably, laughing and congratulating them on their quick thinking for sawing the boot off the back. His mood quickly changed as his attention was directed towards the remains of the stomper by Arnika who was glancing nervously at a puddle of liquid metal coalescing behind an oblivious Barry. "What! Did! I! Tell ya'!?" he shouted, barreling through scrunts and proceeding to angrily whack his thinkin' stick against the scruntinel's leg over and over again, causing Barry to topple backwards into the cockpit in surprise, a wild spurt from his flamer lazily arcing back to earth and immolating an unfortunate bystander. "Get away from here ya' fack-blanged eedjit! This here's a hazard zone, an' I'm declarin' a quaran-teen! Now everyone get back an' STAY back afore I give ya' a good reason to be elsewhere! Scram! Shoo! Git!" This time Yurik gave any loiterers the evil eye (both of them) until they'd achieved what he wildly guessed to be a minimum safe distance. If Grumb Slanger wanted to have words (or fists) with him for yelling at his hanger-on, well, that was a bridge he'd burn when he came to it. For now though his attention was squarely upon the oozing puddle of liquid metal slowly gathering together on the ground. It was making his brain jangle too, and not in a reassuring way. Scientific methods were called for to determine exactly what sort of danger this mystery metal posed. Quickly surveying the nearby wreckage of the farm he found just the instrument he needed, retrieving a long, slightly bent piece of wood that had been flung from a nearby shed, and positioning himself as far from the metal puddle as he could manage he extended the pole and carefully, gently poked it with the other end. *** First things first, Yurik is getting some medical attention from Murdelia. Okay so Murdelia's overall Medicae at the moment is 58 (Int of 40, -2 due to EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG damage makes 38, +20 skill bonus makes 58) with a further +20 bonus for using a medikit (and it turns out that the Narcethium being good-quality doesn't alter this at all, oh well). First Aid is a +0 difficulty test, so that would normally be TN 78...but Yurik is heavily damaged (more than 2x Toughness Bonus in wounds) so it's a -10 penalty to make the overall TN 68, just one shy of the sacred number. And holy moly I roll a 13. This heals Murdelia's Int Bonus (currently 3) plus an additional wound for every degree of success, so with 6 DoS that means I heal 9 wounds total putting me at 11/12, nearly back to full. That taken care of, since no one has spoken up I'm locking some of the gear options. I lay scrunty claim to detailed information on two non-star points on the map and a sheaf of papers including what appears to be Inquisitorial ciphertext. I am also locking, but not necessarily claiming, 3 Iron Eater Grenades because frag grenades can be manufactured out of scraps if we need to but concentrated acid bombs don't come around every day. I will get a skill challenge roll in on a subsequent post before the deadline, sorry, I just can't think of a funny/creative one at the moment. Push comes to shove I'll go for boring and functional.
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Oct 3, 2015 08:29
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Drekk The Farm Ruins Malbrathia-3 While Drekk made off with some leg armor, he feels like he could have some more stuff. He steps back out of the Scruntmera again with some more loot on his mind, seeing a mediscrunt to treat his wounds, and help organize the exodus, whether it's bullying scrunts to get them in line or charting out an escape route. He walks off and sees Murdelia plying her trade, and asks for treatment. Drekk gets bandaged, some synth-flesh is applied to cuts scrapes, and he is also advised to "walk it off". Now the looting, Drekk eyes a shield that crackles blue electricity with the press of a button. Nice! he thinks to himself. He turns it off and chucks it over to Widget. He also found a pair of Photovisor goggles. The straps are sized for a human head, and so can only be handheld. Maybe a technoscrunt with some time to spare can tailor them. --- Drekk is getting healed (GM can work out the medicae rolls) and I call dibs on the Suppression Shield, one of the Photovisor goggles, and Flak leg armor. I'll make a second post before the deadline to help wrangle scrunts/help plan a possible route.
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Oct 3, 2015 16:01
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Grumb Slanger, the courtyard https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZZHrK311aw Grumb sifts through the rubble, snatching things from the ground and from other scrunts around him - some solid metal tubes, a knife, and a bunch of old comms equipment. He chuckles giddily upon finding the Refractor Field Generator, which creates a vaguely ticklish underwater sort of feeling when he turns it on. He even finds a new pair of boots! As he laces them up, he sees Murdelia patching up other scrunts in the courtyard. He grabs a lho-stick out of the hands of one of the agrarian scrunts, and limps over to her. "Hey Murdy... I was just wondering, y'know... Maybe sometime you and I should, y'know... Take the bullets out mah leg." he mutters uncomfortably. The two share a hearty smoke while she pulls the bullets out, which results in her doing quite a bad job of cleaning the wounds. Grumb thinks about asking her to give it another try, but just then he sees Yurik whacking his ride with a stick and yelling at his cousin. "Hey! Hey you," he bellows, shuffling over to the loremaster. "What you is yellin' at my cousin for?" Barry instinctively backs the scruntinel up, not wanting to cramp Grumb's style when he's bullying the other scrunts around. "This poo poo'ead here be stompin' around in the quaran-teen zone!" Yurik yells back, rising up on his heels to match Grumb's eye level. "E's gonna track all the radiactivy with us when we go, and then they's gonna track us down!" Grumb scratches his head. "There ain't no radio activity since we shots 'em all, Yurik. 'Ere, listen!" He hands Yurik one of the microbeads, and hands another to a passing Sgt Gumbo. The line has gone deadly quiet. Yurik sighs impatiently. "No, you eedjit, i'm talkin' bout... bout this!" He grabs a giger-box from one of the growing huddle of techscrunts who had gathered to examine the quaran-teen zone, and waves it around. It clicks ominously at the puddles. He hands it to Grumb. "This poo poo's radiactive now! The 'umies track these clicks, an' that's how they is gonna find us wherever we go!" Grumb furrows his brow, waving the giger-box in circles as he points it around at the things on the farm. It clicks angrily at the nukular bomb, and also picks up a rising signature coming from the newly-licked truck. He thinks hard, harder than he is used to thinking about things. If he couldn't see radiactivity, What else was out there floating around, clicking inaudibly? It was a troubling thought. "Well... Well okay! We'll sen' someone. We'll sen' someone ta drive the truck as far as they c'n go, and not bring it back." Yurik scoffs. "Ye can' be leavin' scrunts ou' in the woods un-supervise-like! Wat if they get caught?? They's gonna talk, they'll spill all tha beans on us!" Grumb squints. "Leave it ta me. I'ma keep erry thing incog- nitta.... gon' keep it all on the downlow, tal'bout ain't nobody gonna talk." He looks up at his cousin. "Barry! C'mere, lemme show ya sumfin." Barry climbs dutifully from the scruntinel cockpit, returning his cousin's keys. The two of them trundle off into the ruined dormitory together. Yurik thinks about intervening, but curiousity stops him - what did this big oaf have up his sleeve, he wonders? ---------- Grumb and Barry sift through fallen plascrete and tile, wandering back into the dormitory's utility room. They pass over a bunch of dirt piles and shattered pottery pieces, as though a grow operation had very recently been relocated from the room. "Grumb," Barry asks, "What is we is doin' back 'ere?" Grumb peeks past the circuit box into the laundry area, checking inside the washing machine to find a bunch of soggy lho leaves. "You remember cousin' Nik'las, Barry?" "Sure, Grumb, good kid." Barry calls back, digging through a pile of dirt. "Bit of a snitch, though, wuddn' he?" "'Ym-hm, that 'e was. Member that night we wuz drinking all 'o mama slanger's moonyshine, when she waz busy bein' in labor an' whatsis?" "Ohhh, yeah, 'e was there, wuddn' he? He said he was gon' snitch on us." Grumb smiles, grabbing a big plastic jug from behind the dryer. "Abso-dang-ly he was. An' do you know why he dinn'a?" Barry shrugs. Grumb triumphantly holds the jug up for his cousin to see. "Blechh. Hey Grumb, what's Blechh?" "Issa magical drink, Barry. When someone is gonna snitch on you, you just feed 'em a big glass o' Blechh, and they drink it, and then they go 'Blechh' and they suddenly don' feel like talkin' no more." Barry giggles, clapping excitedly. "You is so smart, Grumb. We'll jus' use the Blechh and then they won' find us no-way no-how." Grumb pats him heartily on the shoulder. "Right!" He pours a trickle of moonshine out of an abandoned flask, and begins filling it with the cloudy liquid. "Hey Grumb," Barry asks, watching excitedly. "whatever happened to Nik'las, anyway?" "I dunno," Grumb replies. ---------- Grumb and Barry approach the eastern wall of the farm, where Groin Sklunger is showing off his new truck for a small group of lowly techscrunts. "'Ay Groin!" Grumb calls out, grabbing the attention of a single robot eye. "Wotcha got there?" Groin calls back "I gots the 'umies truck, an' it's mine now! MINE!" He rocks back and forth in the driver's seat anxiously. "Nahhh," Grumb says, as confidently as he can muster. "You don' want that truck. You wan' this." He tosses Groin the scruntinel keys, which his robotic arm snatches greedily out of the air. "Tha feck?" Groin asks, un-used to getting generous offers from life. "I'll trade you my big walky robit fer this old heap-a junk." Grumb says, feeling particularly sly (if not a bit disappointed in what he was giving up). "It's got tha spinny burny bits, tal'bout stompin' on folks, dangol, this'n be MUCH killier than that'n. You give me this truck, and you're the stompiest guy around, just like that." This offer intrigues Groin. He steps out of the driver seat to take a good look at the sentinel. "Duzzit... Howzit... Howzit taste?" Barry pipes up - "To be perfectly hones', you don' wanna lick it." Grumb nudges him with his elbow. "Eh, uh, but you don' gotta lick it neither! We'z gonna let erryone know it's all yers." Groin looks the scruntinel up and down, and a slow grin passes over his face. It is a pretty stompy box, after all. As he thinks it over, Grumb looks to one of the nearby techscrunts, who is greedily eyeing the truck. "You. Hey you. I gotsa job for ya." He hands a rusty metal flask to the techscrunt, and leans in close. "You needa take this thing for a tes' drive, ya hear me?" He looks west for a moment, thinking about Grimply's plan and the tunnels, then points due east. "Drive thattaway. Don' stop, jes drive as far as ye can. When ye run outta gas, or if a 'umo patrol catches up to ye, I wan' ye to drink this special signal drink, and we'll come getcha." The scrunt eyes him confusedly. "That way, we knows how far the truck kin go." Grumb smiles threateningly. "Hey," says Groin, "Kin I have a special signal drink too?" Grumb stands in stony silence for several seconds, looking Groin up and down. He glances at Barry, who shrugs at him in deference. "...Nno." ------------------------------- Hoo boy! Big post. I only put words in the mouths of the folks who volunteered, and there's still time for Moola to back out of this if he doesn't like the deal. But it's actually a pretty good deal, and probably what's best for both of us. Grumb claims one of the tubes fit for an underslung weapon, as well as a steak knife. (I take it you cannot have both an underslung weapon and a bayonet, or is this possible?) He also puts on a new pair of flak boots, to replace the ones with holes in them, and grabs the Refractor Field from a quicker but weaker scruntling. As a high-priority target, I am making a decision to pursue tankiness as a character. To this effect I am spending 400 xp on Abiding Resilience. Lastly I will be looting all the Comms Equipment that I can, and passing them around to Gumbo, myself, Yurik, and the next three plot-scrunts that want one. Rolling Medicae with Murdelia, if indeed it is an action that can be performed without bed rest. Per kai tave's post I am quoting the target as 68, which I fail to meet with a roll of 94. Looks like Grumb will be limping a while yet. Next I am rolling the Intimidate skill to bully a techscrunt into driving off with the radioactive truck and killing himself. Using my strength of 41 + 10 for the techscrunt being weaker (arguably I could claim +20 for outnumbering him, or 30 for the target being 'obviously inferior', but will leave that to your discretion) gives me a target number of at least 51. I managed to roll a 03 on this one, so hopefully that's enough to convince him of something which is not good for his long term well being. Yurik, suspicious as ever, witnesses every moment of Grumb sending off a scrunt with a radioactive truck and a suicide flask. Whether he perceives this as the malicious act of a hardened criminal, the idiotic plan of a childish bully, or the grim and canny decision of a scrunt who made a tough call, this much is up to him. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:50 on Oct 3, 2015 |
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Oct 3, 2015 18:33
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Drekk The Farm Remains Malbrathia-3 Foreman Drekk felt antsy. He wanted to do something, but what? He decided to go see Yurik. Maybe he has an idea. He's a smart guy, he has all sorts of answers! He catches him near the wreck of the dreadnought, deterring scrunts with firm whacks of his staff between sessions of looking at maps, missives, and charts. Unfortunately for Drekk, he caught him at the wrong time. "Git the fack away from there ya idjit! Do ya want ta get and vomit yer guts out!?" the grumpy loremaster yelled. Fortunately for Drekk, his staff strikes bounce off his helmet with a small TING!. "Oi mate, I just want to know if ye 'ave any tasks fer me!" Drekk exclaimed. "Well..." Yurik pondered scruntily, scratching his chin, "Ya seem know tha lay of tha land a bit. I want ya to head out near to where tha tunnels are and look fer anything unusual." He hands Drekk a pencil and a notebook before telling him to bugger off. --- Outside the Farm Drekk carefully observes his surroundings with a scrunty scrutiny. He marks certain trees with an axe cut if he thinks they're part of a proper pathway for the convoy. Widget jots down what he is told in the notebook. Drekk hears a rustle in the bushes, thinking it's an ambushing human, he readies his sword, but it's actually just a deer. It'd be a beautiful sight, but Widget panics and tosses a hatchet at the poor thing's neck, killing it. "Widget ya dumb facker!" Drekk angrily whispers to his comrade, "That was not a 'umie!" "Drekk, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Widget worriedly whispers back. The two scrunts agree to hide the corpse and remove the axe from its neck, so any potential fleeing Severans won't notice it. An hour passes by. The duo believe they have done enough scouting work and head back to the farm to share their findings with Yurik. --- Drekk is doing some scout work to make sure there's no traps/mark a safe passage to the tunnels. Gonna roll using Navigate - Surface so Intelligence it is! 32 + 10 (Scrutiny) = 42 Rolled a 26 Kaiju Cage Match fucked around with this message at 23:50 on Oct 6, 2015 |
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Oct 6, 2015 15:09
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, The Trade Groin grins gruesomely as he excitedly clambers into the Scruntinel. His paranoid mind briefly wonders if he's being tricked in some way, but Grumb's poo poo-eating used car salesmen grin and a hearty big thumbs up reassures him. Groin's eye rolls back into his skull as his organic hand begins to feel its way around the cockpit, like a horrible perverted spider. "So we gots us a deal eh buddy?" Grins Grumb. Groin begins giggling feverishly as he turns on the ignition and the Scruntinel chugs to life. "Yee!" replies Groin, enthusiastically. The Scruntinel stomps off, crushing a scruntling and bowling over a few civillian scrunts on the way out of the farm. "AHAHAHAHAHA!" remarks Groin. ___________________ Groin accepts the vehicle trade, and will hold off on licking... for now. Groin is also going to patrol the outer perimeter of the base while he tests out the Scruntinel.
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Oct 6, 2015 15:29
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Mungly Mung Mung groaned and complained loudly. On one hand he was happy to find a burst lasgun and a pair of melta bombs, however all this rain he's exposing himself to gather and load the fuel would qualify as the first shower he's had since boarding the vessel to bring him here. He needed something to work on to distract his mind from the water... While looting the bodies of the soldiers, he hadcome across some microbeads that still worked and tried to use it to listen in on the retreating soldiers, but quickly lost interest when he found the channel to be dead. Now that he had a moment to work his brain, he decided it would be a good idea to key their new coms devices to something that isn't actively being used by their enemies. Mung breaks into a sprint back out into the rain and finds that jerkoff crazy rear end in a top hat of a gunner thinking he was going to hand some out. He shouts out "Oi you daft wanker, whad'ya think yer doin' wiv those?" as he attempts to snatch the microbeads back. "Those are still on the 'umans frequencies. Do ya want to advertise where we are to them?" the shouting and grabbing continue until the gunner finally relents and allows Mung to run back into the shed, safe from the rain. -- It didn't take terribly long for Mung to key the microbeads and vehicle comms (for the ones that have it) to what he called THE SLAM CHANNEL if they were to leave tonight in the night they will need short range coms going to keep in touch with each other to keep from getting lost. Mung keeps a bead for himself passes a few of them out, leaving one or two left for scrunt limo drivers. After this, Mung moves on to the next project... -- Mung had one more fuel tank he needed to account for and he didn't really have a good way to transfer it to the truck. By this point it seems the other scrunts had roused the civilians and things were looking like they were getting ready to leave. The mild paranoia endemic to being a scrunt started to kick in: what if some idiot heavy gunner leaves evidence of what happened here? Why is that walking exploded metal monstrosity's parts starting to liquefy? There was one answer to these questions: it all had to burn. That last tank could be sacrificed to hide evidence. Mung rallies the techscrunts, gathering barrels to fill with fuel and sending some to find something long enough to act as a long fuse. It doesn't take long to fill several barrels and shove them around. He sets one barrel in each of the buildings, sloshed around enough to catch the nearby area on fire and piles the rest of it around the dreadnought in an attempt to blow it into small flaming chunks. Mung let's the civilians take their share of human meat for the road before piling the rest of the corpses, both human and scrunt, into the farmhouse to burn with it. -- Out in the rain, Mung find a few of the other military scrunts out milling about herding civilians. He rounds a couple up and speaks his mind; Oi fellas, we gotta think 'bout how were gonna move the vehicles. All this rain is going to make it muddier than a good scruntbrawl competition an we need ta plan round that. The Chimera is tracked and the sentinel walks and the tauros is an off road vehicle, so those won't have to much grief. However, the limos and the nuke tanker are gonna have fits with the mud. We got to have our good drivers manning both a' those to keep from getting stuck or worse. Is there anyone aside from me an Groin that can drive well enough ta do that? -- Big phonescrunt. First order of business: looting the triplex pattern Las, the melta bombs, and a knife. Second order of business. Gather all our coms equipment and get it broadcasting on a new, different channel. We are probably going to need it to communicate where we're going on the farm and rain. I'm also under the assumption that our military vehicles (I. E. Not the limos) have comms devices I can key into microbeads. I'm thinking this is routine tech use but if you think it should be easier / harder I'm not going to argue. Third order of business, the extra fuel tank. If we can't take it with us, it can cover evidence of us. After civilians take what human meat they want for the road we are putting all the corpses human or otherwise in the building. Going to rig up the buildings to burn and put whatever is left towards blowing the dreadnought the gently caress up. Lastly, we need to talk about how we are organizing our migration, this might be a conversation for the ooc thread. Namely we don't have enough skilled drivers to manage off-road mud routes in the dark in the middle of a monsoon. It's less so an issue for our combat vehicles because they all get bonuses to difficult terrain, but it's going to be a swampy shithole getting our nuke and civilians out in the rain. DJF may want to correct me on this, but I think the Chimera is the only one with a MIU hookup and is therefore the only one I can drive actually well. I can give it the college try for the nuke truck, but without a MIU I'm better than being unskilled but worse than pretty much anyone else until I get my advanced career.
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Oct 6, 2015 15:42
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Grimply, herding scrunts Perched on top of the ruined farmhouse, Grimply observes the huddling scrunt masses. They seem to be on board with his plan to leave for darker pastures, but on the other hand they don't seem to be totally convinced or happy as of now. A few of the srunt leaders probably need a stern talking to, so Grimply makes his way down to the action. On his way, he notices that some scrunts flash him shifty looks, and even make way when he passes by them. Is he smelly again? No, not more than usually. Did he do something wierd? Could be. To be honest, the last minutes of the fight are kind of a blurr to him. He remembers the screaming metal demon, and how he shot it in the face, and then the explosion throwing him back. After that...it's kinda blank until he was up on the roof and started to preach. Grimply isn't really worried by that though, because he sometimes has these little "moments" where he does things that he can't recall. It's usually when the father channels his power through him, so he probably did something awesome and all the other scrunts now respect him. Yeah, that sounds good! When he reaches the door out of the farmhouse, his path gets interrupted by Flet who rolls into view with a jaunty Yeee on his crusty lips. "Tha fack are yer doing, laddie?? This nay be tha time ta 'ave funny games!!" "Sorry, mastah! I jus...I jus kinda got stuck in this stuff..." "Oh by tha Fatha! I can nay leaver yer alone for a minute now can I?" Grimply produces his scrunt knife and starts on getting Flet free from the plastic patches that cover him. The little scrunt struggles and twitches, but with enough cursing and perseverance, Grimply gets him free. It's at the cost of some hair and cloth scraps, but it could have been worse when you consider what ideas Grimply can come up with when he holds a knife. "There ya go, lad. Now, yer listen good, roight?" "Roight!" "I needs ta talk to sum of tha scrunts cause we needs ta git out of 'ere, but yer also get a job." "Roight!" "Yer needs ta collect oua things from tha church, roight? And while yer at it, grab anything else that looks good an stuff it in yer sack. I'll git tha rifle when I'm done 'ere, and then we meets up at tha gate, roight?" "Rrrroiiighht!!" "Good lad!" With glee on his face, Flet scampers off to do as he was told, while Grimply pushes through the scrunt crowd towards the bickering scrunt leaders. If tales of dank and damp caves, with slimey mushroom groves and fat rats can't sway them, then maybe a good old tale about the wrath of the father will. Okay, I'll add a Deceive roll to our skill test because I will tell everyone important how great and scrunty these tunnels are. In fact, they are super drat scrunty and we all should love them. Tales about weird creatures are bogus and false! Who told you that, mate? They're just pulling your leg because it's not true at all! 46 vs 52 (42+10) Barely a success Also, Flet will loot me 2 missile launchers, 1 microbead, 1 photovisor
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Oct 6, 2015 20:58
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Grug scruntin about Grug was moving through piles of garbage and overturning dead bodies with his nose like a pig foraging for truffles. He was a Scrunt in his element. After just a few minutes he emerged, cleaner than before and with armfuls of junk that gets pressed between his rolls of fat, safely stowed for later use. By now poo poo Was Happening. He hadn't had much experience with trucks before but he sure could look after himself. And if he could look after himself then he could look after all his new friends too! "Hey *buuuuuurp*, wait for me! You gotta watch out for all the *sniiiiiif* nasties out there!". He climbs on the roof of the biggest vehicle and bangs on a hatch "OI! I'm coming tooooo! I'll keep me eyes peeled for bad sludge and rocks and nasties and stuff!". He doesn't hear a response from inside but he doesn't care, he's just happy to be in with a chance of getting the Emperor's Participation Award. looting a tube for an underslung grenade launcher, a microbead and a carapace harness. Grug's gonna ride on top of the scruntmera (presumably that's the tallest vehicle in the convoy). Gonna use the Survival skill to judge the quality of the ground for the trucks and to avoid or get prior warning of nasties. required roll is 37+10 (for survival 2), needing 47 or less. Rolled a 28, which is like 2 degrees of success. I have no idea what that means or whether it's relevant
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Oct 8, 2015 00:08
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Murdelia Skurvy Being scruntful Murdelia scrounges slowly and deliberately across the ruined farm, alternating between looting, administering medical aid, and looting from patients. Along the way she grabs a timid-looking technoscrunt and demands that it explain the intricacies of the mechanical vehicles that seem so important these days, for despite being one of the more knowledgeable scruntesses she was nonetheless ignorant of how to drive an APC or tanker truck. The technoscruntling was also quite ignorant, but through repeatedly gestures and sound effects was able to point out the important parts of the driving interface such as the gearshift, accelerator and radio. She nods attentively at all the right parts while cutting up some Severan bodies, now quite confident in her ability to command one of the foul, snorting beasts and get it to move in a direction. She celebrates this progress by downing some painkillers and moonshine while picking some shell fragments and melted plastic out of her skin. She frowns contentedly while lightning a cigar off a nearby burning scrunt. Picking along the rows of corpses, she comes across a veritable scrum of scrunts! All manner of looters are piled on each other in an attempt to wrassle a particular package from a particular dead Severan, so with a few honks and lasblasts she sends them scattering into nearby ditches and seizes the prize. The bag is full of all manner of books, manuals and product catalogs for restricted militarum medicae procedures and products! A few free samples of rare drugs and obscure tools are also included, so she quickly secretes them about her body for later use while she grazes on the medical literature. That is to say, she carefully reads a few lines on each page, usually anything that stands out in capital letters or a different typeface, then eats it. The laminated paper is hard to swallow and harder to read, but she manages to pick up quite a few tricks regarding what goes where in the thing (regarding chemicals mostly, or as the manuals put it, "chymicals"). Life is truly good. Knocking out the last few injured scrunts in her rounds and picking out a few more handfuls of loot along the way, Murdelia pauses to think on the recent troubles and the future issues that may arise. The Severans would be back, that much seemed certain. They would want revenge for the horrible things the scrunts had done to them, the things they had stolen, and the hurtful words shouted in the heat of battle. Grimply had gone on shouting about the promised land which seemed plausible enough, so she decided to go along with that. But the scrunts that formed the majority of the scrunthorde were an aimless, feckful bunch, prone to scruntfoolery and running in circles. The drive to the promised hole would be long, tiring, frightening and boring for them. Half of them might just wander off halfway along to go sleep under a culvert like grimy little, low-ambition bridge trolls. What they needed was a little chymical assistance. A little piping voice in the back of their craniums that constantly shouted "DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE FASTER" whenever they thought about slacking off. A combination of immunosuppressants, stimulants, hallucinogenics and something to cut it with. While she considers the equipment and substances required, she attempts to capture a small scrunt, tie it to a long stick, and poke it into the suspiciously alive pool of Hardchest Metal. ____________________________ Justifications for picking up Operate: Surface, Lore: Chymistry +10 and Trade: Chymistry! Doing a little Medicae +20 test on myself to heal the 3 wounds taken: Post-Battle Self-Medicaetion: 1d100 23 Yeah it looks like that worked. Murdelia will try and concoct a "mild" stimulant/motivator for the drivers, guards and other important NPC scrunts to keep them awake, attentive and focused on the long exodus, probably using Ghostfire and household chymicals. Relevant skills probably include Medicae +20, Lore: Chymistry +10, and Trade: Chymistry. Chymistry: 1d100 86 Hmm well that's not great I think. Metal experiment might be interesting or not. Skellybones fucked around with this message at 09:28 on Oct 9, 2015 |
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Oct 8, 2015 01:25
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Yurik Scraglagger The Aftermath Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Yurik peered scruntily from the shadows at Grumb as the hulking gunlugger dealt with the matter of the irradiated truck. Red eyes narrowed as he added what he'd just witnessed to the mental trash-pile that comprised everything he knew of Grumb Slanger since they'd met. Tough as nails, blunt and crude (even for a scrunt), inordinately fond of large guns (even for a scrunt), these were all known factors, but now he had witnessed something else altogether more troubling than any of those things put together...cunning. It was, Yurik was forced to admit, a clever plan in its simplicity. As for the poor unfortunate driver, well, difficult times called for difficult measures (as long as Yurik wasn't the one being measured desperately, that is) and he was sure that the hapless scrunt probably had some sort of annoying habit or character trait which meant he wouldn't be missed too much. It wasn't the nature of the plan which concerned him so much as the fact that it was Grumb Slanger that had conceived of it. Before Yurik had been content to dismiss him as nothing but a dumb musclebound thug, dangerous if provoked but otherwise easily outwitted. Now though...now he'd need to reassess things, and to be on his guard. Grumb wasn't just solving a problem, he was sending a message. "Mess wi' the bull an' y'all best be ready to giddyup on the, to get all horny or how'd that go...dangol, come at the bull an' y'best not miss." As the truck rattled off into the rainy night, Grumb ambled past Yurik, giving the Loremaster a sidelong glance. "Gotcher all taken care of. Y'got any more problems need t'be fixed?," he asked, hocking an indifferent loogie upon the ground. Yurik slowly shook his head, returning the glance with one of his own. "That'll do Grumb...that'll do." *** Of course there were other problems to solve, plenty of them at that, but not every problem could be solved by telling someone to drive off into the woods and kill themselves (unfortunately). Now that the initial burst of enthusiasm spurred on by the prospect of looting as well as a rousing fire and brimstone sermon from Grimply was beginning to wear off, many of the milling scrunts seemed increasingly listless and aimless and probably several other lessesess besides. Yurik could hear desultory muttering about "Why'n we goina tunnels anyhow?" and "D'wanna leave" interspersed with increasingly cantankerous SLAMs and fecks. Normally it would be Gumbo's job to keep the assembled scrunts on task, but the sergeant was taking a well-earned nap after being shot repeatedly by bullets, and while Grimply's speech had galvanized a portion of their group, there were many more scrunts whose fear of the Scruntfather was overcome by their natural apathy. Clearly something needed to be done to get these scrunts on the road and give them a much-needed boost to their flagging spirits, and there was just one scrunt for the job. "Listen up, y'fackers!," Yurik shouted, tossing his arms outward and clouting a nearby scrunt on the side of the head with his thinkin' stick. "I'm hearin' a lot of talk about how you sallow-bellied sumpguzzlers maybe don't wanna go to the tunnels, izzat right? How you wanna stay here in some humie farm instead of down underground in some properly cramped, dingy, scrunty tunnels like the Scruntfather intended! Or maybe how you aren't even sure what it is we're doin' anymore! Well gather round an' listen sharp 'cuz I'll tell you what we're doin'...we're bein' fackin' scrunts is what! An' what's that mean I hear ya' askin'? Well now laddie, I'll tell ya' that too..." Fighters fought and medics healed and techscrunts teched, but a Loremaster had the lore. Yurik wasn't an exceptionally charismatic storyteller, but he was a very enthusiastic one in the manner of someone who loved to hear himself speak. He was also a very loud one for similar reasons, and someone who could spin a tale loudly and enthusiastically enough was someone who would never want for an audience. As scrunts gathered around him, blinking owlishly at the Loremaster as he gestured wildly with his thinkin' stick, he told them about Slim-Tooth Willy and Sklurg Sklurgsson, the wily scrunts who stole the humie Emperor's toilet handle and trapped him upon the Golden Throne. He told them of the Trash Heap What Was Even Bigger Than The Biggest Trash Heap You Ever Did See, It Was Huge, he told them the legend of Scrumpy Dan who replaced his own shins with wild sump-rats on a dare, and he told them the story of the how Gorm Lunkguzzler started the Great Underhive Beer Flood of M39 that killed millions in a single, malty night. And as he spun tale after highly inappropriate tale he could see it in their eyes as the stories took hold, filling their minds with the essence of what it meant to scrunt. The SLAMs and fecks grew louder and more enthusiastic, accompanied by random weapon discharges at especially exciting parts, and before long a growing sense of energy and purpose seemed to be welling up from within the scruntmob. "Now then!," Yurik called out to his excited audience. "What do we want!?" "SLAM SECTOR!" "An' when do we want it!?" "SLAM SECTOR!" "That's fackin' right!," he cackled. "Now grab up all the shite you can an' let's get to th'fackin tunnels already!" "SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR" *** Okay, for my skill challenge contribution I am going to inspire scrunts and boost scrunt morale by telling them the tales of our people, lifting their spirits and inspiring them to what passes for greatness. To accomplish this I'm utilizing Scholastic Lore (Legend) which seems an appropriate skill for a Loremaster to have, and the TN I'm rolling against is 43 +10 for Foresight. And goddamn are my dice on fire all of a sudden, as that's a 12. So that's 5 DoS on that roll [edit] +1 DoS for Infused Knowledge, so 6 DoS overall. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 03:30 on Oct 9, 2015 |
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Oct 8, 2015 09:30
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Gumbo Bulge, waking up is hard to do Gumbo wakes to something grabbing at his belt. Instinctively he windmills his arm wildly, striking Pirk in the face. A cigar pops out of his mouth and Gumbo snatches it from the air. "Whatcha doin lad??" he screams at his beleaguered comrade. He then reaches down to his belt and unclips his lighter. Pirk watches forlornly as he lights the cigar and takes a long drag. "I lies down for a nice pose-combat nap ta sleep off gettin thrown about by tha big metal fucker and ya star tryin to steal me trousers." He clambers to his feet and winces. "Oof. Everythin urts." He takes another longer drag. "Urts less now tho. Ahm rallyin! Thas the mark of a supar- soupyry- of a tuff fucker." He winks at Pirk, previous improprieties apparently forgotten. He looks about. Seems to be a lot of hustling and bustling, though to what purpose is unclear. He grabs a passing scrunt, one he recognises from the militia, clutching a box and gibbering excitedly. "Whas goin on lad? We movin ou?" The scrunt tries to hide the box behind him. Gumbo narrows his eyes further than their already unnaturally narrow "The tunnels, Sarge. Them uvvers they ses we gotta get gone from ere" Makes sense thinks Gumbo, but more importantly what is that what does he have I bet it's something good I want it I hope its a snack. "Whassat you av there private?" he prods. "Salverge as to be anded over ta yer commandin offisah, private! Thas in tha book. Tryin ta hide loot from tha proper authoritates is a kurt marshall offence." Gumbo isn't sure who Kurt Marshall is but he's certain he did something very bad once. Thoroughly intimidated and uncertain what a book is, the militiascrunt hands over the box. Gumbo takes it by the handle, the existence of which strikes him as odd. He turns it over, and there's a barrel too, or the end of one at least. Is this a pistol? he thinks It's loving huge! He giggles quietly. My hands are huge too. He giggles more, takes another drag from his cigar and continues. After a minute or so of this, he composes himself and slaps the scrunt on the back. "Good salvagin private, ya keep this up an yall make corpral as soon as Pirk gets killed." He pauses thoughtfully. "If 'es corpral. 'E probly is. Anywes, gets the res o the lads and start helpin wif the withdrawin. Show them civvies ow a military unit operates. An tell em to meet up wi me when we starts movin fer more orders. An if theres anythin else worth takin', anythin wif some bang, grab it fer the militia." Dismissing the militiascrunt with what he imagines a salute looks like he turns away and goes looking for Yurik, who he remembers having some maps. "Yurk! Ahve ad an idea fer a really long sanwich." Gumbo is wrangling the militia (FEL 43 +10 COMMAND) to help with the withdrawal, they will (hopefully) help wrangle the rest of the scrunts into order and act as rear guard once on the move. He is also pushing them to grab the krak missile launchers for the general armoury. Navigation - Surface (INT 36) will hopefully help with reaching the tunnels in the dark. Suggest all the navigators get together and discuss the route for maximum effect. He takes the bolt pistol and will learn to use it on the journey. 300xp on weapon training - bolt If possible he will also try to get healed by Murdelia on the journey Smoke iho every day. Phoon fucked around with this message at 19:15 on Oct 8, 2015 |
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Oct 8, 2015 18:56
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Bustle The Farm, Ruins Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddQpf8m4ij0 There are strange things done, in the midnight sun, by the scrunts who moil for loot. It's pitch dark by now, and the farm's only lit by rain-choked fires, and by small oases of unbroken electric lighting scattered here and there around the buildings. Other than that, the majority of the light comes from scrunts carrying burning bits of wood, both parties hissing in the downpour, or crude lanterns, or outsized flashlights. The scrunts are stressed, and scared, and tired, and cranky. Their world has been shaken by the invasion of their safe space; this is a sensation that most of them have felt before, because let's face it, no-one wants scrunts settling in somewhere nearby, and familiarity lends this affront greater sting. Tonight, the darker side of the scrunt personality is given free reign. Clouds of scrunts dash around the radiated truck, hooting, as Grumb plucks a technoscrunt from their midst. Wrapping a companionable arm around the smaller creature's throat, he gestures towards the driver's seat with a battered flask. The air above the mouthpiece appears to shimmer slightly, and stray drops make Grumb's clothing smoke gently, but the technoscrunt's gaze is transfixed by Grumb's leer and he doesn't notice. The robed scrunt trundles off to the east, and to his eventual demise, hopefully dragging a false trail of radioactivity with him. Definitely dragging a truck full of medical machinery behind him, as well, but the scrunts seem willing to sacrifice this in favour of a convincing deception. Or, they just forgot. Groin minces joyfully out of the camp to scrunt around in the dark, and blast jets of prometheum at things. Unlike the juddery stumbling of Grumb's flailing attempts at motion, the walker reacts under Groin's practiced touch like a ballet dancer - of course, if you've ever seen what happens when a scrunt touches a ballet dancer, you'll know what happens. Groin cuts loose as the Scruntinel sprints off into the forest, torching random trees, sawing through others, and trampling wildlife. Cackling and yeeing, Groin stamps back up the road towards the farm to discover a short, fat family of scrunts hurrying desperately away - apparently the stress has been too much for them, and they're taking their chances on their own. The operator cannot resist - he stamps up towards them, jetting flame and guffawing. Drawing one of the Scruntinel's legs back, he hops the last few metres towards the terrified group and jams the levers forward, punting the scruntlet several storeys into the air. The remainder of the family turns tail and flees back to the farm; there are, unsurprisingly, fewer escape attempts following this. Jekk grins through the pain; he's still quite badly wounded. Drekk and Widget give Groin a wide berth as he cackles and lunges for anything scruntshaped, and decide that following Yurik's suggestion to scout can only be good for their health. They sneak through undergrowth to find somewhere to examine their new loot, and also to casually kill things. It turns out scouting in the dead of night is a bit trickier than they make out in the holovids, especially in torrential rain, and in all honesty the scrunts haven't a loving clue where they're going. By a minor miracle they eventually make it back to the farm bedraggled and sodden, with no clear route in mind - their efforts haven't been fruitless, though. By scrunting around in the woods, they've managed to drive away (by smell or by axe) most of the game or birds that might otherwise be spooked by a vehicle convoy - their progress to the tunnel network will therefore be less visible to any pursuers. Mung hisses vaguely at the rain as he crouches in a shed, fiddling urgently with the looted microbeads. He gets them working in short order; some of his rats grab one and run off into a corner of the building, but it gives him a chance to test the rest of them. Squeaking in morse code is a surprisingly effective way to disguise communication, but the technoscrunt feels he should probably harden the comms channels a bit more. Eventually retrieving his beads, and noticing the fuel decoction has pretty much finished except for the big central tank just outside the workshop, he corrals a group of passing technoscrunts who are busily stripping down looted guns and jamming them together again to make useless piles of garbage. He speaks passionately and urgently about the "really feckin big boom" they could make of the farmhouse if they moved the tank over, but unfortunately the stresses of the past couple days means these particular scrunts are a bit more disturbed than usual. Their mental cogs aren't exactly meshing. They take Mung's great big tank of fuel, and rumours of Grumb's super secret drink, and put two and two together to make retard. Mung is left steaming with frustration as a stampede of scrunts barges towards the final fuel tank, attempting to drink it dry. Mung can set the initial fuel barrels himself, which will probably take care of the farmhouse, but for full-on explosive dismantling of the farm he's going to need a bit of help. Grimply continues the short person's trend of standing on tall things as often as possible. Mounting a limousine, and clearing his throat with a swig of this amazing drink that the technoscrunts have found (feck, but it's got a kick), the sniper attempts to convince nearby scrunts of the benefits of moving out of a sodden, destroyed farmstead into a safe, warm, not-infested tunnel. He cites the opportunities afforded by the underground lifestyle vis. avoiding death from great big metal monsters - right on cue, a flaming scruntling plummets to earth nearby as a harsh "YEEE" is heard from the east gate. Groin poses the scruntinel, illuminated by lightning and the jet of his flamethrower. It adds a surprising amount of weight to the sniper's words. Not to be outdone, Yurik hustles upstairs and pokes his head out of the ruined farmhouse's window, like a particularly vile Juliet. During gaps in Grimply's reasoned arguments, he leaps in and provides luridly detailed illustrative stories to emphasize points the sniper is trying to make. It doesn't really work most of the time, and the stories generally seem to have an ego-stroking theme of the clever smart scrunt coming along and somehow profiting from the situation, but crucially, the sniper and loremaster between them manage to settle into a routine that gets the crowd to maybe think that they, the listeners could be the smart scrunts, and that the tunnels are an opportunity not to be missed! Grug is enraptured by the tales woven by the scrunty orators; he spends his time happily guzzling fuel with his new buddies, arm wrapped around the shoulders of various deeply uncomfortable scrunts. In the morning, he will take up station in the pintle mount of the scruntmera, navigating a path to tunnels he has never visited; for now, he rests, and ingratiates himself with his new herd. Murdelia spends her time stitching up those who ask, and stitching down those who do not. Filling her pack with new stuff, and keeping back some of the more interestingly soiled bandages for use on her own wounds, she ponders how best to make and distribute a stimulant to keep these idiot scrunts on task. Dragging a crate over to act as workbench, and with Arnika holding both torch and tarpaulin to protect from the rain, the medic creates a tincture of Ghostfire and every-day Imperial own-brand Adderall that should hopefully allow the drivers to focus on the road. It's incredibly potent, and she doesn't want to overstimulate the scrunts (nothing worse than an overstimulated scrunt), so she yells directions at Arnika, as the assistant teeters on the rain-slick scaffolding around the fuel tank full of that really amazing new drink, that she should be careful and only pour in a few drops. Murdelia unfortunately times this with a roll of thunder, though - as Arnika turns her head to try to hear, the flask falls out of her hand and vanishes below the surface of the fuel with a faint plop. Presently, fights begin to break out among the drinking scrunts. Gumbo groans and stirs himself, although soon finds himself giggling at the antics of the scuffling scrunts. This is sufficiently unnerving that nearby militia members are willing to actually go and do something useful rather than hang around the tiny-eyed sergeant and his gigantic cigar. They perk up once they realise they're being asked to gather guns and harrass weaker scrunts, though; there is a hairy moment where a small bald scrunt shrieking CUMMANAVVAGOYEWFINKYORARDENUFF breaks a militiamember's nose, but a few bursts of automatic fire puts paid to that. -------- Mengele The Farm, Ruins Malbrathia-3 "S'like, y'know. Goo." Yurik and Murdelia exchange looks. The militiascrunt looks faintly uncomfortable, and having delivered his report, asks to be excused. The firelight isn't really reflecting at all off the leaden pool of metal, and the rainwater's pooling now, rather than flashing into steam. Both loremaster and medic are aware that the area they're standing in is pretty radioactive, but it's nothing a scrunt can't tolerate ten times before breakfast, and it's unlikely to make them easier to track unless they go splashing through nearby puddles. It's why both of them are standing on wooden packing crates that they bullied their comrades into placing nearby, watching small tendrils of metal wave on the surface of the metallic puddle in front of them. Yurik prods the surface of the metal with a wooden stick; it resists deformation, but eventually gives way under sustained pressure, flowing around the wood like water. It feels a bit grainy, gritty; it's not totally homogenous. In the interests of experimentation, he lashes a bit of scrap iron to the top of his stick and pokes the surface again; this time, the metal pool shimmers, ripples and flows towards the stick. The scrap iron is swiftly consumed. The loremaster pauses and strokes his chin contemplatively. It looks like yeeeeeeee AHH FECK Murdelia's just thrown a feckin' scrunt into the middle of the puddle! It's thrashing around on the end of its fishing pole! The screams and snuffling die down quickly; the metal puddle flows over the scrunt with even more alacrity than it did with the scrap iron, and it swiftly stifles any noise the unfortunate thing can make. Palpitations seem to happen in the scrunt-shaped mound of metal, until eventually the pool settles back to its previous flattened shape; the puddle looks a bit bigger, and its tiny tendrils are really thrashing now. What's pretty alarming is the fact that the part of the pool around where the unfortunate scrunt dropped his flashlight is way more active than the rest of it; was it something in the batteries that's set it off? Presently, small inorganic scrunty bits bubble out from the side of the puddle. With a start, both scrunts realise the puddle has been moving slowly for some time now. It's glacial, but inexorable; the puddle appears to be inching its way out towards the gate that Hardchest stormed in from. Most of the other scrunts are either fighting or bickering over Grimply's lies; no-one will miss the unfortunate test subject. -------- Escape The Road Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCnx6fx8Rss Some time later Harrowed by their farm experiences, leaving destruction behind them, the scrunt convoy speeds off into the night... --------- scrant grumb bullies the small. on the assumption that this use of intimidate is mostly coercion, rather than TELL ME WHERE THE BOMB IS, i'm going to give you a bonus based on techscrunt attitude (half of it - +10) and the "you're tougher than the scrunt you're menacing" (further +10), but no outnumbering (dude's surrounded by other friendlies, even if they're not involved) and no "obviously inferior" as it's kinda a general vs private type mismatch. it's also a good plan and involves sacrifice of material assets, so +20 there, for Strength +40 in all. total DoS of 8 is opposed by the scrunt's willpower, which comes out to 2 DoS (against all odds), for a final contribution of 6 DoS towards the group challenge. groin wanders around; i'll take this as an Operate test. patrolling is kind of a not-all-that-immediately-useful thing, but it does help corral the other scrunts and prevent them from fleeing the farm so i'll give you that. 35 vs your agility +10 = 2 DoS, +1 for Hotshot Pilot, = 3DoS in total towards the group challenge. jekk is still wounded as no medical attention has been sought drekk wanders off; this is a Survival test, and oddly enough it's p tricky to navigate at night. still it's quite a sensible idea so the bonus from that offsets the "can't see poo poo" penalty; 2DoS for the party total; 8 wounds healed, too, which takes him up to full. mung doesn't need to roll to rekey the microbeads, it's p much automatic if you know how they work (i.e. have tech use). he does need to roll to sort out the fuel, though, and you've not given me any indication on what you want to roll so i'm choosing Charm on the assumption that you're "rallying technoscrunts" and you want to use Peer and the full "scrunts like you" circumstance bonus, without the chance of reducing their liking for you. it's a target number of 43, as opposed to the 36 of Intimidate. naturally mung rolls a 95, giving a girthy, chunky 5DoF towards the party total. you may wish to consider fate points. autosanguine might kick in soon, except you're not wounded. grimply lies to scrunts. he does a Deceive roll, opposed by their Scrutiny. the scrunts are trained in scrutiny. the lies are to the General morass of scrunts (+10), and involve grimply's Peers (+10), and really it's a pretty reasonable idea to get people enthusiastic about the place you're going to (+10), for a target of 82. grimply gets 4DoS; the scrunts fail their roll by like 4DoF, but it's still a total of 4DoS towards the party total. the scruntometer has risen! the scrunts have bought grimply's lies. the general scrunts are now at +20  if the tunnels turn out to be horrible hellscapes, the scruntometer will dip and scrunts will like him less! yurik smashes a lore roll out of the park, with a further +10 for a cunning plan, although unfortunately can't use scrunt opinion or Peer to help his scholastic lore. still, 7DoS is not to be sniffed at. grug is the only one who's actually done something to help the convoy en route, and will be assisted by Gumbo. this therefore makes the party avoid a "let's go driving madly into the abyss" malus. scouting a route is a smart move and gets +20; +10 for Gumbo's assist; total of 5DoS. however, it means his actions take place later in narrative time, so for now he p much just scrunts. murdelia heals herself; uses ghostfire to stimulate the scrunts. this is actually the Chem Use aspect of Medicae, so that's Int +20, and +20 for it being a sacrifice of materials. it's +10 again for ancillary Chym skills, but -10 for no real tools, leaving a target of 78. that's 1DoF for the group total; the stim's taken hold, but it's a bit too strong. the scrunts will be reckless and prone to chanting WAR SCRUNTS and spraying themselves with shiny paint. gumbo bosses scrunts about; 43 fel + 10 (specialist) + 20 (scruntpinion) = 73, vs a roll of 48; 3DoS. he is very relaxed. yurik and murdelia check out the pool of goop. there's your description; let me know what you want to find out and do me some rolls if you want something less open to interpretation. so yeah a lot of DoS here from the PC scrunts but you're going up against quite a high Stupidity Score because people deprioritised scruntwrangling in the previous "loot vs pursuit vs shoot(ing your mouth off)" weigh-up.  let me know whether there's anything else you want to do re: farm stuff, whether anyone else wants to take a stab at mung's fuel-bomb, and what you want to do re: the Blob; the actual montage of piling into the vehicles and showing up near the tunnels will happen over the weekend probably, but in itself will not be a skill test or anything. e: ok so i added grimply's new bonus before doing his lying roll; fixed Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 09:50 on Oct 10, 2015 |
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Oct 9, 2015 22:54
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Yurik Scraglagger The Aftermath Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 "Holy feck!," Murdelia exclaimed as she and Yurik watched the test-scrunt's disturbing disappearance into the metallic puddle. Yurik was inclined to agree with her assessment. The metallic substance had ignored the wood he'd experimentally prodded it with but had consumed the scrap metal, and had even more aggressively consumed an entire scrunt. Most people would be too busy running and screaming to notice little details like the way the liquid metal reacted to the eaten scrunt's stablight, growing more agitated and active. Something to do with the batteries, perhaps? Some chemical or metal within them? Or was it reacting to the electricity being generated? The one question that had been thoroughly and definitively answered was "is this safe to touch," to which a resounding "fack no" could be given. The rest was as yet a mystery, such as how the Severans had managed to use the substance to turn a humie (or what was left of one anyway) into a bellowing stomping war-machine in the first place, given the stuff's apparent tendency to utterly consume anything living that came into contact with it. Perhaps the equipment in the truck that had brought the walker here would shed some more light on the subject... ...the truck that was currently being driven out into the woods on Grumb's orders. Right, never mind that then. Thus the things that Yurik knew about the liquid metal with any certainty were: 1). It was dangerous. 2). It ate. 3). It moved. That was enough to classify it as a living being as far as he was concerned. So some strange alien creature, then. Stroking his scraggly beard he went on a mental dumpster dive through the warrens of his mind, looking for anything on "liquid metal blobs that ate people and moved real slowly but didn't eat wood, but did eat metal, and maybe you can make people into stompy war-walkers with it too" that might have been deposited there along with everything else. It was an oddly specific rumination, but Yurik's brain was full of oddly specific (and highly classified) information, so it was worth a ponder. Still, there was something he could test in the meantime. The liquid metal clearly ate and seemed to respond to various substances in different ways. They'd tried wood, scrap metal, and a scrunt...but how would the substance react to something different? "Oi, Groin!," he shouted after the gleefully cackling driver as he put his newly acquired Sentinel through its paces. "Yee?" "Get on over here! I'm commendering ya' for important Loremasterin' matters of a scientifical nature! Y'see that great big burbly blob of metal what's makin' a break for it right there?" Groin gazed down at the patch on the ground Yurik was pointing to and nodded while his augmetic hand proceeded to pick nits out of his hair and deposit them in his beard. "If that shite gets out of line, I want ya' to get that contraption over here and burn the fack out of it 'til there ain't no fack left to burn, y'got it?" "Yeeeeeeeehaw!" "An' for fack's sake," Yurik added as Jekk slumped against the leg of the Sentinel. "Get yer hanger-on stitched back together, will ya'? He looks like six plates of hammered shite. Gonna put me off my dinner." With that Yurik rummaged around in the depths of his robe for a moment as he retrieved a fat silvery injector with the words EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG stenciled upon the surface...and tossed it gingerly into the middle of the liquid metal, preparing himself to run like hell at the slightest sign of danger. *** Yurik is going to do a bit more investigating on the liquid metal blob monster before we head out. First off I'm going to roll Forbidden Lore: Xenos because this seems like an alien creature of some sort. TN is 53 with Foresight, and I roll 36 for a grand total of 3 DoS (counting the +1 DoS from Infused Knowledge). That's probably not enough for a full infodump but hopefully it should illuminate something. Or not, who knows? Also he's going to toss one of his injectors of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG into it to see what happens, because Loremaster or no he's still a scrunt at the end of the day. Also I am bullying Groin to come over and, once either our scientific experiments provide no further answers OR the liquid metal gets uppity, introduce it to a dose of good old fashioned flaming promethium. Also I'm bullying him to get some first aid for his comrade, spend his XP, brush his teeth, and call his scruntmom. She worries about you.
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Oct 11, 2015 09:10
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Groin Sklunger The Farm? The Puddle Groin sits nearly entirely motionless while his Scruntinel stomps on the spot, like an excited child that needs to pee. Generally he dislikes being given tasks, or being asked to things that involve effort; but he does enjoy orders, they give him a sense of purpose in his otherwise aimless scruntence (scrunt existence). Especially orders that don't involve him going anywhere, or having too much responsibility. He grimaces and stares down the puddle. It 'bloops' back at him and a bubble pops. "Bloop!" responds Groin while farting back at the puddle. His robo-arm absently picks up the feverish Jekk and throws him off the Scruntinel, where he lands with a painful thud. Jekk looks back mournfully. "Git gud..." growls Groin. Jekk crawls off to get some medical attention. ___________ Guarding the puddle and advising Jekk to patch himself up. Groin is also paranoid about the puddle. He doesn't trust it!
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Oct 11, 2015 13:40
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Bathos The Farm, Ruins Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4Ifvo7uk4I Yurik ponders hard about the puddle in front of him, jaw slack and gaze middle-distant. Scraps of information flash to his mind's eye quick as thought, and are dismissed as unlikely or irrelevant. Eventually the scrunt's formidable memory pulls up a fragment of a charred, discarded codex that some servitor or adept had presumably accidentally transcribed to some data bank or another; the page is damaged, and it's not in the usual sort of flowery prose he's come to expect from Imperial communiques, and Yurik wonders where the hell it came from: quote:This subs...ce is capab.. ...epairing even the most grievous d....ge, given enough time, and .... not unknown for disabled Ne.... s..diers to ret... to a functioning state ..veral times over the course of a single e.......nt Ne? Needy? Necessary? Neddlesome? Figuring he has to start somewhere, Yurik conjures up a list of Imperial words sorted in alphabetical order in his memory garbageheap, and starts working down them. He's gotten down to Necromunda, and has a working hypothesis of this stuff being a kind of industrial-strength combat-hair-fixing tool when something clicks, and he considers Xenos worlds instead. And Xenos species. Neandor... Nekulli... Necron. This pool's bad news. Yurik knows very little about the Necrons other than what he can glean from a few classified battle debriefs and exterminatus reports; he has a sort of weird, synaesthetic blue itching somewhere to the left that makes him think some of his other document-memories are related, but they're written in what looks to be a dialect of High Gothic so arcane it may as well be code. From what he can figure, the Necrons are big metal skeletons with green guns who show up, kill everyone, then vanish. If they get shot, they vanish, or sometimes they get back up again. Apparently this living metal stuff is what lets them get up again - it tries to slowly fix itself. It doesn't appear to need an external energy source - and here Yurik boggles as almost-certainly heretical documents on zero-point energy sources and quantum vacuum spill into view - and it doesn't seem to need metal, but it certainly will take what it can get. Going by a report about a damaged Necron seizing first the gun and then the face of an investigating guardsman, it doesn't seem to like silicates (although maybe if they're particularly metal-rich), or most plant matter (it's theorised to be too energy-inefficient to bother with), which is probably why it's not eating through the road right now. In extremis, it will, however, take anything with a nervous system. Scrunts apparently qualify. Quite why it's hanging around here is a mystery - if these "Necrons" vanish once they die, why are some of their bits hanging around here? Jekk tugs faintly at Murdelia's arm, and is impatiently directed towards Arnika to get his wounds stapled up. Casting around for other things to chuck into the metal pool, Yurik settles on one of the weird gleaming ceramic ampoules labelled EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG. He gingerly tosses it into the centre of the pool; it is grabbed and rent in two by a couple of questing tendrils. The tiny metal fittings are swiftly absorbed, giving fractionally more life to the puddle. The oily liquid seeps into the surface, glistening as rainwater fails to mix with it, and eventually fades from view. Nothing really happens, until the puddle expels the discarded ampoules vaguely in the direction of the Scruntinel. The halves clatter around the driver's compartment, scaring the poo poo out of Groin and triggering his constantly-present paranoia; yeeing frantically, he grabs the flamethrower controls. ---- miniscrunt Infused Knowledge doesn't give bonus success to Forbidden Lore tests, and this is a -10 test due to basically being an instance of niche xenotech, so you scrape by with the bare minimum 1DoS It's Necron. It shouldn't be here. It likes metal and energy to fix itself. It doesn't need it, though. All it needs is matter. In repair mode, it'll take organic material and turn it into metal, presumably implying some sort of transmutation capability. Maybe it doesn't do this if it's convinced it's not in need of repair, or if it's getting enough external juice to use inorganics + wood? EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG has zero effect. Bear in mind you haven't tried this stuff on humans yet. Groin is set to torch the pool and neutralise it if not stopped. Jekk is back to full health, i.e. not Wounded
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Oct 11, 2015 16:51
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, The Puddle "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?!?!?!?!" queries Groin as his mechanical arm begins hysterically flailing around in panic. His bio-arm squeezes the flamer trigger instinctively, causing the Scruntinel to begin vomiting fire in the general direction of the evil puddle.  Nearby scrunts, including Jekk, Murdelia and Yurik beging rolling, diving and running for cover as flames not only engulf the puddle, but most of the surrounding area of the farm. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" yee's Groin, as he proceeds to manoeuvre the walker around and continues to belch flame randomly into the sky. "YEEeEEEeeEEeeeeee!" he continues. ______ Groin has roasted the puddle, and is spinning around going full auto with the flamer.
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Oct 11, 2015 20:53
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Proportionate Response The Farm, Ruins Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVMtWOhYzXQ Most scrunts are never in a position to really get to grips with the concept of "destruction". They live short, depressing lives, usually cut brutally short, and rarely have the upper hand over anything other than the concept of personal hygiene. Groin may be one of the rare scrunts with an ability to do more than smell strangely, but he still doesn't quite have headspace for the concept of necessary force. A scrunt confrontation tends to be an all-or-nothing affair. So, when he's startled by the crash and tinkle of the drug ampoule, he naturally goes apeshit. The first fifteen seconds are dedicated entirely to pumping as much flaming promethium as possible into the metal puddle; Murdelia and Yurik back off like scalded cats as puddles of rainwater flash into superheated steam, and a disgusting metallic chemical stench wafts from the vaporising xenotech. Even other civilian scrunts seem to lumber away with what passes for alacrity. Only Groin, wide-eyed and yeeing, is close enough to inhale any of the scalding fumes - scrunts are no stranger to pollution, but as the icy feeling creeps through his lungs Groin grasps the horrible truth! He's been poisoned! He hasn't, actually. What he's feeling is the effects of inhaling superheated steam that's impregnated with a concentrated dose of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG, but being psychotically paranoid and warped by drugs, he doesn't consider that possibility. Coarse, wiry white hair sprouts from the operator's skin and orifices as words fail the scrunt. The puddle's pretty much gone by this point, but the worrying thought flashes through his ape-mind that it's not gone, it's only hiding. The rudiments of tool use unfortunately remain with Groin, so yeeing and screeching, he begins hosing down likely hiding places. Civilian scrunts and party scrunts alike scramble to get out of his reach as he stamps up and down the farmstead, jetting flames at things. At least the rain's putting out some of the overspill, but no raincloud can contend with blazing promethium, and Groin's just managed to light a fire at the base of drugged fuel tank that packs of angry, brawling scrunts are surrounding. It doesn't look like there's much time at all before the whole thing goes up in smoke, and there's still a bunch of loot to be divvied up sitting out over there! ------ scront groin's pumping prometheum everywhere. he's also taken most of a dose of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG and will be a vile, paranoid gibbon under GM control for the next few minutes this counts as a dose for addiction purposes; groin can recover all current stat damage caused by EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG usage but will continue to take stat damage as days tick by groin has also taken two wounds from steam inhalation so yeah, the farm's ablaze. the big fuel tank has one minute until it explodes; it's positioned outside the workshop. it will not catch the scruntmera or the scruntauros in its blast, but it'll probably catch four limos and about forty scrunts, who are all drunk and angry from drinking the ghostfire fuel. it may also catch and destroy everything currently still in the loot pile from this recent engagement you can either do skills or use equipment to make the scrunts get away from the impending explosion, or you can grab items out of the loot pile to rescue them. one PC can carry one set of things. fireproof gear may be useful in buying more time. narratively, you can be positioned anywhere - yurik and murdelia have had time to reposition necron puddle is vaporised and no longer an issue. making an obvious target of yourself may draw attention from Groin; this might be useful in drawing him away, or it might result in you having to dodge heavy flamer bursts
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Oct 12, 2015 19:59
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Mungly Mung Rally at the drinking tank Mung groaned as he heaved the first barrel bomb into place in the farmhouse. He could of swore his underlings were right behind him filling the next barrel up. He spins on his heels to see the gaggle of techscrunts all crowding the fuel tank. Must be fightin' over who gets ta' set the next bomb he thinks to himself until he notices halfway back that all his helpers had flasks and mugs and were fighting over the spigot to drink. Mung shouts uselessly into the mob: "You useless bunch of dirty thieving fecks. Yer drinking all the good explodin' fuel an' not pouring me a glass! Billbob stop tryin to eat your shoes an' give me a glass" Mung elbows his way up to the fuel spigot and bangs a nearby techscrunt on the head with his utility mechandrite to steal his drinking pot. He fills up the pot and an extra hip flask for later drinking before getting his drink on. He tasted the familiar metallic tang of the fuel and the potent aftertaste reminiscent of equal parts paint thinner and septic runoff. His stomach already groaning and squealing with equal parts pleasure and distress, Mung is then mentally prepared to assesses the situation with the techscrunts. Upon closer inspection (coupled with the fact that he is now in the middle of it) it appears that this is not the social gathering he had hoped and it was more a riot than a drinking party. He addresses the crowd with what authority he can muster, 'Hey you packa idjits, we got poo poo ta' do ifn we want ta-"  -- The angry juice Mung was suddenly overcome by a wave of emotions: Anger, confusion, and lust and flatulence were emotions that most scrunts felt but few felt all of the above at the same time. He wanted to get to fight, he wanted to cry, he wanted to (and did, he noticed after the fact) piss himself, he wanted to start chewing on the tarmac around the farm, but most of all he wanted to drive, and he knew deep down that these squabbling pack of tweeking techscrunts wanted to as well. They just needed a motivator. They needed some fear to get them moving. Now that he was properly addled and amped up, Mung pulled his burny flamecaster out from beneath his robes and shot a spray of fire straight up into the air. He shouted at the top of his voice, "YE FACKIN PACK A GEARHEADS GOT THE ANGRY JUICE IN YAS JUS' LIKE THE SCRUNTFATHER INTENDED. THIS 'ERE FARM IS poo poo AN WE GOT BETTER PLACES TO BE. SO NOW I'M YELLIN AT YA TA GET YER ASSES IN THEM LIMOS AN WITNESS A SCRUNT CONVOY IN ACTION CUZ IF YA DONT YALL'RE GONNA BE THE NEXT ONES I BURN UP." Mung punctuates this by firing another gout of flame into the air and hears several of the twitching anxious techscrunts hooting 'SLAM' and 'WITNESS' as the nearby sentinel begins spouting flames seemingly in unison. Mung, now having completely forgotten about the fuel bomb he was working on or the nearby fires, elbows his way out of the scruntmob to lead them to the vehicles. As he crosses the tarmac, Mung spots Yurik cowering from the sentinel near the dreadnought wreck. Mung points at the smarty scrunt and shouts "NEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRD, GET'CHER rear end OVER HERE, YOU'RE RIDIN WIF ME." In the workshop, Mung's drug addled mind has a brief moment of clarity as a small voice of reason reminds him to grab the chain knives sitting on a nearby table. He throws the chain knives into the passenger seat of the tanker while some of the other twitchy techscrunts grab cans of spraypaint for road huffing. He turns the ignition on the tanker and pops it into gear to get on the road, leaving the ruins of the now-mildly-on-fire farmhouse behind him. -- Gonna get me some of that angry juice Murdelia whipped up and then do a trained intimidate check against the scruntmob to follow me to I'm securing the chain knives for future bayonets from the loot pile. I'll be driving the nuke/fuel truck in the convoy. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 18:17 on Oct 13, 2015 |
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Oct 13, 2015 18:07
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Drekk The Farm Ruins Malbrathia-3 GROIN!!!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6l6vqPUM_FE After going back and forth, between looting and scouting, Drekk decided to take a nap. He picked a spot in the scruntmera and laid down, before he dozed off, however... "DREKK!" Widget yelled out and tried to nudge him awake, "That scrunt in the big stompy walker is going mad!" "Jus' give me five more minutes..." Drekk muttered "Get the fack up! Groin is lightin' everythin' on fire! We have to save some loot! Widget retorted, because sleeping scrunts are pain in the rear end to wake up. "Oh that drat sonofabitch!" Drekk yelled as he rose up. "Widget, we gotta get the loot!" The two dodged spurts of flames and one angry scruntape on a fire-spewin' walker as they head to the loot pile. Thankfully, the items in the resource pool are safely stashed away. Nigel, Overseer of the Loot Pile looked on puzzledly as two scrunts sifted through the pile to save anything of worth, and Drekk hastily takes a scoped boltgun with a complementary clip of ammo. It looks killy, but neither Widget or Drekk know how to use it. Maybe there's a scrunt that can wield the gun without any problems. As Drekk and Widget head back to the scruntmera, Drekk tells Nigel Come with us if you want to live!" Nigel burps, and ambles along --- Saving the Adonai-Pattern Boltgun, the 30 bolts and Nigel. Once everything settles down, I'll either chuck the gun back to the loot pile or hand it to Gumbo since he has bolter training.
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Oct 13, 2015 19:23
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Grumb Slanger, the courtyard Grumb smiles as he watches the mayhem from afar, crackling flames glowing bright green through his retrofuture ganger shades. She really is a beaut, he thinks wistfully. Groups of scrunts scatter about the area, panicked and directionless - some stumbling drunkenly away from the grog barrel, others climbing out of holes and crevices, holding handfuls of worthless possessions and hissing excitedly. Grumb speaks over the rabble, trying to talk some sense into them. "Alright, now, fellas, we gon' come time whensome it's to make our gitaway." The scrunts continue their disorganized hubbub, ignorant of his attempts to engage them. Growing a mite miffed that no one seems to be responding, Grumb whistles into his two fingers, emitting a loud sputtering squeak. "Tal'bout- WEREN'T NO SUGGESTIMATION, ye little shits, now GITCHER ASSES'N GEAR! Ah say GIT!" He fires his autocannon into the air to punctuate his point, waving the crowd toward the limousine. -------------------------- Intimidate roll to get the layscunts in gear - Strength 41 + 10 for bullying scrunts weaker than me, + 20 scruntometer bonus = TN 71. I roll a 24. Grumb will join them in the limousine, manspreading to take up as much room as possible. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 17:56 on Oct 14, 2015 |
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Oct 14, 2015 17:48
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Yurik Scraglagger The Inferno Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 "Grooooiiiiiinnnnnn!!!," Yurik shouted as he dove for cover, the disappointingly inert metal puddle and much of the surrounding farm vanishing beneath a roaring deluge of burning promethium. "You mush-brained, malfor-AHHHHH!" Another gout of flames cut off his impending tirade as he scrambled backwards with a shriek. The Loremaster had already experienced the indescribable agony of being burned alive once already this evening, something that he was unfortunately never going to forget, and he had no desire to experience it again. "Run for it! Every scrunt for himself!" Experiment thoroughly abandoned, Yurik paused only long enough to snatch a bandoleer of grenades from the haphazard pile of salvage before running as fast as he could to join Mung, neither knowing or caring that the technoscrunt was currently ripped off his tits on drug-laced fuel, only that the promise of escape from the conflagration awaited him. *** Yurik is skedaddling and grabbing the bandolier of Iron Eater Grenades, he'll join Mung along the way. Here is a thing that may become relevant shortly, namely how Yurik's Foreboding power works. The tl;dr version is that it's like a psychic dodge, I get to use the test for Foreboding as a substitute for Evasion attempts, which is good for me because buying up Dodge or Parry would be real expensive but psychic poo poo is cheaper and easier for me to jack up. If I use it at Fettered (i.e. no chance of goofy psychic bullshit happening) then my effective Evasion rating is: Perception -10 (so 26) +10 for a psy focus (36) +5 for each level of Psy Rating being used (Psy Rating 3, divided by two rounded up for Fettered is 2, so +10) Giving me an effective Dodge of 46. I will note this in future combats to make schlong's life easier, but if you ever need Yurik to dodge something then this is currently his default rating. But for this particular scenario I'm going to take some of the limiters off and use it at its normal non-Fettered rate, so Yurik's Dodge is actually 51...but if he rolls doubles on his Evasion roll then it's Psychic Phenomena time.
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Oct 14, 2015 21:46
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Gumbo Bulge, why is everything on fire? 3/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate "Thanks doc." Gumbo turns away from Murdelia, prodding suspiciously at the smiley face sticker now adorning his arm. He surveys the general chaos, slowly coalescing into a loose convoy and nods, satisfied. And then the fire starts. Scrunts run screaming, squawking, honking and farting in every direction. Gumbo stares, uncomprehending. What could cause this? Who? He squints his tiny eyes. "GROOIINNN!!" There's no time for this, they need to be leaving, and preferably not on fire. He throws himself towards the endangered Scrunts, rolling unnecessarily through the dirt. "GET MOVIN YA LAZY FUCKERS!! CANT YA SEE THE PLACE IS BURNIN?" Gumbo tries to get healed. I can't remember how healing works but I rolled a 68 so its probably not very good. He tries to use command to help get the civilian Scrunts organised and out of the line of fire/explosions. Leadership 43, +10 Command E: I'm told this roll is worth 5 wounds!! So Gumbo ends this post with 8/14 Wounds Phoon fucked around with this message at 12:59 on Oct 18, 2015 |
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Oct 17, 2015 17:07
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Grimply, by the Scruntfire I'll do a charm roll to get the rowdy scrunts away from the soon exploding things with tales of the Slam Sector and how the fire is a sign from the Father that we should leave this cursed place for darker pastures Since I'm not trained that's at -20 I think, but since I'm also a scrunt that talks to scrunts that gets reduced by +10 by peer if I got this right 26 vs 32 (42-20+10) Also Grimply grabs any unclaimed doses of combat drug because SLAM needs to be saved and will mag-boot on top of the scruntmera turret once we roll out Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 23:48 on Oct 18, 2015 |
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Oct 18, 2015 23:44
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, The Inferno "AAaaHhhhHHHHHH!???" warns Groin as he strides around on the Scruntinel. ______ Groin is announcing his presence loudly before he reaches his targets. Possibly warning some civilian scrunts to flee before he gets to them.
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Oct 18, 2015 23:55
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Murdelia Skurvy Being scruntious "'oly feck, it's all goin' up too soon! The loot, the scruntlings, the cars! Feck you Groin!" Murdelia vows to give Groin a good kicking in the scruntapples one day. "Save th' drugs!" she scrumbles lustily, dodging the flaming debris and flaming scrunts littering the debris-and-scrunt littered dirt. Groin continued hooting and flaming as he stomped about. A pack of warscrunts are fighting each other, oblivious to the coming destruction, but Murdelia plows through them regardless. "War!" one shouts enthusiastically. "Bleaugh!" another ejaculates. She triumphantly grabs the sack of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG from a mewling scruntling and heads for the pool of vehicles. Now it would be her turn to drive! ... HONK HONK the limo crawls through the farm, bumping over unidentifiable shapes as she leans on the horn. Arnika kicks open the doors from inside. "Come wi' us if you wanna live!" Murdelia shouts between honks as she accelerates through a small knot of scrunts. _________ Saving the sack of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUGS and a limo to escape with. If other scrunts happen to attach themselves to it/climb aboard that's nice too.
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Oct 19, 2015 00:41
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Skellybones, Grimply already rescued the EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUGS. Edit: You would probably want the Narthecium or however the gently caress you spell it. It's directly relevant to you doing the healing thing DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 05:39 on Oct 19, 2015 |
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Oct 19, 2015 01:50
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Hey you're right Murdelia opens the expected bag of chemical capsules, only to find a complicated mechanical device covered in runes and fiddly bits. It resembles a heavy industrial tool yet retains a sort of medical-related feel. Not that she needs any encouragement to imagine industrial saws and drills as medical equipment.  __________ Murdelia grabs the Narthecium.
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Oct 19, 2015 10:05
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Friendly Fire The Farm, Ablaze Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOIG4hFRdi0 The scrunts had held together for nearly ten days, but eventually their inherent tendency to gently caress up, simmering below the surface for so long, erupted to the forefront. To the population at large, it looks as though Groin stamps around the farm, shrieking and gouting flame, for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than to be a tremendous dick. Not normally known for their foresight, some of the more adventuresome rabble begin to wonder just what it is about these particular large, aggressive scrunts that means they get to keep all the guns and the vehicles. Scrunts pause and gurn with rage at Groin as he passes the main fuel tank party, defiantly standing their ground as arcs of flame jet over their hoods; some of the fuel guzzlers haven't imbibed enough to really feel a buzz, though, and these ones waddle off as fast as their legs can carry them. Grumb has more success, as well as more experience with coercing smaller and weaker scrunts to do as he wishes; he blazes away slightly above the crowd's heads, roaring insistently in his borderline incomprehensible patois. The boom of his voice, as well as the crack of his autocannon, cuts straight through to the brawling masses' lizard brains. An unlucky scrunt off to the side is caught by a richochet, and his pained "awk" sets off a stampede. They swarm the nearby limos, carrying the gunner along for the ride and knocking Murdelia into a driver's seat. The fuel tank is swiftly abandoned, which is for the best as the flames are starting to lick around its rim - and there is no good context in which scrunts could ever be involved with such a phrase. Pinioned in the swarm of scrunts, and having marked himself as carrying massive anti-tank weaponry, Grumb has to hope Groin has bigger imaginary fish to fry... Gumbo was in the process of drawing breath when he was cut off by bellowing; noticing the rabble flowing into the limousines like rats fleeing a sinking dumpster, he takes the opportunity to purloin a couple of pairs of flak boots from on top of the heap of junk on which they were perched. He contents himself with shaking his fist at Groin and yelling, before turning tail. He's still in range of the Scruntinel, though... Yurik also howls at Groin, causing the paranoid gibbon-scrunt no end of distress. Circling round to get into the Scruntmera, Yurik remains in range of the Scruntinel... Shadows flit around the edges of small fires, grabbing valuables here and there and darting back into the night. Beset by loud noises and crackling sparks, Groin chatters and weeps with rage and fear before finally resolving to do something about it. Gumbo is unfortunate enough to be closest to the raging walker, and bears the brunt of its attack. Thankfully, the scruntherd has vanished into their limos, and Groin's telegraphing quite obviously where his jet of flame's heading - zigzagging towards the sergeant slowly, Gumbo finds it suspiciously easy to leap over the stream and roll off into the darkness. Behind him, Groin's bionic arm salutes boldly out of the side window. The hair recedes from Groin's body just as he starts to come around. The operator has just enough time to wonder why he's suddenly near the middle of the farm and why his fuel gauge is reading empty, before his vision whites out and he is deafened by the detonation of somewhere in the region of four hundred gallons of fuel-grade promethium less than thirty metres from where he stands.  The walls of the tank contain the majority of the explosion, as the flaming fuel is forced up and outwards like the projectile vomit of a drunken ifrit. The noise is deafening; the screech and hiss of tortured metal are many times greater than what Groin could produce himself. The blast hurls the Scruntinel up and off its feet, landing heavily on its back; disorientated and terrified, the operator fumbles his way towards getting it up and working again, bionic arm moving with a practiced efficiency even as his organic one flails around flicking all the switches it can find. The smouldering walker staggers to its feet and, slipping on the sodden tarmac, awkwardly minces off towards the retreating scrunt convoy; behind him, the flaming fuel reaches its apogee and, falling like soft rain, douses the farm and surrounding countryside. Even amidst a rainstorm, the scrunts have managed to burn the place to the ground. Quite what the Severans will think of the site, once they finally pluck up courage to scout it out again, is entirely up in the air. ------- DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:Some time later ------ scrynt scruntometer drops 5pts across the board due to friendly fire Groin intimidates scrunts into running; they score 5 on their opposed willpower roll so he gets a lot fewer DoS than could be expected from a giant metal flaming scruntinel; 1DoS total, which should scare off SB x scrunts, but i'll give a little bonus due to big metal feet. that's five scrunts out of the blast radius Grumb also intimidates scrunts into running; no scruntometer bonus for straight-up threats, it's a disposition chart for fellowship tests. instead, he gets +30 for the autocannon at extremely close range, dialled down to a total of +20 due to being outnumbered by drugged, angry scrunts. target number is therefore 61, meaning a roll of 24 is 4DoS. the scrunt mob opposes this with a magnificent 93, giving about 8DoF for, uh, 12 degrees of success overall. welp. that's 12 x SB scrunts affected, which is 36, which basically means this skill challenge ends here! the scrunts bridle at this maltreatment and the General mood goes down another 5pts gumbo now has no reason to interact with scruntmob; he loots the boots grimply now has no reason to interact with scruntmob; he loots the remaining rifle other scrunts grab the items they had earmarked. anyone who yelled at Groin or otherwise made a loud noise are potential targets for the flamer; this is basically Gumbo, Grumb, and Yurik. you're all going different directions so you're not clumped together; rolling randomly, Groin attacks Gumbo, who dodges out of the way with a roll of 12. by a ludicrous set of luck, you got out of this without a scratch  well i mean rules as written you don't, because quote:Promethium explosives inflict 2d10 E Damage for every kilogram used in their construction and have a blast radius of four times their weight in kilograms. meaning you have all taken 2618d10E damage in a blast radius of five kilometres, but that's retarded groin takes another two damage in general burning fuel/air admixtures; the scruntinel takes eight damage to its hull due to scorching and falling, and is covered in soot. all scrunts have hit the road. update tomorrow with what they find at the tunnel site
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Oct 19, 2015 21:21
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Insurgency The Tunnel Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFl7fxovBl0 Pointing the scrunts in the right direction was the easy part. Keeping their attention on the road as they flew through the pouring rain in the middle of the night, that was kinda tricky. Spotting sudden fallen trees and unexpected fords, that was hard but Grug managed to pull through. Grimply, clamped to the top of the Scruntmera with water trickling down into his sequin-studded stealth suit and new goggles glued to his narrow face, keeps an eye out for any large animals that might be squatting on the road. He generally has enough time to encourage the technoscrunt driver to steer into them. Easy. The real difficulty was getting the drugged-up technoscrunts who were in control of most of the convoy to actually stop, or at least slow down occasionally. It's less than a hundred klicks to the tunnel site, but the scrunts have managed to make it take the best part of ten hours at an average speed of about 60mph, thanks to detours, skids, missed turnings, impromptu races, etc. Murdelia, still slightly tiddly on ghostfire-fuel, has to perform a series of rain-slicked midnight death-defying leaps from limo to limo to APC that she'll probably have flashbacks to for the rest of her life. However, she's able to staple bits of spare tarpaulin over the worst of Grumb and Gumbo's wounds. The scrunts seem to be back to their baseline; they're mostly scar tissue and diseases anyway, so "back to health" is a bit of a misnomer. Despite no-one doing any real planning, the scruntherd manages to wend their way back to where they lost the pursuing tanks several days ago. Civilian scrunts who haven't been this way before gaze incuriously out of the windows of limousines; those crammed in the tanker compartment occupy their time by festering gently. Mung and Yurik wheel the lumbering nuke-carrier to and fro at what is nominally the tail end of the convoy, bickering vaguely as their cargo of scrunts flies from side to side. Gumbo and Drekk lounge in the Scruntmera's passenger compartment as a one-eyed technoscrunt with a deathwish guns the APC through the night at the head of the convoy; Grug pokes his head out of the turret, heedless of the rain, as Grimply stands maglocked behind him. Groin scouts the rear, stamping shamefacedly and scratching at remaining clumps of white hair. Limousines stretch the length of the road, and occasionally strike off in their own direction and hit dead ends or bogs, citing shortcuts or bordeom. The Tauros barrels past the convoy at a terrifying speed, occasionally firing grenades into the distance with a distinctive ploom. It's too fast to catch and no-one on it has a radio, so the scrunts will just have to wait until the drivers get bored. Eventually, the convoy find their way back to the tunnel site. Miraculously, during the journey there's only been the normal scrunt attrition, for the usual reasons; just enough in the way of corpses to get the stewpots going and prevent the scruntherd from getting fractious. No vehicles have been lost, either.  The scrunts have quandaries. The plan is to get into this tunnel network and eventually consider using it as a base, but what if they can't get the vehicles inside? It's no use as a hiding place if there's a huge APC parked right outside, camo netting or no - is it worth clearing out the tunnels of anything dangerous first, and then moving the vehicles in? Or is that just potentially pointless danger, and it'd be better to find a bigger ingress elsewhere? And what to do about the scruntherd in general while the comp- more competent scrunts check out the tunnels? The debacle at the farm's indicated that they're a massive liability in the event of any combat, and likely to get themselves killed - and if they get themselves killed, there's no-one to do all the fetching and carrying and cooking and brewing and stuff. If they're left behind, though, can they be trusted not to set stuff on fire and generally give away their position to the increasingly hostile Severans? And what happens if they're left behind with the vehicles? With the nuke? Maybe it'd be worth camping out for a day or so, scouting the land and patching up the damaged vehicles, but there's no real supplies here other than what can be cannibalised from limousines and the general loot pile. Also the scruntherd might get pretty pissed - they've been promised nice dank tunnels, not rain and trees. Plus what with the recent stresses of combat, anyone who's taken any EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG would probably feel even worse after a rest. The scrunts fall to bickering, as usual. ----- scrjnt no operate tests for driving at night; it's narrative movement, i have no interest in roleplaying out "the tank is stuck in the mud!!" because really it doesn't add much, and so this folds into the party-wide Scrunt Stupidity Test. basically for each major military asset (scruntmera, tauros) you left in the hands of drugged-up scrunts you idiots, you add to the total Scrunt Stupidity so, extended care for Gumbo and Grumb, as the only injured scrunts who have expressed interest in healing: Gumbo: roll of 53 vs target of (40int + 20 medicae + 20 medkit + 10 foresight) = 90 for 4DoS, or 8 wounds healed, doubled to 16 Grumb: roll of 40 vs target of (40int + 20 medicae + 20 medkit + 10 foresight) = 90 for 6DoS, or 10 wounds healed, doubled to 20 you know what i think we'd better just ignore extended care entirely and stick with "one first aid wound-recovery roll every 24hrs". 20 wounds healing for a midrange roll is a little excessive. total party DoS for the Stupidity Test is as follows: Grumb : 6DoS Groin: 3DoS Drekk: 2DoS Mung: 5DoF Grimply: 4DoS Yurik: 7DoS Grug: 5DoS Murdelia: 1DoF Gumbo: 3DoS for a total of 25 DoS versus Scrunt Stupidity: baseline: 5 party wrangling priority: (9 x 2) - (2 [yurik] + 2 [grimply] + 3 [other scrunts with wrangling not as a primary concern) = 11 chimera in scrunt hands: 1 tauros in scrunt hands; 1 general flaming chaos: 5 for a total of 23 meaning a minimal success!! no casualties, no losses, but no bonus loot either; missed it by 3DoS current issues: 1) do you go into the tunnels on foot right here, or try to find a place to at least stash the vehicles? 2) what're you doing with the scrunts? are you taking the militia, leaving the militia? are you taking everyone? 3) do you camp out first, or go straight for it? tauros clip is now down 6 grenades; the casings remain in the magazine Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 20:52 on Oct 21, 2015 |
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Oct 21, 2015 16:56
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Drekk The Convoy by The Tunnel Malbrathia-3 Finally the scrunts have arrived at the promised tunnels, where the scrunts can scrunt their scruntiest without fear of prying human eyes. But the convoy stopped, what's holding them up? Drekk and Widget unbuckle their seats and climb out the Chimera. The scrunts don't have quite the faintest idea of what to do. Maybe he should try getting a scouting party together so they can least somewhat know what's in the tunnel. While asking around for volunteers, he should find someone who can use that bolter. --- Quick and dirty scrunt, Drekk is going to ask around for volunteers for a scouting party.
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Oct 25, 2015 15:13
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Yurik Scraglagger The Tunnel Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 "...and I say we needed to turn left back at the bendy bit in the road!," Yurik shouted as he tumbled from the cab of the tanker, possibly due to a thoroughly exasperated Mung having had enough of the Loremaster's backseat driving after ten drug-fueled hours navigating winding roads through the dark and rain. Yurik landed with a squelch in the mud, shaking his gnarled fist and spitting curses as he stood up and shook his robes out, then glanced up and noticed with some satisfaction that they had finally arrived at the entrance to the underground tunnel network they'd chanced upon earlier. "Y'see?," he said, adjusting his thinkin' cap with one hand. "I told ya' I knew how to get us here." So situated, Yurik proceeded to do what he was best at...ordering others around while avoiding any actual work himself. "All right, you lot! Let's get our rides outta the wet an' outta sight! You! And you!," he shouted, jabbing his stick randomly at various knots of scrunts as they boiled forth from limousines and armored transports. "We need some camouflage! Go get some mud an' green shite an' whatever else you can round up and slap'em all over the vehicles! The outsides only!" Now get crackin'! *** Yurik is ordering the scrunts to move the vehicles somewhere out of the rain, whether it's under the overpass or other convenient overhangs, as well as slathering them with a scrunty layer of improvised camouflage. He will, of course, be joining the other PC scrunts in the scouting party as well.
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Oct 27, 2015 01:43
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Mungly Mung The Cave Entrance The truck drive while uneventful could only be described as a clusterfuck to anyone on the inside of the cab. Yurik spent most of the ride bickering at Mung, meanwhile Mung, still manic from the drugged fuel was too busy shouting past Yurik about hare-brained technobabble and angry ranting at engine gremlins and the cursed walker that turns anyone seated in it into a raging jackhole. By the time the truck rolled to a stop the worst of the drugs were starting to ease up, so Mung counteracted this by drinking an extra hip flask of the stuff he nicked before leaving the farm. Hopped back up on angry sauce, Mung is first in line to volunteer to scout and get to a fight. He orders his rats to stay at the nuke truck and keep any civilian scrunts away by harrassing any trespassers
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Oct 28, 2015 04:31
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Failure to Launch The Tunnel Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqWtUVfn14s The scrunts emerge, gurning in the dim, overcast light, and stretch their legs. Many of them are hungover; several dozen are still clutching nasty burns from the last few hectic minutes on the farm. Some amble vaguely from car to car, looking for children or interesting garbage that they have momentarily mislaid. Others thrash around in the mud, or aimlessly peer at things. Like cows through a holed fence, more scrunts follow the pioneers, and eventually all of the civilians stand pointlessly in the blattering rain, not feeling particularly happy and not getting a great deal done. Some of the more enterprising attempt to get fires going, but haven't yet figured out that the rain makes this difficult. Drekk perches on the edge of the Chimera in the lee of the underpass, clutching a bolter and looking around sheepishly. He's keen to get moving and into the tunnels, if only because all this non-stagnant water is kind of freaking him out, but has yet to make a move on actually approaching the other party scrunts about this. Grumb picks at his stitching in the back of his commandeered limo, swigging from a spare jar of brake fluid; what he thought was a minibar was actually a repair kit, but whatever's in the bottle has got a good burn to it. Such is its effect that he doesn't actually realise the limo's stopped; Murdelia remains in the driver's seat, scowling out at the rain and fiddling with her new Narthecium, attempting to unclog the chain motor. Groin has spent a miserable waterlogged night in the open-topped Scruntinel, plagued by waking flashbacks of swinging through trees in a great alien jungle, and now hunches the machine under the bridge, shivering and yeeing faintly. By contrast, Gumbo has had a great time in the body of the APC, cheerfully burbling marching songs and giggling before drifting off into a doze. He's pretty hungry now, though, and pops the hatch to see what's going on. Grimply has climbed up the tallest thing he can find (namely - the bridge), but can't make out anything of any particular interest in either direction. The rain doesn't bother him in his skintight suit, although it does make him squeak awkwardly when he walks. Grug appears to be enjoying himself outdoors, studying animal spoor and finding dry bits under trees, but not many other scrunts share his enthusiasm. The militia, surly and damp, lurk under charred branches and blast away at the few large animals that they see. The Scruntauros, resolutely unclaimed by any except thrilled technoscrunts, idles gently on its electric motors on top of the bridge. Mung vibrates angrily, stalking to and fro around the nuke truck. With blasts of static he orders his rats to maintain a perimeter around the vehicle, although it's questionable how effective they'd be at stopping a particularly dedicated or oblivious scrunt. Only Yurik appears to have anything vaguely resembling a plan, and he blithely harrasses a few groups of scrunts until they start bringing the limos out of the rain. They seem pathetically grateful to have someone else do the thinking for them, and a good three dozen of them start to help out. Quite how useful they'll be if anything difficult needs doing is another matter. The vehicles slide precariously towards shade and concealment as the party scrunts consider what to do next. They don't want to bring any dead weight into the tunnels in case the stupid shits get in the way of a necessary retreat; but then, they don't feel too comfortable with leaving all these idiot scrunts out with all these vehicles. They do want to get into these tunnels and find a safe place to stash all these idiot scrunts - they do come in handy sometimes - but they need some way of preventing potential disaster while they're gone. A brief exploratory foray with Murdelia's limousine proves that no, they can't bring their wheels into the slamite tunnels under this valley, and that a dented bumper can kind of be a fashion accessory, which leaves plan B - leave particularly trusted scrunts behind to ward off any idiocy. And maybe temporarily disconnect the weapons from the turrets. The maintenance tunnel under the overpass is still there - still dank, dark and scrunty. The slamite tunnel leading off it into the bowels of this hill formation is also still there - still pitch black, potentially hostile, but potentially leading somewhere valuable. All that's needed is for the expedition to begin. ---- scrbnt very little happens. stop being awful and paralysed and confused and just post something. Yurik does a command. It's kinda uncertain in the books how many people you can influence; i think i'm keeping it as your fellowship bonus per DoS on Charm, Intimidate, Deceive, and your fellowship bonus x 10 on Command. i'm getting this from the talent description that says anyone with Air of Authority can do FB x 100 on command rather than x10. anyway the scrunts want something to do and to get out of the rain so it's +30. about forty willing scrunts are helping, which is about equivalent to two unwilling humans. let me assure you that it does not matter exactly where each vehicle is. they'll be out of sight and mudsmeared in a couple hours. someone post where you want the civvie scrunts to go (it sounds like you have agreed "pack them into the maintenance tunnel") and that you're keeping your comrades behind to wrangle the herd. you all also seem on board with tunnelsnaking so i'm happy with just one person going "and then they were in the tunnels" before we get onto the Heart of Darkness. post any more preparations that i have missed and what you're holding. you have two hands. it's dark, you probably want torches. you can each have flashlights (longer range) or glowglobes (360 coverage), it's up to you.
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Oct 28, 2015 22:25
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Groin Sklunger The Tunnels, The Entrance Groin continues to shiver a-top the scruntinel for a few minutes, before gently rolling off the side and landing with a 'thump!' in the mud. Through pitiful 'yees' he slowly begins to dig a small scrunthole (scrunt foxhole) in the mud, large enough to fit himself and nothing else. He rocks side to side a little in the hole, wheezing faintly; his robo-eye sparks intermittently. Jekk peeks sheepishly over the scrunthole. "Ye alright????" he asks worriedly. "....neeeee" responds Groin quietly. "...look after tha walkybot. Don let the lil ones touch it... Gonna git.... gone" Groin mumbles. Groin worms out of the hole and then starts oddly barrel rolling in the direction of the tunnels. ______ Groin has left Jekk to guard the Scruntinel and is feverishly trying to escape the outside world.
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Oct 29, 2015 01:30
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Yurik Scraglagger The Tunnels Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 And then they were in the tunnels. "Fack it's dark in here," Yurik muttered to himself as he rummaged through his pack for a glowglobe, powering up the inconveniently shaped illumination device and banishing the surrounding darkness. He held his trusty thinkin' stick at the ready with his other hand, and across his chest lay a hastily resized bandolier of grenades. When he'd emerged into the wan daylight and noticed that the grenades he'd managed to salvage from the now-exploded farm bore the telltale starburst mark of yet more Iron Eater grenades he'd spent several minutes locked in an unpleasantly sweaty series of flashbacks to his agonizing "death" by concentrated acid, but once he'd stopped hyperventilating he quickly decided that no other scrunt could be trusted with such a thing and so had elected to hang onto them himself. Speaking of which, the other scrunts were presumably taking a moment to wind down in the adjoining maintenance tunnel out of the rain where they'd left them. Various other scrunts had been tasked to keep an eye on them and discourage them from, for example, causing any earth-shattering explosions while they were away...Yurik had left Hack behind to keep an eye on things as well, his assistant rasping and retching in acknowledgement before skittering off in search of weaker scrunts to bully. But now it fell to him (and some of the others, he supposed) to scout out the tunnel network they'd barely investigated the last time they were here. Though rich with slamite and festooned with the occasional illusionary corpse, the remainder of the tunnels was an as-yet unplumbed mystery, and if they didn't return with word of some place suitable to house several hundred hung-over, bedraggled, and ornery scrunts then it was entirely possible that not even his abundant knowledge and boundless leadership capabilities would be able to prevent the discontentment from being violently evicted from their erstwhile home from blossoming into an ugly, foul-smelling riot. And so the scrunts pressed on, into the unknown. *** And into the tunnels we go. Yurik's got a glowglobe in one hand, stick in the other, and is using his naturally absorbent sense of perfect recall to chart a map of the tunnels in his head as we go.
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Oct 29, 2015 05:42
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Grumb Slanger, the tunnel Grumb trundles along behind his sergeant, squinting into the darkness as he flicks Clive's safety off and on nervously. As they march deeper into the tunnel, Grumb retrieves a flashlight from his backpack and ties it to the end of his autocannon with the only length of rope he has available - his belt. Grumb isn't afraid of the dark, but since the encounter with the Jeebstealer he'd been uncharacteristically squeamish underground. He couldn't help but picture them just inches beyond the slamite walls, ready to burrow out at any moment. He shudders. Sgt Gumbo's ears perk up as his microbead crackles to life. Barry Sczemanski-Slanger's voice emerges from the static, stammering slightly but with an air of pride. "Hay b-boss, we's all jussabout piled on innatha tunn'ls yet. W-w-wetcha wannus t'do nex?" "Roger that, Barry, you 'ang tight an' keep'n eye on our six," Gumbo calls back. "Any o' those civillains get uppity, you smack some sense inna dem. Over." The scouting party proceeds at a prudent, tactical pace deeper into the tunnels. Grumb minces antsily along, eager to get this over with and secure the perimeter. -------------------------------------- Grumb has left his microbead with Barry for the time being so we can communicate with the companions and scrunt populace. Grumb is holding his autocannon with both hands, and marching near the front of the line (close to Sgt. Gumbo). He has used his belt to tie his flashlight to his autocannon, so Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 20:11 on Nov 15, 2015 |
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Oct 29, 2015 06:33
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Drekk The Tunnels Malbrathia-3 Before departing for the tunnel, Drekk tells his friend/brains of the duo/drinking buddy Widget one thing: "Widget, I needs ya to make sure none 'o the other scrunts cause a ruckus!" He isn't exactly the strongest or the meanest scrunt, but Widget is cunning, and he can likely manipulate the dumb scrunts. The tunnels were dark, damp, and dank. It's a paradise for scrunts. Drekk takes out his Photovisor goggles to see better in the dark. He carefully scans the environment with night vision, fiddling with buttons and toggles on the goggles to make the lenses zoom in and out. He stands near the front of the formation, ready to take on (almost) any challengers. With his other hand, he tightly grips his sword. There might be all sorts of nasty critters in the tunnels... --- Drekk is at the front of the formation, he is holding the Photovisor goggles in his off hand. Widget is left behind to help keep the civilian scrunts in check. Kaiju Cage Match fucked around with this message at 01:11 on Oct 30, 2015 |
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Oct 30, 2015 01:08
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Into Black The Tunnels Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4fsb2VwtT0 The scrunts splash uneasily down the service tunnel leading to the breached slamite vein  They're happy to be back underground, and it's a nice enough place to hang out, but they're still totally unsure as to what they'll find here. There's also a vague sense of dismay at leaving the vehicles in the hands of the scrunt rabble; most of the ignition start-up devices are secreted away in various feculent pouches, and Groin's got the Scruntinel keys ducttaped to his robotic arm and plastered with mud as camouflage, but no security plan is idiotproof to sufficiently talented idiots. Hopefully there's at least twenty vaguely trustworthy scrunts back at camp - the militia, and the party scrunt's companions, are swaggering around topside, swollen with spurious authority - but it's unclear how much use they'll be if anything serious happens. Approaching the blast door set in the rock, Grumb's muscles bulge as he and Murdelia, the strongest scrunts in the group, wrench the bulkhead door open as the other scrunts cover them. Fanged, furred, horrendous beasts immediately do not rush out of the door; the questing beams of flashlights only pick up the faint mica-like twinkle of slamite on the walls and roof, and faint smears of mud and grime on the ground, like any other cave the scrunts care to name. Stepping into the slamite tunnel proper, the scrunts with night vision goggles get an idea of the scale involved.  It's probably about fifteen yards in diameter, with no end in immediate sight - admittedly, it's pitch dark, and the goggles are only good for about half a kilometer, but it looks like the tunnel curves up into the heart of the nearby hills in one direction, and down towards the lowlands in the other. This bit looks like it could easily accommodate the scrunt horde, although they'd have to build their own shanty town and probably get some generators going to provide lighting. It would be foolish to set up shop without at least checking for anything to loot before the main scrunt horde gets here, so after a bit of bickering and discussion the party decide, torches and weapons in hand, to trudge up and into the roots of hills. ---- Some minutes later The air's stale, faintly musky, and still; the floor's cold and stony, although the slope's apparently enough to prevent the mud from sticking; and it's still totally pitch black. Really though, it's the monotony that's getting to the scrunts. Hungover, hungry, or generally irritable through lack of sleep, each of them can think of many things they'd rather be doing other than trudging up through a featureless tunnel in the - hey, hang on, the tunnel's curving off and levelling out up ahead. ----- More minutes later Well, those are certainly corpses. The musky smell is a bit stronger now, probably because of the two horrifying wolf-creature corpses decaying faintly on the floor of the tunnel. Weirdly, there's also a third corpse nearby, but that just looks like a regular, emaciated wolf analogue. It's a bit rabbitty, as are many Malbrathian creatures. It's not immediately apparent what's special about this one and why it's not showing up as horrific. Tracks criss-cross the muddy-once-more floor of the tunnel. There's also a partially-eaten, deactivated, destroyed servitor slumped in a heap by the left-hand wall. The bits of it that remain are covered in wounds, green foam noticeable at their edges, glistening in the torchlight; one of its arms appears to have had its metal attachment wrenched off, but there's no sign of it. Shell casings crunch underfoot, indicating that it may have once been wired into some sort of gun. Depending on how long it's been dead, its organic memory may no longer be viable. The tunnel appears to have changed formation; it curves round again, and again, before resuming its initial course into the heart of the hills. About a hundred yards on from this bend, it splits into a morass of smaller passages through the slamite substrate, from which faint noises of movement can be heard. For many scrunts it's kind of hard to hear, though, because those with commbeads are being assailed by Barry's static-filled attempts at getting his bead working. "Boss we uh, we got some of the scrunts wanting to go off hunting summat to kill, some of the militia fellas fancy going too? And those techs have started fiddling with the big wheely fast car thing with the 'nade launcher on it, and some of the scrunts got squashed by a tree and they're making loads of noise, and some o' the others wanna go back to the farm" It's been about fifteen minutes and the unsupervised scrunts have already started loving up. ----- scrpnt there is nothing interesting in the downlands direction; later examination will determine that the tunnel curves down and eventually breaches an aquifer about a mile down the tunnel, providing the fresh water and slime needed for a healthy scrunt. but i wasn't planning on having you guys living here because that's a bit dull, so you've gone in the interesting direction. i hope you do not mind me streamlining this. it is pitch dark. you are likely to be eaten by a grue. glowglobes provide 15m radius light centred on your character; torches provide 45m light in a 45-degree arc centred on your facing. i know this is kinda short range compared to irl ones but frankly it's not going to be an issue. anything that comes down a straight tunnel towards you is basically in for the firing squad treatment regardless of what range you detect it at. vague map of tunnel below. scale is a bit off but w/e. the squiggly tunnels are not literally what you're coming up to, you've not investigated that far yet.  you're still in commbead range of the rest of the scrunts but if you want to do stuff to 'em you're going through your comrade. you can do actions for them as if they're your PC, although obviously the available stats, skills, and talents will be different. also you won't get any more detail out of the corpses + environment around you without skill use. so use some skills before you go properly round that corner to investigate those noises, it could be handy. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 15:42 on Oct 31, 2015 |
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Oct 31, 2015 15:39
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Yurik Scraglagger The Tunnels Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 It was a tense few moments as the light from various illumination devices fell upon the trio of hunched, furry forms lying up ahead until closer inspection revealed them to be thoroughly dead and not merely asleep or laying a cunning ambush. Yurik cautiously scuttled forward, frowning and peering at the vaguely lapine corpses. Two of them appeared to be as offputting as the one they'd discovered during their earlier foray, which had upon more thorough inspection shown to be the result of some innate ability to make itself look differently disgusting to different observers, but the third one seemed like an ordinary corpse, if a bit on the scrawny side. The broken body of what appeared to be some sort of servitor also lay nearby, its cybernetic body riddled with oozing bite marks. Perhaps it had killed the wolf-creatures and the rest of their...pack? Clutch?...had killed it in turn. Of course the tunnels would have to be full of dangerous wildlife (the servitor was admittedly unexpected) but for now nothing was leaping out of the darkness to savage them and so, whacking the side of his head with his hand a few times to silence the cacophony pouring in through the microbead nestled in his ear, he took advantage of the opportunity to wander even closer and begin poking and prodding at the corpses with his thinkin' stick, putting all of his prodigious intellectual talents to use as he pondered one of the great questions of this, or any other, time...what the hell is up with this thing anyway? *** Yurik is going to investigate the corpses for answers related to A). their cause of death and B). whatever other weirdness they happen to hold. I'm going to use Scholastic Lore: Beasts this time and I will take a good 10 minutes or so to put Foresight to good use, giving me an overall TN of 53. And of course I roll an 88 which is both three degrees of failure and leads me to believe that Orokos may have secret fascistic leanings. We're going to end the campaign not knowing anything about these loving things beyond the fact that they're kind of gross. Investigating the servitor seems more like a job for Mung and so I'll leave it to him. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 09:30 on Nov 3, 2015 |
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Nov 3, 2015 07:48
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| # ? May 16, 2024 15:30 |
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Mungly Mung Phonescrunt , using good quality auger array to detect radiation, warp corruption, EM signals, the works. Good quality let's me auto reroll a failed test and it can't be overloaded. Will also do scholastic lore (admech) to try and identify the propose of the servitor and any identifying markers on it.
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Nov 3, 2015 18:42
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