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Surb The Base Malbrathia-3 As additional scrunts limp, trundle, skulk, and sidle into the growing scrumt around the intercom console, the questions pile up and Surb makes a game attempt to address each in turn. "Numerous subjects of inquiry were pursued at this facility, but I can only speak to my own assignment," the augmented humanoid responds to Yurik's first query. "And for my own assignment, I can divulge that I have been systematically assaying homotropic allosteric regulation of enzymes as regulated by some of the unique cyclic protein kinases found among the indiginous lifeforms of Malbrathia-3. However," Surb frowns, and a six-jointed thin metal arm reaches around to prod Surb's forehead repeatedly with a blunt metal probe for emphasis, "I am prevented from discussing the details further with anyone lacking appropriate opsec keyword clearance. As much as such measures are ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY as though I were not FAR BETTER QUALIFIED THAN SOME IGNORANT BUREAUCRATIC OFFICER to determine what is or is not a matter of Imperial secrecy, I have been implanted with a cognitive restrictor." Surb's eyebrows - or rather, the mottled, transluscent patches of skin over his pronounced skull ridges where a normal human might still have eyebrow hair - rise when Yurik lists the strangenesses the scrunts have encountered recently. "There are many liquid metals but I do not know to which you refer. I believe you may be referencing the unusual minerals found in the area but geology is outside my realm of expertise, although with full system access restored I could doubtless perform some basic queries. But this disease you speak of, can you tell me more? Please, would you happen to have collected any... samples?" Groin's greeting is acknowledged with a polite nod, his scruntly horrible smile not phasing the figure on the screen in any visible way, but Surb's eyes follow the blood-smeared canteen as Groin waves it about. Murdelia's makeshift field hospital activity is obscured from Surb's view by the scrumt at the communication kiosk. Down Jacket Fetish rolled some dice; Yurik finds Surb's explanation of his research, and his excuse for not giving more details, to be completely plausible. Groin gets the impression Surb might want some of his blood. Leperflesh fucked around with this message at 22:29 on Feb 22, 2016 |
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Feb 22, 2016 22:26
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the long version is that Yurik has heard of Volitor implants before, using whatever common or scholastic lores you care to choose. they're basically brainlocks - you try and force someone with one equipped to talk, and they lose higher functions until you stop. the technobabble - Infused Knowledge again - sounds scientifically legit, and 100-scrutinys-agree legit as well for Drekk's first aid - 1DoS on murdelia's Intelligence + Medicae +20 (20) + medkit (20) - Heavily Damaged (10). this removes five wounds, the last one will probably heal up after scene change
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Feb 22, 2016 22:51
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Grumb Slanger, growing suspicious Grumb lags behind the other scrunts, having taken to the big empty scorched room. He mutters as he paces about in it, measuring the size and shape of the room with his favorite autocannon. "...Door dem be one clive, Five clives this way, by five plus doublefive clives this way... Carry the betsy..." The room is taking a new shape in his head, with the clutter and detritus replaced by the clean, fume-emitting lines of a freshly painted gridiron. "Yep'm," he says to no one in particular, "Dangol, this mus' be th'place tal'bout right hurr." He smiles to himself, proud to be carrying out a tradition like some kind of culture or something. Only then does he notice that the other scrunts have moved along to the other chamber, and are now engaged in conversation with a walking talking pile of ventilation tubing. "Ay," he mutters as he meanders his way over to the makeshift triage area where his friends Drekk and Murdelia sit. "Who this shipheap is?" he asks, nodding his head toward Surb. "Grumb, thissa fella says he name is Surb. Heeza 'perial servitor, 'e says." Drekk mutters back to him, gritting his teeth as Murdelia's needle makes its way through his skin. "Nahh, nah that dunna seem right." Grumb shakes his head, squinting at Serb as the creaky gears in his head start to shift. "I seen one-a these guys 'afore, I 'as for sure!" He begins to walk forward, elbowing his way into Surb's view. "'Assa Texypriest, innit?" He catches Surb's eye with his own, now addressing him directly. "Aintcha?" He brings the autocannon to his shoulder, grinning a big toothy grin at the Techpriest. "So whas' the big idear, then? Try'na pull one over on dangol' scrunnykins, are we?" --------------------------------- Grumb is attempting an Intimidate roll to scare Surb into giving up more information. He is clearly hiding something. Target number is his Strength of 41. I roll a 32. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 00:01 on Feb 23, 2016 |
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Feb 22, 2016 23:47
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Groin Sklunger BLOOD FOR THE GROIN Groin slithers out of the scrumt, muttering "Mechaman wants me blood... mechman wants me blood...". He secrets the canteen away on his person, and secretes a quiet fart. Groin ignores the matters of the important scrunts and their robot man.... for now; he worms his way over to the medical area, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by a marching, purposeful Grumb. He pushes in front of Drekk and coughs to get Murdelia's attention. "ehhhhh, need a something ta store this in..." he mutters, pointing to the rapidly drying blood coating his body. His beady eye drifts over to Drekk. "Whatchu lookin at kid?..." he growls. _____ Groin wants to decanter the blood on him into some sort of flask or vial. He is paranoid Drekk wants his blood.
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Feb 23, 2016 00:20
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 11/12 Fate Points: 0/2 "I don't want yer blood!" Drekk yells at Groin, in the hopes of easing his paranoid mind. But seconds later, he thoughtfully strokes his chin. "Want some beer?" he asked, pulling a lukewarm bottle out of his backpack. --- Gonna try and give Groin a bottle of beer in the hopes of calming him down.
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Feb 23, 2016 13:25
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Gumbo Bulge, 14/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate Gumbo strolls back into the room, zipping up the fly on his poorly altered imperial slacks with some difficulty. He passes Groin and Drekk and pauses. He fishes out some cigars, tosses one to Drekk and jams another in Groin's gibbering mouth. "Ere ya go lads. Beer fer me, eh Drekk?" He continues on, pushing toward the monitor. His eyes narrow at the man-thing on the screen. "Lissen ere, Ahm Sergean' Gumbo. Rankin officer a this ere outfit. Corpral Grumb ere is righ'. Y'ain a servanter, yer a Pries'. I seen plenty of em in the service." As he speaks, he rubs a small scar on his chin. "Use ta whip battries at us. Now, ye've already lied ta us, so tell me." As he speaks Gumbo hands out a few more cigars, then lights one and puffs on it for a dramatically appropriate amount of time. "Why should we believe anythin' ya tellin us?" Gumbo aids Grumb's attempt at intimidation with some dramatic flair Phoon fucked around with this message at 19:37 on Feb 23, 2016 |
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Feb 23, 2016 19:35
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Groin Sklunger Baseic Bitch Groin considers the beer offer, but before he can respond he feels a sudden crusty thick object being thrust into his mouth by Gumbo. He greedily gobbles up the cigar reflexively and licks his lips with satisfaction. He turns back to Drekk and eyes the beer bottle. "...yee!" he yelps, and quickly snatches the bottle using his arm mounted grappling claw; narrowly ripping off Drekk's hand in the process. Groin opens the bottle, turns it upside down and gleefully empties the contents onto the tarp below him. He then begins to attempt to squeeze and rub any of the remaining blood on him into the bottle. ________ Groin is making a mess.
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Feb 23, 2016 20:00
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Surb the Techpriest The Base Malbrathia-3 As the accusations become more pointed, the techpriest's multifarious attachments wave in gentle unison, and Surb's eyes close as he seems to be bowing to his own monitor. "Be calm, Sergeant Gumbo, Corporal Grumb, Scrunt Drekk, additional scrunts. Please! Understand, when first you appeared I had to consider you might be loyal to the Severan faction. I estimated Severans at least 18% more likely to cooperate in my release if they believed I was merely a servitor... useful, but unimportant... than if they knew I am an Imperial Techpriest. I know, now, that you are not Severans, and therefore happily such subterfuge is unnecessary. Yet I profess surprise as well, Sergeant Gumbo: your, ah, colleague, there, the scrunt with the interesting metal cranial augmentation? He asserted you were unaligned, and yet two of you are officers. Imperial officers? In which service? Perhaps the Astra Militarum? You see... neither of us was entirely forthcoming at first, yes? It is prudent to withhold such details until we can confirm that we have a common cause, perhaps?" Surb hesitates for a moment, squinting at what may perhaps be a very small screen on his end of the telecast conversation. "My position is precarious, as you have amply demonstrated. Without your assistance clearing the outer security door so the airlock can operate, I will die, trapped within this laboratory. I have exhausted every other potential means of escape. Should you agree to release me, I am obviously within your power... I have no weapons, I am not a warrior, but moreover I have no desire to escape. I would much rather reach an... arrangement? My research... I could remain here, in this facility, perhaps I can provide you with assistance? I am very useful! The Omnissiah's blessings I can bestow upon whatever devices and machines you might have. Perhaps I can help in other ways? A mutual agreement, you can bring to me samples, food, water, I conduct my research unencumbered by, ah, human officers and their bumbling. Yes?" Surb's mechanical extremities somehow convey an attitude of contrition, waving gently behind his shoulders and head. His thin lips reveal even more of his skeletal teeth, and a scrunt familiar with human expression might almost think he was trying to smile.
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Feb 23, 2016 20:39
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Grug he's maturing... like a cheese. Think Stinking Bishop As soon as the scrunts arrived in the facility, Grug shunned contact and began sorting piles of detritus, picking out anything useful, mostly anything remotely soft enough to be eaten; in familiar surroundings he reverted to Underhive survival behavior. It didn't last long - all the while he was talking to himself, switching between a quiet, happy voice and little more than monosyllabic grunts, all punctuated by various snorts, sneezes and sprays of thick spittle from his blubbery lips, "we should go talk to that techpriest, all the others are talking to him!", he wipes his forearm across his nose, pushing around the snot and dirt, "meh, might be somefin," with every 's' sound there's a considerable spray of spittle, "in ere." He replies to himself, "I think he knows where we can find another doggy!" He bolts upright and smiles, showing every one of his tiny teeth set in fat gums, and waddles back to the fray, trying to shout over the other scrunts, in his annoying nasal, high pitched voice, "'scuse me mister techpriest, why are those lovely doggies so angry and have you seen any more around!" the 's' sounds produce more spit spray than usual, "I'll do ANYTHING to be friends with one," unfortunately he smiles again...
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Feb 23, 2016 22:42
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Grumb Slanger, lost in thought "Holy poo poo," Grumb thinks. "I'm a corporal?"
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Feb 25, 2016 06:40
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Yurik Scraglagger Some Other Base Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 "Feh," Yurik harumphed. "Just 'cuz some fackin' longshanks with skulls stapled to his arse shoved me in a box an' tossed me off a spaceship, that don't make me part of some Astral Militaryum, ya' cybergenic scumdurgler! I know the only time humies every cozy up to scrunts is when they want somethin'...'go over here, go over there, go bother someone else, yer givin' me radiation poisoning, stop eatin' my baby,' do this, do that...an' now they think they can just up an' take the fackin' SLAM SECTOR from us by droppin' us all off on this shitehole of a planet with its dograbbits and ground full o' trees while they scarper off and steal it for themselves! Hah! Yer Astrological Millipedes wouldn't know how to slam a sector if ya' spotted'em a keg an' a hogtied grox!" "ALSO I KNEW YOU WERE A TECHPRIEST ALL ALONG, WHO SAYS I DIDN'T!?," he suddenly shouted, apropos of nothing. With a supreme force of will Yurik managed to calm himself slightly, taking a deep wheezy breath and phlegmily clearing his throat before continuing. "Anyway, so maybe your Assgrabbin' Militiamen think we're on they're side, so long as they don't start tryin' to take what's ours they can keep on thinkin' they're in charge. Hmm, but it sounds like mebbe you ain't so keen on humies yerself anymore, ain't that right mister 'I'm totally not a servitor?' That's what trustin' humies'll get ya'," he said, nodding sagely and stroking his scraggly beard. "Locked in an underground base, starvin' to death. So yeah, I think mebbe we can work ourselves out a deal." Yurik plainly had no love for humies (or for anyone else, for that matter), but the prospect of a...call it a research partner, someone who could understand him, was admittedly an exciting one. Murdelia and Mung were knowledgeable enough scrunts in their own way, very nearly tolerable in fact, but their areas of expertise were narrowly focused while this Surb seemed like someone he could confer with on more esoteric mysteries. So long as he understood who was really in charge, of Yurik would have to ruthlessly and utterly crush him. But that went without saying. "All right, now let's see about gettin' you outta there. An' then, well, you want samples? We can get you any kinda sample you want...s'long as it's dead," he chuckled. As he scuttled off to poke, prod, and antagonize the other scrunts into action he subtly pulled Mung aside, murmuring uncomfortably in the technoscrunt's ear. "That techpriest, he's got somethin' in his head called a voluminator implant," he said. "Some kinda brainlock guardin' who knows what. If we wanna find out what the humies were up to down here we need to find the right passcodes afore we can ask'im or else his brain'll kersplode. Mebbe there's somethin' like that on one of the cogitators down here if you can get any of'em workin' again. When you get around to it is all, but if you find anythin' that looks important, you'll let me know about it aye?"
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Feb 25, 2016 09:45
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Mungly Mung The Base Mung nods to Yurik and whispers back "I was finkin that I don't trust the techyman as far as I can throw him. I was jus' ponderin jacking him full'a the experimental combat drugs for science and for a laugh, but that plan works too." The gear in Mung's brain continues to grind, occasionally sparking and causing the techscrunt to twitch. He reaches into his robes and pulls out his karaoke machine / Signal Jammer and passes it over to the brainscrunt, adding "If'n yall let him out a'fore I get back, turn this on and follow him around. Hopefully it'd keep him from phoning 'is buddies. I got it set ta play the songs of our people, so jus follow him around with it, it'll keep him right encouraged. Gimme yer multikey here, 'case I gotta break security on something." He noticed Murdellia setting up a triage station and promptly ignored her. Last time he went to her for medical advice she had him eat boiled metal because she thought Mung needed more iron in his diet. Fool Mung once, shame on you, fool Mung twice, also shame on you. Mung never really understood the concept of personal fault in any of his actions. He breaks off from the group and goes looking for any cogitator engines he can break into for delicious delicious secrets.
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Feb 25, 2016 16:37
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there aren't any cogitator engines. yet.DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:the scrunts find a base. you basically crept in through the fire escape. desperate times means the railroad express is still yet to pull into station and the base is almost entirely off-limits to you; you can either let the techpriest out and, with his help, remove the base from lockdown, or you can narratively kill him, take his codes, and remove the base from lockdown. after doing either of these things, the base will be yours to explore, improve and adapt as befits your agenda. there will be vehicular surface access so you can summon the scrunts that way - you just don't have it yet. e: well, there's one in Surb's room. he just can't do dick base-wise with it until the vivisection lab is taken out of "sealed airlock" mode, which would entail moving the blocking girders Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 23:24 on Feb 25, 2016 |
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Feb 25, 2016 19:53
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Murdelia Skurvy Scrunt Hole Murdelia frowns at Groin, because that is her default expression. She lays down a groundsheet, sets down an old helmet upside down on it, and surprises Groin by grabbing him in a monstrous scrunt-hug that lifts him off the ground and holds him over the makeshift bucket. And then she squeezes the mechano-scrunt. A good deal of fresh cave-blood trickles free from his filthy clothes, while other more poorly-defined fluids also burst free from various folds, crevices and nodules, intermingling with the rest in an intriguingly-patterned slurry.  "Anythin' else?" she grunts after setting him down. Skellybones fucked around with this message at 12:57 on Feb 26, 2016 |
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Feb 26, 2016 10:28
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Surb the Techpriest The Base Malbrathia-3 To Grug's inquiries, Surb seems mostly puzzled; "Doggies?" he replies, as his attachments shrug mechanically, but then Yurik evidently clears up the issue adequately. "Dograbbits! What an excellent colloquial term. You refer to the Malbrathian Lapomorphs, no doubt: large, aggressive, pseudomammalian omnivores. We had several in containment here for study, but due to AGGRESSIVE INCOMPETENCE DURING THE EVACUATION they escaped, and have proved quite vexing! I utilized the limited communications available to me from within this laboratory to attempt to summon the assistance of nearby servitors - true servitors, I assure you - but I believe those few that responded were likely disabled by the, ah, 'Dograbbits.'" Surb leans closer to the camera, giving the scrunts an unfortunate close-up view of his transluscent skin stretched over the bones of his emaciated face, laced with veins of various unhaelthy-looking colors. "I suppose you entered the compound through the tunnels? Unfortunate! I do hope no one was killed." He - it really does seem like Surb is probably male, now the scrunts have had a closer scruntiny of the techpriest's face - leans back again, glancing away from the monitor at something nearby for a moment. "As for the matter of the Astra Militarum. Fascinating. You were abandoned here? Intentionally? How uncharacteristically... creative! Dropping scrunts behind enemy lines, left to their own devices. Well. It seems, as you say, scrunt; we have both been abandoned, but perhaps it is a boon: we are all now free to pursue our own interests, yes? Well. You are free." One of Surb's appendages taps him on the chest, pointedly. "I am still trapped. A deal is struck? Only clear away the debris preventing the outer doors from sealing! I will activate the mechanism when you are finished. Only a few minutes work, no? Not so difficult. Once I am free, well, samples, samples, very welcome, dead or alive, alive is better but dead is acceptable, of course. Samples of the Dograbbits, certainly of use, certainly." To discern Surb's sincerity or lack thereof, those at the console should roll a Scrutiny check. DJF will supply individualized results.
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Feb 27, 2016 01:32
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Corporal Grumb Slanger, feeling unusually generous Grumb is not used to people 'leveling with him'. Accusations of shenanigans are serious business between scrunts, and one scrunt pointing out another's lie had always resulted in furious screeching arguments and amateurish knifeplay. So when this queen-of-mars-looking motherfucker just came right out and owned up to his deception, Grumb was struck with an uncharacteristic twinge of empathy. "Dangol, maybe we's dem help-shouldin' this tubeman affer all," he stage-mutters to the group. "T'aint like he no threat'n t'us, affer all... Though I mussay, I dun' much like bein' deceevered by a texypriest. Right scurr'lous?"
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Feb 27, 2016 15:13
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Grug TANTRUM Grug argrees with his new best friend who he's known all his life, 'Grumb old pal, you make some good points but if mister metal doesn't tell me where to get a new doggie I'll,' his voice raises in volume and pitch, 'get UPSET'.
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Feb 27, 2016 23:36
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 11/12 Fate Points: 0/2 Feeling better, Drekk got up and walked over to the scrunts huddled in front of the screen. "Yeah let's 'elp, him. He seems like an honest guyservitor." He says as he stretched his arms. "Gumbo, Grumb, gimme hand, will ya!?" --- Drekk is offering to remove the beams and would appreciate if Grumb and Gumbo would help!
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Feb 27, 2016 23:53
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Leperflesh posted:To discern Surb's sincerity or lack thereof, those at the console should roll a Scrutiny check. DJF will supply individualized results. I double-checked to make sure I have this and I do! At a base skill of 36, no less. Let's see if I can discern anything from Surb's statements re: truthfulness or lack thereof. 91 Seems legit.
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Feb 28, 2016 21:47
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conglaturation this, of course, simply means that you don't see anything amiss, not necessarily that you've missed a crucial clue
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Feb 28, 2016 21:53
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i, too, have Scruntiny http://orokos.com/roll/378175: 1d100 66
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Feb 28, 2016 22:00
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amazingly, a pass with a single DoS - because he's telegraphing pretty hard and it's a +30 test. you're pretty sure he's sincere in his offer, which makes sense given that now that you're apparently looking to set up shop in the base, you are literally the only things standing between him and death by starvation
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Feb 28, 2016 22:29
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Grug r smart Never one to go against the crowd, Grug joins in with the other scrunts clearing debris. His face forms a little frown and the idiot grin recedes just a little, 'k Surb, Grug *sniiiiif* help, yoo seem nice and *burp* gooooooood'.
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Feb 28, 2016 22:45
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Grimply, Dazed and confused Wounds: 3 Fate: 1/2 A lot of Grimply's experiences can be summed up to be confusing to say the least. Such is the fate of a high functioning schizophrenic, but of course Grimply would never really understand this. Even if you explained it very slowly and carefully. The transformation from mantis mutant back to regular scrunt mutant is painful and certainly traumatic for the afflicted, but luckily Grimply's main psyche wasn't there for most of it. It was trapped in a foggy corner of his mind, while his other personalities had all the fun. Or the trouble. Depends on how you look at it, really. The mantis wasn't a part of Grimply though. It came from outside and took control, and now it is gone again. Some of the more extreme aspects of his mind will miss the feral entity, but Grimply doesn't know that it was there in the first place. For now, at least. Grimply is thrust back into reality, as a battered and bleeding scrunt, surrounded by corpses and blood smeared walls. Not an unusual situation for a scrunt as such, but the previous events left a big gaping hole in Grimply's mind and he can hardly be described as coherent. He's basically sitting on the floor, clutches his wound, and mutters "Fack" and "Slam" over and over. Yurik notices the sorry state of Grimply, and decides to lead him on until he gets back to his senses. Whatever that may mean in Grimply's case. "Thare, thare. I's gonna be allright, lad." "Yee?" "Yee." An unspecified amount of time later! Grimply finds himself sitting on a pile of crates, in what appears to be a large and techy looking room. How did he get here? And for that matter, what the hell happened in the first place? He scratches his head(a common gesture for people that want to remember things), and a sharp flash of pain from his side rocks through him. Okay, slow down now. Let's go over this one by one. He was in the cave with the other scrunts. Then they found some doggies that turned out to be weird and shiny and the Father hated them. Yes! They were enemies of the Father! So he...he used his holy SLAM juice to destroy them! And seeing how he and all the other scrunts are here now, he must have done great work! Shame that he can't remember any of it, but it sure must have been a great display of the Father's might. The other scrunts surely want to thank him for being so good and scrunty, but they probably couldn't since it seems like he passed out. Probably from all the powerful and holy stuff he was doing. Well, Grimply isn't an unreasonable scrunt, so the rest of the group can thank him now that he's awake. He shambles forward, aimed at the group of scrunts that seem to be arguing with some tech stuff. Nothing weird to Grimply, but that pain in his side still bothers him. Well, the Father does not give help for free, and pain is a appropriate price. When Grimply reaches the group, ready to be showered in praise and adoration, his eyes catch what the techy screen in front of the other scrunts is displaying. A humie. Teched up but still....a humie!! "Yer drat stinkin' 'umie!! I'll eat yer bones!!!" Okay so I assume that Grimply got some first aid at some point so my wounds should be fixed right? Also he's throwing a tantrum because you are negotiating with a drat humie. But I'm not trying to gently caress you over because I missed so many posts. It's just fluff Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 22:31 on Feb 29, 2016 |
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Feb 29, 2016 18:32
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Mungly Mung The Base Mung makes it as far as the unpowered doors before he realizes he won't be able to slink off to dig around in the computer lab. Frustrated and looking for someone to blame other han himself, he stomps back over to Yurik, swipes his signal jammer back and yammers back to the slightly puzzled scrunt "Oi yer a daft jerk trickin me like that. Wev gotta get the power turned back on afore we kin do anything 'bout anything." The techscrunt sighs and turns to the wreckage barricading the techpriest into his cell. "I guess wev gotta dig em out. Give me a hand with the scraps, an' lay em out over there in order of least to most awesome. We need a lascutter. Oi Groin get over here and facetorch this poo poo."
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Feb 29, 2016 19:38
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Drop The Base Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0JVNSoBtQwk Grease. Brawn. Tools. Sometimes, all three can be found in one convenient, frothing, psychotic package - Groin is seized by the other scrunts, and his eyebeam is manipulated into producing its cutting torch effect through judicious pumps of his cybernetic arm as he shrieks and babbles. The most tenacious parts of the snarl of girders and piping are cut away, and the rest are heaved away with only minimal snarling, grunting, and lacerations. Surb watches proceedings with a growing suspense, becoming more visibly agitated as the minutes tick by and the scrunts bicker, squabble and get closer and closer to not failing. Eventually the blockage is cleared, and the restraining chunks of metal that the scrunts wisely forced into the door jamb are removed. The door slams shut with a resounding clang, and the hiss of pressurisation is heard. By this point Surb is no longer visible on the monitor - a few seconds later, the primary airlock disengages, and the techpriest is freed! He bursts from the airlock with a terrifying binary screech!  Towering over the scrunts, he dives forward, mechandrites flailing, and lunges for- no, wait, in his eagerness to get out of the airlock, he's just tripped while praising the Omnissiah. Once heartrates have returned to normal, Surb makes his way back down the corridor towards the central shaft. Abasing himself before the cogitator there with the two-handed, three-fingered salute of the Kontrallatd'let, the Techpriest begins interfacing with the bases' systems with almost worrying urgency. In fairness, he's been trapped in a tiny chamber for an unspecified number of weeks, with only a datacaster signal to spit binary code at passing servitors in the hope that one might listen. He's been trapped in meatspace for - subjectively - a very long time. It is analogous in urgency to a man kept on starvation rations suddenly being presented with a Rogue Trader's negotiation-feast, or a scrunt presented with an open bar. The Techpriest is practically salivating. Once the lockdown is rescinded and power restored, basic diagnostics don't take too long. The central elevator is brought back into some form of life, although it's currently really struggling under the weight of the tons of rubble currently weighing it down and can only just about manage the additional weight of the party. The emergency demolitions system which failed so spectacularly is swiftly taken offline, and the remote triggers deactivated so as not to tempt fate. There's probably a considerable amount of explosives buried in the rock around the base, but it would take a brave scrunt - and specialist equipment - to dig it all out. Surb brings up a high-level plan of the base interior and projects it onto a nearby bulkhead for the scrunts to gawp at. A more detailed map of each level springs up as he skitters mechanical fingers over a projected holoboard, inbuilt haptics providing feedback as lasers track his movements.  Medical facilities - looted. Manufactoriums - looted. Laboratories - looted. Vehicle bays - looted. Still, the basic infrastructure remains, and there's at least space and power. Each level's layout branches off differently, but particularly exciting is the maintenance and fabrication wing:  That rectangle bit looks like an exit! And exits mean surface access! --- The scrunts appear to have found themselves a home. They may have found themselves an ally. And they've definitely found themselves an armoury. Presumably the next step is to somehow get in touch with the scruntherd, get the place smartened up a little, have a bit of an explore, and decide what to do next. Maybe there's still some dogs kicking around these labs, but if they've not managed to escape they're unlikely to be much of a threat to a gang of motivated, hardened scrunts. The knowledge that they may have found themselves a place to call their own fills the scrunts with pride. They did this. They fought off the slavering hordes of friendly dogs, and found- conquered this facility. It's a weight off their smudged, smeared souls, and it fills them with motivation. --- scrunt so i lied when i said there were no computers nearby - there's that one i mentioned by the main funicular shaft, you just couldn't do poo poo with it and i didn't want to imply you could. Surb can, though, because he has the base reactivation codes. you could have dug them out of his braaaaain and typed with his fingers, but chose not to. which is fine! probably. democharges sunk in the rock will be a one-off purchase you can make once you have a tech tree. i'm not gonna map out the base per se; you'll just know what facilities you have. so please describe things like rickety gantries or massive rockcrete firing ranges, it's all fine. there's surface access. you can get in and out through a concealed entrance on the lowest level - this spits you out into the base of a valley. use survival tests to establish where you are. you've got a bunch more scrunts waiting on you, as well as your comrades. you could theoretically go back through the tunnels, if you're not afraid of spooky ghosts, or you could try and comm-bead 'em. tech-use tests to boost signal enough to contact 'em, after which you have the unenviable task of . or you could do something else. once your scrunts are centralised (ooerr) then we gets to basebuilding and figuring out what to do next. you also get your loot and new kit then. 500XP for combat, roleplay, and chapter completion. you should now be on 2700XP. all wounds/FP are refreshed by the time you need 'em next.
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Feb 29, 2016 22:57
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Mungly Mung Mung scratches at his junk as he waited for the techpriest to finish activating the base. This was already taking too long and he wanted to get into the base to lick his claims. Mung was ecstatic as the power returned to the facility and he got a good look at what they were dealing with. When he seen the word Armory show up on the pict-screen he poo poo himself in glee. "Oi lads, it says it's got an arm-ry in it. I'm gotta take a look at what we got fer guns." --- Wandering off to the armory to take stock in our new toys.
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Mar 3, 2016 15:55
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Grug goes outside The happy, bright eyed face returns, "So Surb, you'll check if there are any more..." he pauses, screws up his face, unleashes a cheek flapping fart then his face returns to it's naive grin, "...doggies in the labs while Grumb and I got and get our chums who're waiting outside, right Grumb?" He doesn't really wait for Grumb to reply as he shuffles off while scratching his arse. Grug's going to get the other scrunts, rolling http://orokos.com/roll/379549: 1d100 18 on survival, so I guess I know where I'm going.
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Mar 3, 2016 20:59
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Surb the Techpriest The Base Malbrathia-3 "Alas," Surb tells Grug, with an exaggerated sad face as one might present to a five year old child, "All of the live 'dograbbits' we held in the quarantine room escaped." Surb then puts on a rather ugly exaggerated smile; "Fortunately! The animal is endemic to this planet... that is, ahah, there are more 'dograbbits' outside! Somewhere. Perhaps you can find them? Be careful, they like to bite."
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Mar 3, 2016 21:05
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a dograbbit population will be something the scrunts can work towards and acquire as a base improvement. in fact it will be required as a prerequisite for a couple of other... somewhat niche improvements. you only need a few, as they'll breed like, well...
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Mar 3, 2016 21:16
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Gumbo Bulge, Scrunt Mother Base 14/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate Gumbo laughs cheerfully as new areas of the base open up, the lights flickering on with them. He then peers at the human thing and his smile starts to turn. he's the only one who can turn it on or off. He approaches carefully, deciding to be as tactful as he can manage. "Listen, Mister Surb, we need them codes" he says this quietly, waving his arms in what he hopes is a soothing motion to the metal snakes that seem to live in the human's coat. "If somethin were to 'appen, as things does sometimes in this 'ere business, we needs to be able to run this base. An' since the techlad of my lot has gone off to find us some gear." "Ah'm gonna write 'em down. He carefully withdraws from a pouch a small book, coloured pink with a white cat and a matching pencil. "Found this a few weeks back in some trash. Had a wrapper but Groin ate it. Pristine." Tiny eyes peer around a long bulbous nose. A pink pencil is set on pink paper. "An so, the codes if you would, Mr Serb." Gumbo wants to know the codes, we understand this information may be too complicated for the hello kitty pad. i assume standard operating kit would includes a pad and pencils
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Mar 3, 2016 22:07
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Surb the Techpriest The Base Malbrathia-3 Surb stares at Gumbo, expressionless, evaluating. A human might have found the stare unnerving. Finally he responds, the back-mounted halo of mechandrites swaying slightly, one slender, tentacle-like appendage reaching out to gently tap Gumbo on the top of his head. "You are quite the clever scrunt, aren't you," he grins softly. "Literate, even! The Omnissiah works in mysterious ways. Well. I believe I know what you desire, which is the means to control the base, yes? I would be delighted to tell you what you have actually asked for... security codes, although I fear your... book is insufficient to record them. You would need..." Surb extends a thick metal back-arm that terminates in nasty-looking bone saw, holding the saw level above the ground about half-again higher off the ground than the top of Gumbo's head - "...about this many books, I should think?" Surb retracts his arms, standing a little more upright to regard the scrunt with narrowed, bloodshot eyes, down his thin nose. "They would avail you not. The simple truth is that this base is not designed to be shut down and started up and controlled in the manner you are thinking. It is a collection of independent and interconnected machines performing all manner of different functions, along with a local extension of the Imperial communications network. I have not 'controlled' the base, as you might have imagined - rather, I have restored functions by making repairs to power systems that, had the INCOMPETENT COMMANDER ACTUALLY DONE HIS DUTY, would not have been possible at all. You see, in his undue haste, he failed to destroy or remove numerous critical devices and systems that he ought to have, and thus," Surb smiles beneficently, "I am alive, and your people shall benefit as I do. Isn't that nice? But none of us shall fully access the Imperial network, hm, at least not for now... or we should shudder to imagine the terrible consequences we will suffer." Surb lowers himself nearly to his... well, presumably knees, but whatever is within his rather tattered robes makes little mechanical whining sounds and a soft chugging that do not entirely suggest knees. "My friend," he half-whispers to Gumbo conspiratorially, "I have disabled a few, ah, redundant, unnecessary security protocols already. You and your compatriots have mostly unrestricted access to the base functions. If something terrible should happen to me, you would lose a valuable ally... for owing to my, ah, unique attributes, knowledge, and experience, I can integrate with the machine spirits of this place in a manner no scrunt could hope to emulate. But in such a regrettable eventuality as you intimated, you would still have access to and control of the base. Only do not attempt to re-establish two-way communications with other facilities or spacecraft, not unless you are fully prepared for the... let us say, heavy ordnance they would surely employ, if they thought an abandoned research facility with operational systems had fallen into the hands of the Severan enemy forces." Gumbo gets another little pat on his head. It might be comforting, or perhaps condescending... or perhaps just a hard, surprisingly cold hunk of animated metal, briefly pressed against warm skin. "It is better that we remain inconspicuous, quiet, yes? Just a little hole in the ground, nothing anyone needs to be concerned for, nothing anyone needs to bombard from orbit, just to be sure. I'm sure you'd agree?" Once again, you may roll Scrutiny to evaluate Surb's claims, if you like. Leperflesh fucked around with this message at 01:56 on Mar 5, 2016 |
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Mar 5, 2016 01:53
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Yurik Scraglagger Some Other Base Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 "Yer drat stinkin' 'umie!! I'll eat yer bones!!!" Grimply was a good scrunt, Yurik knew, insofar as anything to do with scrunts could ever be described as "good." He was a crack shot, a sneaky little bastard, and he hated humies as any Scruntfather-fearing scrunt should in Yurik's highly self-estimated opinion (though in truth most scrunts were more apathetic towards humans than anything else, Yurik simply hated most everyone and assumed everyone else did too), but for all of those very admirable qualities he lacked any appreciation for long-term planning, had no room in his heart for a nice, twisty scheme. No one was perfect of course (himself excluded), but he knew that until they devised some way of securing control of the base's facilities for themselves that a wary truce with the abandoned tech-priest was the simplest solution to their not-having-a-base-because-Groin-blew-it-up problem, which meant that as the wisest of the scrunts as well as their self-appointed leader and spiritual liege it was up to him to bring Grimply around to his way of thinking. "C'mere, c'mere," he said, draping a companionable arm uncomfortably around the raving sniper's bony shoulders and guiding him around the corner to an alcove where they could talk without being overheard. "Relax Grimply m'boy, relax. That there humie pro'ly dinnae have any bones in'im worth eatin', aye? Why I'd wager he ain't even ten percent humie by volume," he said, chuckling at his own joke. Grimply was unconvinced by this attempt at levity. "Consortin' with 'umies! Makin' deals wi' their metal-man whatzits! It's an abominablenation! It's blasphemy! A sin in th' eye o' the Scruntfather! His judgin' eye I tells ya'!" "Would ya' calm the fack down already!?," Yurik interrupted peevishly, rapping his thinkin' stick on the ground. "Look at the bigger picture! Yes, we're workin' with a humie...so's we can find bigger and better ways to kill even more humies! Usin' him as the instrument of his own downfall! Can't ya' see? It's what they call ironicism! That means it'll be extra funny when it happens!" But Grimply simply wouldn't be convinced, his fevered rantings warning of dire consequences and the untrustworthiness of humies and the holy SLAM growing more and more agitated, his fingers grabbing hold of Yurik's collar and shaking the Loremaster back and forth as foam began to fleck the corners of his mouth. Foam which was tinged an unhealthy shade of green, which was to say unhealthy even by scrunt standards. Yurik watched as Grimply's eyes grew unfocused and his grip grew slack before the sniper slumped to the floor, twitching and hyperventilating. "I feel...I feel it Yurik...th' Scruntfather, he's, he's callin' me to'im! It's finally my time! Finally...finally..." Yurik stood there in shock as Grimply's head lolled limply to the side, his eyes closing with a wheezy rattle. Time seemed to stand still for a long, wordless moment until one of Grimply's eyes popped open, glaring at the ceiling irritably. "I said it's finally my TIME!" When it was clear that no divine transcendence was forthcoming Grimply snarled and thrashed on the ground angrily, green slobber flying this way and that. "Whazza feckin' scrunt 'ave to do to get'is eternal reward aroun' 'ere!?" As Grimply's ranting trailed off into a series of convulsive coughs, Yurik quickly scuttled off in search of the only other scrunt who could help him now. "Murdelia! MURDELIA!," he shouted, one hand keeping his thinkin' cap firmly affixed to his head as he nearly bowled over the medic in his haste. "Somethin's wrong with Grimply! He's sick or he's poisoned or he's off his head! Maybe all of'em!" "Izzat right? Huh," Murdelia replied, her gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "Right, then. ARNIKAAAA!," she then shouted. "Grab yer pistol an' get the sack! We got us some triage to perform!" "No no no, fack-damnit!," Yurik yelled, slamming his thinkin' stick on the ground. "I'm tellin' ya' to fix'im up, not fix'im up!" "Ohhhhhh, right, gotcha," the mediscrunt said. "Never mind Arnika!" "Awwww..." All the while Yurik's multitudinous mind was racing...how had this happened? What could have caused it? An infection of some sort seemed unlikely, Grimply hadn't eaten anything the rest of them hadn't (so far as he knew), and they'd all been breathing the same air and wallowing in the same blood. Had he been poisoned by something? One of the dograbbits or weird mutants they'd found? Some of the other scrunts had suffered similar injuries though and none of them were expressing any symptoms. No, it wasn't a disease and it wasn't poison... At least not exactly. Yurik reached into his robes and pulled out the last remaining injector of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG in his possession, glaring at it thoughtfully as he vividly replayed the memories of an insectile Grimply chittering and clambering along the walls and ceiling. Whatever it was that was sloshing around inside this innocuous injector was responsible for Grimply's condition, he was certain of it. Come to think of it Groin's mental state (such as it was) had notably deteriorated since he'd taken his first dose of the stuff, and the second inadvertent dose seemed only to have amplified those negative effects. Others had taken it as well, he knew, and so far seemed relatively unscathed, but that was all the more reason to start messily plumbing the depths of this particular mystery, before the same thing happened to Murdelia or Gumbo. Grumb, well...Grumb was an acceptable loss, if it came to it. "I saw on the map that this place has laboratories," he told Murdelia at last. "Research laboratories. Help me drag Grimply down to one of'em...I think it's high past time we did some researchin' of our own." *** Since Tin Tim is sick, I figure he won't mind if I carry that illness over to his scruntly counterpart. Verisimilitude! Also this provides Yurik with a great excuse to poke around the labs as well as jumpstarting some much-needed research on our good friend EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG. I have a lot of things on the backburner, like the Inquisitorial Mystery Box, but other people can actually poke at the box on their own and there's been enough nudging and winking to the effect of "hmmm boy that EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG sure is weird and mysterious, if only SOMEONE would actually try to figure out what is up with that hmmmm" that I feel like we should probably actually do a little of that now that we aren't killing dogs in caves anymore. If Murdelia would like to help with that it'd be grand since I figure that she and Yurik have the most applicable skillset, plus she's probably going to want to set up shop in one of the labs anyway for doing surgeries/cooking meth/etc.
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Mar 5, 2016 10:39
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Drekk overheard Mung muttering something about an armoury. "Wait for me!" he yells out, he proceeds to scamper forth to help him "inspect" it. Maybe he should also ask Mung to re-size the Photovisor straps too, while he's at it. --- Drekk is going to "take inventory", and ask if Mung can make the Photovisor straps scrunt-sized.
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Mar 5, 2016 15:34
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Sergeant Gumbo Bulge, Scrunt Mother Base 14/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate Gumbo listens quietly, taking notes and tutting periodically, some of the words are long and unfamiliar but he gets the gist. As the human thing pats his shoulder pad, he finds himself turned away from the terminals, and he furrows his brow. Its hard for him to judge any of this, coming from a position of traditional Scrunt ignorance. He needs a more knowledgeable ally. "Of cours', of cours'." He mumbles, "can' be 'avin them lot comin' round again." He finishes writing, snaps the book closed and slips it into a pouch. "The lads are 'avin a look roun' the armoury - I'd best be checkin' in on them" He nods, smartly turns away, and then smartly turns back in the correct direction before strutting away after Mung and Drekk. He'll see what the others have to say about Surb and the computer systems. Gumbo is suspicious, but writes it all down, and decides to take it to the armoury for Mung's opinion
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Mar 5, 2016 17:55
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Murdelia Skurvy Scrunt Hole Murdelia skilfully handles the turgid trickle of injured scrunts that limp and slink towards her aid station, sparing an eye to keep glancing at that weird robotic humie. Soon she had no patients so she was able to focus both eyes on the techie-man, fixating him with a dead fishy glare. Yurik's interruption brought her out of the reverie, startling her with the revelations that Grimply was sick, and there were dedicated medical facilities down here. "Now Grimply," she growls as she scrunthandles him into a submission position, "Ye are not a healthy scrunt in body or mind. Ye be overly excitable, poss'bly manic, and ye torso is a weird an' small shape that inh'bits th' flow of fluids. And are ye still havin' delusions o' grandeur, wot wit' the Scruntfather and all that? Tha's nay a healthy state o' mind for a scrunt, see. An' this bus'ness wot wit' turnin' into a giant mantis, that's just unhealthy too. Ye be set tin' a poor example to ye little friend, see, and wot if he gets sick too? Then it becomes an epi-demic an' I'll have ta smother ye in yer sleep." "As yer doctor I'm going ta have ta keep a close eye on ye. Take two o' these pills ev'ry mornin' and keep a log o' your meals." "And as for ye, Yurik. Yer evid'ntly suffering from an early stage o' toxo'mosis. Best help me set up th' medical lab before Ye succumb."
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Mar 6, 2016 11:22
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Scruntward Bound The Base Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeIbUvBU39U Grug scampers off outside, eager to feel the fresh air and sun on his malformed, blubbery face once more. To do so, he rides down the central elevator to the lowest floor, and follows his nose. He has to squeeze through the rubble filling a service entrance to what he assumes to be the vehicle bay.  Once through, he figures out the vault door via the simple expedient of slapping the buttons until he manages to get the right sequence. The door is huge - easily big enough for a battle tank - and leads to a shallow cave, linking the base to the outside world. A wide, U-shaped valley stretches out to the north and south of the concealed entrance - it's forested thickly enough that aerial observers would struggle to see anything, and thinly enough that vehicles can make their way through with minimal effort. Various rabbitlike creatures hop, frolic and murder in the bosky glen, but none have quite the same size or aggression or terrifying polymorphic mutant hideousness of the laboratory specimens. Looks like the base entrance is pretty well concealed - it's doubtful whether the scrunts would have spotted this by chance, and hopefully the same can be said for the Severans. Hoisting his pack, Grug strikes off for the scrunt base camp on the other side of the mountain. Hopefully it'll only be a few hours' hike. ---- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3f-DjkZQ64 Mung, Drekk and Gumbo make like magpies and hop on down to the barn-sized room marked "ARMOURY" on the base map. Pacing through the dripping metal corridors, and occasionally squeezing past hunks of rock or charred, skeletonised remains, the sergeant gets the technoscrunt's views on Surb's helpful refusal to turn over any base activation codes. "BALLACKS", screechs Mung, but this appears to be unrelated. He clears his throat and continues. "Well 'e's not wrong. Codes wouldna be something short like, like, swordfish or something. An' th' spirits can def'nitely prefer workin' with someone they're more, like, fren'ly with". It appears, however, that the idea of there being "no lockdown codes as such" is a suspicious one. Mung doesn't use quite these words, but the impression is conveyed that Imperial technology appears to revolve around three things - skulls, lasers, and inexplicably baroque main shutdown sequences for loosely interconnected systems. Surb may be understandably unwilling to get himself locked in a base with a bunch of scrunts, he may have simply only have single-use codes and be unwilling to admit it, he may be hiding something else, or he may be lying to the scrunts for the sheer unbridled joy of it - in any event, once Mung gets a few days to work on the problem he can probably install his own killswitch and lock out Surb's access to the existing one, so it's all a bit moot. Hearts in their throats, the scrunts force open the door to the armoury, grunting and scrunting as they pit their muscles against the jammed machinery of the armoury door. The initial response is one of depression as they take in a scene of smashed benches, empty lockers, and looted crates - however, this soon gives way to deeper depression as they realise part of a collapsed wall has crushed a good deal of potentially useful kit. Then joy takes hold as it becomes apparent that there might be some undamaged containers under the rubble! ----- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhSRSpTsNQU Yurik, depositing Grimply in the fungal embrace of Murdelia, beats a hasty exit, just in case his curious case of mantisitis is catching. Poking his head into the medbays, he's pleasantly surprised to see them still in strangely good condition - clean beds, flat surfaces, there's even some supplies left hanging around. Crunching down a handful of miscellaneous pills, he heads to the research labs on the other side of the floor - frying the barely-functional access pad with a quick spasm of eldritch lightning, and prising open the now shorted-out door mechanism, his temporary good mood vanishes. Rocks! Rocks everywhere! Everything's crushed! Whatever the hell the Imperials were doing in here's been destroyed! Following a minor hissy fit, the psyscrunt gloweringly awaits the arrival of the main scrunt herd, so that he can bully Hack into getting all the rubble cleared. ---- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YWI8zj_OPo Reunion The Base Malbrathia-3 Surb watches, horrified. Scrunts infest every corner of the underground complex, goggling at rocks or hanging around aimlessly. He remains holed up in a small office room near the vivisection chamber in which he was originally imprisoned - he's eaten, drank, and cleansed for the first time in two weeks, and he's finally plugged back into the local informational noosphere, but he can't honestly say this is an improvement. With a thought, Surb deactivates the roving binarycaster protocol that he'd painstakingly programmed to attempt to subvert any standard-model servitors that came within reach. He doesn't need external help to get out of that room now. External help came, with strings attached. They showed up an hour ago, a swaying, idiot convoy detectable on the medium-range scanners that haven't yet succumbed to the elements. A train of what appeared to be limousines, flanked by re-purposed and looted Severan vehicles. He winced as he spotted a bastardised Chimera, and one of the Iron Forest model anti-contagion Sentinel units. What appeared to be a Tauros, probably from the factory complexes on the southern continent, doing lazy donuts in the middle of the path, blocking progress for several minutes. A fuel tanker, inexplicably driven by the amiable chubby scrunt who had set off earlier, leaving a trail of churned mud and splintered pine in its wake. Spreading through the lab like a viru- like some sort of gas, filling all available space with blabbering, reeking scrunts. He hadn't realised how many of them there were. Amazingly, the reclamation pools and agri-tanks in the life-support section appear to still be intact.  So long as the scrunts can find enough substrate to fling in there, a nutritious protein-rich slurry can be created to feed the whole lot of them in a pinch. They won't get fat, but they won't starve. Of course, at current consumption rates, the base only has ten day's worth of supplies remaining in the bulk storage facilities, along with a smattering of tools and basic construction supplies - rockcrete, flakboard, and the like. Why it wasn't taken during the evacuation is a mystery - maybe an erroneous detcharge took out the entrance before anyone could begin removal, but by that point he'd been trapped in the vivisection chamber, and couldn't know for sure. --- "PUTCHER BACKS INTA IT" The toiling scrunts moil and moan, but soon enough the armoury is cleared. It's late evening but the room is still a bustle of activity - crates are prised open, locker doors ripped off, and gaggles of scrunts swarm the wreckage, hooting and hollering as they seize shiny metal or priceless technology. Drekk, Mung and Gumbo beat back the thronging mass, securing as much as they can... Your Loot Bomb posted:
---- because i am an idiot i told you to use survival tests instead of navigate for finding out where you are. welp whatever. grug is successful at determining where he is, and consequently can find the other scrunts and bring them back. real nice of Yurik to offer the assist with that big map he's carrying in his brain. real good. had you gone round the long way and brought the vehicles with you, you would have blundered across this valley and ended up fighting dograbbit hordes and automated defence systems (tarantulas etc). as you didn't, they do not exist. grug fetches the scrunts. mung indicates that "yo can't tell you the codes sorry" is weird. on the other hand, once the base is securely yours, you won't need 'em yurik finds the experimental labs are in an unusable condition. i assume this will be one of your first base purchases. realistically you don't need a lab to look at a box but just roll with it you've got to spend a supply point tomorrow anyway. rules for armoury stuff will be in the recruitment thread. rules for base stuff is already in the recruitment thread. you've seen what you've got to choose from - you'll probably want to do stuff and research stuff, but you're gonna need to raid somewhere soon for more supplies e: ahhahaa my god firefox just randomly closed the instant i pressed "submit" i am so glad this went through
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Mar 7, 2016 23:01
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Yurik Scraglagger Some Other Base Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 Local Area Map Yurik handed Grimply off to Murdelia as quickly as possible...she was the medical expert of the bunch after all, and besides which if something like an unknown horrific disease were to lay him low then without his leadership and guidance the consequences for the scrunts at large could be disastrous...but he nonetheless watched from around the corner as she deposited him onto one of the surprisingly clean beds, Grimply's shivering body quickly undoing that cleanliness in an instant. Satisfied that the closest thing he had to a friend wasn't in imminent danger of being triaged to death and having his belongings stolen, he swiped a handful of assorted pills to fortify his immune system before wandering over to inspect the base's experimental labs. The sight which greeted him as he pried the door open with his thinkin' stick was enough to elicit a phlegmy tirade. All that knowledge, crushed by rocks. The labs themselves were intact at least, the demolition charges having failed to completely collapse the ceiling, but rubble and debris was strewn everywhere. There would be no making use of them until space could be cleared and equipment could be replaced. Another tirade ensued...how was a Loremaster supposed to research anything around here? The prospect of (ugh) manual labor loomed large, which caused something to nag at the back of Yurik's mind. He had the strangest sensation that he was forgetting about something. His thinkin' cap? No, it was still on his head. Stick? In his hand. The Iron Eater grenades he'd salvaged from the smoking crater that had once been a farm clanked unreassuringly close to his gribbly bits, so it wasn't those. Still, there was something that he was missing, he was sure of it. It was just on the tip of his tongue, started with an H... Snapping his fingers, a shower of greasy Warp-sparks erupting from thin air, Yurik whirled around and began quickly scuttling back towards the main part of the base. "Hack!," he shouted, unaware of whether Grug had returned with the rest of the scrunts or not but it never hurt to get some shouting practice in regardless. "Hack, get yer lazy rear end over here! I got work for ya' to get to! Haaaaaack!" *** Yurik is going to get the Research Labs back into some sort of functioning order. After this recent round of XP he now has the Logic skill at 43, which is enough to actually handle getting things up to the Tolerable Experimental Labs level all by himself. I will simply stick with bringing them up to barebones level for now to save supplies for other peoples' projects as well as general scrunt livability. First opportunity these are getting bumped up to at LEAST Tolerable. I still want to investigate EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG but I also want to give other peeps some opportunities to do some base repairs and stuff, and we're missing a few things I'd like before we get started, namely I'd like some live dograbbit test subjects and at least one live human test subject. Surb doesn't count. Instead I'll go ahead and make one stab at unlocking the Inquisitorial Mystery Box using another day/supply by applying Scholastic Lore (Cryptography) to the problem at -30. I'm assuming that Foresight still counts for this so -20 overall, giving me a TN of 23, not too likely to succeed but every bit counts. I get an 18. Huh. Open sesame, I guess. So while schlong prepares to finally tell us what's in the box and y'all decide what improvements you'd like to enact, we need to be thinking about our next big supply raid/mission. Remember back at the farm? My loot was a map of the local area and detailed information on two non-star points of interest thereon. Unless I miss my guess we're somewhere in the intersection of those two major slamite veins. I put a pin in this since poo poo was exploding and on fire but now that we're safe(ish) and need to go steal some more stuff, I'm going to go ahead and make one of my detailed information picks the MANUFACTORUM COMPLEX in the southern part of the map. A place like that probably has a lot of stuff we could use aside from generic supplies such as machine tools, industrial supplies, high-tech equipment, even servitors. It's also on a highway route for speedy travel. I'm assuming the little lasgun icon nearby means absolutely nothing bad at all. However this leaves me with one more pick for more info, an extra place we can get some more detail on and potentially go raid, and I'd like to solicit some suggestions/requests on that front so if there's a place you totally wanna go then say what it is. It looks like we've got a refinery, an airbase, a couple cities, a lab complex, something designated Off Limits (lol yeah right), some loyalist Mechanicus peeps, a vehicle staging area, two unspecified points of interest, and a Necron death forest.
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Mar 8, 2016 03:20
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Grumb Slanger, recreation area As he scrapes the final field-line into the floor with the end of his autocannon, Grumb smiles in a self-satisfactory manner. He stands and cracks his back in several places as he looks over the griddle-iron he'd painstakingly spent all afternoon scraping together. "W'habbout that," he says to himself, having experienced the fulfillment of creative expression for the first time in ages. "All th's lef' now's to measure th'lines!" "Oy, Grumb! There you is! I had'na seen you everywhere I was lookin' all day 'n' everything! We had sucha 'mazing time while you all was gone findin' this place! Like wow and they drove off with th'one car? That had the nader laucher? Which, like, drat, that thing was cool and they shot at the trees an' a tree fell on a buncha guys! I didn'a know you could hunt wiffa nader but they killed a buncha these dog things! There was ovver cool stuff too! Didjoo know boys is differ'nt from girls? An' there was these of the wierdest fuckin' dogs I ever seen cuz some of them had beaks and stuff but they blew up kinda just like a normal thing. Grumb I wanna nader launcher it's just the coolest thing an' I want it." Grumb stares blankly as the wheels in his head grind furiously. Who was this mysterious scrunt, who was engaging him with such familiarity? Unwilling to lose face, Grumb smiles and pats the fauxhawked scrunt on the shoulder. "Y... yeah, sure! We'll getchoo whaterra you want, guy." "Well c'mon, Grumb, they juss opened tha weapon room!" the scrunt gestures urgently for him to follow. "WHAT?" Grumb shrieks. He pushes past the stranger aggressively as the bounds down the hallway, leaving his gun on the floor behind him. ---------------- Grumb rifles through the rifles impatiently, tossing smaller guns and scrunts aside as he searches for... for something. He isn't quite sure what he's looking for just yet, only that he'll know it when he finds it. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Grumb sees a couple of militia scrunts wrestling over what looks like some kind of enormous weaponized butane lighter - bickering and cursing, each of them trying to yank the heavy weapon out of each other's hands and down opposite hallways. "I'z mine you facker I saw it firrest, get the hell outta here 'fore I shank you dead!" the first shouts, hissing through his tiny little teeth like a cat. "Piss off rat fuckah this gun's moin! You ain' got no say in these affeers anyhoo, I outranks ya!" the second bellows, trying to pull the other scrunt's legs out from under him with an aggressive sweep of his boot. The two of them fall to the ground, rolling in circles as they bite and tear at each other with their grubby nails. "Hmnow, tal'bout whutta we got 'err whichew two is scrappin' ferr herr?" Grumb inquires, smiling a wicked grin as he tears the multimelta away from the two squaddies and holds it aloft. The two scrunts scramble to their feet, still scratching and ineffectually slapping each other like a pair of stooges. "HAY! Thas' mine!" the larger scrunt yaulps as Grumb goes over the weapon greedily with his dirty mitts - searching curiously for a place where for to put the bullets. He thumbs a small switch near where the safety would be on a stubber, and the weapon stirs to life with an unceremonious whum. "YOU poo poo EATIN' FACKER," the smaller scrunt squeals, "ALWAYS WIFF THE BIG GUY THINK HE KIN-" PWSSHHHHHTT. Grumb blinks as he stares vacantly at the pairs of boots standing before him. Delicate licks of flame gently dance above disembodied feet, as if to say "There was probably somebody here at some point". The stinky, curdling smear along the back wall appears to corroborate. "Oh," Grumb lets out sheepishly. He looks around at the speechless scrunts to his left and right, an insane grin slowly spreading across his blackhead-encrusted face as a grim chuckle begins to arise deep in his throat. "Oh-hoh-hoh."  "Ooohohohohohohohoh..." ---------------------------- Grumb is scraping together a combination bloodball field / firing range, which, with some skill assistance and a supply point could easily count as a militia training area. (how many points do we have now? I can't seem to find where you said.) Grumb is also going to seek Murdelia in the medical wing, and spend some time watching her sew stitches. He is going to try to sew himself a Blood Ball. Let me know if I should roll something for this. Following this, Grumb will be spending most of his time cackling gleefully and melting junk, which could help clear the remaining debris and skill up his melta weapons training (300xp). This will also provide us with helpful fumes. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 21:28 on Mar 8, 2016 |
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Mar 8, 2016 21:22
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Grug is back and everyone is happy to see him Grug comes back with an enormous sense of wellbeing; in his head both he and Grumb set off to reunite with the Scruntherd and bravely lead them to their new home. This was a great success, the Scrunts were jubilant to see them and they all had a jolly trip back to the underground base. In reality Grug went alone and the Scrunts were more like a rabble of rude, smelly ducklings following their mother for the simple reason that they had nothing better to do and constantly honking the horns of the vehicles is pretty good fun. Regardless, job done he returns to his current obsession; the cute doggies. He knows he's not good at reading, nor is he good at thinking but he's got to try something, so he asks someone who he thinks is good at those things. He grabs his attention with a guttural burp, "'ello again Mr Surb, it's me, Grug, how luv-er-ly it is to see you again!" he says, disconcertingly turning on the 'charm', "Just a quick 'Q', won't keep you *burp* long: those doggies, the ones you had here, what did you call them before?" He doesn't look up from his task, nor slow his elaborate manipulation of equipment, but Surb responds as if he is devoting his entire attention to the greasy, fat scrunt, "Ah, welcome back Grug, I do hope that you had a safe journey and none of your fellow Scrunts were variously crushed under the wheels of your vehicles, predated upon by the native fauna nor succumbed to any one of numerous virulent infections that can infect creatures living in unsanitary conditions. Hmm yes, how tragic that would have been..." his appendages stop clattering as he stares wistfully into empty space for a moment, before addressing the question at hand, "Hm, yes, the Malbrathian Lapomorphs. I trust you wish to know what we deduced from our studies? You can find our reports and records over there," and narrow, multi-articulated appendage appears from beneath his robes and points a low power las-beam at a set of shelves and open safes crammed with scrolls and books. "fanks Mr Serb," he smiles his gummy grin, wipes away his snot and drool with the hair on the back of his arm, shuffles over, sits and begins to think (slowly) about what to do next. After some time, something tugs at one of his socks. Grug turns and sees a small, rotund and possibly adolescent Scrunt who, in an apparent effort to emulate Grug, has discarded whatever he had for clothing, rolled in some shite and put a discarded Standard Imperial Breakfast Ration container on his head"'ello mister Grug, I'm young master Twonk. Is there anyfing ya need elp wiv?" Grug's eyes brighten, this is the best day ever! "Hiya *hic* Twonk, can you read?" Well, his journey to collect the scrunts left a positive impression on someone at least. Grug wants to start learning about the dograbbits but I know the lab's not quite up to scratch and we don't have the requisite samples, so I want to see if there's anything he can learn to help him catch one alive - techniques, locations, whatever; f it's nothing, so be it. Also, Grug's companion is Twonk, a young scrunt trying to be just like him. the fart question fucked around with this message at 00:12 on Mar 10, 2016 |
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Mar 9, 2016 23:56
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