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 http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/warhammer40k/images/0/08/Hospitaler_Sister.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120409225829 code:to take care of sick and injured scrunts. Despite these apparently benign intentions, the Sisters have a reputation that bars them from some scruntholds, as they are reputed to kill vulnerable patients and abscond with the valuables. This greatly annoys the other scrunts, who want to do the same thing but lack the skills to make it look like a natural death. Murdelia is masterful at cutting, stitching, drugging, peeling, burning and twisting various parts of anatomy, making her adept at both combat and medical roles, and the promise of both jobs is what lured her aboard the cargo ship destined for parts unknown. This has not been a poor decision (at least as far as scrunt decisions usually go) as there have been plenty of maimed and vulnerable scrunts to 'treat'. Now there is the added bonus of fine human tools to steal, a Slam Sector to explore, and as many bodies to dissect as she could ever desire! Murdelia wields a jagged bonesaw and an ancient lasgun, both useful in combat and surgery. The lasgun was provided by the order, and is especially useful for amputating large areas, cauterising large areas, and cooking quick meals. Her assistant is the little-mentioned, rarely-noticed Arnika Crisco, a junior Sister who dreams of one day becoming a fully-fledged hench scrunt. Murdelia has a beef with Urok for accidentally killing her previous assistant. Poor Lobella met Urok, who attempted to seduce her with displays of his freakish, chimpanzee-like strength. Unfortunately, he misjudged and crushed Lobella with an enormous crate. He did not apologise. Murdelia owes a favour to Grumb Slanger for helping her steal medical supplies from the cargo ship. He and Barry carried entire storage lockers full of surgical equipment and drugs down from the ship's stores, which she then sold to other scrunts at exorbitant rates. Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 19:15 on Dec 10, 2016 |
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Mar 10, 2016 14:18
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Mungly Mung Click for music The Arm'ry It took Mung a while to get the armory in proper scrunty condition. The feng shui of the rubble was all off and it was putting him in a bad mood. He assembled several slabs of rockcrete and an upturned locker into a lean-to bench for him to do his mechanical work. He scavenged a couple of battered empty footlockers and empty lactose shipping crates to hold excess weapons and ammunition. Mung was dragging the last of the metal scrap up to the vehicle bay as the vehicle convoy showed up. He dropped his load suddenly, pinching a couple of toes off a shocked mechscrunt, as he turned to start directing limos into the bay. After much shouting and threats of incineration he was able to get the vehicles into the wide bay. It wasn't until after he was reunited with his techrats and able to assess the sudden influx of filth and swearing that he discovered one of the drivers had somehow managed to high end his vehicle on some debris trying to impress his feckless comrades. After several slaps to the head of the offender, Mung attempts to rouse a couple of other scrunts to help him dislodge the car from it's captor. The gormless shits can't be bothered to try, protesting with cries of 'but it's awlful heavy boss, n' I gottsta sleep for the night". His recently reunited cyber-rats can't help for the obvious reason of not having opposable thumbs. Distraught, Goes into planning mode. He engages his brain gear and attempts to work his way to a solution. Turning around, he notices that his cyber rats are fighting over bits of flesh hanging off a piece of the looted servitor that fell out of his pack. Cleaned of the flesh, Mung figures the cybernetic bits could be augmented to fit his scrunty frame if he so tried. Lucky for him he knew just the person to help him with techy bits. He takes off in search of his new friend Serb but stops at the tanker first to fill up his drinking fuel flask... The Upgrade Mung awoke the next morning in the medbay with the worst fuel induced hangover of his life. He breathes in ragged gasps, shockingly more ragged than normal. It takes him a moment to realize that the hardened lump and jagged scars covering his throat was some sort of filtering device that came from the the scavenged servitor parts he looted back in the cave. He reaches up to feel his head and found more metal than usual. Serb must of tried to install the servitor cogitators to him into a brain-dead automaton, but either the cogitators were too far broken or too far incompatible with his scruntly physiology for it to take hold. He shrugs it off and staggers to stand himself upright only to find way more weight to his body than before. The Servo arm now attached to his back must of required significant reinforcements to his skeletal frame to handle the increased load and pressure it puts on him. As a test, he tries to push his his body upright using his new servo arm, overshoots, and throws himself a meter backwards and he topples into some scrunt in recovery after loosing several toes last night for some reason. He makes a point to thank Serb before he gets back to work on the vehicle bay. As he waddles his way out of the medbay he shouts at a lone techscrunt peeing in a corner "Oi lad, get the crew together, we gotta get the plasma forge put back tagether!" --- Made the upgrade to Archiscruntus Magna using the excuse of Serb installing the new career's implants and trying (and failing) to servitor me. Bought an intelligence advance, Logic, and Scholastic Lore (chymistry) before making the switch, leaving me with 50 loose exp. I'm going to go ahead and start Working on upgrading to a Tolerable Vehicle Bay. Out of curiousity, since we have a tolerable medical bay, can I go ahead and get that bionic heart in my inventory installed with my other upgrades or do we need to wait for Murdellia to roll for it? DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 23:06 on Mar 10, 2016 |
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Mar 10, 2016 19:51
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I'll roll for Murdelia when I get back home. Enjoy your new bionic heart.
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Mar 10, 2016 23:53
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before you go get hearty - and yes, your medlabs are in good enough condition for you to get one of the hearts installed - bear in mind that recovery time is 2d10 days minus your toughness bonus, for which i have already rolled. you can make your case for relevant talents, pre-existing implants etc if you think this should be reduced
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Mar 11, 2016 00:18
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:before you go get hearty - and yes, your medlabs are in good enough condition for you to get one of the hearts installed - bear in mind that recovery time is 2d10 days minus your toughness bonus, for which i have already rolled. Fair enough, I'll hold off for the moment, unless you're going to make me roll recovery for my new implants as part of my new kit. If that's the case gently caress it make me hearty. My case for reducing the recovery time on the heart is that my good quality Autosanguine means I basically always count as lightly wounded to heal all wounds. 
DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 05:37 on Mar 11, 2016 |
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Mar 11, 2016 00:53
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Looting is the best part of fighting, any scrunt knows that. Sometimes there's fightin' while lootin'! That's even better! Drekk strolled over to the newly-discovered pile as Grumb was enjoying his new Multimelta. "OI! This is me breathin' mask! Get your own!" a random scruntling belched to a second scruntling holding an pistol-looking thing with a tank, almost looking like a children's water gun. "FACK YOU, YA OPPOSSUM-LOVER! GIMME YOUR MASK OR I'LL...OR I'LL SOAK YOUR BRAINS OUT!" bellowed the other. But their confrontation was short-lived when Drekk scruffed the two and smashed their heads together, dropping their loot and taking them. Like dominated animals, they skulk off to fight over a shiny trinket. --- Drekk fiddled with the straps on the respirator, ensuring a decent fit. It muffles his voice somewhat, but he's clearly audible. The gunthing shoots a corrosive spray, as he discovered, shooting an unfortunate roach with it. Content with his loot, he decides to bully a nearby mechaniscrunt. "AY! Make us weapon poo poo, ya fackin' nerd!" he roars out, raising a meaty scrunt fist. Unsurprisngly, it doesn't take much to goad the poor scrunt, and he scampers off to tell his buds. --- So: - Decided not to pick an advanced career, put the +5 bonus to WS - Picked up Combat Master, Whirlwind of Death, and Berserk Charge - Drekk is taking a respirator plus the Pyrophoric Vambrace with three-shot tank. - Kaiju Cage Match fucked around with this message at 02:54 on Mar 11, 2016 |
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Mar 11, 2016 02:43
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DeathSandwich posted:Fair enough, I'll hold off for the moment, unless you're going to make me roll recovery for my new implants as part of my new kit. If that's the case gently caress it make me hearty. Just redid the character sheet to my liking. My case for reducing the implant recovery time for Deathsandwich is....Murdelia is now a really really good Field Chirurgeon and will be testing at like 90 pretty consistently. 50 base, +30 for Medicae/Master Chirurgeon + whatever for facilities. Assuming she hits the +60 cap its like 110 TN. There's no way to gently caress up this surgery. Murdelia The Base Malbrathia-3 Medbay Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 "So ya said ya wanna learn how to stitch n poo poo? Come on over here Grub." On the operating table....ok a rusty steel desk thats been cleaned off..is Mung. Mung was scheduled for a bionic implant and there's no learning like hands on learning. She gets to the anesthetic part...by knocking Mung out and cuts open the chest cavity with the narthecium. The scrunt makes fast work of the old and busted organic heart and puts in the new bionic hotness. All the hookups go smooth but when it comes time to turn it on, Murdelia gets zapped and knocked unconscious. Her assistant, Arnika Crisco shrugs. "Uhhhhhhhh....I hope this thing works. Anyway let me show you how to close it up! Sutures please!" Sheet redone, did anyone take one of the M36 Lasguns (probably not) cause I'm gonna take it and put my SCRUNT SURGICAL LASER into the Scrunt Armory and just have me a plain old lasgun. Medicae vs whatever the gently caress: 1d100 43 Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 03:39 on Mar 11, 2016 |
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Mar 11, 2016 03:32
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Mungly Mung The Revelation Mung makes it about a dozen steps out of the medbay before flopping over onto the ground, clutching his chest in pain. He tentatively claws open his robes and rubs his hands over lengths of dirty machine rags and duct tape holding together the rough sutures in his ribcage. When Mung comes to the realization that Murdelia must of installed the bionic heart when doing the other implants he immediately gets annoyed. "Phaw, gawdammit, she done stole one of my organs, AGAIN! Fool me once Murdelia, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again you fakkin jerk." Mung about faces and starts crawling back to the medbay, shouting "Gawdammit you better give me that heart back, I need ta eat it fer good luck. " --- Disregard previous plans, I am in rest and recovery mode until DJF says otherwise. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 23:04 on Mar 14, 2016 |
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Mar 14, 2016 15:07
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Industrial Revolution The Base Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRA-EzBWBkI Days pass at the base. For many of the scrunts, this is the first chance for R&R that they've had since landing on the planet. The idea of "recuperation" is possibly a tricky one for the average scrunt, but maybe "things not getting worse so quickly" properly encapsulates the idea. Not being locked in a barn by terrified farmers, or being chased by drop troopers, or just not being rained on is a nice change for some of them. Occasionally they get drafted in to do some work by a particularly noisy or mean scrunt, but like bottom-rung casual labour since the dawn of time, they do their job badly and with poor grace before returning to their chosen corner to get back to drinking. Wandering out of the armoury, having beaten back a horde of scrunts to claim his rightful portion of the wealth therein, Mung made his way to Surb, with the presumed goal of making himself more perfect in the eyes of the Machine God. At least, that was Surb's assumption - Mung was unable to articulate his desires particularly clearly, as he was immediately seized by Murdelia and company and bundled into the medbay. Some of the more medically inclined scrunts had also shared Grumb's interest in learning how to suture, and apparently the best way to learn was through experience. Shouting, screeching and hissing ensued, punctuated by the sounds of blunt force trauma as the anaesthetic took hold. Unfortunately, in their enthusiasm, some of Mung's fleshy bits were damaged, or in the case of his head and face, mostly removed for future study. Still, it helped his metal parts fit more effectively, so it seemed to be one of those happy accidents. There was a hairy few minutes - only ten, twenty tops - where the scrunts debated which way round the bionic heart valves were supposed to go, but thankfully a compromise was reached. Half the time the heart would pump one way, and the other half the other. Debugging his new bionics and getting the knack of his new heart would see Mung laid up for the best part of a week. Thankfully, his secretions of restorative ichor would keep sepsis at bay, and also aid him in getting back onto his new metal talons much quicker than the average patient. Nursing his blackened, wizened heart close to his re-stitched chest, the technoscrunt convalesces. Grumb gets his wish for a Bloodbowl ball - Mung's stomach ends up as surplus to requirements, and gets re-purposed with little fanfare. The gunner finishes off the stitching himself, thick fingers guiding the needle with surprising care. Unfortunately, leaving the ball unattended for a few minutes results in the remnants of Mung's face being stitched onto it as well, but one can't have everything. Grug spends some of his time ranging around the forested valley with his new friend Twonk, the scrunt with a distressing similarity to Grumb. It's actually unclear whether or not Grug realises his new friend is not, in fact, the heavy gunner, but regardless, they have a grand old time in the woods, hiking up ridges and leaping streams and engaging in other completely non-homoerotic outdoorsman-ish activities. After a few days, the ranged specialist strikes paydirt - high up in the side of the valley, maybe twenty miles north of the base site, there looks to be a lagomorph den! A massive one! Sure enough, he finds spoor and tracks nearby that tie in with a really, really big herd. It would probably be suicide to go investigate on his own - he'll have to return with backup a bit later. Over the next few days, some of the other scrunts get to work. Yurik bullies Hack into getting the majority of the debris taken out of the experimental labs, and has a proper thinkin' chair constructed out of broken crates and bits of rag - Surb bears the loss of his experiments with good grace, but makes it clear that he'd be interested in anything else the scrunts find. Grumb carves out a large space in what was one of the dormitories - the floor's fallen through into the level below, making a nice tall area perfect for long-bombing the Mungball, and also presumably for practising with grenades. Drekk harasses a few of the technoscrunts into putting together a ramshackle machine shop for tinkering with guns. Some of the autoguns and lascarbines are stripped for parts, in lieu of there being any actual machineworking equipment. Scrunts scrub at bits of metal with sandpaper, forlornly. ---- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmEERlE1KOc Yurik chatters to himself mindlessly as he runs through the documents in front of him again. The sheaves of paper retrieved from the body of one of the squad sergeants from the abortive attack on the farm have a surprising amount of information on them, and even more that he can infer. Presumably they were never meant to leave the base from which they originated, which appears to be a military encampment next to a manufactorum complex by the sea, to the south-east[/b]. The encampment and base are a couple of hundred miles away, making a long-range raid impractical without the use of the squad's vehicles. The factory looks like a good spot to loot, though. It's a knife-making plant, which is unusually generic for an industrial base. It makes all sorts of knives - combat knives, dinner knives, and everything in between. It'll be a decent source of materiel and machinery, but probably pretty low on actual stuff for the scrunts to eat. Eat with, sure. Essentially, there's two options that immediately spring to mind - the scrunts can blitzkrieg into the fortified encampment set up maybe five, ten miles away nearby, which will be a long, drawn-out slog and practically suicide without some clever preparations, but which will leave the manufactorum open to sustained and impressive looting. It's really a case of whether mortar emplacements and sniper nests are worth a bunch of knife-grinding machinery and repurposed servitors. Or, they can sneak round, smash-and-grab into one of the outskirt warehouses, and be away before the majority of the camp shows up. This would probably be considerably easier if it goes to plan, but come with commensurately less in the way of reward. Wouldn't take as long, though - they could probably hit up somewhere else before returning to base to refuel. Maybe that "vehicle staging area" on the map, whatever that is. Probably something to discuss with some of the smarter scrunts. The psyscrunt turns his attention to the box, running his eyes over its dimpled surface even though he can picture it perfectly in his memory. With a grunt he remembers the strange ciphertext recovered from one of the drop troops, and his jaw falls open as something in the pattern of dots clicks in the dim, musky recesses of his mind. Several hours of frantic box-fondling later, and he has it! It's obviously an Augustinian cypher based around the resolution of antagonistic Threlkman functions, and the pattern of dots around the box's sealed lid forms the input function! It's the work of a few frenzied minutes to translate and decode what he can - by virtue of the cipher being used, Yurik only gets a few words out of every dozen, but it's easily enough to eke out some meaning. "... use as biological weapons.... ....organised... ...orbit around Malbrathia.... ....Sword of.... ....highly dangerous Xenos.... ...full weight of the Ordos... ...one is bad enough but dozens, hundreds.... ...foul, heretical research ship... ...ossibly Extermin..." Apparently the Ordo Xenos are taking an interest in Malbrathia-3. The implications of this are not lost on Yurik, but mounting panic mingles with glee as he realises the footnote has been encoded with less care than the main body of the letter. Presumably it was done in a hurry: "Time is short. Evidence of this unspeakable corruption is enclosed. Get this to Alcibiades. The stasis chamber's locking mechanism is simple - the cogitator-spirit needs fresh vitae samples from sentients before it will disengage. Human, and two Xenos. Baroque, yes, but a necessary precaution, as his agents are numerous and skilled." ---- scrunt Surb has narratively intervened to add bionics to Mung, but has had no mechanical involvement. level up his labs for that. mung would have been resting for 13 days minus toughness bonus. this is instead 13 days minus TB x 2, thanks to autosanguine, so he's out for five days. if he has to do anything strenuous in that time, he goes into Blood Loss automatically. grug searches for rabbits. he doesn't figure out where any will be by a Survival test so instead he just goes looking. he finds rabbitwolves. you can either do this as a full ground combat against a lot of rabbits, or you can roll up with vehicles and just, like, open fire indiscriminately. this will cause them to flee - if you knock any rabbits into critical 1 or 2, then instead of dying they'll be out for the count and you can grab them. latter option will greatly increase your chance of drawing hostile attention from Severans but also, presumably, result in more corpses, and thus more protein substrate for ~the vats~ yurik builds labs, which takes that one day's worth of supplies. grumb builds firing range/bloodbowl court, which doesn't really do anything other than getting him used to the multimelta. it hasn't cost anything yet. if this is intended to be the Tolerable Militia Training area, you need more help - you need people with a combined Command score of 50, and you're on like 10 because it's untrained. gumbo is probably your go-to helper on this. drekk builds basic customisation, which takes that one day's worth of supplies you've got like two days still to play with before Mung's back up on his feet, and honestly i don't want to split the party so you're stuck here until then yurik has looked at info on the manufactorum. i have abstracted this a bit and have not given you an infodump, i'll let you have that as and when you need it or ask for it. you've basically got "massive two-stage fight" against a pretty big campful of troops, vehicles and some angry severan techpriests, or a sneaky-drivey smash and grab. or, if you want to do something different, you can do that! yurik gets some plot out the ciphertext, and also knows how to open the box! feed it blood from a living human, and two living sentient xenos! scrunts count as sentient xenos. yeestealers and yeestealer accessories do not - hive mind is awkward like that. you have just finished day three -  seven supplies remain
Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 23:19 on Mar 14, 2016 |
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Mar 14, 2016 23:03
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Groin Sklunger The Base Groin awakens to find himself stuffed inside a large, mostly empty barrel. Evidently after using him as a living lascutter, the larger scrunts had decided to bin him. Grumbling, he slowly scratches and claws his way out of the barrel, eventually causing the barrel to topple over with a loud clang; blood, oil and various unmentionable fluids leak out along with Groin, as he emerges like some terrible hosed up butterfly hatching from a disgusting cocoon. He feels, different, somehow. sneakier!... and less intelligent than before. Something's different inside his brain, and he can't quite put his finger on it; he smacks his head to check his noggin, and is startled when his bionic eye rapidly enlarges out of his skull like a telescopic camera! "Huh.... thas new..." he murmurs. He quickly slams it back inside with his bionic-arm, which he notices now has a red coat of paint. "Hawh?!?!?!" he wonders. ______________ Groin's accent is now drunk Kiefer Sutherland.
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Mar 15, 2016 01:29
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Yurik Scraglagger Some Other Base Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 Local Area Map No other scrunt, Yurik knew, could possibly understand what this felt like. The cogs in his brain spinning at breakneck pace as the pieces of a puzzle coalesced into a complete picture, the breathless sense of surety and purpose that came from pitting his mind against seemingly insurmountable odds and triumphing, proving his intellectual superiority...it was the closest thing to sex he was ever likely to experience. His elation at solving the longstanding mystery of the unopenable box was short-lived however, the deciphered text raising more more questions than it answered. "Ain't that always the way?," Yurik thought to himself as he turned the new nuggets of information over in his head. Of course he knew of the Inquisition, even the most backwater, primitive Imperial citizen was at least vaguely aware of a sinister organization of people with funny hats and dour dispositions who liked to set people on fire at the slightest provocation, but the knowledge that had been crammed into Yurik's brain was quite a bit more detailed than that, if rather haphazardly organized. That the Inquisition was interested in Malbrathia-3 wasn't surprising in and of itself, it was probably quicker to list the known worlds that the Inquisition didn't have some interest in, but that word "Exterminatus"...that was more of a cause for concern. Terms like "cyclonic torpedoes" and "life-eater virus" began to bubble up from the composting sludge of information pooling at the back of his mind. The order to destroy an entire planet wasn't one to be undertaken lightly, he knew. If it was then there'd be a lot fewer planets out there, for starters. So for it to even be brought up at all in the context of Malbrathia-3, an otherwise unassuming world caught up in an otherwise unassuming slog of a war, meant something else was a factor beyond the Severans. Did it have to do with the Genestealers? That was definitely a possibility, the association between that species and annihilating all life on an entire world tugging faintly at his brain. Or did it have to do with the strange liquid living metal they'd encountered back at the farm, this Necron stuff? Or was it something else altogether? Mysteries on top of mysteries, and like a junkie scrabbling for his next fix Yurik wouldn't be satisfied until he had found the answers to them. Answers that would, for the moment, have to wait. Everyone was busy settling into their newly acquired (and hopefully far more fireproof) base, licking things and nicking whatever wasn't bolted down, but they were dangerously short on supplies. The giddy feeling of having stolen something big was going to wear off soon, followed by the far less happy feeling of wondering what was for dinner. Between this, that, and the other, a Loremaster's work was never done. *** "...an' so that's the situation," Yurik said to the gathered group of scrunts huddled around what had, in a former life, been the base's ready room. Technically this was Gumbo's territory, but the sergeant (or whatever rank he was calling himself these days) had agreed to the meeting. All of the senior scrunts were present, including Mung whose chest and face were wrapped in pilfered gauze and Grug who hadn't actually been invited but who had shown up regardless. Surb was there too as a "special advisor" of sorts. The ancient saying "keep your friends close and your enemies closer" would have been more apt if Yurik actually had any friends to begin with, but the principle was largely the same...he wanted the humie tech-priest where he could keep an eye on him. "We've got about a week's worth of stuff left, mebbe a bit less. After that those eedjits out there are gonna start eatin' each other 'less we find'em something to eat instead." "I found doggies!," Grug declared to the table at large, beaming happily to himself. "Uhhh, well I suppose that counts as someth-" "AND THEY'RE GONNA BE MY FRIENDS!," the corpulent scrunt shrieked, his demeanor shifting from "repulsive buffoon" to "collector of hand crafted skin-masks" in an instant. A tense silence hung over the table for a moment until Grug let an enormous fart rip before settling back into his seat, all smiles once more. "The nice ones, anyway! The rest can be friends with our tummies!" Yurik slowly scooted his makeshift seat several feet away as Grug stared into space, patting his stomach and murmuring happily to himself. Even by scrunt standards he found the most recent addition to their ranks to be incredibly disturbing. "Anyway, as I was sayin', we need to start makin' some plans." With that he unrolled the map he'd been able to salvage across the table, weighing the corners down with chunks of rock and empty ammunition containers. "There's stuff to be had all around us, we just hafta go out and get it. Like here," he said, tapping a spot he'd circled on the map with his thinkin' stick. "There's a manufactorum a hunnert-an-somethin' miles down thataway. Big place, probably got all sorts of stuff we need. Machinery, knives, more machinery, spare parts, servitors...actual servitors," he added, fixing Surb with a pointed look before continuing on. "'S not gonna be easy though. They've got a fackload of humies dug in guardin' the place. If we want the good stuff we're gonna have to go through'em. We could go around the long way an' grab some stuff out of these warehouses easier, but that's a lotta fuel burned for a tiny fackin' haul." He then gestured to the various other points of interest scattered about the map. "But that ain't all there is, though. There's a refinery not too far north of here, an' we lost a fair bit o' fuel when someone blew it the fack up," he said, this time turning his baleful stare towards Groin. "An' there's other stuff too, might be some more information on some of it I ain't properly digested yet. Whichever an' however we decide to go with things, we're gonna need to do it quick-like if we wanna turn this place into a proper piece o' Slam. An' how 'bout you?," he asked Surb, jabbing the tech-priest in the general region of his chest with the end of his thinkin' stick. "You know anything interestin' about these places? Hmmmmmmmmm?" *** Yurik isn't really going to be of much help to Grumb's project, nor would he want to be. Instead if Moola/Groin wishes to do some work on the vehicle bay bringing it up to Tolerable since Mung is recuperating from open-source heart surgery then Yurik will assist him. If Groin just wants to dick around then Yurik will instead bring the Experimental Labs up to Tolerable all on his ownsome. Both of these projects will take 2 days/resources to complete. Yurik is also questioning Surb concerning various points of interest on the map, fishing for details outside of my remaining loot pick like the filthy munchkin powergamer I am. Unless his answers seem especially evasive or suspicious there probably won't be much reason for me to roll Scrutiny but maybe Surb just straight up doesn't know poo poo. Still, there's mention of Loyalist Mechanicus on the map, and he might have information on various facilities for one reason or another, plus it gives Leperflesh an excuse to post. I'm sharing what I know about the Manufactorum Complex with everyone, you can assume you know it and also that you've had a look at the map. Start figuring out where you want to go next. The Manufactorum? The Refinery? Vehicle staging area? I'm good with pretty much whatever.
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Mar 15, 2016 04:13
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Murdelia The Base Malbrathia-3 Medbay Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Murdelia[ is sore as gently caress after being zapped implanting that bionic heart, waking up after a couple of hours. The withdrawal is sucking rear end right now and Murdelia needs a new fix, and she's all out of her poo poo. To that end, Murdelia seeks out Yurik. She finds him at the meeting, briefing a buncha scrunts about how long the loots gonna last or something. "Fine idea to go shoot up the manufactory. I got an idea though, we needs ta figure out what that stuff does, that experimental stuff. You think you can spare some more of it for testing purposes Yurik? Give me...a few days,i mean weeks supply, and I'll figure out how it ticks. Work on it all day and night I swear!" Assuming that request is granted, Murdelia puts up a crude sign outside the medical labs marked "KOKANE DESPENSARY, OPEN FOR BUSINESS 24/7" and starts beginning testing on live subjects...starting with herself. Her first clinical trial: put that boomgun she traded Gumbo her laser for and see if it affects the senses while shooting it off wildly at bottles, cans, books, scrunts, and anything in particular. Spending 1 supply a day to experiment with EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG and tricking scrunts into being target practice when Murderlia needs her fix and otherwise testing it on them and recording the effects.
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Mar 15, 2016 23:14
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Sergeant Gumbo Bulge, Scrunt Mother Base, Armoury 14/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate --Before the Meeting-- Gumbo surveys the armoury. Not much here, he muses. It's been picked almost clean, just the odd piece. The other Scrunts flock to those pieces, grabbing but he stands in the entry. There must be something, after all this effort, and in a base this size? He spies a small room at the back, a closet really, with a single window - well it's barely a window its so well fortified - but the door is wide open. He approaches, intrigued, and squints at a plaque beside the open doorway. "Come-and-er" he reads quietly. He enters to find a stool, a mirror, and a pair of lockers. One is wide open, empty. The other is easy enough to pry open - he supposes the door was considered protection enough. On the top shelf is a cone-shapes contraption, which he carefully withdraws. He turns it over in his stubby fingers. "Whas this then?" He finds a red button and pushes it instinctively. Scrunts love red buttons. A soft whine emanates from the cone, he tuts, confused, and the cone tuts back. His face lights up - he knows what this is, he's seen one before, in the hands of a human all the other humans would obey immediately. "Shouter." He unhooks a small box from the side of the cone, and lifts it to his lips. "BALLS" he says, and the word bounces around the closet, shockingly loud in the enclosed space. He laughs and puts the thing into an empty duffel he finds under the chair, then turns his attention back to the locker. Another bolt pistol - a nicer bolt pistol. He stuffs this into his holster, leaving his old pistol on a shelf in the locker. He finds a small shiny badge with the word from the plaque outside - and some human name he can scratch off later - and slips it into his pocket. This is turning into a decent haul. Only one thing left in the locker though. Wrapped in cloth and leaning against the back is a long, thin object. He hopes its a fishing pole, a fancy one like some humans have, not just a stick and a woven ear-hair line like he used to have at home. He grabs at it greedily, the cloth slips away and he gasps. He is certain the power sword is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen - even in this dingy closet it seems to shine. He lifts it carefully, reverentially. There are buttons, but he does not push them (none of them are red). This thing he must be careful with, he knows, its too precious to be poking at without care. He wraps the cloth back around it, and slides it into the duffel - it sticks out, but he makes an effort to secure it. On his way out of the armoury he pauses, then walks to the nearest rack and grabs a dusty lasgun from a confused Scrunt. "Ye Don' know ow ta use it anyway ye daft fucker," he grunts at the incensed fellow, then cuffs him about the head. The Scrunt wanders away towards a developing melee over a boot someone has found. "Dun hurt t'ave options" Gumbo mutters, checking the sights. He slings it over his back and strolls out of the armoury. In the common areas, a few Scrunts are tossing a ball about as Grumb watches. He thinks he remembers the Corporal talking about this - a playing field for the militia. Doesn't seem too important to him, but then something bumps into his shin and he peers down. The ball. He squats, and picks up the misshapen ball, turns it over in his hand. For a moment he is overcome with memories of his youth, the Scruntbowl, Danny the skull. A single tear forms in the corner of a tiny eye. He wipes it away with his free hand, stands, and tosses the ball to the nearest Scruntling. He sidles over to Grumb, resolving to help get a proper field built - and somewhere to train the lads as well. "Ere, Corpral." He says, "Ahm thinkin them militia lads ought'ta be helpin' wi' this. Cahn expec' ye ta do all the work yerself, eh?" He reaches into the duffel slung under his arm, smiling. "It jus' so 'appens, Ahve jus' the thin'." "Alrigh you sorry lot!" He yells through the laudhailer. "Get yer flabby lil arses in gear an star' movin' them crates. You!" he points at a familiar face "Where the 'ell ave yer been?!" --The Meeting-- "Pirk!" Gumbo barks as the young Scrunt scuttles into the ready room behind him, laden with spare gear. "Ye shud probly put some a tha stuff in the armoury, yer gonna do yer little legs in, lad." "Sir!" he chirps "You told me that..." but he trails off as Yurik enters, then shuffles behind the Sergeant and sits down, hoping to go unnoticed by the Psy-Scrunt. Gumbo listens intently, nodding occasionally to show he understands. The humans have nice stuff, stuff they could use. But there's a more immediate problem, it seems to him. "Seems to me," he says "the mos' urgen' thin is food. We got a lot a folk 'ere, 'ardly unner our control, an I don' wanna see what'll 'appen if they think they gonna starve." Gumbo is a commander now, with cool new gear (though he will continue to go by Sergeant/Sarge at least until the militia are better trained and the base is better equipped, at which point he may promote himself) and is going to help get this training area up to Tolerable His priority for raiding is food, as its harder to train hungry soldiers than ill-equipped ones Phoon fucked around with this message at 00:57 on Mar 16, 2016 |
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Mar 16, 2016 00:53
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Surb The briefing room The base Malbrathia 3 Surb was warming up to the scrunts. Well. That's not quite true, nobody warms up to scrunts. But, in his own subtle way, the techpriest had largely gotten past the initial waves of horror and revulsion - emotions he was extremely unused to experiencing - that had washed over him when a handful of scrunts metamorphosed, like some terrible swarm of rot grubs emerging from a single bloated Nurgle-spawned cocoon, into several hundred scrunts swarming, sauntering, sidling, loitering, and looting their way through the tunnels and rooms of the underground facility. Surb's scientific mind had overcome those primal human emotions originating in his distant and increasingly irrelevant evolutionary past, replaced by the fascination a biologist might feel as he stares into a maze populated by lab rats. Irradiated mutant lab rats. Gun-toting, irradiated, sociopathic mutant lab rats with a basic, practical understanding of metallurgy, bionics, agriculture, and now, apparently, also logistics. And they had a map. And this Yurik scrunt, Surb strongly suspected was a psyker, as well, and obviously not a sanctioned psyker. That was interesting, now, wasn't it. Surb had, apparently, resolved to be helpful. He had made some basic demands - not to have his body parts (mechanical or biological) "salvaged" by some of the more enterprising techno-scrunts, for example. Scrunts were gently but firmly prevented from converting Surb's most valued laboratory into a... well, "bedroom" was hardly the appropriate word, scrunts clearly not understanding the basic concept of a "bed," so call it a communal dormitory, although what the actual scrunts in question had called it was a "huddlin' heap what fer gettin' sum shut-eye an' nonner yer buzniss wha' else ye facker." Surb had helpfully located a "less bright and more cozy" location for those scrunts - an actual complex of rooms formerly used as a dormitory, although given the partially-collapsed ceiling and the nonfunctioning lavoratories, it was more of a warren of hidey-holes, piles of rubble, and the occasional steel bedframe. The scrunts had been delighted. But Surb was satisfied with restored access to the bio-tanks, from which he could extract all the tasteless, textureless nutrient paste he needed. Which was not very much. A scrunt might get the impression Surb's decidedly skeletal physique was not entirely due to weeks of starvation trapped in a lab. A multi-segmented mechandrite arm levered down from behind Surb's right shoulder, jabbing a shiny little drill bit into the map Yurik had spread across the table. "That is a war zone," he declared, pointedly. "As well you know by now, I should think. The Severans pushed through all of this area, and the Imperial forces - such as they are - retreated before them. I know little more of the military, ah, situation, and therefore, Scrunt Yurik, I urge you to take everything else I shall tell you with that in mind. Who knows what the Severans have done! Looting, or fortifying, or repurposing, or ignoring? I have no interest in the conflict, beyond the fact that it has been absolutely disastrously disruptive of my research. Nor did the former commander see fit to brief me on the particulars." The arm lifted, leaving a little punched hole in the dead center of the map, and the drill bit lazily spun with an almost imperceptible whir as the arm hovered over the map, hesitating. "Nonetheless, I believe I can be of some help, my little friends. Here, the Tartarus Refinery. A major promethium production refinery, on the shore of the lake. There is an offshore drilling complex. Ships come to Tartarus, offload crude into a series of above-ground storage tanks. There's an attached settlement - housing, canteens, recreational facilities, that sort of thing. I should assume the tanker transport you... ah, commandeered? Likely filled up at Tartarus." The drill bit lifts again, moving to the west. "Aeolia. Capital city of Malbrathia 3. At one point the Imperial forces were close enough to bombard its outermost districts. That particular tactic appears to have, ahah, backfired, hmm?" Surb grins toothily. "The locals didn't appreciate their homes being shelled. Seem to have rallied a bit after that. Heh. There, just to the north, the former spaceport. Situated just inland from the sea. The Severans used to export products from both sea and land, and that is a convenient confluence of land and sea transport networks, population concentration, and so on. The spaceport was a natural focus for orbital fire. I cannot imagine the Severans have had sufficient time and resources to restore it to full operability - its functions would require specialist techpriests to repair. But? Who can say for certain? Perhaps they have managed to restore one or two launchpads?" The arm pokes into the paper to the large star icon just to the south of the city. "Andurien Power. That is the primary source of electrical power to the region. The generators are embedded into the sides of the hills, with water from the lake fed in as coolant. It was also shelled, but I understand the Imperial forces were never able to knock it entirely offline. It is heavily fortified." His arm drifts further south. "Loyalist Mechanicus. There is the holy cathedral wherein dwell others of my order. I have not been in communication with the Archmagos there for months. Whoever annotated this map does not understand the Adeptus Mechanicus. Of course they are loyalist! Loyal to the Machine God, the Omnissiah. Loyal to the machine spirits. Loyal to our order. We do not care about these petty planetary squabbles. If the Severans have occupied the complex surrounding the cathedral, that would be of no particular concern to us. My fellows will do nothing to subvert the Imperial war efforts, of course... they are not traitors. But neither will they refuse to tend to the spirits of a suffering machine, nor will they abandon their sacred duties and rites. I do not doubt the Severans are aware that attempts to force the Mechanicus to submit to their will would be futile. Should they attack... well, the electro-priests and Skitarii guards will fight to the death, and thereafter, the Severans will find not one Adept willing to assist them in any way. Their entire civilization would be doomed. I think it likely they have, ah, exercised due restraint, and bypassed the cathedral entirely. " Surb points rapidly to each of the little gun icons scattered across the map. "Military facilities. Generally complexes including airstrips, weapons depots, barracks, and so on. All of them held at one time or another by Imperial forces, most of them scuttled during the retreat... although if the RANK INCOMPETENCE of this research base's former commander is anything to judge by, they were doubtless left in reasonably salvagable condition. You should assume most have been recovered by the Severans during their advance." Finally Surb directs Yurik's attention to the little X marks on the map. "These I have no particular data for. Each is a classified location having some military significance. You can see the Eiger Command Center there to the north; and even farther north, Site Sterm, another research facility quite similar to this one in design, although focused on research projects unrelated to my own. Airbase Mors is a larger complex than these other military bases - isolated on the island, it has a central radar station, expansive runways, testing grounds, and fortified hangars. It was home to the most important Imperial air wing a few weeks past... I cannot guess whether it has actually fallen to the Severans, as they must have had difficulty assaulting it with their ground forces. Perhaps not." Surb fixes Yurik with a piercing, laser-assisted scowl. "There is also the Iron Forest. It is a Bad Place, scrunt. Very dangerous. Very... interesting. Something has happened there, some sort of significant change in the local flora and fauna, originating at Site Zero. I have heard... rumors. I was INAPPROPRIATELY AND FOOLISHLY DENIED access to samples! But Yurik, I do not think you will find 'loot' there, nor fuel, nor anything to eat, either. You and I, we have a certain... hm, academic interest in the unusual, do we not? We are kindred spirits in that sense, perhaps? Then in that spirit I caution you a third time: sometimes the experiment is too dangerous. Sometimes it gets out of hand, escapes the lab, savages the lab assistants, and there is all the tiresome screaming and running and excessive use of heavy weaponry. Yes? If you go there you will probably all die. But if you do not all die... kindly bring back samples. Very thoroughly secured samples." The mechandrite arm waves lazily about the map in a dismissive gesture. "That is everything of any importance. Query for additional particulars and I shall tell you what I know, of course, but you have the summary." Surb gives additional details by request for any of the points of interest, but insists he knows nothing about the "off limits" location, and will refuse to give extensive details of anything to do with the Mechanicus that a techpriest would consider sacred secrets. DJF can fill in the blanks in an update if need be. Leperflesh fucked around with this message at 06:56 on Mar 16, 2016 |
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Mar 16, 2016 06:50
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Mungly Mung Mung rolls listlessly in his cot. It wasn't enough that Murdelia did open heart surgery on him when he was out. But he can't even eat all his old biological heart in one sitting due to the fact that she relieved him of his stomach in the process. Not that it mattered, according to her, because his stomach was all blackened and withered like a rotted out jackfruit. "Aside," she said, "It's not like ya needed it anyway, prolly hadn't worked right for the last coupla years." In the meantime it seems as though Murdelia's double cousin had the idea to get some of the other scrunts together for a rousing game of Mungball in the courtyard. Mung made a mental reminder to enact his revenge against the double cousin at a later time. His autosanguine blood seems to be handling the grunt work of stitching the wounds up, but that doesn't stop the attending medscrunts from bringing him some wood grain alcohol to disenfect the jagged stapled flesh (and also for Mung to drink when they weren't looking). At the rate he was healing it shouldn't be too long before he's back on his feet, but until then it gives him the chance to critique Murdelia's work on the Experimental Combat Drug using as many expletives as possible. ----- Changed my Scholastic Lore (Chymistery) from my previous post with Forbidden Lore (mutants) to give us a bit more knowledge spread as a group. If it's at all possible for me to do so without ripping stitches and bleeding to death I'll try and assist on the experimental combat drug research using my new found knowledge of how mutations work. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 16:32 on Mar 21, 2016 |
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Mar 21, 2016 16:23
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Scrum The Base Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cEdfc2_YAs The scrunty meeting rages on. Small fights break out in the background between squad comrades, as the squad digest the scraps of Surb's infodump, Yurik's suggestions, and Gumbo's concerns. Or at least, the bits they recognised. The goggling goes on for a while. Hack has Barry in a headlock, and the pair of them barrel into a locker as the gunner's comrade attempts to break the hold. Groin looks on gruffly as Jekk flaps ineffectually at Pirk, while augmented rats swarm over them both. Flet is thwacking an anonymous scrunt with what looks to be a thick, leatherbound book, although he shows no indication of knowing how to read. Twonk hasn't joined the melee, but instead is sitting obliviously and uncomfortably close to Grumb. ----  Taking out Mung's stomach probably wasn't the strangest thing Murdelia's done. On examination, Mung displays all the signs of chronic malnutrition - difficult to spot in a scrunt, and probably an indication of how far gone he is. So, the obvious thing to do was to whip out the ol' malformed gutbox and slap in a nice fresh one from one of the recent scrunt casualties. It probably didn't die of anything particularly important. Despite being a horrible creature of filth and depravity, Murdelia does understand the importance of three square meals a day and lots of leafy greens. From what she's seen of the fermentation tanks in the basement, the slurry they produce should contain everything a healthy scrunt needs to maintain body and mind. Since landing on the planet, the scrunts have been eating mostly garbage, sticks, and corpses - fairly normal for most scrunts, but then most scrunts aren't particularly active. A change in diet should do Mung some good. ------  After a couple of days of bedrest, Murdelia checks in on her patient again. Rather disturbingly, the technoscrunt is getting worse. A lot worse. Worryingly quickly. If Mung bites it, then the squad will have to rely on the civilian population and - scruntfather - on Groin for their mobility needs. This is bad. He's eating the same stuff as everyone else, though. Surely there should be more cases like this? Canvassing a group of two hundred scrunts for "anyone feelin' a bit under the weather?" gives a fairly predictable response, but after bashing the false positives on the head, it turns out that on inspection the only vaguely similar hosed-up scrunts are members of the main squad. Grimply, Gumbo, Grumb a little, Groin, a little, and - mopping her brow - Murdelia herself. So why're they all... Fingers drumming, lost in thought, the medic's eyes fall on the small canvas sack containing four gleaming, silver ampoules of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG, and the elderly scrunt puttering around in the room across the hall from the medbay. ----- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufv-A_LDPF0 Right, that didn't go so well. A thunderous clanging booms down the hall, and rust flakes shower down as the scrunt-beast within the room pounds on the door, howling. Murdelia leans all of her weight into keeping the bulkhead door shut. Going off previous experience, this should wear off in about thirty seconds or so. Thirty long, terrifying seconds. Things quieten down after a while, and the medic slopes off before the comatose scrunt trapped behind the bulkhead door wakes up. She's off to find her long-neglected autogun for a bit of stress relief, and to embark on some actual medical whatsamacallitations on what the hell this stuff in the syringes really is. -------  Well, Murdelia's never seen that before. Protesting scrunts await their turn at the medical scanner that Murdelia's cobbled together out of Groin's discarded auspex and a load of tinfoil. The weird gribbly bit at the centre of the brain, that some scrunts have and a lot of scrunts don't, appears to be flaring up in those scrunts who she's micro-dosed with another syrette of COMBAT DRUG. Big enough dose for a physiological effect, not a big enough dose to make them into terrifying killing machines. It's only been a day or so, but the flaring test subjects are starting to show the same signs of malnutrition as the more long-term ill. But what the hell is it that they're missing? They're all eating the same food, although... Groin's had two doses. Why isn't he more- A vestigial function of the auspex scanner crackles to life as Groin sticks his tongue out. His moderately irradiated tongue. Ah. ------- scrynt ok it's day five, and you've used eight supplies in building stuff and druggin'. unless i am told otherwise, i'm gonna assume you want to use the fewest supplies possible first, and the fewest days possible second. mung is back on his feet. long story short, some scrunts have a hyperactive gland in the centre of their brain, most of you don't. those of you with a gland will get some effect from EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG. those of you without, won't. murdelia can easily check anyone who fancies to see if they're glanded, and - spoiler alert - you're all glanded. so will any replacement scrunts, or anyone played by a person. it's a scrunty gland - murdelia's been a medic for a while, and she's well aware of it. well before landing on malbrathia-3. it's not yeestealer-related. this gland gets kicked into overdrive via the application of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG, whatever that is. once it starts a-throbbin', it produces the symptoms of chronic malnutrition in you as it leeches nutrients out of you. it doesn't seem to be doing anything with these nutrients, because they're not the right nutrients. it seems your glands crave strange things, like rare earth metals, or radioactive isotopes. EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG stat penalties can be negated via the consumption of radioactive material, rare metals, or Weird Stuff. this is easily obtained by leaving a handful of dirt near the nuke for a day or so while you do other things.i'm assuming you're going to do this, so remove all EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG stat penalties from your character sheets. the drug itself is not radioactive, or you would have picked up on this by now also you've built a Tolerable Experimental Lab and a Tolerable Militia Training Area. you have two supplies left so go raid somewhere fast. you can leave the scrunts and Surb hungry if you like, but they ain't gonna like it.
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Mar 21, 2016 22:44
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Grug drive through take out Life in the under-hive was a careful balancing act: staying hidden and safe for as long as possible but not so long that one became hungry and weak. Living like this for so long had given Grug a good sense of timing in this matter, and his tummy was getting nervous so he began making preparations and sought out his long time pal Grumb; afterall you gotta look out for your buddies. It wasn't hard for Grug to find Grumb, he just followed the sound of his bellowing to the newly opened bloodblowl arena. Shuffling out into the field, lazily dragging an enormous net behind him, Grug seems oblivious the mound of scrunts growing in size as another one jumps to the top with a joyous 'YEEEEEE'. Grumb has lined up some of the smaller scrunts along one wall; just as one wavers and looks like it might flee he roars,"DUNT YA MOOOOVE!" and belts the mungball at it with a heavy *whump*. Interrupting, Grug beams "Grrrruuummb, tummy says it's time for food or we'll get hangry," his fat tongue licks his plump lips, "you wouldn't like me when I'm hangry so lets get some," his eyes nearly pop out as he continues with an excited shriek, "FOODS!" I say we get in the trucks, go dograbbit hunting then raid the refinery
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Mar 22, 2016 00:38
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Murdelia The Base Malbrathia-3 SCRUNT MILITIA BARRACKS OR SOMETHING Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Murdelia pops in kitted out with her fancy new BOOMGUN hanging off her chest with a lovely sling, her autogun hanging off her rear end and all her medical stuff hanging about somewhere on her person. Ever since being shocked to poo poo performing a bionic heart transplant she hasn't been much for words. Feeling better than she has after eating some radioactive dirt, she's in the mood for a bit of an excursion. "YOU! GET THOSE SCRUNTS WIT THOS GUNS AND HOP IN THE TRUCK WE GOING FOR A RIDE." If asked about the destination, she mentions something about scoring some obscura and fuel from the REFINERY I vote REFINERY, MURDELIA goes wherever the gently caress the group decides. She's bringing a scrunt militia crew with her though. Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 03:50 on Mar 22, 2016 |
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Mar 22, 2016 03:32
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Groin Sklunger The Base Groin carefully buries his canteens of blood in the dirt near the nuke to improve the taste. ____________________ Groin is making his blood radioactive.
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Mar 22, 2016 15:21
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Sergeant Gumbo Bulge, Scrunt Mother Base, War room 14/14 Wounds 2/2 Fate "Alrigh'." Gumbo jabs a stubby finger at the map "This 'ere" refinery. I thin' thas what we 'it. We'll take a smaller crew, us an' the lads in the truck an' a few limos fer the loot. 'ard an' fast, in and out before they know whas 'it 'em. He peers at the map for a few more seconds. "We shud grab summa them rabbit thins firs' though. He nods to Grug, then locks eyes with each Scrunt in turn as he speaks. "I don' want us hangin' about ou' there when they get all riled up. Can't have them 'umans findin' this place, we already los' the farm, I won' lose this too. An we ain' ready to be fightin' em off yet."[/b] Finally his eyes come to rest on Serb, he smiles politely, or as politely as he can manage. "Mr Serb. If ye av any facts or figgins abou' this refinery, this'd be the time to speak up. In return fer yer info, if theres anything there yer itchin' fer, we can keep an eye ou', bring ya summin back." To Grumb he mutters quietly "Like to get this lot doin' summin useful while we're gone. What dya think o gettin' em workin' on some 'nades?" Gumbo proposes a raid on the refinery, and requests more info. he also suggests collecting the rabbits first, so we can focus on evading Severan attention on the way back. He also wants the scrunts remaining home to be working on something useful, so would like to use his command to get us basic ammo/grenades.
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Mar 23, 2016 13:35
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Mungly Mung Laid out Mung grew increasingly irritated at his body not healing fast enough for his standard. It was at his peak moment of frustration when he was approached by one of the medical aids. "Da' gently caress is this?" Mung asks incredulously at the hospital aid holding out what appeared to be a bucket of mud with some hunks of concrete mixed in. "Murdelia said it'd make you feel better if'n you ate some dirt." replied the bewildered scrunt. The youth probably realizes that if he upsets Mung that the techscrunt will hurt him, but if he doesn't do what Murdelia said, she threatened him with atomic swirlies. "I eat dirt all the time, dude. What makes you think this is going to make me feel better." "Well she didn't say why, but she did say they stuck it in the nuke tank ta get sum radiocharged or somefin. Don't know why, radio stations suck around here. All you hear is 'Praise the Emperor' this, 'defeat the traitor army' that..." Mung snatches the bucket suddenly from the bewildered aide and slaps him aside with his servo arm, sending him sliding on his but across the room and bouncing him off a pillar. "Well'n why didn't you tell me that to begin with ya idjit? She was sayin somefin earler about tolerable doses of radiographies bein something what's good fer ya." Mung downs as much of the radioactive slop as his mechanical stomach can tolerate before laying back down. The next day Mystifingly, Murdelia was right on the money with the radioactive mud being just what the doctor ordered. His autosanguine seems to have kicked into overdrive and by the time he woke up the next day he was up and moving again. His first action after getting back on his feet is, obviously, to go brag about his new toys to the other techscrunts. He meanders into the garage to see that same damned limo still high ended on a concrete hunk, he figures this is as good a time as any to show is new prowess and calls over some nearby ambling techscrunts. Sticking the servo arm under the limo's chassis, Mung squints and strains and his servo arm squeals in protest before finally giving in and lifting the limo off the rock and upending it onto it's side, crushing the leg of another techscrunt who just got out of the medicae with cybernetic toes. The audience coo, clapped, and farted in celebration while their comrade shrieks in pain. Mung takes a minute to showboat before using his servo arm to slap shot the offending hunk of concrete out the bay doors to tumble down the hill multiple meters. He then pulls the limo back onto its wheels, much to the relief of the freshly re-maimed techscrunt that the others hop off to the medicae again. Mung beams a smile at the rest of the crew and say "Roight, let's get ta work shall we?" --- Fixing the critical damage on the chimera here and doing whatever miscellaneous fixes to poo poo I may or may not have damaged during the farm fight so our vehicles are ready to go. We also need to do an armory check on the Tauros, since we're tracking grenades for that and our idiot manchildren scrunt militia probably fired all the shots off while we were in the cave. Are we going to be able to load up shotcannon shells for it before we leave? DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 17:38 on Mar 25, 2016 |
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Mar 25, 2016 17:36
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Grug, just one more thing It's fair to say that Grug's tiny mind is very open to suggestion, so as soon as Gumbo had finished dishing out orders at the scrabble (scrunt-rabble) he hurried down to the vehicle bay with Little Grumb (Twonk) and began prepping for the upcoming dograbbit hunt. He was thoroughly engaged in loading the truck with salvaged nets, sharp sticks, viciously hooked metal spikes and carefully selected rocks (big and knobbly) when he suddenly paused and fished something from between folds of greasy skin. He wiped it on the hair on his forearm and held it up to the light, "Hmmmm..." he squeaked as his face screwed up in puzzlement then in an instant beamed with delight, "Go upstairs and get this stuck onto this so I can shoot 'nadys at the bad doggies," he thrust his Tiny hosed-Up Multilaser and the small metal tube into Twonk's arms and sent him running. Twonk's going to the armoury to get the under-slung grenade launcher attached to the TFUML so could someone help? If not, or if there's not enough time before we go a hunting, Twonk will come back with the unmodded gun, frustrated.
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Mar 25, 2016 21:23
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technoscrunts can load up shotcannon rounds if supervised by a Tech User. post-scrunting, the tauros has ten empty canisters and thirty flame-nade ones, in two clips of twenty each E: tech use for nade tubes, too. should be Trade Armourer but seriously its a tube and a nail. +10 roll, half an hour. grenades can either fit the tube or be throwable - decide pre-mission and update your charsheet Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 22:01 on Mar 25, 2016 |
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Mar 25, 2016 21:49
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Yurik Scraglagger Some Other Base Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 Local Area Map Yurik nodded sagely as his absorbent mind committed everything that Surb said to memory...his decision to keep the tech-priest close at hand was already paying off. "All right then, I agree with Gumbo," he said, lending the sergeant the considerable weight of his support. "Food an' fuel, we're gonna need both if we wanna tackle that manufactorum. We'll need to bring all the vehicles with us if'n we wanna take it head on and grab everything we can 'stead of pickin' at crumbs like a passel of sump-rats." Murdelia had shared her findings with him concerning the EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG. A little poking and prodding had revealed the cause of the strange wasting affliction affecting those that had used it. On the one hand it was convenient that they had the nuke on hand to satisfy the need for a little extra radioactivity, on the other hand it meant they couldn't actually use it without sourcing a replacement. And while the medic had discovered a way to alleviate the symptoms, she had yet to find a way to cure them entirely, which left those affected dependent on regular irradiated dirt infusions. There was still plenty about this drug they didn't understand, and Yurik knew that they weren't likely get to the bottom of it without some additional experiments...and to do that they needed additional experimental subjects. "We need to take some of them dograbbits alive," he added as the scrunts in charge made their plans for the raid, "an' some humies too. Not for food neither. Just a couple of each oughta do it, we can grab'em on the way. Don't worry," he said chuckling nastily, "they pro'lly won't be alive for long." *** Jumping on the refinery/dograbbit bandwagon, Yurik also wants living test subjects for highly unethical research experiments. If the scruntherd can be browbeaten into going and recovering hosed-up corpses from the tunnels for Surb to look at then he'll have them do so while we're off having magical adventures. Yurik will stress the importance of using sheets to carry things.
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Mar 29, 2016 01:04
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 ]"It's all in tha wrist.", Drekk said, smacking an unfortunate technoscrunt's back with crude whip made of leather strips with a small stone at the end. "Now your jobs are to make sure these good-fer-nothin' technoscrunts make mods! They work too slow, whip 'em! Is what they made garbage? Whip 'em again! You can whip 'em for the 'ell of it, but not too 'ard, don't wanna break these." Drekk and Widget had gathered several volunteers and some conscripted technoscrunts to make weapon mods. They started up decently: Bored scrunts can exert their power over the weak, mods are made, and the best whippers get extra rat pies as a bonus! "Ay are you're Drekk? a scrunt quizzically asks as he enters the setup. "Yarp." "Gumbo has a meeting in the war room, he told me to find you and the otha scrunts!" --- "Attackin' the refinery and going rabbit hunting? Sure." Drekk voiced his agreement. "But are we going to attack during tha wee hours of tha night or during tha day?" While waiting for a response, he nudges Widget, hands him the Photovisor goggles, and tells him to get the straps scrunt-sized. ---  scrunting.I'm cool with going after the refinery and rabbit hunting. Also I'm gonna get the Photovisors resized so Drekk doesn't have to hold them anymore.
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Mar 29, 2016 13:39
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Warpath The Base Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVf7NBncUy0 Day 5 After a great deal of aimless yelling, the scrunts discover they're mostly all of one mind. They want to go kill something weaker than they are, and then they want to go huff some industrial chemicals. Faintly alarmed, but not particularly surprised, Surb is able to furnish them with some details of the refinery complex where once he worked with very little prompting. The scrunts nevertheless jabber over their map, thrusting stubby fingers and more upsetting body parts in an attempt to make their respective points, until the whole affair is one of confusion and irritation. Unable to raise his voice to the accustomed screech due to his stitches, Mung punctuates his observations by clonging his metal feet on the rusty iron bars of his hospital bed. Other scrunts join in, sporadically. Things are as scrunty as can be. The crude assembly breaks up abruptly at some point before evening, as scrunts lose interest or remember other stuff they wanted to get sorted. It is nevertheless impressed very strongly into the technoscrunt contingent present, as well as the handful of militiamembers who happened to be passing and got dragged in, that their presence will be greatly appreciated in a couple of day's time. The vague plan of attack is to leave on the morning of the seventh day ensconced in the base, to go and try and slaughter as many of the nearby herd of predatory dograbbits as possible, and then to go raid the refinery before hauling all the ill gotten gains back to their new home. If some live captives can be snagged, so much the better. ---- Day 6 There is some consternation among the technoscrunts as Grumb shows up at Drekk's impromptu workshop brandishing a large hollow tube in one hand, a curious laser-weapon in the other, and a raised eyebrow. However, it swiftly becomes apparent by the lack of heavy ordnance strapped about his person that this is in fact Twonk, and a few of the toiling workers take some time out from clanging at armour plates or treadling the makeshift lathe to nail the tube in place. It's big enough to slot in a tube of fuel-drug-booze mixture, which can be used as propellant for an improvised rocket-propelled grenade.  And, more importantly, it can also be drunk. Drekk takes time out to get his comrade to get his photovisors refitted, too. It takes a little bit of rewiring to account for the fact that his face bulges out a lot more than the human whom they were originally designed for, but no matter, the technoscrunts handle it with ease. He tests out his new kit in the gloom of the tunnels, scaring the living poo poo out of the scrunts glumly tasked with dragging the decomposing dograbbit corpses back for Surb to prod and poke. Some of them have already gotten to a stage where their distressing, unnatural, horrifying exterior has reverted back to regular old biology. Mung makes the most of his new bionics - now that he can walk without plashing black ichor everywhere, he immediately begins hurling large chunks of concrete and tanks around. He fixes the Chimera's turret in short order by simply unscrewing it and wrenching it back into place, which takes most of the morning and makes him rather dizzy by the end of it. Opting for more of a dictatorial role with regards to the Tauros, he simply points out the damaged chunks of metal on its hull and leaves the others to sort it out. A few parts look a bit strange once the herd's finished with them - the brake pedal's been replaced by a hammered-flat can of scruntbrau, for example - but the vehicle appears to be a little more robust. ---- Day 7 - egress The revving of engines, the stench of engine fumes, the feel of the breeze in one's straggly, horrible, greasy hair. The scrunts have wanderlust again, and the convoy sets out...  Rumbling through the darkness of the hidden exit tunnel, the vehicles emerge, eventually, into daylight. A precariously narrow track takes them down into the centre of the great, expansive U-shaped valley in which the base lies. The scrunts are heading north, following the shallowing walls of the valley round to the shore of the northern lake. From here they will be able to cull the potentially dangerous rabbitbeasts to the west, before doubling back and heading to the east, seeking plunder and loot at the Tartarus refinery complex. Gumbo, surrounded by other curious scrunts, clutches in one meaty fist a crude, napkin-based map drawn by Surb in his exasperation at trying to convey the refinery's environs to the squad. His lips move visibly as he plots out the implications of what everyone's been told.  Essentially, the scrunts will be able to come relatively close to the refinery without being detected, if they don't do anything stupid. However, simply driving up to the gates will probably result in the alarm being sounded when they're still about ten kilometres out. That's only about five minutes of prep time, but it's still more than enough for the refinery guard detail to mobilize - Surb says he remembers barracks for about sixty men, and there's always the chance the attendent techpriests will join the fray as well, with their command of local servitors. There's snipers in each of the four guard towers, and there's heavier emplacements mounted over each gate. They were heavy bolters in Surb's day, but there's no reason that won't have changed in the intervening years with the new Severan owners. Arguably, even if the alarm was sounded immediately, the Severans will need several hours to get a sizable force on the ground at the refinery, and they may be unwilling to divert forces away from the Iron Forest perimeter anyway. However, air support is another matter - there's an encampment only a few score klicks north of the artificial refinery lake, and strafing air cavalry could be present with distressing speed. Plus, the greater danger is that a roving recon squad spots the scrunts - they'd pretty much have to either shake or destroy such a unit, otherwise they'd be followed back to their secret underground lair - the newly-promoted commander pauses to enjoy the phrase - their secret underground lair, and presumably rooted out. Surb did relate something quite interesting, though - the refinery takes in lakewater via an inlet channel, and spits out good old fashioned chemical slurry, just like scruntma used to make. A scrunt that didn't mind inhaling several thousand gallons of toxic waste, or who could somehow breathe the stuff, could, theoretically, make his way up the outlet pipe and through to the main control centre. The slurry channel passes right past the control centre - how else could the technicians determine its composition and tell whether the holy refining machines are doing their jobs properly? With control of the main cogitator stack, the scrunts could not only disable the alarm system and the gate locks, but could maybe even cause some havoc on the ground by overloading pressure tanks, routing caustic chemicals into unexpected places, and all kinds of fun stuff. Still. For now, the immediate problem is finding those bloody creepy dograbbit things. Grug has given no reason to believe that they have the same unsettling nightmarish appearance as the lab escapees from the tunnels, but it'd still be nice to get rid of 'em. Been a few days since fresh meat, after all. ---- scr_nt grug's got his 'nade tube, drekk's got his goggles; both from Basic Customization. mung fixes tauros, chimera, with a few minutes to spare due to middling rolls. so! you're off to see the rabbits, the wonderful rabbits of ooze. this is p much a bonus round, they're not going to be able to hurt you because they're pretty much just going to run off once you come blazing over the hill and attack them. then you have a refinery attack latest map is here currently i assume you have the scruntmera, the scruntauros, the scruntinel, and six limousines. the militia is with you, they are in a limo. correct me if this is wrong. pick a vehicle to be riding in. if no-one's driving a given vehicle, it belongs to the technoscrunts and they'll loving waste it. it's time for a scrunt rollcall i want all of you to post how your scrunt's feeling re: the recent base acquisition, how they reckon they should approach the refinery assault, whether there's anything else they want to know about the refinery assault (you probably know it because surb's told you stuff), and what your long term scrunty goals are. these can be as simply as "drive a big tank" or as complex as "create a scrunt nation" but i want to know.
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Mar 30, 2016 22:30
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Grimply, Revelations Wounds: 0 Fate: 2/2 Grimply's life has taken some odd turns lately, to say the least. Since he's landed on this planet he fought with hosed up demons, a giant killer robot, demon dogs, and mutated into a bug-beast as Yurik told him in a friendly chat over a bowl of scrunt stew(which may have contained actual scrunts). "Nah really yer were all bug like and went SKREE and whatsnot I tells yer!" He has also seen other scrunts mutate, but assumed it was the power of the Scruntfather that got into them. But a bug doesn't sound very scrunty. Bugs are like small things that you crack for their sweet bug juice, right? Oh that sweet bug juice... But Yurik also said that Grimply cut some demon dogs up with his cool bug blades so maybe there still is something deeper to this? Could it be a lesson from the father?...About like...being humble? That something small and tasty like a bug can still SLAM it up if it's paired with the scrunty ways????? Yeah, that must be it! Grimply is revitalized by this idea, and licks the last drops of the scrunt stew with delight. -An expensive scene transition- Finding this base has been a real blessing for the other scrunts(brought upon by the Father, of course), and Grimply is pretty happy about it too. He started to like the farm after they killed the hosed up demons, but then that thing with the murder robot happened and the place went to poo poo. Well, even more than normally. He lost his chappel when they left the farm, but this place is big and fancy enough that he can build an even better one! While the other scrunts toil around the place and lick it, Grimply closes his eyes and just waits for the Father to guide him where he should go. Flet helps out here by pushing things and scrunts out of the way, and carefully nudges Grimply whenever he's about to hit a wall. Eventually, Grimply stops in front of an unremarkable door and opens his eyes. "Ay, laddie. Tha's be oua new place yee it be!" Behind the door lies a small and dimly lit room. Shelves line the walls right next to Grimply, and in front of him is a desk and some metal cabinets. The cabinets have buckets and weird sticks with fuzzy and soft things on them, and the shelves have lots of weird little soft squares on them that you can squeeze. There are also many bottles that smell intriguingly chemical, but the liquid in them tastes really awful. Flet helps out again by clapping Grimply on the back while he coughs and weezes. The dreadful humie stuff goes out(read: thrown out of the door into the hallway), and Grimply and Flet carry all their holy and scrunty stuff in. Some random trash and refuse too, of course. Can't make a proper shrine for the Father without the fundamentals, now can you? While the days go by and the other scrunts occupy their spots in the base, Grimply stays in his new chappel and contemplates the teachings of the Father and the journey to the SLAM sector. With their new home and it's opportunities, he feels like anything can be possible for his flock. Even Flet manages to sit still for some time every day and thinks really hard about the Scrunfather instead of falling asleep or touching himself. Truly, this could be a time of miracles for the scrunts. A time of....SLAM. But there is still this one other thing. The humie. See, Grimply has a very simple stance when it comes to humans; You usually kill them first so that they can't kill you. He has not forgotten how the hosed up humies killed his whole scrunt village, or how the normal humies killed his whole new scrunt family. You just can't trust those drat humies because they're sly and evil creatures! But here's the thing, this new robot humie Surb, hasn't actually killed anyone by now! And instead he gave them this cool base, presents, and told them cool things too. That's totally not what humies should be like! Grimply has trouble dealing with this new outlook on humies, but he eventually comes around to the fact that this may very well be another lesson from the Father. He's not yet sure what it's about, but for now he stops throwing things at Surb and only occasionally hisses at him. -A classic montage transition- Grimply sits in his chappel and flicks through the worn pages of his holy book for his daily contemplations. Just as he's about to follow a particularly holy(read: crazy) thought, Flet wanders in and prods him on the shoulder. "Argh, whatsit laddie? Yer know that I dun wanna be disturbed!" "Yee mastah but this be important. See tha doctor lady scrunt said that she needs ta look at all of us an that it be very important an stuff." "Pah! What can be more important than tha word of tha Father, laddie? Nay, I tell yer!" "Yee, mastah, yee! But uhm...see she was very stern ta me an all tha otha scrunts are doin it too an everyone says it's important an....an stuff." "Oh allroight then!! Fack, can a 'umble scrunt not read tha holy word in peace in this 'ere place? Roight...let's go then!" Grimply and Flet make their way through the scuttling scrunt swarm in front of the med bay, and eventually reach the tip of the line. "All roight Murdelia, I'm 'ere. Now why did yer rile up me lad an wha'ts all this about hmm??" "Yer just needs ta 'old still for a moment, got it?" "I don't..Fack! What yer doing thare?" Grimply yells as Murdelia scans him with the Auspex. "Yee, just as I thought. Yer got it too!" "What? What's do I got? I dunno what yer want!!" "Yer got this!" Grimply stares at the auspex monitor in confusion. "And what be that now hmm??" "It's a thingy in your 'ead an I found it in lots of otha scrunts too. It does something when yer take tha SLAM juice. In fact, it does that weird and cool stuff that's 'appening when you SLAM." Grimply takes a few moments to process these words, but when they sink in, he grabs Murdelia by her coat and yells really close into her face. "YER FOUND IT!! YER FOUND IT!!! YEE YER FOUND IT!!!" "FECK! Let go o' me yer.." "This be tha Spark of tha Fatha! 'is 'oly touch on 'is scrunts be right thare! Yer found it!!" "Now look 'ere, this be some thing in yer brain and not's what yer think. I'm sure it's..." "BLASPHEMY!! How can yer deny tha Spark of tha Father?? It's roight thare!" "Now look yer fecker! I will take me knoife an.." But before Murdelia can finish the sentence and start a turbulent chain of events, the intercoms of the base suddenly blast cheering scrunt voices into the room. "SLAM-SLAM! WE IS GONNA RAID! SLAM-SLAM! DON'T YER BE TA LATE! SLAM-SLAM! WE IS GONNA RA.." Grimply takes a confused step back while the scrunts around him scurry even more in an effort to now leave the room since cooler things are happening. When he snaps back he realizes that Murdelia has already collected her gear and is on the way out too. "This not be ova, yer 'ere me?!? We's gonna talk about this!!" "Mastah? I...I think she did nay 'ere yer." "Fack!...Roight, lad..this can wait. we...we is gonna raid!" Heyyyy scruuntss Since I'm lazy and bad this is a sort of retroactive post. Like, I don't really know how I can help with the base stuff so I just sit this out for now I guess cause you lot got it under control anyway. If possible, the GM could roll a perception/awareness test for me on the Inquisitor box. As said, don't really know what I can add otherwise. Also I want to ride in the Tauros cause it's fast and I should be scouting and getting in a good spot to snipe the tower dudes or do sneaky poo poo before the battle pops off. Oh, as far as game goals go, I want to find the slam sector. Even if it means to just nuke something and then dwelling in the glowing ruins. Like, maybe my chappel could be an actual mechanic where I can generate SLAM points or something? SLAM points could give us minor blessings or reveal a step towards the SLAM sector? Idk Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 22:24 on Mar 31, 2016 |
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Mar 31, 2016 21:57
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Murdelia The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Well she's no longer got the shakes and poo poo, no longer feels like death thats for sure. Seems like someone put something in the squad's brains to react with this SUPER SLAM poo poo. Having a SECRET UNDERGROUND LAIR is pretty dope and there's plenty of room to grow. As Murdelia fires off her autogun in long bursts to shoot up the WABBITS, she thinks of how best to tackle the Refinery hit. 10 kilometers out sounds REALLY FAR to be spotted by these humies. The inlet could be a smart way in and the scrunts could probably survive it with some equipment and a rebreather. She goes to see Surb and tells what she needs made. Something about "GET ME A BUNCH OF THOSE BODYSUITS AND A GAS MASK OR SOMETHING, ME AND THE BOYS GONNA GO SWIMMING INTO THAT REFINERY. YOU GOT ANY BOOM BOOM TOO?" With that taken care of, she looks forward to taking over the whole world with the scruntfather's blessing.
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Apr 1, 2016 22:22
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Yurik Scraglagger On The Road Again Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 Local Area Map Yurik leaned back in the limousine's plush seating, bones popping disturbingly as he yawned and stretched. After days of ordering Hack around while the assistant Loremaster cleared the debris from the underground base's laboratory complex he was exhausted, but a Loremaster's work was never done. Now it was time to go lay in some more supplies in anticipation of raiding the Severan manufactorum to the east. Of course he wasn't going to be doing the driving on the way over...he had people for that. Well, one people assuming Hack counted as such. Surb had laid things out plainly enough that even Grumb could follow along. The refinery was relatively well-defended, but the real danger lay in the Severans calling for reinforcements, either from roaming recon patrols or from the nearby airbase. The memory of Valkyries unloading troops into the middle of the farm was still fresh in Yurik's mind and he had no desire to repeat that debacle. However there was an outflow pipeline which led right into the complex, bypassing much of the security, which would allow a suitable and willing group of scrunts to take control of the facility's main cogitator systems, effectively giving them control over everything from the alarms to the machinery. Yurik agitated vociferously for this option since it appealed to both his innate sadism as well as his need to prove himself cleverer than everyone else. Any fool scrunt could ram things into other things and shoot big guns like a moron (again, such as Grumb), but a stealth strike, now that took strategery, wits, cunning, conniving, and other such laudable qualities. It would also give them the chance to start properly scruntifying this planet. Yurik had to admit that Malbrathia-3 was growing on him, there were so many enticing mysteries to pry into, but the planet's ecosystem was distressingly free of chemical runoff, the air unnaturally sweet. This refinery unloaded a piquant slurry of various sorts into the lake, but he was sure that with a little tinkering they could do better. But that would have to wait. For now he had other matters to concern himself with, namely opening his all-powerful mind to the unfathomable vastness of the Warp. Ever since The Incident, Yurik had been blessed with occasional visions of events yet to occur, but they were sporadic and vague. So when he hadn't been busy supervising Hack, he had been spending his time at the base attempting to refine this latent talent into something more useful. A free-floating factoid drifting around the yawning chasm of his artificially-infused memories helpfully informed him that diviners often found it useful to channel their thoughts through some sort of focus such as the Imperial Tarot. Yurik had gone rummaging around the abandoned base in search of a suitable deck of cards that the soldiers might have left behind during their evacuation, but the only one he'd managed to rustle up was a battered and well-used deck emblazoned with "HOT-N-HUNKY HEROES OF THE IMPERIUM" on the back, the cards themselves showcasing a variety of humie men all rippling with a distressing amount of oiled muscles, each wearing revealing "uniforms" that were decidedly non-regulation. Simply gazing upon that much bare, bulging humie-flesh was an affront to his senses, but he was forced to admit that it did seem to be helping him focus much to his chagrin. *** Like all budding supervillains, what Yurik desires as far as long-term goals go is to (figuratively) immortalize himself and make an indelible mark upon the fabric of history for all time. How he wants to accomplish this has yet to be determined but it probably won't be very pleasant for anyone caught in the blast radius. We're talking something so big and eventful that even overworked Imperial savants are forced to sit up and take notice. It could be claiming the Slam Sector in the name of scruntkind, blowing up a planet or three, creating another Eye of Terror, whatever. Insofar as the refinery assault, Yurik also concurs that the best approach to things is exploiting the drainage tunnel. Also remember that we have a number of microbeads which allows us to coordinate our efforts between multiple groups. We can, for example, have Team Not Stealth create a distraction allowing Team Yes Stealth to complete their objectives easier, or if that runs the risk of alarms being raised we can have Team Yes Stealth notify the rest of us when they've finished so Team Not Stealth can ram our many vehicles into the unsuspecting guards. Also we have a comms jammer courtesy of Mung, and we should employ it liberally in order to continue to convince Severan high command that we're actually some sort of elite special ops unit instead of a gaggle of filth-exuding, goggle-eyed abhumans. Also because I am a powergaming rear end in a top hat (aka a psyker) I am going to use a NEW PSYCHIC POWER! It's called Scrier's Gaze and I'm just going to copy/paste what it does: quote:The psyker’s gaze is cast upon the infinite tides of the Warp, seeing the entire battlefield clearly in his mind’s eye. This rush of information is too much for weaker psyker’s to handle, often casting them into madness. But those who can focus are able to divine information regarding them battle with astounding precision, capturing every movement of troops and war machines under their omniscient gaze. So Yurik will do this on the limo ride over, his focus a pack of Imperium-issue beefcake model playing cards. The TN is a +0 Psyniscience test so 46 for the base, +10 for a Psy Focus, and +5x2 since I'm using the power at Fettered for an overall TN of 66 and I roll a 60. That's a single DoS, and here's what that gives me: quote:Single Threat: The psyker manages to focus his view on a single key manoeuvre the enemy is either planning, or currently enacting. This could be an ambush, an all out assault, or a flanking manoeuvre, but regardless of its nature, it is a key manoeuvre to the enemy’s plans.
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Apr 3, 2016 06:43
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microbeads have a range of 1km, the two teams would be at least 10km apart to begin with
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Apr 3, 2016 08:18
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:i want all of you to post how your scrunt's feeling re: the recent base acquisition, how they reckon they should approach the refinery assault, whether there's anything else they want to know about the refinery assault (you probably know it because surb's told you stuff), and what your long term scrunty goals are. these can be as simply as "drive a big tank" or as complex as "create a scrunt nation" but i want to know. Groin Sklunger Introspection Pre Refinery Raid Groin and his buddy Jekk comfortably lay on their backs in one of the many dank corridors of the scrunker (scrunt underground bunker), they are each nursing a jar of questionably brewed scrunt-ale. Groin turns to Jekk and drunkenly sputters "hey... ya know... one day. I wanna drive a REAL big tank ya know???" "Yee!" replies Jekk, excitably. "And mebeh blow up a HUGE robbit..." mutters Groin sleepily before he nods off. "Yeeeee..." adds Jekk before he begins to snore. _____________________ Groin wants to drive a big tank. And maybe one day blow up a large robot. Groin wants to drive the Scruntauros to the base, and then solid sneak that poo poo!
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Apr 3, 2016 11:35
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Drekk The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 The plan was official: The group will go after some dograbbits first before hitting the Refinery. Scrunts were loaded into several vehicles of the convoy leaving. Drekk and Widget climbed into the Scruntmera. --- Convoy The convoy stopped at the spot where Grug claims the dograbbits are. The rest of the scrunts have set up a makeshift, easy to break down camp to plan the refinery raid. Drekk's scrunty ears picked up Yurik mentioning pipeworks that could be used to sneak a small force in. "I'LL GO! I'LL GO! he excitedly blurts out, he shows the modded Photovisors and a respirator. "There's no doubt, the tunnels'll be dark and reek o' nasty sludge." The Loremaster let out a confirming "hrm" and scrawls Drekk's name onto a paper titled "Sewer Strike Force." The downtime gives a scrunt time to think, and Drekk asks himself: What is best in life? After a half-hour of thoughtful thinking, he comes to the conclusion: A scrunt empire! An empire where scrunts dominate, there's garbage and no stinkin' humies to push us around! But ruling sounds tough, especially for a scrunt. Maybe Yurik can help him? Or will he try to usurp him in time? --- Drekk is signing on for a sewer strike team for the refinery. Goals: SCRUNT EMPIRE.  Like a short, smelly Caesar.
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Apr 5, 2016 21:56
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Mungly Mung Mung heard the rabble getting restless as the crew assembled to roll out. Some were mincing about, complaining they would have to eat grass if we didn't bring home some food. Mung didn't have to worry about food right away, worse came to worse he can always eat his cyber-rats to stave off starvation. He can always make more later. Speaking of, it seems as though his cyber rats were stowed away for the trip. He has them hidden away in a compartment in the front of the chimera, ready to explode out and harry anyone who gives him grief, or simply to give Mung a laugh, he hasn't decided which yet. In the chaos of the vehicle bay, Mung leans back and takes a moment to contemplate what he wants to do with his life. These moments of self reflection come only rarely to him, so he made sure to take special note of it. Overall he was rather happy with how the base acquisition went, but with his avarice knowing no bounds Mung can easily think of new wants for himself. Of course he wants to continue chop shopping up some kickin' rad vehicles, but he was so happy and proud with his cybernetics that he can't help but want to share with others and get a bionics lab up and running to borg up as many scrunts as he can. In addition, while he's had all the fuel he could drink for a while now, he would like to try and get some stills built to make some good scrunty wood grain moonshine. His self reflection quickly ends as he laughs at a scrunt who just got backed over by another techscrunt in a limo. Mung jacks himself into the chimera by means of his mind impulse unit and gets ready to roll out as soon as all the lads are loaded up.
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Apr 6, 2016 17:36
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Grumb Slanger, the scruntmera Grumb leans back in his favorite schrimera seat, jiggling his leg anxiously as they roll along through the wilderness. He keeps his hands busy with needlepoint, biting his tongue gently as he carefully embroiders a chevron into the shoulder of his tactical poncho with a curved suture needle he'd pilfered from the medical lab. He is accompanied, as he has been of late, by his fauxhawked companion Guy, who seems to have taken an interest in the operation of Grumb's firearms. Guy had been hanging onto Betsy for him, which struck Grumb as strange because he could have sworn he left Betsy with his close friend and confidant, Grug. Still, he would have thought it rude to deny Guy custody of the heavy stubber, especially after his new friend graciously presented him with the gift of a Microbead Transmitter. Guy flicks the safety on and off absentmindedly as he picks his nose, looking over at Grumb with an eagerness in his eyes. "Whaddaya wanna do nex, Grumb?" he asks, rubbing a booger onto the bottom of his boot. "We gossa follow da Sarge, Guy, they's takin' a huntin' and then we gon' go raid ussa 'finery." "I mean affer that, Grumb. Now that you is all melty gunny." Grumb thinks about it. When he'd first set down upon this wretched planet he'd thought only of finding the biggest bullets - the highest caliber acquaintances he could muster. But now things were different. Bullets seemed almost trite now to him, and with it the entire notion that a gun was the best way to keep yourself safe. How, when he was at that very moment wearing a field of ticklish bullet-resistant energy, could Grumb trust his life to a gun? Grumb had seen true safety. Safety is what he saw in the eyes of every scrunt present when he clicked that switch and Bernie came humming to life. Safety is fear. Deep down, that's what Grumb truly wants - to be feared. Nothing less would suffice. "Andrluks playin' tha Krebs next week," Grumb said, fires burning distantly in his eyes. "Gon' be a real good game." --------------------------------- Grumb is optimistic about his new environs and looks forward to building out the new base. He is starting to feel like he needs to take on more of a leadership role amongst the militarily-aligned scrunt populace, now that he has been outed as a corporal. To that effect, he is more than willing to keep a low profile and wait for Team Yes Stealth to accomplish whatever it is they're doing before they begin the assault proper. Grumb wants to be feared by everybody. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 14:06 on Apr 8, 2016 |
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Apr 8, 2016 05:34
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Five-Finger Shuffle The Hinterlands Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pb5k9uQ9lHI Whiling away the time as the scrunt warherd trundles across the verdant, soggy, muddy terrain of the Malbrathian valley the group have found themselves in, Yurik shuffles and reshuffles the unfortunately homoerotic deck of propaganda cards again and again. Part of a badly-misjudged hearts-and-minds campaign by Imperial High Command, the playing set was another one of the materially cheap tactics brainstormed by the sector warlords in an effort to gain as much ground for as little cost as possible - reviled by Imperial ground troops and a source of unbelievable amusement to the Severans, most packs were "lost" or "mislaid" or "fed to rabbits". Yurik only managed to find a pack through sheer chance, in the commander's locker cleared out by Gumbo. Ultimately, this same desperation on the part of Imperial High Command led to the collection and despatch of scrunts from a hundred Imperial worlds as a kind of feculent area-denial weapon, and it is this tenuous bond between two things - reviled, upsetting and frankly embarrassing - that enables the psyscrunt to tap into the Empyrean with the cards as a focus. The pack slackens in Yurik's grip as he drifts off... ------ Intermission His Everlasting Radiant Fist, Sword-class Frigate, One Week Ago Malbrathia-3 Lagrange Point Clank. Clank. Clank The bootsteps of two men reverberate through the shadowed engineering deck as they hustle towards the bridge, naval coats swirling in their wake. They pass teams of masked technomats in a large, sealed bay, overseen by lesser techpriests, all working to carve what appear to be autocannons from the festering, corrupted chassis of a hulking mass of tortured metal. Six in total bristle from the war engine's chassis - three turrets on what is presumably its top, and a conspicuous, oozing gap where hull-mounted forward-facing device would rest. Emblazoned on the extant weapons are the legends "YOURH", "ERETI", "SAREF", "ORFEI", "TOHIS" and "WRATH", whatever that means. A small team of techpriests are currently slouched in obsequience in front of a much more richly attired Magos, presumably receiving a binary bollocking about a missing something. Something about unauthorised teleporter usage. "Really, it's amazing they've survived this long.", the scarred one announces as the men walk. "I had no idea they could exhibit such... tenacity. Most of my previous experience of the species has led me to believe them to be a rather docile race. Rather like less aggressive, smellier beastmen. You know, the fodder we used to use, before we settled on Ratlings and Ogryns as the only acceptable strains." "Ah yes. Before the jetbike recall. But I agree," the effete one replies, "should they actually tip the balance into a stalemate, we may have a new market opportunity. The Severans have previously mostly been interested in conventional ways to contain the spreading contagion on the northern continent, but they may be willing to consider a biological solution to their newer infestation." "Live in hope, I suppose." The scarred man pauses. "Mustn't let the Severans get too much of an edge, though. That devil Alcabiades still has some pull with Sector Command, and if he gets an excuse he'll have the bombardment order out before you can blink. Sure, you'll get the contract payout, eventually, but it's my understanding the Sword is after more of a long-term arrangement." "True. True." A flick of the hair. "Fine. Ok." Silence, for a few moments. "The Sword could consider an... expenditure to maintain the status quo. Aeolia is too public, but if we were to strike at... the refinery? No immediate impact, but it would surely slow down the Severan advance." "Mm. No, we have assets in place. And if publicity's your concern, why not the Mechanicus fortifications? Easily explained as some kind of Omnissian superweapon, depending on what state you leave the bodies in. Give it, say, ten days. Allow the front to roll forward, allow the next deployment to take place, allow overextension." A longer pause, followed by a final nod of assent towards the scarred individual. "Oh, I don't think the state of the bodies will be a concern. We have an agreement, Valerius" ---- Yurik awakens with a start. Nearby scrunts observe him hunched over a fanned deck of glistening musclemen, drool pouring from his slack jaw, and desperately avoid eye contact. ---- scrunt ok, so, dice were rolled. here's the Single Maneuvre your Enemy is plotting. who's your enemy? you're fuckin' scrunts, everyone's your enemy. i've given you a lot more information that you should realistically get but i've also not given you any context for it so suck it, scrunts. to be clear, the shipboard guys refer to "beastmen" because way back in Rogue Trader era 40k, you could have beastmen as cannon fodder in your imperial guard army. you could also have jetbikes. it is an easter egg. the manoeuvre you learn about is this - in three day's time the orbital frigate is going to do something rather nasty to the Severan camp surrounding the loyalist Mechanicus to the south west. that's more than enough time to rabbit and to refine and to return to base, but you won't get a chance to build much if you want to take advantage of it to go hang out with the mechs. rabbitmap probably coming monday 18th. i have been slow with this due to work stepping up several gears. thank you to those who posted re: where your scrunt currently is and what your scrunt currently wants. boo to those who did not. booo. killing a bunch of regular ol' rabbits will not be a combat. i will want you to give me five rounds' worth of actions at once to cause as much mayhem as possible, so have a think about that, but you'll get more details on how it will work on provision of the map.
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Apr 13, 2016 22:44
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Be Very, Very Quiet The Hinterlands Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3NfMUwgNB0 Hisssss. Grimply chomps on his toothpick pensively as he views the grazing herds through his magnoculars. It's been a long morning's off-road drive across muddy, slippery, angled terrain, and the scrunts have convened by a copse of trees to plan their attack, argue, and retch out the morning's breakfast pruno after a particularly bumpy ride. Water drips off the sniper's cloak as the squad huddles glumly under a fat-leaved tree, heavy with bulbous and foul-smelling growths. Large insects drone drunkenly around the growths, presumably feeding off the oozing sap or juice. The scrunts, following Grug's alternately cheerful and baleful directions, have located a fairly sizable herd of the local omnivorous dograbbitwolves. Truly impressively gigantic spoor litters the landscape, prompting feelings of admiration and kinship among the scrunts - it's not inconceivable that some common ground could be found with creatures that can produce such prodigious quantities of filth. Failing that, they're probably good to eat - none of them look to share the same horrifying polymorphic characteristics of the escaped beasts already slaughtered in the tunnels outside the scruntbase, and instead look almost friendly.  The beasts currently graze on the upper slopes of the northernmost part of the U-shaped valley in which the scruntbase is located, some fifty klicks to the south. The squad's current plan is to kill as many as possible, and patch up the dehabilitatively wounded to take home as pets-slash-warbeasts - scrunts don't actually have a word to distinguish the two concepts. Presumably the stabilised rabbitdogwolves will simply be bundled into the spare limousines currently parked in the bushes, making the drivers glad of the smoked glass windows separating the passenger compartments. Technoscrunts swarm and babble around the vehicles, banging into things and throttling each other over who gets to drive next, but the cant of the slope is quite marked here, and it's uncertain how effective untrained drivers will be under the stress of combat. The Scruntinel wheels violently around, banging into trees and swiping at shrubbery with its chainblade as a pair of scrunts fight over the controls. Murdelia cautions against the use of overkill in terms of capturing live rabbits, and it's pointed out by others that too much overkill will also render the beasts inedible even to scrunts. The use of toxic weaponry will likewise foul the meat, rendering the corpses unviable. It looks like the rabbitthings are currently making the most of the lush grass of this relatively flat alpine clearing, but on being attacked by strange metal boxes spitting fire, will almost certainly make for the treeline to the east as fast as possible. Once in the trees, useful pursuit will be practically impossible - the beasts are faster than scrunts on foot, and vehicles won't be able to follow up the sharply-steepening slope or through the thick trees at anywhere close to a fast enough speed to keep the creatures in view. The beasts are currently upwind of the scrunts - it could be possible to sneak round and deploy individual scrunts in positions in the treeline, but it will take a bit longer than simply plowing in, and if mistakes are made then the footsloggers could end up being charged by a hundred angry, fanged dogwolfrabbits. The squad decide on their next move, and shuffle from vehicle to vehicle. Mung revs the Chimera impatiently; Groin currently spins the Tauros in tight circles as other scrunts lose their grip and fly into the long grass, one by one. The Scruntinel has currently been claimed by a pair of technoscrunts, who are unlikely to provide much help in combat without supervision, and Yurik currently sits in a limousine with the militia, providing just enough direction for them to be vaguely useful. click 4 map  ------ scrunt ok so you're just under the "M" in the "major slamite veins" section of the map - ignore the "you are here" bit i just can't be bothered updating this for no real benefit. you are on a hill. you are about to menace rabbits. as per the gradient thing you're sort of coming uphill at them. this won't make you travel any slower or anything but will provide a narrative reason for you being unable to simply hound the things to death until every rabbit is accounted for. it's sort of a two-level shelf - scrunts on the lower course won't have vantage to attack rabbitbeasts on the upper course. light rocks are difficult terrain for all vehicles except Scruntinel; heavy rocks are impassable to all vehicles except Scruntinel, which counts them as difficult terrain deploy on the red bars to the south and west. once you do, combat actions begin. all drivers move, then all scrunts move, then all rabbits move. they will run 48 metres to the east each turn; they're not going to come and try and gnaw your vehicles to death. stealth round to the treeline to the east is, as mentioned, possible - it is assumed that you can sit up a tree if you're successful in doing this, rather than staying on ground level to be torn limb from limb. you have five rounds of combat against these things once you initiate. give me three rounds of combat actions in one go to begin with - i know some of you are functionally retarded and will ignore this but if you do then gently caress you, you sit with your thumb up your rear end for the wasted time. we will process those three rounds, you can then make adjustments and we'll do the last two rounds.the rabbits count as formations - hit one and do damage, they're taken out of play. if you want supplies and captives out of this, use weak weapons - do 1-2 points of damage, they can be saved. do 7+ points of damage, they are inedible. you will receive 1.5 x the square root of killed rabbits in Supplies. if you get more than 10 live rabbits, you get a workable breeding population, translating into a source of rabbits as pets. functionally speaking they don't "breed", it's just if you have a large enough herd then strays will come join you. this will not cause e.g. severans to track rabbit migrations back to your base, it's just because we work on a timescale of days and weeks here. remember that shooting from a moving vehicle has a -10 penalty if you moved tactical speed last turn, or -20 if you moved full speed. rabbitmobs get +20 to hit due to sheer quantity of targets, dropping to +10 at half-size, but Running targets are -20 to hit. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 16:26 on Apr 19, 2016 |
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Apr 19, 2016 16:24
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Mungly Mung Mung didn't understand a lot of things, but among others he doesn't really understand some of the other scrunt's obsession with these dograbbit things. He ate some of their brains back during the cave fight when he was out of his mind on trucker drugs and he wasn't terribly impressed with the taste. It was kind of bland and not as riddled with parasites as he generally likes his meat to be. He figured there would probably have been plenty of good nutritious rats and worms to eat had anyone the mind to look for them while they were loving around for the last week, but he guessed that's neither here nor there at this point. In the meantime, he tried to tap into the feral subconscious of what a feral herd of wolfrabbits would do when a bunch of vehicles showed up and started blasting. Presumably, he thought, they would run and probably in the opposite direction of the sound and the stench. In order to keep them from scattering he would need to be proactive in keeping them from scattering. He decided he needed to try and herd the rabbits as they tried to escape. Like some sort of giant loud metal canine barking a chorus of "Scrunt"-s and "Feck"-s he does his best to drive around the outside of the swarm and keep them from scattering to the winds. --- Assume my 5 turns are spent driving the chimera in Edit: gently caress, you beat me with an update. Edit 2: unstriking my post, it still works for what's going on. I'm attempting to circle around the outside and herd them back toward the others. DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 17:53 on Apr 25, 2016 |
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Apr 19, 2016 17:15
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Yurik Scraglagger Signs And Portents Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 12/12 Local Area Map Yurik gasped as the waking vision that had fallen over him suddenly ended, causing his gnarled body to jerk, scattering cards all over the floor of the limousine, but though the vision may have ended it was clear by the maddened look in his eyes that the Loremaster was still somewhere else entirely. "The sword above!," he cried out, startling the limo's other occupants who had all been doing their best to pointedly ignore the psycrunt hunched over a tableau of beefcake-bedecked playing cards, breathing heavily and drooling, but a stark raving outburst like this within an enclosed space created entirely new definitions of awkward, especially when he reached out and grabbed a random scrunt by the collar and shoved his face right next to his. "The sword! The FIST! The watchers weigh fortune's favor while the scales of balance teeter! The infestation spreads! The brothers of the cog! Three days hence the fire from the heavens comes to burn the traitors and open the way to the brothers of the cog! Secrets and broken words and and I can see...I see-" The rest of what he had to say was lost as he suddenly vomited profusely. By this point the remainder of the limo's occupants had pressed themselves as hard against the interior walls as possible in an attempt to avoid being a part of whatever was going on. They watched Yurik warily as the Loremaster seemed to snap out of his reverie, blinking and looking around the limo in confusion. "Whuzza? Whas goin' on?," he mumbled, wiping vomit from his mouth as his eyes came back into focus. He reached up with a gnarled hand and groped his unfortunate hostage's face with his hands several times to see if this was real or merely another vision, and once he was satisfied he released him with a nod and slumped back in his seat, gathering up the scattered cards and tucking them back into his robes as he processed what the Warp had shown him. As an awkward silence settled over the limousine he glanced around at the fearful scrunts watching him warily. "What? The fack are you lot starin' at?" *** Fortunately the rest of the ride had proven uneventful, which meant that the time was upon them to kill as many rabbity creatures as they possibly could before making their way to the refinery. "All right you sump-bellied lumpguzzlers, listen up!," Yurik said to the militiascrunts that were now intensely regretting their decision to ride along with the Loremaster. "Here's the plan! We've got a limo, an' we've got guns...so we're gonna drive as fast as we fackin' can an' shoot as many dograbbits as you can hit! Remember, no grenades, guns only! An' try to get a few alive if you can manage it!" Not every plan could be a brilliant tactical masterpiece. Yurik wasn't as stealthily inclined as Grimply or (for some reason) Groin so sneaking was right out, and while he was rather proud of his formidable mental powers they weren't, he was forced to admit, precisely useful for subduing mass quantities of wildlife. What he did have, however, was a car full of scrunts with guns and their undivided attention, if not exactly their undying loyalty. Still, one went into battle with the army they had. "Now let's go get us some fackin' dinner!" *** It's probably Wednesday-ish somewhere, look don't fuckin judge me. I don't have any brilliant plans at the moment because my brain is dead. My three actions will all be some variation of tear-assing towards the nearest bunnyhorde from the left edge of the map, and wildly firing autoguns at it with the whole militia. I don't think suppressing fire is really a useful concept here since the dograbbits will simply want to run anyway, but if I'm wrong I may consider assisting with that, otherwise it's full on carmageddon and I regret nothing.
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Apr 22, 2016 09:17
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Murdelia The Base Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12/12 Fate Points: 2/2 Riding shotgun in the Scrunt Tauros, Murdelia loads a clip into her scrunty autogun, tells whoever is driving the thing to come in from the south and make sure she has plenty to shoot at as they haul rear end and she opens fire full bore. 3 actions of half round aim, half action full auto burst formations.
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Apr 24, 2016 12:37
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Drekk Scrunt Convoy Malbrathia-3 Drekk straps himself into the scruntmera Storm Autogun seat and tightly holds the gun's grip. "'Ey Mung, get us into a good firin' spot! Widget, stick a gun out a window and shoot some rabbits up!" --- scrunting:If the scruntmera is moving before Drekk's turn is up, full aim and then semi auto burst later. If the scruntmera isn't moving, the half aim + semi auto burst. Apply Ranged Volley's +5 BS if needed. Also I'm not sure if climbing into the gunner seat counts as an action for this encounter. Kaiju Cage Match fucked around with this message at 22:11 on May 14, 2016 |
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Apr 25, 2016 20:50
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