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Groin Sklunger The Farm, Snakes on a Scrunt "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!?" Groin questions loudly at the sudden appearance of horrible alien snakes in the Scruntmera. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" responds Jekk, furiously hammering the the horn of his disconnected pretend steering wheel. "HONK HONK HONNNK!" he continues, attempting to mimic what he thought the tanks horn would sound like. The hideous snake begins to hiss and snarl as it slithers menacingly around the cockpit. Groin hurriedly opens the passenger compartment door clambers inside next to Scurrilous. "AAAAAAH!?!?!?!" he screams at Scurrilous, as he notices there are also snakes in here too. Then he notices the Yeestealers terrible thrashing tentacled maw spitting and hissing into the wall of the tank. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!?!?!?!??!?!?" he wonders out loud, loudly. _________ Half action to open the passenger compartment door, another half action to climb inside and provide no assistance whatsoever.
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Jan 11, 2015 18:54
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Gumbo Bulge, covered in entrails. Gumbo laughs uncontrollably as his chainsword glides through the hybrid, spraying ichor just about everywhere. He takes stock of the action around him, watches Urok throw himself at the remaining farmhand. Across the hall a lone soldier raises his rocket launcher, and is struck by gunfire from... somewhere. Out in the yard there is further commotion, it appears the fuzzy and presumably beautiful alien maiden appears to be attempting to mate with the tank. Gumbo suppresses a pang of irrational envy for the transport, assisted by his near certainty that the vehicle does not have genitals. He supposes, against his romantic instincts, that they will have to kill the alien. "Tis a shame for sure." he clicks his tongue, looks around again and revs his chainsword. Don't think I can reach the stealer with a charge so I'll run towards it AB:3. Unless: the farmhand survives Urok, in which case all out attack on the farmhand. WS 45, Chainsword (1d10 + 2 + SB, pen2, Tearing, Balanced) the rocketman survives Kreb, in which case charge the rocketman
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Jan 11, 2015 22:28
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Victory Lap The Chapel The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5w0FxbLlKw there is no explicit content what the hell videoman Tired from the fray and from beating the living poo poo out of a lot of people who are all much taller than him, Urok struggles to put his full force behind his attacks on the remaining farmhand. Still, when you're wearing makeshift shock gloves even a love-tap can send your opponent spasming and thrashing, and that's exactly what happens here. The farmer's muscles lock in place and blood oozes from his mouth as he bites through his tongue. Scurrilous, meanwhile, shows the brawler scrunt how it's done by roaring and smashing the living poo poo out of the snake-thing attacking him. Ichor oozes under passenger seats and the creature flops about pathetically for a few seconds before a second blow stills it forever. Groin bursts into the crew compartment just in time to see the aftermath, and his robo-arm instinctively reaches up for a high-five. Kreb opens up at point-blank range with the pintle-mounted storm-rifle, sending a cascade of shells into the alien creature busy trying to impregnate the tank. It is driven back under the hail of fire, its grip on the vehicle loosening as bullets tear through its chest and arms, and, momentarily overcome, it loses its balance and collapses onto its back. It still hisses and yees in a rage, clawing at the ground. Grimply lines up his shot, and, with characteristic skewed scrunty logic, decides the best way to stop the rocket from firing is to make the rocketeer unable to hold the tube! His rifle whines as it builds up a charge, and then cracks like a thunderbolt as the unfortunate trooper's arm detonates in a shower of incandescent gobbets, hurling the corpse back against the rear wall. Murdelia blazes away at the recumbent Xenos creature, aiming for centre mass with a barrage of jagged energy bolts. The thrashing club-arms of the creature deflect or absorb some of the rays, although one particularly fortuitous hit smashes what passes for the sternum of the beast, driving ribs into muscle, piercing lungs, and coming dangerously close to however many hearts it has. She'll know soon. Grumb is a scrunt who knows where he stands. You don't gently caress with a scrunt's ride, and you certainly don't gently caress a scrunt's ride. Bellowing and screaming over the chatter of high-calibre rounds, he unloads his heavy stubber in the direction of the fallen Xenos, in an effort to reclaim the Chimera's honour. Again and again the beast tries to rise as it is smashed back into the ground by sheer weight of fire, until its struggles lessen and slacken. The scrunt continues to shoot the living poo poo out of the creature, and by the time he releases the trigger its corpse has been forced back a good few metres, trailing blackened alien ichor, steaming gently. Gumbo finishes things off nicely by neatly bisecting the remaining farmhand's head. It's not really "neatly" by anyone's standards except a scrunt - he smashes the paralysed human in the stomach with the pommel of the blade, bringing his head down, and then executes a massive overhand swing that catches and eventually chews through the screaming farmer's skull as the sergeant forces the blade down with both hands. The ruined body doubles over, blood pooling, as an unfamiliar, long, serpentine segment of brain slips out of the brainpan and thrashes around briefly. The snake-things can apparently sense the death of their progenitor, and begin to emit faint keening, wailing cries. Groin's snake (so to speak) coils and lunges at the driver, but completely miscalculates and springs past him, splatting into the Chimera's armoured interior wall with a faint squelch. It drops to the ground in plain view. Kreb's snake wends its way up the turret ladder and attempts a strike at the scrunt's legs, but shies away at the last second, perhaps realising what biting a scrunt would entail. As the setting sun illuminates the alien horror bleeding its last on the tarmac, the Chimera's speaker crackles to life. Curiously, so do Scurrilous' implants, Groin's auspex scanner, Murdelia's diagnosticator, and anything else owned by a scrunt that has a speaker of some sort in it. The voice that emerges is unfamiliar. It does not sound angry, or fearful, or any of the emotions that have dominated the recent desperate firefight. "Duuuudde... no waayyyyy... they KILLED it.... It sounds like it would very much appreciate some carbohydrate-based snack products and some relaxed, repetitive music.  i forgot to mark off Scurrilous' snake as dead but it's dead!! ----- Urok stuns the farmer for three rounds and deals Some Damage. Scurrilous kills snaek Kreb Grimply decides he's had enough of limbs for the day and vaporises the rocketeer by shooting the unarmoured, un-covered arm. noice. Murdeila takes the genestealer up to 7 critical damage on the torso, meaning it has to lie still or run a very real risk of dying, and it loses some toughness. Not enough to bring it below the next TB threshold though. Also it can only take a half-action next turn due to the righteous fury effect. Because it had so much planned. Groin scampers into the crew compartment to find Scurrilous hunched over, bashing the living poo poo out of his snake. Grumb kills the 'stealer. It's dead. IT'S FINALLY DEAD. Gumbo kills the farmer. He's dead. snaeks are loving useless and don't hit (on a 96 and 67 respectively), so they can't latch on. go team snake. woo. Combat is pretty much over. Kreb, Groin and Scurrilous, please let me know what you want to do with your snakes and I will scrunt them for you. Because combat is pretty much over, everyone also needs to a) tell me in the recruitment thread what sort of loot you want, and b) think about what they want to do now that combat is over. There's a voice on the radio, there's vehicles to check, there's buildings you've not been in yet, there's still some living, uninfected captives tied up in the main building, there's a dead yeestealer to generally molest, there's ammo crates and corpses to poke around in, there's scrunts to summon, there's all sorts of poo poo you need to do. It is a time for social skills, and non-combat skills, and stat checks. Afterwards will be some more experience. Remember to spend your experience after you get it, please, and log what you've spent it on at the bottom of your charsheet. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 21:55 on Jan 12, 2015 |
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Jan 12, 2015 21:52
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Barrius Bostovovich, huddled behind the foliage Barrius peers up from his crouched position behind a gnarled tree. Having liberated solids and fluids from his body at both ends, he was starting to feel a little more coherent. The deafening gunfire and squealing of treads had finally come to a rest, and he could have sworn he heard someone talking to him. It was a faint, buzzing voice coming from somewhere in Barry's direction. "D'joo say somethin'?" Barrius slurs, grimacing nervously at his captor. Barry doesn't respond. The display of fearsome combat had hypnotized him utterly. His eyed glazed, he stares off into the distance muttering to himself breathlessly. "Grumbsem I good'ncuz. He'm gom be so perd'n 'e come see wham goodmjobmdo. Mm-hm." Barrius wipes his mouth with his mud-and-poo poo stained sleeve. He darts his eyes about, nervously taking in his surroundings. Grumb Slanger, the farm Grumb, visibly shaken, slowly relaxes his grip from his heavy machine gun as he nervously checks his surroundings for remaining hostiles. He's never seen anything take that kind of punishment and stay standing before. It shook his whole worldview. The bullets had not been enough to stop that monster from coupling with his car! The bullets had not been enough. What if the monster had been trying to couple with him? Or worse still, his gun? Then and there, Grumb resolved to find better bullets. Bullets strong enough to kill other bullets! And then, he'd find the bullets strong enough to kill those bullets! His mind reeled with the possibilities, until he was brought to his senses by a crackling radio signal. "Duuuudde... no waayyyyy... they KILLED it...." Grumb panics, clutching his machine gun tightly to his chest like a newborn baby. "Wuzzat, whozzere??" He whirls around, looking for the source of the noise. He eventually comes to the conclusion that it came from the chimera speaker. Taking a deep breath, he bellows his response back into the chimera speaker. "WHO ZAT THERE?" He squints angrily and, not finding a cigar in his pocket, grabs a clod of dirt and grass to anxiously chew on while he awaits a response. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 06:29 on Jan 14, 2015 |
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Jan 13, 2015 21:16
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Murdelia Skurvy Surveying the locale Murdelia looks around the blasted, bullet-ridden hellscape. Smoke hangs low in the air, blood and ichor drip from unlikely surfaces, a huge human(?) lies asleep post-coitus with the trembling Scruntmera, and Scrunts are already starting to amble about and peer at things unmolested. "Hmmm." she thinks, glancing around. "Hmmmmmmm." she frowns in concentration. "HMMMMMMMMM!" she thinks loudly so as to drown the interruption from her medical-techy box. It's not supposed to talk like that. "OH!" she gasps in realisation, "Arn'ka! Secure the loot! GO GO GO GO!" she shouts suddenly at the henchscrunt-in-training, who immediately scurries off to lift valuable widgets and bits from the battlefield. Murdelia ambles over to where Grumb has started eating dirt, "Don't put tha' in yer mouth, Grumb, it's bad for ya. Try on'a these." Murdelia states in an authoritative manner, handing Grumb a cigar(?), "Oi'm a doctor, see." "Hmm, yes indeed." she says to nobody in particular. Her legs have already started walking her over to where the human(?) lies near the Scruntmera. Disturbingly, it has no pockets or pouches to rifle through. And the large amount of bullet and las holes in it indicates that it's dead, not asleep. Further investigation is needed. "Oiriiiight you lot! I need to move this... patient to a prop'r operating table! Oi need a few good scrunts to lift it up, see, and carry it over thar!" she bellows at the nearby milling scrunts, gesturing in the direction of the ruined building and waving the bonesaw around for good measure. There's probably an intact table in there. ____________________________________ Trying to wrangle scrunts to carry the genestealer indoors for a proper medical procedure. Intimidation?
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Jan 14, 2015 00:14
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Grimply, checking the scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCA5n2S3FLw After the last shots ring out, a soothing silence sinks over the runied farm, and Grimply deems it safe enough to peek through the window again. The wrecked inside of the chapel shows no movement, except for Urok and Gumbo who play ball with a severed humie head. Right as rain to Grimply. He sinks back down and and puts his hands on his face. Real demons! He saw and fought real demons! The scruntfather watched over him and his flock today. Yes, he gave them the strength to destroy the demon! Wait, why do my hands feel so sticky?, he wonders. Oh right, the humie gore in his face. He should probably clean that up. Can't be standing in the eyes of the scruntfather looking like that! His beady eyes dart around, and fix on a groady barrel with some green stuff growing on the sides. He grabs his tactical trash can from before, and uses it to scamper up the barrel. It holds what could be water, but it looks all murky and swampy. Perfect! Grimply bends over to wash his face, but the trashcan isn't placed very firm and rolls away from under his feet. Now he's hanging with his face in the barrel, and his little legs flap in the air. "Nay nay nay!" Of course he falls inside, because gravity is treacherous. "Bleerg*'elp*gasp*I'm drowning*blargl" "I'm coming!!" is all that Grimply can hear between the murky water drowning out his cries. Who would have guessed that scrunts usually can't swim? Grimply claws his way back to the surface to gasp for air, but it's a fuitle battle and he sinks back down. A shadowy face appears over the murky surface, and stretches out a hand to him. Finally! The scruntfather came to take Grimply! Depsite drowning, he is happy because his last actions must have granted him entry to the holy slam sector. But then his world moves again, as the barrel tips over and spills him out on the ground in a wave of swampy water. "Cough*Blergh*Fack*urgh*I was*cough*so* so close" "Mastah! Are yer alright? Yer wet!" Why are yer wet?I came ta save yer! Yer alright, right? I did good. But yer wet. Why would yer get wet? We killed all tha humies! Yer pretty wet. But I did good, roight?" Grimply focusses enough to recognize that it was Flet who got him out of the barrel. And now the little scrunt looks at him with an eager glance in his puppy-eyes. "Errr...*cough* Roight, good lad...I'm..I'm good...I jus..I jus wanned ta clean..clean mah face" "Tha's a good idea! But why did yer go into tha barrel? Now yer all wet! Uhm, we killed tha humies! Yer shud come ova to tha whellybox and look! It was fun in tha wheelybox! Err, why are yer so wet?" "It's roight, lad...It's all roight. Yer go over to tha box..I'll...I'll come inna second." Flet gives Grimply a big buck-toothed smile, and darts off. Grimply himself, slowly gets up and shakes his body to get rid of some of the wetness. Which of course accomplishes very little. Now he sorta looks like a wet dog, and smells like a dead wet dog, but the scruntfather says to take things like they come. He makes his way over to the wheelybox, which is surrounded by a gaggle of excited scrunts. The wheelybox looks a lot more damaged then before, but its engine is still going so it must be alright. Through a hole in the hull, Grimply sees Scurrilous already hammering away at things. "Oi, Scurr! Yer can fix it up roight? Well, yer might wanna look at tha house over dere. I saw some humie things innit, probably traktoars that yer can use." Before Scurr can respond, Grimply's attention is caught by the smouldering corpse of the yeestealer that is currently being fondled by Murdelia. "Oi laddie!...nah wait that doesn't sound roight..Oi laddes! Yer want ta be mighty careful thare. This is a demon! Tha scruntfather brought us 'ere to destroy it not ta touch it! We shoud let Urok burn it with 'is flamey gun!" Murderlia gives him a confused look, and before she can respond, a strange voice crackles out of the wheelybox "Duuuudde... no waayyyyy... they KILLED it.... "Ermm...Yer heard that too, roight?" -------------------------------------------------- I'm ready to do social things to the voice if needed. I also collect my grappling hook from Urok at some point. I said that I want to scout the farm for treasure, but I guess that can be done after the voice is handled. Oh, and if there is some form of "social combat", I want to fight with Murdelia to see if she can fondle the corpse or if we burn it right away because deeeemoooonnn Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 19:17 on Jan 14, 2015 |
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Jan 14, 2015 17:51
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Urok Inside the Red Building  The pain and high of combat recede, the pounding in his head abates. He stands, licking his teeth, listing to the dull buzz and pop of the live current coursing about his fists. Thumbing the devices off, blood paints his Shock Fists as Urok  kneels and turns the ruined body over, inspecting the corpse. He imagined flaying it, slicing peels of skin free and carving ragged strips of meat from the bone...flushing its innards and making the skull a totem, a herald of the All Mighty Scrunt Fathers judgement. The farmers skull will serve as a warning to those who would trouble the scrunts....he reaches for the skull before seeing the results of the overhanded killing blow Gumbo ended the Farmhands life with.... beautiful. He grunts in appreciation to Gumbo and tosses him a Cigar , casually sparking his flamer to light it for him. "Mmmm good, Brother, nice...." he mumbles and motions toward the corpse...he smiles awkwardly at Gumbo a quick, predatory flash between broken lips and bleeding gums. Urok takes another look at the corpse and notices the brains(?) don't look like normal hummie brains.They are unfamiliar, long and serpentine...spasaming occasionally. He scoops these up and resolves to bring them to Murdelia's attention as soon as possible. Maybe the interesting brain bits will make up a bit for his past wrong doings with her former assistant. Urok learned long ago in his home tunnels to never piss off a medic. Urok turns, wandering through the building, looking for trophies. Broken bodies lay around him, thickening the air with the stink of blood and feces. He could really use something to make his Shock gloves do more damage....to be more effective in melee...he's not sure. He begins checking corpses...denied his skull totem, previously, he stops at the hybrids corpse and cuts out its large hypnotic eyes with his knife. He affixes them to a short length of rope, and drapes them around his neck before remembering there are tied up hummies around. With purpose he makes his way to the captured hummies. This scrunt, bathed in blood, xenos eyes around his neck decides he wants to know what the gently caress was going on. _________________________________________________________________ Loot: See OOC thread Give Brains to Murdelia Intimidate captive farmhands. maybe a positive modifier for my jewelry huh?
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Jan 14, 2015 17:52
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, Scruntmera, Aftermath Groin drunkenly stumbles out of the Scruntmera's rear access hatch, leaving Jekk inside to kill, eat, mate or somehow deal with the left over alien snake. He reckons it's probably a good idea to give Scurr some time alone with the tank after the horrible things he put her through during the battle. Groin half-heartedly peers around, inspecting the aftermath of the conflict; nearby he can see the remains of the Yeestealer and Murdelia doing her terrible business to it, Urok and Gumbo are playing ball with a severed human head, and Grimply appears to be playing with a barrel. His pocket begins to rumble as a voice unexpectedly comes out of his Auspex Scanner. "Duuuudde... no waayyyyy... they KILLED it...." it says. Groin pulls out the device, squints at it briefly and then decides to respond. "Breaker breaker, 10-9, over?" he asks with some authority. Silence. "Got your ears on? Over." he asks again impatiently. ___________ Groin has left the Scruntmera and is attempting to communicate with the voice.
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Jan 14, 2015 19:11
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Scurrilous Scruntson Scruntmera - PffBBTLE! PGBLtesnort?! FFFFFffffaaaartt!! Scurrilous huffs and puffs mightily as he stands over the dead snake he just transformed into a thin red smear. His tiny frame heaves with each breath as he looks upon the red smear that is the Primaris Xeno (or Minors Xeno?!) that he has just killed. Glancing over, he watches Groin trip all over himself trying to flee the Scruntmera like a pussy. Running from some snakes? What kind of pussy is he?! Well gently caress that douchebag! There was no time to ponder what big a baby Groin was, there were xenos to pulverize! Scurr charges at the snake climbing up the ladder towards Grumb. Scurr is having the time of his life, smashing and flailing at the tiny snakes in the APC. After the last alien is turned into a thin paste, Scurrilous exits the vehicle and takes a few minutes to catch his breath. Afterwards, he puts his hands on his hips and tries his best to decide how best to repair the poor vehicle. All-Out Attack on the other snake(s) in the Scruntmera. After that, I'm going to just take some time to examine the state of our Chimera. Who What Now fucked around with this message at 23:16 on Jan 14, 2015 |
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Jan 14, 2015 19:37
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Gumbo Bulge, big building. Gumbo catches a cigar from Urok and takes a few celebratory puffs, waiting for the effects of whatever corrosive substance a Scrunt has instead of adrenaline to wane. He watches Urok take a corpse apart, which has an additional soothing effect, takes another puff, shrugs, and waddles away to check on the rest of the squad. Some of the squad are about the Chimera, others clustered around the corpse of - something ugly. The civilian Scrunts they brought with them must have wandered into the compound at some point, and are now milling about in the yard. Gumbo heads over and starts trying to wrangle them into some sort of order. "We gots to search this place lads, could be anythin in these buillins. Go an take a look see. An if anythin is movin then ya just yell fer one of us." He indicates the other squad members, although he can no longer see Urok. He must have stumbled off somewhere. One of the smaller Scrunts, barely past Scruntling, pipes up in a high pitched yelping voice. "Mister Gumbo sir. The lady-" "The Doc?" "Yeah." He shuffles uncomfortably. "She wants someun to help wif the alien" Gumbo nods. That makes sense. Murdelia's always cutting things up. "Then someun help her wif the alien". He points at three civilians with the stub of his cigar, then tosses it aside and turns back to the Scrunt mass. "the rest of ya, turn this place over." He starts to walk away, towards the rest of the squad, then pauses, and pivots back, peering at the young vocal Scrunt. "Whas yer name boy?" he asks. The Scrunt looks about nervously "Pirk, sir." "Come wif me Pirk. I need someun, to help me out wif things. I can teach ya thins, teach ya fightin. Stick wif me lad, an yul go far." He turns and strolls over to Grimply, Murdelia and Grumb, confident the young Scrunt will follow. Command, 43 Fellowship, +10 Command, +10 to other Scrunts to harangue the Scrunts into order, including some to help Murdelia get the alien inside the building. Also now in a position to join in with the radio conversation. This young Scrunt will be Gumbo's new comrade, Pirk.
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Jan 14, 2015 21:40
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Looting Like The Mongoloid Horde The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tj489SualKo  it's the farm again!! With the danger over, the scrunts immediately disperse, each looking to their own agenda once more, or alternatively struggling with killer serpents as everyone else ignores them. It falls to Gumbo to thrash out some vague sense of order, a task he undertakes with alarming efficiency. Young scrunts practically fall over themselves to do his bidding and assist the rest of his squadmates. A handful of particularly disciplined scrunts form off into pairs and begin a systematic search of the farmyard, yelling "hup!" and "hoarr!" and "feck" and other words they believe to be military at each other. Satisfied, the scruntgeant waddles over to the Chimera to listen with interest to the mysterious broadcast. The scrunts attend to their tasks... Technology! The Chimera The Farm Scurrilous grabs Groin's snake with his mechandrite and smashes it against the side of the tank until it stops moving, as Kreb stomps his assailant into a fine red smear. A few minutes later, outside the Chimera, the technoscrunt sucks in air through his teeth and makes a slight clucking sound with his tongue as he reviews the damage, before realizing that this is not proper techpriest behaviour. He seizes his respirator and hisses through it for a while, while whirring his mechandrite around. It seems to help him think. It looks like the damage is actually a bit more superficial than first anticipated. The Chimera is a hardy vehicle, after all. Assuming a decent workshop can be found, Scurrilous could probably knock the repairs on the head in about half a day, but honestly there's enough skilled labour hanging around in the form of technologically-minded civilian scrunts that he'd be surprised if it took that long. Now if only he could find the necessary equipment... didn't Grimply yell something about vehicles? Ways Of Making You Talk The Chapel The Farm Civilian scrunts give Urok a wide berth as he does unpleasant things to corpses. He roots around in the unfortunate farmhand's skull and pulls out most of his brainstem, twisting the end off through main force as the corpse jerks and twists like a marionette. Captive, unchanged farmers watch, wide-eyed and gagged. The brawler dumps off some mutated brains at the makeshift triage station being set up in the dormitory, before coming back to menace the survivors with his new toys.  There are muffled squeaks and groans, and one of the farmers faints. At present they are not very forthcoming with information. This begins to be solved once a civilian scrunt edges forward and yanks the gag out of the mouth of the first one. Scalpel, Sponge, Wrench The Dormitory The Farm Scrunts drag beds and lockers out of the way with great enthusiasm, as this means they are spared the duty of dragging the corpse of the huge alien monster that nearly hosed their tank to death. It's still twitching, and slowly pumping out thick black ichor onto the ground that even a scrunt would avoid going near. The makeshift pallbearers lug the body onto a makeshift autopsy table, where it splashes into place and slides off onto the floor. Cursing and shouting, they heave it back up, and narrowly avoid beaning Arnika with its flopping digging paws. Murdelia hustles up and begins laying out her tools, and is poised, scalpel ready to cut, as Grimply yells in from the window. Voices In The Aether The Dormitory The Farm The scrunts that find something unusual about mysterious voices talking to them are gathered around the Chimera radio, or their own devices, to see what it has to say. Currently, that appears to be a lot of giggling and coughing, with several voices audible in the background - when Groin responded to their hail with a traditional Imperial Air Force response, followed by Grumb gruffly demanding to know who he was speaking to, the voice apparently assumed they were dealing with an Ogryn aerial assault force. The scrunts gamely wait for the voice to pull itself together. "Ahah. Ugh. Emperor's balls, man. Right. Ok. We picked up a sign of that alien an hour ago. Our cogboy wants a look at it. We'da had to come get it, which would have taken days, and we woulda risked losing it. But you guys seem to have, ya'know, worked out how to get it to stay still. We want the corpse, dude. You let us have it, we beam you some poo poo, deal? And there's a, y'know, a tight-beam broadcast on your location. Anything with a speaker in a square klick gets slaved to it, anything outside can't detect it. So no-one knows about this little chat. An' you c'n call me Valerius, lads. Armsmaster first rank of the His Everlasting Radiant Fist, Sword-class frigaahaha oh god they'd, right, they'd be in little helicopters ahahaaa" Gales of laughter from the radio. Technology! pt2 The Chimera The Farm They're not tractors. A couple of scrunts came tearing up to Scurrilous in a state of some excitement. Turns out the big central building is a servitor and farm equipment maintenance depot, that can easily be repurposed for work on the Chimera. The vehicles that Grimply saw, on inspection, appear to be... limousines?  What the hell? --------------- Ok, we haven't covered everything yet, but here's a good spot to tie it off. Summary: You've found enough limos for about two thirds of your scrunt population. Why limos?  Why limos here? I dunno, ask the farmers. Radiomans wants your body. Specifically, the body of the alien. That you killed. If you fork it over, you get better loot from this combat. If you don't, you get more knowledge and a couple of relevant scrunts will get the opportunity to purchase skills they otherwise wouldn't be able to. Up to you! If you guys want to ask him poo poo, feel free. Him and his mates sound friendly enough, and quite stoned, and they don't seem to know quite what you are. Chimera will take half a day to fix. You guys will be wanting to sleep soon so effectively it'll take all of tomorrow. It's a relatively easy roll, all things considered, so don't worry too much about overrrun. Murdelia still has brains to autopsy, as well as a genestealer if you don't sell it. Urok needs to be a bit more specific on the interrogation. Please ask some questions that a terrified farmer would be able to answer, rather than simply demanding "form for me a complex narrative" of them. Farm is not yet fully explored. Scrunts have not yet penetrated to the furthest sheds or the silos. Stay tuned for more, but we'll sort this lot out first. oh yeah and the scrunts aced melee vs the snakes, and Gumbo got like 9 degrees of success on the command roll
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Jan 15, 2015 00:09
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Murdelia Skurvy In the OR Murdelia had been poised to start doing... something to the patient (which she was starting to suspect was no human at all), but then her medi-boxy started talking of a spaceship and alien and an exchange and too much to think about at once. Taking this thing apart, seeing what fit where, what it tasted like, all that would be a wonderfully exciting journey. But getting paid to hand it over, that's just as good. Maybe better. Or maybe worse. A small crowd of scrunts had gathered around to carry the beastie in and watch the operation, and now they gazed at Murdelia with slack-jawed interest, Arnika stealthily lifting their pouches and fanny-packs. This was her patient, her decision... unless another scrunt made it for her! Stealing her patient! And likely getting first pick of the loot! Yes, they would do that! Beads of sweat start oozing from her forehead. A vein starts throbbing irregularly. "O-Oiright. Erryone s-stay calm..." she calls hoarsely, slowly raising her mitts non-threateningly, "J-just stop an' think. No sudd'n move'nts..." This unexpected announcement only confuses the rabble of scrunts, who begin blinking and peering intently.  Murdelia starts backing away from the patient, still holding the rusty scalpel in one raised hand. "Shhhh, shhh, don't move, rioght? Noby'll get hurt..." She reaches the edge of the crowd and completes a slow turn, forcing a benign smile which only worries the group more. Whispers start breaking out. Realising the situation is about to spiral out of control, Murdelia lunges at the crowd and grabs a scrunt at random, pressing the scalpel to the neck-region! She drags the scrunt-shield back near the patient and shouts "J-just stop a minnit and lemme think! This's a tiome for cool 'eads, not stealin' of patients an' wotnot!" Partially crushed by the death-grip, Arnika whispers "Good plan, your mistressness! Err, yer cuttin' me a bit there."
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Jan 15, 2015 13:59
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Hey Scurrilous I realise I have left the whole "machine workshop" thing a bit open-ended and directionless, so: Please put the following technoscrunty activities in priority order, and tell me what sort of thing you want to accomplish in them, and what parts you are willing to farm out to NPC scrunts (hint: make this the easy stuff). I will give you options and timespans, and stuff you'd have to do to unlock some better options. It's pretty obvious - "mounted lascannon" requires you to find a lascannon, etc.
You scrunts have nothing pressing urging you on other than wanderlust and love of the Sector, but if you spend more than a few days arsing around tinkering in a workshop while nothing else is going on, the NPC scrunts are going to start getting pissed off at you, and the farm will see invaders. I'm not looking to make this a tower defense game though, you're the ones who wanted a roving mad max warband. Nothing stopping you from tinkering between missions, though, and this will be ameliorated somewhat if the other PC scrunts do in fact have poo poo they want to do around the farm that would take time. Other scrunts, do you have poo poo you want to do around the farm that would take time? also hello owls
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Jan 15, 2015 23:20
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Pernicious Kreb, Scruntmera Interior Kreb, his metaphorical thirst for blood sated, sets about tackling his literal thirst for blood. He scoops up the remains of the snake he stomped on and crams it into his mouth, letting the juices run down his chin and into his false beard, then leaps screeching from the scruntmera, onto the corpse of the yeestealer. He cuts off a couple of the yeestealers tentacles to incorporate into his beard, then runs off towards the unexplored silos with his prizes clutched in his despicable little hands.
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Jan 16, 2015 01:52
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Grumb Slanger, near the chimera Grumb looks around at the huddle of scrunts collected by the chimera radio. He looks over to Gumbo, then to Groin, as the squats take in the offer they were just presented with. "Well... Well, 'at seems foin to me," grumb mutters, peering at the sargeant anxiously. Grumb raises his voice, speaking to the group. "Frankly, I don' much like much having it 'round no how. Dangol... good riddance! " He ejects his magazine emphatically, and begins waddling over in the direction of the abandoned building, reloading his stubber as he follows the ichor trail to the operating table. "'Ay Murdelia! Tha guys what's been talking to our stuff were askin' if we couuuwwwhhhhOOAHH WHAS' ALL THIS, THEN?" Grumb exclaims as he walks in on the hostage situation playing out in the ER. He freezes in his tracks, putting his hands up and beginning to back up slowly. "EVERYBODY STAY CALM," he shouts, tripping over a chair and firing several rounds wildly into the ceiling. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 18:55 on Jan 16, 2015 |
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Jan 16, 2015 07:11
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Scurrilous Scruntson The Farm - Techno Triage It takes no small amount of arguing, yelling, threatening, and swearing at himself but Scurrilous eventually gets his thoughts in order and devises a plan of action. "Roight! First things first, yeah. SCR, drive tha 'mera inna the shop. With a helpful 'weet-doot!' SCR-417 rolls inside the vehicle and drives it off towards the commandeered maintenance depot. Now it was time to talk to the troops. "A'ight ya pus-covered gaggle o' rat-teat-sucklers, 'eres the plan. I need yeh ta find me all'a tha strongest metal yeh can find along wif anything else useful like a noo drivey-shafters or mebbe even a set o' shocky-sorbers an' put it in a big ol' pile outside o' tha shop. Oi'm gonna look at these 'ere longcars an' see what's what." The other scrunts stare glassy-eyed back the technoscrunt, but otherwise do nothing. Scurr growls in anger and draws his club and brandishes it threateningly. "Knick e'rrything an' bring it back 'ere, yeh fecking cunts, 'for I brains yeh!" It seems that is more understandable, as the gang moves into action. With a sigh Scurr walks away to the maintenance shop to get to work. __________ Priorities from what you listed from highest to lowest are: 1) Repair the Scruntmera 2) Get limos working 3) Create and attach Dozer blade to Scruntmera 4) Create and attach some extra armor to limos 5) Create and attach weapon mounts limos (pintle mounts, not turrets and probably with stormguns or whatever kind of guns we have lying around in abundance) 6) Create serious mods for weapons 7) Create common mods for weapons I'm willing to farm out 2 only if it looks like they are already in decent condition. I'm also willing to farm out 4, 5, and 7 since it's not as big a deal if those don't get done.
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Jan 16, 2015 18:46
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, LIMOS! Groin puts his Auspex Scanner back into his pocket and completely ignores the people on the other end when he hears about, mother. loving. GRIMDARK. LIMOS! He scuttles off with a stupid grin on his hosed up little face to try and find these vehicles and lick them all, to claim them as his own. ________ Groin is going to molest all of the limos.
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Jan 18, 2015 13:10
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Grumb Slanger, The OR The scrunt orderlies shriek and scatter as Grumb's machine gun fires off drat-near half a magazine before he's able to regain control. Scrunts knock over tables and chairs, accruing massive splinters and bruised shins in their struggle to escape the hostilities. Grumb, Murdelia and Arnika are left behind, blinking and coughing as plaster softly rains down upon them. Grumb grumbles, as he is oft wont to do, and lifts his head. Blood trickles down his nose. Sputtering, he is at last able to wheeze out his message. "Ay murdelia, the guys on tha radio wants that icky thing what you was gonna cut inta." He chokes momentarily, then spits out a tooth into his hand, which he pockets for later. "Says they wants to trade for it." Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 05:33 on Jan 19, 2015 |
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Jan 19, 2015 01:08
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Murdelia Skurvy In the OR As the gaggle of scrunts shuffle uncomfortably, Murdelia is frozen in panic over the decision to learn or loot. What would Mother Superior Frunkela do? Grumb's entrance and room-clearance triggers a memory from long ago. A rich, elderly Scrunt-Lord had reached immense height and girth due to a suspected overactive organ or gland, and finally met his end after choking on his own tongue. His remains were claimed by Frunkela, and Murdelia, then just a wee scruntling assistant, was to assist in the "Journey o' discovery as we 'splore this 'nusual speci-man". Unfortunately, his relatives had clumped together in a combination pub crawl/riot intending to claim their inheritance, and there was only enough time to either dig the tantalising fleshy bits out of his abdomen, or cut the rings and jewellery off his stubby extremities. So as autoguns chattered and molotovs sailed overhead, Frunkela shouted: "Fokkit, gold is forev'r, grab 'is watch and let's scurry!" A tear runs down Murdelia's craggy visage and Arnika hears her mumble "Oi've almost made a terrible m'stake. Oh, um, sorry 'bought tha cut, thought you was... err, furget it." Wiping the tear away with the same hand holding the scalpel and letting Arnika flop to the ground, Murdelia turns to Grumb and says with newfound conviction, "Stop starin' at me loik that, ya drippy-mouthed, scruffy-chinned, m'lign'nt boil! Oi'll sew yer shooter to yer arse if ya can't control it! An' don' interrupt a patient innerview! Oi'm not cryin', Oi'm just bleedin' from me eye, see!" Stomping away gracefully from the twitching 'stealer corpse, Murdelia brings her medi-boxy up to her mouth and shouts at it, "One ta beam up, Vallerus!"
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Jan 19, 2015 02:18
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Grumb Slanger, the OR Grumb gulps, and scrambles to his feet. "Yes, s-S-s-Maam!" He looks around excitedly for the beam, not entirely understanding what was about to take place. Grumb's object permanence skills were already somewhat strained by the basic constructs of reality, and thus the concept of teleportation had always eluded him somewhat. In a sense, wasn't everything always teleporting? And yet, nothing ever teleported, either. It was all very confusing, existential stuff. But he knew a good deal when he saw one, and getting paid to kill somebody you already killed was just good business! His eyes light up, thinking about the reward. What would it be? What should it be? "GUNS!" he shouts. "Big guns! Ask'm'fr'm!" He starts bouncing his heels and pumping his fists, getting wicked pumped for guns. Murdelia glares at him, shooing him away with the universal "on the phone" gesture. He starts to turn away, then stops in his tracks. "AND BLUNTS!" He breaks into a run, calling back "AAAASSSSKKKKK FFffoorr bllluuuuuuuuunntss." "GUYS! We'se gon get that corpse tellippuh... we gon get it tella... dangol, gettin' paid! Whaddawe ask for!?" Grumb calls to his compatriots in the farmyard. "Urok! Sarge! Wot should we demand? He looks around for his other friends, and starts jogging back to the gates. "Barry, you back there? We're gon' get us some loot!" "Barry?" Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 06:20 on Jan 19, 2015 |
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Jan 19, 2015 06:11
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Urok Inside the Red Building  Urok absent-mindedly caresses his shiny new toys as he stands infront of the tied up farmers. He had used some of the rope and chain that bound the farmers to fashion himself two necklaces and tied the eyes to them using the optic nerve.  Wearing Two-Chains, he tries to concentrate on what he wants to know. Inside the building, the light of day doesn't bother him, and his scrunty little eyes dart around nervously as he tries to form words. The after-combat high has calmed his mind, allowing him to form almost complete thoughts.... The staccato of machine-gun fire bursts through his laboriously constructed thinking, pushing any idea the scrunt may have had to the recesses of his hosed up little mind as the dull buzz in the back of his brain becomes a fiery white pain demanding action. He whirls, grunting in a strange accent "I'll Be Back " Charging through the camp, little legs pumping, he scans for threats. A commotion seems to be taking place around The OR and he barrels over several civilian scrunts in his way. He bursts through the door like a charging bull, shock gloves sizzling, scanning for threats. All he see's are his scrunt friends involved in a debate about what to do with the Unusual Speciman . He comes to a full stop and twitches as he tries to process the situation, grinding his teeth he deactivates his shock gloves as his brain protests, demanding action. He takes a moment and slams his head against a wall several times.... "Friends, Friends, Friends" He calms down as he licks the blood dripping down his face and realizes Grumb has asked him what he wants his share of the loot to be. "Space Weed, Maps and anything to kill enemies of scrunts, or stop scrunts from get killed" he grunts in an oddly coherent fashion. He seems to be about to say something else, but than just ‚sits on the ground and rocks back and forth. Urok wants to see ‚ how they get their loot, and make sure no one runs off with his poo poo before interrogating the prisoners. After all, they are tied up, and wont be going anywhere. Waroduce fucked around with this message at 16:55 on Jan 19, 2015 |
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Jan 19, 2015 16:52
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Grimply, the scruntmera radio Grimply likes the thought of getting rid of the foul demon before it can corrupt his scrunt flock, and getting some good bitz for it is just a plus for him. However, he also knows that humies are crafty and generally can't be trusted. Maybe they want to make more demons? Maybe they will only send some empty boxes after they got what they want? Or maybe they want to play a prank on him and smuggle the head of the demon into his bed tonight? You just can't know with humies! Grimply doesn't trust this and flexes his mistreated brain to find a solution. Wait! Didn't he talk to some other humies before? Mabye. He dimly remembers something along those lines. Did he imagine it? Maybe. Probably. Not sure. Crippled with doubt about his own memory, Grimply turns to the one thing that he can always rely on, and makes a little prayer to the scruntfather. "Glory be to tha Father and to tha Scrunt and to tha Slam Sector, as it was in tha beginnin, is now and ever shall be, Slam without end. Scrunt." Grimply's call is answered, and the whispers of the scruntfather tell him what he did it last time. It seems as the father is pleased, and thinks Grimply can now handle such things without him taking control. Grimply mutters a quiet prayer of thanks, and then takes the speaker of the scruntmera radio. "Armsmaster Valerius, come in. This is *argh* sergeant Hardchest speaking. State your affiliation *unf* and operation clearance for this sector right..right now! If your answers don't please me, sonny, I may...*argh* I may have to report this to my superiors who then will have a talk with yours. *urgh* Over?" -------------------------------------------------- I'm using the voice of the late PDF sarge and deceive to maybe wrestle a bit of info out of the stoner bro, because why not? 6 vs 42 Fellowship My lies are impeccable Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 23:25 on Jan 22, 2015 |
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Jan 19, 2015 17:52
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Scraggling The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zw-uGY1WayE i wish you could embed youtubes without the actual video Serving Suggestion The Farm Kreb consumes the snake-creature. In turn, the snake-creature consumes Kreb. There isn't much in the galaxy that is drawn to consume the flesh of Tyranid creatures. Kroot burn it; Orks stomp it; Chaos beasts shun it; Kreb, apparently, has a taste for it. But even a creature that subsists mostly on volatile chemicals and industrial runoff cannot blithely consume this particular xenos meat. The acids of the scrunt's stomach conmingle and mix with the acid blood of the alien serpent, providing just the environment needed for the creature's phagocytes and metastasizing hunter-killer malignancies to take off at an amazing rate. Astoundingly, however, the ravenous microscopic consumers of the Hive are held at bay for now by whatever passes for the scrunt's metabolism; aided by that unexpected influx of vitamins a few days ago, Kreb appears to be fighting off the worst of the internal invasion. The scrunt has no idea of all this, of course. He just feels really gassy and- urp. Kreb's passed a difficult toughness test to not get poisoned, aided by that +10 he got from his pea soup way back when. Kreb may either vomit out the chunks of snake, or be altered by xenos genetic material. He might get sensitivity to the hive mind, allowing him to detect nearby tyranid creatures, but also synapse creatures or free-roamers like genestealers will be able to use Command tests on him to influence - but not control - his actions. Voices In The Aether The Farm Grimply delivers his demands in the voice of a seriously-wounded sergeant. They stop laughing eventually. "Hahaa, Hardchest man, you're one funny motherfucker. Find a Xenos, find you, figures. Good to hear from you again, but poo poo, sounds like the snake really did a number on you, bro. Gahahaa. Operation clearance. Hahaa." A pause, some bubbling noises. "Bet you'd just love to have your superiors talk t'mine, huh? Scare the poo poo out of Captain Drennius, yeah. He'd be all 'Ooohh Sergeant the Septiminians want a quick word, should I wear the blue gown or this racy little black number?' Fucker thinks going interstellar is his ticket to the bigtime." "But seriously man, we're only doing ore runs for another month or so. Get yourself stitched up, come down south, I'll take a lander. We'll square the time off with your barracks, no probs. Call it consultancy." Another bubbly pause. "You get that xenocorpse out on the road and get everyone a couple dozen metres away from it, we'll beam you some poo poo we took off a pirate cutter that we ain't officially inventoried yet, everyone's happy. Well, 'cept the Ophidian." Scrunty demands are communicated. "You want maps, dude? I thought you knew every inch of this forest? gently caress it, we'll throw it in, but there's wear and tear on the auspices, man. That poo poo comes out of your cut. But the lho's free, dude. You'll love it. We got an arboretum full of it" It appears you guys are up for the trade but I will give you a couple days to make any final counters, refusals, or questions. Door Number Two The Farm Groin busily licks the limousines, running his hands over their sleek, armourless curves. It's busy, thirsty work, and he has to pause and rehydrate every so often with cans of scrüntbrau, the taste that refreshes. He ponders their combat capabilities. quote:Type: Wheeled Vehicle All in all, there's ten of these things, and a smattering of spare parts. That's a lot of tongue. They do seem low on fuel, though. Did they drive here? Come to think of it, the machine shop doesn't look suited to limo maintenance, and there's no dust on those spare parts... Local Fauna The Farm The scrunts roam around the farm with their characteristic aimless determination, turning the place over and looking for nothing in particular. Grumb collects an ominously ticking Barry from the front gate, where he is camped out with Barrius, and they circle back to the Chimera as civilian scrunts wander to and fro. Urok continues to vaguely menace the captive farmers without actually asking them anything. One of them eventually finds their voice. "What are... what do you want? Have you rescued us?" Groin is busy sexually interfering with vehicles, while Scurrilous and his work-gang continue to heap up supplies and scrap for vehicle maintenance, presumably to counteract this. As low-level electrovox subterfuge is conducted by the others, Gumbo surreptitiously smokes a cigar. He is interrupted when he notices two small scrunts running excitedly towards him, waving and tripping and yelling and pointing towards one of the as-yet-unexplored sheds. "Boss boss boss come feck look lookkit this feck look!" It's not fear the scruntgeant reads in their eyes, just plain old excitement. Maybe that's because Kreb's scuttling in that direction, lasblaster in hand. ----------------- Good scrunting, all. So: If you aren't happy with selling the yeestealer for loot speak up, otherwise next update it's going. If there's anything you want to do to the corpse before it goes, now is the time. No shopping list for technoscrunting yet, because if you get loot it will be useful, but will not simply come in the form of items. It might be crates of armour plates or some poo poo, or a half-wrecked missile interceptor you can cannibalise, or something. Or it might be a dozen pallets of corpse starch to feed your scrunting horde, who knows. It will probably inform your options for Limos need fuel for long-range operations. They've got about a hundred miles left in 'em. What are you doing with the captives, are you just leering at them or what. No infected farmhands remain, this is just bound and gagged dudes. There's like eight of them left, some died in combat. Scrunts want to show you a shed. Go along if you like. You won't be forbidden from interacting with skyvoice if you're off in the shed, and vice versa, we assume these things happen concurrently. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 00:03 on Jan 20, 2015 |
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Jan 19, 2015 22:12
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Urok The Farm   Dried blood on his neck and face, Urok sits as he listens to Grimply talk to the hummies. He can't follow it all, but it sounds like Grimply convinced them to send all the stuff...maybe some that space weed will help with Uroks sensitivity to light and blood-thirsty rages. One can hope..... A rabble of scrunts moving to and fro in camp stir him out of his respite. It looks like the technoscrunts are getting their hands on some vehicles, and the triage area is slowly clearing. Urok takes in the scene around camp as a dull drone itches the base of his skull. No violence forth coming, Urok makes his way back toward the captive farmers, his Two-Chains wetly smacking together As he grows closer, the un-gagged Farmhand spots him "What are... what do you want? Have you rescued us?" Arms loose at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching, Urok stares vacantly at the farmhand..... "SLAM SECTOR" he suddenly shouts, banging his luckily deactivated fists against his chest. "Emperor give scrunt place to live! Bad people trying to stop us....., he trails off into silence, furrowing his brow. Burping and scratching himself, Urok proudly declares " I stopped bad people. Emperor is proud. Give Trophy..... Look! " Urok holds the eye chains up to the farmhand, uncomfortably close to his face. "You help Slam Sector now. You tell Urok things. Where are other towns? You love the Emperor? Where most people who no love Him? They have big guns?????Where is alien from, what happen? Is more????? Questions tumble out of him, and he ceases abruptly, face very close to the farmhand, smelling of charred meat and death. __________________________ I'm after the name and direction of the closest settlements, enemy encampments, and the location of regional HQ of the opposition. As a bonus, I would like to know their troop disposition and armament, to the extent a farmer would know. Like do they have tanks and shock troops hanging around, or is it just a sleepy regional hq with aids and staff. I am unsure if I need to roll Intimidate, since you said I may not need to, and Farmers may be friendly. If I do need to roll my STR is 40, and I would again lobby for a modifier due to my sexy necklace and the fact that I just knocked off an entire formation.Â
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Jan 20, 2015 21:28
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Murdelia Skurvy Surveying the OR With the decision to sell off the Ophidian for loot, Murdelia tries to re-wrangle the scrunts who carried the thing into the building, and make them drag it back outside into the open. The pile of interesting brains Urok helpfully donated looks promising, but for some reason she's just not feeling 'it' any more. When the OR is clear again, she wipes off the table with a rag and sets up for slightly less invasive surgery. "Any scrunts wit' an 'njury, illness or other fissical complaint, come and Oi'll have a look at you." she proclaims grandly, sweeping a few bits of debris away, "Donations are a'preciated." _________________________ Any scrunts can come get healed. Using Dak's example, 42 Int + 20 Diagnosticator = 62, vs my 20.
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Jan 21, 2015 01:44
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Gumbo Bulge, in the yard. "Awrigh boys, settle down eh." says Gumbo. He knows that Scrunts, especially young ones, have a tendency towards excitement and a tendency away from knowing what the gently caress they are excited about. Most likely these have found something shiny, or a pile of garbage with a pleasing stench. But then shiny things can be good. His chainsword is shiny, or it was before it got covered in hybrid goop. And no Scrunt should pass up a good garbage pile - he'd be turning his back on his roots. He rubs his filthy little hands "Show me wat yav foun' boys" He follows them towards the sheds, but pauses on the way to hand his chainsword to Pirk. "Giv this a cleanin boy. Nice n shiny, right?"
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Jan 21, 2015 11:59
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Groin Sklunger The Farm, Limos Groin hastily zips his trousers back up, and finishes his dark dirty business with the limousines, while letting out a perverse satisfied sigh. Upon leaving the limo area he notices a gathering of scruntlings, followed by Grumbo, heading towards some interesting looking sheds. Groin shrugs and follows after them, perhaps there might be some more heavy machinery to 'investigate' inside. _________ Groin wants to see what's in the sheds too.
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Jan 21, 2015 19:07
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Pernicious Kreb, Towards the sheds Kreb pays his stomach no mind; he's no stranger to belly-rumbles after a good (bad) meal. As he capers towards the sheds, Pelt bearing his multilaser behind Kreb, he spots two young scrunts running excitedly towards them from out of the sheds, their ugly little faces fixed in what he can only assume is excitement or fear. Kreb tries to get their attention as they pass, but his maddened hissing and croaking just seems to make them run away faster. He disregards them, and scuttles with renewed vigour, hoping to be the first to whatever it was the little scrunts found.
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Jan 21, 2015 21:55
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Regrouping The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZf15xVrOW8 pictured: Groin's mental image of himself Ways Of Making You Talk pt2 The Chapel Urok puts his questions to the terrified farmers with characteristic vehemence; they seem desperate to answer them, but they also seem slightly unsure as to what the questions actually are. There is a certain amount of disorientation present in their responses; they have gone from hapless snakefodder to the subjects of an incoherent tirade from a walking, muscly egg-creature in a very short space of time. "We... ahhh!!" The farmer jerks back in alarm as Urok screams into his face. "We don't know what that thing was!" Another farmer chimes in, if "chime" can be applied to a man inches from a stress-induced psychotic break. "We were in bed, we work the night shift, I don't know where the day guys are! All I know is I woke up with a gag in my mouth and got marched downstairs by those Moderators! They took us downstairs one at a time and cuffed us up, then that loving hellbeast started DOING poo poo to everyone! Then you showed up and killed everyone and ran your tank over half of us! Get your loving eyes out my face, man!" Questions about the Emperor appear to evoke some confusion. "Are you... like, mini Ogryns? Where did you guys come from? Look, man, the Imperium's hosed us. Kept demanding more and more in tithe, we had a couple years of bad harvests. These Severan guys shipped in enough for all Malbrathia. They've done alright by us. " After some conferring, the farmers also manage to put together a vague indication of what towns are nearby. In short - not many. This is hinterlands; you've got camps, you've got colonies, you've got farm complexes that specialise in light agriculture, it is relatively light on major urban centres. It's all rather sensible, although whether Urok will take it as such remains to be seen. They don't know much about local troop disposition, being farmhands. One of them remembers seeing a squad of some sort of battletanks the other week, but that was heading east, towards the front. They looked in good condition, though. Big cannons. The general consensus appears to be that there's a steady trickle of troops heading from the encampments way out west, to the front way out east. A moment's thought would indicate that this cannot be the primary throughfare for troop movements, because it is a backwater. The farmers try their best to give the brawler scrunt an idea of nearby landmarks and settlements, but he'll have to confer with Grimply to get it all straightened out. In the meantime, they eye him warily, and with growing suspicion. Speak to the scount, and Grimply will be able to tell you what's nearby. If the question is "Is X within operating distance" the answer is probably "yes", unless X is something big like a seriously military base, spaceport, major city, tank convoy, etc. If you want one of those, it will require more legwork than menacing some farmers. You aren't getting much regarding local troops. These guys are farmers. It was only the hefty circumstance bonus that let you pass this intimidation roll, by the way. They might have been friendly if you hadn't, like, kept them bound and menaced the poo poo out of them. More!? The Farm What have the scrunts found? Why, it's corpses! Looks like the day shift were herded into this shed and then shot. Weird. Gumbo's knowledge of imperial tactics allows him to figure out why the night-shift workers didn't hear anything, though - the distance, and thick walls, is probably enough to soak the noise of lasgun cracks if staggered. Why didn't the alien creature try to infect this lot, though? He could always ask Kreb. By this point the parasitic alien cells have reached an uneasy truce with his terrifying biology, and the scrunt begins to change subtly. He remains scruntily unaware of this, although his brain structure is being slowly rewritten, and consciousness of an impossibly vast presence at unimaginable distances begins to permeate his psyche- wait, the civilian scrunts are still tugging at sleeves and pointing to the next shed along. Looks like they have more to show. As the door creaks open and light floods the barn, dozens and dozens of scrunts peer incuriously up and down from the rafters, the floor, the shelves, from everywhere. These scrunts seem unfamiliar. They don't seem unfriendly, insofar as you can say that about a scrunt, but no-one recognises any of them from the drop site.  There is also a wizened old scrunt taking pride of place in the centre of the floor. This is mostly because he is locked in a sturdy-looking padlocked cage. Welcome Kai Tave as Yurik, scrunt loremaster!! Also Kreb takes six insanity points as he slowly changes. Triage The Farm Murdelia has given carté blanche for medical attention. If you want healing, do a roll for her; you are rolling against 82. Rules as written diagnosticators are only used for finding out what's wrong with someone and if you use it on a scrunt it will simply return "EVERYTHING". However, apparently medkits come with a separate, magic diagnosticator that can't be used separately and DOES give +20. Nice going, game designers! So you're rolling against Int 42 + 10 (trained assistant) + 10 (Medicae+10) + 20 = 82. If you have damage equal to or more than half your Wounds stat, you are Seriously Wounded (but the scrunt still burns). This is -10 to the above test. If the roll is successful, you remove 4 + 1 DoS damage. If you guys hang around the farm for a while and aren't taking part in strenuous activity, you can enter Extended Care, which is basically the same roll every 24 hours to remove double that. Murdelia you can still gently caress around with brains and the non-multilasered hybrid corpse, and you'll get some info on a success (and something nasty on a failure), but you won't be allowed to buy skills from it. Payday The Farm "Alright, bro, we're gonna send down some poo poo for you. My guys'll be down in twenty - urp - thirty minutes to come pick up the body. Need to prep it for teleport. Wish we coulda grabbed it when it was moving, but apparently at this range that woulda resulted in thin xenos soup, so, y'know. Cool. Scrunts yammer and gawp as nondescript crates flash into existence. They're spread over a pretty wide area. An elderly scrunt bellows in surprise as one materialises through his leg, detonating his limb. This teleportation business seems risky; that final crate took ages to come through, and what was with all that distant screaming and visions of destruction? Oh, right. Scrunts. Bedlam descends, as looting occurs. Afterwards, in the absence of instructions to the contrary, a few muttering and surly medical scrunts drag the dead alien back outside, carefully avoiding the previous blood smear, and dump it unceremoniously in the middle of the road before wandering off. There's a lot of garbage like glass beads and feathers, presumably for impressing feral worlders or something, but there's also some good stuff in this shipment. Civilian scrunts run around gleefully clutching now-empty bottles or sturdy jumpsuits, as more discerning minds pick over the important stuff The Loot posted:
Seems these guys are really keen on getting that body. Alternatively, this could just be pocket change to them - they don't seem to be taking the situation particularly seriously. There's a couple of kilogram bags of extremely dank lho, as well. A handful of seeds are included. They seem fey and willowy compared to the squat, wizened ones you are used to. zero-g weed will likely not grow planetside without serious farming acumen ------------- Divvy it up, scruntlords!! Shopping list for car parts will come later because there is still short term stuff to do and I am tired. Your action points are as follows: What's with the caged scrunt? And what are the other scrunts doing to him? And what are the other scrunts doing THERE? Spacemans are coming for your corpse. You going to meet them, hide from them, ignore them? Loot! Work out who gets what. Sort your wounds out. Update your loving character sheets or I will kill you with GM fiat. Farmers are still mostly bound, partly gagged. They are not happy at the moment. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 12:20 on Jan 24, 2015 |
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Jan 22, 2015 23:03
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Grimply, the scruntmera radio "Alright, bro, we're gonna send down some poo poo for you. My guys'll be down in twenty - urp - thirty minutes to come pick up the body. Need to prep it for teleport. Wish we coulda grabbed it when it was moving, but apparently at this range that woulda resulted in thin xenos soup, so, y'know. Cool." "Uhm, yeah..cool...bro. .*unf* I was jus' joking about the rank thing, wanted to see..to see if you still remember me. Hehe..*argh* Tha beast got me good..need to get fixed first...*unf* I'll...I'll send some of the smaller ogre-ins to drag...*uh* drag the body out on the road..yer can take it from..from thare...It's better to not come in..in here. Those ogre-ins are jumpy....*argh* Oh...and some toime off sounds nice. I'll...I'll get back to yer on that. *orgh* Over." Grimply can't shake the feeling that he came real close to being discovered. Maybe he should brush up his humie talk a bit? He ponders this while he waddles out of the scruntmera. Outside, he sees a few scrunts in ragged overalls excitedly prod some of the humie farming tools. The space humie said something about weed, which sounds like something that can be grown, so Grimply figures he should let the agri scrunts know. But before he waddles up to them, he pats his pockets for his holy book and discovers that it's not there. Oh right, he gave it to Flet earlier. But something else is missing too, his Grapling Hook! Oh wait, he gave that to Urok. "Flet! Grimply bellows which is answered by an excited "Yes mastah!" as the little scrunt pops out of a pile of leaves and rubbish. "There yer are lad! I 'ope yer took good care of me book." Flet pulls out the worn book and proudly presents it to Grimply. He snatches it and holds it real close to his face while he inspects it. Yes, it seems to be just as worn and stained as it was when he handed it to Flet. "Good lad! Now, do yer know where Urok is at?" "Uhm..Urok?...err..tha scrunt with tha zappy gloves...uhm...Who's Urok?" "Tha scrunt with tha zappy gloves!" "Oh roight...erm..he went ovah into that humie house...I fink...uhm...Who's Urok?" "It's roight lad. Now listan ta me, cause I got a task for yer. Yer go over ta Murdellia and tell 'er tha space 'umies will take tha demon corpse from tha road, roight? No sense in lettin em come in 'ere." "Uhh..roight...corpse from tha road..got it...ehrm...Who's Murdellia?" "Tha medi scrunt yer daft git! Now get goin' will yer!?" with a half hearted kick, Grimply sends Flet on his way. He makes off towards the big humie house to find Urok and his grappling hook, and on his way he stops by the excited farmer scrunts. "Oi lads! I see yer mighty keen on these 'ere 'umie tools. Well, I gots an idea for yer!" -------------------------------------------------- 85 vs 42 +10 Fellowship to motivate the agri scrunts which is a huge failure oh my god why I previously said that I collected my hook, but I revoke that and use it as a reason to go over to Urok. Then we can chat about the scouting. I'm also going to pick up a scared farmer voice because it may come in handy for setting a trap Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 00:53 on Jan 23, 2015 |
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Jan 23, 2015 00:00
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Malbrathia-3 The Farm In a Shed As Kreb opened the barred doors leading into the shed he was immediately assailed by the smell of dozens upon dozens of scrunts packed together into an enclosed space, a nostalgic stench that briefly reminded him of home. "nnnnNNNOW!" A moment thereafter he and Groin were assailed by dozens upon dozens of scrunts themselves, boiling out of the shed like a horrible, lumpy tidal wave of sweaty flesh. They dropped from the rafters (many of them landing face first) and sprang from behind bales of hay, shouting and flailing wildly with their hands and feet and emitting foul odors, triumphant cries of "Slam!" and "Fack!" and "Scrunt!" accompanying the bewildering and vaguely effective melee. "That's it you fackers! Get at'em!," shouted the scrunt that had been padlocked within a cage in the center of the shed, rattling the bars with his hands as the scrunty swarm descended upon their would-be rescuers. "Take that ya' squiggly-faced sunnuva sump-rat! Y'ain't stealin' MY jeebs! Stomp'is fackin' bollocks in you dumb sacks o' grox-shite, and don't let'im stick'is whatzit in your whonows!" The caged scrunt stood out among the other tiny hosed-up examples of abhumanity that had been locked up in the shed for scruntfather-only-knew what reason. He was short and ugly and malodorous, but the same could be said for scrunts in general. Nonetheless, he managed to remain distinct. For starters he was in a cage. His skin was a sickly pale white and a wispy, scraggly beard drooped halfway down his body like a desultory species of subterranean lichen. His eyes were a striking red, but most disturbing was how, unlike most scrunts, they pointed in the same direction, subjecting anyscrunt who met his gaze with the unnerving sensation of being scrutinized by a double-strength stare. He wore a set of robes that at some distant point in the past might have belonged to an Administratum cleric but had since been resized for scrunty purposes, stained with blood and other substances best left unmentioned, and perched on his head was a hat of some sort made from a Standard Template Construct pattern Culinary Strainer, General Purpose festooned with curls of colored wire, discarded lasgun focusing lenses, and other assorted odds and ends, the bulky and domelike helmet giving his head a bulbous, oversized appearance compared to the rest of his scrunty body. Propped against a nearby wall, just out of reach, was a tall staff that bore a broken Aquilla insigna on the top along with a wrapping of duct tape and barbed wire. Yurik Scraglagger watched as the scrunt horde barreled into Kreb, Groin, and any other creature unfortunate enough to be in its path...and then proceeded to swear profusely as they kept right on barreling out the door and past everyone. "No no no no NO! You thick fackin' fackers! Get BACK here! You're not leavin' me here to have my jeebs stole! Nggh! Hgggnnh!" Grabbing the bars, he shook the whole cage violently back and forth in an effort to scoot himself across the floor, succeeding only at toppling it over onto its side with a clang. "Arrrgghh! C'mon then you fangly ballsack! I hope I make you fackin' choke, you...you...hold on a bloody second," he said, squinting as he peered through the bars at Kreb and Groin now that the other scrunts had made their bid for freedom. "Yer not a fackin' jeebstealer! Yer a bunch o' fackin' SCRUNTS!" He grabbed the bars and began shaking them violently once more, slowly spinning himself around in a circle. "What're you fackin' waitin' for, a 'graved invitation from the fackin' scruntfather!? Get me out o' this fackin' thing!" Hello, I am locked in a cage. Please to be letting me out, most thanks.
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Jan 23, 2015 03:22
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Urok The Farm Urok sways, attempting to process the farmers words. He isn't sure if he got the answers he wanted.....he's confused, and isn't sure what to do. From the farmers sounds there are no big threats around...He keeps trying to understand the rest of the farmers statements, but is lost. He absent-mindedly ignites and snuffs out his shock gloves, the smell of ozone and burnt meat wafting from his fists. His deep scruntination is interrupted when Grimply rambles in, asking about his Grappling Hook . With a vacant expression, Urok lights a cigar off his shock gloves, and hands both the Grappling Hook and lit Cigar over as a gesture of thanks. He stands silent, and nearly still, for a moment "Brother,..... hummies will come...Scrunts hunt soon....we protect" Urok rounds on the farmers suddenly, causing them to recoil slightly as his eyes come to focus on one of them "Tell brother..." he growls "Tell story, tell'd to me One of the farmers pipes up ""We were in bed, we work the night shift. We woke up with a gags in our mouths and got marched downstairs by those Moderators! They took us downstairs one at a time and cuffed us up, then that loving hellbeast started DOING poo poo to everyone! Then you showed up and killed everyone. The Imperium's hosed us. Kept demanding more and more in tithe, we had a couple years of bad harvests. These Severan guys shipped in enough for all Malbrathia. They've done alright by us." The farmers also briefly summarized nearby landmarks and towns and the steady trickle of troops heading from the encampments way out west, to the front way out east. "Are you going to untie us?" the farmer finishes. Urok waits with something almost resembling patience as the farmer speaks. Urok turns to toward Grimply "We hunt?"
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Jan 23, 2015 21:38
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Volcanic Machinery The Workshop The Farm Scurrilous huffs into his respirator, mechandrite turgid, thoughts racing. And thoughts racy, for a technoscrunt such as him. The miscellaneous machinery and other such junk from the teleported loot pile has been dragged into the workshop, where the freshly-licked limos gleam and glisten under fluorescent spotlamps, and he has a bit of peace and quiet to tinker with the machines. He considers what he can do, and how long it will take, and whether his erection will ever go away. You have 12 work-hours in a day; +0 Toughness test to push it to 16. Cumulative levels of fatigue on failure that only go away following a full day's rest. quote:Chimera stuff Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 18:29 on Jan 24, 2015 |
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Jan 24, 2015 18:11
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Pernicious Kreb, The Barn Kreb, upon being rushed by the barnful of scrunts, does what his survival instincts (and possibly that strange, buzzing new voice in his head) tell him to: puke everywhere and draw down. Unfortunately the only weapon he hasn't forced Pelt to carry is his shiver-shiv, a weaponized metronome powered by a lasgun cell. Even more unfortunately, his guts are still full of a scrunty soup of tyranid worm dna. He flicks his shiv on, the sharpened metronome becomes a buzzing blur. The mechanism shakes the rest of Kreb too, and really the last thing anyone wants to see is Kreb vibrating. Wisely, the other scrunts afford him a wide berth. Kreb looks back and forth with wild eyes, evaluating the scrunts around and the scrunt in the cage. The deformed, piebald angel inside Kreb says "New friends!". The devil, which looks remarkably like Kreb, says "Kill them and take their stuff!". A third voice says "CONSUME BIOMASS AND REPRODUCE" but Kreb tries to disregard that. Eventually, the voices inside Kreb come to an understanding, and Kreb decides it's probably best if he doesn't kill the scrunts, because he might need them for a uh... cult he thinks? Kreb has a shaky relationship with his thoughts at the best of times. The scrunt in the cage is shouting, and that fundamentally irritates Kreb, and the fastest method of stopping the shouting that does not involve murder would probably be to let the scrunt out of the cage. He heads over to the cage, brandishing his vibrating knife. Kreb is going to try and free the caged scrunt
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Jan 26, 2015 00:36
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Groin Sklunger The Barn The horde of scrunts unleashed from the barn pile out like tide of vomit spewed from a scrunt's mouth. Groin decides the best course of action would be to stop, drop and roll! This provides no help as the scrorde (Scrunt Horde) stampedes over his body and face, farting and hooting as they go. Actual vomit then begins to vomit out of an actual scrunt's mouth like a tide of vomit, all over Groin's face and beard as he fails to get out of the path of Kreb's natural defence system. Moments later Groin sits up and casually wipes the sick off his face. He peers into the barn to see if this hassle was worth the trouble. "Tha fukk?! It's just another scrunt inna cage ya dumbshits! What were ya'll excited about!?" Groin yells angrily and confused. He notices Kreb vibrating toward the cage with a vibrating knife and assumes the worst, but decides there are more important things to pay attention to, such as this lovely pile of loot that has materialised from nowhere! Groin stands up, dusts himself off and casually waddles over to the loot pile and grabs the first thing that interests him, a big mean looking shotgun. "Dibs ya fukkers!" he yells in a domineering tone, and begins licking the weapon selfishly, while his eyes dart around independently of each other at any nearby scrunts he perceives as a threat. _________ Groin is attempting to claim the Combat Shotgun as his own.
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Jan 26, 2015 22:26
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Grumb Slanger, the workshop Dragging Barries by the hand, Grumb arrives back in the workshop just in time to see that Groin has already started licking all the good guns! "AAAARRGH!" He wails, diving onto the pile of pointy metal treasures. He grabs at the priceless relics with his grubby mitts, scowling and bleeding all over the place as he shouts "DON'T YOU DARE, GROIN, TAL'BOUT ALWAYS HE BE LICKIN' THEM GOOD LOOT, NEVER GON DUN LEFT NONE FOR US!" He finds a large gun-shaped object and latches onto it with both arms and legs, curling tightly into a ball around it and slumping to the ground. He opens one eye to find himself clutching a gently-used imperial autocannon, with the name "Clive" stenciled on it. "THIS IS MINE," he shouts, "NOBERDY TOUCHIT!" The barries look to each other nervously as Grumb scrambles to his feet and props the autocannon on his shoulder authoritatively. He glares at Groin, daring him to make a move. Groin doesn't even notice, enthralled as he is with the complex and nuanced flavor profile of his new shotgun. Grumb turns back to his companions. "We needs to get the resta'us ins tha buildings. Barry! Barry! Gather uppa resta these lollygaggin' scoundrels an' bring 'em indoors! Dese space mans are on they way, an I don't wanna get caught unnawehh, unna... Dangol, pants 'round our ankles! Serpized!" ------------------------ Grumb lays claim to the autocannon, and the three companions are making a collective effort to wrangle the scrunts indoors before the arrival of the space crew. If that requires some kind of roll, I would appreciate you making it. I'm phone posting and don't have my dice on me. What are the stats on this thing, by the way? Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 03:24 on Jan 27, 2015 |
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Jan 27, 2015 01:55
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Gumbo Bulge, barnstormer. "Whas this?" Says Gumbo, as a mob of unfamiliar Scrunts flows around him. On instinct, he grabs at one by the neck, then, on a much deeper instinct, wheels the unfortunate around and uses him to shield himself from a torrent of vomit. "Kreb!" he yells, and his voice breaks unexpectedly, "ya nearly ruined me uniform!" He lovingly pats his poorly sewn imperial guard uniform, encrusted with blood and flecked with bits of bone, then remembers what he is holding. "Who are ya?" He screams at the Scrunt in his hand, who then gibbers uncontrollably and also starts vomiting. Gumbo hurls him outside, as best his stubby little arms will allow, and the mystery Scrunt rolls out the barn door spraying scrunt puke over everyone around him. Gumbo follows, Scrunts both familiar and unfamiliar, now stream in all directions, but many cluster around what Gumbo hopes is not an impromptu Scrunt orgy. "Ids not tha time for tha!" he shouts in dismay and possibly arousal. "Get yerselves inside! Humans a comin!" "Has anyun moved th alien? We gots to get it ou there" he points out away from the farm in a random direction, then feels a tugging on his sleeve. A familiarly scrunched up little face peers up at him, holding an unfamiliar chainsword. "Pirk! I tole ya to clean it! Not ta..." He peers at it closer and reaches out a grubby little hand to grasp the handle. "What did ya do to it? Ids...ids beautiful..." He revs the chains and takes a few experimental swings, and Pirk dives for safety. Pls use Gumbos command for any tests involving getting the Scrunts indoors and some moving the genestealer outside the farm for pick up (with whatever bonuses apply from everyone else also yelling at them in their posts). Also claiming the chainsword, will probably go find Scurrilous shortly to ask him to affix the tox injector from the old one.
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Jan 27, 2015 10:03
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Urok The Farm Concluding the briefing with Grimply , Urok leaves his fellow scrunt to contemplate their next course of action. As he exits the hostage area, a mess of scrunts are being herded around while Grumbo and Grumb struggle to herd the scrunts into hiding positions. Something about hummies coming...... Urok disappears into the workshop where he'd heard some loot is. He looks at all the mechanical scrunts working, as his eyes are drawn to the pile of goods. His eyes run over the equipment and weapons, mouth agape, drooling..... His hands find an Axe with a mechanical cog displayed on its blade, and he loving runs his fingers over the edge. Its sharp, and he slits his thumb before appreciatively sticking it in his mouth to suck and tucking the Axe under one arm. He continues to leaf through the pile of loot, not finding much that interests him until he stumbles upon a hosed up, broken chainsword. He can't use it....but it'd be nice to upgrade his gloves or maybe this new axe with....he picks it up and is hit by a rush of vertigo and nausea, the migraine in his head, quite since slaying the Hybrid , comes wailing back, screaming for violence as he holds two unblooded weapons in his hands. He stumbles to a corner and collapses in a heap, rocking back and forth.... Urok breathes steadily, as he attempts to regain his control, and places the weapons on the floor in-front of him...he sits cross-legged, staring at the most beautiful axe and most hosed-up chainsword he's ever seen in front of him..... "By blood I spill, these mine.....any scrunt disagree, come see me, take if you can" Urok's head lolls to the side, eyes vacant, shock gloves lit, as he dreams of violence yet to come.
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Jan 27, 2015 15:03
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Grimply, the farm Grimply intently listens to the humies, and picks his groady beard from time to time. When the humies stop talking, he turns to Urok. "Ay laddie, we'll hunt. But thas for later we 'ave otha things ta do roight now." Urok makes a grunt that Grimply can only interpret as "Yes", and then leaves the farm house to do whatever is on his mind. Grimply turns his attention back to the bound farmers. They seem a little less scared now that the blood stained feral creature is gone, but they are still tense because now they are confronted with a scrunt that smells like a wet carpet on a hot summer day, and occasionally mumbles "Ay me father." "Roight! Yer lot now betta listan good. Ther be some otha 'umies on ther way 'ere. But dese are not friendly 'umies, no ther be not. Ther be space 'umies tha want ta kill us. And yer, if dey find yers in 'ere. So yer lot jus keep yer trap shut until dey be gone again, and than we can work summin out between us, roight? This be tha only option yer got, cause if tha 'umies get in 'ere and start shootin, yer done too, right?" Grimply flashes his rugged little scrunt knife and makes a throat cutting motion while muttering things about the scruntfather -------------------------------------------------- 27 vs 42 to deceive the farmers and keep them quiet for now
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Jan 27, 2015 19:52
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Planetfall The Farm Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hugowO0sSrM this video's really amazing but has nothing to do with scrunting Shedlam The Sheds Kreb undulates distressingly as he jams his vibroblade into the padlock. Once, twice, and spang, the metal shears off and flies into the depths of the shed. It beans a scrunt sitting on a rafter, who collapses and plummets into a pile of straw, poleaxed. The others stare dumbly, but the idea of freedom beings to percolate through their skulls, and some of them begin to try to shuffle out into the daylight, blinking like owls. They are swiftly curtailed by an onrushing horde of external scrunts, gathered up by Grumb and Gumbo. The civilians inexplicably seem to think being jammed into a crowded dark barn is great fun, and kick up a great ruckus, shouting, fighting and scrunting once they realise they've met a bunch of new friends. The noise is probably bearable, though - these rockcrete buildings muffled the sound of lascracks from the day shift workers being shot, they can probably muffle a few chants of SLAM SECTOR. The agrarian scrunts are a bit pissed off that they're starting the farm inspection by being corralled into a shed, especially because Grimply had gotten them all psyched up, but they'll probably get over it. Eventually. Yurik has been freed, but the great mystery of who imprisoned him in the first place still remains, along with the greater mystery of why this shed was full of scrunts hanging around aimlessly. There also remains the slightly more prosaic mystery of where all his stuff is. Hopefully it's around here somewhere. Meanwhile, someone seems to have lit a large chunk of the hydroponic space weed. Embelli Shed The Workshop Scurrilous's robot buddy has long since driven the Chimera into the machine shop (foiling my Ctrl+F for "Chimera" in the process) - Scurrilous himself, and a handful of mechanically inclined scrunts, follow suit, retreating into the dark of the garage to do esoteric things with gears and grease and camshafts. Muttering, sawing, and occasional gunfire is heard, although Scurrilous remains confident that during pickup of the xenos corpse he will be able to hush his idiot companions sufficiently. In the meantime, they get on with preparing the limousines for scruntifying, removing seats and spraying decals. Blood Shed The Chapel The farmers visibly perk up once they hear Grimply mention more incoming humans, but are cowed back into sullen silence by his veiled threats. More than a few of them look like they'd speak up if Urok wasn't hanging around, armed to the teeth, blood dripping from his new axe. It looks like a lot more blood than it actually is; it spirals across the blade down a delicate filigree of channels across the head of the weapon, pooling at the top of the haft and dripping down onto his new chainsword, lubricating teeth that will never spin through that housing again. Grimply that was pretty clearly an Intimidate check rather than a Deceive check, so you've rolled that instead. Urok's assistance plus circumstance bonus means you pass. Urok you won't be able to get Scurrilous to upgrade the axe with chainteeth without sacrificing its quality, which would make it strictly worse than your existing mono melee weapon. Also I found stats for an axe so I'm going to update the OOC thread with them; previously I was using warhammer stats. Murdelia watches the forlorn medical orderly team drag the steaming, stinking Xenos through the gates and out into the middle of the road, lying heaped in a pile like the most unlikely roadkill in existence. Quite a lot of alien remains stuck to the tarmac, as it has been slowly cheesegrated off during its travels from road to chapel to road again, but hopefully the corpse should still be in usable condition for... whatever the humans have planned. One of the snake-parasite things shakily emerges from the body and mewls slightly, before being stamped on by a scrunt. Relinqui Shed The Road True to their word, a squad of humans crack into existence half an hour after the woozy sky-voice said so. These guys don't look like they're loving around - about ten of them show up in the same location as the crates, heavily armed and armoured. Ceramite plates and full helmets are the order of the day; most are touting backpack-fed rifles of some kind, but a few carry what look like gigantic, multibarrelled shotguns with surprising ease. Two are unarmed, and hold technical or medical equipment - Scurrilous, Groin and Grimply are slightly alarmed to recognise a handheld auspex scanner on one's belt, easily capable of detecting a vast colony of scrunts lurking in a shed, but he doesn't appear to be paying any attention to it. They seem alert and disciplined as they follow the corpse's trail out to the road, barely glancing in at the destruction in the chapel. On finding the alien corpse they form up in a cordon, as the two technical guys stand hands on hips, slowly shaking their heads at the ruined mess at their feet. After a minute or so they seem to come to some decision; one of them touches the side of their helmet in the universal signal for "I am speaking to someone" and shortly afterwards something new smashes into existence back among the loot crates. They then hook up a few cables and drips to the body before taking samples and wrestling the beast into an enormous body bag. Another human begins firing up a complicated piece of tech - after activating the secondary, tertiary and ancillary skulls he attaches it to a telescoping pole and hoists it aloft, where it chimes faintly. After a couple of minutes of this its cadence changes, and the humans crouch down and crack out of existence again. The contented voice returns to the radio. "Heyy, man, we got it. You guys did a number on it, huh?" before trailing off giggling. "Look, man, you see any more of these things, you reckon you could not gently caress 'em up so bad? Get us a live one, dude, we'll friggin' owe you. Sent you summat else, should help with that. You get a live one, you web it up, you stick the homer on it, you're made, man. I mean, we checked with your base, dude. They want your squad on guard duty for the next week so I thought gently caress it, man, it's something about a fuel convoy, you're meant to meet it down Taerea way in a few days or something? By the bridge? You ain't getting shot up guarding that thing. No-one steals fuel. We'll catch up after, dude, lemme know what you think about my offer. What? We- a'ight, we're going behind the moon now, so peace ou-" He crackles off. He wasn't lying; in addition to the existing piles of loot, there now exists a smaller, cleaner crate containing a web rifle and a device very similar to what the armoured humans used earlier. This is exotic stuff; it yet remains to be seen whether scrunts have a word for "suspicious" in their native tongue. Wait, did he say "fuel"? Ah, gently caress it, it's late. 500 xp to everyone; fatepoints refreshed! ------------------------ Scrunting has occurred. Please shout in OOC thread if I have ignored anyone by accident. Spacemans have been and gone, unless anyone interrupts them! I have assumed you spied on them; they were so focused on getting their job done quickly (ru shed, if you will) that they didn't really look for observers. If anyone wants to interrupt them we shall timewarp, but they are heavily armed. Did any of that seem suspicious to you? Military precision, heavy gear? Scurrilous at least knows that teleportation is seriously energy-intensive, and come to think of it, that sort of targeted comms-hijacking isn't cheap either. Even with plasma reactors, energy costs. Someone is unknowingly spending money on scrunts! Wounds are still current. No-one has healed yet. Maybe heal. Autopsies have also not happened yet; literally just waiting on a "Murdelia chops up some dudes" to get it going. FUEL has been spotted, by a wonderful coincidence. At your best guess from the maps, and from snippets of radio chatter from the Chimera, you have three days to meet a convoy at a specific spot about ninety kilometres away. It's late in the day now, so that translates to approximately two full work days to get there in time. Gumbo knows that if Sgt Hardchest doesn't report in at that point he'll be flagged as AWOL, presumably making use of his voice more problematic; remember the vox operator guy who covered for the dead squad? He's getting Hardchest out of here and reassigning him to a distant base, but even he can't handwave AWOLing! It is late at night; finish up, go to bed, maybe send people to get the rest of the scrunt population over the next couple days. You guys have two days in which to Do Stuff; this will mostly be technoscrunting, but is there anything else you want to do to the scrunt population? Fortify farm, attempt to sow weed, repair relations with the scrunt subfactions, persuade/train scrunts to do stuff? You've already kinda scouted this area, and you have maps; there's not much point in ranging any more. Two days = two Extended Care tests for seriously wounded scrunts, by the way. There are new scrunts. Why? Ask? You don't have anywhere enough vehicles for this lot; with the newcomers, you can probably carry about half your population. Farmers still exist. At some point you're gonna need to feed them, water them, and take them for walks. If you don't guard 'em they'll eventually escape. Update your loving character sheets or I will stab you with a screwdriver; this involves putting your XP spend at the bottom, updating new equipment, IP and CP, and sorting out any wounds. You're gonna have another couple fights before the next batch of XP, Fate and loot.
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Jan 27, 2015 22:00
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