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Edit: I hosed up this post by accident and cannot recover it, a scrunt post use to be here RIP Something something Best Quality Crimson Armor. Something something soldier taken prisoner by swarm of chromed out rats. Something something PLANE RIDE YAY! DeathSandwich fucked around with this message at 22:52 on Nov 29, 2016 |
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Nov 11, 2016 22:03
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Drekk The Hangover: Scrunt Edition Malbrathia-3 Wounds: 12 Fate Points: 1/2 The gross piss stream ended and Drekk zipped up his pants. He heard a rumbling and looked to see a scrunt limo careening all over the place. It stops suddenly and the windows are lowered. "OI DREKK YOU'RE SAFE!" Widget yelled. "YEH, WE WAS TAKIN' BETS AN... bellowed another scrunt, his sentence cut short from an "accidental" shanking. Widget clambers out of the limo and eyeballs the Aquila. "Sweet ride! You know how to operate this thing?" he says with a scrunty laugh. "If I piloted that thing it would explode before even lifting off!" Drekk retorted. "I think Mung is figuring out 'ow to work it." The two enter the craft and poke around. Drekk notices a fancy-looking box and he bashes the lock in and opens it up. Inside is a large gray POWER FIST with hazard stripes on the knuckles. "By the Scrunt Father's hairy taint! It's feckin' beautiful!" Drekk happily explains. takes it out of the case and puts it over his right hand, it fits like a glove (surprisingly). --- Best Quality Power Fist to punch bad guys in the nads. I'll nab Power Weapon Training when we get our XP.
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Nov 15, 2016 21:04
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Yurik Scraglagger Fear And Loathing in Malbrathia-3 ??? Fate Points 0/2 Wounds 0/12 Local Area Map After Murdelia had patched him up, Yurik was feeling like a new scrunt. His encounter with the fallen tech-priest had also been affirming, and the loss of a few errant hairs was a small price to pay to bolster his spirits. The return of his assistant was a dubious blessing, but it would be nice having someone around to do all the heavy lifting for him while he recuperated from his injuries. "Come along m'boy," he said, beckoning Hack into the increasingly rancid lander. Of course once aboard he joined the others in ransacking the cargo hold, because at the end of the day even a scrunt Loremaster was still a scrunt, and if a scrunt loved anything more than drugs, alcohol, food of dubious province, filth, violence, skullduggery, making obnoxious noises, making noxious odors, explosions, killing small defenseless creatures, killing larger and less defenseless creatures, staring unblinkingly at other people for uncomfortable lengths of time, and dirt, it was rummaging through other peoples' stuff (also stealing other peoples' stuff). "Nope. Nuh-uh. Fack it," he muttered to himself as he tossed odds and ends over his shoulder, rummaging through various crates and boxes that had been left in the cargo bay of the lander. There were dataslates and sheafs of parchment, most of which had been written in some form of cyphertext or another, which he briefly committed to memory perhaps to decode at a later date (or perhaps not), there were technological odds and ends, there were...vials of blood? Interesting. The small box they were contained in bore no obvious labels or instructions, but people didn't usually package up vials of blood just because (well, most people anyway, and really who was he to judge someone's hobbies?) and so he produced the locked Inquisitorial box from the recesses of his robe and doused the genelock in every vial's worth, just to be sure. But that wasn't the only thing he found that caught his eye. "Oooh, now what's this then?," he asked as he slowly lifted the strange artifact from the extremely well-shielded and warning-bedecked storage unit it had been sealed in until just now. *** Like I said, Only War doesn't have a ton of psyker related stuff so what I'm thinking of might be a reach, but if there's weird alien blood aboard this thing it would be neat if there was some kind of weird alien psychoactive thing Yurik could stick on top of his staff. 40K doesn't exactly have its own equivalent of warpstone but something along those lines, glowy and dangerous. I'm willing to leave the precise details of what this does entirely up to DJF who has only my best interests at heart.
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Nov 17, 2016 09:56
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Groin Sklunger SCR0NT! Groin crawls around the interior of the lander on his tummy like a hideous beetle, sniffing frantically and occasionally lapping at the metal floor with his radioactive tongue. He's looking for something, but what something? His nose perks up as he smells something familiar, and then quickly begins pushing himself along the ground with his legs, while his arms go limp, like some hosed up snake-worm thing. He worms his way over to a crate with a small familiar pink-mohawked figure sitting atop it. Jekk grins a stupid grin and waves at him, "Oi!" he yells happily. Groin narrows his organic eye at him and grunts a reply. He absently pushes Jekk off the crate with his robo-arm, who lands on the floor with a thud, and then proceeds to intently snort the lid of the crate. His organic eye widens as he smells the aroma of jet fuel inside, and without hesitation he tears the lid off and takes a peek. Inside is a shiny chrome cylinder shaped turbine jet engine, about the size of his torso! Groin begins drooling at the sight of it, and the thoughts of what he could do with this. "Oi! Give us a hand son..." he mutters to Jekk, and they both yank the engine out of the crate. Moments later the two waddle out of the lander, carrying the surprisingly heavy engine out back onto the landing pad. "Old this a sec." barks Groin. Jekk struggles under the weight "Oof!" he protests. Groin's devious little brain races at what to do with this beauty; he could strap bombs to it and use it as a missile, or strap Jekk to it and use it as a missile, or strap himself to it and use it as a missile! Or.... Near the lander Groin spies a small hovering grey slab, roughly the size of a small doorway with a metal railing attached to it. Obviously It was designed to load and unload heavy cargo by using anti-grav plates underneath it's belly, but Groin has other ideas for it... Groin grins at the grav-trolley seductively as he runs over to it with Jekk trying to keep up. "Les do this..." he growls. ****** After minutes of fecking, shouting, smoke, sparks, abuse, and eye lasers Groin stands back to marvel at his mess.  "Yiss...." "Wait... is missin somethin..."  "Aw yiss!" _______ Groin makes a rad AF hover-board.
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Nov 18, 2016 00:20
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Grumb Slanger, boarding the lander Grumb kicks up a clod of ash and dirt as he steps over the fallen techpriest, spitting on the pile of charred slag triumphantly. "Tha'll learn ye what's comes ta folks what's mess wif' de Scrunts," he mutters. He takes a look around at the pack of scrunts that has convened upon the landing pad, finally catching sight of his commanding officer. "Sarge! Ay Gumbo, there you is! 'sworried you dinna fine yer way back to the -" "GHUGGOOOO," the vile, mutated form of the sergeant hollers back to him in a disturbing monotone . His neck rotates 200 degrees to meet Grumb's gaze, and a terrifying rictus spreads across his face. Grumb stammers, unsure of what's different about his commander. "Ehh, uh, right! Dang'ol, Sergeant Chuggo! How silly I forgotta thing like that." He takes a few steps toward the lander, muttering "Stupid Gumb can'even amember 'is own Sarge some days" as his psyche continues to fracture. He takes a big whiff of the ambience - the smell of burning promethium and molten steel mixes with acrid hues of scrunt waste and boiled flesh in a curiously comforting way. Grumb wished it could smell this way all the time. He nearly trips over a fallen rock as he plods his way onto the lander with the rest of the scrunts. Reaching down to huck it at Yurik, Grumb realizes that it was not a rock he'd tripped over but a skull. He runs his hands over a charred panel on the side and its red eyes blink to life. "Well what's all this now," Grumb smiles as the servo-skull begins to spin up. It whirrs anxiously as its sensors scan the hulking scrunt, and for a moment Grumb could swear he sees fear in its eyes. There's something familiar about this skull, Grumb thinks, tucking it under his arm as he boards the aquila lander. --------------------------- Grumb has found a servo skull, which will basically just be a floating flashlight/toolbox to assist him with general maintenance and recon. This will help make up for the fact that Grumb can't remember who his companion is anymore.
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Nov 18, 2016 21:24
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Grimply, scrounging The landing pad is bustling with scrunt activity and the combined pissing efforts quickly douse the fire on the new flyerbox. It also didn't take long for Grimply to find Flet in the throng of limo scrunts. Yelling his name really loudly was all he had to do really. "'It's good ta see yer lad! How tha fack did yer lot make it 'ere??!" "Uh...well...we's kinda jus got 'ere..." ~both scrunts stare blankly at each other and a cricket chirps in the distance~ "Well that's all roight then! Let's git oua arses to tha flyerbox, roight? Seems like tha's our ride ta 'ome!" The scrunts quickly swarm the flyerbox and, curious as they are, tear open boxes and crates while others lick and poke their newest acquisitions. Grimply joins the scrunts in the cockpit and shudders with excitement when he hears where the flyerbox will go to. Space! His search for the Slam Sector still goes on, despite the clues and signs that he found on this world. The Slam is strong on this world but the real Sector can't be here. There are too many drat humies here to begin with, if you think about it. The prospect of getting closer to the Slam Sector launches Grimply into an excited and definitely confusing rant about the father and the coming Slam. And all the scrunts in the cockpit are forced to listen because he's standing in the drat doorway. Meanwhile, Flet is licking and touching some crates in the flyerbox.... So I would like to reskin a Melta Bomb into either a load for my missile launcher or into a bullet for my longshot. Would prefer the rifle and it's single-use only of course. I think a ranged Melta Bomb is a very useful thing to have in space
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Nov 20, 2016 03:15
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Slip The Scrunty Bonds Of Earth The Refinery Malbrathia-3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gfsph-Ssz7I The scrunts... ...ascend. Bickering... (As Chuggo aimlessly harangues comrades and warrior-scrunts alike, hounding them into seats and out of overheard compartments with quivers of his upsettingly pink protuberance of a nose...) Snapping... (As Murdelia stamps around in the limit confines of the cargo bay, bashing into lockers and ceiling fixtures in her hulking great suit of servo-armour, temporarily batting away plaintive requests from wounded scrunts for first aid...) Wondering... (As Grug somehow levers open a porthole and sticks his head out to watch the countryside recede, only to have the jostling of Drekk and Widget wanting a look drive him from his perch seconds before the automated safeguards kick in, slamming shut the aperture with force that would easily have decapitated him...) Hammering... (As Groin and Jekk jury-rig and turbocharge their gravhauler in the middle of the passenger compartment, crashing into walls and other scrunts with reckless abandon...) Discovering... (As Grumb cheerfully follows the bobbing and buzzing servoskull to the ancillary hold compartment only to have the man-sized steel container at the end fly open in a splintering crash, sending the headless, gun-servitorised body of Barrius hurtling towards him with weapons raised until its servos seize up and its skull spins, mid-air in agitation...) Experimenting... (As Yurik hunches over his secret box, dribbling vials of blood into the scanning mechanisms, even he cannot countenance the unearthly provenance of the spinning artefact balanced precariously and alarmingly on the tip of his staff...) Expounding... (As Grimply attempts to make himself heard over the roar of turbines, the roar of Chuggo, and the clanking from the cargo hold, Flet holds up a weirdly banana-shaped munitions pouch woven from grass and string...) And, of course, swearing... (As Mung wrestles with the controls of the Aquila, attempting to override its locked-in course for Lagrange 5, the fifth point around Malbrathia where its gravitational pull is equal to that of the sun - a point where an orbiting ship may idle with minimal fuel expenditure, for an uncertain rendezvous...) The scrunts...  ...ascend. ------ Major Tom Orbit Malbrathian Voidspace The situation's a bit hectic. It's become increasingly clear to Mung, Groin when he can be bothered, and any other scrunt that cared to get involved that the Aquila lander is really pretty much locked into its pre-programmed course. It sort of makes sense - it was a trade mission, and presumably if someone sends out a heavy crew on a daring orbit-to-ground trade run to buy extremely specialised WMD parts in exchange for heretical and xeno-sourced technology, they're going to want the drat things back. It's also become clearer to the gang that the owners of the Aquila are in fact the commanding officers of His Everlasting Radiant Fist, the Sword-class frigate that bought the dead Yeestealer corpse off the scrunts several weeks ago, and who were the subject of Yurik's bizarre slavering fever-dream vision on the way to the dograbbit hunting grounds. This is partly due to the increasingly desperate hails from the frigate itself, attempting to get in contact across the yawning chasm of space as the flyer hurtles through the void; it's partly because the Inquisitorial box has sprung open with a resounding clunk, and has began disgorging its contents at a slightly annoying volume. The box, it turns out, contained a JEEHEHMSNOATES-model mnemonic datacube; practically indestructible - the group could have simply thrown the drat box under the wheels of the Scruntmera to get it open without damaging the contents - these archaeotech devices are used by high-ranking members of the Imperium for storage of data deemed essential. They're practically impossible to tamper with, requiring correspondingly-rare archaeotech recording tools to imprint upon in the first place. It seems this particular box contains details of a little Inquisitorial spat. The projected hologram is that of a panicked-looking Interrogator leaning close into the recording screen; it takes a bit of faffing to get the right angle on the box, but things soon snap into focus. The timestamp is a few weeks ago - seems to be just before all this "being fired at a planet" nonsense began. "-quisitor Alcabiades, we must not go ahead with the proposed 'Scrunt' deployment over Malbrathia-3!" Wait, isn't Alcabiades the guy that the people on the His Everlasting Radiant Fist were worried about? If he's the one who arranged the scruntbombing of Malbrathia, then he's the one to blame - or thank - for the current situation... "The scrunts are not simple, stable abhumans!" The figure frenziedly runs fingers through straggly hair. "Think about it - and look at the attached evidence trove! There's documentary evidence of these things going back to the Macharian crusades, right? They were discovered thousands of years ago on reclamation planets in highly radioactive conditions, right? But do you actually have any memories of seeing any more recently than fifty years ago!? They aren't natural mutations at all! They were created!" The figure retreats from the camera, paces back and forth a little, before flinging himself against an invisible wall and apparently exchanging sporadic gunfire with outside parties. Presently, he resumes. "It's Inquisitor Velothenes, I'm pretty sure. He's based on the His Everlasting Radiant Fist, a frigate used by the Teuthalia Rogue Trader dynasty for the activities they want to keep at arms length. Heretical salvage works, study of Biologis lore long since forgotten - if it's abomination, they're probably involved. We've been lied to. Velothenes is an Istvaanite. The Radiant Fist has been using Malbrathia as a testing ground for its biologic weapons - they have deliberately seeded the planet with an extremely unorthodox strain of Genestealer seen nowhere else in the galaxy, one that retains the ability to keep victims in hypnotic thrall but which cannot spawn more progeny; it can only create hybrids through direct implantation of its tissue. This has been prolonging the conflict by seeding confusion through both Severan and Imperial sides. But the scrunts may be the worst of all." Well, that's probably true, but the way he's speaking seems to indicate that he considers the scrunts to be the most dangerous- "Although current intelligence suggests Hive Fleet Kraken will scour the Malbrathia system clean in a few hundred years', it's considered an acceptable sacrifice - it will lure the fleet away from more densely populated space, and into territory controlled by Orks. However - the presence of the modified Genestealers is both drawing the fleet at an increased rate, and making them very sensitive to psychic emissions from the planet." "The attached evidence package indicates that it appears Velothenes knows of the acousto-resonator complex on the southern continent" - wait, the what? - "that he is aware could be used to" - wait, no, stop right there. A little digging through the attached files indicates something very, very interesting about the Slamite veins that ripple through the surface of Malbrathia-3. The scrunts had already figured out that they're not built, but couldn't see how they were natural - it seems they're the result of a dark-age terraforming device that, back in deep history, went very badly wrong. It sent clouds of miniscule constructor-bots through the crust of the planet, boring vast, ferrous, resonating tunnels across the entire globe. The Iron Forest, where the horrific metal monstrosities like the late Sergeant Hardchest roam, is the attempts of this system to right itself - not very successfully. The main heart of the complex appears to be under a mesa in the arid, desert-like southern half of the planet. "-could be used to warn off the incoming hive-fleet by using psy-acoustic amplification to send a shockwave through the-", no, hold on. You can use the central chamber to shout at the Tyranids across the warp, got it. "Only a psyker - no, a chorus of psykers - could make adequate use of this chamber, but Velothenes, in these hideous, gnarled homunculi that he's created-" hey, that's extremely hurtful "-has borrowed from the Ork menace and induced the psychic mutation in a considerable number of them. They want only a particular enyzme, easily synthesised in any medicae facility once the coded base-pair mechani-" ok, stop, stop. Scrunts with that weird glowy gland can use EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG to channel their inner battlepsyker. EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG can be manufactured easily if you know the special code to program into the synthesiser. "- a code that you will find attached as part of this evidence package". Oh, score. "Velothenes' plan is to gather enough of these scrunts at the southern acousto-resonator complex, dose them all up, and aim them right at the encroaching Tyranid hive-fleet across the void! This will drive it straight into the heart of the sector, potentially endangering hundreds of worlds! All in the name of strengthening the Imperium!" The figure pauses, and considers things. "Then again, maybe he's got other reasons for spreading scrunts everywhere. I mean, he does look like this."  "In any case, you must not let the scrunts make planetfall! Should they reach the resonator chamber and activate it with a large enough horde, the repercussions could be horrific!" The Interrogator-hologram shoulders a large and clunky boltgun and fires off-camera for a while, before resuming. "And let's not even think about all the other mischief they could get up to on-planet. The capital city Aeolia remains neutral at the moment, but should the Planetary Governor be slain - by anything - and his Governor's Throne be taken - again, by anything, the legal precedent is appallingly clear on this - then the capital forces could join the ongoing war and easily tip the balance one way or another. The new governor would almost certainly be able to dictate terms, and can you imagine a scrunt ruler of Malbrathia-3? "Time runs short, so I will entrust this recording to a trusted acolyte, who I am assured will not get called upon for ground combat duties at any point in the near future. I pray this finds you in time, and remember, do not let the scrunts set foot on Malbrathian soil!" ------ Shellshock Orbit Malbrathian Voidspace Well, gently caress. It's been a couple of hours and the scrunts are still processing and bickering. There's been a lot to take in. They're approaching the port side of the Heavenly Fist, though, and none of the scrunts quite fancy docking in the easily defensible designated docking bay and getting wiped out. In fact, some of the scrunts are feeling downright ornery, pissed, and lied to. The void vessel looms in front of the scrunts like a colossal middle finger jutting into infinity.  This close to the ship, there's enough leeway in controlling the Aquila to change their course very slightly. Blowing the doors off or crippling an engine will cause the Aquila to veer off its flightpath, far more severely than the correction mechanisms built into its programming can handle. By this point, combined with the very rough map included in the datacube, the scrunts are pretty sure they can aim for their choice of deck. It just depends where they feel most comfortable fighting through to get to the starboard docking bays. ----- scrunt ok, you're In Space
so:
three endgame scenarios are:
current three choices are:
 500XP, FATE POINT REFRESH, TEND YOUR loving WOUNDS AND SORT YOUR CHARACTER SHEETS YOU UNBEARABLE LITTLE SHITS Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 00:12 on Nov 24, 2016 |
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Nov 24, 2016 00:05
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Yurik Scraglagger Above Malbrathia-3 In Spaaaaace Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 8/12 Local Area Map Yurik could scarcely comprehend what he was hearing. No, that wasn't true. He could comprehend what he was hearing, quite a bit better than the average scrunt no doubt could, which is why the recordings embedded within the datacube left his mind reeling with the undeniable implications. Yurik was a wizened Loremaster (by scrunt standards anyway) but he had always taken it as a given that scrunts had existed nearly as far back as humies had. Why wouldn't they have? There was information about it...biological data, history, lore. He knew all of it, had committed it to the insatiable septic whirlpool of his bottomless memory to exist among the rest of the facts and data that had taken up residence there. And if this datacube was correct, if what the voices it was replaying said was accurate, then all of that, all of it, was a lie. The concept of an existential crisis was a foreign one to most scrunts who tended to live their lives rather solidly in the now, in large part due to the fact that most scrunts had the memory and capacity for philosophical insight of a faulty servitor. Yurik, as had been stated numerously and at nauseating length, wasn't most scrunts, and so the revelations imparted by the datacube were enough to force him to take a seat upon a nearby supply crate as a tidal storm of emotions raged through him...anger, shock, disbelief, more anger, flatulence, quite a bit of anger actually. He couldn't bring himself to look at Grimply, worried that if the Scruntfather-bothering sniper managed to put the pieces together that it might send him completely over the edge. The notion that they had, all of them, been created by humie hands instead of the Scruntfather's own... There was other information as well, information about the planet and its more unique features, information about the EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG, about the planetary rulership of Malbrathia-3, and Yurik's mind dutifully assimilated it and stored it away for later, but whereas before he might have been chortling with glee at the prospect of turning a Hive Fleet against humie-held planets or assuming governorship (officially! Legally!) of this planet, or really why not both, right now one thought burned brightly above all the rest as he fixed a red-eyed glower through the viewport at the rapidly approaching bulk of His Everlasting Radiant Fist hanging in orbit above the planet that it seemed like only yesterday that had been abruptly deposited on. "We need to get this fackin' thing to the lab decks," he declared, rising back up to his feet and slamming the end of his newly-bedecked thinkin' stick upon the plating beneath their feet. "'S time we had a chat with this Velothenes. With our guns." *** Yurik's vote is to crash the shuttle into the laboratory decks and violently murder our creator in order to bury the terrible secret of the scrunts and perpetuate the falsified history of our people for the good of scruntkind. Note that most scrunts probably wouldn't care or be able to comprehend any of this, but it's the principle of the matter.
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Nov 29, 2016 03:02
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Grumb Slanger, crew cabin Grumb stares in awe at the expositional deluge unfolding before him. The wheels in his head have never spun this hard, never been stripped so bare. He falls deep into thought, mulling over everything that is coming to light. "So we was... so all'a scrunts got made by humans? But that dunna make sense. Grumb Slanger he been made by Mama Slanger. Dangol, ain't no humey she wasn't. But then, if mamaslang ain't no human, and grumb slang he been made by humans, that must mean... Grumbslang he other mama must REALLY be..." "HIM!" Grumb points, eyes wide. He blinks, suddenly realizing that the holographic message had ended minutes ago and most of the scrunts had dispersed. He looks around the cabin, then back to his companions. Barry sits patiently as Guy carefully screws Grumb's heavy stubber into position within his primary chest socket. "Oh hey Guy," Grumb says, "Y'catch all that what's 'e said?" "Yeah Grumb," Guy says as he looks up from the oily, headless refurb servitor. "We all was made by the one guy, but now we need to yell at space because there's a buncha bugs an' they is making fun of us, but they should be making funna the other guys instead so we gotta shoot the big slam-bullet at the governor's chair so then I'ma be in charge of everything. Only now I think we's all gonna go see the other guy what's made all the scrunts now." "RIGHT! Yeah, thas' just what I was saying!" Grumb violently pats the gun-servitor on the back, ejecting a single casing from its neck hole. "When we sees that guy who is our other mama, we'll teach him to run out on good ol' mama slanger! Ain' that right, Barry?" "INSERT AMMUNITION AND DESIGNATE ENEMY," Barry asserts stoically. "Hah hah! You was always the funny one, cousin Barry." Grumb says, reaching for a fresh magazine. "Oh, thanks," Guy says. ----------------------- I also vote for lab deck. I think it would be fun to launch a missile that transforms the planet into a radioactive shithole. Then again, if the Tyranids are coming, maybe that's not enough to keep our society safe. Maybe the only way to beat them is to join them? I guess what I'm saying is that we should make Pernicious Kreb the new Governor. Ignite Memories fucked around with this message at 22:29 on Nov 29, 2016 |
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Nov 29, 2016 22:26
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Mungly Mung Fack it was boring on this plane ride. Thankfully Mung had an idea to keep himself occupied. The way his most recent spat of cybernetic enhancements were set up allowed him a bit of modular design. By modular of course, meant using his cyberrats to spotweld whatever he could scavenge up on the metal portions of his skin. He therefore had a couple of hours to scavenge the redundant safety features out of the cockpit and cab of their vehicle in order to augment himself. Obviously if it's redundant, that means there's at least one extra one he could selfishly use for himself, right? The extra extinguisher could be safely drained by emptying it in the face of Groin so that Mung could then re-purpose it as an atmospheric recycler. Who needed control surfaces when the thing was on autopilot anyway? While he was working on himself, he started poking Murdellia incessantly until she stitched up his fleshy bits while him and the cyberrats worried about the technological bits. Throughout the existential puzzle box crisis Mung didn't pay any attention at all. It didn't matter what he was now that he had his new transcendent form. He had surpassed what his creator had intended for him anyway. By the time Mung got back to the pilot's seat, the void ship was in eyeshot. At the behest of his fellow scrunts he jacked his scent array back into what little remained of the plane's dashboard, blew every override command down the interface as his mind could remember, and started jamming on the control stick randomly to try and angle them toward the lab deck. --- Spending 400 exp on The Flesh Is Weak, giving me the machine(3) trait as I ascend to my proper place as a trash golem. Machine means I no longer breathe, I'm immune to Vacuum, extreme cold and mind influencing psychic effects. My armor points apply toward damage while on fire and I gain 3 AP all that stacks with worn armor. Banking the other 100 for now. I'm at 11 armor on my body now and 10 everywhere else. I am king junkmonster. Taking control and trying to fly us to the lab.
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Nov 29, 2016 22:50
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Drekk SCRUNTS. IN. SPAAAAAACEEEEE!!!!! Wounds: 12 Fate Points: 2/2 "What the feck!? Drekk's mind has clearly been broken by the revelation from the Inquisitorial box. "So that Velee-fenis guy is responsible for makin' all us scrunts? I say we go to 'im and beat 'im up! He says, pounding his fist into his palm with scrunty enthusiasm. "By the way, wot's a Tyranid?" --- I also agree with kicking the poo poo out of Velothenes. Kaiju Cage Match fucked around with this message at 00:27 on Dec 14, 2016 |
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Dec 10, 2016 16:26
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Docking Procedures Orbit Malbrathian Voidspace https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMDOL1uduxc Antsy and cooped up from their enforced time in a confined, rumbly flying box, the scrunts eagerly fix on Velothenes as a focus for their ire. Interestingly, and coincidentally, following repeated and increasingly desperate hails, the His Everlasting Radiant Fist has chosen their rumbly flying box as a focus for their anti-boarding point defence missiles. Apparently they're a bit paranoid about their secret arms deals. Radar picks up a cloud of spiralling rockets heading towards the Aquila on an intercept vector. Mung is halfway through his attempts to subvert the voidcraft's systems by this point, and with an almighty FACK, gives in to his innermost piloting instincts. Yanking the control stick with all of his impressively mechanically-augmented might, he snaps it off awkwardly; thankfully he is jacked into the control port, and controlling the vessel via mind-impulse; his sudden spear of panic does what hours of fiddling could not, and Mung cores out the central processing routines of the Aquila, replacing them with the imprint of a panicked scrunt. Scrunts, cargo and unsecured chaff tumble around the cargo bays and crew compartments as the flier finally snaps from its preprogrammed course and corkscrews out of the path of most of the missiles; a few detonate close enough to the vessel to scratch the paint. Battered, bruised, but unbroken, the scrunts take stock. About a dozen different alerts are flashing in the cockpit, and minature respirator packs - void-capable, good for about five minutes breathing - spiral and tumble from overhead compartments. The Aquila's pointed in vaguely the right direction to hit the lab deck, but it's sort of drifting - the engines are stuttering and not firing full throttle. Those missiles are arcing back on the flyer; from what Mung can determine, various transmitters and transceivers within the airframe of the Aquila appear to be broadcasting information both to the missiles and the ship about trajectories, velocities, all that stuff. Anything that could conceivably be wrong with a void vessel appears to be the case, as previously automated systems have shut down; practically anything the scrunts do would be an improvement. Time to get cracking. --- so let's get going. mung (fully healed by a good medicae roll, incidentally) does a Pilot test to wrench the ship out of its flight path, with p dece success. the controlled crash begins! the alerts aren't just because you did a barrel roll, by the way, it's the act of breaking the ship out of its preprogrammed course that's making it rebel. also some of the alerts are probably "holy poo poo no fuel!" you other scrunts don't get to sit back and watch - you need to help!roll skill tests that you think might be useful in loving up/unfucking up a spacecraft from the inside; Athletics (Strength) to bash the airlocks around, for example, Tech Use to mess with its flight controls, or just randomly lascut things. if you've got a particularly powerful deathwish or void-sealed capabilities you can grab an O2 mask, pop a hatch, expose yourself to the void, and shoot at the interception torpedoes. the engines need attention, you can do basically whatever you like to those - maybe there's a spare scrunt stuck in them that needs to be lasered out, maybe there's a bit of rebar needs wrenching. maybe you want to boost the aquila somehow to make it go faster. we're looking for extremes here - high DoS or high DoF will be equally useful - so go for stuff you're either really really good at or really really bad at. this will dictate how favourable your starting position is on the lab deck, and what sort of situation you find yourself in. go get something in before the 19th, if you can
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Dec 11, 2016 23:07
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Drekk SCRUNTS. IN. SPAAAAAACEEEEE!!!!! Wounds: 12 Fate Points: 1/2 Drekk notices the airlock door is on the verge of swinging wide open and he uses the best of his scrunty strength to lock it back in. He eyeballs an inanimate carbon rod on a shelf, but he can't reach it... ---  scrunting to keep the Aquila door shut.Orokos is not pleased with my reroll and I think it hates me. Slam in Peace, Drekk.
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Dec 15, 2016 01:20
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Mungly Mung Mung spun the chimera around in rapid circles, firstly to avoid the missiles but also because it was fun as hell. Then the warning clarions sounded as electrical shocks in what little flesh remained of his sinus. The missiles were wheeling around, attracted to some sort of beacon on the ship. He spins to the other and yells in a new mechanical staccato "Oi, you pack a' fakkers get lookin for something that looks beacon-y an' smash it. I got a plan in the meantime." The techscrunt lets out a shrill binary emergency code with his vocal implants to set his rats in alarm mode. They swarm off of the prisoner who was too busy being paralyzed with equal parts fear and pure utter disgust to attempt a coup at this point. The techrats mass around the cockpit, beeping for orders. Mung begins a rapid binary instructional plan and the rats get to moving, scurrying into the dash of the fighter, finding the radio and comms controls, and temporarily splicing it into the signal jammer, still playing the music of his people on loop. Mung scentloads commands into the comms to try and get the signal jammer running on the Valkerie's comm band. ----- As above, tech use to try and get the signal jammer running on the same channel the missiles and tracking bits and bobs are running on.
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Dec 17, 2016 16:54
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Grug Grug tumbled about the interior of the flyer, thinking. Alarms blared around him, lights flashed and vomits spewed. Hell, he though, he'd seen Groin and Mung do this sort of 'driving' stuff enough times to give it a good stab, and while he didn't know too much techy stuff he was sure he'd absorbed some brains from the smart scrunts. Yeah, he knew what to do. Flashing lights need attention and should probably be pressed as fast as they flash! Awareness test to find the fastest flashing button and press it quickly! With Awareness 2 I need 52 but I got http://orokos.com/roll/468620: 1d100 89
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Dec 20, 2016 21:43
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Grumb Slanger, cockpit Grumb cranks his melta into gear as the alarms begin to sound. He grimly draws a bead on the incoming missiles through the viewport and - "NO!" Guy says, jumping on Grumb's back. Grumb's face smashes into the glascrete window and he staggers back, falling on his rear end. On the way down, his head cracks against the bulkhead and he loses consciousness. ---------- "poo poo!" Barry yells, scrambling out from underneath Grumb's ammunition pack. He smacks Grumb in the face lightly. "Grumb?! Grumb!!" Sweat beading down from his face, he turns to his other companion. "poo poo, Barry, cuzzin Grumb's out like a light! W-w, What should we do!?" "INSERT AMMUNITION AND DESIGNATE ENEMY," Barry asserts stoically. ----------- Guy rolls Athletics (Str) to momentarily incapacitate Grumb, then Barry rolls untrained Deceive (Fel) to convince Barry that everything is going to be alright.
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Dec 21, 2016 20:48
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Murdelia Murdelia scrunts around in her stompy armor, looking for anything she can do to help them not get blown up, which in her medical opinion is bad for the health of any scrunt. Realizing quickly that she has no idea how to make the ship not get destroyed, she instead motivates the lesser scrunts around her to focus on keeping the ship from being destroyed by threatening them with various frightening-looking medical instruments including her trusty bone saw. Intimidate, I guess Leperflesh fucked around with this message at 22:48 on Dec 21, 2016 |
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Dec 21, 2016 22:45
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Groin does thing
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Dec 23, 2016 16:53
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Spasmodic Orbit Malbrathian Voidspace https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C00w_xcL2V0 With characteristic verve and vigor, the scrunts do very, very little in the face of impending doom - the hull of their craft begins to shake as point defence weapons begin to impact on it. Mung seems quite animated, at least; he wants nothing to do with the onrushing missiles, and attempts to jam their guidance system. The acoustic element of the scrunty-go-round won't work through the void, but by wrenching out a few of the cockpit radio cables he's able to at least partially obscure their trace. He's not entirely successful in stopping the missiles, but a good couple of handfuls spiral off and, in the absence of anything else to do, start latching onto point-defence flak turrets and counter-boarding torpedos as the Aquila corkscrews into range. The hull of the craft therefore takes a bit less of a pounding than it otherwise would. A lucky barrage of flak shells does scrape across the passenger compartment airlock, though, sending sparks and spalling ricocheting through the compartment. To the scrunts' horror, the locking mechanism is torn off the door by a high-calibre shell, and sound is drowned out as the craft's pressurised interior begins venting atmosphere at an alarming clip. Drekk, hurtling through the air like a particularly noisome spitball, is on hand to wrench the door closed with gnarled and twisted arms, though; straining mightily, he hauls several hundred kilos of bulkhead-on-railings back against the whistling flow, and after a few moments he even manages to he swiftly jam a bit of broken handle into the busted mechanism to keep the door from flying open again. The venting appears to have stabilised the spin of the vessel slightly. Groin does absolutely nothing; he just loudly announces that he is helping, as he hovers gently on his converted cargolifter. Grug has found his way into the pilot's compartment in an attempt to make himself useful; holding his cap onto his head with one hand, he jams frantically at the biggest button he can find. "MAIN ENGINE PURGE SELECTED, PLEASE CONFI-" jab "MAIN ENGINE PURGE INITIATED, PLEASE H-" jab "MAIN ENGINE PURGE IN PROGRESS, PL-" jab "WARNING, MAIN ENGINE PURGE ALR-" jab "WARNING, OVERLOAD-" jab With a sickening crack, the tortured vector engines wrench themselves from under the struts of the Aquila and, spiralling madly, rocket back into the pursuing cloud of missiles; heat-locked flak emplacements and point defence lasers alike follow them, buying the scrunts a previous few moments. Their craft is now entirely at the mercy of physics and their steering rockets, but by this point it's probably too late to consider the Aquila - venting gas, trailing debris - as voidworthy in any real sense. With a similarly sickening crack, Grumb's nose breaks as his comrade slams his head into the armorplas porthole; it's not enough to knock the gunner out cold, though, so his companion has to keep bashing his head against the floor to ensure unconsciousness takes hold. Murdelia supervises, and as Barrius the servitor watches, the scene burns into his neocortex like a thermal lance. The neural locks that clamp down on his dead-and-resuscitated mind frizzle and fray as they attempt to hold back the tide; most servitors see dozens of things they don't understand per hour, but normally these get handwaved through the decision tree as "too complicated". This is the first instance of an Imperial servitor being forced to witness something "too stupid". Something small and important breaks within the subroutines of what passes for the gunner's mind. Abruptly, it becomes necessary to the mechanical creature to disable its locator beacon; the vast majority of the pursuing missiles suddenly lose their lock, as a wisp of malign intelligence glimmers in the otherwise vacant sockets of what remains of Barrius... ...before the Aquila begins grazing the hull of the Heavenly Fist, exchanging speed for heat, noise, and bowel-wrenching terror... --- Giant Leap Orbit Heavenly Fist Well, that was bracing. The Aquila grazed along the side of the Heavenly Fist's hull in a gruelling cheesegrater of a journey, but the ablative shielding held out in the end. The vessel's totally hosed, though - if the scrunts ever want to get off this voidship, they'll need to arrange alternative transport. Ramming into a protuding nacelle appears to have successfully stopped the Aquila, and the Radiant Fist hurtles along the void with it stuck to its armoured skin like a burr. As the ship's venting atmosphere at an alarming clip, the scrunts piled into the nearest airlock they could find. It's a rickety, improvised affair by the looks of it - it has DECK 34 - NOT FOR HABITATION stencilled on the wall, and appends what appears to be one of the main ventilation conduits for the city-sized voidcraft.  It's wet, poorly-maintained, and full of weird fungal growths. The enormous fan is currently spinning at a lazy, lazy clip; just enough to keep air circulating. It gives a pleasant, effluent-scented breeze, and brings with it the lowing and snarling of... grox? The doorway is just - just - big enough to get power armour, hoverbikes, and anti-grav cargo pallets carrying missile parts through it into the main ventilation tunnel. The tunnel itself is probably going to run the length of the ship, but will have access to other areas if the scrunts look for long enough. Failing that, it'll probably be in enough disrepair that they can force their way into conduits between sections of the ship. There'll probably be armsmen along soon to investigate, though, and should the scrunts be discovered - i.e. if they're too noisy - they will likely have to run-and-gun their way to safety before getting overwhelmed with hordes of angry shipdwellers. Mung's musicbox is probably ok here, but if he starts moving to more populated areas of the ship he may need to turn it off lest he draw unnecessary attention. Atmosphere's whistling and crystallising into the void behind the scrunts; it's time for them to get their poo poo together and get moving, if they want to live. ---- so mung gets his war-ham-signal-jam on; it is a minimal success before bonuses, adding 3DoS to the pile (TU +10, circumstance) drekk gets his wrench on; 5 DoS on the athletics check! total scrunt influence is now 8 degrees. grug offers 4DoF to the pile; total scrunt influence is now 12 degrees! grumb gets it; 6DoF on the strength test, 7 on the Deceive (TN 1, naturally). 25 degrees of scrunting. he can take an action from one of the non-posters. murdelia assists with 3DoF; unnatural strength would have added 2DoS to any success, but oh well. 28 degrees of scrunting! loosely this translates to "You're Not Totally hosed When You Board, But It's Not That Great Either". 0-10 degrees would have been "ambush"; 10-20 would have been "escape"; 20-30 is "find stuff to do"; 30+ would have been "hey, score". what do next?? basically if you still wanna go check out the lab, great, go do that; follow the corridor for a bit and look for a way in, we'll do a bit of dungeoneering and you get to find horrible scrunt experiments. if you fancy something else, it's a big ship - just tell me what you want to get up to, but the exploration bit is on you. grumb: well, your nose has stopped bleeding. barry the servitor will now respond to verbal commands having had his head broke (i.e. can do non-skill-requiring Orders like "hold that door" or "press that button"). you don't have any specialist knowledge about this ship in particular but you're pretty sure the gunnery decks will have most of the crew on them; an "abandoned" deck like this probably won't have voidsmen as its primary thread. grimply: with your heightened sight you can see this vent shaft basically runs for ages - there's three, four more fans that you can make out. you probably don't want to hang out in this vent forever. on the other hand, you've got magboots and this entire ship is made of metal (or ceramite); something to remember. you guys can move vertically if needed, but Murdelia + Mung will not be able to climb your grapnel. if there's other scrunts on this ship, maybe they could do with rescuing - it makes sense they wouldn't be stored near the grox that you can hear, because, well, why put scrunts in with something you might one day eat? groin: well, you can definitely fly your hoverboard down this corridor. if you don't fancy that, maybe you could sneak through some vents somewhere, get somewhere restricted? you are a Hotshot Pilot which means you can technically fly this ship with a suitable crew, and if you can fly something you can understand how it works - given a bit of time and vague map access, you can lead the squad roughly in the direction of any major ship landmark you care to pick. grug: you can definitely hear grox! you just need to follow the lowing, and can easily lead the squad to the big herd of cow-lizards that's nearby. quite why it's here, you've no idea! chuggo: SMELL. SMELL CHEMICALS. DOWN, UNDERDECK. (you can lead the scrunts to a chemical silo nearby by following your quivering pink nose, should you want to get out of the tunnel. fairly benign chemicals, if they're heaped up in large amounts. smells like ammonia.) drekk: you ain't got any voidcraft skills and you haven't got any particular abilities for finding out what's going on, but it strikes you that if you're gonna get attacked by overwhelming hordes of armsmen - this ship is very large, and you've heard about the ones that picked up the yeestealer corpse way back when - it's probably a good idea to get into some twistier tunnels. easier to lose pursuit, too! mung: as designated technoscrunt, you're aware that space vessels are so old and so appallingly complicated that there's no way you'd be able to get an overview of all ship systems from one place - except the command nexus on the bridge, following a lengthy obsequience service to get all the myriad machine spirits working in lockstep. this works both ways though, and you can probably feel comfortable loving around with any local systems that you find without alerting the entire ship to your location. yurik: you can definitely feel a tiny core of sentience in grumb's new servitor buddy. you'd have to touch it to be certain of its provenance, though murdelia: what would be nice would be to find a power port to charge up your power armour. you don't know how long you'll be on this ship. you can just find a big power cable and have one of the technoscrunts (Mung, Groin) splice in a connection, but maybe this ship has some of the power packs this thing runs off. anywhere where there is machinery might have a pack! presumably the place near the grox has some sort of machinery nearby - if it's a slaughterhouse, they'd need fridges etc. Inexplicable Humblebrag fucked around with this message at 00:37 on Dec 30, 2016 |
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Dec 29, 2016 21:08
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Chuggo Wounds: 12/12 Fate points: 3/3  Despite all of the explosions and excitement, Chuggo had been feeling introverted, content to merely quietly gibber to himself as his comrades averted death and disaster on their own through means beyond his comprehension. But the slight whiff of acrid chemicals snapped him back into awareness. "PISS! PISS CHEMS! LIKE PISS, BUT NOT PISS! I GO. INVESTI.....INVES...........CHUGGO GO FIND." With that, Chuggo begins to attempt to vibrate himself between a narrow crack in a damaged bulkhead in the direction of the mysterious smell.
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Jan 2, 2017 23:53
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Drekk SCRUNTS. IN. SPAAAAAACEEEEE!!!!! Wounds: 12 In the Belly of the Beast Fate Points: 1/2 The scrunty hairs on Drekk's scrunty neck stand on end. Whether it's from all the action recently or what is unclear, but he points to a shaft with a grate over it. "If we get attacked, we can escape through these!" The other scrunts are too busy dicking around to notice, but hopefully they heard it. "Hey guys, can we find the source of tha growlin'?" --- Let's go gently caress around with the grox.
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Jan 3, 2017 20:22
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Mungly Mung On the back of the beast Mung, self satisfied that he flew the gently caress outta that jet is contented himself to move on to the next activity. He fumbles for his signal jamming talkbox and shoves it back into wherever it is he keeps it, pulling out what little remained of the Valkerie's control panel with the malformed scrunttech. The atmosphere draining out of the ship didn't phase him so much, due to both his new void sealed armor and also his redundant backup systems protecting him from the lack of atmosphere. If the other scrunts wanted creature comforts like 'breathing air' they would have to go out and find their own for themselves. gently caress Them, Got Mine he contently though to himself. Survival of the fittest and all that. Speaking of survival of the fittest, upon leaving the pilot's chair Mung catches a glimps of their human prisoner - in a emergency rebreather he must of pilfered when nobody was looking, attempting to squeeze through part of the wreckage and away from the horrible monsters. He wasn't quite quick enough to make a clean escape from the vehicle though. Mung pounced on the mans legs and started clawing at his ankles. When he started thrashing Mung instead turned toward the servo arm on his back, snatching the man by a snag in his armor and forcibly dragging him along with the other scrunts. The man groaned in defeat once more, consigned to his fate of be the prisoner of lovely little monsters. ------ In the Belly of the Beast Now that things were starting to wind down, Mung started to take extra interest in his captive. He squints and considers this man, for whom his BDU read SPC. Slaughter. "Oi you dumb fakker," Mung asks, giving the man still held aloft by the Techscrunts servo arm, "You were plannin to get away on that ship a'fore we shot up your buddies. Whatchya know 'bout this here ship? And don't hold out on me or else you get the rats again." He adds, dangling one of his cyber rats directly in front of the man's face for emphasis. Little did the man know, of course, that regardless of Specialist Slaughter's answers, the techscrunt was planning on cooking and eating him anyways. It had been a matter of hours since the last time he ate and he was convinced that he would soon begin starving if he didn't get some proper food in him. ------- Questioning the prisoner. Starting with intimidate at trained, followed by Interrogate untrained if the first fails, followed by cooking and eating him at the first opportunity if both fail. If I succeed we cook and eat him at the first opportunity anyway. If anyone else thinks they have useful questions, I guess go ahead and ask them in character here and we'll see what he knows. Will amble and follow the scrunt location consensus wherever that may lead for the moment.
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Jan 3, 2017 22:53
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Grug Grug tumbles out of the ruined flyer into the tunnel with an enormous grin and a sense of wellbeing, safe in the knowledge that he had helped. Yup, he helped! In fact not only that but he defintely, certainly saved the lives of all his chums, "Flippin eck that was GREAT! Did ya see how that button was blinking and flashing away and wanting attention and begging to be pressed and *sniiiiif* then I pressed it and then we were all FINE! *hic*". He's quickly distracted from his reverie by something and starts sniffing around the tunnel floor and listening at the walls, occasionally hiccuping and spluttering directly into the filth. "Oh ho hoo there's some big tasty Grox thingies round ere somewhere. Lets go find em and eat em all up, YUMMERS!" Wanna go find the Grox but Grug's an idiot and will generally follow everyone else. Maybe we can eat em, maybe we can cause an hilarious stampede or something? e: do I need to roll for this? Survival for tracking? http://orokos.com/roll/472865: 1d100 65 requires 62 the fart question fucked around with this message at 23:14 on Jan 14, 2017 |
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Jan 6, 2017 00:07
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Murdelia The tortured shriek of ripping sheet metal heralds Murdelia's arrival in the tunnel, as she uses the full brunt of her power armour to rip the rupture wide enough that she can squeeze through. Bright lights illuminate the tunnel walls, emanating from the somehow already decrepit-looking despite being brand-new armour's floodlamps, and the cool strip of viewport in the helmet is similarly lit by an eerily unnecessary glow. Now that there's a bit of space to stretch out and they're not actively crashing/exploding/being blowed up, the mediscrunt takes the opportunity to fully stomp around and get the feel of her latest acquisition. A blinking red cylinder icon showing on the inside of her helmet briefly distracts Murdelia, until she figures out what that's supposed to mean. "LETS FIND SOME FECKIN' POWER" she thunders through the armour's loudspeakers, "THIS FECKER NEEDS MORE JUICE PROBABLY OR WHATEVER". Without waiting for any particular signs of agreement, she picks a direction in which she has the vague sense that the grox noises are coming from, and hustles one or two lesser scrunts ahead of her to
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Jan 6, 2017 00:17
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Grimply, First class recon scrunting Wounds: 9 Fate: 1/2 Crashing their ride isn't unusual for scrunts so Grimply isn't bothered all that much when the flyerbox smashes into the big humie ship. Tumbling all over the place and smacking into other scrunts/objects was a bit of a hassle though. But scrunts are weirdly hardy in their own ways so it doesn't take him long to recover his senses. And to be honest, getting smacked in the head may have more positive than negative effects for Grimply anyway. Murdelia ripped a big and nice hole in the flyerbox already, so Grimply and Flet just join the gaggle of scrunts on the way out. The group quickly goes back to bickering and licking but some of the more cunning scrunts decide to figure out what the feck is going on. First up, they're in a big tunnel which is good. But they're also in the big humie ship which is kinda bad. They're going kill the humies which is good again but feck there's probably a whole lot of humies which is bad. It also smells like animals or maybe scrunts in the distance which is weird in space and at that point Grimply's brain gets clogged up and suffers a minor cramp. Right, let's take this in small steps then. "Roight lads this 'umie place be weird I tells yer! Tha tunnel is good an' proper for scruntin' but we's shud ged a move on, roight? Tha weird smells be comin' from furtha down tha tunnel but this place be dangerous. Tha 'umies may be weak an' not scrunty at all but they's got guns an' stuff too. So I says me and me lad take tha lead 'ere or else yer lot gets lost or slammed by some 'umies!" I'm gonna stealth ahead and check out the closest doors around our LZ to give us a better direction 100 vs 77 (47 +20 +10) wow wtf I'm gonna snap fate that 3 vs 77 (47 +20 +10) lul Also let's make an awareness roll to find good doors 63 vs 53 Welp doors are complicated Tin Tim fucked around with this message at 19:55 on Jan 6, 2017 |
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Jan 6, 2017 19:53
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Groin Sklunger Spunts (Scrunts in Space) The moment the lander impacts into the larger vessel, Groin simply continues yelling that he is helping; and then quickly accelerates his hover-slab into the new corridor. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeelpinggggggg!" he continues, as he blasts down the corridor, his beady robot eye darting around for hidden secrets. _________ I want to use Paranoia to see if I notice anything weird, but I want to do this while zooming around like an idiot.
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Jan 13, 2017 01:00
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Grug Grug takes Grimply's advice on board, "So what yer saying is we should be sneaking around real careful like? *farrrrt* Just like back in the Hive", mainly cos he thinks he looks cool in that cloak. ALso gonna do awareness, looking for DANGER - signs of things watching us or traps http://orokos.com/roll/475299: 1d100 52 requires 52 and stealth for the sneaks, http://orokos.com/roll/475301: 1d100 63 - requires 44
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Jan 14, 2017 23:11
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Grumb Slanger, Heavenly Fist Grumb, Guy and Barry trudge along, searching for outlets as they make their way through the tunnel. "Hey Murdy, ain't you wanna come with us?" Grumb calls back. "KEEP GOING. I'LL BE RIGHT BEHIND YOU," Murdelia's voice crackles loudly from behind. ----------------------- Rolling Common Lore: Imperial Guard vs 26 to think of logical places one might keep an outlet / power cell around here.
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Jan 16, 2017 00:48
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Yurik Scraglagger The Belly of the Beast In Spaaaaace Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 8/12 Local Area Map *** Straight up I have been a lazy piece of poo poo I know, sorry. I don't know if it's seasonal malaise or if I'm burning out or whatever, but I've found myself with a case of scrunters block and I don't want to be the rear end in a top hat holding things up so I'm going to make a low-effort italics only post and hopefully I'll be able to shake this off because I know we're near the endgame. Yurik is therefore going to grab hold of Grumb's servitor buddy's face in an extremely disturbing fashion and PROBE HIS BRAINMEATS with my terrifying brain sorcery. This is probably a Psyniscience roll unless you planned to have it be automatic, in which case the TN is 46. After that, time permitting, I will roll Common Lore (Imperial Navy) to see if I can glean any useful information pertaining to things like Imperial voidship layouts or even about this ship in particular if it has a noteworthy enough history, the TN of which is 53 taking Foresight into account.
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Jan 22, 2017 10:32
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Jonahs of the Fortieth Millenium Orbit Heavenly Fist https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oV2yLjmvMvE Encountering a new, feculent, fetid, poorly-lit environment to gently caress around in, the scrunts disperse with glee. Chuggo slams himself into the nearest vent, oozing with unpleasant boneless rhythms as he yanks and pulls at sheet metal in an attempt to widen the gap. Brushing aside some ribcages that someone left there, he does indeed force a gap into the sprawling, terrifyingly complex vent system that underpins this deck - it's too small for anyone larger than himself, though. Grug and Grumb, stocky as they are, will probably struggle to fit easily, and Murdelia has no chance unless she abandons her armour. Groin's grav-hauler won't fit, nor will the pallets of missile components that hover gently behind the scrunts. Still, it could be a good conduit for a scouting run, or a stealth raid... and Chuggo is confident - CHUGGO! - very confident that he can simply follow his nose. Drekk, on the other hand, has a bit more success with his perennial search for barnyard animals to interfere with. A few hundred yards from the scrunt's current position is a great, gaping hole in the floor of a side-tunnel. It seems to drop down about six, seven metres - judging from the length of that femur - into a dimly-lit factory farm of lowing, braying grox.  The scrunts are reasonably sure they could lower themselves down gently using their grav-lifters, although getting back up might be somewhat of a pain and require some jury-rigging and overcharging. It's tricky to judge how big the farm is, but Grug reckons there must be hundreds of grox in sight alone. Maybe they're a food source, but if so, why aren't they already slaughtered, rendered, and frozen? Seems like an unnecessary overhead to have live animals on board... Murdelia, in her quest for power, is aware that the large fans lining this corridor must have some form of power supply. Then again, maybe the machinery that tends the grox also has some. poo poo, maybe the chemical storeroom has some processed your- yure- uranium, or something. Crunching a nearby skull under her armoured boot, she shifts impatiently. Grimply ghosts up and down the corridor, making not a sound - he checks a few hundred metres either way down the shaft while the scrunts bicker and squabble, and finds... well, this is a fairly abandoned deck. There's no indication of human habitation - he runs into a servitor repeatedly bumping into a wall in one of the maintenance cubbyholes, but it's missing an arm and covered in raw-looking bite marks and doesn't have a great deal to say to him. There's not a huge amount of particular interest, as this appears to mostly be a central ventilation tunnel. There's some wall sockets for recharging of tools, but they're incredibly low-power when compared to Murdelia's needs. On the plus side, as the scrunt-scout recharges a spare powercell while munching on a small lizardlike creature he snagged with his rusty, filthy knife, there's definitely power on this deck. Grimply is just returning as Groin cracks under the pressure and blasts his new hover-bike at breakneck speed down the shaft, screaming at the top of his lungs and undoing all of the scout's efforts to be stealthy. Groin barrels up and down with horrifying speed, blazing through the remnants of a Tarantula security checkpoint a kilometre or so north that tracks him with the whining clicks of empty heavy bolters. Jinking off at whiplash speed, he does pass an extremely fortified and welded-shut lift complex, surrounded by yet more empty Tarantulas. It appears that at one point, the crew wanted to ensure with some certainty that this deck remained sealed off. This is somewhat at odds with the huge automated grox farm beneath a great gaping hole near the scrunts' entry point. Groin, following his joy bus hell ride, is pretty certain he can hear chittering from the walls, the vents, the floors. Grug, being slightly more situationally aware, if not more mentally stable, will allow that following the yelling spree he certainly thinks he heard some shifting from nearby. Maybe it's just more of those tasty little lizards. Grumb has a think about where to keep power conduits suitable for interface with advanced military technology. He looks at the lights, he looks at the big fans, he looks at a neatly stacked pile of what look like vertebrae with mould growing on them, and then he looks at his multimelta. If he can find a big enough cable, surely one of the technical scrunts can figure out how to jam it into Murdelia's aperture? He blushes, for some reason. In the meantime, Yurik attempts to jam his mind-tentacles into Barry's brain, with little success. Oh, there's lots of flashing lights, and an unearthly screaming that is suddenly cut off, but the scrunts just take that as it comes. The unfortunate ex-PDF trooper has been dead a while, and his servitor wiring has pretty much overwritten whatever remains of the man's soul. Only faint traces remain, a ghost in the machine, a sense of anger at the betrayal following his debriefing, disbelief at what he has learned of the coming plans for the Ophidius Genestealer takeover of Aeolia, the capital city, and a hatred of scrunts. Nothing really useful; the scrunt hatred can probably be taken as read, and- wait, genestealers? It takes a little more digging, but it seems there's enough of those weird tunneling yee-ing tentacle beast things on Malbrathia that their influence has spread pretty far. They do, after all, seem to be intelligent, and they can dominate the minds of humans that they infect. They're planning to move against the capital city's throne; as per the mystery box thing the scrunts watched on the flight over, should they manage to off the current governor and seat someone of their own choice, it's legally binding. Yurik also has a mull over what he's learned about Imperial ships. He can't think of much about the Heavenly Fist specifically, but he's aware that ships tend to have sealed decks occasionally, when they have... problems that they can't solve by drydocking and void-venting. It's normally the older ones that have the worse issues. Older ships means older, better tech; maybe even Dark Age stuff. But, equally, it comes with Dark Age problems. If there's gonna be anything interesting on this deck, it won't be in the ventilation conduits - it will be towards the core of the deck, towards the centre of the ship. That is kinda in the direction of the shuttle bays that the scrunts imagine to be on the other side of the ship, though, so it works out nicely. Mung barely needs to begin hurting his captive, although he does so anyway, just to be sure. Specialist Slaughter is jittery as all hell now that he's seen what's stencilled in the airlock. "W-we need to get off this deck! Quickly! Now! I don't care if you kill me first, just so long as they don't get me!" He points, horrified, at a small collection of fingerbones hung up in cobwebs like a dreamcatcher, over a nearby vent opening. He is not particularly forthcoming with additional info - all he has is shipboard legends of "grey walkers" and "fangs" and "koboldkin" and "giant loving monsters". Yurik knows enough about how legends form - for some reason - that he can see that the man's words have some grains of truth in them. As for what grains, he has no idea without additional evidence. Interestingly - almost as interesting as that rustling sound - he seems to have no idea who Inquisitor Velothenes is. --- fyi this is actually set a thousand years before the current day in 40k, as per the datestamp on the very first post in this thread!! little bit of scruntlore for you there chuggo finds a route to chemicals. it is not a route that allows for chubbies, or cargo, so maybe consider splitting the party if you have a need to do so. last bit is important; splitting it for shits and giggles will slow the game needlessly. drekk and grug find a huge number of cows people gently caress around with stealth to various degrees yurik, mung use Special Measures to extract info so your options:
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Jan 25, 2017 19:21
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scrunting: Drekk votes to force the doors open.
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Feb 4, 2017 13:08
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Grimply, The scrunt before the storm Wounds: 9 Fate: 1/2 The scrunts are torn between apathy and enthusiasm, as is often the case when they're faced with something as difficult as making choices. And Grimply is mostly pouty. He snuck all the way through the tunnel and smelled and licked doors and sockets but he couldn't really find anything interesting in this humie ship. Groin, on the other hand has found something interesting and won't stop telling everyone about it. The fecker didn't even do it right with his loud and dumb flyerboard. That's not how a proper scrunt sneak goes that's for drat sure! Drekk has also found something that he won't stop telling everyone about but at least the fecker didn't alarm the whole humie ship while doing it. Though come to think of it it's not very impressive to just find a hole in the ground. Grimply could have done that too! And it's just full of humie animals so who the feck even cares about those?? Grimply only vaguely notices what's going one with the yelling humie and Mung but the general direction is still to get out of this place so he swallows his pride and walks up to Groin who's currently telling the scrunts around him about how fast and cool his flyerboard is. "Oi yer feck..err me lad! Why don't yer tell me tha story about thar doors yer found another time?" We should force the lift doors with our scrunty wits
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Feb 4, 2017 22:28
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Voting cowhole, though I guess if everyone else wants the lift complex I can servo arm the doors open.
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Feb 4, 2017 22:37
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Grug Grug crawls in the direction of the Grox, sniffing at the walls and floor as he goes... Grug's going after the Grox unless someone smarter tells him otherwise. He'll keep awarenessing and stealthing if that matters at all; he's an idiot but he's aware that there might be some immediate danger.
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Feb 5, 2017 22:18
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Grumb Slanger, Heavenly Fist Grumb follows his trusty companion Grug, staring glassy-eyed down the corridor as he walks. The smell of livestock wafts into his feculent little nostrils, and his stomach gurgles loudly. "Mm-MM, tal'bout now whatchoo found 'ere, Grug?" Grumb asks, approaching the hole and peering down. A confused smile spreads on his face as he scans the herd. "Whatever 'at thing is, there sure is a buncha him." Grumb says. He gestures at the grox with his multimelta. "Anyscrun' hungry?" ------------------------------------------- Voting we check out the grox. Hopefully they are not full of tyranid eggs.
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Feb 6, 2017 02:11
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Murdelia Her fellow scrunts displaying the typical indecisiveness of their kind, a thought very briefly occurs to Murdelia to take charge and herd everyone in some coherent direction, but she instantly dismisses that idea. Her job (aside from stomping around in this really feckin' excellent power armour) is to patch up the idiots who took the lead and found something dangerous, not to take responsibility for finding something dangerous. Anyway this was a big feckin' space ship so there had to be places to jack in her armour all over the place, so it didn't likely matter all that much. On the other hand, imminent danger did, and a wiser scrunt (if there is such a thing) does well to notice imminent danger. Which... yeah, Mung's friend seems convinced. Screwing up her eyebrows in concentration, Murdelia puzzles through a train of thought with at least three cars in it. There's... maybe Bad Things in this tunnel, the sort of Bad Things that leave humie bones laying around and that Humies seal the dang tunnel off to keep away. So probably not as Bad as scrunts, but still. But, Drekk is yakking about finding Grox, which are alive and also if Murdelia recalls correctly, not particularly dangerous (aside from the medical dangers posed by severe overeating, a theoretical ailment Murdelia would actually not mind studying in detail at some point). So... where the Grox are... must... must not be dangerous! Yes! Also something feeds them and scoops up their poo poo and probably runs on power of some kind that Murdelia can steal. Having made up her mind, Murdelia thunders daintily down the tunnel in the direction of the Grox farms, humming tunelessly HMM MMM MMM, DE DOOOO, DE HUMMM, HMM FECK RHRMMMM I vote for the grox
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Feb 6, 2017 04:59
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Yurik Scraglagger The Belly of the Beast In Spaaaaace Fate Points 2/2 Wounds 8/12 Local Area Map Yurik stroked his scraggly beard as he contemplated the scrunts' next potential move. "If'n there's anythin' on this ship worth stealin', breakin', or eatin' before we hunt down this Inquisitor an' feed'im his own fackin' legs, it's gonna be thataway," he said, gesturing with his thinkin' stick in the direction of the voidship's core, home to fathomless catacombs lost to time and no doubt overtaken by all manner of horrors as evidenced by the grisly sigil adorning the nearby vent cover, but he had plenty of other scrunts to nobly sacrifice themselves on his behalf so Yurik's insatiable curiosity and lust for forbidden knowledge was overruling his highly tuned self-preservation instincts. "So that's the way we head." *** If all roads lead in that direction than Yurik will go with whoever, if the groxhole is winning then let's go start a stampede aboard a spaceship.
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Feb 13, 2017 07:58
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Groxhole Orbit Heavenly Fist The bones are starting to get to the scrunts a bit, and faced with the choice of an unknown fortified position, or a big stinking shed full of angry animals, there's really no choice at all. Rappelling down, or hitching a ride on the hovering turbocharged cargo-shifter piloted by Groin, or hitching a rather faster and terrifying, screeching ride on the hovering missile-component crates, the scrunts descend into darkness... --- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2_EJxvP5nE&t=600s  Actually, it's not that bad down here. Sure, the grox seem close to panic at the sight of bipeds, but most animals flinch away from a scrunt anyway, so this isn't that unexpected. And yes, it's really gloomy, lit only by those lightstrips that somehow haven't burned out after years of neglect, but hey, that means there's power! The scrunts have descended into a high-ceilinged hall that seems to stretch off into the distance forever, although it's probably only a few dozen acres in size all told. It's packed with processing areas - holding pens for angry grox seem interspersed with hydroponic myco-growth stations to generate feed for them, servitor-driven slaughterhouses for when the grox come of age. The hydroponics seem in fairly constant use - the slaughterhouses seem unstaffed, broken down, unused. There's no areas staffed by servitors wielding a big turkey baster and rubber gloves, thankfully - all four sexes of grox are intermingled to breed as the Emperor intended, and also to gore and murder each other with casual abandon. The squad has come down in the centre of what seems to be an administrative area for this section of the breeding deck. There is a colossal pile of rotting mycoprotein feed in the south-west corner - the auto-feeder appears broken, and the grox in that quadrant look worryingly emaciated. Computer consoles in the north-eastern and north-western corners are hooked up by extremely large cables to the fences and cattle grids to the east and west, and the glimmer of lights and chitter of embedded skulls indicates that they're still getting juice. A further console stands to the north, connected up to an auto-packaging facility that stands empty. Great cogs, crushers and eye-watering bladed implements stand idle. Holes into the underdeck seem rife in this area - an ingress into the labyrinth of service ducts and tunnels that underpin the area. The exit to the north is blocked off - a huge section of deck has partially collapsed, meaning anyone that wanted to go that way would have to muscle their way through several hundred metres of densely-packed grox. The exit to the west would take the scrunts back the way they came - south into parts unknown, and east would be towards the core of the ship. Splinters of bone are really quite profuse around here. The scrunts are practically scuffing them out of the way of their boots with every step. There's something in the air apart from grox flatulence, and it's got them spooked. Retreat, or stand your ground?  --- grox win - fatality so, like, it's pretty clearly gonna be a fight soon, but you've got two rounds in which to "just so happen" to prepare, lay mines, go into overwatch, expose yourself to grox etc. plot out where you are - anywhere on the middle square.
tell me where you are and what you're doing in your preptime. also tell me what happened to your prisoner
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Feb 16, 2017 22:45
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Grumb Slanger, Heavenly Fist "Wuhobbout - whawazzat?" Grumb whirls around, certain that he heard something. His lip quivers as his animal instincts detect something terrifying in the air. "Quick, hide!" he whispers loudly to his companions, and then dives into the rotting heap of mycoprotein like a big horrific pile of leaves.
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Feb 17, 2017 23:34
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Grimply Wounds: 9 Fate: 1/2 Place me in or near the mycoprotein heap when things pop off. I'll use my prep time to fiercely dig into the heap wich will coincidentally fling some of it into the western doorway
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Feb 18, 2017 18:25
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