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Kreb, Scruntbunk Alpha Kreb loves bunkers. They combine the cool darkness of a burrow with the reassuring solidity and securty of being trapped in a metal box. Kreb has also largely ignored whatever plan the other scrunts were making. He isn't really even sure what they're doing here. Or what he is doing here. But it's nice in the bunker, dark and quiet, so he settles down to have a little nap and dream dreams of CONSUMING BIOMASS and other such totally normal scrunt things. Unfortunately, his blissful sleep is interrupted by the sound of motorcycle engines in the distance. Kreb's bulgy, yellow eyes snap open, and he scuttles on all fours over to the mouth of the bunker, dragging his multilaser behind him. He pinpoints the source of the noise, the approaching convoy, and begins firing. Kreb wants to fire generally at the motorcycles, I forgot all the rolls for this game, I'll come back and edit them in
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Mar 5, 2015 23:50
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 07:18 |
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Pernicious Kreb, Bunker Kreb peers through his viewsight, and sees that his shots all failed to connect. He hisses with rage and lowers his gun, and for a moment surveys the scene with unscruntly clarity. He sees the bikers drawing swords, he sees the oncoming mince of the sentinels. He sees the tauroses screeching through a hail of multilaser fire. None of it really bothers Kreb, at least nothing that he sees. But something he hears strikes a chord deep in his brain. The human gunners shouting something into their radio. Something from outside Kreb seems to reach into his brain when he hears it, and for a moment the message turns from CONSUME BIOMASS to advising a more cautious course of action. Kreb turns, and scampers deeper into the bunker.
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Mar 18, 2015 18:48
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Pernicious Kreb, Hiding in a Corner Kreb crouches there with his hands clamped over his ears, still awaiting the horrifying rain of fire that the voices told him would soon rain down upon his small, disgusting body. Pelt pokes at him, asking him what's wrong, but Kreb just ignores him.
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Mar 27, 2015 20:28
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Pernicious Kreb, By the Light of the Scrunt Star The sudden burst of flame shakes Kreb from his apparent stupour. Perhaps he thinks that this flame is the flame the voice had warned him of, and that now the danger is more or less passed. Dragging his rifle behind him, scampering like satan's own ape, he rejoins the fray. He props the rifle on the bunker wall, following the burning form of Murdelia with his eyes, waiting for her to arrive at something he'd like to shoot. It occurs to him at this moment that he has completely forgotten what the hell was going on here in the first place when he got so freaked out. The memory of a scrunt is not long to begin with, and Kreb hasn't exactly been kind to his brain over the years. The bikers, which he remembers shooting, are still there, at least in part, but there's a loud, mechanical stomping coming from his right. Maybe his right. Whichever side of him the bikers aren't on, that's for sure. He turns to look at the source of the noise, and sees the thing he hates most in the world: Anything bigger than Kreb. The three robots walk with a bouncy, almost mocking step, and Kreb will not stand for it. He takes aim at the sentinel closest to the other scrunts, and unleashes a fulisade of size-ist hatred and lasgun fire. Kreb hosed up horribly. BS 50 +10 aim -10 full auto +10 scope = 60. I rolled 79 juggalo baby coffin fucked around with this message at 01:00 on Apr 6, 2015 |
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Apr 6, 2015 00:45
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Pernicious Kreb, stupefied Kreb wakes from his gentle dreaming to see his good friend Grumb piloting something taller than Kreb. Kreb hates things taller than him. Kreb picks up his assorted crap and hauls his tiny rear end over to the sentinel to begin attempting to climb it. I don't know if I have to roll for this
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Apr 25, 2015 02:27
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I'm still in the scruntinel right?
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May 6, 2015 23:15
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Pernicious Kreb, Scruntinel Sworn to avenge, condemned to hell, tempt not the blade of the scruuuuuuntineeeeeel The spin-cycle in the scruntinel somehow, amazingly, shakes some sense into Kreb. The dull, pulsing chant of CONSUME BIOMASS AND REPRODUCE quiets for a moment. Kreb remembers his younger years, scurrying around in the poisonous smoke-stack-sewers of his homeworld. A purer, more innocent time. How had he sunk this low, become so depraved? Kreb really doesn't know. But he does know that he saw something that spooked him. Kreb, being a coward, spooks pretty easily, but this time had been different. What he'd seen was no ganger, no techpriest, not even a rampaging arbites. No, he'd experienced true fear. A fear that bit into his soul. A fear that CONSUME BIOMASS AND REPRODUCE. Kreb scampers up to the roof of the scruntinel, to huddle amongst the soothing promethium exhaust fumes, and to get a better look at the forest and see if he can see the thing that he saw that he really didn't want to see. Kreb is going to do a full action aim to prepare for a called shot on the tanks treads juggalo baby coffin fucked around with this message at 00:38 on May 11, 2015 |
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May 10, 2015 20:31
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Pernicious Kreb, up to no good Kreb is hungry. The promethium fumes of the scruntinel may have filled his heart, but they hadn't filled his belly. He'd sat for a while atop the scruntinel, not seeming to notice the cessation of its movement, but now he springs into action, scrambling down from the walker like a solvent-crazed monkey. His large honker picks up a smell. A smelly smell that smells... smelly. His mouth waters, his long taste-memory dredging up flashes of the food of home: sewer rat slow-cooked in the warm 'waters' of the drains, nutritious ganger-flesh, a vomited-in boot. He staggers towards the source of the smell, dragging his lasgun behind him, like a shark drawn to fresh blood. He finds what he's looking for soon enough. The triage station. But that cursed Murdelia is in there. That nasty, stitching scrunt who'd burned all those tasty brains. Kreb knows he needs a distraction to draw her away from that tasty meat burrito she's poking at. She likes to stitch wounds, right? he thinks. Kreb raises his rifle to point at the nearest group of generic scrunts and pumps the trigger, not really aiming at all. Kreb is firing a full auto burst at a generic crowd of scrunts, not particularly aiming to kill, but not aiming not to either.
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Jun 7, 2015 01:34
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Pernicious Kreb, The Farm Kreb, suitably fattened on the fruits of his scavenging, and the corpse-fruits of his shooting spree, turns his attention to other matters. He feels something, something in his bones. Like thousands of tiny needles boring into his marrow. A feeling, much like home. He sees the big, conical object that the other scrunts seem to be rather worried by. He knows this is the source of what he feels. To the other scrunts it may be the speartip of terror itself, but to Kreb it is the pointy bosom of the mother he never knew. And he must suckle. Kreb is going to suck on the nuke
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Jun 29, 2015 16:16
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| # ¿ May 16, 2024 07:18 |
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Pernicious Kreb, Nuke Haze Finally, with the white specks cleared from his eyes and the metallic taste gone from his tongue, Pernicious Kreb starts awake from his radiation-induced bliss-coma. There's fighting going on. He doesn't know who and he doesn't know why. He grabs his hosed up tiny multi-laser and scrambles up on top of the oil drum he'd been laying behind. Hissing and yeeing at the top of his voice, he surveys the darkened battlefield, squinting at the figures lit by the flashes of lasfire. He swings up his gun and aims down the motion tracker sight intently, trying to pick out which of the combatants looks least like him. Unbeknownst to Kreb, his altered DNA is slowly fixing itself after the nuclear thrashing he'd given it. Somewhere, scratching in the back of his mind, the other voice, briefly silenced, draws breath to speak again. Kreb is doing a full action aim. If there's multiple turns of action going on, he's going to full auto burst at the nearest non-scrunt
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Aug 6, 2015 04:29
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