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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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The Farm Malbrathia-3 In a Cage Yurik continued his violent thrashing and swearing as he yanked and the bars of the cage with all his average scrunty strength to no avail, pale skin turning an unhealthy red with exertion. Then he noticed one of the scrunts that had come to investigate the shed pulling out a wicked looking contraption that might, if you squinted, have qualified as a knife of some sort. The knife-like object began vibrating menacingly, as did the scrunt. Yurik's eyes widened and he recoiled from the bars, attempting to stand only to bang his head on the side of the toppled cage. "You stay away!," he shouted, scrabbling back as far as he could like a cornered rat, hissing like an asthmatic vent pipe. "I din't not get my jeeblets stole by a jeebstealer just so I could get'em scooped out by some buzzin', barfin' barnstormer like you! Git! GIT!" The scrunt lunged towards the cage and Yurik let out a horrible, cracking scream...and then the cage door swung open as the knife(?) did something horrible and irreparable to the lock's innards. For a long, wordless moment no one moved. Yurik glanced between the still-vibrating scrunt and the open door, then launched himself outward with a strangled cry, bowling the other scrunt over and making a beeline for the horrible, hosed up stick that was leaning against the wall of the shed. Thinkin' stick once again in hand, Yurik felt much more like his old self in that he now had something to savagely beat anyone with who looked at him funny. Also he was no longer locked up in a cage which helped matters tremendously. Harrumphing, he straightened his robes out and drew himself up to his full height (unimpressive, even for a scrunt), then turned both burning red eyes towards the milling scrunts staring back at him with incomprehension. "Right then. Now that that's all settled, who the fack are you lot then?" Finally out of that goddamn cage.
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Jan 27, 2015 22:30
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Yurik Scragagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 No Longer In a Cage "The Slam Sector?," Yurik said, his red, beady eyes widening. "The Slam Sector? You're lookin' for the Slam Sector!?" Then he burst into laughter, loud phlegmy cackles that doubled him over and left his disturbingly pale face blotchy with exertion. "Did ya' hear that!?," he hooted, slapping a random scrunt on the back with his thinkin' stick, laying them out and leaving them mildly concussed. "They're lookin' for the Slam Sector! Hah! Oh aye, o' course you're lookin' for the facken' Slam Sector. An' you must be the brains of the operation, am I right?" he said to Grumb amidst wheezy chuckles. Once the fit of mirth had subsided Yurik hocked and spat (onto the scrunt he'd previously knocked over), then drew himself back upright once more. "Heh, Slam Sector...right, right, well as for who I am sonny-Jimbo, m'name's Yurik, Yurik Scraglagger. An' you are fortunate enough to be feastin' your eyeballs upon a jan-u-wine, bone-a-feyed, no-facken'-about loremaster." Yurik raised his thinkin' stick in what might, if one were exceedingly generous and also incredibly drunk, constitute an impressive and awe inspiring pose. An awkward silence fell over the barn for several moments before he lowered his stick again, grumbling. "Yeah yeah, don't nobody trip over'emselves rushin' to be all impressed-like, no one ever bloody is. Anyways, how I got down to this piss-poor excuse for a planet is probably similar to how you lot got down I'd reckon...a bunch of facken' humies," he said, spitting upon the unfortunate scrunt once more, "packed us all up into a box an' shot us out into the cold, dark, uncarin' void of space like so much canned shite. Then WHAMMO!," he shouted, slamming the head of his thinkin' stick down onto the prone scrunt's midsection and adding another layer of horrible retching sounds to the general scrunty ambiance, "'ere we be." Reaching up and adjusting his ungainly "thinkin' cap," Yurik glanced around the barn where various other scrunts were milling around gormlessly or being herded back into the barn by other scrunts who seemed to be excited about something. "An' so you boys are startin' up a convoy, hmm?," he asked, stroking his scraggly beard thoughtfully, cracked and jagged gears turning inside his head. "Well it sounds like you lot have had a more productive go of things than bein' shoved in a shack, waitin' to be a jeebstealer's bit o' rumpy-pumpy. Sounds like I should go an' have meself a little chat with this 'Sarge' of yours. And find out what thievin' bastard nicked all my stuff while I'm there," he harrumphed, slamming the butt of his thinkin' stick onto the writhing, retching, much maligned scrunt's throat for emphasis.
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Jan 29, 2015 07:11
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Yurik Scragagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 In a Shed Yurik's eyes widened slightly as Grumb approached him, the other scrunt being half a head taller than him if you didn't count his hat. A lifetime of being put upon, pushed around, and generally maligned had given Yurik a keen set of fight or flight instincts (mostly flight, though cautionary tales about cornered sump-rats applied equally to scrunts), and he was about to put his favored "flight" response to good use (a swift knee between the legs followed by a hasty escape) when Grumb did the unconscionable and hocked a loogie into his hat before turning and walking away. Yurik's eyes narrowed dangerously, his whole body trembling with a seething rage that overruled any thoughts of flight. "Yyyyyyyyyyou facker." The temperature in the shed dropped ten degrees as red eyes shot ineffectual daggers into Grumb's back. "Mark my words, you're gonna rue the day you made an enemy out o' Yurik Scraglagger!," Yurik shouted behind him as slimy phlegm oozed down the side of his face, literally hopping mad as he shook his fist in the air. "I hope a jeebstealer makes the beast with five backs in your brainpan you canker-faced ratsucker! That's right, you better fackin' run!" Down on the ground the scrunt that Yurik had unknowingly assaulted and battered clutched at his ankle weakly, gazing upwards in a wordless plea for help. Yurik glanced down, then proceeded to take out his frustrations in the time-honored scrunt tradition of kicking the hell out of something weak and helpless. *** Sometime later, after his anger had abated and his thinkin' cap had been thoroughly cleaned, Yurik made his way out of the shed and, for the sake of narrative convenience, introduced himself offscreen to the other group of scrunts at large, whether they wanted to meet him or not. The matter of names and occupations taken care of, he then proceeded to relate to them the tale of how he and the other scrunts had wound up locked in a shed while jeebstealers cavorted about. According to Yurik it had been a thrilling journey of action, adventure, and thrilling heroism (mostly on his part). Like the newly arrived groups of scrunts, it began when they were all lured into a box by promises of the fabled Slam Sector, then launched planetside by a bunch of (in Yurik's words) devious and treacherous humies where they had landed somewhere to the north of the farm. However their landing hadn't been as soft as the other scrunts' had been and half the passengers inside Yurik's dropbox had been reduced to a foul-smelling slurry on impact. Fortunately that slurry happened to be an excellent shock absorber which is how the other half managed to survive, crawling out of the crumpled container none the worse for wear if you ignored the fact that they were all coated in a fragrant layer of liquified scrunt. Yurik wasted no time taking charge of the situation, using his prodigious knowledge to blaze a trail through the hostile and alien world they had been callously deposited on. Upon reaching the farm they were ambushed by something he called a "Jeebstealer Cult," the result of xenos monsters doing unspeakable and x-rated things to a bunch of humies' brains and turning them even more devious and treacherous than usual. Though they slew a score of the foul beasts (whose bodies, conveniently enough, were nowhere to be found) they were ultimately overwhelmed and forced to surrender. Rather than kill them all the jeebstealer ordered its minions to lock them in the shed, no doubt planning all sorts of unspeakable and deviant depredations for them once it was finished with the humies. It locked him in the cage, so he claimed, because even its foul, alien mind could tell that he was the most dangerous scrunt of the lot and took precautions accordingly. That was the story as Yurik told it. The truth of the matter was slightly different. Everything up to the landing happened more or less as he told it. Along with the liquidization of half the container's scrunts most of their equipment and supplies had been banged up or broken as well. After a brief period of aimless milling about and general scrunting, Yurik had taken charge (sort of), picked a direction at random, and set out looking for something more useful than a stinking, smoldering hole in the ground. Upon finding the farm, they hastily cobbled together a plan to rush the place, kill everyone there, and seize it for themselves. The plan failed miserably and instead they were captured by the farmers, who weren't quite sure what to make of a sudden infestation of foul-smelling, belligerent abhumans. One of the farmers suggested that they press them into slavery as a means to help make up the labor shortages that the war with the Imperium had brought on, and this suggestion was enthusiastically seconded. Yurik had been locked in a cage because of his distressing tendency to bite whenever any of the humies drew near. Then the jeebstealer came, and locked away in a shed ironically proved to be one of the safest places to be judging by all the screaming. Yurik cautioned the other scrunts (those who hadn't grown tired of listening to him by now) not to trust the remaining humies. He claimed they were in league with the jeebstealer and given the chance they'd all go running to get reinforcements, bringing a horde of alien horrors down upon them. Better to kill them all now, he said sagely. The humies protested this of course, those that weren't still gagged that is, but what else would you expect a bunch of duplicitous jeebstealer cultists like them to say? But nooooo. The other scunts, they wanted to talk to the humies. They wanted to ask them questions. They wanted to make friends. Fine then, let them find out for themselves what happened when you gave humies like that an inch. He'd be keeping a nice, big told-you-so warm for when they inevitably escaped and no doubt took some poor, hapless scrunt with them to be a sacrificial offering to their alien overlords. In the meantime, he had other matters to attend to. Important matters. Thinkin' matters. --- First off, everybody can consider Yurik to have been introduced to your scrunt offscreen if you don't feel like going through individual introductions one after the other. Feel free to come up with your own disparaging opinions of him! Anyone who actually wants to scrunt one on one with him are of course welcome to do so as Ignite Memories has helpfully demonstrated. Also now you know what another bunch of scrunts is doing here. With Schlong's approval, somewhere to the north of the farm is another dropsite maybe containing some wreckage, a bunch of dead scrunts, and maybe other stuff. Maybe more humans came to investigate, maybe a bunch of scrunts fell in the woods and nobody cared. And now for actual scrunting stuff. While everyone else is With Foresight for a +10 bonus I'm rolling at TN 53 and I get a 10 for 4 DoS I believe. Off to a good start. In addition to this I am calling dibs on the CONTENTS WILL SELF DESTRUCT box and Yurik will be spending some of his free time puzzling it over trying to figure out A). what it is and B). how to open in without destructing its contents. Schlong, please tell me what (if any) skills are relevant to this. If Security is needed then I'm going to hang onto the box until my next helping of XP.
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Feb 1, 2015 07:40
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Upper Floor Of the Chapel-Complex Thingamajigger Now that introductions had been made and beefs had been established, it was time for Yurik to get to work. These scrunts seemed like the sort that could get things done, but they were aimless, directionless. What they needed was guidance...the sort of guidance that he could provide for them. The excited ramblings of this or that scrunt had gotten him up to speed on the current situation (more or less), and while even he couldn't yet figure out why a bunch of humies in a starship would give away so much loot for a shot-up jeebstealer corpse what he did know was that word had been given of a fuel convoy that was making its way from some outpost to some other outpost in a matter of days. It sounded like the perfect target...unsuspecting, lightly protected, and distressingly flammable. The perfect thing to aim a bunch of aimless scrunts at and pull the trigger. Even better, there were maps. Yurik appreciated a good map, though it hadn't always been the case. Once upon a time the most use he would have gotten out of a map was something to start a fire with, or maybe to blow his nose with when he ran out of dry spots on his clothes, but after he had achieved enknowledgement he understood the true value of a map. All those squiggly lines and symbols meant things. Any scrunt could go and find out whether something was dangerous by walking up to it and poking it with a finger, but what if you could find out whether something was dangerous just by looking at a squiggle? And what if you then told some scrunts that you loathed with every fiber of your being that the things you knew were dangerous were actually full of delicious rats and free beer, and then those scrunts were never heard from ever again? A little knowledge was, as the saying went, a dangerous thing, and no scrunt had more little knowledge than Yurik Scraglagger. *** Up on the top floor of one of the buildings, Yurik peered intently down at the map beneath his feet, brows furrowed in deep thought. Around him the scrunts that he'd browbeaten into "assisting" him ran about excitedly like a stumpy hurricane, making gun and airplane sounds with their mouths, some holding their arms out like tiny, hosed up wings as they left trails of muddy (or "muddy") footprints in their wake. Occasionally several of them collided with each other, the remaining scrunts providing a chorus of explosion noises to accompany the resulting crash. Yurik might have been angrier about the way the other scrunts were rather thoroughly trampling all over the map if it weren't for the fact that he'd already committed it to memory. The incident that had crammed datavaults worth of knowledge into his head had left his brain unusually absorbent, like a grimy sponge. Neural pathways had been agonizingly reforged into configurations that no scrunt's brain had ever before known as a galaxy's worth of information unfolded within his head, bringing with it all sorts of new and amazing ideas and concepts, wondrous things, beautiful things that he'd never before been able to imagine, let alone understand. Yurik hated those beautiful things. To go from a typical scruntish incomprehension of the world at large to suddenly knowing vast volumes about life, the universe, and everything had driven home the unpleasant fact that he was kind of a loser. Enknowledgement had brought with it an unwanted sense of self-awareness, and while the old Yurik might have wiled away his days in scrunty ignorance, vaguely dissatisfied but not knowing why, now he seethed with the jealousy born of someone who knew everything but had nothing. Visions of greatness taunted him, greatness that was tantalizingly out of reach for a scrunt of otherwise unexceptional means such as himself. Even when he tried to explain what he knew to other scrunts, when he tried to tell them that there was so much more out there than this or that junkpile or cesspool, things like even bigger junkpiles or cesspools, they refused to listen. They were too set in their ways, too suspicious, too hidebound to understand. (Though really, most scrunts didn't listen to Yurik because he was kind of an rear end in a top hat.) But now they were here on this planet, him and a bunch of other scrunts bereft of purpose or direction. He already knew this wasn't the fabled Slam Sector, and he was fairly certain that they weren't going to find it anywhere on this world. That was all right, the Slam Sector wasn't really all that important (though he was smart enough to refrain from saying so out loud). What was important was what the quest for the Slam Sector represented. It represented opportunity, the chance for him to make a name for himself. He would destroy all the beautiful and wondrous things that had made him feel small and worthless and he would replace them with great, towering, junk-strewn monuments to his own greatness. And centuries, millennia from now, whenever future scrunts gazed upon his works and despaired, even they would remember his name. He would be more than a mere scrunt...he would become knowledge itself. (It was worth bearing in mind that Yurik, in addition to being an rear end in a top hat, was also kind of crazy.) *** "Huh? What's that now?," Yurik muttered as he chased one of the scrunts away from him, slowing down as he approached the part of the map where the convoy would be crossing through from just the right angle to spot something very interesting. "Oooh yes, that'll do just nicely," he cackled before flinging his thinkin' stick out dramatically, bowling several scrunts over in the process. "You lot, go and get th' Sergeant!" They stared back at him, blinking owlishly as they were suddenly put on the spot. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh whuzzat? Sarnt who? Thfeck?" "Th' Sergeant!," Yurik shouted, slamming the end of his stick on the ground for emphasis. "Whatsisname! Gumbo! The one with a nose like a facken' great big tonker! I got important strategerial information that needs communicatin', so go an' bloody find'im afore I stave your facken' teeth inside out!" The scrunts leaped into action, running this way and that, slamming into walls and each other before tumbling down the stairs and out windows, hollering for Gumbo to come as quick as he could. Satisfied that progress was being made, Yurik was about to turn his attention back to the map when he felt someone tugging on his sleeve. "Th' fack! I told you eedjits to...huh?" It was the scrunt from the shed, the one that he'd vented his frustrations on earlier. "Oh, it's you again. Th' fack d'you want?" The scrunt shuffled his feet nervously, simultaneously cringing and looking at Yurik with pleading eyes. Yurik's gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he scrutinized the hanger-on suspiciously. "Oh aye, is that right? An' what's your name then, hmm?" The other scrunt's voicebox had been crushed by Yurik's thinkin' stick earlier, and so a series of hideous choking sounds was all the answer he was able to give. "Hack Haaaaaack, huh?," Yurik said. The other scrunt simply shrugged helplessly. "Facken' strange name, that is. Arright Hack, so where's the Sergeant gone off to then?" The newly christened Hack trundled across the map and emphatically pointed to the spot where the Sergeant's box of scrunts had made planetfall. "Gone back to get the others, eh? Hmph. Well there's fack-all for it I 'spose. The convoy won't be crossin' that spot for a couple'a' days yet. We'll just have t'wait 'til he gets back. At least it got rid of those other fackin' eedjits, keep'em busy lookin' for'im in the meanwhile." Hack looked over at Yurik imploringly and wordlessly. Yurik studied the other scrunt for a moment before coming to a decision, nodding once. "Oh all right. Run an' grab one o' those rifles the spacemans sent down. If you're gonna be a Loremaster's assistant you gotta be ready to shoot whoever I tells you, however I tells you, whenever I tells you, understand?" Hack nodded and rasped enthusiastically before dashing down the stairs as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. Yurik simply shook his head before returning his attention to the map beneath his feet, plotting and planning and scheming. *** Grumb's and Barry's rooftop vigil proved that there was plenty about Yurik that could be classified as "suspicious." His ability to remain focused on tasks, the way his eyes darted this way and that in unison, the fact that he hardly ever picked his nose. Even after the other scrunts had left the building the so-called "Loremaster" remained behind, pacing across the room, gesturing with his stick and talking out loud to himself (though it was too far to tell what he was saying). Eventually night fell, and as it did they watched as Yurik suspiciously gathered up the map and turned it into a suspiciously impromptu sleeping bag of sorts, bundling himself up in its cartographical embrace before suspiciously falling asleep. Hours passed. Suspiciously. By the time Grumb sent Barry out to look for the other Barry it was late and Grumb was tired, so perhaps it was simply exhaustion playing tricks on him, but as the heavy gunner began to drift back off to sleep he swore that the map-swaddled scrunt lifted his head up, turning his beady red eyes through the windows and through the binoculars and somehow looking right at him, and grinned. A blink and it was gone. A closer examination showed that Yurik hadn't moved and was still fast, if suspiciously, asleep. Grumb's dreams, when sleep finally claimed him once again, were just the tiniest bit more disturbing than usual. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 08:43 on Feb 4, 2015 |
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Feb 3, 2015 11:11
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 It was amazing what a good night's sleep nestled in 80 square meters of the finest cartography could do for one's disposition. Unfortunately whatever those benefits might be were spoiled by Yurik being Yurik and therefore beyond any such dispositionary improvements in that, or indeed any, regard. Still, it was better than sleeping in a cage. Right up to the moment that Grumb Slanger kicked him awake, anyway. Expletives and expectorate were hurled back and forth between the two in equal measure, but with Hack by his side (though it was more accurate to say that Hack was standing somewhere in the general area of "by his side" by way of "behind him") he felt somewhat less imperiled by the hulking heavy weapons scrunt. Fortunately the other scrunts he'd met since his uncarceration had proven to be more amenable sorts, or at least less overtly hostile (though that was probably due to the fact that they hadn't gotten to know him very well yet). The friendliest of the bunch had been Grimply, who as it turned out actually knew a thing or two about maps and directions. Even better, he had a finely honed sense for fighting dirty, and as the two of them put their heads together giving the projected route of the fuel convoy a good scrunty staring-at Grimply had actually proposed an idea that, much to Yurik's surprise (and quiet jealousy) wasn't that bad. The "wheelybox"...the Chimera armored transport that this batch of scrunts had stolen from some humies...was, in and of itself, practically a bunker on treads, and on his wanderings about the farm he'd looked in on the technoscrunt, Scurrilous, and watched as the red-robed scrunt tirelessly set about making the stolen vehicle even more scruntworthy. The heavy dozer blade that had been affixed to the front would make it even tougher (from one direction, anyway) and the camouflage woven from tree branches and dead animals would surely work to conceal it amidst all the wretched nature on this scruntforsaken planet, which meant... *** "...on this side o' the pass there's this bunker here," he said to Gumbo after the Sergeant had returned from his road trip, tapping his thinkin' stick on the map where the structure was indicated. "It looks all shot to shite, pro'lly been there fack knows how long, but so far as it's still standin' it's better than tryin' ta' stop a fackin' multilas with your face, aye?" He chuckled phlegmily at his own joke, whacking Hack upside the head with his stick until the other scrunt began making distressed sounds that could possibly be construed as laughter. "Ah, but here's where it gets even better. Ya' see, on th' OTHER side o' the pass there's all these facken' great big trees. If that moanin', metal-limbed mumbletypeg of a driver o' yours can get the Chi-meera into those trees without crashin', then when the convoy comes through we can have guns on THIS side," he said, tracing a line across the map, "and we'll have guns on THAT side." "And then," he said with a nasty grin, "we kill each an' every last fackin' humie what's wound up between'em." What Yurik (and Grimply) were proposing was more than simple violence, it was strategery. And with strategery, a scrunt could conquer the world. Or at least give it a good, hard kick right in the goolies. *** Yurik was one of the scrunts in attendance when the captive humie that Grumb kept around for reasons unknown, Barrius, was confronted with evidence of his treacherous misdeeds as well as the general perfidy of which all humies, in Yurik's eyes, were inexorably guilty of. When the crazed-looking captive grabbed Grimply, the closest thing he had to a friend, by the snazzy lapels he very nearly told Hack to gun him down right then and there (the humie, not Grimply), but he quickly decided against it for two reasons. First of all he was fairly certain, given that Barrius was holding Grimply up in front of him like a wriggling, sequined shield, that ordering Hack to shoot Barrius was liable to result in his assistant gunning down Grimply instead, and that would put a bit of a damper on the whole "friendship" thing. Secondly, as the conniving and opportunistic gears inside his head clanked and rattled away like some sort of limb-mangling hazardous machinery, a deviously brilliant idea suddenly occurred to him. "Awright, awright, everyone jus' caaaaalm dooooown," he said with an oily smile, interposing himself between the unruly captive and the dangling sharpshooter before violence could ensure. "There's nae need for all this ruckus, now is there? I'm sure we can resolve this without any horrible, agonizin', bowel-voidin' violence." He made a show out of looking the humie up and down, hmm'ing and mmhm'ing and giving him a thorough peering-at with his beady red eyes that left the humie's skin crawling with unease. Finally, after an extremely uncomfortable several moments had passed, Yurik nodded. "He's tellin' no lies. Th'other humies must've escaped all on their ownsome while, whatsisfacken...Barrius, that's it...while Barrius here was only checkin' in on'em. There now, that's a good lad," he said, patting Barrius on the arm and indicating that he should set Grimply back down. "Mistakes were made, humies were massacred, but the important thing is that we're all still here and NOBODY else has to die, aye?," he said, giving Barrius a meaningful look. Once the situation had (more or less) been defused, Yurik waited until no one else was paying either Barrius or himself too much attention and pulled the humie off to the side, speaking to him in hushed, menacing tones. "Now you listen here, sonny-Jimbo. Th'only reason no one's scoopin' you into a stewpot right about now is me. Did you let those other humies go? I dae know an' I dinnae fackn' care neither, but all these other fackin' scrunts, they'll believe what a Loremaster tells'em. That means if I say you're innocent then congratu-fackin'-lations...o' course, if I tells'em it turns out you've been secretly plottin' against'em, maybe even had your jeebs secretly stole while no one was lookin'," he went on with an indifferent shrug, "things might not turn out so cheery, understand?" Barrius was once again subjected to the full-bore brunt of Yurik's piercing, red-eyed stare. "You owe me, humie. Y'owe me your fackin' life. Some day, an' that day may never come but I highly doubt it, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, fack off with ye', an' remember...I've got my eyes on you." Yurik will be dragging Barrius along for this little pep talk regardless of whatever any other scrunts like Scurrilous or Groin might accuse him of, unless someone brutally murders Barrius right this moment Yurik will still take credit for saving him from being brutally murdered. Also PICK A loving THIRD TERRAIN FEATURE YOU SCRUNTS, we have a bunker on one side and trees for the Chimera to hide in on the other. People who like shooting from cover should maybe get to the bunker, people who like Chimeras and trees should be on the other side. I left the various scruntmergencies for other people to handle because I don't want to be a spotlight hog and also it's late and I have work in the morning so. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 09:56 on Feb 10, 2015 |
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Feb 10, 2015 09:37
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Devious plans set in motion, Yurik chuckled to himself as he wandered off to do loremastery things elsewhere, looking back over his shoulder to give the humie an "I'm watching you" gesture as he departed...and as such was nearly run over by a limousine doing extremely awkward donuts in the middle of the farm, a whooping band of technoscrunts leaning out of the windows and firing the autogun that had been affixed to it with heedless abandon. "Ack! You cogsuckin' cumberstumps!," Yurik shouted as he fell backwards onto the ground, narrowly missing being knocked bodily across the farm by the limo's rear quarter panel. "What in the scruntfatherin' name o' FACK are you on about!?" "We're! ... Gonna! ... Go! ... Steal! ... Sumfuel!" one of the technoscrunts shouted back intermittently as the limo continued to make its haphazard circuit around the field. "Yer gonna WHAT!? No no no!," Yurik said, stamping his foot and thumping the ground with his thinkin' stick in annoyance. An ambush was a thing of careful timing and precision, of study and planning...it wasn't a place for a bunch of jumped-up machine-humping morons to go driving around all willy-nilly getting in the way of well-laid plans. "Now you listen here you fackin' shower o' scrunts, I-" He was interrupted mid-tirade by Hack tugging his sleeve, quietly rasping in his ear. Yurik's brow furrowed as he listened before rolling his eyes, but he straightened back up and cleared his throat before taking things from the top. "Ahem...I mean, my fellow scrunts. Obviously you lot are burstin' with enthusiasm moreso than brains that's for fackin' sure but before you go tearin' off like a bunch o' wee facked-up wolves, stop an' think for a minute about all these OTHER scrunts here! With us out ambushin' this convoy, an' by 'us' I mean 'not you lot' y'understand, who's gonna secure the farm an' keep everyone else safe from the threat of jeebstealers, or even worse...humies? Nae, we cannae all go, someone has to stay here an' do all that shite I just said. Someone, uh, brave an'...an'...brave. Someone like you lot. What'd'ya say?" The limo continued to drive in circles as the technoscrunts mulled over Yurik's vaguely impassioned speech for several loops before one of them leaned back out the window to reply. "Eh! ... Feck! ... Those! ... Arseholes! ... Anyway!" Yurik glanced at Hack, who simply shrugged. Frankly the technoscrunt had a good point, one that Yurik couldn't really bring himself to argue against. "Ah fack it, well I tried," he said, leaving the technoscrunts to their scrunting and wandering off elsewhere to prepare for the impending ambush. I decided to go ahead and negotiate with the technoscrunts in the limo with my overall 16 Charm (26 Fellowship, -20 untrained, +10 scrunt-to-scrunt bonus). I rolled a 70 so clearly that went super well. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 01:11 on Feb 17, 2015 |
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Feb 17, 2015 00:47
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 "Awright, awright, gather round and listen the fack up!," Yurik shouted as scrunts milled around aimlessly and gormlessly, some running into trees, some running into each other. The limousine continued driving in circles as it had done since they'd arrived. The ride over in the Chimera had been uneventful, if a bit cramped, but now that they were all here they had precious little time to prepare. "We're gonna have a recap so's everyone's on the same page." Scrunty eyes stared back at him uncomprehendingly. "Page? Y'know, like in a book?" More uncomprehending stares. "Aw fackin' forget about it. Just listen up, aye? Right, so we've all got ourselves a buncha vehicles, that there Chi-meera an' some longozines, but y'know what we ain't got?" "A sense o' purpose!" "True 'appiness!" "A big ol' gun what shoots swords all FWOCKA FWOCKA FWOCKA!" "That's right!," Yurik shouted, ignoring everybody else. "Fuel! Logs an' shite are only gonna go so far...we need promethium, an' fackin' lots of it! An' that's why we're here. A bunch of fackin' humies have a bunch of promethium, an' we're gonna take it from'em!" A scrunty cheer went up from those who could actually be bothered listening to Yurik. "Ah, but I can hear you askin', how are-" "How are we gonna take it from'em then?" Yurik fixed the interrupting scrunt with a vituperative glare before thumping him on the head with his thinkin' stick. "AS I WAS SAYIN', I hear you askin' how we're gonna take it from'em then. Well I'm glad you asked, 'cause me an' your Sergeant Gumbo here have cooked up a plan. There's gonna be a convoy, aye? A whole buncha humie vehicles carryin' promethium, trucks an' shite hauling tankers an' whatnot. That convoy is gonna be crossin' this area here," he said, jabbing the end of his stick in the direction of the crossroads. "When they get close, what we're gonna do is blow the fack out of those rocks over there to box'em in. Then we have the Chi-meera in those trees over THERE," he went on, gesturing towards the woods and knocking another scrunt clean off its feet, "an' we have some other fackin' scrunts in that bunker over YONDER, and then we shoot the shite out of anything that looks like a humie," he concluded with a disgusting cackle. "But!," he shouted before everybody got carried away shouting things like SLAM and SECTOR over and over again. "An' I'm sayin' this loud an' clear to every last one o' you scruntfackers! Do. Not. Shoot. The fackin'. Promethium! Do not!," he said emphatically, jabbing Groin in the chest. "Dinnae!," he addressed Grumb (though without the jabbing). "An' no punchin' it with your dagblasted zappy fists either," he added for Urok's benefit. "The whole point of this is we want to take the fuel, not blow it the fack up. You can shoot the humies, shoot up anything else, but if it looks like it's got a great big whack of promethium sittin' in it then leave it the fack alone, aye? Aye." Hack urgently tugged on Yurik's sleeve, rasping and gagging in frantic tones. "What! What is it! Can't you fackin' see I'm...what?" Yurik turned and peered off into the distance where not one, not two, but three plumes of smoke were rising in the distance, and coming closer by the looks of things. "Aw what the fack is THIS then! NOW what? Can't a scrunt plan a fackin' ambush around here for five fackin' minutes without havin' to deal with all this shite!? Someone find out what the fack is goin' on over there! An' over there! There too!" And now you know what's happening.
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Feb 17, 2015 23:27
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Yurik Scraglagger At a Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik peered upwards scruntily as Grimply scrambled up a nearby tree and relayed what he'd spotted with a series of shouts and precarious gestures, but his blood ran cold as he parsed what the scout scrunt was telling them...that those damnable, treacherous humies were coming not just from one, not just from two, but from three directions all at once with "sorta like wheelyboxes but, uh, cut in half" (motorcycles, the word filtered its way through Yurik's maladjusted brain via a copy of The Imperial Infantryman's Vehicular Recognition Guide) and "wheelamajiggers what's all made out of bars" (some sort of Tauros scout vehicles) and... ...and, according to Grumb, absolutely nothing at all despite the plumes of smoke slowly approaching from the north. Yurik's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I ain't nae fool," he thought, scratching the patchy hair beneath his colander. "Yer up ta something, Grumb Slanger." Even a scrunt like Grimply, for whom most vehicles were simply some variation of a wheelybox, knew what tanks were though. The misaligned, malformed wheels of Yurik's mind began turning as he quickly paced back and forth, muttering to himself and panicking internally. Had the humies learned of their ambush somehow? Were they, in fact, planning to ambush their ambush? No, that was impossible, inconceivable even. He had expected the convoy to have an escort...he just hadn't expected it to be quite so big. Bloody, blasted humies couldn't ever make anything simple. Harumphing and straightening his robes, Yurik sprung into action the way he knew best...shouting at other scrunts. "Groin! Groin, ya' softheaded sumpsucker, get that camo done up over the Chi-meera afore those motor-sickles come an' ram their boomin'-sticks up your great big bloody metal arse! Should someone be on that gun!?," he said, pointing at the unmanned multilaser mounted to the Chimera's hull. "Then fackin' get to it! An' someone shut those eedjits up!," he shouted as the technoscrunts continued to both rev the limousine's engine while making engine revving sounds with their mouths. "Hack! Hack, get over here!," he shouted, whirling around and inadvertently clouting his assistant upside the head with his thinkin' stick. "There you are. Awright, listen up, I got me a plan and you're gonna help." Hack's face broke into an extremely offputting grin as he rasped and horked excitedly. "First things first, we're gonna need a lot of fackin' rope..." Well I had hoped that we might use the rockslide to box the truck in while we ambushed it in our killbox buuuuut since it's coming from the west that means, as Schlong has helpfully pointed out, we can't actually do that or else it'll be stuck on the other side. Which means we may need to use the Chimera itself as an impromptu roadblocker. Rolling Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis) for hot, hot knowledge skill action. That's a 79 against a TN of 53 (43 for Yurik plus let's say a +10 assistance bonus from Gumbo) so like 2 DoF, poo poo. I'll spend a valuable fate point to reroll that poo poo and wait, no, gently caress, that gives me a 96 so that was a complete waste of a fate point and I know even less now. Lesson learned, never spend fate points. Anyway, here is Yurik's plan...I would like to lay some rope across the road where the fuel truck and motorcycles will be passing, camouflaging it with leaves and dirt and roadkill and poo poo, then when the truck has driven past it Yurik and his comrade will (from hiding) pull it taut and attempt to clothesline any of the rough riders bringing up the rear of the convoy. We are not, I reiterate for emphasis, going to try and clothesline the truck no matter how hilarious that might end up. Let me know what if any skill rolls are required to set this into motion, also I am assuming we have rope among our narratively convenient soldiering gear. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 06:30 on Feb 24, 2015 |
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Feb 23, 2015 19:41
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:You'll need to tie one end to a convenient tree and then it'll be a case of either hoping for assistance, passing some hefty strength checks that get worse the more motorbikes plow into it, or maybe attaching the rope to something else movable and heavy. Otherwise you'll go flying and might get dragged along the ground for a bit. Hey guys, I just figured out a use for that limousine we brought with us.
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Feb 23, 2015 20:13
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 "Nnnnnnnowwwwwwww!" The last time Yurik had set a plan of his into motion it had resulted in his fellow captives abandoning him in a mad scuttle for freedom while he remained trapped in a cage, shouting and fuming. This time things worked out far more satisfactorily as the limousine's engine roared, the rope twanged taut, and the sounds of humies being violently dismounted from their vehicles filled the air along with the screeching of brakes, the sound of a limousine smashing into trees, falling rocks, Grumb Slanger shouting helplessly as he tumbled downhill, and an assorted chorus of general mayhem. He cackled uproariously, slapping his assistant on the back with his thinkin' stick as he chortled with scrunty glee at the sight of humies sprawled painfully along the road (the technoscrunts slamming limo-first into a tree was, he had to admit, a welcome bonus). "Ha! Now that's how ya' make a plan come together Hack m'boy! Didja see that one humie go arse over elbows?," he asked, slapping his knees and wheezing with laughter...laughter which quickly trailed off as he watched one of the humies slide underneath the rope. Underneath the rope. He hadn't counted on any of the humies being capable of such a feat. It was unthinkable! Inconceivable! It was downright unfair! There was something wrong about a person whose limbs were so long and gangly being so graceful, and yet here they were...and here the humie was, still on his motorcycle no less, which meant there was now an angry humie on a motorcycle in close proximity to him. Things were, Yurik decided, no longer going quite according to plan. "Oh fack oh fack oh fack!," he swore as he dropped the rope and quickly scrambled backwards before the humie could identify him as the most important scrunt of the bunch, fumbling for the rifle that he'd acquired back at the farmstead. Yurik was passingly familiar with firearms, like any scrunt of worth (for certain values of "worth") but he was far from a crack soldier, which is why he managed to get his arm tangled up in the rifle's strap, jerking and twisting his body around like a mangy cat in a sack before toppling over backwards, thinkin' cap askew, rifle chattering and sending a hail of bullets haphazardly through the air as he accidentally jerked on the trigger. Hello I would like to scrunt. Notice that I have linked my character sheet now which contains much important information in the form of numbers and words. Dear GM, I have no loving clue what numbers and/or words to give to mantraps and my snare mine but you can probably assume that I won't be using them yet. For my action Yurik is going to
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Mar 5, 2015 08:33
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:Suppressing Fire is a full action, although given that a half-move would pretty much just move you out of cover and keep you in the same square this may not be a bad thing. Whoops, forgot that it was a full action but I also didn't realize I was already in cover. Assume that Yurik's fumbling retreat is purely cosmetic then. I'll go ahead with the suppression, especially against mounted bikers. I don't want them charging anybody with an explosive lance.
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Mar 5, 2015 08:47
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik ducked back behind the rock he had taken up a tactical position behind just as the incoming grenade detonated, shrapnel pinging off his thinkin' cap as various other things caught fire and/or exploded. Exaggerated stories not withstanding, this was Yurik's first real taste of all-out combat as opposed to the short and nasty frank exchanges of views sprinkled throughout the typical scrunt's existence. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Getting to watch humies die was a hoot and a half. Getting shot back at was decidedly less so. The fuel truck lurched drunkenly to the south, Groin and the Chimera in hot (or lukewarm) pursuit, while the remaining bikers dropped a smoke grenade at their feet as panicked chatter went up over the nearby radios. While the knowledge of what exactly "Saturation Pattern" meant in this context was undoubtedly rattling around somewhere in Yurik's brain, sifting through the jumble of information that had been stamped into it was often like sifting through a haystack made of rusty needles looking for one needle in particular, and the added stresses of being on an active battlefield didn't help much either. Finally managing to disentangle his gun from around his shoulders, Yurik peered scruntily down the sights towards the billowing cloud of smoke, watchful for any sort of movement. As a free action rolling Scholastic Lore: Tactica Imperialis to see if I recognize what that radio call is about and I get a 71 on a TN 43 roll so that's a no. Then since Yurik can't shoot for poo poo I'll full action aim.
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Mar 11, 2015 21:01
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Words rattled around inside Yurik's crudely terraformed brain like loose bearings in an engine that no sane enginseer would declare fit for service. Words like "saturation" and "infernus," words that spoke of grim and terrible purposes. The problem with words, though, is that they had so many different meanings. Like unlabeled Standard Template Construct modular furniture, you could set someone to assembling a bed out of spare parts and wind up with half a toilet mounted awkwardly to a corpse incineration unit. It was entirely possible that the Severans meant something quite specific by the urgent requests they were shouting over the vox, but Yurik, with his keen scrunty insights, knew someone requesting an immediate dispensation of boiling-hot urine over the area when he heard it. Truly the depravity of these humies knew no bounds. None of this seemed to spur him to any greater heights of action, however. Instead he continued to peer scrunitly at the figures in the smoke, beady red eyes squinting harshly through the haze. So intent was his scrutiny that his squat, misshapen body practically seemed to be vibrating with the effort, a dollop of drool escaping between clenched teeth. What arcane thoughts were percolating through his head as he fixed the full force of his attention upon the squawking Severan troopers lurking in the smoke ahead? None could say, and frankly they were probably better off not knowing. Merry scruntmas, I have pneumonia. Yurik is having a stroke or something, idk. Bleurgh.
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Mar 20, 2015 05:18
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 To all outside observation, if one could draw their attention away from the chaotic, smoke-shrouded skirmish, bionic scrunts racing about with drug-enhanced speed, vehicles being torn apart by autocannon fire, and the many other much more interesting things occurring in a distressingly short amount of time, it would appear that Yurik was doing gently caress-all. But appearances could be deceiving. Not in this case, however. Yurik was indeed accomplishing gently caress-all, doing little more than peering with scrunty intensity at the smoke scrimmage taking place a short distance away, though as one of the bikers turned and unloaded his weapon at his comrade the Loremaster's face twisted into a disturbing grin, chuckling wheezily at the hilarious sight of friendly fire. His faithful assistant Hack looked a bit more concerned at the goings-on, however. Yes, the sight of a humie shooting another humie was amusing, but wasn't there something about an impending rain of fiery...something to be concerned with? And some of those vehicles seemed to be getting closer. Also, weren't they supposed to be stealing a fuel truck? He tugged on Yurik's sleeve, relaying his concerns with a series of pained sounds that resembled an unfortunately ugly woodland creature choking to death on a bone. Yurik's gleeful grin was replaced by a scowl as he yanked his arm back, straightening his robes. "Aye, aye, dinnae worry," he said distractedly, "we're gonna be gone from here long before those humies drop their flamin' loads all over us. Pre-verse bastards," he muttered to himself. "'S gettin' so a scrunt can't hardly steal anything without someone tryin' ta' douse'im in burnin' fluids an' whichnot. Now shut the fack up an' lemme concentrate," he grumbled, planting his thinkin' stick on the ground with what he imagined was a dignified thunk and resumed peering, frowning as he did. I was going to have Yurik do a Loremastery thing to try and divine some tactical wossnames to help bring this fracas to a close quicker but rolling a sweet natural 100 means that I rather definitively fail everything forever. I'm not going to spend my one remaining Fate Point to reroll since I'd rather save it on account of impending gruesome death, sorry for rolling like poo poo everybody.
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Mar 30, 2015 05:50
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik continued to stare. And stare and stare and stare... His expression turned from one of unnervingly intense scrutiny to one of increasing agitation and anger, as though something had happened that wasn't supposed to or hadn't happened that was supposed to or perhaps both. Eventually his frustration reached the point where he threw his thinkin' stick upon the ground and began stomping and swearing up an incoherent storm. As Murdelia spontaneously burst into flame he whirled around with a suspiciously guilty look of surprise upon his face, but relaxed when it appeared that the medically-inclined scrunt was none the worse for wear. Still swearing under his breath he reached down to grab his stick from where he'd thrown it only for Hack to begin choking and gargling up a storm, agitated hurks and horks growing more frantic as the ground begin to shake underfoot. Yurik glanced up only to observe a trio of Sentinel scout walkers approaching the crossroads with a sense of urgency. "Oh for fack's sake!," Yurik shouted. "Can't a scrunt steal some fackin' fuel in peace!? That's it, no more messin' about!" He hocked and spat upon the ground before shoving both his sleeves up, taking a deep breath...and proceeded to stare. And stare. And stare. This stare was different though. Hack watched nervously as Yurik began to vibrate slightly, blue-green sparks popping and fizzling along the exposed wires interlacing the Loremaster's thinkin' cap. The vocally damaged scrunt opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it, instead opting to take cover behind a nearby rock. The air around the clearing began to take on a greasy quality, not unlike an impending thunderstorm though there were no clouds in the sky. Yurik was vibrating so intensely now that he seemed blurry around the edges. Those woodland creatures that hadn't left at the sounds of autocannon fire burst from their hiding places, running or flying from the crossroads as quickly as they could. Yurik slowly raised his arm, pointing with an outstretched finger towards the approaching Sentinels. He opened his mouth to speak... The veil of reality tore asunder with a flatulent sound. Violent arcs of electricity burst from every orifice on Yurik's body, great gouts of multicolored lightning vomiting from his open mouth, weeping from his eyes, sizzling from his nostrils, and emanating from several other places best left unmentioned. The Loremaster levitated several feet off the ground as crackling energy tore through the air, igniting branches and causing hair to stand on end (every kind of hair). Hack shielded his eyes, whimpering as Yurik was briefly engulfed in blinding actinic light, his silhouette barely visible within the otherworldly energy storm. And above the sound of lightning, if one listened closely, they could hear the sound of a resonant and scruntly voice intoning great words of power. "Kill yerselves." *** All right, so for my action I'm going to use one of my psychic powers... Oh sorry, did I not mention I had those? Wildcard, bitches! Yurik's actually a psyker. A psycrunt, if you will. Anyway, I'm going to use one of my psychic powers as a full round action, Dominate. I am also going to be pushing my power, which means I'm using it extra hard at the cost of unspecified Bad poo poo happening. First off, the roll is a Willpower roll (50) plus my thinkin' cap aka my psy focus (+10) plus 5x my psy rating, which I'm pushing to its maximum of 5 (+25) for a final TN of 85, and I get a 48 aka 4 Degrees of Success. I will spend my remaining Fate Point to add a degree of success to that, giving me 5 DoS total. Because I've pushed my psy rating to 5 temporarily I get to affect 3 targets (psy rating/2 rounded up for Dominate). By pushing it I have just enough reach to affect the two leftmost Sentinels (not the far right one) and so for my third target I'll choose the healthiest shotgunner. The simple command I gave them was "Kill yourselves." These three targets get an opposed Willpower roll to resist with a +20 bonus. Unless any of them has a better Willpower Bonus than I do (which I doubt), they need to get 6 DoS or better to resist, otherwise they will presumably blow their heads off, stab themselves, or something equally hilarious. But because I pushed I automatically have to roll on the Psychic Phenomena table with a +10 modifier, and I roll a 43, add +10 to get 53. Here's the result for 53: Actinic Discharge: Static electricity fills the air within 5d10 metres causing hair to stand on end and unprotected electronics to short out, while the psyker is wreathed in eldritch lightning. And I rolled 26 so unprotected electronics within 26 meters short out. I leave it as an exercise to Schlong to decide what counts as "unprotected electronics" here. And that's my turn. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 11:25 on Apr 1, 2015 |
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Apr 1, 2015 08:13
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 The light faded. The storm ceased. Yurik Scraglagger slowly floated down to the ground and belched a mouthful of residual sparks before grinning smugly and dusting his hands off as he admired his handiwork, blithely oblivious to the fact that his display of raw psychic might had stalled out their means of escape. "An' that, Hack m'boy, is how you get shite done." Hack could only vomit in agreement. He had felt it when the remaining humie biker had taken his own life, the abrupt sensation of a living mind suddenly snuffed out by a point-blank load of buckshot. That just left the Sentinel pilots, two of whom were currently on fire and one of which was bleeding profusely. All in all he was forced to admit that this ambush had gone splendidly, a fact that he credited largely to his own astounding tactical insights and also his ability to make people kill themselves by thinking at them. Quite a number of scrunts that Yurik wasn't too fond of had suffered strange and unfortunate "accidents" ever since the incident that had crammed his misshapen skull full of forbidden knowledge had also awoken something best left unawoke in his scrunty brain. Even the Warp tended to find scrunts too repulsive to bother with most of the time, but Yurik's mind seethed with arcane energies and just plain seethed in general. By this point things seemed to be fairly well in hand, which meant that it was time for them to start considering their exit before Severan urine began raining down on them by the barrel-load. "Right, now that that's all sorted an' dealt with hurry the fack up and finish these arseholes off so's we can finally get the fack out of here!," he shouted to no one in particular. "We got ourselves a shower of flamin' piss incoming and I make it a point to avoid showers whenever and however possible!" Being a scrunt, this was hardly surprising to hear, but Yurik emphasized his point by pointing his rifle towards the nearest Sentinel in what he believed to be a menacing fashion, the one which wasn't currently on fire, and yanking the trigger. In the best interests of not rolling another hilarious psychic phenomenon result and turning everyone into sausages or something I'm going to lay off the powers for now, which leaves Yurik with not much else to contribute in a combat-y situation so I figured I'd have him take a token potshot or two at one of the Sentinel drivers. Ballistic Skill of 32, +10 for being within half range, then +5 from having my comrade assist me, but -20 for it being a called shot to hit the driver leaves me with an overall TN of just 27. Then I roll a 13 so that actually turns out to be a hit. Murdelia is grappling one Sentinel, Grimply is shooting at another, that leaves (I believe) the non-flaming Sentinel so I'll target the driver of that one (who I think is currently bleeding and near death) and if he doesn't dodge he takes 7 impact damage from Yurik's miraculously accurate bullet.
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Apr 14, 2015 08:25
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik was feeling pretty pleased with himself at the moment. First he had demonstrated his overwhelming power of the mind by making those humies (mostly) kill themselves with absolutely no drawbacks or side-effects whatsoever, then he had whipped off an amazing headshot, and for a followup act he got to smugly watch as the remaining Sentinel driver hosed down the area where he had been rather than where he actually was. (The headshot was entirely blind, stupid, scruntly luck, but he wasn't about to tell anyone else that...it could only add to his mystique as far as he was concerned). He smirked smugly and smarmily as the Sentinel driver reeled from both blood loss along with assorted head trauma, but the drawback to presciently avoiding one's own horrible and painful demise, as Yurik had long since learned, was that one still wound up experiencing said demise briefly beforehand, and so while he was feeling pretty good about himself he also had no desire to allow the driver a chance at a second, more accurate shot with that flamer. His beady red eyes hardened into a glare as he reached out with one and in a claw-like gesture before grabbing a handful of invisible threads and twisting them violently. The threads in question belonged to the Sentinel driver's sanity, already teetering precariously on the edge due to the events of the last few minutes, and Yurik's mind waddled right up and sent it screaming overboard. Satisfied that his work was done here, the psycrunt adjusted his thinkin' cap and robes before beckoning to Hack. "C'mon then, let's let those eedjits mop things up...we need to get the fack outta here. If that boomin' in the distance is thunder than I ain't a boner-fied loremaster. Which I am!," he quickly added, jabbing Hack in the solar plexus with his thinkin' stick for emphasis before scuttling off towards the vehicles. "What're you lazy fackers scruntin' about for!?," he shouted to the technoscrunts by the limousine who had, aside from assisting with the ambush at the start of the skirmish, accomplished gently caress-all. "Don't you know there's a war on!?" Psychic power time! Yurik uses Hallucinate against the Sentinel driver at unfettered, TN 70, and gets a 24, hell yes. The Sentinel driver gets to oppose this with a +0 Willpower test same as with Dominate, and if Yurik gets more Degrees of Success (which I'm pretty sure is the case here, 5 DoS, Yurik wins ties) then the Sentinel driver will suffer the effects of a Hallucinogen Grenade for 1 round (half psy rating, which was at 2 when I used this). That's a half action, and for my other half action Yurik is going to start making his way towards the vehicles so he can begin getting the feck out of here. My defensive value for reaction Dodges is 41 due to Prescience should I be attacked. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 04:03 on Apr 21, 2015 |
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Apr 21, 2015 03:57
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik chuckled to himself as he turned and watched over his shoulder as the Sentinel operator's blood-soaked body fell to the ground like an amusing ragdoll, promethium flames quickly setting the humie's corpse alight to burn along with his companions. Ever since the incident that had awakened his phenomenal brain-powers he'd acquired something of a disturbing appreciation for a good immolation (and even before then he'd enjoyed watching things burn as much as the next scrunt, though he'd admittedly had fewer opportunities to indulge himself). Now that the battle was over (more or less) he was free to devote more of his mind's considerable, if rather harrowing, prowess towards loremastering and less towards making people kill themselves in a variety of gruesome and hilarious fashions. For starters, there was this whole business with the fuel truck and its escorts that had been nagging at him ever since they'd discovered that this single truck had not one, not two, not even three, but four separate escorts escorting it. Four! For a single fuel truck! "Nobody guards fuel," the twice-baked humie on the vox had told them. Yurik, of course, knew that for the steaming load of groxshit it was. Everybody guarded fuel. Entire sectors were set ablaze, whole planets were cracked open like skulls, vast crusades were launched all in the name of securing fuel. But this many escorts for a single tanker? Motorized bicycles? Walkers? Tanks? Not even refined promethium was that valuable. Like many scrunts Yurik was inherently paranoid and suspicious of things he didn't understand. For most scrunts that was "everything." Yurik was special (in several senses of the word) in that he did actually understand quite a number of things...but he didn't understand this. Not yet, anyway. Jagged gears whirred away in his head with limb-rending speed as he pondered this latest mystery, nodding approvingly as he watched Grimply administer the Scruntfather's blessing to one of the recalcitrant technoscrunts that had accompanied them. A good scrunt, Grimply. Someone who knew how to get things done. Usually by shooting them in the head with a high-powered rifle. Deep in thought (unfamiliar territory for most scrunts, still fairly hazardous in Yurik's case), he ambled over to the fuel truck where Gumbo was currently attempting to start the engine and clambered into the passenger's seat. This was the first good look he'd gotten at the sergeant since his astonishing transformation. Another nagging feeling joined the first one at the back of his mind as he looked the metal-clad scrunt up and down, beady eyes squinting as he reached out and poked Gumbo experimentally with the end of his thinkin' stick. His eyes narrowed as he directed his gaze towards the road where Murdelia was still combusting, intermittently emitting fiery bursts from her everything. "Hmm...interestin'," was all he said as he kicked back in his seat, feet propped upon Hack's back, and closed his eyes. "Now let's get the fack out of here." Yurik is hitching a ride in the fuel truck.
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Apr 28, 2015 07:30
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik's self-satisfied eye-rest was short-lived, Hack jerking upright beneath his feet as the glove compartment popped open and hit him in the head before a flurry of paper spilled out into the cabin of the tanker. The startled psycrunt jerked and swore as his would-be nap was rudely interrupted, but his eyes gleamed with avarice as he caught sight of the bounty swirling around the cabin. Papers! Documents! Possibly even missives. To most scrunts none of these would be anything special, but Yurik knew that papers like these contained information, and his rewired brain hungered for fresh knowledge and secrets as voraciously as the average scrunt hungered for booze, illicit stimulants, and toxic runoff. His reaction was as immediate as it was inevitable. Vaulting off of Hack's head he launched himself out through the window that Gumbo had kicked open, clawing and snatching at the fluttering, flying papers with maniacal determination like the world's most malodorous Administratum cleric. Then the noise hit. Literally, in fact. The crashing wave of sound was so intense that it was like a physical blow, the fluids in his ears (among others) being churned into an equilibrium-ruining froth. He frantically jammed papers into his ears in a futile attempt to block the cacophony that was doing terrible and unpleasant things to his internal organs, his angry screams and curses swallowed up by the unrelenting wall of sound. Through it all his mind, assailed as it was, noticed something unusual...this sound was familiar. Amplified by a ludicrous amount, yes, but familiar nonetheless. Yes, there...he remembered that particular clattering sound. And there! That rumbling! There was no doubt about it, the soundwave concussively assaulting them was a perfect recreation of the sounds that had ensued when Grumb had kicked off the rockslide meant to block the western part of the crossroads off. Just a million billion times louder (at a rough estimate, give or take a few thousand decibels). It all added up to a single, inescapable conclusion...that the indescribable agony he was currently experiencing was all Grumb's fault. Grumb Slanger, that son of a scrunt, was going to pay for this. Just as soon as he could hear again. Yurik dives from the truck to save what I can only assume is the driver's insurance information and totally not future plot hooks.
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Apr 29, 2015 00:50
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Yurik Scraglagger The Crossroads Malbrathia-3 Yurik lay there in a daze, ears ringing and head pounding as the mysterious and mind-rattling wave of sound finally faded away. Shakily pulling himself to his feet, he did the only thing he could think to do in a situation like this...he vomited profusely. Fortunately he was able to avoid vomiting on the papers that he had leaped from the comfort and safety of the fuel tanker to retrieve. The fuel tanker which, even now, was driving away without him. "You fackers!," he shouted hoarsely, his own voice sounding mute and distant in his ears as he quickly scooped up as many papers as he could in his arms before running after the truck as fast as his tiny, hosed up legs would carry him. "Get back here! Slow down! Wait for meeeeeee!" *** Yurik was a lot of things...obnoxious, irascible, insufferable, arrogant, and malodorous among others...but what he wasn't was athletic. Physical exertion was for scrunts who weren't smart enough to become loremasters with amazing brain powers. Most of the time the only real effect this had was Yurik being picked last whenever a rousing game of scruntball was convened, but in this particular case what it meant was that despite the rather uncoordinated driving thanks to Gumbo and Pirk's combined efforts he still had the Scruntfather's own time catching up to the lurching, drunkenly listing cab until Hack opened the door and extended one greasy hand, beckoning the loremaster to grab hold. Fortunately not being athletically inclined meant that Yurik wasn't weighed down by troublesome things like muscle, and so his assistant was able to (with some horking and rasping) haul him aboard, a pile of sweat-soaked papers clutched to his chest with a death grip. For several minutes all he could do was slump over on the seat making a noise that went something like "eeeeeeeeeeeeeh hhhhhhhuhhhhhhh...eeeeeeeeeeeeeh hhhhhhhuhhhhhhh...eeeeeeeeeeeeeh hhhhhhhuhhhhhhh," face nearly as red as his robes. "You...fackin'...fackers," he finally wheezed once the ability to speak returned to him. "I'm gonna...do something horrible...in your brains...you mark my words..." Shoving himself upright (and resisting the urge to vomit again) he took stock of the situation with the lightning mental reflexes of a certified loremaster. They were in a truck...being chased by tanks...aaaaaand that was about it, really. The first point was all to the good, but that second point, that could be a problem. You couldn't fiddle around inside a tank's brain-bits and make it shoot its friends, and while there were humies inside of it whose brains he could to terrible things to, as long as they stayed buttoned up behind tons of steels and ceramite then they might as well be on Terra. Fighting tanks wasn't an option either, though he was sure that Grumb would love to try. That left escaping from them. There were a few problems with that plan however, first and foremost the fact that the vehicles they were driving weren't really made for speed, but also that, like most internal combustion powered vehicles, they were emitting noticeable clouds of promethium smoke from various exhaust ports. This presented something of a conundrum, but Yurik wasn't a loremaster for nothing. He squinted and adopted a traditional loremaster thinking pose, chin propped upon his hand, as he wracked his brain for the solution to their dilemma. What they needed was a path to follow that would conceal their advance...high canyon walls to obscure their smoke trail, terrain that helped conceal them from visual observation, possibly even paved roads that could disguise their tracks. The answers were right there before him in his mind's eye... Unfortunately the map he had memorized was memorized exactly as he'd studied it, which meant it was currently upside down in relation to how they were driving, not to mention the sheer size of it meant that he could only visualize so much of it at a time. "Er...go, uh, left up here," he told Gumbo, attempting to disguise the uncertainty in his voice with something like confidence which, in Yurik's case, came out more like belligerence. "No no no, your OTHER left! No! Your OTHER other left! THAT left!" Rolling Scholastic Lore: Malbrathian Geography in conjunction with my Total Recall'd map I studied earlier to find us a path that minimizes our trackability and I flub with a hilariously terrible 94 and I have no fate points to spare since I spent them all making people kill themselves.
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May 5, 2015 07:29
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Yurik Scraglagger The Malbrathia-3 Yurik eventually gave up on his attempts to show Gumbo the amazing shortcut that he knew was just beyond that bend why are you driving past it over there no over there, largely due to the Sergeant threatening to keep shaking him until Yurik agreed to help with his plan, which he magnanimously (read, begrudgingly) agreed to. Fortunately with his brilliance to help give shape to Gumbo's plan it wasn't long before they were quickly leaving a trail that would surely confound the humies' feeble attempts to follow them before taking refuge within the comforting, claustrophobic embrace of a nearby tunnel. It wasn't the shortcut he'd had in mind (which would have been much, much faster if only Gumbo had been willing to listen to him, he diplomatically refrained from saying), but at least they were no longer being pursued by tanks. Scrunts were natural tunnel dwellers, at home in environs that other species would consider dank, cramped, unsanitary, decrepit, or otherwise unlivable. A palpable wave of relief (and body odor) washed over the gathered scrunthorde as they traded the unnatural open expanse outside, with its grasses and trees and sunlight for ferrocrete walls, stale air, and puddles of stagnant water. Scrunts that had been panicking only moments ago (of which Yurik was most assuredly not one, he would happily inform you, no matter how much he had been shouting and raving) fell into hushed, furtive whispers as they trekked further into the tunnel. Later on there would be raucous celebration, inebriation, defecation, and the occasional detonation, but for now what passed for discretion among scrunts prevailed. The relative silence was broken explosively by a series of shotgun blasts, feral snarls, and retching. Exchanging glances with Gumbo, who merely shrugged and drummed his fingers on the wheel of the tanker impatiently, Yurik gave an exasperated sigh and hopped out of the cab, adjusting his thinkin' cap for maximum brainosity before scuttling over to investigate the commotion and, if necessary, set it on fire with his mind. Alternately, to identify the most imminent danger and get a head start on running before anyone else. What he saw defied even his learned mind. Not Groin struggling to extricate himself from beneath the corpse of some unpleasant looking furry creature, that was business as usual. No, it was what lay further down the tunnel that the enterprising (and attention deficient) scrunts had unbarred. It was a creature, that much was certain...the corpulent mass was unpleasantly organic, diseased in a way that Yurik had never before witnessed on even the most unhygienic scrunt. Pustulent, bloated, vile...none of the adjectives contained within his mental copy of The Imperial Infantryman's Right and Proper Thesaurus seemed adequate to describe the pervasive sense of wrongness the creature exuded. There was something about that wrongness, though. Something familiar. It was the sort of wrongness that Yurik had started noticing after the incident with the hypno-indoctrination chamber. Certain people, places, and things had that same sort of wrongness about them he'd soon discovered as he experimented with his newfound abilities. Almost all of them turned out to be the sort of bad news that not even a scrunt would want any part of, and the diseased corpse lying before him didn't seem like an exception to that rule. Some people had memory palaces. Yurik had a memory warren, a towering landfill of knowledge heaped haphazardly together, criss-crossed with grimy neural tunnels twisting throughout it. The Loremaster dragged every impression of the putrefying mystery he could into his mind...its appearance, its smell, all down to the tiniest disgusting detail. Then, cautiously, Yurik reached outwards with his sixth through eleventh senses to see what the wrongness itself had to say. Yurik is going to memorize as many details about the creature as he can without having to touch it/without vomiting himself unconscious with his vacuum memory. Then he's going to try and gather a psychic impression of the creature and whatever might be weird with it using the Psyniscience skill against a TN of 36 (based on Perception). Amazingly I get a 35, enough to qualify as the barest success. Whatever I happen to discover is up to schlong. Further farmventures later, this post got really long and I'm kind of tired.
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May 27, 2015 09:11
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Yurik Scraglagger The Malbrathia-3 Yurik finished committing every malevolent, malodorous detail of the bloated corpse growing more pungent by the second to memory, then quietly turned and walked back to the tanker, apparently lost in thought. He was, in fact, unusually quiet all the way back to the farm, only the occasional eye-twitch betraying the toll that had been taken. This wasn't the first sanity-scarring, mind-twisting affront to the Scruntfather and man that he had shoved haphazardly into the junk closets of his mind and it probably wouldn't be the last A part of him knew what that wrongness he'd felt was, the thoughts and concepts leaping to the forefront of his mind as the mental duplicate of the grotesque creature malingered in the corners of his brain. The Ruinous Powers. The Dark Gods of Chaos. The fell designs of the Warp, home to daemons and horrors beyond imagining. Before the accident that had expanded his mind Yurik hadn't known anything about Chaos beyond the fact that sometimes scrunts who ate the really bad runoff grew spikes and tentacles and wouldn't shut up about BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD until someone shot them or shoved them in a hole. Now he knew just enough about it to be dangerous, both to himself and others. The one thing he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was that Chaos and these Ruinous Powers of theirs had it out for humies like nobody else, so as far as he was concerned they sounded like an alright bunch. Still, try as he might he just couldn't shake how wrong that wrongness was. *** The Malbrathia-3 The first thing that Yurik did when they finally returned triumphantly to the farm (which, much to his surprise, still remained intact and un-burned-down), was retire to the upper floor of the farmhouse which he had staked out as his territory, a claim that might have been harder to lay before every scrunt of note had witnessed him exuding lightning from every orifice. He brought with him the papers that he had managed to save from the tanker's glove box, and while other scrunts busied themselves with medical attention, tossing ovoids back and forth, or the traditional scruntish pastime of loving around accomplishing nothing of any merit, he settled himself in for a nice, long, knowledgeful cram session. Seated upon a plush chair that might have at some point belonged to the farm's original owners, feet propped up on Hack's back, Yurik leafed through the papers one at a time, eating each one as he committed it to memory. This was partly practical...knowledge left floating around was knowledge than anyone could acquire for themselves, but knowledge that could only be found inside his own mind made him that much more important...and partly because he was simply hungry after a busy day. Imperium-grade paper was fortified with all the chemicals and processed wood pulps that a scrunt's body needed, and a snack was just the thing to shake off the lingering mental trauma of committing a horrifying abomination to memory. Later, belly and brain both full, he wandered out into the farm proper only to spot an unfamiliar technoscrunt (Mung) excitedly grasping Grimply by the throat and shouting about the tanker and something in it besides promethium, which reminded him of his earlier suspicions. The first order of business was keeping Grimply from being choked to death. "Oi, what's with all the racket and carryin' on, you jabberin' junk-fondler?!," he diplomatically interjected, poking Mung sharply about the squishy bits with the end of his thinkin' stick until Grimply was as unmolested as a scrunt ever got. "You've been in the promethium, haven't you?," he went on, the telltale fumes wafting from the technoscrunt's breath. "Huh, so there really is fuel in there. All right, now lay off the go-juice an' use your fackin' words, what all's in there besides fuel, aye?" Humies may not have been as handsome or as tough or as resourceful as scrunts, but Yurik had to hand it to them, when it came to being a sneaky bastard humies were in a class all of their own. A tank inside a tanker, the last place anyone would look! It was so brilliant it made him irrationally angry that he hadn't thought of it first. "All right, all right," he finally said once he'd vented his frustrations on Hack, "first things first, before you go fackin' around with anything else let's get all the vehicles juiced up. No more burnin' logs to get where we're going, we've got the premium stuff so let's fill'em all up. We did all this to get fuel so let's not have it go to waste, aye? Then we'll need to drain the rest of it into something else so we can even get at whatever's inside there...could be somethin' good, and bein' soaked in promethium could fack it all up. And once that's done, then we'll see what it is the humies wanted bad enough to send seven shades of shite after." Okay, so first order of business, Yurik will read over the papers, committing them all to memory, and then he'll eat them. Second order of business, stuff with the tanker. I don't know if the papers contained anything relevant to this particular issue or not, if so assume Yurik smugly puts it to good use, otherwise I have Common Lore and Scholastic Lore (Everything) at least one of which has to cover vehicle design and hidden compartment logistics. I don't think Scrutiny really applies here as it's more of a "lie detector" skill than a "find hidden switches" skill. Any applicable Lore skill to the task at hand has a base TN of 43, +10 with Foresight. Yurik also has a multikey if Security might be a factor. I'll let Tin Tim initiate the investigation into the weirdstone if he likes.
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May 29, 2015 09:02
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Yurik leaned back in his chair and took a moment to digest the papers both physically and mentally. Though light on concrete details, they confirmed what he'd suspected since the ambush...it was no mere coincidence or bureaucratic mishap that a tanker of fuel had been assigned a disproportionate escort. Redirecting vehicles all the way from the front lines was a sign of desperation, which meant that whatever it was that was so special about that tanker it had been important enough for someone to risk ongoing military operations elsewhere in order to see it safe. Fat lot of good that had done them he thought with a cackle, idly thumbing through the pages he'd transcribed within his mind. So whatever this ZEPHYR was had been sold to someone or something referred to only as DECISIVE NOMAD. Well the Severans weren't selling anything to anyone now...this was their mysterious object, and if anyone was going to sell it off it was going to be them. Assuming they wanted to sell it of course, but all this talk of security measures suggested that whatever it was the tanker was transporting was the bad kind of dangerous instead of the hilarious kind. Yurik's brows furrowed in thought as his memory cast its greasy tendrils back along the events of the last few days. A nagging suspicion was forming in his mind about what ZEPHYR and DECISIVE NOMAD might just be. It was then that Grimply made his sudden and unexpected entrance, causing Yurik to squawk and jump, scattering a lapful of uneaten papers across the room. After it became clear that Grimply wasn't here to try and filch any knowledge for himself, Yurik's eyes lit up with [...]excitement as the zealous sniper produced a chunk of the strange rock from earlier in the day. "Grimply m'boy, you made the right call in comin' to see me about this," he said, throwing a companionable arm around the other scrunt's shoulder, then just as quickly removing his arm when he caught a closer whiff of the lingering scent surrounding him. "There's plenty that's weird about this rock and that's no lie! D'you remember back during the ambush, after we'd killed all the humies? Remember that fackin' great big noise that reached in through your ears and punched you in th'guts through the inside like the voice o' the Scruntfather hisself?" He pointed triumphantly at the stone Grimply held. "It was the exact same sound Grumb made shovin' those rocks down the cliff! Exactly! Just a scrillion times louder, give or take! Perfect fidelity! I have no idea what it all means! But I'd wager Hack's teeth that it's got everything to do with this here rock." Taking the stone from Grimply and setting the rest of his papers aside for the moment, Yurik set about subjecting it to a battery of extremely rigorous scientific experimentation, the first step of which was to shove part of it in his mouth and gnaw at it. Unknown to many, the scrunt tongue was an astoundingly complex and sensitive organ capable of discerning and identifying trace chemical and mineral elements in substances with unerring accuracy. Most scrunts were too stupid to understand what any of this incredibly nuanced input actually meant, but Yurik wasn't most scrunts. After that would come hitting it with a stick, pondering deeply, setting it on fire, dropping it off the roof onto other scrunts, pondering forcefully, soaking it in alcohol, drinking the alcohol, pondering even more, electrocuting it, shooting it (las and solid projectile), rubbing it all over Hack's face, and formalizing his conclusions. If his theories were correct, a substance such as this could hold untold power...power which he aimed to exploit for himself as hard as he possibly could. Grimply could have some too, he supposed. It was only good manners. *** The Tanker Malbrathia-3 Yurik jumped backwards as the security panel slid open upon the outer wall of the tanker's mysterious inner container, but he quickly cleared his throat and straightened his robes out with all the dignity he could muster. "I meant to do that, obviously," he said, leveling a glare at anyone who looked like they might dare challenge him. So that was how one was supposed to access the container. Unfortunately Yurik's knowledge of bypassing high-level security systems was more theoretical than practical, but he was saved from some potential embarrassment by the arrival of Groin, a scrunt who literally didn't know the meaning of the word. "Ah, just the scrunt I wanted to see," he lied, tripping the driver up with his thinkin' stick before he could cartwheel past them, reaching into the grimy pockets of his robe and pulling out an extremely illegal multikey, pressing it into Groin's leghand. "We could use your, uh, expertise gettin' this thing open. A whole bunch of humies died tryin' to keep us from nicking this so whatever's inside has to be pretty fackin' important. It's our important thing now, an' I want to see what the fuss is all about. Carefully," he cautioned. "Whatever this thing is, they wrapped it up tighter than a ratling's arsehole. Might be a reason for it." Yurik does stuff! First he'll investigate the weird mystery stone that I'm debating calling either slamstone or slamite. Scholastic Lore (hosed-up Xenogeology) seems like it fits the bill, which is base TN of 43 +10 for Foresight. I get a 29 for, I do believe, 3 DoS. For the tanker, Yurik is going to loan (LOAN) Groin his multikey and supervise. I mean that by the way, Yurik should know some stuff about the security measures in place here and will both try to assist Groin but also keep Groin from accidentally activating or awakening something he shouldn't, and if it looks like something bad's about to happen I'll try to safely abort the process.
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Jun 4, 2015 08:50
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Scientific progress, as any well-versed Loremaster could tell you, was often a messy process, and plumbing the mysterious depths of this mysterious rock was no exception. The top floor of the manor house had been converted into a laboratory by the expedient process of Yurik sending Hack out to drag back any bit of scientific-looking equipment he could find while Yurik himself passed the time hitting the rock sample with a hammer and going "mmhm" thoughtfully. On one of these expeditions a breathless Hack came running up the stairs with an irate Mungly in tow, having absconded with one of the technoscrunt's works in progress, and mainly to get everyone to shut up Yurik magnanimously agreed to allow Mungly to observe the results. And the results were fascinating, along with the implications. "Awright," Yurik finally said, hocking an iron-infused loogie upon the floor, "so here's what we got here. Since we're the first scrunts that matter to discover this stuff I'm hereby and henceforthly declarin' its name to be slamite." He nodded sagely as the other scrunts vocalized their various agreements at his unparalleled genius. "An' let me tell you lads, slamite's a hell of a rock. Why, the nat'ral properties are such that..." What followed was a surprisingly accurate and profanity-laden summation of everything that Yurik had learned in his studies. Unfortunately one of the cardinal rules for delivering an explanation of something is to know your audience, and so it was to be expected that a detailed analysis including terms like "inherent ferromagnetic properties" or "fackin' microscopic kinetic amplification chambers" would wind up sailing right over the average scrunt's head. Grimply and Mungly weren't exactly average scrunts, but Hack was decidedly below average and wound up dragging the others down by association. Yurik sighed exasperatedly as he saw that the other scrunts hadn't quite grasped the mildly staggering implications of what he'd discovered. "What it means," he said mildly patronizingly, "is that this here rock takes the sound of whatever hits it, charges it up, then KABLAMO!" He spun and walloped Hack upside the head with his thinkin' stick for emphasis. "It all comes back out bigger an' louder than before! That's why it played back the sounds of Grumb kickin' it over but not all those other sounds of facker's screamin' an' dyin' like a passel of arseholes, aye? Which means it's gonna be a right fack an' a half to mine any of it unless we've got a gaggle of deaf scrunts on hand. An' you can melt it down into steel an' such, probably good quality too, but then it loses what makes slamite slam, only the nat'ral rock's got what it takes." That seemed to do the trick. Scrunts, like any sensible people of good taste, loved loud noises, so the idea of something that could make loud noises even louder, potentially bowel-rupturingly so, was met with good cheer. "When we were ditchin' those humie tanks and went through that underground roadway we passed by whole veins of this stuff, some sorta tunnel formation maybe runnin' throughout the planet. There's somethin' I can't quite put my finger on about it, though...I'm thinkin' we need to mount an exploratory expedition once we're sure those humies aren't still nosin' around. This here rock could be the future of scruntkind, lads." Or at least be entertainingly loud. *** The Grumb Malbrathia-3 Yurik tugged at his beard, gritting his teeth as Grumb, the big dumb idiot facker, nearly ripped the mysterious box off its hinges, no doubt triggering a self-destruct mechanism of some sort. Fortunately nothing too destructive seemed to happen much to his relief. "Give me that, you lumbering lunkfish!," he screeched, swiping the box back from the hulking gunscrunt and hissing like a cornered rat, tiny sparks fizzling ominously along the wires of his thinkin' cap. "Get outta here afore I turn your brain inside-out! Get! GET!" Cradling the box in his arms, Yurik gave Grumb the evil eye (both of them), continuing to stare until the other scrunt got bored and left. Then he quickly set about surveying the damage while also wracking his brain for any information he could find on boxes of this type and how to open them. *** The Tanker Malbrathia-3 For a long, wordless moment Yurik could only stare at the concealed panel within the tanker slid away, revealing the conical treasure therein. A long, wordless, irradiated moment. Slowly at first, but with gathering intensity, Yurik began to chuckle, then laugh, descending into full-blown maniacal cackling as words like "megaton" and "blast yield" danced gracefully through the landfill of his mind like predatory seagulls. All of his suspicions about what the desperate Severian forces had been transporting were wrong...he was, uncharacteristically, okay with this since what they were transporting was even better. An atomic warhead. Just standing here he could feel the warmth of the radiation being emitted from its pulsing, destructive heart, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he envisioned the detonation, the apocalyptic blast wave of nuclear fire scouring all life from its path as it shattered buildings and incinerated unsuspecting humies by the thousands, the drifting snows of irradiated ash gently wafting across the ruined hellscape... He suddenly realized that several of the others were beginning to stare at him strangely (more than usual, that is). With an embarrassed chuckle he composed himself as best he could, still trembling with excitement (or early onset radiation poisoning). "Ahem. Yes, well, good work everyone," he said, patting Groin on the legshoulder. "Now, we need to seal this back up...Gumbo's right," he went on, giving the scrunt sergeant a token nod of acknowledgement. "We don't want those thievin' humies to try and steal back their precious nuke after we stole it first, now do we? No! We don't!," he shouted, savagely beating a nearby scrunt that opened its mouth to answer the rhetorical question. "This is ours! OURS! It's our nuke now and by the Scruntfather we're the ones who're gonna set it off, not some fackin' longshanks in a froofy uniform pissin' an' squabblin' with another fackin' bunch of humies!" With unexpected agility he quickly clambered atop the cab of the tanker, a hysterical mania appearing to have swept over him in the presence of a weapon of mass destruction. "Don't you see!?," he shouted to the gathering scrunthorde as they crowded near the tanker to see what the fuss was all about. "Look around you! Does this look like a proper Slam Sector to you!? Grass!? Trees!? Who the fack ever heard of trees! What great big bloody arsehole came up with those? No trash, no runoff, no grit in the air or scum on the water...if this is the Slam Sector then I'm an ogryn's uncle! Nae, there's only one explanation for all of this," he said, fixing the scrunts who were listening with a glittering, beady red eye. "The humies what sent us all here, those cowardly, thievin' sacks of shite...they want the Slam Sector for themselves!" He paused for dramatic effect. One of the scrunts in attendance quickly drew a pistol and shot himself in the head, though whether it was out of existential horror or simply to escape having to listen to Yurik anymore was unclear. "But this, this warhead we've got is a sign! A sign from the Scruntfather himself!" Whether Yurik was as devout a believer as Grimply he was too fired up to stop now. "He gave us this nuke, he gave us slamite, an' he wants us to use them both to wipe every last fackin' humie off the face of this planet and create our very own Slam Sector right here, on this green heap of shite! An' when the humies see their precious world an' precious trees go up in flames, when the last of'em chokes and dies in a big pile of proper, scrunty filth, then they'll know the true fackin' meaning of SLAM!" *** Yurik has become slightly more unhinged than usual, everything is fine and there's nothing to worry about whatsoever, normal operation will resume shortly or never. Rolls! I'm using my Divination discipline's minor manifestation on Grumb Slanger that jerk. I'll doublecheck my books when my computer stops acting like a jerk, but I believe that minor manifestations get a +20 bonus to use and can't trigger psychic phenomena even on doubles, they're basically mostly for fluff. That gives me a base TN of 50 +10 (thinkin' cap) +20 (minor manifestation) +5 (half psy rating) so 85 and I get a 74. Divination's minor manifestation is the ability to cause minor fortune or misfortune, the given examples being finding a spare cigarette or tripping over a root. Yurik will definitely be laying some misfortune on Grumb, I leave it to schlong to determine something appropriate. For the box I will roll Scholastic Lore (Inquisition) or (Security Box Design Techniques) or something equally applicable. Man I love Infused Knowledge. Roll is 43 +10 for Foresight for TN 53 and I get a 42, handily succeeding.
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Jun 12, 2015 10:01
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 After Yurik had spent some time investigating the mysteries of The Box as he'd begin to think of it, capital letters included, as well as making sure that Grumb hadn't done any permanent damage to it, he tucked it safely beneath his armpit and scuttled out of the manor house to watch the results of his evil eye in action. Giving people the evil eye was one of the first tricks he'd learned after the incident that had awakened his brain powers...all he had to do was stare at someone the right way and something nasty would happen to them. He could make something nice happen to them as well, but Yurik wasn't a very nice person to begin with so more often than not his powers were used to hurt, humiliate, and horribly disfigure (in no particular order). He kept a wary distance from Grumb as the hulking scrunt made his way to Murdelia's medicae station, eagerly anticipating the scrunty fruits of his labors. When the syringe went into Grumb's shoulder he snickered. When Grumb's friend slapped him on the back and injected Grumb with the contents he laughed. When Grumb began gronking and squailing like mad, veins popping out all over his body as the full dose of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG kicked in, he was cackling with mirth, and by the time the heavy gunner had managed to clamber into his Sentinel and climb up onto the roof, howling and defecating like a maddened animal, Yurik was struggling to breathe he was laughing so hard, leaning against his thinkin' stick for support as tears streamed down his face. It was better than he could have possibly imagined. They should have sent a poet (if scrunt poets actually existed, that is). After he'd laughed himself into a wheezy coughing fit and spent a few minutes regaining his breath, Yurik had to admit that as hilarious as this all was (and it was hilarious, his only regret that he didn't have a pict recorder to capture the moment for posterity...for other people that is, his own photographic memory more than sufficing for himself) it was the sort of hilarity that was bound to attract attention sooner or later. Attention of the Severan kind, or perhaps Imperial, but either way the last thing they wanted was a bunch of humies sticking their noses into everyone's business, stealing back the stuff that they'd stolen first and generally making a mess out of everything. So they needed to get Grumb down from the roof somehow. It seemed like a insurmountable task, but no task was truly insurmountable when you had a Loremaster's incredible intellect to draw upon. Something about the gronking sounds that Grumb was continuing to bellow along with his overall behavior (belligerent, incontinent, incoherent) was outlining a pattern which even now was emerging from the depths of his mind. Yes sir, any moment now he'd know exactly how to resolve this situation perfectly. *** Yurik is going to try and help! To do this he's going to wrack his disgusting space-brain for any helpful clues on wrangling squigs...how to corral them, command them, assert dominance over them, whatever. And yes, I actually have the relevant Lore skill with which to attempt this bold plan, namely Forbidden Lore: (Xenos). This is going to be at TN 43 and will NOT benefit from Foresight because this isn't a "take 10 minutes to slowly poke at something" problem, it's a problem in need of immediate solving and Yurik is a scrunt of bold and decisive action. And I rolled an 81 which is a hilarious failure. What this entails precisely is in the hands of schlong but I trust him to make it appropriately ridiculous and/or undignified as per usual.
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Jun 18, 2015 04:27
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 "Er, hmm," Yurik muttered, scratching his thinkin' cap as Grumb, contrary to his expectations, remained upon the roof and seemed, if anything, to be even more agitated than before. "That shoulda worked. Here, hang on, mebbe I just need to roll my R's a bit more. GrrRRrrRRooooooh HEY! WHAT THE FACK!?" To say that Yurik was unaccustomed to a woman's touch was an understatement, which meant that his feelings were rather conflicted as Murdelia hefted him bodily off the ground, holding him aloft like some sort of scraggly offering. "What're you doing!? Don't...no wait! Put me doooWWWWWWWN!" As someone who routinely wrestled injured scrunts onto a surgical table where they could be variously treated, murdered, and/or robbed at her leisure, Murdelia possessed enough strength to easily toss the Loremaster around like a sack of extra-lumpy potatoes. "Oooof! Now you see here NO WAIT DON'T AUUURRGGGHHH!" Very easily. "Leggo of MEEEEEE!" And from there, as Grumb's animalistic attention sauntered vaguely downwards where he spotted Murdelia engaged in the traditional scruntish pastime of Toss the Nerd, things proceeded with a grim inevitability. The Farm Malbrathia-3 The Next Day After a suitable time spent sulking in his part of the manor house, Yurik finally reemerged once again. He pointedly avoided Murdelia as he made his way back to the building where the Sentinel still sat perched atop the roof. In his current state of mind he'd have been content to let the blasted walking scrapheap stay up there and rust, but for the sake of their recently pilfered nuclear warhead he was willing to do almost anything, even lend assistance to Grumb facking Slanger. "You there!," he shouted, clotheslining a nearby scrunt with his thinkin' stick, scuttling over as it lay on the ground. "Round up your mates, aye? We got us a project to do. Today," he said, sweeping his stick towards the roofbound Sentinel, "we're gonna make stairs." Some time later, during a break in the action, he ambled his way over to Groin, intent on putting the paranoid operator's larcenous talents to work unlocking the mystery of the Mystery Box. "Hey, uh, so. This box," Yurik said as nonchalantly as he could manage (which wasn't very). "How 'bout you lend me a hand opening it, aye? 'S probably got some good drugs in it." He waited for Groin's response as the driver unblinkingly stared at him. "Uh, I mean candy?" Still no response. "Candy AND drugs?" *** After Yurik is done being tossed about like a Blood Bowl ball, his first order of business will be wrangle some scrunts into helping get a set of Sentinel-sized stairs put together for someone to walk the thing down from the roof. I don't mean like actually assembling a staircase carpentry-style but, like, stacking crates and pallets and farm junk and the Chimera and whatever else we can haul, drag, heft, and stack. Doesn't have to be pretty or even endure repeated use so long as it works. Ordinarily Yurik would give up one of his doses of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG for research but, well, he's nursing a grudge against Murdelia for SOME reason. Instead he'll then try and sweet-talk Groin into using a skill, perhaps Security, on the mystery box.
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Jun 24, 2015 01:17
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Yurik was exhausted. A Loremaster's life was a busy one...scrunts didn't boss themselves around after all. Well, most of them didn't anyway. He had been about to retire to his lair at the top of the manor house when Grimply had surreptitiously notified him of the fact that the blasted humies had found them, were watching them, and were even now probably planning on ambushing them once the sun was down. If it wasn't one thing it was another. He stood there in thought as Grimply left to inform the others...obviously they needed to be smart about this, and by "they" he meant "him, and maybe Grimply too." It wouldn't do to let the humies know that they were onto them. But one of the best ways to out-clever someone was to make them think that they were out-clevering you. "All right, all right, up an' at'em ya' lazy lugshites!," he shouted, whacking a nearby meandering scrunt with his thinkin' stick to get their attention. "Go an' round up all that junk we used to make stairs earlier! It's time to move it somewhere else now, an' get a move on!" *** Sorry for the short/lovely post but I'm tired as hell. The plan is this, Yurik will browbeat some scrunts into moving a bunch of junk from earlier into a NEW CONFIGURATION. There's that hole in the wall to the southeast. What I want to do is leave that hole open, a tempting target for some clever Severan to see and think about using, but when they go through it I want to use piles of junk placed at strategic points around and between those four little shed things to funnel them into a kill zone where they can easily be shot up/burned/exploded/whatevered. Yurik will attempt this via Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis) at TN 43 (or 53 if the 10 minute Foresight bonus has enough time to apply here). It doesn't matter because I roll a 74, womp womp. I'm not gonna FP it, let it ride. Yurik will then position himself in the upper floor of the manor house wherever there are windows that he can overlook the eastern part of the farm complex as that's where he's imagining an assault is more likely to come from. In order to fool the Severans, he'll leave several lights on in parts of the manor where he ISN'T while staying as low profile as he can in the room he's actually in.
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Jul 7, 2015 06:52
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Yurik Scraglagger The Farm Malbrathia-3 Yurik peered scruntily through the window across the night-shrouded farmstead, beady eyes alert for signs of movement, ears pricked for the telltale crack of lasbolts of pop of autogun fire. The room he was in was as dark as the rest of the farm, while he had left the lights on in the rooms above and below him. It was just another example of his unaccountable brilliance in action...humies, similarly to many species of insect, were attracted to bright lights. While the Severan forces were too busy scanning the illuminated rooms for threats, he'd remain safe and undetected in the darkness, able to reach out with his mind and ruthlessly crush them at his leisure. Or at least he'd be able to do so once they finally hurried the fack up and went through with it, that is. He shifted his weight back and forth as he continued to peer and listen, paranoia creeping in around the edges. The problem with brilliance, of course, was that you were acutely aware of all the different ways a thing could occur. What if the Severans decided not to go through the enticing hole in the wall? What if they split their forces up and approached the farm from multiple directions? What if they were simply forward observers for an artillery barrage and at any moment the farm would be bombarded with high explosive ordnance? They were sitting scrunts! This was madness! They should have headed down into the tunnels when they'd had the chance, and now they were about to die here in the dark as shells whistled down overhead- Mung's improvised landmine detonating in the distance caused Yurik to leap upright with a squawk, one hand clamped down on his thinkin' cap. "It's already started!," he thought to himself. His only regret was that he never realized his dreams of the galaxy trembling at his name. He waited for the end with stoic dignity, which is to say hyperventilating with a white-knuckled death grip upon his thinkin' stick, but after a moment his educated ear determined that the high-pitched roaring whine coming from outside wasn't an incoming artillery shell but a Valkyrie troop transport. "Those fackers! They're comin' in by AIR!" The Severans were pulling out all the stops this time. Emboldened by not dying horribly, the Loremaster straightened himself up and scuttled closer to the window as a trio of Severan soldiers touched down in front of the manor house, brandishing brutal-looking weaponry. Apparently they were planning on storming the house. Too bad for them Yurik planned on storming them first. With his brain. *** Yurik will half action scuttle 3 meters (one square) in a southernly direction closer towards Team Two. Then he'll unleash one of his brain powers at Unfettered, aka not pushing it but not hemmed in either. First off, Yurik is going to wait for Grumb and Grimply's actions to take place before he does his thing. If the grenade leaves multiple Team 2 troops alive then he'll target the one with the bolter (or one of the others if that dude is dead) with Spontaneous Combustion, which doesn't give a gently caress about visibility penalties. It's at TN 80 (Will 50 +10 psy focus +10 Psy Rating +10 for the power itself) and I get a 48, so no psychic phenomena and I achieve a total of 4 DoS on my roll. Technically this power can be dodged, don't ask me how you dodge being spontaneously combusted from the inside out, but WHATEVER. Anyway it does 1d10+6 damage Pen 0 in this case with the Flame quality.
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Jul 11, 2015 01:40
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Yurik's cackling as one of the Severan troopers burst into flames was interrupted by the sensation of someone tugging insistently upon his sleeve. Under normal circumstances his reaction to something like that would be to quickly whirl around and clout the impertinent sleeve-tugger upside the head with his thinkin' stick, or to get incredibly huffy and passive-aggressive if they looked bigger and stronger than he was, which the scrunt in question did, but setting someone on fire with his mind always elevated both the Loremaster's mood as well as his general sense of mania. The scrunt's name was Drekk, he noted idly. Of course they'd never been introduced but that was a trivial concern when you were the undisputed master of mental might and mayhem. Also the scrunt had a patch on his jacket with his name sewn on it. "C'mon lad, c'mon! Step lively now!," Yurik said, grabbing Drekk's own sleeve and yanking him along for the ride with surprising exuberance, an unwholesome, yellow-toothed smile upon his face. It's the humies, lad! They've come to nick back what we nicked from them earlier! But the only thing we're lettin'em have is their own arses served up on a platter! C'mon fack-dangit, this ain't the time for lollygaggin' and loafabrickin'! There!," he pointed with his staff as they scuttled down the stairs in time to watch Grumb get charged by a pair of screaming soldiers, one blinded and one ignited. "Get at'em, lad! Go, go!" With that Yurik quickly turned his attention back to the matter at hand, namely igniting Severan soldiers with his brain while laughing like a scrunt possessed. Sickly colored sparks popped and fizzed from the loose wires lacing his thinkin' cap as he reached out with his mind to harness the raw power of the Warp. This time the Warp reached back. *** Second verse, same as the first. Yurik is going to half action move, then wait until after Drekk and Grumb have had a go at the two Severans remaining from Team 2. Then after they've gone, Yurik will once again use Spontaneous Combustion at Unfettered, prioritizing whoever is nearest death and/or not currently on fire in case of a tie. TN is same as before, 80, and it's still a dodgeable attack doing 1d10+6 pen 0 damage with the Flame quality. And I roll a 66. Which means I rolled doubles. Which means that while this is a successful power activation garnering 2 DoS it also means I trigger a psychic phenomena roll. Now I COULD spend a fate point to reroll this...but nahhhhhh. Then I roll a 93. Hahahaha nope, I WILL fate point that. Yurik has spent one fate point and is now down to 1 remaining. And I roll an 82. gently caress damnit, this is going to be one of those stories where the psyker turns into a daemon and TPKs everyone. Siiiiigh, well I can't fate point the same roll a second time so now I get to roll on PERILS OF THE WARP oh boy. I roll a 57 on the Perils table. Checking against it, the entry is Vice Versa. I'm just going to quote this here in its full glory. "The psyker’s mind is thrown out of his body and into another nearby creature or person. The psyker and a random being (note, this cannot be a daemon, mindless xenos, or other “soulless” creature) within 50 metres swap consciousness for 1d10 rounds. This may be an ally or enemy. Each creature retains its Weapon Skill, Ballistic Skill, Intelligence, Perception, Willpower, and Fellowship during the swap, but all other Characteristics are of the new host body. If either body is slain, the effect ends immediately and both parties return to their original bodies. Both suffer 1d5 Intelligence damage from the experience. If there are no creatures within range, the psyker becomes catatonic for 1d5 rounds while his mind wanders the Warp. This journey causes 1d10 Willpower Damage, 1d10 Intelligence Damage and 1d10 Corruption Points."  IT'S HAPPENING
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Jul 19, 2015 07:46
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Yurik Scraglagger...? The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Yurik was accustomed to the occasional "mishap" whenever he used his brain powers a bit too hard, but this was a new one on him. Fortunately his razor-sharp intellect allowed him to quickly piece things together and ascertain that he was ON FIRE. Also he had apparently swapped bodies with someone. So this was what it was to be a humie, then. Revolting, yet at the same time intriguing. The height alone was a thing of wonder, but more to the point he was ON FIRE. He had to admit that as awkward as it was trying to come to terms with a body that was, by scrunt standards, grossly disproportionate the opportunity he had been afforded here was a unique one, and also he was ON FIRE. Of course he had no time to try and explain things to the other scrunts...as far as they could tell he was simply another humie who was ON FIRE, and by the time he managed to convince them that it was really him inside this body there was no telling what sort of trouble the humie currently occupying his body could get up to while he was ON FIRE. The thought of a humie running around looking like him was sickening, but fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you looked at things) Yurik was ON FIRE. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!," Yurik said as the other scrunts turned their attention towards his borrowed body. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" With that he began to chart a course towards the nearest cluster of humies as quickly as he could manage in the awkward, lurching stumble-run of someone unaccustomed to legs of this height, hands slapping his body all over as he sought out the most destructive ordnance he could hope to find by blindly groping himself while he was ON FIRE. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" *** Yurik will commit his entire Full Action to running away from Grumb and Drekk and towards Squad 2 in the most expedient and efficient manner possible. If that includes a window he can hurl himself from then even better. Agility bonus 3, no special talents related to running. Honestly if Grumb kills me then nbd.
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Jul 29, 2015 19:45
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Yurik Scraglagger...? The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Pain. Pain and fire and blood. These things comprised Yurik's entire world as he staggered to his feet, one hand clutching a grenade-shaped object and the other reflexively moving to his midsection as something wet and hot and slimy attempted to spill out of him. His guts, he distantly realized...he was holding in his guts. Yurik had experienced pain before, of course, the life of a Loremaster was far from an easy one, but this was far different from a split lip or bloody nose from fighting over valuable scrap or the humiliating cramps of being shoved into a locker. A deep, numbing chill sunk through his body that had little to do with the night air, and he realized with his vast and incomparable intellect that he was dying. No, not him. The humie whose body he was in. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Even as he intellectually knew that he would return to his own body upon this one's death, that he himself was in no danger of dying (unaware that this wasn't strictly true at the moment), the agony he was experiencing was so intense that it was difficult to remain detached about things. The humie was dying...but he wasn't dying fast enough. Set on fire, crashed through a window, disemboweled, and yet somehow the body clung tenaciously to life, mocking him with its resilience, denying him release from this long-limbed prison. It wasn't dead yet, but Yurik knew how to fix that. With a supreme effort of willpower he removed his hand from his abdomen, allowing the body's guts to spill forth in great bloody coils as he forced his thoughts past the pain, guiding alien muscles in a search for the familiar. He left bloody handprints across the humie's outfit as he slapped it clumsily, the body succumbing to its wounds surely but slowly, but after a brief moment's fumbling he found what he was looking for. Carefully, like threading a needle, he looped his finger through the grenade pin. The Severan troopers on the ground watched in horrified fascination as one of their own, guts spilling from his body and flesh burning like some nightmare vision made manifest, lifted the grenade high in the air with both hands as if it were an offering to some demented god. As the pain reached its crescendo a primal, atavistic urge welled up within him, his mouth opening and an inhuman bellow pushed its way up from the deepest, scruntiest depths of his psyche. "SLAM SECTOOOOORRRRRRR!" He pulled the pin. *** Half action to pull the pin on the mystery grenade, half action to die.
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Aug 16, 2015 05:46
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Yurik Scraglagger...! The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Pain. Yurik was rarely ever (almost never, really) wrong about anything, but he was wrong when he'd thought that the pain of being simultaneously on fire and disemboweled was the worst agony that a living being could experience. In the time it took the Iron Eater grenade's concentrated acidic payload to reduce his borrowed body to a pool of bubbling sludge he realized that there were entire universes of pain hithertofore undreamt of by mortal scrunt. While his voracious brain yearned for knowledge, he thought to himself with the detachment of the horribly dying, there was some knowledge that he could happily do without. And then he was back in own body once more. There was pain still, but this time it was the comparatively lesser, much more manageable pain of simply having been shot at a bunch. Shot at? What the fack had that humie been doing with his body? And where was his thinkin' cap!? Yurik's scrunty hands slapped his mercifully scrunty body all over, yelping as he found various scrapes and bullet holes but otherwise confirmed that his corporeal self was more or less just as he'd left it. At the edges of his perception he could faintly hear the unholy shrieks of a lost soul being rent asunder by the unspeakable beings which lurked beyond reality, a sound which he quickly and deliberately turned right out as he focused his attention on more important matters...finding his thinkin' cap. Thankfully his assistant Hack was, for once, actually helpful, holding the slightly dented helm out with a rasping gurgle and a confused look. Of course he didn't realize what Yurik had just gone through...nobody did and nobody would until he had the time to properly recount things. Assuming he did, that is. Perhaps some stories were best kept to himself. Nodding vaguely he planted the cap back upon his head, loose wires sparking as it contacted his cranium, and he instantly felt much more like himself. A quick inspection revealed that quite a number of things had happened since he'd been out of his body. For one thing there was some sort of mechanical monstrosity making an infernal racket as it stomped in the general direction of the farmhouse. For another thing more humies had sprouted up like shouty, shooty weeds. At this rate they were going to be killing the long-legged bastards until sunup. First things first then...the other scrunts looked like they had the walker well in hand (is what he told himself, vowing not to get anywhere near that thing until it was thoroughly disabled) which left a nearby knot of humies for him to deal with. Setting them on fire one at a time would take too long (and after what happened the last time he felt like giving the brain powers a rest for now), which meant it was down to more conventional methods of murder. He reached down to rustle up a grenade from his robes and froze, fingers and eyes twitching at the still-fresh memories of what happened the last time he'd pulled the pin on a grenade. No...no, he'd use the rifle instead after all. Yurik took careful aim with the weapon, lining up his sights upon the milling squad of soldiers down below with expert precision, breathing slow and steady, steady now...and then he yanked the trigger with a frenzied shout, the ramshackle weapon bucking in his hands as he sprayed bullets wildly in the general direction of the Severan troopers. Hack joined in the fray as well, the other scrunt unslinging his rifle and letting out a war-hork as he sent even more bullets spraying downrange. *** Rolling Willpower as ordered (TN 50) and I get a 12. For my turn I will use a full-action suppressing fire attack at full-auto against Squad Five to try and force them to get pinned. This will impose a -20 penalty upon the target's Willpower check to resist being pinned, and while it's not really an attack per se Yurik gets to make a -20 penalty BS check to see if he hits anything. His comrade Hack will be contributing with the Ranged Volley order to give Yurik a +5 on the off chance that I roll a 17 or less. I do not but the suppression effect still occurs.
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Aug 25, 2015 01:15
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Yurik cackled madly as he finally let his finger off the trigger to survey his handiwork. The Severan unit was scrambling and panicking to avoid the incoming fire, and...was that?...yes! There on the ground, an unmoving body lying in a spreading pool of blood. "Ha! Didja see that, Hack!?," Yurik whooped, gesturing at the body of the trooper that Drekk had actually killed in the confusing melee. "I got one!" Hack horked enthusiastically, jumping up and down and firing wildly into the air like the useful idiot he was. A massive impact suddenly shook the building they were standing in, windows shattering and plaster chunks falling from the ceiling. Yurik yelped and slapped a hand atop his thinkin' cap to hold it in place as the floor shook beneath his feet. That walking monstrosity! Fack, that thing was faster than it looked. "Someone fackin' kill that thing before it brings the whole fackin' building down you fackers!" he shouted helpfully, panic not at all seeping into his voice as he hunkered down and poked the barrel of his rifle through a shattered windowpane and let loose a slightly more measured series of shots at the regular, non-cybernetic monstrosity troops down below. *** These guys have the dreadnought situation well in hand so I'm gonna keep at squad five below. Since I don't want to suppress Drekk by accident again I'll half action aim and then take a semi-auto burst against them, for a total TN of 32 +10 = 42, then Hack will assist with a Ranged Volley for a further +5 to make it 47. I get a 43 which is just barely a success, but whatever, I'll take it. I don't know if there are further modifiers involved in shooting at squads so maybe it'll be better or maybe it won't, either way.
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Aug 31, 2015 19:52
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Yurik casually sidestepped Gumbo as the sergeant sailed through the air to land where he had been standing a moment before with a bone-jarring (and possibly bone-snapping) impact. The metal monstrosity that the Severans had whipped up (and how fascinating it was now that Yurik could see it clearly, something about the way the metal knit itself back together teasing at some scrap of knowledge deep in the dustbins of his mind) looked to be on its last legs and he wasn't sure how well his brain powers would work against something like that anyway, so instead he reached down and dragged Gumbo better into cover, helping the sergeant point his gun in the right direction, before sending another volley of carefully aimed shots into the squad of troopers below. *** Second verse, same as the first. Half-action aim, half-action semi-auto burst + Ranged Volley for a total of TN 47. That is a much more respectable 18
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Sep 4, 2015 03:32
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Yurik chuckled along with Gumbo's assessment of the situation as he contributed to the demise of yet more humies from a position of safety and superiority, his preferred method of dealing with violence of any sort. But they weren't entirely safe, not yet. Now that he'd had a few moments to reacquaint himself with his own body and the numerous bullet holes it had acquired in his absence he was all too aware of what could happen if they let their guard down. Those humie bastards had tried and failed to kill him once already (he thought to himself, completely unaware that it had actually been other scrunts that had shot him) and he wasn't inclined to give them a second chance. The best way to ensure they didn't get one, then, was to kill all of them first. But the squad he had been shooting at was now thoroughly shot, stabbed, sliced, and otherwise dispatched, which meant it was time to round up the stragglers and make sure none of them escaped. Beyond simple vindictiveness, if any of the Severans lived to report to their superiors that they knew where the stolen nuclear bomb was then the next group they sent to recover it would be even bigger. No, best to keep them in the dark...if all they knew was that their forces had been wiped out but not why then it could buy them the time they needed to relocate somewhere more secure and less on fire. "C'mon Gumbo, they're makin' a break for it! Don't let'em get away!," he shouted, scuttling as quickly as he could towards the open window he'd smashed open with a borrowed body, Hack in tow, as below the remaining squad of humies attempted a tactical withdrawal from the farm. *** Yurik will take the fastest Full Action move available to him to reach a firing position overlooking the remaining Severan squad.
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Sep 17, 2015 07:23
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 And just like that, it was all over. Yurik stood there breathing heavily, clutching his smoking autogun as the last of the humies fled into the rainy darkness. Water hissed and steamed as it fell on burning structures and the superheated remains of the cybernetic walker's chassis. For once there were no cries of "Slam!" and "Feck!" from the milling scruntmob, just a quiet shuffling as everyone tried to come to terms with what had just happened. The Loremaster's fingers twitched, an aftereffect of adrenaline mixed with his brief but harrowing jaunt through the Warp. How long would it be before more humies arrived? Hours? Days? The Severan forces had tasked air transports and whatever that shouting stomper was to this attack, he thought as his knowledge-infused mind whirred like an engine turbocharged on scruntmade moonshine, which indicated a certain degree of importance, but at the same time the Severans were busy dealing with Imperial elements, and even if any of the fleeing soldiers managed to report to base on foot in a timely fashion they'd need to be debriefed, their accounts corroborated by reconnaissance... Which meant they might have some time before this place was crawling with humies. Unless they didn't. "Well fack'em anyway," he thought, cackling with post-battle mania. "If they come back then we'll just have to kill'em all over again." Yurik's body was a throbbing blob of pain, and while most of the wounds he'd suffered appeared upon inspection to be non lifethreatening a part of him wanted to do nothing more than lie down and loudly complain until someone came and patched him up. But even taking the wheels of military bureaucracy into account he knew they needed to move quickly, and so grumbling all the way he hobbled out of the farmhouse to survey the aftermath and start browbeating scrunts into some sort of, if not order, then at least a directed form of chaos. The first scrunt he came across was Grimply who appeared uninjured but nonetheless seemed to be having a difficult time of things judging by the maddened look in his eyes, something Yurik could relate to. The knife he was waving around was a bit more disturbing, but fortunately the sniper had the presence of mind not to stab him. Yurik was seized by an unexpected feeling of...relief? Gladness?...that Grimply had come through things in one piece. "Friendship" was as alien a concept to Yurik as hygiene and so, not knowing what else to do, he awkwardly patted the other scrunt on the shoulder (on the non-knife side). "Nice shot," he mumbled, his thinkin' cap popping and sparking with errant brain energies. "Er, uh, shootin' I mean. Not just the one." Having fulfilled his obligated quota of companionship for the evening he ambled towards the smoldering wreckage of the walker and yelped with alarm as his eyes fell upon Grug. Was it possible for a scrunt to be too ugly even by scrunt standards? That was a conundrum for the great philosophers of the age, but Grug seemed ready to provide the matter with a definitive answer. Yurik scuttled warily around the lumpen and distressingly unclothed newcomer and made his way closer to the wreckage, whereupon he slapped at the hand of a curious technoscrunt reaching for a piece of wiggling metal. "Don't fackin' touch that, ya' sop-brained scullylug!," he shouted, vague scraps of knowledge within his brain having suggested that living metal was probably a Bad Thing. "Y'don't wanna end up like that fackin' humie, do ya'? Entombed in some great stompin' war machine, arms all made outta guns an' other guns, shoutin' fit to rumble the gunk right outta your ears?" Satisfied that no scrunt could possibly want such a thing as to be horribly transformed into a gigantic shouting, stomping, shooting war-machine, Yurik glanced at the scattered debris warily. Somewhere in the background he heard the telltale clicking of an auspex's radiation sensor, the natural result of a microreactor detonation. Radiation...the Severans were after the nuclear warhead that had been stolen from them, and they were no doubt attempting to track it by scanning for radiological anomalies, which meant... A broken lightbulb appeared over Yurik's head, no doubt conjured through the Warp, before shattering on his thinkin' cap as it fell. "You lot!," he said as authoritatively as he could manage to the gathering of technoscrunts. "I've got a job for ya', a dangerous mission of scientifical importance! I need you to gather up as much of this junk as you can, but NOT the wigglin' stuff, got it? Use tongs an' big sticks, gather it all up, put it in a box or somethin' and put the box in one of those limozeens. Then, an' here's the important part aye?, then I need you to drive...thataway," he said, gesturing in a direction that was away from the underground tunnel network they'd discovered earlier. "An' pitch all that shite out the window one bit at a time as you go. Got it?" *** First off, Yurik is using his Divination minor manifestation on Grimply. Remember that good luck/bad luck thing he did to Grumb? This time he's using the good luck part of it. It's Willpower +30 for TN 80 and I roll a 63 so Grimply is due to receive the Scruntfather's Favor in an unspecified fashion. Second, Yurik will attempt to create a false radioactive trail of breadcrumbs leading away from the farm and tunnels both to convince clever Severans out nuke-hunting that the nuke is being taken elsewhere. He's going to split his attention between wrangling scrunts and looting, leaving pursuit to other scrunts.
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Sep 21, 2015 20:27
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Yurik Scraglagger The Siege Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 After Yurik saw the limousine full of technoscrunts off on its vital counterintelligence mission he quickly took advantage of their absence to get some quality looting in while they were away...the mission he'd sent them on was a vital one of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't avail himself in the meantime. Even in the darkness Murdelia's opportunistic eyes could easily pick out the telltale signs of a wounded scrunt, a chance both to ply her trade as well as do some looting of her own. Unfortunately for all her efforts Yurik didn't carry much that was worth nicking unless one was desperately interested in a variety of tattered and mysteriously soiled papers and bits of colored wire, but the good news was that as she followed him around the farm, taking the time to administer medical attention whenever he paused to mutter over a particular body or bit of wreckage, she found that his wounds weren't as serious as they initially appeared and were handily treated by generous application of synth-flesh to fill in the holes. Yurik, meanwhile, distractedly murmured something that could have been thanks, his attention engrossed by the treasures he'd found. For starters he'd found a map, a useful map this time and not some ridiculously overblown thing that needed to be spread on a floor to read. The dataslate he'd come across had a crack across the screen but was otherwise in working order, and it contained a cornucopia of information...geological survey data, the frontlines of the war between the Severans and Imperial forces, locations of urban areas, and more. A deeply disturbing gleam came to his eyes as he flicked over icons denoting refineries, materiel depots, an airbase... Oh yes, he would be hanging onto this. He redoubled his efforts, buoyed by manic purpose as well as delicious anesthetics. Shooing away a gaggle of scrunts from an important looking corpse he rifled through its pockets and found yet more papers, missives and what looked like more maps drawn out on paper detailing particular areas of note. He shoved them into his robes without even pausing to check what they were yet before moving on, but it was his next discovery that made him pause. The satchel hanging from around the body's shoulder was bloodstained black leather with a silver clasp, and when he opened it he found a sheaf of documents...a strange thing for a soldier to be carrying into battle, but the glimpse he caught at some of the text on the pages caused his brain to jangle. Whatever these papers were, they were important, that much he knew for certain. The papers, satchel and all, went with him as well. Yurik was so flush with excitement that when the technoscrunts finally returned he actually welcomed them back, grinning and slapping shoulders amiably, laughing and congratulating them on their quick thinking for sawing the boot off the back. His mood quickly changed as his attention was directed towards the remains of the stomper by Arnika who was glancing nervously at a puddle of liquid metal coalescing behind an oblivious Barry. "What! Did! I! Tell ya'!?" he shouted, barreling through scrunts and proceeding to angrily whack his thinkin' stick against the scruntinel's leg over and over again, causing Barry to topple backwards into the cockpit in surprise, a wild spurt from his flamer lazily arcing back to earth and immolating an unfortunate bystander. "Get away from here ya' fack-blanged eedjit! This here's a hazard zone, an' I'm declarin' a quaran-teen! Now everyone get back an' STAY back afore I give ya' a good reason to be elsewhere! Scram! Shoo! Git!" This time Yurik gave any loiterers the evil eye (both of them) until they'd achieved what he wildly guessed to be a minimum safe distance. If Grumb Slanger wanted to have words (or fists) with him for yelling at his hanger-on, well, that was a bridge he'd burn when he came to it. For now though his attention was squarely upon the oozing puddle of liquid metal slowly gathering together on the ground. It was making his brain jangle too, and not in a reassuring way. Scientific methods were called for to determine exactly what sort of danger this mystery metal posed. Quickly surveying the nearby wreckage of the farm he found just the instrument he needed, retrieving a long, slightly bent piece of wood that had been flung from a nearby shed, and positioning himself as far from the metal puddle as he could manage he extended the pole and carefully, gently poked it with the other end. *** First things first, Yurik is getting some medical attention from Murdelia. Okay so Murdelia's overall Medicae at the moment is 58 (Int of 40, -2 due to EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG damage makes 38, +20 skill bonus makes 58) with a further +20 bonus for using a medikit (and it turns out that the Narcethium being good-quality doesn't alter this at all, oh well). First Aid is a +0 difficulty test, so that would normally be TN 78...but Yurik is heavily damaged (more than 2x Toughness Bonus in wounds) so it's a -10 penalty to make the overall TN 68, just one shy of the sacred number. And holy moly I roll a 13. This heals Murdelia's Int Bonus (currently 3) plus an additional wound for every degree of success, so with 6 DoS that means I heal 9 wounds total putting me at 11/12, nearly back to full. That taken care of, since no one has spoken up I'm locking some of the gear options. I lay scrunty claim to detailed information on two non-star points on the map and a sheaf of papers including what appears to be Inquisitorial ciphertext. I am also locking, but not necessarily claiming, 3 Iron Eater Grenades because frag grenades can be manufactured out of scraps if we need to but concentrated acid bombs don't come around every day. I will get a skill challenge roll in on a subsequent post before the deadline, sorry, I just can't think of a funny/creative one at the moment. Push comes to shove I'll go for boring and functional.
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Oct 3, 2015 08:29
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Yurik Scraglagger The Aftermath Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 2/12 Yurik peered scruntily from the shadows at Grumb as the hulking gunlugger dealt with the matter of the irradiated truck. Red eyes narrowed as he added what he'd just witnessed to the mental trash-pile that comprised everything he knew of Grumb Slanger since they'd met. Tough as nails, blunt and crude (even for a scrunt), inordinately fond of large guns (even for a scrunt), these were all known factors, but now he had witnessed something else altogether more troubling than any of those things put together...cunning. It was, Yurik was forced to admit, a clever plan in its simplicity. As for the poor unfortunate driver, well, difficult times called for difficult measures (as long as Yurik wasn't the one being measured desperately, that is) and he was sure that the hapless scrunt probably had some sort of annoying habit or character trait which meant he wouldn't be missed too much. It wasn't the nature of the plan which concerned him so much as the fact that it was Grumb Slanger that had conceived of it. Before Yurik had been content to dismiss him as nothing but a dumb musclebound thug, dangerous if provoked but otherwise easily outwitted. Now though...now he'd need to reassess things, and to be on his guard. Grumb wasn't just solving a problem, he was sending a message. "Mess wi' the bull an' y'all best be ready to giddyup on the, to get all horny or how'd that go...dangol, come at the bull an' y'best not miss." As the truck rattled off into the rainy night, Grumb ambled past Yurik, giving the Loremaster a sidelong glance. "Gotcher all taken care of. Y'got any more problems need t'be fixed?," he asked, hocking an indifferent loogie upon the ground. Yurik slowly shook his head, returning the glance with one of his own. "That'll do Grumb...that'll do." *** Of course there were other problems to solve, plenty of them at that, but not every problem could be solved by telling someone to drive off into the woods and kill themselves (unfortunately). Now that the initial burst of enthusiasm spurred on by the prospect of looting as well as a rousing fire and brimstone sermon from Grimply was beginning to wear off, many of the milling scrunts seemed increasingly listless and aimless and probably several other lessesess besides. Yurik could hear desultory muttering about "Why'n we goina tunnels anyhow?" and "D'wanna leave" interspersed with increasingly cantankerous SLAMs and fecks. Normally it would be Gumbo's job to keep the assembled scrunts on task, but the sergeant was taking a well-earned nap after being shot repeatedly by bullets, and while Grimply's speech had galvanized a portion of their group, there were many more scrunts whose fear of the Scruntfather was overcome by their natural apathy. Clearly something needed to be done to get these scrunts on the road and give them a much-needed boost to their flagging spirits, and there was just one scrunt for the job. "Listen up, y'fackers!," Yurik shouted, tossing his arms outward and clouting a nearby scrunt on the side of the head with his thinkin' stick. "I'm hearin' a lot of talk about how you sallow-bellied sumpguzzlers maybe don't wanna go to the tunnels, izzat right? How you wanna stay here in some humie farm instead of down underground in some properly cramped, dingy, scrunty tunnels like the Scruntfather intended! Or maybe how you aren't even sure what it is we're doin' anymore! Well gather round an' listen sharp 'cuz I'll tell you what we're doin'...we're bein' fackin' scrunts is what! An' what's that mean I hear ya' askin'? Well now laddie, I'll tell ya' that too..." Fighters fought and medics healed and techscrunts teched, but a Loremaster had the lore. Yurik wasn't an exceptionally charismatic storyteller, but he was a very enthusiastic one in the manner of someone who loved to hear himself speak. He was also a very loud one for similar reasons, and someone who could spin a tale loudly and enthusiastically enough was someone who would never want for an audience. As scrunts gathered around him, blinking owlishly at the Loremaster as he gestured wildly with his thinkin' stick, he told them about Slim-Tooth Willy and Sklurg Sklurgsson, the wily scrunts who stole the humie Emperor's toilet handle and trapped him upon the Golden Throne. He told them of the Trash Heap What Was Even Bigger Than The Biggest Trash Heap You Ever Did See, It Was Huge, he told them the legend of Scrumpy Dan who replaced his own shins with wild sump-rats on a dare, and he told them the story of the how Gorm Lunkguzzler started the Great Underhive Beer Flood of M39 that killed millions in a single, malty night. And as he spun tale after highly inappropriate tale he could see it in their eyes as the stories took hold, filling their minds with the essence of what it meant to scrunt. The SLAMs and fecks grew louder and more enthusiastic, accompanied by random weapon discharges at especially exciting parts, and before long a growing sense of energy and purpose seemed to be welling up from within the scruntmob. "Now then!," Yurik called out to his excited audience. "What do we want!?" "SLAM SECTOR!" "An' when do we want it!?" "SLAM SECTOR!" "That's fackin' right!," he cackled. "Now grab up all the shite you can an' let's get to th'fackin tunnels already!" "SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR SLAM SECTOR" *** Okay, for my skill challenge contribution I am going to inspire scrunts and boost scrunt morale by telling them the tales of our people, lifting their spirits and inspiring them to what passes for greatness. To accomplish this I'm utilizing Scholastic Lore (Legend) which seems an appropriate skill for a Loremaster to have, and the TN I'm rolling against is 43 +10 for Foresight. And goddamn are my dice on fire all of a sudden, as that's a 12. So that's 5 DoS on that roll [edit] +1 DoS for Infused Knowledge, so 6 DoS overall. Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 03:30 on Oct 9, 2015 |
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Oct 8, 2015 09:30
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Yurik Scraglagger The Aftermath Malbrathia-3 Fate Points 1/2 Wounds 11/12 "Holy feck!," Murdelia exclaimed as she and Yurik watched the test-scrunt's disturbing disappearance into the metallic puddle. Yurik was inclined to agree with her assessment. The metallic substance had ignored the wood he'd experimentally prodded it with but had consumed the scrap metal, and had even more aggressively consumed an entire scrunt. Most people would be too busy running and screaming to notice little details like the way the liquid metal reacted to the eaten scrunt's stablight, growing more agitated and active. Something to do with the batteries, perhaps? Some chemical or metal within them? Or was it reacting to the electricity being generated? The one question that had been thoroughly and definitively answered was "is this safe to touch," to which a resounding "fack no" could be given. The rest was as yet a mystery, such as how the Severans had managed to use the substance to turn a humie (or what was left of one anyway) into a bellowing stomping war-machine in the first place, given the stuff's apparent tendency to utterly consume anything living that came into contact with it. Perhaps the equipment in the truck that had brought the walker here would shed some more light on the subject... ...the truck that was currently being driven out into the woods on Grumb's orders. Right, never mind that then. Thus the things that Yurik knew about the liquid metal with any certainty were: 1). It was dangerous. 2). It ate. 3). It moved. That was enough to classify it as a living being as far as he was concerned. So some strange alien creature, then. Stroking his scraggly beard he went on a mental dumpster dive through the warrens of his mind, looking for anything on "liquid metal blobs that ate people and moved real slowly but didn't eat wood, but did eat metal, and maybe you can make people into stompy war-walkers with it too" that might have been deposited there along with everything else. It was an oddly specific rumination, but Yurik's brain was full of oddly specific (and highly classified) information, so it was worth a ponder. Still, there was something he could test in the meantime. The liquid metal clearly ate and seemed to respond to various substances in different ways. They'd tried wood, scrap metal, and a scrunt...but how would the substance react to something different? "Oi, Groin!," he shouted after the gleefully cackling driver as he put his newly acquired Sentinel through its paces. "Yee?" "Get on over here! I'm commendering ya' for important Loremasterin' matters of a scientifical nature! Y'see that great big burbly blob of metal what's makin' a break for it right there?" Groin gazed down at the patch on the ground Yurik was pointing to and nodded while his augmetic hand proceeded to pick nits out of his hair and deposit them in his beard. "If that shite gets out of line, I want ya' to get that contraption over here and burn the fack out of it 'til there ain't no fack left to burn, y'got it?" "Yeeeeeeeehaw!" "An' for fack's sake," Yurik added as Jekk slumped against the leg of the Sentinel. "Get yer hanger-on stitched back together, will ya'? He looks like six plates of hammered shite. Gonna put me off my dinner." With that Yurik rummaged around in the depths of his robe for a moment as he retrieved a fat silvery injector with the words EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG stenciled upon the surface...and tossed it gingerly into the middle of the liquid metal, preparing himself to run like hell at the slightest sign of danger. *** Yurik is going to do a bit more investigating on the liquid metal blob monster before we head out. First off I'm going to roll Forbidden Lore: Xenos because this seems like an alien creature of some sort. TN is 53 with Foresight, and I roll 36 for a grand total of 3 DoS (counting the +1 DoS from Infused Knowledge). That's probably not enough for a full infodump but hopefully it should illuminate something. Or not, who knows? Also he's going to toss one of his injectors of EXPERIMENTAL COMBAT DRUG into it to see what happens, because Loremaster or no he's still a scrunt at the end of the day. Also I am bullying Groin to come over and, once either our scientific experiments provide no further answers OR the liquid metal gets uppity, introduce it to a dose of good old fashioned flaming promethium. Also I'm bullying him to get some first aid for his comrade, spend his XP, brush his teeth, and call his scruntmom. She worries about you.
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Oct 11, 2015 09:10
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