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Yes, thank Big Brother for his services.
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Apr 21, 2015 05:25
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As you walk away from one another, you turn and say, “Hey Major… thank you. Sir.” “For what? Doing my job?” Major Faustulus pauses before the doorway, then adds, “You don’t have to thank me every time I do my drat job. Otherwise you’d be on my rear end congratulating me twenty-four seven, because that’s how I roll.” “Yes, sir. Understood.” ------------ Several uneasy days pass. You cannot sleep. Everyone on your team pushes rumors about your comrade Marcus soon leaving the medical ward, and your upcoming battle against five Invader ships at the peak of Operation: Sol Invictus, but you feel like you are locked in a dream state and cannot share their excitement. Your nights are filled with horned monsters towering over you, or a recurring dream in which you bury a thin, frail man with empty eye sockets. He looks like you. Sometimes you see a crowd of people crawling through a gray wasteland begging you for help. You ask them what you can possibly do to help them even as you unsheathe a charged weapon, fully prepared to defend yourself against the small, pitiful, hairless monkeys who depend on you for their salvation. Sometimes John Christian stands at the front of the crowd. He says nothing, and only places a gun to his head and fires. One night you wake stifling a scream because of a dream in which you flip through a book that a voice says is filled with the records of your true mother and father. The pages burn as you touch them; each page is completely blank; when you ask the invisible voice your true name, a terrifying eagle descends on wings of flame and claws out your eyes and tongue. “Be careful. They’re going to try to kill him.” You look about in the dark quarters of the Venice Clovers, but everyone else is asleep. “Sybel?” you say. You reason that he is the only one strange enough to wake you with an enigmatic non sequitur, but he is currently competing against Wolf Tits to see who can snore the loudest. You dress quietly and leave your quarters. Even your heavy gray sweater cannot ward off the chill of the ship this morning. Strangely enough, there is already a lot of activity in the hall that acts as a hub for infantry quarters. You pass by several Athens Panthers who raise their heads in greeting but continue their conversation about the Penelope’s Vengeance and the Blood Goose meeting up with the great battleship Thunder God within the hour. You do not have to interrupt them to ask for details. You know that that means the final battle of the operation – and the beginning of the great war against the Invaders – will soon begin. You walk around the ship hoping that you will be able to go back to sleep later (assuming Commander Uther does not already have your day planned for you). During the walk you see two infantrymen deep in conversation. “He put his rear end on the line so the infiltration team would have enough time to make it out alive,” says one infantryman. “That alone makes him a captain I’m damned proud to serve under.” “It wasn’t just his rear end, though, it was everyone’s,” says the other. You realize that you have never seen him before. “He risked everyone’s life so that a single team might be spared. That’s bad math, if you ask me. Your Captain Numitor might be unable to make the hard choices, which humanity will have to make if we want to win this war.” You know exactly what the two men are talking about. When you first joined the Venice Clovers, you infiltrated an Invader ship that was following the Penelope’s Vengeance. After you destroyed its shield generator, Captain Numitor could have blasted the ship immediately. He was under great pressure because an Invader team was on the Vengeance, killing indiscriminately in an effort to get at the shield generator. Instead of firing immediately, Captain Numitor gave you and your team enough time to get out alive. You consider going back to the two men in conversation and telling them that humans sacrificing humans will not help beat the Invaders, but they have been walking along their own route and are now out of sight. You continue on, wondering at the fact that a man you have never seen is casting judgment on Captain Numitor - and yet a line of people waiting to stomp his rear end into the ground is nowhere in sight. Eventually you come to a wide, well-lit hallway that is unusually busy. You see several security personnel approaching, and in their midst stand several captains conversing with one another as they tour the ship. You realize that the Penelope’s Vengeance must have already met up with the Thunder God as well as the Blood Goose. You stand aside and wait so that you can get a good look at the captains as they pass by. Captain Numitor is nearest the front, pointing out details of his ship as he speaks. He is tall and carries himself with a noble, regal air. His short black hair, pointed beard, cold gray eyes, and bloodless lips do not give him a militant aura, but it is plain to see that he is a born leader of men, and you cannot imagine serving under anyone else. Beside him you see Captain Smiling Jim Dandy of the Blood Goose. His exact haircut and clean-shaven face mark him as a product of corporate management routines rather than military campaigns. Unlike his name, he is not smiling. In fact, he seems to be under a great deal of stress. His face even twitches on one side. As the entourage rounds a bend in the hall, you finally catch a glimpse of the captain of the Thunder God. She is a small, dark, old woman with a head full of white dreads. She looks unbelievably stern, as if her patience and ability to deal with bullshit ran out years before the Invasion ever began. Though smaller than the other two captains, she radiates a powerful presence. You hear others conversing nearby, and you catch that she is called Captain Sekhmet. At first you are excited to see the three captains draw near, but something seems strange about the situation. You cannot seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong. ------------ Despite the number of security personnel surrounding the captains, something feels very, very wrong. You feel a state of heightened tension, the coiling, sharpened sense you get immediately before a battle. Time seems to slow down in your awareness and you watch as a young man with short brown hair and the blue badge of ship personnel approaches the captains and their security entourage. With his eyes locked on them, he weaves in and out of the crowd. His face is empty of emotion. Then, feeling as if you are watching a nightmare unfolding before your eyes, the young man unholsters a handgun and points it at the captains. Chaos erupts. Gunshots beat at your eardrums, over and over, and the crowd reacts with screams of confusion. You see two security guards fall to the ground, then more of them leap on top of the captains to cover them. Someone cries out, “He’s got a gun!” and the crowd parts just enough for you to see the young man staring ahead with dead eyes, his gun smoking in his outstretched hand. A large ship laborer and an armored security guard both reach for the shooter, but the youth reacts instantly. Jerking away from them, he elbows the guard aside and somehow brings the laborer crashing to the ground. The youth dashes into a side hallway. The confusion continues as another man, his eyes glued to the fleeing assassin, unholsters his gun and cries out, “I’ve got him!” Unfortunately several people who did not even see the actual gunman point at the newcomer and cry out, “There he is! The killer!” while others point in a random direction for no clear reason. With a sickening jolt you realize that it will take several minutes to sort out the facts – meanwhile you have no idea if your captain is alive or dead and the potential assassin already has a head-start on his escape. Without giving it a second thought, you bolt down the hallway after the young assassin. You gain 1 XP for the use of your Sixth Sense. ------------ You push through the crowd and enter the narrow hall just as the assassin turns a corner. Soon the noise of the chaos falls far behind and all that is left is the pounding of feet as you chase your prey down winding halls. He is surprisingly fit for a blue badge; often you only see his shadow as he turns corner after corner in an effort to elude pursuers. You race past ship personnel and soldiers who have no idea what has just happened. Then you hear a female voice on the public intercom: “Attention all crew, a murderer is loose on the Penelope’s Vengeance. He is armed and should be considered extremely dangerous. Be on the lookout for suspicious behavior. Details to follow.” They didn’t even describe him! you think, fighting to not lose your balance as you race around each turn. What’s to keep ship security from shooting me instead of him? Finally you enter a long hallway. Far ahead of you, the assassin turns and looks back as he runs. He sees you. His eyes are filled with fear, but he does not shoot. An open doorway divides the long hallway from another section of the ship, and a computer panel sits nearby. You slam into the computer panel, then rebound off of it and continue on. With absurd endurance the assassin continues running down the long hallway, and it is all you can do to keep up. You hear feet pounding behind you. It seems that ship security is finally on top of things. Unfortunately there is no way to know whether or not they will fire on you rather than the real assassin – and so the chase continues. But you are not Dextrous enough, by far -- you end up completely out of breath. You lean against a bend in one dark corridor. Before you can stop yourself you end up sliding down the wall and going into full-on relaxation mode by sitting on your rear end. You curse the assassin’s speed and endurance. Before you can rejoin the chase, security personnel enter the hallway. Their guns are drawn. “Stay there,” one of them says to you. “This area is off-limits. We got a killer on the loose.” “I know that!” you say to the man’s back. By the time you have finally caught your breath, an announcement is made on the public intercom: An assassin attempted to kill one or more captains, two guards were wounded in the attempt, then the would-be assassin was cornered near the engine room where he took his own life before he could be taken and questioned. You are relieved that the strange incident has ended and that Captain Numitor is safe, but you are disturbed by the terrible feeling that something is moving in the background of your beloved Black Lance Legion. Things are not as simple as they seemed. The perspective of the average infantryman is that humans are fighting alien invaders, and all will be put right once the humans win. Unfortunately the struggle may be more complicated than that. Why would a fellow human being try to kill a human leader… and then kill himself? ------------ You spend much of the day wandering the ship, away from your comrades and duties. Late in the day you approach a long, gradual curve in one black hallway illuminated only by a wide monitor that shows a view of a pale planet. Others stand before the wide monitor alone or in quiet groups. As you slow down to look at the bright white planet, you see Captain Numitor standing alone at the monitor. Do you want to talk to him? quote:Name: Cromulus corn in the bible fucked around with this message at 06:05 on Apr 21, 2015 |
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Apr 21, 2015 06:00
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Yes. The Captain may have perspective we lack.
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Apr 21, 2015 08:28
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Let's talk to the captain.
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Apr 21, 2015 10:14
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Talk to the captain
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Apr 21, 2015 10:58
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You approach Captain Numitor and stand beside him. “Sir?” you say. “I can’t help but notice that you don’t have any guards. Considering what happened earlier-” “But that’s what I have you for, infantryman,” says Captain Numitor, smiling faintly. “And him.” Numitor gestures behind his back. You see a long bench on the other side of the hall, then you notice that one of the soldiers sitting there, who happens to be quietly playing a portable game, is none other than Arius Rinpoche, the Reaver. He ignores you and concentrates on his synthetic journey. “Cromulus,” says the Captain, turning your attention. You are surprised that he can remember the name of a lowly infantryman. “Look out there. We’re passing Uranus, ancient father of Saturn, or Chronos, who was himself overthrown by his son Jupiter, or Zeus.” You follow Captain Numitor’s gaze and watch Uranus passing by. There is something ancient and primal about it, like a white sheet of pale cloud unmarked by any unnecessary detail. It looks unformed, a simple building block for what would follow in the wake of creation. On the face of the great old giant you can see the black motes of both the Thunder God and the Blood Goose. “There are no Invaders here,” you muse aloud. “That’s true,” says Captain Numitor. “We can use this planet as a guidepost because it has little of value. The real gold mines of the solar system – Saturn and Jupiter and their moons, not to mention Earth – already belong to our enemy. But soon we’ll reach Neptune, the violent twin of Uranus. The ocean-planet, the ice-giant, the battlefield where Operation: Sol Invictus will reach its climax.” “We can do this, sir,” you say with sudden conviction. “We’re ready.” “Only if we can keep from killing each other.” ------------ “Most Legion soldiers make it a habit to leave the past behind,” he says. “Either that, or they dwell on it to the point that they become delusional and incapable of dealing with the reality at hand.” Captain Numitor looks you up and down, then adds, “Then again, they say that you’ve lost your past. It’s no wonder you would be interested.” “Yes, sir,” you say. Captain Numitor turns back to pale Uranus. “It’s not something I dwell on, but… have you ever heard of the Capadocian fortune?” “No, sir.” “Well, it’s a lot of money held in trust by a lot of investment portfolio managers, and I inherited it alongside my sister. I could have retired at the age that most people begin to realize that they’ve been born into a life full of either hard labor, obsequious servitude, or both. But I took my job very seriously.” “What kind of job was that, sir?” “To make the wealthy even more wealthy. I moved money around. Placed it in some hands and jerked it out of others. After a few years of this, the Invaders came. I had made a lot of powerful friends by that time… and a few interesting friends as well. I’ve been… here… since the beginning.” “The beginning? Do you mean the beginning of the Black Lance Legion, sir?” Captain Numitor only smiles in response. “That’s a difficult question to answer, and not just because I would have to break a vow in order to do so.” “Sir,” you say, “were you the target of the assassination attempt earlier today?” “Most likely.” For some reason Numitor’s candor makes your stomach drop. “How… how do you know, sir?” “Because it happened on my ship. A surprising number of people would like to see me gone, Cromulus, and while they discuss the matter of how to deal with me behind closed doors, as a rule I tend not to deal in conspiracy theories. These are dark times. I know you’ve been wandering the Penelope for most of the day, and I know it’s because you feel like you don’t have enough answers to understand the world you’ve been thrown into. Perhaps you feel like there are forces moving just outside of your peripheral vision. Am I right?” You blink and turn away. “I don’t have any answers for you, Cromulus. But I can tell you this: We do the best with what we’re given. I was born with a fortune at my disposal, then I was given a space battleship. So it goes. You were given the training to kill the enemies of humanity one horned monster at a time… as well as a clean slate so that you could concentrate on fighting and winning rather than dwell on some foolish nonsense that happened during your awkward teen years.” “Sir, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on here.” Captain Numitor nods slowly. “For the past three years, I’ve been doing the same thing. I don’t mean to chide you for thinking about things that are usually outside the realm of what should and should not concern an infantryman. In some sense, you’re right to question the simple humans-versus-aliens paradigm. The situation is, of course, a lot more complicated than most assume it to be.” ------------ “Do you want to hear something truly strange?” says Captain Numitor. “Yes, sir!” “Perhaps I shouldn’t say anything… but it would be immoral to keep information from someone who is obviously trying his best to understand things.” “I’m listening, sir.” “I’ve read your report about your journey to return to the Penelope’s Vengeance. Several times. It makes sense… except for one detail.” You clench up inside as you prepare for Captain Numitor to call your word into question. As far as you’re concerned, you were nothing but honest in your report. “Do you remember stating that you encountered a floating farm?” says Captain Numitor. “A creature living in the void of space? You said that this creature attacked you and, when you killed it, it released a number of resources… things that a space army would need in order to operate.” “Of course, sir! I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but surely the Legion has encountered other Invader creatures just like this one.” “I don’t doubt the veracity of your claims, Cromulus, and I’ll tell you why I don’t. You see, we’ve captured numerous records from the Invaders. We know more about them than they might guess. One thing we have is a schematic for just such a creature. Your description matches this schematic perfectly.” “If that’s so, sir, then why…” “Because, Cromulus, that schematic, that genetic framework, is only a plan for such a creature – and that plan is less than a few months old. Do you see what I’m getting at? We are at war with a cumbersome, unwieldy empire run through bureaucratic means. Despite the fact that they know the Legion exists, they haven’t changed their patrols or search methods in the past year. That’s why we were able to plan Operation: Sol Invictus in such great detail. In order for an empire to come up with a plan and implement it, everything has to be checked, double-checked, stamped, sent to a committee, edited, sent to a special oversight committee…” “I think I see where you’re going with this, sir.” “Indeed. So on the one hand, we have documents on which the ink has barely dried. Plans for the creation of a living space farm, a biological supply depot that would make going groundside unnecessary when large ships and armies require refueling. This sort of scientific project would require a great deal of planning and a lot of hard work. On the other hand, we have a soldier’s story in which he encountered such a creature, already fully-formed, mere months after plans for such a creature were drawn up.” You stand in silence for a long time. “I know what I saw, sir.” “Cromulus, if I hadn’t seen the plans for that living abomination with my own eyes, I would say that you had gone temporarily insane. By your own account you admit that your long isolation in space stretched your sanity to its very limits.” You give vent to a sigh of frustration. “And here I thought finding that monster and beating it to death was strange enough.” Captain Numitor smiles. “Now we have to wonder if things won’t seem quite a bit stranger if that creature doesn’t even exist. Just what did happen to you out there, soldier?” The captain lets you stew on that for a moment, then he turns back to you. “I’ve got to go. Good luck to you, Cromulus. The coming battle will not be easy. Our species is counting on us. We’ll both have to do our best.” “That we will, sir. That we will.” You decide to head to the supply depot, as this may be your last chance before the final battle of Operation: Sol Invictus. ------------ The supply depot is packed with soldiers spending dollari on gear so they won’t be immediately killed when you encounter the five battleships targeted for Sol Invictus. You have a sinking feeling that you might have to stand in line. Just when you consider leaving, you notice an infantryman talking to a weapons modification expert near the back of the depot. The infantryman is none other than the man called Kregus, a soldier who may in fact be your brother. He nods to the expert, then hands him his ridiculously large charged sword. You realize that you have been avoiding Kregus this whole time; your reunion when you first returned to the Vengeance was not a warm one. Do you wish to speak with him? quote:Name: Cromulus
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Apr 21, 2015 14:35
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Talk to the man, there'll be time to be a creepy shut-in later.
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Apr 21, 2015 15:07
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Use our massive Charisma to talk to our brother.
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Apr 21, 2015 18:34
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Tried to play the first game in the series, went properly insane (in the game). Guess I have to redo it a bit with a better stat spread. Edit: I don't know if anyone's played the first one, so I have to ask, is there any way to avoid losing Will while jetpacking through the void? Did I miss something in the ship, or is that a forced stat loss? evilmiera fucked around with this message at 18:56 on Apr 21, 2015 |
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Apr 21, 2015 18:48
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Talk to our brother who may or may not be our past self.
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Apr 21, 2015 19:25
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evilmiera posted:Tried to play the first game in the series, went properly insane (in the game). Guess I have to redo it a bit with a better stat spread. You can find stuff on the station which entertains you enough to get by without losing Will, but it also gets refilled not long afterwards! So it isn't a terrible thing to run out during the trip, though you're at a disadvantage until you get back to full Willpower again.
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Apr 21, 2015 19:34
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evilmiera posted:Tried to play the first game in the series, went properly insane (in the game). Guess I have to redo it a bit with a better stat spread. No joke, you can survive by jerking to men's body building magazines.
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Apr 21, 2015 19:37
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Well, just beat the first game. Probably missed like half the content  Is it possible to import a character from the first game or do you always start out that way in the second, same stats and all that?
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Apr 21, 2015 19:58
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evilmiera posted:Well, just beat the first game. Probably missed like half the content You can definitely import a dude into it! The guy we're using in this thread is from the LP I did of the first book, so yours will obviously be different. You can also start a new character, and if so you get a little starting cash to make up for not having any equipment.
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Apr 21, 2015 20:08
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corn in the bible posted:You can definitely import a dude into it! The guy we're using in this thread is from the LP I did of the first book, so yours will obviously be different. You can also start a new character, and if so you get a little starting cash to make up for not having any equipment. I can't seem to find an import option though, only New Game ones, do I have to do something in the old game to enable it? Edit:vvv Darn 
evilmiera fucked around with this message at 20:14 on Apr 21, 2015 |
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Apr 21, 2015 20:09
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evilmiera posted:I can't seem to find an import option though, only New Game ones, do I have to do something in the old game to enable it? Oh drat, I have no idea about the app version of the book. Sorry, I thought you were talking about the ebook, that's all I have experience with
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Apr 21, 2015 20:12
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As you approach the infantryman, he sees you and does not bother to conceal his annoyance. He does indeed look similar to you. “Are you really my brother?” you say. “So you’re going to insist on this whole amnesia thing, are you?” says Kregus. “Do you realize that this adds a new level of annoyance to a personality that was already difficult to deal with in the first place?” You say, “What’s your problem with me?” “What’s my problem with you?” says Kregus. “Oh, that’s great! So you’ve been a good guy – definitely not a complete prick with a stick up your rear end – your whole life, and here I come along and unfairly take a dump on you. You’re really somethin’, you know that?” Rage floods your system. “You need an attitude adjustment, and bad. Are we at least half-brothers? There’s no way an infuriating, preachy, self-important dude like you comes from the same genetic stock as me.” “Oh, we’re brothers alright, little man. Except you’ve obviously been a little jealous of me since I ended up in the crib and you had to stop breast-feeding to make room for me.” “Cool your jets and just talk to me for a minute.” “First you come on strong like you got a pair,” says Kregus, “then you try to act reasonable so I sound like a defensive jerk? You learn that poo poo in Manipulating People 101? I feel like I’m talking to dad all over again. You’ve got issues, man, and if you’re lying awake at night wondering why I’m not knocking on your door and begging to catch up on old times with you, then you need to understand that there’s a good reason for that.” The equipment specialist returns and hands Kregus his sword. Kregus picks the thing up and tests its balance. “That’s good, it feels a lot better.” “You’ll really notice it in zero-G,” says the specialist. “I believe it. Forty dollari sound good?” “That’s fine,” says the specialist. The two shake hands, then Kregus straps the enormous weapon over one shoulder. You are taken aback by the amount of money. Perhaps he has turned out to be a fine soldier despite his bad attitude? Before you can say another word, Kregus says, “Listen, bro. Just save it for the battlefield, alright? You can show me how you take control of situations out there in the void. I don’t have time for it right now.” Kregus leaves the supply depot, and you are left to wonder if you will ever get any worthwhile interaction out of such a hard-headed ding-a-ling. Perhaps I should just be grateful that my attitude is far better than his, you decide. Fortunately the line seems to dissolve just as you approach. While there are still a lot of customers, many of them are trying to get one-on-one help with their new equipment, so you can buy and sell without having to look at the back of someone’s head for the next hour. Then, as you approach the counter, you see her: The corpse-painted supply depot girl. She gave you a lot of help when you first returned to the Vengeance, and you have not forgotten about her since then. She smiles in recognition as you approach, and your mind whirls with the implications. Is she flirting? Is she madly in love with you? Was she smiling at someone standing behind you? Or does she not remember you at all, and is simply enjoying a recreational drug she has just taken on the sly? “Hey, soldier!” she says. “What was your name again? Nameless Wanderer, or somethin’ like that?” “That was just temporary,” you say. “They gave me a new name. It’s Cromulus.” She salutes casually and you add, “I never caught your name.” “They call me Demeter.” She spreads her arms to show several racks of weapons, armor, and other assorted equipment behind her. “Goddess of the harvest. Makes sense, right?” Your heart thunders in your chest as if the ship is under attack. She is pale and dangerous looking, a black metal queen beyond compare. The chain link fence separating you from her and the rest of the supplies gives her the appearance of being a captive in need of a hero to save her from a life of drudgery. What should you do? Do you want to flirt with Demeter? quote:Name: Cromulus
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Apr 22, 2015 14:05
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Let's increase our charisma before attempting romance. Only 31 xp to go.
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Apr 22, 2015 14:15
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Flirt. Give her a taste of our Charisma 1: "M'lady, I'd like to talk to you about my opinions on females and the ethics of gaming journalism."
Hogge Wild fucked around with this message at 17:12 on Apr 22, 2015 |
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Apr 22, 2015 14:39
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"Hard-headed ding-a-ling"? That's a bit unexpected.
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Apr 22, 2015 16:19
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Abort! Abort! Do not flirt Just look at the pretty lady and be glad about it.
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Apr 22, 2015 16:45
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Ratatozsk posted:"Hard-headed ding-a-ling"? That's a bit unexpected. Is it really, though? Don't do it, man!
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Apr 22, 2015 17:11
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Crashing and burning with the Goth Goddess is the only true Metal way to go!
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Apr 22, 2015 17:40
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Ghostwoods posted:Crashing and burning with the Goth Goddess is the only true Metal way to go! I trust this author enough to give him a shot at tastefully detailing our complete failure at human interaction. flirt
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Apr 22, 2015 19:46
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“So, ah… well!” you announce loudly. Already several people are watching you, unsure why you are drawing attention to yourself. To your horror your body begins to fidget beyond your control, as if you were dancing to an experimental non-harmonic song that only you can hear. Taking shallow panic breaths, you say, “How are you? Because I’m great. Politics! Um, so are you, you know, well, into politics?” Demeter laughs uncomfortably. “I guess maybe a few years ago I might have been. But we don’t really vote on anything anymore. You know? Storm Lord decides how things will go, and then we do what he tells us. So… that’s about how that works…” “Oh! Right! I guess you’re right.” Before you can come up with a fresh topic of conversation, another soldier sidles up as if he wants to buy something. Demeter looks back and forth between the two of you, then says, “Did you want to buy something, Cromulus?” Your soul deflates and your face goes limp. Unable to simply walk away from the awkward situation, you nod and Demeter shows you a list of available goods. Someday I’ll buy us a whole battleship, baby, you tell yourself. We’ll fly to the stars together on an engine powered by love and understanding. You won’t be laughing at me then! Just you wait and see! ------------ Once your equipment is in order, you wave goodbye to Demeter, the sweet queen of black metal, and make your way back to your quarters. As you return to the quarters of the Venice Clovers, you feel a sense of tension in the air. Sybel leans against the wall outside the door. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” he says. You enter and see that Marcus, apparently home from the hospital ward, is ransacking the room. “Where are they?!” he shouts. “I trusted him! I trusted him!” “Goddammit, soldier,” says Commander Uther, following him around. “You’ve gone far enough. I’ll put your rear end on the floor if I have to – or even back in a hospital bed!” “This is important, Commander! You don’t understand what was done to me behind my back, sir!” “Marcus, dude,” says Wolf Tits, making sure that he is out of the larger man’s reach. “I know people who know people. If someone took your comics, I’ll find out who they were sold to. Trust me, man, this is my area of expertise.” “No poo poo!” screams Marcus. “You probably took them yourself! Probably split the profits with Cromulus fifty-fifty!” You stand in the doorway until everyone notices you are there. “Welcome back, Marcus,” you say. Everyone stands frozen, teetering on the edge of violence. “You ready for the big battle coming up?” “I sure am,” says Marcus, slowly balling his hands into fists. “Question is, are you? I told you to watch my comic books for me, man. I thought we were friends, man… brothers. When I come back here, I take a peep in my supply locker – and they’re gone. Take a peep in yours – ain’t there either.” “That sounds bad,” you say. “Don’t worry,” says Marcus, approaching and cracking his neck. “I know for a fact there’s an available bed down in sick bay.” “I just don’t see how your comics could be gone,” you say. You make sure to place enough nonchalance in your voice that his blood pressure can only increase. “But if they’re gone, they must be gone for good. Wonder how that happened?” “Mm hm. I wonder.” “Because when I put them right here, I expected them to stay put.” You open an air duct and reveal a heavy stack of comic books, all bagged, none boarded. Thank the gods, you think. I barely even remember doing that. Marcus pauses as a flood of emotion crosses his face. “Cromulus,” he whispers, shaking his head. “drat. Oh, oh… drat.” You embrace and laugh, then the others join in. “Bunch of goddamn kids,” says Commander Uther, laughing as he cracks open a Champaign bottle. “You retards might be the last hope of our species, but you’re lucky there’s no solid-waste chute in this room, or you’d all be suckin’ vacuum.” You and the rest of the Venice Clovers decide to relax and enjoy yourselves in honor of Marcus’s return so that you can let off some steam before the battle. Who will you hang out with? Marcus and Heimdall Sybel and Wolf Tits Grishnak and Deeps quote:Name: Cromulus
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Apr 22, 2015 20:04
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corn in the bible posted:Someday I’ll buy us a whole battleship, baby, you tell yourself. We’ll fly to the stars together on an engine powered by love and understanding. You won’t be laughing at me then! Just you wait and see! Wonderful
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Apr 22, 2015 20:12
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corn in the bible posted:Someday I’ll buy us a whole battleship, baby, you tell yourself. We’ll fly to the stars together on an engine powered by love and understanding. You won’t be laughing at me then! Just you wait and see! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKs0gse6U18
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Apr 22, 2015 20:28
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Grishnak and Deeps. Wasn't Grishnak the one who played lovely music?
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Apr 22, 2015 20:52
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Oh, man. Cromulus did not disappoint. Reminds me of the late 80s all over again. Let's hang with Sybel and Wolf Tits. Because hey, Sybel occasionally seems to get flashes of spooky poo poo that might come in useful. Besides, Wolf Tits is in the goddamn thread title!
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Apr 22, 2015 21:18
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Let's spend some quality time with our boy Wolf Tits
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Apr 22, 2015 22:21
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Sybel and Wolf Tits
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Apr 22, 2015 22:29
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After several hours of drinking, Wolf Tits lays an intense dream on Sybel, your team’s dream interpreter. “So then, oh man, it was crazy,” says Wolf Tits. “There was all this poo poo layin’ everywhere, and I was just jammin’ my pockets full, you know? Except, poo poo man, it’s like I had bottomless pockets, you know?! I was like… but then this guy came up, and he was like, ‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?’ So I was like, ‘This is no joke dude,’ and I round-housed him in the jaw. It was like, kuuurnk! But then it was like… well it started out in one place, but it ended up in another, and there was like this chick, and we were talkin’ or whatever, and then…” Wolf Tits looks around to make sure that no one but you and Sybel can hear. “And then it was like, she started takin’ off her clothes, but she was like a dwarf or somethin’, you know? So I’m like holding her in the air and we’re just, I mean, it got pretty hot and heavy, and I… well, I took out my…” “You don’t need to go into any detail,” says Sybel, sighing loudly. He rubs his jaw, then says, “Alright Wolf Tits, I’m a pretty good dream interpreter, but this dream is, uh, complicated.” He pauses for a moment to see if the young man is buying his lie. “I’ll have to contemplate the nature of your dream and get back to you on it. How’s that sound?” “Oh, drat, that sounds good to me. I mean, I know it’s pretty heavy. You take your time. I was just wondering if it meant something good was going to come my way, is all.” Sybel suppresses a laugh, then takes a long drink. “I’ve had a dream, Sybel,” you say. Sybel looks at you for a long time with his strange, pale eyes. “I’ll hear it.” You tell your comrade the dream about burying a corpse and being attacked by a flaming eagle. He thinks on it for a long time, then says, “I don’t mean to duck out on two dreams in a row, my friend, but I don’t think I should interpret this one.” “Why?” you say, genuinely disheartened. “Because I believe it comes from a place deep within you that isn’t ready to have a light shone upon it. I think it was more than a dream. It was a vision. It was a message from your true self. Not the self that you think you were before your amnesia… but your self that you have always been destined to become. Your self that cares not for foolish things like status or accomplishment. Your self that was alive before you were born and which watches you from a time long after your body has died.” “What, like… a soul?” “That eagle. That’s not an enemy – that’s you, or a part of you. Don’t worry if it claws out your eyes or your tongue. It only wants to fly and go to…” Sybel pauses. “But perhaps I’ve said too much already. I will say this much, Cromulus: You have a great destiny in store for you.” You sit in silence for a moment, then Wolf Tits says, “Holy poo poo, man. That’s probably kind of what my dream was about, too. Don’t you think?” Before Sybel can answer, you hear shouting in the hallway. Just then you realize that your entire unit has been drinking and talking loudly all night. You listen intently, then you hear someone down the hall shout, “Will you please shut the hell up already?!” Commander Uther stands and goes to the doorway. He pauses, and you assume that he’s about to end the party. “What’s that, son?” he says. “I said-” “I heard you!” shouts Uther. “I just wanted you to come here and say it.” Silence follows, then Uther adds, “The time for humanity to be silent is over. Get used to it!” No challenges follow, and so the Venice Clovers continue their party. ------------ After a few more days of training, rest, and contemplation, you wake on a morning different from all others. In a ship-wide comm-system broadcast, Captain Numitor makes an announcement. “Warriors of the Black Lance Legion, the day has finally arrived. We are nearing the patrol route of the five Invader ships that we have marked for destruction. Operation: Sol Invictus is about to reach its conclusion. Today is the day when humanity will make a claim of ownership on this solar system. Today the Invaders will learn that they have made a dreadful miscalculation. Rise, warriors. Ship personnel, take your battle stations. Airmen, prepare all bombers and fighter units for launch. Infantry, suit up and head for the docking bay. Prepare yourselves! Today we strike the first blow and stagger the enemy!” The infantry barracks becomes a maelstrom of activity as weeks of inactivity bubble over into a chaotic free-for-all. Units suit up and shout encouragement to one another while butting heads and blasting heavy metal from dozens of speakers. In staggered lines infantrymen pour into the hall, some jogging and some dragging their feet while the Venice Clovers march slowly, humming a death-dirge on top of a beloved metal track composed by an artist slain in the torture chambers of the Invaders. Most infantrymen forego breakfast and form lines to accept stimulants handed out by ship personnel. “Nobody wants to throw up in their helm!” shouts a blue-badged kitchen worker. “Get your stims here! We’ll whip up something hot when you get back, boys!” As you walk by you grab a handful of pills, red, blue, pale green, then knock them back with a shot of whiskey. Within moments you feel your attention sharpen. The wide hallways fill with infantrymen loaded down with armor and heavy medieval weapons, their jetpacks arcing outward like spiked, demonic wings. Another announcement, this time made by a lady working alongside the Captain, says, “The Blood Goose has run past the five ships and pulled the two smaller ships away from the patrol, and is leading them around the far side of Neptune. Sol Invictus is working exactly as planned! We now face only three Invader ships!” A cry echoes throughout the black steel hallway and gauntlets are raised in victorious salutes. Raw energy crackles in the woman’s voice. You are sure that she is a fellow fanatic. You and many other infantrymen enter the wide docking bay, where final preparations are made on multiple bomber and fighter Wing units. “This is it!” shouts Commander Uther, his voice ringing in your helm comm-unit. “Over the seas of Neptune we’ll face those horned bastards and send them back to Hell!” Your fist slaps against your chest as your comrades do the same. Your blood burns white-hot as you prepare to show the universe the potential of your species. Your kind have not survived untold millennia only to become a slave-species to masters who are equal parts powerful, arrogant, and lazy. You vow that today their usual profit reports will be interrupted by tales of atrocity and horror. They will not forget the day when a seemingly weaker foe stood up and shattered their horns. They will learn to hate those who targeted Sol as their next easy conquest. Those goats will lie awake at night, unable to face the nightmare of the monkey whose soul burned with the fury of Sol itself. Once the infantry are gathered and the jets are prepped, the docking bay is depressurized and the wide steel door rises slowly and silently. Synthetic gravity keeps your feet bound to the floor as you and hundreds of other infantrymen run toward the vista of cold stars shining in black space. The Venice Clovers draw ahead of all others. Soon you see the blue, storm-tortured seas of Neptune, the raging gas giant, spread before you. It shines so brightly that the three Invader ships stand out like long black wounds. The enemy must have seen you, for hundreds of points of light spread from the black ships, like red wasps pouring from dark gateways torn into reality. Commander Uther gives the command, and you and your teammates blast your engines to life. You are torn from the floor by wings of flame, then as you approach the open doorway and pull free from the synthetic gravity you take off from the Vengeance with terrifying speed. As you approach the oncoming Invader infantry who stand between you and the three enemy battleships, you maintain your forward momentum while doing a quick turnabout, a move that would have been impossible before your weeks of practicing with the Venice Clovers. The turnabout affords you a glimpse of hundreds of human infantrymen flying behind you. The sight of so many winged warriors issuing from the black fortress of the Penelope’s Vengeance is inspiring, and as you face forward once more you see, on your right-hand side, still more human infantry issuing from the massive battleship Thunder God. We’re going to destroy these monsters, you think as you unsheathe your hand-to-hand weapon. ------------ The enemy jetpack infantry form up into a massive wall formation that is at least three units deep. The commander of the elite Athens Panthers broadcasts over the helm comm. “Uther!” he says. “Looks like these assholes aren’t going to sit down for this battle. What do you think?” “We can’t go around,” says Commander Uther. “It would take too long, plus we could be targeted by laser batteries. The plan looks simple to me: We smash right through the middle. Anyone who punches through that wall should form up and hit the closest available ship. Anyone who doesn’t feel confident getting into a ship can stay out here and keep their infantry occupied on the battlefield.” “Sounds good to me,” says the commander of the Geneva Scorpions, your brother’s unit. “It’s a plan too simple to screw up. Good luck, and watch your rear end!” A formation of bomber units streaks overhead on their first attack run, mostly to keep the enemy battleships occupied, but always hoping that they’ll be able to hit a weak spot and disable an entire ship early in the battle. The enemy units draw near enough that your helm computer identifies the dark blips with red outlines. You grasp your weapon and line up a potential target while remaining close to your comrades – and then the towering wall of oncoming enemy units suddenly rushes near. You grip your charged weapon and blast toward the enemy infantry while the human spearmen draw ahead so they can slam into the enemy first. You glue your eyes to an Invader with a wide blade, and you try to ignore the fact that the enemy’s wall-formation seems packed with horned, black-armored soldiers who want nothing more than to see your corpse freezing in space. With operatic metal music blasting in your helm, you crash into the horned swordsman and you both go spinning. With one arm wrapped around his thick neckpiece, you both try to hold your weapons out far enough to bring them down with lethal force. 4 ZGC + 2 Jetpack = 6. Failure! With arms locked and jets blasting, your weapons clash again and again. Your helms touch and you can hear one another grunting like animals. The monster’s face, a mockery of your own, is contorted with rage such that spittle flecks against the inside of his helm. The swordsman manages to jam his blade between your jetpack and back, tearing through your suit and causing a blast of freezing cold to lacerate your skin. You lose 3 Blood and 1 SD. But you finally manage to bring your charged weapon smashing down into his faceplate. You are rewarded with a rush of something like soup blasting through his visor, coating your helm. You kick away from the corpse and, with infantry fighting on all sides, you attempt to wipe the freezing goo away from your helm visor. Once you have wiped the alien gunk away you try to get your bearings on where you have ended up, but just then another Invader with a mace flies before you, desperate to avenge his comrade. The satyr manages to grasp your free arm and begins pounding your side with his mace as if trying to tenderize a cut of beef. But his unreasonable need to tenderize you proves to be his undoing, for he fails to protect his neckpiece. You bring your charged weapon down and across, grinding through his neckpiece in such a way that it tears free. The vacuum pulls his head forward so hard that he cracks his own helm, then his teeth rocket forward from the opening torn into his neckpiece. 4 ZGC + 1 Str bonus + 2 Jetpack + 3 Blade Proficiency = 10. You lose 0 Blood! And you gain 4 XP and 4 dollari for slaying two Invaders. ------------ If you hadn't brought Sticky-Fix, you would now be suffering blood-loss due to the vacuum of space. Instead, you quickly patch up your suit (2 sticky-fix uses remaining). You take a moment to catch your bearings. You have ended up on the far side of the wall-formation, which has completely degenerated into a full-on melee between humans and satyrs. Over and again you see jetpacks flaring, opponents wheeling about, smashing into one another and grappling for supremacy, and then weapons smashing helms and tearing suits open in a violent wash of spilled blood and freezing air. Before you manage to target another enemy, Commander Uther shouts, “We can’t dick around here all day long. Venice Clovers, form up on the far side of this mess. We’ve got to hit one of those battleships before the rest of their fleet comes back!” Other commanders make similar declarations. Within a few moments the Clovers extricate themselves from the battle. You burn your jets as hot as possible alongside your comrades so that you can reach the medium-sized Black Star before the other battleships have the chance to target you and bring you down with their laser artillery. At the same time, the Athens Panthers break away and lead two other teams, the Nagasaki Rams and the Thunder God’s Gaochang Adders, against the massive Frost Giant. Arius Rinpoche the Reaver calmly checks in and declares that he will take the medium-sized Hanged Man by himself. The Geneva Scorpions, your brother’s unit, agree to stay behind and lead the fight against the Invader infantrymen. Fortunately all eight Venice Clovers are still alive. “Looks like it’s just us against an entire battleship,” says Wolf Tits. “This sounds about familiar.” “No, we’ve got company,” says Sybel. “We’ve got four Invaders infantry following us. They’re fast, too!” “Ignore them!” says Commander Uther. “We’re out in a no-man’s-land, and I’m not about to get targeted by those battleship lasers with our asses hanging out!” The team increases their speed and the dark hull of the Black Star soon dominates your vision. You feel as if you are falling into the blue oceans of Neptune while a black island rises to swallow you whole. You begin to feel uncomfortably hot. “We’re entering the ship’s shielded area!” says Commander Uther. “Take shield-cutting formation! Weapons out, spearmen up front!” You glance to your left and your helm identifies the four Invader infantrymen flying alongside you. Carefully slicing through a laser shield that could incinerate you at the slightest misstep with four hated foes flying alongside you does not bode well. Your team assumes a wedge-formation with spearmen in front holding their weapons forward, with Heimdall in the lead, while everyone else takes the rear of the wedge with their charged weapons held out to the side. The exhilarating freedom of movement given by your jetpack disappears as everyone flies in a tight formation through space unnaturally heated by the ship’s friction-producing shield generator. The battleship’s shield protects it from laser fire; only infantrymen with charged weapons can slice through the shield. You try to forget that you can also be targeted by the battleship’s lasers… You glance to your left once again and see that the four Invader infantrymen are also flying in formation, but they are drawing nearer with each passing second. “Are they insane?” says Grishnak. “If they knock into us, we’ll all get roasted!” “Ignore them!” says Commander Uther. “They’re playing chicken with us! They don’t want to die any more than we do!” Still the horned infantry draw nearer. You are convinced that one of them is staring directly at you through his black helm. His blade is held outward, almost pointing at you. Pale, ghostly fire dances along your charged weapons, then swirls along your wrists. “Give me a sec,” says Wolf Tits. “I can hold my charged weapon in one hand while I pull a gun and shoot them with the other…” “Don’t!” shouts Uther. “Hold steady! Your bullets will fry as soon as they leave our wake, and it’s unlikely that you could hit a target moving faster than a bullet anyway. Just hold steady, kid!” The suicidal satyrs draw so near that you are almost convinced that one of them will soon attempt to strike your weapon with his own. Your hand shakes uncontrollably. Just then one of your own bombers swoops in and fires its payload at the Invader battleship, which begins blasting at missiles with its terrifyingly violent lasers. Silent, hideous explosions of glaring crimson distract you on either side, and a scream inside your head tells you to drop your weapon and cover yourself. 6 Will + 2 Jetpack = 8. Success! With the horned freaks beside you and sunburst explosions before you, you remind yourself that you didn’t come here because you thought it would be safe. The heat builds and a drop of sweat trickles down your nose and hangs there, invulnerable and maddening. You steady your hand against your weapon and your jetpack controls. The bombers pass and the battleship successfully blasts the incoming missiles. Unfortunately none have made it through the shields. But you have little time to be disappointed, for you suddenly draw free of the superheated shield and blast through freezing space. “That’s it!” screams Commander Uther. “Kill those bastards!” Before the command even leaves his mouth the rest of your team jerks to the side and falls upon the four Invaders. You do not even have time to find a kill of your own. Deeps quickly passes a heavy, short blade across one Invader’s neckpiece while Heimdall skewers another. Sybel grabs one and forces him to fly toward the battleship at a suicidal rate, whispering, “You like playing chicken? Huh? You like playing chicken?” Sybel releases his enemy just before the horned monster crashes into the hull. His jetpack explodes in a silent puff of gas and he becomes a dark smear on a black hull. You touch down on the hull of the battleship, which stretches on all sides like a great black castle made of steel, uninfluenced by gravity or direction. It is a strange mix of organic curves and unyielding metal. “How are we going to get in?” you ask. “Last time we had a bomber make an entrance for us.” “Hold on a minute,” says Commander Uther. “Busy here.” You see Uther and Marcus land slowly, casually beating the stuffing out of the last Invader that followed you through the shield. They both use maces and as they pass the enemy back and forth it almost looks like they are playing some sort of sport. Finally the battered infantryman tears himself away from the sadistic duo and, since his jetpack is smashed to pieces, he crawls along the hull. His helm leaks a steady stream of air and one arm is shattered beyond recognition. “Where you going?” says Commander Uther. “If I had a way to do it, I’d record this and send it to the rest of your people. Welcome to Earth. Enjoy your stay.” Finally the Invader stoops over a panel and punches in a code on a keypad you had not noticed. There is a rush of air, then the panel opens, revealing a secret entrance. “Must be an emergency doorway,” says Marcus, standing over the enemy. “Thanks, coward.” With that, he grasps the Invader and easily tosses him into space. “Hope you’re carrying a jetpack repair manual, my friend,” he adds. You gain 2 XP for bravely piercing the shield and reaching the Black Star. ------------ Marcus takes point and everyone files into the dark, cramped entrance of the ship. The claustrophobic silence is so unnerving that everyone turns on their helm lights, then Marcus finds a small, dimly-lit pressurization foyer. Everyone files in, then you crack your visors open and breathe freely once again. When the pressurization cycle finishes, a door opens. Marcus and Heimdall cover either side of the hallway, then gesture for the team to enter. You leave the cramped foyer and see a darkened, off-white hallway extending in either direction. You see no Invaders, nor any cover behind which they could hide. “Sybel?” says Commander Uther. “Got a few readings,” says Sybel, examining a device he is carrying. “I’ve got several things that could be an engine room or a shield generator. Sorry Commander, I just don’t know. We’re too far away from anything for me to be of any help.” “We need to cover some ground, then,” says Commander Uther. “Okay, there’s gravity here, so guns out, everyone. Put away your charged weapons. We’re going to split into teams and scour this bastard until we find something worth blowing up. Sybel, Marcus, Deeps, you’re with me. Marcus, you’re on point. Heimdall, you lead the others.” Once everyone has adjusted their gear and readied their long-range weapons, you split up and continue down the hallway. “Cromulus,” says Heimdall, “I don’t know how much you’ve talked with the Commander about this, but I think Uther’s going to groom you for some kind of leadership training. Did you know that?” “No, I didn’t,” you say, wondering where the young second-in-command is going with this. “Well, you’re on point. Take the front. If I get killed, you’re in charge. Got it?” “Yes, sir,” you say, moving to the front. You are glad to be the team’s point-man, the first in line to score a kill or make a snap decision. You are also glad that Heimdall does not seem to foster any petty jealousies toward you. You reason that, like any true human fanatic, he most likely understands that this war is not about his career or his pride – it is about winning, or at least dying in a way that will cause the Invaders as much grief as possible. Heimdall continues. “Grishnak, you stay on the sensor. Wolf Tits, you’re good with a lockpick, right?” “drat straight!” says Wolf Tits. “Then as long as Cromulus can stack up the bodies, we should have one battleship tagged and bagged in no time.” ------------ As you walk down the long hall, you hear only the dim, muted pulse of the ship’s entrails working in the distance. You swing around one turn, then another, but you find no signs of life. “No sign of…” you manage to say before being interrupted. A large screen along one wall makes a humming sound as it comes to life. Everyone instinctively raises their weapons as a face comes into view. “Storm Lord’s beard,” says Wolf Tits. “That guy is hideous.” You see the alien face of an Invader speaking directly into a camera. The image is unsettling; any other time you have seen them, their faces have always been hidden either by helmets or breathing masks always worn during combat. You have also heard strange rumors that masks are an important part of their culture, but you cannot say for sure whether there is any truth in that. But this satyr wears no mask. His horns are large and extend beyond the camera’s viewpoint, and his shoulders are broad as well. He wears a dark uniform but his skin and long hair are pale, almost white. His features are just close enough to human to turn your stomach, but his lengthened brow, nose, and chin truly seem like a perversion of the human form. But worst of all, the alien has what can only be some sort of skin disease. Deep, dark creases line the Invader’s face and give him an ancient appearance. Multiple open sores cover his cheeks, lips, and the hollows under his eyes. You cannot understand his absurd, nasal-clearing language, but you can tell by his voice that he carries some authority. “He’s saying, uh,” says Heimdall, “something about a possible hull breach. He’s telling everyone to remember their duty. Uh, something about the glory of the… the nation, I think. I think he might be in charge of their security.” The Invader finally stops speaking, then he pulls a mask over his face. The black mask is made of some kind of lustrous, shining material highlighted with strips of gold. The Invader’s dark eyes radiate behind the dead face depicted on the mask. You can almost make out some sort of breathing mechanism hidden around the nostril area, which gives away the fact that this ship’s head of security is merely wearing a fancy version of the usual breathing masks worn by all ship personnel during combat. Strangely enough, as soon as the satyr dons his mask, your helm computer identifies him as Gold Hurlant. You search your memory, then you remember that this was the very same alien that you saw execute several humans in a vid-feed taken on Pluto. The video ends suddenly. “Gold Hurlant,” you say aloud. “Now there’s an Invader I wouldn’t mind putting down.” “They might be onto us,” says Heimdall. “But then again, I don’t hear any alarms, and we didn’t come in with a lot of fanfare. There’s a chance nobody knows we’re here.” “Yet,” says Wolf Tits. As you continue leading the others down the hall, you glance back to make sure that no one is sneaking up from behind. You note that Heimdall is armed with a rifle, Grishnak carries a submachine gun, and Wolf Tits is armed with a shotgun. “Eyes ahead,” says Heimdall. “Grishnak and Wolf Tits will watch our rear end. You can trust them.” Ahead, you see an area cluttered with large rectangular things cast into shadows by a dead light fixture. Beyond that you see a door and a turn in the hall. You signal for the team to move quietly as you approach. As you draw near, you can see that the area contains some sort of vending machine covered in pictures of strange food and alien script. Beyond that lies an area filled with desks and chairs. Before you can ascertain anything more, a horned head suddenly swivels around the corner. It is covered in shadow. The thing yelps strangely and then disappears. It has most certainly been listening to your approach, and is afraid. You can hear wild shrieking around the corner, then deeper, louder voices respond. A piercing alarm echoes through the hall, and your heart pounds in dread anticipation. “My fault!” says Wolf Tits. “I’m carryin’ too much crap for this stealth poo poo, boss!” “Don’t worry,” says Grishnak, cocking her submachine gun. “They’re the ones who’re gonna pay for it.” There is a door jamb where the hall connects with the vending area. You may suggest taking cover there in order to remain further from the turn in the hall where the enemy will most likely arrive, or get everyone to move up and take cover behind the desks, which are further up and nearer the turn. Though the desks provide better cover, they are also closer to the turn in the hall. quote:Name: Cromulus corn in the bible fucked around with this message at 22:45 on Apr 22, 2015 |
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Apr 22, 2015 22:42
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The door jamb whatever that is.
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Apr 22, 2015 23:05
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Get to the desks!
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Apr 22, 2015 23:13
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Desks for more cover, since we can't really dodge well. Jetpack skill really helped us, I wonder how we are going to get screwed by not having a skill.
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Apr 23, 2015 03:54
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While Heimdall takes cover behind the doorway and Grishnak hunkers down behind the vending machine, you and Wolf Tits run ahead of the others and crouch behind two desks near the turn in the hall. Immediately to your right you notice a wide window made of blue glass, through which you can see the area beyond the turn in the hall. Though the thick glass distorts the image, you can see smaller satyrs running down a distant hallway with their heads tucked down. You also see several large, horned soldiers wearing black masks rushing toward the turn to confront you. “They’re coming!” you shout. “How many?” says Heimdall. “Half a dozen, maybe.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, one soldier leans around the turn and fires while two more run behind him to take cover on the other side of the doorway. 1 Proficiency + 2 Weapon bonus + 2 Dex bonus + 1 Defense bonus + 2 Rifle clips - 1 for using a rifle = 7. Partial success. The intensity of the high-pitched alarm is compounded when the dim lights slowly oscillate between bright and dark. The effect is disorienting and you are nearly caught off guard when the black-masked guards lean around the corner, seemingly right on top of you, and fire on you and your comrades. You and Wolf Tits can barely move as the desks that provide your cover shake under a storm of bullets. You glance back and see a spray of carbonated sodas and strange, dried noodles as the vending machine – Grishnak’s cover – becomes a prime target for the fury of the guards. Only Heimdall seems lucky enough to duck in and out of cover long enough to get a shot off. He manages to throws the guards off rhythm such that Wolf Tits is eventually able to peek over his cover and blast any horned head that hovers into view. The gunfire exchange becomes so violent that the entire room is riddled and torn to shreds within seconds. White spiderwebs of broken glass spread over the thick window, but it holds steady. When Wolf Tits reloads, you lean out of cover. As if on cue a guard peeks around the corner. Your blast hits him with enough force leave an incredible spray of red all over the quickly-disintegrating entrance. You shoot another foe in his knee and, as he falters, a blast from Grishnak’s submachine gun throws him against several of his comrades. Emboldened by your kills, you prepare to swing out from cover yet again, but you never have the opportunity – a guard with a heavy gun drills your desk with enough force that at least one round punches through and hits you in the side. You fall onto your back, unable to breathe, while the others focus their fury on the one who shot you. The guards are soon forced to retreat dragging their wounded while Wolf Tits, with one hand on your ammo pouch, checks to make sure that you are still alive. You are sorely tempted to pull off your armor so that you can breathe more easily, but you stifle the impulse. You lose 5 Blood from the blast. You also lose 1 SD, but you gain 3 XP and 3 dollari for making it through the tense shootout. “We’ve got to get out of here!” says Heimdall. “They’ll have reinforcements up here any minute.” Because it is difficult to see through the ruined window, Wolf Tits rises and peeks around the corner. “I see ’em,” he says. “They’re trying to regroup behind some cover. Looks like they don’t want to leave that door completely unprotected.” “We don’t have time to waste on them,” says Heimdall. You could take the door, while your allies cover you, or send Wolf Tits through. It's up to you. quote:Name: Cromulus
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Apr 23, 2015 04:25
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Use sticky fix, take the door yourself.
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Apr 23, 2015 04:46
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I'm surprised that's only a +1 proficiency bonus, not the normal +3. Odd. And yeah, sticky fix and take the door.
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Apr 23, 2015 05:09
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Decoy Badger posted:Use sticky fix, take the door yourself. Seconding this. Charge!
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Apr 23, 2015 05:11
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 20:27 |
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Decoy Badger posted:Use sticky fix, take the door yourself. Hell yeah. We took point. Let's do it like we mean it.
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Apr 23, 2015 13:58
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