The Screaming Sky - DM Downrightamazed

Game Master downrightamazed

"A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now." -- Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow


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Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Devereux stands, 'Time is wasting away, like Alastair said, they can probably track us either way. I don't want to kick around here waiting for Saturday, at least at our desitination we can scope the place out, Kyra can meet up with her gang, etc.

So if there are no major objections my vote is for Winston to arrange transport and for all of us to take a car trip. My one concern is if the enemies of our new benefactor are that powerful, by taking the car instead of the train we may be leaving any protection we might have had, so we will have to be on the look out and wary at all times.'


Devereux Atkinson wrote:
, Kyra can meet up with her gang

Just want to point out Kyra is male...


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Sorry... I know a female Kyra IRL so I got confused.


Devereux Atkinson wrote:
Sorry... I know a female Kyra IRL so I got confused.

It's cool. Normally male Nazzadi names end in 'a' and female Nazzadi names end in 'y'.


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Oops, didn't read that when I had my name, erm.... He naturalised :P


"'Fix" He signaled that he had something he needed to show her, gesturing to the small screen of his PCPU.

Unlike most Tankers, he hated deserts. While many swore the flat, featureless expanses meant his improved land-speed let him run rings around the boxy Swords that the rank and file piloted, there was always something imperceptibly 'off' about driving on sand that bothered him to no end. He had always put it down to that buoyant alien sensation of instability that continually engulfed his vehicle, cushioning each bump, shudder and vibration into a soggy wobble, the feeling of continually being a micro-second behind reality as the Rangers' armored tracks scrabbled for purchase on the ever shifting ground beneath it.

Well... there was that...

Chelsea screwed up her face as she noticed what he was pointing at.

"I already brought half the Gobi home with me the last time." She groaned.

He knew what she was talking about. Though the NEG had wasted no expense in equipping their vehicles with a NBC proof life support system, perhaps as a cruel joke by mother nature, nothing stopped the dust. It was an omnipresent companion even in the sealed cabin of the Ranger, too tiny to see, yet clogging pores, drying the mouth, watering the eyes and covering the skin with an irritable thin patina of caked sweat.

Corporal Martin had once joked about it once, that the sand was alive, some sort of microscopic swarming animal that craved warmth and shadowed corners. He was dead now. The sands of the Gobi had taken his body, thirstily drinking the offerings of his ragged wounds and slowly coalescencing into crimson sludge beneath him.

He buried the unwelcome memory and nodded.

It wasn't just him of course. Airfix regularly complained about his driving - it was an old game they played regularly and both were familiar with the routine. But there was something about his driving on sand that she claimed seriously threw her aim off. Not noticeably, he had pointed out, but between that and the discomfort of the overtaxed life support, she had always looked happier heading out of a desert than in.

Lieutenant Yee had always chuckled about this as he admonished them "Like father like daughter", a comment that had always elicited a laugh from the rest of the platoon while riling both of them up to no end. Of course, he was dead too, his Ranger torn open and left behind like a discarded wrapper by a hungry Gug.

Then, there was always the problem of hiding in a desert. The advanced chameleonic coating and ECM suite that gave the Ranger its unnerving ability to disappear from plain sight was a boon that had kept him alive more than once, allowing him to sneak past whatever Chelsea couldn't outshoot. The desert was a gamechanger - if you weren't careful, the tracks across the sandy dunes his vehicle left behind could be spotted from the air, and even the most minute of movements could stir up dust clouds several times the size of the tanks.

It didn't help being invisible if everyone else could see where you were going. He'd learned that lesson in China and he had no intention of going for the refresher.

The day was just getting better and better.

--------------------------------

@ DM Downrightamazed: Winston is going to ask for Chelsea's opinion on what she thinks of the entire situation and the mess they're in.

She may just be a 'class feature', but I'd much prefer to have her fleshed out. It just makes more sense given that having worked with her for years she's the person he trusts the most in the room at the moment.

I also hope you don't mind if I occasionally sneak in a line or two in her voice.

@ Everyone: Seriously. Half of what Winston is whinging about it true about sand.


After a few minutes John returns from the lounge. Before taking his seat he pours a generous amount of scotch into a glass with two lumps of ice and just a splash of water, then slumps down in a chair and starts talking. "So, the colonel heard from the higher-ups that this is a legitimate NEG operation. Nyx is a mercenary of some sort with a nasty reputation. She's nominally on our side, but we need to watch her like a snake- her file was classified even above his clearance." With a gesture on his tablet, John places an image on the room's center screen and begins his briefing.

"There's an arms race for occult artifacts, and we're losing it. Cultists have been raiding private collections, and there have been several incidents of Migou staging raids and landing ships for the sole purpose of stealing from museums." He indicates the picture, "Last night these three pages were stolen from from the Voynich manuscript. The document is one of the last unsolved puzzles in linguistics, and hasn't yielded its secrets to generations of researchers studying it from a dozen different disciplines... there was a surge of interest in it after the development of arcanotechnology, but after 50 years even most sorcerers were ready to write it off as a medieval hoax. We don't know who took it or their reasons, but the theft was significant enough that someone higher-up decided to move up the timetable on our mission- apparently we weren't supposed to be 'activated' until Saturday. As Nyx implied, our job is to recover these artifacts and find out who is behind their theft and the reason for taking them. I'm not sure how Abéché relates to any of this... I guess we'll find out when we get there."

John wasn't sure why he went through the trouble of sticking to his legend. It looked like he'd be working closely with these people for quite some time, it would probably be easier to to come clean- but the lies were second nature after so many years of this kind of work that it was almost automatic. Then there was Lokapala's warning about Cadwallader's identity to consider... no, he would play his cards close to his chest until he had a good reason to do otherwise.

@Winston: Truth. Been there, done that, developed a love for baby wipes...

@GM:
I didn't have AIM set up to keep logs so I lost the transcript from yesterday. If you have it handy could you email it to loimprevisto at yahoo.com? I was writing from memory, so if I got something wrong please jump in with a correction...


Alastair nodded to Devereux, another 'man' with sense. Unlike most people Alastair looked at the Nazzadi like he would any other humanoid, just another type of human. Despite the incessant prattling of egghead scientists, naming off the differences and the alien origins. He couldn't help but except them for their human traits, he also found that the Nazzadi reminded him of when he first started traveling, the further he moved from his Island homeland the more interesting cultures he discovered and delved into. The Nazzadi were just another oddity among a race that was already versatile and in his opinion they added a great deal to Mankind, he saw this everyday in Kyra and Cythera's abilities.

"I will be right back, I need to make some calls. Should only take a few minutes." Alastair turned and quietly left the room, heading back to his hotel room and donning his set of defenders and hanging them somewhat loosely on his hips. I said no big changes, but normally i'm always walking with these on... As he settled the gun belt into its usual niche he tapped his HUD and placed a call back to the hanger.

DRA OOC:

I never did flesh out my contacts >.<;. So here goes, modify if you see fit.

High Ranking Contact (Rank/Name is upto you~) Previous CO when he was in the 172nd Cadian Division. Was the head of the investigation that revealed Alastair as the CEO of Clarkson Shipping. They are the only one who knows this fact and because of this they have a love/hate relationship. Alastair does favors for his previous CO, to keep some of his secrets in the dark, and they ometimes swap information back and forth as part of the arrangement. Alastair though definitely gets the raw end of the deal though.

Middle Contact - Sylindra, Scientist in the Engel Project, Alastair likes to try and stay abreast of the goings on or if there is any prototypes in the works.

Two Low rank contacts, - Vicks - Mechanic and Low-End Engineer in the Engel Hangar. Wedge - Vicks Twin brother, runs the armory on base. Their rivalry is legendary and each of them pull elaborate pranks on one another whenever the HNIC's aren't looking.

DRA IC:

Alastair called the main line for the Engel hangar and asked for a message to be delivered to Vicks, "I know i'm supposed to be on Vacation but you tell that sorry sod not to scratch up my Engel too bad. I'd like a diagnostics report and an update on its status whenever he gets a chance. Also, tell him to calibrate Kyra's thrusters again if he would. Much thanks." The last thing he heard was the sound of laughter from the operator. He hated being subtle, he wasn't very good at it either but he had no choice. It'll be better if I don't act suspiciously, if they are monitoring our calls, then I don't want Vicks and them targeted with some sort of backlash. If he has any odd information, he may offer it up accidentally. If not well... I will at lest have a report on Valk before she was shipped out. Its a start.

After placing his call he made his way back to the suite to rejoin the others. Reinsert whenever boss man ;)


John: email sent.

Winston: That's all totally fine. As Alastair and Kyra and Cythery can attest, in my games companion NPCs can be every bit as fully fleshed out as you want them to be, and I have no problem with you running conversations, combat, or whatever with them yourself whenever necessary.


@Winston: Expect DRA to take over and make them even more Awesome when he has to as well. I quite enjoy when he utilizes my Silver Dragon in LoM.


As Alastair leaves, Airfix gives Winston a look, then turns to John. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would they hire a mercenary to run an operation, then give her trillions of terranotes' worth of NEG armor and personnel to carry it out? Shouldn't someone like that have their own resources to risk?" The gunner steps lightly over to the hospitality try and takes a bottle of water.


John just shakes his head. His mind has been racing since his conversation with Lokapala, but he can't quite work out what's bothering him. He starts talking, hoping that putting words to his thoughts will help him find answers. "The more questions I asked the less sense everything made. There are holes in it wide enough to drive your tank through, but that's the story my boss told me. Why would they assign Engels, much less a behemoth-class like a Seraph, to a mission like this? Why would the NEG bring an outsider into this at all, let alone a loose-cannon like Nyx seems to be? Out of the millions of people fighting this war why choose us, and why recruit us like this instead of just delivering a set of orders and giving us a briefing?"

"Personnel for something like this don't have their names drawn out of a hat. Someone, perhaps Nyx or perhaps someone in the NEG, looked at our records and figured that we were the *perfect* team for the job... then used that access to our records to give Nyx leverage to 'convince' us to agree to play along with her. I don't know, maybe it's all a bunch of bullshit, but I have official orders from my CO to go along with it. I have a feeling the same sort of thing will be coming down for the rest of you."

John runs a hand through his hair, and pauses as he's struck by a flash of intuition. His hand lingers on the back of his head as he considers his next words, "Now, I have nothing at all to back this up with, but I think that Nyx might be affiliated with one of the cults. If the Migou museum raids made the higher-ups nervous on both sides, then they might have hammered out a deal to trade NEG muscle for cultist intel. I just hope to God we're not in the middle of it when it falls apart..."


Chelsea takes a drink and then sits down in one of the leather conference chairs. "I don't know what would be worse; that we're just pawns in some kind of trade, like you say, or that this is all on the level and whatever it is we're going to be doing, they think we need three engels to achieve it." She frowns. "Where the hell did the big guy go, anyway? What's his deal? He reminds me of trust fund kids who used hang around shoots. Something about him, I dunno..." She twists her mouth, but then shrugs.


am I aware that Alastair is Mr money bags? I'm assuming no bit I could be wrong.


With an oblique glance at the two engel pilots still in the room, John leans over and says quietly "Yeah, I noticed something off too, I figured it was just..." he gestures vaguely at his head, where an ESI would be and shrugs. "He wouldn't be the first pilot I'd met who was a little off."


"You know you don't have to whisper we were aware of the risks when we started. Cut our lives short possibly burn out before your 40 all the other parts. We know everyone considers us a little off, but that's fine with me. Besides what's the point in ófe if you don't take risks right?" Kyra says when he hears John. ["b]Does anyone need weapon permits? I can probably get whole of Mettle and get one for everyone. I remember he used to work with weapons before. Of course he could have changed his gig by now."[/b]


Winston eased himself into a leather chair at the table.

He'd seen it in China. A Major admitting he had no idea what was going on set of alarm bells in his skull - command staff confusion was usually the first sign that the situation was going FUBAR. Not an auspicious start.

"Sir." He made eye contact with John, then continued. "You mentioned this entire happy-happy-funtime-affair was being rolled forward. What kind of timetable are we looking at at the moment?" Winston had done this all before - Rush to Wait, Wait to Rush. Better to have a ballpark figures about the operating time-frame than none at all. "Taking what you say about this being a NEG operation as true, I have to admit I'm nervous as all heck. Too many variables. Too many ways to end up with a bullet through the skull."

"They don't pay people like me to think and I'm probably just chewing air here, but these magic maguffins usually come in multiple parts don't they? Yadda, yadda, yadda, too powerful for mortal man to wield, smashed to pieces, scattered to the far corners of the globe... Maybe Command figures the Bugs want to use it against us and they need all the parts of whatever it is to make it happen. Boil all the water, turn us all into sheep, Earth-shattering kaboom... Makes just about as much sense as anything they do."

"Maybe they figured it won't work if whoever is after it doesn't have the whole thing. Maybe NEG would rather lose a part or two to the cults rather than lose the whole thing to the Bugs. Playing keep-away with the Bugs makes keeping Engels on-site as a precaution make a bit more sense... to me anyway." He shrugged.

"As for the big guy? Bit off is right. Alastair strikes me as old money - the kind who has cash to burn and knows it. You'd think someone like him would be living up the good life somewhere as far away from the war as possible. God knows what he's doing in the Engel project."

The impish smile on Chelsea's face was unmistakable. "Bit off, Winston? Given the way you were acting, you're one to talk."

He was about to respond with a comeback of his own when the Viper came racing to his fellow Engel pilot's rescue, leaving that train of thought derailed at the station.

Distracted as he was, a halfhearted "Shut up." was all he could ultimately manage.


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

'We need to make a decision here. I am in favour of taking a car and getting there early, doing a bit of scouting out ourselves. But I think it would be unwise to split the group up, not knowing who or what we're up against.'


Kyra codename Viper XIII wrote:
am I aware that Alastair is Mr money bags? I'm assuming no bit I could be wrong.

Good question. My understanding is that people know he's got money, but no one is clear on exactly how much he has, or how exactly he got it. I'll let Cori correct me as necessary.


Alastair eventually returns, and the group of you are able to formulate a plan, such as it is; Kyra, Cythery, Winston, and Devereux will go by car, leaving in the morning and arriving in Abeche ahead of schedule. There they can scout out the area, leaning on Kyra's friend if need be. John and Alastair and 'Fix will take the train, meeting up with the rest on Sunday. Devereux is still not happy about splitting up the group, but everyone else seems to be on board with it so he goes along to get along.

If anyone wishes to amend who is traveling with whom, please feel free.


Car Group: The four of you depart before dawn the following day, getting a head start on the sun. The trip along the northern bypass goes rapidly and smoothly, aided by the fact that this road is still new enough to lack bumps, cracks, and other damage. The AC in the luxury-class Range Rover Winston was able to secure is ice cold, thankfully, so you pass the time in comfort, getting to know each other, trading anecdotes, and looking dubiously out at the desert in which you will apparently be spending even more time than you had originally planned.

After a solid day of driving, you're all thankful for the presence of the oasis village of Galama, built solely to act as a waypoint between N'Guigmi and Abeche. There are many, many vehicles here parking for the night; tractor-trailers, luxury cars, sports cruisers, insanely fast motorcycles, you name it. All the hotels do a brisk business but have plenty of rooms, so you are easily able to get a place to stay. Devereux and Winston share a room and Kyra and Cythery split a second room. After getting dinner and relaxing a bit, you all retire for the night.

DM rolls:
Dev: 4d10 ⇒ (2, 1, 9, 8) = 20 keep 9, + 8 = 17
'Crash: 3d10 ⇒ (7, 4, 5) = 16 keep 7, + 7 = 14
Kyra: 3d10 ⇒ (2, 5, 8) = 15 keep 8, + 7 = 15
Cythery: 3d10 ⇒ (10, 5, 3) = 18 keep 10, + 7 = 17

'Crash: 3d10 ⇒ (7, 6, 4) = 17 keep 7, + 7 = 14
Kyra: 3d10 ⇒ (5, 3, 4) = 12 keep straight, 12 + 7 = 19

Kyra and Winston only:
There are some sounds that, no matter how quiet or thoroughly covered up they are, will never fail to awaken certain types of people. Tales abound of spies who can wake up at the slightest, tiniest creak of a floorboard just as much as tales of soldiers who sleep through heavy gunfire.

For mech and engel pilots, the whooming hum of a hot-drop heavy transport is as distinctive and frequent a part of everyday life as the three S's, some would say moreso. You both awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, both pulled from dreams of combat and death, eyes clearing of the red stain of remembered blood as you stare blearily around, trying to ascertain your location. Quickly, details return; vacation, Nyx, desert, car, road, hotel. Hotel! Then why are you hearing...

Running to your respective windows, you pull the curtains aside just enough to peek out and sure enough; there, on the horizon, its profile utterly unmistakable, is a Mastodon-class heavy transport, the six blue discs of its exhaust ports wavering with heat as it moves over the sand at cruising speed. Mastodons are used to transport all types of mech into the most brutal hot LZs anywhere in the world. Their armor is incredibly thick and their engines have proven to be remarkably durable, even under incredible loads and duress.

You can think of no reason at all why a Mastodon should be here.

You are about to close the curtain when something else catches your eye. Slowly, a half-dozen horrid things begin to rise out of the sand. They are just outside of the pools of light made by the street lamps on the road. The creatures are roughly humanoid in shape, but they rise to a height of nearly 15' and their limbs are impossibly thin, like twigs. They move with a terrifying and mantis-like gait, ungainly and graceful at the same time. Their heads seem too big fo their bodies and are bulbous, crowned with five eyes in an arch and no visible mouth or nose. They begin walking away, over the dunes, towards the distant Mastodon.

As they depart, one stops and turns around. It looks right at you with its pupilless, maggot-white eyes and shakes its head once, then turns and continues away. You notice one of its hands is just a disgusting greenish hook made of flesh and chitin.

Winston only, read this 2nd:
As the giant stick-man turns away, you fall back shivering with fright. Something about...those eyes...drilling into your mind...you know it knows who you are, somehow, and will be coming for you, in the night, lurching and prancing obscenely over the dunes, plucking you from your bed, that hook-claw rearing back...

You stifle a sob and collapse into the nearest chair, shivering a little. Devereux continues to sleep soundly.

There will be a mechanical price to pay for missing the Fear check for this creature later. For now it's just fluff.


@Train Group: You spend the remainder of the week in miscellaneous preparation. John looks for various resources but is largely stymied by the tourist-centered economy of N'Guigmi. In Abeche, he is informed, there are many more things of the type he is seeking. Alastair is on the phone a lot and also engaged in securing permits and contacts. Airfix mostly lays low. There are of course conversations with the "Car Group", and their info is added to the available pool of intel and mulled over.

We can RP conversations between groups later, I'm just handwaving it at the moment to keep things going.

Saturday arrives, and the three of you get on the train, winding your way back to your suite car, just as Alastair predicted. The luxury is remarkable; wet bar, feather beds, jacuzzi in the upper level, fine leather furniture. Airfix is beside herself, remarking that she hasn't been spoiled like this since some modeling gigs she did in the caribbean once. She plonks down in the jacuzzi with a cocktail, staring up at the stars through the skylight and listening to music, leaving the two of you (John and Alastair) alone in the main lounge area of the suite car. As you are going over info, checking maps and reports, there is a knock at the door and a mildly-accented arabic male voice speaks. "Hello, may I enter? I wish to speak with you. I come on behalf of a mutual associate, the goddess of night, the lady of shadow."


Alastair watched Airfix go momentarily, he still didn't know what to think of here but she had unknowingly dredged up memories he had hoped were long buried. Despite the sadness that entered his eyes he turned back to fous on what was on the table. Gatecrash is a lucky man, too bad [i]he is too weak to realize it.[/i] Alastair had a decent discussion with John over the maps and intel he had so generously provided. This man is wasted over in Civil defense, but with all the red tape and bull they come up with to deny or permanently delay service transers, its not a surprise that he hasn't left there yet.

When the knock on the door comes Alastair merely adjusts his posture and makes it so he can easily slide his Defender from the holster on his hip and fire a shot from under the table. He nods to John quietly as he cleans up the information on the table and tucks them into a couple unmarked manilla envelopes and when John is ready, he calls out at normal tone. "You may enter."

DRA:

I will re-read the posts above but hopefully I didn't miss something about this supposed goddess.

Also what rolls do I need to make to glean what this guy is talking about?

Thanks boss. =)

When he enters Alastair points to a side table by the door. "Despite our association, I would prefer you leave your weapons on the table there."


@ DM Downrightamazed:
As amusing as a "NO! I, RAY AND VIGO SHALL RULE THE EARTH! BE GONE YOU PITIFUL HALF MEN!" moment at a later point would be, I shall have to politely decline.

DM Downrightamazed wrote:
'Crash: 3d10 ⇒ (7, 6, 4)

Fearless:1d10 ⇒ 7

Keep 7 Pair. Total 14 + 7 = 21


Enjoying the opulence of their car, John reflects on how little one actually needed in one's life. Air, water, a bit of food, and a roof over your head- but even after a decade of war anyone with deep pockets can pass their time in a place like this while the refugees crowd under their tarps and blankets... Well, no sense it letting it go to waste. During the commute he speculates about what might be waiting for them in Abeche and chats with Alastair about their various logistical concerns- surprised to note that the enormous man with so many scars had already given thought to several of the more subtle points and had some insight to share. Too bad he's a wirehead, this guy has a gift for planning operations. I hope the Engel program gets enough years out of him to appreciate what he has to offer. Poor bastard.

Airfix was surprisingly good company. She just came across as so good natured- John wasn't sure if it was an act she'd picked up during her time as a model or if it genuinely reflected her approach to life. She reminded him a bit of how his daughter had been before he left; the eager young journalist rather than the married-with-children junior editor he'd met when he got out of the hospital.

At the knock on their cabin's door he meets Alastair's eye and taps a few quick commands into his PCPU, angling the screen toward the other man so he can see the universal symbol that indicates the device is now recording audio. John then tucks it into a pocket and prepares to meet their guest...


"Why the hell is there a mastadon out here...oh shit what the eff is that? Kyra exclaims as he takes a step back and allows the curtains to fall back in place. "Cythery time to wake up." He saya as he grabs his flightsuit and throws it on not that he expects it to help against those things. "Wake up sleeping beauties we have a problem." He says as he slams the wall that separates their room from Winston and Devereux's room with his fist hoping to warn them.


Winston: You are brought back to attention by a sudden banging on the wall. You hear Kyra's muffled voice yelling something on the other side of the wall. It's muffled, but you can clearly make out "...have a problem."

Devereux: You awake with a start to a fierce pounding on the wall behind your head.

Devereux only:
You are pulled out of a dream wherein you were being smothered to life. A horrid roiling mass of liquid flesh spread over you and devoured you, yet still you lived. You are a bit disoriented at the moment, but also weirdly ecstatic. You remember red eyes, welcoming shadows, and a pervasive calm.


DC13 Observation, Kyra and Winston only:
Something shifts in the air and you notice that the last "Sand Man" has stopped and turned to look at your room again, apparently its attention has been drawn by Kyra's racket. There is a pause heavier than earth, then the thing turns around and heads right at you with astonishing and terrible speed, its long gangly legs swallowing huge chunks of distance in an eyeblink.

Roll initiative, please.


Kyra codename Viper XIII wrote:
"Why the hell is there a mastadon out here...oh s*+@ what the eff is that? Kyra exclaims as he takes a step back and allows the curtains to fall back in place. "Cythery time to wake up." He saya as he grabs his flightsuit and throws it on not that he expects it to help against those things. "Wake up sleeping beauties we have a problem." He says as he slams the wall that separates their room from Winston and Devereux's room with his fist hoping to warn them.

"Honey?" she gurgled into her fluffy pillow, "Is this another one of your dreams where you sleep talk?" Blindly feeling for Kyra's body, Cythery snakes her hand under the covers to discover his absence. Cythery's eyes shot open and she hopped out of her snug bed. While slightly disoriented she managed to find her flight suit and mutter her annoyance.

"Damn this vacation! All I wanted was some sleep, I don't even get my continental breakfast! I actually kinda liked the half frozen orange juice and stale donuts they serve."
She looks over at Kyra and studies his face for a moment.
"What's going on? Why was I woken up?"


observation1d10 ⇒ 101d10 ⇒ 31d10 ⇒ 18 = 8
Initiative1d10 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

"Baby... Unfortunately tonights not one of those dreams...oh s*** why's he coming here? Oh I wish I had Azrael or hell even a clunky sword class mech..tch damn it. Nothing for it now." He says with a glance to the short wakizashi wishing he had a full length katana. Damn when I find Mettle I'm going to kick his teeth in for not getting me the right license.


@John and @Alastair: Your door opens and a very handsome Persian man in a black suit walks smoothly in. He notes John's PCPU set to record and gives a curt nod. "Hello. The recording is not necessary, Mr. McNaught, but I certainly do not begrudge you that bit of paranoia. Also, Mr. Cadwallader, I have no weapons on me. You may search me, if you do not believe me." He gives a little bow. "You may call me Al-Khidr, or Agent Green if you are not religious. I am here, like the stories say, to guide you. I am sure you have many questions. I am also sure you will understand I may not answer them all for you." Al-Khidr raises an eyebrow and looks around. "Are the others here?"

Alastair only:
I checked your skills and there's really no roll you could make to understand Al-Khidr's "goddess of night" comment. You'll have to ask him what he means...


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Years of combat training conditioned Devereux to sleep light. Despite this, tonight he had drifted deep enough into sleep to dream, something he rarely did. Suddenly he was jolted awake by the pounding on the wall, sitting bolt upright his hand instantly shot to his loaded pistol he kept under his pillow at all times. He always slept clothed in case of emergencies, afterall, the enemy didn't care weather you were ready for them to kill you or not.

With his gun gripped firmly in his dark hand, he turns to Winston, who is sitting in a chair looking stunned, instantly his years as a sergeant kick in 'Soldier, report!' he barks, moving towards the window Gatecrash is staring at.

Perception: 3d10 ⇒ (4, 1, 3) = 8 => 4+7=11


After Kyra pointed out the lovely view to the bewildered Cythery, she could only gape at the creatures.
"Continental breakfast is not enough to comfort me at the moment my love!"
She whispered to Kyra in a panicked voice. She laced her fingers over her gun like lovers holding hands in Paris. She was ready to kill.
initiative1d10 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14


Male Human (Singaporean) Fighter 1 / Arcane Mechanik 7

Observation + Perception
1d10 ⇒ 9
Keep: 9. Total: 9 + 8 = 17

"Shit..." Though he would have much preferred the more eloquent Hokkien profanity telling the beast what it could go do with it's mother, there was a certain practical advantage to the single syllable English one that made it a better fit for the situation.

He instinctively grabbed for the reassuring weight of his Defender, expectantly reaching for the sidearm holstered at his side.

It's not here dumbass. His subconscious practically shouted in his skull. Holiday? Remember?!

Ducking away from the window, he grabbed at the fanny pack sitting atop his luggage, the graceless movement inadvertently sending a stack of folded shirts to the floor.

Hastily clipping the can of Fumigator 2000 to his belt, he fumbled through the package, grabbing the little blue plastic device with something that despite the adrenaline flooding his system, felt something akin to relief. A tazer wasn't much in this situation, but at the very least, the weapon's grip felt mildly reassuring in his hand.

Thank Armorcorp and their executive protection plan.

He heard Devereaux behind him, the Nazzadi Sgt. Major already awake and taking stock of the situation.

"Freak incoming," he hissed, using the grunt slang for a demi-humanoid creature. With his free hand, he gestured towards the window. "Big guy wants a snack."

And at the back of his mind his subconscious reminded him that taking a tazer into a fight with the critter meant he was probably going to die.

------------------------------

Initiative
1d10 ⇒ 2
Total: 2 + 7 = 9

@ Everyone: As mentioned earlier, Winston's Defender is hanging on a rack in an armskote somewhere. One of the drawbacks of over-describing... Lol. So going to die...

@ DM Downrightamazed:I can't envision it. Could you describe the room and the layout of the Motel?/Hotel?/Rest stop? in a bit more detail? I can't quite visualize the place. Also, regarding what we're fighting - is the gut feeling one of a manageable fight or more of screaming "Gojira" followed by screaming and fleeing down a Tokyo street?


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Initiative: 1d10 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16


Per Winston's request, here are both strategic and tactical maps, for reference. I'll get a coordinate grid on there, too; forgot to do that. You can switch between the two views using the links in the top left corner.

Maps of hotel area.

Initiative Order:
Kyra: 18
Cythery: 14
Devereux: 16
Winston: 9
Sand Man: 1d10 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

@In the Hotel: The striding Sand Man continues its approach as the four of you wake up and get ready. You think you hear the sounds of celebration somewhere, but no other reaction. Doesn't anyone else see this f!!#ing thing? You know there are hundreds of other people in this hotel alone, not to mention the others in this waypoint. What the hell is going on?

Kyra is up! By your estimates, the sand man will be on you in 10 seconds (2 rounds)


Interesting. Maybe they're not watching us as closely as I thought- or maybe he's bluffing to see what story I'll give him... John settled into his old habit of dancing around the truth, choosing his words to probe for information or provoke a reaction from this Agent Green. First, John activates the intercom to the upper level, "Chelsea, we have company. It's about Nyx."

"Frankly, Agent Green, Most of us did not trust in our associate's goodwill. The others are still making up their mind about participating in this... venture; they will meet us in Abeche if they decide to take her up on the job offer."

@GM:
I'm not sure if occult or literacy would be best for insight and background about the names Nyx and al-Khidr and the stories he alludes to... Occult roll: 6 + 2d10 ⇒ (10, 10) = 20 = 26. I figured that the basic information about Nyx's name would have come out in the first stage of our background research- unless the modern 2080 equivalents of Wikipedia and the internet have all been redacted...


@John and @Alastair: There's splashing upstairs, and you can hear Airfix walking around. "One seconnnnnd!" she calls down.

Al-Khidr gazes mildly at you. "Ah. So there are three of you here. That explains the rented vehicle, then. All is well. I have your first assignment, gentlemen, you can tell the others when you meet up with them at your new base on the outskirts of Abeche, in the desert, in the safest place we could possibly find for an operation like this." He hands over a temporary PCPU, the kind rich parents buy for their college-bound students, the kind with limited functions and a short lifespan. "On that unit are coordinates, mission parameters, dossiers, my contact number, everything you will need to begin." He looks pointedly at Alastair and says "If you require access to certain Institutions of Higher Learning or other such facilities, you are to contact me, and no one else. If you have questions that cannot be answered through research, you are to contact me, and no one else. Is that clear? No one else can know the nature of what you seek, for their own safety more than anyone else's."

@John:
Looking at Al-Khidr with your enhanced senses is an exercise in gag reflex control. some kind of tumorous black growth, moist and raw and emitting a strange Kirlian mist of some sort into the air, is attached to the otherwise handsome and suave Persian, perched on his right shoulder and spreading down his arm and up to the crown of his head. The thing is pulsing softly, and has a multitude of spiked tendrils that float about it, like hair in a static generator. One large, flat tentacle, like a giant tongue, is obscenely caressing the back of the man's head. It seems the thing exists almost entirely in a parallel dimension of some sort, or a pocket dimension, but some of that mist is definitely crossing over into your plane.

Agent Green's aura is one of placidity and assurance.

Re: names. Literacy is fine. I figured you could go ahead and assume you catch the "goddess of the night" references Green is making, but Al-Khidr would require a roll. With your roll, assume you know pretty much whatever's out there about the names Nyx and Al-Khidr. I don't have any extra layer of story-specific meaning for you to decode w/r/t those names, so whatever you can find out about them now is legit.


Alastair remains reclined and relaxed as Al-kadir comes in and takes a seat. He nods in agreement with John's words before adding. "In the mean time do you enlightening me on this goddess of yours Agent Green. I am not a religious man but I find religious dogma interesting."


This is an add on since I didn't see DRA's post til now >.<;

Alastair raises an eyebrow at the man's tone but understood the reason for the secrecy. It was just as he predicted Nyx had her own problems that they soon might be dealing with as well. In response to the man's pointed look Alastair fixes him with empty stare. No wonder I never receieved a report yet... As expected. "Reasonable enough." He picks up the PCPU and looks it over momentarily before. "Other then knowledge about your Religion, I was hoping we could get an upgrade in tech. At least up the protection on our PCPU's or at least some type of ghost software so we can download your info and hide it. I prefer not to have to carry anything extra around. If there is someone in Abeche who can do that I will make sure its done straight away."


Hmmm what to do....who has the keys? If its possible for me to have the keys I'd like to run to the rental car and oull some car fu and run it into the sandman.


Male Human (Singaporean) Fighter 1 / Arcane Mechanik 7

DM Downrightamazed:

Just getting the basic combat mechanics done before the round. Declaring Winston is taking 2 actions this round for a -2 Test Penalty to all actions.

Also, are the windows solid plate glass or are they the "Lowest Bidder" cheapo material. And does the door to the verandah open inwards or outwards?

And I need a ruling regarding the Ultratech Model-18. Most modern tasers can effectively be used as a stun gun in close combat (I basically jab you with the protruding dart points at the head of the device without firing and activate the shock charge). Would you rule this as a valid use of the taser or would I need a specific Stun Gun (melee weapon) for the job?


DM Downrightamazed:
Basic logistics, since I'm unlikely to be able to immediately respond when my action round comes up.

The critter knows we're there, so there's no point ducking out of sight. Instead, going to try something cute. I'm listing a basic schema of what Winston is going to do assuming no major disruptions on the part of the higher initiative players

1st Action is to slip the door to the verandah open slightly ajar.

2nd Action is either:

If the Sandman hasn't closed the distance to the veranda:
A) To signal 'Grenade' to Devereux, snap the plastic head of the pressure seal off the Fumigator 2000 can and post the can through the gap in the door out over the veranda as an impromptu gas grenade. Trying to get it to roll off the deck between the veranda and the current position of the 'sandman'.

Thrown Weapons + Agility - 2 (Multi Action Penalty)
Spend Drama Point The Use Skill At Student
1d10 ⇒ 6
Keep 6. Total 6 + 8 - 2 = 12.

I've been a hapless bystander at a similar accident before, which is especially funny given that Mace cans are basically filled with pressurized teargas. Figure that if past experience is anything to go by, the can is going to splutter and toss up a little aerosol cloud of horrific nastyness before it fizzles out. Not sure what effect a small teargas cloud will have on a 4.5m tall nasty, but hopefully the chemical spray will make it think twice about barging in (It's a Cthulhu mythos game... who am I kidding...)

- or -

If the critter barges onto the veranda (and short range of the M-18:
B) Going to snap off a shot at it with the M-18 Taser

Marksman + Agility - 2 (Multi Action Penalty)
3d10 ⇒ (1, 4, 3) = 8 OH COME ON!
Spend Drama Point 1d10 ⇒ 10
Keep 10. Total 10 + 8 - 2 = 16.

Given that tasers are usually rigged to incapacitate 1.7m tall humans of average body size, I don't exactly have high hopes of this achieving the same desired effect on a 4.5m tall creature. But hey... You gotta try these things out for yourself sometimes.

If someone else (likely Devereux) opens the room door, I'll push up option A to my first action. If Kyra or Cythery somehow do something to enter the intended throw zone of my impromptu tear gas bomb or gets into a position where they'll get tangled up in my taser cables, then null the action choices (and Drama Point expenditure) and I'll go read what they got up to for myself.

And if this all fails, there's always the time honored military tradition of RUN AWAY!

Hope this ridiculously long post makes sense and makes it easier to arbitrate the combat round.


Male Nazzadi Sergeant Major

Not sure what Kyra is doing, but I'll take my action. Only taking 1 action this turn.
Also, Chronic pain test 4d10 ⇒ (1, 9, 10, 6) = 26 =>10+8=18 [success]

Free Action
Devereux closes the gap to the window, shaking his head at the monstrosity he sees.

Standard Action
Raising his pistol up he takes aim and fires.

Marksman and burning a drama point:4d10 ⇒ (4, 6, 1, 6) = 17 => 12+2(for range)=14


Round 1
Who has the keys? 1=K, 2=C, 3=D, 4=W
1d4 ⇒ 2

Kyra grabs the keys off the nightstand in the room he and Cythery are sharing, and sprints out the door. Preferring to trust his own natural athleticism over the slow elevator, he starts vaulting down the three flights that lead to the parking lot.

Kyra DC20 Agility Feat check, since no ranks in Athleticism: 5d10 ⇒ (1, 8, 6, 4, 7) = 26 => keep straight, 6+7+8+10 = 31. That is a pretty spectacular success. For that, I'm gonna say that Kyra will make it out the door and to the car, and be able to start it in time to attempt to drive it into the creature next round, but that is all he will have time to do, nothing else.

Meanwhile, Devereux calmly pads to the window and fires his sidearm at the approaching horror, the slug punching a hole through the surprisingly high-quality glass and spiderwebbing the entire thing. Unfortunately the slug flies wide and the monster continues its approach unharmed.

Sand Man Dodge: 3d10 ⇒ (7, 10, 10) = 27 => keep 2 10's, + 7 = 27

Cythery is up!


Attack with defender1d10 ⇒ 21d10 ⇒ 41d10 ⇒ 87 = 7 +2 for range -2 for called shot leg 15

Cythery raises her gun and fires at the creatures leg hoping to slow it down so Kyra can make it to the car.


Cythery fires as well, just missing the Sand Man and sending another bullet caroming off the blacktop and into the desert night.

Sand Man Dodge: 3d10 ⇒ (3, 8, 7) = 18 => keep 8, + 7 = 15


Winston carefully pushes open the sliding door to the room's balcony, giving Devereux the signal for "grenade", which of course the infantryman immediately catches, nodding his understanding. The tanker then hurls the beheaded pepper-spray can into the parking lot where it belches forth its contents, creating a floating cloud that the creature is likely going to have to pass right through.

The Sand Man sees the cloud easily enough and lets loose a rasping wail that sounds like a sandstorm stirring up and seems to sort of...shift its body around most of it. Some trickles up by its head, though, and it slows for a moment. As this happens, the three of you hear the engine of your luxury-class vehicle roar to life down in the parking lot.

Kyra!

Sand Man Dodge: 3d10 ⇒ (8, 9, 1) = 18 => keep 9, + 7 = 16

End of round 1


Beginning of Round 2

It's a good thing you took the time to find a sweet parking spot by the door, or Kyra would still be running across the parking lot, a tiny, juicy target for the spindly-limbed giant horror that continues to approach...

Kyra we'll do opposed checks for you to ram the thing; your Pilot vs. its Dodge. I didn't see you specify the three vehicle classes your adept level gives you anywhere in your character sheet, though of course I may have just missed 'em, but regardless we'll say wheeled vehicles is one of them.

Kyra is up!


Winston:
I believe by now you should have answers to your questions about the windows and the balcony/veranda doors (decent quality and sliding, respectively), but to answer your question about taser use; that's quite fine with me.

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