A trio of figures emerge from the small stone keep. They are accompanied by a floating orb with several antenna extruding from its surface at various angles. They seem to be dressed in some sort of plastic armor. They carry rifles with an odd half-melted look to their casing. Pistols are holstered at their belts. The approach warily and call out to the group
"Hello travelers! You fixin' to pass through our town?"
"Hello," Germain calls out, but again she pronounces it like 'hell-whoa', "we're probably passing through, we gots to get to New Ork, but maybe we could stop for the night? Get some supplies? It's scary out there! All kinds of evil folk lurking about."
Her cute childish demeanor never fades but those that know the tiny woman known as Germain might feel as all sorts of sinister shadows roll across her face as she delivers her highly ironic lines.
One of the men nods
"You cain stay, I jest need your names and yew gotta let T-Bone here do a quick scan for malware and nanites."
He points to the levitating orb
"We're a peacable town, an' there's a couple of boarding houses, or if'n you don't like bein' inside we have campgrounds. You headed to Nu Ork you got a long trip ahead of you young lady."
He looks at the motley crew
"Do I have yer permission to let T-Bone scan you?"
"Sure," Germain chirps, the sheep skin smile never leaving her face, "scan him first," She says pointing to Roach.
Germain consults her GUIDE during the scan to check for anything potentially harmful about it towards humans.
"Go for it, Bone. Hell, this could be real interesting."
The floating orbs hovers close and scans the party.
It whirs and bleeps and suddenly speaks:
None of the three show nanite infection. All hardware devices clean of malware.
The guard nods
"Welcome to Russelville folks,"
The town is small, and the main road in is flanked with shops. At a nearby intersection sits what looks to be a large bar/inn with a sign reading 'The Dove's Nest'
***
MacCoy's Entry:
Those who had spent time with Sherman would of quickly realised he looked nervous and shifty as he is scanned, almost going so far as to let out a releived sigh when the scan is over.
"What id da Nano-bites?" he whispers to Roach as they are allowed into the compound, "Da I and I was Tinkin da babalon were after da Marley."
He looks around at the shop titles, completely unable to read any of them, but hopeful that many will have pictures to help him out. "Take a chill pill eh?" he indicates the inn with a big stubby finger.
He looks around at the shop titles, completely unable to read any of them, but hopeful that many will have pictures to help him out. "Take a chill pill eh?" he indicates the inn with a big stubby finger.
Russelville's signs are indeed picture-rich, as illeteracy is back in force these days. Sherman can figure out a grocer, a smithy, a tailor, and such. The inn has a sign with a bird's nest with a dove painted on it. It also has a bouquet of dried grasses attached over the lintel, which is the universal sign of a public tavern.
The inn seems to be the best place to start especially if they are looking for a room for the night, but his arm still pains him, from the encounter with the robot, and he also thinks a doctor is in order. So he will head to the inn to get a room and to inquire if there is a doctor in town.
It whirs and bleeps and suddenly speaks:None of the three show nanite infection. All hardware devices clean of malware.
The guard nods
"Welcome to Russelville folks,"
"Thanks, man - oh, and thank you too, Bone. It's a good thing to know that I don't have any infections." Roach gets bak up on Bullwinkle nd rides into town.
"Nanites, Sherman? It's like having hookworm or some other parasite - but the things are little machines. Sounds pretty bad to me, having little robots messing with your insides."
"We sometimes use nanobots to fix wounds," Germain says, "they're programmed to clear blockages or knit wounds or something like that. That's what they were originally designed to do but then some stuman gets the bright idea that nanobots could be used as a weapon, then some other stuman decides that it would be a good idea to program the microscopic murders to self replicate, and long story short you have smart plagues that eat you from the inside out."
"Thanks, man - oh, and thank you too, Bone. It's a good thing to know that I don't have any infections."
The device replies, its simulated voice a deep and rich basso
No thanks neccessary. Enjoy your stay.
The party enters the Dove's nest. For the most part it is quiet at this time of day, with just a scruffy man in the corner drinking and a man sitting at the bar with a shot of alcohol.
Roach rolls up to he bar. "How much for one of those?", he asks the guy siting there.
Roach rolls up to he bar. "How much for one of those?", he asks the guy siting there.
The man raises his glass when the group enters the bar. "'Bout a credit a drink. So, what are you folks doing in this neck of the woods?"
"We are jus passin' drough," Sherman drawls out in his thick accent, his three good arms waving about to indicate a vague direction over Yonder.
He starts to unfasten the Cannabis plant from the saddle on his back and makes his introductions, "Da name is Sherman and dis is breden Marley," he points a stubby finger at the plant with the second name before wiping the palm of his hand on his pants and offering it to the stranger.
Germain looks about the room, looking for anything that would resemble a pure blooded human, and (supposing she sees something suitable) she then pulls out her DNA scanner and has a peak.
The man in the corner drinking is pure strain. The man at the bar and the bartender both read mutated
The bartender looks up from polishing glasses and gives the group a professional smile.
"Howdy folks. What's your drink?"
"We are jus passin' drough," Sherman drawls out in his thick accent, his three good arms waving about to indicate a vague direction over Yonder.
He starts to unfasten the Cannabis plant from the saddle on his back and makes his introductions, "Da name is Sherman and dis is breden Marley," he points a stubby finger at the plant with the second name before wiping the palm of his hand on his pants and offering it to the stranger.
"Pleasure to meet ya, Sherman. Call me Maccoy." He takes another sip of his drink.
"Say, Sherman, any particular reason you're holding your arm like that?" He gestures at Sherman's bad arm.
"Hello," Germain says, again using her cute voice as she slides over to the stranger, "that looks good, what-cha drinking?"
EDIT: Maccoy takes a drink, wondering why that little girl is going to talk to the town drunk.
"Hello," Germain says, again using her cute voice as she slides over to the stranger, "that looks good, what-cha drinking?""Hmm?" Maccoy turns to the girl. "This? This is good, old fashioned whiskey. Enough taste to make you want to drink it, enough kick to make you wish you didn't the next morning." He takes another sip. "Still, not enough kick to make you not want it in the first place."
Quiet Muti! Germain is on the hunt! :D
Sorry, I should have specified, Germain is after the pure blood NPC in the corner not the cool PC at the bar. She's on a diabolical mission that your character probably doesn't want any part in.
I should have specified, Germain is after the pure blood NPC in the corner not the cool PC at the bar, she's on a diabolical mission.
In that case, ignore my reply then. Good luck getting Otis out of his bottle.
The bartender looks up from polishing glasses and gives the group a professional smile.
"Howdy folks. What's your drink?"
"Anything that's, ah... cheap, strong and won't make me permanently blind. If you've got that, I'll take two."
"Hello," Germain says, again using her cute voice as she slides over to the stranger, "that looks good, what-cha drinking?"
The man looks up blearily and pushes the bottle over to Germain.
"It's shine girly, you wanna snort?"
Although this man is pure blood, he has seen better days. He sports a scraggly beard and smells like he and soap came to a parting of the ways long ago. His clothes are ragged and filthy. He stares hard at the young girl in front of him with yellowy eyes and smiles, revealing a mouth missing most of its teeth.
"Anything that's, ah... cheap, strong and won't make me permanently blind. If you've got that, I'll take two."The bartender looks up from polishing glasses and gives the group a professional smile.
"Howdy folks. What's your drink?"
The bartender, a burly gent with a third eye smack dab in his forehead racks up a glass and a shot.
"Homebrew beer and local shine shot boilermaker. Two credits."
"Say, Sherman, any particular reason you're holding your arm like that?" He gestures at Sherman's bad arm.
Sherman points at his arm, "Da Babylon be bustin it up right good and proper," he answers before pulling back the sling to show a cracked carapace with burn marks, most likely from some sort of lazer.
He nods at the barman and indicates Roach, "Da I and I be drinkin' what da bredden be drinkin',"
"Da I and I be drinkin' what da bredden be drinkin',"
The triocular barkeep shrugs and sets Sherman up with a boilermaker set as well.
"Two credits."
He looks over at the gent at the bar.
'Maccoy you ready for another?"
"Maccoy you ready for another?"
"One second, I need to take a look at his arm." Maccoy picks up the bag sitting next to him, sets it on the bar and opens it. He pulls out a length of gauze before turning back to Sherman. "Now, if you'll let me take a look at your arm it should be fixed up in no time."
"Da I appreciate dis i bredren, how would the i gaan fe bed payin'?" Sherman asks as he fishes in his belt pouch for some coins for the bar bill and to pay the doctor.
"Da I appreciate dis i bredren, how would the i gaan fe bed payin'?" Sherman asks as he fishes in his belt pouch for some coins for the bar bill and to pay the doctor.
"Oh, keep your money. Call this my good deed for the day."
The man looks up blearily and pushes the bottle over to Germain."It's shine girly, you wanna snort?"
Although this man is pure blood, he has seen better days. He sports a scraggly beard and smells like he and soap came to a parting of the ways long ago. His clothes are ragged and filthy. He stares hard at the young girl in front of him with yellowy eyes and smiles, revealing a mouth missing most of its teeth.
"Sure!" Germain says, measuring the man up, trying to look past the filth at the bone structure and trying to gauge his genes, "My name is Germain, me and my friends are passing through. You lived here long?"
If this fellow is a local Germain planned to make a notes about him in her GUIDE, if they were getting desperate back home they could snatch him up on their own later. Germain wasn't about to risk her mission kidnapping a local and potentially stirring up trouble with her companions when the was a veritable cache of DNA located in Wrecker territory. They were at war with everyone and a constant stream of POWs could be exactly Gaea needed.
1d20+15
Sherman's arm feels much better
Roach sniffs the boilermaker, and delighted grin spreads across his face. "Ooooh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about. I think I'll have one more while I'm at it." He drains one before sipping the next two slowly.
"Nice, nice, nice... Say, couldya perhaps suggest a good place to spend the night? Hell, I'm thinkin' this town might even have running hot water."
Sherman's face splits open in what you assume is a grin, but it is hard to read emotions on a shell face. "Dank the i mon, dank the i very much." he grips the doctors arm and almost shakes it off.
"barman get dis breden another drink." he calls to our triocular bar keeper.
Sure!" Germain says, measuring the man up, trying to look past the filth at the bone structure and trying to gauge his genes, "My name is Germain, me and my friends are passing through. You lived here long?"
The man's name is Otis, and he is a local. Germain chats with him a bit, and finds out that he has lived nearby most of his life. He is a 'tinker' and makes money doing odd jobs. He hands Germain a drink, and the cheap shine burns her mouth.
As for genes, the man might be pure strain, but he won't be winning any medals for superiority. His face is raddled with decades of hard drinking, and the sour smell coming off him indicates to Germain's fine-tuned nose that he has a lot of internal issues.
As he talks he attempts to lay hands on the diminutive female surrepticiously under the table.
'That's not going to happen,, Germain thinks. She wasn't exactly caught off guard, this was how men were supposed to act after all, but traveling with her mutant companions she'd forgotten how rude, disrespectful, and randy the average man was.
She abruptly stands up 'accedentily' knocking over her drink onto the mans lap.
"oops," Germain says in her most innocent voice, "sorry about that."
Germain grabs a towel and moves to mop up the mess but 'trips' and 'stumbles' falling hard fist/towel first into the man's crotch.
attack:
Damage:
swift strike damage:
bluff:
Successful attack or not, Germain stands up apologizing:
"I'm so sorry mister," she says, sounding pretty genuine, "I'm such a klutz, I'm always doing this. I'd better stop before I hurt you or something."
The sodden old drunk crumples like a piece of ancient plastic. His face turns purple and he wheezes as Germain apologizes
"Whee-*cough*-ack-*retch*-urgh."
He looks to be on the verge of passing out from the pain of Germain's well-placed blow.
The barkeep looks up
"Otis! Mind your manners or you won't be in my bar again! Little lady, you don't wanna be messing with him, he's no-good trash."
"I feel just awful about hurting him," Germain lies, "maybe I should buy him a drink or something."
"I feel just awful about hurting him," Germain lies, "maybe I should buy him a drink or something."
The triocular gent snorts
"The drink'll hurt him more than your accident. I got some apple juice, if you want some."
"Gee thanks mister," making good use of her big innocent looking doe eyes, "that sounds super!"
Sherman proceeds to get a bit drunk and inquire what peoples feelings are on the wreckers and what they know of the robot nation they are heading towards.
Sherman proceeds to get a bit drunk and inquire what peoples feelings are on the wreckers and what they know of the robot nation they are heading towards.
The barkeep shrugs
"We hear a lot of weird stuff from folks coming through. Those Wreckers don't stand a chance if they beef with OMNUS and the HVCS. The HVCS is the most high-tech place around these parts. Heck, they even have controlled nanite technology. I don't have much use for robots m'self, but I'm glad they are close by in case those Wrecker fools come down this way."
"Gee thanks mister," making good use of her big innocent looking doe eyes, "that sounds super!"
The triocular barkeep gives Germain a big glass of apple juice
"There you go missy."
Germain takes her glass and haply drinks the juice.
"I wonder what these wreakers are after?" Germain pretends to wonder, "I think they're scary. Why try to attack things that are more powerful then them? Someone's going to have to do something about them."
Germain takes her glass and haply drinks the juice.
"I wonder what these wreakers are after?" Germain pretends to wonder, "I think they're scary. Why try to attack things that are more powerful then them? Someone's going to have to do something about them."
The barkeep shrugs
"I don't know missy, but they'll come out the loser if they want to fight OMNUS."
"What the wreckers are after? That's no mystery - they want to kill all mutants to 'make the world safe for humans'." Roach shakes his head in disgust. "F*#& 'em. They burned my boat after one of their damned dogs started barking at me. I barely got away in one piece myself; hell, I only stopped picking shrapnel outta my back a couple of months ago. Nobody's safe until they're all dead." He drains his second boilermaker.
"I like most mutants better then the few men I've come across out here," Germain says, allowing the truth to slide through for a change, "but there is something to be said about preserving humanity. Although if these wreakers are humanities only hope I think humans are in trouble. Hopefully there's other groups out there. It would be a shame to see humans wiped out just due to the folly of Mankind."
"What the wreckers are after? That's no mystery - they want to kill all mutants to 'make the world safe for humans'." Roach shakes his head in disgust. "f#%@ 'em. They burned my boat after one of their damned dogs started barking at me. I barely got away in one piece myself; hell, I only stopped picking shrapnel outta my back a couple of months ago. Nobody's safe until they're all dead." He drains his second boilermaker.
The barkeep spits to the side
"Nuthin' but a bunch of Purist scum. We used to have a gang of them would ride the old 47. Nothing but scum and layabouts thinkin' they're special 'cause their genes is old fashioned. "