Donato's Planet Hopping Adventures!

Game Master Luis Loza

Celia approached one of the smaller, bug-like constructs and lightly tapped it.

"Sorry to bother you, but we're a little lost. Is there someone nearby who can help us?"

The construct flailed wildly. It began to panic and convulse in place. Almost instantly, a lizardlike Aballonian skittered up towards Celia. It stared at them for a moment, seemingly trying to convey some sort of message. A moment later it began to speak.

"What have you done? Who are you?"

"My apologies for any disturbance we may have caused," Valai says. "We are strangers to your world, and we wish to enter into diplomatic communications with your people. I have stated so twice now, but no verbal response was forthcoming, and we resorted to an attempt at tactile interaction. This seems to have caused some... distress, for which we are duly apologetic."

I have not invested in Diplomacy, guys! All I have going for us in this situation is a Wizard's vocabulary of Big Words. Please don't touch anything else until they say we can -- and shove forward whoever does have Diplomacy as a class skill! ^^;

I won't touch anything else! It's a class skill for me, but I haven't taken ranks. I do have a positive modifier through my charisma, though.
"My apologies! As my companion says, we were simply asking for help! We were brought here by an outside force, and thought maybe we could offer our services in exchange for information and a route to the next planet on our chart, see?"

Diplomacy:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Marshall is specifically designed to be non-diplomatic. I won't be any help until you need something esploded.

Marshall moves closer to Celia, adopting a protective stance in case the machines mislike her interference in a violent fashion.

Booker eyes the newcomer suspiciously but otherwise stays put and watches, trying to get a read on him. "You the boss 'round here?"

It looked confused.

"You are all speaking at once. Please, one at a time. First, though, this one is on the brink of termination."

It nudged the insect Aballonian and it resumed working.

"Now, if I understood correctly, you are not here of your own volition and wish to leave?"

"Yes. That is the problem exactly."

Celia looked uncomfortable, now, what with the term 'termination' being used in reference to the little creature.

"To be exact," Valai says once Celia has finished talking, "we desire to be relocated to the next planet in sequence from Solaris, in such a way as maintains our vital functions."

It sat thinking for a moment.

"Well, we don't have anything like that here, but there may be somwhere that you would find such a thing. It would require traversal of the Fields of Judgement."

"Thank you very much for your help," Valai says, sketching a bow to the machine. "I have several other questions not related to travel for you, but first, might you tell us some more about these 'Fields of Judgement', and the location where we might find transit?"

"They rest about 30 miles west of here."

As it said that, it seemed the distance was filled in by the pressure suit. The voice was momentarily swapped with that of Keth's, as if he was converting the measurement into something more understandable.

"That place is terrible, though. Any of our kind that approaches it malfunctions and eventually shuts down. It might even happen to your companion. You, though, aren't like us. You might be able to travel through it."

"Hrm. Shuts down, huh? Maybe it's like the mana wastes back on Golarion. Whatever makes these machines go doesn't go in this Field of Judgement."

"Oh no.. what about Keth, then? We can't just leave 'im... and our suits... will they stop working?"

"The suits will function normally, but I can't say for your companion."

"No, we can't leave 'im here but that doesn't mean we have to take him into the Fields if they'll hurt 'im. He can wait outside fer us. In any case, I reckon he'll be able to decide for himself the best course. He's seemed smart enough, and I don't figure our mysterious kidnapper wants to lose his eyes and ears."

How big is keth? Carryable?

"Mister, anything else out there we should be afeared of? Anything might try to gobble us up?"

"I can't say. There have been no succesful journeys into the Fields."

Keth is Tiny.

"Yeah, figgers. Could you take us out to these fields?"

"Keth, you know anything about these Fields of Judgement?"

The Aballonian shook its head.

"No, I'm not going near there. Also, I need to return to my work." It skittered off.

Keth flew before Quentin.

"No current knowledge on the Fields of Judgement."

"Congratulations then seem to be in order, Keth," Valai purrs. "You have an opportunity to learn something new."

Boodka watches the events unfold with disinterest. He'll just follow these guys around, until they get him somewhere he likes. As the treat of imminent danger seems low, he rests his weapon on the ground before him, and attempts to stick his fingers in his ears to filter out some of the noise, and is frustrated by the futility of the glass sphere. Then remembering the nose itching trick he puts both arms inside the suit and after some difficulty manages to plug up both ears, and lower the volume to a tolerable level.

There's really no time to lose, is there?"
Celia straightened up and looked around, pausing momentarily to regard Boodka's discomfort (which bothered her, to be honest).

"We should go."

"Let's get a move on then. Keth, will you be okay if you get in one of our pockets? Think that might keep you outta whatever it is that's breakin' these machines out there?"

Booker heads back towards the massive doors as he's talking.

Marshall looks quizzically at the orc, whose sleeves hang uselessly to allow him to cram his hands in the helmet. In case he hasn't heard that they're leaving, he jerks his head toward the massive doors and starts to walk out.

Boodka sees the signs of leaving, and quickly replaces his hands where they belong, grabs up his weapon, and hurries after the group, glad to be out of the noisy place.

The group set forth from the Automatrix, towards the metallic planet. Keth led the group in the appropriate direction. After a few hours of travel, the tun set behind Aballon. The night grew dangerously cold, but they were kept safe due to their suits. While they rested, the sun rose yet again. Soon enough, they continued their journey.

"Approaching the Fields of Judgement," noted Keth.

They traveled a few more miles before their surrounds changed. In the distance they could see miles of broken and unmoving Aballonians. Apparently shut down or malfunctioned, the area had quickly gone from a wasteland to a graveyard. Keth began to act strangely. His flight was shaky and his eye flickered.

"High readings bzzt unknown radiation. bzzt-ings indicate First Ones bzzzrrt nearby. Probable transportation at center of bzzt. Readings also indicate bzzzrrzzzrrt possibly hostile. Caution advised. Pressure suits shield nanites. Loss of function highly improbable. brrzzzzzrrt -conditions as...

Keth shut down and fell to the ground. The party stood before the Fields of Judgement.

"Thank goodness for that," Valai says, and gives the quiescent Keth a look of intense dislike. "I vote we bury it, or take it apart for study when we return to Golarion.

Now, if there are hostile creatures nearby, we are probably well-advised to move to the center of this place with both speed and caution. How many of us have spells or other means that could be useful for that?"

"I'll be a touch more useful if we're attacked. Less so at preventing the aforementioned assault. In any case, I'm more int'rested in these 'First Ones' Keth was talkin' about. If a First One can shut down a machine from who knows how far away, what are they gonna do to our delicate bits?"

This is a bit tricky. I, Valai's player, have a suspicion as to what the 'First Ones' might be, but what kind of check do I need to make to verify my suspicion?

I would say Knowledge (History), unless you would like to attempt something else specifically.

Let's take a wild stab at it! Knowledge (history) a-go-go! 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (11) + 9 = 20 Not too shabby! ^^

While very little is known of the First Ones of Aballon, you know a few things. They arrived centuries or even millenia ago on Aballon. Using their technology, they harvested resources from the planet and created the first remnants of Aballonian life as it is known today. No current Aballonian knows who the First Ones were, why they were here, or even what they looked like. Centuries ago, they left this planet, leaving many of their creations behind to fend for themselves. Whether they plan to return is unknown.

Not what I was expecting, but I think I can work with it.

"The construct's words gave me a thought," Valai says, and she pokes Keth with the end of her quarterstaff. "Someone had to have made those machines. The 'First Ones', hmm? Possibly they built the forebears of these machines, but left part of the world fenced off, 'dead' to the constructs, so their creations could not overwhelm them if they ran amock. Of course, such a state would allow non-constructs to thrive here. Just a little bit of theorizing..."

Just curious, what were you thinking for the First Ones?

"Well, we're not constructs. Maybe they'll be nice!"

Just curious, what were you thinking for the First Ones?

I thought it might have been a reference to the more powerful inhabitants of the First World, and that this no-tech zone might be an enclave that annoyed Fey were holding against Aballonian expansion. ^^

"Have you looked at us?" Valai asks Celia. "Depending on how intelligent whatever lives here is, it might easily mistake us for some new type of Aballonian."

"IF it can make Aballonians, I hope it isn't that foolish."

"Might be they'll appreciate some pretty words or a pretty smile just as much as the next,but just the same..."

Booker draws his gun before walking over and scooping up Keth. He'll slip Keth into one of the dimensional pockets, as long as he'll fit.

"Can't we just bury the wretch while it's deactivated?" Valai sighs as she eyes Booker picking up Keth. "I feel that thing is going to be a problem to us."

"It's not his fault he's in this predicament. Doubt Keth chose to be born anymore than you all did."

Celia looked into the distance as best she could.
Perception 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11

The area is a more scraps than earth. There are hundreds of inactive automotons, robots, and constructs strewn about, 500 feet deep. Beyond the initial ring of metal, there is once again exposed ground. It seems that this ring is where all Aballonians who have entered this area cease to function. Beyond this, nothing catches your eye.

"You got a shovel? You're welcome to 'im. He's been good for information so far though, and you might wanna consider that since he powered our teleport, he might be responsible for some of the other bells and whistles on these suits too."

"And that he might be able to do it again?" Celia added to Booker's observation.
"And I really wonder what Keth was talking about when he said he sensed hostile things."

Celia indulged in the urge to press on, though not so much as to leave the view of the party, should they not choose to follow her.
Not that she can probably get far without using powers, as this is rough terrain, right?

Yes, walking on the 'dead' robots is difficult terrain.

"That he might, yeah." Booker waves his gun lazily in the general direction of the interior of the Fields of Judgement as he follows Celia. "I been wonderin' 'bout hostiles too, but I 'spect if they show up Cally'll give 'em a piece of her mind. She can be a tad ornery at times."

The gnome shot a brief glance over to Booker.
"Can she? Cally is your weapon, right?"

"That she is, missy.