Just setting the stage for a playtest
Nice! Reviewing docs and gettin' ma dot.
exxxxxcellent
Rai Chhetri
Mustering Out 8 rolls (5 Terms +3 Rank)
Moon Akechi
Term 1
Term 2
Term 3
Term 4
Promotions (if needed)
Moon Akechi
Mustering Out 7 rolls (4 Terms +3 Rank)
char sheets
Term 1
Term 2
Term 3
Term 4
Promotions (if needed)
Term 1 (Marine)
Your term of service is uneventful.
Basically, nothing noteworthy happened for our hero. You can spin that any way you like. You leave the Corp unpromoted with the basic rank of 'Marine'
Term 2 (Scout)
Swift thinking enables the character to seize advantage of a situation (military, business, or other) that benefits the Imperium.
Your roll was good so... You are automatically promoted since this is your second term AND you gain another promotion for your actions - so you are a Rank 2 scout - 'Pathfinder'.
Term 3 (Scout)
Hard work and skill lead to a personal triumph in the character’s career. Her contributions are recognized and rewarded.
Spin is again promoted for his services: Rank 3 (No title change)
Term 4 (Scout)
The character achieves a victory or concludes an important project that expands her professional network.
Spin is promoted twice again... retiring from the Scouts at Rank: 5 - 'Senior Pathfinder'.
-- MUSTERING OUT --
You get 1 roll on the MARINES MO Table for the term you served.
You get 6 rolls on the SCOUTS MO Table for the terms served and your final rank. To get you the ship, take 5 rolls on this table instead of 6 and assume the last roll generated is a '6'.
Marines (1)
Scouts (6)
Marine - (5) 20k Cr. & TAS Membership
Scout1 - (6) 50k Cr., 1d6 Ship Shares:
Scout2 - (6) 50k Cr., Weapon (TL 10)
Scout3 - (1) 20k Cr., 1 Ship Share
Scout4 - (3) 30k Cr., +1D Skill
Scout5 - (2) 20k Cr., +1 Wit
Scout6 - (6) 50k Cr., Scout Ship
Adding in the 10k from career advancement gets Spin 250k Cr. to start, with 3 ship shares combined for his small fighter.
Spin finds himself walking past a peeling and cheesy red linoleum dance floor on his way to the semi-circular bar that takes up the back of the Slag's Head Tavern. This dive clearly hasn't made it onto the 'Top 10' of any travel guide for this backwash world. In fact, 'the Slag' (as its called) only tops the list for the number of health violations - a dubious claim to fame.
Nevertheless, Spin saunters up to the bar and orders something so alcohol rich that no residual bacteria clinging to the greasy glass could possibly survive. The bartender serves the drink without comment along with a flash of her ample rack. An aging and sweaty dock-worker in a faded t-shirt eyes the newcomer with distaste and mutters something about "pretty flyboys" before working through half his drink in a single gulp. His bullish build shows muscle that has largely gone to fat.
Spin scowls at the glass before downing half of it in one big gulp. As the fiery liquid burns its way down his throat, he unsuccessfully tries to hold a stoic face… managing to suppress all but a pair of muted coughs.
I should buy this sh!t in bulk, he thinks as he leans casually forward on the bar, swirling the second half of the alcohol-that-would-be-engine-fuel around the bottom of the glass. Could use it to fuel the engine… and clean the engine…and kill any rats…then finish it off by drowning a certain two of this ass-backward town's thieving 'businessmen'.
The dock-worker's comment is the piss-flavored cherry on the top of this sh!t sundae of a day. Spin grins as he turns to the grease-monkey. Of course, he thinks to himself as he slams back the second half of the fire-water, you only came here to work off some steam anyway.
Spin feels his already-questionable sense of self-preservation get blasted away by the 75 alcohol-by-volume liquid making its way into his bloodstream. Fast metabolism has always been a double-edged sword.
"That your version of a pick-up line, old-timer?" Spin puts a hand to his own chest in a show of false-flattery. "Mighty kind of ya, but I prefer a dance partner who's a little less… old. And fat. And greasy and sweaty." He pauses, then sets the glass down, incessantly tapping it's base against the metal bar. "Plus, and I mean this as constructively as possible, if the thickness of your neck in relation to the small-ness of your head is any indication, I'm guessing your lack of verbal skills leaves a bit to be desired in the pillow-talk department."
The glass stop tapping as he leaves it on the bar-top and clasps his hands casually in front of him, his face a picture of s*&$-eating jack-assery. If that didn't do it, this guy is dumber than he looks… which ain't nothin.
'Knuckles' proves the truth of Spin's poignant observation. He gobbles air incoherently and turns redder than a beet, and twice as cooked, as he tries to come up with a retort. In the end, he pushes his bulk away from the bar and cracks his fat knuckles, raging impotently, "Oh YEAH? Well, I'm gonna beat so you bad it's gonna be like... erm... worse than.... IT'LL BE A BEATIN'!"
In a surprisingly fast move, 'Knuckles' charges Spin and tries to lay him out with a Haymaker. He just manages to land the blow as Spin is busy setting his drink down. What would be a jaw cracking shot is reduced to a love-tap by Spin's innate aversion to getting beat to death combined with some strategically placed armor.
Spin falls back with the man's attack, using the heavy man's speed against him as he drives the sole of his boot out in a kick into the man's ample gut.
He falls into a loose fighting stance, "Oh, you mean we're doing this right now?"
Spin easily plants his boot hard in Knuckles gut... and almost comes away with a busted toe. The fat overlaying the muscle absorbs most of the damage.
His confidence in his raw power back, Knuckles tries to relocate Spin's jaw - in another star system. Spin deftly steps back from a blow that would have left him reeling had it connected.
"Well, crap, old-timer," Spin grunts as he lets his defensive spin become a vicious temple-aimed elbow, "I didn't know you were gonna take this all personal."
Knuckles may have a hard body but his head is a touch softer. Spin's elbow catches him across the temple and sends him sprawling against the bar - dazed for a moment.
He shakes his head to clear it and comes away from the bar, swinging... only to have his blow handily slapped aside by the quick pilot.
As Spin easily slaps the blow aside, the man's momentum continues forward. Spin steps in and drives the crown of his own forehead into the man's nose.
Knuckles' nose breaks and his booze-soaked brains slosh inside his skull. He topples over, out of this fight. Which is good for Spin as he hears a host of chairs scraping the floor and discontented mutters. He turns to see that several of the patrons must belong to the same union as Knuckles - Dumb and Plug Ugly Local #467. They all seem to take umbrage at his treatment of their guild brother. The bartender steps away pleading ominously, "Now, boys, it was a fair fight and I don't want any blood in here... not like last time."
Knuckles' twin - down to the greasy t-shirt - drags a heavy bottle across the table as he heads for the pilot, accompanied by one of the Go players. Behind Spin, the green-shirted guy Knuckles pushed past, seems to be interested in getting a piece of this action as well.
Leaning against the wall by the door, Rai watches and casually brushes his jacket hem aside from the holster side of his hip.
Spin looks around at the converging gang of grim faces, "Ah, hell, guys... you heard the lady. Not like last time." He hops up to sit on the bar, immediately spinning around so his legs are behind it and jumping down behind it, hoping it will give him some additional cover from their combined anger. "...so what happened last time?" he asks the woman as he quickly scans below the bar-top for anything useable as a weapon... bats, fire extinguishers, pry-bars, full bottles of alcohol.
Spin hops the bar and looks around for a weapon. Below the bar there are any number of booze bottles, a couple of knives, glasses, a cutting board, and the odd mug. You don't see a baseball bat or the like there.
The rabble surges forward and around the bar on both sides as the bartendress backs towards the far wall. She finds herself wrestling with a patron over the sawed off shotgun she keeps below the register screen built into the wall.
T-Shirt grins and waggles his bottle of booze at Spin, "You can ask that other clown 'what happened'... if he ever gets out of the medplex."
T-Shirt swings his bottle and narrowly misses Spin's skull with it. Backup has to check his punch when T-Shirt stumbles into him. Behind Spin the semi-drunk patron manages to wrest the shotgun from the bartendress and levels it at Spin's back taking careful aim.
To Spin, the room seems to slow to a crawl. Some part of his mind – fueled by too much alcohol and a frantic sense of survival – detaches from his consciousness and travels in slow-motion across the intervening space to the shotgun barrel, notching every notch and ding as it travels up the barrel, and stops to note the slight laziness in the man's right eye as he sights the shotgun in on Spin's back.
Altogether, it's somewhat of a surreal moment.
As the room snaps back into real-time, Spin really only has a chance to mutter, "Uh.. Rai… little help, bud?"
Rai pushes off the wall, pulls his pistol in a single smooth motion, and fires. The bullet spangs off the barrel of the shotgun - not quite knocking the gun from the thug's hands.
"No guns in this fist-fight, friend. Drop the weapon or I'll be dropping you."
"You heard the man," Spin mutters as he stands back up, now holding the biggest of the glass bottles under the bar... some kind of old expensive-looking, dark scotch by his guess. "He said drop the gun. And you," Spin says as he flails at the man to his other side ".. need to give me some space."
Then Spin tries to dive past Back-up, hoping to put the man between himself and the shottie-wielder's barrel.
[dice=Dodge past "Back-up"]4d6[/dice]
Spin jabs the bottle at T-Shirt's head - missing him but getting him to blink and step back - providing a window for a hasty escape. He rolls past both men and flattens himself against the back wall, gaining cover from the shotgun wielding yokel.
T-Shirt and Back-up turn on Spin and lead with fists, boots, and bottles. Unfortunately, pinned against the wall, he doesn't have room to dodge the blows. He covers up his ribs and head as the blows rain down. T-Shirt's bottle opens a small cut in Spin's scalp.
The drunk with the shotgun scruffs the bartender and pulls her in front of himself - a shield between him and the pistolero. The blonde waitress runs for cover as the shotgun barrel wavers between the bartender's side and the man with the pistol. "No a$$hole, you drop yur gun or yur guts are gonna be all over the walls."
Rai slides casually along the wall drawing the barrel of the shotgun towards himself as he strolls into range. Without prelude, he fires a single bullet catching the man in his exposed shoulder.
Spin grunts at the pain, which is only slightly dulled by alcohol and adrenaline. "What the hell, man?! Maybe we should all just calm down."
Back to the wall, he swings the heavy-ish bottle at the meaty part of the bottle-wielding attacker's arm… hoping to limit the man's offensive options.
Spin feints and slams the bottle against T-shirt's elbow. There is a satisfying cartilage crunch.
T-Shirt attempts to smash his bottle over Spin's head but his busted elbow makes the shot clumsy and ineffective. Unfortunately, Backup takes advantage of the distraction and slams a punch into the pilot's ribs. Spin feels one snap. He hits the wall and spits up a bit of blood.
Near the other end of the bar, the bartender dives free from the shotgun-wielding drunk's grip. He gives her a boot and a low curse as he uses both hands to raise the shotgun at the approaching Rai. The shotgun roars and steel sleet peppers the bar counter, chairs, and tables. Rai emerges from the smoke relatively unscathed.
The Nepali gunman sidles along the wall until he has a clear shot at the shotgun-wielding thug. "You should have dropped it." He sends a bullet slamming into the man's cheekbone. His head snaps back and he drops - unconscious and dying.
Spin recoils from punch, not really noticing the spray of Rai's target's blood that paints the right side of his face. He sure as hell notices the opening that the dying man creates, and he lurches towards Rai, drawing his pistol on the way.
"Here we were," he wheezes, "havin' a… nice drink… and you went and painted the place up.."
Spin tumbles away successfully to a place of relative safety.
Rai looks his friend over, "Friendly establishment, eh?"
"I don't know," Spin grunts, "little lacking in the hospitality department for my tastes. And I think she was serving me engine fuel."
Rai eyes the rabble, wondering whether they will hype themselves up at the sight of the pooling blood of their downed buddy... or stand down.
"Give'em a minute and we'll see how messy things get."
It doesn't take the belligerant locals long to make their decision. T-Shirt scoops up and fires the shotgun from the hip while Back-Up scurries to a crouch behind the bar, pulls a snub pistol from this faded pants, and open fires from cover. Steel pellets and bullets spray across the bar. Whether it is their combat skill or the piss-poor aiming of the drunk locals - Spin and Rai weather the hail of lead unharmed.
Rai returns lead for lead. His well-aimed shot catches T-Shirt in the neck, staggering him. The drunk clamps a bloody hand over his throat. Somehow he remains standing - unsteadily - on his feet.
Spin limps to his right – looking for cover behind the pool table – as he tries to line up a shot against the cowering gunman.
"While we wait," Spin grunts, "I'm just gonna take a breather over here."
Spin takes cover behind the pool table and steadies his aim off the bumper.
T-Shirt uses the wall to keep himself vertical and absorb the recoil as his shotgun roars again, spraying buckshot wildly to no effect. The explosion from the shotgun rattles Back-Up's nerves. The small pistol jumps in his hand sending his shot wide of the Nepali.
The soldier fans the hammer on his revolver. The first shot paints the wall with T-Shirt's brains. The second tears a chunk from the bar and gives Back-Up a shrapnel souvenir.
"Hey Rai," Spin begins before sending a round at the only remaining target, "I was thinking of heading out to find some ladies after this.. maybe you could help me close that out, too?"
"Sure... but this time make sure they are women."
Spin's bullet narrowly misses the gunman hunkered down on the far side of the bar.
Back-up aims more carefully and squeezes off a round but still manages to miss the soldier - clearly rattled by the casual conversation.
Rai drops the hammer and sends a bullet into Back-Up's exposed shoulder, wounding him severely.