Sampet's page

Sampet gives an excited "WHOO!" as the chaos breaks out. He has a pistol in one hand and a monofilament whip in the other, dealing savage strikes as he goes.

Attack: 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (6) - 1 = 5
Attack Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 6

K'kth'ki takes a casual glance at Murphy's surface thoughts.

[dice=Sense motive, but more telepathically]d6-1

Murphy seems to be thinking about nothing. Literally nothing. That must mean that he is some sort of mindless automaton! Or maybe K'kth'ki's virus is affecting his psychic powers.

He decides not to dwell on that, as he proceeds to the engine room.

Sampet hoists his gun and follows after K'kth'ki. He makes conversation, whether or not the creature is interested.

"You know what I like about you, K'kth... K'kht... mate?," the human asks. "Yer a creature of action, you are. Ponce at the bar don't know his eyeball from an a+%&~&##, folk like you and I don't give a damn - we go lookin' for answers ourselves. Real direct-like." He begins whistling, not very well.

"Oh hey, Eruphen! How the hell are ya, son? Oh aye, we've nay been the same since yur day. 'Tis all Commander Gurden wants this, an' Commander Gurden wants that. Right bolllocks I tells ya.

Eh? Borak? Aye? I heard th' Commander talking to that right git a bit ago. Mentioned the Engine room? I doubt he's still there, but it's what I got fer ya, laddie."

"Aye, sounds like the sort of git that would keep insisting on being called 'Commander.' Bet he makes sure yer boots are polished so bright you can see up the arse of the man in front of ye, eh?"

Sampet pitches his voice a little lower. "Lissen, mate, if yer CO is working with this Borak fella, there's s@~@ that ain't yet hit the fan, and you seem like a man who wants to know where it's going t'spray. Is there anything that might seem... out of sorts with how the Captain keeps his ship shipshape?"

Foment Sedition: 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2

Sampet rolls his eyes as the holographic necromancer re-rezzes. "Mate, listen - we're a bit short on both cash and time, on account of being poisoned by Borak wit these little bot things. Help us speed the whole fing along and find Borak, we'll cut you in on... say, 'alf of whatever 'e's 'olding? Split right down the middle? Big fish like 'im should 'ave a bit of creds on 'im." He eats another handful of curly fries. "Otherwise, I reckon I'll just order pints and die in your bar here. Seems you got a good fing going for a man down on his luck and lackin' in life."

Diplomacy: 1d6 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0

Sampet gives a loud laugh. "Ay lad, it's a fight then!" He grabs a fistful of curly fries and louchely fires his gun.

Guess we're shooting now: 1d6 ⇒ 3

He laughs maniacally through the mouthful of fries.

Sampet points to Sapphire and yells "Yeah quick look at her!" He then pulls his phaser on the distracted guard.

Shoot To Stun: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Super-Stun: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Counting 4 successes (2 critical) and 2 failures

Lucian follows behind, nose to his phone, coming up with the perfect caption for his gun-wielding selfie.

"'Ow about 'baby's first piece?' Oo, oo, or -" Sampet pauses for dramatic effect. "'Now this t~%#'s gotta shot.' Naw, I'm f!@!in' with ya, mate, keep your 'ead out of yer arse and step to it. Gun fight's no time for posting. Get a livestream bot if you must." His new gun riding his hip, Sampet follows the rest of the crew.

"'Ey! James lad - Gorn sent us." Sampet follows behind Zanbabe's shoulder as she greets the android. "Gorn said that anything you could give us on Borak's whereabouts would be appreciated - and said that we were welcome to access some of the 'special stock?' Something nice, I 'ope."

Diplomacy: 1d6 ⇒ 4
Diplo Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Sampet gives Gorn a friendly slap on the back. "Thanks, mate - always a pleasure. I'll make sure to take good care of Denise too - seems like a good one to keep an eye on." He throws a suggestive wink.

"Right, so heading to the cargo bay... but any chance we could pick up some weapons with a little extra 'oomph' on the way? Rather get the drop on them than let 'em get the drop on us, if ya follow."

Does Sampet know a guy?: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Ace attempt at Knowledge: Sketchy Weapons Dealer: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Despite having no interest in human food, K'kth'ki follows the group into the place that produces "burgers".

I hope they have curry...

No, ignore that! K'kth'ki does not desire curry. That was an empathic reverberation of the desires of the guard from earlier. It happens when a psychic link is interrupted without warning. He glares pointedly at Sampet.

You up there. With the crimson garb. Please order a substantial quantity of water for K'kth'ki.

"Cor, mate, a curry would 'it the spot right now, woulnit! Nothing builds an 'ankering for solid grub like a bit o' the rough 'n tumble!" Sampet goes to clap K'kth'ki on it's... well, approximately it's shoulder.

Mrs Clempp wrote:

"Anyone want a cuppa?"

(Several random crewmembers accept the offer, and start drinking on the job.)

"Don't mind if I do, darlin'!" He toasts the rest of the crew and drinks deep. "Aye, that's how a cuppa should be," he says dreamily. Cup in hand, Sampet wanders beside the line til he can find a shopgirl or employee of some sort. "Say, love - you wouldn't 'appen to know what Gorn-boy over there knows about a bloke named Borak, would ye?" Sampet grins his most winningest grin.

Ooze charm: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Charm Ace: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Sampet cooly draws a bead on the remaining guard.

Shoot 'Em.: 1d6 ⇒ 6
Boom! Headshot?: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10 <=total roll

The guard slumps down, lifeless. "Get up, ya ponce, stop the crew worrying about ye," yells Sampet cheerfully.

"S~+%!" Soak: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Sampet successfully ducks behind a console, that takes most of the damage intended for him. "Lucy, you wiry little tramp, you owe me a pint for this one!" Sampet tries a few shots over the console blind.

Assuming we're still in the same round so no more rolls to fire.

Lucian tries to dodge the tackle, tossing the blanket he'd been carrying draped around himself at the attacking guard.

The blanket, however, was quite a large one, and halfway wrapped around Lucian's leg. Throwing it only entangled Lucian further.

"'Ey Lucy! Pull up your socks!", yells Sampet unsubtly to Lucian. He squeezes off a quick shot at the guard trying to grab Lucian.

Like toasting womp rats in Beggar's Canyon: 1d6 ⇒ 3

The shot misses narrowly; no one will be using the thrown blanket anytime soon, though.

"Ugh, fine, do this the hard way, you motherfu-"

Sampet wiggles something out of his sleeve and tosses it into the packed security team.

Grenade!: 1d6 ⇒ 6

"No no no, it's fine! We got the cure right here! On the ship! But you blocked the comms, ya wankers. Listen, have someone come talk to the doctor!"

Lie through the teeth: 1d6 ⇒ 4

"Sampet...??," he quavers, the rising panic apparent in his voice.

"Well look who's up!," Sampet says cheerily. "Lucian, this is the crew - Crew, this is Lucian. Smuggled 'im on last port to 'ave a drinkin' buddy that didn't handle me paycheck. Grab a set o' controls, Lucy, the station's tryin ta blow us back to dust!" Sampet jumps seats back to a nav console and begins wrestling with the piloting controls, as the gunning seems to be under control.

Fly like an eagle: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Sampet watches as the shields he just struggled so hard to get boosted are hammered by the missles. "Keep up the good work, Zan love, I'll cover Zak!" He runs to a gunnery seat and begins spraying and praying.

Too close for shields, switching to guns: 1d6 ⇒ 6

After a few seconds of devastating fire, Sampet switches to gunning with one hand to accept one of TSL's cups of coffee. "Damn fine cuppa, Sapphire, thanks!"

Sampet, too stressed to even come up with a good quip, just tries to boost the shields enough to survive the missles that Zakary didn't strafe.

Shields plz: 1d6 ⇒ 5

"F#&+in' finally... Shields are good to go!"

"We have little experience with your concepts of space ships, flying or 'before'. Where is the Syzygy? We are compelled to find the Syzygy"

"Well, if you think you want to find Ziggy-yi or whatnot, our best bet would be to all get off of this ship, aye?", Sampet says cheerfully. "If you ain't fabricated yerself the stones for piloting, you got any other surprises up those smokey sleeves o' yers?" Sampet continues to hammer away at the shield controls, trying to overcome the ship's own haphazard construction.

Overcharge shields: 1d6 ⇒ 2

As the shields fail to respond to his commands, he barks over his shoulders at the pile of dragons. "Hey! Belay all that, power to the forward shields!"

Sampet freezes for a brief second, looking between the two officers. "Sorry Zak, mate - It's a sayin' of mine to side with beauty over age, and you're a bit outclassed in that regard. No hard feelings, I hope." He begins running auxiliary power to overcharge the shield generators.

Divert power to the shields: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Sampet looks over his shoulder to the rest of the crew. "If any o' you lot were considerin' the idea of curryin' favor with Zak's handsome mug,
we all could really use a pilot right now! Smokey the Botcloud, ever fly a spaceship before? No time like the present!"

Sampet watched Fours working on deck and frowned to himself. Oy, even the kitchen staff are pulling to get us out of this... All 'ands on deck, indeed.

The rising fever and ache, coupled with the stress of the stations responses, had suppressed even Sampet's typically buoyant spirits. Seeing that no one was actually worrying about navs, he slid into a piloting chair. "Oy, Zees!," he shouts at either of the de facto leaders Zakary or Zanbabe. "Evasive manuevers, or prepare the shields for the stations barrage?"

Sampet's face falls as the error message begins to populate all over his screen. "You cheeky AI piece of-" He begins hammering away at the keyboard.

Repair roll on the guns: 1d6 ⇒ 1

The error messages seem to multiply further, rapidly filling Sampet's terminal.

Sampet comes back from the armory empty-handed, and sees the small pile of dragon clones climbing all over the comm systems. "C'mon, lizards, don't break it now!" He elbows his way into one of the seats and starts attempting to help.

Communications: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Assuming that the third die roll to get the comms working is what it needed:
"See, mates, leave the thumbs stuff to us bipeds, we got the goods, ya ken?" He smirks smugly as he sits back in his seat.

Sampet gets off of the computer before he actually ruins something. "Riven's got the right idea - I'm going to get us equipped for a scrap."

Sampet is going to check the armory for some heavy weapons and/or explosives for 'heated negotiations.'

Finding a bigger boom: 1d6 ⇒ 2

Sampet listens to TSL's announcement as well. "Ah s!$!, right, systems. On it, Sapphire darling!" He heads to a monitor and begins trying to set some safeguards in place to limit systems damage.

Systems Manual Override and Virus Isolation: 1d6 ⇒ 3

As various previously healthy systems on the ship switch to an ominous flashing red on the monitor, Sampet takes his hands off the keys. "Virus got in, definitely wasn't anything I did personally!"

Sampet wanders back to the deck with a bowl of something approximating bacon, which he munches thoughtfully. "That puffed shirt Despoiler ponce certainly holds a grudge, don't he?" he says through a mouthful of bacon. He idly tosses a piece on the floor for Rowdy.

"So wossit to be? Smash 'n grab? Infiltration? Frame the motherlover and send 'im to the lock-up agin?" He takes a swig from his canteen. "Though we might want to move fast, he seemed awful sure we were gonna die painfully right quick."

Sampet hears the intercom crackle with Zakary's voice. He groggily sits upright, the pain of his head intensifying when he cracks open his eyes and lets in some light. "Well cor, we right tied one on, din't we?", he mutters to himself.

The ship doesn't seem to be actively falling apart and it sounds like some of the other crew members are working on figuring things out.

"Ain't doin no one no good with this hummer of a headache..."

Sampet sets off for the med bay and canteen for some painkillers and the greasiest food he can cook for himself.

Scavenge For Restorative Supplies: 1d6 ⇒ 5