You begin speaking the ancient words of the machine, your tongue dead still as a subsonic screech escapes your mouth. The Synthesiser had long awaited a savior to free it from the troublesome troll, and happily obeys your requests.
The venerated machine, a cube half the height of a man, lights up with artificial life. The grotesque beast growls savagely and tightens its grip, still in the throes of sleep. The ice and snow around the Synthesiser melts and seeps into vents on its sides, and it begins performing miracles within that even the great electro-sages cannot explain.
The troll is half-roused from its slumber by the smell of roast, and many of your men, too. The beast, eyes still closed, lolls its tongue and begins suckling at the orifice where the miracle meat exits. You'll have them clean that later, for sure.
Even you feel a twinge of jealousy and a pang of hunger as you watch the ravenous monster gorge itself. All those feelings are gone, though, when the troll begins convulsing and puking, veins bulging around its neck. It begins retching, the floor becoming a sickly yellow than a pristine white.
You waste no time. With a yell, you charge into the yurt, the sinister point atop your Great Staff aimed at its engine-heart. Yet, despite its weakness, it leaps away with frightening agility. Your men, readied, tear into its mechanised hide with hungry battleaxes. It roars deafeningly, its claws missing a warrior's chest by a hair's breadth.
You stab once more with your Staff, the spike burying deep into its side. Oil pours like black blood. An axe blade buries itself deep into the troll's neck. The monster's roars become a tantalized gurgle.
With a last attack, it bears down on you with its both arms, fists like falling boulders. You are pushed aside by a warrior, who is crushed in your stead.
With a cry of victory, your men rip the cybernetics off their fallen foe and parade their trophies. Your prize is greater than gristly augmetics - you have the Synthesiser now.
You have your men take the stores of furs and frozen meat. Before you leave, what else do you do in the tribe?
----
The Great Machine
Health: Fine
Inventory:
-Robes
-Axe
-The Great Staff (+1 to magic rolls)
Activated Systems:
-Reality Manipulator (Partial) (Only three spells can be learned.)
-Heightened Senses (Partial) (Machine-eyes allow you to witness the world-changing winds.)
Known Spells:
-Machine Speak (Converse with the sleeping spirits of dead technology.)
-Mend (You lay hands upon the wounded machine and cure its ailments.)
-Tinker (The muses of machines whisper the words of geniuses, allowing you to create marvelous inventions.)
99 Cyberbarians (Mighty marauders from the technorth. They graft cybernetics unto their body as signs of strength and as trophies of victory.)
200 Non-combatants (The old, the young, and the unfit for a fight. These care for your men and their gear, and toil to feed themselves and your army.)
High morale.
Slightly low provisions.
Synthesiser.
Author
Topic: (SG) Hordes of Darkness (Read 5724 times)