Her ears perk up at the sight of the contents of a store and her tail curls as she examines the weapons.
Rakiit will examine the contents of the store. If there's any guns or drugs of any kind she'll pick them up like an ex
Oh, so to get things, like those quickmice. Yeah, uh, okay.
You pick up exes? Uh, okay. 🤔
You excitedly pick up some sort of autopistol thing, checking it from every angle, taking out the magazine, looking down the sights...
The items displayed on the countertop are as follows:
1: an Uzi, which Rakiit is currently admiring.
2: a couple of hunting rifles.
3: a sawn-off shotgun, with a bizarre two-bladed miniature bayonet?
4: a P90 submachinegun, as syv-bait.
5: 4 kevlar vests stacked on top of each other.
6: a singular flashbang.
7: a few odd, spherical baseball-sized eggs in a basket.
8: a machete. It has signs of wear, but seems to have weathered the elements admirably.
((It's fairly amusing that MJ's current character aggressively hates the exact character archetype he typically plays.))
Return the the scribe's side, and look down the hole that Rakiit went through.
Edit2: Actually, start crawling in now. If there's people there, Alexander will want to talk with them regardless.
"Do you require assistance?"
You get down, check the passage, and then crawl through, making rather a lot of clanking noise. Out you pop into... a weapons store of some sort? Manned by a pair of men in strange dress which strikes you as rather impractical. Their wares include... mostly objects that you can't recognize. Most of the weapons layed out are vaguely similar to the weapon toted by the animal-eared woman, though smaller than the mechanical beast that she carries.
"Well, now that the lady's friend has arrived, what do you say that we introduce ourselves?""Yes yes, it would be rude of us not to make a formal introduction. I am Hart. And he-""-is Hort!""And welcome to Hart&Hort's!Both men tip their hats at you in unison.
We sell all sorts of things that you mind need or want, in exchange for Clay.""Now, if you're new around here, you might not have any Clay. Not to worry though, just East of here there's a nest of fairly weak bug demons.""Of course, if you're not up for some of the old slay-and-extract, we do also buy. The lady's gun is a rare object in these parts-"While the taller man is talking, the shorter man has been staring longingly at the gaping hole in Rakiit's clothing.
"A-and of course we would pay handsomely for the lady's services-""What? No, no, veto.""Oh come on, you know I was joking!""You were not.""Hm. Well, I don't mind the solitude." the Scribe mumbles to himself. "I should warn that you might not fit in there with your fancy plating." he says to Alexander, but, then, he seems too prideful to listen to a "heathen" like him. So he might as well find out what the power thrumming in his book was. Once, he had one of his works used as a necromancer's spellbook - But this felt like it had even greater potential.
Page though the book idly.
While those two are off doing... whatever it is that a catgirl and a crusader do down a hole...
Welp, that sounds like innuendo. The Scribe distracts himself from any farther dirty thoughts by opening his book to a random page...
[59]
[The Scribe makes a Resistance skill check! 9.]
The writing seems to swim before your eyes, and shape itself into-
This is going to hurt if you keep reading. You close your eyes.
Then, trying to recall what you were just looking at, you come up blank. You know nothing about the contents of this book. You'll get nothing out of this unless you at least look...
You open your eyes again.
A moment later you drop the book, doubled over on the ground, sick- vomiting.
Before your eyes, the vomit twists and asserts shape. The ex-contents of your stomach fade away and you're left with-
A tiny [kitten]. It [fur] is still slick from emerging from where-ever it emerged from. It emits a faint [meow].
The dropped book is now on the ground, closed,
sitting up, as if neatly placed by a librarian. This is an unlikely position for a dropped book to naturally end up in.
Hey, can I get in?
Changed scalpel to first aid kit.
You're not sure how they got out, but they are a little angry. Ahem. Agitated. Yes, the test subjects have breached containment and are agitated.
It's a waste, but to ensure your own safety you'll have to activate the turrets. You swipe your card at the terminal in your safe room, and...
"Access denied"? That's obviously not right, you should have full access to the laboratory you built...
You check your card. It appears to be someone's library card with a sticker on it. Oh, fucking hell.
Then the door to your safe room explodes outwards, sundered by a single strike from the tortured mass of muscle and bone that you crafted.
You back away from the Perfect Creation. Keeping your eyes on it the whole time, inching towards the emergency override...
Your eyes can't follow it, it happens so quickly. Just, one moment its standing by the sundered door, the next you're in its grasp.
The first thing it does is snap off your leg. Slowly, so slowly. It's enjoying this.
Monster.
Drawing on reserves of willpower you didn't know you had, you resist screaming, begging for your life.
You won't let it win. You are in control.When it's done removing your legs, it melds its own flesh into yours. Horrifying images fill your head, but you ignore them. When the vision recedes, you have arms and legs again.
And again, and again, and again. But no, you won't give in. You'll retain ownership of your own death.
And so days pass, your body broken hundreds of times in more and more excruciating ways. And then, the monster gives up. One last time your body is remade, but this time as an immobile blob, unable to move or do anything. But you have a mouth. You can still talk, you can yell.
And the Perfect Creation leaves you there.
You can see the sun pass from here, watch the daylight flit through the hole torn in the roof. But you don't bother counting the days. On one of those days, a woman descends from a rope she tells you that she sabotaged your lab, set the test subjects free and made sure you would die. But you didn't die.
You tell her to go to hell. She sighs, soaks your body in kerosene, and tosses a lit match at you.
You cling to a barrel full of wool, trying to locate your ship in this storm. You sure don't see it. Lot of splintered wood floating around.
The wind howls, a massive wave crashes over you. You lose your grip and are sent under the waves. All you can see is a mass of blue-green everywhere. You get your bearings and swim back to the surface.
You break the surface and look for something to grab hold of, but there's nothing. All you can see is the sea and the rain.
Then something grabs your ankle and you're yanked downwards. You reach for your sword but find that you can no longer reach it as the lower half of your body is missing. Then your arm is eaten by a massive beak and you pass out.
You awaken. You are in a small, dim room, with a stone roof and walls, and a dirt-covered floor.
Sharing the room with you is a very strangely-garbed man who seems just as confused as you are, as well as a cage containing an old skull and a few bones.
The exit to this room is a large wrought-iron door. Closed and unmoving when you try pushing on it.
Name: Alexander Prekar
Description: A tall and strong man, wearing simple cloth garments. Has a golden cross hanging around his neck on a chain.
Method of death: He was assassinated while asleep, during the crusades.
Demon: He always believes he is absolutely in the right, and has trouble understanding other people, especially those who disagree with him. His is the only way, and all others will lead to fire.
Never-Die: 3
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 4
Keep-Hold: 6
Accuracy: -2
Melee: +3
Agility: -2
Poise: +0
Resistance: +3
Medical: -2
Extraction: -2
Determination: 3/3
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 2/2
Speed: 4/4
Corruption: 0/6
Status: Fine!
Weapon: None!
Armor: Plate armor
Weight: 1
Inventory:
Plate Armor: Steel armor of a crusader. The helmet has a flat top rather than a dome, unlike many armors.
[armor4]
[weight1]
[noise+2]
Cross Pendant: A little golden cross on a chain, symbolizing one's faith, and providing protection from unholy forces.
[unknown]
Name: Rakiit Amph
Description: A 6 foot tall cat girl covered in surgical scars and injection ports. short brown cat ears and similarly brown tail. Wearing a ragged guard uniform with a gaping hole in the abdomen. She's holding an LMG protectively to her chest
Method of death: Cardiac arrest from massive stimulant overdose sustained while escaping the lab
Demon: trouble trusting people, hyper active, somewhat unstable. Unsure of purpose.
Never-Die:6
Pay-Attention: 3
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick:8
Keep-Hold:3
Accuracy: +1
Melee: -2
Agility: +5
Poise: -2
Resistance: -2
Medical: +0
Extraction: -2
Cat Ears and Whiskers (+2 Perception)
Claws (lethal/AP2 pain4)
Fluffy Tail (cute)
Determination: 6/6
Focus: 3/3
Stamina: 0/0
Speed: 8/8
Corruption:0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: LMG
Armor: none
Weight: 3
Inventory:
LMG: Rakiit's very favorite gun. It's got some scratches and mud on it.
[melee: pain3]
[Ranged: lethal/AP3 pain2 min4 short12 long150 snap20 focus1/2]
[ammo ~100/200]
[weight3]
Name: "I... I've forgotten. Many call me 'The Scribe,' though I know that is incomplete. In whispers, I am 'The Mad Scribe.'"
Description: A withered old man in a tattered robe
Method of death: Starvation, locked in his tower while he worked on his latest tale of another corrupted realm, which he still clutches.
Demon: Isolation, as well as the madness that follows when you have visions of other, twisted planes.
Never-Die: 5
Pay-Attention: 7
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 5
Keep-Hold: 3
Accuracy: -2
Melee: -2
Agility: +0
Poise: +0
Resistance: +2
Medical: -2
Extraction: +2
Determination: 5/5
Focus: 7/7
Stamina: 3/3
Speed: 5/5
Corruption: 0/3
Status: Fine
Weapon: Book?
Armor: None
Weight: 0/3
Inventory:
Mad Scribe's Last Novel: A leather tome with a simple image of a cat on the cover. Nobody's quite sure what the pages hold.
[unknown]
Name: Dr. Reed
Description: A tall, thin man in a doctors uniform
Method of death: Murdered by simpleton "Heroes" who said idiotic things like my experiments being 'unethical' or 'insane' or 'evil'. Bah. Idiots.
Demon: He is obsessed with improving the human body. A little too obsessed. He tends to forget little things when experimenting, like ethics or consent or anesthesia. You know. Little things.
Never-Die: 5
Pay-Attention: 9
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 3
Keep-Hold: 3
Accuracy: -2
Melee: +0
Agility: -2
Poise: -2
Resistance: -2
Medical: +4
Extraction: +2
Determination: 5/5
Focus: 9/9
Stamina: 3/3
Speed: 3/3
Corruption: 0/3
Status: Fine.
Weapon: None.
Armor: None.
Weight: 0
Inventory:
First Aid Kit: Good for minor injuries and the like. You've "customized" this one a little bit.
[uses medical]
[cures injury]
[chemical workshop]
Name: Demetrius
Description: Rather athletic bearded Macedonian man in white tunic and leather cloak.
Method of death: Drowned when ship he captained was turned over by giant wave on its way to Alexandria.
Demon: Obsessed with sinking things.
Never-Die: 5
Pay-Attention: 9
Go-Through: 3
Move-Quick: 3
Keep-Hold: 3
Accuracy: -2
Melee: +2
Agility: 0
Poise: -2
Resistance: 0
Medical: +0
Extraction: +0
Determination: 5/5
Focus: 9/9
Stamina: 3/3
Speed: 3/3
Corruption: 0/3
Status: Fine.
Weapon: Short sword
Armor: none
Weight: 0
Inventory:
Short Sword: A bronze short sword with a slight curve to it. Heavy and cheaply made, but effective.
[melee: lethal/AP3 pain4]
[hit+2]
[parry+1]
[weight1]
[1hand]
Olive Oil: Has a thousand uses! Like, uh, bathing yourself?
[oily]
Author
Topic: Tactical Hell: ... (Read 35813 times)