"Nice man... *sigh* Dad, I don't want you to get yourself in trouble like that, okay?"
Go with Kandar and pick up a nice cloak to wear over my suit.
Name: Xeriay Jattle
Appearance: A short and thin teenage girl, with hair bleached grey by the light of a harsh sun. The backs and palms of her hands are tattooed with eyes, and her arms with blades. Doesn't like to talk and jumps at unexpected sounds. She was recruited by a paramilitary cult from a young age and honed her skill with a blade until she was rescued by her adoptive father.
Strength: d8
Dexterity: d8
Endurance: d6
Speed: d10
Knowledge: d8
Wisdom: d8
Perception: d10
Charisma: d4
HP: 32/32
SP: 30/30
Armor: d6 head, d4 rest
Inventory 8/8
Mono-razor: (Spd) (Spd Roll, breaks on 1)
Death Ray: (Dex) (Xd10)
Biogel: (Recover d10 HP)
Autoharness: (Allows automatic movement via filament.)
Arclamp: (Provides bright omnidirectional light.)
Oxygen Mask & Tank: (Allows one to survive in areas with unbreathable atmosphere, presumably. May also explode.)
Helmet: (d6 armor, protects Head)
Apprentice Suit: (1d4 armor, all but head)
Credits: 1000
"What a nice man. Anyways. Good junk dealer! Would you have any of these private brands for sale? I am in need of a Guild-like helmet!"
Welp! Go around asking for a private brand guild helmet, specifically one that works with guild suits. Buy if it will work with Xeriay's suit, and is affordable (<=320 money).
Name: Kander Jattle
Appearance: A heavily built middle aged man with a gentle look in his eyes, that contrasts with a silver scar on the right side of his face which runs from his temple to his chin. He's a veteran of a relatively minor uprising on a border planet, during which time he worked as a low level field officer. He retired most of a decade ago after a severe head injury, and has been living comfortably and quietly off of his earnings from service. He's enjoyed his quiet life, and isn't eager to go on dangerous adventures... but he was more or less begged to go on this expedition by his adoptive daughter, who was a child soldier he rescued during his military service.
Stats:
Str: d8
Dex: d4
End: d4
Spd: d4
Kno: d8
Wis: d4
Per: d10
Cha: d12
HP: 20/20
SP: 32/32
Armor: None!
Items: 6/8
War Drum (1d8 str, +1d12 Cha Buff)
Autoharness
Liquidoplas Bomb
Liquidoplas Bomb
Filament Gun
Small Autocage
---Carries 4 Filament Cartridges, 1 arclamp, 5 bait, 1 stimulant, 1 biogel, 1 logbook
Money: 320
[6][4]
Kander and Xeriay begin searching for a cape and a helmet as the market slowly fills with people. Finding a helmet proves to be pretty easy actually: there is an odd amount of off brand Guild equipment for sale, all of which is at least theoretically compatible with the official stuff. Multiple vendors, between hawking their wears, recommend that Xeriay at least repaint her suit to hide its authenticity. Lest some Guildmen eventually notice her and tear her head off in a hopefully metaphorical fashion. After a good deal of wandering and haggling they finally get a 150 credit helmet. [1d4 head armor. Creates a sealed environment that is protected from many environmental threats.]
A cloak is a bit harder to find, ironically. At least one like what Xeriay is looking for: one which encircles the shoulders and hides all of the body except the feet. Preferably with hood, for extra concealment if possible. Eventually, after much searching, they do manage to find something. The vendor says its a "Flak mantle", something apparently worn in the old days of ship salvaging. Its a dirty brown color and covers the entire body, minus the head. It has a big metal ring that is meant to sit on the shoulders, connected to a space suit. In zero-g it would be nothing but here it weighs a good 20 pounds.
[Flak Mantle: While worn, armor rolls are done at advantage. Takes up an inventory slot.]
"well they've calmed down a bit"
To prove his point, Jim will showcase the various creatures he's documented in his log book.
stat points: 0
Name: Jim
Appearance: a young and wiry looking man
Strength: d8
Dexterity: d10
Endurance: d6
Speed: d10
Knowledge: d10
Wisdom: d4
Perception: d6
Charisma: d4
HP: 26/32
SP: 22/22
Armor:
Dented Helmet (d6 Head)
Tunic (d6 abdomen and torso)
Weapons:
Therma-ray (Dex)(d8)
Items:8?/8
Fragment of the void
Therma-ray
Dented Helmet
Arc-Lamp (turned on)
Log Book
Specimen Container (contains mech. Gizmo)
Filament Gun (loaded with filament container)
Websilk Tunic (logo of favorite sportsball team)
Money: 90
-big mean swamp gribbly in the toxic sludge
-Central island can only seem to support simple fungi
-some squid-things ambush people near the shore of the island
--included is a rudimentary description of the creatures behavior and physiology, along with a rough sketch. Size estimates put the beast at 30ft long, including the tentacles
-Giant striders wall through the muck.
The Journey East:
-small islands overrun with fungal growths seeming to eat away at the scrap "bedrock", various tiny flora and fauna dot these Islands; mollusks, crabs, mites, and stranger things flourish on these islands.
-As you get further away from the hole, the temperature decreases, the Eastern isle has frozen sludge on it's shores.
-The Eastern Isle appears to be populated by robots based on bioforms.
--attached is a little sketch of the Elkbot
Strange Tidings and a Castle:
-Strange, bullet-shaped robots(?) inhabit a castle on an island in the muck.
Jim shows off his log book to the Bulletmen. They seem puzzled by it. Obviously they don't understand the language but they look at the drawings and even the paper of the book itself with some curiosity. They hold it upside down, flip the pages with some trepidation and hold the object itself quite near the base of their mobility frames. Jim surmises this must be where their camera eyes are, but it does outwardly look like they're holding the book on their crotches. Eventually they hand it back. If it had any influence on them, good or bad, its difficult to say.
"They seem to like the gift I've given them, maybe peace will work after all."
Sit to the side of the group and think about how much of the snake people language I know.
Name: Hobo Bob
Description: A dirty man with unkempt hair and beard.
Strength: d8
Dexterity: d6
Endurance: d8
Speed: d6
Knowledge: d10
Wisdom: d6
Perception: d10
Charisma: d6
HP: 28/28
SP: 26/26
Weapons:
Therma-Ray: (Dex) (d8)
Thermo-Lash: (End)(1d8, leaps to another enemy for d4 and then d2)
Armour:
Helmet: (d6 armor, protects only the head)
Industrial Tunic: (d6 Armor, protects Torso and Abdomen)
Items: 8/8
Oxygen Tank
Arclamp
Therma-Ray: (Dex) (d8)
Helmet: (d6 armor, protects only the head)
Industrial Tunic: (d6 Armor, protects Torso and Abdomen)
Thermo-Lash: (End)(1d8, leaps to another enemy for d4 and then d2)
Glowing Organ
Intact robot arm, with some kind of potential laser weapon as a hand
Money: 0
[1]
Bob considers how much of the snake language he speaks. He realizes he barely speaks any language, honestly. [Madness: Mute. You must communicate using grunts, hand gestures, and other non-verbal actions. Writing is still acceptable.]
"So... you gentlemen were saying something about a feast?"
Try to communicate with the bulletmen, see if they have any kind of economy or culture beyond dying in glorious battle.
Name: Gambatta Ganyaro
Description: A kooky old man wearing an elaborate martial arts gi under his discount armor. As a proud grandfather and respected martial arts instructor, he's looking forward to retirement. His idea of retirement involves things you're not allowed to do when people are depending on you to be alive.
Leech: You no longer heal naturally and healing items are only 50% effective. Unarmed damage has increased to d8.
Suction: (d4 SP) d10 Damage. Leap onto your target, sink your teeth into their flesh, and drain their blood. Recover HP equal to damage dealt. Only effective on living, organic targets.
24/30 HP
24/24 SP
1d6 Strength
1d8 Dexterity
1d10 Endurance
1d6 Speed
-
1d6 Knowledge
1d6 Wisdom
1d8 Perception
1d6 Charisma
Items (6/6):
Industral Tunic (300): 1d6 Torso/Abdomen Armor
Helmet (50): 1d6 Head Armor
Human Bone Prayer Beads (300)
Galactic Slugger (150)
Small Autocage (200): Contains Vacrab: Looks, vaguely, like horseshoe crabs crossed with vacuum cleaners. These squat, six legged robots are scurrying across the boxes and gobbling up any bits of filth they find with spinning brush mouths. Their segmented, semicircular bodies make a rapid clicking noise as they move.
Leech Canister: Some sort of clear glass container the size and shape of a soda. The container has metal end caps and is filled with a faintly glowing green liquid. There's no obvious method to open the container, as the endcaps and glass are smooth and unyielding.
[2]
Attempts to deduce the greater society of the Bulletmen results in only confusion. It becomes rapidly clear that they do not have an economy or truly any concept of value in the monetary sense. The idea of trading valuables is as alien to them as the idea of trading emotions or perceptions would be for a human. Asking if they have any weapons to trade is no different than asking your neighbor for a cup full of existential dread. They value very little and seem to need very little. They do not need food, nor water. They have no familial ties, they have no great desires other than glorious death and the protection and betterment of their creators. Indeed, despite their apparent intelligence, they are extremely limited in terms of abstract conception outside of their two main desires. The only objects they seem to place "Value" on are those of their creators and those which help them succeed in their goals.
As per their culture, they make reference to a "Bullet King" who is their leader and there seems to be a rough Hierarchy based on "caliber". They say that before the crash they spent most of their time working on and maintaining the cannons. Now that the ship is stuck and they cannot reach the cannons, they spend most of their time either celebrating the glorious dead, remembering the wonderful nature of the creators, or planning how best to seek the proper death they desire. It seems clear that their general limited thinking has prevented them from doing the last part to any success. As far as you can tell, they've literally just been down here having one long funeral pyre/celebration/war dance for countless years.
Also, and this is perhaps more interesting, no more bullet men are being "born". The ones here have been here since the crash, and those that die are never replaced. They are an endangered species hurling themselves towards death with gusto.
Name: Anton Barrick
Description: a generic human male.
Stats:
STR: d10
DEX: d8
END: d8
SPD: d10
KNO: d8
WIS: d6
PER: d10
CHA: d6
HP: 36/36
SP: 30/30
Carry: 6/10
Items:
Helmet (d6 armor, head only)
Therma-Ray (DEX) (d8)
Fragment of the void
Human bone prayer beads
weird crystal shard
Electromagnet module
Money:0
Stay back and follow the group if hostilities engage GTFO
You stand back and wait.
Offer my Death Ray in exchange for something unusual.
Description: Young, mid twenties kid with skinny limbs and body. Ink enthusiast.
Status:
Strength d4
Dexterity d10
Endurance d6
Speed d10
Knowledge d6
Wisdom d8
Perception d6
Charisma d4
HP 30
SP 20
Filament Gun (100)
Death Ray (500)
Specimen Container (Damaged Robot Skull) (30)
Filament Cartridge (10)
Cash: 360
[3]
You hand your Death Ray over to the nearest Bulletman; a large shell of a fella. He "looks" at it carefully, turning it over and over in his hands with some degree of craftsman-like consideration. After several long moments it rapidly moves, unbolting a panel with its bare hands and carefully but decisively thrusting fingers into the inner workings of the gun. Then it equally rapidly reassembles the gun and hands it back without a word. [Improved Death Ray:Xd12 instead of xd10]
Author
Topic: DEEP SPACE: Space vampires and work safety (Read 36309 times)