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: 4/10
Items:
Helmet (d6 armor, head only)
Therma-Ray (DEX) (d8)
Fragment of the void
Human bone prayer beads
Money:353
buy a vibrax. afterwards, head to the void temple and learn that technique. then follow the team.
The Void temple is set near the edge of Vernierville, built into some complex of pipes and odd alien metal that you cannot discern the purpose of. Arcs of strange purple black lightning crawl across the surfaces and peak of this makeshift cathedral like darting snakes. Through the curtained entrance and down the a long hall lies the central chamber. It is half dojo, half worship hall: The first floor is a wide and open square room with small ancillary rooms off to its sides. Above it, in a conical tower ringed with catwalks turned pews, is a fragment of the void much larger than the one at the little temple near the starship docks. It glimmers with the same lightning that wreathes the building, a diamond shaped hole in reality that laves a black stain on your vision for several seconds after you look away.
The dojo, its sandy floor spattered with blackish lumps of dried blood, is sparsely populated with a handful of students wearing their black gowns. They practice movements on their own or spar with one another in quick and violent bursts that never last more than a few seconds. Far at the other end of the room is a curtain with the consistency of hospital gauze and a brilliant metallic purple. Through the semi-opaque cloth you can see strange lights and the shaded outlines of machinery as well as what appears to be a throne and a seated figure, though the details are lost.
Without knowing what else to do you announce your intent to learn the Vacuum Cleave, displaying your fragment of the void to all around. The students, and the sparse worshipers up in the rafters, glance first at you and then to the curtained room. The light within that room grows brighter and those crawling electric arcs begin to dance behind and around the seated figure. The voice which booms out and shakes the curtain is tinged with an electric hum that makes the inside of your head itch.
"Come."
You hesitate a moment and then step closer to the curtain, walking slowly across the blood stained sand until you are right at the mouth of the room. Some instinct tells you to offer the fragment of the void and you do so, holding it out to the unseen figure. A hand darts through the curtain, or rather seems to simply appear, its fingers already wrapped around your wrist. Those fingers are withered beyond what age could accomplish and the flesh is an awful blue, like a drowned corpse. But, as fragile as they may seem, they hold your hand with the same cold solidity as an iron manacle. You look at the curtain, squinting to see what has your hand but can only see a shadow wreathed in slow lighting. Then your hand, still clenching the fragment, is wrenched upwards such that the fragment is held directly before your eyes.
You have looked into that fragment before, just as the worshipers above do. You have tried, like a mystic gazing into a crystal ball, to divine some meaning within the swirling nothing. But, if there was some meaning there, it always eluded you. Until now. From within that shard of the infinity which swallowed the Jovian moons you see something. Something which surpasses the eyes and seems to sing down your nerves like a plucked guitar string. You feel that knowledge hit your brain with palpable force and spread down through your spine. Its there now, as deep and fundamental as instinct, etched into the nerves.
You blink and realize you are free. The room behind the curtain is back to as it was before, and the figure is seated once again. You feel as though you are a man who has laid in bed his whole life, only to now sit up and take his first steps. Muscles which are stiff with disuse- but which you have always had- are waking up.
[You have learned Vacuum Cleave: User’s next melee attack can hit targets at range. Uses SP when activated. d4 SP]
*grunts in approval of the money I have obtained*
Go look at the shops and see if they have any better armour for sale, be sure to keep tabs on where the team is heading so I can meet back up with them after shopping.
Name: Hobo Bob
Description: A dirty man with unkempt hair and beard.
Madness:
Mute. You must communicate using grunts, hand gestures, and other non-verbal actions. Writing is still acceptable.
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: 6/8
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)
Money: 2764
The shops in vernierville have a wide variety of goods but there's somewhat of an upper limit of their craft. The stragglers and vagabonds who have made it here are not exactly high end gun runners or intergalactic military surplus dealers. Their goods are the result of scavenging and low level trading, and reflect those limitations. The better armors you can find are often modified versions of the lower grade ones. Industrial tunics with added plates of armor or helmets with arc cutter's masks connected. In terms of greater protection, however, it seems like armoring your extremities might be the biggest enhancement you can manage. After some searching you settle on a knockoff of a guild battle harness: Its a kind of jumpsuit or coverall, the legitimate versions of which the guildsmen wear under their exoskeleton armor, as a last line of defense. Its d6 across the entire body and could, with the addition of plates, provide d8 to the chest.
"Let's rent out a barracks when we're done here"
Jim will see about requirements to publish a survival booklet with the information he has, if the requirements are "No" he'll just sell it. Also chip in to buy sleeping quarters
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.
--The Bulletmen are living cannon shells created to both maintain the Enigma's cannons and be fired from them. With the crash of the ship and presumed death of their creators, the Bulletmen have spent their time holding a festival to honor their "glorious dead"
--They have little understanding of what we would consider society, but they seem to have something of a hierarchy based on caliber, with their leader being known by the title "Bullet King."
---Included is a sketch of the various calibers of bulletmen Jim has seen so far
The man at the counter is not a publisher; he is a clerk to the largest information broker in the known galaxy. However, he does offer you a bit of advise.
1. Selling your notes would result in the loss of your notes and a use claim on the exact wording there in. But the knowledge you gained is still yours and can be rewritten or reused as you wish.
2. A survival guide would be a good idea but your information covers only a fraction of a fraction of the ship. It would be more of a pamphlet at the moment. He recommends you explore at least the entire upper level and expand your info before trying to publish anything.
3. In terms of requirements, if its a digital document then zero aside from type setting and such. For a physical print you'll need to find someone to do it for you. He says there's already a printer in town though, so that wouldn't be an issue.
You chip into the sleeping quarters arrangement. With...uh...whoever.
Give the snakes a friendly wave, and try to remember their language well enough to say hi. Ask if they'd be willing to trade.
Also, count how many have firearms or other ranged weapons. And stay close to the filament line, in case we need to retreat.
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: Head (d6)
Items: 8/8
War Drum (1d8 str, +1d12 Cha Buff)
Autoharness
Liquidoplas Bomb
Filament Gun
Oxygen Mask & Tank
Helmet (d6 armor, protects Head)
Small Autocage
---Carries 3.9 Filament Cartridges, 1 arclamp, 5 bait, 1 stimulant, 1 biogel, 1 logbook, 1 Liquidoplas Bomb
Money: 320
Look, no talking.
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: d4 all + Advantage, Sealed Environment
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.)
Flak Mantle: (While worn, armor rolls are done at advantage.)
Storebrand 'Guild' Helmet: (1d4 head armor. Creates a sealed environment that is protected from many environmental threats.)
Apprentice Suit: (1d4 armor, all but head)
Large Autocage: (Cha) (Can hold a creature up to Elephant size. Or carry a ton of items, presumably!)
Credits: 50
You approach the snake men, gesturing in a way you hope is friendly to them. Their reptilian countenances betray no hint of their thoughts are emotion and you're left trying to decode the meaning of flicking tails and coiling loops. As you approach you make a mental tally of their weaponry. There are a dozen or so snakemen, each carries at least a half dozen weapons. Of those, roughly half seem to be ranged weapons, though some are of a make you can't distinguish. Hmmm roughly 36 ranged weapons, plus or minus 5 maybe. You click your tongue thoughtfully: to say they have the advantage of numbers would be an understatement on several levels. You stop 20 or so paces from the guards and think of how best to announce yourself in what broken serpent tongue you know. To your surprise the serpent closest to you speaks first; his words are contorted by alien jaws but they are clearly intelligible as your own language.
"Why comest thee to our ophidian kingdom, outland walker of the stars? Dost thou wish plunder and violence or civil discourse? If your intents be malignant then get thee hence on pain of death; but if good your desires be then speak them."
You're completely taken aback by this archaic speech. The words are proto-galactic, something from before mankind made its desperate flight from the solar system, and now generally consigned to ancient literature and those who idolize those primitive times. The snake would have no way of knowing that kind of speech on his own; no ancient astronaut could have made it here to infect the planet with his language centuries ago. Any who even tried would still be hurtling through space on sublight engines even now.
You recover and assure them as best you can - considering you're not exactly a proto-galactic expert either - that you mean no harm and are simply here to trade. The snake man rocks his head side to side in what seems to be a contemplative gesture and then "Bids thee to wait here" before returning to his group. They speak in quick bursts of hisses and almost frog-like guttural noises. After a few moments the guard looks back towards you and asks, in the same laborious and overwrought fashion, what you have to trade.
Author
Topic: DEEP SPACE: Space vampires and work safety (Read 36603 times)