((Welcome, test subject. You have been selected to participate in a limited-time trial of a new game system I've been working on. Participation is mandatory.
The test is about blood-powered mecha, but the full game will be about different things.
This system is deterministic on the time span of one turn. Meaning no rolls to attack or dodge or such.
Exactly how the system works will be explained over the course of the game.
For capacity reasons, only the first five test subjects are needed. Any excess will be fed to the Antjwitr.))
Through a haze of black and cold, you feel tingling returning to your limbs.
Those affixed in place by cold loops of steel, your body a prisoner in a freezing tomb.
Your veins pierced by spikes, you feel your tinged red blood pulse through this great machine which creaks and roars around you. You feel what it feels.
Lonesome. And Heavy. And Sharp.
As you look down on your hand. Massive, bigger than your whole body, shining segmented metal backed by unlimited machine force. You wonder.
You wonder if you're supposed to remember. You wonder if you forgot.
Pick one:
Fled: You recall the empire. A place for humans like you, safe from the alien. A lie. The police came for you, to murder you, your blood too impure, unclean. You fled, just kept going intil you were in the commonwealth. Here you are poor, treated like trash, abused by the bugs. But at least they're not trying to kill you.
Soldier: You were manufactured in a pod, trained to fight. Made into a weapon against your own kind. Strange metal things put inside of you, drinking your foul blood, making you strong. The outermost painted in the commonwealth's colors, to differentiate you from the enemy.
Servant: You were a house-servant to the rich and powerful. An ugly and unappealing alien slave, who would work hard to survive. Once you had shown your determination and loyalty, it was decided to fix you. Make you pretty. Your disturbing primate limbs were pulled off and replaced, your skin covered up by shining chitin, and best of all, your soulless eye balls were replaced by beautiful compound eyes.
Blank: You can't recall anything.
Other: ??
As you unsteadily extend your focus outwards, you see and hear and feel through strange senses. Your body- or perhaps, your exo-body stands in a cold box of metal, a bare and depressing room, though expansive to contain your massive steel frame.
Above you, countless pipes and cables and chutes snake around the ceiling. You see and feel fluids passing through the pipes, and energies coursing through the cables.
Before you is a set of huge sliding doors. The floor and walls are painted in purple and black warning stripes, and odd flickering shapes surround your vision of the door, indicating that it it operational.
And finally, in a pair of alcoves, there are other poor souls such as you. Towering humanoid frames plated in inches of dull metal all around, beyond which you see bafflingly complex internals, monitoring, fastening, maintaining, stretching and contracting and siphoning hot, steaming red blood from place to place, beating in and out from the heart, the tainted core from which corruption flows freely to every part of the machine. And in the middle of it all, a cold metal tomb, and the heat of a human being. Its own foul heart a lesser cousin to the Ichor Core.
You turn inwards towards your own machine. It is the same... and yet, subtly different.
Pick one:
+1 Ichor
+10 Hull
+1 Plate
+1 Timeunits
Author
Topic: Foul Ichor (Read 8848 times)