Friday, November 25, 2011

Cybernetic: Tenebrae Lucem pt. 2

The white coated man broke the silence first, "Hello Captain Navarro." He considered Navarro, "You are the captain right?"
"That I am. Nice to meet you face to face Technical Loire." He said, recognizing the voice of the station's leader, "Your welcome is a bit too formal for my taste though." He said, nodding toward the twenty men with a bead on him.
"Please forgive me sir, it has just been so long since we made contact with the homeworld that we can't be reasonably sure of your intentions." Technical Loire said with sincerity, "Your men may accompany you and you will be allowed to keep your firearms, but just be warned that we will not hesitate to toss you out an airlock should any trouble be caused by you or your crew. Now please follow me, we'll talk in more comfortable quarters."
Captain Navarro nodded and complied, falling into step behind the Technical. He took the time to become better acquainted with his surroundings, many narrow catwalks crisscrossed throughout the structure. The station itself was cigar-shaped and built to be orientated vertically. Maybe three men could stand shoulder to shoulder at a time on the catwalks he could see.
There wasn't too many people around either, a few more men and women in the same uniforms as the soldiers or security walked dutifully toward unknown destinations, a smaller number of them were dressed in what appeared to be civilian outfits, yet occasionally one would order a guard authoritatively.
The weapons the guards used were also of an unknown design, though they were reminiscent of the lightning guns that engineers would handle in the close confines of a starship, but much smaller.

They finally arrived in a sterile looking silver-white room with a few chairs and a long table. Technical Loire motioned for Captain Navarro to take a seat, his five security guards filed in behind him and stood at attention against the wall. The Technical's men did the same the opposite of them.

"So captain, I'm sure you have questions for me. Ask away." He said with a smile that had no warmth
"What exactly is the Umbran Technocracy? A pirate operation with delusions of grandeur?"
Loire laughed "No no! Three full worlds make up our nation. This station is merely a listening post to monitor the actions of the new Imperial Government."
"Three worlds in this system?" Navarro balked, "How?"
Loire seemed pleased at his guest's incredulity, he was definitely enjoying this big reveal, "With whatever we could. The United Nations sent out this expedition a long time ago, our terraforming equipment malfunctioned and we were lost beneath the thick atmosphere of Umbra. It would be decades before we regained the ability to communicate with anything above the clouds."
Captain Navarro folded his arms and did his best to process this information quickly,
a lost colony, he thought.
"Now captain, if you could please answer a question for me?" Loire began, "Just what exactly is your infant empire hoping to gain from us?"
Navarro wasn't at all sure of what the Empress was hoping to accomplish here...or if this assignment was even from the Empress; for all he knew it was from the Cid.
He chose to remain silent.
"Ah, you really can't say. I understand, national security and all that." Loire got up and pushed his chair back in, "Well regardless of the reasons, we really can't trust you to go back to your employers with the location of the Technocracy." Navarro's blood ran cold, "I'm sorry captain but your men will be needing to relinquish their weaponry now."

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Cybernetic: Tenebrae Lucem pt. 1

The Crescendo drifted lazily into SC-3386-2, the light of the system's yellow star twinkled prettily in the distance as the vessel pushed toward its goal.
Captain Lyle Nevarro scanned the monitors in front of him detailing the ship's position to 3386-2's sun and fourteen planetary bodies, powerful communications signals were being emitted somewhere in this system and the Empire hired him to investigate.

Captain Nevarro was young for a commander of a starship; he used to be a Magnus Security Inc. Fighter Pilot before he was able to save up enough to purchase a freighter. After a decent run ferrying goods for various companies, he finally was able to acquire a Corporate Frigate and hire out his ship's services to those businesses who needed protection. Wartime was good for guy's wallet so long as he fought hard enough to survive.
When he was approached by the Empire to investigate an anomaly in an outlying star system he first scoffed at the idea of scouting out some new region of space, figuring something like that was better left to automated probes, but in the end the money was very adequate and getting in good with the Empress wasn't a bad idea either.

Captain Nevarro continued to peruse the holoscreen in front of him as information from planetary scans were processed. When his communications officer informed him that they had just been pinged and that they were being hailed, Nevarro raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Who is it?"
"Unknown serial code and designation. Should I patch it through?"
Captain Nevarro scratched his chin, "Yes. Audio only."
The Comm Officer nodded and the distinct static of active communications was Nevarro's cue to speak,
"This is the Corporate Frigate MEV Crescendo in service to the Empire of Terra. I am Captain Lyle Nevarro."
There was a beat of silence before a response, "I am Technical Hamilton Loire, Chief of Waystation Alpha-Zero." It sounded like an older man, one who was used to being in a position of authority, "I serve the Umbran Technocracy" he stated proudly, "System Patrol Vessels have been dispatched and ordered to bring you to dock here. We'll have plenty to discuss."
Captain Nevarro was not impressed, "If I refuse?"
"Then they will be ordered to fire on your ship." Technical Loire stated matter-of-factly.
"...Very well. Send docking coordinates." Nevarro slumped in resignation. He may have a warship, but he was in an unknown system with no support and he doubted that the Empire would be too pleased if he instigated an altercation with a bunch of unknowns in the middle of nowhere.

Ten starships showed up from out of the black. They were sleek and angular, silvery with dark blue and black insignias proudly displayed on their prows. They were frigates, but smaller than his by half. They also had a certain grace that Imperial ships lacked and if they had any weapons they weren't easily visible.

Waystation Alpha-Zero was not an incredibly impressive sight to behold for a space station, but it was intriguing for its location. It hung motionless out in the middle of nowhere, Captain Nevarro thought that stations could only be built safely in orbit of celestial bodies due to the incredible energy required to keep such a large body in one spot without natural gravitational forces to help anchor the structure. The Crescendo docked with Alpha-Zero with little issue and the captain selected a security detail to accompany him to his meeting with his captors.
Lyle Nevarro was not big on taking unnecessary risks, he survived everything from the Genociders, right on through to the Corporate Rebellions. Like hell he planned on getting killed on some errand.

The airlock hissed as the pressure regulated and the air of the ship mixed with the station. The door opened and the captain, with his five-man security squad, stepped out of the belly of his vessel right into twenty soldiers with firearms pointed directly at them and a stone-faced old man dressed in white.

Monday, October 31, 2011

The Dual Throne: Bar Talk and Rumors

Nights at Beaumont's Inn were generally busy. The barmaids would run back and forth, trying to serve a seemingly endless stream of patrons and where the occasional troublemaker would be thrown out into the street to drunkenly stumble home.
Located in the heart of commercial Damocles and a decent enough place to find a decent ale and maybe some company for the night. Tonight though, there was an air of tension and fear; rumors had been circulating of an invasion from Eisenheim and terrible demonic attacks that left many a man dead. While people usually only filtered in and out, Old Gertel, Abir, Deadrick, and the owner, Beaumont himself, shared a drink together every night for the past five years. It was something to look forward to at the end of a long work day, a drink with friends before the return to home life with children and wives.

"They're takin' girls right out of their beds! Harvestin' their souls fer some evil ritual!" Old Gertel was loud and shrill as usual, always paranoid about this or that. Once he was started, it was impossible for him to calm down.
Abir dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "Bollocks! Like any demon is going to be running around freely with men like that about." he said gesturing to the inquisitor sitting at the bar; the man's skin appeared to be made of stone and the color was almost obsidian, "What do you think he is?" he wondered.
Deadrick took one quick glance in the inquisitor's direction, turned back to his beer, and shrugged, "Dunno, had no idea the king hired statues." He laughed to himself and took a generous swig from his tankard.
"Quiet! What in the hells is wrong with you? He'll hear!" Gertel hissed, he was terrified of the stone man, but then he was terrified of most things.
"He's...probably right. Last thing I think any of us wants is to have a chat with an inquisitor, least of all that one." Beaumont said.
"Why? What'd he do?" Abir asked, risking another glance at the man.
"How about publicly beheaded two nobles and arrested a Jarl's wife?" Beaumont said, he was nervous that this man was here at all as he was well known for his rather brutal displays in the city square.
Abir's eyes went wide and he let out a slow whistle, "That was him?"
Beaumont took a sip of ale, "Yup, watched him do it with my own eyes. Some fancy beorns from out in the fields, hauled them here without so much as a trial and-" He made a dramatic chopping motion into his hand, "cut their heads clean off."
Gertel gasped dramatically while the rest frowned.
"What a bastard." Deadrick muttered into his cup as he took another gulp.
"You better believe it." Beaumont said as he recollected that day, "looked damned proud of himself too. Like he was playing a game."
Old Gertel was looking increasingly uncomfortable, "Well, can't say it's been fun..." he excused himself, tossed a few coppers onto the counter, and hurriedly made for the exit. Being this close to someone with the authority to behead him should he get the urge was a bit too much for the jumpy old man.
The rest of the men shrugged, Gertel was always the first to leave, seemed like everything spooked him these days.
"Does he seem alright to you?" Beaumont asked, "he's never been quite all there, but doesn't he seem on edge?"
Abir shrugged, "Don't read too much into it Beau, the old man's just getting on in years; my father started to act all sorts of strange as he came up on the end." He took a sip of ale.
He heard the heavy thud of booted feet walking up behind him and he turned to see the stone inquisitor.
Beaumont forced a smile though a practiced eye could still see the nervousness there, "And how was everything today sir?" he asked with faux concern
The inquisitor shrugged, "Acceptable I suppose." He tossed a couple silvers onto the bar counter and simply nodded as a farewell before marching out into the night. Beaumont collected the coins eagerly.
"Well I guess there's a bright side to having the Inquisition's finest in your establishment." Deadrick motioned to glinting silver pieces, then he waved his mug at Beaumont, "Oh, and fill me up when you get the chance?" He asked patronizingly, there was barely anyone else in the inn, Beaumont had even sent the barmaids home already.
Beaumont scoffed but complied, sliding the refilled tankard to the already rather drunk Deadrick, "Your last one mate, I won't have your woman giving me another earful." Deadrick chuckled as he continued to imbibe.
Abir looked around, "Speaking of which...just where the hells is everyone Beau? Ain't this the busy hour?"
Beaumont sighed, "Frankly, I'm surprised you all showed up, I mean, between the werewolf den that got cleaned out down the street and talk of Imperial spies around every corner? It's a wonder that I have customers at all." He frowned.
"I heard about the werewolves, can't believe the Guard let a whole den go undetected for Beryllus knows how long." Abir took another sip, "Makes you wonder what else they're missing, you know?"
By now, Deadrick was passed out on the table. Beaumont helped himself to the coppers he was owed and shook the man violently.
"Deadrick." No response, "Deadrick you lazy ass, get up and go home or I swear I'll have the Guard drag you out."
Deadrick snorted and sat up, "Oh. Sorry Beau, here..." he fished around in his pockets and placed some coppers on the counter.
"Don't worry about it son, it's on the house." Beaumont replied, Abir was trying not to laugh.
"Well thank you." He slurred, he pushed himself away from the table and stumbled out the door.
Abir and Beaumont watched him leave and when the door finally shut, Abir let out the laugh he'd been stifling, "You're a better man than me. I figure if he's going to be so damn stupid, might as well make a few extra bits."
"Ah, he's alright. Just needs to hit the drink a bit less."
"Whatever you say." Abir finished off the last of his beverage and got up, "Well my friend, I think it's time for me to head home too." He payed for his drinks and said his goodbyes, "You be careful, things seem to have gotten dangerous everywhere."
Beaumont nodded, "You too, get home safe." Abir waved once more and walked out into the night.

The bartender leaned up against the wall and finished his ale before returning to work, wishing the slow nights he'd been experiencing would just end and that business would finally turn around.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

The Dual Throne: The Village Burns

Ragnald Hadrien, Crown Prince of the Throne of Damocles, took in the smell of the burning huts and makeshift homes of the Orcish people. In these five years that he had been campaigning against the orcs, he never tired of that smell.
Beautiful he thought, the way the embers danced through the air or how the remnants of their tents glowed in the intense heat, these things always brought him peace, not to mention the heat was a welcome relief from the bitter winter winds. For too long these beasts have resisted the rightful rule of the Crown, of his father and his father before him. Ragnald knew in his heart that he was the punishment of the gods for insolence of the tribes and he ached to end them once and for all.
Ragnald was tall by the standards of the kingdom, his armor black, red, and branded with his personal crest alongside the Royal Lion. His hair was blonde and his eyes blue, he stood apart from the men who were of a slightly darker complexion with dark hair and dark eyes.
"My lord, the enemy flees to the east." One of the scouts shook him from his reverie, "If we hurry we can intercept them before they find reinforcements or regroup."
"Of course Captain, we will pursue with haste." He hefted his massive tower shield onto his back and mounted his war horse, Braun, "After all, someone has to put these dogs down." He smiled and the Captain nodded, saluted, and went off to gather the men.
------
As the day wore on, the temperature felt as if it was growing colder and a light snow began to fall on their heads. Prince Ragnald shivered once into his fur cloak and pressed on enjoying the warmth when the sun did break through the treeline and cloud cover.
He was greatly anticipating the return of his scouts, hopefully the gods might be on his side as he had been pursuing this particular tribe for weeks and now, finally, the vice was closing on his quarry.
Ragnald led a sizable force through the plains and forests of Damocles, roughly 500 men and a quarter that number in cavalry. It was more than enough to crush one of the roving warbands of Orcs that have plagued the kingdom since its founding.
When he heard the sound of irregular hoof-beats he looked up in anticipation, expecting to see his advance scouts galloping toward him, instead he watched in horror as a line of Orc Horsemen charged into the flank of his soldiers and volleys of arrows erupted from the treeline surrounding them.
Prince Ragnald wasted no time, "Infantry! Fall back, regroup, and charge!" He bellowed at the confused men-at-arms around him, "Cavalry! To me!" He was alive with adrenaline as his horsemen formed a wedge with him at its head, "CHARGE!"
By now his sword was unsheathed and held high, ready to fall on the first beastman that came within reach.
As the distance closed, the flow of time seemed to almost come to a stop and Ragnald was able to take in the details of his enemy, they were ill-equipped with only piecemeal armor and their weapons were far from uniform; some wielded cudgels while others used axes and still other used plundered Damoclesian blades. They were covered in pelts and fearsome war-paint; their animal howls made even Ragnald uneasy.
Why would men let themselves become beasts? he wondered idly.

A tide of muscle and steel thundered toward the Orc Horsemen, who stood ready to engage the charging Knights. With the clang of metal on metal, the battle was joined.
Ragnald collided with a massive brute of an Orc, very nearly being thrown from his horse in the process, and sent him careening off his mount onto the snowy ground; the sheer force of Braun's collision seemingly killed the smaller steed outright and its rider was brutally trampled in the furious melee that raged around him. He quickly and expertly swung his sword from left to right, finding flesh with each swing. The chaos of battle was where he was at home, nothing mattered here except the next kill; with every enemy felled, the kingdom would be safer. The Prince was proud of the work he did, he was proud of the ruin he brought to the enemies of Damocles.
For what felt like an eternity he slashed madly at the Orc riders all around him: a head would be lopped off here and a throat slashed there, he plunged his sword through the breastplate of an enemy rider puncturing the heart, arterial spray splashed his face as the man ceased his struggle and slumped in the saddle. Ragnald slapped the horse in the rump with the flat of his blade, sending it running wildly through the enemy formation.

He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings; the enemy cavalry had lost its momentum and their fight steadily became one of desperation, arrows still flitted from the trees and rained down on his men, and as his infantry finally began to close in, orc warriors came screaming out of the forest with their massive trademark axes glinting in the sunlight.
Ragnald set his jaw, they were caught in a well coordinated trap. Arrows seemed to come from every direction, a few men at a time would simply gurgle and die as an arrow pierced his visor or scream in pain if it managed to puncture his armor.
This was going to turn into a rout unless he did something and quickly.
"Mages! Set fire to the deep forest edge!" He roared as loud as his lungs would allow and prayed that his runners were still alive.
A moment passed and then the forests spontaneously erupted in flame and smoke soon obscured his vision; he noted with satisfaction that the steady stream of arrows whizzing all around them had nearly stopped as the archers not only couldn't see, but were very much in danger of being burned alive.
But then, so are we. he noted grimly.

He pushed the doubt from his mind, "Press the attack! Let none survive!"
He urged the men forward, to not let up. The day can still be theirs and this thrice damned tribe of degenerates will finally be rotting in the sun. Ragnald turned and charged into the smoke and that's when he saw him.
The leader, the chieftan of the tribe, if he could kill the head then the body would surely follow. He spurred Braun sharply in the side, trying to eek as much speed and power out of his steed as he possibly could, eager to lay the orc leader low and end this. The damned fool wasn't even looking at him, he was just standing there as if in shock!
Ragnald thundered closer and closer, victory so close he could taste it. He raised his sword and swung at the orc chieftan's neck, intent on removing his head from his shoulders, though flesh is not what his sword found but instead the flat side of an ax, the orc had parried with incredible speed and with his free hand punched Ragnald hard in the throat.

The force of the blow threw him from the saddle and he landed on the icy ground, gasping for breath. He struggled to his feet and looked around wildly. He saw that the orcish warriors were being beaten back, they looked as if they would soon break. He shifted his gaze back to the orc chief, who was seemingly unaware of the imminent destruction of his kinsmen. The chief's gaze was locked solely on Ragnald as he spurred his horse into a charge at the dismounted prince. Ragnald threw his tower shield to the ground to increase his mobility and braced, watching his opponent carefully. He ducked low under the massive axe that threatened to remove his head and plunged his blade into the flank of the chieftan's mount, tearing out a significant amount of muscle and organ, sending the horse sprawling and the orc flying through the air.
Ragnald turned around quickly, intent on finishing the fight if it wasn't already over, and was horrified to see the chief had not only landed on his feet but was in a full-blown sprint toward him.
He brought his sword up and deflected the first blow,
and the second,
but the third was more successful. He gasped as the huge tribal axe rent the armor at his flank and cut a section of flesh from his body.

It was at this moment that the orc lines had completely dissolved, they were in full retreat and they ran howling past the two dueling leaders. All the commotion shook the chieftan from his state of concentration and he looked away from Ragnald briefly, the prince was quick to capitalize on his enemy's distraction. He slashed at the chieftan's tendons in the heel, and with a snap the orc fell screaming to the ground. Not willing to underestimate him again, Ragnald unceremoniously plunged the blade into his chest. He gurgled, his eyes went wide with fury, and then he expired.

Ragnald sat back, still gasping for breath and found it harder and harder as the air became thicker with smoke. He struggled back to his feet and whistled for Braun; the horse found his way back to his master and he mounted up signalling to his runners to sound the retreat. To pursue the remnants of the tribe into land only they know would be disastrous, not to mention the growing forest fire.
They regrouped and retreated from the flames; finally Ragnald was able to take stock of their losses.
Well over half of his original force was dead. He cursed, though at the same time, was thankful even that many had gotten out or that they had even won at all.
"My lord...your orders?" One of his aides cautiously inquired, not wanting to further upset his liege.
Prince Ragnald sighed deeply, "We are hurt badly, but this is still a momentous victory. The majority of the orc warband is dead and their chieftan slain by my own hand, this is a loss from which they will never recover." He considered his options carefully, "Tell the men we make for Damocles. It's time to go home."

Monday, October 24, 2011

Wiki Cleaning

So I took a look around the Cybernetic Wiki and frowned at the amount of work it required especially since my most recent Sci-Fi Campaign had finished with a spectacular win for the party. Now a large chunk of the information about the setting is:
a) no longer relevant
b) woefully out-of-date
c) not there at all

So I've been working to get it more accurate to the current state of the setting; factions have disappeared, been absorbed, or have risen up.
I've added a Timeline that charts what happened in the years after the present day, expanded the articles on colonized planets, added newly completed colonies to the list, and now faction information is actually relevant to the setting's current date. Hopefully this will further help the immersion factor in the next game, as there will assuredly be a next game. There were plenty of plot threads that definitely weren't explored and I've gotten mostly positive feedback from the groups I've  run it with.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Transitions and Free Time.

I've recently moved to the mountains, I decided that my location should match my beard, but that's another story.
Now this means that I left my friends and, by extension, my gaming groups behind as I start a new life about 8 hours north of them.
My inability to game semi-frequently is the hardest thing to acclimate to in this transition, but what can you do? The opportunity here is in my newfound freedom; I spent a large portion of my time trying to balance planning new and exciting storylines and hanging out with my friends who didn't quite like the activity so much. I now have unlimited time to focus on smoothing out settings and getting story arcs planned out for when I make my summer visits.

If you're interested in keeping up with that just check the links on the right side of the page. They should be public to whoever wants them. If you want to use them for a game you're running or something, go for it!

I'll probably spend a considerable amount of time updating the wikis to the settings I have designed; hopefully completely carving out the worlds (I'm including regional folklore, national histories, and the rest of the continents). What I'll post here will mostly be bits of story, perhaps set before the current events of these settings, maybe in different areas altogether.

I've been telling myself that this little hiatus is just what the doctor ordered, let's hope I'm right.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Dual Throne: Season Finale

Vale Sadar had survived more conflict, pain, and loss than most who had lived. That's what he has always been best at, surviving when others don't. Through tribal conflict, hostile men of the crown, and even nature itself; it seemed like the gods were ranged against Vale. He looked around and wondered if this might be his final fight.
Terrian had brought them to this place, a graveyard and shrine to Beryllus's faithful; it had long since been reclaimed by the wild forests of Damocles. Though its glory had been diminished somewhat by time, it was not abandoned; a company of devils had claimed it in the name of their cursed patrons.
They had come here for Decius Maximillian, ambassador of the Emperor Otto von Faulken and lapdog of Count Pieter von Berchtold. His location had finally been discerned by the Kingdom and now His Majesty's Inquisition had tasked them with ending this treachery. At least, they would attempt to end this treachery or die alone and forgotten, either looked fairly likely right about now.
Vale sucked in air through gritted teeth. The devil's glaive had taken a large chunk of flesh from his side; he was almost certain that the blow had cracked a rib and he winced with each step. His blood flowed and he was horrified to note that it wouldn't stop bleeding and had taken on the appearance of black tar.
He put the pain far from his mind. He was determined. The distance between him and the Erinyes rapidly closed.
When he reached the first he felt a small tinge of regret as the force of his punch dislocated the jaw of what seemed to be a beautiful, raven haired woman; she would have been exquisite if her features weren't deliberately marred with ritual scarring. The blow took her off of her feet; Vale maintained his momentum, stomping on her throat hard and, with a quick twist of his foot, snapped her neck with a loud crack.
He frowned as her tongue lolled out of her mouth and her eyes became distant, ashen wings twitching slightly. He almost didn't see the blade coming as another capitalized on his moment of hesitation. He barely deflected the sword off his heavy gauntlets and he cursed at himself for his stupidity.
One down, three to go

-----------------------------------


Harold Vyxr hated it here. Until recently, he had never had to deal with the creatures that had polluted his bloodline. As a tiefling, he had dealt with adversity his entire life and struggled against his darker nature. The only friends he had ever known had been his instructors at the Institute, as they truly appreciated his talent despite his devil-blood; his peers, however, ostracized him and spoke of him as if he was the same as the creatures he is descended from.
Until recently, he thought of them as bigots; that they were jealous of his talent and his rapidly growing power. He understood their hate now, he understood why they avoided him.
Most terrifying of all though, was Decius Maximillian. Decius was barely recognizable, he stood in front of the desecrated shrine to Beryllus. His skin looked like it belonged to one of the Bearded Devils that they had been fighting, it sat strangely on his body, as if it was slightly loose. Vyxr locked eyes with the foul sorcerer and shivered at the stark raving madness he saw there; this thing was an abomination and needed to die, there was no doubt about it.
He scanned the frenetic melee that raged around him and saw Terrian battling six cultists on his own, the fire burned in his eyes as he shrugged off blow after blow, never taking his attention fully away from Maximillian lest he disappear once again.
Harold Vyxr spoke a few words of power and a swath of cultists burst into flames, screaming in agony as they died. A path from Terrian to Decius was now clear, Harold began analyzing the battlefield once more, though failing to see one of the Erinyes loosing an arrow at him. The impact nearly took him off his feet, he looked down at his chest and was horrified to see blood oozing around a thick shaft buried deep in his torso. Two more arrows sent him sprawling onto the stone floor. Blood hemorrhaged out of his body and suddenly the room was difficult to focus on. He fought the urge to sleep, but it was a losing battle. His eyes closed.
This is it.

---------------------------------------


Kywin Vast was invisible, well at least to everyone but those bitches with the black wings and Decius. He was in the thick of things, sending a shuriken into the jugular of a cultist here, embedding one in the heart of a Bearded Devil there. It would have been easy if that bastard Decius wasn't zeroing in on him and hurling fireballs and bolts of lightning his way. Kywin cursed endlessly under his breath as the pain of multiple burns took its toll. If only the priest hadn't been killed he would be enjoying a bit of healing magic right now. Yet another reason to hate Decius Maximillian.
Dark devour his soul.

----------------------------------------

Inquisitor Terrian Vahe burned with zeal. He smiled wide as the path to Decius became clear, the smell of the charred flesh of cultists and devils bringing his soul a small amount of comfort.
"Decius Maximillian!" He bellowed, "For crimes against the Kingdom of Damocles and His Majesty King Charles Hadrien, I pronounce you dead already! May the gods have mercy on you for your perversion!"
Decius sneered at the boast, "Filth." he stated simply.
Vahe rushed madly at the demon-sorcerer with his sword held high, stopping for nothing. He swung with all his might, only to barely miss. Decius was prepared for him, his hands crackled with arcane lightning and he gripped Vahe tightly, sending lethal amounts of electricity coursing through the Inquisitor. His mouth cracked into a terrifying grin as he whispered a few powerful words and an explosion ballooned out from behind Vahe; the flames washed over him and the force of the blast, combined with electricity that wracked his body with pain, brought him to his knees. Decius began laughing, a cackle tinged with mania.
Terrian's vision started to darken and blur, then he heard the laughter through the haze of pain. Fury welled up in his chest and a measure of clarity returned. He gripped the Crown Blade tighter and, though his clothes still burned and arcs of electricity made his muscles spasm, he stood up; with a mighty roar he plunged the ancient sword into the heart of his torturer. The pain and laughter ceased.
Decius stood there looking at the sword in his chest incredulously, he tried to speak but words didn't come. Terrian pulled the blade from his opponent's torso and grasped his throat with his free hand, lifting him effortlessly off of the ground and hurling his broken form a full fifteen feet into the one of the many statues of the saints.
Black blood pooled around his body and Decius Maximillian stirred no more.
Justice.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Dual Throne: Quests wrapped up

I am feeling pretty sick at the moment and will most likely be vague in several spots of the following text, hopefully you'll get the general idea.

It occurs to me that I never introduced the whole party:
* Terrian Vahe = Inquisitor of the King's Inquisition
* Kywin Vast = Ninja from the Plane of Shadows
* Harold Vyxr = Tiefling Wizard from Damocles
* Vale Sadar = Half-Orc Monk

This group has something of a love for having similar naming conventions in all their characters. In this particular campaign it was all of them having a four-letter "V" surname. The only one who breaks this mold is Vale Sadar, but that's only because his player was dead-set about "Vale" being the first name, he explained why but I've forgotten.

They picked up right where they left off last time, looting the boss they killed in 1 round. They found some incriminating evidence that would implicate the Jarlessa in various traitorous crimes, which they loved because they want nothing more than to publically behead this woman.
They found notes unsigned but further examination would yield positive results, they had other letters of correspondence between the Jarl and his treacherous wife that has blatant lies; the combination of evidence granted them some pretty major bonuses to the Diplomacy checks it would take to get this man to arrest his spouse.

They gleefully skipped back to the Fortress of Thorns, in the border town Roses, to finally corner the she-witch. As they had previously been honored guests, and it being early enough in the morning, the Jarl was home and available immediately. they marched into his study where the two rulers were enjoying their morning together reading in the study.
Things got worse.
Vahe is an Inquisitor, and not one of a particularly diplomatic disposition, he just kinds of storms in and everyone kind of just starts demanding that blood be spilled while waving paper around.
They calm down for five seconds and hand the evidence over to the Jarl and convince him of his wife's treachery. She bolts, but isn't quick enough and is hit by several arrows, shuriken, spells, and finally a bullet to the leg from her husband.
She is brought to the dungeons to await trial and faces execution in the coming weeks. High fives for everyone.

An understandably distraught Jarl thanks the party for their services to their kingdom, but asks that they please leave him be. They oblige him and skip off to the bounty office to collect their money for bringing in the head of Chieftan Magruk gro Kuun, the rest of the town can rest easy now that a homicidal tribe of orcs is safely rotting in the sunlight by now.

They make the trip back to Damocles to personally report with Inquisitor-Lord Sagar Joester who tells them that they are to take their most dangerous mission yet. There is no guarantee that any of them will return, but they are to cross the border into the Empire of Eisenheim and cause as much damage as they can before the inevitable war between kingdom and empire begins.
They safely make the trip across the border and end up in the moderately sized town of Prenzlaurberg to begin their planning of what steps they should take now.
This is the most independent of any quest they have received so far and I, personally, am interested to see what they do with their freedom.

We ended the session at the planning stage as I hadn't gotten as many Imperial NPCs finished as I would have liked and also it was close to midnight by the time we got their. Not very many, nor particularly taxing, encounters this session and so a lot of time was eaten up with the various roleplay elements that come with reporting back to a quest-giver or wrapping up a plot-line that had pretty much been going since the first session.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

The Dual Throne: I won't make a single Monty Python reference

So I was originally supposed to do an update for the Star Wars game. Unfortunately the party died or were incapacitated and then arrested by the Republic. They raided the Sith tomb and...well...I thought they were much better prepared for poison gas. Surprise.
Then these weird Dark Side creatures I found in the books possessed two of the four remaining. The two gunned down their buddies and then killed themselves. Campaign over.

Now they have broken up. Instead of a giant, unwieldy group of seven, I now have a concise party of four and it is wonderful. They decided to break up after the absurdity that was the last session of the Star Wars game so that they could maximize their ability to have fun.
Half decided to go play in another Star Wars game a friend of ours is running and the other half decided to play in my fantasy setting The Dual Throne.

The game starts following the Inquisitor Terrian Vahe as he looks to find the hired muscle the Kings Inquisition had hired to help him root out those that would aide the King's enemies as they amass at his borders. His Majesty's Inquisition is a secular force in the Kingdom of Damocles and they put their loyalty to the King beyond any deity.
They met up at a tavern. I couldn't think of anything that everyone would be welcome at...

They hunted down suspects and publicly behead them for there transgressions against the king. It was really quite the spectacle, I think Terrian enjoyed being able, nay encouraged, to cut loose and act like a bona fide crazy person and personally cut the heads off of nobles who betrayed their king. One such noble got away, in fact, she is the wife of one of the Governor-Generals (called "Jarls") of the Border Fortresses to the Eastern part of the Kingdom. She ended up catching wind about her compatriots disappearing and she skipped town back to her homebase, Roses. Her name is Lorena Bede.

She seduced the guard assigned to keep her in her room, tied him to a bedpost and took his uniform; she walked right out the front door without anyone noticing, stealing the nearest carriage and heading straight for home. The party berated the City Guard for their incompetence for a full five minutes and then left in a huff, racing to try and beat her to the fortress.

Random Encounter:
12 Orcs. All dead in five rounds, no casualties (well, one horse).
Really it's incredible what a well placed fireball can do.

Upon arrival to the castle they request that the Jarl Tull Bede grant them an audience so they can discuss his loyalty and his activities in these recent months. The Jarlessa Lorena Bede is there and joins them about halfway through the dinner, unflinching and playing the dutiful wife brilliantly and without so much as flinching at their presence.
Terrian knows that the Jarl is powerful and dangerous; angering him would not be the most intelligent thing possible, so he decides that simply accusing the Jarlessa of being a lying bitch at the dinner table would probably net them about a hundred musketballs right in the face. When he catches a lie he just smiles and nods, putting it on some mental checklist for later. It was an hour and a half of talking at the dinner table which I did not plan for. I did have notes on the pretty much everything they were asking and it was fairly easy to improv the whole thing, but it was just so civil. This is my "BLOOD AND GUTS AND BLOOD" group and even they were surprised at their focused and measured approached to capital punishment.

They search the castle and talk with the Jarlessa's personal aide who doesn't suspect treachery from his mistress.
What follows is important, but incredibly boring, so I'll just sum it up. They discover that a local orc chieftain may be in cahoots with the Jarlessa and they convince a caravan to just pack up and go and that they'll protect them.

This part was supposed to be a boss fight, but Inquisitor Vahe scored a crit on the first round and struck the chieftain down. They find a note with directions for a messenger on the back and no signature. They set up camp and are trying to figure out what to do.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Episode II: The Aimless Menace

In a move that startled me (and them a bit, I think) the party got their game on and did things that were both productive and Sith-like (they still don't have an overall goal yet and are sort of just wandering about looking for cool stuff to make them stronger).
I think it had to do with them having a decent combat very early on in the game and it sparked what little teamwork and brainstorming abilities they have as a group.

Sidenote: Honestly if you sat in on a typical game day with these people you would be surprised to learn that they are even friends (or that they know any words besides "faggot" and "Tyler is a faggot") so when they take it easy and do things that could be described "team-y" then you can look forward to them actually playing.

Well they get a job to negotiate with the enemy of Sloma the Hutt. Sloma wants this guy to be a subservient ally and the party is going to mediate this...

Negotiations!
Fierce Negotiations!

While the above image is something of a hyperbole; the party did open fire on the Bothan's rather numerous bodyguards and killed them all pretty quickly. They pretty much shot and killed *everyone* in the room except the gangster (who was now particularly willing to play ball).

See! That was the Sith-est of negotiations!
  • Walk in and offer deal.
  • Make sure tone is uninviting and borderline hostile.
  • If they still don't shoot at you, threaten them.
  • Laugh as you kill everyone in the room.
  • Get your way anyway.
They got their payment and made a potentially important connection on a smuggler world. Good deal, I say.
Next they decided to head to Korriban (the Sith homeworld of old) to search for artifacts that will increase their power. They do make it, but attract the suspicion of the Republic and a few Jedi Ambassadors on the local station that happened to be checking out the quarantine on the ancestral home of the most ancient enemy of the Jedi Order.
They lie through their teeth and convince the Jedi to help them dig through the Sith tombs, they do it without arousing the suspicion of the Republic (that they know of) and the Knights land, sensing the party's evil immediately upon coming within forty feet of them.

Combat ensues.

Everyone does pretty well here, though there are seven people ready to fight only three Jedi Knights, it is a difficult battle as each of the knights are close to double the level of any single party member. They take advantage of their superior numbers and swarm the Knights. Except Tigerman (known as Ranek from here onward).
He's pretty much left with no support whatsoever and, despite being alone against an opponent double his level, bests him in single combat. I didn't even roll poorly, per se, I rolled fairly average the whole time; Ranek rolled a few critical hits and I don't think below a fifteen at any point in the encounter. He deserves an acknowledgement: bravo sir.
The other two Jedi pretty much got annihilated and caused minimal hurt. Most of the damage was done to the resources of the party, I think two destiny points were burned (in case you don't know, destiny points are gamechangers they can negate attacks entirely, even critical hits, activate tremendously powerful effects on force powers, or allow you to autocrit; you can only receive them by pursuing and making a big step toward some preset destiny. That is to say, they're rare) and that is a resource they will have trouble getting back anytime soon.

Finally, they finish up the combat and make their way into the Sith Tomb. Preparing to brave the traps of Lords long dead and take whatever powerful items they might find there for themselves, to use them and conquer the hated Galactic Republic.

And that's what I'll be covering next time.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The game starts with a whimper

Last night was the first session of a brand new Star Wars game of my own design. The party are fallen Jedi who are training to become Sith Lords and forge a new Sith Empire the likes of which the galaxy has never seen.
Above: The entire session

I feel like everyone is going to either murder everyone else or they're just going to do absolutely nothing. They spent about twenty minutes deliberating on getting over a pit and then figuring out the best way to get through a wooden gate. When they found some other Sith Lords who were all "Get out, this is our turf." they came *this* close to just sheepishly accepting it and leaving the planet.
Eventually two of them just said "Screw it" and they charged in and the two Sith were dead in a round and a half. They are getting established and used to their new roles as the designated bad guys (even though they are more respectful and controlled as bad guys than they ever were as heroes).
Well they took the Sith's palace and their servants for their own base and flew off to another backwater planet to see if it was a better base of operations.

Mind you we are now three hours into the session and everyone can't stop arguing about what to do next to save their lives.

They finally land at the backwater and started asking around about who was in charge (so they could depose them...or something, they were never very clear).
A typical exchange:
"Who's in charge here?"
"A Hutt named Sloma."
"What do you know of Sloma the Hutt?"
"It's a Hutt..."
Repeat the above about five more times.
Session comes to a close.

One way or another, I have confidence that this group will end up doing something it just might take awhile.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Endings and Beginnings

Tuesday night we finished the module we were running about four weeks earlier than we were supposed to because apparently we had skipped just about every important thing that it was possible to skip. It boiled down to a tower defense scenario where we were defending the city from the evil hobgoblin army and we were holding one of the main streets from the invading horde and trying our hardest to save the city from complete burnification. Well we made it to the last wave and were promptly murdered by rampaging undead, two of us killed outright and one sniped off the roof whilst in retreat.
My cleric was unable to climb, fly, run particularly fast, or dispel the wall of thorns blocking his escape down the street. I remembered that we were, in fact, holding a city street and assumed that there had to be doors to the buildings towering over me; I was correct, bashing down a door and staying in the cover of the structures as I made my speedy withdrawal from the conflict. The only other party member to make it out of the city with his life was the bard.
So in a fashion, I won; the city, however, was burned to the ground.

With this campaign wrapped up, I'll finally be running a Star Wars Sagas game on Tuesday nights now. The characters submitted have undergone name changes to things more appropriate and belonging in the setting. I currently await a few more so I can really get cracking on a more detailed plotline.

They've been trying to hammer out the details of how their characters all know eachother but for the most part they decided to go with originally being apprentices to Jedi Masters who were all sent on a mission together in the Unknown Regions (not sure exactly what the mission was but we'll get there) and ended up finding a Sith Holocron; unaware of what they had, they brought it with them on the return trip where it was accidentally activated and began to teach them techniques not of the Jedi Order. Finally, they decided they wanted to pursue the training that the holocron offered; feeling that their masters were entirely dishonest and were holding them back from what Force could give them.

Friday, July 8, 2011

General update of me and my gaming life so far:

So my cleric I've been playing has reignited my love of character creation and the game in general. Merrik Inniel has become quite powerful in just a few short sessions. The little scamp.
He's finally pulling his own weight in ways beyond "band-aids for the party boo-boos" and manages to kill things every now and again.
Unfortunately though, the module we've been playing is closing down and I'll be turning my hand to game creation once again. I will be running a Star Wars Sagas game for my buddies and I'm glad to do it. My games were my creative muse; they kept my thoughts fresh and flowing. I'm terribly excited to get back in the saddle and make a storyline go.
I'm preparing to take a few days and study the crap out of the core books for the system and brush up on my Star Wars history so that I can avoid my players pulling a fast one on me and getting something absurd early on because they were clever bastards and I gave them what they wanted out of sheer confusion.

The wiki related to that particular campaign is under construction and will be up and running ASAP.

So I guess I'll take some time to lay out what I got as far as plotlines go:
The party is Sith Lords and allies of the Sith Empire in the time of the Old Republic, a few decades or so after the Knights of the Old Republic games (if you're familiar with them).

That's all I got for now. I'm letting my players figure out their backstories before I go and design a story too detailed and end up derailing any interesting character histories they had thought up.
Plus it lets me design a plot centered entirely around them from the get go, no matter what their party consists of exactly the story will be ready for them, come what may.

Oh and so far two of them finished their characters: Nicholas Rage and Nicholas Mage.

Oh yes, this is going to be fun. I can tell.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Ideas abound!

So, thanks to this blog I have an outlet where I can practice writing and work on my style to get good enough to maybe do this for a living.

I've compiled old campaign notes from years ago and have been at it non-stop working on a science fiction novel of my very first, successfully run, campaign.
I've been writing it with the Player Character's names intact, but will more than likely change them when the manuscript is finished. No offense to the guys that played them; they were just...less than marketable (read: bad). I've always wanted to write a novel, but have always lacked the gumption to do it. Recently though (somewhat due to having an empty house to stew in) I've been taking a crack at it.

I'm going to need readers for when it is finished, if anyone would like a copy of the manuscript when completed I would be thrilled to provide you with one. I would also encourage you to write your own notes on it anywhere you think could be improved.

Haven't had a game in several weeks, player vacations and whatnot getting in the way. Hopefully I can get back to doing lighter commentary posts again. I miss those.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

GM Journal #3

So I'm actually a player for the first time in like two years. A couple of my friends started running a Red Hand of Doom module for Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 and I'm using a Lesser Aasimar Cleric (Which apparently entitles me to a bunch of bonuses for reasons I don't fully get). I just made up a deity too; Teryn Metallus, the god of metal. He also goes by 'Lord Metal' and requires my Cleric to be as metal as possible.

Unfortunately my Cleric, Merrik Inniel, as been something of a failure. The DM we're playing with has a bit of a reputation as a TPK'er and so I decided to not get too attached to this character and, in fact, have been playing him like a suicidal death knight. Unfortunately Merrik is only level 6 and so has access to 3rd level spells at best and so I have to rely on his martial ability.
He currently does pathetically poor damage and has a 20ft move speed due to the heavy armor he's wearing. I'm literally trying to get in the front and more than likely get murdered, but something always happens that puts me far away from the fight and it takes forever to get back in it.

Example:
Merrik volunteered to go first across a bridge to inspect a hobgoblin body at the center of it to figure out what could have killed it so the party could be aware of what to do.
As he approaches the body a six-headed Hydra erupts from the river that ran underneath the bridge, picking up my Cleric in one of its many mouths and hurling it forty feet away and
SPLOOSH
He sinks to the bottom of the river and his movement is reduced to ten feet a round. He also has to worry about running out of breath before reaching dry land.
By the time he reaches the monster, the rest of the party managed to kill it, some of them almost dying in the process.
Something very similar happened in an encounter with a manticore.
That time actually resulted in the death of a party member. Merrik managed to finish off a single hobgoblin at the front wall by the time that debacle was finished.

I just want to attempt some retarded stunt that could be awesome if it works but more than likely will result in the immediate termination of Merrik Inniel, but the game itself intervenes to stop every attempt and keep me alive. The setting is coddling me, despite the DM's and my best efforts.

In conclusion,
I actually suck at getting killed.

Hopefully I'll have a really cool story to tell about how Merrik got totally annihilated and died like a bitch.
It seems to be more likely he'll outlive everyone in really mundane ways.
Damn.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Cybernetic: Trump Card

The last of the deranged robotic security crashed to the ground. Talos wrenched his sword free from the rusted, synthetic corpse; he didn't even flinch at the terrible squeal of metal on metal.
Magnus stepped forward and peered into the hole that had appeared minutes before, he figured an active security system is a good sign that what he was looking for was here, he considered what course of action to take next.
He spoke into his comm bead, "Sergei? Thaw some marines and get them down here. An Anti-Armor Team if you could."
He received a slightly garbled "Affirmative" in response and waited for reinforcements.
Magnus didn't like the idea of bringing more into this, he had intended this mission to be for only his own eyes, but after seeing what his old friend had set up to keep intruders out? That was no longer a viable option.
Josef breathed deeply and ragged; his hand clutched a grisly stomach wound where a security automaton had buried its claws in his flesh leaving two bloody tears that threatened to burst, spilling the contents of his torso onto the floor. He wasn't at all certain how much more punishment he could take and he found it a small wonder he had been able to stand on his own. Probably due to being incredibly angry with the man standing contemplatively over a pit while Josef bled onto the floor.
Through clenched teeth he spoke, "What the fuck are we supposed to be looking for Magnus?" His tone was low and threatening; it demanded an answer, though none was offered.
"Answer me!" He took one menacing step forward and placed his unoccupied hand on his pistol, thumbing off the safety.
Finally, Magnus turned to face him, "My ace in the hole, my trump card, a weapon more potent than all the fleets of earth; subtler than a knife in the dark."
Magnus stared Josef down, "We can end our personal war with Kobayashi and reduce the collateral damage that is sure to follow in our wake to almost nothing." he turned to look back down the tunnel, "Earth can't handle another war. I can't handle another war."
Josef thought about this, though it was hard to think about anything while his gut throbbed with pain, and decided to see the mission through. He reluctantly holstered his gun and activated the safety. If this did turn out to be some wild goose chase, he would make sure there was hell to pay.

...

They floated down the shaft. Lilith stared at the script with rapt attention, mesmerized by the alien markings that covered the walls. It was beautiful; though some of it was obscured by thousands of years of rust and neglect. She thought that it must have been breathtaking in its day and longed to see it then, to experience it as its creators did. The enormity of the alien ruins was heart-stopping, these buildings were tens of thousands years old, yet stood tall and sturdy despite the incredibly hostile environment outside. Talos had said something of these structures being old even before their builders were murdered.
They landed at the bottom and prepared for the worst; Privates Elliot, Graham, Jacobson, and Vedoc ran forward, taking point with PF-36 Charge Rifles and EO-12 Anti-Armor Rocket Launchers poised to unload lead death on the first sign of trouble. Their movements were practiced and professional; they masked the apprehension and unease they felt in a combat environment so obviously alien.
Cautiously, Lilith moved forward with the group as they entered the large square room at the bottom of the shaft. Rows of columns ran from the entrance to the far end stopping at a heavy door; even from this distance Lilith could tell its armor was monstrously thick, like starship battleplate, and emblazoned on it was the same symbol that was proudly printed on the entrance to this place from the level above. It seemed to be a simple pattern, a series of rectangles arranged into a shape reminiscent of a figure with wings outstretched; the colors that once pigmented it all but lost to the ravages of time.
Lilith and the rest froze in place as the loud, unsettling cacophony of ancient mechanisms groaning to life filled the air.
Obscenely massive thresholds began sliding open on the left and right walls closest to the blast door at the other end of the room. Lilith looked on in horror as machines forty feet tall strode from their hiding spots, each rumbling footstep testing her balance and her bravery.
They stood bipedal, without arms. Instead, they had guns twice the length of a man; three of them, two on the right and one on the left. A head with no facial features save for glowing yellow eyes sat atop its torso. The abominations opened fire with every weapon at their disposal.
The world exploded as bolts of plasma and hyperfast projectiles erupted from the guns of the enemy machinery. Lilith scrambled to get out of the line of fire taking cover behind one of the massive pillars; she blind fired her weapon around the corner, if only as a token resistance. A missile streaked past her colliding at the southern most wall and her gut told her to move, to take cover anywhere but where she was.
It exploded but the expected shockwave never buffeted her, instead she felt a monstrous pull as reality collapsed into a miniature black hole.
She screamed but no sound could be heard as the warped gravity stopped the sound waves from reaching her ears.
She managed to put enough distance between her and the singularity to not feel its negative effects, taking cover behind another of the gargantuan columns. Others were less fortunate. Lilith watched as Private Graham was pulled into the center of the swirling black and saw his bloated image freeze at the event horizon, his face contorted into a scream that would be burned into her memory forever. She knew that he was gone and this image frozen in time was all that was left.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the others managed to find respite from the discharge; all except Talos who lost his grip on the pillar that was supporting him, he tumbled head over heels toward the miniature black hole as it began to collapse. It exploded with enough force that it rattled the teeth in Lilith's head and her vision swirled as she picked herself off the ground, remembering the metal monsters that stood menacingly at the end of the tunnel.
She refused to die just yet.

...

Talos was hurled forward from the blast, managing to land on his feet and after a quick internal diagnostic he concluded that this unit was still combat effective. Though for how much longer he couldn't say, the visual receptors were fading in and out and some of his lesser systems had ceased to function. He calculated that this unit would need to discard all defensive protocol in order to achieve maximum combat effectiveness before it was rendered inactive. He activated his gravpack and flew full speed, chainsword revved and crackling with electricity, toward the head of the nearest of the robotic mechs.
Talos swung his sword with all of his not-inconsiderable strength behind it, rending the armored hide of the mechanical leviathan and scoring a blow against what he had concluded, with 73% accuracy, was primary hardware. Satisfaction welled up in his code when he heard the hypersonic screams of the giant, though the apparent inability of his organic companions to hear the machine's agony dampened his glee. What fun was there to be had when one couldn't share the joke?

...

The last of the mechs fell to the ground with enough force to shake the floor beneath their feet. The survivors of the encounter began to search for ways to open the massive door that stood in their path.

...

The door ripped off its hinges, Talos limped into the vault stopping just inside the threshold and staring at the single object in the room. Magnus strode past the group stopping just behind a humanoid figure; Lilith peered in to see what they had all nearly been killed over and saw only a man...or was it a man? It looked humanoid, yet incredibly alien as well; the only part of the figure that she recognized was the tattered remnants of a 1st Fleet uniform, though it did nothing to ease her mind. It actually only served to sharply contrast and accentuate how very foreign this thing was. She looked away, watching Magnus intently for a reaction.
"Hello Oliver." He said simply, his face contorted into a sort of half-smirk.
The figure sat cross-legged facing away from the vault entrance; it turned its head to peer over its shoulder, its face devoid of any features. Seemingly liquid metal covered its body, a reflective sheen that made it difficult to perceive.
"That's no longer our name." It stated without emotion in a metallic, grainy voice spoken from nowhere; Magnus couldn't see any mouth or audio grill or whatever he/it was using to communicate.
He tried being friendly again, "I won't call you Zeerimus; I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. It's just stupid." Magnus smiled, but it was a smile filled with apprehension and fear. Magnus had mentioned these two names purposefully, as if he was reminding the being in front of him that he is not hostile, that he is a friend.
"Our name is Remnant." It stated as if correcting a clerical error, "Why have you come here Magnus?"

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Cybernetic: Magnus Hotwiler and the Raiders of the Lost Alien Ruins

It has been generally accepted by the Thursday night group that this story arc is coming to its climactic finale. Some want to continue with this setting for another go, others want to focus solely on the imminent Wild West campaign. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

At any rate, here's what went down:

The party is looking for allies to assist in their deposing of the Emperor and finally gaining their revenge for his betrayal of their trust. Their search has taken them to the secret Genesis-3 Research Station where the 7th Fleet (Unofficial) has remained after word of the United Earth Confederation's collapse had reached Fleet Admiral Ezekiel Shamshel. Ezekiel's brother Constans Shamshel is Fleet Admiral of the 4th and had slipped off of Earth's grid after deciding to regroup and discuss a course of action with his sibling.

The party brought the two of them up to speed on the current situation and what they want to happen, they gain the support of these two very powerful players and have taken a major step toward realizing their vengeance.
There is one loose end, however, that the group decides they want to investigate further to see if it will bear fruit. The Hero of Humanity, Magnus Hotwiler (I hate my last group for naming him this) has fallen away from contact completely, though the Genesis Station's more advanced sensory equipment has found a sort of breadcrumb trail that Magnus left as he went into uncharted space.

After navigating through avenues without any sort of FTL marker and not ending up inside a star, the party arrives at the last crumb in the line. They arrive at a planet ravaged by some calamity from many eons ago, satellites choke the orbit of several worlds in the system; some still broadcast white noise endlessly as they continue to maintain their orbit, memorials to a once great civilization.
Talos recognizes this place; it's his ancestral home; the one that he completely cleansed of life and habitability.

They find the entire 1st Fleet in orbit around Talos's Creator's homeworld, the whole crew in cryostasis, and the security systems very active.
The party decides to go aboard the flagship in search of the lost Admiral or at least a definite as to his whereabouts. They go in through the hanger bays on the side of the titanically huge vessel by jumping from their ship to it. The only thing of note that happened was Fayd screwed up his landing and faceplanted on the hull of the ship. Josef was carried over by Lilith, it was pretty girly of him.
Their first stop is the medical wing of the ship where they find the chief medical officer Sergei Rachmaninoff (again, a name from the previous group; all the heroes of the original game have extremely dramatic and/or stupid names) naked as the day he was born, because freezing with clothes on seems like it could be painful and deadly. They allow him some time to get himself cleaned up and they receive information that Magnus went, by himself, planetside in search of something he obviously felt he couldn't trust his crew with.

The planet is a fire blasted wreck; the atmosphere is composed mainly of sulfur, carbon dioxide, and nitrogen. Lava flows freely across the world in vast rivers; it is a hellish nightmare where the rotting cities that are spread across its surface stand as a gravestone for an entire race of intelligent beings. The fact that their buildings still stand at all after so long in such a hostile environment is testament to their abilities as architects and a hint to the heights of learning that once soared.

The party lands near the area of Magnus's last transmission and find him almost immediately at the edge of a massive, circular building that seems to go straight down into the ground for hundreds of feet.
Lilith is every bit the hero he is and he recognizes her immediately, glad to have someone he can trust with him. They make their descent into the ruins of the building looking for some fabled weapon or something that will help them in their bloodquest, Magnus isn't telling.

The bottom of that building is rusted red and brown, the dirt is caked  thick on the floor. Despite thousands of years of neglect there is still power in this room, two generators glow with a purplish light. At the southernmost end of the corridor is a large symbol on the floor flanked by two ancient alien computers. Consult the poorly drawn diagram below for a visual.

Josef and Talos do their best and figure out a way to get rudimentary commands through the computer and somewhat understand the language displayed therein. There are two options available; power down the force barriers protecting the generators and open the secondary door. They do both because why not?
The floor symbol and some floor around it glow brightly and begins to dissipate revealing yet another tunnel that leads further into the ground, only this time eight ancient security systems come leaping out. None of them were ready for the surprise round and it showed in that the skill monkeys were caught right up front with the hit sticks and got their shit rocked for it.

Fayd leapt out of combat like Spiderman, which isn't a cute simile; he pulled out his grappling tether, hooked on to the ceiling, and away he went. He fired his gun, while dangling from the ceiling, with little effect.

Combat proceeded as normal after that, the typical "My turn? I attack until they're dead." until Fayd pulled this stunt.



I enjoy Fayd's player, he has outside the box solutions to very straightforward problems: enemies attacking? Swing across the chasm and tackle them.
It's an action hero response and for that I appreciate him and as his decisions.

We ran out of time before this dungeon crawl could come to a natural close, they made it to the dungeon bosses at the bottom of the shaft and by that time another encounter just wasn't in the cards.

Next week will be the finisher. What is Magnus looking for? Can it really help them as much as he thinks it does?

Friday, May 13, 2011

The Dual Throne: Challenging Eternity

Libris the Holy hated the submersible. He hated the sickening swaying, the creaking of the wood, but what he hated more than anything was the lack of control he felt being surrounded by tons of ocean water.
In fact, none of the paladins seemed to enjoy the descent.
"Man wasn't meant to go to these depths, not like this." He growled quietly to Andrissa, hoping conversation would take his mind off of it.
She smiled warmly and shook her head, placing a gentle hand upon the Inquisitor's shoulder, "Don't be afraid Libris, we'll be there in due time." She seemed positively serene, her face a mask of bliss at all times.
Libris scoffed, he wasn't afraid; he was just...yes perhaps he was a little afraid, he was a warrior and belonged on the field where if he died it was due to his own failings; being drowned and crushed by the ocean was an ignoble way to leave this mortal coil and the idea bothered him more than he'd care to admit. He prayed to Beryllus for strength and that he might do His will in the coming battle. He gripped the Collegia Titanicus tightly, the weight of the hammer comforted his frayed nerves.
...
Amara seemed completely uninterested during the descent. Her mind was in other places; she herself busied with thoughts of slipping away and looting the city stores, taking advantage of the chaos of war to gain wealth and feed it to her weapon; the gold gained in theft and the blood of the people who might resist serving to make it more potent. Veinseeker occupied more and more of her thoughts lately; it seemed to have a mind of its own, guiding her arm to the spots that would bleed the most and the blade would drink deeply of her opponents, and not in a figurative sense, pools of blood would disappear into the rapier. On some level the autonomy the weapon displayed worried her, but mostly she marveled at the precise cuts that it inflicted on those she faced and often felt rejuvenated as it sipped on their lifeforce.

I will never betray you
...
Dregshak was a mercenary by choice, he lived for the thrill of combat. He often took trophies from those opponents that had put up a memorable fight; he would never forget a worthy adversary, they were owed that much.
Many do not understand Dregshak Mor; he seems cold and withdrawn to most who travel with him and, due to his ancestry, are afraid of him.
He is as gracious in defeat as he is in victory; let them talk of Dregshak, let them say he is honorable. He was excited for the coming battle, he bristled with anticipation at the chance to test his spear against enemies that are outsiders brought from the darkest pits of creation, any one of those abominations that might fall would be a badge of honor on Dregshak's soul. He gave thanks to Grudnam that he should be so lucky to war in a place that hasn't seen conflict in millennia; the residents of Charabesh were truly blessed that it is their generation that might experience battle again.
...
The One Thousand Sons of Beryllus came crashing into Charabesh, a gleaming tide of steel glowing with the light of knowledge. Their spiritual father, High Sovereign Remian Daxol, at the head of the wave bringing righteous fury with each swing of his hammer and laughing as the cursed swords of the Usurper's hordes were turned away by his thrice blessed armor crafted in the forges of the Cathedral Artificium. Resistance in the foreign quarter stood no chance as the Sons swept aside the surprised and unprepared followers of the Demon Prince.
...
Sovereign Daxol turned to Andrissa and Libris, "Our 'friend' spoke of a great barrier fueled by Zerubabel's foul spellcasters. It falls or we're bottled up in the commercial district; take three of my paladins with you, find them, and kill them. There is a tunnel here," he motioned to a map from his pack, "it is only used in emergency and leads to a room underneath the City Guard Headquarters that houses the largest gathering of Magi so that the largest portion of the barrier might be dispelled. Be quick and efficient, lest you bring the bulk of the Guard down on your heads." He spoke with urgency, he hoped that they accomplish the task with haste, that the Sons might maintain their momentum and expel Hrusia from this place quickly before their enemy could regroup for a counterattack. He feared how they would fare against the Fell Prince of Betrayal himself and his chosen elite leading such a battle.
Libris bowed his head deeply, "By your will Sovereign."
Andrissa simply nodded, she then spun on her heel with fluid grace, eternally dancing to a tune only she could hear. It served to further accentuate her slim, elven features and more than a few of the Beryllian men stared too long in her direction than is generally polite.
Libris, Andrissa, and the others broke away from the frontline and made their way to the location specified by Daxol as the sounds of battle began to fade.
...
The barrier had come down and paladins of the church threw back the defenders, who were confused and afraid as a large section of their arcane fortification flickered and died out without warning. The wall was a symbol to the soldiers of Charabesh, it stood immovable and indestructable, and so would they. Now that it failed them, those stationed at its base feared for their lives. They despaired and all seemed lost, but then...they heard something.
The beat of leathery wings from above, heavy and powerful, came closer and all eyes rose to the sky. Esarhaddon, the hero of Assur Field, the scourge of Valorum, fashioned at the Dawn, second only to Zerubabel himself, landed hard shaking the ground beneath the combatants' feet. With a roar that burst eardrums, this wretched lord of demons joined the battle with his host of Fallen Angels descending furiously behind him.
...
Guard Captain Sargon Akkad had been there when his beloved Charabesh became the plaything of these abominations, these insults to existence. He fought for a century against their power so that he might see his city beautiful and pure once more, a place for learning and discovery. He often wondered how the Magi of the Yngnir Council had failed their people so badly. It did not matter, not now, not today; today would see the influence of these foul creatures ended, today he stood with Beryllus's paladins and prayed to Blessed Lorgar for the ability to put an end to the Great Usurper once and for all. He charged full sprint at Esarhaddon the Accursed, his greatsword held high, electricity flickering about its edges,
"Vengeance for Charabesh!" he howled with the pain of one who has lost so much, "Death to her enemies!"
Esarhaddon rose to his full height of twelve feet, his skin was reptilian scales the color of dried blood, unwashed black fur peeked out from beneath his tarnished armor of bronze, horns adorned his head like a hellish crown, and he wielded an unholy blade the size of a man. He considered for a moment the elf charging him and laughed at the futility of raising a weapon to one as magnificent as he.
Esarhaddon handily parried the blade of Sargon Akkad and delivered a vicious strike that bit deep into Akkad's shoulder; it cut clean through the collar bone, deep into the meat of his chest, very nearly a mortal blow. He barely maintained his footing as the demon sword was wrenched from his body and he fought to stay conscious. He ignored the pain, instead tapping into his hate, the enormity of his fury pushing back the darkness at the edges of his vision, for now he would be able to fight on. For now, it was enough.
...
Esarhaddon the Accursed came crashing to the ground in a bloody heap. His mind was reeling as he tried to process this turn of events. His victory had seemed assured. He struck down that fool guard captain and scores of the Sons of Beryllus; nothing seemed able to stop him and his host. Then that old priest stepped forward and turned the battle. Esarhaddon had underestimated him, toyed with him for too long, thinking him some lowly healer who was only there to mend wounds in a pinch. He was far more powerful and if Esarhaddon had known the old man communed personally with his deity he would have torn out the archpriest's heart, but instead an Archangel of Beryllus had been summoned; Esarhaddon was far from prepared against an equal opponent and he paid for his arrogance dearly. The Angel stood over him now, it's wings glimmering with light that burned the greater demon's eyes. It's sword prepared to deliver the blow that would separate Esarhaddon's head from his shoulders. The Lesser Prince considered for a moment running, recalling to his native plane, but he knew he would find no mercy there. If he retreated now he would gain a coward's execution, which could last millennia.
No. Better to die here quickly, and in battle, his pride intact. Perhaps Zerubabel would honor his memory when he drove these invaders from this place?
He doubted it.
The blade fell.

Story excerpts from The Dual Throne and Cybernetic


Enjoy these excerpts that I haven't really put out in anyone's face yet.

An End to All Things

His majesty is awe inspiring. His power barely contained. His will unimaginable. His splendor unmatched. He sat on his vast throne, His golden plate armor crackling with divine control, Angels and Devils whispered into his ears pleas for help, begging for Him to turn His attention this way and that, the prayers of thousands flitted about His consciousness in a vast multitude, each syllable easily discerned and understood.
He is Lorgar, the Tyrant God of Law and His commands topple Kings, birth Empires, and shatter armies.
Edicts, laws, and decrees adorn his armored body like badges of honor, the graying black hair of His face and head close cropped and neatly taken care of, nothing out of place. Deep purple robes are visible beneath His golden plate and a large ornate broadsword stands driven into the ground next to His golden throne.
Something foreign beckoned His attention, and He cast His gaze to the world just beneath this heavenly place.
Something was not right.
Lorgar's attention was being directed to a girl, a small young thing, gifted with arcane strength, worshiped that drunkard Theodal, and...touched by Fate it seemed. He unfurled the multitude of paths she might take to understand what Fate had in store for her, and what He saw disturbed this God of Tyrants. A change was coming, to consume everything. For better or for worse. All choices and possibilities converged at a single point, and some of these choices would result in an end to all things. Oblivion.
He examined this girl's traveling companions each touched by one of Lorgar's Divine Siblings, an Inquisitor of His bookworm and weakling of a brother, an individual who appeared to be in the middle of being groomed as a champion of that battle-crazed, maniac Grudnam, and...
Lorgar peered closer.
At first glance she appeared as a follower of the MadGod, relishing in frivolities and violence and peace exactly like Rastillus (He certainly could see the two getting on quite nicely) but she carried a relic of Hrusia, the deceitful, conniving, bitch of a goddess. Her hand was in this, as was a great many of Lorgar's Siblings, but it was Hrusia that concerned Him the most. He would sooner embrace the threatened oblivion than allow Order to disappear from His realms.

Lorgar of the Law extended a tendril of His power forth.

...


The Order

         Can I do this? Can I really do this? Thought Byron Samar, President and CEO of Horus Hydroponics, the most profitable and successful terraformation corporation in history, the man who stares down all of his opposition with a steely glare. For God's sake, he even locked eyes with the Genociders one year ago and didn't so much as whimper. Now, and only now, is he unsure of his actions. Is it worth the price that *must* be paid if humanity's survival is to be guaranteed? Could he ensure the deaths of countless millions, or even billions, so that these goals might be met? Could the ends possibly justify the means?
          Byron was perpetually dressed like he was going into the office; his suit and tie neatly pressed and free of any wrinkle. His hairline was beginning to recede and his black hair graying; he was clean shaven. His eyes were large and predatory; used to spotting and exploiting weakness in an opponent. He always seemed calm and collected and unsurprised, but not tonight; no definitely not tonight.
          Tonight was different, tonight begins a plan a year in the making. Tonight he and other like-minded individuals prepared for war, a war to topple those bureaucrats sucking the life out of the human race for their own greedy intentions. The room he stood in was sparsely decorated and roughly six hundred feet beneath the surface of Eden. It was dimly lit as if a high-class restaurant, except for a single lounge chair, computer, and food supply this room was completely empty. He stared at the computer screen for what felt like hours.

Input Command:_

the computer asked for confirmation on the order. The order he prepared to give seemed enough to damn him to hell for eternity. He funded an off-the-grid project to reassemble a portion of the genociders on seperate worlds; they worked to repair their most hated enemy so that they might spur the people into rebellion; to rise up and overthrow the slow behemoth bureaucracy of the UEC. This war would be a gamble and perhaps choke the life out of humanity entirely, but it was necessary. Byron Samar hardened his heart and girded himself. The Age of the Merchant was over; the Age of the Warrior was dawning. The universe is hostile and humanity must respond in kind.

Input Command: Evolve or Die_

and with that the great Byron Samar, President and CEO of Horus Hydroponics, the most profitable and successful terraformation corporation in history, the man who stares down all of his opposition with a steely glare wept bitterly for the unfathomable destruction he unleashed onto his fellow human beings for the greater good.
He would see justice brought to himself, he would ensure his death and with that he hoped that would serve as penance for this unforgivable act; he would never live in his new world. For now, however, he had a government to topple.

Down with the United Earth Confederation, long live the Empire of Terra.
God help us all.

Monday, May 9, 2011

Cybernetic: No one killed anyone

The party decides it is time to head to Earth to confront their erstwhile employer turned foe, Tokoro Kobayashi (who has overthrown the current government and declared himself Emperor).
They almost just went charging into the belly of the beast without so much as rough outline of something that masqueraded as a plan, but they decided that it was probably a bad idea to do that and they needed to get their bearings.
Above: What having no plan looks like
They high tailed it to Eden to consult one of their very few remaining friends in the breadth of the galaxy that might help them find a way to kill the Emperor, Lenna Archer.
Lenna was a Player Character from the earlier stages of the campaign, she was an actress with political leanings and actually quite famous in certain parts of the galaxy. The Gallows figured they could use someone with a good public image in their ranks, so they recruited her. Eventually after the everything started to fall apart she quietly left the group and pursued a career as an ambassador and diplomat for the United Earth Confederation (though she now does this same job for the Empire of Terra after the collapse of the UEC). She resides in the Government apartments provided to her as part of her station on Eden, the paradise world is the preferred spot for diplomacy due to its scenery and general ease that most feel while on its surface.

The party showed up on her doorstep with news of Kobayashi's inherent corruption and his casual disregard for the safety of his fellow human beings. With the recording devices that Daniel and Talos have on at all times they were able to show Lenna proof of his cartoonishly evil habits.
She decided she could allow them to hide out in her apartments if it meant stopping this monster, though they would have to find a new DriveSat Emitter, as it broadcasts a ship's ID to the orbiting satellite stations when they either try to enter the atmosphere or park at one of the orbital docks, to avoid contraband and illegal activity slipping down planetside.
The party decided to board a ship and take their Emitter for their own use. After briefly observing the ships that were of similar size and tonnage they settled on a large pleasure yacht called the Drakecairn. Derek Fayd slipped into the ship with absolutely zero trouble because he was in constant contact with Lilith the Field Officer.

Have I mentioned that the Field Officer class is absurdly, indescribably, stupidly broken? Because it is. They have an ability that essentially makes it so no one in the party will ever fail a check ever again. Which is dumb. How do you build suspense? How do you keep it challenging?
Short Answer: You don't. Your party laughs at your ineffectiveness.

He slips in the ship with no trouble whatsoever, casually messes with the guards, steals their emitter, and leaves the way he came, exiting the ship and returning to the Sparta with the prize in hand without so much as a shot fired.

They dock the ship and ask around about the other Fleet Admirals eventually receiving coordinates to a location that no one in the party knows all so they can search for the 4th Fleet Admiral and hopefully put a stop to Emperor Kobayashi's reign over what's left of humanity.
They did one better, they found two fleets, both the 4th and the mythical, unconfirmed 7th. The only reason that these ships didn't fire immediately on the newcomer is because they identified themselves immediately as the Gallows.

The session ended with the party getting these two military leaders of a dead government to side with them and hopefully coming with them to spearhead the attack on Kobayashi and kill him once and for all.

This session was comprised of 100% roleplay, I had encounters planned but the party went around them, completely surprising me because every indication so far is that they enjoyed spilling blood no matter the consequences.
They also exercised caution and limited foresight, which is funny, because Lilith is usually the font of ignored wisdom and her player was out that day. They did all this not-killing on their own and with very little whining throughout.
I would have been proud of them if they weren't so smug about that stupid Leadership ability Lilith has.
"Okay, make a Move Silently check to see if you make it past the guards."
Derek's player turns to me and smiles, "I'll just take ten."
"...you pass."  

bastards

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

GM's Journal #2

Due to various "away from the table" circumstances my players were generally disgruntled on my Saturday and Monday night games. While we did play, they weren't particularly cohesive and so I am afraid my commentary would be two dimensional and boring.
Instead I will be doing a Journal entry and fill in where needed on the next session's blog entries.

So I think we're coming to the end of the character's stories in my science fiction campaign. The setting will march on endlessly I think, though with each campaign arc it changes in a big way.
'Cybernetic' will forever be my first born. It practically has its own Bestiary, what with all the NPC enemies and allies I've created for it over the years. I've got an extensive history written down in the days since I first started development (though not as complete as I would like), with an extensive infrastructure, and most of the kinks worked out about how the government works with various arms operating in relative cohesion in a way that immerses the player and lets them really experience a believable world.

Not that I'm patting myself on the back to be obnoxious, I just get nostalgic every time I open up the old archives filled with notes and characters and NPC's that never made it out of development. When I see all the corporations that were fleshed out but haven't yet been relevant to the story or secret endings to character's stories that only their player and I know, it makes me feel accomplished like I actually built something important that makes people happy (whether it *actually* makes people happy or not remains up to them). 90% of the things I've created no one will hear about because there would practically be no reason for any party member that would ask about it (though occasionally they do and the look on their face when they discover the level detail I've put into my setting warms my heart).

For all the praise I heap on Cybernetic, my fantasy setting is swiftly stealing a place in my heart. I'm not sure I've said this here already but I love history, love everything about it, and the middle ages especially. The political intrigue of the various Kingdoms and Empires, not to mention the rulers interactions with the nobles who claimed ownership of the people that lived in their fiefdoms.
The Dual Throne is a more mature setting I think. Not like blood and guts "mature", but the ideas and problems laid before the player are less cut and dry. Life was a barbaric struggle against the wild and disease (and illiteracy), women were needed at home pumping out babies in a never ending stream to replace the fallen, and the nobility couldn't give less of a damn more about the peasantry unless they actively just rounded them all up and killed them to save them the hassle of doing it slowly and crushing their souls. There is a rising middle class that has been able to stake a living in the cities and townships that dot the land. Lastly, I could never forget the remnants of the tribal culture that still stalks throughout the land, resisting change and the trappings of a rapidly modernizing civilization, hoping and fighting for a return to the old ways of hunter gatherer, nomadic society.

That said, I haven't been as on top of pushing for character growth with my fantasy group as I should be and it definitely contributed to the overall lack of fun this past Monday. Only one of them is self-motivated to develop their character's story on their own. The others aren't so much, which there is nothing wrong with, they are new to the game, still unsure of what is a good idea and what is just plain old silly enough to earn them ridicule, so this lack of motivation doesn't surprise nor annoy. This is an attitude most players take, in my experience, and isn't incurable. All it takes is a guiding hand and a couple of springboard ideas and they'll come back at you with some really cool stuff that will keep you writing new plot lines for days (not to mention they'll love getting to do a bunch of stuff and having their turn as the main protagonist.
I should have known Monday group would need some special attention, but I remained ignorant of it due to the other two days having an abundance of experienced roleplayers who play the game solely for the character development and I got lazy, expecting the newbies to do the stuff the old timers took time themselves to learn.
So my GM advice to any aspiring Game Master is to pay attention and try to discern those who want to see some character development but aren't confident or just lack the start-up motivation. Everyone wants their time in the spotlight and to see their character grow as a person, though they sometimes don't even know that this is the issue until it is addressed. No one likes to be forgotten and relegated to a glorified NPC role, the game simply isn't fun and don't be surprised if they just stop coming.
A GM has to be attentive, honest, accommodating, and above all, patient. Be ready to answer questions and go back and forth helping people build their characters. Let them make mistakes on character optimization (that part will hurt you in the soul if you're proficient at character creation, but it has to be done so that they'll bond with their character), cater to what they want but don't just be a "yes man" make them earn it and they'll appreciate you more for it, and if they go off your plot rails or exploit a weakness or just get plain old lucky and survive where they shouldn't or fly of the story rails? Reward them, your players beat you and you should be gracious and thankful that you get to play with a group of people that don't fall for every retarded trap you throw their way, that they can think laterally and survive where others die. Even if there would be no conceivable reason for a ton of gold or some other tangible reward to be immediately gifted to them, at least write down that you owe them down the line and bring that cosmic good luck token to bare when they need it.

I think that about wraps up tonight's post. I'm sorry in advance for any typos...it's like 4am and I am dog tired. I'm also sorry that this has been two unfunny posts in a row. Next time *should* be comedic!