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?"
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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
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 |
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!
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!
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