Day After Ragnarok, the IC Thread

[Hack Writer]

JANUARY 14TH, 1948.
SOMEWHERE OVER THE HIMALAYAS...

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSVJ6-qHnfFra5dpCtaExbrfykazOOh5DhhKPB2ACILA_S54STcuQ

The small model 18 Beechcraft breaks through the gossamer veil of a darkening evening’s mist, and out into a primordial expanse of rocky scrubland and gently undulating foothills. Framed against a low, gibbous early evening moon, the awesome vista of the snow-capped Himalayan mountains rise imperiously before the aeroplane’s swift advance, the harsh delineations of their jagged peaks and glacial valleys softened by the abstract brushstrokes of scudding cotton-white cloud drifting in the near horizon.

The four of you hunker down in you seats inside the boxy gunmetal grey interior of the spry little Beechcraft, studying the slow approach of those awe-inspiring mountains, and reflecting long on what strange threads of fate saw your arrival at this supernatural place. For scholarly Isaiah Salt and rangy, flint-eyed Mitch Muldoon, it is the vows made and promises sworn to king and Commonwealth that saw them thrown into fate’s strange and tangled web. For the mysterious Grant Foster, mercenary-turned-avenger, the vows sworn in the hidden temples of time-forgotten gods were made to greater things than temporal crowns or transient nations; Evil stalks unbounded in a world turned mad by the Serpent’s demise, and he has pledged to defeat it – in whatever form it takes. To pilot and air ace Ulysses Steele, the adventure’s…just business – one job among many; it’ll pay his fuel and keep him in lodgings, and maybe – just maybe – the same whimsical fortune that stole his blue-eyed Indian maiden from his arms will suffer to lead him back to her embrace again.

The aeroplane banks high to gain altitude as the first low peaks begin to loom close. The Beechcraft’s silver wings bobbling for a moment as it meets a sudden capricious gust of harrying air, though Ulysses Steele, as deft in his command of the skies as any modern day Dadaelus, proves the mettle in his name by coaxing the shuddering machine into a steady upwards glide. Ice-rimed rock walls lunge upward vainly in a bid to meet the aircraft’s ascent, but Ulysses foils their attempt to ensnare it, and settles the machine down at a steady forty thousand feet. The bleak brown plains are replaced by conical snow-capped islands and rolling seas of cloud, and you witness for the first time the hidden majesty of the Himalayas, concealed from the eyes of the world for epochs uncountable.

Some of you – the more psychically sensitive and esoterically inclined – know the Himalayas to be a preternatural conduit for the outré and unseen forces that move the cosmos. When the soothsayers and shaman of mankind’s atavistic past consumed their forbidden flowers and drank their weird meads, it was to these mountains that their dream-visions would inevitably take them – those remote summits and hidden valleys, where the hidden secrets of the world have endured in splendid isolation through untold eons of the world’s existence. Those without such metaphysical gifts consider the mountains to be merely another obstacle to overcome – or another opportunity to exploit…

Yeah, I know – it’s a bit hammy; I’ve just posted it to set the mood. Now I’m in no particular rush to get the opening over with; I want you lot to interact with each other for a while before I move things along. Get some dialogue going – internal or vocalised – to show one another your character’s personality. After some meaningful interaction, I’ll post the next scene.

[cdwjava]

Ulysses looks back at his passengers, and smiles as he observes more than a single set of post white knuckles.

"No worries, gents, I've made this run more than a few times. We should arrive in one piece."

He turns the Beechcraft into a gentle arc to the left as he gazes at the snow and ice about them, the shuddering being replaced by a periodic creaking of the hull.

"That's a new one," he mutters mostly to himself as he considers the new sound.

[Gull]

Salt looked up from the book in his hands at the pilot's statement. Incarnations of The Beast, read the spine, gold on black, Adrian Casanova. He had both of Casanova's books, as well as the journals that he had left at the 13 Commando headquarters. The books he knew almost by heart- more of the same that he had discussed with Casanova for the better part of the decade. The notes since the Serpent fell, however, were an entirely different matter. Casanova's attribution of dark archetypes upon himself seem to have warped his perspective in new and disturbing directions.
In opposition, Salt's own awakening worked in reverse- he applied his perspective to reality to warp it in new directions, though not always within his control.
Salt smiled thinly.
"We would all be a great deal less useful in any more pieces, Mr. Steele. I trust this new element of chaos will not challenge your skills to an excessive degree."

[cdwjava]

"No worries, mate," Steele replies in his best faux-Brit accent. "I've never lost a cargo, yet."

Steele banks the craft to the right and levels off. "Enjoy the sights, 'cause you're at the top of the world - God's footstool. Pretty impressive stuff."

[ThirtyThr33]

"Settle down Sally. You look nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

Realising what he said could be misinterpred, he nods at the dingo curled up the back corner of the plane. "She hasn't been fond of heights since we crashed landed a hot-air balloon in Brazil. Can't say I blame 'er. Damn Valkyrie tried to scrabble it's way up the balloon; tore it to shreds."

Mick spies the book Salt is holding. "Incarnations of The Beast. You're interested in the exotic animals of the new world? I've had more than one man's fair share of run ins with the critters myself. Mostly on purpose mind you."

[Hack Writer]

Hey, it's me - the GM! Just popping up to say well done all on getting the interaction started. This opening scene's as much an opportunity for me to meet your characters as it is for each of you; seeing what personality types you decide to run with (even if they're not quite fully formed) helps me gauge what to throw at you when the game gets going properly. Great stuff so far, I'll consider the cut off point for the scene to be Saturday.

[Gull]

Salt smiled, thinly again. It was possibly the only way he knew how.
"While the creatures of our broken world are of no small interest to me, I'm afraid that the titular 'beast' refers to a being rather more...singular." He leaned over, his balance unsure in the plane, and proffered his hand.
"Dr. Isaiah Salt, McGill University." A shadow passed over his face, briefly. "My apologies. I still sometimes forget that it no longer exists, nor does the rest of Montreal. Or most of Canada, for that matter. I gather from your accent that you hail from the Antipodes, Mr...?"

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick takes Salts hand in his and squeezes it, perhaps a little to vigerously.

"Ah, don't go callin' me mister. Names Mick, or Michael Muldoon if you need to send a letter of complain to the Rhodes University. It's no formal degree like you have but it suits me just fine. Perth, my true home, might be on the other side of the world, but the arm of the Commonwealth is long... and grasping." Mick gives Salt a measured look to see how he responds to the last comment.

[mcellis]

Grant Foster felt the final prayer bead slip through his well practiced fingers as he completed his silent recitation of mantra to calm his mind. The fingers of his other hand relaxed their white knuckle grip as serenity once again flowed through him. The conversation of his fellow passengers ignored until now, came into focus with that last statement.

"It certainly is that. Grasping, I mean."

[Hack Writer]

https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTzCuH8maQ45H6xZxYgVGkjqFMYvMi6a EQjqMQLBKj2bZmSGiP_Xw

The splendid heights of the Himalayas begin to take on an ominous caste as the twin-engined Beechcraft continues its westward journey into the face of a low-frowning evening moon. Ahead – thirty miles, perhaps - the sky has began to darken. Smudges of oily black broil and glower ominously as an unquiet blackness starts to fill the horizon, suggesting a storm is brewing…

@cdwjava: As pilot, give me a…Smarts (common knowledge) check, ignoring a raise (though you can Ace); I just want to see a pass or fail from you.

@everyone else: consider this event to be running in parallel to your conversation; it doesn’t change anything and doesn’t interrupt what you’re presently doing. Only Ulysses is aware of the storm at present. Keep chatting!

[Gull]

"I suppose it does," said Salt. "I suppose it must. One wonders though...I've spent the years since Serpentfall in India, where the grasp of the Commonwealth lacks some of the vigour it once had. Regardless, someone must stand against the Russians, and with all due respect, the Americans seem to have their hands full at the moment with domestic issues."

[cdwjava]

"You, too?" Steele replies back from the cabin. "I've been in Asia since '41 and India since '43. Not sure I see the bolsheviks as much of a threat from here, though."

He stares ahead out the cockpit window eyeing the maelstrom ahead.

"That looks a wee bit ugly. I'm not thrilled at the prospect of trying to go through that thing," he calls back to the cabin. "We might need to find an alternative place to set down."

Smarts roll:
[roll0]

[mcellis]

"That's true. We wouldn't want the Commies winning the Great Game, now would we? After all, what would the locals think?"

[ThirtyThr33]

"Ghaw. See now, there's the problem. The serpent to end the world bursts forth out of the sea, bringing with it every beast imaginable and what does everyone do? They think 'now is the perfect time to seize power and crush my weakened enemies!'. Never mind that the monsters of the poisoned lands are taking hold, or God Forbid, someone else manages to summon another apocalypse."

[Gull]

"If anyone does, it will be the Russians," said Salt, drily.

[mcellis]

"The world is in flux, Ananta Shesha has uncoiled, but was stopped before he could recoil and destroy the universe. Perhaps the Russians will bring about an end, pehaps some other great power, or perhaps someone will bring about a new beginning. What will happen now, no man can say."

[cdwjava]

Steele eyes the ominous cloud ahead and cants his head to try and catch the conversation behind him over the creaking of the Beechcraft's hull and the whine of the twin Wright R-760E-2 engines and the pull of their 350 horsepower.

'Ananta Shesha?' he ponders.

Shaking his head, he turns his attention back to the issue of avoiding the storm looming before them.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and squints, staring off into the dark mass before them.

Leaning to his right and looking over his shoulder into the cabin, Steele calls out, "Hey, I don't want to alarm anyone or interrupt anyone's discussions of snake gods or nothin', but this thing in front of us just ain't natural!"

Banking to port as he returns his gaze towards the storm and tries to eyeball a way around the specter of doom before them.

[Gull]

Momentarily delighted by the apparent presence of another mystagogue, Salt quickly donned a frown at Steele's warning. "I would enjoy discussing mysticism with you at a later date, sir. Unfortunately it appears that other business is more pressing." Salt checked his gear and made sure that he was secured. "Is there anything we should be doing aside from holding fast, Mr. Steele?" he asked.
Unfortunately, making a mockery of gravity was not yet in his grasp, arcanically speaking.

[cdwjava]

"Offering a prayer to whatever fluffy lord gives you comfort might be a good idea," Steele suggests as he turns once more to port, keeping the tumultuous clouds about 50 degrees off his starboard side as he plots a path in his mind to try and go around the ever-spreading monstrosity.

[Hack Writer]

The tenebrous storm churns and broils like the mephitic vapours exhaled by some insane diabolist’s bubbling cauldron, turning the evening sky a bruised purple-blue and swallowing the rising moon in a yawning maw of seething demonian cloud. Thunder rumbles in the distance; and the mountains seem to dispense with the veneer of benignly picturesque isolation, their spire-like pinnacles becoming jagged, broken tusks against the tumultuous sky.

The storm is still too far off to pose an immediate danger to the aeroplane; though staring out of the small porthole windows, it is hard to look upon its sky-spanning vastness and claim that it holds anything but ill will for anyone that dares to pass through it…

I’m going to want Notice rolls from everyone (d4-2 if you don’t have the skill; target number’s a 4) before I move the scene on. Remember that you always roll the Wild Dice (a d6) for all attribute checks and select the best result from the two dice; having a poor skill die doesn’t necessarily mean you’re out of the running, because you can Ace on either dice. Aces apply for this roll; so if you roll the highest number possible on either die, roll the same value die again and apply the result. This might be fiddly on these forums, so feel free to multi-post in the OOC thread if Aces crop up (you can actually edit-in subsequent dice rolls into your posts, provided you don't try to tamper with dice rolls already made). We should nail this with a bit of trial and (most likely a lot of) error.

A quick note: I’m going to be away from my computer for the remainder of the weekend, so there won’t be an update until Monday. Keep the interaction running while I’m gone!

[mcellis]

Grant peers out of the window at the approaching storm. "Just once I'd like to actually make it over these mountains in an airplane."

[roll0]

[Gull]

"And I would like to live long enough to finally leave India," said Salt.


Man, I should have taken notice.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[ThirtyThr33]

"Youlie, you ever seen anything like this before?"

Kinda hard to figure out the phonetic way to write "Uly"

[roll0]
[roll1]

[cdwjava]

"Like this? Uh ... no ... and I'd like to keep from seeing it up close and personal."

[cdwjava]

The roll command wasn't working right since I previewed it before I posted. Here it is again:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Hack Writer]

The unwelcome portents of the gathering storm are not the only perils prowling the tormented mountains... A more immediate threat to the party’s safety is winging its way across the sky, stealing between mountaintops like tigers stalking in long grass.

Two – no, three – aeroplanes, the drone of their engines concealed behind the roar of the gathering winds, are angling for the small Beechcraft with hungry, predatory intent. They’re propeller driven and battered - cobbled old P-39 Aircobras; single seat and single engine. Two descend from the summit of a cloud-obscured mountain peak to the left; the third rises from the thin cloud cover directly below and to the right. To underscore their intent, a sharp rata-tat-tat of machinegun fire streaks through the bronchial-black sky. “Stand and deliver!” the rampaging aerial marauders seem to say…

https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ81iiY_yBjc-KyLVVv5CJHjL0bcrFxJzeNnbhbaTYW70XygVaN

This is combat! You’re up against three sky pirates piloting P-39 Aircobras:

Acc/Top Speed: 15/144; Climb: 15; Toughness: 11(2); Crew: 1
Armament: 1 x 37mm cannon, nose, 2 x .30 cal MG, nose, 2 x .50
cal MG, wings

Because most players passed their Notice rolls (and I only wanted one success) the sky pirates didn’t get the jump on you, so Initiative rolls are standard.

Now I’m not sure if I’m going to do this right, but I’m taking ThirtyThr33’s advice and opting to roll a d20 for the combat Initiative. I’ll roll it to save time; the sky pirates act on one Initiative and Ulysses acts next. When the pirates come into range of small arms fire (probably next round), all other characters can use ranged attacks (including magical bolts and blasts) against them; there’re doors in the front of the plane’s passenger cabin that can be opened to allow you to fire out, though particularly audacious acts of aerial acrobatics on the part of Ulysses may demand an Agility check to avoid falling!

I’d prefer to keep this combat abstracted, lest we’re forced to delve into the murky and shuddersome business of -*gulp*- map drawing…

Here’s the Initiative:
Ulysses: [roll0]
Air Pirates (3):[roll1]

[cdwjava]

"Damn! Pirates!" Steele growls.

Quickly leaning forward and looking up and left, and down and right, he decides to utilize the Beechraft's superior climbing and acceleration to try and at least keep the plane low and right out of the chase.

'A couple o' hunks a junk,' he thinks, hoping that if he pushes them too far, shoddy maintenance will keep them out of the pursuit ... and keep them from being forced down.

Pulling on the wheel and banking right, Steele shoots upwards and to starboard at 45 degrees.

"Grab on to something! This is gonna get rough!" he yells to the others.

Piloting roll: [roll0]

[ThirtyThr33]

Instead of grabbing hold of a seat handle as Steele had meant, Mick grabs his M1 rifle and opens the window next to his seat.

With a wry smile, Mick looks back over to Steele again and repeats himself. "Youlie, you ever seen anything like this before?"

Lining up one of the pirate's aircraft through his scope, Mick bides his time. He mumbles, “Just a little closer my dear...”

Mick spends this round drawing his weapon and using the Aim mauver. He gives up his attack this turn for a +2 bonus to next turn.

God, I hope Mick asking youlie if he has seen something before doesn't turn into a running gag.

PS: I assume Giant Killer doesn't work against aircraft since they are not "creatures" despite being treated as such in combat, right?

[cdwjava]

"These fellows have become sadly too common since that damn lizard fell" he yells as he strains against the wheel. "Mostly I can jink 'em out, their condition and talent is poor. Hopefully they just want us to land. If they want to kill us, well, start praying!"

[mcellis]

"Do you intend to land? Or do you think you can outrun them?"

[cdwjava]

"I'd prefer the hand of God swat them from the sky, but I'll settle for their engines to blow a seal trying to keep up with me!"

Steele pats the console.

"That's my baby, purr for daddy!"

[mcellis]

"Then by all means Mr. Steele, you concentrate on flying, and I'll see if I can't pray up a hand of god or two."

Sitting back in his seat a Grant closes his eyes and starts chanting the jewel on the lotus mantra under his breath. Reaching out across the void to the murderous mind of the nearest air pirate. The probing psychic fingers of his thoughts then press firmly on that mind.

So I'm not sure what the range or penalty is, but I am attempting to use my stun power on the pirates. It is also a medium template power so I might be able to get more than one, but I'm all for keeping the mapping abstract as well.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Hack Writer]

The trio of dastardly sky corsairs cut across the cloud cover in a well-rehearsed display of aerial brigandage. The two swooping from the crest of the mountaintop open up with another burst of staccato gunfire, intended to clip the wings of the Beechcraft before it can get away –

I'm editing this post as I go, so stand by for dice results! The pilots have standard Bandit characteristics, as detailed on page 79 of the DAR rulebook, with the addition of Pilot d6.

EDIT: the rolls!
They’re using nose-mounted .50 MGs (M-2HB for simplicity’s sake – page 37 of DAR). They normally require a 4 to hit, but they’re at -2 for shooting at medium range. They’ll need 6’s (no Wild dice, because they ain’t Wild Cards!):

Sod it - check the OOC thread for details... *grumble*


- but they miss! A cascade of .50 calibre machinegun bullets chatters angrily through the darkening sky like a procession of irate hornets, missing the Beechraft by mere feet. The aircraft wing their way onwards regardless, intent on catching the doughty craft before it slips away!

Acting before Ulysses, the three air pirates are 3 range increment away from the Beechcraft at present, making that 90 yards (outside of Grant’s Stun power, but within range of Mick’s Garand - a -4 to hit, I think). Two are to the right and one is to the left. I’ll let players move between windows as you see fit, without it costing you anything in actions. If Ulysses wants to angle to allow the passengers to enter within a closer range, Java just needs to state how he's going to manoeuvre.

Because Ulysses is pilot, you all act on his initiative, which means:

Ulysses: [/roll]1d20[/roll]
Air Pirates [/roll]1d20[roll]

You check the dice rolls in the OOC thread! :smallbiggrin:

[cdwjava]

Playing to his craft's strengths, Ulysses continues to climb away from the two fighter craft on his right, dodging and weaving as he might in order to make himself less of a target and trying to put as much distance between himself and the paired fighters as he can.

Piloting roll:
[roll0]

[Hack Writer]

More fire rips through the sky as the duo of air pirates swoop in from the right. Meanwhile, levelling itself up in a horizontal parallel, the third sky pirate brings his craft to within forty yards of the harried passenger carrier.


All this is considered to have happened before Ulysses carries out his manoeuvre, the sky pirates having scored higher than Java in the Initiative step.

Sky Pirate Attack:
yet again, the two sky pirates fire on the Beechcraft, needing 6's to hit:
Sky Pirate 1
[roll0]
[roll1]

Sky Pirate 2
[roll2]
[roll3]

Ulysses's manoeuvre:
I'll consider your manoeuvre a concerted effort to shake the two pirates off your tail, and treat it as a opposed roll against their own Pilot skill. I'll roll for each, though they'll need a 6 followed by a raise of a least a 1 (to maintain a stalemate) or a 2+ (to foil your stunt and press home the attack).

Sky Pirate 1 [roll4]
Sky Pirate 2: [roll5]

The passengers:
Sky Pirate 3 is now within 40 yards, so you can use your ranged attacks against him if you've got them. Post a confirmation if you want to, or elect to perform a different action.

[Hack Writer]

Maybe god answered. Maybe Ulysses was that damned lucky. Or maybe those flying junkpiles really were the rusted tin bathtubs-with-wings the young pilot suspected them to be. Whatever the truth, one half of the duo of dastardly marauders finds his flying machine spluttering and stalling in the face of the Beechcraft's evasive actions. Engine coughing, the Aircobra lists to one side like a battleship hit below the waterline, or a kite caught in a sudden upwards gust. It drops like a stone, the pilot frantically fighting to restart the failed engine.

a roll of a 1 for the Pilot check means that the Aircobra critically failed and has dropped out of the hunt and might begin free-fall if it doesn't restart its engine with a successful Pilot check next turn.

The remaining starboard-bound Aircobra's rattling machinegun finds its mark at last though, and a loud metallic ringing rattles against the outside of the Beechcraft's hull, beating a frantic tattoo against the silvered surface of the aeroplane.

one of the Aircobras hit and dealt 9 damage with an Armour Penetration of 4; that's enough to potentially damage, so I'll leave it to Java to decide whether he wants to spend a Bennie to soak it!

[cdwjava]

Gripping the wheel with white knuckles, Steele mutters through gritted teeth, "You're okay baby, the big bad men can't hurt us! Come on baby, daddy loves you!"

Spent Benny for Soak roll based on Piloting:
[roll0]

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick bides his time until one of the bandits strays between his cross-hairs before unleashing a four round burst. "Ha Ha! And here I was looking forward to talking about politics for the whole trip!"

The sound of gunfire and the violent swaying of the aircraft has worried Sally even further. She has jumped onto a nearby seat and is howling out the window at the sky pirates.

ROF2 = 4/8 ammo
Shooting:
[roll0] (-2 unstable platform, -1 fast moving target, -2 medium range, +2 scope, +2 aim = -3)
[roll1]
[roll2] Wild dice, replace one of the other attacks if higher

Damage:
[roll3] vs T9 (AP2)
[roll4]

Extra rolls for exploding dice/bonus damage:
[roll5]
[roll6]

[Gull]

Salt had never felt so helpless in his life. He was an adept, and initiate of the mysteries, a man who, with nothing more than a few words of nonsense and a bad attitude, could twist and alter reality as he saw fit, and here he was, thousands of feet in the air, at the mercy of some ragged pirates.
That was until one came so obligingly close.
Salt muttered a few nonsense words in Aklo, gripped into the fabric of reality with one hand and pulled. If his ultraterrestrial perception was correct, he would have torn open a hole from this reality to one where the space occupied by the pirate aircraft was occupied by a red dwarf star.

Ok, so this being my firs SW game, I'm going to spell this out for my own benefit. Salt is going to attack twice with his bolt power. 2d6 damage twice, total cost 2 pp.
So, spellcasting d10, long range (-4)
[roll0]
[roll1]
I'm unclear as to whether or not both bolts are under one roll or two seperate rolls, so if the second one needs a roll, use the following- [roll2]
Anyways, if there is anything incorrect with my assumptions there, please let me know!

[Hack Writer]

Before I continue the combat further, I think now’s a good time to consolidate things a little for those that have fallen slightly out of the loop; the combat’s been pretty swift, so that’s understandable.

Essentially we’ve been through two rounds of combat. The pirates have succeeded in acting before Ulysses and have attempted to bring the Beechcraft down under a fusillade of lead – with mixed results. First round saw Ulysses attempt to play to his craft’s strengths by climbing higher and pulling away from their pursuers, while Mick prepared to take an aimed shot with his Garand and Grant Foster focused his mind into conjuring an elemental blast (you’re right, mcellis, you were in range – but the extreme distance meant the shot did unfortunately miss.). Since then, Mick’s fired but missed, and Isaiah’s launched a flurry of arcane bolts.

@ThirtyThr33: I’m, treating the speed as relative to the Beechcraft’s, so there isn’t really a speed penalty to apply to your attack (it makes it a little easier for your characters to actually hit things that way.)

@Gull: Multiple bolts roll to hit separately, though there’s no rapid-fire penalty attached to them. According to RAW, you don't actually suffer any penalty for the attack - its done using your spellcasting and not your Shooting value, so its exempt from shooting modifiers!

There’s also the question of damage: 2d6 per bolt that strikes. I’ll roll the 2d6 now:
Damage: [roll0]

@Mcellis: Yup, you were right; I was converting inches to yards in a straight 1:1 value and totally forgot to convert the measurements! I’ll endeavour to ensure distance is described more accurately in the future. Also, the stun attack actually does hit, according to RAW; you're not using the Shooting skill to make an attack, and are thus exempt from the range penalties associated with it (just as Gull is). Now, tell me which of the aircraft you're targeting? You can hit the two aircobras to the left, or focus on the aircobra to the right. up to you.

At everybody: Following on from the question of distance measuring for this combat, consider range modifiers that have gone before as having been accurate up to that point. The Aircobra to the right of the Beechcraft is 40 yards away, while the pair to the left are 90 yards.

I'll wait for mcellis to clarify which of the Aircobras he wants to strike with his Stun power before moving on to the third Initiative round.

[Gull]

Oh, cool. So if my roll-4 was a 6, does that mean I actually rolled an ace? Just asking because my pro edge 'Wizard' allows me to get back the PP I spent on the spell by rolling a raise.

[mcellis]

With a firm mental grasp of two of the Pirate's minds, Grant's eyes flash open revealing only their whites, and with a final crushing gesture of his hand he unleashed a psychic blow that would have staggered the the strongest of minds much less the weak willed pair of Pirates.

Interesting, I wonder why it bothers with a range increment then? Oh well, I was aiming for the group so let's say the two pirates on the left.

[Hack Writer]

@Gull: You did indeed Ace and therefore recouped your PP expenditure, meaning you’re back to full power. That’s just as well, because the bolt’s damage failed to penetrate the air pirate’s hull.

@mcellis: Possibly open for situational modifiers imposed by the GM; it makes sense that a range penalty would be incurred however, so I’ll look for a clarification on this point on the Savage Worlds boards. It doesn’t really matter though, I’d much rather allow a player the opportunity to pull off something cool than stymie his actions due to a rules query. Still, yeah, I’ll look into it.

@cdwjava: You passed your soak roll and didn’t suffer any damage from the air pirate’s attack. Ulysses is down to 2 Bennies.

Spinning and hurtling through the storm-tossed sky, the four antagonists continue their deadly aerial duel as the darkening horizon begins to gather itself up for an assault of its own.

Pulling hard on the Beechraft’s controls to avoid the hail of oncoming bullets, Ulysses succeeds in avoiding the worst of the sky pirates’ malicious machinegun bursts. The heroes reply back – with bullets and magic and mind-force. The chattering bark of Mick Muldoon’s Garand is lost in the roar of the oncoming storm, and the bullets fly wide and miss their mark.

Metaphysics, however, seem to have a more effective answer:

Caring naught for the girdling laws of temporality that binds earthly matter, Isaiah Salt beckons compressed packets of space-time to shoot forth from his fingers. The bubbles of realty-altering force find their mark and strike home, though prove too diffuse to have much of an effect on the enemy aeroplane’s hull.

Grant Foster’s tact is different. Machines are but as strong as the minds of the men who control them, and the esoteric avenger knows his enemies’ minds to be weaker than most. Bypassing the intransigent metal shells of the aircobras, he instead targets the malleable mental faculties of the pirates inside their cockpits with a catatonia-inducing blast of pure mind-force…

Vigour rolls to prevent Stun. Failure will cause an aeroplane to go out of control due to being shaken. Note that Air Pirate 2’s engine has currently stalled, and will require a Pilot check from him or else it’ll start free-falling. If Air Pirate 2 passes his vigour roll, he’ll still need to try to restart his engine with a Pilot check.

Air Pirate 1: [roll0]
Air Pirate 2: [roll1]

Target’s a four, by the way.

Amidst the bullets, bolts and mind blasts, the storm itself is threatening to impose its own will on proceedings. Thick snowflakes hurry past the Beechcraft frosting windscreen, scattering like flocks of startled birds as the whipping winds lash the air like beaters driving out wild fowl. In the distance, the gathering storm reaches out with all-consuming arms of dark storm-matter, enveloping the sky, the mountains…everything.

A stroboscopic flash of lightning breaks the view outside the beechcraft, throwing inverse shadows across the sky and turning the whole world into one brief radiographic image. Thunder follows in its wake, ferocious and terrible, leaving the aeroplanes battling to maintain altitude.

Ulysses’ success last time has allowed the Beechcraft to pull ahead of the two air pirates that were formerly gunning for you from the left. They’ve overshot now and are currently on your rear and heading directly right. If you imagine the scene as the radial points of a clock, the two Aircobras have moved from your nine-o-clock point to your five-o-clock point, and they’ll need to bank around ninety degrees to be in a position to fire at you. The remaining Aircobra is on your three-o-clock point. Hope that’s helped with the visualisation!

As for the storm: it’s getting rapidly worse; and you seem to have inadvertently flown into the middle of it. Don’t worry about the darkness being a factor, the description’s only for dramatic effect and won’t cause further penalties to your actions.

Initiative rolls for round 3:
The Heroes (acting on Ulysses's): [roll2]
Air Pirates (3): [roll3]

[cdwjava]

Jigging to the left, and climbing, Steele hopes to use his slight advantage to widen the gap between him and the two pirates before they bank around to bring him once again into their sights.

Piloting: [roll0]

[ThirtyThr33]

"Blast it!" Mick tries to steady himself for another salvo of gunfire.

Seeing the clouds closing in around them, Mick asks "Youli, are you sure you wouldn't rather us be out with the pirates? I don't fancy this storm one bit."

Takes Aim again.

[cdwjava]

Steele calls back to Mick, "One disaster at a time! If the storm discourages these buggers, all the better!"

[Hack Writer]

I'll wait until the end of the day before taking the Sky Pirates' actions. If Gull and mcellis haven't chimed in, I'll skip their turn and move the game on.

[mcellis]

Feeling the panic of the pirates stunned mind and catching glimpses through the pilot's eyes of the cockpit dials spinning wildly as the plane tumbles out of the sky, and feeling his paralyzed limbs as the nearby mountain walls loom larger. Grant breaks off his connection realizing the horror that he has probably doomed a man to death in a fiery crash.

The sound of bullets ripping through the Beechcraft's thin metal walls pulls him back to his own life's fragile predicament.

"One hand of god delivered. One more coming up." He says, barely audibly over the rush of wind, and roar of engines.

Steeling his mind again, he reaches out grasping fingers of thought towards the mind of the second pilot.

I'm going for another Stun on the one on the left who I missed before.

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Hack Writer]

Apologies to Gull, but I’ve got to keep this scene moving; I don’t want the game grinding to a halt. Because I don’t want to drain Salt of PP by making use of his arcane abilities, I’ll just assume that Gull passed this round.

A shockwave of mental energy ripples through the sky, more felt than seen. Grant Foster targets the two villainous cloud corsairs on the Beechcraft’s six, hoping to stymie their assault with a brief synaptic shockwave. The willpower of the first pilot proves too stubborn to overcome, and a barrier of grim iron resolve repels Grant’s mind. Distracted by trying to restart his flying machine’s stalled engine, the second sky pirate’s mind proves an easier nut to crack. The psychic blast does its work, shutting down synapses and stalling neurons for a brief second. It’s enough to send the sky pirate’s aeroplane into free fall, and the machine tumbles like a spinning top, pirouetting earthward through layers of tumultuous cloud cover in a terminal descent.

That’s the first of Grant’s psychic blasts resolved from round 2. The second blast, I’ll resolve now as a Vigor roll for Sky Pirate 1:



Failure will send this one into freefall too. I’ll resolve it and continue the post in a moment.

A second blast of psychic energy engulfs the mind of the trailing air pirate. Once again, Grant Foster’s mind meets his adversary’s own, and an unseen battle of mental domination plays itself out in the space beyond reality. Not for the first time the sky pirate’s will proves sufficient to rebuke Foster’s assault, and as the psionic avenger withdraws his mind, he catches a glimpse of the grim-faced pilot’s evilly sneering countenance, set in an expression of diabolical glee, as he banks his craft around and depresses the trigger of his aircraft’s nose-mounted machine guns…

The air pirate resisted Grant’s assault, mcellis – sorry! He’ll bank around 90 degrees to bring the Beechcraft into his arc of fire. I’ll take Ulysses’s Pilot check as an opposed roll against his own; if the Sky Pirate succeeds, he’ll draw a bead against the Beechcraft and fire! A draw will impose a -1 penalty to the attack's to-hit roll instead.

Pilot check: [roll]1d6



The intransigent sky vulture does his best to stay on the tail of the Beechcraft. Despite Ulysses’s best efforts to present as difficult a target for the pirate’s cross hairs as possible, the corsair manages to snap off a burst of blazing machine gun bullets.

The sky pirate’s at –1 to hit because of Ulysses and his pilot roll; that means, with medium range factored in too, he’ll now be a –3 to the roll, meaning he needs a 6! Check the OOC for the dice roll. I’ll edit-in the result.

But the bullets fly wide! a blazing trail of ignited munitions arc through the pitch coloured sky, missing the jinking Beechcraft.

The aerial battle continues. The remaining air pirate eases up its chase and drops back to join its companion, hoping to attack the beleaguered Beechcraft from a more favourable angle. Above and around you, the bilious clouds have thickened, and lightning plays a mercurial dance through the firmament. The winds roar like maddened gods, eliciting a whine of protest from the Beechcraft’s hull. Even the simplest manoeuvre on the part of Ulysses to keep his craft steady is a direct confrontation with the titanic elemental forces that rage all around him. From what tartarian pit did such a tempest stir, you wonder?

Right, so, a bit more action; things are going to get interesting now…

@ Java: give me a Pilot roll at –1. The storm’s buffeting the aircraft and you need to try to keep the old girl on a even keel. Failure won’t cause it to spin out of control, but it’ll require everybody else to take an Agility check or be at –1 to all Attribute rolls next turn.
@ Gull and mcellis: give me an Agility roll.
@ ThirtyThr33: Mick's attack count as having been made in round 4 (the round coming up). Because Mick's acted and missed (unfortunate, mate), you don't need to worry about making an Agility roll for him. Sally doesn't really need one either.

Nawh... Now why couldn't someone try opening one of the passenger doors? I really wanted one of you to fall out!

[ThirtyThr33]

Not deterred by his last attempt, Mick refocuses and fires another burst at the craft bearing down on them.

"As thankful as I am the super-heroes are on my side, I think you two have some explaining to do when we get out of this!"

ROF2 = 0/8 ammo remaining
Shooting:
[roll0] (-2 unstable platform, -2 medium range, +2 scope, +2 aim, -2 ROF 2 = -2)
[roll1]
[roll2] Wild dice, replace one of the other attacks if higher

Damage:
[roll3] vs T9 (AP2)
[roll4]

Extra rolls for exploding dice/bonus damage:
[roll5]
[roll6]

Edit: Typo.
PS: dice roller hates me.

Double edit: See OOC thread for initiative roll of 20; granting +2 shooting not counted above.

[mcellis]

"If we get out of this, I'll be happy to discuss it at length."

Agility Roll:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Hack Writer]

Okay so Gull’s been inactive for a couple of days now; I’ve checked his profile status, he hasn’t been online since Sunday. He’s probably busy, so I’ll roll for his Agility check on his behalf. If he wants to Benny the roll he can get back to me.
[roll0]
[roll1]

I’ll wait for Java because I know he’s on the road at the moment. Mick’s already acted this round, and mcellis has passed his Agility roll so Grant won’t be penalised for any action he takes. Remember also, everybody counts as having drawn a Joker for Round 4 (because you’re acting on one Initiative count), so that means a whooping +2 to all your actions! Make the most of ‘em!

I’ll also resolve the damage from Mick’s attack now because he acted before the Sky Pirates:
Pilot check for out of control: [roll2]
Out of control table (f the roll failed): [roll3]
Mick’s attack of 14 scored a ‘raise’, meaning the Aircobra is at 3/4 wounds remaining, suffers a –1 to all Piloting rolls, and has to roll on the critical hit table!
[roll4]

Now, ThrtyThr33, which of the Aircobras was Mick firing at? Going by the positioning at the start of round 4, he could’ve attacked Sky Pirate 3 on the Beechcraft’s three-o-clock point, or Sky Pirate 1 (the one that Grant Foster’s been exchanging angry thoughts with) on its five. Sky Pirate 2’s currently free-falling and won’t be in your line of sight.

[mcellis]

"But right now I need to concentrate."

One more time with a stun attack at the elusive and surprisingly strong willed sky pirate.

[roll0]+2
[roll1]+2

[Gull]

Salt's chagrin at the impotence of his sorcery was quickly matched by that of being thrown about the Beechcraft like a rag doll. He scrambled about, brushing his hair back from his face and climbing to his feet.
"You'll...have," he coughed heavily, "... to keep an open mind, Mr. Muldoon."

[cdwjava]

"Just one more, baby! Gimme just one more dance around the floor and then we can clear outta this unfriendly party!" Steele cajoles his craft as he climbs up and away from their foes.

'I don't like those clouds,' he thinks to himself, 'But not much I can do at the moment.'

iPad on the Comic Con floor ... hope it works.

Piloing and Wild Die:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[Hack Writer]

Okay, I've moved the scene on; sorry about the delay with doing it, I wanted to see if Gull had anything else to post for Salt's actions.

Mick’s Garand finds its mark, and bullets pepper the fuselage of the nearest Aircobra, scouring a line of deep puncture holes in the machine’s flank. Instinctively the pilot banks his flying machine to his right, rolling with the attack like a pugilist who’s just taken a clean sock to the jaw. It’s still not enough. A ribbon of oily black smoke streams from the engine, causing it to cough and splutter unhealthily.

Grant attacks once again, redoubling his efforts in an attempt to put his intransigent opponent out of commission.

Grant hit, but the sky pirate needs to take his vigour roll; Grant didn’t score a Raise though, so the roll’s still unmodified:
[roll0]

Un-be-bloody-lievable, he saved - again!


A smell like old batteries and busted head gaskets fills the air. It’s ozone, but the more arcane among you sense the cloying tang of metaphysical energy too. Whatever it is, the storm seems to have produced it. Suddenly, the air feels charged with static – more static than a conventional lightning storm could produce. Ulysses watches as the dials on the Beechcraft’s instrument panel begin to spin wildly; Mick, steadying himself in the face of the buffeting winds, notices the hands of his wristwatch lose any semblance of rhythm as they start to wind backwards. Metallic objects suddenly become magnetised and stick to the hull of the Beechcraft. The electricity in the air sets your teeth buzzing.

And then: the sky seems to crack open. A torrent of coruscating forked lighting crashes through a breach in the clouds. You catch sight of the nearest Aircobra, superimposed against the sky, its pilot suddenly aware of the folly of pursing you so far into the storm. He tries to break away and pull up, to angle his craft away from the bolts of jagged whip cracking lighting – but it’s too late! A bolt of raw electricity shears through the Aircobra’s tail, bisecting the aeroplane in a vertical arc that causes it to explode in a blossom of fire. More lighting follows, illuminating the mountains and driving the darkness of night away.

https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSRpFHgHe1bJKcXqA26xJPh2TE_gdPsv TyDHI-POAIkZzVEmosn3A

A second bolt of lighting hits the Beechcraft on its the starboard wing, the impact blasting a chunk of the plane’s wingtip clean off. With a tortured whine the aircraft’s nose begins to dip at a sharp forty five-degree angle. Ulysses battles against the controls as the machine plummets earthward; for the rest of you, there’s little else to do but hold on and hope for the best…

Combat's officially ended now and you're hurtling towards the mountaintops.

@Java: you'll need to take a Pilot check at -2 to try and safely land the plane. Raises apply. Also, give me a Vigour roll, unmodified.

@Everyone else: You'll need to take an unmodified Vigour roll.

I'll post the next scene as soon as the rolls are in.

[Gull]

Salt was putting his thoughts in order when the world exploded. The plane he was going to attempt to destroy was, as if on cue, blasted from existence by a bolt from the heavens, moments before an identical bolt shearing a piece of his own transport off.
"India," he found himself saying as he began plummeting to the Earth.

Sorry, I didn't mean to hold everyone up. I assumed that Salt would have to spend his turn picking himself up for the blown Agility roll. Anyways,
Vigour- [roll0]
Wild Die- [roll1]

[ThirtyThr33]

"Is it time for this disaster now?" Mick yells above the roar of the storm outside.

Sally is so terrified she jumps into Mick's lap. He can feel her shaking, even through the vibration of the aircraft.

Mick's Vigor roll
[roll0]
[roll1]

Sally's Vigor roll if required
[roll2]

Although it isn't technically allowed, I would like to ask to use a bennie to re-roll Sally's vigor, if failed, since a single wound on an Ally results in immediate incapacitation and possible death :smallfrown:

I am not opposed to Sally dieing later necessarily, but she hasn't done anything but bark yet.

Bennie re-roll if needed + allowed
[roll3]

[mcellis]

"Just once over these mountains!" Strapping himself in tighter to his seat. "Maybe the third time's the charm. Or maybe I should have learned my lesson and walked."

Forgetting his fears, Grant focuses his mind inward bracing for the crash by applying his mind over the crude matter of his weak and vulnerable flesh, preparing to hold his fragile body together by will alone.

If there is time I think I'd like to try using my Boost Trait power.

Boost Trait roll:

[roll1]

Looks like the Boost Trait was successful so here is the adjusted Vigor roll:

[roll]1d6
1d8

If there isn't time here is my normal Vigor roll:
[roll2]
[roll3]

[mcellis]

Okay looks like there is a little trouble rerolling in editing here's that Boosted Vigor roll:

[roll0]
[roll1]

[cdwjava]

Steele wrestles with the wheel and grinds his teeth with determination.

"Buckle up if you haven't already!" he yells back to the others. "We've been clipped, and it looks like we're gonna do a little dance downward!"

"Not, yet!" he growls to himself through clenched teeth, straining on the wheel. "Not 'til I know you're safe!" An image of his missing beautiful moon flashing through his mind.

Pilot roll: [roll0], W[roll1]
Vigor roll: [roll2] W[roll3]

[Hack Writer]

@ Gull: don’t worry, shiz happens; it’s good that you’re with us now.

@ThirtyThr33: Spending Bennies on Sally is A-okay, ThirtyThr33; she’s more than a transient ally and sort of a borderline sidekick, isn’t she? Keep to using the ally rules for now (with the exception that you can spend Bennies on her), but in the future you can spend experience points on giving her the Sidekick Edge, if you want to pursue that angle.

@mcellis: yep, I’ll allow it; I thrust this event upon you, so it’s only fair you get a chance to respond with a suitable method of combating it. Besides, the ground’s an awful long way down – you’ve have the time to align your charkas, raise/lower your metabolic rate or whatever else it is you mystic hero-types do! Do note however that Grant now only has 2 PP left until he recharges, so keep that in mind.

Tossed like a child’s plaything by the imperious fury of the storm, the Beechcraft plunges through sky like a tumbling stone. Ulysses battles against inevitability, damning fate and cursing fortune and wrestling with every fibre of his being against the promise of certain disaster. But what man can defy the power of a natural world turned mad with wroth? Certainly not Ulysses, though he fights like a tiger to forestay the doom that bears down on you all.

The winds scream a banshee’s wail against the pitching aeroplane’s hull. Interior lights blink and fail, plunging you into darkness. Outside, the storm still continues its indignant rampage through the sky, and you glimpse stroboscopic flashes of rapidly approaching mountains and icy snow-blanketed valleys as the Beechcraft nears the end of its final fateful journey….

https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSa6unSJWaBJ2V4YvzOzsnmZPXuUA-RKKebjh3_ztn--31YlVuQbA

****

You all have your own private ideas of how the afterlife might look; but none of you expected it to be quite so cold, or, in the case of Mick, harbingered by the sound of attentive snuffling and warm dingo slobber.

Sally hops about her master’s recumbent body, gnawing at his jacket sleeve and yipping. The noise of her plaintive whine rouses the rest of the party, who all look at one another with the same surprised expressions.

You’re…alive.

Before you can congratulate yourselves or praise your gods too readily however, a freezing Himalayan wind blasts through the gutted remains of the downed aircraft’s hull, bringing with it hectic gusts of corkscrewing snowflakes and a sense that destiny desires to toy with you a little further. A quick examination of your landing site through the shattered windows reveals a gently sloping ridge of powdery snow to your right; with a deep furrow of churned earth and twisted steel marking the Beechcraft’s landfall and ultimate termination. To your left, an unbroken panorama of the surrounding mountains presents itself, and you realise the stranded machine is perched precariously on the edge of a sheer precipice. The storm, you note, seems to have subsided, with only the feint half-heard rumble of distant thunder marring what would otherwise be an entirely silent scene.

Everyone bar Isaiah got through the crash unharmed; Gull’s failed Vigour roll puts Isaiah at –1 Health. Actions, reactions and plans concerning what you want to do next can be posted here, before we move on.

Now for the next bit: the plane’s in total disarray and you’re all a bit numb following the crash; the gear stowed in your backpacks is scattered throughout the plane, and you’ll need to take Notice rolls to retrieve it all. Each player has three (yes, THREE) items missing from his starting gear list that are lost somewhere in the plane (items that come in quantities I’ve counted as one). You can take up to five Notice rolls each, with a Raise earning you one random item back (roll a wild dice per Notice check). You don’t need to take any Notice rolls at all, or might just want to take one or two; the choice is up to you.

Here’s what’s missing:
Isaiah: K-bar, flashlight, rope
Ulysses: Springfield M1903, First Aid Kit, x3 Iron Rations
Grant Foster: Colt M1911a1, Flare, Bowie Knife
Mick: X2 grenades, X3 ammo clips, Medics Kit

[mcellis]

"Is everyone okay?" Yelling out over the howling wind, Grant searches for other survivors and his pack as he eyes the plane's precarious perch.


Here's my 5 notice rolls.
[roll0]
[roll1]

[roll2]
[roll3]

[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6]
[roll7]

[roll8]
[roll9]

[mcellis]

Grant slides his pistol back into its shoulder holster.
Ace up roll:
[roll0]

[ThirtyThr33]

Head aching and vision spinning, Mick blinks his eyes open as Sally’s wet nose runs across his face. “Arg, go back to sleep girl, it's still early.” Cold. Snow. Realisation strikes that this is no weekend hangover.

“I’m okay!” Mick calls back to Grant. Trying to get his bearings, Mick takes in the surroundings and checks on the other plane occupants. Think. Food, Shelter, Warm clothing. And Bullets. Bullets start fires and catch food; don’t forget the bullets.

Mick fumbles around on his belt and realises a couple of his grenades are missing. A chill of dread runs down his spine. Oh God. Where are they?

Notice x5
[roll0]
[roll1]

[roll2]
[roll3]

[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6]
[roll7]

[roll8]
[roll9]

Any exploding dice in order:
[roll10]
[roll11]
[roll12]

[Hack Writer]

Grant finds all his missing gear; Mick finds two of his three missing items, which I'll roll for now (running from left to right in the order I listed them):
[roll0]
[roll1]

If the two scores are equal, I'll let ThirtyThr33 decide which items he discovers, just to make things a bit easier on him.

[Gull]

"I'm not exactly what you might call 'okay,' Mr. Grant, but I remain alive," said Salt, wiping blood from his face, then shaking it into the snow. "This is the first time I've been cold since leaving Canada, however, so this is a delightful nostalgic experience." Salt staggered to his feet and started casting about for his possessions. At least his books remained whole.


[roll0]
[roll1]

[roll2]
[roll3]

[roll4]
[roll5]

[roll6]
[roll7]

[roll8]
[roll9]

[mcellis]

"Can you stand? More importantly can you move? We need to find some shelter, and get off this cliff." Eying the gaping darkness of the chasm through a cracked window of the ruined plane. "Otherwise we'll all be a lot colder." Grant makes his way over to Isaiah and offers him a hand should he need it.

Grant looks forward to the cockpit, yelling out above the howling winds. "Ulyssess! Is there any chance the radio is salvageable?"

[Hack Writer]

@Gull: A mixed bag of good news and bad news for you, my friend. The bad news first: you're currently suffering from one level of Fatigue, which means Isaiah's at -1 to all Attribute checks he makes; this combined with an untrained level of Notice means you're at -3 to the dice check - not nice. However! You did Ace for one of your Notices rolls by rolling a natural 6, which entitles you to roll a further d6 and add it to the result, which I'll do, just to speed up play: [roll0]

I'll post again with what you find.

[Hack Writer]

@Gull: So continuing on. You totalled an 8 7, which is a success with a Raise - that's two one items you manage to salvage. As before, I'll work from left to right on the list of gear I posted to see what you manage to scrabble together (a double will mean you can pick the two you find):

[roll0]
[roll1]

Are all these spoilers ruining the flow of the text? I think they are, so I'll start posting more in the OOC. Is everyone subscribed to the OOC thread? Don't want you missing anything important.

EDIT: Scrap the first roll, I forgot to factor in the Fatigue modifier that I was waxing oh-so-lyrically about only five minutes ago! Sorry about that, Gull. You only manage to find one piece of your gear. Mea Culpa!

[cdwjava]

Steele shakes his head and kisses the tips of his fingers, laying them gently on the cockpit instrument panel.

"You gave your all to see we got down in one piece," he says with a sigh. Glancing around, he adds, "Mostly."

"Yeah! I'm okay! All right, this appears to be ..." he looks out at the gaping chasm, "Not so good!"

"Carefully gather what you can and let's get out!"

Steele cautiously moves about the cabin gathering his pack and gear.

Notice rolls:

#1 [roll0] W[roll1]

#2 [roll2] W[roll3]

#3 [roll4] W[roll5]

#4 [roll6] W[roll7]

#5 [roll8] W[roll9]

Any necessary exploding dice:
[roll10]
[roll11]
[roll12]

[roll13]
[roll14]
[roll15]

[cdwjava]

"Mr. Foster, the radio is intact, but the circuits appear to have been fried!" he calls back. "Sorry, no replacement on board!"

[mcellis]

"Can't be helped then. But thanks for getting us all down in reasonably close to one piece." Grant starts to make his way towards the mountain and away from the precipice.

[cdwjava]

Steele will gather what he can and will wait until everyone else is out before he, too, leaves the remains of his plane.

[Hack Writer]

Absorbed in the act of securing your lost gear, none of you notice the peril facing you until it’s too late. First, you feel a shudder - a distant sound that you put down to the remnants of the thunderstorm still rumbling overhead. But there’s something different about this new sound… It seems to be coming from below you rather than above.

And then the earth shakes and the aircraft tips and the world shifts, and what was horizontal suddenly becomes a dramatic diagonal. The Beechcraft’s beleaguered hull screeches in protest as the sudden unheralded tremor takes hold, sending the remains of the aircraft slowly pitching over the chasm’s edge…

Right, so, uh…who rolled five Notice checks? Hmm, all of you…yikes! Well here’s what happens now:

Five Notice checks mean you’re going to have to take an Agility check now to avoid something ghastly happening to you, with a –1 tacked on to the dice roll to represent you being unprepared for the event. I’ll also need a Strength check, just in case.

Spending Bennies on failed rolls might be a smart move at this juncture…

[mcellis]

Well Crap.

Here's the Agility roll:
[roll0]-1
[roll1]-1

[mcellis]

Let's spend a Bennie and give it another go.
[roll0]-1
[roll1]-1

And if that doesn't work here's my Strength roll. Is the -1 applied to that roll as well?
[roll2]-1
[roll3]-1

[Gull]

Welp
[roll0]
[roll1]


Edit: Uh, I'm at -2 on a roll on a d4 and d6, it's not looking great for making it. Should I just go straight to the strength roll, since that would only be -1?

[mcellis]

There's always a chance for a lucky ace up.

[ThirtyThr33]

No sooner had Mick found the missing grenades and stuffed them into his pockets the plane gave a groan.

The very same belt buckle that saved his life during the crash may end up his undoing. Mick fumbles with the straps and latches while Sally barks impatiently sensing Mick's fear. "Go Sally!"

See OOC thread for my terrible rolls.

[cdwjava]

Slinging his Springfield rifle over his shoulder and casting his pack out onto the safe landing outside the hull, Steele ham hands the last occupant out as he then dives for safety clambering for anything not sloping directly downward into a snow-filled abyss.

Agility roll:

[roll0]
W[roll1]

[cdwjava]

Aced the Wild die, so here's the original Wild Die roll and the add on .. AND the -1:

6+1d6-1

And a Strength roll:

[roll0]
W[roll1]

And any Ace to that: [roll2]

[cdwjava]

Let's try the Ace again:

Original roll (6) -1 for the GM modifier equals 5+ results of the aced Wild die ...

[roll0]

[Hack Writer]

Caught in the grip of the sudden earthquake, the remains of the gutted aeroplane slide like a piece of beached driftwood claimed by the tide, toppling, cockpit first, over the edge of the chasm. Ulysses, near the cockpit’s exterior door and with more time to react, vaults out of the Beechcraft as the first sign of its pitching sway begins to take hold; he tumbles to the thick snow, head first, like he’s just thrown himself for the winning catch in a World Series game. Sally emits a high-pitched yelp of dismay as she defies all her canine instincts to remain fast to her master’s side and follows the young pilot’s lead, scrabbling from the Beechcraft’s broken window and to safety. The rest of the party don’t far quite so well…

Isaiah, Grant and Mick find themselves caught up in the doom laden final flight of the Beechcraft as it yaws over the chasm, cockpit first. Isaiah and Mick tumble hard to the bottom of the plane, while Grant, holding fast to a now vertical and ledge-like passenger chair, manages to prevent himself from experiencing the same fate. Then the sudden quake stops, and the Beechcraft, perilously close to plunging into the whistling depths of the ice-carpeted rocks below, hangs suspended like a Damoclean metaphor over the chasm’s jagged lip…

Don’t panic, you’re not dead yet! Yeah, it’s precarious, but that’s the nature of the pulp setting. I’ll never kill off a player character that consistently posts and seems eager to play – it doesn’t benefit anyone, especially when all I want is to carve out a fun story and share some memorable role-play experiences with others. Saying that, if a player ever decides he’d like to kill off his character in order to start another one (something I’m happy to accommodate, and you can even choose your manner of death!), or if he decides to be a sociopath OOC, I’ll reconsider the stance. Still, a few of you are in a bit of a bind…

Ulysses and Sally escaped intact, deftly avoiding any further repercussions. Mick, buckled in to his seat, failed his Agility check and subsequent strength check to hold on and tumbled to the cockpit, which is now dangling over the chasm; Grant failed on agility to get out of the plane but passed the strength check (there wasn’t any modifier attached to that roll, mcellis), so he found a bit of purchase and didn’t fall straight to the bottom. That leaves Isaiah, who’s been put through the ringer a bit, to take his strength check in order to see if he’s in a position to clamber out or, like Mick, if he’s caught in the earth tremor and tumbles to the lowest point in the plane. Here’s his strength roll:
[roll0]
[roll1]
Grant can hold on and wait for help or pull himself free with a second Agility check (unmodified this time). Mick and Isaiah need to be hauled out, so a rope, or something of similar length, is going to be needed – or ingenuity, I like ingenuity.

Also, equipment: just to emphasise, a few of you are missing pieces of gear – they’re lost, forever, consigned to the bottom of the chasm, entangled in the wreckage, or blown away during the plane’s descent to the earth; scratch the following items from your gear list please, chaps:
Ulysses: Your sharp eyes, quick mind and efficient luggage arranging skills meant you lost nothing!
Isaiah: you lost your k-bar and rope; kinda ironic with the rope, given the circumstances…
Grant: Like Ulysses, you lost nothing – huzzah!
Mick: you lost 3 ammo clips – ouch!

EDIT: Gads, the IC thread looks a mess, doesn’t it? It’s a bit belated but here it is, the official Day After Ragnarok dice roller thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=250064). Sorry for delaying it so long.

[cdwjava]

Steele rolls up to his knees and looks at the precariously perched aircraft and mouths an expletive under his breath, silently thankful that his mother is not present to catch him mouthing such a word.

He looks about for any gear - rope, cable, chain - that might enable him to secure the crippled chassis in place long enough for his passengers to escape.

[mcellis]

Grant carefully chins himself up to the back of the seat to get a stable platform to work from and begins to rummage in his back pack.

"Just hang in there you two." Shouted down to the cockpit. "Ulysses, did you make it out okay?" Shouting up to the ledge.

[cdwjava]

"Yeah! I'm okay! And so's the dog!"

Steele skitters about in the snow searching for anything he can use to secure the crippled craft.

"I'm trying to find something to hold the plane in place! Try not to move much!"

[mcellis]

"I think the plane might be a lost cause. But watch your head out there!"

A grappling hook on the end of a rope arcs out of the plane and onto the ledge.

"Ulyssess, see if you can't secure that to something."

Grant drops the other end of the rope down to the cockpit. Where it lands in a with a loud clatter into a messy coil.

"You two tie that end around yourselves."

[cdwjava]

"Yeah, she's seen all she can see, but I'd rather she not take any more ghosts with her than the one she's got!"

Steele takes the grappling hook and rope and searches about for anything he might be able to anchor the rope to, not having much luck as he grinds his teeth together in frustration.

Finally, finding a set of deep set rocks to anchor the rope and grappling hook on, he dives to the stones, wrapping the rope around the stones wedging the hook between two of them and setting it back on the line itself to secure it.

"Okay!" he yells back. "Hook's set!"

[Hack Writer]

@Java: you can deus ex machina-up a convenient boulder for the grappling hook, it isn't a problem.

Good teamwork, chaps!

[ThirtyThr33]

Stunned from the fall, Mick blinks his eyes open. He is lying face down on the cracked windscreen of the Beechcraft. Not knowing whether the cracks were from the crash or his fall, Mick lies perfectly still for the time being.

He calls out "My backpack! Get the harness from inside my backpack!"

I'm assuming the backpack was kept with the luggage in the back of the plane. If it was inside, it should have fallen down to where Mick is anyway. Only difference is whether it gets thrown down or Mick pulls it out himself.

[Gull]

"Mr. Steele, I shall expect a refund!" called out Salt from his cramped position in the rear of the plane, carefully tying a rather impressive granny knot around himself. He was an academic and mystagogue, after all, not a sailor.

[Hack Writer]

Feel free to tie up loose conversational ends from the last scene with this one before dealing with the next peril.

Ulysses helps his three stranded comrades out of the eerily creaking hull of the Beechcraft, with Sally, tail wagging excitedly, on hand to greet her master with a bounding leap and a large slobbery tongue. Then, as if on cue, a second earth tremor takes hold of the mountains and shakes the wreckage of the aeroplane from its tenuous roost at the edge of the chasm. Scurrying away just in time, the four of you look back to watch the Beechcraft undertake its final flight – straight down, through measureless depths of the yawning chasm.

So that’s it, you muse to yourselves, surveying the bleak wilderness around you. You’re stuck, high up in one of the most God forbidden and desolate regions on earth, without a plane, without any sense of exactly where you are, and, barring Isaiah’s thick parka, without the equipment necessary to last longer than a few hours exposure to the freezing winds. Things can’t get much worse…

“Hands up, or we’ll shoot you dead!” comes a harsh, sibilant whisper from somewhere nearby. You all turn, instinctively, in the direction of the voice, and come face-to-face with a trio of stocky dark skinned men, of Nepalese or Himalayan extract. They’re decked head to foot in shapeless and heavily insulated foul weather gear, hands covered in mittens, bodies swathed in dull brown overcoats; they never made a sound as they approached, even in their awkwardly over large snow shoes. The nearest of their number glares at your party unflinchingly from twenty yards away, his dark brown eyes glimmering in the light of the newly revealed moon. “I said hands up. Do it - now!” he thrusts the ugly muzzle of a mean looking sub machine gun in your direction, like a plains hunter goading herd animals with a spear.

The first newcomer's twenty yards away across the snow from you, his companions are either side of him and spaced a further ten yards apart. There's a snow covered ridge above them a further twenty yards off, from which you presume they descended. The leader's speaking in heavily accented English, though pretty fluently.

[mcellis]

Raising his hands in a non threatening gesture Grant walks towards the leader. "Thank god! I thought we were goners. After getting knocked out of the sky by that storm. Then the plane goes off a cliff! Can you take us to the nearest town? I thought we were going to freeze to death. You can put the guns down we're all friends here."

Grant knows they're nothing of the kind, these men are bandits and killers. Their thoughts as murderous as the air pirates they had escaped, their hostile intent radiated off of them in waves. If only he could keep them at ease to get close enough to do something about it.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Oh you have got to be joking."

Mick's M1 Garrand was empty and having lost the three clips he had attached to his belt, the only ammunition he had was stashed away in the bottom of his backpack. Fat lot of good it will do there.

But then there was another option... Mick toys with the grenades he stuffed into his pockets, refusing to put his hands over his head.

"Put that gun down before someone get's hurt."

Mick goes On Hold;
If anyone on either "side" makes an attack Mick will attempt to interrupt the action and throw a grenade; preferably hitting multiple enemies and no allies.

[Gull]

Salt raised his hands obligingly. He could just as easily kill the men while keeping his arms in the air as not, and a bit of calisthenics never hurt anyone.

Held action: first dude to try something (on their side, obviously) gets a couple bolts.

[Hack Writer]

Mick: "Put that gun down before someone get's hurt."

Something approaching a smile crosses the face of the leader of the band of newcomers. "You would do well to listen to your own advice, trespasser; we will kill you at a stroke if needed. The mountains are vast and do not give up their secrets easily - none of you will be missed, I tell you."


Grant: Raising his hands in a non threatening gesture Grant walks towards the leader. "Thank god! I thought we were goners. After getting knocked out of the sky by that storm. Then the plane goes off a cliff! Can you take us to the nearest town? I thought we were going to freeze to death. You can put the guns down we're all friends here."

Grant’s attempt at affability is met with sneers and machine gun snouts and further threats of violence.

“You -” the leader of the gun-toting strangers declares with a vicious display of brown teeth, fixing Grant with a look of disdain. “You have the soulless eyes of a dead man. Turn your face away from me and don’t’ take another step closer, or we’ll shoot you all down and leave your bodies for the wolves!” He waves his gun at Grant threateningly, and his companions level theirs at the rest of you. “Where were you going when your plane fell out of the sky? What did you see up there?”

“Bhairava…” one of his co-conspirators mutters, almost fearfully.

Grant's persuasion check failed, though not epically enough to turn the strangers' reaction towards hostile (they're about 7 on the scale of ass-whoopery, with a 9 meaning violence). Grant can't close the distance without provoking some sort of combat - not with that persuasion roll. Further attempts can be made, but you'll have to bring something else to the table - a different tact, a different line of questioning.

[Hack Writer]

mcellis totalled a 7 for his Occult roll to find out more about Bhairava - not quite enough for a raise! Still, he identified the name, and here're the details (remember that only Grant knows this - no one else, unless you, too, want to make an Occult/History/Religion roll):

In the Kathmandu Valley, a wizened old Aghori fakir, stinking of charnel pits and the powdered bones of dead men, once taught you a little knowledge concerning Bhairava, though the cost of such lore could not be measured in earthly wealth, and some small part of your soul has regretted the bargain ever since…

He is Bhairava the Wrathful, a manifestation of the Hindu god Shiva in his role of primordial destroyer of suns and planetary bodies. Most Hindus give Bhairava only passing worship, and then only out of fear of what his unattended anger might provoke. Since the Serpent Fall, the worship – tacit or otherwise – of Bhairava has waxed strong, and his power is linked to many apocalyptic doomsday cults across India, Nepal and Tamil. These men in front of you, you feel, don’t fit the mould of the typical Bhairava worshipper – there isn’t enough gnashing of teeth and wailing, for a start; and the way in which the stranger uttered the name leads you to believe they’re more fearful of what might be than truly sympathetic devotees to the cause…. But that’s just a hunch.

Okay, I'm calling the in-game updates a night for now; I don't want the story to spiral too far ahead without everybody getting a shot at trying to defuse (or ignite!) the situation. There's nothing more daunting than coming to a forum game and finding out you're twenty posts behind the curve and have missed something crucial. Have to good 'un, chaps.

[cdwjava]

Keeping his pack perched on his shoulders, and his rifle slung at an angle over his back for travel, Steele frowns and raises his hands, looking at the men trying to catch any sign of familiarity of who they might be or how he might treat with them.

He notes the position of his holster and stands, watches, and waits for an opportunity to draw his pistol and turn the tide on these men ... if such an opportunity presents itself.

[Hack Writer]

So Gull scored a success and two raises - that's a helluv a lot of info! I'll try to make this good...

In Nepal, before your dispatch from the Crown lead you across the Himalayan Mountains, you visited the great temple of Lord Kala Bhairava, in Hamuman Dokha, where your aesthetic mind and appreciation of the outré practices of the Orient earned you a private audience with the blind and eremitic wise men that dwell in the deep caves beneath the temple’s foundations. You learned much, for one not inducted into the religion, and some of that knowledge rises to your forebrain now…

The Bhairava – for He is many - are an octet of violent, cleansing, elucidating demi-deities that constitute the greater body of the Hindu god Shiva. For some, The Bhairava are terrible, wrathful and heedless elemental forces, prone to destruction without compunction and annihilation without reconciliation; to others, the Bhairava are openers of gates, givers of truth, and lantern bearers for wisdom seekers as they walk the dark roads of forbidden knowledge. Extremist sects flock to Bhairava’s aspect because he rewards adulation with promises of power and temporal majesty, and you’ve seen firsthand the demented, bone-mantled mendicant gyrovagues of the cannibalistic Aghori sect, practising their debased worship of Bhairava across Nepal.

These men don’t fit that description. The look of horrified superstition that passes between them when Bhairava’s name is mentioned puts them squarely in the camp of the fearfully religious. This, you feel, is a certainty – they’re not Aghori, and not Bhairava worshippers.

They’re still armed, though, and still dangerous…

remember, only Isaiah knows this stuff, so try not to meta game - though it's difficult sometimes, I appreciate that. I'll post something not related to these occult rolls shortly.

[ThirtyThr33]

"I seek the Naga of many heads. The tribes of Shesha, Aparajita and Kadru have united under one rule. Do you know where to find them?"

Mick carefully weights his words to not show his motives. Hopefully, his captors will reveal their allegiance one way or another in their response and Mick can follow suit.

[Hack Writer]

A rapid-fire exchange of words passes between the leader of the newcomers and his suppositious companion – terse, strained…and in Nepalese. Throughout the conversation, none of the gunmen shift their eyes from any of you, and they keep their guns fixed levelly in your direction. At last, cajoled into silence by his superior, the superstitious mountain man slips into uneasy compliance, but his eyes shift wearily to the summits of the old, glowering peaks that loom above you.

So…. who out of you speaks Nepalese? Remember that you have a number of unallocated Language slots equal to your base smarts die (-I think; I’ll have to quick-check the rules again), which you can allocate in-game as you like. Once you’ve selected a language, it’s fixed – forever. I’ll PM you their conversation in English (because, alas, I don’t speak Nepalese).



Mick: "I seek the Naga of many heads. The tribes of Shesha, Aparajita and Kadru have united under one rule. Do you know where to find them?"

Again, the spokesman of the band fixes Mick with a level stare and a harsh expression. “Why do you speak of such things so openly, stranger - and here, of all places? Are you a friend of the Serpent, or an enemy?”

To all of you, he says: "I ask again: what did you see in the sky?"

Sorry if I'm not giving too much of the game away for you all - I'm just enjoying the tension of the scene too much! If it means anything, I've loved your interaction so far - so keep it up!

[ThirtyThr33]

I doubt it would fit for Mick to know Nepalese; he would most likely know a spread of African languages.

Mick quickly weights up his options. They are afraid of ‘the Serpent’ and therefore mostly likely opposed to the worshiping cults... but if even speaking their names puts these men on edge, they will probably kill me for fear of association if I tell them I do also.

“I am neither friend nor foe. I search for information that I believe only the United Tribes possess.” Realising they are the superstitious sort he hastens to add “Not magic. As for what we saw in the sky… well, we were set upon by sky pirates. If those were friends of yours, I’m sorry to say we may have taken down a few of them with us.” Mick sees over the shoulder of the Nepalese men that Sally is slowly and surely stalking closer.

To buy time, Mick goes into excruciating detail describing the bandit’s aircraft and the ensuing fire-fight, intentionally leaving out everything to do with the obviously supernatural storm. “They must have taken out some of our flight controls, because as you can see, we had to make an emergency landing.”



Since no-one has mentioned Sally, is it safe to assume she has gone unnoticed by the Nepalese?

Sally's untrained stealth roll to be opposed by enemy Notice roll.
[roll0]
I am assuming -2 (untrained), +2 (crawling), +1 (light cover - snow)

Mick remains On Hold.

[cdwjava]

Steele clears his throat and asks the man, "You want to know what we saw in the sky? A huge black cloud, growing and twisting like nothing I have ever seen before.

"You know something about that?"

[mcellis]

Grant is trying to be polite and averting his eyes. "You try to be friendly." Whispered under his breath.

I'm thinking that of the languages of this region Grant probably knows Tibetan and perhaps Hindi/Urdu. If that's close enough cool, but I don't think he actually knows Nepali.

Also I'd like to make a Notice roll to see if I can spot anything helpful to the situation, especially Sally sneaking up on them. I'll make the roll over on the Dice rolling thread.

[Gull]

Salt was thrilled. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Isaiah Salt, lately of His Majesty's Royal Marines, 13 Commando, on his Majesty's business. If you'll allow me to show you my credentials, I'm sure that we can put the guns away and be a little friendlier to one another. In my work for the Crown I've learned more than a little of the paranormal, and have no doubt I can help you with your questions.."

[Hack Writer]

Mick: “I am neither friend nor foe. I search for information that I believe only the United Tribes possess.” Realising they are the superstitious sort he hastens to add “Not magic. As for what we saw in the sky… well, we were set upon by sky pirates. If those were friends of yours, I’m sorry to say we may have taken down a few of them with us.” Mick sees over the shoulder of the Nepalese men that Sally is slowly and surely stalking closer.

To buy time, Mick goes into excruciating detail describing the bandit’s aircraft and the ensuing fire-fight, intentionally leaving out everything to do with the obviously supernatural storm. “They must have taken out some of our flight controls, because as you can see, we had to make an emergency landing.”

The muzzle of the leader’s sub machine gun lowers as Mick speaks – though just a fraction; the stranger’s eyes remain as cold and harsh as the mountains out of which he walked. Still, Mick’s tale does something to…assuage him, perhaps? It’s hard to tell. Death still seems on the cards, though it might’ve just been shuffled back into the deck, for now. “One less for us to shoot down, then,” he grunts, with a certain satisfaction.


Steele: Steele clears his throat and asks the man, "You want to know what we saw in the sky? A huge black cloud, growing and twisting like nothing I have ever seen before.

"You know something about that?"

Steele’s words provoke another ripple of pious fear through the assembled men. The group’s spokesman rounds on the young aviator, and says: “Not enough – that’s why we ask you. You say it grew, twisted? Was it…” he struggles to find the right way to couch his sentence; though you feel it isn’t through unfamiliarity with the English language that causes him to choose his next words carefully, “…alive? Did you see anything inside it – a body, a…face?”


Salt: Salt was thrilled. "Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Isaiah Salt, lately of His Majesty's Royal Marines, 13 Commando, on his Majesty's business. If you'll allow me to show you my credentials, I'm sure that we can put the guns away and be a little friendlier to one another. In my work for the Crown I've learned more than a little of the paranormal, and have no doubt I can help you with your questions."

The three gunmen eye Salt with obvious interest. “Step forward and hand them over, if you’re who you say you are. The rest of you, don’t move a muscle.” The leader motions for Salt to approach and present whatever paperwork he might have that proves his status.

I'll PM mcellis his Notice results. Mick, Sally's within striking distance of the three gunmen; she's just waiting for your order to attack. Gull, you can conjure up whatever credentials you think Salt would be carrying (certainly field orders - probably encrypted; definitely an official letter with some sort of stamp on it, too).

[mcellis]

"Mick, I'd take a good look at all the gunmen up on the ridgeline, before that pooch of yours does anything… hasty." Speaking in low harsh voice meant only for his companions.

Grant nods his head slightly in the direction of the five or more motionless men aiming their rifles at us from the cover of the ridge 30 yards away.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Just keeps getting better and better."

Mick finally let's go of the grenades and slowly withdraws his empty hands from his pockets. As he raises them above his head, he gives a side-ways flick of the wrist; a command to Sally to "Withdraw".

Sally will move away to a much further distance, still stealthed. If we are taken anywhere, she will follow by scent from outside line of sight.

Mick remains On Hold, but I'm guessing he will take a multi-action penalty if he needs to 'draw' and then throw his grenades.

[Gull]

"Of course. I will be taking them from inside my coat, so please don't jump to conclusions." Salt lowered one hand, unzipped his parka and reached into his pocket. He withdrew his own identification and credentials which proved that he was who he said he was: Dr Isaiah Salt, paranormal expert and consultant to the Empire. "I hope that satisfies."

[cdwjava]

Steele twists his face almost painfully as he speaks words he cannot imagine himself saying even a half dozen years ago.

"It grew and twisted about unlike anything I have seen in these mountains before. It was ... unnatural," he says. "I dare say, it seemed ... alive."

[Hack Writer]

Ulysses: "It grew and twisted about unlike anything I have seen in these mountains before. It was ... unnatural," he says. "I dare say, it seemed ... alive."

The man’s face hardens, but he can’t disguise the flicker of dread that crosses his brown eyes “This is...worrying, if what you say is true. We will need to report this.”


Salt: "Of course. I will be taking them from inside my coat, so please don't jump to conclusions." Salt lowered one hand, unzipped his parka and reached into his pocket. He withdrew his own identification and credentials which proved that he was who he said he was: Dr Isaiah Salt, paranormal expert and consultant to the Empire. "I hope that satisfies."

The leader takes the documents from Salt and examines them. You know he isn’t doing this for show – every single type- and handwritten word is checked, double-checked and triple checked, before the notes are folded neatly back along their creases and placed for safekeeping inside his jacket pocket.

“You’re a long way out from Lahore, mister Salt,” the Nepalese man says, with far more neutrality than he has done. “My apologies for the hostile welcome, but necessity dictates.” The man raises one mitten-covered hand and gestures in a circular motion in the air. Suddenly, five heavily armed and equally severe-looking men appear from the ridge above you, touting rifles and a light machine gun.

“My name is sergeant Rajendra Gurung, of the 6th Ghurkha rifles. Forgive us, but these mountains are not safe. Please, you and your escort will need to come with us.” He motions for Salt and his companions to follow him.

[cdwjava]

Steele looks at the others and then slowly puts his hands down as he breathes a sigh of relief to the sudden change of the situation.

He glances at the descending overwatch troops and exhales, shaking his head, glad that he did not consider drawing down on anyone in those first, tense moments.

[mcellis]

Looking directly at the Sergeant, again with his dead eyes. Ghurkas, that explained much of their hostility, and why they were such a cut above the average dacoits.

"I don't suppose we could have your Bona Fides, Sergeant Gurung? And where do you intend to take us, and who do you report to?"

[Hack Writer]

Grant: "I don't suppose we could have your Bona Fides, Sergeant Gurung? And where do you intend to take us, and who do you report to?"

“Proof?!” the supposed ‘sergeant Gurung’ exclaims incredulously, the warmth in his eyes disappearing as fast as a candle’s flame in a gale. “You look for proof, soulless man? Here, this is your proof- ” he withdraws a graceless-seeming machete-like combat knife, its blade bent midway up at a strange forty five degree angle; the motion’s blindingly quick, and it leaves its oiled scabbard noiselessly “ - and here,” he gestures to the men arrayed on the ridge behind him. “We can riddle you with our bullets, too, and let you see where they came from. Mister Salt, sir, your man speaks out of turn!”

@mcellis: you can take a Notice roll to figure whether he seems to be the real deal, if you like.

[cdwjava]

'Perhaps I was relieved too soon?' Steele thinks to himself as he eyes the men about him.

He scrutinizes the men to see if they present the bearing he might know to be typical of military men, particular the Gurkha Rifles.

[Gull]

"These are trying times, Sergeant Gurung, trying times for all of us. Please forgive any insult, as I assure you that none was intended." Putting his hands down, Salt took a B&H from a packet extracted from a pocket of his parka, lit one with some difficulty and offered the packet to the sergeant. "Let us make haste to your command, Sergeant, and be thankful that we have such a great number of armed escorts," said Salt, looking to his companions. His meaning was clear: even if by some chance the Gurkhas were not who they said they were, the options presented to the marooned aviators were terribly slim.
"And it's Dr. Salt, if you don't mind."

[mcellis]

"I meant no offense Sergeant. But almost every man in Nepal carries a khukuri, though I haven't seen one drawn like that except by Ghurkha Chindits back in Burma. That's proof enough for me, I apologize for questioning you."

Grant averts his eyes once more and with a palm open hand gesture he signals to Gurung.

"Please forgive my impertinence, and please lead the way."

[Hack Writer]

Grant and Ulysses both failed their Notice checks to discern whether Gurung is who he says he is. You'll have to hope he's telling the truth...


Grant: "I meant no offense Sergeant. But almost every man in Nepal carries a khukuri, though I haven't seen one drawn like that except by Ghurkha Chindits back in Burma. That's proof enough for me, I apologize for questioning you."

Grant averts his eyes once more and with a palm open hand gesture he signals to Gurung.

"Please forgive my impertinence, and please lead the way."

Gurung nods, seemingly placated, and proceeds to pull off one of his mittens with his teeth. His bare hand exposed, he cuts the ball of his thumb with the edge of his knife, before sheathing the weapon back in its scabbard.

“Come on. You have a climb ahead of you.”

~~~~

You march into the darkness in silence and in single file. At last, after about forty minutes of climbing – far longer, you feel, than it must have taken the Ghurkhas to reach you – you come to a rocky escarpment overlooking a shallow valley. Sergeant Gurung motions for you to wait as a runner goes on ahead. A minute later, some unspoken and unseen signal from somewhere in front of you sets the eight-man section of heavily armed soldiers marching again.

It takes a few more minutes of arduous climbing beneath the pale light of the moon before you reach what your instincts tell you might just be your jumping off point, though it’s difficult to tell at first glance. A well-packed drift of snow sits piled beneath a steep overhang of rock, and behind it you can just discern the outline of a cave mouth barred by a wooden gate. Gurung and his companions proceed on without ceremony, slipping behind the mound of snow and into cave.

https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/imagesq=tbn:ANd9GcS4kqcFa3wFZJPpdkNh4gPEHYEbC1cmIG 5bKRjvT0Z0Dewc3ST

Inside, the first thing you notice is the smell: two parts stable yard meets one part leather tannery, with a sprinkling of rifle oil and stewed tea thrown in for good measure. The cave’s walls and ceiling are Himalayan rock, though there’s barely an inch that isn’t occupied by a weapon rack, bunk, trunk, lamp bracket or crate…Oh, and radio equipment – lots of it. The entire left side of the room is a haphazard collection of jerry can-sized matte black field radios and strange interconnected monitors, the likes of which only a specialist of military field communication could identify. Several Nepalese men sit hunched on the floor with headsets over their ears, fiddling with dials and flicking switches. You hear the angry hiss of static, and the blind warble of white noise. Some of the Ghurkhas greet your arrival with clear interest in their large brown eyes, though they’re quick to return to their duties.

Sergeant Gurung speaks in Nepalese to one of the radio operators. A brief exchange plays out, during which the seated man directs Gurung and your group to a tarpaulin curtain at the rear of the cave.

“Doctor Salt, you will need to speak to the Lieutenant,” Gurung says, motioning for you all to follow him. “He will be most interested in hearing from you.”

Gurung leads you to the curtained off section of the cave and, motioning for you to wait just outside, pulls back the canvas, steps across the threshold, and springs immediately to attention – shoulders thrust back, heels together, right arm at a sharp ninety-degree angle. He throws a stiff salute into the room and barks, “Sah, Sergeant Rajendra Gurung reporting. Sah!”

“At ease, Sergeant. Report.” A tired voice in clipped Oxbridge English replies back.

“Sah-” Garund assumes a more informal but no less rigid pose “- my men and I have completed reconnaissance of the area. No signs of enemy activity in the immediate vicinity.”

“Very good. Are the arrays still in place?”

“Sah, they are. Sah.” Gurung replies with the rapid staccato of a machine gun volley. Then he fidgets, uneasily.

“You’ve something else to tell me, Sergeant?”

“Sah, there was a plane, struck by lightning; it went down over in the next valley.”

“Another one? Dash it all, but those air pirates really don’t know when to stop, do they?”

“It wasn’t air pirates, Sah; it was a civilian plane – a passenger craft.”

“Then we’ll toast their souls and wish them speedy ascent to the hereafter.” The reply is dry, jaded.

“They survived, Sah.”

“Did they now?” The disenchantment in the voice is replaced by a sudden pique of interest. “And what became of them after that?”

“We uh… brought them back, Sah.” Sergeant Gurung shifts his eyes to the ground, awkwardly. “It was that or allow them to perish in the cold. I had a mind to shoot them all, but the enemy are bound to come across the wreck of the plane soon, and we can’t have bullet casings lying around for them to find. Besides, one of the civilians was carrying official orders: Royal Marine designate, some kind of secondment. They’re signed by a Lieutenant Colonel James Soames.” Gurung unfolds the paperwork Salt has given him and steps out of eye shot for a moment, before retreating back to the threshold of the cave. There’s silence for a while, then the recipient speaks up. “Send them in, Sergeant.”

“Very good, Sah!” Gurung says sharply, throwing a brisk salute in his superior’s direction. He turns to the rest of you and motions you forward. “The Lieutenant would like to see you now.”

Inside, more communications equipment sits jammed up against three of the low chamber’s four walls. A small makeshift desk consisting of a pair of stacked ammunition crates and a chequered blanket adds a charade of civility to the proceedings. You see dozens of maps of the surrounding wilderness, some with large, bold red stipple-dot lines and perilous exclamation marks and X’s, spread-eagled on the table and carpeting the floor. The room smells of stale air and staler tea.

“My sincerest commiserations on not dying, gentlemen. My name is Lieutenant Randolph Mooreland-Lee, of the 6th Ghurkha Rifles.” the speaker is seated cross-legged upon the ground, decked in the same drab brown cold weather jacket as the rest of the men. His face is gaunt and swathed in a dirty brown beard, but his eyes are young and a clean bright blue. “Welcome to the British empire,” he says with a smile.

make your introductions and say what you want to say; consider this your chance to lay out whatever cards on the table you like. You can pretty much do/say anything you want.

EDIT: image didn't upload and the font choice for the dialogue looks bloody rubbish. Expect an edit from me, just to save everybody's sanity in looking at that mess :smallyuk:

[cdwjava]

Steele absently rubs his arms through a thick flight jacket trying to fend off the cold.

Having no great love for the British Empire or trust for her men in uniform, he opts to remain silent for the moment. 'It was men like these in Dhampur,' he recalls with bitterness.

He glances about the room and prays that this Lieutenant Mooreland-Lee has no knowledge of the minor infractions he has committed over the past couple of years.

[mcellis]

"Nice to meet you Lieutenant."

Grant offers him a blank stare, an empty smile, and an open hand to shake.

[Hack Writer]

I've changed the font for the Lieutenant's speech, just to let you know. Also, I'll post those Notice checks in a while, right after I get some work done.

Remaining seated on the floor, Lieutenant Moorefield-Lee takes Grant’s extended hand in his own. “Oh, my, what cold hands you have,” he says, surprised. “Don’t worry, I think I’ve got just the tonic for that!”

Uncrossing his legs and standing, the Lieutenant makes his way to a small portable stove in one corner of the room. “Do any of you like tea?” he enquires, stirring the steaming contents of an upturned steel helmet with a small spoon. Almost as an afterthought, he says to Gurung, “Oh, that’ll be all, Sergeant,” before turning his attention back to the stove.

Gurung clips his heels together and salutes. “Very good, Sah!” he turns on the spot and marches out, leaving your party alone with the Lieutenant.

“So you got lumbered with the god awful task of bringing those 13th Commando rotters to the Crown’s justice, did you? Even all the way out here, we’ve heard the stories; pillaging and raping their way through India, sacking villages, killing priests. Last I heard they’d fallen into bed with some American chap – an occultist, if I remember right; seems not a day goes by without some madman in a silly hat declaring himself ‘High Priest’ of this or that. Flog ‘em and hang ‘em all, I say. Flog ‘em, hang ‘em, and then flog ‘em some more. It’s the only way they’ll learn. It’s all pish and toss of course – this Serpent-worship business. Just because the world’s gone mad, it doesn’t give a man an excuse to lose his head. Now, who’d like amphetamines in their tea?”

[Gull]

Salt stopped himself. While he did enjoy the sharpness that amphetamines brought him, he thought it prudent to abstain. "Just sugar, please." Salt settled to the floor in front of the Lieutenant. "You're very well informed, Lieutenant Mooreford-Lee. My name is Dr. Isaiah Salt, lately of 13 Commando." Salt shifted. Sitting on the floor, of all things. "I assure you that 13 Commando remains loyal to the Crown. The mutineers, who I believe now go by the colourful nom de guerre of '666 Commando,' were brought under the exceptional sway of the American you spoke of."
Salt fished around in his backpack, drew out one of Adrian's books and laid it on the Lieutenant's desk. It was a paperback copy of his first book, Archetypes of Immortality.
"Dr. Adrian Casanova was my colleague at McGill University and then later in Lahore, seconded to 13 Commando as a paranormal consultant. Like so many, his mind broke after the Serpentfall and he absconded with a splinter of mutineer Marines in order to fulfill some arcane archetype that he believed he embodied. I was dispatched to track him down, due to our shared history and my expertise with his work.
Salt accepted his tea and stirred the exceptional amount of sugar into it.
"This tea is lovely, thank you."

[mcellis]

"Just milk or cream for me at the moment, if you have it. Thanks."

Grant takes the proffered cup, and drains it down. After nearly four years of drinking Yak Butter Tea, it tastes weak and is hardly filling at all. But it is hot and that at least is a small comfort after the cold trek through the mountains.

[Hack Writer]

"So nobody takes amphetamine? Oh, well, more for me.” he proceeds to crush up two small pills into a fine white powder, before sprinkling them, one at a time, into his drink. “One for me and one for King Harry,” he says, before handing you each a dirty cup of steaming tea and sitting back down, taking up the book Isaiah pulled out.

“So those buggers are calling themselves the 666th now, are they? Power by association, I suppose – Mark of the Beast and all that rot. Powerful symbolism, if you believe in that sort of thing. Myself, I don’t think there’s much that can’t be overcome with a stiff whiskey and a stiffer sock to the jaw. Take you Yanks when the Serpent popped its head above the pond: whack – right in the eyeball with an atomic bomb! That’s how mankind deals with the paranormal.” He takes a deep sip of his tea before continuing. “I can't say that we've run into this Casanova blighter or any of his band up here. We're a bit...isolated, you see; we don't really get a lot of visitors. You're the first, really. I should tell you that you’re lucky Gurung and his men found you when they did; these mountains aren’t the best place for a hike at the moment, what with the storm and…and everything. Speaking which, what are your thoughts on the storm? Did it seem – I don’t know – particularly ‘off’ to any of you?” The lieutenant seems apprehensive, despite his confidence in rationality. It’s almost as if he’s hoping you’ll tell him what he wants to hear…

I'll stop updating the game tonight because I think I've written more than enough; some of you have'n't been able to reach your computers today, so it'll be unfair to let the game race ahead. Take this conversation in whatever direction you want it to go; ask, prod, provoke, inquire, investigate or interrogate as much as you want. I'll update tomorrow.

[cdwjava]

"As I have already told the good sergeant here, it seemed ... unusual. It grew and moved in a manner I have never seen - and I have been flying the routes over these peaks for a few years now."

13 Commando ... Steele wonders if they might have been the unit that rolled through his home and took ... his moon.

"Lieutenant, these fellows formerly of 13 Commando," nodding to Salt, he adds, "Late of the so-called 666 Commando, where in India did they ravage?"

He nods his head and accepts a cup of tea. Dirty cup or not, it's better than some of the 'amenities' he endured in southeast Asia when fighting the Japs.

[ThirtyThr33]

Deciding to test whether he were a prisoner or truely a guest, Mick goes to load his rifle and walk back out the way they were shown in. He didn't appreciate being led along at gunpoint, and a cup of tea wouldn't make it all better.

I wonder if they would object to having a dog in the house.

I know it's not really a house.

[mcellis]

"This Cassanova, did you find any trace of him in Kathmandu? Did his trail lead back to Lahore, or were you simply going back there to regroup Dr. Salt?"

This man Cassanova if he was going to Lahore, perhaps he was Romanovich's mysterious buyer? If so then keeping the sacred scrolls out of the hands of such a madman was imperative. Who knew what new terrors he might unleash on this already blasted and battered world were he to decipher them?

But that is a problem for the future, he had to concentrated on the moment at hand. Something had these men spooked, and Ghurkha Rifles were not the types to scare easily. Grant fixes his eyes back on Mooreland-Lee.

"And Lieutenant, is there a reason you think the storms have been acting so strangely? Is there something causing it? Perhaps something… paranormal?"

[Hack Writer]

Ulysses: "Lieutenant, these fellows formerly of 13 Commando," nodding to Salt, he adds, "Late of the so-called 666 Commando, where in India did they ravage?"
@Gull: tell Java whatever you think you want to share with his concerning the 666th, Salt's own knowledge on the subject would surpass Randolph's.

The lieutenant shrugs as he hands the aviator his drink. “Intelligence is on a strictly need to know basis, and…. well, you know how the saying goes. Their desertion certainly caused a stir in High Command, and it was hard for the brass back at Lahore to keep the whole sorry business out of the earshot of the rank and file.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Of course, there were others; not everyone that stuck two fingers up to the Crown did it because they were caught in flagrante with a would-be demagogue with delusions of God knows what. The partition of India saw a lot of regiments disbanded and amalgamated; some of those men would’ve slipped through the cracks – shot off, as it were, with British weapons and British uniforms. There’s a lot of work for a cunning mercenary with the wherewithal to hold his rifle the right way round."


Grant: "And Lieutenant, is there a reason you think the storms have been acting so strangely? Is there something causing it? Perhaps something… paranormal?"

The lieutenant winces a little at Grant’s utterance of that last word. He takes a second sip of his tea. “Not enough amphetamines…” he mutters, before setting the cup down on the floor beside him.

“Paranormal isn’t quite the word I’d use. Unconventional? Certainly. A bloody nuisance? Definitely. But some of the men have got it in their noggins that this storm’s the ‘wrath of Bhairava’ – some sort of alter ego of the Hindu god Shiva. I told them it’s all poppycock; it’s just a bout of bad weather, kicked up when the Serpent fell and royally buggered up the sky. It’s been like this for a few weeks now. Sometimes it lasts for days solid; other times, it’s over in minutes. There have been earthquakes as well, shaking the valley to its roots and usually happening around the same time as the storm starts to gather. Some of the men claim to have seen ‘things’ up in the high plateaus, moving in and out of the storm. They’re convinced it's 'Bhairava', but I’ve told them it’s no such thing.”

Consider this next bit to happen after you ask any further questions of the lieutenant. So ask/answer each other as you want, then post reactions to this next segment:

Mick: Deciding to test whether he were a prisoner or truely a guest, Mick goes to load his rifle and walk back out the way they were shown in. He didn't appreciate being led along at gunpoint, and a cup of tea wouldn't make it all better.

I wonder if they would object to having a dog in the house.

The Lieutenant raises one eyebrow quizzically in Mick’s direction as the big game hunter saunters out of chamber and back into the main cave, Sally fast on her master’s heels. “Ah, no unescorted wandering, I’m afraid,” the officer calls out to Mick. But Mick keeps on strolling, casually loading his rifle as he goes.

Inside the main cave, Gurung and the rest of the men are there, reclining on the thin mattresses of their bunks, or else cleaning their weapons or uselessly hammering on their ineffectual radios. Fourteen pairs of eyes turn in Mick’s direction, caught off guard. Gurung and several of the others rise to attention as Randolph Mooresfield-Lee rounds on Mick and puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s best for every that you don’t go outside, my friend. This isn’t the safest time for us all, what with the storm…and the Russians."

[ThirtyThr33]

“It’s best for every that you don’t go outside, my friend. This isn’t the safest time for us all, what with the storm…and the Russians."

Mick replys "The Russians? What are they doing this side of Tibet? I thought they were focusing their power Westwards, to fight for control over Ophi-tech."

[Hack Writer]

Mick: Mick replys "The Russians? What are they doing this side of Tibet? I thought they were focusing their power Westwards, to fight for control over Ophi-tech."

Sergeant Gurung gives his commanding officer an inquiring look, ready to spring into action.

“Oh, it’s all right, Sergeant. I’ll handle this.” The lieutenant says, waving Gurung away.

Gurung and the Ghurkhas resume their duties and Randolph turns back to Mick. He looks at the game hunter with his amphetamine eyes and tired expression and rubs his scraggly beard ruefully. “It’s the hate that dare not speak its name, my friend - the Great Game; the chess match to surpass all chess matches! We’re all pieces in it, whether we like it or not. Comrade Stalin’s boys are swarming all over the Himalayas, led by their NKVD overseers, digging about, poking around. They’re up to something, though I haven’t the foggiest idea of what. My men and I were ordered to establish a listening post and keep an eye on the Bolsheviks until they show their hand. Now, with that damnable storm cutting our communications and blocking the passes out of the valley, we’re trapped here – wedged up Stalin’s backside without a chance of getting out.”

[cdwjava]

Steele accepts the tea with a muttered, "Thank you."

He watches - and listens - to the interplay, not precisely sure of how to read the situation, and not entirely trusting of anyone who claims allegiance to the crown outside the borders of what is ostensibly under His Majesty's rule and conveniently out of communications.

'I've heard such a tale before,' he thinks.

[mcellis]

"So we are all trapped here? Till the storm passes anyway."

Grant looks out at the howling wind and driving snow that swirls through the valley.

"Have the Russians actually been poking around here? Nepal does seem a little far to the east for them to be playing their 'Tournament of Shadows'. I wonder if their activity is more likely linked to this Bhairava business."

[Hack Writer]

Grant: "Have the Russians actually been poking around here? Nepal does seem a little far to the east for them to be playing their 'Tournament of Shadows'. I wonder if their activity is more likely linked to this Bhairava business."

The lieutenant shoots Grant an uncomfortable look at the mention of the supernatural. “The storm. Yes, that’s my best guess as well. Our official orders from the SOE were to infiltrate as special reconnaissance, set up a monitoring post, and wait. We’ve been here for two months now, snooping in on the Reds’ radio traffic as best we can. Everything was going jolly well; we’d learned they’d set up some sort of training and forward ops facility in the mountains – a staging post, we think, for whatever barmy plan Stalin’s got up his crimson sleeve. Then the storm came in about a fortnight ago and now our radios won’t work. It all seems like too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”


Grant: "So we are all trapped here? Till the storm passes anyway."

Grant looks out at the howling wind and driving snow that swirls through the valley.

“Not entirely trapped. Look, see, over here.” the lieutenant walks back into his room, plucks a map from the floor, returns, and unfurls it on the ground for the party to look at. “We’re currently here, about eighty kilometres in to official Tibetan borders; Nepal is here, to the east, and Congress India’s south – about one hundred kilometres as the crow flies. The Reds have us boxed in on three sides: north, east and west; the south’s partly blocked off, but there’s one passage out they haven’t discovered yet.” The lieutenant runs his finger over the map’s surface a short distance, a snaking trail that eventually stops at a narrow pass marked out in a thick pencil line. “The Kaphong Pass. Travel south-southwest for about ten kilometres and you’ll get to the start. It’s a tricky old yomp, I won’t lie, but it’s far enough under the noses of the Russians that they’ll never find you if you reach it. It’s our last option out if things turn ugly and the Reds catch wind of what we’re doing here. I can have some of my men guide you there tomorrow night.”

If you'd like to take the lieutenant up on his offer and feel done with this scene, go ahead and post your intentions. If you'd like to ask anything else, just ask it. Oh, and don't feel like you must accept the offer if you don't want to.

@Gull: Ulysses directed some questions at Salt regarding the 666th and their activities in India; I, too, would like to know what they've been up to, so reply to those when you've got the chance.

I'll move this scene on once I've received an in-game post from everyone, just so that I know people are up to speed.

[cdwjava]

Steele sips absently at his tea, and takes in the conversation and the scene. He silently wonders about the strange cloud and its origins, about his lost plane and how he might replace it, and just who these men of 13 Commando might be, and how they might play into all of this ... and whether they are the men he has been looking for.

[mcellis]

"That's most generous of you Lieutenant, I don't suppose we could impose on you further for some bunk space? If we've got that long a hike tomorrow, complete with Russians to dodge, I for one would certainly appreciate some rack time. It's been a bit of a trying day."

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick turns to his friends. "So what, we walk for four days in a magical snowstorm across treacherous mountain passes to get back to India, hire another plane and try to fly through the same storm that just took us down? I don't know how I'm the only one who can see more than a couple of problems with that plan. Granted, the alternatives aren't much better but we could at least try to wait out the storm. If that is impossible because of it's supernatural origin, then all the more reason to stay and gather reconnaissance before we leave. I say we bide our time and learn what we can of what is happening here before we decide whether to report home with what we know or if it turns out time is of the essence... we can attempt to intervene."

[cdwjava]

"Ten kilometers? In this?" Steele smirks, finishing off his tea. "I'm not sure that any of us are properly equipped for this weather, and this altitude.

"Have you spent much time up this high? Hell, that ten kilometers might feel like a hundred when you are gasping for breath while tromping through snow and ice."

Turning to the others. "I'd say that unless we get some help with gear and proper clothing, we have little choice but to remain here with our hosts for a time."

[Hack Writer]

Staying with the Ghurkhas is a perfectly feasible choice, if you’d prefer to follow that tact.

“If you want to help out with a spot of reconnaissance, you can tag along with one of the patrols tomorrow. We try to only go out at night and during the storm, when there’s less chance of the Reds catching us. We’ve got spare cold weather clothes for you all, but guns and ammunition’s too low to just parcel out. Now, if you look at the map again…”

The lieutenant commences outlining the general topography of the region, detailing the OP’s standard patrol routes, entrance and exit points, and locations of known Soviet movement.

“The Reds seem to be focusing their activity in these three areas here,” the lieutenant says, circling three small regions of the map with his index finger. “Our orders were simply to watch – not to engage; if the Reds know we’re here, they’ll hunt us down in short time. Now it just so happens that the parts of the mountains worst affected by the storm also happen to be the same places where my men have found the greatest amount of Soviet activity. Like I said, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. If you’re insistent on staying, I’ll give the men notice that you’re going to tag along with them. Any other questions?”

If you want to hike out with some of the Ghurkas on their patrol tomorrow night, they’ll provide you with the clothing necessary to endure the cold weather; Isaiah’s fine as it is, because he’s got a parka (which I’ll treat as sufficient for the job). You won’t be able to get any additional ammo or weapons however – it’s rationed to the Ghurkhas.

Gull still needs to chime in with Isaiah’s thoughts.

[cdwjava]

Steele looks over the map trying to discern for himself any likely routes to familiar places or airfields he might know - places they might be able to make if they have sufficient clothing and food for the trek.

He remains noncommittal to any patrol until his comrades have weighed in on their preferences.

[Hack Writer]

Because nobody said anything to the contrary, I've gone with Mick's suggestion that he'd rather help the stranded Ghurkhas and go on one of their night patrols. And so...

You wait out the proceeding day in the stuffy confines of the cave, whiling away the time with the fourteen members of the 6th Rifles. The Ghurkhas’ initial suspicion at your arrival is soon replaced with warmth, and you discover them to be a welcoming, unassuming and courteous breed of men, albeit with a streak of steely determination and a formidable adherence to duty. They don’t talk much about their mission here, other than to direct any questions you have to the lieutenant; but they invite you to join in with their games of cards and make polite enquiries as to your own backgrounds in an amiable attempt to strike up conversation. Randolph Moreland-Lee keeps his head buried in the copious piles of maps, notes and operation manuals, conferring with the stony-faced Sergeant Gurung as they plot the patrol’s coming midnight reconnaissance mission, weighing up dangers and drawing up contingencies. The storm arrives shortly after daybreak, howling through the sky outside and sending occasional drafts of chilly Himalayan air into the cave. The Ghurkhas’ attitude turns subdued, and they look at one another uncertainly.

Come late evening, the patrol’s ready to set out. The lieutenant furbishes you all with thick overcoats drawn from the camp’s meagre supplies.

“Sorry it couldn’t be more, chaps, but we’re pretty much all out for a duck as it is,” the lieutenant says, referring to their meagre supplies. “Sergeant Gurung and I have sketched out a patrol route for you all to follow, it should take you east to where we last spotted the Reds. Don’t worry, you won’t be going out alone; you’ll be tagging along with four of my men – good sorts, dependable. They know the land and what to expect out there. Watchword here is discretion – no swashbuckling or heroics. That’s it.” He affords you a firm handshake each, before leaving you in the care of four heavily swathed and even more heavily armed Ghurkha soldiers.

“Happy hunting, my friends,” the lieutenant says with a smile as you’re ushered out into the howling storm-wracked night.

Mick, Ulysses and Grant each receive suitable cold weather gear; I’ll be generous to Sally and say she receives the same bonuses to fatigue checks from the cold as her master. From hereon, all four of you will be controlling a single Ghurkha ally each, following all the standard rules for allies in the Savage World core rules. They have the following stats and can’t have Bennies spent on them:

Attributes: Agility d6, Smarts d4, Spirit d6, Strength d6, Vigor d6
Skills: Fighting d6, Guts d6, Notice d6, Shooting d6, Survival d8, Stealth d8
Charisma: 0 Pace: 6 Parry: 5 Toughness: 5
Edges: Soldier, Trademark Weapon: Kukri
Hindrances: Vow
Gear: Lee Enfield, x3 clips, Kukri, cold weather gear

If you can, give your Ghurkha a name, something fittingly Nepalese; a quick spot of Google-fu should help you find the right type of name. You’ll be controlling their actions and deciding what to do with them, but they’re allies, so they’re kind of squishy compared to player characters. Don’t get too attached to them if something goes wrong and you run into trouble.

The four Ghurkha soldiers trudge through the murky night in silence and with stealth, keeping low, ensuring their bodies are never silhouetted against the sky. The storm overhead does its part to aid their advance, and you soon fall in step alongside them.

Icy fangs of brisk mountain air bite into the bare skin of your faces and chill your lungs. Overhead, the broiling storm clouds gather in a pattern similar to the one that ensnared Ulysses’ aeroplane the day before. Minds inclined to whimsy might’ve likened the squirming, writhing nature of those clouds to a nest of slithering snakes, and those occasional whip-cracks of cobalt blue lightning to forked serpentine tongues…

Twenty minutes into your patrol, the party stops. The heavily snow-choked ridgeline you were following descends in a narrow slope to a wide gully twenty yards or so wide. Below you, imprinted in the snow, several partially concealed tracks wend their way from south to north, ascending the rugged surface of the mountain, disappearing into the glowering heights above you.

Right, you’re all up!

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick takes his time to closely inspect the tracks before moving on. He asks the Nepalese men accompanying them "Do you know of any wild animals or people other than Russians in the region? Prem?"

Named my Ally Prem. Do we control their speech/character or just their combat actions?

Knowledge (exotic animals) to see if these are human or animal prints
[roll0][roll1]

And Tracking, to see if Mick can follow them
[roll2][roll3] +4 is from 'recent snow' tracking modifier

[Gull]

Salt was beginning to question whether or not going on patrol with the frighteningly capable Ghurkas was a terribly sound idea, but his curiosity about the potentially supernatural origins of the storm weather was too much to overcome. As such, he found himself in the company of the long-suffering Rifleman Kaptane Sarki, striding manfully through the snow and taking in the bracing environment.
He though briefly back to the night before, unsure whether or not he had said too much about his mission. When Mr. Steele had asked where Casanova's men had been enacting their rampage, he had been forced to reply with a terse "I'm afraid that's confidential." It wasn't until the last minute that he had recalled that Soames would have his hide if he let it slip that 666 Commando was behind the massacres in Congress India, something that would be an exceptional black eye for the Empire.
"Tracks?" asked Salt as he leaned down to look at the marks in the snow. Salt was oblivious to Rifleman Sarki rolling his eyes theatrically behind him, as if to say of course they are tracks, you dumb white man.

[Hack Writer]

@ThirtyThr33: I've opted not to use any formatting for the text speech for Prem, deciding it's better if the players decide how they want the dialogue to work.

No animals,” the Ghurkha named Prem says, shrugging. “There have been no animals at all in this part of the mountains since the storm came. It is an empty place now. Only Soviets.” The rest of the patrol nod their heads in agreement, clutching their weapons a little tighter as you muse over your latest discovery.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Hmm. These tracks were left by men. At least eight, but it's difficult to tell since they walked in single file. Can't be more than six hours old or this weather would have already covered them and they were carrying heavy equipment with them... Seems like an awful lot of men and gear for a simple patrol or reconnaissance. Makes me wonder if the Russians are setting up camp nearby for something. Probably best to travel quietly and keep an eye out from here on."

Notice and Stealth for whatever we might come up to ahead. No modifiers added yet.

Notice
[roll0][roll1]

Stealth
[roll2][roll3]

Edit: Crud.

[Hack Writer]

The tracks are fresh and easy for Mick to follow, and he ranges a step or two ahead of the main party escorted by the Ghurkha, Prem. The higher your rise in the face of those malignly frowning peaks the fiercer the winds become, and a touch of evil mystery starts to tinge your surroundings, casting your minds along dark avenues of speculation as you ponder the horrors that might await at the culmination of your arduous climb. Is the storm truly supernatural; the evocation of an angry god as the Hindus claimed it to be? Or might it simply be, as the insistently rationalist British lieutenant surmised in his idle amphetamine-induced ramble, the culmination of some diabolical soviet endeavour enacted in secret and intended to imperil all freedom-loving mankind? You muse over the possibilities in private, keeping your attention fixed firmly on the footprints in the snow.

I’m going to need Tracking checks from everyone – including your allies. If you don’t have Tracking (and I think only Mick has it), you’re rolling d4 with a –2 modifier attached; you receive a +4 bonus due to the thick snow, but are at a –2 penalty because of the storm and the general lack of light. So, to summarise, here’re the modifiers:
Mick: Tracking +2
Everyone else: a flat d4
I'm looking for five passes; each raise counts as an additional pass. Remember to roll for your allies as well. I’ll update as soon as I get the five passes or when everybody has rolled, whichever comes first.

[Gull]

Salt lit a cigarette and kept it pinched between his teeth as he flipped up the enormous hood of his parka, the cigarette's cherry winking cheerfully from within its depths.
"Incidentally, I told you about the Russians," he said.

[cdwjava]

Steele says little as he trudges along, keeping a wary eye on the weather about them. If it could knock them from the sky, imagine what it could do mere mortals walking in a carpet of snow and ice surrounded by many more tons hovering on ledges and stones above them?

'How I would much prefer to be circling above this and gazing down about the poor fools in the snow,' he thinks.

He looks to the gurkha accompanying him, Gopal Sahi, and hopes that the man is not the overly-talkative sort.

Steele checks the action in both his weapons, not wanting the weapons to freeze up, and keeps them wrapped as he can.

[Hack Writer]

Total tracking scores came in as a 4 - just below what you needed to successfully follow the tail without incident. Because the failure wasn't drastic, I've decided that the failure caused the party to lose a bit of time, rather than rob you all of the opportunity to find out where the tracks lead to. This has implications for the following scene, as will be revealed...

What started off as a set of well-defined tracks rapidly becomes a half-hour exercise in frustration, as the party lose their bearings in the featureless terrain and are forced to retrace their steps.

Eventually, through the keen-eyed observational skills of Grant Foster and the intuitive tracking abilities of the big game hunter, the patrol stumble back on the trail, and follow it up to a wide windswept plateau, broken only by the occasional sharp outcropping of rock. In the darkness, you see two large mounds, like ancient cairns, dusted in a light sprinkling of freshly fallen snow. A more cautious inspection reveals them to be tents, half-concealed by the darkness. You see no firelight or sign of movement. The thunder of the storm drowns out all sound.

The tents are about fifteen yards away, nestled against some rocks, to provide them with a bit of a wind break. The rest of the plateau is featureless, though there's just enough cover to gain a +1 bonus to sneak. If you're sneaking, I'll roll in secret and post results. Just declare you're doing it.

[mcellis]

Looking out from the cover of the rocks at the tents in a unhurried once over, then giving a nod to Rifleman Bishnu Gurung's smiling face, and leaving the cheerful little Ghurkha to keep an eye on the tents. Grant creeps back through the snow to his companions.

"Well I guess we found them. After all who else could they be? Now, what exactly is the plan?"

I'd like to make a Notice roll to see if there is anything more going on, I'll put it over on the Dice Rolling thread. I'll also be sneaking if I need to, but I don't plan on getting any closer at the moment.

[cdwjava]

"Must be something about the storm that has their attention," Steele says. "Remember, they seem to be paying attention to those areas where the storm is worst."

Unlimbering his rifle and checking the action, he continues. "We were to watch and report, I think. But, if that storm is going to fall on our heads, we're going to be in a bad way here in the open."

[ThirtyThr33]

"Well, I'm not going back without a little more information than the location of a tent. We could even take them captive; in this weather they would likely be presumed to have simply perished in the storms."

Mick crouches low and slowly makes his way around the perimeter of the camp site, rifle in hand.

Mick uses Stealth.

[Hack Writer]

With an expression on his face that says he won’t be argued with, the intractable Aussie crouches down on his haunches, gestures for Sally to follow, and pads lightly across the plateau. The rest of you hunker down and hold your breath, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

Mick and Sally's silently stalking silhouettes become increasingly imperceptible to you as the falling snow, the darkness, and the hunter’s own wily survivalist skills work to conceal them both from your sight. But they reach the camp without a shot being fired or a sound being made. You wait, ready to spring into action, as the big game hunter edges his way across the last few feet of open ground.

I've assumed that Mick has left his ally with the rest of the party and gone the distance with just Sally; I'll PM ThirtyThr33 with what happens when he reaches the camp. The rest of you, react as you think best, either shadowing Mick's advance or staying put.

[Gull]

Salt stayed put under the watchful rolling eyes of Rifleman Sarki. What he knew about sneaking about in the snow and cold would barely fill a matchbook.

[mcellis]

"So, that's the plan." Grant says as he watches Mick stealthily approach the tents.


"Of course, one wonders if perhaps the Russians are doing something to make the storms worse, rather than just seeking the worst parts."

Looking up at the ominous storm clouds roiling in serpentine coils and shot through with unnatural lightning.

"If that's the case, he's probably going to need a different sort of back up. Cover us."

And with a silent hand signal for Gurung to follow him Grant slips out onto the snow swept plateau after the impetuous big game hunter, with the smiling Ghurkha close on his heels.

Gurung and I will sneak after Mick.

[Hack Writer]

I've made this IC as opposed to PM'ing the details to mcellis; I sent the same info the ThirtyThr33 privately, but it'll just slow the game down if we're waiting for just a couple of people to act before the rest of the party makes another move.

Grant draws up alongside Mick, the Gurkha, Gurung, a short distance behind. Arrayed before the trio, a pair of sturdy four-man tents sit facing one another. The tents are torn and tattered; half-collapsed, as if bustled into at great speed. There are no signs of life anywhere in the camp - only scattered camping gear and heavily churned snow.

[cdwjava]

Steele mutters, "I don't like it," and he waves his gurkha companion along side as he takes his rifle out and braces it along a bank to observe the Russian encampment and cover Mick's infiltration.

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick waves the others forward, and walks back to meet them half way. Mick pushes down the uneasy feeling in his gut; he had a job to do and if he cracked it wouldn't just be his lift at stake.

"Whoever was here isn't any more. Looks like they left in a hurry too; see the multiple sets of scattered boot prints that zigzag this way and that? The tents’ curtains are ripped in places, and equipment is scattered all over the place. Maybe a struggle, but I haven't seen any bodies or blood. Spread out and see what we can find, but be quick about it; there's no telling if they are coming back."

Then specifically to his companions he says "And something doesn't feel right. Could be magic thick in the air. I don't suppose either of you have mastered divinations or counterspells?"

Mick spreads out with the others to make a more thorough search; in particular looking for anything that could give clues to a type of struggle like bullet casings.

Notice
[roll0][roll1]

[cdwjava]

"Gone?" Steele mutters aloud as he stands, keeping his rifle at the ready and moves forward at Mick's urging.

He moves ahead, cautiously, shuddering briefly at the thought of magic and spells in the air and wonders what his father the pastor might have to say about this new world where the Devil's machinations are in full view.

He cautiously pokes through items cast about the camp, wondering what might suddenly leap out from the mountains about them.

[Gull]

"Hmm," said Salt. "While I admit to certain abilities, divination is outside my particular wheelhouse." He looked around the trampled camp. "I don't suppose here is any clue as to what scared them off?"

[cdwjava]

"I'd like to get above all of this and see the layout. Does anyone see where they could have gone?" Steele asks as he scans the surrounding slopes for passes, caves, or crevices.

"They ... couldn't have just vanished ... could they?" he asks, timidly, glancing at Salt.

[mcellis]

"Vanished? Well, with Shesha's corpse festering upon the earth, I suppose anything is possible."

Looking down at the tracks, Grant crouches next to one of the torn tents flapping open and empty, exposed to the elements.

"But it is far more likely they were taken somewhere else, by something else."

Grant stands and scans with dead, grey eyes the mountain's craggy ridge line, and the still ominous storm clouds roiling in the sky.

"I'm not sure climbing any higher would be a good idea at the moment Ulysses. And no Mick, I have no conjured wards to shield us from evil, nor any power to gaze into entrails or fire cracked bones to divine our fate. My abilities are the unlocked potential of the human mind."

[Hack Writer]

You pick your way through the deserted camp, wary for any signs of that might illuminate the mystery of its inhabitants’ strange disappearance. The glowering mountains above you maintain their silent vigil; impassive stone sentinels that glower and shudder menacingly behind the veil of falling snow. It doesn’t take long to discover clues.

Mick notices it first, nosing his way through one of the tents; a pile of clothes – heavy cold weather overcoat, gloves, and military boots, all crumbled one atop the other in a disordered pile. Moments later, Grant and Ulysses make similar finds: military gear, the same as before, all piled up in a dishevelled mounds, barely five yards away from the main camp. That somebody would willingly divest themselves of all their gear and defy the elements entirely naked strikes you all as an absurd concept… But there it is. Mick’s investigation of the camp turns out a second, equally intriguing find: a pocket book, stowed away in one of the tents he was investigating. Mick thumbs through the pages, finding copious handwritten notes - in Cyrillic. Russian notes ...

Again, thanks for being patient. You’ve found five mounds of clothing, with each mound consisting of the following items:
- Cold weather survival clothing
- 5 AK 47’s plus 2 clips each
- 8 grenades
Because I don’t want to bother listing every little item possibly found in the camp, I’ll let you declare an item you want to find, justify its existence, and make a Notice roll to see if it’s present in the camp. Emphasis here in on justify. Just like the small print terms and conditions in competitions, if I don’t think it fits, I won’t allow it – or get into discussions about it.

The book: can anybody speak Russian? You’ll need to assign one of your language slots to it if you want to read the contents of the book. It's quite an interesting little read – I promise!

[cdwjava]

Ulysses, not being one to pass on a gift in such harsh conditions, mutters a prayer for the missing even as he scavenges through the appropriate cold weather clothing to augment his somewhat meager apparel, and the tatters he was loaned.

"Anyone else like a grenade?" he asks, holding up two and then stuffing them in pockets.

Swapping out what gear he can for better cold weather garb, Ulysses comments further.

"What could have prompted them to all wander off like this? Were they captured in their sleep and scattered in long Johns? It doesn't make sense." He looks at Salt, "Could it be mind control? Something ... occult?"

Ulysses feels a shiver from the cold ... or so he surmises.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Makes you wonder. What was so terrifying that they would prefer to brave the storm, naked at night rather than fight to the death? With any luck this little book with a journal..." Mick flips through the book, trying to recall the Russian he learnt in his youth.

Answering Uly; "I've enough explosives of my own. But I could use some of the ammuntion lying around."

Since you promise a nice read, we'll say that Mick knows Russian :smallsmile:

[Hack Writer]

@ThirtyThr33: remember to add Russian to your list of languages; of all the languages you could've spent a slot on, Russian's definitely the more useful. Because it's Mick that's speaking, I've edited the text in your dialogue colour.

Mick reads the contents of the book aloud as the rest of the party gather round to listen. The details make for chilling reading, even up here on the frozen mountain…

"First page entry, undated: In accordance with the wishes of my august superiors, I, sergeant Vasili Sokolov, have been chosen to lead expedition ZHU-1-8-11 in pursuit of knowledge intended to further the working man’s struggle against the decedent western powers. What this knowledge may be, I cannot postulate – nor, indeed, do I wish to. It is sufficient salve to my conscience to know that the great father Nasren has personally ordered the expedition’s deployment – such esteemed acknowledgment of our enterprise is worth the rhetoric of one hundred commissariat officers.

"We have been assigned a mentalist to aid us in our ascent of the mountain, though I do not know why the Narts feel his presence is required in what is ostensibly a military excursion. He is a strange man, distant and aloof for the most part, though occasionally overcome with the most frantic bouts of hyperactive energy that leave me wondering whether he is entirely sane. I suspect not.

"Our team shall leave at first light, and ascend to the base of the mountain where we will make camp. The storm has been particularly fierce of late, so precautions must be taken. Still, I take heart in the fact that Nasren himself has prophesied our glorious success.

"The Narts are never wrong in their predictions.

"Second entry, undated: We have reached the base of the mountain and are preparing to make camp. That damnable Zeitzkenov continues his incessant caterwauling about continuing on to the mountaintop, despite the cursed weather. He claims the summit is the abode of ‘lost Akala’ – a city of ancient promise and mysterious knowledge. Pah, the way he raves on, you would think he was one of those decedent western Orientalist instead of a right-minded worker engaged in the great struggle of social liberation. Just what did those scientists do to him back in the Soviet Science Academy that left him bereft of all rationality? I shall let him depart the camp if he wishes, and he can take the two man-apes with him for protection. Mentalists such as he are prized tools in the proletariat struggle, and Moscow does not forgive failure lightly…

"Third entry, undated: Zeitzkenov has gone at last, and we have finished erecting camp. I shall confess - I am more than a little relieved to be rid of the man. Forget the empty eyes and those strange distorted features; it was his continued maddening babble that aggrieved me the most. The men thought likewise, and I am pleased to record that morale has already experienced a marked improvement. We shall remain here for the night and wait out the storm; come tomorrow, the men and I will ascend the mountain in Zeitzkenov’s stead, following the markers he has promised to leave in the cliff face. Whatever it is that lairs atop that forbidding mountain – whether it is truly the Akala of Zeitzkenov’s deranged rambling or something more prosaic – it shall very soon be in Russian hands."

Mick concludes his reading of the journal.

Right, I'm sure there're questions - and requests for actions to take and rolls to make. Fire away!

[cdwjava]

"Quite flowery for a commie sergeant," Ulysses scoffs. "But, what is this about 'narts?' What the heck is that, anyway? Some sort of cult?"

He shakes his head as he tosses a couple 7.62 mags to Mick.

"Damn Bolsheviks have always confounded me."

[mcellis]

"Narts? They're not a cult. They are the Daityas, a race of giants. Asuras brought to earth by the uncoiling of Shesha.

Of course to the Russians they are the great and giant Soviet man made manifest by superior science, at least that's the line Old Uncle Joe has been spinning. Suffice to say they are big and powerful, they know many ancient secrets, and they're thoroughly on the Russian's side, for now."

Grant rummages through one of the piles of clothes, examining it for signs of a struggle. His thoughts churn with questions, 'Did the Soviets actually leave even their underwear behind? Were their bodies perhaps actually vanished, leaving behind only their clothes?'

This talk of Lost Akala is troubling and Grant searches his mind for any rumors of such a name or place. He also looks for an empty tent without a pile of clothes assuming that it might be the mentalist's, and will rummage around for anything that might be a clue to this Lost Akala or more information on the mentalist's mission.

Grant rejoins the others and starts gathering equipment from the collected gear.

"If this Zeitzkenov left the camp before this happened we should probably go and look for him, perhaps he can give us some answers."

He fastens on a Russian web belt over his clothes, and makes a quick check of the assault rifle. Does it smell as if it has been fired?

"It looks like we'll have to climb higher, up to the top of the mountain after all. Still we should be cautious." On that note Grant slides in a magazine, and racks the action of an AK-47 with a loud 'Ka-chak' to load it for trouble.

I'd like to make an Occult roll for anything on Lost Akala. How many Notice rolls for the other stuff should I make.

As for Gear I'll take one of the AK-47s and at least 2 of the spare mags, though since their ammo isn't as much use to folks with rifles I may take a few more if no one objects. I'll also take two of the grenades.

[cdwjava]

Ulysses pauses in his adjustment of the new winter clothing.

"You want to go looking for this, Zeitzkenov? Some whacked commie psychic?"

With a groan and a shaking of his head, Ulysses collects an AK47 and performs a press check to make sure a round is chambered and the mags are loaded. He offers one of the assault weapons and a pair of mags to his Gurkha, Gopal.

He looks up into the snow straining to see the top of whatever peaks surround them. "Up? Absolutely smashing," he mutters with a feigned British accent.

[Gull]

"A Russian psychic, how fascinating," said Salt. While he would be interested in the traces left behind by the man, he decided to let Mr. Grant do the digging. "While I would enjoy nothing more than spending more time in a cave with Lieutenant Moreland-Lee, I believe that it is our duty, if only to our curiosity, to investigate further." Rifleman Sarki sighed theatrically. It was lost on Salt.
Salt congratulated himself silently on packing for the weather, as well as his suspicions about the Russians. Seeing that everyone else was gathering up the Russian rifles, Salt helped himself to one as well as several magazines, as did Rifleman Sarki.

[cdwjava]

Steele grunts and shakes his head. "I gave up 'duty' some time ago." Bobbing his head at an angle upward, he continues. "I'm no fan on climbing higher, but something about that Limey officer gives me the willies. I'd rather see what's ahead than revisit what's behind."

He smiles at Salt, "Color me curious."

[mcellis]

"Me as well. I've never heard of this Lost Akala, but a hidden city of ancient knowledge high in the mountains sounds similar to the myths of Shambhala. And if this Mentalist or the other Soviets have actually found it, I'm not sure what they might do in the halls of the Pure Land."

[ThirtyThr33]

After Mick finishes his reading he goes silent, rereading the pages over to make sure there were no mistakes.

"The Narts are never wrong in their predictions..." Mick repeats the line. "If they can in fact see the future, we need to be doubly careful we aren't walking into a trap. We may be expected. But I agree; we cannot turn back. Either the Russians have fallen and we need to find out how or they have advanced towards Akala and time is of the essence."

[Gull]

"From what I recollect from...conferences I attended," said Salt, choosing to apply a polite term to the chemically fuelled symposia of decadent mystagogues he found himself attending from time to time in his old life, "Akala refers to a city of sorcerors, far more ancient than our own civilization. If such a place exists, as the Russians' alien allies seem to have convinced them of, then the worst thing that can happen is if that exquisite knowledge fall into their hands." Salt paused to light a cigarette, then started suddenly, a thought entering his mind.

"One a moment. What did the Soviet mean by 'man-apes'?" he asked.

[cdwjava]

"Man apes? Well, either there are fuzzy, naked men running about the hills ... sounds like Bolsheviks to me," Ulysses adds with a grin. "Or ... yeti?"

He glances up into the snow covered rocks above them. "Perhaps the ape men carried the commies off for ... food, or ..." he pauses and grimaces before adding, "Pleasure?"

[Hack Writer]

Resolving to confront the mystery that lairs on top of the mountain, you gather what you can from the deserted camp; Grant finds enough climbing gear to outfit the entire party– a fortuitous discovery, given the task that lies before you. Then, girding your metaphorical loins for whatever is to come, you trek through the driving storm and up a series of low snow covered escarpment, which rise like the steps of a giant staircase into the sky, each one requiring a measure of time and caution to safely traverse. Mick leads the way, his knowledge of tracking giving him an edge in the hunt for the elusive soviet psychic; Salt takes up the rear, his own knowledge of outdoor survival beginning and ending at al fresco dining. Strung out along the path Mick forges for you, your party eventually comes to a towering wall of ice covered rock – and to what looks to be a large oversized tent peg, painted in a fluorescent and easily distinguished orange paint. This, you assume, is Zeitzkenov’s first marker, laid down to guide the rest of his team up the mountains…

What I need from you now is an order of march – who’s taking the front and who’s going to bring up the rear; individual party positions between these two points aren’t that important.

After we’ve established this, everybody (including Sally and the Ghurkhas) should make Tracking rolls with a +2 bonus. Raises don’t matter.

[mcellis]

Grant eager to find out what happens takes a position near the front of the line.

I'll make the tracking rolls for Grant and Rifleman Gurung over on the dice roller thread.

[cdwjava]

Ulysses, not being the confident nor competent mountain guide, falls in behind Grant deciding he might as well watch the back of someone who at least seems to know what he's doing.

[Gull]

Salt dutifully took up position at the end of the line, knowing nothing about tracking or...woodcraft? Perhaps mountaincraft was the correct word? Regardless, he kept close company with Rifleman Sarki.
The ape-men still loomed large in his mind, as well as Steele's implication that they were looking for...intimacy.

[Hack Writer]

I've re-jigged a few things to make sure the game gets back on track; there would've been a couple more bits to this, but I've decided to cut right to the chase. Read on, dear players...

Four hundred yards later, a second brightly painted peg reveals itself to the party’s eyes – protruding from a cairn of piled snow and patiently laid stone, wedged firmly between two rocks. The process repeats itself three more times, each new discovery leading your party a little farther up the mountains – and a little closer to your rendezvous with the mysterious Zeizkenov.

But the storm does its best to repel you back down the mountain, and you feel once again a curious, indefinable sentience dwelling behind the strangely conjured cloud formations above. Howling winds assail you with icy shards of gusting snow that cut into your bare flesh and steal the breath from your lungs. The terrain becomes broken and ever more vertiginous; a crisscrossing series of narrowly cut defiles, treacherous overhangs and crumbling snow packed ridges have you on your hands and knees at times, pausing only to catch your breath, check your gear, and survey your surroundings. Just a little more, you tell yourselves, just a little farther to go…

https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTKbNIVmCZSuM3GqXEUI4fSc3lNh8OW5 56LdBxSLt8ZF8VUMYImRg

two hours of following Zeizkenov’s diligently laid down markers takes your party between the ice-girded flanks of a wide and gently sloping couloir – a horseshoe-shaped fissure deep in the mountain’s heart. Here you find your last marker and a further clue – footprints, preserved from the falling snow by the couloir’s steep crescent walls. Mick notices them, his tracking skills being put to good use once again. He notices too that not all the footprints conform to the proper human aesthetic; heavy, wide and most noticeably bare-footed, the makers were clearly some species of great ape – a confirmation of the party’s earlier suspicions.

Pressing on with caution, you ascend to the summit of the couloir and are confronted with an unnerving sight: the partially preserved remains of a series of bizarre stones structures, mouldering half submerged in the snow like the frozen remains of a dead giant. Solitary carven obelisks of a malefic green stone stand beside broken conical towers and offensive-looking monoliths etched with bas-relief’s and geometric patterns by artisans with no apparent appreciation for the conventions of terrestrial art. Taken as a whole, the expanse of exotic, indescribably sinister architecture could be considered a city, but who- or whatever built it has long since departed…

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS16K2yW24abEeM0geRUjWu30VkWZUDY DpvaiK8s4AP_JiombOfJw

Throw me some reactions and checks; you've still got the soviet mentalist to think about, and the storm's pressing down around you all...

[cdwjava]

"Ape city," Steele mumbles.

He stays with Mick, but gazes at the objects about him to try and gauge whether or not the native inhabitants might have been these great apes, or something more or less human.

"What manner of arcane worship was done here?" he asks to no one in particular.

[Hack Writer]

Ulysses got a single Notice success, as did his Ghurka ally; I've opted to post them here instead of PM'ing them, hoping to inspire a bit of further exploration.



Determining to tackle the mysterious city directly, Ulysses takes a few tentative steps forward, whistling incredulously as he gazes up at the unnerving, inhuman architecture all round him. The nearest things the young aviator can find to compare the sight to are the black and white photos and illustrations of the ruins of ancient Grecian temples he’s seen in pre-war atlases and geography books, only disquietingly disproportioned and lacking in certain basic elementals conducive to human living. The towers possess no ground-level doorways or windows, nor any stairwells or ladders for access to the small crenulated terraces that crown the towers’ peaks. Instead, a series of oval portals gird the circumference of each structure just below their summits, twice as tall and half as wide again as a fully-grown man. Ulysses scratches his head as he ponders the scene. What manner of creature would call such a city home?

Then, suddenly, one of the four Ghurkhas accompanying the party draws Ulysses’ attention away from his musings of the city’s inhabitants and to a large drift of snow several yards from the party’s position. Examining the snow, Ulysses discovers the submerged remains of an Aircobra, similar to the ones that attacked the party only a day earlier. Ulysses notes the burn marks that scour the machine’s left flank; they’re signs of a direct lightning strike, like the one that downed the air ace’s Beechcraft. The pilot still sits in the machine’s cockpit, face forward and frozen solid, his desiccated hands clutching the machine’s broken controls. This aircraft, Ulysses decides, will never fly again: both wings have been sheered clean off and the fuselage is a tangled, twisted mess. Still, it’s a stark reminder of the power the mysterious storm overhead possesses.

On the Aircobra: The Aircobra (and it is an Aircobra; Ulysses is familiar with the aircraft) is beyond any reasonable attempt at field repair. That's one bird who'll never fly again.

The 'city': you're standing at the edge of the city at the moment, and buildings stretch out before you between the high walls of the mountain. Further reflection reveals that the 'city' isn't all that big; it's more of a little village really, but still pretty strange, given your surroundings...

[mcellis]

"I have no idea. This place is so unnatural, I imagine the worship that was done here was as well."

Grant examines the strange city looking for a central building or perhaps a place where such worship might have taken place. Looking for any structure that seems different and more important amongst the cyclopean ruins.

"I wonder where Zeitzkenov might have gone."

Grant closes his eyes, touches index and forefinger to his temple, and tunes his heightened mental awareness to the task of finding the elusive soviet mentalist.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Ape city indeed. These towers remind me of the mud cities of Mali and Iran... only many times larger. Whoever - or whatever - lived here had to have easy access inside so either they can climb to the massive windows with ease or..." *Mick gulps hard* "I fear what we see here is but the tip of the iceberg; the bottom half of the towers may well extend beneath the snow concealing doorways the size for... giants."

"Uly, that plane looks trashed but check to see if any supplies or weapons are salvageable. They must have brought provisions with them."

Making sure Sally got a good sniff around the uncovered footprints and structures, the pair make a wide circuit of the ruins; careful to stay in sight range of at-least one person at all times.

Mick:
Notice:
Stealth: [roll2] 1d6

Sally:
Notice: [roll3]

Prem:
Notice [roll4]

Edit: Damn I'm good at rolling 3's. See roller thread for that broken roll.

[cdwjava]

"Doorways for giants? Or ... ape men? Yetis?" Steele looks about in awe as he gazes at the surrounding buildings.

Climbing onto the cockpit, Steele tries to examine the clothing and gear the pirate is wearing - checking for items, weapons, or anything useful and functional, or might offer some small aid to them.

Not sure if checking the cockpit or pilot will help, but, maybe ...

Notice: [roll0]
Wild: [roll1]

[mcellis]

"I sense no giants or Yeti, but our psychic Soviet friend is over there."

With his eyes still closed and the fingers of one hand on his temple, Grant points directly north into the city. His cold grey eyes snap open as he reacquaints his vision of the real world to the one in his mind's eye.

"It's about two hundred yards. He's extremely agitated, if we go after him now he might remain unaware of us, his mind is... distracted by something."

[Hack Writer]

Mick performs a general sweep of the immediate area, keeping his eyes open for signs of movement between the ruins of the strange city. He finds nothing.

Meanwhile Ulysses busies himself with investigating the crashed Aircobra. He prizes the cockpit open with the aid of one the Ghurkas, and proceeds to extricate the frozen corpse from its position at the flight controls. It’s a distasteful job, and the body of the air pirate emits a hideous crack as frozen limbs snap from their joints as the body is pulled aside. Ulysses spends a moment searching the interior, and concludes his grim business by withdrawing a 9mm luger – a little natty, but functional – from the corpse’s trouser pocket.

Ulysses finds a Luger (12/24/48; 2d6 damage; RoF 1; Shots 8; AP 1) and 8 rounds of ammunition to go with it; mark that down on your character sheet, Java. Other than that, there isn’t anything else of use to be found in the Aircobra.

Right, so Grant's managed to track down the general direction of your quarry. Post In Character with your your responses and I update the game to the next scene.

[cdwjava]

Steele checks the Luger and makes certain the action works and that a round is chambered and the mag is loaded. He slides it into his pack and then unslings the AK and squints in the direction Grant indicates as being where the psychic Russian is.

"He's distracted? Now's the time then. Let's get crackin'!" Steele does a quick press check on the AK to make certain the action still moves and a round is chambered and starts in the direction indicated by Grant.

[Hack Writer]

You trudge through the thick snow, between the cyclopean monoliths and the conical towers of unearthly green stone. A growing familiarity with your surroundings only serves to breed an increased feeling of contempt for the curious unwholesome architecture; and an increased sense of repugnance fills your hearts with every step you take. Certainly, you decide as you proceed cautiously onward, you are in one of the strangest, weirdest and most unearthly corners of the earth’s globe. To think that such a place might have been preserved from mankind’s attention for so long, unrecorded and unmapped… Did the Serpent’s death cause this curious demesne of dire alien stone to reveal itself to the world, you wonder? When that vast serpentine mass of monstrous metaphysical flesh tumbled from the sky, did the cataclysmic shockwave of its demise cause some hitherto uncharted mountain valley to break open and disgorge this hideous city? You can only conjecture.

The snow grows thicker as you trudge through the decedent architecture of the festering city, and the sky above your heads breaks open with a sudden sheering fork of viperous lighting, infusing the green stone with a squirming blue light and turning your surroundings a momentary leprous purple. The blue light bleeds away, leaving only darkness and an angry sound of thunder to fill the space left in its wake.

Then, before the light in the sky finally gives way to darkness, Mick, Grant and Ulysses immediately stop in their tracks; they look at one another as if to say ‘did you see what I think I saw?’

Shadows, heavy-set and loping, slip furtively between the crumbled terrace gardens of the conical towers. The party stops and guns are raised and as if on cue, a loud and bestial roar echoes through the twisted city, making you forget all thoughts of the disquieting architecture and the apparent wrongness of your surroundings.

The staccato report of a machine gun tears through the air, followed by the sight of a line of powdery snow being kicked up mere feet from your location. Lost amidst the lightning, it’s hard to pinpoint the direction of the shot, but then a hideous loping shape makes itself know on the roof of one of the buildings a mere twenty yards away from you; it roars definitely and beats its barrel chest with one meaty elongated arm…before leveling the rifle it holds and letting loose with a second burst - one-handed! A second ape-like creature energes to your left, preparing to throw a hand grenade into your midst!

https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSTPhL0IxIPL_6xGJ-Uz-00snd2_YMMwN6PXIMMLtizkJLa4Nz2

Yep – man-apes! You asked for ‘em so you got ‘em; two of Stalinism’s most savage simians soldiers, intent on styming you search for the soviet psi! They’re Chumanzees as per the DAR book, but their specialist mountain breeding gives them increased protection from the cold and a bonus in a snowy environment (re-roll unstable ground checks and agility checks; fleet-footed in snow).

The set up:
You’re clustered between two of the larger towers and caught in a cross fire between the apes; one stands on the terrace of the left-hand tower, the other on the right. You can ad-lib cover into the scene, but it’ll take your full listed movement to reach it.

Remember that you’re also running your NPC ally too, and that Mick’s got Sally to think about (getting her to sit this fight out might be a good idea, as there doesn’t appear to be a means of getting up to the towers).

Modifiers:

It’s dark, so there’s a –2 dim light penalty in effect this round. At the start of every round, I roll a d6: on a 4+, a lightning flash will illuminate the city and negate the darkness penalty.
Agility checks are taken at a –1 penalty due to the snow (the Chumanzees are unaffected).


Initiative: allies act on the same initiative draw as the character they're assigned to - so declare their actions too!
Mick: 1d20
Isaiah: 1d20
Grant: 1d20
Ulysses: 1d20
Chumazees (2): 1d20

check the dice roller thread for the Initiative roll; there's no roll for a lightning flash this turn.

[cdwjava]

(Assuming that my 18 initiative roll is at the front and not the back ...)

Steele shifts to his left and fires a three round burst at the ape with the grenade.

Gopal Sahi, following Steele's lead, also turns to fire on the grenade wielding ap.

[Hack Writer]

@Java: yeah, you're right; it's highest through to lowest, with a 20 being considered an 'Ace' for that character and his ally.

Now, some bookkeeping: Ulysses, firing on full auto, has expended 9 rounds from his AK 47, leaving 21 rounds remaining in the clip; Gopal Sahi, his Ghurka ally, has expended 1 round from his Lee Enfield, leaving 9 shots in the gun. If I don’t keep an eye on the ammo count now, it becomes a nightmare to remember later on down the line. Now, on with the show!

Your loping assailants emit a screeching animalistic caterwauling, exposing long white incisors and terrible purplish tongues. The grenadier of the duo grunts and bounces up and down as Ulysses sends a raking burst of machine gun fire up at its position; but the attack does little more than kick flecks of green stone from the lip of the terrace. The pair of white furred ape commandos reply back with weapon fire of their own; the machine gunner fires a wild, strafing pattern of shots over your heads – not with the intent of hitting any of you, but rather to keep you pinned in place…

The ape with the machine gun’s making a Suppressive Fire attack; it’s a Medium Burst template and, because you’re all bunched up, you’re all eligible to be hit. I’ll resole the actual shooting and the consequential Spirit check here; if you’d like to expend a Benny to re-roll you check (assuming it’s a fail), just say as much in the dice roller thread and go for it – you don’t need to wait until your turn comes around.

Suppressive Fire attack: -2 for full auto, -2 for Dark Light = -4 in total.
[roll0]

Spirit checks to resist being Shaken (if the attack’s successful):

Mick:
[roll1] [roll2]

Sally: [roll3]

Isaiah
[roll4] [roll5]

Grant
[roll6] [roll7]

Ulysses:
[roll8] [roll9]

The Ghurkahs:
Rifleman Prem: [roll10]
Rifleman Sarki: [roll11]
Rifleman Gurung: [roll12]
Rifleman Gopal: [roll13]

Meanwhile, the grenadier, extracting a grenade from the bandolier slung diagonally across its shoulder, tosses it with a wicked howl of maniacal glee into your ranks, clapping its lanky elastic arms together as it watches the small explosive parcel spiral earthward…


This could be…bad, but how bad is up to the dice. It’ll be eligible to hit all of you, provided it finds its mark.

Grenade throw: -2 for Dark Light
[roll14]

On Gull’s MIA status: I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Gull since getting my computer back online, so I’m going to relegate Salt to an GM-run NPC until I hear different; not wanting to slow the game down, he’s automatically on hold until Gull says otherwise. That means MCELLIS is up next.

EDIT: The grenade missed (I'd roll for scatter, but I figure I'd better give you all a chance to react before blowing you to smithereens. The Suppressive Fire, too, did nothing. You're safe, for now!

[mcellis]

"Gurung, cover me!" Grant yells at the Ghurkah, who's cheerful smile has turned darkly grim.

The Rifleman lets loose with a burst of fire on the Chumanzee with the machine gun.

Grant rushes forward towards the base of that ape's building, trying to get to Zeitenkov as soon as possible, an aware psychic was a dangerous foe, and the Soviet couldn't have missed the gunfire and the grenade echoing through the ancient stones of the strange city no matter how distracted he might be.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Spread out!" Mick yells before doing the exact opposite.

Instead, Mick keeps his eyes focused on the looping grenade and dives directly under it; both his hands cupped upwards and stretched out. As the world slows down around him, Mick thinks Just like when I played cricket as a lad... But I never was the best in slips...

Sally, realizing she cannot reach the yeti runs with the pack, following Grant.

Prem, staying calm under pressure, takes his time to line up a single shot on the Ape wielding the machine-gun.

Sally's running (With fleet of foot)
[roll0]

Prem's attack
[roll1] +2 Aim, -2 Range?
[roll2] Damage

Extra rolls for any raises/bonus damage
[roll3]
[roll4]

[Hack Writer]

I'll make Salt's action here, then 'll move on to round 2.

Salt hastily pulls his hand gun from his jacket pocket and fires it up at the ape wielding the grenades, before retreating to the shelter of a tumbled column of green stone and crouching down. Sarki does likewise, snapping off a shot from his Lee Enfield and scooting back behind the fallen pillar alongside the wizard.

Salt’s fired and moved behind some light cover, affording him a –1 cover bonus. Sarki does likewise.

Salt's shooting: -2 for Darkness; there's not modifier for range.
[roll0]
[roll1]

Ghurka Sarki's shooting: -2 for Darkness; there's not modifier for range.
[roll2]

Initiative roll for round 2:
Mick: [roll3]
Isaiah: [roll4]
Grant: [roll5]
Ulysses: [roll6]
Chumanzees (2): [roll7]

And the roll for a lightning flash (on a 4+ it'l negate the –2 shooting penalty from Darkness for this round): [roll8]

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick comes crashing to the ground drastically short of where the grenade lands; thankfully leaving him well outside the blast radius despite his best efforts. He scrambles to a conveniently close snow drift to shelter the blast.

After the detonation, Mick pokes his head up; peering through the scope of his Garand he lines up burst of fire at the remaining 'Ape man'.

First round Mick will just make a general fool of himself and use a move action to take some cover. Second round, he fires off his burst.

attack
[roll0] (-2 darkness, +1 double tap, +2 aiming, +2 scope, -2 medium range)
[roll1]
[roll2]

knowledge exotic animals
[roll3]
[roll4]

extra dice
[roll5]
[roll6]

Sally will continue running with Grant
[roll7]

Prem will run after Sally/Grant also
[roll8]

[Hack Writer]

@ThirtyThr33: Grant acts before Mick, but mcellis hasn’t posted and anything the psionic avenger tries to do wouldn’t impact too greatly on Mick’s attack; Grant’s beyond twenty yards, and the darkness rule states that characters outside twenty yards can’t been see by enemies, so he wouldn’t be able to target the man ape anyway. If there had been a lightning flash, maybe; but there wasn’t so there isn’t a problem.

Rifleman Sarki’s opportunistic attack on the grenade-wielding ape strikes it lucky and sends the furry simian assailant hurtling backwards, arms flailing and mortally injured. Meanwhile Mick, recovering from his instinctive act of unnecessary heroism, sends his prostrate form rolling sideways across the ground to a snowdrift, where he evels his rifle, aims down the scope, and focuses on the remaining ape with the machine gun.

The creature’s ungainly movements are familiar to Mick; he’s tracked similar strains of great ape in the wild table mountains of Africa and beyond. He knows their movements, knows their habits – and knows just how to take them down.

The Garand’s bullet lands slap bang in the centre of the beast’s sloped forehead, eliciting a short, sharp ‘ook!” of surprise from the simian as it collapses like a felled tree.

The man ape gets popped by Mick’s shot and drops dead on the roof of the tower. That combat was short and sweet. If I was to run it on the tabletop I’d have thrown in a few more man apes, but PbeM combats can be slow affairs if you make them too big. Greater threats will await you all soon!

Also, please, for the sake of my sanity and to make the book keeping easier, can you adjust your character sheets to take into account the ammo expended this combat? I’ll keep a track of it if I really have to, but I’d much rather not be burdened with more book keeping. It’s a right old pain in the arse.
- Mick: 2 shots from your Garand
- Ulysses: 9 shots from your AK 47
- Salt: 1 shot from your pistol

Oh, the man apes are lying dead on the terrace roofs of the two towers they ambushed you from; it’s too high to climb up to retrieve the gear unless you have a rope (and pass a climb check), are a soviet super simian (and pass a climb check), or happen to be whatever strange race of creature that lives here (they don’t need to pass climb checks…).

I’ll wait for reactions from you all and post again – tonight, if the replies reach me in time.

[mcellis]

Grant continued his desperate run towards the Soviet psychic. With all of those shots Zeitenkov must be aware of the group's presence. Reaching out with tendrils of thought, focusing in on dead war apes controller as the real threat.

[Hack Writer]

It takes several seconds before your party realizes all your adversaries are dead, and that there doesn’t appear to be any further threat to your lives. Grant, his psychic lock growing dimmer by the second, hurriedly motions you on, and he leads you through the city with the unerring attentiveness of a bloodhound stalking prey. The psionicist’s keen extrasensory perception takes you along avenues of tessellated green stone and between two rows of ill-seeming pus green menhirs of uncountable age and unreasoning evil. At last you reach the shattered remains of a large octagonal dais, upon which might once have stood a sculpted representation of one of this city’s inhabitants, but which now only serves to accommodate a large, unshapely mass of weathered rock. Here Grant stops, his psychic link fading; wheeling, he stabs a finger in the direction of the mountainside, and to a set of towering twenty-foot high doors set deep in its flank.

The doorway is large, ornate and impossibly intricate, with spiraling organic knot work reminiscent of squirming tentacles and amorphous, shapeless shadows of semi-aquatic, semi-vegetable things you would be hard pressed to relay in a saner setting. More distinctly, the door’s surface is a brilliant polished blue-green metal, its luster incomparable to any metal you’ve ever come across. One of the towering double doors stands ajar, and you know instinctively this is where you must go.

Sally emits a low whine as your party crosses the gathering snow and enters the interior of the mountain. Outside, the lightning flashes once, briefly illuminating a gargantuan ice choked corridor, glimmering iridescently in the momentary light. Grant crosses the threshold first, with Mick, Sally, Ulysses, Salt and the Ghurkas trailing a few steps behind. Some unknown luminescent property of the cave wall’s surface lends you a modicum of light by which to navigate, but the smooth ice-rimed floor proves difficult to navigate without attention, and you all slip and stumble on more than one occasion.

Wordlessly Grant leads you through a series of short turns in the corridor, before furrowing him brow dejectedly and conceding he has lost the trail. Then, unbidden out of the darkness, a voice chimes up, thin and reedy and taut.

“Did it call to you too? This city, this wondrous island of outré majesty, did it sing to you as it did to me? I though I was the only one that could hear it – but clearly not!” A thin, disheveled man in a thick white snow coat creeps out of the darkness, his eyes large and staring, his brow creased beneath a thick mass of unruly brown hair. He stops, rubbing his gloved hands together as if to relieve some nervous build up of energy, and his overgrown beard breaks in a toothy disconcerting smile as he shuffles up to you.

“I take it you killed the two man-apes, not that it matters. Truth be told, I am glad to be free of them; they were my jailers more than they my protectors, sent here to watch me and control me and ensure I did not interfere in the ambitions of their petty masters. Ha, the fools! So typically myopic to think they could understand the power this city holds!” he lets out of hollow rattle of chittering noise, which you take to be laughter. “No, this city was built by older and greater empires than the Soviets or the British or the Americans combined. I know, for I have seen the creators’ faces firsthand…”

Party, meet nut job. Nut job says, ‘hi!’.

http://1.2.3.11/bmi/www.nccg.org/insane_man.jpg

You assume this is the mentalist you were tracking, and he certainly fits the bill. You’ll have to decide what do with him.

[cdwjava]

All righty ... Ulysses says as he looks at the crazed Russian.

"So, where are their 'masters'?" He smiles, cocking his head. "In your head?"

[Hack Writer]

The wry incredulity of Ulysses’ question is lost on the Russian. Instead, with a look of severe seriousness that verges on the psychotic, he replies: “The man-apes that came with me serve only Stalin; they were ploughshares turned to swords - simple tools for a simple purpose. The masters of this city however do not deign to show themselves, hence why they conjured this storm. Before, they were sleeping…. – no, sleeping is the wrong word. They were waiting, waiting for a time when the world’s humours were in balance again. The death of the Serpent set right the planet’s equilibrium, restoring things to their proper order. And so the masters of this city have returned to continue their secret work...”

The mad Russian casts his intense gaze over each of you in turn, absently gnawing his bottom lip while simultaneously pulling at the long strands of his unruly beard. “Do you have any fish?”

[mcellis]

"Sorry, not on me."

Grant looks about the pre-primeval chamber, reaching out with tendrils of his mind to scan the room for the presence of any ancient or unseen denizens who might still haunt the ruins of the strange city. Before finally staring back to the madman's eyes.

"Just what secret work might that be, Zeitenkov?"

[Hack Writer]

Grant: "Sorry, not on me."

The soviet mentalist looks momentarily disappointed. "That is a shame. I do so like fish: their little fins and their scales and their tiny, tiny bones. *nom nom nom*." He nibbles the empty air like a mouse.


Grant: "Just what secret work might that be, Zeitenkov?"

"You...know my name? Ah but of course you would, for you have stared into the same black pits of tartarian oblivion as I! Tell me, American, how did you come by your powers? Was it sorcery? was it SCIENCE? Was it some pact best left unspoken betwixt yourself and the servitors of a nameless god?" he snickers and leans over conspiratorially, and whispers: "Was it worth the loss? Myself, I was bitter for a long while at the scientists of the Academy for their less-than-gentle ministrations that opened the gateway of my mind - but I adjusted, I adapted; the world is certainly a more interesting place when you see it the way we do..." he trails off, distracted, and inches his scalp vigorously, "But you should know your stage magic will not work on ME! I have been schooled to resist the reactionary rhetoric of the capitalist hegemonists - both spoken and unspoken. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. MIND!"

Grant's attempt to psychically scan the mentalist's mind results in a hostile rebuttal. If he wasn't aware, or if you were significantly more powerful, I'd probably let the roll stand. Personally, I think mind reading should be a stand-alone power that's purchasable from the Arcane Skills list.

EDIT @ mcellis: But was grant directing his psionic skill at the rest of the city itself? If he was then I misinterpreted your actions, and I'll take the roll and PM you back the details. Clarify that one for me, mcellis.

[mcellis]

I'm sure he sensed me doing it, but yeah I was more trying to see if there was anything else around in the room with us.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Enough of this."

Mick chambers a bullet in his rifle and levels it at Zeitenkov.

"You may be immune to magic and rhetoric, but I'll bet lead works just as well as normal. Keep your hands where I can see them. Now tell me, is anyone else here?"

Intimidate
[roll0]
[roll1]

Benny Intimidate (If first failed)
[roll2]
[roll3]

Extras for exploding dice:
[roll4]
[roll5]

[mcellis]

"I apologize for the intrusion. I was looking for the denizens of this place. Are they also responsible for what happened to your comrades?"

Looking around at the strange eldrich carvings Grant gets the distinct impression that no human hand was ever involved in their manufacture. This certainly did not seem to be the pure land of Shambala as he had earlier surmised.

"But to answer your question; the doors of my perception were cleansed not too far from this place, by the most peaceful man I ever met. I left my darkened cavern for an infinite world of light. I found the experience,... enlightening."

[Gull]

Salt frowned, his sharp face showing his distaste with the Russian psychic. It wasn't that the man was Russian, though it didn't help. It wasn't that the man was filthy and insane, as Salt was an academic, and that was de rigueur in his former career in academia, both straight and occult.
Rather, it was that the sense of foreboding that the shattered state of the mentalist engendered in Salt. Was this the fate of all mystagogues? Was this the end result of the mindbending study of the occult?

Surely not, thought Salt. That sort of thing only happens to other people.

"Mr. Zeitenkov- if I can call you that- who are the masters of this city? What do you call them, and are they awake...now?" asked Salt. "Dr. Isaiah Salt, McGill University," he added, politely. If he knew exactly what sort of cosmology he was dealing with, that would be a place to start.

[cdwjava]

Ulysses stands coolly holding the AK47 at a low ready position as he glances about, allowing the others to engage the deluded mentalist. Such things give him the willies, anyway. The perils of being raised by an American evangelical minister.

He motions for Gopal to check in the direction where the madmen appeared from within the darkness.

Nodding, Gopal levels his rifle and moves forward into the darkness from whence Zeitenkov came.

[Hack Writer]

I'm addressing your posts in order of sense, not necessarily order of chronology; because I wanted Zeitzkenvo to react to each of you in turn, I've left Mick's post until last. Interesting stuff awaits!


Salt: "Mr. Zeitenkov- if I can call you that- who are the masters of this city? What do you call them, and are they awake...now?" asked Salt. "Dr. Isaiah Salt, McGill University," he added, politely. If he knew exactly what sort of cosmology he was dealing with, that would be a place to start.

Salt catches Zeitzkenov part way through the act of picking his nose.

"Awake? AWAKE?! They have always been awake – always. But the world’s humours waxed ill for them, and they let our planet alone until the stars were right for their return. The Serpent’s death changed all this…it has OPENED THE WAY for them to return and continue their great work. And so they have, riding the stellar winds from unknown cosmoses in their great Vimanas, exactly as the Sanskrit texts said they would…” He pauses and, oddly, offers Salt a polite hand to shake at mention of the occult academic’s scholarly background. “Academician Grigori Zeitzkenov,” he says formerly. "Of Leningrad Academy of Science.”


Grant: "But to answer your question; the doors of my perception were cleansed not too far from this place, by the most peaceful man I ever met. I left my darkened cavern for an infinite world of light. I found the experience,... enlightening."

“And painful, yes?” Zeitzkenov says with a grisly voyeuristic glee, kneading his hands together slowly. “It’s always painful. The pulling apart of a thinking man’s mind, the forceful unstitching of certain delicate sensors…always painful.” He wipes a line of foamy spittle from his bearded mouth with the back of one gloved hand, smiling evilly and looking distant.


Mick: "Enough of this."

Mick chambers a bullet in his rifle and levels it at Zeitenkov.

"You may be immune to magic and rhetoric, but I'll bet lead works just as well as normal. Keep your hands where I can see them. Now tell me, is anyone else here?"

The Russian recoils like a startled cat in the face of Mick’s blunt diplomacy. “I’ll tell you nothing, you hear? NOTHING! It is to me alone that the Great Builders speak! You stupid, thrallish lapdog of a broken empire; you cannot threaten me with your primitive weapons! BEGONE!

The Russian furrows his brow and you’re all suddenly engulfed in a shock wave of pure mind force, which tears the cold air apart and knocks you all off your feet. Before you can react your vision suddenly clouds, and it seems as if you’re wading through thick and murky water.

Mick's failed Intimidation roll has turned the soviet hostile; he's attacked you all with the stun psionic power, potentially leaving you shaken while he makes good his escape. He also drops invisibility straight afterwards to shield his escape. I'll roll their effects now.

Ulysses's fortuitous decision to send his Gurkha ally down the passage leaves Gopal outside of the attack's radius (good play, Java!). Everyone else is under the AOE of the stun power.

[Hack Writer]

The disembodied voice of Zeitzkenov echoes down the corridor at you: “The secrets of Akala belong to me and me alone, do you hear? You’ll never beat me. NEVER! These mountains will be your grave….”

Gopal, the Ghurka on point, is forced aside as the now invisible soviet shoves his way past and into a side passage. The Ghurka recovers quickly and signals in the direction of the fleeing mad man, before plunging into the darkness with his rifle leveled in front of him. Ulysses is hot on his heels; Salt, Grant, Mick and the rest of the troupe a few steps behind.

Despite the dim light, Ulysses’s keen eyesight catches sight of the spectral outline of the fleeing soviet. Zeitzkenov doesn’t stop. He keeps on running. Hurrying through winding tunnels, cackling and cursing and panting. But he’s slowing and the pace begins to take its toll on him. He makes one final desperate attempt to shake off your pursuit, ducking into the mouth of a large cave and momentarily out of sight.

Your party enters the chamber cautiously, weapons readied. For a second, all thoughts of pursuit are forgotten as an unearthly sight confronts you. The walls of this cave are perfectly smooth and shot through with glittering veins of shinning blue-green iridescence that give off a wan light that flushes everything a mysterious and otherworldly turquoise. It looks like some sort of mineral deposit, though no earthly metal could give out such an unfiltered luster while still sitting in bare rock. Whatever it is, it can wait. Zeitzkenov, panting away in the middle of the cave, appears spent;. He turns on you with mad eyes and a vengeful sneer and shouts: “I’ll blast your bones to atoms, you stupid little collections of inconsequential matter! Not one step closer, or else!”

Okay I'll admit it: I wanted Zeitzkenov to get away. But Ulysses's rolls were sooo good, and Grant did pass his psionic check, that I felt like I had to cut the cat and mouse stalking through the tunnels short. No worries, that's roleplaying for you. So I've moved things along and had the party catch Zeitzkenov a short distance into the mountain. What you do now is up to you...

[cdwjava]

Steele rolls his eyes at the madman and shoots him.

'Rather then wait to be blasted to atoms,' he supposes.

"Or else, what?"

[Hack Writer]

Haha -nice! Java, I love it. Haven't got much time now so I'll update with your results tomorrow. Suffice to say, Ulysses scored a bulls-eye!

[ThirtyThr33]

"Or else, he might bleed all over us." Mick quips, trying to goad the already unstable mage into a brash decision.

Sally, excited by the thrill of the chase, immediately rushes Zeitzkenov and leaps on him teeth bared.

[roll0]

Mick's Taunt
[roll1]
[roll2]

Sally's run
[roll3]

Sally's Wild attack
[roll4]
[roll5]
Note: Parry 3 for next round.

Extra rolls
[roll6]
[roll7]

[Hack Writer]

Java appears to be on a hot streak with his dice, and once again I’m forced to redraw my villainous plans in the face of you pesky heroes and your charmed rolls. Zeizkenov is actually written up as a Wild Card, but Ulysses planting a bullet right in his kisser just as he was about to go all Richard III is too cool a moment to pass up. Well done, Java!

Ulysses fires once, the report of the automatic weapon echoing through the chamber.

“Nnggt..!” Zeitzkenov is caught mid-monologue, and his head kicks back as the bullet Ulysses fires takes him square between the eyes. You expect the man to instantly crumple to the floor – but he doesn’t.

“Y-you…shot…me! Didn’t…see that…coming.” The mentalist staggers forward a pace, a rivulet of fresh blood rolling down his forehead and over his nose. He makes a feeble attempt to raise his right arm in a menacing gesture; the effect is similar to a mummy in one of those B-grade Hollywood scare flicks, shuffling its way menacingly from its casket. “I’ll…I’ll turn your brains to goulash…I’ll break your minds and make you crawl across the floor like dogs. Ak..Akala… will n-never be yours. Fools…you should have ran when you h-had the ch-chance. Too late now.” He tries in vain to muster the strength to unleash one final blast of psychic energy, but you don’t sense as much as a ripple emanating from his outstretched hand. “D-damn it. I think I need to lie down.” With that, the soviet mentalist collapses face-first to the frozen rock of the cave floor – quite dead.

Right, what are you all going to do now? I’ll fill in some description for the scene tomorrow. It’s been a few days since I posted, so I just wanted to get something for you all to react to.

[cdwjava]

Steele looks at Mick and then Grant and shrugs.

"He was a nut job, and nut jobs with giant apes and brain power can be dangerous." He shoulders the assault rifle.

"Besides, if I wanted to listen to a three minute rambling oratory from a spooky guy, I'd catch a Bela Lugosi picture."

Steele steps towards the body and kneels down, taking a visual once over to see if there might be anything of obvious interest in his pockets or on his person before he starts searching him.

Sorry! I had counted on simply putting the whacky mentalist off his game and giving one of the others a chance to do their thing! I never figured it's be one in the brainpan!

[ThirtyThr33]

Not realising the fight is over, Sally latches onto Zeitzkenov's leg, worrying it back and forth; dragging the corpse slowing across the slick floor.

"Sally! Heel!" Mick commands and the Dingo comes to his side. "Looks like I was right about the lead."

Mick turns his attention to the smooth walls of this cave and in particular the glittering turquoise veins. He digs at the luminous trails with his knife; probing the strange material.

[mcellis]

"Well, that was unfortunate. And I'm not sure it totally necessary Ulysses."

Grant bends down and turns Zeitnekov's head to look into the dead man's eyes.

"I wonder what he was rambling on about? Akala? Who or what might have built and dwelt in this place? Masters, Builders. Whatever they are, are they or maybe their spirits still around? And what happened to his fellow Soviets back at the camp? But dead men don't answer questions. Something to think on in the future. Probably it was for the best though."

Grant stands up and peers about the strange cave, with it's unearthly mineral deposits. The whole city feels ominous and wrong, a place where only a madman could feel at home.

"I think most of those questions should remain unanswered. I'd recommend dynamiting the entrance to this valley, burying the whole place under snow and rock, and forgetting it was ever here. Somethings man was not meant to know. But your Empire won't leave it alone, will they? Not with the Soviets so eager to possess it. Let's try and find out why?"

Closing his eyes and daring to stretch out his mind seeing if he can sense anything like the powers or presence that the mad Russian described. Grant reaches out his hand to the bare, lustrous stone.

[Hack Writer]

Okay, a loooong overdue post! This'll be the first of a couple this weekend, intended to get the game rolling again. Speak up[ if you want to know more about what's written below.

Picking through the dead soviet's pockets, Ulysses puls out a battered old diary, which he thumbs through with interest. Typically, it's written in Cyrrilc, so he tosses it to Mick to translate.

Even the Australian's secret service-trained grasp of the Soviet language has a hard time picking apart the mad scrawl that passes for Zeitzkenov's thoughts....It's a shame SIS doesn't give lessons in Loony-speak. Still, after much rummaging through pages of demented asides and scatter-gun commentary, Mick comes across a small passage near the end of the book that gives him cause to stop...and shudder.

He narrates the words aloud:

"The Sandskrit texts said they’d come. Said they’d be back. Said they’d return when the stars were right and the earth was proper and the lice that crawled upon its surface were picked clean by the Serpent that slept in the world’s womb. But nobody knew, nobody remembered.

Except for Hitler – and he’s DEAD! At least, the parts that can die are dead.

Except for Nicolas Roerich. Ah yes…HE knew! He saw what dwelt asleep in the dreaming mountains of forbidden Asia – the horrors, the wonders, the inevitable truths that brood at their summits. Such a brilliant man. May his grain grow ever golden...

Except for ME! I know all about them; their names, their guises, their reasons and purposes for coming here again.

Builders. Founders. Shapers of matter. Their home is not Earth, though Earth is more theirs than ours. According to the Sanskrit scrolls which the Narts have shown me, Akala and its sister cities were created to house their kind and shelter them from the elements of our planet, which are hostile to their heightened physical forms. This was a colony of sorts, intended for only a select few artisans, explorers and engineers to ever inhabit. The Nart Tepsh, in his cavern-forge deep beneath the Urals, claims the Builders of Akala came to Earth in search of something - a mineral, a resource – that they could not obtain anywhere else. O how the Narts despise these ‘Akalaians’, upon whom by all accounts they waged bitter war many eons ago, only to be stymied and stalemated.

To think, a race that could defy even the Narts…. What possible power could these creatures command?

I MUST KNOW MORE!"

Mick finishes his narration and turns to the rest of you.

Suitable rolls include, once again, Occult, History and all that kind of thing. Because this is slap-bang in the realms of the extremely obscure, general knowledge rolls for information pertaining to the 'Akalaians', the Narts and billennia old inter-dimensional wars won't get you very far - sorry!

[Hack Writer]

Just posting this up to ensure we're up to speed, and also to try and get the game back on track again. Consider this post an addition to the one I made above, intended to give you all a better of idea of what you're facing.


With Zeitzkenov’s dead body cooling on the floor of the cave, the rest of you take a moment to evaluate your surroundings.

The cave is a large half sphere, measuring roughly two hundred yards in diameter and twenty yards high at its tallest central point. The curious light given off by the glowing blue-green mineral veins streaking the walls suffuses the room in a shifting ambient light, throwing grotesque elongated shadows against the far wall and the high ceiling.

Directly opposite the tunnel you came through, a second similar channel cuts through the deep rock and farther into the mountain. Like the cave you’re standing in, this second tunnel is lined with the same blue-green cracks of exotic metal ore, like capillaries in the vast arteries of a giant.

[mcellis]

Grant touches his palm to the cave wall, noting the way the bare rock is strangely warm even through his thick mittens. He closes his eyes, focuses his mind, and sends his psychic perception through the stone of the mountain, hoping to locate further psychically aware minds.

It doesn't work. This mountain, a looming and overwhelming presence in his skull, stifles his best efforts. Grant opens his eyes and sighs, knowing his endeavor to be a futile one.

Pulling his hand back from the wall and opening his eyes, Grant looks down at Zeitzkenov's lifeless body.

"Whatever secrets he found here, I can't find anything. Maybe it was all just the fevered nightmares of a madman."

[ThirtyThr33]

With Zeitzkenov and the ape men dead... as well as the rest of their escort... the secrets of this ancient city are no longer in immediate danger. We should return to the Ghurkhas; this was a recon mission after all. I'm sure our good friend the Lieutenant would like to post guard here as soon as possible. We could be back there before morning and with any luck, the strom will have cleared by then and we can radio our command also."

Mick straightens up, as if something just occurred to him. He looks down the corridor and then back the way they all came. "Uh... Does anyone happen to remember the way we came in? I lost track after the fourth intersection."

Mick has a look down the path leading further into the mountain, but keeps within line of sight of his companions. "Or we just press on..."

[cdwjava]

Ulysses looks back behind him and then ahead. "Uh ... yeah, it's that way," he says, thumbing his way behind him. "Somewhere."

He shrugs. "If we follow the shell casings, the blood, and the footprints in the snow, I think we can make it back out."

He nods to Mick. "I think we need to report all of this. It's out of our realm. Hell, I just want to get off this frozen waste, and we'll need the help of the Brits to accomplish that little task."

[Hack Writer]

Your discussion is broken by a sudden, sharp earth tremor, which reverberates through the walls and floor and sends little divots of earth cascading down from the ceiling above. As swiftly as it arrives, the unheralded earth quake stops. You look at one another, confused and baffled; nobody seems able to pinpoint the cause of the tremor.

Just a little something I thought I’d throw in there, to liven up your discussion. I’ll wait for mcellis to chime in with his opinion of what you guys ought to do, and then I’ll post the next scene with the majority’s decision in it (just to confirm, can you, ThirtyThr33 and Java, post OOC with a clarifying statement regarding whether you want to continue on or try to head back out?).

[ThirtyThr33]

"Well, that makes the choice easy. No way I'm going deeper into a cave about to collapse."

Mick does a quick headcount to make sure everyone is following then takes off back the way they came in.

Mick
[roll0]
[roll1]

Prem
[roll2]

Sally
[roll3]

Extra dice
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]

[cdwjava]

Shaken, Ulyssess nods and points at Mick. "Yeah ... what he said. Let's go before the birth of some evil, dark god brings the mountain down!"

[Hack Writer]

mcellis hasn't posted but I'll take the majority's vote and proceed. sorry, mcellis, if I raced ahead! Don't worry, XP points, loot and glory shall be everybody's soon. Assuming none of you are smeared into a fine red paste first :smallbiggrin:

Deciding that some secrets are better left alone – or, at least, are better investigated with a lot more firepower than you're currently carrying – you turn your backs on the cave (but not your eyes – lest something unknowable and horrific spring out at you when you’re not looking!) and make your way through the sprawling innards of the labyrinthine mountain complex.

Following the trail isn’t as difficult as you thought; Mick’s natural directional sense and skills as a tracker make what might have been a perilous venture into something almost routine. Still, the mountain continues to rumble – an ominous, foreboding subterranean growl, occasionally distant, occasionally worryingly imminent. The spectral fear of what might be behind that disquieting rumble adds impetus to your actions, and reaffirms your desires to be as far away from this inhuman city as possible. A minute’s worth of cautious back peddling later, Mick’s tracking skills lead you to a familiar looking cave, which you’re certain you passed through during your pursuit of Zeitzkenov. This one is of dull stone and damp earth, without the lustrous blue-green ore deposits that characterized the previous cave. Two tunnels snake off from here, and Mick singles out the right-hand one as being the party’s route out.

And then, suddenly, Sally stops and pricks up her ears. Mick notices it first; he’s owned the old Dingo long enough to know when something has her spooked. He signals for you all to halt – and to wait. Sally, her head cocked to one side quizzically, pauses for a moment in confusion, before curling the upper lip of her scruffy muzzle into a snarling, incisors-filled expression of anger. She growls, barks, and takes up an aggressive posture, dark eyes twinkling ominously in the light of Mick’s torch, her attention fixed pointedly in the direction of the same tunnel Mick indicated as being your way out. Typical, you think.

A new sound fills your ears then, distinct but feint. It sounds…it sounds like the singing of a nest of angered crickets or the mechanical chatter of dozens of furiously working typewriters. The sound grows louder, and then, out of the gloom, strange, luminous colours start to dance, scuttling and flowing like will o wisps….

https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSmvgTrSeAUVZlWs2gEepEAufmbZQXaz A4q_WwD8oV34tIJ9OQp

MWAHAHA! You knew you weren't going to escape so easily, didn't you?

[mcellis]

It's okay I would have voted to leave anyway, sorry I got a bit distracted by real life, but I'm back now.

"I think we've found Zeitzkenov's Builders."

Grant steps between his comrades and the glowing figure in the dark.

"But remember what happened to the Soviet soldiers at the camp? Who knows how friendly they might be, or given Zeitzkenov's madness if we even want their kind of friendship."

Looking at the strange alien creature, Grant is reminded once more of the strange relic from the Lamasery. A clay tablet that told tales of an ancient race that had come to Earth in ages past, forged a mighty empire, and clashed with a race of giants before disappearing from this world into the mists of forgotten antiquity…

"But hold your fire, we don't know for sure if they're hostile yet."

[ThirtyThr33]

"Oh Christ... What now?"

After hearing Grant's assumption Mick realised If this is a Akalaian and they are as powerful as Zeitzkenov thought; it's probably the cause of the earthquake.

Just in case this isn't a 'builder', heres a knowledge exotic animal roll
[roll0]
[roll1]

Mick will go On Hold; ready to fire his weapon if someone in the group is threatened.

[Hack Writer]

Your party holds its collective breath and fight the urge to put finger to trigger as, slowly but spine-chillingly surely, the curious incandescent silhouettes glide into the light cast by Mick’s torch.

Mind numbing, perception shattering, near indescribable horror greets you all, manifest in a trio of extraordinary shapes that waft with spectral grace upon unseen wings into the cave. Even Mick, with his hard-won field knowledge of animal biology, finds the sight a hard one to convey in words; these creatures, forged from the raw stuff of antique stars in the unquiet blackness of uncharted space, appear content to defy the laws of rational earthly evolution entirely. Rather, they appear as a mishmash of the insect and the amphibious – part fly, part amorphous mollusc.

Eight feet in height from the tips of their skirt-like tentacle appendages, their vaguely squid-like outlines are partially covered by a hardy looking mauve coloured carapace. Their heads – or, at least, what passes for their heads – resemble large orbs of electrically charged noble gas, crackling and pulsing through spectrums of light both visible and invisible to the naked eye. Contrasting with this display of weird nausea-inducing light, their fleshy, squirming bodies throb in sympathetic colour – yellow, pink, purple, green.

The three alien entities drift into the room and stop, bobbing like life buoys in a morning tide. Gripped tight in a nest of worm-like tentacles, each of the newcomers clutches a silvery rod without markings or design.

“Clickity…click-click-click…” chatters one of the trio, its pulsating body flushing a deep sapphire blue for an instant. The other two respond with a similar pattern of unintelligible clicks, bodies shifting hues in rapid sequence. Then, without warning, they raise their unadorned silver rods in your direction…

Really, this isn't the best picture to represent them; but they're obviously homages to Lovecraft's Mi Go, so it'll do:
https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQxC_3xxEmQSod70eZHJAYY0SvxmyqNb YUnQFv_vFZEOi8eKFia

Now, I'm going to require you all to take a Guts check at -1, because these guys have FEAR 1. Post for yourself, your Gurkha ally, and - in the case of Mick - Sally, too. I'll update once I have the rolls in, or by Monday (making overdue rolls myself).

Once you've rolled, and assuming you aren't overcome with fright, you can post your reactions.

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick is overwhelmed by panic, but not because of frightening visage of the creatures themselves; the big game hunter has spent a lot of time around exotic beasts over the years Rather Mick was afraid of what they threatened to do with their power. The walls... These creatures are going to bring the whole place down on top of us! I can’t stay in here. I must escape!

Prem does as many simple men do when confronted by the otherworldly. He runs; as fast as he can in the other direction. Thankfully, he is either smart or scared enough to hold onto his weapon.

Sally's growls turned into backs and the hackles on her back stand on end. She crouches low, ready to pounce. "SALLY NO!" Mick screams, but it is too late. Sally has already launched herself bodily at the closest of the three beasts, her jaws ready to snap shut around whatever she can reach.

Mick trying to remove shaken
[roll0]
[roll1]

Prem trying to remove shaken
[roll2]

Sally's attack
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]

Edit: I think this is the first time Sally has actually managed to bite something before it's been killed. Unfortunately, it may well be her last. :smalleek:

[Hack Writer]

Mick, overwhelmed by horror and incapable of rational thought, proves unable to keep the now savage Sally in check. The unnatural presence of the alien creatures triggers some deep seated and feral atavistic response in the Dingo. – She leaps, slathering and snarling, at the nearest of the alien horrors, her jaws clashing like a bear trap – biting deep and tearing loose a chunk of squirming fluorescent flesh from its hide. The creature reels, its body flickering through a spectrum of nauseating colours.

Sally wounds the alien and now the creature’s Shaken.

The set up:
You’re clustered together in a large cave, roughly ten yards away from the aliens. There’re two passages – one to the left and one to the right – directly in front of you, and a third passage behind you (leading back to Zeitzkenov’s corpse and the cave of blue-green metal ore).

There’s cover scattered around here and there, but it’ll take you a full round action to reach it; it provides light cover, giving a –1 penalty to enemy attack rolls.

Modifiers:
No general attack roll modifiers for this combat. Due to the aliens’ strange bioluminescence, there’s no penalty for poor light.

Also, I’ll discard the phobia penalty for this scene; you’re already up against it as is, so there’s no need to heap misery upon misery.

Right, on with the show!

Initiative rolls:
allies act on the same initiative draw as the character they're assigned to - so declare their actions too! Combat order is highest roll to lowest:
Mick:
Isaiah: [roll]1d20
Grant: [roll1]
Ulysses: [roll2]
Akalaian 1: [roll3]
Akalaian 2: [roll4]
Akalaian 3 (currently Shaken): [roll5]

Note that I’ve rolled for each of the aliens separately, because they’re Wild cards. Also note that Grant, Ulysses, Mick and their allies (with the exception of Gopal, who's okay) are Shaken, meaning they need to pass a Spirit check to recover.

EDIT: Check the OOC for the combat initiative for this round.

[Hack Writer]

Sally’s fierce charge causes the lead Akalaian to react. Whatever opportunity for diplomacy that might have been enacted is now lost as and the hideous alien monstrosities raise their curious silver rods in their squirming tentacles…

The first Akalaian, emitting a high pitched wasp-like buzz which you assume must pass for alien expletives, levels its weapon and aims it squarely at private Sarki, one of the British Ghurkhas accompanying the party. A silent corona of scintillating electricity blooms from the fluted nozzle of the unknowable device, before leaping through the empty air in a retina-sheering whip-crack of lightning.

The cord of sizzling electricity impacts against the Ghurkha’s chest; there’s a momentary flash as the helpless rifleman’s flesh disappears and his skeleton is revealed like a medical X-ray. But it’s so quick – barely an eye blink. Without so much as a whimper, the Ghurkha’s physical form instantly transmutes into steaming vapour, coiling up through the cold air and dispersing; the soldier’s gear – his weapons, clothes and equipment – collapse in a disordered pile around his smoking boots….

The alien damaged with a 10, which is a raise. That leaves Sarki wounded, and wounded equals death if you’re an ally.

Sarki’s dead, man; he’s dead…

Grant, overwhelmed by vast gulfs of cosmic horror impossible to fully fathom, stumbles forward a yard, fumbling awkwardly with the AK 47 he liberated from the Soviet camp. Gurung however is more decisive; he levels his own AK smoothly, roars a brief cry of anger for the loss of his companion, and fires full auto at the alien monstrosity.

Bullets riddle the creature’s luminous hide, cracking carapace and pulping the pliable elastic flesh of the loathsome extraterrestrial horror. The Akalaian buzzes like an angry wasp, tendrils quivering madly, as unctuous blood and body matter sprays from his hide and paints the floor livid shades of shifting colour. They bleed like men! Perhaps they can die like men too…

Grant couldn’t’ recover, so he’ll move 3 yards to the nearest cover. Gurung did much better; his attack resulted in the Akalaian being Shaken and wounded –2. One more wound and this guy’s bought the farm.

The Akalain Sally is engaged with recovers quickly, focusing its unfathomable alien ire on the presumptuous mammalian quadruped that dared assault it. It levels its gun and chitters madly like a cage of startled canneries.

He recovered, so he'll act next round.

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick's first instinct is to look down the sights of his rifle. Goddamnit it Sally! Get out of the way, girl... Unable to get of a clean shot without risking hitting his companion, Mick charges forward with his bayonet extended.

The pressure was getting to Mick. Unlike his usually well timed and patient rifle shots, his swings with the bayonet are hurried and powerful. He wildly thrusts, slashes, kicks and bashes with the rifle butt, thinking not for defense. "Die. Die! DIE!"

Got to get out of here quick. Got to kill them quick. Before it all comes down. Before I'm trapped!

Combined, Sally and Mick coordinate their attacks as a pack. Sally, still acting on instinct and reflecting her master's fervor, continues savaging her prey.

If I did all my rolls/maths correctly, I believe Mick scored 1 shake and 2 wounds and Sally scored 1 shake (upgraded to wound) on the same Squid thing. (I bet it all gets soaked :smallsigh:)

Hack Writer, if you want to rule that Rapid Attack and Wild Attack can not be stacked, I completely understand. Wild Attack says it "can be used with multiple attacks" but what I just did still seems overly strong to me.

Prem passed his Spirit test, but still does as the GM pleases this round so I won't specify his actions.

I might have been a bit presumptuous posting this, since it will resolve at initiative 3 (Mick or Sally might get shaken earlier in the round) but whatever. If that happens I'll just go back and repost new intentions or use a benny.

[Hack Writer]

The entire chamber shakes violently as that oh-so-familiar sound of protesting earth echoes through the cave with a newer and more potent force than before. The vibrations are enough to pull your two warring parties apart, and you fall to your knees and stumble blindly as, all around you, the ceiling and walls begin to collapse – threatening to entomb the party beneath the earth for all eternity! Some of you lunge desperately for the exit to the chamber, crawling and flailing in your bid for freedom. Isaiah stumbles – he’s caught a nasty blow to the head from a falling splinter of rock; Grant staggers like a punch-drunk pugilist, still reeling from the horror of the revealed Akalaians. Hauling them up and goading them on, the remaining Ghurkas are fleeing too, heading for the tunnel that leads out to freedom.

And they seem to have made it. Turning back, Gopal beckons Mick and Ulysses to follow – but it’s too late!

A violent, thunderous explosion of flying rock fills the cave, separating the two adventurers from their allies. One of the walls has haemorrhaged inwards, disgorging uncountable tons of mountain into the cave. Mick, Sally and Ulysses are trapped, cutt off from their companions!

Then, suddenly, just as if things can’t get any worse, from out of the breech made by the unexpected earthquake, what looks to be a tremendously oversized earth borer – the sort of crazed and hokey sci fi contraption that might grace the cover of an issue of Startling Stories - crashes through into the cave…

https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTSB_uFae4cJ3OzbHUf1KSwGedQJgE9N 9yaUV_oDUH_fX_dwYz6WQ

Sorry if either of you feel cheated, but I'm cutting combat prematurely short and moving on. I know, you might have wanted to see how you'd have fared, but it's going to be too slow with just the three of us. You'll get other opportunities - heck, you might even prefer to see what you've got to deal with next... Bet ya can't guess! :smalltongue:

Grant and Isaiah are both officially out of the game now, but they're not dead. You don't know whether they've escaped or not. The aliens aren't visible to you either.

[Hack Writer]

The massive mining vehicle rumbles into the chamber on heavy cleated caterpillar tracks, its conical drilling nose grinding menacingly as it trundles towards the two remaining heroes stranded in the cave. A belligerent Sally leaps in bravely front of her master, barking defiantly and revealing her fangs as the armoured colossus rumbles forward, oblivious to her empty defiance.

Then: two powerful headlamps power up and fill the room with an eye-aching light, leaving Mick and Ulysses dazzled and confused. The growling engine suddenly powers down, and the whirling drill head starts to decelerate – mere feet away from the two recumbent heroes.

There is the sound of creaking metal, and a moment later four silhouettes appear inside the dazzling light. Their shapes are indistinguishable for a second, barely more than four slim slithers of shadow backlit by the glare of the headlamps. But one of the shapes stalks closer and steps out of the piercing glare, and it swiftly becomes apparent that these newcomers are human – a relief, you feel, though only for a brief moment….

Decked in a foreboding black suit insulated against the cold, with a grim respirator mask covering his face, the head crewman of the strange mining vehicle looms like some glutinous spectre of death, come to claim you both.

“Hande hoch oder es knallt!” he booms, angling the barrel of a pistol at the pair of you.

https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTU8pobSmRWBEiiy4AGb8_e_35Z26WKC dk7CA3HVRpx0Y8f5FYD

And again: “Hande hoch! Schnell!!”

German…Now that’s an accent you never thought you’d hear again.

It's those dang Nazis! Who'd have thought it? Go on, that should give you something to role-play with.

[cdwjava]

"Bolsheviks, apes and Nazis?" Steele shakes his head. "If only my father could see me now!"

Slowly, Steele raises his hands.

"Got any coffee, mate?" he asks of the fascist bearing the big gun.

[Hack Writer]

“Ach, verdammt Amerikaner!” The black-clad Nazi spits upon hearing Steele speak. As for Steele’s question about coffee, the Nazis either doesn’t understand or doesn’t consider it worthy of reply, instead signalling for his comrades to come forward.

Three similarly coated and quilted soldiers pad across the chamber and fan out, levelling sub machine guns at you.

https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSr0TTGj89rZm6C3Wg3_MJ2V7WhZsDy_ 6XU2AAZfhwopsKjYG0CRg

One of the troupe, you notice, carries a strange oblong-shaped metal box strapped horizontally to his chest, which looks like a cross between an accordion, a typewrite and a field radio, with several large cords anda set of muffled earphones connecting the device to the man’s helmeted head. Its immediate use escapes the both of you.

Then, a familiar clicking sound reaches your ears. You look up, and see the three alien horrors you briefly tussled with earlier, drifting to stand beside the Nazis. The fact that neither the Nazis nor the aliens seem even the least bit surprised to meet one another confirms your worst suspicions. Those goddamn fascist fiends and aliens are in cahoots! It’s enough to inspire a collective shiver of dread down your spines.

One of the aliens begins to converse in that weird bird-like language of chirps and cheeps, punctuated with clicks and accompanied by a nauseating shift of colour in its semi-squamous, semi-tissue body. It’s then you realise what the peculiar machine cradled in that nazi’s arms is all about:

It’s a communication device.

The alien’s unintelligible chatter compels the unguessably complex machinery into life. previously silent typebars start to dance along its surface, punching a frantic mechanical racket that transmutes through some odd and unknowable aural alchemy into words – German words – that buzz faintly through the Nazi’s headset. The Nazi bearing the translator device listens intently, diligently relaying each word to his comrades.

At last, after hearing enough, the lead Nazi motions for his companion to stop his translation. He points his pistol at you, points in the direction of one of the tunnels, and more forcefully, shouts: "Mach shnell!”

Now, These guys are all speaking German, so you can assume they don’t speak English (well they might, but if they do then they're probably just affecting a haughty aura of superiority by not deigning to use it - they are they’re elitist fascist fanatics after all! If either of you care to spend another language slot, you could add German to your list of known languages and either converse with them or listen to the translated words. Either way, decide what you want to do now.

ThirthyThr33, it’d be great if we could get Mick’s opinion on what’s going down in here, too.

[ThirtyThr33]

I wanted to let cdwjava respond to the Nazi first, since I decided how the encounter with the Aliens was going to play out.

I assume that I wouldn't have to spend a language slot to know very simple and iconic German words like Nich and Schnell? It is pretty easy to guess what they are saying considering some similarities to English and their body language as well as the situation as a whole.

Since Mick already snagged Russian, It would probably be best for Steel to be our German translator.

Mick calms himself and lowers his rifle slowly to the ground. As he is still low and begining to straighten up he says "Hey Ully. I still got a couple of grenades on my belt. Recon I drop a couple in front of us and we bolt when they go for cover?"

Mick is not only asking Steel for his opinion; he is also critically watching his captors for any signs of understand like a glance at his belt.

Notice
[roll0]
[roll1]

PS: How are the Nazi reacting to Sally? Has she gone unnoticed, yet again?

[Hack Writer]

Mick stands up slowly, begrudgingly, and casts his line about the grenades, hoping to catch the conniving Krauts off guard.

The four jack-booted jackasses shift slightly and adjust their guns as Mick stands up, but the Aussie can’t tell whether they bought the line about fragging the lot of them or not. In their heavy winter-proof uniforms and strange gas masks, the Nazis are anonymous blanks – body language and facial expressions impossible to read.

Again, calmer than before but no less emphatic in his intent, the looming Nazi clutching the luger waves at the tunnel, “Beeilt euch!”


@ThirtyThr33: Mick can't tell whether they understood the import of his words or not - their body language doesn't betray any acknowledgment of the potential danger awaiting them. BUT, they might know, and Mick simply didn't pick up on it.

Your idea is eminently appropriate and entirely feasible, and provided Ulysses is up for it, I’d allow you to give it a shot. If you do, make a Taunt roll to see how successful your ruse is – it’ll determine how much of a head start you guys get over your enemies. Sally’s still about, just beyond the care of the Nazis for the moment – they’re focused on you two, so aren't paying attention to the dingo.

So let me detail your surroundings a little: you’re in a large cave, which has four tunnels leading out from it, two to the west and two to the east. Your party were exiting through the northernmost tunnel to the east when the confrontation with the Akalaians broke out and the Nazis in their mining vehicle made their dramatic entrance. The resultant earthquake and minor cave-in has left the pair of western tunnels both cut off – they’re submerged beneath fallen rock and will require around ten hours for a man operating alone with basic tools to clear enough rubble to pass through. This leaves you with just the two eastern tunnels to travel down. The first tunnel (the one you chased Zeitzkenov through) is nearest to you. The second possible escape route lies a bit farther away in the south-eastern half of the cave, and is the tunnel the Nazi leader is currently trying to force you to travel down. Hope that helps illustrate things better.

[cdwjava]

"Sounds like a plan, Mick. I got my runners on," he says as he prepares to run when Mick drops his frags, and Steele consciously considers where his own might be in case he has to toss a couple more for good measure.

[ThirtyThr33]

After placing his rifle on the ground, Mick motions to do the same with the dagger attached to his belt. Instead, he tears off a Pineapple grenade and under-arms it into the middle of the Nazi group. "Ach Nein!" Mick yells, layering on his worst German accent possible.

Expecting chaos to ensure atleast for a few seconds, Mick scoops up his rifle and sprints towards the North-eastern tunnel that leads to the catacombs Zeitzkenov had fled down.

[Hack Writer]

Defiant to the last, Mick and Ulysses exchange glances, resolute in their intention to resist the German’s commands. Mick’s plan is simple; all it needs is timing, subtlety and luck…lots of luck.

The grenade rolls across the cave floor and comes to a halt at the Nazi’s feet. “Granate!” the soldier shouts, diving to the ground in hopes of avoiding the blast. His companions do likewise – everyone drops to the floor with the exception of the glowing aliens, who remaining bobbing in the air, ignorant of what’s transpiring around them.

Seizing the moment, Mick, Ulysses and Sally dash to one of the cave’s remaining exits, adrenaline replacing the fatigue in their tired limbs. Luck’s still with them as they dart into the tunnel; it still there too when they reach the first turn in the lightless bowels of the mountain’s under chambers and stumble frantically towards Zeitzkenov’s impromptu mausoleum. Only when the three companions are half way down the tunnel do they know their enemies have finally cottoned on to their ruse: “Got in himmel!” the lead Nazi's shouts echo in the distance, near apoplectic with rage. Despite the desperation of your situation, you can’t help but smile the thinnest smile of grim satisfaction at getting one over on your would-be captors. Still, now’s not the time to revel in the glory of your hard-won reprieve. Pulling the wool over those mooks’ eyes only bought you a momentary breather; a fighting chance, a second grace - one more swing at the fences.

Stumbling on, Mick, Ulysses and Sally reach that now familiar chamber with its strange blue-green striated rock. Zeitzkenov’s body still lies face down on the floor, blood from Ulysses’ forced lobotomy gathering in a thick dark crimson pool. Beyond the corpse, a second tunnels delves deeper into the mountain. Your choices at this juncture are stark: stand and fight and possibly die, or run and hide… and possibly die. Is Luck still with you?

Just a quick yay or nay from the pair of you: keep moving, or hold your ground? It’s bright enough in here that the lighting is considered Dim, giving a –1 to all your shooting rolls. The tunnel after this point is unexplored and pitch-black, so Pace rolls made to keep the chase going (assuming that’s what’s going to happen) will be reduced as a consequence. Do either of you have a source of light you can use to mitigate the darkness outside of this chamber? I can’t remember offhand who’s got what, but I’m pretty sure one of you has a torch, at the very least.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Come on, let's keep going." Mick says quietly. He pulls his Flashlight out of his backpack and throws to Ully his spare cigarette lighter as they plunge further into the growing darkness.

[Hack Writer]

Mick’s torchlight beam punches a hole straight through the yawning darkness of that uncharted tunnel, through to – where, exactly? Salvation? which the two companions and the doughty dingo pass. More rock, hard quarried and uneven, and shot through with the same lustrous alien ore as before, stretches up at a shallow incline before you. Where the torchlight touches the metallic veins, a newer blue light, unfiltered and blazing, causes you to squint and shade your eyes. But it doesn’t slow your progress, or hinder you pace. Determinedly, as if Hades himself had let slip his own demonic bloodhounds in your wake, you stumble onwards - never once looking back!

The sounds of pursuit grows …

I’m making a Pace roll for you all. Rolling Pace +d6 for each of you, and pace for the Nazi soldiers; you got a good head start on the Nazis – the ruse bought you four rounds of movement. That sets their pace as 24 yards away, which when you consider the nature of the tunnels, is a fair old bit. I’m going to make a single Pace roll for all of the Nazis, lumping them together for conveniences’ sake, and because it doesn’t much matter which order the individual members are in the general ‘pack’. If the gap between you’re the slowest member of your party and the fastest member of the Nazis’ drops to below 16, the Nazis have spotted you – but so far they’re chasing you with guesswork and an intuitive knowledge of these tunnels only. Here goes:

Mick – pace 6: [roll0]
Ulysses – pace 6: [roll1]
Sally – pace 8: [roll2]

Nazis – pace 6: [roll3]

fainter - but only just! The Nazis are still on your tail, dogged and determined.

Stumbling on, your journey leads you to an intersection of criss-crossing tunnels – six! You count them, swiftly – all uniformly wide and high and spacious, and each bearing the telltale scars of that terrific mining vehicle’s drilling tip. They intersect, intertwine and collide, forming a knot work of open passages, cleaving through the mountain’s heart like the cored out innards of a spoiled apple. Above you, running parallel with your progress, a narrow ledge protrudes from the ceiling, accessible, you feel, with a judicious application of climbing ability and no small amount of luck.

The sounds of pursuit continues; voices echo through the darkness.

“Shnell, shnell!” you hear, followed by: “shiessen sie!”

The Nazis are now 25 yards away; you successfully put a yard's distance between yourselves. Decide what you'd both like to do now.

[cdwjava]

Steele stops and stares. "Eeny, meany, miney ... MOE!" he points at one of the tunnels and snaps, "That way!"

Without waiting for a reply, he bolts down the tunnel.

[ThirtyThr33]

"Good enough for me!" Mick says as he chases after Ully. He takes a mental note that they run down the fourth tunnel from the left as they entered.

Instead of using Pace and Running rolls, it might be cool to use the Chase rules on p82 of Deluxe Edition. Available free and legal from peginc (http://www.peginc.com/freebies/SWcore/SWDUpdates_ChaseRules.pdf) if you are using a different edition. Don't know what you have planned for us or if it's appropriate, but I thought I would just throw the idea out there.

[cdwjava]

"So ... got any ... plan?" Ulysses huffs as he sprints along. "Maybe ... the next cave ... will have ... Chinese monks! We've seen ... everything else ... in here!"

Ditto the SWD chase idea as mentioned in the OOC thread

[Hack Writer]

Don't want to make this a drawn-out chase scene, especially since my time's been short recently and we have a new player almost ready to join us. Instead, I've decided to have you encoun-- ah, just read below! :smalltongue:

Trusting to blind luck to see you through, the pair of you dive headfirst to the nearest tunnel, ever mindful of the spectre of the pursing Nazis on your heels.

Torchlight waving madly as all semblance of stealth is forfeited in a desperate bid to make Mick’s daring gamble pay off, you don’t notice the sheer decline of the tunnel until it is much, much too late… By then you’re tumbling, end over end, into the all-consuming blackness below you, kicking up dust and a cascading trail of broken rock.

The yawning emptiness claims you, and as it does you think you can hear the cruel guffawing of subterranean gods somewhere in the deep darkness beneath your feet….

~~~

Thinking quickly, you check your hectic descent with outthrust hands and knees, feeling the cold rock bite into your flesh through the thick layers of the winter proof clothing. Sally, yipping with confusion behind you, does better in her efforts to halt her uncontrolled slide into the darkness, her long claws steadying her into a stable slide just above Mick's head. Below you, the noise grows louder; an angry laughter, like the blood-maddened bellowing of an insane giant, resounds through the darkness of the tunnel.

And then you reach the bottom of the tunnel with an unceremonious thump, Mick landing hard on Ulysses' back, Sally dropping on top of Mick. It takes you a few seconds to realise it, but you’re unharmed – miraculous! The voices of the Nazis echo in the distance above you, but they sound much fainter now, and all but lost in the vast body of the mountain – and the angry, thumping bellowing that echoes around you.

That noise, you realise, was not the product of a chthonic god, but instead was generated by the throaty bass percussion of heavy machinery. Inside this new cave, you discover, sit several large bronze-coloured machines, each one an archaic collection of baroque tubes, pipes, valves, pistons, struts, cogs and weird crackling electrical coils, which spark and hum and intermittently emit tongues of multicoloured light. Their immediate use eludes you, though you find you have the time for only a cursory glance, when your eyes alight upon a stranger – and more terrifying – sight than all of these combined!

Six monstrous creatures, sinisterly incomprehensible in physiological and biological design, but nauseatingly familiar after your encounter of only a few brief minutes ago, glide between the open spaces of the obscure machinery, communicating to one another in odd chirps and cheeps. Akalaians…

These newest members of the extra-dimensional invaders float between the towering machines seemingly ignorant of your presence. Unlike the aliens you encountered earlier, these Akalaians don’t seem to be carrying any of those hideous deatomising guns that reduced poor Ghurka Sarki to so much powdered ash. Rather, it seems as if they’re working, though incomprehensible nature of their physical appearance makes it near impossible to fully fathom quite what they’re up to.

Once more, in seems, Lady Luck has shown you momentary favour – only to wicked spurn you. Not content with allowing the Nazis to have their prize, that fickle maiden of fortune has instead decided to thrust you, headfirst, into the belly of the beast!

So I decided to be sadistic – because occasional sadism’s fun when you’re the GM. Nope, you don’t need to make another Fear check (note: I said occasional sadism); you made a check only recently, and I’m counting that check sufficient for the rest of the adventure. You do however need to decide what you’re both going to do, now that you’re in a room occupied by a half-dozen of those Wild Card Akalaians…

[ThirtyThr33]

Mick is about to let out a groan just as he spots the group of mythical beasts. He bites his tongue instead. Remembering what she did last time, Mick hisses to Sally "Sally no. Heel." He flicks off his flashlight.

He whispers to Ully. "What do you suppose they are doing? Mining the blue veins? If they are, they probably have a shaft or conveyor that goes to surface somewhere close by."

Mick
[roll0]
[roll1]

Sally
[roll2]

Extra dice if needed
[roll3]
[roll4]

I don't know what the modifiers for Darkness and Loud Noise is, but it's got to be around +4. If thats wrong (if say, the flying squids see in the dark) adjust the above.

PS: Being a mining engineer posting this from an underground mine site, I find the alien super being's complete disreguard for operational health and safety rather hilarious. :smallbiggrin: I'm also have a ball of a time trying to figure out what mining method they are using.

[Hack Writer]

Mick recovers quickly and, crouching low in a panther's stance, seeks out the cover afforded by the shadow the thundering machines; Sally pads along in his wake, doing her best to follow her master’s orders. Mick presses his back against the cold metallic surface of the alien machine, tasting the expelled chemical vapours of the whirring engines as a copper-laced tang on the tip of his tongue; the ambient physical and metaphysical energy surrounding the machines sets his skin scrawling. Peering around, Mick takes stock of his surroundings with interest.

To the north of where Mick is crouching, directly past the Akalaians and the strange banks of chugging machinery, a single wide tunnel mouth opens up into a well lit corridor illuminated by hanging high-intensity discharge lamps. Snaking industrial cables cut wide furrows into the earth from the machines to the corridor, where they branch off to the right and to the left.

Lighting is actually pretty decent here, so the total stealth bonus is a +2. Don’t worry – you passed; but in the future, you’ll only be able to add +2 to the roll.

Getting from where you’re both currently positioned to the doorway will take a single stealth check for Mick and Sally, and two Stealth checks for Ulysses, because he’s a bit farther off.

Also, both of you, give me a Smarts roll at –2, just to see if Mick or Ulysses can deduce anything more about their location.

[cdwjava]

Steele does a quick inventory of his possessions and scans the scene before him.

He shakes his head muttering, "Not sure what that blue stuff is ... you?"

He nods to Mick. Whispering, he comments further, "Yeah, there's probably something to the surface ... but ..." He shakes his head. "I gotta get back to church! I don't know if this is punishment for a wicked life, or I'm still alive because of His grace."

Steele hears the scattered words of one of his father's sermons ringing in his ears as he watches the strange aliens and wonders just where they came from.

"They don't seem too concerned with us ... maybe ... we can slip by them." He pats the AK47 at his side (if he still has it) and hopes he doesn't have to use it.