Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
Facula Albedo, Human Scoundrel
Favour: 3/6
Notoriety: 2/6
Motivation: 2/6
Favour: 3/6
Notoriety: 2/6
Motivation: 2/6
Last edited:
[Notorious] Space Bounty: Rendezvous on Storix
- Thread starter Whizbang Dustyboots
- Start date
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
Facula Albedo trekked along a long-abandoned road, split with myriad cracks and seams from seismic activity and blurred boundaries caused by punishing geothermal heat that occasionally reliquefied portions of the asphalt.
He had gotten off his last hover-trailer ride and set out this way, after hearing reports that a rogue mystic had been hiding out in these badlands.
The road led to what had once been a secure facility. But crumbling guard towers now stood watch over broken walls beyond even the ability of self-healing concrete to repair. The gates of the facility were now permanently half-open, a blast mark the only sign the top hinge on one of the gates had ever been there.
Albedo slipped inside, hand over his pistol.
He stopped, his breath catching.
Inside was a massive ship's graveyard, filled with decaying merchant vehicles, cargo haulers, surplus military vehicles, all in advanced states of decay. Small critters nested here and there, viewing this as yet another sapient-built landscape to dwell in, without the emotional weight felt by Albedo as he walked through the graveyard, looking and listening for any signs of habitation by the mystic.
What he found instead was something he'd been both hoping for and dreading once he realized what this facility was.
"Hello, beautiful," he whispered.
Albedo walked slowly around the ruined Peregrine starfighter, the nimble spear tip of the Imperial Navy.
He had grown up in Underslum 4 on the city-planet of Iyama, four miles below the nominal surface of the planet. Down there, there was no natural light, just visions of the suns on screens and artificial lights that never truly went out, even at night, because a portion of the underclass was always working a shift for the great and powerful living in the towers that stretched miles above ground level.
But when Albedo was a boy, playing hide and seek in the air vents with neighbors from his sub-block, he'd forced open a loose panel that was missing a screw. Closing it behind him to evade his playmates, he'd been drawn by a light different from what he normally saw. Moving carefully and slowly, he'd found another panel, loose and banging in the breeze, letting in more of the strange light. Undoing the remaining screws with his fingers, he found it gave him access to the top side of the duct. Climbing slowly out onto it, he found himself in an enormous air shaft, as big as a sub-block, leading down into the infinite inky depths below and up, up, up, rimmed by the edges of the towers above, toward a narrow window of open sky, the first anyone in his family had ever seen.
He laid atop of the duct for hours, staring up at the sky so far ahead, somehow so different than what it looked on screens. Flying creatures lived along the edges of the shaft, bats below, gloomy dark-winged birds and his level and, far above, flitting in and out of narrow bands of sunlight, brightly colored birds like emissaries from another world.
At times, he would close his eyes and listen to the bird songs, mating cries and arguments over territory or signals that clouds of insects had been found.
And every once in a while, very far off, there was the roar of something flying even above the sunlit birds: beautiful needle-like Peregrine starfighters, metallic dragonflies moving in formation, looping, spinning, spiraling through the air with a joy that surpassed even that of the birds.
Back in his family's quarters, Albedo pored over online maps of the surface, discovering they were technically only a few miles from a great military base where Imperial Navy starfighter pilots trained.
When he wasn't at his lessons, or at work picking rare earth metals out of scrap in Recycling Center 17, Albedo would be on his secret ledge out in the great airshaft or at Underslum 4's Grand Arcade, playing Peregrine Fighter for hours, using up all of his personal spending money getting better and better at flying the simulated starfighter through ever more difficult missions, putting down terrorist and anarchist rebellions and battling barbarians from beyond the edge of civilized space.
He had no hope of a life beyond that of a scrap-picker. But someone had been paying attention.
The Imperial Navy recruiters showed up at his family's quarters one day. Officially, they had a choice in sending Facula to the academy and there was a recruitment bonus paid to the family. But saying no wasn't really an option. His father accepted the credits -- the equivalent three months' pay for a family of scrap-pickers, although still a paltry sum by any reasonable measure -- in stunned silence while Albedo's mother quietly cried. The Navy was purchasing their son, who wouldn't be able to leave base before graduating the academy, something he was not guaranteed to survive.
But Albedo had been excited, promising to visit them after graduation and to send them credits when he could, already picturing himself in the midnight blue uniform of an Imperial Navy pilot, winged skulls on his lapels.
He shook himself out of his reverie. This Peregrine wasn't his and looked like it had been rusting here longer than he'd been alive. Albedo ran a fond hand across its pitted hull. The Sorcerer had a docking port that would allow it to carry a smaller ship attached to its belly, like a mother airwhale with its young. Maybe Albedo could find a surplus Peregrine in better shape than this one and slowly get it fixed up over time. Maybe.
But not this Peregrine.
Albedo continued his exploration, hearing and seeing no sign of sentient life here. And then he discovered why.
Massive of toxic sludge, oozing from leaking barrels stretched across large portions of the graveyard, ships sinking into the muck. The smell was enough to warn him, but using his electrobinoculars, he could spot the symbols warning of radioactivity and chemical hazards. His mystic couldn't dwell here for long. This place was a dump in more ways than one.
Albedo doubled back and out of the ship's graveyard, heading back to the road. He returned to the main road and followed it onward, between shift changes and easy rides.
When he finally found himself at the next little village, there was trouble. Mercenaries, well-armed and armored, with bright white writing declaring "SECURITY" on their black hover-cars and uniform. Red Moon forces, looking for someone or something.
A pair of them, a tall Ghol with black horns and blood red skin, and a quick eyed Murian, spotted him, walking over to him before he could get too close to the security perimeter.
The Murian's eyes took in Albedo's pistols and his stun baton and muttered a quiet word to his partner. They calmly pointed autopistols at his belly but didn't seem the nervous sort.
"Identification?" the Murian asked, taking an official tone that the Red Moon Syndicate wasn't legally entitled to, but which no one on Storix had the power to truly resist. "What business do you have here?"
Moving slowly and calmly, Albedo moved one hand away from his pistol -- although letting his left hand linger next to the other -- and pulled out and activated his data pad.
"I'm a Nomad. Looking for my target."
The Ghol frowned a little.
"You have an accent. Iyama?" He had a similar subtle trace of an accent just like Albedo's.
"Underslum 4. You?"
"Maintenance Railway Z9."
The Murian's whiskers twitched in irritation at them getting off-track.
"That's all very nice, but your target's not here."
Albedo hadn't shown him that page, but it didn't matter.
"I'm on authorized Nomad Guild business. I won't interfere in whatever you're doing here."
The Murian snorted.
"No, you won't. You're going to hand over your weapons and get into that security wagon over there. Spend a few nights with us while we verify your story."
The Ghol said nothing, mouth twitching a little in concern as he listened to his partner and took in Albedo's lack of concern even with autopistols pointed at his torso.
"No, I won't be," Albedo said quietly, smiling slightly, eyes meeting first once mercenary's gaze, then the other. He slowly lowered the data pad until he was holding it beside his other pistol. He probably couldn't drop the pad and draw the pistol and fire both pistols faster than the mercenaries could fire on him. But something about his demeanor suggested otherwise.
"Girl I grew up with joined the Nomad's Guild," the Ghol said. "Djali Lupay. Ever heard of her?"
"Yeah. Killed in a gunfight with Targ Cartel thugs on Talus."
The Murian smirked and started to speak. Albedo met his gaze and smiled.
"-- took six of them with her, of course."
Silence for a long moment.
"That sounds like her," the Ghol said, aiming his autopistol away from Albedo and taking a step back and out of the way. "No reason for us to delay you any longer."
The Murian opened his mouth to speak. His partner silenced him with a look.
Albedo nodded, touching the brim of his hat, and continued past the town, ignoring whatever was happening there.
"Don't Get Attached."
He had gotten off his last hover-trailer ride and set out this way, after hearing reports that a rogue mystic had been hiding out in these badlands.
The road led to what had once been a secure facility. But crumbling guard towers now stood watch over broken walls beyond even the ability of self-healing concrete to repair. The gates of the facility were now permanently half-open, a blast mark the only sign the top hinge on one of the gates had ever been there.
Albedo slipped inside, hand over his pistol.
He stopped, his breath catching.
Inside was a massive ship's graveyard, filled with decaying merchant vehicles, cargo haulers, surplus military vehicles, all in advanced states of decay. Small critters nested here and there, viewing this as yet another sapient-built landscape to dwell in, without the emotional weight felt by Albedo as he walked through the graveyard, looking and listening for any signs of habitation by the mystic.
What he found instead was something he'd been both hoping for and dreading once he realized what this facility was.
"Hello, beautiful," he whispered.
Albedo walked slowly around the ruined Peregrine starfighter, the nimble spear tip of the Imperial Navy.
He had grown up in Underslum 4 on the city-planet of Iyama, four miles below the nominal surface of the planet. Down there, there was no natural light, just visions of the suns on screens and artificial lights that never truly went out, even at night, because a portion of the underclass was always working a shift for the great and powerful living in the towers that stretched miles above ground level.
But when Albedo was a boy, playing hide and seek in the air vents with neighbors from his sub-block, he'd forced open a loose panel that was missing a screw. Closing it behind him to evade his playmates, he'd been drawn by a light different from what he normally saw. Moving carefully and slowly, he'd found another panel, loose and banging in the breeze, letting in more of the strange light. Undoing the remaining screws with his fingers, he found it gave him access to the top side of the duct. Climbing slowly out onto it, he found himself in an enormous air shaft, as big as a sub-block, leading down into the infinite inky depths below and up, up, up, rimmed by the edges of the towers above, toward a narrow window of open sky, the first anyone in his family had ever seen.
He laid atop of the duct for hours, staring up at the sky so far ahead, somehow so different than what it looked on screens. Flying creatures lived along the edges of the shaft, bats below, gloomy dark-winged birds and his level and, far above, flitting in and out of narrow bands of sunlight, brightly colored birds like emissaries from another world.
At times, he would close his eyes and listen to the bird songs, mating cries and arguments over territory or signals that clouds of insects had been found.
And every once in a while, very far off, there was the roar of something flying even above the sunlit birds: beautiful needle-like Peregrine starfighters, metallic dragonflies moving in formation, looping, spinning, spiraling through the air with a joy that surpassed even that of the birds.
Back in his family's quarters, Albedo pored over online maps of the surface, discovering they were technically only a few miles from a great military base where Imperial Navy starfighter pilots trained.
When he wasn't at his lessons, or at work picking rare earth metals out of scrap in Recycling Center 17, Albedo would be on his secret ledge out in the great airshaft or at Underslum 4's Grand Arcade, playing Peregrine Fighter for hours, using up all of his personal spending money getting better and better at flying the simulated starfighter through ever more difficult missions, putting down terrorist and anarchist rebellions and battling barbarians from beyond the edge of civilized space.
He had no hope of a life beyond that of a scrap-picker. But someone had been paying attention.
The Imperial Navy recruiters showed up at his family's quarters one day. Officially, they had a choice in sending Facula to the academy and there was a recruitment bonus paid to the family. But saying no wasn't really an option. His father accepted the credits -- the equivalent three months' pay for a family of scrap-pickers, although still a paltry sum by any reasonable measure -- in stunned silence while Albedo's mother quietly cried. The Navy was purchasing their son, who wouldn't be able to leave base before graduating the academy, something he was not guaranteed to survive.
But Albedo had been excited, promising to visit them after graduation and to send them credits when he could, already picturing himself in the midnight blue uniform of an Imperial Navy pilot, winged skulls on his lapels.
He shook himself out of his reverie. This Peregrine wasn't his and looked like it had been rusting here longer than he'd been alive. Albedo ran a fond hand across its pitted hull. The Sorcerer had a docking port that would allow it to carry a smaller ship attached to its belly, like a mother airwhale with its young. Maybe Albedo could find a surplus Peregrine in better shape than this one and slowly get it fixed up over time. Maybe.
But not this Peregrine.
Albedo continued his exploration, hearing and seeing no sign of sentient life here. And then he discovered why.
Massive of toxic sludge, oozing from leaking barrels stretched across large portions of the graveyard, ships sinking into the muck. The smell was enough to warn him, but using his electrobinoculars, he could spot the symbols warning of radioactivity and chemical hazards. His mystic couldn't dwell here for long. This place was a dump in more ways than one.
Albedo doubled back and out of the ship's graveyard, heading back to the road. He returned to the main road and followed it onward, between shift changes and easy rides.
When he finally found himself at the next little village, there was trouble. Mercenaries, well-armed and armored, with bright white writing declaring "SECURITY" on their black hover-cars and uniform. Red Moon forces, looking for someone or something.
A pair of them, a tall Ghol with black horns and blood red skin, and a quick eyed Murian, spotted him, walking over to him before he could get too close to the security perimeter.
The Murian's eyes took in Albedo's pistols and his stun baton and muttered a quiet word to his partner. They calmly pointed autopistols at his belly but didn't seem the nervous sort.
"Identification?" the Murian asked, taking an official tone that the Red Moon Syndicate wasn't legally entitled to, but which no one on Storix had the power to truly resist. "What business do you have here?"
Moving slowly and calmly, Albedo moved one hand away from his pistol -- although letting his left hand linger next to the other -- and pulled out and activated his data pad.
"I'm a Nomad. Looking for my target."
The Ghol frowned a little.
"You have an accent. Iyama?" He had a similar subtle trace of an accent just like Albedo's.
"Underslum 4. You?"
"Maintenance Railway Z9."
The Murian's whiskers twitched in irritation at them getting off-track.
"That's all very nice, but your target's not here."
Albedo hadn't shown him that page, but it didn't matter.
"I'm on authorized Nomad Guild business. I won't interfere in whatever you're doing here."
The Murian snorted.
"No, you won't. You're going to hand over your weapons and get into that security wagon over there. Spend a few nights with us while we verify your story."
The Ghol said nothing, mouth twitching a little in concern as he listened to his partner and took in Albedo's lack of concern even with autopistols pointed at his torso.
"No, I won't be," Albedo said quietly, smiling slightly, eyes meeting first once mercenary's gaze, then the other. He slowly lowered the data pad until he was holding it beside his other pistol. He probably couldn't drop the pad and draw the pistol and fire both pistols faster than the mercenaries could fire on him. But something about his demeanor suggested otherwise.
"Girl I grew up with joined the Nomad's Guild," the Ghol said. "Djali Lupay. Ever heard of her?"
"Yeah. Killed in a gunfight with Targ Cartel thugs on Talus."
The Murian smirked and started to speak. Albedo met his gaze and smiled.
"-- took six of them with her, of course."
Silence for a long moment.
"That sounds like her," the Ghol said, aiming his autopistol away from Albedo and taking a step back and out of the way. "No reason for us to delay you any longer."
The Murian opened his mouth to speak. His partner silenced him with a look.
Albedo nodded, touching the brim of his hat, and continued past the town, ignoring whatever was happening there.
"Don't Get Attached."
Rolled a 6 on Exploration, which alas, means "nothing eventful happens." I gain a point of Motivation and roll another d6 for the specific type of nothing eventful happening. I roll a 5: "What dangerous terrain do you successfully navigate?"
Strorix's write-up mentions that its terrain includes "mountain passes, colossal machinery, dark tunnels and active volcanoes." Of those, the one I haven't really engaged with has been machinery.
So, opening up the Roll & Play Game Master's Sci-Fi Toolkit book, there's nothing for industrial wastelands -- if I had Ashes Without Number or Cities Without Number, they'd probably have relevant tables -- but I go with the Restricted Areas tables instead. I come up with a spaceship graveyard full of long-abandoned vehicles which is now being used as a hazardous material dumping ground by unscrupulous locals.
After that, it's back to the Notorious rulebook to roll for arriving at my Destination. I roll a 4, finding another small town run by locals, and choose to roll once on the Destination Events table rather than resting and getting yet more Motivation.
I roll a 3, and then a 2 for what happens on that specific table: "A large group of soldiers from the controlling faction are here. There's no way to avoid catching their attention." I roll a d6 to see what happens: 2, "a pair of hostile soldiers approach you. Why are so many soldiers gathered here right now?" Since Storix is under the control of the Red Moon Syndicate, this means their hired "security guards." I roll on the Personality table, and they're both assured/calm/focused, which is better than it might have been. One is a Ghol, the other is a Murian.
Looking on the Reactions table, I see my only options are to Threaten or Attack, since they're categorized as Hostiles. Neither seems like a great option, but Threaten seems safer, so I roll a d6, add half of my Notoriety, rounded up (so a +1), for a total of 6. They also roll a 6. I actually can't find what happens on a tie. So time to burn some Motivation and force the hostiles to reroll: They get a 5, which makes them back down from my threat. I roll on the Threat Neutralized table. 5, which means they grumble about someone they knew who became a Nomad: "You know who you remind me of?" "Why did that person join the guild and what became of them?"
Turn ends.
Strorix's write-up mentions that its terrain includes "mountain passes, colossal machinery, dark tunnels and active volcanoes." Of those, the one I haven't really engaged with has been machinery.
So, opening up the Roll & Play Game Master's Sci-Fi Toolkit book, there's nothing for industrial wastelands -- if I had Ashes Without Number or Cities Without Number, they'd probably have relevant tables -- but I go with the Restricted Areas tables instead. I come up with a spaceship graveyard full of long-abandoned vehicles which is now being used as a hazardous material dumping ground by unscrupulous locals.
After that, it's back to the Notorious rulebook to roll for arriving at my Destination. I roll a 4, finding another small town run by locals, and choose to roll once on the Destination Events table rather than resting and getting yet more Motivation.
I roll a 3, and then a 2 for what happens on that specific table: "A large group of soldiers from the controlling faction are here. There's no way to avoid catching their attention." I roll a d6 to see what happens: 2, "a pair of hostile soldiers approach you. Why are so many soldiers gathered here right now?" Since Storix is under the control of the Red Moon Syndicate, this means their hired "security guards." I roll on the Personality table, and they're both assured/calm/focused, which is better than it might have been. One is a Ghol, the other is a Murian.
Looking on the Reactions table, I see my only options are to Threaten or Attack, since they're categorized as Hostiles. Neither seems like a great option, but Threaten seems safer, so I roll a d6, add half of my Notoriety, rounded up (so a +1), for a total of 6. They also roll a 6. I actually can't find what happens on a tie. So time to burn some Motivation and force the hostiles to reroll: They get a 5, which makes them back down from my threat. I roll on the Threat Neutralized table. 5, which means they grumble about someone they knew who became a Nomad: "You know who you remind me of?" "Why did that person join the guild and what became of them?"
Turn ends.
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Joshua Randall
Legend
I continue to be impressed by your ability to draw rich story out of bland dice rolls.
Out of curiosity, How much of Albedo’s background did you have figured in your mind before the starship graveyard?
Out of curiosity, How much of Albedo’s background did you have figured in your mind before the starship graveyard?
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
I had thought about how he got his scar/got drummed out of the navy idly for the last few weeks -- a good way to fall asleep at night -- and then thought generally about who he was before he joined up, but nothing specific other than him laying on the duct looking up at the little slice of sky in the ventilation shaft. Iyama is one of the six worlds in the Notorious book that could be a potential site for a Nomad's hunt for a target.
Getting the machinery roll and the airplane graveyard was just a fortuitous time to flesh it out.
I had also thought of "Peregrine" as a replacement for the X-Wings a while back, when I realized any of the closest parallels, like number- or Greek alphabet-based names wouldn't work and would just be too much.
So at some point there will be a flashback to how he got his scar and explain why he left the academy.
I think everything else is just based on the rolls.
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
Thanks. These are good prompts, as good or better than the prompts in Thousand Year Old Vampire and much better than Colostle.
Joshua Randall
Legend
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
Facula Albedo, Human Scoundrel
Favour: 3/6
Notoriety: 2/6
Motivation: 2/6
Favour: 3/6
Notoriety: 2/6
Motivation: 2/6
Whizbang Dustyboots
Gnometown Hero
The two hoverbikes came screaming down the road, sounding like the galaxy's largest hornets. The black-clad and helmeted riders zipped up alongside the hoverwagon and signaled that it should pull over. Now.
Albedo sighed.
"It's fine," he said to the terrified Murian driver who'd let him ride along with him for the past 20 clicks. "It's me they want."
No sooner had his boots hit the soil than the wagon was off, leaving him with the two riders, both human, one man, one woman. Without taking their eyes off him, they carefully got off their bikes, hands moving to their weapons.
"Armtek 9000," Albedo said, brushing his poncho away from his own pistols. "Sidearms of the Navy's Masters-At-Arms."
"Did you think you could outrun the Admiral?" the female figure, ex-Navy police like her partner, asked, her voice crackling through her helmet speaker.
"Are you in the Guild? 'Nomads Don't Kill Nomads.'"
Quoting the Guild Code only provoked the start of a snicker from the male figure as he began to draw his pistol.
There were two flashes of light and both figures went down. Albedo walked over to them without holstering his weapons and shot each figure in the face, just to be sure.
"Good to know."
Each wore a badge cam, a red blinking light indicating their encounter had been streamed back to someone, somewhere, and passing the information on to a secure Naval channel.
Albedo holstered his pistols now and pulled off the badges, holding them up so they could get a good look at his face.
"Killing me won't bring her back, Admiral."
Then he turned off the badges and tossed them into a ditch beside the road before searching the dead hired guns for the keys to the hoverbikes.
He would be far away, faster than he could have traveled hitching rides on a hoverwagon, if back up for these two was coming.
At nightfall, Albedo found himself at a papery Lek'tok hive, put up for the night in the back of a hoverbike garage owned by a former imperial mechanic named Nahki Kkash. The second hired gun's bike paid for a quiet place to sleep, a bowl of a sweet-smelling warm gel and secrecy. A buzzing, flickering portrait of the Red Emperor glared at Albedo from behind the counter, disapproving of his presence.
"They hid a fuel depot under my hive, on the third moon of Talus," Nahki Kkash said, cupping her forelimbs around a mug of Ferment. "Wanted to scat fast if the Old Empire came calling. So naturally, the Old Empire set it on fire from orbit. Burned everyone alive, including 3,000 larvae in the nursery."
Albedo said nothing, just listening.
"I heard about it a month later, right as we were disembarking for shore leave on Veltari," she said eventually. "I was a true believer. One of the best mechanics in the fleet.
"If they execute me for desertion, there's no one left to mourn me."
Albedo sighed.
"It's fine," he said to the terrified Murian driver who'd let him ride along with him for the past 20 clicks. "It's me they want."
No sooner had his boots hit the soil than the wagon was off, leaving him with the two riders, both human, one man, one woman. Without taking their eyes off him, they carefully got off their bikes, hands moving to their weapons.
"Armtek 9000," Albedo said, brushing his poncho away from his own pistols. "Sidearms of the Navy's Masters-At-Arms."
"Did you think you could outrun the Admiral?" the female figure, ex-Navy police like her partner, asked, her voice crackling through her helmet speaker.
"Are you in the Guild? 'Nomads Don't Kill Nomads.'"
Quoting the Guild Code only provoked the start of a snicker from the male figure as he began to draw his pistol.
There were two flashes of light and both figures went down. Albedo walked over to them without holstering his weapons and shot each figure in the face, just to be sure.
"Good to know."
Each wore a badge cam, a red blinking light indicating their encounter had been streamed back to someone, somewhere, and passing the information on to a secure Naval channel.
Albedo holstered his pistols now and pulled off the badges, holding them up so they could get a good look at his face.
"Killing me won't bring her back, Admiral."
Then he turned off the badges and tossed them into a ditch beside the road before searching the dead hired guns for the keys to the hoverbikes.
He would be far away, faster than he could have traveled hitching rides on a hoverwagon, if back up for these two was coming.
At nightfall, Albedo found himself at a papery Lek'tok hive, put up for the night in the back of a hoverbike garage owned by a former imperial mechanic named Nahki Kkash. The second hired gun's bike paid for a quiet place to sleep, a bowl of a sweet-smelling warm gel and secrecy. A buzzing, flickering portrait of the Red Emperor glared at Albedo from behind the counter, disapproving of his presence.
"They hid a fuel depot under my hive, on the third moon of Talus," Nahki Kkash said, cupping her forelimbs around a mug of Ferment. "Wanted to scat fast if the Old Empire came calling. So naturally, the Old Empire set it on fire from orbit. Burned everyone alive, including 3,000 larvae in the nursery."
Albedo said nothing, just listening.
"I heard about it a month later, right as we were disembarking for shore leave on Veltari," she said eventually. "I was a true believer. One of the best mechanics in the fleet.
"If they execute me for desertion, there's no one left to mourn me."
Rolled a 5 on the Exploration table. If I had a 3 Notoriety, I would find a Lead at long last. Gotta be on the lookout for those opportunities. Instead, I go on to the Exploration Events table, where I roll a 2 and then a 4 on the subtable.
A speeding vehicle appears out of nowhere and two Hostiles who work for a powerful crime boss leap out to confront me. I roll a d6 and get a 4: They're masked Humans. What do these masks look like and where have they seen you before?
As they're Hostiles, I can Threaten or Attack them. But I see that I can gain Notoriety for killing them, so that's what I'm going to try this time. They have a +1 on their Challenge die and +1 health. I have to fight them one at a time, in typical gamebook style. Bad news for them: My handy-dandy laser pistols give a +4 on Challenge rating -- I'm getting better at reading the slightly cryptic symbols in the book which probably could be explained more than once.
I roll a 4, which is an 8 with my modifier. The first thug rolls a 5, which is a 6 total. I kill him dead, getting +1 Notoriety.
Against the second thug, I roll a 3, which is a 7 with my modifier. She rolls 3, which is a 4. Another dead hired gun. I can only get one Notoriety per fight, but this gets me to 3 Notoriety at last, giving me a chance to start finding Leads (among other consequences).
From there, it's on to the Destination. I roll a 4, meaning I arrive at another town run by locals. Instead of choosing to go to Destination events, I pick the better part of valor and Speak with a Local, then rest and gain +1 Motivation, the meta-currency.
Rolling up the Local, I roll a 1d6 and she's a Lek'tok. Rolling on their naming table, that gives us a 2, for "Nahki Kkash." A 1 on the Personality table says they're vain. Going to the Speak reaction table, I add half of my Favour (3) rounded up to 2 as a bonus on my roll. I roll a 6 + 2 for eight, against Nahki's 6, so I succeed.
A roll on the Speak table for conversation gives me a 6, so Nahki once fought in the war between the Old Empire and the New Uprising. "Which side did they fight for and why do they regret taking part?"
And that's a wrap for this turn. Hopefully that 3 Notoriety will get me finding Leads and getting closer to the eventual showdown with Itsuki Itch.
A speeding vehicle appears out of nowhere and two Hostiles who work for a powerful crime boss leap out to confront me. I roll a d6 and get a 4: They're masked Humans. What do these masks look like and where have they seen you before?
As they're Hostiles, I can Threaten or Attack them. But I see that I can gain Notoriety for killing them, so that's what I'm going to try this time. They have a +1 on their Challenge die and +1 health. I have to fight them one at a time, in typical gamebook style. Bad news for them: My handy-dandy laser pistols give a +4 on Challenge rating -- I'm getting better at reading the slightly cryptic symbols in the book which probably could be explained more than once.
I roll a 4, which is an 8 with my modifier. The first thug rolls a 5, which is a 6 total. I kill him dead, getting +1 Notoriety.
Against the second thug, I roll a 3, which is a 7 with my modifier. She rolls 3, which is a 4. Another dead hired gun. I can only get one Notoriety per fight, but this gets me to 3 Notoriety at last, giving me a chance to start finding Leads (among other consequences).
From there, it's on to the Destination. I roll a 4, meaning I arrive at another town run by locals. Instead of choosing to go to Destination events, I pick the better part of valor and Speak with a Local, then rest and gain +1 Motivation, the meta-currency.
Rolling up the Local, I roll a 1d6 and she's a Lek'tok. Rolling on their naming table, that gives us a 2, for "Nahki Kkash." A 1 on the Personality table says they're vain. Going to the Speak reaction table, I add half of my Favour (3) rounded up to 2 as a bonus on my roll. I roll a 6 + 2 for eight, against Nahki's 6, so I succeed.
A roll on the Speak table for conversation gives me a 6, so Nahki once fought in the war between the Old Empire and the New Uprising. "Which side did they fight for and why do they regret taking part?"
And that's a wrap for this turn. Hopefully that 3 Notoriety will get me finding Leads and getting closer to the eventual showdown with Itsuki Itch.
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Joshua Randall
Legend
The only thing missing from this awesome scene is an Ennio Morricone soundtrack! We knew it was inevitable that the Empire would come calling at some point. And they got what they deserved.
But who is “she” who can’t be brought back? cue mysterious music!
But who is “she” who can’t be brought back? cue mysterious music!
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