Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

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Tribe of One
Posts: 1208
Joined: Wed Aug 30, 2017 9:28 am

Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Tribe of One »

Image
Klib squinted up at the rock wall above him. It wasn’t even 10 a.m. and the heat was already radiating off of the basalt escarpment.

Why on the Lord’s green Earth did I build my still on the east wall of the gall-dang Mesa? he thought to himself. Because nobody else is fool enough to climb up here and find it.

Of course, solitude wasn’t the only reason. The techno-wizard who set it up for Klib had insisted the little cavern tucked halfway up the east wall was the perfect place for a still that could draw on the mystical energies of the nearby ley line. Resonance was the word he’d used, and Klib had quickly adopted the term into his own lexicon -- you could say a lot of things about the pot-bellied D-bees called Fingertooths, but they knew a five-dollar word when they heard one.

Klib clicked his mandibles together and sighed, then started the long climb that would take him to the still. If his calculations were correct, he should have at least half a jar of Klib’s Magical Mystical Moonshine ready waiting for him. Even without such a grand name, this hooch was no ordinary rotgut. One drop was enough to put a Grackletooth to sleep -- and often was used for that purpose. Klib sold the stuff by the ounce to the proprietors of the Sidewinder Saloon and other Black Mesa establishments. Kept behind the bar, it was useful as a mickey if the patrons got too rowdy.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Klib hauled his sorry kiester up onto the rock shelf and into the welcome shade of his little cave. The alluring smell of ether and cinnamon greeted him, but it was marred by the unexpected stench of wet dog.

Has a darn coyote moved in? Klib thought. Just as he started to look around the breath was knocked out of him as something punched him between the shoulder blades.

Even more curiously, his chest suddenly started to buzz. Looking down, he saw the blade of a vibro-knife sticking out of his chest carapace, just above the top button of his vest. The way it rattled and vibrated reminded him of something … What was that word the techno-wizard used? Reson-... and then the blood stopped pumping into his brain and he fell over, dead.

“Looks like he was alone, Sarge,” a deep voice growled, as a shape shuffled out of the nearby shadows.

There was a crack as the vibro-knife pulled free from Klib’s sternum.

“Back to your positions, then. We’ll wait for sundown, and the signal.”
GM Bennies: 7/7
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Jack 'Bullet' Jones
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Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Jack 'Bullet' Jones »

He was completely surrounded by some of the biggest, ugliest, and meanest toughs in Black Mesa. They all crowded around him in the Silver Naked Lady, one of the higher class establishments in town. Every one of them, d-bee and human, stared daggers at the blue eyed gambler. This would be anything but a fair fight.
"Two cards."

The d-bee dealer had seven fingers on each hand and a modified mechanic's grip. She could deal you a used napkin and you wouldn't know it until it was in your hand. She had just come in from Gloom, sent out at a special request. She dealt two more cards to the outnumbered gambler. If he was scared of the odds, you couldn't tell. His face didn't flinch as he dropped two cards out of his hand and picked up the replacements.

Junk. No help. But anyone looking at him had no way of knowing.
The man on stage continued to pluck at his guitar, playing something he called "blues."
"Here's your drink, mister." The pretty blonde waitress sidled up to Jack Jones, leaned over, and placed a glass of green liquid next to him. "One shot of Umbari whiskey."

"Thankee, Stella." the gambler says, as he reaches his arm around the girl, brushing his hand up her fishnet stockings to her backside, giving her a little smack. She giggles. He returns his hand to his cards, and not even a mystic with otherworldly sight could have seen the swap.

"Mr. Cobb, cards?" The dealer turns to face the large, well dressed man with the devil's smile.

"One." His voice is deep, rolling like thunder through his lips, thick with confidence. If Jack's poker face was stone, Cobb's was an ever present smile. Almost as if he knew the hand was already his. He slides the new card into his hand. His smile doesn't break. He gestures to one of the large toughs who leans down to his boss. Cobb reaches up to pull the hulking fellow closer. "Go get me one of those too." he whispers loudly enough for the table to hear, gesturing at Jack's whiskey. He returns his hand to his cards. The swap was almost as good as Jack's.

"Bets, gentlemen." The seven fingered dealer turns to Jack Jones.

Stone faced, he calls out his bet. "50,000." Cobb's eyebrow arches, momentarily. Jones scoots a corresponding number of variously colored chips into the middle of the table. He lifts the glass of whiskey from the napkin, spilling some of the liquid onto his hand. Taking a drink, he sets the glass back down and dabs his hands off on the napkin. Returning his hand to his cards, a hawk would have missed the exchange.

"Mr. Cobb?"

The devil's smile doesn't shift. "This is it, Jack. Showdown. All in." He pushes every last chip into the pot. The crowd murmurs, oohing and ahhing over the move.
Jack Jones stares directly into the eyes of this man. Cobb is dangerous. Beyond being wealthy, it's rumored there are Black Market connections, but the rumors don't do it justice. Cobb is a major player. He's also more dangerous than any of his hired muscle. Cobb has spent a fortune on cybernetic enhancements. He could pull a dragon's arms from their sockets. People who cross him are rumored to come to very unpleasant ends. None of the rumors can be proven, however, because none of them are ever found.

"Must be just an absolute peach of a hand, Cobb." For the first time all night, Jack Jones lets a bit of a smile cross his lips. "Ah might be a fool, but ah'll just have ta call." His words drawl out, slow and steady. He is unfazed by the monster player or the thought of the monster hand. He pushes his entire stake into the pot.

Cobb's smile widens as he lays down his hand. "Five Kings." He shows his hand, and sure enough, there are two Kings of Clubs, and the rest of the kings in the deck finish out his five cards. Some of the toughs chuckle, but quickly return their menacing glare at Jack Jones.

Jack's smile doesn't fade. He lays his hand down.
Ace of Clubs, Ace of Diamonds, Ace of Hearts, and two Aces of Spades.

In an instant, every hired thug standing there pulls a variety of weaponry, enough to make a fully loaded Death's Head Transport turn around to look for easier targets. Every barrel and blade in the bar is pointed at Jack "Bullet" Jones. Spectators gasp in unison, preparing to shield themselves from the shower of gore that will be the only remaining evidence of Jones' existence.

"STOP!"

Cobb's commanding voice bellows like a clap of thunder as he stands up, chair flying back against the wall. He lifts his hands to signal a halt to the impending bloodbath.
"It's okay, boys. It's okay. Put 'em away." He smiles that devil's smile and looks Jack Jones dead in the eye. "He cheated me fair and square." Cobb's laugh rumbles deep within his belly as he pushes the pile of chips to Jack's side of the table. The goons relax. "Guess that makes us even, Bullet. You sure you don't want me to put you on the circuit? Make you a wealthy man. You can even keep Stella."

Jack Jones' smooth voice and slow drawl issues from his throat like molasses, taking his time. "Naw, Cobb. Ah'm much obliged, but Ah got ta keep on the ride. Don't need ta make that kinda name fer m'self right yet. 'sides, ain't everybody playin' that respects a good cheat like you do."

Cobb smiles back. "Fair enough, Jones. But next time you're in here with your hands on my honeypots, and I don't get my due..." Cobb leans in close to Jack's ear, as if to whisper, then shouts for the whole bar to hear. "I'll tear your head off with my bare hands." Cobb's laugh is loud and sinister, echoing throughout the Silver Naked Lady. "Stella, get him another shot. On the house. His last one in my bar."

Cobb walks to Jack's side of the table and offers a hand. Jack stands up and accepts the handshake. Cobb pulls him in close, speaking low enough that only he can hear. "Samedi is still looking for you. Maybe I won't tell him yet. But I can't hide what I know forever. Keep your eyes open. And keep your damn hands off my girls. It's bad for business when you're the only one they want to spend time with."

Bullet Jones smiles back. "Sure thing, Cobb." He tips his hat to Cobb and reaches for the glass of whiskey Stella just brought over. He empties the contents into his mouth and hands the glass back to the waitress with a wink. Jack picks up his coat and walks to the front door. Every eye in the bar watches him leave, half expecting Cobb or one of his goons to drill him in the back. Jack Jones walks out into the night to find another lady and another game. The gambler. The gunslinger. Bullet Jones.
Bullet Jones
Jack "Bullet" Jones
Current Status Post
Bennies: 2/3
Wounds / Fatigue: 0 / 0
Parry: 5
Toughness: 14 (6)
ISP: 38 / 50
Active Powers: Greater Boost Trait - Shooting (+2 die types); Greater Smite (PHC, silver, raise); Greater Deflection (raise, -6 to hit)
Pace: 6
Pertinent Edges: Master Psionic, Charismatic, I Know A Guy, Strong Willed, Ambidextrous, Two Fisted, Quick, Elan
Armor: TW Lucky Devil's Duster
  • +6 Armor
  • +1 Toughness
  • FEP
  • +2 Gambling
  • Armor, Quickness, Invisibility powers
Weapon(s) in holster:
Right hand: PHC
Left hand: Hellfire Hand Cannon
Telekinesis: inactive
Adventure Cards:
  • none drawn yet
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Freemage
Savage Senior
Posts: 1927
Joined: Thu May 11, 2017 7:09 am

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Freemage »

It was Sunday morning, and Sir Blurre, recently arrived at Black Mesa with the 18th COT, was strolling through on his rounds. Of course, for him a 'stroll' was a fast jog for almost anyone else, but well, he couldn't help that. As he walked through the streets, leaving a small trail of dust stirred up behind himself, he occasionally paused to greet the locals--in the two weeks since he'd been here, he'd managed to remember the names of some of the folks here. Even out here in the badlands, the title of Cyber-Knight meant something; most folks were friendly in return, and those that weren't made a habit of slinking off rather than start an open confrontation.

It was a beautiful morning. It would be a perfect one, except....

"Sir Blurre! Why, just the fellow I was looking for! Coming by for services, this fine morning?"

He politely demurred, much to the Reverend Johnson's obvious chagrin, and kept on his way.

It's the one thing they never warn you about, when you're becoming a Cyber-Knight. Hubris, sure, they stress not to get too full of yourself. And the dangers of becoming too vicious, or too callous. But they never--

"Why, my good man! Welcome! Surely, you are planning on stopping in, we'd love to have you here with us in prayer!"

"Sorry, Preacher Haskins, I do appreciate the offer, but I'm on an errand of my own at the moment, but thank you for the kind invitation."

--warn you about the damn politics.

The town had almost as many churches as saloons, and most preached a fire-and-brimstone rhetoric that made Blurre a bit uncomfortable. And yet, except for the two that were hostile to d-bees--one openly, the other using a coded language that could almost pass for cordial if you weren't listening carefully--virtually every one of the preacher-men were making a concerted effort to get his endorsement of their particular house of worship. Through various invitations, ingratiations and damn near bribes, he'd been enticed to join no fewer than a dozen congregations in the short time he'd been here.

The reputation of the Cyber-Knights can have a downside. Oh, most of the preachers weren't bad men--many of them had highly redeeming qualities. But they were fiercely competitive. Sir Blurre suspected that a lot of the reason their invective against sin was so full of hell-talk was the desire to out-do one another. And so they all wanted Blurre to join their church, make it clear that the Knights viewed their teachings as the True Word.

And so, he'd resolved mentally to hold off on any such endorsement, at least for now. Being used as a pawn in a local game of denominational one-ups-manship was definitely not part of the Code.

After declining two more offers, he turned deliberately towards the roughest part of town, away from the declared piety of the churches. It was quieter--in part because the ruffians who lived here tended to sleep in late, he suspected. This suited him, he liked the quiet. Though he did see some activity, even so--a few stragglers, waking up on the porches of the saloons where they'd been deposited after passing out inside the night before. He paused a couple of times, offering a sip of water to those who looked like they could use a little hydration to help them home.

The day was starting to get warm, and he considered putting up his body armor's environmental protection, but he decided to simply find someplace to seek a little shade, instead. That was when he noticed the small building, with people walking in, in ones and twos. It had large, open windows to allow a breeze to pass through, but was otherwise unadorned. The occupants were all seated, quietly--so much so that first the thought it might be a funeral. But the clothing was wrong--definitely not mourning outfits, but rather just workaday clothes, for the most part. Intrigued, he stepped a bit closer; a woman passed him, with a polite smile and dip of her head, and she'd already gone inside and sat down, just as quiet as the others, before he recognized her--she was one of the come-on girls for one of the local bawdy houses. He stopped, surprised, as she was dressed so modestly and simply that he hardly recognized the woman who usually wore just barely enough clothing to fire the imagination--and that invariably adorned with tassels, lace and leather. Now she was just in a high-necked blouse and shin-length skirt, very practical for the heat, and with no trim at all.

It was... unexpected, and that drew him even further. As he stepped inside, he noted the way the shade of the building cooled his head, which had been slowly cooking in the late morning sun, and sighed softly in relief. Even that sound was loud in here, though--so quiet were the occupants that his exhalation seemed to echo through the room, though none of the others present so much as turned to look in annoyance.

Feeling a bit out of place, Sir Blurre opted to sit, quietly, rather than continue to make a presence out of himself, though of course being the only one in full armor made that difficult. Again, though, no one bothered to gawp at him, or even greet him hello. They just sat, silently, each seeming lost in thought... though there was something more purposeful about it, too. None of them seemed to be woolgathering--this was more deliberate, more conscious than mere silence, this was quiet, a stilling, not merely of noise, but of extraneous thoughts.

His annoyance at the preacher-politics, for instance, slipped away, as did even his curiosity about what a bawdy-house woman was doing here. He just... was. And after awhile, one of the folks stood, and sang, and for the first time, he became fairly certain this was some sort of religious event, since her song was a hymn he recognized readily enough.

Then she sat down, and another long silence ensued, and then a man stood up, and told a brief story about how he'd seen a local child stealing food from his shop, and chased him out, and then saw that same child a few days later, painting the Widow Montgomery's fence, and he'd been compelled to ask her about it, and been told that the boy had been doing odd chores for her ever since her husband passed a year ago, and the man admitted he'd felt ashamed, and asked the boy's forgiveness for his harsh words.

And others rose, and spoke, but only a few, and sometimes it wasn't entirely clear why they felt the need to speak, while others had a clear moral to their comments. But all were accepted by the assembled, thoughtfully and without comment of their own.

And then, after another spate of silence, one of those present stood up, and shook his neighbor's hand, and that seemed to be a cue--the others rose, and greeted those they knew, and began to make their way out, sometimes walking off together, or apart, and a few came over and introduced themselves, one of them saying that he was always welcome back, but no hard-sell, no offer of cakes or pies such as the other churches had made, nor of special rank in the congregation (no less than three preachers had offered him a position as a 'selectman' or 'vestryman' or somesuch title). Just a simple acceptance of his presence, neither more nor less.

Stepping out into the sun, he smiled to the woman whom he'd followed in here--Stella, he'd heard one of the others greet her as--and thought he just might have to come back next week.

It was only on his way out he saw the small sign near the gate-post: "Society of Friends". Yes, he thought he could be comfortable here.
GM Bennies (7th SET, Joker's Jokers): 8/8
OOC Comments
GMC Bennies:
  • EJ 2/2
    Thoomba 0/2
    Khem 2/2
PCs, 8 Active Slots, 3 Signature Items
*Gaspard Gillead, 12th AAT/Dirty Dozen
Serival Drumm, 24th COT
*Ophelia Monk, Mercy Team 6
Jaenelle, Beyond the Wall
Mille Visage, Northern Gun Mercs
*Charon, Black Company
*Hero, Lost Jungle/TL

Inactive/Retired/Deceased
Gorgeous George, 4th COT/Murder Hobos(Frozen)
Nomel Sagia, Nameless (Frozen)
Libertas Magicorum, 13th SET/Silent Ones(Retired)
Savant, 3rd SET/Losers(Frozen)
Other Mother, Ravenloft (Frozen)
Lance, 24th COT/Kingsdale (Retired)
Ramson Gourdaine, Phase World (Blazed)
Hexx, Rising Stars SPC (Frozen)
Sir Blurre, 18th COT/New West (Retired)
Yeitso & Alicia Forsythe, Prestige Unlimited (Frozen)
Malaetheryan, Phase World/Relentless (Frozen?)
.
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Kim Black
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Joined: Mon Sep 11, 2017 1:33 am
Location: Wheaton, IL

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Kim Black »

“What are you doing?”

Kim jumped, dropping the duffel bag she was packing full of clothes onto the floor and spinning around to see a tall, dark haired man stepping literally from the shadows into her room.

“Shit, Dad!” Kim gasped, putting a hand to her chest, her brown hair falling into her face.

“Language,” Caleb said.

“Sorry.” Kim dropped her gaze. Crap! She had thought she would get out of here before her father came back from his latest patrol.

“Do I need to ask again?”

Kim swallowed. Her father never yelled when he was made. He just got icily quiet. “N-No, sir,” she said. “I...I’m packing.”

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s arms crossed, his dark gaze leveling on his teenage daughter.

“I...I got assigned as technical officer to the 18th.”

“You...got assigned…”

“Yes. I...I applied to be assigned to a SET a couple months ago. They...They approved my application and assigned me to the SET.”

“Without my permission?

Kim crossed her arms defiantly. “Apparently they don’t need it.” She immediately regretted her words as she saw the pain flicker across her father’s face.

Kim worried her lower lip. “Look, Dad. I...I want to help out. I’m...tired of fiddling away in a workshop. I want to do some good out in the world! And...I can’t keep living in your shadow. N.P.I.”

Caleb winced again, his shoulders deflating. “You’ve been out in the world. Remember what happened outside Fargo?”

Kim winced. “I could never forget that,” she admitted. “But...it was my inventions that kept us safe long enough for Sir Blurre to rescue us. And...Sir Blurre is on my SET, so he can...uh… keep an eye on me?” Not that she was going to tell the cyber-knight he was supposed to be her babysitter!

Caleb leaned his rifle against the wall with his pack and sank into the chair in the corner, his face buried in his hands, silent. He was always good at silence.

Kim shifted nervously, watching her father. His shoulders shook slightly. “Daddy…?” Her voice was unsure, tentative.

Caleb looked up, his eyes glistening in the dim light of the lamp from her desk. “You’re growing up, Kim, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m going to lose you, like I lost your mother.”

Kim brushed her hair back from her face, looking down, ashamed that she hadn’t considered what her father might feel. Her father rarely showed such emotions, especially since her mother’s death. Kim knelt down in front of Caleb, taking his hands.

“You...You aren’t losing me, Daddy,” she said softly. “I’ll be back. It’s just a mission, like any SET.”

Caleb gave her a wry grin. “You forget, I know how SET missions go.”

Kim winced. “It isn’t supposed to be a dangerous assignment.”

“It never is.”

Kim huffed a bit in frustration until Caleb cupped her face and lifted her gaze to meet his. His eyes were clear again.

“Were you really going to leave without saying good-bye?”

“I...I wrote a note…?”

Caleb gave a smirk. “That’s even worse.” He pulled Kim to her tightly. “I’m...I’m proud of you, Kim. Tara would be too.”

Now it was Kim’s turn to sniffle and she buried her face in her father’s shoulder.

Caleb rubbed her back and stood them up. “Come. I will help you pack.”

Kim wiped her eyes and beamed. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Caleb went to the bed, standing over the suit of freshly polished, glittering combat mage armor laid out there. “You think you’re ready for this?” he asked. “You haven’t worn this before. Is it still working?”

Kim ran her hand lovingly along the breastplate. It had been her mother’s armor. “Yeah. I went over it and gave it a full tune up,” she said. “I had to take it in a bit in the chest,” she said with a blush.

Caleb chuckled lightly, making no comment.

“Want to help me on with it?”

Caleb nodded and picked up the chest piece as Kim slipped into the boots. It took a few minutes, but soon Kim was wearing the armor. The jewels glowed a bit as she put power into it, making it lighter and easier to move.

Caleb went behind her and started to braid her hair. “It looks good on you,” he said. “A bit too flashy for my taste,” the black-clad man said, “but you look a lot like your mother.”

Kim smiled and looked back at her father. “Thank you.”

“Your mother always was more flashy than me.” He handed her the helmet.

“Oh! Almost forgot!” Kim darted away to the closet and pulled out a pink backpack decorated with stars and colorful ponies.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking that?”

Kim shrugged. “I finally got it working right,” she said. “I want to give it some field testing.”

Caleb looked skeptical. “Field testing? I thought this wasn’t a dangerous assignment. Where are you going?”

Kim flushed. “It isn’t. There’s just going to be a lot of wide open spaces and few people to get in the way. I’m...going west. The New West. Where mom was from.”

Caleb nodded slowly. “I see…”

“Oh, come on, daddy!”

“I’m not saying no,” Caleb said. “Just...there are reasons your mother came east, why she never talked of home or family much. Reasons she never told me, but I just want you to be aware.”

“Well, the New West is a big place, Dad. I’m sure I won’t run into anyone who even knew mom. It’s just the idea of getting closer to her.”

Caleb nodded. “I understand that feeling,” he said quietly. He took the backpack from her and helped attach it to her armor. “What are you going to do about the rest of your pack?”

“Most of it I won’t need on me,” Kim said. “It’s there when I need it.”

Caleb picked up Kim’s pistol and vibrosword, attaching them to her belt where they were within easy reach, then handed her the utility belt of parts and tools and her gizmos.

“I’ll walk you down to your transport. And make sure Sir Blurre knows to take good care of you.”

Kim scowled, but gave her father a hug anyway.
Character Tracking
Kim Black Character Sheet
Parry: 5; Toughness: 14 (7)
PPE: 14/20
Bennies: 2/3
Arcane Machinist (5/6): armor, barrier, blast, blind, bolt, boost/lower Trait, burrow, burst, clairvoyance, confusion, damage field, darksight, deflection, detect/conceal arcana, dispel, drain Power Points, entangle, environmental protection, farsight, fly, havoc, healing, intangibility, invisibility, light/obscure, pummel, quickness, slumber, smite, speak language, speed, stun, succor, telekinesis, teleport, wall walker, warrior’s gift.
Ace: May make Soak rolls for vehicles at -2

Backpack of Shooting Stars
  • 42/42 shots
  • PPE 10/10
Device: Boost Trait (Shooting)
  • PPE 13/17
Hellfire Sword
  • PPE 10/10
Jammer Pistol
  • 10/10 shots
UEMC (10 charges/e-clip)
Adventure Cards
  • Theme Song: It’s one of those “inspiring music movie moments” when the heroes get their second wind! You and all allies who can see your signal or hear your voice (walkie-talkies count) recover automatically from Shaken status and any Fear effects, due to your inspiring words.
  • Second Wind: Play on your hero to automatically remove all wounds sustained in this combat (but not crippling injuries). If Shaken, he is un-Shaken now as well.
  • Arcane Inspiration: When playing this card, a character with any sort of Arcane Background can either use one of his powers as a free action or use a power he doesn’t have.


Equipment
This should be about at her load limit of 30 lb.
  • Backpack of Shooting Stars
  • Combat Mage Armor
  • TK Revolver
  • Hellfire Sword
  • Tool kit
  • First aid kit
  • Survival knife
  • Wooden cross
  • Canteen
  • Rations
  • Multitool: +1 Repair
  • UEMC


Vehicles
Northern Gun Sky Siren (Mountaineer w/ hover)(TW)
Ostensibly designed as a civilian vehicle, the NG Sky Siren is a rugged, but agile, hover transport with plenty of room for combat upgrades. The nuclear engine provides near limitless range, while the powerful hoverjets give it a max altitude of about 20 feet, although it is capable of handling drops of up to 100 feet.
  • Light Missile Launcher (turret)
    • Damage: 5d6 MBT MD AP 13 (anti-vehicle missiles)
    • Range: 150/300/600
    • Shots: 8
      • 1 reload of 8 shots (anti-vehicle)
    • Reload: 3000/missile/total=24k credits
  • Light Rail Gun (forward mounted)
    • Damage: 2d10+4, ROF 3, AP 10
    • Range: 100/200/400
    • Shots: 45
    • Reload: 10,000 credits
  • Size 5
  • Acc/TS 15/60
  • Toughness 25 (14)
  • Crew 1+5
  • Remaining Mods: 1
  • Handling 1
  • Hover
  • Environmental systems
  • MDC Armor
  • Sensor suite
  • TW Minor Mods: +2 Piloting
  • TW Major Mods: +4 die types to Piloting
  • Cantrip: Purple flame light on the front grill
Desert Fox Hovercycle (stats of NG-150): Combining solar cells and a powerful electric engine, the Desert Fox has a range of 600 miles and a max ceiling of 20 feet, before it needs a night’s recharge. (153,000 credits)
  • NG-E4 Plasma Ejector
    • Damage: 3d10
    • Range: 24/48/96
    • ROF 1
  • Size 2
  • Acc/TS 12/60
  • Toughness 11 (4)
  • Crew 1+1
  • Remaining Mods 1
  • Notes: Exposed Crew, Handling 3, Hover
Police Hovercycle (Speedster hovercycle)
  • Mini Rail Gun
    • Damage: 2d8+4, ROF 4, AP6
    • Range: 75/150/300
    • Shots: 32
  • Toughness 17 (8)
  • ACC/TS: 15/80
  • Size 2
  • Crew: 1
  • Exposed Crew, Hover
Big Boss ATV (space girl has it currently)
  • Toughness 23 (12)
  • Acc/TS 15/60
  • Size 4
  • Crew 1+3
  • Remaining Mods 2
  • Notes: All-Terrain, M.D.C. Armor
Mission Loot
494,000 credits in salvage/misc gear and cyberwear
A pair of pearl-handled TX-26 Particle Beam Pistols previously owned by Dutch (Range 10/20/40, Damage 2d8+3, RoF 1, AP 2, Semiauto)
A pair of Infernal Sixguns made of smoking black iron, previously "owned" by Hex (Range 10/20/40, Damage 1-3d8, RoF 1, AP 4, +2d Shooting, gain Vow: Serve the Devil).
A TW shard pistol (Range 15/30/60, Damage 2d8+1, RoF 3, AP 1, 3RB, lower trait (Vigor) activated by Shooting)
A vehicular Light Rail Gun salvaged from Oso's otherwise-scrapped power armor (Range 100/200/400, Damage 2d10+4, RoF 3, AP 10, Mega Damage)
Bandit IP-44 Super Ion Pistols (as NG-59, Range 10/20/40, Damage 1-3d6, RoF 1, plus single-shot grenade launcher loaded with plasma, Range 12/24/48, Damage 3d10, ignores all but sealed armor, SBT), ammo belt includes 6 spare plasma grenades
5 Plasma grenades
4 High Explosive grenades
4 Armor Piercing grenades
4 Frag grenades
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Kim Black
Diamond Patron
Diamond Patron
Posts: 278
Joined: Mon Sep 11, 2017 1:33 am
Location: Wheaton, IL

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Kim Black »

“Another sarsaparilla, hon?”

Kim looked up, blinking behind her goggles as she got way too close a view of a nice set of cleavage. She pushed the goggles up into her mussy brown hair and blushed, lifting her gaze up to the pretty blonde. She was probably less than five years older than Kim, but a million in experience, with those fishnets and the low decolletage and skirt.

“Um...yes, please, Miss Stella,” Kim said. “Thank you.”

Stella laughed. “It’s just Stella, hon,” she told the teenage girl buried elbow deep inside the piano box.

Kim smiled and took the tall bottle of water-beaded sugary goodness, grateful for the cold drink in the day’s heat.

“This should be done,” Kim said, wiping her hands off on a rag at her belt. She was dressed in boots, overalls, and a plain white t-shirt, her hair pulled up messily out of her face, a far cry from the seductive beauty of the Silver Naked Lady’s pleasure girl. Kim couldn’t help but blush a bit. She had never even kissed a boy, and here she was taking a drink in a carnal house. What would her father say?

He’d have a stroke, Kim thought to herself. I don’t think I’ll include this in my next message to the Castle…

“I installed an auto-tuner, so it should keep the piano in tune on its own.”

It was only late morning, so most of the Silver Naked Ladies weren’t even awake yet, the establishment not even really open. Stella was just prepping the bar for when it opened at noon. She picked up the sheets of paper with various scribbles and lines drawn on it.

“I can’t believe you just came up with that on a napkin,” Stella commented in amazement.

Kim shrugged and blushed at the compliment. “It was pretty simple. Just something to keep the strings tight.”

“And what’s this one?” Stella held out a more complicated design.

“Oh, that.” Kim chuckled. “Just a bit of something I thought up to help with your...window problem.” She nodded to the large plate glass front of the saloon that was covered with a board. “Or lack of window. Basically a little force field that looks like a window, with the sign painted on, just like the old one. Only you won’t have to worry about glass. Anything thrown from inside will just pass right on through to outside. But it will keep out the bugs and the weather and even bullets from outside. I even thought of tying in a little force screen for the bar and the stage to reduce the broken glass expenditure -- or if guys get a bit to handsy during your numbers.”

“Wow,” Stella said, staring at the page. “It’s all a bunch of gibberish to me.”

“Technically, that’s Techno-Cant,” Kim said with a chuckle. “Only problem is I haven’t figured out a way to power it yet. I mean, I won’t be around forever to put a daily charge into it, and to run continuously you would need a lot of power. Glass is cheaper,” she admitted.

Stella laughed. “But a lot less fun!”

Kim could only grin. She lifted her bottle and clicked it against Stella’s before draining it. They were interrupted by loud banging on the front door.

“Who in the world…?” Stella asked.

Kim shrugged and followed the saloon girl to the door.

Stella peeked out and sighed. “Go away, Cecil DeMato!” she yelled. “We ain’t open yet! Ya know that!”

“Open up, yeh bloody whore!” Cecil yelled, banging on the door louder. “I wan’ a bloody drink an’ a fock!”

Stella scoffed. “As if I’d touch your rotten dick with a pole, Cecil! You’re already drunk an’ it ain’t even noon. Go home an’ sleep it off!”

Cecil growled and reeled back to kick open the door. Stella opened it first, sending the drunken man reeling as he fell on his face, coming up with a bloody nose.

“Fucking bitch!” Cecil spluttered, hauling himself up. He was a lean man, but going to fat with a bit of a belly hanging over his belt, more plain than ugly.

Kim eyed Stella, who was calmly helping Cecil up and out the door.

“Get your hands off me!” Cecily made a comical flap of his arms.

Stella smirked. “So which is it, Cecil? Kind of hard to shag you if I can’t touch you.”

Cecil gaped at the saloon girl, trying to process her words. “You mean--”

“No. Go home. Sleep it off. Come back later and you might have a chance -- if you have the credits.”

Cecil huffed. “Impudent wench!” He swung at Stella to slap her.

Stella leaned back out of the way, sending the man stumbling into the door post again.

“Ouch! You did tha’ on purbose!” He clutched his bleeding nose again. “I’ll teach you…” Cecil’s hand fumbled with the laser pistol at his belt.

Stella’s eyes widened a bit and she stepped back, glancing to the bar where the ion blaster was hidden.

There was a loud whirring sound and all eyes turned to the teenage girl that now held a massive gun bigger than she was at Cecil. A support gimble emerged from the pink backpack she wore, taking much of the weight. The weapon whined as it charged up.

“Put the pistol away and go home...sir,” Kim said calmly, though her hands were shaking a bit.

The unmistakable stench of urine hit their noses and the front of Cecil’s pants darkened. He swallowed and wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve.

“My apologies, Miss Stella,” he said with as much of a courtly bow as his inebriated brain would allow. “I will take my leave.” And with that, he scampered out.

Kim sagged a bit and gave a nervous smile. “Too much?”

Stella laughed. “A bit. Cecil can’t hit the broad side of a barn when sober. He’s actually a nice guy. But not so much when drunk.”

Both women stared at the puddle of piss.

“Cobb isn’t going to like that,” Stella sighed.

“I’ll get the mop,” Kim said, her gun whirring as it folded up into the pink backpack.

***

Mess cleaned, Stella slipped her arm into Kim’s. “C’mon, girl. Time for me to do something I’ve wanted since you started helping out around here. I’m gonna buy you a dress!”

Kim’s eyes widened and she stepped back, giving Stella’s saucy, barely there dress a long, frightened look. “I...don’t think I could pull that off…”

Stella laughed and hooked Kim’s arm again, heading outside, locking up behind her. “Oh, trust me, Kim, I think you could. But no, this is a work dress. We’ll get you something more appropriate, but still sexy.”

“Oh, the shame of it!” came another voice that caused Kim to jump. She turned to see another woman striding down the dusty street toward them. She was about twice Stella’s age, which really made her only about forty, and still quite a beauty for her age, her raven hair only a little silver at the temple. She wore a very nice everyday dress of fine quality, but very modest. “I will not let you corrupt this young child any further, Miss Stella Winchester!”

Stella glared back at the woman. “And who invited you to stick your big butt in, Widow O’Brien?”

Margaret O’Brien gasped at the effrontery. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner, harlot?” she insisted. “Isn’t it bad enough you drag this poor child into your den of sin?”

“If I remember correctly, Mr. O’Brien didn’t seem to mind it too much.”

Widow O’Brien’s hand slapped out, striking Stella’s cheek. “That will teach you to speak ill of my poor, dead husband!” Margaret sniffed into the handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve before turning to Kim, ignoring Stella’s glower.

“My poor dear,” she said, taking in the sight of Kim’s stained overalls and t-shirt with sweaty underarms.

Kim ran a hand through her hair, trying to make herself more presentable. “I...It’s okay, Widow O’Brien,” she stammered.

“Nonsense! If anyone buys you a dress, it will be me!” Margaret huffed, taking Kim’s other arm, trying to tug her away from Stella, who refused to let her go.

“Hussy!

“Bitch!”

“Okay, stop!” Kim yelled, tugging her arms away from both of them. “You can...both buy me a dress!” She flushed in embarrassment. “Though I...I don’t think I’ve worn a dress since my mother’s funeral.”

Both women stopped and stared at Kim.

“Oh, you poor dear!” Margaret nearly wept, pulling Kim in tightly against a bosom just as large as Stella’s.

Stella was cooing, too, stroking Kim’s hair and arranging it a bit. “I’m sorry, Kim.”

Kim blinked at the sudden bevy of female attention. “Um...it’s...okay?”

“Your poor father! Look what he’s done to you, child! You needed a mother’s influence.”

Kim glared a bit at Widow O’Brien, but she seemed not to notice.

“We will go to my personal seamstress,” Margaret declared imperiously. “Come, child. We will make a proper lady of you yet!”

Stella nodded and took her arm, dragging Kim along.

Kim looked around, wide-eyed and helpless. Wouldn’t somebody save her from all this feminine torture?
Character Tracking
Kim Black Character Sheet
Parry: 5; Toughness: 14 (7)
PPE: 14/20
Bennies: 2/3
Arcane Machinist (5/6): armor, barrier, blast, blind, bolt, boost/lower Trait, burrow, burst, clairvoyance, confusion, damage field, darksight, deflection, detect/conceal arcana, dispel, drain Power Points, entangle, environmental protection, farsight, fly, havoc, healing, intangibility, invisibility, light/obscure, pummel, quickness, slumber, smite, speak language, speed, stun, succor, telekinesis, teleport, wall walker, warrior’s gift.
Ace: May make Soak rolls for vehicles at -2

Backpack of Shooting Stars
  • 42/42 shots
  • PPE 10/10
Device: Boost Trait (Shooting)
  • PPE 13/17
Hellfire Sword
  • PPE 10/10
Jammer Pistol
  • 10/10 shots
UEMC (10 charges/e-clip)
Adventure Cards
  • Theme Song: It’s one of those “inspiring music movie moments” when the heroes get their second wind! You and all allies who can see your signal or hear your voice (walkie-talkies count) recover automatically from Shaken status and any Fear effects, due to your inspiring words.
  • Second Wind: Play on your hero to automatically remove all wounds sustained in this combat (but not crippling injuries). If Shaken, he is un-Shaken now as well.
  • Arcane Inspiration: When playing this card, a character with any sort of Arcane Background can either use one of his powers as a free action or use a power he doesn’t have.


Equipment
This should be about at her load limit of 30 lb.
  • Backpack of Shooting Stars
  • Combat Mage Armor
  • TK Revolver
  • Hellfire Sword
  • Tool kit
  • First aid kit
  • Survival knife
  • Wooden cross
  • Canteen
  • Rations
  • Multitool: +1 Repair
  • UEMC


Vehicles
Northern Gun Sky Siren (Mountaineer w/ hover)(TW)
Ostensibly designed as a civilian vehicle, the NG Sky Siren is a rugged, but agile, hover transport with plenty of room for combat upgrades. The nuclear engine provides near limitless range, while the powerful hoverjets give it a max altitude of about 20 feet, although it is capable of handling drops of up to 100 feet.
  • Light Missile Launcher (turret)
    • Damage: 5d6 MBT MD AP 13 (anti-vehicle missiles)
    • Range: 150/300/600
    • Shots: 8
      • 1 reload of 8 shots (anti-vehicle)
    • Reload: 3000/missile/total=24k credits
  • Light Rail Gun (forward mounted)
    • Damage: 2d10+4, ROF 3, AP 10
    • Range: 100/200/400
    • Shots: 45
    • Reload: 10,000 credits
  • Size 5
  • Acc/TS 15/60
  • Toughness 25 (14)
  • Crew 1+5
  • Remaining Mods: 1
  • Handling 1
  • Hover
  • Environmental systems
  • MDC Armor
  • Sensor suite
  • TW Minor Mods: +2 Piloting
  • TW Major Mods: +4 die types to Piloting
  • Cantrip: Purple flame light on the front grill
Desert Fox Hovercycle (stats of NG-150): Combining solar cells and a powerful electric engine, the Desert Fox has a range of 600 miles and a max ceiling of 20 feet, before it needs a night’s recharge. (153,000 credits)
  • NG-E4 Plasma Ejector
    • Damage: 3d10
    • Range: 24/48/96
    • ROF 1
  • Size 2
  • Acc/TS 12/60
  • Toughness 11 (4)
  • Crew 1+1
  • Remaining Mods 1
  • Notes: Exposed Crew, Handling 3, Hover
Police Hovercycle (Speedster hovercycle)
  • Mini Rail Gun
    • Damage: 2d8+4, ROF 4, AP6
    • Range: 75/150/300
    • Shots: 32
  • Toughness 17 (8)
  • ACC/TS: 15/80
  • Size 2
  • Crew: 1
  • Exposed Crew, Hover
Big Boss ATV (space girl has it currently)
  • Toughness 23 (12)
  • Acc/TS 15/60
  • Size 4
  • Crew 1+3
  • Remaining Mods 2
  • Notes: All-Terrain, M.D.C. Armor
Mission Loot
494,000 credits in salvage/misc gear and cyberwear
A pair of pearl-handled TX-26 Particle Beam Pistols previously owned by Dutch (Range 10/20/40, Damage 2d8+3, RoF 1, AP 2, Semiauto)
A pair of Infernal Sixguns made of smoking black iron, previously "owned" by Hex (Range 10/20/40, Damage 1-3d8, RoF 1, AP 4, +2d Shooting, gain Vow: Serve the Devil).
A TW shard pistol (Range 15/30/60, Damage 2d8+1, RoF 3, AP 1, 3RB, lower trait (Vigor) activated by Shooting)
A vehicular Light Rail Gun salvaged from Oso's otherwise-scrapped power armor (Range 100/200/400, Damage 2d10+4, RoF 3, AP 10, Mega Damage)
Bandit IP-44 Super Ion Pistols (as NG-59, Range 10/20/40, Damage 1-3d6, RoF 1, plus single-shot grenade launcher loaded with plasma, Range 12/24/48, Damage 3d10, ignores all but sealed armor, SBT), ammo belt includes 6 spare plasma grenades
5 Plasma grenades
4 High Explosive grenades
4 Armor Piercing grenades
4 Frag grenades
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Orrin Truthseeker
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Posts: 220
Joined: Mon Sep 11, 2017 8:11 pm

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Orrin Truthseeker »

The market still bustles with activity as Orrin paces through the network of stands, stalls, and enclosed shops that made up central marketplace of Black Mesa, despite the fact that the sun had long since set on the backwater town. Not surprising, especially since the closer he got to the bunker, the more illicit the various goods on display became. Orrin knew the Black Market was everywhere – he had his fair share of run-ins with them all across North America – but here their presence was overwhelming.

I wonder if the Black in “Black Mesa” comes from the Black Market presence here. They are certainly bold enough here to manipulate the town into including them in the name. Probably not though – the name is probably pre-rifts, derived from some indigenous people who settled the area….or maybe a specific mineral that used to be…

Orrin’s thoughts cut off as he bowls over a man admiring a set of recently purchased CA-1 Heavy body armor. Orrin remembered when just the sight of armor like that would send shivers up his spine. His own walker armor was bound up inside his pack. This may not be the Coalition States, but walkers were uncommon enough here that it would be easy for someone to make a connection between him here at the market and the walker who had been trying – unsuccessfully to Orrin’s chagrin – to inspire the town-folk to join the Tomorrow Legion. Today, he needed to be discrete.

I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” Orrin bumbles as he quickly picks himself up.

“Here let me help you with that” he says, dropping his staff as he bends over to help pick up the assorted pieces of the body armor. Of course, his pack with his own armor in it slides of his back as he does so, smacking into the man as he was scrambling back to his feet, knocking him flat once more with an umph..”.

Oops, sorry” Orrin says, covering the grin he can’t suppress with a hand.
The hand and the grin fall away as the market goer, red faced and fuming, gets to his feet bring his full six and half or so feet to bear as he looms over Orrin. He looks Orrin up and down and spots him holding some of the pieces to his armor

“Thief.” Hey says, more for the satisfaction of seeing Orrin’s face when he realizes the implications than to try and draw help.

Based on his monosyllabic utterances and the steam he can practically see coming from the giant’s ears, Orrin figures he isn’t going to talk his way out of this one. So much for being discrete.

“Spirit of Eel” Orrin mutters under his breath as he opens his Muladhara (root chakra) to give him a fighter’s grace, and not a second too soon. Orrin barely ducks in time to avoid the first, no holds barred haymaker aimed right at his face.

The stranger is strong but not particularly graceful and stumbles into Orrin as he is thrown off balance by the momentum that was supposed to break Orrin’s jaw. Orrin dances away quickly enough to avoid getting caught by a wild backhanded fist as the peeved shopper spins to face him again.

Orrin realized that without his armor on he was squishier than as opossum in a rainstorm, so he would have to find a way out of this quick, before this guy cooled off and started taking controlled swings.

Squishier than a possum in a rainstorm? I’ve been spending way too much time around Jones.

Of course, Orrin could easily avoid getting hit if called forth Midnight’s Blessing, but that was a dead give-away of his nature, and he was still hoping to maintain some form of anonymity. Not to mention that his next ploy had a much better shot at working if this oaf didn’t suspect magic.
Orrin to a quick glance around and spotted his staff lying on the ground right by his opponent’s feet. He wouldn’t be able to get out of this unharmed until he could get his hands on that. Or at least, they both wouldn’t be able to get out of this, and Orrin really didn’t want it to come to that.

“Yer quick” the beast of a man slurred as dusted off his pants from his earlier fall and set himself to come at Orrin in a more controlled fashion, though Orrin swore he looked mentally drained from stringing the two words together. Orrin forced a relieved look on his face and hoped this guy was as dumb as he sounded.

“Officer, thank God you’re here” he said as he looked at a spot over the man’s shoulder.

As it turns out, the guy was dumber than he looked. He took off running past Orrin and made it a good 10 feet before he looked over his shoulder to see how far behind security was. He turned around and nervously danced backward for a few seconds while rubber necking to see where the officer he was running from had gone. By the time he realized he had been duped, Orrin had grabbed his staff and taken off running down the street toward the nearest corner.

Orrin looked back and saw that he had at least a 50 foot lead on his pursuer, and figured that should be enough. Just before turning the corner he looked over his shoulder at the brute and muttered “Mind trap”.

Out of sight on the other side of the wall, Orrin ducked behind a stall and made himself as discrete as possible as he watched the man run by yelling “Can’t run forever”, as he chucked a rock he had somehow scooped up at an open spot in the middle of the street.

After a slow count to 30, Orrin got up dusted himself off and took a look around to get his bearings.

Shoot. I sent that idiot chasing my illusion right toward the original bunker.

His illusion would only last for another 30 seconds, tops. After that, his little trick wasn’t likely to work again. Not that something like a little throw-down would keep Orrin from his objective today. However, if he did enough damage - and especially if he ended up killing the brute - he would end up banned from the market place. He would never be able to gain access to the bunker if that happened!

A violent episode in the market probably wouldn't reflect too well on the Legion either. That probably should have been my first concern...

Orrin had been planning his break in today for weeks. Digging up the original blueprints made for the building when they redid the HVAC system had taken him an entire week in itself. Then bribing the thugs in Cobb’s place to figure out what kind of security there would be in the original living area had cost him a week and a half’s pay, even at an officer level – though some of that may have been spent on that fine whiskey Stella kept pouring him; it was nearly impossible to say no to that woman when she batted those eyes and started giggling! After those first few shots, it got hard to keep track of where his money was going.

Naturally, the living area had been turned into a storage area for high value ammunition and arms, so gaining access wasn’t going to be easy.

Of course it would be a lot easier if people believed him when he said he just wanted to get in to look around the room. He never was any good at convincing people, even when telling the truth.

Well, at our current success rate with the community, it looks like we are going to be posted here a long while yet. I should have plenty of time to get in there and see if that place is pre-rifts or not.

Orrin headed back to where the confrontation first began and picked up his armor. He contemplated grabbing the CS armor in retribution for the lost opportunity today, but he couldn’t wear something that bulky anyway. Instead, he headed back toward the Legion barracks they had hastily erected on the other side of town, browsing the various goods on display.

Or maybe the “Black” comes from those dark skinned, lizard like creatures we saw on the way in from Castle Refuge…
Orrin Truthseeker
Orrin Truthseeker
Wounds: 0/4; Fatigue: 0/3; PPE: 15/35; Staff PPE: 10/10; Armor PPE: 10/10

Parry: 4+1
Pace: 5+2
Toughness: 16 (6)
Active Effects Staff:, Spellcasting +1, Parry +1; Armor: Spellcasting +1, Kn Arc +2;

Notable Edges: LL Rejuvination; Common Bond; Wizard; Marksman; Metal Skin; Elan; Investigator (armor)
Powers: Beast Friend; Waking Dream (Illusion); Fireball (Bolt); Chakra Surge/Syphon (Boost/Lower Trait); Nature’s Gift (Warrior’s Gift); Mystical Sight (Detect Arcana); Arcane Severance (Dispel); Shadow Guard (Deflection); Adrenaline (Quickness); Armor

Bennies: 1/3
-1 Bennie - advancing through the train
-1 Bennie to unshake after backlash
-1 Bennie gifted to Blurr through common bond
+3 from Stella
+1 Jack Joker
+1 Tito Joker
-2 try to free the kids
-1 Reroll puppet resist
-1 reroll puppet breakout

Aventure Cards:
Inspiration: Friendly characters (including yourhero) add +2 to all trait rolls for therest of this round.

Spill the Beans:
The subject of your questioning tells you everything you want to know, whether by friendly persuasion, intimidation, or force.

Power Surge: Immediately recover all spent Power Points.

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Tribe of One
Posts: 1208
Joined: Wed Aug 30, 2017 9:28 am

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Tribe of One »

Image

Chewing slowly on the plastic filter of his cigarillo, Baz leaned back in the Big Chair and surveyed the Sidewinder Saloon. It was noon, so many of his regulars were still sleeping off the night before. Even so, every seat at the bar was full, as were almost half the tables, especially the ones that offered the best views of the new bartender.

She's ugly as a boiled cat, but she sure brings in the business, the grizzled larmac thought as he adjusted his eyepatch, moving it from the right to the left before swatting at a bottle fly that kept landing on his leathery snout. Baz generally preferred his saloon girls with meat on their bones, and some scales, instead of all that soft, pink flesh exposed to the air. But this new one, Stella, hadn't given him much choice in the matter, truth be told, just swept in yesterday morning and said she was done with Cobb's place and was gonna tend bar at the Sidewinder from now on.

Baz had given her the side-eye -- had even flipped up his eyepatch to really give her the full effect -- but shrugged and let her start pouring drinks. He could always fire her later, at the end of the shift. But he got busy dealing with some rowdy saddle tramps and then got distracted by a bottle of tequila and before he knew it he was waking up to Stella humming some infuriating melody as she opened the place up and swept out the previous night's peanut shells.

I'll fire her tomorrow, after the miners from the Sweet Creek claim have blown through their month's wages, he thought. He reached for another cigarillo, striking a match on the scaled skin of one thumb before lighting up. If we're not too busy.

Exhaling a few slow rings of smoke, he took another bite of the axe-beak leg she'd fried up for him that morning. It was pretty good - passable anyway. Maybe I'll let her stay to next week. Them Combine boys will be coming through then with some new ordnance, and that always draws a crowd.

In the meantime, maybe he'd see if she could do something with the rhino-buffalo flank he had in the basement freezer. It'd been in there since that big hunt back in the spring, and he hadn't had time to even thaw it. Some days he wasn't sure what possessed him to buy the saloon. Even with as much help as he had, it was enough to make him want to throw his hands in the air.

All that delegating. Just the thought of it was making him tired. He took another drag, then another bite, and started thinking about having a drink. There was a bottle of whiskey in his office upstairs. He'd get it later, if Stella didn't swing by to check on him. She was annoying, no doubt of that, but as busy as he was ...

Sometimes you have to admit you can't do everything yourself, Baz thought as he leaned back in the Big Chair and set to thinking hard about all the work yet to be done.

Image
GM Bennies: 7/7
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Jasco
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Posts: 51
Joined: Wed Aug 30, 2017 9:36 am

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Jasco »

"If'n that be the fella we gotta take out back an' teach a lesson to, ah'll be taken mah leave." Wago, the dim-witted brute of a saddle tramp remarks to his partner in crime as he strains to look through the optics of their binoculars. "Looks like one 'o dem Grackle-folk. Bunch a 'ornery bastards that'll crack yer head open like a poached egg."

"Ain't the big fella we're after, it's the old guy with glasses. Killian says the old fella is gett'n too friendly with too many folk. An' needs to be taught a lesson 'bout 'is place 'round 'ere. With the justice rangers pinch'n 'alf 'o 'is crew on the botched heist, ah be think'n Killian be scared 'o lose'n 'is Market license!" replies Raqqa, his moderately more intelligent partner before quickly dispelling any notion of class by dragging his butt along the craggy ledge like a dog in heat. The many small stones littering their scouting position do little to ease his irritation. "Damn chiggers. Runnin' up an' down mah nether regions. That grigleaper oil ya gave me ta grease mah ass ain't be doin' nothin'!"

Incredulous, Wago sets down the binoculars and shoots Raqqa a glare at the insult. "Ah done told ya THREE layers. If'n yer be putt'n on jus' the one, yer ain't be gett'n the seal'n AN' the crackl'n ta keep yerself dry."

"If'n yer ain't be talk'n all the time like ya got a mouth full 'o marbles, maybe ah be understand'n ya better. Ya 'ver think 'o that?!" Raqqa shoots back.

The situation looks to be on the brink of devolving into a brawl when the sound of a pair of weapons cocking in unison keeps the two roughnecks from throttling each other. Collectively, they turn to face a Remi-style high-energy pistol pointed at each of their faces. Holding the pistols, is a rugged and competent-looking gunslinger they had seen a few times keeping to himself at the local watering hole. "Pardon the interruption fellas. But Mr. Jasco was hoping to have a word with you two. And since it is going to be a gentleman's discussion, he sure would appreciate it if you set down your heavy arms."

Knowing when they are beat, Wago and Raqqa slowly set aside their weapons. Much to their surprise, the gunslinger is quick to holster his weapons also. "Right this way gentlemen. Mr. Jasco thought you might appreciate a midday tequila and rhino-steak at the Sidewinder Saloon. His treat."

True to his word, by the time Wago, Raqqa and the gunslinger make it down to Sidewinder, a table is already set and a trio of rhino-steaks fresh off the grill await them. Already at the table are a Grackletooth partially reclined, chewing on a lit cigar and the older man with glasses that were their marks not too long ago.

"Ah, my guests, welcome Wago, welcome Raqqa, please have a seat." Jasco smiles broadly at the two in genuine hospitality and nods graciously to the gunslinger for bringing the guests without incident. He gestures for Wago and Raqqa to sit, suggesting specific seating for each individual.
"This one is bloody on the inside and charred crisp on the outside." Jasco explains to Wago even as the brutish man's eyes go wide in appreciation while his jaw drops and salivates in anticipation. He smiles warmly before giving a similar introduction to Raqqa's steak, "And this one is special-made by Stella who noticed that you like to mix heat and sweetness in your meals, so is a ghost-chili pepper marinade with an orange marmalade glaze. Enjoy."

Not quite sure what to make of the situation, Raqqa casts a wary eye over his delicious-looking steak. In contrast, Wago has lopped off a quarter of his meal and has greedily inhaled it before his compatriot can voice his concerns. "Yer ain't be sett'n us up for some sort 'o bushwack'n... are ya?" The possibility of being poisoned is clearly on the man's mind as he tentatively prods the food with his fork.

"Simply isn't how I operate." Jasco replies in assurance, "All I want is to sit down with you two, have a meal and discuss the situation that we are collectively in. I'll talk some. You'll talk some. We'll enjoy some delicious food together. And if at the end, you still want to go through with your original plan, no hard feelings. I'll let you on your way and you can carry out your plans at a later date."

Raqqa is about to express his apprehension when he is interrupted by a soft hand on his shoulder and Stella's sultry voice in his ear, "Fancy a round of tequila, hon?"

"Ah yes. Thank you for the reminder Stella, you are a lifesaver. Another round of tequila for everyone please, on me." Jasco announces before a cheer rises across the saloon in appreciation of the free booze. The information broker is quick to wave off any adulation and gets back to his business with a skeptical Raqqa and oblivious Wago.

"You were hired by Marl Killian, son of cattle rancher Rondo Killian, to rough me up." Jasco begins, speaking matter-of-factly, "Ever since half his crew was pinched, Marl has been running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to patch holes in his organization. He is making a valiant effort of it. And very well might have succeeded except that he is going about it the wrong way." The information broker pauses, sips a little tequila and reminds Raqqa of his meal, now not quite as piping hot as it once was. The subtle nudge is enough for the roughneck to start eating. "Instead of focusing his efforts internally, he is simultaneously lashing out at perceived threats. Phantom enemies that will wrong him at some future moment in time." Jasco shakes his head slowly, seemingly saddened by the situation. "Marl knows that he is in a weak position, but he is trying to project strength. Strength, that he frankly has to borrow, beg and trick to obtain. And do you know why this is the case?"

Fully engaged in both the discussion and his meal, Raqqa shakes his head at the question with a mouth full of steak.

"His father, Rondo, is dying." Jasco answers with a twinge of sadness in his eyes. Raqqa (and Wago who has now caught up in the conversation too) both stare wide-eyed at the information broker. He can only nod slowly in response. "Rondo borrowed heavily to keep the cattle ranch solvent these past couple years during the drought. And now he owes." Jasco pauses for effect and repeats himself, "He OWES." Wago and Raqqa can only bob their heads in understanding at such a statement. The debt is clearly not to a bank or legitimate lending institution of any sort, but rather to the Black Market. When it came time to collect, Black Marketeers would not only claim what was owed to them, but also a pound of flesh for the inconvenience. Intuitively, the two roughnecks knew that when Rondo passed away, the debt would transfer to his son, Marl.

Slowly, the cogs of logic grind away in their minds. It now makes sense why Marl would promise such an extravagant amount for such a mundane task (beating up an old man). It makes sense why none of the money promised could be given upfront as a deposit. It makes sense why a job completion meeting was never arranged. Marl had no intention of paying them.

"Dang nabbit!" Raqqa exclaims, pounding his fist on the table in exasperation. Jasco raises a single eyebrow in silent askance for clarification. "That rat Killian! Ah ain't no fresh-skinn'd lily ripe fer the pluck'n. This ain't mah first rodeo. Ah'll skin that cheat'n bastard alive fer try'n ta swindle me." Wago likewise joins Raqqa in the cuss-storm, but is significantly less coherent in his annunciations. Patiently, the information broker waits out the slew of profanities, letting the two vent as they need.

Once they start losing steam, Jasco calmly presents his counter-offer. "You two are certainly within your rights to seek revenge. But consider this. If Marl Killian is unable to raise the necessary funds, he is a dead man walking. Those he owes to will try to recover as much of the debt as possible. If you get in their way by prematurely killing Marl, the collectors might not be particularly happy with you. You gain the satisfaction of killing the man that wronged you, but your pockets and your belly will be just as empty. To top it all off, you might have some unpleasant fellas after your hide." The broker pauses another moment to let the two chew on the concept. Soon, they are nodding in agreement that such actions would not be in their best interest. "Instead," Jasco continues, "Let's say that Marl is able to liquidate his ranch and get on a payment plan to repay the remainder of the debt. He can patch together a crew and go back to being a productive member of society. Marl is grateful for the second chance and grateful to those that helped make that second chance possible."

Here, Wago and Raqqa flash the broker puzzled looks. The logic required to follow Jasco's train of thought is one leap too many for the roughneck pair. Seeing this, Jasco nods and explains more bluntly. "I know a guy. A guy who would be interested in buying the Killian cattle ranch for the right price. It won't be enough to completely pay Marl's debt, but it will be substantial and sufficient to convince the Market to put him on a payment plan for the remainder. If I try to tell Marl of this opportunity, he will reject the idea and will default to dead man walking status. However, if two of his buddies that just successfully roughed up a certain old man presents the idea..."

"We'll be 'eroes!" Wago blurts out. Jasco taps the tip of his nose with an index finger to indicate his agreement. As if the script were choreographed, Stella arrives with a second round of steaks and tequila for the roughnecks at this moment of revelation.

"Listen gentlemen," Jasco says softly while rising to his feet then sliding across the table a perfume-sized tincture and small card with his contact information, "I'm afraid I have business elsewhere I have to tend to. Apply this medicine twice a day for three days and it should fix your... irritation. Please enjoy the rest of the meal. And do not hesitate to contact me if you need help with anything or wish to share any useful tidbit of knowledge. It's been a pleasure."

Jasco squares his bill with Stella, leaving her a generous tip, and leaves Sidewinder Saloon flanked by the Grackletooth and gunslinger. On his way out, Wago and Raqqa are clearly enamored with the man, goofy grins plastered on their face, and even toast the trio's departure with the free booze.

"You think Killian has any idea?" the gunslinger asks once they are a block or two away.

"That his ranch is possibly built atop a underground Golden Age super-computing cluster?" Jasco shakes his head slowly. "We won't know until this plays out."
Jasco: Human Information Broker [18th COT New West] | SR EP Ledger
Quick Stats
Human, MARS PCO: Information Broker
Bennies: 3/3
Agility d6, Smarts d10, Spirit d8, Strength d6, Vigor d6
Charisma: +2; Pace: 6 (1dX); Parry: 5; Toughness: 9 (3)
Hindrances: Code of Honor, Bad Eyes, Loyal
Notice d8, Common Knowledge d10, Persuasion d8+4
Edges and Abilities of Note: Killer Instinct (Wins tied opposed rolls, may reroll opposed skill die if it comes up a “1”), Command (+1 to troops recovering from being Shaken), Leader of Men (Roll a d10 as the Wild Die for subordinates’ group rolls), Tactician (Make a Knowledge (Battle) roll at the beginning of a fight to get an Action Card per success and raise; these may be given to any allies throughout the course of the battle), Robot Armor Jock (No -2 penalty while piloting robot armor.)
ISP: 20/20
Powers (all Mega): Speak Language with Splendor trapping (+2 to Charisma while the power is in effect, and on a Raise, a +1 die-type to Persuasion.); Telepathy with Shroud trapping ((message recipient) -1 to be hit by ranged attacks); Intangibility with Jazz trapping (+2 pace and on a raise, increase Agility one die type for duration of power.)
Adventure cards:
  • 7: Not Today - Play after any other character’s attack roll to cause it to automatically fail. This is a critical failure.
  • 47: Epiphany - Something you never understood before suddenly “clicks.” You gain a d6 in any skill you previously did not have for the remainder of this game session.
  • 50: Theme Song - It’s one of those “inspiring music movie moments” when the heroes get their second wind! You and all allies who can see your signal or hear your voice (walkie-talkies count) recover automatically from Shaken status and any Fear effects, due to your inspiring words.

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Rill
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Joined: Mon Sep 11, 2017 8:53 am

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Rill »

Rill sat at his table, sipping his whiskey and thinking. Stella had poured him the good stuff, again, even though he had asked for a much cheaper label. “Not in my bar, honey. Not for you,” she had said, and then she’d poured his drink from a bottle off one of the top shelves.

The alcohol burned pleasantly as it went down, and he remembered how he’d first met the girl, years ago. He had still been training with Reverend Thatcher back then, and had not yet fully come into his own.

..................

One day, the reverend slunk into the small office he kept at the rear of the chapel and plopped unceremoniously into his chair. Rill was already there, sitting on an old couch with his feet up and reading from one of the church’s handful of books on pre-Rifts Christianity. This one was volume 2 of the works of a man named John Wesley, and Rill found the sermons fascinating. He had already read volume 2 at least once before, but the church only owned volumes 2 and 11 of what appeared to be a 16-book set, and he liked 2 the best.

When the reverend came in, Rill could tell something was wrong almost immediately. He isn’t talking, Rill thought. For a man who claimed to love meditation and “quiet moments of contemplation,” Rill had rarely seen Reverend Thatcher fail to take advantage of a teaching moment. And to the revered, any moment that was not spent sleeping or reading scripture was a teaching moment.

But now, the older man had his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands, and he was quiet. Rill put down Mr. Wesley’s sermons and stood, careful not to disturb his mentor. He walked over to the small refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water and set it on the desk in front of the reverend. Mechanically, the reverend picked up the bottle and moved it to a coaster, about two inches to the left of where Rill had put it down. Rill was pretty good with magic, but was lousy with coasters.

Several minutes passed in silence, before the reverend said, “It’s the Winstons. Margaret has come down with the Pox, and Dale is refusing to let anyone see her.” He looked up at Rill, meeting his eyes. “He says that Father Patrick told him to accept no help from any “heathen non-believers”, and that I was not welcome in their home.”

Rill let that sink in. Father Patrick was one of the few men in town who had the gall to identify Reverend Thatcher as a “non-believer.” But to Father Patrick, anyone who did not belong to his congregation and believe his interpretation of scripture was, by definition, a godless heathen destined for an eternity of hellfire and suffering.

Father Patrick has founded “The Church of the Right Way to God,” or “Church of the Right,” for short. It was a name that suited him, and suited his followers. Father Patrick was completely, unflinchingly, convinced of the correctness of his reading of the bible and his own authority to lead people to God. Even Patrick’s last name, Wright, played into the Church’s mystique for his congregants. Most of the time, they referred to him as Father Patrick, but occasionally he would publicly predict some misfortune or another on some unbeliever, and it would come true. At those times, his followers took to calling him Father Wright (and because most of them were illiterate, Rill supposed they were truly calling him “Father Right”).

Patrick and Rill… did not get along. Rill had initially suspected Father Patrick of holding some kind of mystic or psionic sway over his people, but in all Rill’s years in Black Mesa, he had never detected a whiff of supernatural energy on Patrick. Begrudgingly, Rill had been forced to accept that Father Patrick was exactly what he appeared to be: a charismatic, fire-and-brimstone preacher whose words resonated with a lot of people.

Dale Winston was one of Father Patrick’s more ardent followers. A popular, working-class man with a big voice and a boisterous nature, Dale had been one of the early converts to the Church of the Right. His wife, Margaret, had always been less enthusiastic about the Church (and Father Patrick) than Dale, but she was happy to see her husband stick with a religion, so she went along with it. Rill had often seen her in other congregations on Sundays after Father Patrick’s sermons had ended, visiting with friends and sitting in on other services. She had attended Reverend Thatcher’s own sermons on a number of occasions, and hers was a familiar face in the chapel.

But now, Margaret had contracted the Pox, a deadly, previously-unidentified disease that had swept into the region last year. Their doctors and healers had been working round the clock, but they had not identified a consistently effective treatment for the ailment other than magic. Healers like Reverend Thatcher and, more recently, Rill, had been busy just trying to keep everyone in town alive while the medical experts tried to work out a cure.

The Church of the Right counted a nurse and a former military field medic among its congregants, but no supernatural healers. That meant no magic for Margaret, and Rill knew that was a death sentence.

“She’ll die,” Rill said, simply.

The reverend did not respond immediately. After a few more moments of silence, he said, “Perhaps not, Rill. We serve a God of many miracles, not just the ones He gives us power to accomplish. Who is to say that He will not find some other way to help Margaret in her time of need?”

Rill chewed on that thought a bit. It was possible, certainly, but he did not feel comfortable resting on that chance. The gospel taught hope, to be certain, but it also taught action. Faith, when all was said and done, was a principle of action.

He shook his head, but said, “Certainly, that is possible. But I am going to see if Dale will perhaps let me see Margaret, instead.” Rill waived in the general direction of the chapel’s main meeting hall, “I don’t have a congregation of my own, and everyone knows I don’t subscribe to any denomination over the others. Perhaps he will feel less threatened by me if he thinks I am not trying to steal Margaret away from the ‘Right.’”

The reverend gave him a small shrug. “Anything good is worth trying, son. But I would not get your hopes too high. This is Father Patrick, after all.” Rill knew what he meant. While it was true that Rill did not preach any one version of Christianity over the others, it was also true that he never preached Father Patrick’s version to anyone. Father Patrick knew it, and he made his congregation aware of it. Rill and Father Patrick’s dislike for one another was an open secret among the community of believers, and it was pretty unlikely that Dale would open the door for Rill if he hadn’t for Reverend Thatcher.

But that was fine with Rill. He spent the short walk to the Winston’s small home clearing his mind and focusing on what was to come next. There was a pre-Rifts Christian philosopher who had believed God’s grace was irresistible. What had been his name? Calvin, Rill answered his own query. John Calvin, I believe. Today, I will be a Calvinist.

He stepped up to the door, knocked and called out, “Dale, are you in?” After a moment, a tall, handsome man opened the door. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked as though he hadn’t changed his clothes in days. His eyes fell on Rill and his jaw tightened.

“The Fennodi preacher,” Dale said shortly. “I already told Thatcher. No. Father Patrick promised she’d be fine if we had faith, and I have faith. So you go on back, because I got a sick wife to attend to.” With that, Dale shut the door, right in Rill’s face.

Free will, Rill thought to himself. Only God, in His infinite wisdom, could give such a simultaneously liberating and difficult gift. He concentrated a moment, reached for his power, and projected his sight through Dale’s feeble wooden door and into the house.

The house was small and dark and had only two rooms to speak of. The front room was a sitting room and kitchen, and the back was a bedroom. Dale sat on a chair in the front room, next to a little girl, who was napping on a small couch. I had forgotten they had a daughter; she never comes with Margaret on Sundays.

He found Margaret in the bed in the back, asleep. Her face was pallid, and the Pox covered every bit of skin he could see, including her lips, ears and eyelids. Rill had seen the disease enough to know that it was in the advanced stages, and that she would die without a miracle.

He said a quick prayer, and then walked around the back of the house. After a moment’s concentration, he ghost walked, making himself immaterial and passing right through the wall and into Margaret’s room.

Placing his hand on Margaret’s head, Rill channeled a different kind of power. Where his psionics came from within him, miracles came from above. A bright, silvery light burst forth from the darkness and settled upon Margaret, wrapping her in a heavenly glow. The sores on Margaret’s face began to fade, and she let out a low, tortured moan. Rill called on another miracle, and more power rushed into Margaret, healing the damage the disease had left in its wake. And another, to ease her suffering, and restore her health.

After the third miracle, Rill leaned against the wall and gasped for breath. He was tired.

Dale burst into the room, “What in the h....” He trailed off when he saw Rill. “You! I told you you wasn’t welcome here!” he shouted, stomping over to Rill.

“Dale,” another voice cut through the din, “I believe you might want to leave Brother Lightwalker be. It seems he just did me quite a service.”

Dale stopped short, stunned. “Margie?” he said, turning to face his wife. She sat up in bed, clear skinned and smiling. “God be praised, are you okay?!” he ran to her bedside and wrapped her in a bear hug.

Rill smiled, and continued trying to catch his breath. I’ve never tried that on someone so far gone before. Usually, the reverend takes those.

Just then, tiny footsteps entered the room, and a little voice called out, “Mommy?” The girl couldn’t have been more than four or five, and she wore a little pink dress and her hair in a braid. She looked up at Rill, and then over at her parents, and then said again, questioningly, “Mommy?”

Margaret, now crying openly, held her arm out to her daughter. “Come here, baby. Mommy’s fine. Mommy’s fine!” The girl ran to her mother, and the three of them, father, mother and child, shared a long embrace.

Rill decided it was time to leave; he had come to help, not to intrude on a familial moment. He started to make his way for the door, but Margaret called out, “Wait, Brother Rill.”

She made to stand up, but Rill raised his hand, “Please, no. Don’t trouble yourself on my account; I can see myself out.”

Margaret smiled, “At least say hello to my daughter. This is Stella. Stella, say hello to Brother Lightwalker.”

…………

Back in the present, Rill dwelt on the memory. Dale hadn’t left the Church of the Right, but he had become noticeably less vocal in his support for Father Patrick. And as for Stella, Rill had been glad to hear when she had picked a congregation of her own, and doubly glad when she had begun work at a new saloon.

He was under no illusions: the girl’s life had been hard. But she had lived it with two parents who loved her and with God in her heart, and that’s more than many people got.

He watched her talk and laugh with the other patrons. He watched how she made them smile, or set them at ease, and she looked happy.

God be praised, he thought, and took another sip. Wow, that is smooth. He looked at his glass appreciatively. God be praised, indeed.
Character Sheet
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Severianna
Diamond Patron
Diamond Patron
Posts: 103
Joined: Fri Aug 04, 2017 10:45 am

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Severianna »

Her mind elsewhere, Severianna finds herself walking through the various market stalls again and not paying much attention to anything around her, lost in her thoughts.

“Ugh not again,” she mumbled with a sigh and a shrug. Taking a look around trying to get her bearings she spins a bit in a circle. She’d been in town 2 weeks a still often wanders around and gets lost as she day dreams and her mind wanders. “Where am I now? Kim said to stay put and wait for her.” At that moment a man brushed against her and said with a slick tenor “Pardon me mamn. Good day to you.” He was a tall older gentlemen with a smile that made you want to smile yourself. She didn’t make much of it as there is always someone bumping into someone else in these close quarters.

“My apologies young lady, if I could I would like to make it up by offering you a drink at one of the fine local establishments.” Without even a chance to consider his proposal, she realized his hand had taken hers and they were walking a half block down the street and entering a saloon. ‘The man seems nice enough, he couldn’t be of any harm. Kim said to watch out for strangers but what could a drink hurt?' As they walked into the saloon the man seemed to take over the room. People greeted him and nodded hello. He replied in turn and nodded back with a strong and warm smile to each. It didn’t seem so much that he had known them for any length of time, you just felt like you wanted to say hello to him and it was a pleasure for him to say hello to you.
“Please let me formally introduce myself, I am Harold Hill and I am looking for talent my fine young lady. I’ll be honest I saw you out in the brush a few days back and have been looking for you. You can move in amazing ways and so very quick. I am formerly of one of the more spectacular and successful traveling carnival that has even existed. And I’m looking for talent and baby you got talent."

It is true, with the daily training regiment at Lone Star something of the past she had trouble getting used to not going through the daily routine of fighting, pilot simulators and other things that she used to do. And she found a shallow canyon not that far outside of town where she would go and do though her fighting routines and darken the rocks and shrubs with her cybernetic electric implants weapons.

“I was sitting out on a bluff enjoying the morning and heard you down in the canyon. I hope you don’t mind, but I was watching you a bit and I have a proposal. I am beginning a new fabulous and fantastic traveling show, and you could be the headlining act! The high flying….” He was almost standing with his arms up and out as if presenting a billboard or marque but stumbled and paused a second realizing he hadn’t asked Severianna he name. “What is your name young darling?” Taken in with his fascinating and interesting delivery she blurts out her name excitingly. He stands silent a moment with his hand stroking his short kept beard and then exclaims, “Severianna, what a beautiful name, what a fine name…,” he pauses, “but you’ll need a stage name. We’ll come up with one for you…” He goes on and on telling her all manner of stories and tales of travel and adventure and she is hooked on everything he says.

After the two have sat in the saloon for a long while and she has had a few sarsaparillas and him a few whiskeys, he leans in and says, “We need to secure something to make this vision a reality. And I need your help. There is someone who is keeping an item that is mine, it was taken from me. And with this we can start the show in haste! Your unique and amazing qualities are perfect to make this happen.” By this time the night had come. “Let’s be off!” he said happily and off they went. They ended up in a different part of the town in a more residential area. “I need to get a small locked box adorned with the image of snake on it. The contents of it are mine and returning it to me would make all the difference in the world to me."

Severianna slinks into the shadows and makes her way up to the roof where she found an entrance to the building. She took her time listening and looking around to make sure she was undetected. The door was locked with what was a lock that wouldn’t be on a simple person’s residence, but she didn’t think much of it. It took a bit of time to pick the lock but it eventually it feel open and she entered the apartment. There wasn’t anything special about it, obviously a woman lived here. She looked through the closest and drawers looking for the object. There were two very distinct sets of clothing mixed in, some very sexy and revealing outfits and some very conservative and modest ones as well. At the night stand sat a picture of a young girl standing with her mother and father. She paused and took that moment in. The picture made her feel something she forgot about, Family. She wondered about if she had one, she always wanted a family. She picked up the picture and turned it around to look at the back. Written in black ink was a message, “My dear daughter. Your father and I wish you the best. Keep this picture close and we’ll always be looking over you. We love you so very much, your loving parents, Dale & Margeret." Putting the picture down she recorded that image in her cybernetic optics package as she wanted to keep it close to her as well. Pulling out the bottom drawer of the nightstand she found an embroidered black box with 3 entwined snakes on the top. “This must be it,” she said. She exited the house and building. She gave the box back to the man. He said he had some business to attend to and that they would soon be in touch again. As he turned away another man that was with him said, “Hey Music Man, is that the item you lost back in River City?” Severianna saw him wave him away with a look, as if to say, we'll talk about it later.
Severianna
Quick Stats
Night Crawler, MARS PC, DESCRIPTION, ETC
Bennies: 4/4
Agility d12+1, Smarts d6, Spirit d10, Strength d10, Vigor d12
Charisma: 0,-4 CS; Pace: 6; Parry: 13; Toughness: Light Armor 12 (4), Tactical Armor 14 (6) Light Armor + shield 16 (4),
2 shields 20 (4), Tactical + shield 20 (6), 2 shields 24 (6)

Hindrances: Clueless; Vow to help other slaves/captured creatures; Loyal to friends; InHuman; Curiosity, Wanted; Coalition, Quirk - touchy tail
Notice d6 (+2 that relates to traps and similar devices, +2 sight based rolls (cybernetic eyes), Common Knowledge d4-4, Intimidation d4-2, Persuasion d4-2
Edges and Abilities of Note: Acrobat +2 Agility rolls, Dirty Fighter +4 w/Acrobat on trick moves, Tricky Fighter no multi-action penalty for tricks, Ambidextrous, Two-Fisted, Nerves of Steel & Improved Nerves of Steel ignore 2 pts of wound penalties, Combat Reflexes +2 to Spirit rolls to recover from Shaken, Prehensile Tail that gives an additional non-movement action each round.
Adventure cards:
  • Out of the Frying Pan - Play to avoid death, capture, or some other bad situation for your hero or any ally. The situation leads to some new trouble, however, as determined by the GM.
  • We Have The Talent - you gain the benefits of an immediate Advance of your choice. You must meet any prerequisites. This benefit (new skill, increased trait, new Edge, etc.) lasts for the remainder of the session; your next actual Advance must be spent on this same benefit.

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Silverclaws
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Posts: 234
Joined: Thu Sep 28, 2017 1:42 pm

Re: Once Upon a Time in the West - Interludes in Black Mesa

Post by Silverclaws »

The sun is hot this far south. No trees or shade. Food is tough and gamey. And the wind, when it does blow, you would rather it didn't.

Silverclaws sat out in the sun on a lone butte somewhere west of Lone Star and north-ish of Black Mesa. In this heat, the ripples from the land, baked and dried, were enough to bring back memories of another time and another place. In the heat shimmers he thought he saw a herd of deer grazing in a copse of aspens in the cool autumn weather. One deer looked up and even looked Silverclaws direction and then bounded away. The herd followed.

*Brzt*

The visions faded to his scanner alert.

Sticking his nose into the air, the very dry air, he caught the smell of metal, grease, and power weapons. His ears picked up the sounds of air being forced through maybe through hover lifters and thrusters. Possibly hover cycles and a Powered Armor suit.

Guees they found my trail again. What I would give for my pack. All Wolfen here and now. Without them I do this on my own.

Maybe a mile or two out from the lone butte, were indeed a pair of hovercycles and a power armored suit. White on black the skulls were hard to miss. The CS tracking party had indeed found Silverclaws' trail and they were moving in pursuit towards the butte. He didn't even need to use his eyes, Silverclaws knew they were there.

Silverclaws growled deep within himself. He had promised Jasco before leaving with his final Gun Runners escort that he would bring no trouble back with him to Black Mesa. A CS Bounty squad was trouble. Trouble of the worst kind for Silverclaws.

Crouching low, he waited for the hovercycles to gather in close and the Dead Heads to clamber off to get positions to flush him out. The Power Armor, what they called a SAMAS, sat about a 100 yards to the North. His JA-9 Laser Rifle was strapped to his back and his survival pack lay on the ground near him. He took the Laser Rifle off his back and used the scope to sight in the two hovercycle Dead Heads.

His elevation on the butte gave him advantage of height. The Dead Heads would need to climb the butte. The SAMAS couldn't fly up this high and engage either. Setting the scoped rifle aside he decided it was time to engage.

Pushing a large boulder down along the north face of the butte, Silverclaws then sprinted to the south end of the butte. Dropping over the side feet first he sunk his claws into the rocky soil and dirt to create an enormous dust cloud that he was in the middle of. When he landed the cloud of debris and dust masked his arrival on the ground. Not ten feet away was the first of the two Dead Head soldiers.

Silverclaws managed to cover the ground without being noticed and took the nearest soldier completely by surprise. With paw hands the size of ribeye steaks, Silverclaws ripped the helmet and head off the first soldier. As he was holding the headless body and the head, the soldier's death throws triggered the rifle he had been holding, which was shooting rather eratically.
Never get used to that, I guess.

Just as the the finger goes slack on the dead soldier and the rifle stops firing, the dust cloud settles. The second soldier had taken cover behind some fallen boulders as was cautiously looking around. He had left his own rifle atop the butte so he ripped the gun from the hardening grip of the Dead Head now dead soldier. The rifle was noticeably smaller in Silverclaws pawhands, but he still managed to use one claw to fire the rifle and empty the remainder of the clip in the hidden soldiers direction while running towards him.

As the soldier popped his head out from cover, Silverclaws pummeled with the other soldier's rifle. Stunned and dazed the soldier slumped down behind the boulders. Checking cautiously over the boulder at the second soldier he nearly forgot about the SAMAS unit hovering around nearby. Until he heard the whooshing of dust and dirt as it was zooming up on his current position.

Without really pausing long he reached for something close. Something he could throw. He found something and did not really look to see what it was until after he had thrown it. The stunned soldier was on a collision course with the SAMAS unit.

About to take a head to chest collision with the stunned soldier, the SAMAS banked left but was a little too slow and the stunned soldier impacted with right wing mounted thruster. Wing clipped the SAMAS unit had more speed than it could handle and spiraled its way into the side of the butte. Crashing impact and the soldier caught in the thrusters caused an incredible landslide of rock and dirt to bury the two soldiers. "Watch out for Mother Nature. She's a hard hitter."

By the time Silveclaws had unburied the soldier and the power armor, the buzzards wee already flying overhead. A good sign that he had been right in assuming that they were all dead. He shelled the soldiers and discarded their bodies near the spot where they died. No sense in their spirits being trapped here because their bodies were far away.

Gathering up the the hovercraft he strapped them together with ropes from the pack he had resecured. Tieing them together he created a makeshift skiff, kind of like an all terrain hover cycle. Next he took the SAMAS Power Armor apart and began sliding armor pieces inside the bigger power armor parts. Then he strapped the SAMAS armor to makeshift sled and with a foot on each cycle, began the ride to Black Mesa as the sun was setting over his left shoulder.

Jasco had sent word that morning asking him to return with haste. New developments required their attention.

Best ride, and fast. Or as fast as these things could go the way they are.
Silverclaws
Quick Stats _
Veteran Wolfen MARS Techno-Warrior
Charisma: 0 || Pace: 8 (1d8) || Parry: 8 (9 with claws) || Toughness: 23 (6) || Size: +1 || Strain: 19/22
Wounds: None || Fatigue: None
Combat Edges:
  • Level-Headed Edge: Draw two initiative cards and take the best.
  • Danger Sense Edge: Notice roll -2 before being suprised or ambushed.
Relevant Edges:
Bennies: 4/4
Weapons
Weapons On Hand _
  • JA-9 Variable Laser Rifle
  • Chain Greatsword
  • Silvered Vibro-Blade Vembraces
Adventure Cards _
  • .
  • (46) Renown: Play after completing a good deed of some import. You gain a permanent +1 Charisma bonus toward those who have heard of you (typically a 50% chance).
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