/builders/ - Hero and Nation Builders!

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>53233

>>53237

Saying nothing, Blast seated himself across from Lucas and waited. Though he didn't often talk of his own volition, he didn't ever intend to be anti-social. He had always tried to remain in good standing with co-workers before, and he currently had no reason to change that.

However, he had never actually played a card game before.

>>53237

Seeing the cards Pierre gets excited.

"Of course! Back in the orphanage It was always great fun watching the bastard scientists play on break and then steal their deck for myself. Was even able to teach all my friends."

>>53239

"Whats the matter? Cat got yer tongue! It's real easy ya"

>>53240

"Oi kid, maybe ye can teach big tall and quit 'ere how to play."

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>53233

Rolling

Chad was confused to say the least, he had no idea why he was here, and his head hurt something fierce. He in a cell on a an alien ship, that much he could gather from his surroundings. From the chatter it seems like the aliens were trying to determine something about the humans by scanning them, and that they were destined for some sort of Arena, if "Crucible" meant anything. Chad, who couldn't even remember his own name, couldn't quite imagine what they'd want to know, nor did he really care. He was far more preoccupied with the fact that he didn't know why he was where he was, and that he had more bruises and cuts then a man who just fought a Grizzly. It felt like someone had worked him over with clubs, and his jaw was swollen as well. Rubbing his aching mouth, he watched on as others played, and still other sat in silence like he did. If someone were to talk to him ,he'd point at his obviously swollen jaw. He would save his breathe and energy for those who would survive the probable slaughter.

>>53247

Blast was not particularly good at carrying on a conversation, but he could answer simple questions, at the very least. He had long since learned that staying quiet too long when people expect you to respond is a detriment.

"My name is Blast." the man states bluntly. "I do not know what we are playing. I do not know any card games."

>>53247

Pierre is currently fussing over Blast's cards showing how to hold them properly to hide them from other players and what the rules are. so far it seems to be slow going although it seems he does not mind. Turning his head he responds

"Cant say I disagree with your logic, Name is Pierre and its just a simple card game. Wont take much effort to learn to play."

Bobby watched the game unfold. He payed it no mind, he was only thinking of the works he had left behind. Books left open, projects unfinished, his work and research beyond his reach. He had dissected many strange creatures back in the wastelands and found their structure truly interesting. The thought of strange encounters to overcome lit a small fire in his chest. New creatures to discover and perhaps improve upon as inspiration for his own works. The aliens had technologies and disciplines beyond human understanding, which made Bobby keen to strip the armor from their creations and see what was underneath. He would contemplate in silence until things got moving. Should he survive the coming days perhaps he would look at what this place had to offer, and who was still alive.

>>53248

>>53249

Slim glances around the room at the sullen figures as he plays along with the younger boys doing his best to not appear to be that skilled at such a simple game as to keep things interesting.

"Sullen lot the rest aren't they, I figure I should be the first to broach this topic then. You all seem like a dependable lot and things are sure to get real hairy out there. Now we got no clue what we are gonna be dumped into but I would feel better with someone watching my back. So I say we form a little team here, everyone watches everyone's backs and the chances of us surviving go up for sure."

>>53241

Linking to you for the above post.

>>53253

Not stopping from the Cad Game, Lucas gives a quick reply to the impassioned speech of Chad.

"Long as I get to stab things and take what ay want. Ye I'll fight at yer side."

>>53253

Blast listened to the others talk, even as he was intently trying to learn the rules of this card game. It was taking a while, but thank's to Pierre's explanation, it was starting to come together.

"So then our new task is to survive, correct?" Blast asks, after Chad finishes making his declaration. "I can cooperate for this purpose."

Rolled 39 + 8 (1d100)

>>53259

1. Bombs

2. A polearm, like a halberd, etc.

3. Any kind of gun

Rolled 76 + 3 (1d100)

>>53259

A dagger or short blade

A thick cloak or any other type of survival clothing

Shield

Rolled 35 + 5 (1d100)

>>53259

1. Explosives

2. Gun

3. Cestus/Knuckles

Rolled 30 + 10 (1d100)

>>53259

1. Spatha

2. Scutum

3. Murmillo Helmet and/or Manica

>Luck 10

Rolled 84 + 50 (1d100)

>>53259

1 Spear

2 Shield

3 Rapier

>>53275

Chad readies his weapons before shouting loudly

"They can come at us from all sides, therefore we need to eliminate one of their angles of attacks. We should either form a square, shields in front with pikes and archers behind, or try to use one of these smoldering mounds of metal as cover, but we need to decide quickly!"

>>53275

Bobby shrugs his shoulders and gets another feel for the new weight on his arms.

"Lets get in formation, then we can shift over to the ruins while keeping it. Some of those bombs aught to buy us time"

Rolled 84 + 90 (1d100)

Lighting one of the bombs and throwing it with practiced precision into one of the hordes Pierre turns to his comrades

"Lets go to the wreck, The ruin can cover our back and once these monsters are taken care of I can see if there is anything worth salvaging."

Rather than throwing it he sees a decline he can utilize to roll it down where the bugs are likely to congregate

Rolled 33 + 27 (1d100)

>>53279

Wastelander

Name: Bobby Cohlt

Age: 24

Fluff: An apprentice to a medicine man of the wastes, at least until he was gone. From then on he became a wanderer with no sense of direction merely looking to learn about the world. Walking through life and dealing with whatever comes his way. More often then not it was abandoned bases surrounded by the most inhospitable landscapes almost devoid of human life, places not guarded by the living but by ancient machines, traps, and the deadly unseen forces. The supplies left out in the open were always contaminated, but within the bases were protected caches of food, medicine, and books on many subjects. It has been years since he has spoken to anyone, seen anyone who wasn't a beast in the sands or a broken machine. Thriving in spite of exposure to poison in the air, and in the "animals" if you could call them that. It had allowed him to build up quite the immunity to various poisons of the desert, all the while making his own arsenal of biological weapons. It was a good place to escape the alien patrols, or so he thought.

Once he encountered an experimental research base. Within they had been creating something they called 'Artificial Ki', some kind of substance that only naturally shows up in certain individuals and -REDACTED- aged at least a hundred years. They had been accelerating its growth and injecting a refined product into people with mixed results; some displayed strange phenomena, some increased physical and mental abilities, most died in incredibly unpleasant ways. The medical science was there so he figured why not, but this time with genuine aged and refined product…results pending.

Many of his meals had been rations, snacks, vitamins, and nutrient injections. However, his favorite was probably duck pate, crackers, and jelly spread. The rations usually came with fruity drink or coffee powder, he preferred the fruit powder as a thirst quencher, and the coffee strong. Leisure time would be smoking the packs that came with the ration, reading journals (personal or medical), and drinking black coffee in the best furnished room of a freshly conquered base. His fighting style usually favored blades and customized weapons that could deliver a venom cocktail.

He was rather reserved, observant, and distant after being isolated for so long. His sense of direction was no good, perhaps an aftereffect of the mystery product or his own steady exposure to various poisons and old medications. His observational nature would at times lean into a judgmental attitude, but generally he was of a positive disposition and was a 'glass half full' kind of guy. After what felt like a lifetime of journeying he enjoys a bit of lazing and reflecting.

When a patrol actually did come it was as if it came out of nowhere, and so his wandering had ended. What did they think of his body which had been subjected to the harshest climate and the remnants of humanity's foremost medical knowledge from 100 years past? Put his ass in the arena apparently.

>Stats:

STR: 6-1 PER: 4+1 END: 10 CHA: 6 INT: 9+1 AGI: 8 LUK: 10

>Skills:

Speechcraft, 17 Energy weapons, 71 Demolitions, 83 Gunnery, 15 Lockpicking, 51 Medicine, 84 +16 Melee, 78 Engineering, 27+9 Science, 59 Sneak, 13 Survival, 2 Unarmed Combat. 45

>Equipment:

-Holster with Knives

-Hooded Cloak

-Bag of Bobby Pins

-Bag of Dust

-Rope

-Booze

>Psionics: (will be determined by gm at proper time)

1 All this fire, smoke, and debris…There was a fierce battle here not along ago with some kind of big robot? Impossible to tell but there might be something left behind that would give us an edge.

Survival and Perception

>>53283

Equipment*

+One Excellent Quality Spear

+One Excellent quality shield

+One Rapier

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>53275

>Name: Johnny “Slim” Falcone

>Age: 32

>Fluff: Crippled Mafia Fixer

>Stats:

S 9

P 3

E 1

C 10

I 8

A 9

L 3

>Skills:

Speechcraft: 77

Energy Weapons: 14

Demolitions: 87

Gunnery: 22

Lockpicking: 13

Medicine: 38

Melee: 50

Engineering: 82

Science: 85

Sneak: 57

Survival: 50

Unarmed Combat: 19

Items:

2 Daggers

Cloak

——-

Slim would try to rally the other gladiators to help with the mad wastlanders idea.

"You heard the Wastelander! If you want a chance to surivive git your asses over here!"

Slim woud keep to the middle of the pack directing people to close gaps and defend where others were weak.

Speechcraft: +77

Cha: +50

Total: +127

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>53275

Blast moves to form up in a defensive position with the others. As he does so, he looks at the heaping wreck of metal for a plate or some part he can pull off and use as a makeshift shield.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>Name: Lucky Lucas

>Age: 27

>Fluff: Since as old as alien fiction itself, from books to films to video games, humanity has always banked on the lucky protagonist come to save the day. From robin hood to luke skywalker to john connor, they inspired generations of wasterlanders and criminals who thought that fortune favored them against the alien.

Lucas was the aliens response to this. Through a series of experiments involving probability manipulation, they created him. A rogue and rascal, who hunts other rogues and rascals. Lucas is infamous in his ability to cause ill fortune on his target, or perhaps to push his luck against theres Some say a power probability calculator is embedded in his brain, others claim the aliens granted him some sort of psionic probability manipulator. Not even Lucas knows, but his luck has yet to fail him.

He isn't strong. He's very lanky. He's very un-intelligent.

And he gets away with it through bluffing, putting a nice sharp knife where it needs to go, and knowing when to run.

>Stats:

S 8

P 8+2

E 4

C 4

I 4

A 8

L 8+2

>Skills:

Speechcraft: 80

Energy Weapons: 10

Demolitions: 0

Gunnery: 0

Lockpicking: 80

Medicine: 80

Melee: 80

Engineering 0:

Science: 0

Sneak: 80

Survival: 80

Unarmed Combat: 80

>Equipment:

One Machete

One poorly made swiss army knife

>Psionics: FATE (Infrared level)

You can alter the fate of a thing you can see and that is within 5 feet of you, bullets seemingly on course barely miss, explosive shrapnel somehow only hits non-vital parts, etc. you can use this power up to your LCK stat/ 5 per combat. (basically a fate point system)

"Well that ain't good. We're all covered in stank. Gotta hide this musk somehow!"

See if there's a quick and immediate way to hide the smell. Perhaps with some blown up bug entrails or anything else at hand.

Perception 10

Survival 80

Boards should now be accessible again.

Rolled 14, 47 = 61 (2d100)

t..test?

>>53290

test

The Wastelander with the fucked up memories calls for everyone to band together, to bolster the defenses of everyone,by and alrge he was ignored until a sickly hiver repeated his call but more loudly drumming everyone together into a crude foration. This jostled the brtue worker of the group so much he could not do much. With the group formed both the wastelander and Hiver slick worked to try and coordinate it to defend more properly.

Meanwhile the small volunteer child lit his bomb, and in a case of fast wits and calm hands rolled it towards the oncoming insects, the horde passing over it and it dtonating in the middle of them to ruinous effect killing and crippling many of the hostile insectoids. This did not help the other wastelander's effort to look for anything to find them an edge, the only thing he saw was a few loose plates taht might serve as sheilds or maybe spikes, if they had time to set them up properly.

The Lanky halfwit meanwhile gets covered in bug gore, from the amssive explosion, which from it's horrid stnech would likely mitigate the pheremones pumped onto the humans, if slathered on heavily enough.

The bug hoard is still coming, although thier cohesion has been hurt heavily by the use of that singular bomb, and a few projectiles fired into the mass. This means that the few stragglers that have already reached the defensive formation were smahed and stabbed to death in short order. You have roughly one more turn before horde reaches you all.

Rolled 78 + 69 (1d100)

>>53386

>>>53386

>Name: Blast

>Class: Laborer

>Age: 28

>Fluff: Created solely for one purpose, Blast was named for the work he would be doing in the Western Europe hive city. Utilized as a demolitions worker, he placed and operated explosives to facilitate the alien's mining operations. He was good at his job. Real good. While he was not notably bright, his mind was fairly average despite the numbing nature of the Laborers' existence. He spoke little, and many of the more high-tech notions completely escaped him, but his pool of knowledge continued to grow in spite of everything. He would pick up things here and there that a simple laborer should not. Though he was created to be a single-minded drone, his curiosity could not be quashed so easily. Observing others he learned many things, and occasionally put them into practice when the opportunity revealed itself. It was one of these instances, when he picked open a locked room to get to some medicine that he used to treat one of his own injuries that his supervisors became alarmed. Though the action was taken in complete loyalty to his orders to get back to work as efficiently as possible, it disturbed them. They feared what could potentially happen if they let him pick up too much. However, they also viewed a simple elimination of a worker that had been so useful was a waste. They eventually agreed that he may be of a final use in the Crucible. Blast himself has met only confusion at the turn of events. Hadn't he done his job well? He had only used the knowledge he had accumulated to do his job even better. Why would that warrant him being sent away? What did these aliens even want from him? He doesn't have the answers, but that doesn't matter anymore. He had a new job now, and he would do his best at it. Perhaps this time around he would think about the why, but it wasn't his top priority. The job comes first.

>Stats: Strength 10, Perception 5, Endurance 10, Charisma 5, Intelligence 5, Agility 10, Luck 8

>Skills: Speechcraft 6, Energy Weapons 18, Demolitions 100, Gunnery 68, Lockpicking 89, Medicine 63, Melee 52, Engineering 69, Science 5, Sneak 89, Survival 45, Unarmed Combat 87

>Equipment: 3 primitive bombs, spear

>Psionics: BARRIER (Yellow Level)

>Blast had missed his chance to grab any useful debris before, but one of his new comrades was luckily able to direct him now. He hurried to set up some defenses before the rest of the bugs arrived, and then took a fighting position.

Rolled 54 + 144 (1d100)

Stats: Strength 1, Perception 5, Endurance 10, Charisma 10, Intelligence 10, Agility 2, Luck 5

Skills: Speechcraft 29, Energy weapons 80, Demolitions 80, Gunnery 19, Lockpicking 98, Medicine 80, Melee 3, Engineering 80, Science 94, Sneak 80, Survival 12, Unarmed Combat 87

Equipment: 2 primitive bombs, One antiquarian pistol

Psionics:

Seeing that the bugs attention shifted away from him and to his comrades despite obviously being the cause of explosion gave Pierre an idea. Rummaging through their innards he starts finding anything that would help cover their scent and make him seem like one of the hive. While also trying to make enough to disguise the others as well.

Rolled 38 + 25 (1d100)

>>53386

Wastelander

Name: Bobby Cohlt

Age: 24

Fluff: An apprentice to a medicine man of the wastes, at least until he was gone. From then on he became a wanderer with no sense of direction merely looking to learn about the world. Walking through life and dealing with whatever comes his way. More often then not it was abandoned bases surrounded by the most inhospitable landscapes almost devoid of human life, places not guarded by the living but by ancient machines, traps, and the deadly unseen forces. The supplies left out in the open were always contaminated, but within the bases were protected caches of food, medicine, and books on many subjects. It has been years since he has spoken to anyone, seen anyone who wasn't a beast in the sands or a broken machine. Thriving in spite of exposure to poison in the air, and in the "animals" if you could call them that. It had allowed him to build up quite the immunity to various poisons of the desert, all the while making his own arsenal of biological weapons. It was a good place to escape the alien patrols, or so he thought.

Once he encountered an experimental research base. Within they had been creating something they called 'Artificial Ki', some kind of substance that only naturally shows up in certain individuals and -REDACTED- aged at least a hundred years. They had been accelerating its growth and injecting a refined product into people with mixed results; some displayed strange phenomena, some increased physical and mental abilities, most died in incredibly unpleasant ways. The medical science was there so he figured why not, but this time with genuine aged and refined product…results pending.

Many of his meals had been rations, snacks, vitamins, and nutrient injections. However, his favorite was probably duck pate, crackers, and jelly spread. The rations usually came with fruity drink or coffee powder, he preferred the fruit powder as a thirst quencher, and the coffee strong. Leisure time would be smoking the packs that came with the ration, reading journals (personal or medical), and drinking black coffee in the best furnished room of a freshly conquered base. His fighting style usually favored blades and customized weapons that could deliver a venom cocktail.

He was rather reserved, observant, and distant after being isolated for so long. His sense of direction was no good, perhaps an aftereffect of the mystery product or his own steady exposure to various poisons and old medications. His observational nature would at times lean into a judgmental attitude, but generally he was of a positive disposition and was a 'glass half full' kind of guy. After what felt like a lifetime of journeying he enjoys a bit of lazing and reflecting.

When a patrol actually did come it was as if it came out of nowhere, and so his wandering had ended. What did they think of his body which had been subjected to the harshest climate and the remnants of humanity's foremost medical knowledge from 100 years past? Put his ass in the arena apparently.

>Stats:

STR: 6-1 PER: 4+1 END: 10 CHA: 6 INT: 9+1 AGI: 8 LUK: 10

>Skills:

Speechcraft, 17 Energy weapons, 71 Demolitions, 83 Gunnery, 15 Lockpicking, 51 Medicine, 84 +16 Melee, 78 Engineering, 27+9 Science, 59 Sneak, 13 Survival, 2 Unarmed Combat. 45

>Equipment:

-Holster with Knives

-Hooded Cloak

-Bag of Bobby Pins

-Bag of Dust

-Rope

-Booze

+One Excellent Quality Spear

+One Excellent quality shield

+One Rapier

It was a quick skirmish, but there was an opportunity to look at where the best places to stab them were at and how. Going for the head? A spot where a spear could catch and go under shell? Flipping them over with the shield and then stab them in the stomach was usually a solid move. Then he would get in formation with that spear wielding laborer to make the best use of his own spear and shield.

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>53386

>Name: Johnny “Slim” Falcone

>Age: 32

>Fluff: Crippled Mafia Fixer

>Stats:

S 9

P 3

E 1

C 10

I 8

A 9

L 3

>Skills:

Speechcraft: 77

Energy Weapons: 14

Demolitions: 87

Gunnery: 22

Lockpicking: 13

Medicine: 38

Melee: 50

Engineering: 82

Science: 85

Sneak: 57

Survival: 50

Unarmed Combat: 19

Items:

2 Daggers

Cloak

——-

Loot around! There might be something useful amongst all these heaps of metal!

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>53535

>>53386

The brute of a Laborer rips a metal plate and several strusts from the dead machine. passing the strust out to others who use them to set into the groudn to make traps to stymie the bug, he makes a strap to attach the palte to his arm creating a sheild for hismelf.

Meanwhile the sickly outlander child rips open the dead insects on the line, coating himself and others in the blood of the insectoids to mask the scent of pheremones. it's slow going but severeal people are coated and thus the bugs are blind to them. Sadly this is not perfecta s the lanky outlander who inpsired the child went too close to the bugs and got trampled anyways.

The wastelander looking for a weakness in the insects only found a few. while their underbelly was less armroed flipping them was hard, as they would resist it heavily. The armor had no weak spots he could discern barring the eyes and head.

The other wastelander helped the laborer set up spikes and other impediments to the horde, working in rapid time to fortify the position.

Finally the crippled mafia man stumbled onto something amzing. Some unexploded fragmentation grenades. Two of them to be exact.

Now the horde comes trying to smash bodies under weaight of numbers even as they are pierced by the hastily entrenched spikes. Still numbers are starting to tell as the mass of chitinous flesh slowly pushes the traps aside.

Time is limted, what is to be done?

Rolled 64 + 90 (1d100)

>>53537

Stats: Strength 1, Perception 5, Endurance 10, Charisma 10, Intelligence 10, Agility 2, Luck 5

Skills: Speechcraft 29, Energy weapons 80, Demolitions 80, Gunnery 19, Lockpicking 98, Medicine 80, Melee 3, Engineering 80, Science 94, Sneak 80, Survival 12, Unarmed Combat 87

Equipment: 2 primitive bombs, One antiquarian pistol

Psionics:

With his scent covered and the bugs clumped up this is his best opportunity to deal more damage to these foul insects. Finding an opening to roll another bomb he warns the rest of his comrades to prepare before it goes off.

Rolled 79 + 118 (1d100)

>>53537

Bobby Colt

>Stats:

STR: 6-1 PER: 4+1 END: 10 CHA: 6 INT: 9+1 AGI: 8 LUK: 10

>Skills:

Speechcraft, 17 Energy weapons, 71 Demolitions, 83 Gunnery, 15 Lockpicking, 51 Medicine, 84 +16 Melee, 78 Engineering, 27+9 Science, 59 Sneak, 13 Survival, 2 Unarmed Combat. 45

>Equipment:

-Holster with Knives

-Hooded Cloak

-Bag of Bobby Pins

-Bag of Dust

-Rope

-Booze

+One Excellent Quality Spear

+One Excellent quality shield

+One Rapier

1 Bobby prepares himself with his shield and spear. If the bomb knocked them over and disoriented them he would be ready to catch the with his spear before they reorient. +78 Melee +40 AGI