c6dfff No.53201 [Last50 Posts]
Earth, AD Unknown
Humanity has fallen. Aliens from across the Stars came to Earth, not with intentions of peace, but with intentions to exploit the planet and its people for their own gain. Of Course, Humanity fought against the would-be conquerors, and then lost, and lost hard. Thus, Humanity was introduced to a decadent empire made up of thousands of alien species as a livestock animal. One akin to a smart monkey,
something to be used as slaves or brute labor.
The Imperial courts may fix this eventually, but it's been so long no veterans of Earth's conquest live, and nothing still has been done. Humanity now is congregated into massive cities in what was Africa, South America, India and Western Europe, the Gigantic spires sucking up metric tons of resources to sustain the abominable living condition of the hivers, who work and labor the benefit of the Aliens as little more than slave labor. Elsewhere in the North American and Chinese Exclusion zones, Wastelanders, fragments of the once great nations, eke out a living in the ruins of dead lands, every wary for the Aliens to come and capture them as they had so many before. The only truly Free humans are those who reside in Eastern Europe, its independence won in the Crucible and enforced by its rules.
For the Crucible is the Imperium's drug, cluster of star systems dedicated to combat and bloodshed on a truly astronomic scale. From arenas to interstellar battle the Crucible hold any and every kind of combat for the enjoyment and adulation of a the transgalactic mob. The circuses I their bread and circuses as it were. Moreover, the gambling placed on the Crucible is immense and binding, fortunes can be won or lost in an instant, and all bets are final, for entities both mundane and almost divine will see that you pay what is owed, or else.
The crucible goes through millions of would be champions a day and is in constant need for more grist for the mill. So now another batch of Humans has been sent, to die and bled for the enjoyment of all. You are one such Human Gladiator.
____________________________
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c6dfff No.53202
There are four principle backgrounds your volunteer can hail from. Each one with is own unique skills and abilities from a lifetime of dealing with being a conquered people. Each with its own advantages and disadvantages, and while some people may hail from the same background, they can be wholly different in mien, skill and methodology. Every human can be judged on the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. scale. Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, and Luck. These are self-explanatory. But what a gladiator is physically is not all they are. They also have an array of skills that they draw upon. Skill like Speechcraft, Energy weapons, Demolitions, Gunnery, Lockpicking, Medicine, Melee, Engineering, Science, Sneak, Survival and Unarmed Combat.
Stats are measured on a scale of 1-10 (past 10 being blatantly superhuman) while skills are on a scale of 1-100. There are Two more stats that should be accounted for in the Crucible stars. Notoriety and fame/Infamy. Fame and infamy are simple, they reflect how the crowd, the mob, thealien assholes watching you die in blood sport. This stat starts at zero and for everything that a Gladiator does either raises it or lowers it. The more extreme the negative the less the crowd likes you and the more they will act to try and make your life hard. Conversely the higher it is the more they will try to help you out. Neither is necessarily a bad thing, as the more crowd you bring in the more valued you are. Notoriety is how accomplished the gladiator is. Winning matches, defeating opponents at great odds, and other sundry things build notoriety, which you can leverage into being more successful too.
Firstly, come the Laborers, born and raised in one of the mega-arcologies the alien built on the planet to facilitate more and better slave labor, these rather dull people, born and raised to be drones for the alien labor industry, and physically fit, quick of hand, strong of arm and tough of body. But despite their physical prowess, their minds and spirits and atrophied. They are brutes, simple labor born and dying in droves, their backs carrying profit to the alien overlords. You’re one who was judged an acceptable write off to the star for whatever reason.
+6 in aggregate to the following stats Strength, Endurance, Agility.
-2 In aggregate to Perception, Intelligence and/or Charisma
Next Come the Criminals, Gangbangers, thugs, confidence men and other ne’er do wells who prey upon their fellows and the holes in the Alien’s control in order to make their niche in the world. They grease the wheels of the Hives in order to make sure things run smoothly, and when things go poorly or someone needs to be taught a lesson, they step in and do it. If your character made their living off the backs of other humans, he was one of these. He’s one of the mooks who got caught though.
+1 Agility OR Charisma
+25 to any combination to Speechcraft, Lockpicking, Sneak, Unarmed Combat, or Melee
Third come the Wastelanders, those few captured souls who lived in the former Chinese and north American Exclusion zones, living in the ruins of once proud human civilizations. The scavenge technology, tools and anything else they can use to survive the irradiated cities and wastes while evading alien patrols. You’re one of the unlucky ones who got caught and sent to the stars instead of a more valuable worker.
+1 Perception and Intelligence
-1 to any one of these (agility, strength, Endurance)
+25 to any combination of Survival, Medicine, Engineering, Gunnery or Science
Finally come the Aspirants, volunteers for the Crucible stars hailing form the freed lands of what was once Eastern Europe by the daring Gladiator Dmitri Valdovichi. Unlike their fellows they do not suffer from poor training, malnutrition or lack of resources. Indeed, they start off at a higher level than all their fellows, skilled, strong and able to fight, nay wanting to fight. This does have the rather unfortunate proclivity of slapping a gigantic target on their back compared to their fellows.
+4 in any combination to stats
+80 in any combination to skills (cap 80)
-50 Fame/Infamy
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c6dfff No.53203
After picking your archetypical character class, you then can go about creating them. There are two options for doing this, rolling a d10 for each stat (7 total) and d100 for each skill (12 total) and using those to make your character. Alternatively, you can opt to use a point buy with 37 Stat points (soft cap limit 8 hard cap 10) and 380 Skill points (soft cap 80, Hard cap 100). However, if you pick rolls, you must COMMIT to rolls.
After stats are made you will fluff your character and their backstory and make a psionics roll when prompted. Keep in mind better fluff means you are more likely to get something good for your efforts. Things like Age, moral stance, preferences in food, drink and leisure activities, as well as fighting style are good. Making a 3-paragraph dissertation on your wastelander’s former attire is not.
Character Sheet is as follows
Name: (Your character’s name, duh)
Age: (How old they are.)
Fluff: (Backstory)
Stats: (covered above)
Skills: (covered above)
Equipment: (what your character has on them)
Psionics: (will be determined by gm at proper time)
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39c1b4 No.53204
 | Rolled 7, 7, 9, 5, 5, 9, 8 = 50 (7d10) |
>>53203
Rolling up a laborer, stats first
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786e8d No.53205
| Rolled 1, 5, 8, 10, 8, 2, 5 = 39 (7d10) |
Rolling
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39c1b4 No.53206
| Rolled 6, 18, 100, 68, 89, 63, 52, 69, 5, 89, 45, 87 = 691 (12d100) |
>>53204
Now skills
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786e8d No.53207
| Rolled 14, 76, 72, 19, 98, 77, 3, 31, 94, 79, 12, 87 = 662 (12d100) |
skills
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39c1b4 No.53208
>>53206
Stat post
Laborer:
STR: 10
PER: 5
END: 10
CHA: 5
INT: 5
AGI: 10
LUK: 8
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
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864874 No.53210
| Rolled 9, 2, 10, 9, 8, 3, 10 = 51 (7d10) |
>>53209
lets not fuck it up this time
Stats
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864874 No.53211
| Rolled 41, 94, 95, 58, 52, 6, 68, 49, 32, 82, 38, 45 = 660 (12d100) |
>>53210
skills
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26b129 No.53212
| Rolled 6, 4, 10, 6, 9, 8, 10 = 53 (7d10) |
>>53203
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26b129 No.53213
| Rolled 17, 71, 83, 15, 51, 84, 78, 27, 59, 13, 2, 45 = 545 (12d100) |
>>53212
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3cf240 No.53214
| Rolled 3, 10, 2, 9, 9, 9, 6 = 48 (7d10) |
>>53203
Attribute Roll
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3cf240 No.53215
| Rolled 62, 5, 51, 91, 82, 19, 93, 6, 85, 15, 81, 8 = 598 (12d100) |
>>53214
Skill Rolls
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6e21a3 No.53216
| Rolled 2, 1, 5, 9, 5, 9, 10 = 41 (7d10) |
Stat
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6e21a3 No.53217
| Rolled 17, 67, 9, 64, 25, 47, 49, 36, 62, 63, 75, 91 = 605 (12d100) |
Skills
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67ac2d No.53218
>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 1
P 8+2
E 2
C 8
I 2
A 8
L 8+2
>Skills:
Speechcraft: 80
Energy Weapons: 0
Demolitions: 0
Gunnery: 0
Lockpicking: 80
Medicine: 30
Melee: 80
Engineering 0:
Science: 0
Sneak: 80
Survival: 30
Unarmed Combat: 80
>Equipment:
-Holster with Knives
-Hooded Cloak
-Bag of Bobby Pins
-Bag of Dust
-Rope
-Booze
>Psionics: (will be determined by gm at proper time)
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67ac2d No.53219
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67ac2d No.53220
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786e8d No.53221
Name: Pierre
Age: 9
Fluff: When one thinks of an aspirant they think of a man at the peak of their life with skills honed for a lifetime with the wealth to enable such a dream. This is not the case for little Pierre. While yes he had trained his entire life for this moment it was out of desperation rather then genuine desire. Abandoned as an orphan to unknown parents he would have normally been assigned to menial labor where he would work and die. Instead the orphanage he was sent to was known for its human experiments that took place where various alien technology was used on the orphans to better understand their effects. Most rarely live to see 10 years old as the various trials wrecked havoc on their body and Pierre was terrified at sharing that same fate. Unlike his fellows however he possessed an incredibly strong spirit unbroken by his caretakers. While he had kept this carefully hidden he had also hidden something else that would terrify them far more than one bratty child. He actually understood the experiments better than the scientists performing them. Somehow he had a gift for understanding alien technology and with his natural charisma he was able to organize a secret band of children that would steal this technology so he could organize a plan to break out of this hellish place. Eventually they had acquired enough that they were able to bring this plan to fruition and were able to make a mass breakthrough into the wider hive. The transition to freedom was difficult however and not everyone had escaped. What was worse is that this was apparently only one facility in an entire industry based on man exploiting man for their own greed and to please their alien benefactors. Pierre was almost 10 as well, that dreaded number when death was sure to claim him with his ravaged body being unable to cope. He knew that he would never be able to cure himself with the resources he had and even if he did then what did it matter? There were kids all over Europe who did not have the privilege of being born in the east. If he was to save his own life and those of kids just like him he would need to join the crucible and fight for humanity.
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:
Psionics:
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401efa No.53222
| Rolled 9, 3, 1, 10, 8, 8, 3 = 42 (7d10) |
>>53203
Criminal stat rolls
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401efa No.53223
| Rolled 77, 14, 87, 22, 13, 38, 50, 82, 85, 32, 50, 19 = 569 (12d100) |
>>53222
Skills
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39c1b4 No.53224
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:
Psionics:
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26b129 No.53226
>>53213
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 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)
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c6dfff No.53227
>>53203
>>53218
Qm here, point buy not nets 500 skill points, just to keep it competitive.
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401efa No.53228
>>53202
>Name: Johnny “Slim” Falcone
>Age: 32
>Fluff: Johnny “Slim” Falcone was a handyman employed the the Valencia Crime Family in the Western European Hive. When the family had a problem that couldn’t be dealt with through more ceviontal channels they called Slim. From the bare minimum of chemicals he could produce bombs to clear our rival gangs, jury rig police drones to open fire on their owners, recruit junkies to murder those who refuse to pay protection movey or if truly needed simply cut some up with his switchblade.
This was all of course before he was pinned with the murder of the Valencia Family Don by a rival family causing him to flee the streets. The Crucible was the only place he could think of to avoid simply being gunned down in the streets by the vengeful Valencia’s so he volunteered to save his own skin. This however would prove to be less than advantageous for Slim, previously he was heavily augmented with black market cybernetic, the lower levels of the Crucible are “cyber free” with his extensive augmentations being hastily removed by careless ripper docs has left him a shell of a man.
Slim himself is a rather easy going man with an addiction to both cigarettes and alcohol previously funded by his ill gotten gains. Even in the worst of situations he attempts to keep up appearances of being well maintained and in his signature business suit. If he can avoid a fight he will, there is no reason to shed blood when you can simply pay someone off. You don’t survive to his age in the criminal world without learning that bravado gets you killed.
>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
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67ac2d No.53229
| Rolled 6, 1, 3, 7, 10, 3, 8 = 38 (7d10) |
Yeah I'm not happy with my other char design, let's see what RNG has in mind.
Committing to rolls
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67ac2d No.53230
| Rolled 42, 76, 52, 65, 48, 67, 80, 48, 17, 92, 85, 69 = 741 (12d100) |
>>53229
>38
>except one of them is a 10 so soft capped at 8
>only 36 usable at base
>this is 1 point less than just allocating it
RNG better give me some damn fine skill rolls
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864874 No.53231
>>53202
>>53210
>>53211
Name: Chad Mansley (Forgotten)
Class: Wastelander
Age: 25
Fluff:
https://pastebin.com/JacRPWz4
>Stats:
STR: 9
PER: 2
END: 10
CHA: 9
INT: 8
AGI: 3
LUK: 10
>Skills:
Speechcraft: 41
Energy Weapons: 94
Demolitions: 95
Gunnery: 58
Lockpicking: 52
Medicine: 6
Melee: 68
Engineering: 49
Science: 32
Sneak: 82
Survival: 38
Unarmed Combat: 45
Equipment:
Psionics:
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67ac2d No.53232
CORRECTED SHEET
>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:
>Psionics: (will be determined by gm at proper time)
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c6dfff No.53233
>>53203
"So we've got several hundred groups that will make grist for the mill, any more left?" a many eye Alien gargled at it's peer who had been helping over several galactic cycles create teams of the primitives hominids to be gathered into for the various Cullings they would go under at the same time to the adoration of a galaxy's worth of sentients.
The partner of the first alien responded, "Six left, Two exclusion zone captures, one arcology capture, Two volunteers from the freed zone and one tribute laborer."
"Any of them show promise?"
"One of the Volunteers is a youngling spawn, crippled and damaged by his own kind experimenting on him. Good for heart strings of the more feeble races, but nothing overly useful. The other is a fool, one of the descendants of a probability manipulation experiment. Good with a knife and fairly agile for his kind, but otherwise unimpressive. The Arcology capture had potential, but the ripper docs fucked him up so badly he's going to keel over to a stiff wind."
"Of fucking course the did, they get paid by jobs done not be quality of the job. Are the other more promising?"
The second alien made a small gesture with a grasping appendage, as a gesture of balance signifying yes and no. "The wastelanders show some promise one of them was captured when the dumb apes tried hitting an outpost. Killed quite a few Rangers, so the Officer in charge dumped him in our lap to try and save his ass for how many men he lost needlessly. Slave took enough bumps to the head to have memory loss though, still shows decent abilities, but he's not all there. The other capture is just as tough, more with it and has damn good knife skills. Hasn't displayed the warriors spirit though. The real gem though it the tribute. An experienced demo salve, with years of experience and in the prime of his life. Excellent with bombs, stealthy when he needs to be, and can throw a hell of a punch."
"At least there is one decent tribute among them," the first alien sighed then paused. "You know what slap them all together and have them fight some mid level enemy, be a good pull in for the crowd and if the demo-slave lives he could be useful and desirable. They been psi tested yet?"
"Neg, they're still en route from their home system and the star's psi dampening field would still mask any potential for now."
"Beh, even if they do manifest it'll be minor phenomena then. How about the remnants of one of the jungle warzones against Kreeli? Crowds love Kreeli and they could scavenge anything left over for weapons and armor to give them a fighting chance."
"Want them in with the other two teams at zone 13-56?"
"Fark it, sure, just add more Kreeli drones in, maybe a warrior too."
<<<Meanwhile on CST- 345/67-80>>>
"Alright you stupid stinking Simians, gather around so I scan you." groused one of the hated transport overseers, as he took out a device to measure things you knew not.
(every player roll a d100 and can then interact with each other before they get dropped off if they choose. All 6 of you are in the same cell.)
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67ac2d No.53234
| Rolled 94 (1d100) |
>>53233
Big Think
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9bdc02 No.53235
| Rolled 44 (1d100) |
>>53233
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39c1b4 No.53236
| Rolled 2 (1d100) |
>>53233
Rollan
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67ac2d No.53237
Once the scan man had waved his wand, Lucas pulled out a deck and began shuffling.
"Anyone wanna play? Not like you all got anything better to do."
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fdb358 No.53238
| Rolled 73 (1d100) |
>>53233
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39c1b4 No.53239
>>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.
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9bdc02 No.53240
>>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."
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67ac2d No.53241
>>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."
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26b129 No.53242
| Rolled 19 (1d100) |
>>53233
Rolling
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864874 No.53243
| Rolled 63 (1d100) |
>>53233
Imma fucking wixard harry
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864874 No.53246
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.
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401efa No.53247
>>53240
>>53239
>>53237
Slim's entire body burned all over, the ripper docs had done a number on him ripping out his augs. He wanted nothing more to do then curl up in a ball, close his eyes and pretend that somehow the darkness would make the pain go away. It had also been way too long since he had either had a cigarette or some booze, he could feel the shakes coming or so he thought, it might just have been all the pain.
It was a odd bunch here but if he wanted to survive he needed to make some friends and fast. He scooted over and joined with the three odd birds playing a game of cards.
"Names Slim, what are ya'll playin here? While I'm asking what are yer names, figures we should get chummy based on were going to the same place."
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39c1b4 No.53248
>>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."
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9bdc02 No.53249
>>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."
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26b129 No.53250
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.
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401efa No.53251
>>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."
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401efa No.53252
>>53241
Linking to you for the above post.
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864874 No.53253
>>53241
>>53250
>>53249
>>53248
>>53247
Finally discovering the issue and firmly placing one hand on his jaw, then the other inside of his mouth, his thumb along his rear molars, and with a quick motion forces his jaw back into place, it having been dislocated in his capture. A loud pop that overtook all conversation sounded his success; the noise followed immediately by a hushed yelp from Chad, who then takes several minutes to massage his jaw, before observing the conversation.
When the topic turned to working together, Chad hesitated, something in the back of his mind pinged softly, a wayward thought struggling to emerge from the miasma of confusion that enveloped his mind. Before he knew it he was talking
"We all need to work together to survive. I don't remember much from before I ended up here, but I remember the Wasteland, and the monsters that those Xenos bastards sent after us. I can only imagine that what they'll have in these sick little Blood Games will be much worse, they're entertaining more then just their own individual deviant tastes this time around, and if we all don't work together, we will be one thing and one thing only…"
Chad dramatically looked at every man in the room and formed his hand into a fist, his thumb pressed against his throat.
" Dead "
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26b129 No.53254
>>53253
One open eye he watched the man force his jaw back into place and speak his piece. Bobby raised his head from his fist where it had been resting, clearing it of the silence which held it for years. "The alien monsters of the Wasteland follow the instincts of the beast; to feast and nest, sometimes both at once. The Wasteland, I knew the sound of each rock and stone. I embrace what others fear. But we are not roaming in that forgotten place. The likes of us are not welcome here."
Bobby cracks his wrists, hands, and fingers in a few motions. "We stand alone. To fight and die for the aliens is not enough for this man. It sickens me to be this close to their alien world, keep its evils away from me. Behind these eyes I see their death under my boot and mine alone. Still, I will run with you If only to see tomorrow."
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67ac2d No.53255
>>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."
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39c1b4 No.53256
>>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."
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c6dfff No.53259
>>53255
>>53256
>>53254
>>53253
>>53251
>>53249
The Game is interrupted when a Red light comes on and an alarm blares. you're hated taskmasters come out from further down the hallway.
"Get up against the walls meat, or else."
Quickly you comply as they tie chains around your ankles, leading you and all the other out of the cells into a room you've never seen before. An armory of sorts. It has within in an array of primitive weapons useful for cutting stabbing and piercing, and a few of the more perceptive of you can even see some primitive ranged implements and bombs. There is however no armor. Then you notice your taskmasters have left and in their places are 3 small flying drones.
"Search the armor for 3 items you wish to bring with you for the Culling meat. Good luck"
<<<Rules>>>
Designate 3 items you want from highest priority to lowest. Then roll either 1d100+ perception or 1d100 + luck to see what you get
Things not in armory
Any firearm more modern than a flintlock rifle
armor
Anything resembling science equipment
advanced explosives (at best you get those old cartoon bombs)
energy weapons of any sort
>>53234
You were always lucky, even when you really shouldn't have been. Now you the power to enforce it.
Gain Psionic power: 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)
>>53236
Gain psionic Power BARRIER (Yellow Level)
You were always somehow safe when the explosives your master had you use went off. Now you can translate that power into being safe from things in general. Reduce all hostile direct damage to you three levels passively. (basically -3 all damage you take)
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39c1b4 No.53260
| Rolled 39 + 8 (1d100) |
>>53259
1. Bombs
2. A polearm, like a halberd, etc.
3. Any kind of gun
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401efa No.53261
| Rolled 76 + 3 (1d100) |
>>53259
A dagger or short blade
A thick cloak or any other type of survival clothing
Shield
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9bdc02 No.53262
| Rolled 35 + 5 (1d100) |
>>53259
1. Explosives
2. Gun
3. Cestus/Knuckles
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67ac2d No.53263
| Rolled 14 + 10 (1d100) |
>>53259
1. Survivalist Machette
2. Deluxe Swiss Army Knife
3. Serrated Shovel-Pickaxe
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864874 No.53264
| Rolled 30 + 10 (1d100) |
>>53259
1. Spatha
2. Scutum
3. Murmillo Helmet and/or Manica
>Luck 10
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26b129 No.53268
| Rolled 84 + 50 (1d100) |
>>53259
1 Spear
2 Shield
3 Rapier
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c6dfff No.53275
>>53260
gain
>3 Primitive Bombs
>1 Spear
>>53261
Gain
2 Daggers
One Cloak
>>53262
Gain
3 primitive bombs
One antiquarian pistol
>>53263
Gain
One Machete
One poorly made swiss army knife
>>53264
gain
One Spatha
One Sheild
>>53268
Gain
One Excellent Quality Spear
One Excellent quality shield
One Rapier
The lot of you found what you best could, and suddenly you all feel a dizzying sensation. You're know in what looks to be a jungle. Except you see ruins of a what looks to be some sort of machine, still smoking and scraps of metal all over. In fact it looks like a battle took place here not long ago.
"Bout time you gits showed up, we've been waiting on the third cell for forevah seems like. " a man in a grey jumpsuit with a metal plate in his head complains.
"Fuck off you bastard, it's been 5 minutes at most, and only idiots rush towards their deaths." a Woman with squinted eyes and black hair says.
"well I am bore-*HONK* The man is interrupted by a siren and a sprayer that sprays the lot of you down with a horrible scent. Before you can get your bearings you start hearing SCREEES of some sort of creature when you see some dog sized insectoid heading to you en masse from all sides.
"You got your wish asshole," says the woman leading the other cell.
<<<at the Arena announcer booth>>>
"Well, well folks we have a treat for you TO-day! We've got a Culling going on, with these sub-sentient human from planet Oerth! we've got Three cell teams of them against a Colony of Kreeli! These industrious insects can turn an entire mountainside of rock into usable ore and gemstones in a matter of decades, and offer a safe domestic solution to mining with tasty by products in the way of kreeli meat and eggs. Don't that fool you though! They can turn the unwary interlopers into food even more easily than their eggs can be turned into the best soup in the Salixis cluster! Now let's watch the Carnage of these lovely insects with flesh ripping mandible and poisonous sting rip these simians apart!
<<<Present Situation>>>
You and two other cells starting to be surrounded by Kreeli. There are metallic ruins dotting the field. Make ready for their assault and survive.
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864874 No.53278
>>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!"
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26b129 No.53279
>>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"
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9bdc02 No.53280
| 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."
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9bdc02 No.53281
Rather than throwing it he sees a decline he can utilize to roll it down where the bugs are likely to congregate
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864874 No.53282
| Rolled 24 (1d100) |
>>53278
>>53275
Name: Chad Mansley (Forgotten)
Class: Wastelander
Age: 25
Fluff:
https://pastebin.com/JacRPWz4
>Stats:
STR: 9
PER: 2
END: 10
CHA: 9
INT: 8
AGI: 3
LUK: 10
>Skills:
Speechcraft: 41
Energy Weapons: 94
Demolitions: 95
Gunnery: 58
Lockpicking: 52
Medicine: 6
Melee: 68
Engineering: 49
Science: 32
Sneak: 82
Survival: 38
Unarmed Combat: 45
Equipment:
+ 1 [Spatha]
+ 1 [Shield]
Psionics:
1. Seeing the groups dawdle and time waste away as the group moved ever closer, Chad took charge, shouting loudly in an attempt to convince all of the humans present to work together
"Those of you who wish to live, form up on my, shields in front and on the flanks! Spears, keep them at a distance, and you lad…"
He said, gesturing to the small Aspirant lighting a large bomb that he could barely lift.
"… Let Blast throw that Bomb! He's more likely to hit those bastards!"
And with that Chad assumed a defensive posture, and those who would follow him would make their way to the nearest burning metal hulk, using it to eliminate an angle of attack and possibly be of some other use by its properties alone.
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26b129 No.53283
| 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
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26b129 No.53284
>>53283
Equipment*
+One Excellent Quality Spear
+One Excellent quality shield
+One Rapier
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4d75b4 No.53285
| 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
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39c1b4 No.53286
| 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.
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67ac2d No.53287
| 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
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8c1eb4 No.53288
Boards should now be accessible again.
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a1c34e No.53289
 | Rolled 14, 47 = 61 (2d100) |
t..test?
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a1c34e No.53290
| Rolled 81, 69 = 150 (2d100) |
>>53289
BOI, WE BACK IN BUSINESS
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aeb07d No.53291
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ddde9f No.53386
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.
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62bc12 No.53387
| 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.
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01bdcd No.53388
| 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.
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4ca6bd No.53395
| 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.
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a1c34e No.53433
| Rolled 62 (1d100) |
>>53386
Name: Chad Mansley (Forgotten)
Class: Wastelander
Age: 25
Fluff:
https://pastebin.com/JacRPWz4
>Stats:
STR: 9
PER: 2
END: 10
CHA: 9
INT: 8
AGI: 3
LUK: 10
>Skills:
Speechcraft: 41
Energy Weapons: 94
Demolitions: 95
Gunnery: 58
Lockpicking: 52
Medicine: 6
Melee: 68
Engineering: 49
Science: 32
Sneak: 82
Survival: 38
Unarmed Combat: 45
Equipment:
+ 1 [Spatha]
+ 1 [Shield]
Psionics:
1. Struggling for purpose amid the clatter, Chad would once more take one last look among both the smoldering corpses of the insects and the flaming heaps of metal for something useful, hoping against hope that his luck would prevail
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5b0b01 No.53535
| 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!
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5b0b01 No.53536
| Rolled 2 (1d3) |
>>53535
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ddde9f No.53537
>>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?
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01bdcd No.53538
| 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.
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4ca6bd No.53540
| 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
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