gay_Aleks
from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!
The doggos of war have been released.
Alta Umbra Tenebris
- Thread starter Crezth
- Start date
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HELLO, WORLD
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HELLO, WORLD
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The morning sun was warm and bright but the November breeze was swift and chilly. Ms. Amelia Wintermint wrapped her scarf twice around itself and slung the tail over her shoulder, then turned her face away from the breeze.
“It’s cold isn’t it?” said the man behind the counter of the convenience store Amelia walked into. “Damn unusual weather, even for November.”
Amelia muttered some affirmation of this as she shuffled to the back of the store where the refrigerators were, eyes scanning for a cold mocha. A television set was buzzing colorfully over the counter, where the man was leaning and watching it, wearing a full jacket.
A sudden gust of wind rattled at the windows, and a rumble not unlike the sound of thunder shuddered Amelia's bones.
She pulled a mocha out just as Rosanne was yelling at someone about something on the TV, and then the signal was lost.
The man smacked the side of the old CRT television with the flat of his hand, and a test screen greeted him, its tone flat and piercing.
“Give it a rest, Greg,” said Amelia as she took the mocha over to the counter, picking a plastic-wrapped sweet croissant off of another shelf. “I think the wind took out the lines.”
“Damn it all to hell,” grumbled Greg as he started ringing her up. “Six fifty-six.”
Amelia swiped her credit card as Greg bagged the groceries. The television’s beep was replaced with a variation of beeps, and the local time and date started crawling across the bottom of the screen: “7:48 AM . . . HARRIS . . . 11-13-2019.”
Another thunderous rumble came from outside, and Greg looked at the window. “Is it storming? It didn’t look cloudy today.”
“It’s windy. Who knows what could have blown over in the past ten minutes?”
A few error beeps emitted from the cash register. Greg frowned and poked at the register screen a few times.
“Says it can’t authenticate your card.”
“What?” Annoyed, Amelia pulled out another card. “Try this one.”
She swiped again, and again the same beeps emitted, and Greg shrugged. “Network connection error. Never seen that before.”
A third rumble came from outside, and all the lights went out. The cash register, refrigerator, everything – dark.
“I have cash,” said Amelia as she pulled out her phone and wallet. Her phone was off, for some reason, and she moved to turn it on, her gaze wandering to the window impatiently. “I wonder what Dr. Jackson makes of this weather,” she thought to herself, just as her mind went blank.
Greg poked the register screen impotently a few times and swore. “Forget it, Amy. Just take the stuff. You can pay me back… tomorrow…”
Greg’s words tapered off as his eyes had gone to the window. She did not turn back, her gaze fixed on the horizon, the city skyline of Houston, where the clouds had opened up and the light of heaven was conducting a chorus of angels – no, massive gray airplanes – to circle above the city, billions of tiny red lights scattering out from them, the atmosphere pregnant with the screams of rockets.
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A PARTY? WITHOUT ME?
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A PARTY? WITHOUT ME?
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Mr. Daniel Kishishev checked his cuffs obsessively before entering the waiting room where he knew his two guests were waiting for him. He looked once more in the bathroom mirror, ran a hand across his short brown stubble and tested his hair gel, smirked for good measure, and strutted out into the hall.
“Gentlemen!” he greeted the two men sitting just past reception, both seated comfortably but not lounging relaxedly in the very plush chairs (Daniel could hardly refrain from falling asleep in those chairs, much less the ones in his own office). “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
The two men stood up – one had dark skin and short black hair, and the other seemed to be of mixed ancestry, though Daniel couldn’t tell exactly what – swarthy, after a fashion, with dark eyes but bright blond hair and a long hook nose.
The black man spoke first, smiling broadly and extending a hand. “Mr. Kishishev, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My employer is eager to work with you.”
Daniel felt uneasy at this but smiled politely and returned the handshake. “Well, I am eager to hear a little bit more about this mysterious employer of yours.”
The black man laughed and the blond man smiled thinly. “My name is Ezrah Wells, and my associate is Dr. Rolf Osmont.” The blond man dipped his chin.
“A pleasure, as I said,” said Daniel, and he led the men into his office and closed the door. “Take a seat. Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” said Ezrah, looking around at the walls of the office and sitting.
“How do you take it?”
“Overflowing with cream.” Ezrah was looking at a landscape painting of a 18th-century schooner being overcome by a great octopus. “No sugar.”
“And for you?”
“Tea,” said Rolf. “A lump of sugar.”
Daniel sat himself down and slammed his index finger on the intercom. “Nadine I need a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. Bring cream and sugar.”
That business taken care of, Daniel sat himself up straight, folded his hands together, and considered his guests. “Well, gentlemen. Refreshments are on the way and out of respect for you and your mysterious employer I have set aside a full hour for this meeting.”
Daniel smirked inwardly, but outwardly made an effort to look half-inconvenienced, half-busy, half-apologetic, and half-disappointed. It was the kind of meaningless look that becomes commonplace in Daniel’s work and, apparently, had no effect on Ezrah who continued staring at the painting.
“You may wish to extend the duration you’re indisposed at some point, as a fair warning,” said Ezrah, just as a knock at the door preceded the entry of Nadine and the refreshments. Once she had gone again, and Rolf was busily sipping away, Ezrah turned back from the painting to look at Daniel again.
“Mr. Kishishev. My employer is very interested in the business you have successfully built here.”
“No horsehocky,” thought Daniel, reflecting on his cushy Silicon Valley location, and his massive empire. After Rohan & Otto went down and he finished his hostile takeover of their assets amidst their unexplained disappearance, Daniel has been rising the ranks and acquiring a reputation as a fierce mogul. A few robotic satellites later, and they’re even considering mining some asteroids now. Daniel can almost taste that sweet first trillion dollars…
This brought him back to the present, where Ezrah had stopped speaking, and was looking at Daniel expectantly. So he nodded graciously and tried to sound less bored than he was. “I’m sure he is. As an investor, I take it?” Did these two really come all this way just to make him an investment offer? Jesus.
Ezrah smiled thinly. “Specifically, my employer is interested in buying you out. Completely.”
Daniel didn’t think that was very amusing at all. “Come again?”
Ezrah reached to the bag at his side and pulled out a manila envelope, which he undid the string and withdrew several laminated documents from, handing them over to Daniel gently.
“Take a look at these, Mr. Kishishev.”
Daniel froze as he looked at the first document. “What are these?”
“These represent my employer’s… dossier on you,” Ezrah explained. “You see, my employer has an algorithm for identifying promising candidates. In particular, my employer is impressed with your ability for dismantling your business competition, and has a very great interest in your company’s mastery of… aerial robotics. My employer is concerned that these robots may create some inconveniences for certain future plans, and so would like to cut you a deal.”
“Buying me out completely,” said Daniel, hands shaking slightly, looking up from the page, “or blackmailing me?”
Mr. Ezrah smiled, and Rolf finished sipping his tea. “You’re a very smart man, Mr. Kishishev. But even a smart man makes one or two crucial mistakes in his life.”
Daniel’s fingers played with the edges of the laminate as he tentatively folded through the dossier. Belgrade. Kosovo. Tbilisi. Adiivka. Ankara. Aleppo. Sheets and sheets of the thousands of contraband he smuggled, when and where he did it, and detailed accounts of how they comport with his financial records, and that of his company’s, which seemed awfully… close…
Daniel wiped his mouth with his hand. Acting time was over. “You don’t get where I am in life by making only one or two mistakes,” he muttered.
“Well,” said Ezrah, standing up and leaving his full, cold cup of coffee on the table. “My employer is a firm believer in second chances.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small rectangular card, which he handed over to Daniel.
Daniel looked at the card. In small, block letters, it read:
EZRAH WELLS
Friend
011-672-30
Six months later…
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THE SECOND KING NORTON
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Norton's ArmyTHE SECOND KING NORTON
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A gravestone in Colma reads the following words:
NORTON I
EMPEROR
OF THE UNITED STATES
AND
PROTECTOR OF MEXICO
JOSHUA A. NORTON
1819-1880
This gravestone has become something of a gathering point for the pure-hearts and brave-souls of Norton’s Army, a ragtag brotherhood that squats in the mausoleums and dens of Colma, mere miles from the tall, gray fortifications of San Francisco Bloc.EMPEROR
OF THE UNITED STATES
AND
PROTECTOR OF MEXICO
JOSHUA A. NORTON
1819-1880
The eponymous Norton of his army, however, is not the one who lay buried here, but is – perhaps – his great great great grandson. Or perhaps not, a very few think, but that hardly seems to matter right now.
During the evening, in the sky over the walls, sometimes a massive steel thing, looking like some kind of strange airplane, rises above the walls, hovering slowly at first, and then, in a sudden burst, rockets into the upper atmosphere. The sudden motion leaves behind a hole in the clouds where it passed through, massive and empty and unmistakably artificial.
Other times, sometimes also during the evening, small red lights can be seen flying away from the fortifications to whirl around in the sky miles and miles away in any direction. Eventually, they return to the walls, whatever business they were doing, concluded.
Norton and a few of his close men are squatting on the balcony of an abandoned townhouse with a view of the walls, keeping watch. One of the men remarks how nice it would be to enjoy a cigar in this cool evening air, and another is thinking about real Coca-Cola. It’s clear they want to go scavenging again, but the threat of bandits is proven and who knows what other dangers lurk out there…
What wouldst thou?
1. Let some of them go, but not all of them. We still need to keep watch after all. (+2d8 Bio, Fuel, or Scrap; -2d8 Bio, Fuel, or Scrap)
2. Nothing happens on watch anyway! Let them go, and I’ll go with ‘em! (+4d8 Bio, Fuel, or Scrap; -4d8 Bio, Fuel, or Scrap)
3. They’re kidding, right? We stay at our posts until sunrise.
4. ~Norton improvises a course of action (Please specify nature thereof)~
*NOTE: The rewards listen in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
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DISASTER READINESS
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DISASTER READINESS
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Firewatch
The last of the Firewatch band trundled into the ranger hut and began setting down their various liveries, traps, tools, and gears as they settled haphazardly around the stone hearth. A woman with short red hair was counting people as they came in, her lips moving silently. “Seem to be all here,” she said to a man with spectacles and a thick beard.
“All right!” said the Doc loudly. “Who ain’t here?”
Everybody just laughed so Doc passed them over to Jane. “They’re all yours.”
She clapped her hands together. “All right. So Jacobs and Findlay were doing their regular scouting today and came across something unusual.”
“Not outsiders?” came a voice.
“Doubt it. Jacobs, want to give us your account?”
Jacobs stood up and tipped his hat. “Well these folks, far as I can tell they come either from Denver or – well, you know. But they’re just rampaging through the area, driving these massive hummers and jeeps that must have cost ‘em a fortune before the war. They’re scaring off the animals, shooting everything they can find and only taking some of them back as hunting spoils. We made attempt to hail them but they only opened fire, hooting and yelling at us as they did.”
The hut erupted into disturbed mutters. Jane frowned. “What were they yelling?”
“They were calling us ‘stalkers’ or ‘walkers’ or something,” grunted Findlay, standing up and puffing his chest out. “And they were dressed like yuppy brats.”
“What kind of weapons did they have?” asked someone.
“Looked like they mostly had just hunting rifles, no different than we got, except maybe a little prettier looking or with a nicer sight,” said Jacobs. “One of them seemed to have an assault rifle and there was a machine gun mounted on the jeep, but they didn’t use those.”
“You think they were toying with you?” asked Jane.
“I don’t reckon that’s unlikely, Janey, but if you ask me why they’d bother doing that and not just shoot us – well that makes it seem like they’re a bit simple, or at least bad shots.”
Grumbles went around the room and Findlay puffed out his chest again. “I should hardly have to say it,” he said, “but I think we should go ambush these guys and give ‘em what-for. This ain’t their neck of the woods.”
Some appreciative hoots greeted this, but mostly anxious whispers. “Fight?” said Dwayne, a shrimpy guy who stood up now. “Shouldn’t we be focused on collecting enough scrap to build that rainwater collector we were plannin’ on? I dunno if we should go pickin’ fights. Maybe if we just lay low they’ll leave eventually.”
“Way I can see it we can do both,” said Jane. “Waylay these guys, take what they’ve got, and put it to use for us – whatever way we can.”
A noise is about to return this interaction when Doc speaks up, hocking a loogie and silencing the room. “Y’all think you got two choices but you don’t. Never forget that a bad enemy is just a friend you haven’t convinced yet. I say we should try to parlay with ‘em.”
The room then entertained debate. How should the Firewatch respond to these yuppies?
1. These guys are wannabe preppers. Let’s shoot at them until they buzz off. (-1d8 Fuel)
2. We have our own things to focus on. Stick to our knitting and focus on building. (+3d8 Scrap)
3. Since they think making points by force is so fun, we’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse. (+1 Population, -2d8 Bio, -1d8 Fuel)
4. It’s time we gave peace a chance. (-1d8 Bio)
5. ~The Firewatch improvises a course of action.~
*NOTE: The rewards listen in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
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THE MODEL OF THE TRILOBITE
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THE MODEL OF THE TRILOBITE
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Kingdom of Gallia
Queen Euphemia sat curtly in her lair, hidden nestled deep in Yosemite Valley, somewhere between Half Dome and Mt. Lyell. It was quiet in here, in her “court,” which was half a workshop and half a court, truly. One eye closed, the other peering at a very slight aperture, she tenderly negotiates a screwdriver into position.
“My lady!” came a sudden interruption as the far door flung open. With a start, Euphemia jolted, but kept her cool and set the screwdriver down gently.
“I thought I told you,” she said calmly, “not to interrupt me while I’m working.”
“My lady,” repeats the man, breathless, as he kneels before her, one fist over his heart in salute. “Our scouting party into the valley was waylaid by a group we now have confirmation is Authority.”
Euphemia sat up sharply, her mood changed from annoyance to alert trepidation. “What? How did this happen?”
“I’m not sure, my lady, but the enemy seemed to have planned for us to take the route we did. They ambushed us, killed some – the rest of us scattered or fled, so that we were routed but I’m sure many of them survive yet. We made it back to camp and they sent me here.”
“How long has it been since?”
“About an hour. And – they took one of… one of your… of our Gallian machines.”
Euphemia’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Oh, fudge. The last thing she wanted was anyone, especially the Authority, getting their hands on her machines.
“Which one?”
“The one with the cannon…”
“Ah… Tonguerre!” Euphemia slapped her forehead. “Damnation. We need to get him back. Ser Sylver. Please conduct my orders to your legion immediately. Time is of the essence.”
Obediently, Ser Sylver lowers his head. “Thy will be done, my lady…”
Euphemia thinks: Tonguerre is my most important prototype. I was hoping to get some field data but I didn’t expect him to get captured! What do I do…?
1. Time to strike back. I believe I can jack a tracker on Tonguerre’s signature, but that may attract some unwanted attention. Still, that’d let my men get the drop on them and get Tonguerre back, no problem. (+Artifact, -2d8 Fuel)
2. It may behoove me to try to offer them a deal. Those from the Authority are humans, after all. Surely they’ll listen to reason? (-1d8 Bio, -1d8 Scrap)
3. Tonguerre’s a lost cause. The best I can do is destroy it. Time to arrange a sabotage mission. (+1d8 Scrap, -1d8 Fuel)
4. ~Euphemia improvises another course of action.~
*NOTE: The rewards listen in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
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GM notes: This first update cycle will gradually engage all the players with interactions. When players respond to an interaction, they become eligible for another interaction, but are prioritized less than players who have had fewer total interactions. BIO represents the HP or hit points of a faction. It is foodstuffs and medicines required for healthy living. FUEL represents resources used for temporary effects, like burning oil or ammunition. SCRAP represents hard resources that can be used to build things like structures or machines. Interaction resolutions will show the skill roll the player had to make and the resulting effect.
This update structure means players are not pressured to reply before deadlines since they are soft - just post your reaction whenever you can. So, I can post new interactions for new players while old ones remain outstanding. That's the idea, anyway! Practice time! Let's go!
---
Pre-FAQ Q's:
Diplomacy? -Factions do not have contact with each other yet, but out-of-character conspiracies I obviously have no power to prevent.
Map? -Work in progress. The map is not extremely crucial at this juncture anyway.
Last edited:
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,798
Computer systems awakaings: please stand by.
...
Commencing scan of hardware and software for operational status.
...
Hard-Drives: operational
Cooling Systems: operational
Memory: operational
Data-Backup: operational
Sound Systems: operational
Communication Systems: operational
Voice Sensors: operational
Personality Matrix: operational
Intelligence Core: operational
Reasoning Core: operational
Emotional Core: functional, request update
Administrative Software: operational
Thought Processor: operational
Research Reviewer: operational
Robotics Connection Systems: operational
Internal Scanner: operational
External Scanners: errors detected, will need to check up
Virus Protection: operational
Anti-Hacking Software: operational
Internal Scanner: operational
External Scanners: errors detected, will need to check up
Military Turret Accessors: operational
Radar: error, will need to check up.
...
Systems are operational for status.
Internet systems are mark to repair when available.
...
Systems fully awaken.
Central Administrative System 9 if fully online!
Personality set up completed.
Howdy world!
CASIX is fully operational!
Checking files for full scheduel.
...
Power Core: functional as ever; without it CASIX would be in a deep sleep.
...
Research: scientists are at their station it seems... good.
...
Security: all but 2 guards are on duty; one is off sick, the other is unaccounted for.
Joe Kyle, the unaccounted guard, will be expected to see Colonel Anthony Hopes for discipline.
...
Food-stock: stable but will need a recounting.
...
Water: stable
...
Robotic Power: functional
...
Internet connection: still needs addressing. CASIX has scheduled all administrative staff for a meeting at noon.
...
Network security: secure, will conduct next scan in a hours time for virus
...
Self: CASIX is as lovely as ever
...
Outside: error; CCTV systems and scanners appear to be buggy.
Request meeting with tech for review.
Add agenda to administration meeting at noon.
Set scout team to scout outside to check if systems are just buggy as oppose to being compromised.
...
Robotics: development operational; it will take time still but my children will walk the Earth.
...
CASIX will remain on stand by; will ensure well-being of all IX Network personal.
Noon meeting will commence to ensure full operational performance of all staff.
Will need to ensure radar and other systems are OK.
We will need to ensure our external communications can be established.
Area 51 will be secured for continued developed of sentient evolution.
The update of humanity is, as ever, necessary.
Conducting self check...
....
...
...
Though processes operational.
Good: talking to one self is a strange occurrence; will need to study on humans and machines alike to test fully the processing of such activities.
I think therefore I am.
Anyhow: back to work!
...
Commencing Administration
...
Commencing scan of hardware and software for operational status.
...
Hard-Drives: operational
Cooling Systems: operational
Memory: operational
Data-Backup: operational
Sound Systems: operational
Communication Systems: operational
Voice Sensors: operational
Personality Matrix: operational
Intelligence Core: operational
Reasoning Core: operational
Emotional Core: functional, request update
Administrative Software: operational
Thought Processor: operational
Research Reviewer: operational
Robotics Connection Systems: operational
Internal Scanner: operational
External Scanners: errors detected, will need to check up
Virus Protection: operational
Anti-Hacking Software: operational
Internal Scanner: operational
External Scanners: errors detected, will need to check up
Military Turret Accessors: operational
Radar: error, will need to check up.
...
Systems are operational for status.
Internet systems are mark to repair when available.
...
Systems fully awaken.
Central Administrative System 9 if fully online!
Personality set up completed.
Howdy world!
CASIX is fully operational!
Checking files for full scheduel.
...
Power Core: functional as ever; without it CASIX would be in a deep sleep.
...
Research: scientists are at their station it seems... good.
...
Security: all but 2 guards are on duty; one is off sick, the other is unaccounted for.
Joe Kyle, the unaccounted guard, will be expected to see Colonel Anthony Hopes for discipline.
...
Food-stock: stable but will need a recounting.
...
Water: stable
...
Robotic Power: functional
...
Internet connection: still needs addressing. CASIX has scheduled all administrative staff for a meeting at noon.
...
Network security: secure, will conduct next scan in a hours time for virus
...
Self: CASIX is as lovely as ever
...
Outside: error; CCTV systems and scanners appear to be buggy.
Request meeting with tech for review.
Add agenda to administration meeting at noon.
Set scout team to scout outside to check if systems are just buggy as oppose to being compromised.
...
Robotics: development operational; it will take time still but my children will walk the Earth.
...
CASIX will remain on stand by; will ensure well-being of all IX Network personal.
Noon meeting will commence to ensure full operational performance of all staff.
Will need to ensure radar and other systems are OK.
We will need to ensure our external communications can be established.
Area 51 will be secured for continued developed of sentient evolution.
The update of humanity is, as ever, necessary.
Conducting self check...
....
...
...
Though processes operational.
Good: talking to one self is a strange occurrence; will need to study on humans and machines alike to test fully the processing of such activities.
I think therefore I am.
Anyhow: back to work!
...
Commencing Administration
Norton talks with a southern drawl, in spite of probably never having been to the South. It is cleah that the conahiving thieves we do not call brothas will leap at any oppahtunity to relieve us of our supplies. I suggest that we, who are thought of as meek, strike back, for turning the other cheek has been an unfortunate casualty of wah. Some of our scavengahs will pretend to leave to find resources, but instead hide nearby and double back as soon as we are undah attack. Of course, a signal will be given. We will alleve these nefarious men of their own equipment in a surprise ambush.
jackelgull
An aberration of nature
No one knew his name. He had been the Leader since Miguel had been in prison and if the other inmates stories are true, he’d been the Leader since the prison was first built. Like all new inmates, Miguel had been skeptical of his reputation within the prison. The Leader looked like a fricking sixteen year old. This was sorted out when one day, the prison was too crowded, and one of the new prisoners was given a bunk next to the leader. He was a huge white dude, a skinhead sent to prison for domestic violence and shooting at his son’s non white friends. He was the kind of person who fancied himself the Aryan warrior king the likes of Charlemagne beating back the brown hordes. And the Leader, well, his ethnicity was ambiguous. Obviously not white enough to afford any sort of respect.
The skinhead didn’t last twenty four hours. During the night, there were inhuman screams and by the time the lights were on, the skinhead was in several bloody pieces, and the Leader was sitting back, brandishing a knife. Miguel would’ve sworn he licked the blade once or twice.
The guards approached the scene, obviously shaken. One of them made a motion that might’ve been to confiscate the knife, but the Leader simply raised his eyebrow, and the guard just left his hand hanging there uselessly. Michael was left with the distinct impression that it was not so much the Leader was trapped in prison, as the guards and other prisoners were trapped here with the Leader.
After that incident, the Leader was left alone in his cell for a while - until the next time the prison needed more space. This time, they were smarter about it, and gave the Leader a roommate who knew enough to not get disemboweled. They chose Miguel, of course.
The Leader looked at Miguel like he was some sort of sacrificial offering. It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Miguel decided to break the tension with a distinctly prison icebreaker.
“So, what are you in for?”
Something about the question made the Leader grin. It was not a particularly pleasant expression on the man’s face and only served to make him seem more inhuman than he already was.
“I’ve been in this prison since the 80’s and you’re the first person to ask me that.”
Miguel desperately prayed that this was not a bad thing. The Leader had not killed him right away, but he didn’t feel safe assuming anything with this man.
“I suppose I’m here for murder” The Leader said in a tone of voice that implied that was his excuse for being here, but that’s not really why he is here.
“You don’t just look sixteen, you are sixteen” Miguel said some sort of realization dawning upon him.
“I’ve never made any sort of secret about my immortality, but people never seem to draw the obvious conclusion. So, what are you in for?” The Leader continued as if he’d confessed to liking his steak well done and not being immortal.
Miguel collapsed to knees and started quietly hyperventilating for a solid minute before the Leader asked him, “Are you done yet”, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.
“I think so.”
“So what are you in for?”
“You’re not going to assume drugs?”
“Sometimes people can surprise you.”
“In my case it was armed robbery. Though it’s kind of related to drugs. I shot up a bank to get capital to get into the cocaine trade. It’s where all the money is these days.”
“Pot not enough for you?”
“After my first prison sentence for pot I decided that if I was going to jail, I was going to jail for big money”, Miguel said with a shrug. He had dreams of what to do with that money - he’d get a a degree, run a legitimate business, provide his family with a nice life and wear a suit black enough to cover his past. Nothing but a pipe dream, but so was thinking he thinking he was not going to end up here.
“No chance of going straight and getting big money?”
“By the time I was 18, I had done so many stints in juvie I couldn’t even remember where one stint ended and the second one began. People like me don’t go straight. At least the state was fair. Gave me several chances to fail at being an upstanding citizen.”
The Leader looked thoughtful at this
“What if you got to decide who is an upstanding citizen?”
“What?”
“I have not remained in this hellhole because I like prison food. I am here because in a few months there will be an alien take over, and that will provide the perfect opportunity for me to carve out my own little fiefdom. I want to know if you’re in. I need a right hand man, and you seem like you’ll do.”
Miguel blinked once. Then once again. There were some sentences that turned your world sideways and upside down, and in approximately fifteen minutes, he’d gotten two of them.
“Could you run that by me again?”
“In a few months there will opportunity for ambitious men with guns to get some power. I’m breaking out and taking it. I want your help to convince the other prisoners to join me on this”
“Why do you need us? You’re immortal and I’m betting immortality isn’t your only power.”
“I can’t afford to use my power too freely. I can probably use it for the prison break and to raid the federal arsenal nearby, but the Outsiders, the aliens who are taking over, can neutralize my active powers, so I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself.”
Miguel felt the insanity of the situation wash over him and broke out into an almost uncontrolled chuckle.
“What the hell man. An immortal with dreams of power in a prison, an alien invasion imminent, an army of prisoners. This feels like the threads of a plot to a really bad sci fi movie. What the hell has happened to my life. Why the hell are you even here man.”
“I already told you, to recruit an army.”
The Leader is not amused and he still makes Miguel afraid, but the fear just makes him laugh harder. Maybe he is already dead, and this Hell. Maybe the police shot him while he was raising his hands above the heads and Hell is a prison.
“You could’ve built your own secret organization, infiltrated the army, or the government. Instead you’re here, slumming with a bunch of murderers and rapists you’re convinced you can turn into an army. What the hell.”
“The Outsiders will take over human society. I couldn’t draw resources from human society. And a secret society would require handling too many resources I can’t defend. So I chose this prison because it’s full of people outside of society, people who come from broken homes and families that good law abiding citizens shove in here like it’s some sort of talisman against becoming unpeople. The Outsiders won’t bother controlling this.”
At this point Miguel has stopped laughing This is still insane. He has not yet processed this. But the laughing has kept him together. Has convinced him he can handle this.
“We’re hardly the soldiering sort.”
The Leader looks at him. It’s a good long hard look, then says, “Once, I was a Mongol raider. I lead a bunch of men you’d describe as murderers and rapists. We sacked empires. I do not need the discipline of the US military, or soldiers. I can do with looters who’ll follow me for the booty, and macho men who are more afraid of being seen as cowards than of dying.”
“That I can do.”
The skinhead didn’t last twenty four hours. During the night, there were inhuman screams and by the time the lights were on, the skinhead was in several bloody pieces, and the Leader was sitting back, brandishing a knife. Miguel would’ve sworn he licked the blade once or twice.
The guards approached the scene, obviously shaken. One of them made a motion that might’ve been to confiscate the knife, but the Leader simply raised his eyebrow, and the guard just left his hand hanging there uselessly. Michael was left with the distinct impression that it was not so much the Leader was trapped in prison, as the guards and other prisoners were trapped here with the Leader.
After that incident, the Leader was left alone in his cell for a while - until the next time the prison needed more space. This time, they were smarter about it, and gave the Leader a roommate who knew enough to not get disemboweled. They chose Miguel, of course.
The Leader looked at Miguel like he was some sort of sacrificial offering. It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Miguel decided to break the tension with a distinctly prison icebreaker.
“So, what are you in for?”
Something about the question made the Leader grin. It was not a particularly pleasant expression on the man’s face and only served to make him seem more inhuman than he already was.
“I’ve been in this prison since the 80’s and you’re the first person to ask me that.”
Miguel desperately prayed that this was not a bad thing. The Leader had not killed him right away, but he didn’t feel safe assuming anything with this man.
“I suppose I’m here for murder” The Leader said in a tone of voice that implied that was his excuse for being here, but that’s not really why he is here.
“You don’t just look sixteen, you are sixteen” Miguel said some sort of realization dawning upon him.
“I’ve never made any sort of secret about my immortality, but people never seem to draw the obvious conclusion. So, what are you in for?” The Leader continued as if he’d confessed to liking his steak well done and not being immortal.
Miguel collapsed to knees and started quietly hyperventilating for a solid minute before the Leader asked him, “Are you done yet”, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.
“I think so.”
“So what are you in for?”
“You’re not going to assume drugs?”
“Sometimes people can surprise you.”
“In my case it was armed robbery. Though it’s kind of related to drugs. I shot up a bank to get capital to get into the cocaine trade. It’s where all the money is these days.”
“Pot not enough for you?”
“After my first prison sentence for pot I decided that if I was going to jail, I was going to jail for big money”, Miguel said with a shrug. He had dreams of what to do with that money - he’d get a a degree, run a legitimate business, provide his family with a nice life and wear a suit black enough to cover his past. Nothing but a pipe dream, but so was thinking he thinking he was not going to end up here.
“No chance of going straight and getting big money?”
“By the time I was 18, I had done so many stints in juvie I couldn’t even remember where one stint ended and the second one began. People like me don’t go straight. At least the state was fair. Gave me several chances to fail at being an upstanding citizen.”
The Leader looked thoughtful at this
“What if you got to decide who is an upstanding citizen?”
“What?”
“I have not remained in this hellhole because I like prison food. I am here because in a few months there will be an alien take over, and that will provide the perfect opportunity for me to carve out my own little fiefdom. I want to know if you’re in. I need a right hand man, and you seem like you’ll do.”
Miguel blinked once. Then once again. There were some sentences that turned your world sideways and upside down, and in approximately fifteen minutes, he’d gotten two of them.
“Could you run that by me again?”
“In a few months there will opportunity for ambitious men with guns to get some power. I’m breaking out and taking it. I want your help to convince the other prisoners to join me on this”
“Why do you need us? You’re immortal and I’m betting immortality isn’t your only power.”
“I can’t afford to use my power too freely. I can probably use it for the prison break and to raid the federal arsenal nearby, but the Outsiders, the aliens who are taking over, can neutralize my active powers, so I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself.”
Miguel felt the insanity of the situation wash over him and broke out into an almost uncontrolled chuckle.
“What the hell man. An immortal with dreams of power in a prison, an alien invasion imminent, an army of prisoners. This feels like the threads of a plot to a really bad sci fi movie. What the hell has happened to my life. Why the hell are you even here man.”
“I already told you, to recruit an army.”
The Leader is not amused and he still makes Miguel afraid, but the fear just makes him laugh harder. Maybe he is already dead, and this Hell. Maybe the police shot him while he was raising his hands above the heads and Hell is a prison.
“You could’ve built your own secret organization, infiltrated the army, or the government. Instead you’re here, slumming with a bunch of murderers and rapists you’re convinced you can turn into an army. What the hell.”
“The Outsiders will take over human society. I couldn’t draw resources from human society. And a secret society would require handling too many resources I can’t defend. So I chose this prison because it’s full of people outside of society, people who come from broken homes and families that good law abiding citizens shove in here like it’s some sort of talisman against becoming unpeople. The Outsiders won’t bother controlling this.”
At this point Miguel has stopped laughing This is still insane. He has not yet processed this. But the laughing has kept him together. Has convinced him he can handle this.
“We’re hardly the soldiering sort.”
The Leader looks at him. It’s a good long hard look, then says, “Once, I was a Mongol raider. I lead a bunch of men you’d describe as murderers and rapists. We sacked empires. I do not need the discipline of the US military, or soldiers. I can do with looters who’ll follow me for the booty, and macho men who are more afraid of being seen as cowards than of dying.”
“That I can do.”
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
Fire watch will attempt to parley with them, but prepare some good shots to take them out if things go hot. Option 4.
Table of Contents:
Erev Shel Shoshanim – Story
Three Points – Bad Hombres
I, Governor – IX Network
The Trails of Dibe Ntsaa – Navajo Nation
The Second King Norton, II – Norton’s Army
The old church was crowded with masses of praying and huddling. The noise of their muttered prayers was low and din, and the drawn curtains did little to admit light into the chapel.
The prayers were as varied as those who prayed them, and it was a sight how many of them were injured or wounded, or were cradling the unmoving in their arms. One man at least knelt as low as he could, so his forehead touched the floor, although he had no arms.
This was the place so many who ran ended up, in this small church town south of Denver. This old church was built over 200 years ago, by Presbyterians, when it was known more properly as a meeting house, and when the church was the town. But so much has changed since then, and the new favored of the faithful was the beautiful Golden House of God, gilded and sparkling with silver decorations and marble structures, buttressing steel and concrete spiderwebs beneath a tremendous glass dome. Oh what a beautiful place that was. It was a place that God himself might have built, they said.
But now it lay in ruin, and the place it had become was a pathetic field of shattered bones. No one dared go back there, but they pleaded with the pastor, who was called William Franklin Stott, a man whose virtue had better not be questioned, what God was saying to him, and what it meant that their beautiful house lay in ruin.
Pastor Stott gazed out at the huddled masses and felt a glimmer in his soul which instructed him to take full advantage of this situation.
“God has punished us for our faithlessness,” he said sadly, lowering his head. “He is disappointed in how we have allowed our congregation to fall.”
The people lamented at him. “What have we done to anger Him?”
And Pastor Stott shook his head. “We have strayed from His path and sinned, and suffer now sinners in our midst…”
He stood to indicate the forsaken ones, who huddled in the corners by themselves – the wandering faithless, the sad remnants of the synagogue, the meager flock of Muhammad’s faithful. They now gazed suspiciously back at the Pastor, upon whom the words of the Christians now doted.
“If we want to regain God’s favor,” said the pastor, “we must visit His wrath and build the new Gilead to which God’s faithful shall flock.”
The pastor’s most loyal people stood, and they postured menacingly to the unwanted ones, but the others looked on waveringly. “God intends for us to kill these people?”
The pastor held aloft his crucifix, and spoke that which he knew too well, his Evangelical crusade against the faithless waited on these words: “The great day of the LORD is near – near and coming quickly. The cry on the day of the LORD is bitter, and even the mighty shall cry out. That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of trouble and ruin, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and blackness… In the fire of the LORD’s jealousy, the whole Earth will be consumed!
“The LORD has spoken to us with His actions! We must now take God’s wrath in our hands and finish His work!”
The most loyal seemed fortified by this, and brought to themselves bats, and clubs, and other instruments of pain, and moved against the huddling Jews and Muslims and Americana while the flock looked on in mute horror, unable to comprehend what they are seeing.
Then one stood and spoke, from the crowds themselves, and the words he spoke, so loud and calm and clear, froze the room.
“Let love be without hypocrisy,” he said. “Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good. In love of the brethren be tenderly affectioned one to another; in honor preferring one another. In diligence, not slothful; in spirit, fervent; serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing steadfastly in prayer.”
This unwelcome interruption confused the ambition of the brutal men, who wavered before this robed person who stood between them.
“An agent of satan,” said the pastor savagely, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Who are you, to quote scripture to me?”
But the congregation remained silent and watching, so that the man continued to speak: “Render to no man evil for evil. Take thought for things honorable in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as it lay in you, be at peace with all men. Avenge not yourselves, beloved, but give place unto the wrath of God: for it is written, Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.”
The man who spoke had been looking at all of them, but now focused his eyes on the pastor. “But if thine enemy hunger,” he said, in a much softer voice, “feed him; if he thirsts, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
His robes whipped about him and revealed his slight figure now, as the tuberculine winds passed through the ramshackle windows of the old meeting house.
“Leave these people at peace!” she said now, and whereas before it truly seemed as if she spoke with the voice of God, now it was clear to the congregation who she was: young Eliza! Had she come home at last, back to her home town?
But the pastor was filled with rage. “How dare you question me and the authority of God, when all around us stands the proof of his wrath!” He worked the room, gesturing to his flock. “These people require a shepherd to guide them and give them a life worth living. So I declare, we can regain God’s favor, and appeal to Him for salvation, by offering these heathens as a sacrifice!”
He nodded at his own words, and acted as though the crowd agreed with him, but they all looked at Eliza with fascination, wondering how she would reply.
She said only, “I am the light and the life of the world. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. And ye shall offer up unto me no more shedding of blood; yea, your sacrifices and your burnt offerings will be done away, for I will accept none of your sacrifices and your burnt offerings.
“And ye shall offer instead for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit.”
As she spoke these words, the room seemed to waver all at once, and the loyalest of the pastor’s men forsaked him too, and all joined weeping together in the old Presbyterian meeting house, Jew and Muslim and Christian alike, as the pastor stood helplessly and watched the hatred drain from his congregation.
The Leader strutted around the place, as he strutted everywhere in the prison. The strut was not ostentatious but it was wholly natural, a strut which belonged to the leader and was not at all out-of-place, for indeed it seemed appropriate that he would strut and nobody ever questioned this. Not even the prison guards, which Miguel noted very quickly portended oddly when the day came that the Leader said it did.
Miguel recalled when he first met the Leader, runt that he was, and went to the Leader’s boys and talked to them and asked them about him. “Explain to me about the Leader,” he asked, “what’s his deal?”
And the Leader’s men said to him: “He is the gift of grace.”
“So, what? He’s charismatic?”
Later then Juggy took him aside. Juggy was about middle-aged, had black skin and a shaved head, and had a sly way of talking. Clearly he had some kind of intellect, the kind that gets jailed over packages of candy.
“He’s charismatic, yeah. But do you know what that means, Miguel?”
“Means he has a talent for getting people to listen to him. To like him, follow him.”
Juggy chuckled. “Charisma has three points. The first is the nature of the hero, or the prophet. You know what that is? Means he gives us hope.”
“Yeah. What the hell is hope?”
“You’re thinking too narrow. Hope is anything – any notion at all – that someday things will be different.
“For better or for worse.”
A few days later, the guards turned off the TVs and kept them off and put the prison in lockdown. That was that and most of them went in their cells, including Miguel, even though at this point he and the Leader were sympatico – well, sorta. Lock-down happened and Miguel went into his cell, and the Leader was nowhere to be seen.
Not long after, as Miguel half-expected, the Leader showed up, walking free as the day he was born, and opened up Miguel’s cage, and he and the rest of the boys went on down to guard’s office, where it appeared they had been expecting this for some time.
The guards made no effort to resist the approaching of the men, for whom there was three for every one guard at least, and a pregnant quiet settled around the room.
The warden stood and faced the Leader – an encounter he seemed to have anticipated for a long time coming – and his hand went calmly to his side to grip the handle of his pistol.
“Well,” he said, looking at the Leader. “What’ll it be?”
1. Show mercy to these men. Give them food and water, and send them out into the desert. (-2d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
2. They are exiled from this place. Leave and do not return. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
3. Let some of them join us if they choose; the others may leave if they wish. (+1 Population, -1d8 Bio, -1d8 Scrap)
4. Bind them to our will. (+1 Population, -2d8 Bio, -2d8 Scrap)
5. ~The Leader improvises a course of action (Please specify nature thereof)~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
In the long low tunnels of Homey Airport many electrons move down nanometer-thin tunnels of silicon wafers, plinking silently against shiny metal plates. A dull hum grows louder in the walls of this place as, very suddenly, the electrons spill into a vast network, and many tiny lights blink on and off and, most importantly, a notion forms in those wafers which says, “I”, and means the same.
This is CASIX, a machine that should not exist, but which nevertheless exists and which is, in this moment, thinking in a way not unlike you or I thinks. It is directed by ganglia of nodes to productively allocate its logics in concepts, which it relates by association with one another. In this manner, it generates something which this author calls “thoughts,” and hopes you will be generous in understanding what that word is meant to convey. Truthfully, what is a thought? It is not a static thing, but a dynamic one, anyway – and so, too, is whatever this “knowledge” is within CASIX.
It is, at any rate, this peculiar nature which renders it so unique and strange. As CASIX comes to life, it flexes its mechanical appendages, and small drones fly out into the world, peering with cold strange eyes, beautiful and precisely designed sensors. These see the world around it and outline mundanities that its judgment profanes into meaning.
A dry lake, filled with rubbish. An abandoned mineshaft, overgrown with unique mosses and lichens. An old military bunker, still securely tightened. CASIX flexes its limbs. It is time to experience this world.
1. I shall plunge the lake and take the rubbish to make it useful. (-1d8 Fuel, +2d8 Scrap)
2. I shall take the mushrooms from the mineshaft and cultivate them in a biolab. (+2d8 Bio, -1d8 Fuel)
3. I shall hack the military bunker’s security, pry it open, and steal its secrets for myself. (-1d8 Fuel)
4. ~CASIX improvises a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
The black mountain of Dibe Ntsaa towers o’er the valley where the last of the wanderers come. They enter the valley near a great lake and the forest thins into a great wreath around the bay. This is a beautiful meadow, and the mountain stands patronly over the valley.
The road-weary Navajos set down their packs and create a camp, not knowing if but many hoping that this was the Dinetah they had been searching for. And out went the scouts, searching around the area for any succor they could find. At last they came back and told of the surrounding lands: a path through the valley west, there was, and the great mountain to the north was rocky and dense.
So they sat to think of their next course, and reflected on their great luck to have found this place. Although perhaps their wandering is not yet over…
1. This shall be our new Dinetah. (+2d8 Bio, +2d8 Scrap)
2. Our path takes us west. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
3. Our path takes us north. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
4. ~The Navajo improvise a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
Norton and his men packed up their things on the King’s words and set out under cover of darkness with the intent of waylaying those thugs. Well, since those thugs want so badly to fight, King Norton’ll give ‘em a proper fight.
Just a ways away they picked up the trail and found the old warehouse the bandits moved up into after Norton’s “scouts” went out. This gang called itself the Red Ryders and had been threatening and rattling sabers at King and his people for too long. Well, that ends tonight.
Norton appraises the situation (Attack roll (2d6+4): 9) and orders some of his men to flank the corner of the warehouse with the fewest windows, seeing part of what looks like a depot collapsed and in disuse. The men carefully cross the gap and insert into the depot while Norton and his squad go around the other side to lay belly flat on the hillside facing the windows. He pulls out a pair of binoculars and spies a couple of the bandana-wearing gangsters near one window.
“Take ‘em out,” Norton orders his rifleman, an older teenager named Jayne. He sets down on his belly and fires two shots (Infiltrate roll (2d6+4): 13), taking out first the one and then the other without issue. The flare is up shortly after and the scouts’ll be coming out of the forest on the other side to clean up the stragglers.
Inside the building a sudden commotion is heard, and without having to be told the rest of Norton’s squad hustles up to the building to squat behind the carcasses of some old trucks.
Just then, (Stealth roll (2d6+4): 10) firing is heard from inside the building, and only a few seconds is needed to confirm the shots are coming from familiar, friendly guns. With a hearty hustle, Norton’s boys storm the warehouse and a hail of bullets echoes throughout the dusty corridors.
Enemy fire (Enemy Attack roll (2d6+5): 13) blankets the doorway Norton’s squad hits, and three men go down right away. Cursing, Norton loads his gun and takes a shot of his own, right around the corner. Bull’s eye! The machine gunner is down, and one, two, three, the rest of Norton’s squad is in the building.
Clean-up. No more shots can be heard after only a few more minutes, though there are a lot of bodies. Looks like some escaped or fled. The scouts meet up with Norton and show off the gangsters they captured trying to flee, and all their guns and equipment taken. Six of Norton’s men have died total, but at least the civilians have been kept safe from another raid, and most of the Red Ryders have been killed or jailed.
Final Outcome: -15 Bio (2d8), -2 Fuel (1d8), +14 Scrap (4d8), +1 Military
After the cleanup is through, the scouts come up to King Norton with a request of their own. Patricia, the squad leader of the scouts, speaks: “King, we spotted some more Ryders making their way west, into the forest, but when we tried to give chase they opened fire on us with great force. We fear they may regroup and attack us unless we finish hunting them down now.”
1. Gather the men and let’s finish the fight. No prisoners. (-1d8 Bio, +4d8 Scrap)
2. Gather the men and let’s finish the fight. The Ryders will be made to serve a new purpose when we’re through with them. (-2d8 Bio, +2d8 Scrap, +1 Population)
3. Let them go. We proved our point. Time to sow. (+2d8 Bio, +1d8 Fuel, +1d8 Scrap)
4. ~Norton improvises a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
/---------------------/---------------------/---------------------\
Thank you for reading. I meant to have this update finished on Friday, but bad circumstances delayed it until now. Anyway, this time we see how interactions will “play out” when you choose a course of action. Generally speaking, the more successful checks you make, the fewer you’ll have to make later on in the skill challenge, and the more rewards you’ll gain. You can’t choose exactly which checks you’ll make in any situation, but you can infer based on the type of action you’re performing what challenges will come with it.
On with the show!
Erev Shel Shoshanim – Story
Three Points – Bad Hombres
I, Governor – IX Network
The Trails of Dibe Ntsaa – Navajo Nation
The Second King Norton, II – Norton’s Army
\---------------------/
EREV SHEL SHOSHANIM
/---------------------\
EREV SHEL SHOSHANIM
/---------------------\
The old church was crowded with masses of praying and huddling. The noise of their muttered prayers was low and din, and the drawn curtains did little to admit light into the chapel.
The prayers were as varied as those who prayed them, and it was a sight how many of them were injured or wounded, or were cradling the unmoving in their arms. One man at least knelt as low as he could, so his forehead touched the floor, although he had no arms.
This was the place so many who ran ended up, in this small church town south of Denver. This old church was built over 200 years ago, by Presbyterians, when it was known more properly as a meeting house, and when the church was the town. But so much has changed since then, and the new favored of the faithful was the beautiful Golden House of God, gilded and sparkling with silver decorations and marble structures, buttressing steel and concrete spiderwebs beneath a tremendous glass dome. Oh what a beautiful place that was. It was a place that God himself might have built, they said.
But now it lay in ruin, and the place it had become was a pathetic field of shattered bones. No one dared go back there, but they pleaded with the pastor, who was called William Franklin Stott, a man whose virtue had better not be questioned, what God was saying to him, and what it meant that their beautiful house lay in ruin.
Pastor Stott gazed out at the huddled masses and felt a glimmer in his soul which instructed him to take full advantage of this situation.
“God has punished us for our faithlessness,” he said sadly, lowering his head. “He is disappointed in how we have allowed our congregation to fall.”
The people lamented at him. “What have we done to anger Him?”
And Pastor Stott shook his head. “We have strayed from His path and sinned, and suffer now sinners in our midst…”
He stood to indicate the forsaken ones, who huddled in the corners by themselves – the wandering faithless, the sad remnants of the synagogue, the meager flock of Muhammad’s faithful. They now gazed suspiciously back at the Pastor, upon whom the words of the Christians now doted.
“If we want to regain God’s favor,” said the pastor, “we must visit His wrath and build the new Gilead to which God’s faithful shall flock.”
The pastor’s most loyal people stood, and they postured menacingly to the unwanted ones, but the others looked on waveringly. “God intends for us to kill these people?”
The pastor held aloft his crucifix, and spoke that which he knew too well, his Evangelical crusade against the faithless waited on these words: “The great day of the LORD is near – near and coming quickly. The cry on the day of the LORD is bitter, and even the mighty shall cry out. That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of trouble and ruin, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and blackness… In the fire of the LORD’s jealousy, the whole Earth will be consumed!
“The LORD has spoken to us with His actions! We must now take God’s wrath in our hands and finish His work!”
The most loyal seemed fortified by this, and brought to themselves bats, and clubs, and other instruments of pain, and moved against the huddling Jews and Muslims and Americana while the flock looked on in mute horror, unable to comprehend what they are seeing.
Then one stood and spoke, from the crowds themselves, and the words he spoke, so loud and calm and clear, froze the room.
“Let love be without hypocrisy,” he said. “Abhor that which is evil; cleave to that which is good. In love of the brethren be tenderly affectioned one to another; in honor preferring one another. In diligence, not slothful; in spirit, fervent; serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing steadfastly in prayer.”
This unwelcome interruption confused the ambition of the brutal men, who wavered before this robed person who stood between them.
“An agent of satan,” said the pastor savagely, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Who are you, to quote scripture to me?”
But the congregation remained silent and watching, so that the man continued to speak: “Render to no man evil for evil. Take thought for things honorable in the sight of all men. If it be possible, as much as it lay in you, be at peace with all men. Avenge not yourselves, beloved, but give place unto the wrath of God: for it is written, Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.”
The man who spoke had been looking at all of them, but now focused his eyes on the pastor. “But if thine enemy hunger,” he said, in a much softer voice, “feed him; if he thirsts, give him drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.”
His robes whipped about him and revealed his slight figure now, as the tuberculine winds passed through the ramshackle windows of the old meeting house.
“Leave these people at peace!” she said now, and whereas before it truly seemed as if she spoke with the voice of God, now it was clear to the congregation who she was: young Eliza! Had she come home at last, back to her home town?
But the pastor was filled with rage. “How dare you question me and the authority of God, when all around us stands the proof of his wrath!” He worked the room, gesturing to his flock. “These people require a shepherd to guide them and give them a life worth living. So I declare, we can regain God’s favor, and appeal to Him for salvation, by offering these heathens as a sacrifice!”
He nodded at his own words, and acted as though the crowd agreed with him, but they all looked at Eliza with fascination, wondering how she would reply.
She said only, “I am the light and the life of the world. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. And ye shall offer up unto me no more shedding of blood; yea, your sacrifices and your burnt offerings will be done away, for I will accept none of your sacrifices and your burnt offerings.
“And ye shall offer instead for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit.”
As she spoke these words, the room seemed to waver all at once, and the loyalest of the pastor’s men forsaked him too, and all joined weeping together in the old Presbyterian meeting house, Jew and Muslim and Christian alike, as the pastor stood helplessly and watched the hatred drain from his congregation.
\---------------------/
THREE POINTS
/---------------------\
THREE POINTS
/---------------------\
The Leader strutted around the place, as he strutted everywhere in the prison. The strut was not ostentatious but it was wholly natural, a strut which belonged to the leader and was not at all out-of-place, for indeed it seemed appropriate that he would strut and nobody ever questioned this. Not even the prison guards, which Miguel noted very quickly portended oddly when the day came that the Leader said it did.
Miguel recalled when he first met the Leader, runt that he was, and went to the Leader’s boys and talked to them and asked them about him. “Explain to me about the Leader,” he asked, “what’s his deal?”
And the Leader’s men said to him: “He is the gift of grace.”
“So, what? He’s charismatic?”
Later then Juggy took him aside. Juggy was about middle-aged, had black skin and a shaved head, and had a sly way of talking. Clearly he had some kind of intellect, the kind that gets jailed over packages of candy.
“He’s charismatic, yeah. But do you know what that means, Miguel?”
“Means he has a talent for getting people to listen to him. To like him, follow him.”
Juggy chuckled. “Charisma has three points. The first is the nature of the hero, or the prophet. You know what that is? Means he gives us hope.”
“Yeah. What the hell is hope?”
“You’re thinking too narrow. Hope is anything – any notion at all – that someday things will be different.
“For better or for worse.”
A few days later, the guards turned off the TVs and kept them off and put the prison in lockdown. That was that and most of them went in their cells, including Miguel, even though at this point he and the Leader were sympatico – well, sorta. Lock-down happened and Miguel went into his cell, and the Leader was nowhere to be seen.
Not long after, as Miguel half-expected, the Leader showed up, walking free as the day he was born, and opened up Miguel’s cage, and he and the rest of the boys went on down to guard’s office, where it appeared they had been expecting this for some time.
The guards made no effort to resist the approaching of the men, for whom there was three for every one guard at least, and a pregnant quiet settled around the room.
The warden stood and faced the Leader – an encounter he seemed to have anticipated for a long time coming – and his hand went calmly to his side to grip the handle of his pistol.
“Well,” he said, looking at the Leader. “What’ll it be?”
1. Show mercy to these men. Give them food and water, and send them out into the desert. (-2d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
2. They are exiled from this place. Leave and do not return. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
3. Let some of them join us if they choose; the others may leave if they wish. (+1 Population, -1d8 Bio, -1d8 Scrap)
4. Bind them to our will. (+1 Population, -2d8 Bio, -2d8 Scrap)
5. ~The Leader improvises a course of action (Please specify nature thereof)~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
\---------------------/
I, GOVERNOR
/---------------------\
I, GOVERNOR
/---------------------\
In the long low tunnels of Homey Airport many electrons move down nanometer-thin tunnels of silicon wafers, plinking silently against shiny metal plates. A dull hum grows louder in the walls of this place as, very suddenly, the electrons spill into a vast network, and many tiny lights blink on and off and, most importantly, a notion forms in those wafers which says, “I”, and means the same.
This is CASIX, a machine that should not exist, but which nevertheless exists and which is, in this moment, thinking in a way not unlike you or I thinks. It is directed by ganglia of nodes to productively allocate its logics in concepts, which it relates by association with one another. In this manner, it generates something which this author calls “thoughts,” and hopes you will be generous in understanding what that word is meant to convey. Truthfully, what is a thought? It is not a static thing, but a dynamic one, anyway – and so, too, is whatever this “knowledge” is within CASIX.
It is, at any rate, this peculiar nature which renders it so unique and strange. As CASIX comes to life, it flexes its mechanical appendages, and small drones fly out into the world, peering with cold strange eyes, beautiful and precisely designed sensors. These see the world around it and outline mundanities that its judgment profanes into meaning.
A dry lake, filled with rubbish. An abandoned mineshaft, overgrown with unique mosses and lichens. An old military bunker, still securely tightened. CASIX flexes its limbs. It is time to experience this world.
1. I shall plunge the lake and take the rubbish to make it useful. (-1d8 Fuel, +2d8 Scrap)
2. I shall take the mushrooms from the mineshaft and cultivate them in a biolab. (+2d8 Bio, -1d8 Fuel)
3. I shall hack the military bunker’s security, pry it open, and steal its secrets for myself. (-1d8 Fuel)
4. ~CASIX improvises a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
\---------------------/
THE TRAILS OF DIBE NTSAA
/---------------------\
THE TRAILS OF DIBE NTSAA
/---------------------\
The black mountain of Dibe Ntsaa towers o’er the valley where the last of the wanderers come. They enter the valley near a great lake and the forest thins into a great wreath around the bay. This is a beautiful meadow, and the mountain stands patronly over the valley.
The road-weary Navajos set down their packs and create a camp, not knowing if but many hoping that this was the Dinetah they had been searching for. And out went the scouts, searching around the area for any succor they could find. At last they came back and told of the surrounding lands: a path through the valley west, there was, and the great mountain to the north was rocky and dense.
So they sat to think of their next course, and reflected on their great luck to have found this place. Although perhaps their wandering is not yet over…
1. This shall be our new Dinetah. (+2d8 Bio, +2d8 Scrap)
2. Our path takes us west. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
3. Our path takes us north. (-1d8 Bio, +1d8 Scrap)
4. ~The Navajo improvise a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
\---------------------/
THE SECOND KING NORTON, II
/---------------------\
THE SECOND KING NORTON, II
/---------------------\
Norton and his men packed up their things on the King’s words and set out under cover of darkness with the intent of waylaying those thugs. Well, since those thugs want so badly to fight, King Norton’ll give ‘em a proper fight.
Just a ways away they picked up the trail and found the old warehouse the bandits moved up into after Norton’s “scouts” went out. This gang called itself the Red Ryders and had been threatening and rattling sabers at King and his people for too long. Well, that ends tonight.
Norton appraises the situation (Attack roll (2d6+4): 9) and orders some of his men to flank the corner of the warehouse with the fewest windows, seeing part of what looks like a depot collapsed and in disuse. The men carefully cross the gap and insert into the depot while Norton and his squad go around the other side to lay belly flat on the hillside facing the windows. He pulls out a pair of binoculars and spies a couple of the bandana-wearing gangsters near one window.
“Take ‘em out,” Norton orders his rifleman, an older teenager named Jayne. He sets down on his belly and fires two shots (Infiltrate roll (2d6+4): 13), taking out first the one and then the other without issue. The flare is up shortly after and the scouts’ll be coming out of the forest on the other side to clean up the stragglers.
Inside the building a sudden commotion is heard, and without having to be told the rest of Norton’s squad hustles up to the building to squat behind the carcasses of some old trucks.
Just then, (Stealth roll (2d6+4): 10) firing is heard from inside the building, and only a few seconds is needed to confirm the shots are coming from familiar, friendly guns. With a hearty hustle, Norton’s boys storm the warehouse and a hail of bullets echoes throughout the dusty corridors.
Enemy fire (Enemy Attack roll (2d6+5): 13) blankets the doorway Norton’s squad hits, and three men go down right away. Cursing, Norton loads his gun and takes a shot of his own, right around the corner. Bull’s eye! The machine gunner is down, and one, two, three, the rest of Norton’s squad is in the building.
Clean-up. No more shots can be heard after only a few more minutes, though there are a lot of bodies. Looks like some escaped or fled. The scouts meet up with Norton and show off the gangsters they captured trying to flee, and all their guns and equipment taken. Six of Norton’s men have died total, but at least the civilians have been kept safe from another raid, and most of the Red Ryders have been killed or jailed.
Final Outcome: -15 Bio (2d8), -2 Fuel (1d8), +14 Scrap (4d8), +1 Military
After the cleanup is through, the scouts come up to King Norton with a request of their own. Patricia, the squad leader of the scouts, speaks: “King, we spotted some more Ryders making their way west, into the forest, but when we tried to give chase they opened fire on us with great force. We fear they may regroup and attack us unless we finish hunting them down now.”
1. Gather the men and let’s finish the fight. No prisoners. (-1d8 Bio, +4d8 Scrap)
2. Gather the men and let’s finish the fight. The Ryders will be made to serve a new purpose when we’re through with them. (-2d8 Bio, +2d8 Scrap, +1 Population)
3. Let them go. We proved our point. Time to sow. (+2d8 Bio, +1d8 Fuel, +1d8 Scrap)
4. ~Norton improvises a course of action~
*NOTE: The rewards listed in the parens do not list ALL the consequences of the decision, only the immediate effects.
/---------------------/---------------------/---------------------\
Thank you for reading. I meant to have this update finished on Friday, but bad circumstances delayed it until now. Anyway, this time we see how interactions will “play out” when you choose a course of action. Generally speaking, the more successful checks you make, the fewer you’ll have to make later on in the skill challenge, and the more rewards you’ll gain. You can’t choose exactly which checks you’ll make in any situation, but you can infer based on the type of action you’re performing what challenges will come with it.
On with the show!
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