Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

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High Command
The Savage Inquisition
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Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by High Command »

Alright, we'll continue posting in the first day posting until we feel we're done. This particular thread is for the interlude of the next month from the first day to your first mission.

Length: 3-5 paragraphs
Timeframe: Be in and done by 7/19/17

First, you roll on one of the following Heroes Journey Tables:
  • Education
  • Experience & Wisdom - reroll 12-13
  • Training - reroll 8-9
Second, write an interlude that includes the circumstances of you learning that.

Your days will consist of a combination of:
  • Supplementary classroom training (like the demolition certification classes).
  • Limited combat patrols in safer areas. While the fights themselves are deadly, you are never outside a more than two to five rounds before backup arrives in the form of a SAMAS squad. And a dedicated support squad of a skelebot, an infantry platoon, and a dogpack on hovercycles is behind them by minutes. You're not going to die - though it may feel like it.
  • On the job training by combat engineers working in relatively safe areas outside of the wall.
  • Similar events. Figure out what you want to do.
  • Other similar events - talk to me about it.
Tales of the 17th SOG
"In so far as you are concerned, I am the right arm of High Command itself. You are my Fist, be ready to strike at any moment." Major Killian Gregor, 3rd SOG Battalion, CSSD, Chi-Town.
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Alan Klinger
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Alan Klinger »

OOC Comments
Education: [dice]0[/dice] Experience: [dice]1[/dice] Training: [dice]2[/dice] Correction: Training: [dice]3[/dice]
OOC Comments
Education: Experience: Training: Correction: Training:

Brawler
Frequent fights with his bare hands have given this thug
a powerful punch. When he hits a foe with a successful
bare-handed Fighting roll, he adds +2 to his damage.

Martial Artist
This character is highly trained in hand-to-hand fighting.
He is never considered unarmed in combat and so is never
subject to the Unarmed Defender rule (page 76). With a
successful unarmed attack, he adds +d4 to his Strength roll
(as if he were using a small weapon).
Alan stands there looking at himself in the mirror. What can I do? I'm a paramedic right now. I'm not strong, i'm not fast, i'm not any useful in the battlefield. Alan goes about the next few days on the normal routine. He even pics up a few magazines about electronics. One of the magazines about body building catches his eyes. Alan picks it up and reads it over. I could use some better tone. When Alen gets back to his room, he starts looking up several medical reports about the best possible techniques. With his research, he finds that boxing and martial arts might be the best fit.

The boxing class is very tough for him, everyone in there is remarkably stronger. The instructor walks up to Alan early on. "Why are you even here? Do you lift bro?" "Not really, but all it is, is transference of energy." The instructor does not look impressed. "Beat his ass boys, teach this nerd a lesson." The ass beating was pretty intense. That night Alan looks like death warmed over. The team is concerned of course and is ready to take matter into their own hands. "Don't worry about it. It was a boxing class. They just want to weed me out. It's not going to work." Sgt. Dansk addressed the team. "You want to be better, that's great. Hell that is almost down right commendable. But if you die on me, I will make your life miserable. You will start with every worst job I can think of, then you will have extra duty every day for two solid months, after that I will run you until you puke up your guts and you can't run anymore, after that I'll give you over to Capt. to let him deal with you. Do I make myself clear?" A unified "YES SIR!".

Alan returns to the boxing ring the next day. The instructor doesn't look impressed and sent his class onto Alan once again. That night Alan calmed the team down once again. The third day, Alan returns once again. The instructor takes it easy on him, knowing he can't take it physically. After that, the boxing class precedes better. The instructor sees his dedication and finally accepts him in the class. The training is tough for the slim medic. "You are getting better, if you don't bulk up, you need to become more nimble."

Alan takes his suggestion to heart and signs up for both Yoga and Martial Arts class. The yoga classes help loosen Alan up before and after the boxing lessons. The Martial arts class is hard on Alan as well. His lack of strength and determination is tested once again. Three straight days of brutal punishment faces Alan, three straight days of pain and determination is answered with him coming back time and time again. His determination forces the instructor to at least respect him.

For several weeks, Alan went back to the barracks, black and blue. Sore beyond belief, and satisfied. Each night, Alan sleep deeply each and every night. Each day, Alan tends to his own wounds. Soelen sees what these sessions are doing to her room mate, and only she knows what is in her head. At the end of the time, Alan has learned some skills to help defend himself, some skills to enhance his limited capabilities, a new desire to improve himself and above all else, the respect and friendship of those at the Gym, whether it's the instructors or class mates, Alan has not only improved himself, but expanded those who he could call friend.
Last edited by Alan Klinger on Sat Jul 15, 2017 2:17 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Prvt. Alan Klinger
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness:14(7); Strain: 6;
Weapon in hand: CP-40 Pulse Laser Rifle
Ammo: 60/60
Bennies: 0
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Hunter
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Joined: Tue Apr 04, 2017 12:29 am

Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Hunter »

OOC Comments
Experience & Wisdom: [dice]0[/dice]
Sent out on field assignment for combat training, had Hunter in something that felt a bit like his own element. For now, being bunked down in the relative safety of an APC while out in the field and learning 'the real stuff' was something Hunter was actually looking forward to. Of course as a dog boy it wouldn't do to bunk him in with all the other humans. If anything dog boys could get a little rowdy, loud and needed some space of their own to hash out pack mechanics among themselves not just among their respective squads.

So, being bunked in with the rest of the dogboys was something Hunter had fully expected. With that expectation came the knowledge that now that they'd be left to their own devices here and there, the various mutant dogs would vie for 'position' in one form or another. Arriving early, Hunter took the opportunity to claim one of the 'good' bunks near the door that hadn't been taken yet. That however caused argument when one of the dogboys, one Hunter knew from his creche arrived. Felix 47A3 was a bull dog like creature that had been one of the 'top of the pack' sorts in his time and had, like many of Hunter's creche, picked on the much meeker Hunter. Seeing an easy score to bully for a better bunk, it wasn't long before Felix boldly strode over to Hunter. "That bed is mine F38C." Hunter narrowed his gaze at the other, quite obviously stronger dogboy "I was here first 47A3." He counters, deciding to stand up for himself for once. Most of the other dog boys were ones he didn't know, or at least know as well. That gave him some opportunity to at least try for 'middle of the pack' if not the top.

"Well too bad. It's MINE." Felix growled at Hunter, the beefy canid shoving the skinnier Hunter with a growl. It might even have lead to a small scuffle if an NCO hadn't heard the noise and investigated to ensure things stayed peaceful. In the end, with a heated stare, Hunter backed off. For now. Picking a different bunk though it was clear he wasn't pleased. You win this time...but I'll get you. I swear I'll get you... This of course quickly became a bit of a regular occurrence. At meals when they crossed paths Felix would say "I don't think you need that." or "Give me that, I want it." sometimes Hunter would get Felix to back off but usually the more timid dogboy gave in and handed over what was demanded or 'asked for'.

That wasn't something that lasted too long though. A few days into it Hunter started getting fed up. What really pushed him over the edge was when checking out gear for a combat patrol, Hunter was picking up his new CV-212. "That's my rifle F38C." Came the familiar voice of Felix. Incensed, Hunter turned and growled at Felix with a look so fierce Felix actually took a step back, ears raised in alarm. "No. It's my rifle 47A3. My rifle to protect my pack with." Hunter countered with an almost deeply disturbed calm and menace. It was one thing to push him around for small things, but Hunter had come to see his squad as his new 'pack'. They treated him well. Even occasionally it got him praise when he did well, and none (so far anyway) had abused him, or tried to bully him. They'd taken him in as one of their own. Or at least that's the way Hunter read it. Oh sure he wasn't their equal, given everyone else was human. But he was still part of the 'pack'. Not only that, but Hunter had worked hard to earn his marksmanship certification. He knew how to use it, he knew the weapon well and it had been configured and issued just for him and him alone. "If you ever try to take my rifle 47A3. I'll kill you." Hunter said softly, and the truth of it was in a sudden, steely and merciless gaze. "Just like 38E9."

"That... that was an accident. They said it was an accident." Stuttered Felix, taken aback by a side from Hunter he'd never even knew existed. "Was it?" Hunter challenged, still giving Felix that stare, his tone flat, soft, even. It carried that underlying threat and admission all at once, and his gaze wasn't any softer. He looked at Felix like a bug he could just step on. Wanted to step on. Felix left him alone after that. Even kept his distance. The other dogboys didn't necessarily know what had happened between the pair, but if Hunter could suddenly cow Felix, they knew something had gone down and maybe he wasn't such an easy mark after all. Hunter meanwhile, just mostly kept to himself. He wasn't an 'Alpha' but he wasn't the runt of the litter anymore. Kindness, ironically, was doing for Hunter all the punishments and beatings never could.

Hunter only wanted to help people. To protect his pack and serve the CS like a good dog boy should. Shown the right encouragement and positive feedback when appropriate, rather than constantly negative, just.. switched something inside of him. He wasn't suddenly the bravest dog boy out there, but he had a 'real' pack now. One he worked with, one that treated him well, that got him gear and had his back when he needed it. He decided he wasn't going to loose that for anything. He'd set his mind in stone and it would take a lot more to break that stronger will that began to form.

For now at least he was 'home' with his pack. He would go where they went, he would watch them and guard them, lay down his life for them if need be. And in turn he finally felt valued. Wanted, even liked. That only cemented his mind even more. His self confidence would take more time to work at, to improve, but he'd taken that initial step forward. Now all he had to do was survive and keep developing.
Last edited by Hunter on Thu Jul 06, 2017 2:03 am, edited 2 times in total.
Goodwill Hunting
Bennies:
Agility: d10, Smarts: d8, Spirit: d6, Strength: d12+1(d6), Vigor:
Running: d8, Pace: 8, Parry: 5, Toughness: 7(13)
Hindrances: Coalition Fanatical Patriot [Major], Death Wish (Minor), Illiterate (Minor), Loyal [Minor], Mutant, Near-Human Physiology, Overconfident (Major), Oddly Built, Weakness (Ley Line Hypersensitivity)
Edges: Assassin, Ambidextrous, Alertness, Bite, Breed Advantage (Tracking, Fast), Danger Sense, Dead Shot, Dirty Fighter, Double Tap, Free Runner, Keen Sense of Smell/Hearing, Low Light Vision, Nerves of Steel, Marksman, Psychic Sense, Quick, Quick Draw, Quick and the Dead, Sharpshooting, Soldier, Two-Gun Kid, Live, Die, Live Again, Rich, Connected.
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Solène Bouchard
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Solène Bouchard »

Training
[dice]0[/dice]
Strategic Armor Military Assault Suit Training?

Bouchard checks the billet again, asking the computer to read it outloud for the fourth time. SAMAS Training. It was definitely a good next step for her, but one normally reserved for insiders and pilots, not illiterate grunts. How her name got on the ticket is a mystery bordering on a miracle. She asked the computer to tell her a little about the SAMs. The exoskeleton was no different than any other power armor, in fact her Mauler was bigger and stronger. It was the advanced flight system that made the armor special. It was capable of high cruising, extreme nap-of-the-earth, VTOL, and ground operations. It could be anywhere on the battlefield in seconds, projecting the might of the Coalition army just about anywhere. While the fly-guys had the regular patrols high in the skies Army Sams were normally embedded into infantry units to provide heavy firepower and close air support. Their mobility made them invaluable for recon, flanking, fire support, and even emergency evacuation.

The very idea of it makes Solene excited and nervous. She had spent most of her life on the ground, and even more of it underground. The wide open skies were both a sign of freedom and a little terrifying. Unsure what to expect she reports on time to training.

Training itself was tedious. Bouchard barely kept up with the theoretical classes. Principles of Flight, History of Air Warfare, Maps and Navigation. Fortunately, the computers had assistance for non-readers. However, those with educated backgrounds definitely seems to pick it up faster. She was better at the hands on stuff. Before getting into a SAM everyone got checked out on jet packs, the trainer reminding them that soldiers were cheaper to replace than Sams. Then they got to go for real.

For real for real.

Solene, loved flying! It was freeing, like the weight of a thousand tons of rock that hung over her head her entire life was lifted. She had done well enough that she was acting as assistant squad leader for this exercise. That gave her ears on the command channel when it crackled to life.

“Tango-Tango-Seven. We have an incursion in your zone. Move to support.” Bouchard was surprised by the radio call, they were a training unit and it sounded like Downtown was giving the order for them to engage real enemies. Their trainer, Sergeant Bishop, seemed to feel the same way as Solene heard her reply, “Downtown, be advised Tango-Tango-Seven is a trainer unit. Recommend and active Quebec-Romeo-Foxtrot deployment.”

“Negative,Tango-Seven” came the reply. “Friendlies under heavy fire and your are closest. Time to get those wetbacks badged.”

Bishop quickly agreed, perhaps a little too quickly. “Roger that Downtown, we are loaded for bear and able to assist. Proceeding to coordinates.”

Flipping to the squad only frequency, Bishop gave the orders. “Alright ladies, and Bouchard, we got dead boys in distress. Time to provide close air support.”

The massive jet engine on her back roared to life as Solene accelerated to combat speed. As they closed the distance the commander on the ground gave a situation report. Their reconnaissance patrol, Echo-Three-Eight had stumbled upon dozens of demons, of various shapes and sizes, in the ruins of an old sports stadium. The recon platoon had them pinned down in the stadium but was unable to advance. The platoon commander said the top was open, and recommended a vertical envelopment. Bishop agreed.

“Attack speed, we come in from the front, lay down heavy coordinated fire with Echo. Then veer up fast, go over the ruin and drop in behind the enemy. We hose them down in the backs. Weapons hot and free. This is no exercise.”

Approaching the scene Solene could see the ruin of the old stadium. No doubt it was made of megacrete and provided excellent cover. Downrange from the ruins a platoon Mark V was strafing with its massive rail gun, while infantry troops advanced in a bounding pattern. Inside the ruins she could see what looked like demonic dog boys firing lightning bolts from ugly bone weapons. Magic, she thought, instantly disgusted. Taking up her position in the formation she followed Bishop in low. Old buildings screamed by as they jinked and dodged through destroyed skyscrapers and old city streets. They were so low taller troopers would have to keep their heads down or jet a jet assisted kick in the noggin. Laser fire and lightning bolts criss crossed the area, but they kept chargin. Solene saw someone take a hit and break off but mostly the heavy armor on the SAMAS units held strong.

“Missiles!” Bishop ordered. Raising her arm Solene fired a volley of missiles into the fortified position. Her training platoon mates did the same. The rockets exploded into the fortifications with a deafening boom. Sending a gout of dust and debris high into the sky. Fire from the demons stopped momentarily as they died or got their heads down. Yet, the Sams kept flying straight and low. Just as they were about to crash into the enemy position Bouchard pulled up hard going almost straight up and over the enemy before whelling around a hundred and eighty degrees and dropping to the ground while firing into the enemy’s back with her rail gun.

The canine demons got chewed up like old slippers in a dog boy lab. Unfortunately, their boss would not go down so easy. Afterward Solene would learn it was called a Bal-rog but in the moment all she knew is a giant creature with bat wings and a flaming whip arose from the ruins. Hurling a huge fireball it engulfed two of her squad. Fortunately, they seemed to hold.

“Maintain range advantage,” Bishop ordered, indicating the Sams should go up and back to out range the beast and its magic. They were faster and their guns could hit from further away. Flying backward and upward while firing, Solene could see what was happening. Bishop was trying to bait the beast above the stadium wall. Following in a mad fury it did just that. As the bal-rog crested the wall missiles and rail gun fire from the nearby Mark V tore it to shreds.

That was it. Over. In a matter of seconds.

“Many thanks Tango-Seven,” came the call from Echo’s commander.

“Happy to help,” Bishop replied.

Bouchard took up her position in the formation, no one was lost although a few units were badly banged up. Bishop ordered them back to base for debrief.

“Well I think you guys passed.”
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PFC Solène Bouchard
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 7; Strain: 0;
Weapon in hand: C-40R Rail Gun (2d8+4 (AP: 6, MD), 75/150/300, ROF: 4)
Ammo: 50/50
Bennies: 3
Toughness in Flight Suit: 8 / Toughness in Power Armor: 20 (10)/ Toughness in CA-4 Body Armor: 16 (7)
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Joe Marshal
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Posts: 70
Joined: Wed Mar 15, 2017 6:29 pm
Location: CS Fighting Joes

Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Joe Marshal »

OOC Comments
Training: [dice]0[/dice]
Functional machines and technology often mean the difference between life and death in the world of Savage Rifts®. Fortunately for any group your hero runs with, she’s pretty good with tech, giving her a one die type increase for the Repair skill, as well as +1 on Knowledge (Electronics) and Knowledge (Engineering) rolls.
Back to school

Joe isn't new to the idea of traditional schooling given his background. Though it had been a little bit since he was in school last, and that was a private school for the elite of the Coalition States. After he found out he was going to be tasked to a combat engineering brigade, Joe figured he should add to his mechanical knowledge so that he could be more of a help. So he quickly signed up for the basic engineering courses. It was all pretty exciting to Joe really, he liked the idea of learning new things, and in this setting he wasn't dealing with the snobbish nobility of the Chi-Town elite. Joe checked the list of things he'd need for the class, and ran to the PX to buy them.

On the day of his first class, Joe makes sure he's as early as he can be without shirking his other duties. Joe is dutiful and observant taking notes on concepts he doesn't understand and coupling them with stuff he already knew about electronics. Joe was aware of others looking at him, some watched him with anger and hate, others seemed impressed, but luckily most didn't care that Joe was showing he was one of the educated elite. Joe was certainly not the smartest man in the room, he could easily see that, but the instructors were prone to teaching using hands on projects and practical scenarios, this is a boon to those who can't do more than the most basic reading or aren't the most intelligent, Joe being one of the latter.

Joe enjoys the class, it's a nice change of pace for the Close Quarters Battle specialist. Joe spent the early part of his military training learning room clearing and hand to hand combat which was good for Joe at the time as he had a lot of pent up anger to get through and a desperate need to prove to himself and everyone else that he could do this without the backing of his families name. Though Joe wasn't top of his class, he definitely felt he was learning the job, maybe a few advanced courses will get him the coveted certifications that people sought. Joe was a little surprised when he received a certification for electronics work, not thinking he had put enough effort into it to earn the paperwork. But who was Joe to tell, he was the student.
Last edited by Joe Marshal on Mon Jul 17, 2017 11:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
Joe Marshal
PFC Joe Marshal
Pace: 6; Parry: 7; Toughness:14 (7); Strain: 0;
Weapon in hand: C-16A Close Combat Pump Rifle
Ammo: 12g Slug: 16/16
2 C-5 Punp Pistols
Ammo: 5/5, 5/5
Vibro-Axe
Bennies: 3/3
Lucius Draper
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Lucius Draper »

Education
Duplicate-[dice]0[/dice]: Born with a natural inquisitiveness, your hero has a gift for research and finding
things out. He has the Investigator Edge and the Investigation skill at d6.
[dice]1[/dice]: Either her parents did everything they could to educate her, she attended one of the
few schools left in the world, or she might even have found and lived in an ancient
library. However managed, she has five additional skill points to spend at character
creation, but they may only be spent on Healing, Investigation, and Knowledge skills.
Lucius stands frozen in place, his hidden mechanical legs holding steadier than any flesh and blood ever could. The sharp metallic click of the detonating primer still seemed to echo through his ears. Wright had told him to get help, actually get help for a reason. Neither could trust their radios wouldn't trigger whatever they were standing on. Now he could only wait...for death or salvation.

...It had seemed like a good idea, get a full demo certification in record time and get more field experience. His instructor had initially told him to slow down when he began devouring the course work as soon as he arrived. It didn't matter if he could pass his prac vac the second day, he couldn't pass it before the class so he was in til the end either way. Two days later Sergeant Ardue was grudgingly giving him the outline for the second week's lessons and the third week's the last day of the first week. Lucius passed the prac vac the end of the second week. By then Ardue had warmed up to him (the unexplained appearance of a box of 20 aged Viceroy Prosek cigars definitely had nothing to do with that) and was calling him 'a natural'.

The truth, like all things was less glamorous. Lucius, just worked his ass off and finessed the system. When Ardue had decided he should stick to the schedule Lucius had spent the remainder of that day chatting up other NCOs finding out everything short of how many squares he wipes with. Then a few forms were filled out, sent up the chain. He knew this part would rankle the ageing sergeant, but he already had a box (boxes truth be told) of some of the finest cigars the CS had ever produced from his 17th birthday.

That was just the beginning though, it'd be pretty damn embarrassing for a couple of officers who stuck their necks out if he got the accelerated course and didn't manage to make use of it. Fortunately the engineering classes his mother had put him in combined with some of technical training in basic gave him a decent foundation. Then he found a tutor. PFC Jenks was a lonely fucker with a pockmarked face and halitosis that could melt paint, but damn did he know how to make little parts of the world disappear. So Lucius made him a deal: get him laid at least once a week for the next month and in return he'd learn how to blow shit up.

It was easy enough, he threw Jenks a big tin of mints and made the most of the night life Fort Resilience has to offer after their lessons five nights out of seven. That meant trips to the E-Club, where despite the limitations and watchful eyes of the NCOs, Lucius got them in more times than he should have been allowed. When he felt that avenue was tapped out it was a large storeroom with music, dancing, tables, and a guy serving (typically hunch punch) from behind a bar converted from a shelf. Lucius was attractive, had a magnetic personality, and strangely (considering he never ordered a single alcoholic drink for himself) had a tab open damn near everywhere. Jenks got his payment a couple of times over in just the last two weeks, and Lucius was constantly sneaking out of other barracks, or sneaking someone out of his.

All the while, shit got blown up with more efficiency each time...and now as he realizes he zoned out while watching Wright work on his own IED like he'd been born to disarm a bomb underneath his own foot, he wonders if he's going to be the next little part of the world that disappears into mist. Then it's over. Wright steps off his bomb with no explosion, before disarming Lucius' even more quickly. "You think those things would have damaged military grade bionics? he asks rhetorically as he moves off more cautiously to find the Sergeant.

Popping his head back around the corner, he calls out again, "Hitting a couple of bars with a guy from Razor 3 named Jenks. I'm buying if you're interested. We'll get you to a bed a few hours before muster at the latest. Might not be your bed but it's none of my business where you take her."
Last edited by Lucius Draper on Tue Jul 18, 2017 3:56 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Corporal Lucius Draper
Coalitiong States Command Specialist
Pace: 6, d6 Run; Parry: 4; Toughness:14(7); Strain: 2/6
Wounds: 0; Fatigue: 0
Conditions:
  • None
Defenses/Abilities/Active Effects:
  • None
Edges:
  • Command: Allies within 5” receive +1 to recover from Shaken
  • Tactician: At the beginning of a fight, make a K/Battle roll. Gain an additional Initiative card for success and each raise. Each round, after Initiative is dealt one or more of the cards can be given to allies to be used in place of their dealt card.
Weapons: Current clip noted by asterisk(*), Double **Loaned to Steelcreek
  • C-30 Laser Pistol - Hip Holster
    • Ammo: (30/30*); (30/30) - 2 e-clips
  • CP-40 Pulse Laser Rifle - Sling
    • Ammo: (43/60*); (60/60**); (60/60**) - 3 e-clips
  • Neural Mace - Belt
  • Fragmentation Grenade - Webbing
    • 2/2
Credits: 3,204
Bennies: 2/3


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Jasper Maddocs
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Joined: Tue Apr 04, 2017 11:45 am

Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Jasper Maddocs »

Experience and Wisdom
[dice]0[/dice]
Some experiences take a person back to the beginning, reconnecting them to their foundations. Select one background edge, regardless of requirements, so long as it makes sense and the GM approves
Psi-Battalion Training:
You have mastered the trials of Fasting and Denial. You require half the normal amount of sleep and can go without food and water twice as long before testing for Fatigue. You add +2 to all rolls against Fatigue. If you have or gain the Psi-Blade Edge, you count as a Cyber-Knight for the purpose of qualifying for the Psi-Shield Edge.
Getting settled into a routine after the first week was easy, get up, check the schedule, morning PT, class work, eat then clean, duties...etc, etc. About two weeks in, in the middle of the night, the door to the room flew open and Corporal Harris flipped on the lights while yelling, ”Johnsten, on your feet. We got a job to do.” A very groggy groan came from Sam Johnsten as he moved to get out of his bunk but ended up falling the four feet to slam his knees into the floor before his forward momentum put his head into the wall. Sitting up to peer over the edge of his bed, Jasper was greeted with the sight of a body lying face down, a small trickle of blood oozing out of it's head. ”Shit. Medic. The room and voices seemed to fade away as his mind was pulled back into the past.
Flashback wrote:It was the middle of the night in the barracks that Jasper shared with his one hundred classmates when it all started. The sound of explosions, the shrieking of alarms and barrack lights strobing woke everyone up as smoke started filling the room. The Drill Sergeants were bellowing over the commotion, ”Get up. Get on your feet. Out front, now! Move it. Move it. Move it.” Hell had come to basic, for seven days it was nothing but PT, group drills, PT, simulations, PT, mock battles all with little to no sleep and just enough food to keep you constantly hungry. They used water cannons on the obstacle courses, portable ones to hit you in the face while doing sit-ups, each time you faltered or messed up the Drill Sergeants swarmed hurling insults and did everything they could think of to get a rise out of the person.

7am on the seventh day, eighty remained of the one hundred that started. They gathered us mud and blood covered, tired, hungry and delirious in the small field next to the obstacle course where we did our sit-ups and push-ups. One of the Sergeants stepped onto the small stage and addressed the group. ”You have 24 hours to do as you please, then for the rest of the week its light duty except for classes. You've all done well so far. Fall out.” It was short, sweet, and music from the heavens to those gathered before him. After everyone had showered and gotten some much needed sleep, the scuttlebutt started about those that had 'washed' out. ”They go back home, tagged and watched like all the others.” one of the recruits was saying as Jasper walked up to the lunch table and sat down next to his bunk mate Bob.
”No, they get taken out back and killed. They don't want the training getting out.” said another.
”They just get put into a different class and try again.” said a third before turning to Jasper, ”What do you think?”
”I got no ideas, I would guess the first.” Jasper held up his hands and shook his head as he responded, before he turned to ask Bob. ”What do you thin.....Damn Bob, you still look like hell.” Jasper's comment got a small smile from Bob, but his sunken eyes and the bags hanging under them spoke to the shape he was really in.
”I'm just glad its over.” said Bob in a small voice, ”I'm not sure I could have done anymore.”

Seventy two sweet, blissful hours had passed. Then it all started up again. Only this time it was worse. Those left came together like no other time before, pushing each other to get through, carrying them when they couldn't, standing strong against the pressure. But a crack had formed in one, and it broke in a spectacular fashion. Jasper was holding Bob's feet as he had done many times before during their sit-up rotation when Bob was hosed down with the water gun and was left hacking and sputtering trying to clear his airway.
”I can't.” is all Bob could say as he collapsed back onto the ground. Before Jasper could even open his mouth to give some tired words of encouragement, the Drill Sergeant was there kicking mud into Bob's face screaming, ”What did you say maggot? You Can't? You Better!” a spray of water stopped any kind of response from Bob as the Drill Sergeant continued, ”After all that we've done for you, after how kind we have been to you, you can't? You worthless, piece of shi..” The Drill Sergeant's face registered surprise as he was picked up off the ground and sped sideways through the air until his shoulder met the monkey-bars with a sickening crunch. His body flipped end over end until it crashed into a heap twenty feet further. Bob slowly stood up, using a muddy hand on Jasper's shoulder for support as the other Drill Sergeant, who was running over, slowed down and then stopped before pulling his sidearm and started shooting the Dog Boys on the response team. As fast as it started, it was over. Jasper felt Bob's hand go limp on his shoulder before he dropped onto his knees and fell face first into the mud, a small trickle of blood oozing from his head.

A day later, seventy nine people stood in that same field once more, cold, tired, hungry. The Sergeant once again took to the small stage and addressed the gathered soldiers this time his arm in a sling. ”Most people in this world do not like Psychics, we do. Most people will look on you with distrust or hate, we won't. Most people do not believe that you can do anything good in this world because of what you're capable of, We know the truth. I myself have been where you're at, I myself have been through what you have just been through, I myself now have brothers and sisters that our proud to serve with me just as I am proud to serve with them. Just as I would be proud to serve with each and every single one of you.” He held up a patch, the PSI patch as he continued speaking, ”I'm proud that you have all made it this far, congratulations, you're now halfway there.”
Jasper was brought back to the present as the medic from Bear One entered the room and a new voice was heard from the doorway. ”Crap, get him to the medbay. Maddoc's fill in for him.” Jasper looked over at the LT and simply stated. ”Yes, Sir.”
Last edited by Jasper Maddocs on Sun Jul 16, 2017 2:24 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Private Jasper Maddocs
Anthem
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness:12(5); Strain: 0; Power Points: 30/30
Power Point Regeneration: 1/Hour
Weapon in hand: -Noted by asterisk(*)
C-20 Laser Pistol - Ammo: 21/21 - 2/2 extra e-clips
CP-40 Pulse Laser Rifle - Ammo: 60/60 - 3/3 extra e-clips
Vibro-Knife
Fragmentation Grenade: 2/2
Bennies: 3/3
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Logan Wright
Posts: 117
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Logan Wright »

Experience and Wisdom
[dice]0[/dice]
1-2: Your hero knows how to make the most of second chances. He has Elan.

While everyone else was attending Demolitions Cerifications, Wright and Draper were deployed on a detached duty with other Combat Engineers to demo some buildings. Logan made sure to get up early to make sure to get a shower and shave as they were getting picked up early so the detachment could get into the ruins before mid-day. Logan makes sure to go get permission to open his locker so he can gear up before him and Lucius make their way to the rendevous point where they were to be picked up 15 minutes early to make sure they didn't get left behind. As they walk, they talk to each other about their past experiences (or at least as much as Draper is willing to share), and Logan opens up about his experience surviving the explosion.

The detachment arrived at the buildings to be demolitioned with the first building having been cleared already and the second one being cleared by infantry and Skelebots. Draper and Wright went down to the basement to set charges with two other privates and a non-commissioned officer sent to supervise them. They spread out in two man teams going to a support column on the south side of the building to start setting the charges when Logan steps on a plywood board when he hears a audible *click* and freezes. "Draper, get out of here. I think I just stepped on an IED. Go let the sergeant know to evacuate the rest of the building until we get this sorted out and go to radio silence in case they are also using radio detenators." As Draper moves to go, another click can be heard and he freezes.

"That's ok, I can get us out of this. Just don't move." Logan then began the ardous task of carefully locating the actual explosive device and cooling it with a jet of liquid nitrogen to slow any chemical reactions. Then with lightning speed, steady hands, and a razor sharp focus, Logan proceeded to disarm the explosive device before it could warm up enough to go off. As he was about the cut the wires, he could feel that familliar feeling of a cough well up, and Logan used every bit of determination, will power, and stamina he had to resist the urge to cough as he worked on his delicate task. Once it was done, he allowed a little bit of his cough to escape as he relaxed for a moment before moving over to Draper and disabling the explosive device he had triggered.

After the two of them relaxed for a few minutes after the stress they were just under, Logan went about inspecting IED's in the room, as well as making sure the rest of the room was free of explosive devices that they had not broght with them. As Logan did that, Draper went to the sergeant reporting what they had found and to warn the rest of the detachment to take extra caution when placing their charges. When Draper returned with the sergeant, Logan was able to explain that who ever had left the devices had hidden the pressure plates under sheets of either sheet rock or plywood or some other similar construction material, and was further trapped in that they also set the device to go off if someone were to try and pick up the boards to look under them, and the Skelebot sensors would have a tougher time than normal to find them because these devices used very little eletrical components, therefore had a muchh smaller EM signature than most other devices, the their on board air chemical testing kits were bare bones to say the least. It was decided after that that, for the rest of the day at the very least, to have the Skelebots move and inspect the under large boards.
Last edited by Logan Wright on Sun Jul 16, 2017 5:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
OOC Comments
Pvt. Logan Wright
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 14 (7); Strain: 1;
Weapon in hand: CM-1902 Assault Shotgun
Ammo: 50/50 (20/17 Slugs, 20/16 Buckshot, 10/17 Big Bore)
Grenade: 0/2 Plasma 0/2 Frag
Bennies: 4

Current Conditions:

Alts: Jitters 13th SET, The Quiet Ones
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Raleigh Ray Colton
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Raleigh Ray Colton »

Heros Journey -- Training
Training: [dice]0[/dice] (Forbidden Result -- Rerolling)
Training: [dice]1[/dice]
Opting for a #7: Part of your character’s extensive training including full understanding of a particular occupation or area of focus. You may give her one Professional Edge, ignoring requirements, subject to the GM’s approval.
  • Professional Edge: Mr. Fix It -- The inventor adds +2 to Repair rolls. With a raise, he halves the time normally required to fix something. This means that if a particular Repair job already states that a raise repairs it in half the time, a Mr. Fix It could finish the job in one-quarter the time with a raise.


That first night in the dorm with Wright was hell on Raleigh Ray. The noises that came out of that man's mouth and nose while he slept was enough to make Raleigh Ray contemplate eating a bullet to escape it! In the middle of the night, he took refuge in the common area where he slept the remainder of the night on the couch. Though lumpy, hard, and generally uncomfortable, it was paradise compared to the broken chainsaw that was his roomie.

In the morning, he was awoken by a swift kick of the couch by Sergeant Dansk. "Drop your cock and grab your socks, Colton! It's time to rise and shine!" Raleigh Ray shot up from the couch, wide eyed and startled. After a second, his brain caught up to what was going on. He looked down at his new watch form the PX and noticed that he overslept by one minute by the time Sergeant forcefully roused him from his slumber. The tech-savvy Ozark boy kicked himself for not setting an alarm on is new watch; a mistake he would not repeat.

That day Raleigh Ray got to work with his training, making sure he didn't fall behind on his studies while at the same time remaining diligent about his duties; in particular, maintaining the e-clip charger and cooking for the squad when needed. While he wasn't always perfect, he was dogged and unswerving in his dedication. A quality that caught the attention of the more seasoned and practiced mechanics on the base.

Curious to see if he was come civie poser or a real man of the wrench, one of the other mechanics came up to Colton and asked him a question. "Hey, N.F.G., I'm working on a torque converter for that Mark V over there. You have Ratcheting 12mm Allen Spanner I can borrow?"

Raleigh Ray stopped what he was doing, looked over the burly man's shoulder at the Mark V in question, spit into an empty can of Chi Cola he stole from a trash can earlier, and gave the senior mechanic a suspicions sideways look. "Sir, that thing runs on hub-mounted electric motors and an electronic virtual transmission. What the hell is a torque converter doin' in ride like that?"

The burly mechanic simply squinted his eyes and nodded in approval, and then walked away without saying a word. While initially confused, not getting that he just passed a test, Raleigh Ray shrugged in confusion before getting back to his duties and training.

As the second day set on, Raleigh Ray went back to his dorm room, ready for a good night's rest. After a shower and a shit in the bathroom across the hall, saying "Hi." to Medic along the way with a cheerful "Hey hey! Dr. Love!" , he went to straight to bed for a well-earned night's sleep. But again the broken chainsaw that was his roommate was making all sorts of noises again. Raleigh Ray did his best to tune it out, but once more ended up taking sanctuary on the couch in the common area. At least this time he had the presence of mind to set the alarm on his fancy new watch.

The days started to become more routine after that; walking up on the common room couch ahead of the Sergeant, getting cleaned up and his hair primed into a perfect coif for the day, tending the e-clip chargers, morning food, studies, noon food, training, evening food, tend the e-clip chargers, homework studies & casual time, shower & a shit, sleep first in his bed, and then relocate to the common area couch. But as the days moved on, things gradually improved. At night he was able to stand Wright's weird nocturnal noises later and later into the A.M. hours, though he never got used to it. What's more, the seasoned mechanics and engineers would talk to him a little bit more every day; so much so that one day Raleigh Ray's routine was completely interrupted by an opportunity.

One day while working on the squad's APC, giving it a regular oil change, Raleigh Ray was approached by one of the guys that normally hung around with the mechanics. He knew her; it was Corporal Susan Tyco, combat engineer. "Hey, Colton. We need you over here. One of our regular ratchet-men is down with some stomach bug and we need a substitute out on an op."

Both surprised and a wee bit scared, Raleigh Ray replied, "I don't know. My sergeant may not like me doing anythin' froggy like that runnin' off all willy nilly. You sure it's okay?"

"You bet it's okay!" Corporal Tyco assured him. "In fact, I already checked and cleared it with your Sergeant ... Dusk."

"Dansk" Raleigh Ray corrected her.

"Yea, him! Said you're due for some real experience out in the shit."

Before he knew what was happening, Raleigh Ray found himself clad in body armor and with a mechanics kit on his back and CP-40 slung over his shoulder, inside an Mark V APC rolling through downtown Old Chicago. As it was quickly explained to him, he was shanghaied into their combat engineering squad on their way to assist the findings of a recon squad who requested some quick demolitions work. They were to meet the recon squad on site and collapse part of one of the major buildings downtown. Out of curiosity, in case he needed to know later, Raleigh Ray asked, "Hey which squad are we meeting up with?"

"Echo Three Eight." came the answer from someone he didn't know.

After a bumpy twenty-minute ride,the Mark V came to a stop and everyone exited the vehicle. Raleigh Ray looked up and up at the towering heights of an old sports stadium. Other than the encapsulated radio chatter in his helmet's ear, the air outside was still and silent. He expected to see some signs of life, but to his growing sense of suspense, nothing moved at all. Not even the stir of litter and debris. Suddenly a hand slapped Raleigh Ray on the shoulder. It was Tyco. "Come on, Colton! Time to blow shit up!"

The squad entered the old concrete shell of the dilapidated stadium, moving at a jog of a pace. Through the bending turns of the structure, making their way through crumbled sections and walls of cobwebbing, the team rushed to meet up with the recon soldiers. The sergeant of the combat engineer squad, Sgt. Freddy Vasquez, seemed to know where they were going, but at the same time it was disconcerting how all of the sergeant's attempts to contact the recon team on the radio was met with silence. Raleigh Ray surmised it must have been all the reinforced concrete in the way of the radio signals. That had to be it!

Suddenly the radio traffic in his ear went form idle chatter to shouts of dire peril! "Contact! Contact! Ten o'clock!" ... "Jesus Christ, what is that?!?" ... "Fall back! Fall back!!" ... "Tango Tango Seven, we need close air support right fucking yesterday!!" It was the radio communiques of Echo Three Eight coming through loud and clear as the engineering team must have stumbled into a radio-sweet-spot in the complex. And yet, though heard, none of them were to be seen.

Sergeant Vasquez tried once more to reach out to them and find out what was going on. "Echo Three Eight, this is Yankee Papa Four. We are on site and awaiting instructions. Do you copy?"

For a moment it seemed as if the radio broadcast was either not being received or outright ignored. Then the as the distinct sound of rail gun fire filled the air in the distance, someone from the recon team responded. "Yankee Papa Four? Didn't you receive our abort code? You guys aren't supposed to be here! This place is lousy with demons! Get out before ..." The signal cut off just as a loud explosion rattled the whole stadium, disrupting the radio waves with a burst of static.

"You heard the man!" the Sergeant Vasquez said, turning to his men and Raleigh Ray. "Let's get the fuck out of ..." He paused in mid sentence as his eyes picked up a shadow of movement behind the squad. "... here?" A split second after he spit out his last word, a bolt of lighting thundered over the squad's collective heads, blasting the Sergeant square in the chest. Then enemy had found them!

While all of the squad's members were trained soldiers, for a brief second panic ensued among the ranks. "Holy shit!" ... "Contact, six o'clock!" ... "No shit, Sherlock!" ... "Mist the mother fucker!" Lasers streaked in volley fire in the direction of the unseen attacker only to cook open air. The demon has already fallen back, most likely to get more bodies to throw at the squad. It was only a matter of time before they would be back.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Corporal Tyco yelled, immediately taking over with the sergeant down. She began to bark orders at individuals to take up defensive positions, check on the sergeant, and radio for help. When she got to Raleigh Ray, her orders were simple. "Colton, stay out of the way and don't die."

Just then, a transmission was overheard on the radio. "Be advised, Tango Tango Seven is about to commence with missile bombardment in thirty seconds." The voice was oddly calm, as if what was happening was no more exciting than pouring a glass of milk.

With the way they came in cut off, and the way forward most like a war zone, they only had one option to chose; the war zone. Two of the combat engineers picked up the sergeant's unconscious (possibly dead) body and carried him roman-chair style. The rest took up positions fore and aft, making sure the New Guy was up front where he could do them the favor of not being killed by the enemy massing to their rear, or be so courteous as to take a laser form an unseen hostile up ahead. While Raleigh Ray wasn't too keen about the latter prospect, he was grateful about the former aspect. Regardless, they were too deep into old stadium. There was no way they would make it out in time!

With mere seconds left on the clock, Raleigh Ray's mind crystallized and time slowed down. He took in his surroundings and filtered it through his hillbilly-analytical mind. And then he saw it. Two big load-bearing supports in good-looking condition with a sturdy slab of concrete over it. Possibly part of some promenade once upon a time. Regardless of what it may have been hundreds of years ago, to day it would make due as a bomb-shelter!

"Hey!! Over here!" Raleigh Ray shouted as he darted into the safe spot. With no time to question, the rest of the squad followed just in time for the show to begin. The whole stadium rocked and shuttered, and dust filled every inch of air around them. The noise was deafening, and for the longest time all Raleigh Ray could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

But then as the dust started to clear, a beam of sunlight began to shine through, warming the face-plate of Raleigh Ray's armor. He wiped a layer of dust off his visor to see more clearly. Before him were the remains of a crumbled exterior wall, providing him and his squad with a way out. In all other directions was noting but rubble and the crushed remains of numerous dog-like demons. But in their safe-spot, they were spared the worst of it.

He stepped out into the sunlight to find that all was now calm. The flight of SAMAS that leveled the place could be seen flying away, and several platoons of regular army grunts were in the area mopping up. Raleigh Ray removed his helmet and took in a fresh breath of air... and then immediately began to cough. The air was still thick with dust.

Hearing his coughing spell, one of the regular army grunts walked up. Raleigh Ray composed himself and got out the only words that came to mind. "We were in there!" he wearily said, thumbing over his shoulder towards the rubble and fellow brothers & sisters in arms as they made they way out as well.

The grunt seemed to look in that direction, and then said, "What do you want? A medal? Get out of here! You're in the way."

Within minutes Raleigh Ray and the rest of the squad were loaded up in their APC, heading back to base. As it turned out, Sergeant Vasquez was only stunned from the blast and suffered a modest concussion, though his armor was thoroughly trashed. No one outright gave Raleigh Ray credit for saving their lives -- not in the official report, nor to his face -- but they all knew it. From that day forward, with them and the mechanics at least, the name Colton was as good as gold, and they let him hone his mechanical craft on projects of all kinds, lending him tips and tricks of the trade as he did so. In short order, Raleigh Ray was swinging a wrench like he was in the old day, like the professional he was back in the Chi Town Burbs and the Ozarks before.

That night after all the excitement, Raleigh Ray got back to his routine as best he could. He checked the e-clip chargers, had the most delicious meal he had ever tasted (even though it was just boiled corn and Shit on a Shingle that night), popped in to say "Hi" to Medic and Bouchard, showered, shit, and hit his bed like an anvil.

He awoke the next morning in his own bed, not on the couch in the common area. He discovered himself now immune to the noises of his roommate; didn't notice it once throughout the entire night. Like always, the alarm on his watch woke him five minutes before revelry. "Come on, Wrighty Tighty. Drop your cock and grab your socks. Time to rise and shine!"
CPL Raleigh Ray Colton
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness:15(6); Strain: 1;
Weapons: (* indicates which is presently In Hand)
* "Kay", C-18 Laser Pistol (Ammo: 1/1)
Vibro Bayonet
Skelebot Stats

Bennies: 5/5
(reset April 2020)
EP Ledger
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Steelcreek
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Joined: Fri Sep 29, 2017 9:08 am

Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Steelcreek »

Rotation Day Interlude
OOC Comments
So as to avoid breaking the chronology of the in-line topics, I figured it was best to post this here. If needed, I can do a series of posts taking Steelcreek through the day (as opposed to just his epically poor attempt at a requisition roll).
Rolls
Notice [dice]0[/dice]
Notice Wild [dice]1[/dice]
Persuasion (untrained) [dice]2[/dice] (includes -2 for Requisition roll and -2 for Charisma)
Persuasion Wild [dice]3[/dice]
Jaren shows up for muster loaded with caffeine and ready to roll. Having been warned that today would be scheduled to the teeth, he and two of the other Psi-Stalkers on base had gone hunting in the morning. In some quieter postings, the Coalition would sometimes keep a handful of magically active prisoners or low-priority supernatural critters on hand as a sort of mess hall for Psi-Stalkers, but not in Old Chicago. ”If you can’t eat in Old Chicago,” his oldest brother had told him, ”then you deserve to starve.”

He shuffles through the lines, remembering what he’d been told. Keep your head down, don’t piss anyone off, get your gear, get your assignment, and don’t screw anything up until you get to the field. Bases and fortresses are for humans; here, people with data pads and inventories hold all the power, and nobody puts Psi-Stalkers in supply.

As he watches the soldiers around him, he notices a few of them talking the supply soldiers into parting with better kit. He’s not familiar with most of the names he hears, but overhears someone mention an expert ticket for climbing gear, and he perks up. Expert climbing gear? I wonder what that is. He imagines he’ll be spending a fair amount of time scaling old buildings and the like for his squad out there, and he liked his normal climbing gear just fine... but this was expert gear. Would that help him manage even better?

As he approaches the next supply soldier, he makes up his mind. Worth a shot, he thinks to himself. ”I couldn’t help but overhear you have tickets back there for expert climbing gear. I’m my squad’s scout and designated climber, and that sure would come in handy when lives are on the line.” He lays it on a little thick, but maybe that’s what humans liked? He reads the supply soldier’s face to see.

And is met with laughter. Honest-to-goodness, genuine mirth. ”Expert... ha ha ha... “expert” climbing gear? With no orders, pasty?” Jaren can see the man’s oversized belly shaking. ”Oh, man. I needed that today.” The soldier shakes his head, wipes a tear from one eye, and then drops the grin. ”No. Take your gear and move on, and be glad to get it. Another word, and you go back to the end of the line.” He shoves a duffel at Jaren and turns to the next soldier in line (who Jaren overhears does get a ticket for something extra).

Well, nothing ventured, I guess. That could certainly have gone worse. Not much worse, but worse. As he strips, changes, and packs, he notices a few soldiers around him trying to hide grins at his expense.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Back to plan A. Just get through the day.


—————————————————-

Unfortunately, it does not seem as though fate has a smooth day planned out for Jaren. Just after he got through the line to meet up with his assigned squad, new orders come down. A sergeant pulls his corporal aside and whispers something in his ear. The corporal nods, stone faced, and points at Jaren. “You, Psi-Stalker. Sounds like you’ve been reassigned. Somebody reassigned an entire rifle squad as combat engineers, so the army is making up a new Three-Three on the fly. You’re to get your tags re-scanned and report to them.”

So Jaren wanders back through the crowd of soldiers to the spot he’d been told. Of course, the new squad is short-handed; only five troops are there when Jaren arrives, and the highest ranking non-com is a zit-faced PFC who doesn’t yet look old enough to drive, let alone to lead men. Wonderful.

Jaren nods to the PFC, “This the new Three-Three?” he asks. The zit-faced kid looks at him wide-eyed for just a moment before composing himself. He looks down his enormous nose at Jaren and says, “You’re our scout, then, Psi-Stalker? It took you long enough to get here. Did you get lost on your way over? Was the complex terrain of the parade ground too taxing for your little mind?” One of the other soldiers stifles a chuckle, a large man with large ears to match, and Jaren stifles a sigh.

Lovely. This should be a pleasant deployment. Jaren merely grunts and falls in. PFC Zit doesn’t look like he knows how to respond to that, and says “Right. Hey, I wonder if we could trade him in for a dog boy?” Private Big Ears gives a hearty laugh at that, and the other three soldiers, two women and a male, don’t engage.

——————————————————

Breakfast goes fine, in that he is able to get away from his new squad for a bit, but the rest of the day is one disaster after another. Several of his new squad mates receive tickets for items that were meant for the original members of Chicago Three-Three, except his new squad mates do not have the same training as the men and women they were replacing. Their grenadier is given a trauma kit. One of their riflemen is given a light laser rifle and a repair kit, for some reason. Thankfully, Jaren’s own kit comes in as expected; whoever the original Three-Three had for a scout was in line for the same load out as he was, because he gets his rifle, pistol and grenades stowed away just fine.

Thanks to all the mix ups, they report to the wrong APC and spend a solid half hour working on someone else’s machine. Then, they are half an hour behind and miss midday chow entirely, which leads to some heated arguments between the humans. Jaren keeps to himself as best he can, but still catches more than his share of dress-downs from his human compatriots. Idiots, he thinks. Looks like nobody wanted to give up their best and brightest for the new unit. Wonder what that says about my last squad?

——————————————————-

Once one of the more senior NCOs gets Chicago Three-Three sorted out and back on some semblance of a schedule, they get some free time. Jaren ends up stuck bunking with Big Ears, who takes the bottom bunk and warns “None o’ yer mutant funny business, ya hear me? I don’t want you wakin’ me up fer no crazy barbarian rituals or nothin’, or I will kill you m’sself and say you fell in the shower, and ain’t nobody gonna look at me twice.” Well, thinks Jaren, you’d have to visit a shower at least once for anyone to believe that.

So Jaren grunts, his new go-to means of communication with his squad mates, and heads out the door. The PX isn’t far, and it means he actually gets some time to his thoughts. I’m not here to make friends, he thinks, but I also wouldn’t mind it terribly if at least one of my squadmates showed aptitude for anything other than whining like an incontinent fury-beetle.

He picks up:
  • - 3 Battle Dress Utilities (light) (255)
    - 2 Battle Dress Utilities (medium) (260)
    - 2 sets of PT shoes (100)
    - 3 sets of PT clothes (90)
    - 6 sets of underclothes (not listed; presumably nominal)
    - Poncho (50)
    - Shooting glasses (unless optics glasses are available and within his means, in which case he’ll get those) (100)
    - Grooming kit (20)
    - Orange Spike 24 pack (80)
    Total: 955
Last edited by Steelcreek on Sun Oct 01, 2017 3:10 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Steelcreek
Jaren Steelcreek
Parry: 6; Toughness: 17(8)
Notes: Animal Empathy, Quick, Field Intel, Psychic Bloodhound, Command (for dog boys)
Jaren Steelcreek
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Steelcreek
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Steelcreek »

Hero’s Journey Interlude
Training Table - 14
Training: [dice]0[/dice]. When it gets up-close and ugly, your hero knows how to set up her opponents for a nasty fall, while protecting herself. She has the Dirty Fighter Edge (or Tricky Fighter, if she already has Dirty Fighter). She also gains +1 to Parry.
The CS doesn’t allow Psi-Stalkers much latitude in “elective” courses, so Jaren decided to make the most of his time in Old Chicago and work himself into an extra combat patrol wherever he could. Not every patrol ended in an encounter, after all, and he needed to eat every day, so the more time spent outside the fortifications the more chances he had to feed.
The next picture in the presentation was that of a dog boy securing a stake in a obvious vampire and beheading it, and then burning both separately. "Rule the Second: Respect, but do not hate. Hate and love are two sides of the same coin. There is no love in my heart for the scum out there, hence there is no room for hate. But if you respect them, you will not underestimate them. And underestimating your opponent will get you killed. Respect their ability to kill you, respect that they have the professionalism to carry it out, and that they indeed do use advanced tactics, oftentimes learned the hard way against us."
That had turned out to be true. On his fourth or fifth volunteer patrol, he was working with a squad he didn’t know but who happened to have another Ranger on the roster, PFC. Newcastle, a human female who hailed from Chi-Town. They were set to patrol an area where the Devourers had been known to frequent, and he hadn’t had the pleasure of running into that faction in his short time at Fort Resilience.

The squad moved in two, four-soldier fireteams through the rubble of the city, and they were loaded for bear. Each soldier had been given extra e-clips and grenades, even Jaren. The corporal, a short human whose name Jaren never learned, didn’t say much beyond to tell them to “keep your eyes open.” Newcastle was assigned to take point on Alpha Team, and Jaren was given the same assignment on Beta.

After a few hours patrolling, the corporal called for a brief halt to rehydrate and catch their breath. He put Jaren on security to the west, and a soldier Jaren didn’t know (Miller, maybe?) off to the east. While he kept watch, Newcastle wandered up and took cover behind the burnt out husk of a car nearby.

Pointing to Jaren’s rifle, a CV-212 sniper rifle, she asked ”You any good with that thing?”

He rolls a shoulder in response and said ”I’m certified on it.”

She let out a small huff in response. ”Of course you’re certified on it. It’ a rifle. You’re a Ranger. You had better be certified on it. But what I asked if you were any good with it, and we both know that ain’t the same thing.”

It was a fair point. Jaren could shoot well enough, and the scope and three-round burst setting on the rifle made it easier, but he didn’t consider himself a marksman.

He mulled it for a moment, and then said “I’m okay.”

She nodded. “That’s what I figured.” Pointing at her own rifle, an old-style C-12 laser assault model with a bayonet affixed beneath the barrel, she says “On most patrols, a sniper rifle is fine, but sometimes you have to be able to shoot on the run, and the CV-212 sucks for that. And this patrol has the feel of one where, if we find the enemy, we are going to need to be on the move in a hurry. You tracking?” He wasn’t, but nodded slowly anyway. No need to display ignorance.

“Look, the Devourers are sneaky bastards. They like to send in their Brodkil first sometimes, which is why we have to go thermal,” she gestures at her helmet “even in the middle of the day. Well, you don’t. But the rest of us do.” Jaren, in fact, had his face plate up and was relying on his psychic sense to let him know if anything supernatural tried sneaking up on them. “And when they show up, it’s CQB and fighting on the move, and until you’re a lot better than just okay with that rifle, you might want to consider carrying something different in this part of town.”

Jaren mulls that over. Nodding at the bayonet, “What’s with the pig-sticker? That’s not standard issue.”

She shrugs. “We’re Rangers. Standard issue is for standard troops. And besides, didn’t you hear what I just said? CQB, greenie. Doesn’t get much closer quarters than a bayonet.” She gives him a thump on the shoulder and then falls back to her fireteam.

A few minutes pass, and the corporal calls for them to move out. As they walk, he feels an itch begin on the back of his neck, and he reaches up absently to scratch it before remembering that he can’t get to it through all the body armor. CQB, he thinks. Glancing down at his rifle, he finds that he agrees with Newcastle, This thing will be hell in close quarters. So he slings the rifle cross-body and draws his CP-30 in one hand and his vibro-knife in the other, without breaking his stride. He half expected the corporal to order him to holster the sidearm and get his rifle back out, but either the man didn’t notice or didn’t care. Or, a little voice inside whispers, he’s the one who sent Newcastle to you to begin with.

Another hour passed without incident, and then one more. Jaren actually starts to feel hungry, never a good sign, when he senses something moving. 25, maybe 30 yards from his position, inside the hollowed out remains of what was once a high-rise, he definitely saw motion. He signals for a halt and uses hand signs to communicate to the rest of the team, who all go tense and ready their weapons for a potential contact.

Jaren let out a slow breath and had just began creeping forward to investigate when the first Brodkil appeared. Just as Newcastle had said, he popped into sight from only 20 yards away and charged the heart of their squad. Another one, the one Jaren had seen, appeared from within the building and roared. And then another climbed out from under a pile of rubble off to the far side of the squad, this one with cybernetic body parts and a large vibro-blade. And then another appeared. And another.

The squad needed no order; they let free with their weapons when the first of the beasts appeared. Jaren shouted and fired his pistol at the nearest one, who ran right at him, swinging a vibro-sword.

He caught the blade on his knife, turned it aside, and stabbed the creature in the neck, a lucky hit. As the demon died, Jaren took a moment to fill himself on its released energy, and then he went right back to work. He heard someone call the contact in, but wondered if the fight would last long enough for anyone to assist.

He saw Newcastle out of the corner of his eye, and she was a blur, stabbing her bayonet into the leg of the creature nearest her and then sliding underneath it to clear her team’s line of fire. While it was distracted by the hole in its leg, the rest of her fireteam took it down, hard.

The entire combat lasted only minutes. One soldier, a grenadier, was injured by a laser shot, but they had him bandaged up and mobile and moving within a few minutes of the last shot. Backup arrived in the form of a SAMAS wing, and they spotted another group of demons less than one klick to the south of the squad. As the flying armors took off to handle the rest of the Brodkil, Jaren approached Newcastle.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asked, genuinely impressed.

“What? Did they not teach that at Ranger school?” she asked jokingly. “Tell you what, let’s just worry about getting back to base for right now. You still want to know tomorrow, come meet me at 0430 and we’ll spar, Ranger to Ranger. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Steelcreek
Jaren Steelcreek
Parry: 6; Toughness: 17(8)
Notes: Animal Empathy, Quick, Field Intel, Psychic Bloodhound, Command (for dog boys)
Jaren Steelcreek
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Steelcreek
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Steelcreek »

Corporal Requisition Roll
[dice]0[/dice], Wild [dice]1[/dice]
Jaren finishes sparring with Newcastle when her squad’s corporal approaches. ”Steelcreek, Newcastle tells me you’re a climber, and everyone else tells me you made a fool of yourself on Rotation Day trying to get yourself an expert set of climbing gear.”

Jaren nods, not sure where this is going. The corporal holds out a ticket to Jaren. ”I have some friends in supply, and you might not be one of my soldiers, but you tag along often enough that you might as well be. And you spotted that Brodkil ambush before they killed anyone, and I owe you for that. Psi-Stalker or not, you got my people back in one piece.”

Jaren isn’t used to humans treating him with anything approaching respect, except for Newcastle, and that was exclusively because he was a Ranger. ”Thank you,” Jaren starts, but the corporal waives him off.

”Eh, it’s not a thing. Don’t make it a thing. Just go get yourself some gear, and keep volunteering for our patrols.”

Jaren does both.
Steelcreek
Jaren Steelcreek
Parry: 6; Toughness: 17(8)
Notes: Animal Empathy, Quick, Field Intel, Psychic Bloodhound, Command (for dog boys)
Jaren Steelcreek
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Steelcreek »

Jaren’s day had started out fine, but was looking increasingly like it would take a turn.

He had reported to the common room for the briefing and to watch his squad mates try and stuff as much food into their faces as possible while still attempting to appear soldierly. Most of them fell short of the mark on that. As was his custom, Jaren had gotten up before his squad and gone hunting with the Psi-Stalker running Third Platoon’s dog pack, but he sipped at an orange juice just the same. He could always use the fluids, and he seemed to unsettle his compatriots less if they saw him taking part in normal “human” activities, like communal meals.

He much preferred the hunt to milling around like prey animals at pasture, but he supposed that was just how things worked for humans. He had grown very fond of the Three Six dog pack, and he was more than a little envious of his fellow stalker who got to work with the dog boys day in and out. Maybe when this is all over, the tribe can convince the Coalition to part with a small pack. They are handy on a hunt.

He listened attentively to the Lieutenant lay out their task for the day, and felt some hope for the day. Finally, he thought, field work in force. He had been on several short-range, squad level patrols, both with his squad and as an add-in on others, but this was the Three Three’s first real combat patrol as part of a larger force. Field work meant plenty of hunting, and it meant his squad would have opportunities to work in tandem with the rest of the platoon.

For as much as Jaren disliked his own squad, he had found reasons to respect most of the rest of the soldiers in his platoon. Third Platoon was well-run, and in larger exercises (like today’s), he always had plenty of chances to interact with the rest of the platoon’s fighters.

After receiving the order to fall out, Jaren got suited up and paid a visit to the armory to claim his gear. He filtered into Third Platoon’s lead Mark V with the rest of his squad and squeezed in between a grenadier and a Mauler. For such big machines, the Coalition doesn’t build these with much in the way of spare room inside. As he always did inside an APC, he felt a little claustrophobic. He disliked being away from the air and sky, and he hated that his psychic sense could feel nothing beyond the sealed doors.

He didn’t need to wait long to get back outside, though. After less than half an hour in transit, the Mark V is rocked by an explosion, and Jaren felt the vehicle slide out from under them and land awkwardly.

“Out!” yelled someone in a commanding voice. Was that the sergeant? Hard to tell over the sudden din. Doors opened, and Jaren and the rest of the riflemen spilled out of the APC to find missiles flying and lasers firing from all sides.

They’ve got us in an ambush! This is why you put scouts where they can actually see what’s in front of them!

He looked for cover, took aim with his rifle, and squeezed off several shots. The rest of the men in the Mark V did the same, giving as good as they got, but the ambush was a good one and they were pinned down.

The rest of the patrol opened up on their assailants, and a Mauler power armor pilot, of all things, came rushing over to their downed Mark V, shouting instructions in a familiar accent and hoisting the APC for repairs. I wonder if he’s from back home. He had not run into many soldiers from El Dorado since being stationed in Old Chicago.

Jaren watched as two of the buildings crumbled around the ambushers, and, almost as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. He slung his rifle, drew his CP-30 and vibro-knife, and went to check for survivors among the enemy. If I’m lucky, he thought, maybe I’ll get a second feeding in today.

————————————
Since the initial skirmish, the day had gone quietly. Jaren had taken up an observation position on some high ground, keeping an eye out with his rifle’s scope, and he felt a growing sense of unease.

Something’s wrong, he thought, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He radioed Jansen, the Psi-Stalker from the Three Six. “Three Six One, this is Three Three Five. You and the mutts feel anything off about this place? Over.”

The reply came, “Yeah, Three Three Five, something is wrong, but no idea what. We’re keeping an eye out. Three Six One Out.” Jansen was an old hand with his pack, and Jaren should have been comforted that the pack was on guard, but Jansen’s confirmation had only made him more uneasy.

Jaren closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out with his psychic senses. The area absolutely teemed with traces of the supernatural, but it was mostly unfocused, almost like the air molecules around them all held trace amounts of magic. Something is there, I know it. He pushed harder, and harder still, but could not quite pinpoint anything.

The minutes ticked into hours, and nothing happened. A sniper from another squad came to relieve him, and he moved back toward the vehicles to stretch his legs. He found the place in a bit of an uproar, as apparently a dog boy (not one of the pack, thankfully) had gone missing in one of the buildings. Jaren felt another tug at his senses, something just out of reach, and he shook his head to clear it. There is something about this spot…

The knot that had been building in his stomach added a few new twists. This feels like the stillness before the pounce, but who is doing the pouncing? I’m not sure we are the hunters today.
Steelcreek
Jaren Steelcreek
Parry: 6; Toughness: 17(8)
Notes: Animal Empathy, Quick, Field Intel, Psychic Bloodhound, Command (for dog boys)
Jaren Steelcreek
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Grimes
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Grimes »

1st interlude: HJ Roll- Experience and wisdom: [dice]0[/dice] Elan!

Called into the principles office on the first day of school. Only this wasn't the principles office, and this is definately not school. Grimes is lookimg at a plackard on a door that reads Captian "Meat Stick" Harlick. What a mouthful. Standing next to Grimes is a scrawny pencil neck steely eyed missile man, Private Bloomer by his uniform. He looks just as nerveous as I am, what did he do? The two share a breif who are you moment and then walk into the office.

Captain Harlick has been expounding on all the reasons why Private Daryl Grimes and Bloomer are just not cut out for the military." Gentleman... Look there are medical reasons, socioeconomic reasons, reasons that I could give a fucks sake for. But really the one reason we cannot have you in the military is because of heart. My job here is to determine if in the face of overwhelming odds, terrifyimg fear that will have you run back to your mommies, and an enemy so devious you will be lucky if you survive enough for partial reconstruction... My job is to determine if you can cut it gentleman. One glance at you and I know you need to go home... Go back to Sault Ste Marie." The captian looks pointedly at Grimes. " Or head packimg back to the sweet saftey of the gleamimg walls of Chi-town. He glances at Bloomer. The captain clasps his hands behind his back, " Well gentleman, thats it. You do not have heart."

Outside the basic training camp Grimes and Bloomer were millimg arround the transport pick up area with a dozen or so folks waiting to move on. A few parked hover bikes were to their left and the base's main entrance was to the right. Up the road was a large abandoned watch tower on stilts, an homage to the the last stand of heroes of humanity. They did not make it, castout and rejected. Thats when the screaming transport came careening arround the corner at the same time alpha company came out of the base for their nightly jog. Its comimg in too fast, does it even see those soldiers!!? Shit no! Spurned on by fellow country men in danger Grimes lepped onto one of the hover bikes, and Bloomer followed suit. Grimes gunned it and headed right for the transport...

It was only later during an inquiry it was revealed that the transport was piloted by a Tolkeen sympathizer and had been planning on taking out alpha company, a group of new recruits being sent to the front. Grimes and Bloomer's actions, ramimg the hover bike into the derilict watch tower had crushed the transport under its mass saving the CS's best and brightest from harm. Upon reviewing the case, Captian "Meat Stick" Harlick marked both applicants as approved, as far as anyone knows it was the only time he change his mind.

Watching the two unconscious and in traction Harlick smiles and whispers to his aide, " Who knows, maybe they do have heart."
Grimes at a Glance
Charisma: 2; Pace: 6; Parry:5; Toughness: 5; Strain: 0

Combat edges:
Elan:+2 when spending a benny to reroll a trait
Rock and roll: when you do not move ignore autofire penalties
Bennies
5/3
+1 good plan
+1 for RP
+1 benny Bonanza
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Grimes
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Grimes »

Prior to the inevitable capture the ill fated squad grimes was assigned to.
Captain Harlick sighs and looks at the squad assembled before him. He looks to one of his aids and mutters," So this is who they send for a recon op? Pencil neck, Grimey, and a few other outcasts. Time to get rid of the dead weight."
Grimes stares hard at the captain. What the frack, we are right here.
The aid and captain chuckle and then captain "meat stick" Harlick claps his hands drawing the team to attention.
" At 0600 two civilians reported a disturbance. We need a team to clamp some eye balls on it. You are who we got."
Daryl Grimes figets a bit excited not for combat but for the opertunity to get out of base. I have been cooped up in recovery for far too long.
Captain Harlick looks at Grimes and directly says, " There are no special requisitions for this mission, no power armor's either. 1 knife, 2 grenades, and last years laser rifle. That's it do you men understand? The soldiers snap to Grimes included with a resounding yesss sir!
Captain Harlick just shakes his head not caring, " I am not going to lie to you, we are sending you out undermanned, bare bones, and High Command does give a squats ass if you make it back. If you get into a pinch of trouble just find a hole because your only backup are the real soldiers that will take care of any threat. Details are right in this package. Move out troopers. Any of you who survive, you'll just find another sorry ass mission waiting for you when you get back. So put some thought into if you got the grit to make it back for more.". Captain "Meat Stick" Harlick looks side eyed at his aid and the two men chuckle as the troopers file out.
Grimes walks out and slumps against the wall. His friend Bloomer slides up next too him. Grimes grins a bit sheepishly, " Well Bloomer we are in it now. From the hospital to the fire huh?". Bloomer nods and pushes his glasses up along his nose. Grimes laughs, " You sure you no not want some cyber eyes? That pretty lady Doc, Francine seemed to want to get you some shiny x-rays eye balls."
Bloomer just shakes his head, " Naw man, no cybernetics. Common lets grab some grub and then our gear."
Grimes at a Glance
Charisma: 2; Pace: 6; Parry:5; Toughness: 5; Strain: 0

Combat edges:
Elan:+2 when spending a benny to reroll a trait
Rock and roll: when you do not move ignore autofire penalties
Bennies
5/3
+1 good plan
+1 for RP
+1 benny Bonanza
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LoJack
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by LoJack »

Shi's Interlude and Heroes' Journey
Interlude HJ
  • Table: Education
  • Roll [dice]0[/dice]
  • Description: Gain K/Politics d8, +2 Persuassion
Shi was not sure who had noticed his skills in scquisitions. His training record showed he was a medic and his rank gave no indication of his natural talents. Someone had been observing and knew he could get things. Now the brass was all over him.

As a trained medic he had flexibility in his duty assignments and it seemed that both Lieutenant Simms and Sergeant Dansk were taking advantage. Any day he could be assigned to either as a driver or an advisor on medical situations with the platoon. More frequently, he was sent to make acquisitions from the CS Armory.

The situation was not one sided. He had front row seats during the political engagements that occured in the CS between senior and junior staff. It offered excellent places to observe the subtle nuiances of military organizations at its very core. Learning the proper way to disagree with one's superiors and still maintain decorum. Shi was all the more comitted to no attachments within the CS and planning a suitable means for retirement.
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Dina Perry
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Dina Perry »

Interlude HJ
Table: Experience & Wisdom
Roll: [dice]0[/dice]
Description: You may choose any one of the previous results. Therefore, Life on the road, in the wilderness, and wandering the streets of the cities that remain gave your character special insight and some key experience with a particular calling. You may give her one Professional Edge, ignoring requirements, subject to the GM’s approval and it making at least some kind of sense.
Professional Edge: Assassin
Assassins are trained killers who know how to kill with deadly precision — if they can properly approach their prey. Assassins add +2 to any damage roll where they strike a foe unawares
(even with ranged attacks).
While everyone else was getting class room training or what not. Dina was out in the field with one of the senor members of her platoon, Sergeant First Class Covele. She was learning to kill monsters and people before they even knew she was there to shoot at them. Her small size also gave her some advantage to fit into smaller places.

One day, Sergeant First Class Covele showed up with a large case. "Today, we are testing a new toy and you get to have the honer of doing that testing." Because frankly we don't know if this thing won't just blow up in my hands and you are more expendable then me.

Opening the case revealed it to contain a CM-RG-15X Manpack Electromagnetic Rail Gun, a rather large and heave gun at that. "This should be interesting to use. It is an honor to get to test out equipment for the Coalition." Dina says.

Covele also hands her a datapad, "Here is the manual, read up on it before we use it."

Dina spends her off time reading up on the datapad and her on time training to ambush her targets for while until they are ready to field test the rail gun. Which is when Covele feels she has enough grasp of the gun.
PFC Dina Perry - CS Ranger - TAG Specialist
Pace: 6; Parry: 4; Toughness: 5; Strain: 0;
Weapons

CP-30 Laser Pistol
DMG: 2d6+1, AP 2
RANGE: 12/24/48
ROF: 3, 3RB
CM-940PR Precision Rifle
DMG: 2d8+5, AP 5
RANGE: 30/60/120
ROF: 1, Snapfire
MODS:
  • offset 2 points of range and/or darkness penalties
Venting
  • +1 to Shooting when using the aim action

CM-RG-15X Manpack Electromagnetic Rail Gun
DMG: 3d10+5 AP 15
RANGE: 125/250/500
ROF: 1
MODS:
  • offset 2 points of range and/or darkness penalties
  • double the benefits of the Aim action.

Note: SHOTS is current clip, AMMO is extra magazines.
CP-30 Laser Pistol SHOTS: 30/30 AMMO: 4/4
CM-940PR Precision Rifle SHOTS: 7/7 AMMO: 3/3
CM-RG-15X Manpack Electromagnetic Rail Gun SHOTS: 5/12 AMMO: 2/2
2 Fragmentation Grenades
2 Smoke Grenades
Vibro Knife
Toughness in Armor: 15(7)
Bennies: 0/3
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Cassandra Maverick
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Re: Interlude and the Heroes' Journey

Post by Cassandra Maverick »

HJ
Training [dice]0[/dice] - gain a Professional Edge (Master Psionic)
Cassandra walked into the training gym and looked around, surprised to find herself alone. A small Asian woman sat on the floor at a low table with her back to Cass. She wore a martial arts gi, but in Coalition Army colors

“Come in, Private Maverick,” the old woman said. “Take off your shoes out of respect when you enter someone’s dojo.”

Cass blinked. “Yes, sir,” she said, toeing off her tennies. She eyed the mat and then removed her socks as well. “You are Master Sergeant Absynthe Drake?” Cassandra came further into the room and stood at attention in her PT shorts and t-shirt.

“I am,” the small woman said, rising effortlessly to her feet. “Though Syn will do. Or in this context, sensei.

Cass cocked her head. She wasn’t familiar with that title. “Uh, yes, sir...sensei.”

With a gesture, the table floated away into a corner, and Cassandra stared. “You...You are Psi-Bat, like me?”

The woman turned and smiled. While she appeared middle aged, there was a wisdom in her eyes. She was beautiful and shorter than Cassandra, who wasn’t very tall herself.

“I am mostly retired now, but I still take pupils when one catches my interest.”

“I...I caught your interest?”

“I reviewed your training files from Psi-Bat, yes. I think you have much potential. I intend to help you tap it. For the glory of the Coalition, of course, to save humanity.” She waved her hand in a sort of dismissive gesture that confused Cassandra.

“Of course!” Cassandra said. “I want to be the best soldier I can be!”

Did Syn just roll her eyes.

“Come. Stand here. Close your eyes and open your mind.”

Cassandra did as instructed, coming to stand three feet in front of the petite instructor.

“Focus. On your body. On your surroundings. Your breathing.”

Cassandra did as instructed. Breathing was the foundation, she knew. She used that as her focus. Then she extended her awareness. She felt her power flow through her, that strange tickle at the back of her mind…

Wait!

Cassandra’s eyes flew open. Drake’s fist was already coming for the center of her chest. Cass tried to throw up a block, but the blow never connected. Instead, Cassandra was thrown across the room by an invisible force, slamming into the wall.

Luckily the walls were padded, as well, but it still left Cass dazed, shaking her head as she tried to clear it.

“Telekinesis? That isn’t fair!” Cass complained, staggering to her feet. She found the force lifting her again, toward the ceiling.

“You think some mind melter from the Federation is going to play fair, Private Maverick?” Syn asked, pinning Cass to the ceiling.

“Let me down!” Cassandra grunted and strained against the power.

“Get yourself down.”

Cass got angry. She felt like her brain was on fire. She knew what to do. She pumped that fire into herself, strengthening her body, her will, to fight against the hold in which Master Sergeant Drake held her. Cassandra gave a scream as she felt something pop in her head. Blood gushed from her nose and ears, and she broke free.

Cass screamed in anger, pain, and fright as she fell toward Drake. Her body impacted the tiny woman and Cassandra turned it into a roll, using her legs to throw the woman across the room. It was Drake’s turn to impact the wall. The Master Sergeant grinned as she picked herself up.

Cass got up as well, psychic energy coursing through her body. Drake launched herself at Cass with a cry of challenge, assaulting her with a flurry of blows. Cass blocked several, but several landed, but Cass absorbed them. Her mind reached out, capturing knowledge from the more experienced instructor.

Cass pressed her own attack. The front of her t-shirt was red with the blood from her nose. But she was focused, intent, driving Drake back, though not seeming to be able to land a significant blow.

Finally Drake simply caught Cassandra’s fist in the middle of an attack and held it there, with surprising strength.

“Enough!” Syn said in a commanding tone.

Cassandra blinked, staring at the smaller woman, and then she sagged to the mat as the power faded out of her. She groaned and breathed heavily as her nose throbbed. She touched the blood and stared at it on her fingers, dazed. Her head pounded like one of Bear 2’s Maulers was using it as a speed bag.

“Hush, little one,” Syn said quietly, floating over a cup of tea and handing it to Cassandra. “You will be fine, but you will need to take the rest of the day off to recover.”

Cassandra sipped the tea, and Syn rested her hands on either side of her head. Cassandra’s migraine faded to something manageable.

“What...what happened?” Cass finally managed to ask.

“You unlocked your next level of power,” Drake said. “There is still much you must learn.”

Cassandra blinked. “Does that mean more of you kicking my ass?”

Syn grinned, and Cassandra didn’t notice, but her eyes flickered slightly, the pupils narrowing to slits for a moment. “I am afraid it does, little one,” she chuckled. “The Coalition needs to be strong for what is to come, and will need strong soldiers like you.”

Cassandra just nodded dumbly, too brain fried to say anything else.
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