THE NEXT DAY
You assemble in the morning at the motor pool. The zone ranger you're looking for is definitely set apart from the others. The crew cab is easily double the size of a stock ZR, and the rear wheels have been set back to accommodate the increased bulk.
A large fellow slides out from the undercarriage, stands up, and wipes the grease from his hands as he faces you. He extends a hand. It is clear, based on his skin tone and features, that he's a half orc. He speaks with a deep rumble in his voice, but the heavy vocal tone and brutish appearance belie a sharp mind. "I'm Digrig. I'm yer driver. Miss Silverforge's Dirty Dozen Special is yer chariot. Gear goes in back." He looks Everett straight in the eye, neither one losing an inch of height to the other. "Grew yer big, didn't they? Yer mama must be strong." He grins and reaches a hand for a shake, then fumbles a little as he's not sure which hand to reach for. "Yer got more hands than me, too. Heh."
The large half-orc smiles a warm, if maybe a little dopey, smile at Heather. "Little lady. I'll help yer with yer gear, an' I'll make sure yer ride is smooth." The rest of the crew he regards with nods and salutes as appropriate. He bows his head a little at Missouri's approach. "I been told yer the boss. I got yer seat dusted off an' ready. Yer ridin' aside of me. Shotgun, they call it. Don't make sense unless yer carryin' a shotgun. I carry Sharlene when I'm not drivin'. Don't bet yer can handle her. Yer maybe small fer her."
True to his word, he personally loads any gear Heather doesn't TK into the vehicle, and he ensures she gets her choice of spot in the cabin with the exception of the co-pilot's chair, going so far as to physically block any of the other members of the team from boarding if they get impatient. "Lady's first." Once all are loaded, he clambers into the driver's seat. You realize now who Sharlene is. A TW-converted mini railgun rests in a custom bracket next to the driver's seat. Engraved in silver into the body of the weapon is the name "Sharlene".
He closes his eyes a moment, then the vehicle hums to life. "Lady calls the stops. Rest of yer can hold it til she does." He grins, then taps the throttle, the whole ride humming forward with minimal body pitch. The zone ranger rolls at a leisurely clip until the gates of the Castle are behind, then the half-orc hammers down, picking up the pace. "Next stop MercTown, yeah?"
Over the next day, Digrig talks. A lot. No subject is off limits. He discusses the Silverforge custom zone ranger, the modifications installed, bathroom breaks, favorite foods. He doesn't know why you're going to MercTown or what you're carrying. He does know that there's a great place to get rhino-buffalo ribs there. "Only problem yer gonna have is yer gear. Most of yer stuff they'll let yer keep. Yer power suit an' yer railguns get locked up. MercTown cops don't care what else yer carryin'. Figger yer can stow yer gear in the zone here. I'll keep yer stuff locked up an' parked outside town. Sneakin' stuff in ain't smart an' ain't likely."
The next day of travel isn't as smooth. You're humming along at a good clip until the early afternoon. The skies darken and you find yourself in the middle of a nasty thunderstorm. High winds howl, rain beats on the shell of the zone ranger, and flashes of lightning play havoc with the already poor visibility. Digrig curses the weather as he plows through the muddy road. All of a sudden, he stands on the brakes, skidding the whole ride to a stop. "SHAT!"
Through the sideways rain and silhouetted by flashes of lightning, you see several monstrous forms blocking and flanking the zone ranger. They appear to be roughly the shape of bears, although swollen to a frightening size and...glowing. Digrig moves quickly to throw the ride in reverse, but his rear view shows the same picture - you are surrounded! "Ain't seen them things before. They don't look like they eat plants!"
QUICK COMBAT!
You are facing 15 monstrous, glowing bears. They are slightly smaller than rhino-buffalos (size 5) but are individually capable of tearing the zone ranger to scrap. They are not responsive to Xero's attempts to calm them, indicating either intelligence or magical composition. And they are charging the vehicle. Digrig has nowhere he can drive to evade them. Time to bail out and deal with them the old fashioned way!
Scene modifier: -4, 15 successes needed. For every success you come up short, I will roll and assign a wound to a random character OR to the vehicle. Soaking is permitted as normal once wounds are assigned.
Damage is not being tracked here for the enemy. It's a straight number of successes task, so don't bother with damage rolls. Resources, however, will be tracked.
- A critical failure means you were not able to help the group succeed. In fact, your bungling cost them one success! Take 1d3 wounds for your trouble. Roll better next time!
- On a failure, you use up 3d6 power points spent or charges from your weapon, as appropriate. Take a wound.
- Success, you did a good job, maybe not a legendary victory, but you did what was required to save the day. You spent 2d6 ammo or power points. Roll Vigor (no modifier). Success means you survived untouched. Failure, take a wound.
- Success with raise, your contribution is legendary. You spent 1d6 ammo or power points. Take a benny and narrate your awesomeness!
- No matter what you roll, please leave something for everyone else to do.