[3:16] Renoir

RusRus
edited February 2010 in In-Game
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    Lt. Colonel Piski

    The sour taste of in cryo-sleep lingers. The ship smells cold, dank and empty. Other than the hum of the Proton Engines, the ship is quiet.

    The flight-nurse hands you a bottle of liquid.
    “Drink,” he commands with no affect, no emotion. He’s busy listening to some chatter on his voice and ear module, a simple bundle of wires and electronics attached to his face.
    He then looks you in the eye. “Your gear is down there.” He points to a dim room, with weak florescent lights. “You’re meeting Lt. Col Piski in the Dranlone Wing of the ship in thirty. Better hurry. You don’t want to be late. “

    Your stomach grumbles the grumble of a hunger years in the making.

    The Dranlone wing is a good twenty minute walk from the cryo-bay. You pass a minimal amount of support staff, a few wirerunners, the occasional dispatch trooper. But for the most part, empty wide halls great you.

    There, in the Dranlone wing, Lt. Colonel Piski greets you. His smile seems plastic, unmotivated by emotion.

    “Greetings Soldier, take a seat.” He points to a chair. The chair is cold.
    Behind the Lt. Col is a man- tall, dark, in a silvered black MandleBrite suit. His shoulder has the insignia you don’t immediately recognize.

    You watch as the others assigned to your group arrive.


    Describe your entry as well as any actions you’d like to take. [/url]
  • Lucious strides into the briefing room dressed in his full battle regalia, neat and polished like the day it came off the assembly line, and snaps to attention like clockwork, his arm locked in a formal salute.

    "Corporal Lucius, reporting for duty in Terra's honour SIR!"

    Lucious remains frozen, without even glancing at the indicated chair, awaiting the Lt. Colonel's return salute.
  • image

    Sanyat follows soon after, with his uniform perhaps a bit too clean, a bit too well-pressed, as if he was a desk clerk and not a soldier. He salutes, reports his name and rank, and then takes the designated seat as ordered. In the same motion, he allows his eyes to slide over the Lt. Colonel's military decorations, then locking the gaze with the commading officer's for but a brief moment. A smile dances on Sanyat's face that shows just how enthusiastic he is to serve someone so well-decorated. Nothing brazen, nothing intrusive -- more a wrinkle in the corner of his eyes than even a slightest curve in the lips.

    With his full attention on Piski, the sergeant uses the few moments before the beggining of the briefing to ruminate on the identity of the man behind him, seeing how his new mission would most likely involve him in some way.

    Otherwise, the sergeant remains calm but ready, the very picture of diligent awareness.
  • edited February 2010
    NFA(8) to recognise the tall black stranger's insignia!

    #DiceRoller( 1d10 )
  • RusRus
    edited March 2010
    The insignia heralds back to the old Chaplin Corps. They were slowly discontinued over the past fifty years or so, but once upon a time, each squadron had their own religious councilor.

    This insignia plays on that old one, the holy books and candles have been moved to the back as a hawk and a dagger take the foreground.
    image

    Piski notices you noticing the man in the silvered black MandleBrite suit.

    “This is The Chaplin.” The Lt. Col points.

    The man nods at each of you. Then the Lt. Col continues.

    “The fate of Terra may yet depend on you and this mission.”
    A servant enters, he carries a freshly roasted bird of some type—but certainly not chicken. Served with blanched carrot and sugared mangos. “Your dinner, Colonel,” the servant says. The colonel smiles at his food, moves around to the table, sits and begins to eat as he talks.

    Your cryo-sleep emptied stomachs roil in hunger, the roasted bird smell distracts.

    “The planet is Renoir. Once home to many massive cities. But something went wrong with the terra-forming. It was abandoned. We have reports that something is growing there. Non-human life. And it must be destroyed. But first, we need you to escort the Chaplin—he’ll tell you where to go. Protect him as he collects his data. Kill anything that tries to stop you, and report back on just exactly what we have going on down there. It is imperative this man gets back to me alive.

    Understood?”
  • "SIR! YES SIR!" Lucious replied, still locked in a rigid salute, eyes unblinking.
  • "Yessir! I am sure my men will be all that more resilient with a man of god on their side." Sanyat nods to the Chaplin, favourably. "If that is all, sir, I would like to review my men's supplies before launch, sir!"
  • edited March 2010
    If I'm allowed to, I'd like to access the nearest computer terminal and forge the medical supply papers so that it seems my squad is double the size it actually is... Thus giving everyone double uses of medical kits and combat drugs. Not sure if that'll fly for you, rugsi? I know I'll be quite useless dirtside, so I'm trying to do what I can while I still can![/colour]

    NFA(8) #DiceRoller( 1d10 )
  • Parashar arrives late. He doesn't do well in cryo-sleep and is slow to wake. Even now the dregs of sleep still cling to him and are not easily brushed away.

    He has nothing to say to his fellow soldiers. He is new here and has not yet had the chance to make friends. Instead he keeps to himself and makes sure his gear is in top shape for the inevitable drop to come. While he sees other troopers who ignore their field manuals, he has read his completely through twice and still dips into it when he needs clarification on some point of operation. If he dies on some planet's surface, it will not be because he was unprepared.

    Food beckons and he sets to it. An entry in the field manual says there are two things a trooper should always get plenty of when the opportunity arises: sleep and food. There will be precious little of both after the drop, when it will be fighting and fighting and no time for the basics that humans on Earth take for granted.
  • RusRus
    edited March 2010
    The drop ship ripples through the first layer of Renoir’s cloud cover. The turbulence hits hard. You’re shaken in your seat. After meeting with Piski, you were given 13 hours to get your re-introduction to gravity training and a meal. One of the nice things about cryo-sleep, you know you won’t be tired for another twenty hours or so.

    Lightning crackles just outside the drop ship, and the pilot banks left. A back storage bin pops open, it was filled to bursting with medkits and endorpho-rapid injection vials.

    “Combat Meds!! Look at them,” cries out a big, lurpy trooper, who goes by the name Kylos.
    “Sweet!” says another Trooper. “Looks like somebody messed up the med orders. I have a good feeling about this mission!”

    A cheer goes up in the trooper group. One of the younger troopers pulls out a speaker box and suddenly heavy, killing music rumbles through the drop ship hull.

    Then the Chaplin walks in, holding to the ceiling, trying to keep his balance as the ship trembles in the atmosphere. He gives everyone a cold stare. The young tropper turns off the music.

    “What’s going on here?” he asks. He looks judgmental and ready to discipline.

    NFA rolls to avoid the Chaplin’s ire. Describe your character’s reaction(s).
  • NFA(8) #DiceRoller( 1d10 )
  • edited March 2010
    Sanyat gets up as the Chaplin walks in, saluting with one hand and keeping the other on the conveniently-placed railing to lessen all the big and little descent jolts.

    "SIR! The troopers were just expressing their joy of getting into battle after so long, sir!"

    The Chaplin turned towards the sergeant like a bull turns toward a red flag. But if there was one thing at all red in this room, it was the Chaplin's face.

    "But now that you're here I'm sure... a sermon from you... is what they... would like to... have?"

    The Chaplin makes his way towards Sanyat slowly, every step he took made it clear to everyone present he would not be taking any of this bullplop, every step having his face turn an deeper shade of red.

    And finally, it turned purple.

    The Chaplin's face was now bare inches from Sanyat's, staring him down like all hell was about to break loose. Cornered and unsure of what to do, Sanyat barely resisted the natural urge to back away - and even if he tried, there was really no room to do so. With his back to the wall, he instinctivelly turned to the one thing he knew with absolute clarity.

    "You have lovely blue eyes, sir!"
  • NFA(2) #DiceRoller( 1d10 )
  • Lucious snaps to attention and salutes as the Chaplin walks in.
    "Sir! There seems to be an error with our designated supplies! With your permission I'll organize the clean up and have the proper paperwork filed to account for these surplus medical supplies! SIR!"
  • NFA(4) #DiceRoller( 1d10 )

    ((I have nothing to add here. I don't feel comfortable moving NPCs around.))
  • The chaplin scowls at Sanyat. He's flummoxed.
    I'm imagining at that moment is when Lucious chimes in with his reaction-- totally inappropriate (and comical)

    He listens to Lucioius, but doesn't take his eyes off Sanyat. "Pathetic." He says.

    Then he turns to Lucious. "Paperwork? Paperwork? Are you serious? We are about to land on an planet with an unknown threat-- and you want to give me paperwork? What kind of soldier are you? I don't care about supplies-- just don't forget, you're here to help me, and only me. Do you realize how important I am. How important it is for this mission to succeed?"

    It is then, that you realize, this man has no real rank, no real designation. You're not even sure who he reports to. He's simply The Chaplin.
  • edited March 2010
    "We'll do everything for the mission to succeed!" Sanyat bursts out with a carefully calibrated hint of insulted patriotism in his voice.

    "Kylos, Parashar, Hanshal, Tanay, it'll be your job to protect the Chaplin at all times. If there's so much as a scratch on his armor until our work on this planet is done, I'll rip your balls off mys-" Seeing their unimpressed faces, he changes tune mid-sentence. "- I'll have the Corporal rip your balls off."

    "Lucious, you'll be taking point. Your job is to keep the squad informed first and killing things second, understood? Engage only on my order or when the squad is *severely* threatened. And 'they looked at you funny' doesn't count as a threat."

    "Now divvy up those drugs and prepare for landing. If we do this right, we're in, out, and no one's the wiser." He then turns to the Chaplain again.

    "Sir, awaiting instructions on our final objective. Anything you tell us about the terrain or possible obstacles will assist greatly in the undertaking of this most important mission."
  • RusRus
    edited March 2010
    image
    Rain, like bits of concrete, hammer against the side of the drop ship. Through the sleets and curtains of water you see the remnants of an immense city, long abandoned, now flooded.

    The troopers are busy making base camp when the Sensor-Tech from the dropship shouts:
    "We still can't triangulate, Sir." He looks at the Chaplin who frowns. "Are you sure you're looking for that frequency?"

    The Chaplin holds a small box, with strange writing on the side of it. Small electrical lights glow from within it as he tries to read from it's small screen. He grimmaces and nods.

    This sensor sweep failure explains why the drop ship kept circling and circling the city before landing.

    He then looks to Sanyat, with a look of disappointment he reluctantly approaches him. "What do you think? Somewhere in the city there is a frequency. We need to go there. You have any ideas?" His blue eye glitter through the rain.

    Thunder rumbles above.

    "If it is OK, sir, I'd like to get the drop ship out of this weather. I'd hate to catch one of those electrical blasts," the pilot shouts down. It is unclear if he's asking Sanyat or The Chaplin.

    Unless you do otherwise, I'm imagining the drop ship taking off leaving you with a group of troopers and a wet, muddy basecamp on the outskirts of a flooded, bleak abandoned city.
  • Sanyat finishes up adjustments to his machinegun harness before answering. The lighter model of armor Sanyat was wearing didn't allow for carrying around heavy equipment without spreading the mass around the body somewhat. It did, however, offer better manouverability and the HUD built into the helmet allow easy overview of the tactical situation as well as each trooper's individual status.

    "Well, the signal should get stronger when we get closer to it. I don't have any better approach than going there and finding out." He looks up, the rain washing over his face. "With it being this dark out, we'd have a good chance of ambushing any resistance we may find. Well, provided we see them first, at least."

    He turns to the Corporal. "Any input, Lucious?"
  • Lucious narrows his eyes and smiles slightly, imagining the disciplinary report he's going to write up for Sanyat AND the Chaplain when this is over.

    "It's going to be tough going in that terrain, good spot for ambushes. I'd say we send a small sweep team in first, ready for CQC and keep a fire team back to provide supporting fire. I don't know what our target is, but if it's hardened, I wouldn't mind artillery on standby either."
  • edited March 2010
    Sanyat nods. "Right. Take three men and wait for the Chaplain's directions. Previously established engagement rules apply. We'll have your back. Wouldn't hold my breath for any big guns coming, though."

    He then turns to the Chaplain. "Ready for orders, sir."

    Good luck with that report, mister NFA of 2! What would you even write, anyway?
  • RusRus
    edited March 2010
    A few paces away from Sanyat and The Chaplin's conversation, Trooper Kylos leans over to Parashar and whispers.

    "Why'd you think the Sergeant is taking orders from this Chaplin pansy-civilian? Guys like that are who get guys like me killed."
    He spits and takes a long draw from his cancer stick.
  • "I don't know, but I don't like it," Parashar answers. "He expects everyone to jump when he talks. He has authority from somewhere."

    Parashar stands in the downpour, his short hair matting down. His weapons were clean, his MandelBrite armor polished and undamaged. This is his first drop and already it has become unusual.

    In the field manual it laid out an order of command that should have been easy to follow. The Chaplain didn't fit into that order in any way Parashar could see, but clearly there was something missing. Parashar didn't know the sergeant or the corporal any better than he knew the rest of the unit. Was this a personal thing or did chaplains have some authority that Parashar hadn't been clued into yet?

    The smoke from Kylos' cancer stick drifts into Parashar's face. He frowned and moved upwind of the trooper. If Parashar was going to die of anything it would be on the wrong end of an alien attack, not because he fouled his lungs up.
  • Am I the only one who constantly wants to spell Lucious' name as Luscious?
  • Lucious hefts his gun and looks meaningfully at his Sargent.
    "Sir, I don't want to question your orders, but as a tactical consideration it would be most efficent to send troops equiped for CLOSE combat in the advance sweep . . . With your permission I'll take command of the support team."

    Lucious frowns at his commanding officer's obvious ignorance of his tactical capacity, and hopes that Sanyat isn't the kind of paper pusher who insists that officers school means he understands the realities of the field.
  • Sanyat scowls. "Close combat? Did you forget your knife in cryo, Corporal? Our job here isn't to play rifle tag or pile the bodies up, but to avoid any unnecessary encounters while we secure our primary objective. So, as far as close combat goes: just. don't. Engage only after a situation that allows for the swift elimination of the target has been established, understood?"

    "I want someone out there who won't lose his head in a pintch and can pull my men out right if anything goes wrong. And we both know that that's you. Dismissed!"

    He then turns his attention elsewhere. "Kylos! Put that damned thing out! You want your head cleared off your shoulders?!"
  • Lucious scowls, his worst fears confirmed. His superior officer didn't understand the tactical situation, didn't understand his advice and didn't even understand their god damned mission.

    Lucious said nothing as he hefted his squad support weapon and trudged off to organize the sweep team, but he thought to himself "We're 3:16 Sergeant. Our job is ALWAYS to pile the bodies up."
  • It was time to move. Parashar checked his slugthrowing rifle once again and moved out behind Corporal Lucius with Trooper Kylos in tow.

    Corporal Lucius was right: the role of the 3:16 was always to make kill count, regardless of any other objective. Parashar had only been in one engagement before this one, but he'd acquitted himself well enough at the time. He'd killed more than a dozen of those red alien bastards just the way he was expected and he felt a sense of accomplishment when he was done.

    With luck they would see some action this time out. The Chaplain was a problem. The more time they spent trying to protect him, the less time they could spend fulfilling their primary objective: killing aliens.

    Parashar supposed the Chaplain might be more skilled at killing than he appeared, but he hadn't displayed any inclination toward disposing of the enemy or hinted at his skills for doing the same. Yes, the Chaplain was a problem.
  • As the last rumbles from the retreating drop-ship echo from the clouds, something feels wrong.

    DOMINANCE

    Lucious NFA(2)
    #DiceRoller( 1d10 )

    Sanyat NFA(8)
    #DiceRoller( 1d10 )

    Parashar NFA(4)
    #DiceRoller( 1d10 )

    Aliens AA(5)
    #DiceRoller( 1d10 )
  • You hear howling. But more than just mere howls, as the tones and barks suggest some form of communication. And yet, it is hard to zero in on the sound, given the echoes offered up by the old concrete buildings.

    The sounds grow closer.

    Sanyat sets initial range.

    Decide what your PC is trying to do. Use either FA or NFA. Then roll.
    Successes take turns from highest to the lowest.

    FA – Remove one Threat Token and cause Kills
    NFA – Achieve the task attempted (e.g., change range)

    OR
    Cancel your own success so that everyone yet to act in the round now “Fails”

    Failure
    Go from highest failure to lowest.
    Color narration, adding non-consequential detail.

    I gotta run, but if someone else wants to summarize the rest of the rules for folks that don’t have a copy, that would be wonderful.
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