Quote of the Week from my gaming group...

[Drhoz]

Dark Heresy : The Myen-Fio Campaign - En route from the Ork Rokk we just raided, we debrief. The failure of some of the mutant suicide bombers to reach their objectives, despite Polonius' exhortations, is discussed.

Polonius : I told them to count to three on their fingers, then pull the detonation cords. In retrospect that may have been our error - some of them didn't have that many.

But we were still lucky to get out alive - indeed, the nearly empty corridors and absence of Ork ships raises an alarming possibility, soon confirmed - the Orks have raised a war fleet and are currently attacking the U Tharan craftworld and the outskirts of the Myen-Fio star system. So what to do? Clearly it would be suicidal to try and return to Myen-Fio directly, and lending assistance to the battle at the Eldar ship would be just as dangerous. The Lord-Captain is reluctant to endanger his ship, since that would annoy the Inquisitor he is forced to work for.

Lord-Captain : I wouldn't want to risk my master's assets.
Polonius : Master?
Lord-Captain : Alright, 'Underwriter'.

Polonius : *wistfully* Although it would have been nice to seen the look on that U Tharan ambassador's face if we showed up and saved the day. But I can dream.

GM : The Orks are just trying to prove has the biggest cojones.
Guildenstern : That'd be me.

GM : Your basic Rhino tank can be repaired by a twelve-year-old. Or a Space Wolf.

Happily, there is an alternative to sitting around twiddling our thumbs. The ship's explorator has reason to believe the Eldar once had an outpost on the frozen near-deathworld orbiting Myen-Fio's companion star. Going and having a look is worthwhile, since we were intending on transplanting the Kringlemen population there anyway - the climate is more like home. The Tau have had a small scientific research program running there, but haven't discovered the Eldar ruins as far as we know. There's also some evidence that there is intelligent native life, although what form life might take on a frozen, volcanic world, with some mountains poking out of the atmosphere, and saturated with nitrogen, sulphur compounds, and massive amounts of poisonous alcohols, is a mystery.

Polonius OOC : Boozehounds.
Guildenstern OOC : Barflies!

Polonius : What are we going to call this new world anyway, given its frigid temperature and lifeforms consisting of 20% alcohol?
Guildenstern OOC : Russia.

Either way, if we're going to go down and see if we can get the Eldar's attention by poking around the ruins, we're going to need a fresh pilot. Our Tau, Clipped-Wings, is unfamiliar with more elaborate human vessels, and still shellshocked from his experiences on the Ork Rokk anyway. Happily, the Lord-Captain has one available.

Polonius : So, can you tell me why the Lord-Captain considers you ideal for the position, and expendable?
Torque : I couldn't say, Father. I've only crashed three flyers this year. Well, I say crashed, but I got them down in one piece. Well, mostly one piece. Well -
Polonius : What you're saying is that the vessels came to a stop with an excess of excitement.
Torque : Yeah, there was certainly plenty of excitement.

Evidence is indeed found of an Eldar settlement, and Webway Portal, frozen into the permafrost of an artificial island in one of the noxious slushy seas. Despite being alert for attack from hypothetical boozehounds and barflies, we're still surprised by some of the locals - mute, apparently hooded figured, roughly bipedal, with long snout-like faces and limbs apparently composed of entwined tentacles, who seem to want to try and talk with us. They can also envelop themselves in flickering alcohol flames at will, and are promptly nicknamed the Flaming Moes. Guildenstern is sent out to communicate - after all, Polonius won't mind much if he gets horribly killed. Interpretive dance, channelling Travolta, Jackson, etc, doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere, but they do seem to admire Guildenstern's shock maul as it blazes with electrical fire brighter than their own flickering glow.

Polonius : Is anybody else suddenly worried that we sent Guildenstern out to conduct a First Contact situation? Because I suddenly have grave misgivings.

But the Flaming Moes lose interest in us, and shuffle off into the swirling blizzard, leaving us to explore the ruins at will. The explorator confirms the presence of a warp portal, but it's the Shrine of Asyuran that's still in working order, illuminated with silver warpfire.

Guildenstern : Ha, Elves. Even their gods suck.
Polonius : Yes, quite, Brother. Care to remind me why it will be me conducting negotiations, if they turn up?

Indeed they do turn up, very promptly, and Polonius gasps out our reason for intruding on the ruins before they can gun us down - requesting passage to Myen-Fio, in return for intelligence on the Ork Rokk and its preparations for the next stage of the war. Instantly stunned unconscious, we awake bathed and reclothed aboard the craftworld, an almost unheard-of honour.

Polonius : Well, at least this will be something to tell our grandchildren, assuming we ever have any.
Guildenstern : I'm going to be having puppies soon if they don't let us out of here.

Clearly the Eldar are up to something. Although most of the things they're up to are calculated to condescend and belittle and provoke us into behaving like the animals they consider us to be. Guildenstern, of course, behaves as predictably as Pavlov's dog, and even Polonius is finding it difficult to maintain an illusion of good temper.

Polonius : I find myself swirling in a vortex of black rage mixed with admiration for the artistry of their every insult.

Guildenstern : *checking under the robes we woke up in* They better not have taken my unmentionables.
Polonius : *snaps* We're all entirely over familiar with your unmentionables, Brother, and I for one am very glad that our environment suits came with breathing masks.

We're met by one of the U Tharan Farseers, although their gender is a little difficult to guess.

Polonius OOC : They're a bishie XD
Polonius : May I be so bold as to enquire as to your name, honoured host?
Torque OOC : Mrs Doubtfire
Polonius OOC : Mrs Doubtfire could in no way, shape or form, be remotely described as bishie.

We're lead on a tour of the craftworld, and attend a banquet in one of the viewing galleries, even as the Ork fleets are blazing away and crashing into the craftworld ( and each other ) overhead, and bodies splat against the crystal domes, the huge starship we're on starts to list at 15 degrees, and armed Eldar start actually hurrying places. Our hosts pretend that everything is going exactly to plan.

Guildenstern : Hey! I remember this game! We used to play it in the Ministronium - you'd each throw a piece of gherkin against the window, and bet on which one would slide to the ground first.

Torque : That was a nova cannon blast. You can destroy an entire starship with one shot from that.
Polonius : Really? Does that actually work?
Torque : Well, nobody's ever come back to complain.

Polonius OOC : Our host is beginning to remind me of the Iraqi Information Minister
Torque OOC : Or North Korean television.
Polonius OOC : Although the U Tharans actually have an economy.

Farseer Starshine : The time has come for you to travel the way of the web, and bear from us a message to the the king of the Tau Air Caste.
Polonius : *grinning ear-to-ear* Ah. I know what that means - 'Help, oh god help, Oh god we're all going to die, send every ship you can, we're begging here, help help help'

With the U Tharan plan to manipulate the humans, Tau and Orks into a war that would allow them to stroll in and reclaim the Tau world for themselves derailed by the Orks attacking the craftworld first, the Eldar are thus forced to send us to beg for assistance on their behalf. The Eldar civilians on Myen-Fio are mightily surprised, but probably not as much as the Tau were when Polonius and company emerged out of thin air, in a imperial flyer carrying a tank, when Polonius is still supposedly in the intensive care war at the local human hospice. The Tau leaders are going to mightily pissed, but Polonius just can't stop smiling...

GM : Do you want me to include an Eldar Avatar in the next session?
Me : No. no. NO. We already have enough terrifying entities in this campaign, in the form of Brother Guildenstern

[Drhoz]

Rogue Trader : Behind Mykybe's Veil - Wining, Dining, and butting heads with rival Rogue Traders. Lord-Captain van Baroque is not exactly overjoyed that Marzu brought the deadly X-1 unit aboard the Rose Tattoo, even if it is locked up inside multiple Faraday cages, and even Marzu doesn't go inside the cage with it.

Jak Frost : You're absolutely right, Lord-Captain - this cogitator is probably the most dangerous thing on the ship.
GM : Apart from Casu Marzu

As well as finding crew, brokers, and parts for the plutonium mine, the Lord-Captain must ensure that it's his lineage and his alone that gets the salvage rights. All this is proving more difficult than usual, since that huge and ostentatious Rogue Trader ship they noticed previously belongs to one Lord-Captain Maximilian dePledge, a Rogue-Trader of such insanely high wealth and influence ( even by Rogue Trader standards ) that his mere presence is skewing the economy. Large numbers of his crew, in actual uniforms and livery in the blue-and-white dePledge colours, and accompanied by armed guards - are touring the space station's many sights. The rumour mill has been putting in plenty of overtime - dePledge is here to expand his interests into the Koronus expanse, dePledge is here to buy an asteroid habitat in the Rubicon belt, dePledge owns three planets in the Scarus sector, dePledge is so scrupulous that he's never been charged with illegal trade, an Inquisitor once apologised to Maximilian dePledge, and much more. Although nobody believes that last one.

None the less, a request to meet the Administratum Master responsible for salvage claims is made, accompanied with a bottle from van Baroque's private cellar.

GM : As lubrication?
Casu Marzu : Speaking of lubrication...*oils his joints* clickclonk, clickclonk, clickclonk

This functionary turns out to be a vain, self-important art snob, very proud of his collection even though, unbeknownst to him, at least a third of it is counterfeit. Carefully not pointing this out, van Baroque ensures 'efficient navigation through the maze of the bureaucracy' by offering to put his new friend in contact with a renowned sculptor, and perhaps even commission a full-length of such a vital bureaucrat, or bas-relief of him surrounded by his small army of scribes, servo-skulls, and lexmechanics. It'd look good on the outside of the Administratum block, after all.

DePledge, on the other hand, has already earned the good will of the locals, spreading some largesse about Port Wander in the form of several megatonnes of fresh water, a valuable resource in the Rubicon system.

Lord-Captain van Baroque : Good idea. You can only drink your own urine so many times.
Casu Marzu : I beg to differ.

They have others tasks ahead of them in Port Wander too, of course - find out what Lord-Captain Bel Ingeneri was up to, fifty years ago, prior to his disappearance.

Jak Frost : I'll put out some feelers
Casu Marzu : He's an alien!
Lord-Captain van Baroque : Don't joke about that, the Inquisition has ears everywhere.

One of Jak's contacts is the Madam for a number of the better cathouses on Port Wander. They're delighted to see him again, especially since he inadvertently gives her so many excuses for double entendre. For example -

Jak : I'm an upstanding citizen now
Lady DeRessage : *smiles* Yes, my girls remember just how upstanding you used to be.

Jak : Well, I must be off
Lady DeRessage : *smiles* Do come again soon.

Eventually they hire a team of lexmechanics and scribes to explore the datatombs for anything they might contain regarding Igneneri and this mysterious Mykybe's Veil. At least the librarium on Port Wander is comparatively tiny, and they don't have to go into the Stacks armed, to protect themselves from the AIs that sometimes evolve from the data programs.

Jak OOC : *in tones of dread* We have to go to the 37h floor? Lock and load, people...
Casu Marzu OOC : That's awesome - I can just picture the kind of people they need
GM OOC : Conan the Librarian

The team return with a freshly-written 800 page folio edition biography 'Of The Life and Times of Rogue Trader Bel Ingeneri', complete with fold-out maps and Josian silk place-markers, and an almost as comprehensive literature search on the name Mykybe, and all the definitions they were able to uncover. When you can pay for the best, you get the best. The leader of the scribes is almost purring as he shows the Lord-Captain the fully illuminated manuscripts he prepared. If the information is accurate, the most likely Mykybe is one of the traditional goddesses on the heathen world Zayth, where city-machines crawl across the strip-mined surface, at constant war with each other. Ingeneri was last known to be establishing trade with Zayth, and it would certainly explain the source of the crew for the much smaller mining machine at 105 Andrasta, and why he set up the plutonium mine in the first place. But why would he have hired entire clans of salvage workers, and space salvage equipment by the tonne? Nonetheless, they have their clues, and prepare to leave for the extended trip to Zayth.

But before they leave van Baroque and guests are invited to dine aboard dePledge's ship, the Royal Privilege.

van Baroque : He's probably going to make us an offer he thinks we can't refuse
Casu Marzu OOC : Don't worry, Sir, my power fist has a middle finger.

Lord-Captain van Baroque, although not exactly pleased, does at least dress for the occasion - Squig-leather longcoat, with shoulder pads made from bronzed Ork skulls, a tricorn hat, a collar higher than the hat, Ork tooth buttons, a sash with every military medal awarded to the van Baroque warrant over the years, a brace of pistols tucked into his belt, a walking stick with a Gretchin's skull as the handle, and cutlass. Actually, compared to many Rogue Traders, this is under-dressed.

GM : That's Imperial fashion for you - lots of skulls.
Jak OOC : 'Hi! Like my desk? It's made of skulls. And every skull is made from smaller skulls!'

Although, upon arrival on the Royal Privilege, dePledge is bucking the trend. Indeed, the interior of his ship is more a combination of Versailles and the Sistine Chapel, with half the ship's volume wasted in vaulted corridors, with murals and painted ceilings, and discreet plaques identifying each artist that has so magnificently portrayed the many achievements and holdings of the dePledge family. The starship even has a garden, elegantly laid out, and a private balcony overlooking it where they will be eating. All the servants are servitors - lobotomised prisoners who have been cybernetically enhanced, surgically perfected, and dressed in expertly tailored lace and silk uniforms complete with dangling sleeves and flawless hosiery as they move in computer-controlled synchrony around the diners. Cherubs - cloned babies with heads full of circuitry and servo-wings - flit around the table serving drinks, and the entertainment includes a woman who since her conversion has been built into a living harp, her ribcage replaced with metal, extended, and strung to form the frame.

van Baroque, Jak, and Marzu :

After all this, slightly shocking even to Imperial nobility like van Baroque, it's not entirely surprising to learn that dePledge has heavily altered himself, as well. Resplendent in his exquisite white Josian silk outfit, gleaming with lace, seed pearls, and elaborate wig, dePledge has had all his visible flesh, and probably most of the rest of it, replaced with an intricate assemblage of white-enamelled metal pieces, that slide over each other as he moves, smiles, talks, and so on. A servo-skull hovers nearby, muttering financial news in the private dePledge cant - his own skull, removed and retrofitted once he got something better to house his brain.

He's accompanied by a human in an equally well tailored outfit, although his seems to be mostly close-fitting body armour, in various shades of black, with black skull-mask entirely covering his face, a tuft of black feathers behind his head, and the only visible weapon a pistol holstered blackly across his chest. He never says anything, but merely stands a little behind dePledge glaring at the guests as they dine on the utterly perfect meal, and delicate wines.

dePledge : *gesturing at his bodyguard* And this is my creature, Dragan.

dePledge : Yes, Leman, I remember when your grandfather was awarded the the Warrant of Trade. I recall saying at the time that he'd bankrupt himself trying to take Merates Null Five, but I've pleased to see that you've risen to overcome the shortcomings of your ancestry.

dePledge : A little bird tell me that you're planning an exhibition in search of Mykybe's Veil? Now, I'm sure your ship and crew are entirely competent, but perhaps you should limit yourself to lower-hanging fruit?

van Baroque : Tell me, you're angling to become Governor of Koronus once it becomes a Sector, aren't you?
dePledge : My dear Lord-Captain, of course not! We Rogue Traders move in more rarified circles - better to leave such petty details to the born bureaucrats that are best suited to it.
van Baroque : Like the Calixis Governor, Lord Hax?
dePledge : *facial elements sliding into a smile* A good friend.
van Baroque (to GM) : I don't believe him - is he being sincere?
GM : How would you tell?
van Baroque : Oh, right - metal face, synthesised voice...

These apparent attempts to provoke Lord-Captain van Baroque don't work, although dePledge does seem amused by the way he couches all his plans in military terms. It's probably just as well that nobody on van Baroque's side tries anything, since Marzu notices that half the murals around the ceiling are actually holovids, concealing sniper bays. But then, all this sort of thing is entirely normal in the circles Rogue Traders move in, and they'll have to get used to it if they run into dePledge again. And, if van Baroque is right, running into him again is a near-certainty...

[Balabanto]

So, last night I'm finally running War of Worldcraft for my home tabletop group. After getting stomped into the mud by Download and his minions, and successfully rescuing Jason Watts Long (!@#$$#@ tunnelling...) they enter the MMO world and encounter some of the characters therein.

(Note: Gold Star goes to Streamline, who got Jason Watts Long to give him admin cheats on his MMO character and then got sucked into Download's evil plan anyway)

So Fireheart arrives first, and he's having a little chat with Bleepkicker, and Bleepkicker really wants a name so that he doesn't get a warning on day twenty seven. Then Disturbo drops by to ask the heroes if they'd like to form a team.

Fireheart: You know, I'm not like these other guys. What do you do?

Disturbo: I'm Disturbo.

Bleepkicker: Don't listen to him. I've heard really bad things about him. His powers are disgusting.

Disturbo: It's not that bad, look, I just want to join a team.

Fireheart: So what do you do?

Disturbo: I create Terrifying Illusions that cause damage to people over time. This is how they work.

Me: Nothing happens.

Fireheart: This doesn't feel particularly scary.

Fireheart's Player: Mike, is this an authorized combat zone?

Me: No. So he uses his power on you and there's absolutely no effect whatsoever.

So eventually, Titan rezzes in. (He had a lot of body. It took a long time.) Unfortunately, he's still in the middle of a Haymaker. Fortunately, this still isn't an authorized combat zone.

Cybervulture: What the? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Bump...) Haymaker bounces off with no damage because it's an MMO.

Titan: What the?

Golden Fencer rezzes in, and can see, even though she's normally blind. Looking around for a moment, she finds a reflective surface, only to find that her costume is horribly tacky.

Golden Fencer: Oh, my god....I had...no idea...this is horrible...

Meanwhile, Streamline is working with Jason Watts Long to get himself some Admin Mods, and rezzes into the correct starting point as "Ape in a Man Suit."

So the heroes, plus a supervillainess playing the MMO as a character named Champion, go to where he is, where he is lying on the ground, pretending to be unconscious.

Fireheart: Holy crap, that could be a real ape! (KA-FWASSSH) Fireheart blindsides Streamline's avatar with flame.

Streamline (As Ape in a Man Suit): GACK! (THUD)

Golden Fencer: Oh, my god, you just shot Streamline!

Fireheart: You mean that was Streamline? Why did he call himself Ape in a Man Suit?

Streamline (Moaning): I didn't want Download to know it was me.

Cybervulture: Well, we didn't know either!

Champion: Guys! Focus! (Yeah, the SUPERVILLAIN told them to focus.)

[Ian Mackinder]

Yet again, DrHoz, I'd rep ya if I could.

[input.jack]

[Nightwing and Batgirl are catching up, as Nightwing has recently graduated and Batgirl has just started college]

Nightwing (OOC): Im going to take Barbara to the Iceberg Lounge for dinner. I hear its very swanky.

Catwoman (OOC): Its one of the hottest places in town!

Batgirl (OOC): So to speak.

------------------------------------------------------

Nightwing: So, what are you studying?

Batgirl: Criminology and Library Science.

Nightwing: So, youre basically going for your father's job?

Batgirl: I guess you could say that.... Im going to put him in a really nice home, tho

Nightwing: I can just see him and Bruce terrorizing the nurses

Batgirl: With Selina as the "crazy cat lady" down the hall!

------------------------

[At the Iceberg Lounge]

Batgirl: So, what was your degree in?

Nightwing: Business, minoring in Criminology.

Batgirl: ...We really should start looking to see which are the best homes.....Maybe we can get the Wayne Foundation to pay for it?

----------------------

Nightwing: See you tomorrow?

Batgirl: Same Bat-time! Same Bat-channel!

Nightwing: *Facepalm*

GM: Across town, Batman screams. :P

----------------------

Batgirl (OOC): Is Daddy home? its after midnight.

Catwoman (OOC): ....I....went to a bad place. its not "Like That" in the Gordon husehold, is it?

Everyone: NO!

----------------

GM: How come every time I run this game, the cat jumps into your lap?

Catwoman (OOC): *petting the kitty* Hes my prop!

--------------------

Alfred: Ah! Miss Selina How good to see you. Do come in.... *sotto voce* Ill just hide the silverware....and Master Tims copy of "Thundercats the Movie" just to be safe...

---------------------

Nightwing (OOC): I was just going to do some gymnastics in the back yard, to stay in shape.

Catwoman (OOC): Ill head out back, and perch on something until he notices me.

Batgirl (OOC): Just watching D*ck swinging around, out there in the open? ;P

--------------------

Superman: *Heat visions Dr. Ivo's 150' tall robot's missiles AS they come out of the racks, blowing up the missiles and the racks at the same time*

Lois: TELL ME you got that!

Jimmy: I got it...I got it....(it almost got us, but)....can we go now?

Lois: THIS is where the story is! You want to be a reporter, dont you?!?

Jimmy: I want to be a LIVE reporter....I realize I hadnt specified that, and that was my oversight....

-----------------

Lois: Congratulations on that amazing picture, Jimmy! .....And if you win a Pulitzer before I do, Ill kill you!

Clark Kent: Now, Lois...you dragged him into this....

---------------

Perry White: We need to get Superman's attention! Throw Lois out a window or something!

----------------
----------------

[And in another world]

Troubleshooter: In a case of strong national security, imminent domain can be applied to permit the government to confiscate your panties...

----------------

Monarch (OOC): You poured ORANGE JUICE over your cornflakes?

Troubleshooter (OOC): ...Yeah

Monarch (OOC): *Deadpans to the GM* I say nothing.

-------------

Monarch (OOC): I forgot my biscuit. It wasnt mine yet. But I forgot it. *Takes the last biscuit*

-------------

GM: Make a notice check.

Guardian Alpha (OOC): *Rolls a critical fail* I am Completely Oblivious...of the Clan O'Blivious

[Balabanto]

So I wrapped up War of Worldcraft last night for the Denver Crusaders. Oddly, the night really belonged to...

The Peerless Perceptoid, a character from the MMO.

Fireheart: You see stuff from far away?

Perceptoid: Yeah.

Fireheart: So you can keep an eye on West Edge for us?

Perceptoid: Yeah. I can see inside buildings too, but it kinda drains me.

Fireheart: Go on...

-------------------------------

So after Perceptoid tells them everything about Download's hideout, the assault begins. After the characters ambush Download and knock him out of the building via a tunnel, the banter starts.

Cybervulture: Hey, I don't run out of missiles here!

Streamline: I'm pretty sure this isn't like anything in the real world.

Fireheart: Actually, for Cybervulture, it's exactly like it is in the real world. (Referring to Cybervulture's lack of genitals)

-----------------------------------

Streamline studies his admin cheats. Looking at the display, he can't believe his eyes.

Streamline: What are my admin cheats?

Me: Gatling Shield, Overload Cannon, and Gorilla Grenade

Streamline: Gorilla grenade?

Me: Look, you wanted to log in as "Ape in a Man Suit." Don't blame the designer here.

----------------------------------

Me: Well, Jason Watts Long programmed this like this. Streamline shouts "Gorilla Grenade!" His helmet opens wide to reveal the face of a gorilla, and pods open in his shoulders and legs, unleashing a wave of grenades that oddly don't affect his allies.

----------------------------------

In a desperate attempt to take hostages, Download mind controls Fireheart inside the MMO to destroy the console and trap the people in the servers.

Download: Destroy the console! Trap the people here forever! Go, my minion! Rewards shall be great! I shall make you level fifty!

-----------------------------------

After waking up in his own body

Cybervulture: Wow! That hurt. I feel like I need a whole case of beer.

[Lucius]

I've been playing Morrow Project.

My character is Sergeant white. I have only played a couple of sessions so I don't remember the other character's names and I think of them as The Lieutenant, The Corporal, The Private, The Doctor, and The Teacher.


Sgt White is the one with Ranger training, the best tracker and outdoorsman and recon expert. As such, he's out in the woods checking the backtrail of a band of refugees we met up with, making sure they're not being followed, etc. I fumble a roll.

After days of adventure including encounters with giant mutated animals, the team has its first injury. Sgt White has tripped on a root and sprained an ankle (1 pt damage.)

Sgt White (Out Of Character): I take off my boot, wrap my ankle, and put my boot back on. Then I get up and go back to what I was doing. No one ever has to know.

I dawdle in the woods (no point stressing the ankle by moving fast) and find no pursuers but with a trail this easy to follow...

Sgt White (OoC): Any chance whatsoever of obscuring this trail?
Mission Director (or whatever they call it in Morrow Project) : (Lengthy description of the kind of trail left by a score of mostly sick or wounded people, their horses, and a couple of big wagons)
Sgt White: So, basically, NO. Okay, I waste no time trying. I set a few improvised booby traps, of the bent-sapling-and-sharp-stake variety. On the way back to camp I'll see what I can gather or kill in the way of food.

Later, after I've returned to camp, the Lieutenant is setting up guard rotation for the night.

Sgt White: Sir, I did a lot of hiking out in those woods today. Permission to be excused from guard duty just this once?
(I'm trying to stay off the foot as much as possible to both hide the sprain and let it heal as quickly as possible. But it's out of character for the Sergeant to shirk anything, and the suspicious Doctor starts looking close and makes a Diagnosis roll)

Doctor (privately, at least): Come into the medical tent. I want a look at your leg, Sergeant.

After rewrapping the sprain, the Doctor offers a dose of pain killer despite our finite supply.

Sgt White: 'M okay, I don't need painkiller.
Doctor: Oh, you want to maybe go into combat with your ankle like that?
Sgt White: Okay, I'll take the painkiller.

Doctor told the Lieutenant (so much for medical confidentiality) but at least no one ELSE knows yet. (The PLAYERS all know and find it highly amusing)


Our major crisis to deal with (apart from all the usual postapocalyptic problems of giant wolves roaming the countryside; soil everywhere damaged by the aftereffects of a nuclear war leading to poor crop yields and thus to malnutrition; ignorance, poverty and disease endemic in the population as a result of the general collapse of civiliation some generations ago) is a warlord calling himself Crom who is described by everyone as "The Smartest Man in the World" and is said to "Know Everything."

Mission Administrator and Narrator: His soldiers kill the women and children, but enslave men. He mutates them. You have one with the group, remember?
(He's referring to an escaped slave we picked up that the Doctor found to have been both lobotomized and emasculated. He's forgotten his own name and goes by the number Crom issued him, Forty One.)
Sgt White (OOC): Forty One isn't a mutant, he's just been mutilated.
The M.A.N. : Yeah, that's what I meant, mutilated.


Sgt White: I don't think Crom is from the Past, like us. I think he found a batch of old Conan comic books and got the name from that. Or maybe he's seen the movie.
The Corporal: I bet he knows What is Best in Life.
Sgt White: I mean to ask if he knows the Riddle of Steal. "How long can you get away with it if you STEAL everything you can get your hands on? Oh, up to about now. BANG."



One of the refugees died under the Doctor's care, and that man's widow is now angry at the Doctor. Hoping to help redirect some of that anger towards the real enemy, I sit by her at supper and nod towards her daughter.

Sgt White: Your girl's about ten, right?
Grieving Widow: That's right.
Sgt White: When she's old enough to have children of her own, if I have anything to say about it - I don't care if I have to die to make it happen - there will be no Crom.


This is overheard by ANOTHER widow, who was already seething at Crom. That night, as the Sarge tries to get some rest and hope his ankle feels better in the morning, this other widow finds his sleeping bag and proposes intimacies. She is obviously looking to pair up, and not just seeking a night's consolation. She thinks the Sergeant knows what a woman needs (revenge, among other things.)

Sgt White: Not here. Not now. We're at war. When Crom is gone....
(soft kiss, then gently but firmly pushes her away)
When we know we're safe, when your kids are safe....maybe then we can talk about giving them some little brothers and sisters.


Sgt White's sleep is interrupted AGAIN when a couple hours after midnight two more lost soldiers from the 20th Century find our camp. Our two groups had heard of each other and were now meeting face to face and talking.

Lieutenant: Our mission is to rebuild civilization.
Soldier: You got a loooong mission ahead of you then.
Lieutenant: We can use all the help we can get.


The two new soldiers have come from observing a running battle in a nearby town. The locals are about overrun, but there's a peculiarity about Crom's soldiers - they NEVER fight at night. If we move out now, we can hit them while they're still asleep.
Angry Widow wants to come along.

Angry Widow: I want to kill Crom.
Lieutenant: If Crom's even there, I don't want him killed. I want him captured. Can you promise you won't kill Crom if you meet him?
Angry Widow: I can't promise that.
Lieutenant: That's one reason you're not going. The other is that the vehicles only have so much room.

Sgt White: Okay team, remember what I said about never firing unless both the Lieutenant and I are incapacitated, or over 30 meters away, or one of us gives the command "Fire?" Forget that. New general order is: Fire at your own discretion.

We strike in the hour before dawn, going down the road targetting the houses (in this part of the tiny village, the houses are all enemy occupied.) Then our forward vehicle falls into a pit trap. This booby trap is our first clue that Crom's men, who seem short on brains and long on reckless courage, have any capacity to think tactically. The rear is on the road, the front is in the pit, and our vehicular weapons (Sgt White was manning the turret) are now useless - and we're stuck about 5 m. from an occupied building. Fortunately, it seems most of the occupants are already casualties and only one is still firing at us from there (other houses have dozens of enemy soldiers armed with M -16s, an apparently unlimited supply of ammunition (HOW?) no concept of fire discipline and no idea how to aim beyond "point that end at the enemy.") The Lieutenant, driving, manages to twist the vehicle around so it kind of lands fully in the pit, at right angles to the road. Way to go, sir. Lucky I wasn't thrown from the turret. Thinking to take at least one prisoner for intelligence, Sgt White leaps from the turret, meaning to dive into one of the house windows and go hand to hand with that last rifleman inside....

And fumbles a roll again. Must have forgotten about the injured ankle. At least being prone in the pit next to an armored vehicle is relatively safe when someone blows up the house sitting a few paces from us. And now Sergeant White can claim this is when he hurt the ankle.

Hopefully no one ELSE will learn that Sergeant "I am a shadow. I am a wind. I am death that comes silent and unseen when you think you are alone in the forest" White tripped over a tree root in the woods.



Lucius Alexander

Postapalindromedariocolyptic

[Major Tom 2009]

Dark Heresy : The Myen-Fio Campaign - En route from the Ork Rokk we just raided, we debrief. The failure of some of the mutant suicide bombers to reach their objectives, despite Polonius' exhortations, is discussed.

Polonius : I told them to count to three on their fingers, then pull the detonation cords. In retrospect that may have been our error - some of them didn't have that many.

But we were still lucky to get out alive - indeed, the nearly empty corridors and absence of Ork ships raises an alarming possibility, soon confirmed - the Orks have raised a war fleet and are currently attacking the U Tharan craftworld and the outskirts of the Myen-Fio star system. So what to do? Clearly it would be suicidal to try and return to Myen-Fio directly, and lending assistance to the battle at the Eldar ship would be just as dangerous. The Lord-Captain is reluctant to endanger his ship, since that would annoy the Inquisitor he is forced to work for.

Lord-Captain : I wouldn't want to risk my master's assets.

Polonius : Master?
Lord-Captain : Alright, 'Underwriter'.

Polonius : *wistfully* Although it would have been nice to seen the look on that U Tharan ambassador's face if we showed up and saved the day. But I can dream.

GM : The Orks are just trying to prove has the biggest cojones.
Guildenstern : That'd be me.

GM : Your basic Rhino tank can be repaired by a twelve-year-old. Or a Space Wolf.

Happily, there is an alternative to sitting around twiddling our thumbs. The ship's explorator has reason to believe the Eldar once had an outpost on the frozen near-deathworld orbiting Myen-Fio's companion star. Going and having a look is worthwhile, since we were intending on transplanting the Kringlemen population there anyway - the climate is more like home. The Tau have had a small scientific research program running there, but haven't discovered the Eldar ruins as far as we know. There's also some evidence that there is intelligent native life, although what form life might take on a frozen, volcanic world, with some mountains poking out of the atmosphere, and saturated with nitrogen, sulphur compounds, and massive amounts of poisonous alcohols, is a mystery.

Polonius OOC : Boozehounds.

Guildenstern OOC : Barflies!

Polonius : What are we going to call this new world anyway, given its frigid temperature and lifeforms consisting of 20% alcohol?
Guildenstern OOC : Russia.

Either way, if we're going to go down and see if we can get the Eldar's attention by poking around the ruins, we're going to need a fresh pilot. Our Tau, Clipped-Wings, is unfamiliar with more elaborate human vessels, and still shellshocked from his experiences on the Ork Rokk anyway. Happily, the Lord-Captain has one available.

Polonius : So, can you tell me why the Lord-Captain considers you ideal for the position, and expendable?

Torque : I couldn't say, Father. I've only crashed three flyers this year. Well, I say crashed, but I got them down in one piece. Well, mostly one piece. Well -
Polonius : What you're saying is that the vessels came to a stop with an excess of excitement.
Torque : Yeah, there was certainly plenty of excitement.

Evidence is indeed found of an Eldar settlement, and Webway Portal, frozen into the permafrost of an artificial island in one of the noxious slushy seas. Despite being alert for attack from hypothetical boozehounds and barflies, we're still surprised by some of the locals - mute, apparently hooded figured, roughly bipedal, with long snout-like faces and limbs apparently composed of entwined tentacles, who seem to want to try and talk with us. They can also envelop themselves in flickering alcohol flames at will, and are promptly nicknamed the Flaming Moes. Guildenstern is sent out to communicate - after all, Polonius won't mind much if he gets horribly killed. Interpretive dance, channelling Travolta, Jackson, etc, doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere, but they do seem to admire Guildenstern's shock maul as it blazes with electrical fire brighter than their own flickering glow.

Polonius : Is anybody else suddenly worried that we sent Guildenstern out to conduct a First Contact situation? Because I suddenly have grave misgivings.

But the Flaming Moes lose interest in us, and shuffle off into the swirling blizzard, leaving us to explore the ruins at will. The explorator confirms the presence of a warp portal, but it's the Shrine of Asyuran that's still in working order, illuminated with silver warpfire.

Guildenstern : Ha, Elves. Even their gods suck.

Polonius : Yes, quite, Brother. Care to remind me why it will be me conducting negotiations, if they turn up?

Indeed they do turn up, very promptly, and Polonius gasps out our reason for intruding on the ruins before they can gun us down - requesting passage to Myen-Fio, in return for intelligence on the Ork Rokk and its preparations for the next stage of the war. Instantly stunned unconscious, we awake bathed and reclothed aboard the craftworld, an almost unheard-of honour.

Polonius : Well, at least this will be something to tell our grandchildren, assuming we ever have any.

Guildenstern : I'm going to be having puppies soon if they don't let us out of here.

Clearly the Eldar are up to something. Although most of the things they're up to are calculated to condescend and belittle and provoke us into behaving like the animals they consider us to be. Guildenstern, of course, behaves as predictably as Pavlov's dog, and even Polonius is finding it difficult to maintain an illusion of good temper.

Polonius : I find myself swirling in a vortex of black rage mixed with admiration for the artistry of their every insult.

Guildenstern : *checking under the robes we woke up in* They better not have taken my unmentionables.
Polonius : *snaps* We're all entirely over familiar with your unmentionables, Brother, and I for one am very glad that our environment suits came with breathing masks.

We're met by one of the U Tharan Farseers, although their gender is a little difficult to guess.

Polonius OOC : They're a bishie XD

Polonius : May I be so bold as to enquire as to your name, honoured host?
Torque OOC : Mrs Doubtfire
Polonius OOC : Mrs Doubtfire could in no way, shape or form, be remotely described as bishie.

We're lead on a tour of the craftworld, and attend a banquet in one of the viewing galleries, even as the Ork fleets are blazing away and crashing into the craftworld ( and each other ) overhead, and bodies splat against the crystal domes, the huge starship we're on starts to list at 15 degrees, and armed Eldar start actually hurrying places. Our hosts pretend that everything is going exactly to plan.

Guildenstern : Hey! I remember this game! We used to play it in the Ministronium - you'd each throw a piece of gherkin against the window, and bet on which one would slide to the ground first.

Torque : That was a nova cannon blast. You can destroy an entire starship with one shot from that.
Polonius : Really? Does that actually work?
Torque : Well, nobody's ever come back to complain.

Polonius OOC : Our host is beginning to remind me of the Iraqi Information Minister
Torque OOC : Or North Korean television.
Polonius OOC : Although the U Tharans actually have an economy.

Farseer Starshine : The time has come for you to travel the way of the web, and bear from us a message to the the king of the Tau Air Caste.
Polonius : *grinning ear-to-ear* Ah. I know what that means - 'Help, oh god help, Oh god we're all going to die, send every ship you can, we're begging here, help help help'

With the U Tharan plan to manipulate the humans, Tau and Orks into a war that would allow them to stroll in and reclaim the Tau world for themselves derailed by the Orks attacking the craftworld first, the Eldar are thus forced to send us to beg for assistance on their behalf. The Eldar civilians on Myen-Fio are mightily surprised, but probably not as much as the Tau were when Polonius and company emerged out of thin air, in a imperial flyer carrying a tank, when Polonius is still supposedly in the intensive care war at the local human hospice. The Tau leaders are going to mightily pissed, but Polonius just can't stop smiling...

GM : Do you want me to include an Eldar Avatar in the next session?

Me : No. no. NO. We already have enough terrifying entities in this campaign, in the form of Brother Guildenstern

I'm really beginning to suspect that Brother Guildenstern was actually Marfeldt
the Barbarian in a previous life...


Major Tom 2009

[Lucius]

There's also some evidence that there is intelligent native life, although what form life might take on a frozen, volcanic world, with some mountains poking out of the atmosphere, and saturated with nitrogen, sulphur compounds, and massive amounts of poisonous alcohols, is a mystery.

McGinty?

Lucius Alexander

Not palindromedaries surely

[Drhoz]

McGinty?

LOL - I would not be in the least surprised. As some of you probably suspect, McGinty, Guildenstern, and Casu Marzu are all played by the same person.

[Major Tom 2009]

Lucius, if I'm remembering correctly, the GM in a Morrow Project game is called
the Project Director.


Major Tom 2009

[Drhoz]

I'm really beginning to suspect that Brother Guildenstern was actually Marfeldt
the Barbarian in a previous life...

Hmm. There IS an alarming resemblance isn't there? At least there's minimal chance of woman swooning over him.

[Ragitsu]

"My patience is limited. Fortunately, so is your oxygen"

[Major Tom 2009]

Hmm. There IS an alarming resemblance isn't there? At least there's minimal chance of woman swooning over him.

I expect that there's a far greater likelihood of said woman shrieking at the top
of her lungs whilst running insanely in terror as far away from Guildenstern as
humanly possible.


Major Tom 2009

[Steve]

LOL - I would not be in the least surprised. As some of you probably suspect, McGinty, Guildenstern, and Casu Marzu are all played by the same person.

Imagine the three of them together in one adventuring party.