Quote of the Week from my gaming group...

[Cygnia]

Me after last night: Did I not tell you that gnome women were NOTHING but trouble?!

[Enforcer84]

Especially the scottish ones.

[Drhoz]

Short two players this session, but not to worry - there were more then enough loose ends to tie up, and shopping lists to write. Jrska chancing across one of the pirate hordes her twin brother leaves stashed across the Screaming Vortex for those occasions he or she needs ridiculous amounts of petty cash will help. The plaque it's hidden behind amuses her excessively.

 "This plaque erected in honour of Thierry Nyugen, the demon whoremonger of Rangoon and satisfier of over 10000 women, and 592 men and 3205 zoological specimens and 800 things we're not sure about. Died laughing of explosive scrotal failure on this spot while pleasuring 18 Deamonettes, all of whom committed suicide in grief."

Jrska: The joke is that everybody knows it was 80 Deamonettes. I do hope my brother is still around - you'll like him
 Cog: I doubt this.

On Jrska's shopping list - somebody that can help her reconsecrate the Imperial chapel aboard the Chains of Judgement. Of course, given that she'll be reconsecrating it to Slaanesh, and the kind of things Slaaneshi rituals entail, finding someone that will survive until the end of it may be difficult. Especially in the face of Jrska's Weaponised Smut Field (™)

Cog: You need someone hardy and thick.
Cassius: *chokes*
Jrska: *looks innocent*

Some other useful acquisitions at the Painted Ziggurat - progenoid glands from the enemy Traitor Marine Sorcerer we blew up, intoxicated, and slaughtered (useful for Cassius' intended private Space Marine Army), and a mothballed genetek lab he can do all the cloning in. The decontamination chamber gives Jrska a chance to make her colleagues uncomfortable.

Jrska: 'Decontamination Chamber'? Does that mean we can get as dirty as we like? *leers*

They, unfortunately, deliver a barbed reply after the antiseptic shower.

Cog: Someone smells like wet dog in here

Still, Cassius and his followers return to the Wailing Halls, Jrska weighed down with assorted bling, and showing off her new Mark of Slaanesh that the god rewarded her with across her right breast.

GM: That crown really wasn't designed for somebody with your shape of head.
Jrska: On me, anything looks fabulous.

The inhabitants hold off on a robbery attempt - possibly out of curiosity, more likely because they saw us head off after an obviously superior party, and return not only alive but mostly uninjured, weighed down with bling, and dragging assorted Chaos Marine bodyparts. In the crowd of 'wellwishers' Jrska spots one of the locals she bought a treasure map off - a perfect opportunity to add a few more hapless souls to Cassius' crew.

Jrska: Friend! Buddy! I wish to thank you, most sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart! The map you sold us proved absolutely accurate! Just look at what we found! In gratitude, my lord Cassius wishes to offer you and your family a place aboard his starship. How swiftly can you gather all your family and loved ones? Unless you'd prefer to stay here, of course. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.*gesturing to the crowd, who have a growing air of 'pointed inquiry'.*

We hand over the Tyrant's Cord (Garath doesn't try anything, more's the pity) and receive a friendly warning that mercenaries were out asking questions. About Jrska, in particularly. Now might be a good time to get off Sacgrave, but not until we've arranged transport for the army of mutants we acquired earlier. Jrska practically salivates at the sight.

Jrska: I can't wait to educate them in the worship of Slaanesh. But don't worry, my lord Cassius. We're completely loyal to you. Isn't that right, boys and girls?
6000 Mutants: Yes, Lady Jrska.

Addressing the New Mutant Army

Jrska: Now, our lord Cassius is a very busy person, so if any of you have any problems or requests I want you to come to me.

If she doesn't have Cassius' entire army fanatically loyal to her before the year is out, I will be very surprised. On top of everything else, Jrska is prone to bursting into song - uniformly filthy songs, of course. Such as this one. Should  help with employee relations too, although that does assume the New  Mutant Army count as employees. After all, no-one intends to actually pay them. She goes to sweet-talk the spaceport Comptroller, turning on the full force of her cleavage, charm, and Smut Field.

Jrska: Now, who do I need to talk to to get me off...... this planet?

Unfortunately the only transport large enough is the mercenaries' own - and they're Khornate.

Cog: That is unfortunate - they are unlikely to be impressed by your oratory, given your own affiliation.
Jrska: True *sighs* My Mark would have impressed anybody else, too. Tits out for Victory!
Cog: *spurts carbonated nutrient fluid from his nose*

Fortunately, the soldiers are only on Sacgrave to pass on a message. One Prince Pseudanor of the Liberator - a good Slaaneshi name for a ship - demands Jrska's presence at their palace in the Ragged Helix asteroid belt. Time to plant some more paranoia. Even Cog helps.

Jrska: Of course they want to see us. All goes in accordance with the prophecy.
Grey: Prophecy?
Cog: Hail be the prophecy.

Grey: I assure we are not here to do you harm.
Jrska: This is indeed fortunate. I refrain from saying for who.

And the mercs even agree to shuttle the New Mutant Army up to the Chains of Judgement - it'll save time. So, off to the Ragged Helix, where pirate princes - megalomaniacs, libertines, and sociopaths all - take great pleasure at cutting each other dead with a witty remark or vicious rumour. It's going to be so much fun.

[Drhoz]

The Further Adventures of Slaanesh's Lonely Hearts Club Warband - but first some discussion the Warhammer 40K mythology, and in particular the various incredibly bone-headed decisions by the Emperor of Mankind that made the Horus Heresy inevitable. Things like abducting Angron from the side of the slave army he had lead to a final stand against their oppressors, and not explaining to Magnus why the Warp was so dangerous, and not telling Horus that he was returning to Terra to oversee the creation of an interstellar Webway. All stuff to be filed under 'Tragedies that could be averted with a five-minute conversation'

    Rold Dundee OOC: We need a big poster of the civil war, with the caption 'This is why you should talk to your children'



Cassius, on why he has turned his back on the the Imperium of Man.

    Cassius OOC: I like the people, I just hate the government.... Oh god, I'm playing Lenin.
    GM: I assume you mean the Russian, not John.



Briefing Cassius on the events of the previous session, such as giving Garath the Tyrant's Cord

    Jrska: And he didn't try anything, and give us an excuse to kill him for his treachery!
    Cassius: *sarcastically* Gosh, I wonder how he became so influential.
    Cog OOC: 'I'm the nice kind of evil - I'll only stab you in the face.'



The New Mutant Army, while sizeable, is still grossly insufficient to crew a starship.

    Aladar van Rijn: We could just let them breed.
    Cog: That might take a while.
    Cassius: And it depends on them being compatible.
    Jrska: *perks up* My lord, I will make it a priority to check their anatomy.
    Cassius: Why am I not surprised.



Among Jrska's purchases - make-up, beauty product, fabric, sewing tools, etc, but not just for herself. After all, they ARE going to a party.

    Jrska: I look good in anything, but YOU three...



Cassius wants to acquire a cadre of minor psykers - to expand his repertoire of powers. His player misses the roll by 1.

    Shopkeeper: If only you'd been here five minutes earlier!
    GM: I'll let you have them but I'll keep it as a plot point that...
    Cog: Something is off about them.
    Cassius OOC: That's ominous.



Sadly, the GM disallows one of the many abuses of the Black Crusade rules - a harpoon gun with a 100-round ammo belt.

    Rold Dundee OOC: Four hundred rounds to reload.
    Jrska OOC: To nip down to Bunnings for a new roll of fence palings.



The Khornate mercs that deliver the New Mutant Army to the Chains of Judgement do have... interesting... news to impart. Apparently, one of our tech-adepts redirected their shuttle to another part of the ship. This is news to us, since we thought we'd already killed all the tech-adepts on board. Naturally, we play innocent, and hurry off to interrogate the nameless navigator about what has been happening in our absence. Apparently 'Father' has awoken. And Father is the ship's chief engineer, and he's currently converting Mother's cannibal tribe into servitors, while the various tech-adepts cybernetically slaved to his will attempt to repair the ship. Our delivery of 6000 mutants was promptly commandeered.

    Jrska: Yoohoo honey, we're home.

    Nameless Navigator: Rest assured they're being put to good use.
    Cog: What's this green stuff we're eating?

    GM: The navigator quite old and covered with feathers
    Rold Dundee OOC: He got into a pillowfight earlier.



Cog protests that he should be the one running the ship.

    Surviving Cannibal: I feel sorry for you
    Cog: Wait until you see my bill.
    Surviving Cannibal: Wait until Father finds out you want his job.

    Cog OOC: Hungry Hungry Hippos in Space
    Cassius OOC: I'm glad they haven't made THAT game into a movie.

    Cassius: I going to kill Father.
    Jrska: Or negotiate a peaceful compromise?
    Cassius: I plan to have a pointed conversation. With lots of punctuation.
    Jrska: In his torso? oh, sorry, that would be punctures.



Finding some of the converted cannibals attempting to repair warp-damage to some of the corridors, where the original crew were fused into the metal. Hacking into their brainchips allows us to find the safe route to Father, although bluffing our way past the heavily armed security servitors does prove necessary.

    Cassius: I'm not annoyed yet.
    Jrska: Well, technically we haven't lost any crew this way
    Cassius: That's why I'm not annoyed

    Jrska: Trying to sand somebody's face off the floor panelling, are they?

    Rold Dundee OOC: I love that we're getting our map from the Roombas.
    Cog OOC: I've never been electrocuted by a Roomba... Apart from that one time

    Jrska: You wanted a plasma cannon, didn't you?
    Cog: Not to the face!

    Jrska: We can always use Aladar as a distraction. His outfit is bound to confuse their optical sensors.



The Enginseer 'Father' is eventually convinced that Cassius is an acceptable Shipmaster, although he's suspicious enough to radio off a message to the nearest Inquisitorial outpost. Given that it's lightyears away, we're not overly concerned. 'Father' is also suspicious about having a mutant crew, and Jrska's presence on board, but Jrska convinces him that its all for purposes of disguise on mutant-held planets. Cassius claims that Cog will act as liaison between the mechanical and organic components of the ship, and Cog assures the Enginseer that Jrska is the ship's new seneschal and spiritual advisor.

    Jrska: Spiritual Advisor. I like that - I'll have to have that put on my door.



Along with Morale Officer and Chief Medical Officer.

    Cassius OOC : 'Turn your head and cough'



'Father' invades Jrska's personal space - like she cares - and spits out reams of dot-matrix printout. It's mostly a list of everything on the ship that needs repairing.

    GM: There's also a priority order of depilatory cream for the seneschal.
    Jrska:
    Cog: But when the fur grows back she'll be itchy and take it out on everyone.



And off to the Ragged Helix. Jrska assigns rooms and assistants to everybody. Cassius gets the most professional. Rold gets a few likely security types, but Jrska is careful to avoid anybody that could be the nucleus of a Khornate warrior lodge. She, of course, picks her own.

    Jrska: Interesting skin texture you have there. Are you like that all over? OK, you, you, that cute one hiding down the back, and Mister Tripod there.
    Aladar: Hey! What about me? Do I get cute ones too?
    Jrska: Nope. You do get the most sycophantic though.



And, of course, Jrska keeps her promise to Aladar, about showing him how grateful she is - turning up at his stateroom with a nice romantic meal and chilled bottle of amasec. For starters. She rapidly guilt trips him into accepting her advances, although her new prosthetic Pheromone Emitters certainly help, especially in a confined space.

    Jrska: Is it because I'm a mutant? *puppydog eyes* It's OK, we can do it with the lights off.



Aladar soon succumbs. Leaving him passed out, Jrska strolls off whistling a happy tune, and turns to her attendant servo-skull, Partybot 2000. The one with all the night vision cameras.

    Jrska: Did you get all that?



Minutes later her next target, Cog, is more resistant to her charms, despite a different ploy.

    Jrska: As chief medical officer it's my duty to know all about your anatomy. I know you cogboys are a bit sensitive about your meat-flesh, but I promise I won't tell anybody. Cross my heart *crosses the wrong side of her chest*



Then there's the problem of the surviving cannibals, who gave their fealty to Cassius and are somewhat aggrieved that he wasn't around to protect them when Father woke up. He solves this problem with admirable callousness, telling them there's plentiful food in the cyberconversion labs, and to go line up outside. A few more acts of treachery like this and the Chaos Gods may well reward him with his first mutation. Morphic resonance and his power armour's history being what they are, that first mutation will likely be wings. Appropriate, given his Storm Crow origins and Extinction's Angel title whenever Jrska introduces him.

    Jrska OOC: Sire? You appear to be growing feathers.
    Cassius OOC: POMF! Wingboner!

    Aladar: I'm bored
    Jrska: *leers* I can fix that.
    Cassius OOC: I bet you can.
    Jrska: It's my duty as morale officer. Please ignore any noises you here coming for Captain Aladar's room. I was going to work slowly, but if he's bored and we have five weeks... I'm sure I can have him in a gimp suit with his face between my thighs before then.



Rold finds a broken space marine power sword in the corridor outside his quarters. Despite the repercussions of the last time he picked up a strange sword, he picks this up too. He doesn't bother telling anybody about the discovery, either.

    Cassius OOC: 'I picked it up to see if anything bad would happen'. There's a quote for you.
    Jrska OOC: And epitaph, probably.
    Rold Dundee OOC: I've got as many Slaaneshi advances as Khornate.
    Jrska OOC: Makes sense. Poor impulse control is a feature of both.



At the Ragged Helix, we are challenged by a pirate vessal Aladar recognises - it was one of many that used to harass his fleet.

    Aladar: Don't you remember me?
    Pirate Captain: Remember you? Why would I remember the wart on some Nurglite's arse?
    Jrska: Nice one, I'll have to remember that. May I address them?
    Cog: Did you just say address or undress?
    Jrska: *shrugs* Both work for me
    Cassius OOC: A little from column A, a little from Column B.



The pirate is clearly shocked when Jrska sticks her head in front of the holocamera, and nervously escorts us to Prince Pseudanor's domain in the depths of the asteroid belt - a lavish and well-armed palace.

    Jrska: Let's walk in like we own the place

    Jrska: May I advise you, Lord? Aloofness is entirely appropriate for you here. Just pretend that nothing here impresses you.
    Cassius: That will not be difficult



Cassius is also unimpressed by the assorted debris from previous evening's debauch.

    Cassius: Shows a lack of discipline
    Jrska: Oh, I'm all about discipline. Isn't that right Aladar, darling?
    Cassius' player: You're enjoying this far too much.
    Me: Yes, yes I am.



But the palace IS the most lavish Jrska has seen outside the Inner Vortex and the demonworld Pandemonium, where she grew up.

    Jrska: Also known as the Party Planet. For lightyears around you can hear the DOOF DOOF DOOF.



The Slaaneshi pirate's court is swarming with a throng of libertines, freaks, and even a few demons, none of whom seem impressed by the frankly scruffy warband that just arrived in a wreck of a ship. But we do find out why Pseudanor sent those mercs after Jrska, demanding she attend his court. Since it's her beloved twin brother under a new name.

    Jrska: *squees like a schoolgirl and rushes forward, until she's blocked by his bodyguards.*
    Me: (to GM) You're just blocking me so I won't squick you with my intended greeting, aren't you?
    GM: Yes.

    Aladar: Holy crap, did that guy just eat a bicycle?
    Jrska: Don't worry sweety, you'll see a lot worse than that around here. Or better.

    Jrska: Hey cutie. Ever done it with someone that can lick their own eyebrows?
    Bodyguard: Yes.
    Jrska: Great! You know what to expect. I'll see you upstairs in 30 minutes - bring some friends.



Turns out Pseudanor is a bit upset with Jrska - mostly the way she went missing for 200 years and never sent any postcards. Also turning up again with such disreputably Khornate-leaning individuals like Rold is a bad sign. He intends to test her, and her associates, to see if she is still worthy of his support. Naturally, there will be six tests - six being the number of Slaanesh - based around Greed, Gluttony, Carnality, etc.

    Pseudanor: I am not convinced you are the person you were, sister.
    Jrska: Five minutes alone and I'll prove it.
    Pseudanor: That is just ONE of the tests.

    Cassius: Six Sins?
    Pseudanor: Six Delights.
    Cassius: Six Delights, then. If you betray us, you will taste the seventh - Wrath.



Jrska volunteers Aladar for the first test. After all -

    Jrska: This man was once a Rogue Trader - he risked his entire fleet against the minions of the Corpse-Emperor, in a blind desire for yet more profit - and LOST. Can any of you deny he embodies the finest standards of Greed?



His opponent will be Pseudanor's accountant, who wagers the locale of one of the legendary Treasure Dens in a simple game of chance. Since betting his life or eyes is too passée, Aladar promptly bets the ship. The ship isn't his, but Jrska points out that being so blinded by greed that he'll risk Cassius' wrath can only be a GOOD thing. Happily, he wins the first toss, and his opponent suggests a second bet - the combinations for the treasure den defences. Instead, Aladar demands six years service. And THIS roll ends up a draw. Jrska manages to talk them and the crowd into a stylish compromise - six years service, at the end of which he'll get the ship. As Cassius points out, if the ship is lost in those six years, the accountant's incompetence will be a contributing factor. He agrees.

    Jrska: Three cheers for the contestants!
    Cassius: Six.
    Jrska: Good point.



Next up, Gluttony. An eating contest against the giant heaving mound of flesh that was eating a bicycle earlier. Jrska turns her attention to the space marine psyker - after all, his biological engineering will give him certain advantages. Superhuman toughness, for one. And acidic saliva that should kill any food that tries to fight back.

    Cassius: You wish to test your gluttony against the genetek secrets of the Dark Age of Technology? Sir, I salute you.

    Plukus: Round one - The fried chicken!
    Jrska: A Subjutator Titan - aka the Slaaneshi Death-Chicken
    GM: That'll be the last round - the OTHER fried chicken XD



By the sixth round they've escalated to live food - in this case, Ravenous Face-biter Squigs.

    Cassius: I've fought planetary campaigns like this... the trick is to get the upper and lower lip at the same time.



Then on to the truly inedible, like a barrel of fuel oil.

    Rold Dundee: Chaser to the squig.
    Cassius: Haven't done this since I was a scout.
    Jrska: Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!



But it's when they step thing up to whole human - two slaves dragged from from the audience, that Jrska steps in to assist. She reprimands the glutton Plukus for wanting to eat human raw. Any true sensualist would prepare the meal first. Her intention is actually to give Cassius' digestion a few minutes to recover, but instead Cassius loses patience, lifts up the next course, and sprays acidic spit over his face. Which indeed eats away the flesh. Such callousness is rewarded by the gods with mutation - a large pair of bird wings.

    Jrska: Must be all that fried chicken. Ladies, Gentlemen & Sacred Hermaphrodites! I give you Extinction's Angel!

    Rold: I wonder how they're going to keep escalating this.
    Jrska: Demonmeat. Eat the deamonette!
    Demonette: You only had to ask....



Or possibly auto-cannibalism? Happily, they don't have to - Cassius resorts to psychic disciplines for the next round, with the unfortunate - or fortunate - side effect of instantly putrefying all food in the room. Thus is too much for Plukus, who loses the L and the contest. Next up, Carnality!

    Jrska: *bouncing up and down* Ooh! Ooh! Pick me!

    Me: How about a song contest? I'll sing the complete Doug Anthony All Stars catalog, and you can assume I win. Necrophilia, bestiality, unbirthing...
    Jrska: *sings excerpts from the relevant songs*
    Cassius' player: Open with World's Best Kisser, for that line...
    Jrska: *sings* I only kissed one girl before, my Grandma, on the kitchen floor, she dribbled and grinned, and said 'hey kid, you taught me things your Grandpa never did'.
    Me: And break it up with some Tom Lehrer, and the Ballad of Eskimo Nell
  Jrska: *sings* Stories of tortures, used by debauchers, lurid, licentious, and vile, make me smile. Novels that pander, to my taste for candour, give me a pleasure sublime, let's face it, I love slime.



But instead of Black Crusade - the Musical, Jrska faces a more ordinary test of her carnal appetites. Her opponent warns her that one one other person has survived her boudoir - Jrska's brother. Jrska gives him a delighted grin and two thumbs up, which he briefly returns. That's the joyful pervert she knows and loves.

    Jrska: Even if I don't survive it'll be worth it.

    GM: We'll draw a discrete curtain over the scene
    Jrska: Boooooooo!



Thanks to her patron's Mark, the pheromone emitters, and sheer awesomeness, Jrska has such a high charisma she can't fail the first seven rounds of the test. Mostly it's swapping tips and discussing her brother.

    Jrska: He makes the cutest noises when you do this.



But they do become increasingly extreme and strenuous.

    Jrska OOC: Lucky for me I'm female and therefore multiply orgasmic.

    GM: The courtiers listen with increasingly interested and appalled expressions, but all you see are the contestants' heads sticking out from between the curtains, when they request more supplies.
    Jrska: Bring me another penguin, this one's busted!



It all climaxes with Jrska's scream of triumph, and her challenger being helped to a chair and fanned down. The chamber itself, somewhat resembling the hotel room from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, is briefly considered as a museum piece to educate future generations, before they remove the entire chamber as is and dispatch it towards the heart of the Vortex so it can be closer to Slaanesh.

Jrska takes the time to change into something black and slinky for the next challenge - trading insults. Alas, her first plan of attack - getting her opponent to agree that Slaanesh is the youngest of the Chaos Gods, then demolishing that premise on the grounds that living things, even plants, have evolved insanely extravagant displays just for a chance to f*** since before there was even any intelligent life in the Universe - backfires when her opponent agrees. After that it rapidly degenerates into comments about Jrska's vaguely canine appearance, and then to criticism of each other's sexual habits.

    Jrska: If you think I spend all my time on my back, you need an education in doggy-style

    Jrska: I must compliment you on your understanding of Slaanesh. It shows an insight so concentrated, so pure... that one might almost mistake you for a virgin.
    Opponent: Being open to all experience does not require me to open my legs for anybody. One can find favour with the Prince of Pleasure by exploring a single aspect in all detail-
    Jrska: Oh,you're admitting you're monogamous then?

[Major Tom 2009]

Short two players this session, but not to worry - there were more then enough loose ends to tie up, and shopping lists to write. Jrska chancing across one of the pirate hordes her twin brother leaves stashed across the Screaming Vortex for those occasions he or she needs ridiculous amounts of petty cash will help. The plaque it's hidden behind amuses her excessively.

 

 "This plaque erected in honour of Thierry Nyugen, the demon whoremonger of Rangoon and satisfier of over 10000 women, and 592 men and 3205 zoological specimens and 800 things we're not sure about. Died laughing of explosive scrotal failure on this spot while pleasuring 18 Deamonettes, all of whom committed suicide in grief."

 

Jrska: The joke is that everybody knows it was 80 Deamonettes. I do hope my brother is still around - you'll like him

 Cog: I doubt this.

 

On Jrska's shopping list - somebody that can help her reconsecrate the Imperial chapel aboard the Chains of Judgement. Of course, given that she'll be reconsecrating it to Slaanesh, and the kind of things Slaaneshi rituals entail, finding someone that will survive until the end of it may be difficult. Especially in the face of Jrska's Weaponised Smut Field (™)

 

Cog: You need someone hardy and thick.

Cassius: *chokes*

Jrska: *looks innocent*

 

Some other useful acquisitions at the Painted Ziggurat - progenoid glands from the enemy Traitor Marine Sorcerer we blew up, intoxicated, and slaughtered (useful for Cassius' intended private Space Marine Army), and a mothballed genetek lab he can do all the cloning in. The decontamination chamber gives Jrska a chance to make her colleagues uncomfortable.

 

Jrska: 'Decontamination Chamber'? Does that mean we can get as dirty as we like? *leers*

 

They, unfortunately, deliver a barbed reply after the antiseptic shower.

 

Cog: Someone smells like wet dog in here

 

Still, Cassius and his followers return to the Wailing Halls, Jrska weighed down with assorted bling, and showing off her new Mark of Slaanesh that the god rewarded her with across her right breast.

 

GM: That crown really wasn't designed for somebody with your shape of head.

Jrska: On me, anything looks fabulous.

 

The inhabitants hold off on a robbery attempt - possibly out of curiosity, more likely because they saw us head off after an obviously superior party, and return not only alive but mostly uninjured, weighed down with bling, and dragging assorted Chaos Marine bodyparts. In the crowd of 'wellwishers' Jrska spots one of the locals she bought a treasure map off - a perfect opportunity to add a few more hapless souls to Cassius' crew.

 

Jrska: Friend! Buddy! I wish to thank you, most sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart! The map you sold us proved absolutely accurate! Just look at what we found! In gratitude, my lord Cassius wishes to offer you and your family a place aboard his starship. How swiftly can you gather all your family and loved ones? Unless you'd prefer to stay here, of course. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.*gesturing to the crowd, who have a growing air of 'pointed inquiry'.*

 

We hand over the Tyrant's Cord (Garath doesn't try anything, more's the pity) and receive a friendly warning that mercenaries were out asking questions. About Jrska, in particularly. Now might be a good time to get off Sacgrave, but not until we've arranged transport for the army of mutants we acquired earlier. Jrska practically salivates at the sight.

 

Jrska: I can't wait to educate them in the worship of Slaanesh. But don't worry, my lord Cassius. We're completely loyal to you. Isn't that right, boys and girls?

6000 Mutants: Yes, Lady Jrska.

 

Addressing the New Mutant Army

 

Jrska: Now, our lord Cassius is a very busy person, so if any of you have any problems or requests I want you to come to me.

 

If she doesn't have Cassius' entire army fanatically loyal to her before the year is out, I will be very surprised. On top of everything else, Jrska is prone to bursting into song - uniformly filthy songs, of course. Such as this one. Should  help with employee relations too, although that does assume the New  Mutant Army count as employees. After all, no-one intends to actually pay them. She goes to sweet-talk the spaceport Comptroller, turning on the full force of her cleavage, charm, and Smut Field.

 

Jrska: Now, who do I need to talk to to get me off...... this planet?

 

Unfortunately the only transport large enough is the mercenaries' own - and they're Khornate.

 

Cog: That is unfortunate - they are unlikely to be impressed by your oratory, given your own affiliation.

Jrska: True *sighs* My Mark would have impressed anybody else, too. Tits out for Victory!

Cog: *spurts carbonated nutrient fluid from his nose*

 

Fortunately, the soldiers are only on Sacgrave to pass on a message. One Prince Pseudanor of the Liberator - a good Slaaneshi name for a ship - demands Jrska's presence at their palace in the Ragged Helix asteroid belt. Time to plant some more paranoia. Even Cog helps.

 

Jrska: Of course they want to see us. All goes in accordance with the prophecy.

Grey: Prophecy?

Cog: Hail be the prophecy.

 

Grey: I assure we are not here to do you harm.

Jrska: This is indeed fortunate. I refrain from saying for who.

 

And the mercs even agree to shuttle the New Mutant Army up to the Chains of Judgement - it'll save time. So, off to the Ragged Helix, where pirate princes - megalomaniacs, libertines, and sociopaths all - take great pleasure at cutting each other dead with a witty remark or vicious rumour. It's going to be so much fun.

I should have known -- if anyone is going to weaponize a Smut Field, it's going to be Drhoz or someone in one of his campaigns.

 

 

Major Tom 2009

[BlueCloud2k2]

This one is from a dnd game that took place a while ago, as in back in 2nd edition AD&D. I am reminded of the incident whenever I see my signature. Now that signatures are visible again, I am reminded every time I post. So here we go

 

The setup: We were in the DMs homebrew setting. Bear in mind that said DM did not understand the concept of foreshadowing. Whenever he mentioned an evil menace, we'd end up facing said menace in no less than 2 gaming sessions (depending upon the length of the dungeon crawl.

 

We had just rolled into town, taking note of large scorch marks across the country-side. As we had a wizard in the party with a staff of fireballs, we thought nothing of it as the DM liked to describe the scorchmarks left by said staff.

 

The townpeople told us they were besieged by the Dragon Dethpyr (DM lacked in creative naming - the town was named Hamletown). They told us Dethpyr laired in the Shadow Stone Mountains, and begged us to save them.

 

So after spending an entire session with the Cleric wanting to heal every person in town who was injured and the thief wanting to loot what was left of the treasury, we set out.

 

In the Black Forest we encountered a band of trolls that were fleeing the dragon. We killed the trolls and took their stuff, but the shaman said "May Dethpyr take your souls." That was the end of session one. After that we reached the mountains and had to deal with a city of stonegiants that was in the midst of a civil war. We saved the city, and the king gave us a sword of dragon slaying. That was session two. So far, no dragon.

 

Session three: we climbed Death Peak. Fought some gargoyles and other random encounters. Had many warnings about a dragon. No dragon.

 

Sessions four through six: Dungeon Crawl in what is supposed to be Dethpyr's lair. Lots of references by his minions about a dragon. But did we find a dragon? No.

 

Session seven: made our way to the bottom level of the dungeon after a quartet of iron golems and a swarm of rust monsters. Found the dragon's hoard in a small crater overlooking a cliff and a pool of magma. There were some guardians but no dragon. The thief is messing with a treasure chest, the cleric is healing the wizard while he uses detect magic to figure out what loot is magical so we can prioritize it. The ranger looks at my character, the paladin and gets a wide-eyed look on his face (same character kept pranking my paladin by saying the dragon was behind me) and points screaming "Dragon!"

 

My Paladin: "What dragon? I'm sick of hearing about the dragon! When I see the dragon, I'm gonna kick his @$$!"

 

Dethpyr: "Oooh, lunch!" Crunch!

 

The dragon ate my paladin and had a magma chaser. Needless to say I did not survive.

[Lucius]

From a Call of Cthulhu game:

 

"Of course there's something fishy about her. There's an Innsmouth connection."

 

Next session:

 

"We thought she was fishy, but she turned out to be a red herring."

 

Lucius Alexander

 

The palindromedary notes that the smitten girl in question was a well-read herring

[Drhoz]

Jrska: I really have to restore my costume collection - sexy nurse, Imperial commissar, that sort of thing.
Cassius OOC: Don't forget Librarian.
Jrska: There's also Gothic Lolita but my brother was always better at that. Anyway, don't be concerned if you see me wearing a Commissar's cap and longcoat, and nothing else, and chasing Aladar down the corridors with a whip.
Cog: Now I'm picturing you in a mitre
Jrska: 'Pope of No Hope'

Fun in the fiefdom of Prince Pseudanor. Fun for Pseudanor's sister Jrska, anyway. For some reason her 'Master' Cassius is unimpressed by superhuman levels of debauchery.

Jrska: I'll be dancing the Masochism Tango across the dance floor. Some people do this with a rose between their teeth. I go straight for the Electric Eel.
Cog: I bet.
Jrska: And wait til you see where I put it later.

Cassius's player: Cassius' Pride is Foresight. And it's justified.
Me: So is mine - Beauty. And Jrska is GORGEOUS

Jrska OOC: I'm just waiting for you all align yourselves to one or another of the Chaos gods, so I can use the Seduction rules to lure you away again.

There's still two of the Trials to undertake, too - Vainglory and Indolence. One suggestion we make is combining the two - order several hundred of our mutant crew into Pseudanor's hunting preserve, and harry something almost to death, then step in and claim the kill.

Cassius: 'We're too lazy to do two tests for Pride and Indolence - let's do it in one. '

Of course, it's more likely the creature will hunt them, and then gorge itself into a food coma, but that makes for an easy kill too. But Pseudanor doubts it would be a good test of Indolence - true Sloth involves pursuing a pleasure right to the edge of oblivion, and then not taking that last easy step.

Jrska: Planking.

A difficult challenge for any true champion of Slaanesh, that's for sure. Either way, our host has an amusing idea for the test of Vainglory. Rold and a courtier will battle against a certain 'guest' currently in the custody of his Noise Marine allies. These wildly mutated marines are currently down in one of the tunnels, to limit the property damage.

Jrska: Well, you can't have them in the main hall - they'd wreck the fixtures. Like that lovely chandelier.
Cassius OOC: Especially after all those games of Horseshoes, throwing slaves onto it and seeing how many would stick.
Jrska: And all the other party games. You should see the Piñata. Well, sort of a piñata. And Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Except we don't have a donkey. Or a tail. We've got Interrogator Crane and a soldering iron.

Thus the entire court - and the heavily secured mystery target - strolls across to one of the neighbouring asteroids that Pseudanor has set up as a hunting park. He had the bridge paved with the living skin of Imperial citizens.

Jrska: Don't mind me, just admiring the tattoos.

Jrska claims a couch and hookah on one of the hovering viewing platforns, and sets herself up to be pleasantly stoned with hand-hermaphrodites sucking her toes.

Jrska: Have fun boys, Mama's going to relax right here

Rold and his opponent - both armed with swords - take up their positions opposite the crate.

Jrska: Notice how he hasn't even asked what he's up against yet? Cute butt, but the other end isn't much to speak of.

The occupant of the crate is revealed as a Loyalist Space Marine Dreadnought. Of Cassius' former Chapter, the Storm Crows. He is not pleased, to put it mildly.

Jrska: This should be fun.
Cassius: *Dragging Jrska up to face level, by the throat* This is a TRAVESTY.
Jrska: *going carefully limp* Perhaps you should advise your servant to take the Dreadnought alive, my Lord?
Cassius: .... As usual, your counsel is good, mutant.

Cassius: I have advice for you - don't die. I.E, don't kill him, or I'm going to kill you.

Jrska manages to get the entire court on Rold's side in the ensuing battle, with the swordsman attempting to duck under the Dreadnought's arms and climb up its front to attack it weak points.

Jrska: Rold, Rold, he's our man, if he can't do it, no-one can!
Cassius: Rold, Rold, he's our man, if he can't do it, GREAT!

GM: The Dreadnought can't actually see much at the moment
ME: I'm not surprised - it has Rold's codpiece across its face. I can just picture the machine spirit display 'TYRANID INFESTATION - CORRECTION, PUBIC LICE.'

Cassius' fury rapidly becomes disgust, since his battle-brother should have made short work of a mere two swordsmen. As it turns out, the dreadnought was playing for time, and uses it's remaining ammo to shoot out the hover-platform's anti-grav. It, and we, pancake spectacularly, and the Dreadnought shrugs off the wreckage and prepares to finish us all off.

Dreadnought: NOW IT IS MY TURN

Jrska: Time to double team with my brother
All: ...
Cassius: ... Not touching it.

Jrska hurries to borrow Cog's weaponry - she and Pseudanor survived the crash with catlike grace, but everybody else has been seriously wounded. The various courtiers lie around enjoying the exquisite agony of multiple compound fractures.

Jrska: I'll step on the faces of any courtiers en route - they won't mind.

Cog: It's an ammo glutton - you won't get many shots off.
Aladar: We won't need many.
Cog: Spoken like a dead man.

Cassius, flying overhead with his new wings, reluctantly decides he's going to have to disable the cyborg himself, and does so with a spectacular attack from above.

Cassius: .... Fuck it.
Jrska: I'm sure there are Slaaneshi champions that have tried to.

The trial of Vainglory aborted, Rold's opponent takes the opportunity to stab him in the kidneys. Apparently Jrska's jeering stung his pride. Being cut in half by Rold probably stings too. Rold claims the other's Flensing Blade for his growing collection of swords.

Jrska: Get many more and you weld them into a throne. A pointy, pointy throne

Pseudanor: I give you this warning, sister. You may have failed in the test of Vainglory, but should you succeed in the final test, I will be forced to consider you a threat to my reputation and dominance. I give you this offer - strike me down, and prove yourself worthy to be my replacement. Or leave now, without facing the final test. Your associates are placing you in deadly danger, and I must ask - How far are you prepared to go?
Jrska: *gives a little laugh* After all the things you and I have done, brother? You should know by now - I will stop at nothing. *steps closer* But I am the only person in the entire Vortex that will be genuinely pleased to see you excel. *kisses Pseudanor deeply, in a full body embrace with grinding hips, then turns to the others* Lord Cassius? We must go.

Of course, by doing this she just passed the Test of Indolence without even meaning to.

Jrska: Hey, remember that time someone said the brain was the ultimate sex organ, and I got you that electric drill for your birthday?

Aladar: I was expecting you to kiss him, then stab him
Jrska: I love my brother. I have stabbed him before, but it was just foreplay.

Jrska manages to persuade the Noise Marines to relinquish their guest in Cassius' custody, with a promise of the video and a carefully phrased argument and a certain ambivalence about which Storm Crow she's talking about.

Jrska: Surely Our Lady of Perpetual Indulgence would approve of our bringing one of the Corpse-god's servants into the fold? And imagine the marine's exquisite agony of seeing one of his brethren brought low.
Cassius OOC: It's cute how Jrska thinks Cassius doesn't see exactly she's doing.

Heading back to the docking bay, picking our way through the piles of unconscious and expired party-goers, and the various bodily fluids dripping off the walls and ceiling.

Jrska : This was a fun weekend. Nice and relaxing

Cassius doesn't bother 'picking his way' and deliberately tramples over anybody in his path.

Jrska: You really should be doing that in stilettos
Cog: Now I'm picturing you in power armour with heels.
Cassius: You haven't met the Adepta Sororitas

But Slaanesh's Lonely Hearts Club Warband continues to face some major obstacles, despite acquiring that accountant, and the group now having a phenomenally high approval rating among the pirates of the Ragged Helix. For one thing, they still desperately need more crew. Also, supplies, cargo lighters, and weapons for the ship. Jrska suggests a world they can raid, where the locals are not only loyal to the Emperor, but are armed only with rocks and sharpened rebar.

Aladar: We'd be gods.
Cog: They're not that stupid.
Jrska: Yes they are. They really are.

The world in Mammon, where the entire post-apocalyptic population is divided into two factions. One faction thinks that they are the true servants of the God-Emperor of Man, and that the other side are Chaos-worshipping scum worthy of total extermination. The other side thinks exactly the same thing. Naturally, the entire Vortex thinks this is endlessly hilarious, and occasionally supply one side or the other with an old laspistol, or even deamon weapons, then sit back and enjoy the fun.

Cog negotiates the services of the Chains of Judgement's Reclaimatorium, converting the pirates' assorted human debris into servitors, in return for food for the mutant crew.

Cassius: No more cannibalism
Jrska: Unless they want to.

Cassius' player starts comparing the make-up of the party to a certain popular animation. Jrska is insulted that she isn't considered the Element of Generosity

Cassius' player: *sings* My little cultist, my little cultist

Jrska: I'll have you know my brother and I never had any problem sharing our toys. Speaking of which... Aladar, sweety, could you come here a minute?
Aladar: *sigh* Coming, Mistress.
Jrska: Why don't you get your mistress a new wardrobe?
Cassius: Or more crew
Jrska: True. I can always skin them for the leather later.

Aladar, however, screws up the order - Jrska has no interest in Imperial fashions.

Jrska: Excuse me a moment. Ignore any noses you might hear coming from my stateroom. *drags Aladar off by his ear*
Rold: You should get those cut off, you keep getting dragged around by them.

Me: *staring at something on the fence*
Aladar's player: What is it?
Me: Just a bit of fluff caught in a spiderweb. And you're Jrska's bit of fluff

[Major Tom 2009]

I have no doubt that, after having danced the Masochism Tango, that Jrska's next move will be to

poison pigeons in the nearest Imperial Park, whilst planning the orbital bombardment of some

poor unsuspecting city-eating cockroach...

 

 

Major Tom 2009

[bigbywolfe]

I have no doubt that, after having danced the Masochism Tango, that Jrska's next move will be to

poison pigeons in the nearest Imperial Park, whilst planning the orbital bombardment of some

poor unsuspecting city-eating cockroach...

 

 

Major Tom 2009

You beat me to the Lehrer references. 

[BlueCloud2k2]

A Pathfinder game I'm playing in ATM:

 

My Character (Ramza The Beligerent), found a ring with a winged, tentacle, eyeball. I kept the ring to try and find out more about it. I have since been seeing our NPC servants have some glowing white stuff plucked out of their heads and replaced with dark glowing stuff by the winged tentacle eyeballs. At my sugguestion, we were tying our henchment up for our safety. When we got back into town (where we were well known), our henchmen quit and told everyone about their treatment.

 

The townsfolk were upset with the local Wizard's guild, and Ramza chose to address the angry mob.

 

Ramza: "My good people, hear me! You all know who I am!"

 

Crowd: "Yeah, you're Ramza the mad!"

 

Ramza: "I'm not mad, just very angry!"

[Drhoz]

The warband nominally under the control of renegade Space Marine Cassius continues in its long-term project of building alliances, swapping favours, and finding some poorly defended planet to enslave. Mammon, where both sides of the population earnestly believe they are doing the God-Emperor's will by exterminating the other half, seems ideal for the latter.

One useful item - for when we're infiltrating the Imperium later, anyway - would be the Inquisitorial Rosette that once belonged to that inquisitor we found turned into a deamonhost. Interrogator Crane might have known where it was, but he's not the man he was - not after a few nights of being used for party games by Jrska and her brother. She finds the mewling wreck on one of the piles after the party - it appears the Fleshcrafters have been having fun with him.

Jrska: Just a minute - I just want to demonstrate how the Imperium has treated its own citizens for the last 10,000 years. And by a happy coincidence I filled up at the bar. *unbuttons pants*

There's no reason to take him back aboard the Chains of Judgement, either.

Jrska: They're no fun when they're broken. Broken in, on the other hand...

And, of course, there are the other long-term projects - Cassius' intention to build a space marine chapter unbeholden to the Imperium OR Chaos, for example. Introducing Adept E, Jrska's latest minion and one of the tech-priests formerly slaved to 'Father's' will, and now assigned to medical duties among the meat-bags. A disturbing and resentful, almost sadistic individual, with a gimbal-mounted head and absolutely no bedside manner. Of course he's going to want genetic and tissue samples from Cassius.

Adept E: I require samples of the original germline. Please hold still.
Cassius: No.
Adept E: It will be inefficient to acquire samples if you are moving.

Oddly enough, Cassius is fine with Adept E drillling samples out of the Dreadnought's occupant - blood, skin, genegineered organs, and brain. Indeed, Cassius takes a disturbing amount of pleasure telling his captive what they are for.

Adept E: What sensory input do you receive when I do this? *drills biopsy samples out of the dreadnought's brain*

Apart from thousands of slaves to either run the ship or be sold off as raw material, the Chains of Judgement needs sensors, weapons, and urgent maintenance to the void and Gellar Fields.

GM: The Gellar Fields work, sort of. They just take much longer to switch on then you'd like.
the Peanut Gallery: Does that make them the Michelle Gellar Field?
Jrska OOC: Nah, the Michelle Gellar field never worked again

Navigating from the Ragged Helix to Mammon is even more difficult, and allegorical, than trying to navigate in 'normal' warpspace.

Aladar : I'm just sitting in the bridge watching the plaid.
Jrska: I can believe it - gazing into the warp is supposed to drive a mortal mind insane, after all.
Aladar: And we're travelling at Ludicrous Speed too.

None of which us reassuring, given the dire state of the ship's defences. The sign hanging near the Gellar Field generators being a case in point.

Cog: Days since last warp incursion -6

Still, the Chains of Judgement makes it to Mammon intact, despite detours through dimensions of madness and poetry.

GM: It takes you potato days to get there.

Jrska: I'll let Lord Cassius know we've arrived. *Strolls off singing* I want a magic purple pony princess, lalala
Me: You probably don't want me to finish this song - the original (Frank Zappa's 'Jewish Princess') was filthy enough, and it already had lines about doing it with four on the floor, and two sisters.

Jrska OOC: Going into safe orbit is your job. The Navigator has control over getting us here - and we have no control over the Navigator

Aladar proves amazingly inept at practically everything, including flying us down to the surface. It's astonishing we got down alive, to embark on Cassius' plan to enlist one of the factions. He'll have to do all the talking himself, since Jrska's mutant appearance will likely provoke a murderous riot.

Cassius: The only other way I can see this working is one you'd enjoy too much.
Jrska: ...that doesn't rule out much.
Cassius: It involves a collar and chain.
Jrska: *perks up*

Adept E takes the opportunity to criticise Cog for his close association with the fully organic - ironic, since that used to be his job - and express his distaste for same.

Adept E: They ooze, so biologically.

Aladar nearly crashes the lander, twice, as he circles across the post-apocalyptic landscape looking for a settlement to intimidate.

Cog: I just had the lander waxed! *Pumping fists in an inadvertently obscene manner*
Cassius: ....
Cog: I blame the Slaanesh cultist.

Jrska: Screw this up and I'll be very cross. You'll be spanked in ways you won't like.

The rest of the party don't have much luck spotting good landing areas either. And the landing is only just shy of pancake.

Jrska: The gods are against us. Against YOU anyway, they love me. The only god that counts, anyway.

GM: 'We landed on a witch.'
Jrska OOC: 'We represent the Lollipop Guild, Lollipop Guild' .... Of course the lollipops are old street signs they use as weapons.
Cog OOC: 'We represent the Jailbait Guild, Jailbait Guild'...

The local faction evidently believe the God-Emperor is dead, but if they exterminate all his enemies he'll come back to lead them. The colour of the sky, and its constant screaming, are the echoes of his death. They are understandably suspicious when some turns up claiming that he serves the Emperor, and the Emperor wants them to hand over any enemies that survive the constant battles so Cassius can make them earn redemption aboard the Chains of Judgement. Cassius convinces them of his sincerity, however, after considerable effort and some suggestions over the mike from Jrska - she has some knowledge of the million variations of the Imperial Cult, and claiming that Cassius still serves the Emperor's Will, through appalling carnage and suffering, was once true enough.

Cassius: I speak the words, I just don't believe them anymore.

The 6000 rusty revolvers Cassius provides should make the battles easier, although Cassius has to phrase basic gun safety in religious terms so they'll stop accidentally shooting each other.

Jrska: Arms, arms for the poor.

Cassius: Death and destruction is not the Emperor's ultimate desire - for this reason the first chamber must not be loaded.

The next few weeks are spent patching up the surviving captives and ferrying them up to cells aboard the Chains of Judgement - although a fair number get accidentally flushed into space when Aladar screws up again. THEY believe the Emperor is alive - how can you kill a god, after all? - but wounded by his own treacherous priests. The bloody sky and screaming is the ongoing battle against his legion of enemies, and they do what they can to help, by slaughtering the other faction on Mammon. They, after all, claim they are priests of the Emperor. These beliefs suit Cassius and Jrska to a tee - him, because he too believes the Emperor's objectives were betrayed by the Ecclesiarchy, and Jrska because those beliefs can so easily be perverted towards Slaanesh. She immediately commissions icons of a human figure pierced by numerous weapons - ostensibly the Emperor as these Mammonites picture him, really her own deamonic patron.

Jrska: Easy enough to do - the Imperial Cult has more then enough martyrs of that variety - Sebastian, Sabbat, all those other hagiographic hedgehogs.

Cassius has PER ARDUA SALVATIO, PER OFFICIO SALVARI painted opposite the cells. None of the prisoners can read, but they do have Jrska's demagoguery to convert them to the modified faith - that they can find favour in the eyes of the Emperor, by serving Cassius. In fact, her unnatural charisma and terrifying aura is now so potent she can process a thousand at a time. Of course, there's still a few hundred who refuse to comply, but those we can also sell them to the soul-merchants of Q'sal, or as experimental material to various hereteks, and so on. And Jrska sacrifices 66 of them to reconsecrate the chapel in suitably devout manner. True, sacrificing 66 clerics of the Emperor in the largest cathedral on Scintilla would please Slaanesh even more, but it's a start.

Jrska: And I can teach them some songs.

Come on, young children, and hark to our chanting
Bright copper hacksaws and hot heavy panting
Space Marine Chaplains all tied up with chains
These are the blessings that Slaaneshites gain

Cupcakes from ponies and slick ample strap-ons
Kumquats and truffles a leper has fapped on
DEILF* maidens screaming, insensate and spent
These are the blessings that Slaanesh will send

Clamps on your lipples** and Cog's awkward dancers
Soul-blasting riddles without any answers
Tyranid eggs with their buried yolk lit
These are the blessings that Slaanesh will spread

When my pants tent
When my bra's rent
When my head is smegged
I revel in pleasures that Slaanesh has sent
Until I can't feeeeeeeeeel my legs

*DEILF = Dark Eldar I'd Like to Flay - the words 'DEILF maidens' can be replaced with 'Dark Eldar', if your cultists have trouble remembering the line. Or, just whip them until they learn it.

**Lipples are a combination of 'lips' and 'nipples', a concept that originated in a rather, ah... specialized brand of adult entertainment. Lord Slaanesh approves!

Cassius: No.
Jrska: *shrugs* Their loss

And much kudos to pencil_monkey, who came up with that little number especially for this game.

Aladar screws up again, this time failing to spot a major ambush. The worst thing about it? It was Jrska that encouraged him to try to impress Cassius again.

Cassius: I was pleased by the way he accepted he was no help. And it wasn't me who talked him into trying again. I'm not blaming him for this - I'm blaming you.
Jrska: *to Aladar* You're getting such a look when you get home.

Cassius: My advice to you is ignore whatever Aladar tells you. In fact, do the opposite.

What next? Apart from Jrska training a cadre of 'morale officers', anyway.

GM: There are things to do on every planet.
Jrska: I'm sure there are. But then, I'm a Slaaneshi cultist. The two great human obsessions for all of history - can I eat it? And can I f*** it?

[BlueCloud2k2]

Following an encounter with a Bard, we were interrogating him and he refused to talk. Finally I threatened him with a fate worse than death.

 

"If you don't talk, I start singing," I deadpanned.

 

"You wouldn't dare! You're tone-deaf and sing like cat's fighting!" he shrieked (DM hates it when I sing cuz I'm a deep Bass and most the music I like is High-Baritone and Tenor range).

 

Me: "Fine, if that's the way you want to play it... 'I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel pretty, and nifty, and bright! And I pity, any girl who is not me..."

 

My Wife: "Fa-la-la-LAlala!"

 

Bard: "No! I'll talk, just please stop that horrible noise!"

 

Our DM got smacked in the head with my hat after the game.

[Cancer]

Following an encounter with a Bard, we were interrogating him and he refused to talk. Finally I threatened him with a fate worse than death.

 

"If you don't talk, I start singing," I deadpanned.

This approach also works on teen-age daughters.

[BlueCloud2k2]

This approach also works on teen-age daughters.

 

I'll keep that in mind

[BlueCloud2k2]

Ran into an old friend of mine last week on Battle.net. We started reminiscing about a Strategy Game we devised using a cross between Risk and D20 Modern. The game was based on StarCraft and each player had a character in charge of his army. It was more about the strategy and roleplaying than small-skirmishes, but the GM could create small-scale missions.

 

Anyhoo, my character's army was moving in to re-enforce another guy's troops. His army failed his moral check. So I tapped into his comm-frequency and started broadcasting a speech to his routed army.

 

"Friends, Terrans, Homo-sapiens. Show me your rears. Cuz any SOB stupid enough not to turn and fight right now is gonna take a .50 between the eyes (my armor had a squadron of Ghosts (psionic-enhanced assassins and snipers). We aren't going to end this war by dying for our race, but making the other guy die for his! Fire the nukes. My inspirational Speech check is a 22."

 

GM: "Fire the nukes?"

 

Me: "Sure. You said this was a canyon, and the fortress that fell was at the mouth. There is sufficient gap between the routed army and the Zerg onslaught, so send a couple of ghosts up to the top of the cliffs and have them fill it with nuclear hellfire and have my troops charge in after the blast wave settles. I shout "Come-on you apes, you wanna live forever!? Inspirational Speech check is a Natural 20! Score!"

 

GM rolls some dice. "Okay, aside from a few Ultralisks, which your siege tanks and Wraiths can make short work of, the way is clear. Your army absorbs what is left of Ted's, which replaces the losses you experience from the Zerg who burrowed in time to avoid the nuke. You reach the fort and now need to clear it out as it has become infested."

 

Ted: "Is this going to be a straight-up fight or another bug-hunt?"

 

Me: "It's the zerg. What the hell do you think?"

 

Ted: "How do I get out of this chicken-sh** outfit?"

 

I wish I could say that was the only time we quoted Aliens or Starship Troopers, but sadly the who game was that way.

 

BTW, eventually we lost the planet to the Zerg thanks to some crappy dice rolls and getting flanked.

[Drhoz]

Started a Shadowrun campaign - the GM intends to run it from 2050 forward. The players include most of the usual suspects.

 

The characters - 'Incubus' a elven Metal mage who has a day job as an effects magician on the Seattle music scene. A somewhat debauched individual, and the complete opposite of Felix Bethke (who will soon be earning the sobriquet 'Bubbles' despite his best efforts), his neat-freak Hermetic mage housemate.


Felix: We have rules, remember? So how is it that I found a half-empty can of Ebola Cola in my circles? It does not need that sort of thing - you could have ruined the chalklines!
Incubus:Hey, I didn't ruin it. I made it awesome!

Greenlight: I'm going to call you Bubbles
Felix OoC: I'm going to be stuck with this, aren't I.
Incubus: Just wait until I tell somebody to watch out, or I'll sic Bubbles on you.


Incubus needs the money from shadowrunning to help cover his share of the rent. Felix is just saving up to improve his investment portfolio. Felix used to be a wage mage for Aztechnology, but apparently learned something embarrassing to the company.


Titus: The entire corporation is run by chihuahuas.


But since his grandfather is a mid-level corporate in that company, simply having him killed would be even more embarrassing. Their fixer hooks them up with two runners they've not worked with before - Greenlight, a young man who's been living on the streets since his family got abducted by Renraku Corporation, and Titus, a troll. This, apparently, is the kind of team the client was after.


Incubus: We have an elf, a human, and a troll. And the beginning of a joke.

Greenlight: I've already got a neural jack, sticking other things in my head is just parsley around the burger.


The client is here to assess us before we meet her superior and are offered the job. After she leaves, we go to work - Incubus telepathically assessing the tail she picked up, stunning the lowlife in question with an Orgasm spell, then following the client back to her corporate helicopter while Seattle's genius loci keeps him concealed. With that info, it's short work to ID her, her field of expertise, her superiors, and the likely reason we're being hired - skill chips that company is making for the military.


GM: She works for Global Technology
Titus: It doesn't mean they're international, they just make light globes


Her superior is slightly annoyed but grudgingly impressed that we've already identified him, and his reason for hiring us, before we've even met.


Incubus: We did our research.
Felix: We ARE professionals, sir.


Apparently a trusted employee helped a group of runners steal the experimental military skill chips, and he needs them back before the end of the week. None of that stops Incubus from flirting shamelessly with "Ms. Johnson"


Felix: Can't you control yourself for five minutes?


Greenlight does not want to know what Incubus did to that lowlife trailing the Johnson, that left him twitching spasmodically in the hallway of the club, earlier.


Felix OoC: Some might describe him as seedy. Particularly afterwards.
Greenlight: I don't want to know.
Incubus: I just manipulated his pleasure centers.
Greenlight: What did I just say?

 

Incubus' player : I bet Jrska wishes she could do that
Me: *shrugs* Eh, she prefers the personal touch

Incubus: That reminds of a song. Except I haven't been.
Titus: ?
Incubus: Blowing Bubbles.


Back to Felix and Incubus' converted loft apartment. It's actually a very nice pad - lots of warehouse room below for their respective magical researches, and a hydroponics set-up so they can actually get fresh vegetables.


Felix: We even have fresh tomatoes
Greenlight: What the f*** is that?

Felix: We have rules though. He stays that side of the line on the floor, I stay mine. And the first person to mention The Odd Coven will be shot.
Greenlight: Have you to sold the rights to your lives or something?
Incubus: *glares*
Felix: No.

[Lucius]

Felix: We have rules though. He stays that side of the line on the floor, I stay mine. And the first person to mention The Odd Coven will be shot.

*Shoots Felix*

 

Lucius Alexander

 

the palindromedary asks if Hermetic magic is magic with an airtight seal

[Drhoz]

Having duly acquired several thousand deluded Mammonites, and sorted them out into "potential cannon fodder" and "hopelessly devoted to the Corpse-Emperor", and heading back to the Ragged Helix to buy more repairs to the Chains of Judgement. After all, we don't even have any working sensors, and have been relying entirely on the Navigator's unnatural abilities, and Cassius' divinations.

    Rold Dundee: 'I have a good feeling about... that way'
    Jrska: You think you're joking? That's exactly what it's been like.

    GM: The bridge is mostly dark, only a few lights flickering on the many consoles as you plunge through the Warp
    Jrska: Aladar sits in the command chair, weeping softly at his complete uselessness.

    Jrska: I've been busy training up all those 'morale officers' you wanted. My Kingfisher Girls... and Boys, I'm not prejudiced. Which reminds me, I have to borrow the egg-beater from the galley.
    Cassius: *eyes Jrska suspiciously*
    Jrska: For the advanced classes.
    Cassius: *long-suffering sigh*



One subject of discussion - when are we going to betray the tech-priest Magos running the engines, in order to forestall his inevitable betrayal of us? It'll probably have to be soon. But not until after the current crisis, in which every klaxon and flashing light goes off, and the Magos demands immediate assistance at the Gellar Field generators.

    Cog: This is what I get for not following up reports of people sleeping on duty in the Gellar Field room



Rushing to the site, we can hear the distinctive sound of heavy bolters firing. This makes Jrska's hackles raise, bolters being a signature weapon of the space marines, and any space marines that managed to get on board are unlikely to be our friends. Happily, the bolter fire is overlaying hideous, spine-chilling and unnatural screaming that grates on the very soul.

    Jrska: Ah, it's not space marines - it's only daemons.


Cog's player get some of his dice-rolling confused

    Cassius's player: It's addition and subtraction, dude!
    Rold Dundee's player: It's like playing darts with drunk people.



At least we find out what happened to those members of the cannibal tribe that didn't line up for cyberconversion. Because waves of them, possessed by daemons, are hurling themselves at the Gellar compartment's sentry guns. Even Cassius finds this alarming, despite a space marine's legendary enhancements.

    Jrska: “And they will know no fear“ Bullllllshiiiiiiiiiiiit.



The subsequent battle goes quite well for the warband - in particular Rold and his Hellblade making horrifically short work of the warpspawn - but Aladar proves typically useless.

    Jrska: You might as well stay down. You can shoot just as well prone as standing. i.e., not well.

    Aladar: I need a bigger weapon.
    Jrska: Yes, yes you do. I know all about the caliber of your weapon. *to Cassius* He's inadequate there, too.

    GM: Stop playing the bongos on Aladar's head.
    Jrska: OK, I'll play the steel drums instead. *switches to Cog*

    Jrska: Of course, one of the reasons I like the plasma pistol is the lovely phallic shape.
    Aladar: But you wouldn't want a misfire.
    Cassius: Why not? She used to it, with you.



But how did daemons get onto the ship, anyway? The groaning superstructure and unholy energy emanating from three decks down might be a clue - Cassius and Rold leap into the unknown, down a Geoffrey's Tube. Rold breaks his fall by digging his Hellblade into the walls of the shaft. Not very effective, since it's now so gorged on blood that the hullmetal doesn't even slow it down.

    Rold Dundee: There's now a big lightning bolt rip down the wall of the shaft.
    Jrska OoC: We'll have to rename the ship The Harry Potter



Jrska decides she'll be most useful by staying at the top and dropping hallucinogen grenades down the shaft. Cog, whilst not useful, starts tallying up the damage that Cassius and Rold have done to the ship. Aladar just runs down the vertical shaft, magboots clinging to the metal.

    Cassius OoC: The secrets of the obscure tech cult of 9-10-D-0. It includes a musical cue indicating battery life.



At the bottom of the shaft dozens of deranged cannibals are gathered around a summoning circle, currently occupied by that Space Marine berserker that got away, on Sacgrave.

    Jrska: Huh. I was wondering when he'd show up. And it's not like we didn't know he was on board somewhere... isn't that right, Rold? This is why you tell people when you find broken space marine power blades outside your cabin door.



That he managed to sneak aboard isn't that surprising - given all the damage to the sensors and hull he could have rammed the Chains of Judgement with another ship and no-one would have noticed - but that he's busily summoning Daemons of the Warp in order to destroy the ship's Gellar Field Generators is more than slightly alarming. Especially since he's clearly trying to summon an even bigger one.

    Rold Dundee: I'm going to cut through through all the ritual lines with my sword.
    Jrska OoC: So whatever they're summoning breaks free and does whatever it likes?
    Rold Dundee: Is that what happens? Pity I don't know that.

    Cassius: I need to go balls to the wall on this.
    Jrska: It's not like space marines use them for anything else.

    Jrska: I'm perfectly happy to be sitting three decks up, dropping stuff down the hole.
    Cog: Sounds like one of your date nights.



Cassius attempts to disrupt the summoning by flinging psychic attacks against the berserker. Rold keeps the cannibals occupied by wading into the horde and hacking about with the Hellblade, which is now so engorged with souls and bloodshed that the slightest nick is making multiple cultists explode. Cassius and the berserker both manage to screw up so badly that instead of the intended lesser daemon, a Greater Daemon takes an interest. Aladar arrives just in time to be blinded by the explosion of warp energy that vaporises the berserker and the remaining cultists.

    GM: I can just picture it - the Greater Deamon is watching from the Warp, and murmurs "Now this is getting interesting" and shoves the Lesser Daemon away from the rift - 'out of the way, you' - FLICK



The Daemon manages to get itself trapped inside Cassius's Force Staff, the Doomwind. This should be impossible, since force weapons destroy souls and daemons, but Cassius is still unwilling to touch the weapon. The way it's hanging in mid-air, screaming and streaming warp-lightning, might be a clue, as are the corruptive effects of the botched ritual on everyone present. Rold, overwhelmed with briefly sated bloodlust, dedicates the pile of smoking human debris to Khorne, and is rewarded with great black bat wings. Aladar will be waking up with warp-vision permanently burned into his optic nerves. And Cassius is now wreathed with warp energy. All three are that much closer to devolving into mindless Chaos Spawn. Cog and Jrska, still three decks up, manage to avoid all these debilitating corruption effects, and contrive to look innocent. After all, there are many ways to find the favour of the Ruinous Powers, that don't entail hurling yourself into a major summoning ritual.

[Drhoz]

The hosts for tonight's game are planning a videocast series about Saturday Morning Cartoons. When I got there they were watching Silverhawks, and trying not to tear their own eyes out.

GM: This needs less cheese
Peanut Gallery: The kebab you're eating or Silverhawks?



In Shadowrun, before we can actually leave our meeting with the client, the doors burst open and two very obvious armed ork bodyguards enter, bracing a third ork. Naturally, the PCs dive for cover and Inkubus and Felix fire off some spells - Stunball, in the case of Felix, and Orgy (the area effect Orgasm spell) from Inkubus. This promptly stuns the Ork trio into a highly embarrassing state, and in the case of one, into a coma. But before we can follow up with gel rounds to ensure they stay down, the client identifies the intruder as Junior, the goblinized son of Global Technologies' founder. This is somewhat embarrassing, but what did he expect would happen if he burst into a roomful of armed shadowrunners? At least we prefer non-lethal responses.Junior seems a bit disgruntled about the job we've been hired to do. But then, having to borrow towels from the bar to clean up the after-effects of Inkubus' spell might explain that.

Felix: You know, it may have been a non-lethal spell, but there exist people who are MORE likely to have you killed for doing that sort of thing to them. Especially in public.

Greenlight: He sounds like a villain from Neil the Ork Barbarian... Not that I watch that show.



Anyway - the missing chip designer, Teehee, wiped the computers before he fled, but we are given a boxful of stuff from his desk and apartment to investigate. It includes tickets to a recent Urban Brawl match - quite a popular sport.

Felix: Now in 3D!
Greenlight: And Smellovision!
Inkubus: Actually, no-one has ever successfully marketed an Urban Brawl sim-sense.



One oddity of infotech in 2050 - no wireless network. That's just one of the things that makes playing things like Riggers difficult in that era.

Titus: Now I'm picturing a rigger getting defeated because somebody decided to microwave a burrito



The box also includes a range of data and sim chips.

Felix: What kind of porn is it?
GM: ...BBDW
Felix: Big Breasted... Dwarf Women?

Felix: I didn't know dwarves were that flexible

GM: The last chip is slightly different.
Titus: BBOW
Felix: Ork Women?
Titus: Yup.
Felix: At least it's not all midget porn.



Happily, other clues point us towards a possible friend of Teehee's - his old college professor.

Felix: And the other seven photos are him and his college cronies drinking til they puke?
Titus: Frat boys frats boys frat boys Clue!

Greenlight's player: I'm sorry, I've done cyberforensics and I'm having trouble getting into the mindset of a game written before I was born.

Felix: Is there a dwarven stripper bar we can stake out? Hooters, with burrowing owls as the mascot?

Felix: I'm starting to wonder why the client wanted mages and adepts for this job, instead of infotech specialists
Inkubus: They're experimental skill chips. We'd be less likely to try them out.
Felix: Good point.
Inkubus: Experimental military skill chips, stolen by a runner team that knew what they were after.
Felix: .... We're going to need more firepower, aren't we?



Happily, Greenlight knows a disgraced ex-military dwarf who can help. We speculate about his handle - Longbarrel?

Titus: That sounds too much like a porn star name
Felix: Well, there's all that midget porn - maybe that's where we know him from.
Titus: 'I swear I know your face from somewhere...'
Dwarf: 'You might know me from such films as'



His handle is actually Warhammer.

Felix: Still sounds like a porn name.
Greenlight: And the troll might use you as an improvised weapon.
GM: And your real name is Michael Jordan - no relation.

Greenlight: I know a dwarf with a lot of firepower
Titus: Is that a euphemism?

Greenlight: This is Warhammer.
Felix OoC: Is he grimdark? Overpriced? Ridiculously cheesy?

Inkubus: I'm not a fruit!
Greenlight: We've encountered four men tonight that he's pleasured.
GM: One into a coma.



We spot one of Junior's bodygaurds watching us as we drive off. Inkubus Orgasms him again, thus leaving TWO unconscious orks for the ambulance to collect.

Puzzled Medical mage: His pleasure centres are lit up like Christmas trees!
Medic: So he hired a magical hooker?
Mage: Probably?

Medic: What happened to them?
Mage: I dunno, but I'm hearing this music - Bow Chicka Wow Wow

Greenlight's player: If Kevin plays an ork we'll have the complete set.
Inkubus' player: I think he is.
Greenlight's player: Hat trick!



One of the clues leads us to a grocery store near the university, frequented by Teehee, and as it happens, Titus. But then, Titus' hobbies include gardening, shadowrunning, and accountancy. Felix and Inkubus are delighted to find that the store has actual real vegetables too.

Inkubus: This is how Felix and I bond - we both love real food.
GM: They even have chocolate - the real thing.
Inkubus: Mine! Mine! Mine!
Felix: Is that Brazilian???
Inkubus: Mine! Oh, I'll be nice - I'll share it with you.
Felix: Lettuce! They have lettuce!

Inkubus: If you saw five strange men waiting in your usual store, and they said “Doctor Hendricks, can I have a word“ how would you react? That's right - you'd run.



The party split up, to cover more leads, avoid spooking the targets, and salivate over the chocolate.

Felix: I'll be tweeting about this.
Inkubus: Me too.

Greenlight: Is this an apple?
Felix: That's a persimmon.
Inkubus: Easy mistake to make.
Greenlight: How do I eat it?
Titus: With your face.



Professor Hendricks gives up without a fight - that people have been hunting for Teehee is apparently no surprise. Indeed, the chip designer is hiding out at Hendrick's one-room apartment, and spending most of his time jacked into the Matrix. We stand around his oblivious form, and send an email.

'You have 60 seconds to jack out or we pull the plug.'

Felix: You might like to know that there are a number of large and ugly men looking for you - and we're not all of them.
Inkubus: Speak for yourself - I'm gorgeous.
Warhammer: At least he didn't say that he's 'fabulous.'



Teehee is full of all sorts of interesting facts. The missing chips are 'personality chips' based on illegal Better Than Life technology, designed to give the user the skill set, artificial memories, and so on. Junior knows about this, including the illegal aspects. Teehee left a copy of all the chip details on Junior's desk computer - useful info. The client did seem eager to get Junior out of his corporate hair, and this way they might get their designer back too.

The shadowrunners that stole the chips with Teehee's help stiffed him on the fee, and he hasn't heard from them since. They even left one of their number shot down in the car park, which is news to us, but news we can track down.

But first, Teehee should be moved to another, safer locale, while corporate shenanigans ensue. Warhammer points out that if we're trying to hide from Junior's goons at Global Industries, the hotel charges on the expense account will be a bit of a giveaway. Besides, Titus can present the client with an itemised bill, later.

Inkubus: Titus and me are sitting on Teehee.
Felix: Not literally I hope.
Titus: Well, no.
Felix: 'He's not going anywhere - ever again.'



The others use their contacts to track down the abandoned runner shot by corporate security - she's at a specialist clinic. We do our best to stay in the doctor's good graces.

Felix: This is the man that may be sewing up your duodenum next month. You wouldn't want him to leave a pair of scissors inside you.
Inkubus: By 'accident'



The wounded runner is very pissed off with her former team leader Cooperman too, and is eager to drop him in the shit. Greenlight reassures her we only want the chips, and warns her that they are dangerously experimental. And gives her more details about the chips than is wise, given client confidentiality.

Titus: No more solo jobs for Greenlight until he gets over this 'honesty' thing.



We also learn that Cooperson is a history buff - particularly of the Mongol Khanate. Inkubus makes the connection.

Inkubus: Teehee... These personality chips... These experimental military skill chips... Were any of them based on Ghenghis Khan?
Teehee: ... Yes?
Felix: ..... Christ. If I check the news now we're going to see a small man with a pointy furry hat, riding a tiny horse through downtown Seattle, aren't we?



Close. If we'd been watching the news instead of checking Facebook, Tumblr, and writing expense claims, we'd already know that somebody claiming to be Ghenghis Khan has united three of Seattle's biker gang - or at least the gangs are finding him entertaining enough to go along with this, for now. Felix is suddenly glad they have Warhammer along for fire support. No doubt the other missing chips are even worse.

[Drhoz]

Aladar's warpsight mutation kicks in. Jrska is somewhat displeased with Aladar's reaction to the sight of her

Cog: What kind of Slaaneshi cultist are you? You're supposed to like screams.
Jrska: Screams of agonised ecstacy, sure. That was a scream of fear. *to Aladar, in tones of careful warning* I hope that doesn't mean you don't like what you see, sweety.

Anyway, the ship still needs repairs, and the hereteks have the skill and material we need. But what do we offer them in return? Perhaps our own heretek can negotiate.

Jrska: This is Cog's time to shine.
Cog: To crash and burn - i think you said that wrong

Jrska: Aladar wasn't a pirate, he was a rogue trader. There's a small difference.
GM: A small difference

Cassius intends to get his force staff exorcised.

Jrska: That should be interesting to watch. If you don't mind, we'll watch from orbit.
Aladar: You can always do it on Mammon. Nothing there to wreck.
Cassius: Hey! They might be religious nuts -
Jrska: But they're OUR religious nuts

And Cassius can cannibalise bits from the dead berserker's armour, to repair his own. That best-quality armourer's kit Jrska bought Rold (as part of her long-term plan to subvert his loyalty) will come in handy.

Jrska OoC: 'Pass me that socket wrench - the one with the silver inlay. And skulls.'

Jrska OoC: The former occupant leaks out through the holes.

But our Navigator's prognostications have urged him to bypass the Ragged Helix, and take us to the gigantic Universe-class ship and it's attendant battlecruisers, that a particular heretek uses as a mobile dry-dock for multiple starships.

Jrska: Isn't it nice when the help acts unilaterally.

The Arch-magos of the repair fleet has already heard of us, and is willing to repair and refit the Chains of Judgement if we do a little mercenary work for him - infiltrate the starbase of a rival heretek, introduce scrapcode into his datasystems, steal certain data-spools, and help ourselves to anything else that isn't nailed down. Our GM has inadvertently crafted a scenario well suited for an entirely different game.

Jrska OoC: So we're doing a shadowrun. We're deniable assets for one technology group, against another. It's Shadowrun with more skulls and ankle-length robes. And Pauldrons. Mustn't forget the pauldrons.
GM: Seniority is determined by the size of your pauldrons and hat. If your have pauldrons AND a hat, you're the most important person on the field
Aladar: I take off my hat.
Jrska: It's ok, sweety, anybody can tell you're not worth a sniper's bullet.

Although this does beg the question of what are we going to do about our own Arch-Magos? The more work we have done on the ship, the more likely 'Father' will realise we're not loyal imperial citizens, and do something about it. Perhaps= Jrska can do something, assuming'Father' still has any biological components?

'Father': That is my earlobe. Stop that.
Cog: 'That is my dignity'
Jrska OoC: I thought you lost that ages ago.

'Father': Shall. We. End. This. Pretence? I have seen. The modifications. You have made. To yourself. While they are not. As impressive. As the modifications I have made to myself. They too. Violate dogma.

'Father' is willing to admit that he too is heretekical. This is good news. Now we can all be happy traitors together, at least until the sudden and inevitable betrayal. Anyway - the Arch-magos running the drydock arranges to have us teleported into the rival's space station, while his fleet and the station indulge in live weapons testing on each other. We appear in a cornfield. This is momentarily confusing, until we realise we're in one of the overgrown agridomes on the giant station.

Rold OoC: Khorne flakes. They're violently delicious.

We are promptly attacked by a pair of Grox. Grox are the preferred livestock of the Imperium, despite the fact that they're hippo-sized vicious armoured omnivores that have to be lobotomised at hatching to stop them killing each other, and the herders.

Jrska OoC: 40k - even the food is grimdark!

Jrska leaps onto the back of one of the enraged beasts. Mostly because it's fun.

GM: Jrska has done what she does best and jumped on top of things.
Jrska: I have a rampaging grox between my legs.
Cog: Oh god, the noises.

Jrska: Maybe I need to get some backless chaps.
All: *fall silent as this image derails everybody's train of thought*

GM: You're in a maze of corridors.
Aladar OoC: So the corn is still around? Since we're in a maize section?
All: *howls of outrage*

To get part the heavy security presence, we have Cog lure two Tech-priests into a stairwell where we can kill them and steal their robes. Whilst they are suspicious about this techpriest they don't recognise, they opt to investigate immediately, rather than notify central security first.

Jrska OoC: Obviously the Arch-magos hasn't read the Evil Overlord list.

Cassius: We only need one pair of intact robes.
Aladar: Robes or lobes?
Jrska: Robes. If Cassius explodes their heads there wont be any intact lobes.

He doesn't just explode their heads. The first tech-priest... goes away. Loudly enough to get the attention of the one standing guard over Cog. The resulting melee gets quite bloody, if brief and one-sided.

Jrska: Just as well tech-priest robes are red, isn't it?

And thus Jrska patches up the robes, and prepares to hide under Cassius' robes and jiggle the looted cybernetics so we'll all pass as Tech-priests, at least from a distance.

GM: You have a sewing kit?... If it was any other character, I wouldn't believe you.

Jrska: And I'll manipulate the dangling bits.
Cog: *chokes*
Cassius: You're used to it.

GM: I can believe Jrska has the thigh strength to hang off Cassius' waist - I don't doubt it.

Aladar: You've got wings now?
Jrska: Yup, Cassius and Rold both do. I've got Wings too, but only at that time of the month.
All: *headdesk*

Jrska: I'll draw my splinter pistol and neural whip. If I jiggle it about maybe they'll think it's a mechadendrite.

The subsequent melee goes well for the party, despite wary security forces and murder-servitors. Our decker - sorry, Cog - uploads his IC - sorry, scrapcode, into the unsecured node - sorry, data cogitators... look, forget it - the first part of the 40K Shadowrun is going well - merry hell is breaking loose in the space station's data systems, and we're free to start the hunt for things to loot.

[DusterBoy]

Jrska has become my favourite characters, Drhoz and "Slaanesh's Lonely Hearts Club Warband" is the funniest thing on the QotW thread.

[Vondy]

From the "Percy Jackson" based game I'm running for my eleven year old daughter. She's playing Diana, the fifteen year old demi-god daughter of Artemis. She and her companions are thumbing it on the side of the road when a black limo with tinted windows, lightning bolt hub-caps, grill-work, and a "shock'em" vanity plate rolls up. Sean Bean... er, Zues... gives them a ride. He wants to have a "talk" with her. Basically, Selene and Hecate and her Mom are vying for control of the moon while someone is using the stygian witches to try to kill her. Zeus tells he her that Gaia is involved and that "the three" have decided she must finally be removed. He wants Artemis to "take the Earth," but doesn't want Selene or Hecate to have the Moon -- instead, he wants her be the heir to her mother's portfolio.

 

Her response: "What? Are you nuts?!"

 

Twelve labors loom large in her future.... fortunately, Kevin Sorbo, er... Hercules... is her best friend's dad.

[Hugh Neilson]

From the "Percy Jackson" based game I'm running for my eleven year old daughter. She's playing Diana, the fifteen year old demi-god daughter of Artemis. She and her companions are thumbing it on the side of the road when a black limo with tinted windows, lightning bolt hub-caps, grill-work, and a "shock'em" vanity plate rolls up. Sean Bean... er, Zues... gives them a ride. He wants to have a "talk" with her. Basically, Selene and Hecate and her Mom are vying for control of the moon while someone is using the stygian witches to try to kill her. Zeus tells he her that Gaia is involved and that "the three" have decided she must finally be removed. He wants Artemis to "take the Earth," but doesn't want Selene or Hecate to have the Moon -- instead, he wants her be the heir to her mother's portfolio.

 

Her response: "What? Are you nuts?!"

 

Twelve labors loom large in her future.... fortunately, Kevin Sorbo, er... Hercules... is her best friend's dad.

 

Is HE nuts?  Coming from a young woman with any knowledge of Greek mythology who willingly climbs into the back of a limo with Zeus?

[IndianaJoe3]

Is HE nuts?  Coming from a young woman with any knowledge of Greek mythology who willingly climbs into the back of a limo with Zeus?

 

Well, it is the daughter of virgin-goddess Artemis, so I presume some liberties have been taken with the setting.