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Darren Watts

Quote of the Week from my gaming group...

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The Chains of Judgement is in a spot of bother – for one thing we're running for our lives from Imperial authorities who have finally figured out we were going around pretending to be Inquisitors. And, of more immediate concern, we've already been boarded by Millennial Wardens Space Marines. True, not many – probably no more than twenty – but five of them are heading to cut our ships internal comms and power, and our entire compliment of murder-servitors has only managed to slow them down. And the other half of that squad held off Cassius and Aladar and our pet Dreadnought long enough for two to break through towards the bridge.

Jrska is on that bridge. She is not known for her combat prowess.

True, Sister Joanna, one of those Sisters of Battle that Jrska seduced to the Dark Side, is available to assist, but there's still a good chance that these two marines will stop our escape. Cog is elsewhere, trying to keep Aladar's limbs from falling off.

Aladar: My legs are fine!
Jrska: Well, you would say that, Torso Boy.

Cassius, just now transformed into an immortal hell-entity, curses the fact that he'll never have enough fellowship to acquire the high-class minions his majesty deserves.

Jrska OoC: What can I say, my lord? Daemon Princes just don't have friends.

Cassius, mind being torn apart by the strain of infinite possibility, has a flashback to his youth before he was inducted into the Storm Crows, and an encounter with a whistling child with a suit three times too big for him, and the Herald welcoming him into the ranks of Daemonhood. The child is the dreadnaught. The daemon is merely one facet of the waves of unreality sweeping through the ship to mark Cassius' ascension.

Cog: … I think I'm a sofa.

GM: As Reality goes 'fuck this, I'm outta here'

Cog and Aladar find two Marine Scouts guarding their Cestus boarding ram.

Jrska: over the intercom My Lord? The bridge is about to be stormed.
Cassius: in an infrasonic rumble that doesn't even need the intercom UNDERSTOOD

The marines storming the bridge manage to expertly trick us – setting up blasting charges outside, in front of the cameras, when they're really attacking us from above, with Scouts, and frag and smoke grenades. The same thing we did when we took the ship for ourselves all those months ago.

Jrska: I really should have see that coming.

Cog: Go to Brown Alert!

The scouts at the boarding ram spot Cog and Aladar. Aladar rolls out into the corridor so he can try and shoot them with Big Bertha, his lascannon.

Jrska OoC: sweetly That shouldn't be a problem – you still have Infamy to burn, don't you?
Aladar: … yes. Whimper

Aladar forgets that this is the outer skin of the ship. Even with the lingering after-effects of Cassius' apotheosis, the laws of physics do not. The resulting hole in the hull – and the scout – is only just small enough to be sealed by one man. Aladar is going to be the man, seeing he was already prone. Lucky for him he was wearing magboots.

Cog: If we live through this I will plug that hole with your head.
Cassius: Once again Aladar is the biggest threat to the ship. I thought taking him of the helm would stop this happening.
Marine Scout: This sucks!

On the bridge, in the clouds of smoke, the boarding party are using laser sights.

Jrska: Great! Location finders!

That's a distraction too – it's the cue for the marines outside to blow the wall.

Cassius' player: This is what I get for designing a chapter of tactical geniuses. This isn't supposed to come back and bite me on the arse!
GM: Tzeentch and cruel irony.

Joanna leaps upwards to slice through the ventilation ducts, and hopefully the scouts inside.

Cog: Oh look. Another volunteer to plug holes in the ship.
Cassius: And if I make holes in the ship, am I volunteering?
Cog: I'll give whoever doesn't do it deliberately a pass. Aladar never gets a pass.

Cog: Morals are plummeting like Jrska's neckline.
Cassius: Morale.
Jrska: And morals.
Cassius: OK, he spoke correctly the first time.

Cog: I swear – by the amount of punishment Aladar is taking, Grandfather Nurgle must love him.

The marines attacking the bridge lock their boarding shields across the hole and blaze away with boltgun and meltas. Add to that the boltgun fire from the ventilation, and it's not surprising that Jrska gets hit repeatedly. She shudders on the deck after the exploding rounds gouge out chunks of skin and muscle, and gasps.

Jrska: Do that again.

Our dreadnought is still en route to the bridge, and has to endure Hooked on a Feeling, Nyan-cat AND Girl from Ipanema.

Cassius: We're sending him by the elevator?
GM: You'd rather him take the stairs?
Cog: Remember ED-209.

Joanna uses a flamer on the Marines – more to block their lines of sight, rather than any expectation it will actually get through their armour. And in such close quarters, she manages to set herself ablaze instead. Cassius, meanwhile, has taken a shortcut around the outside of the ship and bashes his was back in to assist Cog and Aladar. Neither of whom have seen him in his new form, so the blazing THING, nine feet tall, with biceps the size of a Space Marine's torso, is as much as shock to them as it is to the surviving Scout.

Jrska OoC: Are you really going to take the time to check its heraldry? Or instead take the much more sensible action of running for your life, possibly neck and neck with the Scout? 'We're all in this together now, boys!'

Plus Cog, who for some reason didn't upgrade his feet to electromagnetic, is trying to avoid the howling hurricane spiralling out the hole in the hull.

GM: This was an Imperial ship, there are enough handholds.
Jrska: And gargoyles. And giant rivets.

Cassius: offers assistance to Aladar by holding his force staff out to grab.

Cassius: It's only faintly crackling with psychic power.

Jrska charges the marines. Her daemonic whip Paintongue, combined with her Beguiling Cleavage, makes short work of the one with the meltagun.

Jrska: I want to get shot again! That was fun.

The burning battle-nun is likewise throwing herself at the marine in her frenzy. Even their boarding shield fails to prevent the marine's leg vanishing in a cloud of sizzling gristle.

The surviving scout on the decks below hurriedly reboards the boarding ram – probably because the controls for the heavy melta guns it used to burn its way into the Chains of Judgement are in there. Cassius doesn't care – mere physical armour is no limitation to the daemonic, even if it is almost proof against Aladar's lascannon. Still, getting the hell out of the way when the high-power melta-cutters open up is a good idea.

Cassius: Precognitive Dodge!!!
Cog: 'I knew this would happen – I saw it in my cornflakes this morning!'

The Cestus ram is attempting to burn its way deeper into the ship.

Cog: 'The Cestus Ram is coming!' 'That's what Jrska said!'

But sadly for the scout, the Winds of Change completely mutate the ram, its mechanisms, and pilot. Even disentangling his remains will be a geometrical puzzle to give even Cog pause.

Cog: I do not require recreation – I am Mechanicus.

And then the Chains finally makes it to the edge of the gravitational well of the Solace System, and we can jump to Warpspace. At least their won't be any more marines coming aboard. The fact our entire bridge crew has been slaughtered will be a problem. The remaining marine recovers from Jrska's Beguiling Cleavage long enough to completely sever Jrska's leg and new additional appendage. She'll recover, with Slaanesh's assistance, but even though she loses consciousness from the sheer pleasure of being repeatedly penetrated with a power knife, she's disappointed.

Jrska: I was hoping for the meltagun. Being vapourised would have been a real thrill.

Cog: When it comes to reattaching Jrska's leg, in deference to her unique talents I won't be putting her under. Let us begin the operation.

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Titus: Greenlight’s 'hitting people in the face and dodging being hit back' skills are roughly equivalent to mine.
Felix: But she doesn't hit them in the face.

We're in Bavaria, conducting a covert book purchase for the Great Dragon Celedyr. Not that anybody but Celedyr has any choice in the matter. Even worse for us, Celedyr's base of operations is, as he puts it 'Right under Lofwyr's nose'. As pawns in some complicated game between two Great Dragons, it seems likely that the description of our fate will include 'and they never even found the bodies'.

Anyway, the unwitting purchasee is Baron Munchmaussen, and he and his domain are best described as Doctor Doom and his model Bavarian village.

Felix: What I want to know is why a Potemkin Village was built in Bavaria.

Unfortunately for us, the decoy book is guarded by fire elementals. Worse, there's no fire suppression system in the library.

Felix: Was Dr Doom dropped on his head as a baby or something? I'm having flashbacks to that Ambergel factory – we've got fire elementals, your white phosphorus grenades and no fucking sprinklers.
Warhammer: I'm quite happy to burn the library down.
Felix: So is the Baron, apparently.

GM: The Baron is a dwarf.
Felix: That's a troll. The tusks and horns are a bit of a giveaway. As is the 5 foot height difference.
GM: I was inadvertently racist, wasn't I?
Felix: Yes. Just because he's holding a beer stein does not make him a dwarf.
Titus: And here was me picturing him as a cool mastermind.

Felix, back-pedalling frantically, calls down his bound water elemental, and Titus swings his mighty sledgehammer Mjolnir.

Titus: If I time this right I'll hit them so hard they turn into a water elemental.

GM: You could pee on it.
Labrat: He's not a peon.

GM: The fire elemental is remarkably female. And reptilian.
Warhammer: Just right for Inkubus!
Felix: Somehow I don't think asbestos condoms are a mass-produced item.
Labrat: But if anybody is going to have one...

Felix's water elemental proves spectacularly inept.

Felix: We didn't come here for a steam bath! I told you to kill it!

GM: It's Warhammer's turn.
Felix OoC: Time to bring out new rules, new codexes, and more expensive miniatures.
Warhammer OoC: And cool art and miniatures painted to a standard you'll never achieve.

Felix: Bringing the hammer to the stone. That there is an intervening fire elemental is irrelevant.
Titus: With that much follow-thru I might have to worry about the floor.

Indeed, there's an ominous ongoing CRACK.

Titus: Oops.

The floor caves in and we, and the burning contents of the library, are precipitated onto the floor below. Where the Baron is watching the security screens and enjoying a beer and cigar.

Felix: If he had the book we're never going to find it now. It just had a burning library dropped on it.
Titus: It's entirely possible the book isn't vulnerable to normal damage.
Felix: What a pity we are.

The Baron, being a troll, just shrugs off the wreckage. He seems unhappy for some reason. At least the security is heading to the wrong floor, now.

Felix: They're get to the door and go 'Where did the library go? Did we get out on the wrong floor?'

The Baron gets a shotgun-full of gel rounds in the face and goes down.

Felix: And there is the proof that gel rounds are actually useful.
Warhammer: And Inkubus isn't here to see it.

Felix's Catalog spell confirms that the real Faustian codex is in here somewhere. We'd better start digging through the piles of burning books.

Felix: What is this, Nazi Germany???

Felix: Does anybody want to open the book and see if it's the real thing this time?
Titus:.... Nooooo?

At least we drag the Baron out in the hall as we leave. We were explicitly told to not kill him, after all. That doesn't stop Warhammer lobbing a few more incendiaries into the wreckage.

Warhammer: He started it.

We Weekend At Bernies our way out, with the unconscious Baron being puppeted by invisible shadowrunners, then dump him and the mysterious valise in the garden, and leg it back to Inkubus and the Munchmaussen Riots.

Baron: The InTRUders Are over THEERRREEEE.

The successful mission, despite some very public side-effects such as the burning town and castle, did remain relatively covert. At least until the selfies of us riding on a dragon hit the Shadownet.

Inkubus: This place offended my sensibilities. It had to burn.
Felix: You realise this is going to go down in history as the Munchkin Riots, don’t you?

Felix: I wonder what a dragon doing a double facepalm look like.

Felix: More likely the plan was for Goldie to take the book back by her own route, while our large conspicuous group draws the pursuit.
Titus: But we did it so well they don't even know what we look like.
Felix: They know one of us speaks German and the rest swear a lot in English.

We make it back to Celedyr’s secret underground research facility near Berlin. It’s not there.

Warhammer: The dragon’s fucking stiffed us!
Inkubus: And this surprises you how?
Felix: Huh. I was expecting to find a smoking crater and fiery graffiti reading -
Inkubus: ‘Lofwyr was here’

But the money transfer does come through – evidently Celedyr was at least partially satisfied with the result. By the end of it all (and the admittedly expensive Customs inquiries when we went to England and somehow come back from Germany) we all have close to half a million nuyen in the bank.

GM: Why are you Runners again?
Felix: Because we're adrenaline junkies and idiots.

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GM: It's Warhammer's turn.

Felix OoC: Time to bring out new rules, new codexes, and more expensive miniatures.

Warhammer OoC: And cool art and miniatures painted to a standard you'll never achieve.

 

 

This right there is why Games Workshop can kiss my ass.

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One of my characters has a power that lets him heat metals, damaging everyone who touches them (ideally for scalding people's guns and making them drop their weapons). 

 

When I used the power on a robot, we weren't sure if it would actually damage the robot itself, or just everyone who touched it.

 

Cue: "Is the robot touching itself?"

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Jrska gets to see her master in his new daemonic flesh. But her screaming instinctual terror isn't enough to cause permanent mental damage. A pity really, since Slaaneshi disorders include Unspeakable Urge.

Jrska OoC: I can't think of anything Jrska would consider unspeakably perverse.
Aladar: Praying to the Emperor?
Cassius: You actually enjoy the warmth of the Emperor's light.
Jrska: Yeah, that'd do it.

Jrska: Oh, my Lord – you could have such a fine Deamon Prince of Slaanesh wistful sigh

There's still a few Space Marine Scouts hiding in the ducts, but we can also hunt them down later.

Jrska has a plan – we woke up a Necrontyr tomb complex when the Ardent Crown hit the planet Solace. This was coincidental – we had no idea the Necrons were there, even with the prophecy from that shrine back on Voluptua. But the Imperium doesn't KNOW it was accidental – so we spread propaganda that we are going to waken the Men of Iron all across the sector. That should provoke considerable panic – the Imperium is almost entirely ignorant of the Necrons, but the Men of Iron were the legendary AIs and robots from Terra's Dark Age of Technology (i.e. that period when humanity still actually understood technology).

We jump to Ashen, a cemetery world where we can hopefully avoid pursuit and the more active parts of the Spinward Fringe War between the Imperium and the rebellious Severian Dominate. Apparently there used to be an Imperial force here, but they got wiped out by a necromancer some time ago.

Jrska: May I suggest a meeting with this learned gentleman, my lord? I'm sure he has a few Imperial warmachines lying around, that he has no use for. And Cog DID bring up the idea of making Daemon Engines.
Cog: Don't look at me! I can't do the summoning rituals!
Cassius: I can.

Antilios the Necromancer greets us politely, despite natural suspicion.

Cog: The dead do not make good conversationalists.

GM: After the necromancer stops screaming at the sight of you...
Cassius: I'm going to pick over your battlefields, OK?

Antilios is reluctant to hand over his battletank trophies – after all, why aid a potential rival?

Cassius: I assure you they'll be coming back this way later.
GM: That does not reassure him.
 

But with the promise of rewards in the form of secret knowledge from the Imperial dead, Antilios does promise to aid our future Black Crusade. Time to rebuild those tanks into unholy warmachines!

Cassius: I give honest answers to questions! They might not be the whole truth, but they're honest.

Jrska charms the Chains of Judgement's ruling techpriest into assisting with the rebuild and ritual, Indeed, charms him so well that Father insists on personal involvement, and that the ritual takes place in his own workshop. If this works, Father might well start replacing ALL the tech on the ship with bound daemonic technology. Of course, being part of such a ritual will have deleterious effects – it could strip away every point of Jrska's IQ, for example.

Cog: Jrska becomes a ditzy blonde

Probably best she stays out of this, then. For one thing, it’s doubtful she’d have the patience for the months of work involved. And even more importantly, her allegiance is to Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure, and Cassius intends to install a Flamer of Tzeentch.

Jrska: I expect I'm off trying to find 6 virgins to feed to the Slaaneshi deamonhost in the temple. Not easy, on this ship.

The salvaged tank is certainly changing in interesting ways, as the Flamer is bound into its new metal form – the sponsons, for example, become rippling Anomalocaris-like lobes that propel its hovering frame around, shifting warpfire boils off the hull, it sprouts an eye and psychic abilities, and a warp accelerator that turns anybody nearby into primordial sludge. It also starts raining blood, and all the oil in the machinery nearby transforms as well.

Jrska: Khorne mustn't like this.
Cassius: No, this is Khorne's blessing.
Jrska: Good point.

Jrska: I can't wait to try this out on the Imperials. Can we get a Slaanesh one next, pleeeeeease?
Cassius: Maybe.
Jrska: If I'm a good girl.

Jrska: So, what does Father think of this result?
GM: Heeeee … has no comment.

Aladar: Can I attach a mop to the end of Cassius' force staff?
Cog: No. Do not goad the Daemon Prince.

We arrive back at Warzone Epsilon, where we dropped Grey's agent off months ago. There's a giant starfort guarding an agri-world, and the Imperial fleet that was massing for an offensive against the planet is a bit bigger, and trading fire with the fort, and attempting boarding actions against it. Our new disguise is that of a Severian Dominate ship.

Jrska: Whoops.

Grey's agent will require extraction – but if we play this right we might be able to acquire the entire starfort.

Cog: Inside I'm going Squee!

One of the arms of the station has been destroyed by a giant explosion.

Jrska: Your work?
Agent X: Indirectly. I did not expect the imperial cruiser's pilot to be so foolhardy.
Cog: turns to Aladar You have a brother?

X and his Warpsmith ally suggest ways Chaos can wrest triumph from the battling parties – one is a ritual to move the entire starfort – the other is seizing control of some of the Imperial ships, and using them to tow it. Since there's no shortage of Imperial and Dominate troops already on the starfort, we should have plenty of potential sacrifices.

Cassius: We're summoning a Warp Leviathan into reality, encouraging it to swallow the starfort, then dive back into the Warp and spit us out somewhere else.

It won't even take many deaths – sacrificing the Imperial and Dominate commanders (or having them kill each other) will attract the Leviathan's attention.

Jrska: Quality, not quantity.

Nobody comments on the oddness of Jrska, of all people, promoting such a philosophy. The Severian troops at the dock welcome the arrival of 'reinforcements'. X's troops gun them down from behind. Then Cassius disembarks. One of the chaos troopers drops dead at the mere sight. There's no sign of the warpsmith – apparently he's heading to the starfort's engines. And may be planning a ritual to turn the entire starfort into a daemonic engine. Cassius makes his decision – charge right in causing as much havoc as possible, our daemon tank and daemon prince scattering both sides until we can take both commanders by the throat.

Cassius: Sometimes you use a hammer where a rapier will fail.

Little things like burning lieutenants alive, or tricking them into killing their own troops, will please Tzeentch and amuse Jrska. Although we do need to stop that Warpsmith first.

Jrska: And tell him to calm his tits.

Cassius observes that the Dominate uniform might confuse Imperial troops.

Sniper One: Where's the leader?
Sniper Two: Dunno, they've all got the same sized pauldrons.

The first squad of Dominate troops that we run into, and their tank transport, don't have time to realise what hit them.

Cassius: I'm Pushing the psychic power. Tzeentch likes it when I push.
Jrska: So do I :D

The Stormlord Superheavy Tank we run into next lasts longer, but not much. Jrska and her Kingfisher girls have wisely stepped into side rooms, but Aladar has already run forward to try and backstab it. Probably unwisely of him, given the sheer scale of Cassius' and the Deamon Engine's attacks, but does put him close enough to throw white phosphorus grenades into the troop compartment. And, of course, the Daemontank's psychic abilities means it completely avoids the horrendous storm of mega-bolter fire the Stormlord throws at it.

The troops riding on the back of the Stormlord pop up, see what they're facing, and promptly duck back down in eminently understandable terror. Where that incendiary grenade is waiting. Cassius fries the crew with warpflame, but the tank's machine spirits suffice to keep it going. Our own tank retaliates, 'forgetting' that its masters are in the way. Cassius has to ht the floor, not only to avoid friendly fire, but to try and get underneath the superheavy that's trying to ram him against the bulkheads. Aladar jetpacks onto its roof and burns his way in with a lascannon, Cassius attempts to take out its engines, and Cog prays to the Omnissiah that enough of the Stormlord will be left for him to salvage. For one thing it'll make an awesome Deamon Engine, although we'll probably have to keep it well away from the first one. It might hold a grudge.

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Aboard the huge Lycurgos-Pattern Starfort in warzone Epsilon, where the Imperium and the rebel Severian Dominate are currently battling for dominance, and where we've turned up to take away their toys. Our objectives – capture the enemy leaders alive so we can use them in a ritual to summon a Warp Leviathan, stop the Warpsmith from converting the entire Starfort into a Daemon Engine, and amuse ourselves with such personal entertainment as burning officers alive and tricking them into killing their own men.

Stormfarrow, our pet Daemon Engine, is proving a highly useful minion, and is making short work of enemy tanks three times its size.

Cassius: If you can't control daemon tanks, you have no place leading a war.

Of course, this is when Aladar gets us hopelessly lost.

Jrska: My lord? Shall I chastise him or shall you?
Cassius: We don't have the time.
Jrska: I was only going to cut off an ear or two.
Cassius: Cog? Keep an eye open for cerebral implants. No anaesthetic

Cassius: If this is not the right path, Aladar, I will tear apart your mind and reassemble it until you believe you're a ten-year-old girl named Tiffany.

At least Jrska's Kingfisher Girls collect a bunch of Severian uniforms and grenades as we proceed. Sister Joanna has been picking up mutations, as well. Although some of us hope that doesn't include Animal Hybrid.

Cog: Bivalve.
Cassius: I hope not. Jrska will start making -
Jrska: Clam jokes XD

Instead she sprouts wings, where every feather glimmers like a dragonfly's wings.

Jrska: I'm just thinking how pretty those will be when I'm banging her from behind.

Cog: Jrska would bang anything. Jrska would bang a tree.
Jrska: Correct! Got wood? …. those sexy sexy Ent-wives....

Jrska: I'm hoping some of you actually align yourself to other gods – I want to seduce you to the worship of Slaneesh. 'Come to the Fun Side – we have cookies.'

Apparently the Warpsmith is a veteran of the Alpha Legion, who are notorious for their convoluted schemes and treachery. Neither of which explains his choice of a giant space-Nazi robot pitbull and a playful if utterly disgusting Beast of Nurgle of guard dogs, but still isn't completely surprising. Parley proceeds as amicably as can hoped, despite the conflict between the Warpsmith's time restraints, and our own intentions.

Warpsmith Arkurion: This plasma reactor will become its true and beating heart.
Cassius: Problematic.
Warpsmith Arkurion: But rewarding.

He agrees to postpone his own ritual as long as possible. We'd better hurry up and catch those Imperial and Severian leaders. Although we predict problems, since it turns out we're both trying to summon the same warp entity. Happily, Jrska can still lie through her teeth, once Cassius telepathically prompts her.

Jrska: My lords? The prophecy and your divinations have already revealed the voyage will be favourable for us.
All: HAIL THE PROPHECY.

So, we have nine hours to find the leaders, and conduct our own ritual. We attempt to locate the Severian leader – Cog by hacking the starfort's comm-net, Jrska's Kingfisher Girls dressing as Severian troops, and Cassius by piling up all those Severian corpses, mutating them, and reading the auguries in the twisted results. That, of course, manages to invite a dozen daemons into reality and Cog, Aladar and 10 of Jrska's minions are promptly possessed. On the other hand, Cassius is so intimidating they promptly obey when told to SIT, even those most of them have no previous experience of butts.

Jrska: Can I keep them?

Jrska is disappointed when the daemons return to Warp. She was busily unbuttoning her fly at the time.

Cassius: You use buttons? I expected Velcro.
Cog: For speed.

In fact, Cassius' psychic efforts do so much damage to reality that a Lord of Change steps out of thin air with an itemised list of everything we need to know to catch the Severian leader.

Jrska manages to draw the Severian troops away with details of the Imperial killteam currently trying to assassinate the rebel leader. Cassius, Joanna, and the tank stay behind to start prepping the ritual, since they'll be a bit conspicuous as Chaotic. We don't even need Aladar's navigation attempts anymore.

Cog: Daemonic GPS.

But it would appear the Imperial stormtroopers got through anyway, since there's a furious battle at the Severian HQ when we get there. True, the stormtroopers and their transport retreat when we show up to 'reinforce' the HQ, but they're still a threat. Mostly because with a suitable Command test, even a flashlight can punch through superheavy armour, and these stormtroopers can actually shoot straight. Aladar survives the retaliatory fire by going insubstantial, but poor Cog isn't so lucky.

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May 2052 - A year since our brush with the dragons, and nobody has turned up to immolate our apartments yet.

Inkubus: So we're probably okay.

Despite those selfies of us riding a dragon's back being posted on the Shadownet, anonymously.

Lots of other stuff has been happening, that we thankfully avoided. A free spirit has revealed itself as a major shareholder, forcing the Japanese government to extend citizen rights to astral entities. The Transpolar Aleut left the Native American Nations. An arcology has been built in the North Sea. Bioware is becoming cheap enough for the average cit. Seattle acquired a major shipping agreement and the economy has exploded. A new president is elected and promptly dies. Inkubus gets offered something 'better than Better Than Life chips', and narrowly avoids addiction.

Greenlight: I'm 21 now! I can drink legally!

Inkubus: My friend thinks My Little Pony uses Shadowrun magic. Earth ponies are physical adepts. Unicorns are true mages.
GM: Zecora is a Shaman?
Felix: And Changelings are insect spirits.
Inkubus: Exactly!

Inkubus: The next metamagic feat I want is Sympathetic Linkage. 'Hmm, this looks like that building – sculpt sculpt sculpt'
Felix: Get out the mashed potato.

Inkubus: And I've started wearing shirts.
Greenlight: Who are you and what have you done with our friend!
Inkubus: Part of the business is looking respectable.
Greenlight: But I can't recognise you by face! I need to see those perfect cheesegrater abs!

Inkubus has been working his way into the entertainment, party, and music scene. Hence the shirt.

GM: Only Ms. Winter gets to see the abs.
Inkubus: I'm sorry, are you implying I be mon... mon...
Felix: Rhymes with Epstein-Barr Virus.

It's at one of our weekly meet-ups for fine dining that we're approached by a rotund man.

Titus: It's the Penguin!
GM: He's a lot more bedraggled then that.
Titus: It's the Penguin on a bad day!
GM: He speaks in a high, crackling voi- Oh god, it IS the Penguin.

He seems desperate to talk to us. It probably has something to do with the suitcase chained to his wrist.

The Penguin: Thank the stars! We must talk at once! You can't know what I've had to do to find you!
Felix: Then don't tell us.
The Penguin: Let us retire to the restaurant and enjoy our midday repast.
Felix: How did you get in here?

Greenlight: So, how is the 'killing people for profit' going?
Warhammer: Profitable.

The Penguin – one Topal – orders a half-dozen entrees and desserts, and as we watch him like a pride of hungry lions bemused by a angry baby goat, he offers us 5000 nuyen each for a three hour escort mission. He's also cracking jawbreakers in his bare hands. Titus shakes his hand – a good excuse for some quick psychometry. He's very nervous, and the suitcase is extremely important, and dragging the local magical environment around like a lump of neutronium.

Felix: Is there a convenient canal outside so we can use a boat to bypass the plot again?

Topal is freaked out that we know how nervous he is.

Felix: Are you under a magical geas that stops you talking about the suitcase?
Topal: How am I supposed to tell you that?
Inkubus: It's the most common omission when somebody gets put under a geas 'Don't tell anybody about the geas'

We accept the job, and promptly refuse to let him get out of our sight.

Greenlight: You're coming with us, Mr Penguin. I mean, Mr Johnson.

Topal wants to drive out to the Puyallup Barrens – even scarier than the Redmond Barrens. We're promptly followed by a mob of bikers.

Felix: You know, what we need here is one of those self-inflating lifeboats. We push it out the back door, pull the cord and it goes WHOMP.
Greenlight: That's a great idea! Why don't we have one of those?

We do have Inkubus' Barrier spell.

Greenlight OoC: GM wants a chase scene.
Inkubus OoC: Metal mage says No.

The destination is one of Seattle's more notorious junkyards. Inkubus calls up some insurance – the spirit of the junkyard, a formidable canine THING. Topal enters via by a tunnel under the fence.

Titus: He's a burrowing penguin.
Felix: Fairy Penguin? They burrow.

Titus just lifts us over the fence. There's a black elf waiting for us.

Greenlight: They prefer African-American elf these days.

Elf: Are you ready, Raven man?
Felix: Penguin man.

Things aren't going to plan – there were supposed to be three people here. And there's vehicles approaching. Topal tries to force the suitcase onto us.

Topal: No, no, this is all wrong. Here, take this!

Not being completely stupid, we all back off fast. And when the Lone Star police turn up to arrest everybody, we simply put our hands up. After all, apart from trespassing on the junkyard, we haven't done anything illegal. Of course, then somebody yells “Fuck, it's the Star! Ice him!”

Luckily for Topal, the sniper manages to hit his own team healer by mistake. Not good for the tiny mage.

Inkubus: She looks like one of those Cancer Kids!
Greenlight: She was from the Make-a-Wish Foundation – she wanted to be a shadowrunner.

Lone Star Chief: All right Bloodraven! We've got you and your terrorist compadres surrounded! Surrender and we might only beat the drek out of you!

Inkubus has the spirit conceal us and our client, and we depart. If the Lone Star were smart, they'd spray the entire area with fire, but they're preoccupied with that sniper at the moment.

Greenlight: Must have been a Lone Star sniper – nobody would be so bad as to shoot their own mage.
Inkubus: If Warhammer shot me, I'd assume he meant it.
Greenlight: If he shot you you'd have 14 holes in your chest.
Inkubus: I'd have thought he could do it with one.
Greenlight: Have you seen him shoot? I've never seen him select single-fire once!

The Penguin isn't looking well – 40 years older, and at death's door.

Felix: Do we go through his pockets for loose change now?

The Penguin: It's.. too powerful! You must destroy it? Find... Trixie!
Felix: The Great and Powerful Trixie?

Trixie is not, in fact, the famous pony, but the equally famous Seattle mage – the oldest in the city, in fact.

GM: Does anybody want to astrally assense the suitcase?
All: NO.

We roll Topal's body out the door as a snack for the Barren's inhabitants.

Greenlight: Goodbye, Mr. Penguin.
Felix: Eh, I give it six months before DC brings him back.

Trixie's shop has no wards – but does house dozens of dog spirits who are very interested in our presence outside. And she knew we were coming.

Titus: Divination will do that.

Greenlight: We won't tell her about the bikers. Whilst awesome it was irrelevant.

Trixie: Hello dearies-
GM: Oh, sorry, that was my elderly witch voice. Wait a minute – she IS an elderly witch!
Greenlight: First time this campaign your voices have actually be appropriate XD

Trixie insists she take the box with us while she thinks about us. We all take a sharp step backwards.

Inkubus: It was his dying wish that we bring it to you. And he was a client. As magically aware individuals we are not going to fuck around with that sort of wish.

Trixie says the contents of the suitcase – a statue – is phenomenally evil, and can only be destroyed by a dragon.

Inkubus: Good luck with that! So far this has cost us some gas money. We haven't even shot anybody! If it WAS handcuffed to me I'd saw my own arm off! And it's not like we have any way to contact a dragon.
Felix: Welllll...
Inkubus: No! Shut up!
Greenlight: *clamps hand over Felix's mouth*
Warhammer: Don't you say a fucking word!

Felix: Well, we might not have got any money or karma, but we've dodged a bullet.

Or possibly not. In a few weeks Felix is hearing rumours that there's a serial killer-dragon – thankfully not a GREAT dragon – out there. And that the half-eaten remains are horribly decayed, as if aged by decades. And that another dragon is offering a quarter-mil bounty on the killer's head....

Inkubus: I'd rather go up against a dragon than a Juggernaut. And those things are wandering around the American countryside.
Greenlight: Juggernaut?
Inkubus: Awakened Armadillo.

Inkubus can divine a link if he can get access to one of the victims. Greenlight can get him into the corporate morgue, after one of our contacts (one CyberPope) hacks our data into their systems. But why would a dragon serial-killer want to kill an exec from a real estate company that own much of the Puyullup Barrens?

Inkubus: Do we really want this job? If we kill the dragon we'll just have the idol again.
Warhammer: I just want to kill a dragon.

Titus: Which dragon put the hit out on the serial-killer?

The Feathered Serpent Aleesh, we learn. Perhaps we'd better talk to her first.

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So our group was playing a Heroes campaign (Skilled normals ~120 starting points). When asked about backstories I said I worked at the dam in the city. That led to this interesting conversation.

 

(All OOC)

GM: So Malik (me) where are you at currently? (Time being right around 7AM in game)

Me: At my dam job of course

Table dies laughing

Me: Whats so funny? I work at that dam place...

More laughter (I had no idea what I said at this point but its slowly dawning on me

There must have been another 10 jokes tossed about the dam in here, before I finally had enough and said in my most dead-pan voice: "Ok enough with the dam jokes." I then fell out of my chair laughing. 

 

This is what happens when out group starts drinking 2 hours before the game starts and the person who slept the MOST only had 4 hours of sleep...

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So our group was playing a Heroes campaign (Skilled normals ~120 starting points). When asked about backstories I said I worked at the dam in the city. That led to this interesting conversation.

 

(All OOC)

GM: So Malik (me) where are you at currently? (Time being right around 7AM in game)

Me: At my dam job of course

Table dies laughing

Me: Whats so funny? I work at that dam place...

More laughter (I had no idea what I said at this point but its slowly dawning on me

There must have been another 10 jokes tossed about the dam in here, before I finally had enough and said in my most dead-pan voice: "Ok enough with the dam jokes." I then fell out of my chair laughing. 

 

This is what happens when out group starts drinking 2 hours before the game starts and the person who slept the MOST only had 4 hours of sleep...

 

Take the silliness of gaming, add alcohol, and sit back and watch as silliness increased by a factor of rum!

 

Still glad my drinking days are behind me.

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Joanna wants to use the combat ability Double-team, but needs somebody else with the ability first.

Jrska OoC: leers I've got Double-team.
Cassius OoC: facepalm Given Jrska's recent mutation ... you may as well rename it Spitroast.

Joanna seems to be leaning towards Slaanesh worship despite her best efforts. With any luck she'll no longer be a Sister of Battle, but can be rechristened a Sister of Pain.

Jrska: Who could resist when I'm around as such a good example? No-one can resist the beastwoman's butt. Poses

Cassius has also realised he can share his power with his minions.

GM: You'll still need to mark them with profane symbols.
Joanna: I'll let Cassius brand me.
Jrska: Aw, you won't let ME brand you.
Joanna: I never said that...

Jrska: I'm going to have so much fun with Joanna.
Cassius: You do realise I'll be branding her with Tzeentchian runes, right?
Jrska: Eh, I'll balance it with a nice Slaanesh symbol on her other buttock.

Cassius' player (to GM): I been watching – you've been stroking your goatee all day
Joanna's player: 'What shall I do to the PCs now?'
Jrska's player: He needs a white cat
GM: Now I'll all self-conscious!
Cassius' player: My work here is done.

Anyway – Cassius and Joanna are setting up a ritual that require the mutual murder of the Imperial and Severian commanders, while the rest of the warband are off to capture the aforementioned individuals. In fact, we just drove off an Imperial Stormtrooper attack on the Severian HQ.

Aladar, still insubstantial, hurries off after the retreating stormtroopers. He still has officers to immolate, after all. Cog, of course, is still lying shot and bleeding back at the door trying to weld his ribs back into place.

Jrska: That's why I left him to it. He needs to learn to appreciate the agony.

The Severian general is wearing a big white fur coat.

Jrska: Mmmm, I'll have that.

Jrska and her Kingfisher Girls, all wearing looted Severian uniforms, take refuge in audacity and stroll right into rebel HQ like they belong there.

Jrska: The body language screams 'Officer!' while the actual facts say Mutant.
Cassius: And by the time they sort out the cognitive dissonance -
Jrska: I'll be right in the middle of them :)

She marches up to the Severian commander, and unhooks a Web grenade from her bandolier.

Jrska: Reinforcements from home, sir. I was told to give you this.

Jrska does her very best Arnold Rimmer salute, but the Severian general recoils just in time to avoid the worst of exploding web grenade. Rapidly hardening fluid sprays in all directions.

GM: There's something I could say here, but I won't.
Jrska: Well, that was premature. :D
Cassius' Player: Did I ever tell you about my Bukkake Missile character? (A Monk/Psion with Entangling Ectoplasm.)

True, Jrska gets caught in the entangling blast too, but she DID manage to get within arm’s length of the Severian general, and they're now bound face to face.

Jrska: Hi there. Is that a plasma pistol in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?
General: Get away from me, beast!
Jrska: fondles the general
General: Get off me!
Jrska: He doesn't know me very well, does he?
Cassius OoC: What's that condition that scrambles the order of words you hear? And he just said 'Get Off Me'

A pack of Severian troops attack Jrska as she frees herself of the goop. She giggles as one actually manages to hurt her.

Jrska: Oh you cute boy! A dozen warriors can stain their weapons in me without harm.

Back at the ritual room, somebody lobs a few grenades into the ritual room. Rather than ruin the preparation, Daemon Prince Cassius flings himself over the explosives. After all, he's a daemon now.

Jrska OoC: With any luck they aren't holy hand grenades.

True, this is probably evidence that Cassius hasn’t got the hang of being a Lord of Chaos yet – a true devotee of the Ruinous Powers would have thrown one of his minions over the grenade.

Joanna: Imperials? Those guys are so dead.
GM: Maybe.
Joanna: Are they wearing red shirts?
GM: Actually.. checks the Regiment picture Yes. Sigh

GM: I just thought – can you hear your own voice over mindlink?
Cassius: Is that what I sound like? Oh gods, why did nobody tell me? Is that my ass? Why did nobody tell me!

Joanna kills the Imperial sergeant before Cassius can psychically devour his mind, and he radiates his displeasure.

Jrska: Don't worry, my lord, I'll chastise her later – I've been saving that porcupine-skin condom for a special occasion.

The Imperials are reconsidering the wisdom of attacking a Daemon Prince.

Troops: Run away! Run away!

Cassius eats the brain of the sergeant Joanna killed – not ideal, but still useful given his lingering Space Marine talents - and radios his commander, mimics the sergeant's voice, and get gets a tactical sitrep. Including the whereabouts of the Imperial Commander. He sends Joanna off to assist Jrska’s efforts. Our Daemon Engine Stormfarrow sulks.

Joanna arrives at the Severian HQ and starts lobbing frag and stun grenades into the swirling melee of blinded, insane, stunned and raving Severians, Kingfisher Girls, and PCs. Aladar disarms the blinded General.

Aladar: Anybody got any sedatives?
Jrska: Cog does.
Joanna: I thought you would.
Jrska: I tend to go for stimulants :D

We cart the Severian general and a few of the more amusing survivors back to Cassius, who mind-probes the general for communication codes. Then Jrska informs the Severian troops that the general has been kidnapped by Imperials dressed as Severians, and where in the starfort he's being taken. Since this includes the equally confused Imperials, the results should be glorious chaos as everybody converges and start fighting each other and themselves.

Of course, we still need to capture the Imperial commander, and somehow get the two commanders to kill each other.

Cog: Don't forget to switch uniforms.
Jrska: Thanks for the reminder :)

We send Stormfarrow off to have fun with the Imperial fortifications, while we flank the Imperial HQ, and burn our way through the walls with Cassius' fearsome psychic power. The encampment on the other side is absolutely normal for this kind of engagement.

Jrska: Standard IKEA encampment?
Cassius: The tech-priests would like to know how you know the name of the Ancient Standard Construction Template designer.

Time to storm the pre-fab fortress!

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I remember the very first time a new player joined our group of experienced D&D'ers. One of them had told him something about trapped candles that shoot magic fire at whoever passes in front of them.

So, during the adventure, I (GM) am describing a narrow hallway, completely oblivious to the conversation mentioned above, and tell them that there are a pair of red candles.

Immediately, our new player goes: "I know this! Those are those dangerous candles, aren't they?" He proceeds to cut them to pieces and grins at me in triumph over his cleverness.

Me: " Ok. You're now standing in the dark."

 

Ever since that day, I always made sure there was at least 1 room in the enemy stronghold that had candles  :snicker:

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I remember the very first time a new player joined our group of experienced D&D'ers. One of them had told him something about trapped candles that shoot magic fire at whoever passes in front of them.

So, during the adventure, I (GM) am describing a narrow hallway, completely oblivious to the conversation mentioned above, and tell them that there are a pair of red candles.

Immediately, our new player goes: "I know this! Those are those dangerous candles, aren't they?" He proceeds to cut them to pieces and grins at me in triumph over his cleverness.

Me: " Ok. You're now standing in the dark."

 

Ever since that day, I always made sure there was at least 1 room in the enemy stronghold that had candles  :snicker:

 

 

Nice... that sounds like somethng my PF GM might pull 'cos he's sneaky like that as well.

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What I can't figure out is why anybody in that universe worships anything BUT Slaanesh

 

Lucius Alexander

 

the palindromedary has one word: masochists.

Slaanesh types tend to live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse.

 

Want bloody revenge or martial pride? Khorne will strengthen you arm.

 

Envious of another's position, or yearning after knowledge? Tzeench listens.

 

Fearful of death, or simply crushed under the monolithic tyranny of the Imperium? Papa Nurgle loves you, and is generous with his gifts. True, you'll be a bit stinky, but you'll live forever!

 

Then, of course, there's the Emperor, who will protect you from the Ruinous Powers. At least, that's what his priests have been saying for the last 10,000 years.

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Ah yes, the Immortal God-Emperor.

 

Got beaned in the head with a God-Emperor mini once (was playing MtG at a distant FLGS) as one of the 40k lads got pissed off as someone out-rules-lawyered him. So he got mad and threw his vewwy-vewwy expensive God-Emperor miniature at someone as he packed up his crap (literally swept his side of the table into a plastic tote).

 

Not only did he get banned, he was given the choice of forfeiting the mini to me or me pressing charges for assault and battery. So after he left I traded the mini for some MtG Booster packs. Looking back I should have traded for some 40k minis, as I mourn how expensive the game has gotten.

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Hurt like a mother-humper though.

 

Ironically enough, guy I hung around with for a bit a few years ago from Tulsa was there that day playing 40k. I mentioned gaming at that particular game store and he said he used to play 40k there and went to highschool with store owner (I knew this to be true as he was able to tell me the name of the store's owner without missing a beat). Then I told him about the God-Emperor to the head and he was all "That was you? I remember that. Yeah that guy was a douche!"

 

Turns out he was running a Necron Army the next table over and was really hoping to not have to go up against said douche.

 

Small freaking world, though.

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