Ctrl+V

[Clonus]

[Ragitsu]

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Ragitsu]

For HP: Move and Dodge.

 

For FP: ST, Move, and Dodge.

 

... On p. B380, under "Effects of Injury," first bullet point, "1/3 or less" should be "less than 1/3" (to agree with p. B419). It should also be clearer that the effects are on Move and Dodge, not Basic Speed. This is a consequence of the summary on p. B380 not being updated with the rest of the book during our edit. I sent in the erratum some time ago, but it seems to have missed the queue.

[Clonus]

This week on Rage Quit, Dr. Jones and Dr. Free attempt to save lives in Surgeon Simulator 2013. It's going to be a busy night at the morgue.

[Ragitsu]

Au Revoir

[Ragitsu]

http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/gallery/Alleged_Cambridge_spies?pg=2

[Ragitsu]

The Pick Pocket

 

Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack!

 

The sound of small bare feet beating against the cobblestone echoed off the walls on an empty street. A dirty little street urchin rounded the corner. Sweat beaded off his forehead causing streaks of dirt to run down his face. He ran up to a large red brick building and didn’t slow as he bounded up the debilitated steps of the orphanage. The boy dug his feet into the moldy concrete and gave the door a solid yank. It opened just far enough for him to slide his scrawny body into the building. He braced his feet against the wall and closed the door behind him with a loud thud. Before he could turn around three other kids were behind him bombarding him with questions.

 

“Where ya been? What are the coppers up to? Is it the Rotten Onions gang?”

 

The biggest one, a head taller than the others and twice as wide around, grabbed the other two and clonked their heads together shutting them up. The bigger boy crossed his thick arms and stared down at the scrawny lad with his piggy dark eyes. “Where you been at Buckminster? The coppers been patrolin keepin people inside. What’s goin on out there?”

Buckmister scrunched up his nose at the smell of the kids breath. It smelled like freshly swallowed onion stew.

 

“It aint nun your Bissnes where I been at” Buckminster hollered before elbowing the kid in the ribs and slipping past the trio.

 

He wasted no time looking back to see if they were chasing him, he knew they were. An orphanage teacher made a grab for him as he ran for the kitchen but he expertly ducked her and was through the kitchen doors before she could yell after him. Buckminster made his way to the back of the kitchen where another boy twice his height but with all the same features was scrubbing dishes.

 

“Andy! Andy! Andy!” He hollered from right behind him while grabbing the taller boy’s shirt to get his attention.

Andy turned around slowly. His unkempt brown hair dripped with labored sweat. The three pursuers stopped dead when they saw Andy staring them down and they quickly backtracked out of the kitchen.

 

“You missed lunch Bucky where you been at?”

 

“Andy you won’t believe if I told ya, but I’ma tell you any ways” Bucky’s brow scrunched together in thought. “What if I told ya we was gonna grow up to be wizards”

 

“Now that’s nonsense Bucky, how we gonna do that on account at we can’t even read?” Andy shot him a disapproving look that made Bucky want to shrink away. “Now I got dishes that are needn done run along”

 

Before Andy could turn around Bucky grabbed his shirt. “Hold on now, I got something for ya Andy”

 

Little Buckminster reached down to his front pocket. As his hand got nearer he could feel the pocket warming. When his hand entered the fabric it became almost too hot to bear. Then his fingers touched the objects. He knew what to expect this time. The heat rushed out of the pocket and ran through his entire body. His muscles warmed and his heart swelled, he stood taller and straighter. He wrapped his whole hand around the medallion and smiled while the slow steady pulses of energy coursed from his fingers to his toes and back. He had gained a feeling of arcane strength that made little Bucky feel unnaturally powerful. He slowly brought the metal up and out of his pocket, holding his closed fist out to Andy before opening it to reveal a golden sun no bigger than the palm of his hand. The little sun had an aged face carved on the front of it. The eyes and mouth gave off a faint light. Somewhere between blue green and yellow the color always evaded classification. Bucky looked into Andy’s eyes and saw the glow reflecting from his pupils.

 

“Little brother what is this? Where did you get it?”

 

Bucky grabbed Andy’s hand and dropped the medallion into his calloused palm. He grabbed his brother to steady him as his knees almost buckled beneath him and watched Andy’s expression change from shock and surprise to calm confidence.

“Where did you get this” Andy asked his eyes never leaving the medallion.

 

=================================================================================

 

Buckminster weaved through the crowded market street, keeping his eyes open for a loose purse. This was an imperial city market and business was always good. Every market stall had a busy crowd pushing and shoving to get the best deals. Nobody could have noticed as he brushed up against passersby sweeping pockets with his deft little hands. A comb, a couple pence here and there, a smooth stone, Bucky couldn’t get his hands on anything worth his time today. He absent mindedly reached his fingers into an elderly woman’s pocket. The old woman was terribly preoccupied with the alchemy stall and there was no chance she would notice. His fingertips grazed a small felt bag; he grabbed it and felt something hard inside. He slipped the interesting object out of the pocket and quickly made his way to a small ally choked with empty crates. Crouching behind a rotting crate out of sight he studied the intricate bag.

 

It was a red felt embroidered with some archaic words in golden thread. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the writing and the mystery enthralled him. He opened the bag and shook the golden sun out of it into his hand. Time slowed as the emblem fell. Even in the dim light of the ally it glimmered and shone. When it hit his palm he lost control of his body and fell into the mud dropping the bag. He jumped back up half covered in wet mud. He stared into the eyes of the sun until an incredibly peculiar noise snapped him out of the trance.

 

There was a loud sound like a rock dropping into the river but in reverse, then a lot of screaming and scrambling. Bucky peered out into the street and almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. People scrambled left and right. Shop owners slammed their windows shut. Shopping stall owners just up and abandoned their merchandise all together. Within several seconds the busy street was abandoned. A lone scrap of paper blew down the street and was quickly swallowed by what appeared to be a hole in the air. In the center of the street this hole in the air undulated and wobbled. An eerie green light oozed from the strange apparition. Little Bucky struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. It looked like there was another world on the other side of the hole and someone was walking towards it.

 

A tall black leather boot stepped out of the portal worn by a tall man dressed in a decadent purple robe. As he stepped out of the portal his robe flapped in the unnatural winds. The deep dark purple was spotted with silver stars that appeared to dance back in forth when the material moved as if he was wearing the night sky itself. The man took several seconds to gather himself and the portal sucked itself shut leaving the robe hanging off of his wide shoulders. His eyes locked on the only person left in the market square. It was the elderly woman, hunched over the alchemy stand scraping everything she could into her bag. He began walking toward her, every step he took meant business. Without looking the woman started making her way down the street in the opposite direction. Her tiny feet moved impossibly quickly but they were no match for the man’s stride. The man raised his right hand, palm facing her back. In his other hand an open book appeared. He yelled three short words.

 

“TING NUUM OMKIL”!!!!

 

Bucky’s hair stood on end as a spear of purple flames launched from the wizard’s palm. At the same second the elderly woman spun around with a quickness belying her frail body. She mumbled some nonsensical words herself waved her hands in front of her creating a luminescent blue shield. The spear struck glancing off the shield. It hurtled into the window of a nearby shop bursting into flames. The shield collapsed into itself in the woman’s palm. Bucky was frozen in place, too terrified to run, too fascinated to want to. Clearly he was now witnessing a wizard duel.

 

The two wizards locked gazes. Arcane energy electrified the air making little Bucky’s hair stand on end. The bottom of the elderly mages feet began to glow orange. Not before long her feet were blazing and the flames engulfed her entire body. In a flash the flames where out and black smoke choked the air around her. When the smoke cleared a younger woman stood in the place of the elderly one. He could tell she was a woman by the curvature of her body, fit perfectly by flowing orange silk. The silk cloak flowed and flapped mimicking the light from a crackling fireplace. Her face was covered by a feminine mask, the edges and eyes of the mask dancing with real flames.

 

“Still using that crusty old book Skylen?” The fire around her mask danced as she spoke.

 

“I came to take you back” the man said, his voice heavy with regret.

 

“And that spear? Was that not meant to kill me?” She sang back in a playful voice, warm and friendly as a campfire.

 

“You and I both know I couldn’t end you so simply, bringing you back wasn’t my only order however. If I cannot trap you or convince you, I am to kill you”

 

“And without thinking about whether or not you should, you jumped to the orders of your betters; you bent over and begged more please. Never taking the time to make a decision for yourself is that the way of it then? I am not coming back with you. Are you going to kill me? I think not. You haven’t the brain to come up with a way to kill me, or have your masters thought that problem through for you to.” Her voice now raged, clearly burning the heart of the man like a forest fire.

 

“They have.” He said his voice still heavy with regret.

 

At this moment Bucky noticed a small creature with pointy ears scratching some archaic symbol on the ground a few crates down. The creature was dark as a moonless night and it seemed to sap light from the air around it. Apparently the fiery woman noticed as well. She looked left and right; the creatures were now surrounding them both. The flames of her mask turned blue and simmered.

 

“Very clever” She said steadily but her shaking hands betrayed her calmness, whether from anger or fear was not apparent. “But have you wondered where exactly it is I’ve been for these past few months? Why you couldn’t’ track me? I’ve been in the vaults of the keepers Skylen… and I didn’t leave empty handed.”

 

She reached under her cloak. The man tensed, widening his feet and raising his right hand. The woman however didn’t pull anything from under the silk. She fumbled around searching her entire body now. The blue flames dimmed and were almost snuffed out. She was clearly panicking as she brought her hands out from under the cloak empty.

 

The black creature’s body fell to pieces and the pieces vanished in a dark vapor. The symbol was now glowing an icy blue. Bucky’s arms grew goose bumps as the heat was siphoned from the air .A shrill cry escaped the defiant woman’s lips while she attempted to cast one last spell. Bucky had to shield his face from the now overwhelming heat. There was an intense light that burned through Bucky’s eye lids. The light changed color from blue to green to white to red. A blast of arcane energy shattered the crates knocking the little street urchin down the alley into a pile of trash.

 

Coughing Bucky scrambled to his feet brushing off splinters of wood from his shirt. He wiped some mud from his face and stared out into the street. A purple haze covered the square; the air tasted sweet, like honey. No market stall still stood but instead pieces of debris floated a few feet off the ground slowly spinning on their own accord. There were no bodies. A portal opened and the man walked toward it. As he reached the arcane tunnel he glanced over his shoulder and looked Bucky right in the eye. The man’s face was long and sad. Every worried wrinkle seemed to tell its own story of betrayal and death. The man never looked away as the portal closed around him, and as quickly as he came he was gone.

 

Bucky stared out into the street drinking in the destruction wrought by a single man and woman. The shop that had caught fire in the fight was now burning out of control. Over the roar of the flames the sound of marching feet resonated through the murky thick air. The town guard was quickly marching on the square. He quickly took off into the ally way with all the speed of a spry young child.

 

=================================================================================

 

Buckminster took a deep breath after relaying the tale and looked up at his brother expectantly.

 

“If I wasn’t holding this in ma hand right now I’d box yer ears and let fatty cakes whoop ya fer wastin ma time with a story like that” Andy looked down on his brother with a wry smile.

 

“So do you think we can learn? I know a way into the library no one will ever know we were there.” Bucky exclaimed proudly.

 

“We’ll go tonight, now get on outa here so I can finish my work… and tell fatty cakes if he touches ya Ill set em on fire” They both laughed.

[Ragitsu]

but one must separate fantasy from reality.

[Ragitsu]

gratefulness

[Ragitsu]

The Blade Runner Gun: Pflage-Katsumata Model D Detective Special

 

This sidearm actually comes in three varieties, mutually exclusive. The reason for these three variants is that no one can ever agree what piece Deckard is really toting. Everybody knows what the gun prop really is, a Charter Arms Bulldog inside a part of a Steyr .222 SL rifle, but not what it is supposed to be in the film (presumable not a Bulldog in a Steyr hunting rifle part; that would just be silly).

 

In the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, on which Blade Runner is very loosely based, Deckard uses a "laser-tube", presumably some sort of laser pistol, and a .38 as back-up. The three guns below take only the film into account. There are three schools of thought regarding Deckard's sidearm: one that it is a revolver that fires normal bullets. This could be because the prop is in fact a revolver, and it is interesting to note that there is no magazine well for the sidearm, so it is not a semiautomatic pistol. Many also feel that that other than the prop, the weapon seems in the film itself to be a chemical slugthrower of some sort. For this interpretation I have built the weapon thus:

 

EDIT: After suggestions, the revolver will now use electro-thermal chemical ignition, greatly increasing stopping power and range, which also reflects how powerful the gun seemed for its size in the film.

 

TL9 Revolver variety: PK-D Detective Special, .45 ETC

Damage: 5d+2 pi+ Acc: 2 Range: 300/3,000 Weight: 3.5/0.3 RoF: 3 Shots: 6 (3i) ST: 11 Bulk: -2 Rcl: 4 Cost: 1,500 LC: 3

 

Others argue that while the gun may be a slugthrower, it need not be chemically based. These people point to the diodes on the side of the gun, seeming to indicate a charge. This interpretation suggests that Deckard's gun is an electromagnetic weapon, a Gauss pistol:

 

TL10 Gauss pistol variety: PK-D Detective Special, 6mm Gauss

Damage: 4d+2 (3) pi- Acc: 4 Range: 400/2,100 Weight: 2.1/0.5 RoF: 3 Shots: 20 (3)/C ST: 9 Bulk: -2 Rcl: 2 Cost: 1,600 LC: 3

 

Finally, we have the energy weapon interpretation; this is based on the fact that initially Ridley Scott had envisioned that firearms in the Blade Runner universe would fire some sort of beam carrying a microscopic black hole that would implode tissue on impact. The first prints of the scene where Leon blasts Holden had a black beam of energy issuing from his holdout, but Ridley Scott thought it looked silly, and removed it again. However the script still retains the name "blaster" for the firearms in Blade Runner. Based on this, fans have argued that the sidearm is indeed an energy weapon, firing an "implosion beam". This would as above also explain the diodes that supposedly were indicators of how charged the gun was.

 

TL12^ Blaster (“black hole gun”) variety: PK-D Detective Special Implosion Gun

Damage: 9d (3) cr Acc: 4 Range: 500/1,500 Weight: 3/2C RoF: 3 Shots: 12 (3) ST: 7 Bulk: -2 Rcl: 2 Cost: 5,000 LC: 2

[Ragitsu]

R.I.P. Joao. Joao has been killed. The creature attacked his head. Joao's head got crushed like a grape. Joao takes 110 points of damage to his head (which brings him down below the instant death death mark of -5xHP).

[Ragitsu]

In the end, the various parts of his body had at best DR 5, but his groin had DR 21!

[Clonus]

> What is the campaign about? Is

 

> it about the colonists and

 

> their challenge of making a life for themselves in a new

 

> land, or is it about

 

> the natives dealing with the threat of these alien

 

> invaders? That tells you

 

> what the reference society is. If it's about the

 

> colonists then the reference

 

> society is Britain, and the reference society never

 

> changes. If it's about the

 

> natives, then the reference society only changes when the

 

> GM decides that what

 

> the campaign is about has changed to...I don't know,

 

> hunting vampires in

 

> London.

[Ragitsu]

http://www.scribd.com/doc/37269792/Better-Human-Design

[Ragitsu]

http://www.lhup.edu/~dsimanek/neverwrk.htm

[Ragitsu]

Gaming Ballistic.

 

http://gamingballistic.blogspot.com/

[Ragitsu]

Do not expect to be applauded when you do the right thing, and do not expect to be forgiven when you err. But even your enemies will respect commitment—and a conscience at peace is worth more than a thousand tainted victories.

[Ragitsu]

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BladeOnAStick

[Ragitsu]

Galedeep

 

Tony Blundetti, known primarily by his New Breed moniker “Monochrome”, is a natural born criminal. It isn’t that he is a bad person, per say; he would argue that there is no good, no evil, that we are all both, and that everything is simply a shade of gray, with the purest white and the darkest black simple variations of the same thing.

 

He was born to a simple woman, the mistress of a Chicagoland mobster who was an exotic dancer until the birth of her son. As a second generation Sicilian, raised in a strictly traditional family, she depended on his Mafioso father to support them, which he did, if somewhat sporadically. Tony grew up poor, though he often had very nice things; he was a child accustomed to having holes in his shoes, stains in his shirts, and still having a brand new television in their living room. He was used to seeing his mother struggle to pay the bills, even as she received expensive fur coats from his father. He was used to poverty, even though he often had the nicest, newest, most expensive toys.

 

His father, a career thug, was thrown in prison for selling heroin, and was quickly killed on the inside after a rumor spread he was willing to testify to get out early. His mother withered after that, unable to move on with her life, and he supported her, dropping out of school in the ninth grade to steal cars.

 

Tony ran with a relatively dangerous crowd; several of his friends, all children of mobsters, had ambitions of their own crew, and by the age of seventeen, he was a known up and comer working for a made man, stealing cars, orchestrating break-ins, and performing simple thuggery. By the age of nineteen, he was considered an associate, and odds were good that he would go on to be made, if he kept his nose clean (by criminal standards, that is). Apart from a few minor arrests, he had no real convictions, and he had a knack for talking his way out of tough situations, so things were looking up for him.

 

Then, on the third of January, 2008, everything changed.

 

It was a little bit before two in the morning, and he was in the process of selecting a prostitute at a local brothel for his birthday, his friends egging him on. He had narrowed it down between an aging Redhead and a lithe, but slightly mannish, Asian woman when the pain hit him.

 

Later, his friend described it like seeing a drop of ink disperse in milk, until the whole thing was black, but all in an instant. Another said it looked like he caught on fire, but the fire was black; a third argued that he simply changed color between moments.

 

Whatever happened, he fell down, in agony. He felt pain for the last time.

 

When he pushed himself to his feet, his skin was not the ruddy brown color he inherited from his mothers background. His hair wasn’t dirty blonde, and his eyes…they weren’t hazel. They weren’t even human.

 

Instead, he was a steady dark gray, the dips and areas of discoloration on a human body instead darker or lighter shades of gray; his hair, unnaturally light, oddly…ephemeral, was a deep black. His eyes no longer had pupils; they were simply a uniform black, from edge to edge. He couldn’t move, at first, his body suddenly heavier. MUCH heavier. In an instant, he went from just under 180 pounds to just over 350 pounds.

 

He felt it, too; his mouth suddenly tasted foreign, his stomach…or rather, where his stomach once was, convulsed out of a lifetime of habit, though he would learn, later, that he didn’t have organs, as he had thought of them. The overwhelming stench of sulphur surrounded him, and the taste of ash filled his mouth, causing him to cough, hard, for minutes. It was only later that he realized he hadn’t breathed back in, as he lay on the ground, wracked with spasms.

 

The room was no longer decked in bright, but cheap, draperies of fabric. The fading wallpaper was not a dull yellow; it was a uniform gray, along with everyone else. The color had faded from the world, even as it had faded from him; when he managed to get to his feet, he could not understand, at first, why everyone was screaming. Why his friends, people he had grown up with, had drawn weapons.

 

Why his best friend, of close to fifteen years, shot him in the chest, twice.

 

It didn’t hurt…not exactly. He felt the pressure, felt the bullets enter his body…but it didn’t knock him back, and he didn’t recoil. In fact, it didn’t even seem all that serious, which made him wonder, in hindsight.

 

He watched himself, distantly, as his face turned into a scowl, and his arm extended, pointing at his friend; in an instant, the bullets were forced from his body, the holes closing, and a semi-solid black…thing, reaching up from the floor and eviscerated his best friend. The tentacle, glistening black, moved like oil, seemed almost to be made of the smooth, sickening liquid, but when it thrust itself through his friend, like a striking snake, and jerked to the side, sending organs dripping down onto the floor, Tony could see it was anything but soft.

 

The tentacle waved in the air, drifting in an unknown breeze, for several seconds. Tony couldn’t do anything be stare, watching the playful tentacle almost respond to his gaze, before it slid back to the floor, pooled, and to his amazement, and eventual horror, retracted back into his pants leg, resuming its rightful place as what was once the flesh of his leg.

 

Something…he couldn’t say what, warned him. He realized he was thinking much more clearly than usual, and with the warning sensation, he did what felt natural; he reached out, with his mind, and ripped the external wall from the building, probing, prodding tentacles of what seemed a mixture between ash and shadow ripping through the wood and concrete as if it was nothing; with another gesture, and a wrenching sensation in his stomach, he concentrated, and pulled…

 

…and something answered. As he focused, the shadows coalesced around his will, responded to it, and as he poured more power into it, a creature forced itself into being. Experimentation, and some thought, later proved these creatures were constructs, formed by his power and fueled by his own will, creations of the same stuff he was made from. When he first saw them, though…he could barely speak. They felt natural, loyal…like a beloved pet, almost, as it looked at him with beady black eyes.

 

Covered in spikes, long, terrifying claws extending from heavily muscled limbs, exuding a shadowy smoke, the creature rubbed its head against Tony’s leg. Without thinking, he patted it. It was only with conscious effort he avoided being impaled by the many long spikes covering the creatures back, like some hellish porcupine, and it was only with further effort he prevented it from slaughtering everyone in the building.

 

With barely a glance back, still somewhat in shock, though it was clearing with his much faster than usual thinking, he felt the shadow he controlled lift him, and carry him out into the night. With a powerful bound, his new pet, one of many more that would be created and follow him until morning, leapt into the night after him.