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[d20 Future] Take a Trip to the Rim... (IC and OOC)
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His reference to the harsher worlds where the terraforming either didn't take, or went wrong somehow, poses the question not only of what to expect, but how they are likely to be received.
"Just to be clear, The local brass is expecting us? I'm not sure a whole lot of folk are particularly helpful towards strangers in these parts. Just sayin', may be smart to check in as quietly as we can, work out what we can with the brass, then try to blend in as best we can. My license is still good on every world from here to the rim, if we need to we can go in under cover as a medical team. Folks are more inclined to help a doctor trying to do right, than some armed jockeys from the core."
His eyes twitch slightly as he interacts with his retinal display, pulling up invisible neon colored menus out of the space in front of him. He touches the card in his pocket and bounces the file over to one of the auxiliary displays in the room.
An official medical license and call, featuring "yours truly's" calm mug and vitals flashes as if awaiting action.
Jonas looks over to the steely image of the captain and to the GAPPS agent. "You're more than welcome to use my mug and call if it will help. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up - makes no sense not using what we got when we need it. Besides, if something goes sour, logs on planetside will show a respectable doctor and ex fleetman gone missing."
He eyes everyone as if weighing their reaction.
"Captain, Are there any files on the missing persons? I'd like to see them if they are not classified, to try to make what connections we can before we set down."
"Or, I can just go with you guys. It's your call."
On the one hand, that could (tactically) be a good move for scoping out the population. On the other hand, splitting the party can end very, very badly.
You can see the Captain typing something on his end momentarily, "I'm sending over the lists of the known missing so far. You can go over them, but I have and I haven't seen anything in there. All ages, all types, just looks like targets of opportunity." The file finishes transferring about 20 seconds later; a plain document with attached photos detailing each of the victims missing, the dates times ages etc, as well as general information about the Planet and its government and infrastructure. There's 23 known victims so far, and as the Captain said it just seems to be completely random, just whoever was unlucky at any particular time.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
The old man takes a long draft from his mug.
"At least this'll probably get us off the ship."
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
"Alright. Here's a simple breakdown so far. Once we hit the planet, We'll break into two teams. I'll take the official squad and meet up with the locals and get this investigation started proper. Jonas, you're with me. Tend to the survivors, and use some of that bedside manner to make friends. One of them may remember something. Charles and Varnon, you two stick around the spaceport and keep your eyes and ears open for any leads. Take Turos wtih you and make like you're spacebums looking for work." Mason grins, "Shouldn't be to hard too maintain that cover. Turos, I want you all over the computer networks see if you can dig up any hidden files. Keep your comlinks on and stay in touch. We'll meet back up again later to compare our findings."
Splitting the party may indeed be a bad idea, but this way we'll cover more ground and hopefully with backup close by we won't all die right away. Besides, as I'm envisioning this plan, we won't be apart for long. Hopefully.
Also, my character may be a take charge kinda bossman cop, but as a player I'd like to know If I'm going too far in ordering you around or making a big mistake, so please speak up.
His eyes twitch again as he interacts with the sprawling neon colored menus in his vision. He sets the ship's call and registration under his name with a few simple eye movements and hand gestures. "We should hock some of our medical supplies to the local clinic at a discount if we can. The verse knows they'll probably be needing it as hard as anyone, and it will do a lot to solidify our cover if folks start asking after us. Not too much mind, just a box or two of what we can spare."
He makes a slight, sweeping, hand motion and blinks slightly as he fades the invisible interface from view.
He smirks slightly as he looks at the others. "Them two? Spacebums? Surely not!" He grins as he slides past the group on his way out of the room, giving the steely image of the captain a quick nod before leaving.
No, not at all. You are the boss.
I mean, we all have unicoms, so if shit goes down at least we can tell each other.
"Looks like you already got a jump on that, kid."
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
"When do we land?"
These plans sound fine to me.
The Captain listens and nods, clearly content with what he hears. "Good. Your local contact is Constable Milton Ruston, the local law in charge of security for the whole rock. Send him a personal message once you're in orbit and he'll meet you at the port at Arryn City." His eyes roll a little at that. "Yes, by the way, the Capitol of Arryn is Arryn City. Clearly we sent our best and brightest to colonize there. Now, you have your orders, report back when you have something worth saying. Good luck, and happy hunting."
Within minutes, instructions are relayed to the helm and the CGN Needle is sailing its way through the stars on waves of Ions...
Standard engines, even with the leaps and bounds over inefficient conventional burners that your ancestors relied on, would have taken you weeks if not longer to get to your destination. Your shiny new Ion Engine, fresh from the factory and in extremely limited and controlled supply, gets you there before your coffee buzz wears off. Within a half hour from arrival you have received permission to land from the ground authority, and half an hour after that your lander is making its final descent under a combination of Auto-Pilot and the steady remote-assisted hands of Lt Swinterman.
The signs of recent Terra-Forming and Colinization are wildly evident as you sail in on a nice and calm route over the northern hemisphere. There appears to be a single strip of green plant life on the planet, wrapping in a complete belt around the world about a quarter of the way north of the Equator, and even from this high up the blocky fields of local crops are all too easy to spot near the black lines and glowing lights that must denote settlements. You can see quite a few rivers, lakes and mountain ranges on the Souther hemisphere too, which gives you a bit of hope that this TerraForming is taking hold and the world is hitting a nice stable Liquid-H2O Abundant state. But the lovely scenery can wait: distant landing strip lights are getting close fast. It's game time.
Your lander's pressurized doors open and let you out onto the concrete strip in the middle of what you assume must be Arryn City. It's hardly what you'd consider a City; barely any building over two stories, and from your look on the way in there can't be more than 40, 50,000 people Max living here, all nice and spread out on massive land plots the size of which rich folk back on Persei Prime could only dream about. You can see a good number of folk all about around the landing area, but they all seem to be rather intent on their own business and leave you alone to attend to yours. The gravity here is a bit less than normal, but you figure you'll be able to adjust to it in not too long, and the air smells pleasant enough if more than a little bit like yeast. And the view of the Alpha Persei star breaking over the distant horizon shrouded in greens and purples is enough to take your breath away. Before too long you can make out a very dark, very tall man with graying hair walking towards you with a very purposeful look to his stride. Walking up to you, he nods and introduces himself, "My name's Constable Ruston, welcome to Arryn. I have been led to understand you are here expecting me, and are here to discuss the problem we've been having lately."
There's more than enough time to break apart into groups here before the Constable shows up. As for other people at the port, every type of person and brand of equipment you'd expect to be at the only port on a small world would be here.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Those were smells all too familiar, and usually fit where he scented them. This place was no different, he thought. Just another rock seeded and popped in the oven till it was done.
He takes a huge breath in as he exits the landing ship, he double-takes for a split second as everything pans to visions of his own hometown of Milo's Landfall on Ediston Prime. He takes another deep breath and does some limbering stretches to get used to the low gravity. Even that was like home.
Ediston's gravity was lower too, allowing the valued ores it was known for to develop in abundant sprawling formations. Ediston was Terraformed too, but not to the extent of most planets of that class. That was what had left that smell on the air, forever.
The ore there would oxidize quickly with the ionization of the atmosphere. He remembered the strange fluorescent purple "rust" it would shed. Like a beacon, the rust marked the best hauls.
The low gravity pulled the oxidation to the surface, and in general helped make Ediston's trade possible. It was also why he was taller than average. The low gravity planets always produced folk sometimes even at least a hand taller than average. He was no exception.
Jonas felt at home on the low gravity planet, and had no problem adjusting at all.
His walk shifts into an almost arrogant saunter on the low grav planet. It doesn't look out of place here, and most everyone will adopt it sooner or later on a low grav world. Besides, it makes you feel like a cowboy from one of those old waves from earth. It just fits.
Jonas adjusts his mid-back hostler slightly for a quicker draw and pulls on his light tan mid length duster over it. Jonas always seemed to be the best dressed without even trying, this time was no exception. A quick glance around would find his outfit very fitting with the local trends. Lastly he attaches the animated medical ID to the collar of his duster. The virtual screen shifts between identification information and the universal red medical cross.
His demeanor always changes when he puts that badge on, always. He always seemed more sure(if that were possible) and look as if he were mentally inventorying every detail there was to be had.
He flicks his hand slightly and the invisible neon displays pan out across his vision. His eyes flash slightly as he double checks what inventory they had brought down and at the same time pulling up directions to the local clinic.
He greets the Constable with a firm handshake and informal introductions, but waits for Mason to take the lead.
---
All yours Mason, I figure we get someplace away from our spacebums so they can work and somewhere not so in public. Perhaps we greet him briefly, ask for his escort to the local clinic, then back to his station where we can talk more in private. surely, we have important medical supplies to get to the people, and thats all they need to know.
He taps Varnon and Turos on the shoulder and murmurs softly, "Come on gentlemen, let's get to work" before heading away from the lander towards the city, making his best effort to look like just another face in the crowd. "Let's see if we can find a bar or a tavern. They're always good places to start looking for information."
He nods reassuringly to Turo, Varnon and Charles as they file out of the lander and head off for thier clandestine duties. Soon after he motions to Jonas, "Lets go, Doc."
Clad in his finest gear, Mason debarks from the lander to meet Constable Ruston. His GAPPS badge clearly visible on his belt. His standard issue combat armor polished up, the large bore pistol he always wore riding on his hip. He proudly strode down the ramp, chin up, shoulders thrust back. Just a half pace in front of Jonas. He looked every inch the heroic GAPPS officer he was supposed to be. Inwardly, Mason resented having had to shave.
He took Ruston's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Constable. Mason Corradon, GAPPS Investigator." He started by way of greeting, "I hear you and your people are having trouble with some kidnappers? I'd like to help out. If you can show me what you've got so far we can get started right away." Mason half turns back and motions Jonas forwards.
"This is my medic, Jonas. He's very good at what he does and I'd like to lend his hand to tend to any survivors of these raids. As you can imagine in my line of work, he sees a lot of bullet holes and laser burns. Please show him your every courtesy. Now, lets not waste any more time. Shall we?"
As Charles taps him on the shoulder, he nods, "Agreed. Let's see what we can find." He follows after Charles and Varnon for the nearest establishment.
The Constable shakes his head silently for a moment, his eyes stuck straight ahead. "I've been working peace and justice for four decades now, and I've never seen anything close to what's happening. Random folks, no ransom, no requests. They're just taking them, and killing anyone who gets in the way. I've only got 250 Deputies over the whole Planet; we can't be everywhere at once, but those Pirates seem to know exactly where our Patrols aren't. Just hit and fade, take what they want, gun down who they please, gone before we can put up a fight." He's silent for another few moments, pondering his words. "I know most of the families on Arryn. Seen most of 'em grow up. It pains me think some of 'em may be working with these animals, and I haven't said it out loud until just now, but facts are facts. Also a fact that with what I got, wasn't much I could do even if I do have a rat." The Constable's eyes flick over to you. "Then again, now you're here. That does change things a bit."
Clearly visible from the center of the landing pad, the universal language of a Neon Beer Bottle Sign calls to you from a grimy shack south of you. Fast trot there, push aside a row of dangling beads, and you're inside the most stereotypical backwater bar you've ever seen, not counting its siblings you've visited numerous times on every world in every city in the history of ever. Old movie and sports posters hang on the wall. Darts and pool tables line the back. An omnipresent smell of spilled beer, sweat, and disinfectant hangs in the air. Feels like home.
It's still morning time, so there are only a handful of patrons milling about, mostly in groups of three or four nursing drinks or playing cards or both. A skinny barman in an oddly clean apron nods at you as you enter, waiting for you to come inside a bit further before he makes a final judgment about the class of clientele you'll turn out to be. At the far end of the bar you can see a bald middle-aged man in an oily jumpsuit squatting in front of an opened digital entertainment booth, working on the innards with a set of tools that immediately catch Turos' eye. While the man looks perfectly ordinary in the setting, the tools he is using are immaculately kept and exceptionally good; first-class tools from high-end Persei Prime suppliers, probably worth more than the yearly salaries of every other worker in this bar combined for the next ten years. You're guessing this man is slightly more than your average field tech.
The barman disrupts this train of thought with a boisterous greeting. "Howdy folks! Don't recognize you; you from another Town or another Rock, and what can I start pouring for ya?"
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Turos slips past his two squad members, strolling over to the entertainment machine. Before sitting next to the man, Turos takes a second to get a closer look at the tools, hoping to discover where exactly they came from, or at least get an idea. He sits next to the man working on the booth, and tries to get a look inside the machine, hoping to discover the problem.
"Well, what do we have here?" Turos asks, his voice the way it would be were he in his own shop.
Rolling 2 Knowledge: Tech checks... if they are the proper ones to make.
What are those tools? (1d20+13=21)
Can we fix it? (1d20+13=29)
Turos moves further down the bar to right behind the bald man as he tinkers with the exposed machinery. Those tools... Yes, you recognize them now. Prime make, wildly expensive, exquisitely tuned and machined. You recall distinctly drooling over this exact set when they hit the market a few years back, promising yourself that one day you would save up enough money to be able to afford a few of the larger pieces. And this man had the whole set. You can also see clearly what's wrong with the machine: That same dark Stout your companions are drinking, slowly dripping down the innards and over the electrical cabling. The technician in you winces at the damage, though it does look repairable in the right hands, which apparently include those of the man before you. He expertly glides his tuners and tools over the circuitry, salvaging what he can and working around what he can't. It's a grimy, tedious job, and one you know from experience goes better with an extra set of hands.
The bald man glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, "I'll have it fixed when I have it fixed, you can't rush repairs if you want them to hold. Now go back to the bar and drink with your friends and loved ones and let me finish my job."
The second check would be a Repair check, but you nailed it so no worries. You actually get a +2 bonus to help repair the unit after the success.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
"Nah, we're not locals. We mostly just drift from port to port, picking up work as we can. My friend over there is handy with tools, and I can make myself useful in most any situation."
He took another sip. "We came here lookin' for work, but the stories I here are that y'all've got some serious troubles with pirates. What's goin on with that?"
"So besides the citizens, what are the pirates after? I understand the captives are generally random people, but is there any pattern to the loot these pirates are after? Money & Gold? Technologies? Industrial equipment? Are people the primary target, or targets of opportunity? I need more information here. I need to speak to the witnesses."
"But first, lets get your Doctor some Sporekill."
Whats Sporekill and why would his vows prevent him from using it? A drug, I assume...
You follow the man into a plastic and glass building that's seen a good share of weather and are immediately greeted by that familiar antiseptic smell of a hospital. The Constable leads you to a side room packed with beds that you know must be the recovery room, as there's at least three dozen people inside it all with grievous wounds in various stages of healing. A couple nurses are doing rounds and checking vitals while a single doctor stands off to the side typing information into a terminal, a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair who you'd guess was in her late 40's (though it's always hard to tell age on low gravity worlds). She glances up as you enter and smiles, walking over to give the Constable a hug before turning to you and extending a hand. "I'm doctor Simmons, welcome to my hospital. Would I be correct in assuming you are the Agents that were sent to help root up these pirates, and that you're here to speak to some of the survivors of the attacks?"
Sporekill is a powerful anti-Disease agent used to fight off infection. The Doctor's vows weren't against using Sporekill; they were against killing people to get Sporekill
The Barman nods, "Right on all fronts. We can always use people to work around here, especially people with technical skills for the settlements further out. And yeah, Pirates have been hitting us pretty regular lately, I'm sad to say." The Barman looks you up and down a bit, and lets his eyes trail over your firearms. "As for your own skills... If you know how to use those slugthrowers, I can get you connected with the local militia that's trying to do something about those pirates if that's the kind of work you want. Or if not, I know some farms that could use strong hands. We're coming up on a part of the year with a lot of dust storms, we'd like to get as much plant cover seeded as we can and don't have much time left to do it."
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
"On account o' my arthritis and all," he says directly to the bartender, a hint of dark humor in his eyes.
They tried to bury us. They didn't know that we were seeds. 2018 Midterms. Get your shit together.
"We brought a... Peace offering for the natives." He smirks holding up the box of sporekill. "Word has it this could go a long way here. Hope even this little is some help to you."
He sets the box of sporekill on the table next to the terminal and takes off his duster. He motions to the chair as he intends to hang his coat there. "May I?"
His attention is already on the patients in the ward.
What would I need to roll to make an accurate assessment of how bad things are in here and to pick out the most critical patient in the room?
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
At this he leans in, getting close to the barkeep. "And speaking of information, the pirates must be getting some; I overheard some talk that they always seems to be where the cops ain't. You know anyone sketchy who might be feedin' em information? Or anyone who might know said sketchy person?"
For future reference, Charles carries his guns in concealed carry holsters within his coat when not fighting; the spot DC to see them is 26 (Take 10 + concealed carry (+4) + loose clothing (+2) + sleight of hand modifier (+10)).
Assuming there is room to do so, Turos leans in to make a fix to show his aptitude. Unfortunately, he makes a critical error, and sparks fly, undoing some of the repairs he had already made. Sheepish, Turos scoots away from the booth, saying "Sorry there sir, I appear to have gotten in over my head." Standing, he makes his way back over to the bar, and with a quick "Thanks" to the barman, takes a big gulp of the stout.
Let's fix a machine! (1d20+15+2=18)
Critical failure, if we are playing by those rules, and I wrote my narration as such. If I somehow still succeed, I would be happy to change it!
Mason will continue to question the Doctor and Constable, and then ask them to accompany him as he moves among the patients, asking witnesses the relevant questions. I've some random, but maybe appropriate checks...
?Gather Information Check = 14
?Investigate Check = 33!
The technician gives Turos the evil eye as he reaches into the entertainment unit, fiddling around with the soaked panels but not being too effective. "Do you mind?" He asks, a clear bitter note in his voice. His stare continues until Turos is seated at the bar, at which point the technician continues with an obvious effort to ignore everyone around him.
The Barman laughs out loud. Turning to Varnon and Charles, the Barman sticks out a thumb towards the Tech. "You want sketchy, start with ol' Dan Copeland right there, resident Tech Guru, Computer Wizard and all around a$$hole from some fancy Persei Prime academy." He turns to the bald man, shouting, "Ain't that right Dan?" Completely ignored, the Barman turns back to you smiling, but quickly turns somber. "But seriously though, we're almost all locals here, born and bred, and I can't see any of us helping Pirates do this. Steal, maybe, but kidnap and God knows what else? No one from around here would do that, believe me. We don't get any off-worlders that stay more than a week or so, and haven't had a CGN supply ship through here in almost three months, cheap bastards. You're the first new faces I've seen since then."
He shrugs his shoulders. "Can't say why we haven't stopped 'em yet, though we really don't have much of a military presence to begin with, so timing is on their side. We have been organizing a militia to help respond to it, though, and I'm betting they'll put a stop to them pretty quick." This comment does draw a snort from the Tech, which draws a glare from the Barman.
I'm gonna use that Investigate check, since both skills kinda half-fit the situation. And Unsalted, I'm just gonna give you the 'Take 10' analysis.
The Doctor's eyes light up at the sight of the Sporekill. "Oh, THANK YOU!!!" She shouts, giving Jonas a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek as one of the nurses hungrily rips the box from your hands. The doctor then turns to the Constable, saying, "This is your doing, isn't it?" Before he can reply, she gives him a kiss very much not on the cheek and very much not quick. Behind them, both nurses roll their eyes and move about their work.
One of said nurses (a pretty young tan woman named Tiffany) steps forward and starts to show Jonas around the room to the patients. Some of the wounds were quite bad, but everyone in here is stable and has been taken good care of. You do get a bit of a sense, however, that while the work on them is good it is a bit... minimal too. Almost like the doctor is in the habit of not knowing when the next shipment of medical supplies will be arriving, imagine that. While everyone here would be fine with time, you see a group of 5 worse-off patients you suspect you could give a nice once-over to get them back on their feet considerably quicker. Make 5 Treat Injury checks, DC 25.
The Constable and the Doctor take Mason around the ward to the patients who were injured in attacks by the Pirates. Asking the right questions with good assistance from both your escorts, you uncover a wealth of information about the Pirates:
Any other questions?
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Treat Injury 2: 1d20+18 19
Treat Injury 3: 1d20+18 28
Treat Injury 4: 1d20+18 36
Treat Injury 5: 1d20+18 30
Jonas pulls on the latex exam gloves with a motion that only speaks of practice. He produces a small black pen light from his duster and rolls up one of the stools to the first patient. He flashes the pen light in the man's eyes quickly drawing a few irritated curses. He mentions something about light sensitivity and engages the man in small conversation, distracting him from the needle prick to his left leg. The motion was quick and practiced and was worked between the conversation with the man that he didn't notice. That was what first made Jonas's face wrinkle. The needle should have made the man jump and holler something fierce, but it didn't. Jonas simply frowned as he gave very specific instructions to one of the nurses about the man's prolonged care. This was the fail roll.
He breaks out his own medical bag for the next few patients and goes through no less than minor surgery in some cases. Working quickly and efficiently, he has nearly every bandage and stitch reset in surprising time. Every chart has also been updated as he takes careful, detailed notes on the invisible menus and interface of his retinal display.
Finishing up, Jonas rolls over to the terminal and bounces the files from his device for the resident Doctor.
He finally comes back from his final scrub down smelling of disinfectant and sanitizer. He motions to the other doctor to a separate room and cracks the door for privacy.
"I'm afraid the trauma that caused the concussion on bed 11 may have been worse than anyone previously expected. I updated your terminal with everything I could from my files about the patient. If hes lucky it wont progress in the next few says as the concussion clears up and the worse he'll walk away with in that case is a limp for the rest of his life. If he continues to lose sensation and motor control at this rate, it's very likely that he wont be walking out of this clinic. You may want to talk to the family, if he has any, about how to continue. There are ways to find out if the nerve trauma can be stalled or even reversed... Even on Persei Prime, Stars - it's dangerous."
They come back a few moments later with a few nods and Jonas pointing towards the terminal he had updated.
He nods at Mason as they finish detailing what they had learned from the place. He looks concerned for a few moments as the time frame of "tonight" gets thrown on the table. He sighs as he grabs his duster and throws it back on on his way out the door. He makes the universal "telephone" signal to Mason on his way out, indicating that he was going to relay this to the others.
Outside he slumps on one of the walls in a half crouch to get out of the sun. He lights a cigarette and eyes it suspiciously like someone who has quit oh so very often. he makes a slight hand motion and the neon menus in his vision reach out across the distance to the other crew. He relays everything they found and tells them to keep an eye out and be wary - and that they'll shoot another wave as soon as they are finished here.
He delays for a few moments outside of the clinic has he snuffs out the butt of his cigarette on the dirt and looks around the colony. Tonight then... Stars, let those taken still be alright. I hope we aren't too late
Turning back to you, she smiles tiredly, "Thank you for all your help. Those patients are going to be back on their feet weeks ahead of schedule, and we have you to thank for it Anything you need from me, you just need to ask. Except for Tiffany's ComLink Line; I kinda like her boyfriend, hope they settle down soon." With that, the Doctor smiles and turns, returning to her rounds and her neverending work.
I'm guessing you'll ask the Constable about the patrols; if not we'll reverse.
The Constable pulls you into a private corner of the hospital, making sure that no one is within earshot. Leaning close, he spells out his thoughts on how to move forward, "I've been thinking about the patrols, now that you're here. How the pirates seem to avoid them, and know where the Militia has people holding up too. Here's what I want to do. There's a small settlement, 50 people, about 300 miles east of here. Isolated, all alone, been hit once before. I can send skeleton patrols to other nearby settlements, but steer clear of that particular one. Same for the Militia. The only soldiers who are gonna be in that village are you, and the only person who's gonna know that will be me, and I do happen to be the one person I implicitly trust right now. Completely off the grid, no way to know about it, nice and juicy target like they've been hitting, all alone."
A heavy eyebrow raises. "There are of course some downsides to this plan. Namely, you actually will be all alone out there. Keeping everyone unaware, your absolute best hope for getting help would be almost half an hour, and that could be a very long time if things go south. Five of you, versus upwards of 16 pirates, and then taking their lander. Not a walk on green grass."
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Sorry, busy weekend/run up to the holidays. I'll be around...but my posts may be short and sweet.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Mason quickly pulls out his comlink to bring in the squad. He fills them in on any informaton they missed, and tells them to get thier gear and thier butts over to the truck, we've got a long drive.
Before departing, can we stock up on extra weapons and gear from the ship/shuttle/town? Specifically I'm thinking of a laser rifle, more clips and some mines/grenades/etc. to lay nice trap for these rat bastard pirates.
He dropped some money on the bar and nodded to the barkeep. "Well, it's been a pleasure talkin' to you, but it looks like we've just got some work come up. You take care."
He taps the others on the shoulder and motions towards the door, walking towards it.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
!Ready