ARCANA (40K Perpetual Quest)

You trudge nervously into the shop. Right, networking, networking, networking. How did people network? At least with the Sisterhood you vaguely knew Dragovax: you were fairly sure you didn't know any good arms dealers. Oh, sure, you had bought from a few, but you had never really interacted with them in substance: they weren't fixtures of your life so much as passing figments.

It was a busy day, you noted: several tech-mats huddled over guns. At the counter, a woman, negotiating with buyers: off the shelf purchases, not what you were after. The goal wasn't just to get a few laspistols, it was to build connections, favor trade in order to prepare for the upcoming Martyrs March.

Right. Confidence, confidence, condiments, confidence. Striding forward, you walked into the heart of the shop...

...And froze, not sure what to do. Who do you talk to? Do you just...pick somebody?

You spotted a woman working on a warbike: clearly having trouble with the mechanisms as she toiled away. Maybe that'd do. You approached her...

Networking Roll: 55-5 (Untrained): 50: Pass

"Hello, my name is-"

"Don't care." The woman said, grunting. "What do you want? I'm a bit busy here: the Sisterhood's ordered an entire run of warbikes fixed up and if I don't get at least a few delivered I'm hosed."

Well. That WAS a problem: if she was too busy fixing the warbikes, you wouldn't be able to ply her for resources. Also, there was the fact that if she didn't get the full order of bikes in, you'd be at a rather severe disadvantage. Of course, where there was strife, there was opportunity.

"You're trying to fix the suspension, right? Give me a crack at it," You said, staring at the bike.

The woman snorted. "What, so you can fuck it up worse than it already is? I'm not trusting some random outskirts to-"

"The central power cell is misaligned, you're using the wrong kind of spark plug, and I'm pretty sure you've accidentally wired the lasblaster to the auto-nav," You said, deadpan. "The suspension meanwhile is fine: it could stand to be replaced but I garuntee you the sisterhood doesn't give a shit if the ride is a bit bumpy." You were going to assume she was a city-borne, no doubt exiled for some indiscretion or another: a native outskirts would know better than to assume you were all gormless cretins.

The woman leaned back, blinking. "Well. You apparently know your stuff," She stood up, sneering a bit as she tried to masque her contempt. Ah. Recent arrival then: still under the delusion she was somehow better than everyone else here, that whatever had gotten her exiled didn't count, that her crime was somehow lesser. You gave her a month before she either got herself killed or cracked under the Shanties.

Luckily, you didn't need her that long. "I've picked up a few things," You mutter. "You seem a bit out of your depth here: luckily, I'm willing to make a trade: think it over, you have a delivery you need to make, after all."

Kairos: 19+10 (Expert): 29: Fail

She clicked her tongue, looking pensive as she stepped away from the Bike. "Look, I'd consider it, but I have no idea whether you actually know what you're doing. So, tell you what: you fix this bike, and we'll talk."

You rolled your eyes. Really? What an incredibly blatant ploy to get free labour.

Still. You needed what she had, so you might as well play along: part of a good racket was recognizing when your mark had the upperhand such that you should play along. "Fine. But I expect compensation," You grumbled as you stepped towards the warbike, bending down. Now, lets see what you could do...

Repair: 65+10 (Expert): 75: Solid Success
Jury Rig: 76: Success

You plunge into the guts of the Bike, working like a surgeon of metal and wires to bring it to its optimal state: re-aligning firing arays, connecting and disconnecting wires, and replacing part after necessary part. You even do some upgrade work, modifying the mounted las-blaster to have a bit more stopping power and making it more energy efficient.

Behind you, you note the woman is still there, standing slack-jawed as you step away, your ragged clothes stained by grease and oil. "Wow. That, uh. I'll need to test it, I suppose." She scratched her head. "Yeah, I guess you do know what you're doing. Never thought I'd encounter some kind of feral cog-boy, " She muttered.

...You'd take that as a compliment, you suppose. "So, my compensation?" You asked, sharply.

The woman nodded, an eager sort of look in her eyes. "Don't worry, you'll get paid: I assume you want a gun, right? Yeah, I got some good ones in the back. Hell, you did in a few minutes what would have taken me a whole day, so you'll get your choice of top of the line kit, but first, I have a proposal: come back when you get a free moment, help me fix up the rest of the bikes, and I'll make sure you get some REAL flash kit."

...Oh my, it was the thing you had come to this place for: the gun would be nice, you supposed, but as far as that went you could probably just steal one: no, the real benefit was the connections you'd make here, that you could conceivably leverage into survival. You paused, making a show of mulling it over: couldn't let her see how desperate you were. "Well, I suppose, if I don't have anything else to do..."

The womans grin faltered a moment. "Tell you what, help me out and I'll throw in a bike."

...Oh that was VERY shiny. "Alright," You said, agreeably. "I'll see what I can do. The names Ulysses."

"Reva Larrall. I can already tell, this will be a very fruitful partnership."

For the handful of weeks she'd last until she either died or went mad, at least.

Gained Contact: Reva Larrall, Arms Dealer.

Gained Score: Warbike Repair.

Payout: Decent
Risk: Nil

+6 Progress to Networking (Trained)

Networking (Trained) Gained! 2/30 progress to Networking (Journeyman).

5/120 Progress to Kairos (Master)
6/120 Progress to Repair (Master)
4/30 Progress to Jury-Rig (Journeyman)

________________________________________________________________

Ork Hunting

Tactics Rolls: 93+10, 7+10, 50+1, 7+10: Solid Success, Sharp Failure, Success, Sharp Failure

You grabbed your laspistol and went a-hunting.

Every part of you screamed about how terrible this idea was, but you needed to make some quick cash and, frankly, having a bit more combat experience when you inevitably ventured into Gorgoroth could be the difference between life and death. The calculus was simple: a bit of risk here to mitigate the absolute death trap that Gorgoroth would be.

So, you ventured into the megaforest and began your excursion, trekking into the dark tangle, hidden from the suns light by voluminous, twisted branches in search of prey. You knew enough about Orks that finding them wasn't hard: just follow the mushrooms, that tell-tale sign of orkoid infestation.

The closer you got, the bigger the fungi, attaching themselves to the trees and plants in a vainglorious bid to parasitize the elder weald and suck from those arboreal elders sustenance even as they tried to choke out the soil. Perhaps at one time, they could have even done so, but millenia of co-existence had caused the biosphere to adapt, evolve, with many plants developing specialized toxins to impede or even kill the fungal spread, to say nothing of the wildlife that had adapted to devour the fungi (and, fairly frequently, the orks themselves).

However, places where Orks set camp would, inevitably, cause enough to spawn in the area that even with these adaptations, the forest couldn't keep them out entirely. Thus, an abundance of mushrooms, especially glowing ones, was considered Orksign.

Indeed, that was the first Orksign you found: the bright blue glow of Lantern Fungus, a species indigenous to Tarrghus that was used by the orks as, among other things, lighting. The more you trekked into the forest, the more orksign you found: half eaten animal corpses, trampled flora, an unusual number of squigs.

However, it was when you found the tusken effigies that you knew they were close. These profane idols to Gork and Mork, constructed from the teeth of mutant squigs and slathered in glow-juice had an emphemeral pale green shrine to them. You began setting up, digging holes and filling them with sharpened metal stakes, log traps, and snares.

The first ork, a hunter clearly, wandered into the stake pit, being skewered, the metal sticks piercing his flesh. Bellowing, it tried to crawl its way out of the pit...

It was a durable beast, but it failed to survive the multiple laswounds you inflicted it with, using the pit trap to ensure an easy time getting a bead on it. Snarling, it reached towards you futily from its position at the bottom of the pit before its eyes went glassy.

One down. You hoisted it out of the pit, removing its head in order to collect the bounty, before you set to catching more greenskins.

You stuck to the small groups of them: orks were most dangerous in groups, and even alone, they were remarkably robust. Most of your traps existed more to stun them long enough for your lasweapon to do the job rather than kill them outright. You'd need better gear for that. That or more people.

Still, by the end you've collected roughly seventeen heads in...varying states of quality, before you prepare to leave...

Only to hear yelling from your snare. Turning, you spot a gretchin, and feel your heart sink. Gretchins, the diminutive siblings of orks, were individually not very dangerous.

Individually. The issue was, if you encountered a grot outside of the ramshackle villages of the greenskins, they were never alone. Grot-swarms could, in fact, get quite large. You needed to get away. And quick.

"Oi, someone get me out o dis rope!" The grot yelled, and below him, his fellows were laughing, except one.

"Never mind the rope, y'git!" Snarled the larger, somewhat discolored grot. "If 'deres a rope, it means one of 'em humies is around! 'E could have flash gubbins on 'im!"

"Or meat," Another grot said, licking his lips as he began sharpening his knife. "I say we find this git: I'm starving!"

Silently, from the tree you were hiding in, you counted the numbers. About...forty grots. Forty tiny, hungry little monsters who would gladly chop you up and put you into a stew, most armed with knives and spears. You gave a very dry swallow before pulling out your las-gun, removing the power cell, and priming it.

You'd have to time this right, but if you did it correctly, the gretchin would probably be distracted long enough for you to get away with your accumulated loot.

Jury Rig Roll: 40: Bare Failure

You toss the power cell, using the distraction of it blowing up to muffle the sound of your own landing, wherapon you began booking it. With a loud kra-koom, it explodes. "Oi, the hell was- OI, THE HUMIE, I SEE THE HUMIE!"

...Drat. You did your best to hasten your run, sweat dripping down your face as you heard, behind you, the gretchin giving chase, each of the creatures baying out for blood. Thankfully, you were pretty good at running away...

Book It Roll: 45: Mixed Success

...Which didn't stop you from catching a spear to the ass. Yelling in pain, you did your best to ignore the stabbing sensation as you continued to escape: you'd have to pull it out later. "Oi, why are you still runnin'?! Stop so we can take yer gubbins, git!"

The sound of the grots began to recede as you continued, heedless to their yells. Thank the Emperor those little monsters had such tiny legs.

_______________________________________________________________

When you finally get to safety, you nearly collapse, the adrenaline wearing off as you realize just how close to death you had came: had that spear landed a little higher, a little to the left...

Gingerly, realizing you couldn't very well trek back to the shanty with a spear in your hindquarters, you attempted to reach around and pull the spear out...

...And winced in pain as it was removed. Right, that would need some bandaging. Luckily, it was in a...mostly non-lethal spot, but you'd probably need to get some bandages for it. And avoid letting anyone find out where it came from. You lifted your sack of heads, noting that, thankfully, it should more than pay for any disinfectant you might need (a rather important neccessity: the green pox was a prime example of what could happen when you didn't properly treat a wound inflicted by a greenskin).

...Also you had probably best avoid letting anyone find out about this: getting speared in the hindquarters by a gretchin would make you the laughingstock of the shanties.

Gained 120 Thrones.

22/120 progress towards Tactics (Master)
10/30 progress to Jury Rig (Journeyman)
4/15 progress to Book It (Trained)

Gained Embarrassing Wound: -5 to Social Rolls. Heals in 1 Week.
-25 Thrones Subtracted for treatment.
Gained 1 Trauma

Spoiler: Trauma

You are immortal. That doesn't mean you can't be hurt, and it doesn't mean you're immune to mental damage. Any time you endure something stressful, you'll gain a point of Trauma. Once you collect 10 points, you gain a disorder, which provides a permanent debuff: for example, Orkiphobia would give you a -10 to rolls involving, in any way shape or form, orks or other greenskins. Once you reach 50 Trauma, you enter a fugue state, and you lose several weeks worth of actions: in essence, triggering a time skip.

Don't let your trauma bar reach 100.

(Also, there ARE ways of handling trauma and reducing it, but those'll be covered later.)

You count up your funds. Four hundred and thirty.

Not enough. Not nearly enough. You gave a dry swallow. Okay, so, not great, but you could work with that. You had the chance to get a good functioning warbike, which meant you might actually survive Gorgoroth. It wasn't likely, but even a small advance on your survival capacity was worth it.

Right, just had to keep at it: those who weren't moving were dying, as they say. Mentally, you reviewed, as you put up your stash of thrones, your potential oppurtunities. The thing with Reva was nigh for certain, of course.

You weren't going to try Ork hunting again, not for a bit: you were fairly sure that having another close call like that would give you a heart a lethal palpitation. That left...

Not a lot. Not a lot at all.


You have 4 AP. All actions unless stated otherwise cost 1 AP.
You have 430 Thrones. Must have at least 750 Thrones in Four turns.
One Turn until Gorgorath Martyrs March.

[ ] Rumor Mongering: There was always something going on in the Shanties. Maybe if you actually tried listening to the rumors, you could find a potential good score. However, it would cost at least some Thrones to loosen lips... Cost: 25 Thrones. Reward: Gain access to this turns Rumor Mill. Potential leads to a Big Score. Gain Streetwise skill progress.

[ ] Do Some Digging (Still not that kind): Hieram had, whether he realized it or not, gave you a lead on a potential big score, huge even. If there was a new Orkium where people died mysteriously, you might be able to find out where its located if you grease the right palms. Cost: 50 Thrones. Reward: New Big Score. SPECIAL: Chance of success increases for every Contact you have and how developed that contact is.

[ ] Network: You were going to need...'friends', if you want to make a big score. You loathed to do it, but you'd need to start playing nice with people... Cost: 25 Thrones. Reward: Select one group below. Gain information, potential contacts, potential jobs related to the selection. Gain Networking skill progress.
-[ ] Sharkyz Boys: One of the gangs of the shanty, and the only gang strong enough to directly rival the Sisterhood, the enigmatic Sharky was never, ever seen in person...but his people liked to congregate at specific bars, and Sharky himself was well known for his love of Orkish artefacts (indeed, some people had accused Sharky of being a closet Digga...and the gang boss had responded by feeding the offenders to a starved ork the gang boss had captured to use as a pit fighter). You had, inadvertently, cheated them by proxy, and it might be a good idea to feel them out to make sure they aren't in a murderous mood: the longer you let this be, the worse it would (probably) be.
-[ ] Sisterhood: The other major gang of the shanties, the Sisterhood was infamous for their brutality towards those who had displeased them. That said, they weren't without their virtues: they made sure their people were well fed, operating one of the only functional farms in the Shanty. They were currently pissed as hell at you. However, Dragovax at least seems willing to tolerate you.
-[ ] Elocutors: The local hand of the faith, they largely didn't care about the Outskirts. You knew of exactly one chapel in the shanty, though from what you heard elsewhere they had more presence in the other, slightly less terrible shanties. Still, having even limited contacts with the mainstream church
-[ ] Rats: Not everyone could join a gang or find a racket. Even among the poor, there were those who were even poorer. Mutants, madmen, the diseased, habitual cannibals. The Rats came in all shapes, sizes, and sins, and there was very much something to be said for courting them: after all, one rarely paid attention to a passing mouse...
-[ ] Artefact Hawkers: Your, ugh...'peers'. You didn't get along with them and the feeling was mutual. Still, if you wanted to find a big score, this was the obvious solution. You'd have to swallow your distaste, however, and pray they were willing to tolerate you for longer than ten minutes. Hieram in particular loathed you, and the feeling was mutual, but who knows, he might be willing to cut you some slack...for the right amount of Thrones.

[ ] Forge (Lesser) Artefact: A reliable source of income, forging some lesser artefacts could bring in a small but assured amount of Thrones. You just had to make sure it wasn't sold to Sharky. Reward: Minimum 25 Thrones. Forgery Progress.

[ ] Forge (Major) Artefact: A more dicey gamble, you could attempt to forge a higher quality, rarer artefact. The market was smaller, but those who were interested in such things were willing to pay much more, though one should be careful that they don't spot the forgery... Reward: 50% chance of 50 Thrones Forgery Progress. Cost: 50% chance of zero thrones.

[ ] Forge (Greater) Artefact: You could always go for broke. It was a gamble, but it might pay off. Reward: 25% chance of 100 Thrones, Forgery Progress. Cost: 75% chance of zero thrones. SPECIAL: Can spend two actions to raise odds of success by 25%.

[ ] Iron Mongers Mine: Paid like shit, but the money wasn't really the point, the point was to see what inroads you could make with the Iron Mongers, a minor gang who nonetheless had at least a degree of pull in the Shanties. Even if they lost their turf war, the Iron Mongers were the shanties primary purveyor of ores and...MOST metal tools that weren't produced by the Cities. Reward: Between 1-10 Thrones, Iron Monger Contacts, ??? and Networking progress.

[ ] Warbike Repair: Pay would be nice, probably, but the real prize would be the warbike Reva promised you. All you had to do was get the Sisterhoods warbikes in working order. Reward: ??? Thrones, Working Warbike, cultivated Reva contact. Assorted Tech Skill progress.

[ ] Go A-Hunting: It was a desperate idea, but you could make some money by hunting Orks. There was always a bounty for the damn things, and it paid fairly well...were it not for the inherent danger of it. Cost: High chance of injury, almost certain chance of stress gain. Reward: Minimum 25 Thrones, random combat skill increase.

[ ] Scout Out Orkium: Even worse, and unlikely to provide dividends, you could visit one of the closer Orkiums. They're mostly tapped out, but you could get lucky and find something worth a few Thrones. Cost: Guaranteed injury and stress gain. Reward: Small amount of Survey progress, small amount of Aptitude progress, random but small amount of Thrones, very small potential chance for rare salvage.