ARCANA (40K Perpetual Quest)

[The Bird]

Perpetual.

An existence eternal. Not even at their height could the Dominion of Asur with their Matrices of Rebirth and their Flames of Renewal and infinite esoteric biomancies claim the same, claim to have true, absolute immortality: merely a pale shadow of it borne through their gods, technologies, and sorceries. And yet, things that would have (and in the end, did) destroy the children of Isha merely inconvenience these entities.

Throughout the histories of the galaxy, these enigmatic beings have never been more than a handful in number: the Pious. The Trickster. The Seven in One. The Lord in Rags. The Circle of Khonsu. However, their hand can be felt throughout the weave of history: indeed, I suspect that He Who Resides at Terra was perhaps one of their number. A leader, perhaps? Chief among that small tribe?

Such a question would likely have to be levied before Our Lord himself, I suspect, unless I manage to find a living perpetual to tell me.

However, for all my questing, I have come to realize some foreboding questions lie before me.

All my knowledge of these immortals is third-hand, indirect. Scattered, partial remains, the result of souring data-web after data-web, salvaging journal after journal after journal, sifting through near infinities of information. Fragmentary accounts, all of them. I have yet to encounter yet a single one of these transcendant beings. Where did they go? Was their immortality not as absolute as I thought? Did they venture out of the galaxy, to other worlds than these? Could they be within hiding, deep within our societies and institutions, waiting to emerge once more when the Emperor returns to the Materium to guide us to glory?

Where did they go?

___________________________________________________________________________________________

You were an existence above, and yet still apart from your fellow man. Throughout the aeons, your kind had acquired many labels: Eternals. Demigods. Nephilim. Each of them encapsulating merely one aspect of what you were. What you could do. In this modern age, the handful who know of you term you Perpetual, those cursed with the gift of immortality, for without death, there is no escape from the horrors of this galaxy.

However, no Perpetual was the same, and among perpetuals, there were a select band known for their power, their actions capable of shifting the very fate of the galaxy and altering the axis of destiny. One such being was the Emperor, who had forged the mightiest empire in the galaxy, assembling vast and mighty legions using his near unfathomable knowledge, ability, and charisma. Such a being, however, was rare indeed.

However, rare does not mean unique, and indeed, on one world, distant and far, another such being was born, not yet aware of the legacy they had inherited, nor of the trials and tribulations that would accompany it. First came The Emperor, Arcana of Authority.

Now came you, little Arcana.

What Arcana are you?

[ ] Magician, Arcana of Talent: Despite what the name might imply, your potential does not lie in the esoteric and otherworldly, though you are not without ability in that sphere, but rather, your talent lies in your ability to master the skills, talents, and aptitudes of mankind, and hone them to supernal degrees: given a knife and a tree, a master carver might craft something exceptional. Given a knife and a tree, you could carve something of near mythical quality. Gain Arcana: Magician, halving all skill requirements, increase progress gained from all skills, and increasing the cap on all skills by two stages (to Heroic to Mythical). Start with Sphere: Talent. Start with one skill at Heroic.

[ ] Moon, Arcana of Intuition: Your talent lie in dreams. The ability to gain knowledge not through rigorous searching or interrogation, but through divination. Not the corrupted, treacherous divination of the children of Isha, or those among the corrupted who divine by trawling through the weavers loom, but something more powerful, more true. Gain Arcana: Moon, revealing expanded consequences from your decisions as well as the ability to perform minor acts of clairvoyance without invoking the Warp, as well as the Intuition (Minor) talent. Start with Sphere: Divination.

[ ] Devil, Arcana of Pacts: A deal is only as good as someones ability to enforce it. Therein lie your ability: not only are your pacts imbued with a degree of power in order to enforce themselves, with you lying as the final arbiter, from these deals lie your source of power, taking and giving in measure based on what you wish to give and what you desire for yourself. And woe betide any who decide to BREAK a pact... Gain Arcana: Devil, allowing you to make Ephemeral Pacts, mystically enforced contracts, deals, and trades that can, among other things, give and take intangible qualities from those who agree to them. Start with Sphere: Curses.

 

[The Bird]

Ulysses
Occupation: Archaeologist
Aptitude: 3

Fate: 4

Skills:

Social:

Logos (Trained)
Pathos (Trained)
Ethos (Trained)
Kairos (Expert)
Teardown (Master)
Networking (Trained)

Combat:

Marksmanship (Trained)
Finesse (Trained)
Force (Trained)
Tactics (Expert)
Gunslinging (Trained)

Tech:

Jury-Rig (Trained)
Repair (Expert)

Trade:

Survey (Heroic)
Appraisal (Master)
Forgery (Master)

Lore:

Ork Psychology (Journeyman)
Ork Culture (Journeyman)
Ork Physiology (Trained)
Imperial Theology (Trained)
Tarrghus (Journeyman)

Spheres:

Talent

Traits:

Perpetual: Unknown to you, you are a perpetual who has yet to discover their status. Immunity to Death. ???

Suspicion: You have an unnatural origin, making people who know of it more wary of you, more likely to assume the worst. -10 to all Social Rolls when dealing with those who would know of and care about your origin.

Arcana: Magician: A manifestation of talent given flesh, though your path might be paved with skill, where it leads will be decided by your own choices and how you use your gifts. Halved requirement to raise all skills. Increased progress for all skill growth. Skill caps raised by two stages.

Jack of All Trades I [Magician Trait]: Specialization was for insects. Gain additional Occupation slot with its own Aptitude score.

 

[The Bird]

Magician, the Arcana of Talent.

Few indeed could claim to be truly talented, truly skilled: though there were those oddities whose ability outstripped their peers, the vast majority of humankind had limited potential, forming an unremarkable baseline that was made up for with numbers, technology, and industry, each of these a poor substitution for proper ability.

You were not the same. An exception, an anomaly in the sheer capacity of ability you could develop. With time and training, you could achieve a degree of skill and ability such that you could alter the very axis of fate...

But of course, that depended on being able to grow and evolve. No great oak begins as such: they always start as a mere seed, and to grow, a seed requires soil. From what soil did you grow, little tree?

[ ] Laernaea: Located in Segmentum Obscuris, Laernaea was one of the handful of worlds registered as a Poison World. The result of a failed virus bombing centuries ago, 99% of Laernas surface is covered in lethal poison, and all of its flora and fauna are deadly toxic. Having but a single hive city upon its surface (though a number of smaller self-contained installations dot the surface), the main export of this wretched mire of a planet is the lethal compounds it holds in abundance, with the chem-factories churning away day and night to produce useful chemicals from the complex petri-dish of Laernaea, from dread combat drugs such as Hydra, to various bio-solvents used in industrial works by the sectors assorted forge worlds, to more...clandestined products.
Potential Starts: Swamp Dredger, Factory Chymist, Data Clerk

[ ] Ctheradon: Located in Segmentum Ultima, in the distant past the hive world of Ctheradon rebelled against the Imperium, led by servants of the ruinous ones. It is said that the angels of death subjugated it, wresting it away from a sect of their fallen brethren who sought to damn the world and its people forever. Of course, that was centuries upon centuries ago, distant history. Yet the taint of that conflict still lingers, a reminder of the worlds sin that manifests as a vast abundance of mutation: it is said that in that darkened, blighted place, one in every seven children are born deformed and twisted. In the upper hive, most of these infants are destroyed. However, the lower you went, the more common it was to find menials and beggars with odd deformations, and in the deepest, darkest parts of the Hive, it is said that dark, unholy things lie, in the grave of those heretics that had long ago attempted to conquer this world...
Potential Starts: Street Doctor, Ganger, Courier


[ ] Tarrghus: Located in Segmentum Tempestus, Tarrghus has long been blighted by its own woes: during the War of the Beast, it was conquered by an army of greenskins, and was but barely retaken by the Imperium, with many ruins of orkish make dotting the planet, frequently host to congregations of feral orks, the offspring of those ancient conquerers. Technically classified in the imperial registry as a civilized world, in reality it is anything but: each continent is home to but a single city, each a hyper-industrialized fortress designed to regularly purge the feral orkoids that plague that realm, with a twisted, brutal wilderness inhabited by bands of feral orks, vicious animalistic monsters that have evolved to an exceptional degree of violence due to the enviromental pressures of an orkoid infestation, and the primitive, shamanistic tribes descended from the freed slaves of the Ork army that once conquered the planet.
Potential Starts: Suppression Squad, Tribe Brave, Archaeologist

 

[The Bird]

Tarrghus. With a history stretching back into the dark ages before the Imperium, it had once been a jewel among the stars, famed for its technological sophistication, robust industry, and bountiful environment. Few worlds in the Imperium of Man could compare to Tarrghus, powerful and great, with its vast, sloping mountains, its near endless forests, stretching from serene coast to serene coast.

Then came the Despoilers. The Emerald Tide. The Hands of the Beast. Orks. Conquering Tarrghus, they enslaved who they could put to work, and butchered the rest for meat, establishing vast and cruel factory-cities where they worked their new human underlings to death to forge munitions for the armies of the Beast Set Loose.

For an entire generation, Tarrghus was held in the grasp of its greenskin overlords, long after the Beast had been destroyed. How its liberation was achieved is a question with many, many different answers.

To the Tribes, descended from the slaves of the Greenskins, the worlds salvation came at the hands of the Apostle, a humble servant of the Emperor who encouraged the Tribes to rise up and overthrow their cruel overlords, personally freeing the workers of many factories, setting the stage for a series of battles that saw the planets Orkish governor slain in personal combat by the Apostle, who perished of his own wounds afterwards.

To the City-Borne, the planet was freed by the work of the Astra Militarum, led by Flavius Orinthius, who battled for a century to break the siege, tirelessly working year after year to push the Orks back inch by bloody inch, never retreating, never giving ground as they broke the Orks stronghold one by one by one, ending when General Orinthius killed the Orkish governor by calling in an artillery strike on himself while challenging the Ork to a duel to distract it, finally breaking the greenskins and allowing the full liberation of the planet.

Of which is the truth and which is not is a question for the ages. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

But the result is the same: Tarrghus is now under the sigil of the Palantine Aquilla. But just because the Beasts servants are dead, does not mean their legacy died with them. The Orkeoforming of Tarrghus was never complete, inhibited by unknown means, but even slowed, their infestation had an entire century to take root, producing vast fungal colonies and endless bands of violent, brutish feral ork Klans to prey on the tribes and pirate from the city-borne.

Only by the constant work of both Tribe and Cities are they beat back, with the Braves constantly venturing into the fungal canopies to set fire to budding ork colonies, and Suppression Squads doing their best to exterminate the wandering warbands.

The Former, the Tribes, live an existence of subsistence, relying on the harsh, mutated wildlife for sustenance, a lifestyle that by its very nature is dangerous, as a side effect of the orkish colonization is the wildlife adapting to become violent, dangerous in order to compete with the fungal invaders, from the gargantuan Ur-Mammoths, to the sedentary but no less dangerous carnoflower, to say nothing of the squigs that have adapted to live side by side. It is for that reason that more than half of their number become Braves, warriors dedicated to fighting and slaying the monsters of their world (and typically bringing back whatever edible meat they had acquired in the process).

The latter, the Cities, stand at the heart of every continent, vast sprawling megalopoli operated day and night in order to produce the arms, tools, and men required to purge the orks from the face of the planet, all aspects of their designed to facilitate that. Industrial complexes large enough that on less developed worlds they'd be cities unto themselves. Below them was the Underspill, a network of tunnels where their populations resided in communal bunks, ferried to and from the factories they toiled at works beginning and end, with strictly regimented schedules for sleep and even stricter for leisure.

Was it any wonder that because of such a harsh lifestyle, the City-Borne venerated the Suppression Squads, who due to their duties were granted such pleasures as an increased sugar ration, the ability to take leave from their work one singular week out of every solar cycle, and pay of ten solar thrones a week for which to buy luxuries? Is it any surprise that each and every City-Borne child dreams of joining those hallowed ranks?

Then, of course, there was the Outskirts, a place not quite city, a place not quite tribe-ground, where the outcasts of both societies congregated, converging together and mingling, doing their best to avoid both scrutiny and depredation by the hostile denizens of Tarrghus, both orkish and otherwise: on occasion, one of these lost souls might find salvation by convincing whatever group hadn't rejected them in the first place to accept them into their number. However, for the vast majority, there was no such salvation to be found, leading to the construction of vast shanty cities amidst the long abandoned ruins. Still, even for the Outskirts the Ork was not to be tolerated, and many among their number sought absolution through martyrdom, throwing themselves against the feral tribes in a mad bid to take as many greenskins with them. Others dug among the dirt, working alongside archeologists to unearth various artefacts of the Beast in order to obtain enough money in order to leave Tarrghus, in the hopes that in the stars, they might find redemption.

Of course, even with both these groups attempting to strangle their influence on the world, the Klans fight back: every two hundred and fifty years, like clockwork, a great crusade is drawn up by the greenskins, crashing into the tribes first, scattering them to the winds, before marching one on the seven cities, led by their monstrous warlord. An unstoppable wave, halted at incredible, devastating price, like dread, brutish clockwork, leaving behind ruin, broken and shattered tribes, and wrecked cities of scrap.

It is to Tarrghus you were born...

ORIGIN

[ ] Grew up an Orphan: Your parents died, casualties of the green pox, one of the rare examples of an orkish plague, and an even rarer example of an orkish plague jumping to humans. Its said that the pox killed one third of everyone who caught it, leaving behind entire mountains of dead corpses. You yourself had caught it as an infant some time after they perished, and your survival had been a miracle according to your caretaker, with you fading in and out for an entire week. You had been sickly and weak after that, a weakness that has never gone away, not fully. Not entirely. Start with Flaw: Weakness.

[ ] Child of a Disgraced Elocutor: The local leaders of the faith, Elocutors ministered to tribe and city alike and taking recruitment from both, training them up above, in the Santica Celeste, an orbital cathedral that served as Tarrghus's great heart of the faith, as well as the first defence against foreign foes such as Ork raiders. Your mother had been an Elocutor, acting as the left hand of the Emperor and distributing divine justice to those who stood in his path, raising you with the same fervor and zeal...until it was discovered she was engaged in some heinous crime, the details of it suppressed by the Santica even as they banished your parent from their halls forever. However, even though you know not what she did, the mere knowledge that your mother had sinned against the Emperor had ensured that her disgrace was your disgrace also your disgrace, ensuring that you grew up in grotesque poverty. Start with Flaw: Disgraced.

[ ] Foundling: Rare indeed, you were the result of someone stumbling upon an infant in one of the many megaforests that dot the planet. Adopted, you grew up among your caretakers people, not quite rejected, but not quite accepted: growing up, you had to deal with whispers following you as those around you speculated as to your origin, with many among your adopted people suspicious of you, believing you an ill omen or cursed, the strange child from the forest. Start with flaw: Suspicion.

CAREER

[ ] Suppression Squad: Despite your flaws, through your hard work you had managed to achieve that what every city-borne dreams of: membership among the suppression squads. It had been a hard climb, but now you had access to resources you had only dreamed of as a child. Yes, the risk incurred was great, but the prestige made it worth it. Start with an array of combat skills and talents. Must spend variable amounts of AP per turn on combat actions.

[ ] Tribe Brave: Despite your flaws, through your cunning and resourcefulness you had been made a Brave of your tribe. Your duties are many, but the two chief ones are providing meat for your tribe, and attacking ork colonies before they grow large enough to threaten your tribe. It was a hard life, but you would walk it with pride. Start with an array of survival skills and talents. Must meet a specific quota of either meat or dead orks every month.

[ ] Archaeologist: You dug things out of the ground. More specifically, artefacts from the time Tarrghus was ruled not by man, but by beast, such as journals, tools, and other items of historical providence, and sold them to the collectors that ventured to the world every so often, hoping to add another strange xeno artefact to their collections. Contrary to what some might think, it is not a particularly safe job: dig sites are often located in the heart of Beast ruins, which are almost always filled with congregations of Orks attracted, subconsciously, to the ruins of their ancestors. Start with an array of survey skills and talents. Will regularly be issued deadlines by which point a certain amount of value in artefacts must be collected.

 

[The Bird]

You never knew your parents. Likely Outskirts who had died trying to reach the shanty towns: there was little chance they had been the rare city-borne who left their iron homes for whatever reason, and had you been a child of the Tribes, you would have been taken in by them.

No, it was likely you were the child of dirt, like so many orphans of the Outskirts. Of course, even so, dark whispers followed you around from the day you were born: many believed you were an ill omen, the child of cultists, or worse. Your demeanor didn't help, of course: you were a little too quick, a little too clever, something that had unnerved all those around you, who spoke of your unnatural ability to learn as a sign of your wrong-ness.

What took others years to learn you picked up in months, and despite living in the Shanties where knowledge was scarce, you had managed to piece together a patchwork sort of education, the sort of education one gained from reading whatever books one could buy or steal, the sort of education that relied on lessons gained not from a classroom or from apprenticing under an expert, but from the brutal hard scrabble of the street.

Of course, growing up among the Outskirts required every single bit of cunning you had: outside a small handful of people, it had been a grox eat grox world where you had to fight, lie, and steal just to make enough thrones to eat, with other individuals being not allies, but rivals whom you had to overcome to survive. You wouldn't lie: you had done many things you hadn't been proud of.

Like every Outskirts who managed to reach adulthood, you had eventually found a racket. Most joined one of the Bosses, the informal leaders of the Shanties, those mutants, criminals, and pariahs who had managed to claw their way to a place of power. Others worked as mercenaries: the Tribes and the City-Borne might hold contempt for the Outskirts, but they'd gladly use their muscle when needed.

You, meanwhile, managed to achieve a modest success as an artefact hawker: plenty of rich idiots loved to buy trinkets from when the Beast owned the planet or, even more valuable, pre-occupation relics, from when Tarrghus was a verdant garden world ruled by humans.

The only trouble was finding said Artefacts, which usually required venturing to the ruins of the great Orkiums, the former strongholds of the Beast occupiers, which, coincidentally, was also where one was most likely to encounter Klans of Tarrghus, attracted to those ancient gunmetal halls and decrepit industrial caves by some ancient, antediluvian instinct, making such digs dicey. A rough solution, you had found, was hiring guards and giving them a cut of the profits, attaching yourself to an existing dig, or, when desperate, forgery.

After all, it isn't like the Elocutor you had sold the talisman to for his Museum of Abomination would know it wasn't actually dedicated to the obscure (but very much real) minor Ork god Chogg, patron of industrial brutality (opposed by Bhogg, patron of brutal industrialism). No, he'd simply be happy to have an example of Ork work to tout as an example of greenskin barbarism in what was a glorified personal collection.

...Of course, as it turns out, forging artefacts can be just as perilous...

___________________________

You slammed against the brick-work, breath leaving your lungs as you crumpled to the ground. "Ulysses," Hisses Sister Dragovac, as she walks over to your prone, groaning form, lifting your bruised and battered body up by the throat as she sneers. "I'm honestly surprised: I never thought you'd be dumb enough to try and cheat the sisterhood."

You gurgled, blood dribbling from your mouth, unable to deny the allegations, in part due to the fact that you had in fact sold the Sisterhood a forged artefact, but also because you were pretty sure that, among many others, your bones were broken. Dragovax smiled, a cold, cruel thing, and you felt her hand tighten a bit. "Because of your shoddy forgery, the Sisterhood is now in the hole for ten thousand thrones." She leaned closer to you, glaring you in the eye. "And if we're in the hole, you are in the hole. So, here is how it's going to work: you are going to repay every last Throne to us. Every month you fail to do so to a sufficient degree, we take a finger."

You gurgled a protest: ten thousand thrones? How the hell were you going to be able to pay back that much? Your digs usually only went for fifty thrones!

"Figure it out," Dragovax said, deadpan, as she dropped you. "Word of advice, try not to run out of fingers: I'd rather not have to mark up such a pretty face any more than it has to be." With that, she walked away, striding out, leaving you in the darkened alley alone, bleeding bruised and broken to figure out your next move.

Ten thousand thrones. You had to make good progress in a month or lose a finger.

Distantly, under the dim light of torch and binary moon, you wondered how they had figured out it was a forgery.

Gain Menace: Debt to the Sisterhood

_____________________________________________

Character Sheet

Ulysses
Occupation: Archaeologist
Aptitude: 3

Fate: 1

Spoiler: Aptitude and Fate Tutorial

Okay, so! The first two stats, Aptitude and Fate. Aptitude is tied to your occupation, and resets whenever you choose a different calling. In general, it represents how much experience you have with that occupation in general, providing a small buff to tests relating to said occupation, regardless of what skill or quality is being tested.

Fate meanwhile represents your narrative power. There are two ways to gain it: the first, and most obvious, is doing something impressive. Suitable accomplishments will automatically grant a point of Fate. However, another way to gain fate is by completing side quests and substories: for example, if you embark on a quest to solve a missing persons case and succeed in unravelling the mystery, you'll be granted a Fate point.

Now, in classic Warhammer, typically Fates primary uses would be to massage rolls or avoid death. Yeah, the second isn't an issue and the former is a bit of a waste considering. Instead, Fate is used at the end of every major arc for...various purposes. Suffice to say, you'll want as much Fate as possible.

Skills:

Social:

Logos (Trained)
Pathos (Trained)
Ethos (Trained)
Kairos (Expert)

Combat:

Marksmanship (Trained)
Finesse (Trained)
Force (Trained)
Tactics (Expert)

Tech:

Jury-Rig (Trained)
Repair (Expert)

Trade:

Survey (Master)
Appraisal (Master)
Forgery (Master)

Lore:

Ork Psychology (Journeyman)
Ork Culture (Journeyman)
Ork Physiology (Trained)
Imperial Theology (Trained)
Tarrghus (Journeyman)

Spoiler: Skill Tutorial

Skills! Skills are, as the Magician, your bread and butter, and is graded on a scale from Trained to Transcendent, though for most people, including you, their cap is smaller, with the average mortal having a cap of Heroic and you yourself having a cap of Mythic.

The scale goes such: Trained < Journeyman < Expert < Master < Heroic, etc.

When testing a skill, you add +5 for every relevant skill rank above trained (as well as your Aptitude rank), meaning that Survey rolls will have +18 to their rolls. Further, each rank beyond trained unlocks an additional max degree of success: meaning that Survey rolls can have four potential degrees of success. How you raise skills will be covered later.

Spheres:

Talent

Spoiler: Spheres tutorial

Spheres represent concepts you have a degree of dominion over. As the Magician you start with by default Talent. The effect of spheres (as well as the mechanics) will be handled later, but for now, think of them as being tools you can use to boost certain stunts.

Traits:

Perpetual: Unknown to you, you are a perpetual who has yet to discover their status. Immunity to Death. ???

Suspicion: You have an unnatural origin, making people who know of it more wary of you, more likely to assume the worst. -10 to all Social Rolls when dealing with those who would know of and care about your origin.

Arcana: Magician: A manifestation of talent given flesh, though your path might be paved with skill, where it leads will be decided by your own choices and how you use your gifts. Halved requirement to raise all skills. Increased progress for all skill growth. Skill caps raised by two stages.

__________________________________

Lastly, before we get into the meat of all things, we still have one thing to decide! You get one single Heroic Skill, representing a skill you've not only mastered, but have gone beyond on, representing an absurd degree of ability with. The sort of ability that gets one into the history books. So, where do you excel most?

[ ] Survey: Looting was such an ugly word. What you did was map out an area in order to retrieve artefacts of value in order to facilitate their sale to enterprising entrepreneurs.

[ ] Appraisal: The ability to gain a keen insight into how much you retrieved was actually worth. You had been swindled too many times to count to not learn better.

[ ] Forgery: The art of making fake art. Typically, you used this to construct false artefacts in order to pad your coffers, mixing a few in among real artefacts in order to reduce the likelyhood you'd get caught.

 

[The Bird]

You limped back to your home, a run down shack you had constructed out of some salvaged wooden planks, sheet metal, and, to keep it dry, a tarp, crawling into your bed, assembled mostly from straw and some fur you had managed to collect over the years, as you flopped down to rest.

Where had it gone wrong, you wondered? The only forgery you had sold to the Sisterhood had been an Idol of Gork, and you had made sure it was perfect, flawless. It probably would have fooled (most) orks! Spitting some blood out of your mouth, you decided, hesitantly, to file away that question for later.

For now, you had to figure out how the hell you were going to make enough money to even begin to pay off that debt: you were lucky if a dig went for a hundred thrones! Most of the time, you only got roughly twenty or thirty: enough to pay for food and MAYBE put away one or two away for a rainy day.

Speaking of...

You turned, reaching under your bed, pulling out a green bag: a squig leather pouch. In it was the sum total of your life savings. Looking in, you counted up what you had...

And were disappointed to realize that the grand total of your lifes savings was fucking five hundred throne. Enough to maybe buy a truck or shuttle, maybe, or a particularly nice gun. Not enough to pay back the debt. Not nearly enough: distantly, you wondered what the Sisters had done that had been capable of putting them in the hole for ten thousand.

It kept coming back to that, didn't it? What had they done? How had they figured it out? Above you, you heard the telltale drip drip drip of water. Rain then.

Well. At least you were somewhere dry.

...A droplet of water fell on your face, and you let out a silent scream.

____________________________

Groggily, you opened your eyes and began hoisting yourself up. Good news was, you had hardly been rained on. Bad news was, you hurt like hell. Gingerly, you checked to see if you were still broken.

...A wince of pain proved that you were, albeit less severe. You let out a short, sharp breath, before waddling to the door. Right, first, get patched up properly. Then figure out what you were going to do. The obvious solution was to go on more digs, but that wouldn't even begin to make a big enough dent in your debt to avoid getting finger-chopped, let alone actually pay off the damn thing.

You needed to find a big score, and fast.

You have 4 AP. All actions unless stated otherwise cost 1 AP.
You have 500 Thrones. Must have at least 750 Thrones in five turns.

[ ] 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 (No not that kind): You need to probably know just how the hell the Sisterhood figured out that you had sold them a fake: if it turned out that someone had ratted on you or if there was a flaw with your forgeries, you needed to know, ASAP. Cost: 50 Thrones. Reward: Information, can perform Forgery actions again. Gain Investigate skill progress.

[ ] 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). If you could make in-roads with the gang...
-[ ] 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, if you managed to get some contacts, it would potentially give you some opportunities to manage your debt.
-[ ] 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.

[ ] 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. Can be taken more than once.

[ ] 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.

 

[The Bird]

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mention of certain sensitive topics.
_____________________________
The bar was well lit.

Oh, sure, one might think it'd be dimly lit: a shadowy den of intrigue and conspiracy. The problem is, a shadowy bar was something for those who had something to hide. The sisterhood didn't: the wooden walls were lit by strings of lights, flourescent bulbs hanging off the ceiling, each wall coated in white paint: a sign of the gangs relative wealth.

Swallowing dryly, you walked in and saddled up next to someone you really, really didn't want to see right now. "Ulysses!" Dragovax said, grinning, downing a mug of beverage: probably some brew they had purchased from the Shiners, a minor underground gang who specialized in...well, it was in the name.

"What brings you to this fine haunt?" She said, slamming down her cup. "Come to pay off the debt early? Or did you want to go ahead and get the finger chop over with?" She eyed you, words completely sincere, causing your skin to crawl at the notion: why on earth did she think you'd even consider- "Seriously, if you want, we can get it out of the way early: means you'd have two months to start payments."

You honestly considered it for a moment, before pushing past the idea: better to try and fail. If you couldn't raise the money, sure, but if you succeeded you could avoid losing any fingers.

...The fact that you even had to make that calculus really made you lament the paths your life had made.

You gave a dry, nervous swallow, sitting down next to her, doing your best to stifle your nervousness: you had been on the receiving end of Dragovaxes beat downs before in the past: the woman would and could snap you like a crust-stick: be polite, be mostly truthful. "N-no, I'm, uh. Just here to socialize, make friends, build connections and-"

Networking Roll: 66-5(Untrained)-10 (Suspicion): 51: Bare Pass

Dragovax raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on her face. "You're here to butter me up in order to figure out an alternate way to pay off your debt," She said, deadpan, unwilling to let you try and bullshit her. Well. She wasn't wrong: if you had it your way you'd be literally anywhere but here.

...

"...Also to figure out how the hell my forgery was found out," You admitted. Look, you weren't going to lie to Dragovax: you were pretty sure it'd end up with you in a ditch. Dead, probably, but being alive in a ditch was only marginally better because you'd probably get eaten by Squigs looking for an easy meal. The enforcer nodded, looking pensive.

"Alright. I'm not going to tell you how we figured out it was a fake: no offense, but I trust you as far as I can throw you," Dragovax responded, leaning back, deciding yo humor you, and you felt a massive weight lift off your shoulders. "But I'm willing to throw you a bone...IF you pay for drinks," She said, grinning, a smugness filling her gaze.

Oh. Well. That wouldn't be so ba-

_______________________________________________________________

You wept as you watched Dragovax down another mug of Shine paid for with your money, before letting out a loud belch. "And twenty five!" She said, her smug, infuriating face still stuck in that stupid grin as she spent your money. "Alrighty, since you've been SUCH a good sport..." She gave an exaggerated pensive look, aiming her gaze skyward as she placed a finger on her chin.

"Weeeell, I don't know. What IS available? Agathion could use more workers at the Brothels-"

You desperately shook your head, and Dragovax snickered. "You sure? You'd sell well there: so few scars, and no doubt there'd be plenty of people who would just LOVE thirty minutes alone with the Shanties local near pariah."

"I, uh. I'm very sure," You replied shivering. You knew what went on in those Brothels well enough, and there was no amount of fingers worth it. You generally rejected the notion of death not being the worst fate available, but the Sisterhoods Brothels were one of the seven things that severely tested such a thing.

"Wellllll," She said, voice still high and singsong, mocking you. "We're also sending out a Martyr Band soon. You could always try your luck, see if you're the one in fifty Martyrs that comes back. Do that, and I might be willing to cut a bit off your debt: half a months worth, what do we say?"

...Shit. That was...God, it was risky, but if you pulled it off, that actually would be a decent score: you'd be able to sell for salvage some of the Bands kit, you'd get whatever bounty you could collect from Ork heads, AND get a fairly decent chunk of your debt knocked off. "And where would we be marching?" You asked, giving another dry swallow. God, you were thirsty. Perhaps you'd stop by the well on your way back, try your luck: either you'd quench your thirst or you'd spend the night evacuating your bowels.

"Gorgoroth."

Your hope died in your chest. Gorgoroth was the local Dark Orkium. Every continent had one: an Orkium so large, so infested that venturing inside was almost guaranteed death. It was said that Gorgoroth was the worst of them: a place where the Hand of the Beast conducted dark, alien rituals and sorcery. It was said that it was haunted by the ghosts of fallen orks, bound to that place by their hatred and bloodlust. Others claim it was cursed, the site of so much death and brutality it had tainted the very ground, the fungal growths in the place producing twisted, mutated creatures insane even by Ork standards.

You nervously tapped your hand on the counter. "And, ah, why- why Gorgoroth? I didn't think the Sisterhood was, ah, interested in-"

"Don't ask," Dragovax said, playfulness gone. "Suffice to say, if we had any other choice, we'd take it." She gave you a rather intent stare. "However, recent events- NOT helped by you screwing us over- has made this the simplest solution to...recent problems."

God. Was it worth it? If you succeeded, it could be potentially incredible. If you failed...

You sighed. "I'll need to think it over."

"Think away!" Dragovax said, grinning. "The Martyr Band isn't leaving for another few weeks. You've got time." She lifted up another mug, downing it. "Be seeing you Ulysses."

Gained Potential Big Score: Gorgoroth Martyr Band
Payout: High.
Risk: Absurdly High.

Gained Contact: Sister Dragovax: A Sisterhood Enforcer, she is the primary collector of your debt, and should you default, the one who will collect your fingers.

Networking Progress Roll: 2D3+2=7

7/15 Progress until Networking (Trained) is gained.
___________________________________________________________________________________

"So, whats the, er, news? How have things been with you?" You asked the Artefact Hawker, who rolled his eyes.

It was a slow day at the Artefact Market: only a handful of potential buyers. It was why you were comfortable approaching the man: you were pretty sure he'd try and deck you if you actually got in the way of selling.

The mans name was Heiram. A large colossus of a man, he wasn't a typical artefact hawker: he didn't dig for the things himself or forge them. Instead he worked as muscle: in exchange for providing a strong hammer arm and a decent shot with a gun, he got a certain amount of any dug up Artefacts. The dark skinned bouncer didn't even spare you a glance. "What do you want Ulysses?"

"I'm just trying to be a bit more friendly-"

Networking Roll: 31-5(Untrained)-10 (Suspicion): 16: Failure.

"No you aren't," Hieram snorted. "You're trying to find a big score because you fucked up and got caught by the Sisters." He spat. "Serves you right, freak."

You sighed. And that was why you didn't like Hieram. Out of all your opposition, he was the most vocal. "Hieram, are you really going to try and play that card? Literally everyone here sells forgeries from time to time: hell, the only reason you don't is because you're ass at woodcarving."

Hieram snorted. "And yet, not everyone here is cursed. Besides, you've cheated me enough times that your due commupance." Ah, that. Admittedly, not all of Hierams reasons for hating you were stupid: you had screwed the man over more than once by squirreling away some valuable artefact riiiiiiight from under his nose.

"I'm not-" You snorted, refusing to verbally concede the idea that you may have had it coming: if it was someone you didn't despise, maybe, but you'd never give Hieram that satisfaction, not ever. "Whatever. What will it take for you to give me a good site?"

"Hundred Thrones."

"Fifty-" You choked. "That's about twice what I'd MAKE on a good site! If I broke even, I'd be lucky!"

Hieram chuckled. "And yet, if you want my help..." He paused a moment, giving a greasy grin, his wooden teeth stained yellow from the years of smoking lho-sticks. "If it incentivizes you a bit, its a new Orkium: untapped, completely virgin, and only a handful of people know about it."

"And what, I ask, is the catch?" You asked sharply. The description given changes your assessment in its totality. A completely untapped Orkium? That was a gold mine: the kind of thing that could MAKE Artefact Hunters. If Hieram was offering its location, that meant there was probably something dangerous about it. Probably a klan of feral orks made it their nest, or there was a radiation leak, or something.

"Nine out of ten of the last few Artefact Hunters who ventured inside never returned," Hieram said, grinning. "All that was found was their corpses, ripped limb from bloody limb."

...Ah. That would explain it.

"So, still interested? If not, then shoulder off, I've got artefacts to sell."

[ ] Buy the Untapped Orkium location. Cost: 100 Thrones. Reward: Gain potential Big Score: Untapped Orkium.
[ ] Do Not

Untapped Orkium
Payout: Absurd
Risk: Extremely High

Gained Contact: Hieram: A Artefact Hunter who hates you for various legitimate and illegitimate reasons, he none-the-less has considerable reach among your profession, which is matched equally by his knowledge.

Networking Progress: 4

11/15 progress until Networking (Trained) is gained.
_______________________________________________________________________________


Streetwise Roll: 57-5(Untrained): 52: Pass.
Investigate Roll: 56-5(Untrained): 51: Pass

You decide to put your ear to the ground, and hear some interesting rumors.

Supposedly, a new gang is gaining slight prominence: the Children of Y'drg, a cult that worships a minor pagan god of unity. They apparently have access to a working farm, and are using it to bolster their ranks by providing food for the hungry among the Shanty, converting who they can to their cause. Well. You can't say it isn't effective, at least: the Children have managed to gain considerable number of soldiers, whom they've been using to increase their territory. Largely by taking it from the Iron Mongers, another minor gang. So far, despite technically being heretical on the surface as Y'drgian worship has been banned by the Santica for decades, the Children so far have been ignored by the Elocutors.

A few children have disappeared from the Shanties, only for their remains to be found weeks later. So far, the cases are small: only twelve children have gone missing. However, this has still put the Shanty on edge: not helping matters is the strange, eldritch scrawls found near univerally near the remains, branded, it seems, into the wood and stone as if by a hot poker, strange whorls and bizarre angles.

The Iron Mongers have requested volunteers: in exchange for labouring in their mine, they're promising a small payment of Thrones based on how much ore is recovered. Apparently, they're using the ore to buy weapons they can use to beat the Children back. The pay isn't fantastic, but it could give you an in with the gang...

Of course, while you're doing this, you dig into recent events surrounding the Sisterhood, and its then that you discover something chilling. According to rumors and hearsay, the Sisterhood made a deal with Sharky's gang: you don't know the specifics, but apparently they were going to trade Sharkey, in exchange for...something, they'd give up a valuable Orkish artefact: it was apparently a high value trade.

...It just so happened to be the Artefact you gave them. And it turns out, Sharky knows enough about Orkish artefacts that he personally identified it as a fake, forcing the the Sisters to pay him instead ten thousand thrones as a penalty for trying to cheat him.

This was, of course, very bad. It meant that, potentially, it wasn't just the Sisters who were pissed at you. You could also have Sharky gunning for you.


Gain this weeks Rumor Mill.
Learned about Potential Hidden Menace: Sharky's Wrath.
Gained Potential Score: Iron Monger Mine

Iron Monger Mine
Risk: None
Payout: Potential Iron Monger contacts, small throne gain.

Investigate Progress: 6/15
Streetwise Progress: 8/15

 

[The Bird]

[X] Do Not

You closed your eyes, and thought about it for a moment. It was a fantastic deal...IF he was telling the truth. That was the rub, wasn't it? It would be a hell of a gamble to take: on the one hand, vast fortune, enough to potentially pay off your debt and then some. On the other, mysterious hazard that killed anyone who ventured inside, and Heiram.

You opened your eyes, and made your mind up. Breathing in sharply, you opened your mouth to inform Hieram of your decision...

And spat into his face.

Everything went silent, everyone pausing, staring aghast at the pair of you, a stillness engulfing the market after moment after moment passed as the spit traveled down the Artefact Hunters face.

The next thing you saw was Hierams fist speeding towards your face. As you were viciously beat by the man, you had a singular thought about the consequences of your, admittedly rash, decision, a thought that gave you some degree of succor from the pain of Hierams boot kicking you in the already busted ribs.

Worth it.

___________________________________________________________

You opened your eyes again. Well. One week gone, and you had lost a fair chunk of your money. True, you had leads and information, but it had cost around a hundred and fifty thrones. The majority of your wealth. Groaning, you stood up, frowning as you opened the door to your hovel, glaring into the dark grey clouds that brewed above you.

Storm weather. Meant that you had to be careful this week, lest the terror-birds get you.


You have 4 AP. All actions unless stated otherwise cost 1 AP.
You have 350 Thrones. Must have at least 750 Thrones in Four turns.
Two Turns 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.
-[ ] 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.
-[ ] Arms Dealers: You might need weapons for some of these Big Scores. Good ones. Luckily, the Shanties had a vibrant and diverse weapons market: it was a good way to make money if you could get a foot in the door, after all, transporting and selling guns, most of which were produced either in the city as surplus or shipped in from off-world. SPECIAL: This will also train one other random social skill.

[ ] 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.

[ ] 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. Can be taken more than once.

[ ] 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.

 

[The Bird]

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.)

 

[The Bird]

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.