Its in the top edge of the chimney on top of the barracks. The Nine.
My baby. The 357 I wouldn't be nearly as pissed. Simple TK, get it down. Hopefully that works.
It does.
Next day, you're missing the .357, and yah, it does lead to Greg's backpack.
So I got the nine back?
Do like I said. Scriff it, make the accusation, then pull it out. If he gives me trouble, use one or the other on him.
He denies it, swears up and down he didn't do it, but he does not rush you.
Johan laughs and says...
"I knew it, all along. You worthless thief."
It looks as if most of the undecided have decided to join Johan's side, and one of Greg's allies is giving him a really skeptical glance.
"I can find my stuff, no matter who takes it, and no matter where they take it. Next person who does that......"
I'm still staying out of this. I don't want trouble, but if they want to give me trouble, I can and will give it right back to them.
The next day, you fire your rifle at the range, and it doesn't work. A quick examination reveals that a bullet was jimmied into it to either explode or make it look like they were trying to make it explode. It failed to explode, but you've got a bullet stuck in your barrel of your carbine.
And yes, its considered 'your' carbine as long as you go on campaign.
Another rifle explodes, injuring one of Johan's people in the face.
The DI is furious at what he calls 'gross disrespect for firearms, letting them get that dirty'....he rapidly descends to much more vulgar terms. You'd thought you'd seen him mad before, but as he passes the ten minute mark of screaming at the lot of you, you realize you hadn't seen anything yet.
After that, its water, jerky, and old bread for dinner, and a full cleaning of all gear after you march an additional ten miles that day. Two guys quit.
The DI is furious at what he calls 'gross disrespect for firearms, letting them get that dirty'....he rapidly descends to much more vulgar terms. You'd thought you'd seen him mad before, but as he passes the ten minute mark of screaming at the lot of you, you realize you hadn't seen anything yet.
After he finishes
"Hey, Mr. Drill Instructor type person. Check this out."
Show him what's been done to my gun.
"Somebody's screwing with us."
The rest of them might have a "No Tattle Tales" policy, but I don't subscribe to that where guns are concerned. You do not mess with my gun. That's all there is to it.
The DI's face turns from red to white, and his lips compress together.
"Give me your gun, soldier." He growls low. "Speak to no one else of this."
You are finishing up late with your weapons cleaning, and then inspection, and eager to hit the bed when the DI comes in, flint-eyed, and he has an Iriquois from the Inspectorate with him.
The interrogations begin with each one individually processed in a private room in the commandery.
When its your turn, the DI smiles a bit as you enter the room to face the Captain (who signed you up), the DI, and the Inspector who gives you a cold mask of a face to examine.
"This is the man who let us in on what's going on in my camp. By the way, Moolt, (he's the guy who got injured) is going to be fine, but he's getting twenty-three stitches in his face. Why don't you tell us what you think is going on?"
"Well sir, there's a bit of a rivalry going on with two of the guys. Greg and Johann or whatever. They're at each others throats. Greg stole my pistol the other day. I found it in his backpack. He's lucky I didn't use it on him. I say you take whoever is responsible for this and introduce them to the business end of a bullwhip. Don't stop until their heart stops. Make an example out of them. You don't mess with my guns."
They shrug at each other, and then nod.
The next day, Greg is whipped ten times, and dismissed from the WP. He starts to curse every one of you after he's done, as he staggers there, and the whipmaster threatens him again. So he staggers off, his shoulders and back bleeding, as he refused the doctor's help afterwards.
That night, Johan awakes with a yell. Once examined by a flashlight from teh others, you can see he has both big toes on his feet broken.
The next morning, the captain's car crashes into the wall of the commandery. Examination proves that the brake wires were cut.
"Dude wasn't whipped enough. He was still alive when you were finished."
How much wampum do I have?
Any skill increases?
Just keep going with my day to day routine.
14 and 1/2 W.
You've spent about twenty hours shooting, and five hours dealing with explosives. You've learned Basic Small Squad Tactics 1@2, and you've earned a mark in sneaking through the woods.
Everyone gets interrogated again. Its considered that since you had such a harsh attitude toward Greg that perhaps you're the saboteur hired by the Michiganders who are trying to spoil one of the best trained units in the IF.
Then you and the rest of the WP are confined to quarters.
You wake to flames in the night. The barracks is on fire near the doors, both front and back. Its raging, and most of the rest in the room seem soundly asleep.
Get my gear first thing. I might verse out.
"FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE!!!!!!"
You gather your gear. Nobody rises.
A short manling walks up to you and laughs.
"They be all asleep, laddie. First I tortured them, and then you shed innocent blood so then I could hurt them, and then they, the Powers That Be, they cast you out of human society, so now I can kill ya'. You stand unprotected by custom or Compact before a member of the Unselighe Court, and that laddie, is a verra bad place to be."
His beret is red, and drips red.
"I'd be right curious why you can see the Fey and most humans can't."
Shoot it, then bust down the door and get out. If the gunshot doesn't wake them up, that's not my problem.
Have I reloaded all of my weapons? What other gear have I picked up? A 10mm rifle I believe you said. How much ammo?
Two
I should probably mention that the trench coat is fireproof.
You shoot at it, and it skips sideways at a speed fast enough that you can't really see its legs move individually.
"Too slow, too big, too disrespectful, child of Adam. Now you bleed so I can renew my cap."
It darts forward as you fire again. And you feel a pinprick in the leg, and then it flies backwards to crash into a bunk.
"That's not fair." It says and then dies.
You try to kick down the door. It flies open, and the others tumble behind you, and carry you out with them. Now that the Red Cap is dead, they are released from their enchanted sleep.
But you feel a continuing spurt on your leg. And you feel your heart thundering in your chest. You look down, and the piece of straw that little monster used is still stuck in your leg, and gouts of blood fly out timed to your heart. No one else is noticing. They're either congratulating you on saving them, or watching the barracks burn.
Second post....
Yes, to reload. 40 rounds to the 10 mm carbine (not exactly a rifle, its shorter, less accurate, and easier to tote).
Yes, to reload. 40 rounds to the 10 mm carbine (not exactly a rifle, its shorter, less accurate, and easier to tote).
Yeah, that's what a carbine is. 18-20 inch barrel.
Pull out the straw, psionically heal the leg.
(Doing Therapy)
Two
Tell me more about that 10mm carbine. Is it magazine loaded? Internal magazine? Four 10 round magazines would be what I would expect, but you're the ref. Is it semi-auto? Base lethal or base dangerous? A 10mm is a 40 caliber. It's a handgun cartridge on our world, 10mm magnum. I'd put it up there with a 44 magnum as far as power.
(Doing Therapy)
You try, and it slips away from you. There's a force coating the area, invisible, but slippery, its Glamour, and its twisting your efforts away from it. You reach again, and your body's natural strength, encouraged by your will, breaks through the 'teflon'.
You still feel lightheaded as you've lost more than a pint of blood.
The 10mm carbine is magazine loaded with you having two magazines, and the rest stored in a the ammo pouch (a leather belt purse with a simple flap and button snap down.) It is semi-auto. Base lethal with -5 SM (its not a true rifle....I'd maybe do the same for a 44 pistol, but do a -10 SM).
Did I heal myself?
"There was this little goblin looking thing in there. It lit the fire. I shot it. I think it might be what's been causing all the problems. On the other hand, I can hear the ground moving, but I can't really see it.... Damn, I musta lost more blood than I thought."
Yes, you did heal yourself.
Your statement is regarded as proof that you need an overnight stay in the hospital. You, and two who were injured by smoke, are bundled off in a truck, and taken to a hospital. There you are examined, and after listening to your story of blood loss, and checking your pressure, the doctor orders a good blood-building late night supper....spinach, liver with onions, and vitamin D milk.
"You'll be fine, Private. We'll release you tommorrow."
You might have to roll a willpower check for eating the liver....
"Seriously Doc. There was this little goblin thing in there. It was wearing a red beret." (I'd show him the straw) "It stabbed in the leg with this. I put a couple of 9mm slugs into him. The body is probably still in there."
When we're shooting, I'm practicing with my gun. The 10mm is more for backup.
Can I get any loose 9mm ammo? Get a couple hundred rounds on the side, ya know?
(Doing Therapy)
You choke down a few bites of the dry liver, but cannot even finish half of it. The nurse who comes in later gives you a disapproving look as she takes it away.
"Private, a word of advice. I know some people in the back country believe in the Faerie, but talk too much like that in the big city, and you're liable to end up in trouble." The doctor says softly. "I'm not even going to disagree with you. I've seen none, but I've had more than a few patients who've sworn up and down that they met a Night Hag, or a Banshee, or what you're describing, a Red Cap. All I can say is that some folk think Believers should be locked up as loco, and you seem like a nice, young man." The Doctor gives you a significant look, and leaves with a small smile.
That morning, Smoking Hill, the hand to hand combat instructor walks in, and hands you a sheet of paper, and a small bag.
"The War Party unit you were training with has been disbanded. Due to 'Unprofessional actions on the part of the soldier-trainees in the program'. We kept them from naming anyone, and got you a discharge bonus of 2 W." He runs his hand through his hair. "I don't think you were behind it. And FWIW, they did find a skeleton of 'a mutant cat' or 'possibly a monkey' in the room. It was all burnt up, but it had three broken ribs from where you shot it, I gather."
You choke down a few bites of the dry liver, but cannot even finish half of it. The nurse who comes in later gives you a disapproving look as she takes it away.
I guess you really did roll a willpower check HAHAHA!!!! I'd eat spinach like there was no tomorrow though, so I should recover.
"Private, a word of advice. I know some people in the back country believe in the Faerie, but talk too much like that in the big city, and you're liable to end up in trouble."
"I understand Doc. The problem with being right is if no one believes you, you end up in a loony bin. My mother had that problem." (I am of course referring to Sarah Connor.)
That morning, Smoking Hill, the hand to hand combat instructor walks in, and hands you a sheet of paper, and a small bag.
What's in the bag? The wampum?
"Smoking Hill. Is there another unit I can join?"
What about the 9mm ammo?
(Doing Therapy)
The W is in the bag.
Smoking Hill says you're not in the Army anymore and so you're free to buy some when you wish. He also says that you're not likely to get in any War Party unit, but if you want Regular Army, you might be able to find some units which don't bother with checking backgrounds at all. Or, he hears that the Carlolingian League is in a hot war with the Republic of Peaches down south.
Or I could go back and stay with Joel. Try to get the dishwashing job back. This didn't pan out, but oh well.
I think I'll do that. I'm paid for him for 3 months. That was the deal. Can I do that?
What kind of ID did I have to show? If it's just a simple matter of changing my name, then John Cross just became John Connor.
(Doing Therapy)
Joel is startled to see you, but then he shrugs, and shows you the closet where you can toss your stuff.
"Hey, welcome back."
The assistant manager doesn't know you, since he's new, but when he calls the manager, the assistant manager's attitude changes.
"Seems like the boss likes you, and says hire you now, at our top rate."
"Yeah hey Joel. Wasn't nothing but thieves and troublemakers in there. Good thing I got out when I did."
What's the top rate for dishwashers?
"Glad to be back boss."
Joel grunts and nods having his own familiarity with thieves and scum.
25 W a month instead of 20.
They set you to work, and at one point you're out in the dining room because a new bus boy is having a hard time hauling the dishes back,and you see that half the people in the room have on costumes of all sorts. Its not just that they are wearing the different clothes that come from various countries overseas as you're used to that by now, but you see witches and ghouls and red caps...but all obviously human.
Later you get back, and a couple hours later still, the manager comes in.
"Uh, John, some guy wants to talk to you at the back door. Go take ten if you like."
"Uh, John, some guy wants to talk to you at the back door. Go take ten if you like."
Get to the back door.
"What's Up?"
I can't imagine I'd be wearing the whole backpack and everything whilst washing dishes, but I also can't imagine I'd be without gun at any time. I'm probably wearing one of the Pearl Harbor jumpsuits to work, and I've got the 9mm under it. Have the top unzipped, and be ready to reach for the gun. The jumpsuits are baggy and waterproof. The gun would be unnoticed and dry.
Have my arms folded across my chest. Looks completely natural and puts my right hand near the shoulder holster at the same time.
(Doing Therapy)
An Iriquois brave is standing at the back door.
"Smoking Hill prayed, and you are courageous. So I bring you a message from the Spirit World."
At this point you notice the man doesn't have a shadow.
"You are alone, and thus you are a legitamate target of the Wild Hunt. Be very careful at night."
The man is gone as if he never were there.
"OK, that was strange."
Just go back to work like nothing happened.
How much am I getting paid for today?
(Doing Therapy)
5 W a night.
You get finished, and you're walking home through the late night by yourself. And then you hear a howl like a hunting dog that sends a shiver down your back. And even though your skeptical side tries to deny it, your realistic side assures you...
You're the prey.
Something flies overhead between the moon and you.
There are a few others on the street, and one mentions drunkenly the airplane that flew low. But whatever it was, you're not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it was surely no airplane. It had no wings.
"All right you son of a motherless camel!!! Come out and fight if you want a piece of me!! I already wasted one of your buddies. I'll kick your @$$ too!!!!!"
Say it with a heavy slur in my speech, so that any bystanders would think I was drunk. If it makes them run away faster, all the better. Last thing I need is witnesses.
Now, I'm in full battle gear. Three guns in easy reach and another in the backpack.
"COME AND GET ME YOU BASTARD!!!!!!"
Again, slurring so bystanders think I'm drunk.
(Doing Therapy)
Most of the people veer away, but one guy looks as if he wants to help you until his girlfriend pulls him back.
"Not your fight, Bobby. Come on." She says coaxingly, and so he goes.
And suddenly where there were people leaving the street, the street is wholly empty except for you and the man on the throne sitting on the sleigh a hundred feet down the road. Two black steeds with eyepits of flame pull the ebony black sleigh. And around and on the sleigh you see eight hounds.
He strokes one with his left hand, and fire springs up from his fingers. And for a second the hound is a whimpering naked man, but then its a hound again.
The clock strikes two, and you realize you've lost an hour somewhere. But then it seems right. It has to be two o'clock. Alone. Your brethren asleep in their beds, or laughing in pubs to keep out the cold.
You realize you're shivering and ice is forming in the street.
"John." Says a voice like the amputation of limbs without anesthesia. It saws and scrapes and speaks of agony. "If you run now, I will not unman you with my horn. You will retain your mind, but once I blow my horn...." He raises in his left hand a giant primitive horn trumpet and laughs like the breaking of bones. "Your mind will flee you and your body thereafter. But its more fun for me to have a willing prey."
Did I get a new use for psionic healing for healing that puncture wound in my leg?
1@5 Intensify Senses P5@1 by shifting sensory resources in the brain
This shifts the sensory input from your brain. Takes away smell to make touch more sensitive, stuff like that. Use this to make taste more sensitive by taking away my hearing. I'll taste the inside of my mouth and be stone deaf. Then he can blow the horn all he wants. I won't be able to hear it. That better be a new use.
And of course, I won't hear the gunshots when I empty the 9mm into his chest either.......
Yes, you did.
And wow, that's clever.
He raises his horn, and you reach smoothly for the nine, drop into a weaver stance as he winds his horn, and then before you can shoot, he grins a little bit around the mouthpiece, and blows.
You fire.
He looks startled.
You fire again.
He's surprised.
You hit him in the chest the second time.
He slumps. The horn drops from his hand. He's mostly behind his horses now.
You hit him in the arm as he raises his arm.
He speaks.
The hounds charge you.