Contract #4: Formula 42

[John]

Max gasps for air on the floor and clutches at his own throat-- the skin on it red and irritated from the crushing force of the thing's hand. As his body begins to slide toward the monster, he motivates his limbs enough to begin a desperate scramble in the exact opposite direction of the imminent explosion.

[Elliott]

Tyros feels panic start to build in the back of his mind. Switching to astral vision, he attempts to see what portal is pulling them towards the astral plane and works his mind furiously for a way to close it (roll assensing).

[GM Nick]

Tyros' mind reels as he stares at a vacuum in astral space! The troll has never encountered anything similar.

Magical Theory Test (Tyros)

[Magical Theory (4) + LOG (4) = 3]
1 4 6 3 4 3 5 5

(( PM'd. ))

[Elliott]

"I THINK NOT!"

Summoning another ball of pure mana to his hand (centering), Tyros hurles it towards the mage-turned-gate to the astral plane, hoping his injection of mana into the gap is enough to seal it (Manabolt, f4, which is doubled to f8 right now, correct?).

[GM Nick]

Manabolt (8) (Tyros)

[Spellcasting (6) + MAG (6) + Power Focus (2) = 4]
6 3 5 3 3 4 6 2 4 1 2 4 2 6
[WIL (6) = 1]
1 1 4 4 4 5

A flash of purple flame erupts from Tyros' hands and slams into 31. Arcs of energy begin to rake around the room, illuminating its entirety in a fantastic range of colors. A mournful cry escapes 31 as unimaginable forces tear him between the astral plane and the physical one. A deafening thunder clap rings out as the energy sucks back to its origin in a fantastic implosion, followed directly by the possessed mage being expelled outward in every direction with a billion joules of force and detonating in a shower of gore.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams digs the barrel of the rifle into the ground, hoping it might--just might--ground him against the spray of energy. He winces, and covers his face with his forearm to shield himself against the airborne torrent of pureed mage viscera.

A groan escapes his throat as he eyes his new armor's even newer paint job.

"Max, I think I finally understand..." He chuckles.

"Nice work, Tyros."

[John]

Max collapses backward on the floor and lies there heaving for several moments. One hand is up and massaging gently at his throat and the other is dropped slack to his side. The mask of arterial red which he now wears seems not to faze him as he says in a small, resigned voice,

"Yup. Welcome to my life."

The pain in his neck is a fiery bomb blast that shows no sign at all of relenting. Luckily, the elf can take care of that. Still on the floor, he takes his bottle of bliss from his pocket and unscrews the cap. Shaking first a single pill into his off hand, the elf thinks better of it and doubles the dosage. He sits up partially, propping himself up with his left elbow as the pills sit gently in his right. Max knocks his head back and fires the two tabs down, wincing at the pain in his throat as he swallows. With that business taken care of, the elf begins the slow, exhausting work of getting to his feet. It takes longer than it ought to, but Max isn't strangled into near unconsciousness very often.

Though it still happens more than it does for most.

Plaintively, Max muses,

"And to think.. thirty-one used to be my lucky number."

[Stephen]

Once lucidity has made its painfully slow return to Val's frayed mind, he wrests his battered body shakily off the floor and surveys his surroundings through a visor smeared with blood and... other things. He opens his visor and retches loudly on the ground beside himself.

He remembers skittering across the floor toward something. Though bruised in numerous places from being blasted and dragged around like a rag doll by forces he'll never comprehend, somehow the beacon of pain in his left hand burns brighter than the rest. He raises a hand to his face, and realizes that he's lost two fingernails from his left hand. He cranes his head and gazes at the shallow gouges in the floor leading to his current position. Despite it all, a half chuckle, half whimper escapes his lips as he remembers the similar gouges his ex-girlfriend's cat would leave on the countertop when he realized the cruel old bitch meant to give him a bath. He glances around, locating his friends and realizing they all still live. Val's sad chuckle slowly transitions to outright laughter as he cradles his hand in his lap, realizing that he's alive too.

[GM Nick]

The ork assistant moans and stirs.

"What the frag was that? And am I alive or dead? Oh, I must be dead. Is this my blood?"

[John]

Max walks over toward the downed ork and, hoisting him up, says,

"Not much of it. Come on. Up and at 'em."

Max looks around the room for the first time without either the fog or the fog of battle obscuring his view. Shaking his head, he continues,

"This looks like a bust to me. Let's keep moving. Any other ideas?"

[GM Nick]

Max's cursory glance yields nothing, with the exception of a small pile of glowing ash where there had before been a very ruthless mage.

[Stephen]

Val's laughter trails off as his elation receeds to a more sane level appropriate with the team's circumstances. Troubled by his malfunctioning tracking software in 31's cloud of whatever-the-frag-it-was, Val calls up the AR window and runs it again. Each team member's PAN appears to be coded correctly on the schematic, and a visual check in real space confirms the accuracy of the PAN positioning overlay. Val lets out a deep sigh of relief, more at the confirmation that he hasn't completely lost his knack for programming than at the functionality of the program itself.

"Be advised, the positioning overlay on the schematic is functional. Element 31 must have been wreaking havoc with the software, but it should be good to go now."

[John]

Max walks over to the ash and kneels down next to it before sifting his fingers through it in contemplation. The blue light radiating off of it is otherworldly and makes the elf uncomfortable, but more disconcerting is that the ash is ice cold. Max looks back over his shoulder to the various team members, and says,

"Well, we're not going to find what we came for by standing around here admiring our handy work. Let's move on to the sublevels, get the package, save the civvies, kill the bad guys, and get the frag outta' here."

Max stands again and heads for the door, giving Val an hearty slap on the shoulder on the way out of the eerily still room.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams scans the room now that the fog is gone.

"Agreed, let's keep moving forward. This place is starting to creep me the hell out."

[Elliott]

Tyros rubs his eyes, trying to clear his head and the last vestiges of explodin Mage light seared into his retinas. Walking slowly over to where Max is admiring the ashes, Tyros kneels down and scoops a portion of the pile into a plastic film case carried in one of his coat pockets for just this sort of occasion.

With a wink to Max, "Worth a look back at the base. Not every day you see as really charged, glowing ash."

"Yes, let's keep moving."

[Stephen]

Val's brow furrows as he tries to decide whether some light jab might be found in Max's statement, but he shrugs, grins, and follows the team. He checks his gear to make sure that none of it's been damaged or lost during the fracas as he follows the team out of what's become yet another installation in a growing exhibition of the macabre.

[GM Nick]

The ork assistant stumbles groggily through the hallway, rubbing absently at the place where Doc's stun darts pierced his flesh.

"Since the elevator is out, you'll need to take the stairs. My biometrics should get you to sub-level 1 at least..."

He steps up to a large door and leans into the retinal scanner.

"After this, I'll probably just go find a nice place to hide. I'm not really cut out--"

The retinal scanner promptly explodes, throwing the ork assistant a few meters.

[John]

Max lunges forward toward the explosive retinal scanner as the ork is blown clear. The elf is concerned for the civilian, but he is more concerned that a deluge of hostiles is now going to come pouring through the door. Frantically reloading his shotgun, he forces his body weight against the door and listens for booted footfalls.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams dashes forward, and goes to a knee beside the downed assistant.

Holding his rifle with one hand, he pats the orc's cheek with the other.

"Hey, you still with us?" He asks, glancing occasionally at the door.

[GM Nick]

Twin plumes of smoke billow from the ork's eye sockets. He is dead.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams only has time for a downturned twitch in the corner of his mouth and a muttered "frag."

Standing back up, he takes position on the other side of the door from Max.

[Conway]

((Whoa I dont log in for a day and theres like 4 pages of progress! Sorry for not contributing. Great posts everyone, very entertaining!))

Spinning toward the sound of the detonation, Sinjin crouches in full guard, fists and body tense to defend himself against imminent danger. He see's none. Tugging at his collar, his cheeks puff as he expels a rushed breath and some of the tension within him seems to dissipate. Light, but he felt hot down here. Whether from the high pressure situation or some residual effect of his magical burns, it mattered little. He'd had about enough of magic for the day. Two near death experiences within minutes of one another, involving a mana spewing pyromaniac and a seven faced, black hole eating demi-god-like something, that had nearly swallowed the team whole.

He'd had about enough of this place, too. Fraggin' research facilities. More like asylums for the brilliantly insane. Creepy, chock full of sociopaths and their unimaginably volatile and dangerous "inventions"....what could go wrong? Just drop in, bag the package like a Monday postman, and whistle all the way to the bank. Bulldrek. I could strangle that slitch Nayana.

With a cursory frown at the dead ork civilian, Sinjin turns toward the doorway that cost the lab tech his life. The anger inside him becomes cold and resolute as his body consumes the fire of his rage, adding a terrible strength to his fury.

(Attribute Boost STR)

[Elliott]

Tyros eyes the door in astral vision, determined not to be caught off guard by any more spirits.

"Booby traps, this just keeps getting better. Ready when you are." Tyros stands slightly to the side of the door, claymore ready.

[John]

The team in position, Max nods a readiness check at the party. The cold, hard gazes returned to him tell him all he could ever need to know. Tentatively, the elf tries the door.

[GM Nick]

The door swings open, revealing a dark and deserted stairwell.

[John]

Peering into the thick, inky darkness, Max draws his shotgun up and traces his view as he assesses the passageway. Slowly, the elf presses into the stairwell's maw and toward an ever mounting sense of danger and dread.

[GM Nick]

Perception Test (Max)

[Perception (4) + INT (5) = 5]
2 5 6 4 5 4 6 6 4

Max freezes in place at the top of the stair as his hawk-eyes spot claymore mines scattered among the steps.

[John]

Max's foot hangs in the air before he slowly draws it back to where it had been at the beginning of his step. He looks over his left shoulder and says to the team in a low, conspiratorial voice (as if anything above a whisper will detonate the mines and blow them all to hell),

"We've got claymores. Doc?"

[Drew Buddy]

"On it," breathes Doc.

He steps back from the doorway, and waves at the others to do the same. He unslings his submachine gun, and flicks on the mounted flashlight, playing the beam from a distance over the deadly packages in the hallway.

(( If the claymores are optically detonated, ignore this next part. The flashlight probably would have already set them off ))

Satisfied that the mines aren't using optics as triggers, Adams moves back to the door, closes the face shield on his helmet, and starts studying the mines in ultrasound.

"I think I can handle the mines, but there are quite a few of them. Tyros, you think you can drop us down another shaft if need be?"

(( Can I get a perception or Traps/Demolitions test to determine how they're triggered and how to disarm these? ))

[John]

Max chuckles a short, morbid little scoff, and says,

"This may be a little dark for some of you, but we could always heave the ork's body in and just let him detonate the mines with us well clear of danger..."

The elf looks at the body and then back to Doc, whose unseen brow is undoubtedly beading with sweat, and says,

"That might be a little less stressful for you too, amigo."

[John]

Max continues,

"And if we were really clever, we could maybe even turn their trap into a trap of our own. We could hang back and wail like we're injured and in pain, wait for these drekbags to stroll up to finish us off, and smear them all across the halls."

[Elliott]

Tyros chuckles malevolently, his ghostly, deep voice echoing slightly in the confined stairwell. "Yes, I can levitate us again if necessary. I like the idea of turning these babies back on the fools who set them if we can manage it. Not my department though, so rolling our friend the ork down the stairway works as well."

[GM Nick]

Traps Test (Doc)

[Traps (2) + LOG (7) + PuShed (1) = 3]
5 3 2 4 5 2 4 1 6 3

Doc determines that the claymores are vintage military variety, triggered by close-range motion.

(( Your threshold for disarming on a demolitions roll would be 2. ))

[John]

Max pipes up from behind the versatile field medic,

"So what's it look like, amigo? Going with plan A, or plan B?"

[Drew Buddy]

For a moment, Adams is tempted to say "frag it," and detonate the explosives, but he thinks better of the plan.

"It might be useful to have these stairs intact for our evac. We might even be able to turn these traps on the people who set them."

Adams cracks his knuckles and takes a deep breath.

"You fellas might want to stand back."

(( I'd like to use a point of edge on this ))