(Novin IC) Cold Bright Stars.   Posted by GM Sattler.Group: 0
GM Sattler
 GM, 11 posts
Thu 15 Aug 2019
at 14:00
(Novin IC) Cold Bright Stars
Novin Cadera, veteran mercenary, former leader of the Blood Pact, awoke in darkness.  The copper taste of blood filled his mouth.  He tried to open his eyes, but they were stuck shut somehow.  Raising a shaky hand, he rubbed at them instinctively.  Something sticky and gritty begrudgingly gave way.  Looking at his hand, he saw that he had specks of dry blood stuck to it.  He swept his palm over his eye one more time and took a better look around.

He was cocooned in the cockpit of a fighter craft.  Condor XG-76 Space Supremacy Fighter.  Memory stirred, reminding him that he had been fighting someone.  Chasing?  Being chased?  He couldn't remember.  The controls and displays were dark, and the weightless feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that the artificial gravity was out as well.  He reached for the controls out of long-ingrained habit and training.  His arms screamed in protest, sore and bruised.  Novin was a veteran of a hundred engagements though, and pain was a near constant companion.  There was none of the sharp stabbing pain that would indicate a broken bone, so he pushed the discomfort aside and set himself to the task of establishing what was going on.

The controls remained unresponsive.  Completely.  The restart systems lever didn't even cause a flicker or a groan.  It would appear that the craft has lost power completely.  Just drifting in space.  Disengaging the manual locks, Novin opened the cover to the cockpit windows to get a look outside.



Shattered hulls and components of a thousand ships drifted forlornly in to glow of a distant nebula.  From where he looked, Novin could not see any evidence of a planet or other celestial body.  There was a ship more or less in the center of the graveyard.  It dwarfed the other ships, making cruisers look like shuttle craft.  Despite being an experienced spacer, Novin couldn't recognize any of the ships here.  It seemed that they came from a thousand different civilizations and cultures.  Alien lines, strange colors, stark utilitarian blocky construction, the graveyard could function as much a museum as a final resting place.

A wracking cough returned his attention from the scene outside to more immediate concerns.  The air was starting to get hot, and there was an unpleasant burning tang that tickled the back of his throat and threatened to set off another round of coughing.  Everyone who spent any time in space knew those signs.  He was running out of oxygen, the life support systems that scrubbed the air having died with the rest of the power.

A quick inventory gave Novin the following.  He was wearing his standard armor, light and easy to move in, and able to function in vacuum if necessary.  His memory was fuzzy, but he knew that he had been forced to leave most of his gear and weapons behind when he stole this fighter.  Still... yes, when he checked beneath his seat the standard-issue survival kit was still there.  A basic laser pistol (Azimuth class), one extra power pack for the pistol, a weeks worth of emergency rations in their flash-frozen and sealed wrappers, a comm unit, two med-patches, and a couple tools for survival on a planet.  All this nicely packed and neat in a backpack for ease of carry.

Pulling out the comm unit, Novin finds that it still has power.  It would seem that whatever afflicts the Condor fighter was localized and did not extend to the individual gear stored inside.  While checking on the pistol and other components, the comm flickered through its pre-programmed channels looking for a signal.  Distant electronic howls, whispers, and static are the only response.  He hooked it to his armor harness and let it continue to search while he looked outside again.  Looming in the distance, seemingly far but startlingly close in astrological terms, a blocky cruiser-class ship hangs in space.  Though there was no guarantee that it would have supplies, it would make as good a destination as any.

OOC: stranded in space, running out of air and limited in resources, Novin can't stay where he is!  His armor will support a leap through space toward the ship in the distance, but lacks the maneuvering thrusters that a dedicated zero-G rig would take for granted.  Pick an appropriate skill and make a check to begin your journey into the cold uncaring dark of space.

Starting equipment: Second Skin armor, Azimuth laser pistol (1 extra power pack), 7x MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat), Comm Unit, 2x Med-Patches (allow an unskilled medicine check for basic injuries), and a Survival Kit (+4 to survival checks, ask if you need a specific tool)

Novin Cadera
 player, 1 post
Tue 20 Aug 2019
at 00:37
(Novin IC) Cold Bright Stars
In reply to GM Sattler (msg # 1):

Taking one last look around him, Novin makes sure all his gear is situated securely against his person. Knowing he can't stay in the Condor fighter for much longer, he takes a deep breath filled with both anticipation and confidence and prepares to open the hatch. "It's now or never Cadera," he hisses through clenched teeth, bones popping as he strains to reach the emergency release lever that forces the hatch open. Finally, with an earsplitting grinding noise of metal against metal, the hatch slides open, exposing Novin to the eerie stillness of the ship graveyard. He deftly undoes the straps holding him against his seat and eases himself out of the fighter, being sure to hang on tightly to the handles so he doesn't drift off due to the lack of gravity. Novin steadies himself on the fighter so he's angled toward the maintenance hatch on the side of the ship. Making sure to double check his calculations, he pushes off the fighter with a grunt, leaping for the cruiser.



OOC: Novin Cadera rolled 12 using 1d20+8 ((4)) Acrobatics: leaping to cruiser
GM Sattler
 GM, 16 posts
 Bringer of Doom
 Giver of Loot
Fri 23 Aug 2019
at 13:21
(Novin IC) Cold Bright Stars
Sound was restricted to the steady in and out of Novin's breathing.  As he carefully levered himself out of the cockpit, the scope of space, the sheer mind-numbing size of it, hit like a hammer.  The star field spun as the fighter slowly tumbled through the remains of ships that died long ago.  Taking a three-point stance to hold on to the exterior grip while he got his bearings, he looked up to calculate his approach.  It was made difficult by the relative movement between the two craft, but Cadera had done this a time or two before.

When he made his leap, there was a jolt and then nothing.  There was no sensation of movement.  He folded his arms against his sides and flew.  The only indicator that he was getting closer was the slowly-increasing size of the cruiser that he was aiming for.  Every now and then something would patter off of his armor.  Tiny debris, bits of wire, things too small to readily identify... if he weren't moving so slowly it might represent a navigational danger.  As it was, it simply helped with the sense of isolation that drifting un-powered through space conferred.  As it drifted closer, more signs of battle damage became apparent on the cruiser.  Scars from some kind of energy weapon, blackened and lumpy where the metal had been super-heated and run like water before rehardening.  Sections of the hull that looked like they might have been eaten away by some kind of acid.

Now that he had time to think, Novin's mind kept drifting back to his situation.  He knew that something about his recent past was important, but whenever he tried to remember what had brought him to this strange place it was like running into a wall.  Details about the last couple weeks were completely absent.  It hinted at some kind of mental or magical influence.  He kept battering at that wall in his memories, but to no avail.

He was drawn from his musings as he made the final approach to the ship.  Something was off... his trajectory!  It had been remarkable how close he had managed to make it, but over the distance of several kilometers even the smallest of miscalculations could really add up.  He could now see that unless he did something drastic, he would miss the relative safety of the ship by about two hundred meters.  There was no gravity field to anchor things into place here, he would drift long after he ran out of air.

OOC: perhaps you have something in the survival tool kit that might work?  You can make a survival or another appropriate skill check to look at DC 10.  You can also make a simple Wisdom or Intelligence check to do the same at DC 11.  If neither of these measures work, then you cannot find a tool that would help.  A last-ditch effort taught in zero-G maneuvering training would be to vent some of your remaining air to create thrust.  This will automatically succeed, but leave you dangerously low if you can't find something to replenish it on the ship.