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OMG, you bastards! You're playing a damn SF campaign set in the Freelancer universe! And I'm
not involved! Argh! Boohoohoo! Dammit! I guess I'll just have to run my own personal SF Elite
style campaign. We me as the sole player. And, snub snub snub, I'll use the X2 universe! So there...
But seriously, cool idea GM person :-)
OOPMan
It's only very loosely based on the Freelancer universe i.e. we're using the map. I think al's doing his own thing after that. But correct me, al, if i'm wrong :) - MoonFlake
I just couldn't let the link go unclicked.
Cool Game
r0><><0rs
I love politics
Some action would be cool to though
Schpat
characters
Kumiko - pilot (michelle)
Crane - muscle (waynne)
Lark - public relations (schpat)
Raynne - espionage (shelagh)
Joe - engineering (alex)
dm
alastair
14/05/04
thanks, schpat. plenty of action ensued in last night's game, and it was one of the best sessions so far :)
the scene that made the evening was this:
we had just landed at the New Tokyo Docks, when we were instructed to produce our cargo and personnel manifests. With Liberty leading up to a war with the Pirates, and Kusari space being Liberty's bitch, we were worried about our weapons being confiscated for the war effort. We were even more worried about someone discovering all the alien weapons and tech onboard.
A few tarps, some hasty reshuffling, and an old cargo manifest took care of that problem. However, when the Libertarian Army Sergeant Major took our crew manifest and looked those of fighting age over with a hairy eyeball, the real problems began. All but the engineer managed to find some reason to be unfit for the draft. Our dear 19-year-old Joe, however, was handed a sheet of paper from a clipboard, and told to report in 12 hours.
Now, with reactor 3 offline and half the ship shot to shit, we didn't want to lose an engineer. We briefly considered making a run for it, faking a death certificate, or having him certified insane. In the end, the solution was much worse.
Crane, our strongman, donned a suit of alien armour we had been given. He then activated the personal shield and disappeared from sight. The only way we knew he had left was by the clanging of the gangplank as he thundered off the ship, in hot pursuit of the sarge. Heads turned at the sound as he cleared the intervening space, but in a shipyard, there are always odd bangs and crashes.
He reached the sarge just as another poor spacer was being given his slip of doom. Crane put all the momentum of his run behind a mammoth punch, sending the sarge to the ground in an instant.
And then, ladies and gentleman, the coup de grace...he picked up the poor little 90-pound weakling of a spacer, and threw him onto the sarge. Recall that Crane is invisible at this moment. He then picks up the sarge's clipboard, tears off the top sheets (including the copy of Joe's draft papers) and tucks them into his armour.
For a second, the alien suit is visible to the spacer's wife. Her jaw drops and she quietly loses control of her bladder.
Crane then slips around behind the nearest ship. Behind him, the sarge has climbed to his feet and is beating the living hell out of this poor little butterball he just recruited. As Crane returns to his ship, he is followed by a strangled cry of, "The Devil made me do it!"
