When it raids, it pours…

Campaign Turn 1 on Five Parsecs from Home

Sarge and his merry band of misfits had barely made it out of the Fazon when on of Sebastus IX’s infamous downpours forced them beneath the few available canopies the street had to offer. The stalker woman had apparently recovered completely and she thankfully refrained from attempting another teleport jump. The feral for his (her?) part had ditched the empty shotgun and was apparently itching for a new weapon. It was going to be tough making their way to the shipyard, but Sarge had decided it was probably easier to direct the group there than to improvise some other hideout while they got their bearings.

They snuck and ducked from canopy to storefront to street food stall, miraculously not drenched to their bones in the process. If anything, the torrential rain would make tracking them considerably more difficult for the assassins, whoever they were. It also meant that chances of arming up and maybe scrounging for supplies would be night impossible. Still, Sarge tried to see the upside to their situation: Nobody had time to panic or think of something stupid to do while they were doing their best not slip and drown in a giant puddle.

They rounded a corner into one of the back roads leading to the shipyard when the feral stopped them with a grunt. It was fairly impossible to determine facial queues from a reptile for Sarge, but their alligator compatriot appeared to be listening for something. With a hurried gesture, the group was directed back around the corner just in time to scare a pair of scavengers almost to death when they burst from an overhang. The scraggly men dropped whatever they were carrying and vanished past a sewer grate before anyone in the group could so much as get a word out. What they had dropped turned out to be a laser rifle and some bolt action carbine. The feral and the young girl picked up the weapons just as the downpour subsided as suddenly as it had begun. The group made good time up until the rear shipyard, where they unfortunately ran into a few more scavengers. These, however, were considerably better armed and numerous. Sarge gestured for the girl to find a sniper’s nest with her weapon, while the rest fanned out to try and flank the scavengers in their path. It was the dock worker, Pollux, who laid down the first shots but the feral managed the first kill when he put the beam of his laser gun neatly between his target’s eyes. The scavengers fought to the last man, but were quickly overwhelmed by their much more organized and concentrated fire.

When Sarge led his band to the Yesteryear, the derelict but still flightworthy colony ship he had laid claim to, the bot that had come with it was still waiting by the entrance. P-37e obligingly collected weapons, armor and coats for cleaning while Sarge directed everyone else towards what he referred to as the lounge. It had probably been a gym or other exercise area, but it had been stripped clean except for a number of seating accoutrements bolted to the floor. To everyone’s surprise, it was the feral who spoke up first and introduced himself as Worgen. His words were difficult to understand, a long toothy snout and thick tongue not ideally suited to wordplay. He’d come to Sebastus IX looking for employment with the Glorious Galaxy Gang, an exclusively feral mercenary outfit of some fame due to their self-produced sim vid collection. Unfortunately, they had deemed Worgen not suitable to their brand image and thus he had been left to his own devices. The stalker woman snorted at that, offering that he should have struck out on his own, making a name for himself and then throwing the affront back in the faces of the mercenaries. The feral snarled, the stalker cackled but his fist quickly put an end to her bemusement. Sarge stepped into alongside the young girl, who informed him that it was bad luck and also blasphemy to strike a priestess. Pollux and Sarge both stared at the once more unconscious blue-skinned woman and realized that her robes did indeed resemble a nun’s habit.