I mean... if you save the mom, the boy is almost certainly dead.  And save is going to be a relative term for her, I'm afriad. 

Sorry.

 Post is up. 

I'm really sorry, ya'll. 

DM's note: before you read further, I warn you once more - this game contains adult horror themes.  If this bothers you, click into another thread now, please. 

DM's note, part two: with the rest of the party acting, I felt like Aranwen's hands were pretty tied.  He is a front line fighter, the most skilled among the group; unless Blackthorn decides that he's not going to help, he pretty much has to be moving into the cabin, doesn't he?  Blackthorn, if you object - let me know.

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With a roar, Ch'dau charges headlong towards the cabin.  So swift is the kazari and his rage that he outpaces his companions before they can react. 

Cedric and Midge begin incantations, while Gib and Aranwen draw blades and move to support. 

Realizing that her big cat companion has left her side - and that any element of surprise is now long gone - Kithran looses the drawn arrow, clipping one of the zombies in the back of its shoulder, and spinning it around an instant before the full fury of the raging Kazari is upon it.  One of the short blades drives through the abomination's chest and exits its back, even as the huge felanoid warrior drives fangs into its face in his mindless fury. 

Midge's incantation completes, and within moments, every wasp and hornet within the surrounding acres are swarming in an angry, stinging cloud.  Of course, wasps are indiscriminate; they sting the zombies, they sting the warriors trying to get past the zombies. 

Gib and Aranwen arrive, with the former battering a zombie out of his way, while the latter nimbly sidesteps and hamstrings one in passing with her blade. 

Kith sheaths her bow and draws her dagger in the process of moving to support Ch'dau as Cedric also pushes up to attack. 

The warriors struggle forward, intent on escaping the stinging wasps.  Near the doorway, it can be heard - a child's cry of fear.

At least one of the woodsman's children still lives! 

A zombie moves to block the kazari's path, but Ch'dau will not be denied.  The hulking warrior sweeps it to the side, where its head splits open with a sickening crunch against a wooden post.  Heedless of anything else, the kazari pushes inside to the scene of a waking nightmare.

The cabin is laid out as three rooms - a large common room has a dining table in the center, with a counter on the far wall with pots, eating utensils, and such on it.  To the right are two doors, each presumably leading to a bedroom.  There are a couple of zombies standing at odd locations in the main room.

One door stands open; a cursory glance reveals a larger bed inside that must belong to the woodsman and his wife. 

The second door is broken off its hinges; visible through it is a set of bunk beds.  A small child of four or five years sits on top, as far back agaist the wall as he can squeeze.  The child is screaming and crying, as his brother - perhaps eight years of age - is being pulled down by at least four zombies clearly intent on tearing him limb from limb. 

A few feet to the side lies a woman with a cast iron skillet a foot or so from her open hand.  The form of one of the undead is on top of her; she lies completely motionless, with her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

The initial threat assessment in the big warrior's brain indicates that the woman died fighting here to protect her children, and is in the process of being comsumed, but perhaps her sacrifice need not be in vain. 

As he begins to move, Ch'dau registers the motion by the undead on the floor, and horrified understanding begins to dawn in his mind. 

The abomination is not eating the woman - at least, not yet.  Its long, forked tongue slips out of its mouth, traces along the woman's throat, up to her ear.  The poor woman's legs are parted, her skirts are pulled up - the creature is not truly lying on top of her, as much as its own lower body is nestled between her thighs while it makes a jerky hunching motion.  It glances up at Ch'dau, fixing him with unnatural, hateful yellow eyes as it begins to giggle sadistically.

Yeah, I can think of a couple, myself. 

The thing about Karma is that it is limited to one vote per thread. 

Hmmm...

Random silly idea - what if we made a little badge that people could put on their profile page that recognied them for outstanding participation, roleplay, etc.  Maybe have it voted on somehow?

Yeah, the idea falls apart if you look at it too closely...

I am DYING to put the next post in.  Would love love love to hear from Blackthorn, bvberry today!

I mean, I don't think i can fit 500 inside.  

Might be a lot, though,  causing overflow outside... 

"Time???" the woodsman wails, "there is no time!  They 'ave broken tha door, they are in tha 'ouse!  Me wife an' children are in there!  If all ye plan ta do is scout about, then give me a blade, an' let me die wit 'em!"

He tries to collect himself.  "There is no cellar!  Mayhap they barred tha doors inside, but if tha dead could break tha fron' door, there be no way the doors inside could 'old fer long!"

I did a little fluff post for some NPCs.  I wanted to explore some enlisteds a bit, give myself somethign to do here besides just be the plot device that is the Captain.

Stardate 2365.02.19
USS Peregrine, Deck 5, Phaser Range - 1908

The last of the targets flickered away in a puff of light, and the Computer spoke. 

=/=Exercise complete.  Total accuracy, eighty-five percent. =/=

Crewman Stephen Galla let out a whoop, then holstered his sidearm.  The hours he had spent working wth Lieutenant Reid were finally paying off - this was his third consecutive result of about the same score, even once he had raised the difficulty.  He would be sure to qualify this week, meaning that Petty Officer was no longer a pipe dream.  For a good six months now, his phaser range scores has been all that were holding him back; soon enough, his performance evals would check the "Meets standards" box in that area, if not "Exceeds standards".  Hah!  Who would have believed that?

Still grinning like an idiot, Stephen stepped out into the corridor.  "Computer," he spoke, "please locate Petty Officer Juarez."

=/=Pretty Officer Juarez is in the Observation Lounge. =/=

"Perfect!" he exlaimed as he headed down the corridor. 

---------------------------------------------------------

As he entered the Aerie, Galla scanned the room, finding Juarez sitting at a small table with a brown-haired human woman that he didn't recognize.  Stephen walked slowly across the room, wearing a mask of disappointment.  Juarez caught his eye and stood.  "Steve!  How did it go?

Galla shook his head slightly, and Systems Specialist winced.  "That bad, eh?  Man, I'm sorry.  Hang in there - you'll get it, I know you will!"

Galla cut his eyes meaningfully to the left, and Juarez coughed.  "Oh, I'm sorry!  Steve, let me introduce you to Merida Peers.  Merida just transfered aboard yesterday, she'll being doing damage control.  Merida, this is Steve Gallo, my best buddy in the fleet. We did basic together."

The brown haired woman offered Galla a firm handshake and a smile.  "Honestly, let's hope that things are boring and I end up spending my time fetching tools for Chief Davis.  Nobody is happy if I'm actually doing damage control, right?" 

The group shared a polite laugh and took seats around the table.

Juarez fixed his freind with a stare.  "Steve is in Security, and has been working hard on phaser qualification.  If he can earn the next level, he'll qualify for Petty Officer."

Gallo simply nodded.

"Okay, man. Spill it.  How bad was it?" he asked.  "You had me thinking that you were going to make it this time."

Deadpan, Stephen looked his friend right in the eye.  "Well, Marcel, I scored eighty-five percent."

The words hung in the air for a moment before the darker-skinned man sputtered in disbelief.  "But wait, doesn't that mean... you ass!"  As he spoke, Juarez punched his friend in the shoulder.  "You made me think you had blown it!  It's time to celebrate, and you'd better believe that this round's on you!"

Merida found herself laughing along with the two friends.  One drink turned into four, stories were swapped around the table... all in all, it could have been a far worse first night on a new cruise. 

Meh, no worries.

It's silly.  I'm just one guy.  But I swear, it's like a tiny little website version of the Arthurian legends... when I'm here and doing well, the Inn does well.  When I'm not, the land - er, the Inn - seems to suffer.

"standard event number eleven", "The crew was quiet a moment as the dust and Artie particles settled.."

My sides! 

Some of you veteran players know me, and likely know somethign of my track record. 

For a good long time (see: the Golden Age of the Inn), I was always logged in here.  Always present.  I ran some really active games that had super dedicated players, and the games ran literally for years.  I wrote code, made the Inn from nothing.  We had this vibrant core community with lots of plyers in and out.  There were active games in pretty much every category in the forums, all sorts of chitchat.  While this site was never huge, it did really well.

Somehow, somewhere... things got off track.

I got off track.

I don't even remember when the first time was that I flaked, but I did... some game I was running was struggling, I tried to give players time, then this happened or that happened, and suddely... weeks turned into months, and the game was dead. 

I have flaked manytimes since.  On games I was running.  On games I was playing in.  I'd be here, hot and heavy, then... something would happen. 

Part of it was plain old depression.  I see and understand that now.  But that seems way to easy of an answer.  Why did I lose my "present-ness" at the Inn?

A few months back, I decided to make one more run at it.  Now, I'm in a better place mentally.  But I'm still crazy busy.  How would I manage?

I gave try number four - yes, you read that correct, FOUR at a D&D/horror adventure that I've been wanting to run for YEARS. 

It started off really well, so before long... I started a Paranoia game.  And it did well.

And then, I dug up my Trek game that had laid idle for a year.  Finsihed it up.  Got so much response that I started another... and now, we have started a little Star Trek fleet, with one other active game going, a third that might go, and a little talk of maybe even more.

I am here.  I'm keeping my games up to date.  When I hit player issues, we deal and keep going. 

My D&D game is farther along than any other try ever got.  Paranoia is still doing pretty well.  Trek is white hot. 

I have added code, done some updates here at the Inn, have more in mind.

I am honestly, truly "back" for the first time since my eleven year old was born? 

I sure hope so.

10-4, Duncan.

Cedric lays his hands on the man's wounds and appeals to the god of light and life, and the injuries visibly improve.  The woodsman has no time for gratitude now, though; he is desperate to return to his family.

"This way!" he cries.  "Tha cabin es jest over tha ridge!" 

As you move, Cedric peppers questions at him.  He is unsure as to the exact number of attackers - a half dozen or more, he thinks.  The attack was less than a half hour ago.  He cannot place anything strange, save the dead attacking his home.

You crest a ridge and behold a scene that corroborates the wounded man's tale.  A sturdy log cabin sits ahead, with several shambling forms milling around it.  Wooden shutters are closed fast in the fading light

The heavy wooden front foor is cracked and lies off its hinges.  Seeing this, the man pitifully cries out.  "Gods, no!  Ella!  Boys!  Please 'elp them!" he pleads. "Oh, gods!  Mother, save them!" 

There appars to be but one entrance in or out of the cabin.  There are several undead outside - all appar to be of the slower zombie form.  There is no way to know if the man's family lives, or how many undead might be inside. 

A'ight now.  Where all my clones at?

Like that, with pointier teeth, fangs and yellow eyes.

Yep.  Tiny little gigglers.  Terrifying preteen giglers.  Child gigglers.  A crrawling baby gigler.

Why would I trap you here?  I mean, c'mon.  Sure, I'm the evil GM in a horror themed game, but you just give me no credit.  I am WOUNDED, I say.

Post coming today.  I'll be NPCing Midge; Keeper had something come up. 

Heh... loved some of Eol's in-game comments, as always. 

I have a post coming that does not involve the Captain. 

Just spitballing here.

Bromern has the compter deleting all of Asovils' reports. Add inthe mysterious calls, and we clearly have some cloak and dagger stuff going on.

Giddy just introduced the computer malfunctioning.  Nothing serious, just some weridness. 

I'm curious if those turn out to be related.

No worries.  I will give us all a few days to respond and whatnot. 

Nobody has mentioned Asovil's issue to Drake, either in the game or in the Q&A, so I'm playing it that he is unaware.  When he finds out... he'll be upset, for sure.  This is a good spot to tell him, unless you'd rather do it in a one on one situatuon later.

I have assumed that all department heads will be at the briefing.  If that isn't the case, let me know. 

I intend to push the game date along pretty soon; feel free to keep up the "get to know you" stuff via backposts once that happens, but I want the game to keep rolling.

Stardate 2365.02.19
USS Peregrine, Captain's Mess - 1600

Captain Drake sat at the head of the rectangular table and let his gaze drift to each officer seated there. To his right was Lieutenant Commander Zai - his Executive Officer - followed by Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas and Doctor Reine. To Drake's left was Lieutenant Commander Thorson, followed Lieutenant Tal and Lieutenant Nyle.  The foot of the table remained empty.

The Captain's Mess was a cozy little space tucked away on deck two, and it served two functions. First, it was the space reserved for private meals hosted by the Captain; most often, these would be handpicked officers, guests, diplomats, or other VIPs. Second, it was used to host meetings such as this.

On larger ships, staff meetings would typically take place in a larger observation lounge, but a Saber class vessel had no such luxury.

One of Drake's first acts as commanding officer had been to have a tabletop holographic projector installed here in the Captain's Mess. He had originally intended to mount a proper viewscreen, but the cramped quarters prevented doing so in any spot where at least a few people would not end up with their back to it. So, instead, he had gone with the tabletop unit, and it had proven to be wise decision.

Everyone was present and on time, not that Silas was surprised; he couldn't recall a starfleet vessel where discipline and punctuality had een issues. Silas differ from some commanding officers in that he did not believe in daily staff meetings; such gatherings of the senior staff were usually reserved for shipwide efforts, the discussion of new mission orders, or other matters of wide import. The Captain felt that officers senior enough to be qualified to run a department should be trusted to do so without endless meetings and red tape, believing that his department heads would come to him if anything required his personal attention. Instead, he chose to meet with each in one on one situations every two or three weeks to stay caught up. However, Drake made it a point to stay very well informed about the state of the ship; he read every bridge watch log, daily department summary, incident or exception report, and kept a close eye on all of the critical system readouts. When the time came for one of the "face to face" meetings with a subordinate, Drake almost always knew exactly where a given project stood. The joke around the ship was that the Captain had unseen eyes everywhere, and truth be told... Silas liked it that way.

Looking around the table, Silas drew a breath.  "Thank you all for joining me," he stated.  "Once again, the Peregrine has seen a large amount of turnover; I'd like to officially welcome Lieutenant Tal, Lieuteanant Nyle, and Doctor Reine aboard.  Furthermore, I'd like to welcome Commander Thorson back."

Drake glanced down at his PADD for a moment before continuing.  "Let's go ahead and address the elephant in the room.  I am well aware that my face has been plastered all over the holovids of late.  Yes, I was court martialed for my actions in the Gamera system.  I was, in fact, aquitted of all serious charges.  No, I am not particularly intrested in rehashing any of this.  My focus is on the missions to come, as should yours be."

After a slight pause, he continued.  "Now, then.  Since Lieutenant Lasad has transferred out, I do need to name a Second Officer."  Glancing to his left, he acknowledged his new Tactical Chief.  "Lieutenant Tal, you have tehcnically been a full Lieutenant longer than Lieutenant Nyle.  However, while on medical leave, you did not accumulate seniority, which means that Lieutenant Nyle has a little over three months on you.  This makes the decision very clear."  Drake then fixed his gaze on the new Daa'Vit Operations chief.  "Congratulations, Lieutenant Nyle - you are now offically the Second Officer of the USS Peregrine."

OOC: any response

"Moving on," the Captain spoke as the projector flared to life to reveal a star chart,  "Starfleet Command has ordered us to proceed to the Trevil system, which lies in the middle of an important shipping lane that has come under attack several times by pirate vessels in the past few weeks.  Starfleet Intelligence has reason to believe that another attack is immenent, so we will be patrolling the lane from Trevil, through Akgor, and back as far as Denbir."  A glance around the table revealed less than enthused expressions.  "Yes, we have drawn guard duty, which is hardly glamorous or iteresting - but which is vital to the interests of the Federation."

His gaze settled back on Kara.  "Lieutenant Tal, I got your message.  I think that drills are an excellent idea.  I'd like for you to put together a proposed schedule, and have it on my desk by 0900 on Monday, please."

OOC: any response

The Captain looked back around the table.  "Are there any other concerns?  Any items I should know about, anything else that we should be preparing for?"

OOC: any responses, now is the time.  Otherwise, I'll wrap the meeting and push things forward.