While this is an expansion of the setting, I am only providing enough here so that everyone on TG can follow along with what I've done for the scenario. A more complete description of the setting can be found in the core book and the Second Age of Walkers.

The events of Dragonmech occur on a continent called Highpoint. In its past, Highpoint was very similar to Greyhawk. Elves live in forests, most united under the banner of the L'arile nation. The Dwarves live in high mountains of the Boundary Peaks, with their cultural and civilization core found in the kingdom of Duerok. Halflings live wherever they can find peace or mischief to be had, and Gnomes tinkered with their magic and lived in their valley communities, more often than not with Halflings. Humans are an exception to that rule.

Human kind had no central government. Men and women clustered together in nomadic, tribal groups which wander the Endless Plains, a stretch of hilly, flat terrain that covers several hundred miles north east of Duerok and the Boundary peaks which divide Highpoint in half from the Wet desert to the east.

Then, everything changed when the moon fell from the sky.

With its descent into the atmosphere came years of what would later be called the Lunar Rain. Chunks of the moon, from the smallest grains of sand to the largest meteors which ruined cities, pummeled the surface into dust. Mountains were scarred, the Flatlands no longer became just a name but a literal description of that area, the Endless plains were themselves flattened.

Forests were destroyed. Some were simply shattered, others burned. The elves and druids suffered the most out of all the surface races because of this.

The surface dwelling sapient races were forced to retreat towards the mountains. Naturally many of the dwarven clans tried to control the flow of immigrants, but as times grew more desperate, war broke out. The Dwarven kingdoms which lost were driven far below the surface while their homes were occupied. Duerok was one of the few of those kingdoms which held their ground.

But with the falling stones came new dangers. Creatures native to the lunar landscape above. Lunar dragons - almost immune to all forms of magic save arcane and earth - are the most dangerous. When they first hatch, they are large enough to swallow young adult chromatics and metallics whole.

When the lunar rains softened, these new dragons kept on driving people back into the safety of the mountains. A solution to fight these creatures came from the dwarves in the form of steam powered mechs. One dwarf, a member of the legendary Gearwrights Guild, Parilus, would marshal his people into building the first City Mech, Durgan-Lok, which stands at over a thousand feet tall. The city-mechs and their mech fleets became the primary weapon to fight off the Lunar Dragons, and with the first two Dwarven city-mechs, the second being Nedderpik, came the founding of the Stenian Confederacy.

And what of the moon?

Strangely, the moon never crashed into the surface. It remains suspended dangerously close to the surface, and is the single most dominating feature that fills the sky.

And stranger still - the terrestrial gods have gone almost silent. Paladins, clerics, and other practitioners of faith and divine magic have difficulty communicating to their patron deities.

In game terms, there is a possibility for a Cleric or Paladin to wake up the next day without access to their spells. Naturally I told my players that they may not want create any Divine characters. One of them did anyway. I was fine with this.

Oh shit I fucking love dragonmech. Highly anticipating your story

You got me interested, so therefore I'm downloading the corebook from /rs/. Here's hoping they did it good.

Player character names will not be changed. Player names will be, identity protection you see.

Everyone came to the game with level 6 characters. It was on the suggestion of a veteran DM who I consorted with online that I get them to start at that level. That would be the best way to really show off what the setting can do.

Player 1: Peter
PC: Mack, Human Mech Jockey.
As the Mech Jockey, Mack became the de-facto leader during mech engagements. Mech Jockeys are, obviously, the ones who pilot mechs in this setting and they are trained to also handle one weapon on the mech while they pilot it. Additional crew is necessary to fully operate larger sized mechs (say, anything above Huge size).

Mack's history: Mack once worked for the Legion, but quit when he decided that their xenophobic policies were making him sick. He never owned a mech, since most of his employers generally provide him with something to pilot on a mission (and because owning a mech is goddamn expensive).
Player 2: Arthur
PC: Krickler, Dwarven Steamborg.
A steamborg is exactly what you think it is.
As a steamborg, Krickler has made countless modifications to his body. Notably, he has a voice activated foldout acidic buzz-axe built into his left arm. Most of his muscles have been replaced with hydraulics that allow him to lift, push and break things a dwarf normally should not be able to.

Player 3: Mark
PC: Grimlock, Dwarven Cleric of Bahamut.
Despite the voice of his god growing quiet, Grimlock has felt his faith grow stronger, not weaker, with the appearance of the Lunar Dragons. They are a source of bane for his people and his god, so he devotes as much time as he can to finding them and killing them, and to finding shrines and temples of Lunar gods and smashing them in. Early on in his life he met Krickler and Mack who came to his aid in slaying a young Lunar wyrmling, and has been with them since.

>>13278346
>allow him to lift, push and break things a dwarf normally should not be able to.
Nothing comes to mind.

Looking forward to the rest of your story OP, also bump

Excited for my first game as a DM, I made certain to bring the appropriate tools to make a good impression. Now, I didn't want to burden myself with too much - just in case I brought a battle grid (which I ended up never using) - a sketch of the mine that my players were hired to protect, my notesmy laptop with some steampunk themed music (Vernian Process and the OST from the new Sherlock Holmes movie to be precise). Scenario hook is as follows:

The Stenians have stretched their forces thin as a result of an upsurge in Lunar Dragon attacks along the Eastern edge of Stenian territory. This leaves little in the way of manpower to defend their western territories, much less any assets they have in the west that are constantly under the danger of being raided by the Iron Tooth clans. However, Stenian intelligence networks got lucky and caught wind that one splinter cell of the Iron Tooth clans (to be described later) is going to launch a raid against a relatively unprotected mine, Redstone mine. The mine is defended only by a small mech lance because the rugged terrain that surrounds it often keeps most who would seek to raid the place from getting to it. That means the they'll be hitting the mine the way everyone else gets to it (barring anything that flies). They'll be knocking at the front door.

To the right: Colossal sized mech called a Talon. Essentially a taxi on legs with saws for weapons.

They rode towards Redstone mine in a Talon, a thirty five foot tall walker with a metal box mounted on the back of its chassis. I take a few minutes to describe their journey towards the mine; the beaten land is relatively flat around them initially but as they near the Boundary Peaks, hilly formations rise up around them. The talon sways, its stride taking it down the only safe road that leads through an increasingly rough looking valley. Looking out either side of the passenger bin, they can see the landscape gently rising around them, giving way to harsher, rocky formations, shadowed by the mountain peaks around them.

As their ride gets closer to the mine, they will begin to see a shift in the palette of their surroundings outside. Grey and brown earth and rock, dotted by large boulders covered in moss and small plants that try to eke out survival in a rain blasted land gives way to increasingly reddish, dusty looking soil. Every now and then they will see stone piles and boulders that are actually refuse from the mines – rocks that could not be processed by the massive refineries there.

When they are half a mile from the mine, the road, which by now is perfectly straight, will be marked by a pair of broken metal wrecks, each one with a large steel plate hammered into them with the words, “REDSTONE MINE” stenciled into the metal.

Picture: The sketch I drew of Redstone mine. You're free to laugh at my horrible drawfaggery.

Characters who succeed a high enough perception check (only the Steamborg failed this check) hear the thrumming sounds of functional mining machinery far ahead, even over the rumbling engine of the Talon. I had a mp3 file which was a recording of machinery from a real world mine prepared for this.
Peter: "Mack looks out one of the two front facing viewing slats of the passenger box."
Me: "You see clouds of ash and soot rising from smoke stacks of the mine. The dwarves have done a good job of literally carving an artificial cliff into the base of the mountain."
Mack: "Ah, good. It's still functional, so at least we're early and not late."

Oh man, Dragonmech, probably of my favorite setting. All of its amazing things aside, scalded template makes for the most fun (for DM) zombie games you can have in D&D.

Don't stop now OP, you've barely started.

Sorry guys, I'll come back soon. We're opening presents here.

Merry christmas! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten you lot. I'll get back on it as soon as possible.

I also happen to own a copy of the Dragonmech book. I eagerly await OP's story. Because Dragonmech is awesome.

Three hundred feet from the one hundred and twenty five foot tall reinforced concrete fortifications that form an impressive barrier between the mine within and the mountain valley without, their Talon comes to a halt. The PCs crowd around the small vision ports that allow them to look forward and they can feel the mech shaking as the two cast iron slabs set into the walls pull apart, sinking neatly into grooves at either side.

"Probably hydraulics." Grunts Krickler as he flexes his own mechanical arm. He does not suppress how impressed he is by the engineering.

In the grey light of the high noon sun, they notice up on the ramparts of the walls, that there are large concrete domes with wide rectangular apertures leaving their interiors open to the elements. They can barely make out the glimmer of sunshine on black metal tubes. "Steam cannons." remarks Mack. He would recognize those anywhere. The cleric gulps hesitantly while the steamborg grunts. Along the entire wall, there are seven such cannons and Mack explains to his compatriots that each gun has enough range to touch anything that they have line of sight to in the valley. There is one cannon for each straight stretch of wall. Two of the guns track the mech as it starts moving forward once the all clear is given. A large metal ramp slides over the 60 foot long gap (which is almost that much deep) that had been previously filled by the iron gate.

The Talon veers a little to the right after passing through the open gate and comes to a stop near some metal structures. The Talon's pilot pops out of a locked hatch towards the front of the passenger bin and says, "Alright guys. End of the line. Ya'll can get off at your own pace but I got some business to do. See ya." With that, he pushed a rope ladder out of one of the three exits (one on each side of the bin, a third towards the rear) and slid down.

"Right." I say, "So, what do you do now?"

Cue something as simple as getting out of a mech turning into a circus.

The owner of the Talon left a guard inside the passenger bin. He stands with his back against the wall immediately next to the hatch that leads to the cockpit, looking down and out at the dusty courtyard inside the walls. "Looks like you guys got a welcome wagon." He remarks, nodding at the formation of eleven guards standing at attention two dozen feet from the feet of the Talon.

Mark: "I wonder if we could take the Talon. He only left one guard."
Peter: "Be nice. Besides, you're a Cleric of Bahamut, you're supposed to be good. So be good."
Me: "Well, yeah.... there is only one guard, but really guys? You want to do that? He trusted you enough to leave you alone on the mech while he went first."
Mark: "I'm only kidding! No, I bow to my compatriots and let them go first."
Arthur: "Krickler shrugs and carefully makes his way down the side door."
Me: "The one nearer to the guard formation?"
Arthur: "Yeah."

Mark: "Grimlock waits for the steamborg to be halfway down before he decides to slide down himself and jump off before he meets Krickler."
Me: "What? Why?"
Mark: "I want to impress the guardsmen below."
Me: ... "Alright. I want a balance and a jump check."
Mark: "No diplomacy check?"
Me: "Let's see if you succeed first, alright?"
Mark: *Rolls. Fails succeeds the balance check. Fails jump check.*
Me: "You slide down and crash into the steamborg, timing your jump wrong. Krickler, balance check please."
Arthur: "I'll go with a strength check instead if you don't mind so I can hold the fuck on. (he rolls, succeeds)
Me: "Alright. Congratulations, Grimlock you're not sitting on your friend's shoulder after falling onto him. I don't think he's happy about that.
Grimlock says, "Hi!"
Krickler shouts, "Damnit Grimlock, you fucking showboat!"
Peter: Mack facepalms. I have no facepalm.jpeg with me right now so I'll do it for real. Like this. *smacks himself hard with his right hand*
Me: Well... Grimlock... you got the attention of the guards down below. A few of them snicker at your antics. Mack?
Peter: Yeah, well. I don't want to get mixed up with them right now. You said there was a back way out right?
Me: Yes. Instead of a rope ladder, it is a net.
Peter: I go down that.
Me: No problem.

>>13278171
L'arile sounds like the word "larila" which is slang, in my language, for faggot. Not just a regular faggot.

The "proud-to-be-gay" parade faggot.

Once the steamborg hit the dirt, he roughly shoved the cleric off his shoulders.

At this point I introduce them to the ranking systems within the Stenian military. The soldiers which wait for them in a crisp formation all sport a simple silver spear on a shield patch which is sewn into the left shoulder of their uniforms. That silver spear identifies these men as Parbles, which is the lowest rank in the Stenian military (privates, essentially). Despite the clearly ceremonial intent of the formation which awaits them, the soldiers and their officer, a Regin (who is marked on his left shoulder by a silver shield that sports a horn and flag) are in full wargear, their weapons holstered. Despite the party's previous antics, they salute the parbles salute the trio as one after the Regin steps forwards to greet them with an equally crisp salute.

"You're the mercenaries hired to assist in the defense of Redstone, right?" he asks. Mack answers by saluting as well and saying, "Yes sir. Can you take us to your superiors?"
The Regin nods, "Yes. The foreman will see you immediately. This way please." And without waiting, he turns and moves north. The party follows suit, and as they walk, the ten footsoldiers assume a defensive formation around the three characters.

The ground beneath their feet slopes steadily downwards the closer they are to the cavernous opening that leads into the mine. A mechanical whistle blows somewhere within, signalling a shift change. Workers numbering in the dozens of dozens steadily move in and out of the opening, but they make way for the military escort and the heroes it surrounds. My players at this point aren't in a joking mood. They can tell shit is getting quite serious.

There a rumble deep underground, the distant sound of exploding dynamite amplified by the cavern they are now entering. I tell them that before they pass under the mouth of the artificial cave, they can look up to see metal structures built into the carved cliff face of the mountain base above them. Hammered into the very top directly above the cave mouth is the symbol of the Stenian Confederacy, a toothed sawblade inside a circle. The symbol dominates the space above a wide glass window that sits at the highest point in this collection of structures, and where the icon isn't pelted with dents from the lunar rain, it is rusted from lack of maintenance.

I ask for a perception roll. Only the mech jockey makes it.

He sees a figure standing just behind the wide window a few hundred feet above them. He cannot tell where the figure is looking, however.

When they are inside the cave, they can see that ahead of them the wide and tall tunnel sinks deeper underground. Flashes of light can sometimes be seen, followed shortly after by the sound of dynamite and the aftershock of the ground buckling from the power of the explosives. The smell of iron in the air which has permeated everything since passing through the gate is strongest here. High above them, more metal structures, like an upside down city, hang from the cave ceiling. The buzzing of large fans somewhere unseen keep the air circulating so it does not go stale.

Their military escort veers left, and since the formation is around them, they have no choice but to follow. The formation stops and disperses back into a straight line as they stop in front of an elevator, its scaffholding sitting against rather than inside the tunnel rock, leads up the inside of the front of the mountain, presumably into the structures they saw above the mine entrance.

"Take this to the foreman's office. I'm sorry for leaving you so abruptly but I have to help with preparing the defenses." With their Regin, the formation salutes the party and marches off.

There is a lever next to the shut door of the elevator. Krickler pulls it, summoning the rickety, noisy thing down from above. The gears which control its movement chatter loudly. When the metal box comes to a halt at their level, the door squeals open and inside they see a brass automaton. Its face is featureless and flat, save for a pair of small, black, glass eyes. Its thin hands grip a pair of levers inside. It has no legs, just a torso sitting on a solid metal pole welded into the floor. The party steps in and it tracks their movement.

Grimlock frowns, "Um... Hello?"

The automaton does not answer.

Mack frowns for a moment as he thinks. Krickler frowns for a different reason, grimacing at the rust that corrodes some of the automaton's joints.

"Foreman's office, please." Mack says finally. The automaton pulls the levers. The elevator shudders violently before slowly ascending, its gearbox clacking under their feet.

The elevator ascends into the ceiling and there is a second of darkness before artificial lights turn on. The elevator comes to a stop in front of a pair of polished steel doors that his open slowly to reveal three hallways that meet with the elevator door sitting just above their intersection. Krickler is the first to disembark. He heads straight. For some reason, the other two players fenangle around in the elevator.

I make everyone roll spot checks, except Krickler who has his back facing the open elevator door. Mack and Grimlock succeed. A dwarf that was not there before (they did not see him come in from anywhere, he was just there) is now standing in front of the door. I put on my best, chipper sounding scottish accent for this character.

"Ye look like a lost lot. Need help?" He asks pleasantly. This dwarf wears black pilot's armor with gold accents. A set of goggles rests around the base of his neck, the left lense slightly cracked. On his shoulder and on his left breast pocket is a shield with a gold hammer and axe crossed over one another which identify him as a Vardoc. This is a fairly high military rank in the Stenian Military and reserved for the leaders of Stenian mech lances. Physically, he has the standard height and weight of a dwarf. His facial features are soft, but his chin and cheeks are almost angular. He sports a long scar that runs over his left eye and up under the black leather cap on his head. The right corner of his mouth is slightly crooked in a genuine smirk while the left remains totally deadpan - they can tell that half of his face is actually paralyzed.

This description, combined with his rank, earned him a nickname from my players. He henceforth became known as 'The Ace'. What follows is the dialogue that occurred between my players and this NPC.

As always, Mack was the first to step forward and speak. "Yessir. We're looking for the foreman. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

The dwarf stuck his thumb over his shoulder down the hall the steamborg had went to alone, "Yer friend went in thae right direction. I'll take yeh there meself though."

He leads them down the hall and they pick up Krickler along the way. Before long they are once again before another set of polished steel doors. Peter asks a question at this point.

"What's the rest of the hallway look like?"
Me: "Well, other than the good condition of the doors, the halls are pretty much just steel grating for the floor with no panels on the walls and ceiling. Just exposed pipes and cables."
Krickler admires it, "Huh, well, at least they know what to keep in good condition."
Thedrin, "Aye. Most of our resources goes tae keeping mining equipment runnin' at their peak, and tae keep our small mech lance well maintained, as well as the fortifications which ye must have seen on yer way in."

The steel doors, much like the cast iron gate, slide apart. They step past the bulkhead and into an office that is as wide as the window which makes up the entire wall on the side opposite to the entrance (twenty feet wide to be precise). The room is sixty feet long and five feet in from the window is a simple iron table with a wooden chair. There are papers scattered messily across the desk, though they cannot read them from where they stand. The sky outside is the colour of flame, and the moon which rises on the horizon glowers sinisterly. It is dusk.

A dwarf stands pensively, looking out the window, watching the few hours of the day disappear. He does not appear to have noticed the small company that has entered. After a few moments of waiting, Thedrin leans toward the group and says, "I'll go tae him first. Follow when I give ye right tae do so." He crosses the office to the other dwarf and gently touches his shoulder. The other dwarf is not startled, his head turning a little. They discuss together for a few moments in hushed tones.

The one who had been looking out the window eventually nods. The Ace turned to the party, nodded his signal, then, after pulling three fold out chairs from a rack on the wall, he left. As the party approached, they saw that this was a dwarf much older than The Ace. He would invite his three guests to sit down, waiting for them to be seated before himself sitting on his wooden chair.

This dwarf wore a blue coloured loose fitting utility jumpsuit, its shoulder patch sporting a labour helmet. On his torso was an old dark brown leather vest plated with slates of iron. The vest is a portion of his full military garb. The features of his face are conspicuously angular, almost chizzled. He has brown eyes, and he has a calm, almost unsurprised stare at anything and anyone who comes to meet him. His beard, which is a full thing that covers much of his face, and his hair, which is a curly thing that sits atop his head, like his eyes, are also brown, but they are flecked with hints of silvery grey and red. He wears a patch over his left eye that is dotted with iron studs and lenses.

I prepare to take on my role as an important NPC. My voice is a deep, rumbling baritone mixed with a Scottish drawl, "Gentlemen, I am Plygen Raftrin Willstone. Welcome to Redstone."

Knowledge checks for everyone who isn't the mech jockey. Everyone succeeds. So, what's a Plygen?

A Plygen is the second highest rank a Stenian citizen can achieve. Raftrin is both a military and civilian plygen, so he manages the mine and has his hand in handling the defense of the mine. They are logicians, strategists and planners. More importantly, this is the dwarf my players are looking for.

"Before we begin with our business, might I offer any o' yeh a drink?"
The steamborg nodded, "Water for me. Gotta keep my stores up to feed the engine."
Raftrin nodded sagely, "Thirsty lot, ye steamers are."
The cleric politely bowed his head, "No thank you. I already fell once today. I do not think I want to fall down an elevator shaft next." To this, Raftrin would only lift his brow.
Mack nodded, "Yes please. I will drink whatever you would like to offer."

Raftrin stuck his lip out, not to pout but rather in thought. He then carefully cleared some of the papers on his desk away to reveal a metal grill with a button under it built into the desk. Pressing the button, he spoke something in dwarven, then slowly sat back up, placed his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers together.

"Right. Down to business." He said.

"As you know," Raftrin begins, "The Stenians hired you on to come to old Redstone and help us defend it from a coming attack. I can tell you that the attack is coming from those blasted Irontooth troublemakers and I can tell you that there is a fair chance they will outnumber us when the battle opens up. The good thing is that the nature of the clans is to attack with large numbers of small mechs. As you'll see soon, you'll know the defense lance for Redstone may be small in number..." He allows himself a small, playful smile, "But we've got tonnage on our side. Yeh got any questions?"

I allow some out of character discussion at this point to allow Peter to bring the other two players up to speed on who the Irontooth clans are. In short: whereas the Stenians champion a societal structure that favours clear organization, Irontooth clans prefer to protect individual freedoms. They are a loose organization of roughly 50 clans, many of which rose out of the ashes of nearly destroyed Dwarven clans that survived the first coming of the Lunar Rain. The Irontooth recognize independence, power and skill. In some cases for them, might makes right. The greatest aspiration for an Irontooth Clansman or Clanswoman is to own a mech, and those that do own mechs within the Irontooth are highly respected, revered, or feared.

But the Irontooth clans are also infamous, or famous, for producing a special kind of mech jockey called a Mech Devil. These are men and women who are so adept at piloting mechs that the mech becomes itself an extension of their bodies. They created the art of 'mech dancing'.

For those of you who have seen the Russian Tank Ballets, then you know what I'm talking about.

If you haven't, look it up.

As you can tell from Raftrin's rhetoric, though, Stenians generally see the Irontooth as vagrants, criminals, outlaws and outcasts, despite the fact that there are some Irontooth clans which have made efforts to seek a peaceful relationship with their Stenian cousins.

Arthur has been thinking throughout this explanation. Krickler speaks, asking Raftrin a question, "How reliable is the intelligence that warned you?"

Raftrin answers, "Ever seen an Irontooth watcher, cousin?"
Krickler, "Watcher?"
I pass Krickler a post-it note. It says (he means seeker. Those machines have a different name here)
Arthur nods, then he has Krickler speak, "You mean a creeper? Really short, squat, red eye, round body, spider legs?" Arthur makes a skittering motion with his hands.
Raftrin remains stoic, but there is a slight bit of playfulness in his voice as he says, “Aye. Patrol found a dead one half a mile from the walls. A small meteorite hit the bastard and broke it.”

Image: A creeper/watcher.

Watchers are generally really bad news for whatever place they happen upon. They're forward scouts for Irontooth raids. They usually have live feeds directly back to their controllers.

During this conversation, a female dwarf wearing a dirty set of tan overalls covered in soot and grease over studded leather armour walks in, carrying a tray. Tools of all kinds clink noisily in pockets all over her clothing. A pair of welding goggles lay around her neck. There is a large pitcher of water on it and two finely crafted marble beersteins with a bas relief of runic prayers carved into them. One has a stern dwarven face chiseled into it, it is in this one that ale has been poured. In the other, water from the pitcher. The tray is placed on a separate table.

Raftrin gives the girl a peck on the cheek and thanks her. His normally stone hard face softens a little. When she is gone, the cleric remarks, "Daughter?"

Raftrin nods, "Daughter."

I make everyone take wisdom check so I can drop an interesting bit of information on my players. Raftrin always refers to the Stenian Confederacy in the third person, and he never refers to himself or the mine as being part of it. This becomes important later.

This prompts Mack to ask about the mine's history.

"Aye, it's been here since before the stones fell from the sky and the moon started swallowing up the clouds. Only recently did our operations expand – suppose we have the Stenians ta thank fer increased fundin'. They gave us a few new mechs which we put to work fer defense."

Now I'm afraid I must go to bed. I will continue this tomorrow for anyone who is interested.

I admit the going is rather slow right now, and this was a criticism my players told me when we finished.

But when the action began to pick up, I had them shit themselves at least three times before the end.

>my face when somebody else actually fucking has this book

>>13284312
I have Dragonmech, Steam Warriors, and the Mech Manual

I'm touched! My thread is still here.

Alright everyone, I'm going to get back to writing. As you will have all noticed, this is taking on somewhat of a writefag approach - that's generally the way I remember things.

Pictured to the left: an Irontooth mech devil.

At this point I'm going to mention something about Grimlock. I gave Arthur permission to give Grimlock a special weapon - it's a rope with a curved hook on the end, like a hand threshing scythe. The thing grants bonuses for grappling and tripping and I also allowed him the Dragonmech weapon uprgrade to make it a barbed weapon which means it also helps for climbing. It roughly has a reach of 10 feet for the tripping effect. It can also be used as an improvised throwing weapon with the same damage dice as the blade itself - er... 1d8 I believe, but unless he makes a difficult tripping check when throwing it in this manner, he cannot use it to trip opponents. Arthur also spent a lot of extra cash to purchase bundles and bundles of 50 ft clusters of spidersilk rope. LITTLE DID HE KNOW HOW FUCKING IMPORTANT THIS WOULD BECOME LATER.

I also gave my players access to the expanded Dragonmech weapon and armour selections from the Steam Warriors handbook. Mack, the mech jockey, took a double barreled blackpowder pistol and a short sword, while Krickler, our steamborg, elected to just stick with his extremely expensive axe.

Krickler had an AC of 25, I should mention. He took some heavy armour, used an artificial part (steamborg special trait) to give himself improved natural ac which STACKS on top of his steel skin (ex) class ability. Krickler also had a force-shield generator built into his body (it's a steampower component, very useful) which he could use either as a steel shield on his forearm, or reshape the shield into a flat +1 to AC by having it form over his back.

I believe our Mech Jockey had an AC of 22 or 23. can't remember. The cleric had the same.

Pictured: Irontooth Mech Devil.

>>13287233
Merry Christmas. Now post some MOAR, you magnificent bastard!

Another note: Those bundles of rope that Arthur purchased all hang from Grimlock's person. He looks more or less like a walking mop. At anyrate, back to their meeting with Raftrin.

"Speakin' of mechs. I'm guessin' ye'll need a berth fer yours? There should be an open alcove in the mech cave. Thedrin, who ye've already met, can take ye there. Just look fer a metal gate as large as Redstone's front door and ye'll have found it."

The three players are suddenly ashen faced. They exchange looks.

"Uh, sir..." Grimlock begins, but Mack, who was enjoying the fine dwarven ale he had been given, finishes the cleric's sentence, foam on his upper lip, "I apologize, Mr. Willstone. We... we don't actually have a mech. Our employers usually supply us with one... we assumed the Stenians had told you."

Silence hangs in the air. Raftrin's face is unchanged initially, then he frowns, his disappointment clear. There is a small sigh and he leans forward, clearing away the papers on his desk which had somehow managed to crowd his intercom again. He says something in Dwarven.

"Uh, DM? He and I are dwarves." Arthur mentions, pointing to himself and Mark, "It would be stupid if we didn't know our own language, eh?"

Peter adds in, "And Mack has worked with the Stenians before so he would know the language too."

Pictured: My face when I realize how stupid I am, followed by an immediate facepalm.

So I tell them what Raftrin has said in the intercom since they sat down with him. The first time, he was just ordering drinks. Ground water from under the mountain for the steamborg and the finest ale they have in their stores.

"Thedrin, could you come here, please?" Is what Raftrin calmly says into the speaker now, a small note of irritation tinging the question.

Uh oh.

merry traditional gamesmas
andukaru

After a few moments, The Ace, who my players now know is really named Thedrin, returns. "Yes, Raftrin?" He asks hesitantly, having heard the sound of disapproval in Raftrin's voice.

"They don't have a mech." He answers, sweeping his left arm at the part.
"They don't have a mech?" Echoes Thedrin incredulously.
"No, they don't."
Thedrin looks apprehensively at the hired help, "Well, our entire lance is spoken for. Every single one is ready for the coming raid, we don't have anything for th---..." He stops suddenly.
Mack, "We understand if you can't give us one. Perhaps we can ride with one of your pilots as a crew?" Krickler grins and adds, "We're not half bad boarders either if you want things to be rough."
Thedrin rubs a bit of sweat from his forehead, whether from the heat of the mine or anxiety, they don't know immediately, "Well... No, we do have ONE mech left but..."
For the first time, Raftrin cuts Thedrin off, "Thedrin." He growls quietly.

Mack, "What is it?"
Thedrin and Raftrin exchange looks, "Brother, I know how you feel about it but you know how the Irontooth work! An extra boarding crew on one mech will mean little. An extra mech, though... If they can get it working again..."
The stone features on Raftrin's face are cracked now with subdued anger. He does not raise his voice, nor object to what Thedrin is saying, but he is clearly not fond of the idea his younger brother is suggesting.
At this point, Mack catches onto something, as does the rest of the party. "Whatever this machine is, it must mean a lot to you." He says to Raftrin, "Krickler and I are accomplished mechanics. We could get it working again."
Raftrin looks Mack square in the eye. His voice suggests a warning. "Getting it to work again isn't the problem. That mech that my brother speaks of is a relic." To my players as the DM, I say, "You get the sense that when he says relic, he says it in the sense of an object that is highly respected, almost revered." I switch to Raftrin's voice, once more, stressing each word so he makes a point:
"It has earned its retirement."

Don't leave us hanging OP.

Without noticing it, Raftrin had actually stood up as he spoke, his body tense with apprehension. (I had done the same, getting a wee bit to much into my role as the Foreman of the mine). He sits back down with a sigh, furrows his brows and brushes his forehead with his calloused hands. He says nothing more, dismissing the party with a wave of his hand. Thedrin waves them along and as they leave, Raftrin gets back up, folds his arms behind his back, and turns to stare out the window once more.

Thedrin leads them back to the elevator. Along the way, a discussion is had.

"Please forgive me brother, gents. The mech yer all gunnae be entrusted with... Well, Raftrin wasn't kiddin' when he said it earned its rest. Used it tae expand the tunnels and tae beat back the nasty things which live deep underground. Back in the day, Redstone was little more than a few shacks in the earth and tunnels barely large enough for miners to file in two by two. Now... well... Ye have seen what we have now. Before its engine finally gave out... It..." He fell silent, his eyes shutting to hold back tears. Grimlock gently pats him on the back, "Who owned it?"
Thedrin is quiet for a moment, wiping away the mistiness in his eyes, "Our father."

They step off the elevator and walk a few hundred feet to emerge from the immense cave mouth. Despite the evening glow, it is still bright outside, and the sky is grey. They take a road that is beaten into the flattened dirt by what they recognize as mech feet towards the east and north inside the walls. Along the way they pass all kinds of machinery, both stationary like ore refiners and armoured boilers that fuel the many engines of industry. Conveyor belts built inside the mountain which emerge through rocky openings, dumping their loads of ore into bins open to the elements. One particularly large refiner has a grinder which spits out lunar rock accidentally mixed into the ore into neat piles. Built either up against the inside of the fortified walls or the base of the mountain around the mine entrance are structures; warehouses and stores of various kinds.

I have an MP3 of an oil refinery mixed with a rock grinder which I play for this part as they pass by it. They appreciate the immersion - the sound effect neatly segues into 'Dusk Express' by Vernian Process, a song that begins with the hissing of steam engines.

They stop in front of a pair of iron doors, each almost a hundred feet high, set flush into the rock of the mountain. Above them, again, is the Stenian icon, rusted and blasted by lunar rain. A large fan, easily thirty feet in diameter, sits above and to the right of the door. It blasts stale air out from inside the cavern which houses Redstone's Mech defense force.

Pictured: Redstone mine. They're now standing in front of the door towards the right of the image. The one with the fan, obviously.

They are about to enter through a smaller door meant for humanoids built into bottom right of the portal when the ground begins to shake. The groan of machinery inside the rocky walls signal that the doors are opening. "Look lively lads, step to the side, step to the side!" Thedrin orders them, goosing them off of the road.

I remember when I first got Dragonmech. I really liked it.

But the party powergamed and started soloing mechs at level 5.

Bad times.

But good luck, OP, its nice to see this again.

>>13288901

I'll stop here for a moment to respond to this statement.

As I mentioned up top, this was my first time DMing, and I really wanted to do it with Dragonmech. However, I think my experience would have been really bad if Peter had not been looking out for me.

See, Peter is a guy who has spent a lot of time DMing many, many, MANY different systems. He wanted my first time as a DM to be with good people, and I specifically told him that I'm more about roleplaying and less about adhering to the rules, so as the guy who knows almost all the /tg/ guys in our local area, he went out and found two of the best roleplayers on campus.

I know I haven't been making them shine all that much here. I'd like to apologize for that. I really wish I had brought a tape recorder to the game so I could document it better. Arthur and Mark are a pair of really good players.

Sorry, forgot to put my name with the previous post. Oh well. Onward:

Just to backtrack a little, there was something I forgot to tell you. It's minor, but it was an event that occured on their way out of the mine entrance and before they began passing all the stationary machinery.

On their way out, they pass by a massive, thirteen foot long drill mounted on a mobile chassis with a set of clanking caterpillar treads for locomotion. I ask for perception checks.

Everyone except the Steamborg succeeds.

Painted in faded yellow letters on a panel of the drill's armoured gearbox is the following: R E D S T O N E - 0 1.

Behind the gear assembly, on a small platform welded to the chassis, raised five feet of the ground, is a control array. A single dwarf operates it, controlling the machine as it bumbles its way into the mine.

Gotta jet for a while. Dinner and a movie.

Keep it live so I can keep on going!

The sound of metal grinding on stone can be heard as the hundred foot tall iron doors slowly swing open. A Stenian Juggernaught emerges from the opening, lumbering slowly down the road towards the front gate. A pair of pilot lights on its left arm blaze to life.

"Don't want to get caught on the business end of those..." Krickler remarks, admiring the machine's weaponry.

Thedrin waves at a figure standing on an exposed piece of catwalk high above them on the upper left corner inside the door frame. A human stands there at a control console, who waves back. They begin to enter, but Mark asks:

"I'd like to make a weather forcast. Will there be lunar rain today? Depending on my roll, I can also predict the weather patterns for the next five days."

I nod, "Make your moonwatcher roll."

He has the Moonwatcher feat. Technically little more than a feat purely made for fluff purposes, but I was hoping someone would take it for some other reasons. He makes his roll, and mentally I come up with a number for the DC... say 18.

Natural 20.

Me: "Grimlock looks up at the sky, watching the moon closely. Tonight there will be a light spray of lunar rain, followed by a thickening of it by tomorrow afternoon. It'll get harsher after an hour but it will clear up well before 3 o' clock. After that, for the next four days, you can tell there won't be any lunar rain at all, but there will be some actual rain two days from now!"
Pictured: A Stenian juggernaught.

Bumping for those people who haven't read it and don't know what they're missing. Also, thinking of archiving this thread.. should I?

Sorry for the two hour lull guys. I am being pulled away from the screen.

Don't worry, I'll keep going till I get this shit done and we're almost a third of the way through.

As the party and Thedrin pass through the open door, they find themselves looking down a tunnel. It is several hundred feet long, a hundred and twenty feet at its highest point. Every few dozen feet or so there are alcoves carved into the stone. The alcoves are each as high as the tunnel and of varying widths, anywhere from fifty to seventy feet. They are deep enough for a single mech of any size to dock inside. Built into these alcoves are elevators and catwalks and steel scaffholds to support whatever mech calls that alcove home. Some are empty, others are occupied by both their resident mech, its pilot and crew. Each alcove on the left side of the tunnel is marked by a plate with a number etched into the metal. The first alcove they come across is #10, and the numbers count down from there.

Thedrin stops at alcove #3. Turning to look up at an impressive fifty foot tall bipedal stenian mech. It's left arm sports a massive pneumatic claw, the right arm clutches an axe head fastened to the tip of a black steam cannon barrel and on its left shoulder sits an automated javelin launcher. Its hull is painted with similar accents like Thedrin's gold marked pilot's suit.

This machine is called a Scale Hunter. It is a Stenian mech originally designed for hunting Lunar Dragons.

The machine is slouched and quiet, sparks coming off one of the legs where a mechanic welds a new plate of armour in place. Some of the crew hanging from its hull wave at Thedrin. He waves back, then winks at the party.

"Yours?" Mack asks with admiration.
"Mine." Answers Thedrin.
"Very nice." Mack nods with a smirk. Grimlock makes a small prayer to Bahamut, thanking the dragon father for the existence of a machine which has probably taken down many Lunar's in its lifetime. Krickler's steam engine putters quietly as he rubs his chin.
They move on.
Pictured: Stenian Scale Hunter.

Don't stop NOW, op! It's just starting to get good!

Bumping in hopes of continuation.

One their way to berth #1, on top of Thedrin's mech in berth #3, they also come across a few more Juggernauts, and a Lancer.

A lancer is a 25 foot tall steam powered mech. Imagine a knight in full plate mail who can run fast enough to get bonuses for his own lance. Now supersize him and his weapons to twenty five feet tall and build a ranged weapon in his head. That's a lancer.

One of the Juggernaughts is painted with blue and white accents. There's nothing special about it other than that though. I just thought I'd give one or two of the Stenian mechs some kind of personality beyond the fact that they're mechs... in the form of a paint job.

Pictured: A Lancer. Lancers are a pretty popular mech design so the Stenians are not the only ones who can build them.

Finally they reach berth #1. The plate sporting the identity of the alcove has clearly been untouched. The number is no longer an etching, but rust. All the lights built into the ceiling are off. The fusebox sits to the left of the alcove, and it is to this Thedrin goes in an effort to try and bring the lights back on.

My players find themselves face to face with a tarp that may have once been white, but has gone yellow with age. The air here, despite the ventilation, is stale. The tarp is held in place by almost a dozen steel spikes that have been nailed into the dirt floor.

The padlock on the fusebox refuses to open, so Thedrin is forced to break it. He throws a switch inside the box and looks up. The lights above the tarp sputter, then die out. The dwarf swears and gives the fusebox a good punch before trying his best to repair it.

Peter: "Poor guy. Mack heads on over and asks, "Can I give that a try?"
Me: Thedrin shrugs and takes a step back, "Yer free tae try where I've failed." I ask for some craft(mech) checks.

Side note, throughout the game, whenever mechanical problems arise through various obstacles, I ask for a craft(mech) check since mech jockeys, steam borgs, and coglayers use that skill for those checks anyway.

Mark: "Grimlock heads on over to the spikes that keep the tarp nailed down and tries to pull them out." I ask for strength checks here. He fails several before finally getting one out (it takes him a few minutes just to yank one out).
Arthur: "Krickler laughs at the cleric comes over to him, "Yo, let me do that. You can get me some oil."

Grimlock gives Krickler a sour face before shrugging off the jocular ribbing. He ducks under the tarp to see what's underneath.

When he does this, his player looks at me expectantly. Now, I've kinda prepared a cool way to reveal this machine to them so I ask him to be patient. He doesn't mind it. They're all having fun despite the fact that we've been playing for roughly an hour now and nothing has happened yet. (If nothing for you is no combat)

Back to Mack and Thedrin. I tell Peter: "Looking in the fusebox, you see that some of the wires have been gnawed off. I assume Mack has some extra parts on his person for small repairs, so he uses that to fix the wiring. A fuse needs to replaced, but the fuse is pretty common."

Peter: Mack tells Thedrin about the missing fuse.
Me: Thedrin has a surprised look on his face, looks at the fusebox and goes through his pockets for a minute before finally producing the part, "Ye mean this one?"
Peter: "Yes." Answers Mack, "Mind if I?.."
Thedrin shakes his head, "Nae, not a problem."

Then I surprise Peter by handing him AN ACTUAL FUCKING FUSE.

Pictured left: A fuse very similar to the one I gave to Peter.

There's some laughing around the table. To tell you the truth, I didn't come across the fuse until the day before, but when I pulled it out, I thought, 'hey. This would be cool for that game...' so I thought of a spot in the scenario I could use it in. It didn't get used again, but my players enjoyed it. I... do not remember where I read up on the idea of that kind of one time use of a prop for a D&D game, but I thought it would be fun.

Just so you know, I'm enjoying reading all this. Hope you got more.

I ignored this thread for a while and then I read the whole thing in its entirety. I am now hooked.

So, the fuse is installed. The switch is thrown... again. There is a sputter of sparks in the ceiling of the alcove and the lights come back on with electrical noises of disgruntlement. A few explode in showers of bright light and glass, but most are functional, if dim.

Mack and Thedrin help Krickler yank the metal stakes out one by one. Krickler can do it by himself, but even on his own, he's having trouble pulling them out.

"How were these things driven into the ground in the first place?" Arthur asks.
Me: "Are you asking me that, or is your character saying that out loud?"
Arthur thinks for a moment, "Krickler asks that outloud, grunting."
I ask for a simple wisdom check. Krickler succeeds this time, so does Mack. Grimlock gets none because he is still under the damn tarp.

Thedrin shrugs, he doesn't really know. "I wasnae around when this old mech got put tae rest."
I tell my players, "The metal spikes were driven in there by a great deal of force."
"What, with a power tool?" Arthur says.
Me: "Mack pulls another nail out. when you both look at the head of the two foot long spikes you hold in your hands, you can see that these were hammered in place without mechanical assistance."
Mack's eyes grow wide, "Damn. I do not want to meet whoever put these here."

Me: "When you finally pull the last spike out, the tarp wavers a little. Friction was never enough to allow such a huge covering to hold onto the object it concealed. It begins to slip... And you can all see that it is very heavy." I shoot Mark a small grin. "Reflex check to avoid getting caught under it."

Meanwhile, Thedrin, Krickler, and Mack give the tarp a wide berth as it begins sliding down. Grimlock succeeds his reflex save, darting around the right leg of the concealed mech and diving off to one side of the alcove.

What follows is my description of the mech they have been given. I will also provide a link to the song I had running on speakers while I described the machine.

>>13292602

I do not intend to stop until the entire game has been catalogued here. I do not want to forget my first time as a DM.

I regret never having brought a tape recorder still.

>> 13292624

Glad to have you aboard. I will keep trying to entertain you as well.

These songs play one after the other as I describe the mech:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3oTjpZgN_k
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRCTBUFx02M

DM Narration:
When you collectively pull the once white but now aged and yellow tarp off of the machine that rests underneath, you are greeted by a sight that is both awe inspiring and remorseful. Its torso slightly bowed, like a giant having fallen asleep while standing, the industrial walker towers high above you. Lacking any of the angular, shaped plating found on mechs of the militaries across Highpoint, and despite its humanoid shape, its features are quite blocky leading you to be immediately reminded its functional design aesthetic. Reinforcing the primacy of its industrial design is the lack of a head. The cockpit sits in the top of the torso like a bunker, with the only way to see out being a panoramic strip of raised reinforced glass. At the left shoulder is a complex loading mechanism for the long black barrel of a steam cannon that is mounted into a swivelling turret. The right arm ends in an impressive looking buzzsaw, linked to its own steam engine set in the elbow, while the left arm ends in a neat stump of gears and unplugged cables that link to something that is no longer there.
Picture: Related only that it is a mech in a hangar. Not that actual mech. I tried drawing the mech I gave them but I could never do it right...

Its iron plating is studded with two and four inch rivets that bolt the armour over its superstructure in place, lines of dried grease and oil run down from them in dirty lines. If it had been painted, the paint job has long ago faded away, with only patches of brown (that may be dirt), red, and grey here and there. Where there is no paint, you see the faded grey iron plating, naked to the elements. Though you see no rust, the wear on the moving parts of the mech suggest they need to be oiled. That said, all these elements resulting from disuse suggest that this is a walker that has been here since the mine was originally built many decades ago.

All that remains of that original identity are the faded yellow characters stenciled into the plating that covers its right shoulder. R E D - 0.

Note: If the design seems reminiscient of Battletech in your mind's eye, that would be correct. The design for the hull is like the Loki except suitably more steampunk-ish, with a steam cannon on one shoulder and melee weapons.

DM Narration:
Other than the wear of its age and disuse, the mech's torso sports an ugly set of scars as a reminder to all of its last act before it was retired. The most dominant of these is a set of deep gashes that start shallow near the top of its chest and grow deeper towards the center until they end in large puncture holes. All except Mack can see into those punctures - you can see the engine inside but you cannot tell what kind of damage it has sustained internally from here.

At this point I'd like to ask our cleric to make a religion knowledge check since there is something here only he would know.

So, Mark picks up his dice and makes the roll. I make up a number mentally. It won't be hard for him to beat, and he does not fail his roll.

I nod, pick up my pack of post it notes, whip out a pen, and scribble something on it. I hand it to him and ask for him to give it back to me, leaving it up to him to decide what to do with the knowledge.

On the note is written: "These are the scars left by a Lunar Dragon's talons."

Mark: "Using his hands, Grimlock makes the sign of Bahamut over his chest and in the direction of the old machine, praising it with a sad tone. He turns to look at Thedrin sympathetically."
Arthur: "Krickler furrows his brows, "What? What did that?"
Mark: "Grimlock shoots a look at Krickler and says, "What do you think, boiler brain?"
Arthur: "After a moment of thought, Krickler frowns, "Oh... damn... Hey Thedrin, was your dad..."
Me: "He doesn't look like he hears you for he is too busy lost in thought, his face a mixture of sadness and reverence."
Mark: "I push Krickler towards the mech and say, "Come on, let's get to work and give him some peace."

The Cleric being rather useless in the matters of mech maintenance elected to stay at the mech's feet to keep Thedrin company. Having walked around the mech, he also saw that there was no easy way to get up, so while keeping Thedrin company, Grimlock set to work making a simple rope ladder using one of his bundles of 50 foot rope and knotting it every 5 feet.

The mech jockey had no problem climbing the mech, and once he got up its spine, he started exploring the top of the mech's shoulders.

The steamborg, however...well. The tin man had some trouble. To get to the top of this mech, you needed to succeed three climb checks (I elected to make them test for each 10 feet, the mech itself was 35 feet tall). He succeeded his first one, but failed the second, so he dropped twenty feet to the ground and took about 8 damage for his trouble. Cue laughter.

He had the highest HP pool of the party though so it was nothing for him.

He eventually got it and with the help of the other two, they pulled him up onto the shoulders. The mech is about seventeen feet wide at its shoulders, so it is wide enough for all three to stand shoulder to shoulder on and still have some wiggling room.

Like getting off a mech at the beginning, who knew getting into a mech would be such a circus.
Due to the way the mech's cockpit sits sunken a little into the shoulders, three steps actually lead downward towards the hatch that marks the only external entrance into the mech itself. the hatch consists of a simple, reinforced metal door that sits flush with the rest of the hull around the 'bunker'. You see no hinges either. Just a simple metal wheel which, you assume, can be spun to open the door."

Peter: "Mack steps forward and opens the door."
Me: "As you spin the wheel, it moves a little, but clanks as the mechanism jars. Strength check to try and force it?"
Peter: "Mack tries harder. *Rolls and he succeeds*"
Me: "The mechanism gives way as whatever was blocking it either goes away or breaks. You hear a clank both the latch and lock bolt slide into the hatch door, but when you pull on the door, it does not budge. Another strength check?"
Mack: *Rolls, fails.*
Me: "You failingly yank on the door. It doesn't budge."
Mack: "Crap. It's either rusted or something broke..."
Krickler cracks his knuckles and twiddles his fingers excitedly, "Right, move aside tiny. My turn." He grabs ahold of the wheel after Mack moves aside and pulls.
Strength check, success but not enough to free the door.
Me: "It groans under the effort exerted by your steam powered hydraulics. Strength check again please."
Krickler *Rolls*
Me: "You feel the door letting out metallic squealing noises as its parts keep trying to resist your entry. You think you feel it starting to give."
Krickler: Strength check roll. Nat 1.
Me: "And the wheel breaks off the door. You now hold the metal wheel in your hands. There is a thick metal stub sticking out of the door now where the wheel once was. The noise of the wheel coming off actually snaps Thedrin from his reverie. You hear him call up from below, "What was that?"
Both Peter and Arthur in unison, "NOTHING!"

F5ing like the fist of the north-star!

Thedrin, "Ye sure? I could come up ta help ye get in!"
Mack shouts down to the Ace, "No, no! Everything is okay! It's just a little stuck is all!" Then, he says in a hushed tone to Krickler, "You damned fool, look at what you did! Hold on, let me get my welder. Damnit damnit damnit."
Krickler just shrugs, "Whatever. Hey, look, at least the door came out a bit." (at this point I had described that, despite ripping the handle off, the door had actually been budged by about two inches. There was now a gap between the door and the surface of the mech it would normally be flush with).
Mack grumbled, "Yeah yeah, just... wait for me to put the handle back on before you rip the door out too, okay?"
Arthur puts his hands up with a smug look on his face, looking at Peter. He speaks for his character then, "Fine, fine. Have it your way pal."

>>13293243

What the hell is that and where is it from?

Gentlemen and gentle ladies, I have to go to bed.

I'm going to sleep six hours and I am going to get up tomorrow morning to keep working away at this. Keep the thread alive while I'm asleep, fellow readers. More entertainment will be had, I promise you.

>>13293262
I haven't a clue on either count. I got it from one of the many image dumps here on /tg/. Have another. You deserve it.

There's a reason stuff like this is often presented as a short musical montage in films. "Roll Climb checks for something that won't kill you and you can reasonably take 10 on!"

Snoooooze.

>>13293301

It will be abstained from the dreaded 404. And just in case, it's archived at http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/13277875/

>>13293313
In the world of Dragonmech, climbing and jumping onto mechs aren't simple enough that you can just take 10. Climbing up a stationary mech's legs is a standard DC of 15. Climbing a moving mech's legs is a DC of 15 plus 2 for being in motion. +4 if the mechs legs are OILED. +2 again for anti-boarding hull designs.

If you fail to climb up a moving mech, a reflex save, DC 10, is necessary to avoid getting steps on and trampled as it passes by.

Climbing INTO a mech is as a standard climb check +4. Jumping onto a moving mech from a stationary position that is high enough to allow you to do that is 10 + 5.

Jumping onto a moving mech from a moving position (e.g another moving mech) is 10 + 5 + the target mech's stride ('stride' details not found at this moment).

Mack manages to weld the wheel back into place with a grunt, he then steps back to let Krickler get back to work. Steam blows out of the exhaust pipes built into the steamborg's back as he exerts himself, finally pulling the door free. It comes open with a clang, rank, stale air blasts them both from within.

At this point, Grimlock calls up from below, "One of you, grab onto this and help me up please!" He tosses the rope ladder which he just fashioned together up, his hooked weapon on one end. He almost accidentally trips Krickler in the process, but the steamborg stands his ground and anchors himself. After a few seconds, Grimlock has joined them on the flat surface of the Mech's shoulders. He looks into the darkness of the cockpit, looked at Mack, then hands him a lantern, "You'll need this." Then he takes a walk around the shoulders of the mech to look for somewhere to fasten his rope ladder.

Krickler steps aside to let Mack in first. As a human, Mack can't see into the darkness there too well. The reinforced glass window pane of the cockpit is dirty and smoked up. It needs a good spitshine before they can see through it again.

Me: "At the right shoulder, you see a set of metal braces which may have once held a latter. They are empty now, of course."
Mark: "Grimlock fastens his ladder into those braces, "There," He says, "Now we have an easier way to get up and down. No more falling, eh Krickler?" He sneers at the steamborg."
Arthur, "I flip him off before ducking into the cockpit after Mack."

Mack lights the lantern. Inside, the cockpit is a mess. Other than the aforementioned dirty windshield, there's some refuse littering the floor and a rat squeaks meekly as it skitters by their legs, its feet scratching against the paper as it leaves the mech. Mack lifts the lantern to get a better look at the cockpit.

Despite the litter and the smell, the many control panels of the cockpit are still in good condition. Everything is, of course, marked in dwarven. Nothing is in common. "Good thing I can speak and read Dwarf." Remarks Mack. There are two seats, both made of some rather fine leather. The right seat, discerned from the left by the more complicated set of controls and levers, is clearly the pilot's seat. The left has few controls and is also marked as the left arm's operator seat.

Grimlock steps in and squeezes his way by Krickler and mack, standing in front of the left seat, he uses a rag to wipe away some of the grime gunking up the window just in time to see Thedrin walking away from the old mech, most likely heading towards Berth #3 where his mech and crew wait. Grimlock turns around to tell his compatriots. It's here that I tell him something.

Pictured: A very rough drawfag attempt by me to show you what the mech's torso looks like, viewed top down.

Me: "Mark? Here. You see this symbol on the crewman's seat for the left arm."

I hand him a piece of paper with the image on the left on it.

Grimlock stares at the icon on the leather seat for a moment, then grins widely.

Krickler, "What are you smiling at?"

Mack and the steamborg come over to look. My players exchange looks with one another, "You don't think..." Krickler begins. Mack nods, "Yeah. Looks like we know what went on the left arm. I'm betting that drill we saw earlier on our way out of the mine tunnel belongs to this old mech. We can't worry about that right now though. You saw the damage outside. We need to look at the engine room."
Pictured: drawfag attempt at the symbol on the leather seat.

The cockpit has a somewhat strange design. The only hatch into the mech sits behind the pilot and left arm operator's seat. A ramp descends at either edge of the cockpit, creating a path that goes around the central area where the seats and their immediate controls are. In front of the windows, within reach of the seats, are readouts and the like. Between those panels and the seats is another hatch.

They manage to pull open this hatch that sits in the floor in front of the seats. It is big enough for only dwarves to squeeze through comfortably, so Mack elects to sit in the pilot's chair to further get a feel for the mech and to learn its basic controls. Meanwhile, Krickler and Grimlock descend into the darkness of the level below the cockpit.

A short metal stepladder takes them down into a small room about ten feet at a side and about five feet of space between the floor and the ceiling (which is the floor of the cockpit above). This room is totally bare.

Me: "Probably used as a small cargo area and sleeping quarters. You can see hooks in the walls to the left where a set of bunkbeds may have once been. There's another hatch set in the floor of this room towards the back of the mech. The ceiling above you is covered with exposed but reinforced cables and control mechanisms that link the cockpit to the rest of the mech."

Page 3? Unacceptable! Bump!

Live!

Have some more /m/ while we wait.

Bump!

STEAM IS SHIT TIER

MAGIC IS FAGGOT TIER

CLOCKWORK IS GOD TIER

THE DROW BLOODSTEAM IS TROLL TIER

Krickler wastes no time in heading over to the hatch that leads deeper into the mech's torso. His player looks at me apprehensively. I nod at him. “Give me a strength check.” I do this just to tease. A strength check really isn't needed here.

He rolls, “The hatch comes open easily here. There's a soft clacking noise as the hatch stops at its limit. It is open at a 90 degree angle.”

“What's inside?” Arthur asks.

DM embarassment moment: “Too dark to see.”

The entire group has a laugh, “Dude, I'm a dwarf. Darkvision?” Grimlock's player raises his hand, “Me too!”
Me: “OH, SHIT, sorry, sorry! Well in THAT case...”

Looking down into the newly opened hatch, they see some exposed machinery next to a catwalk, and a stepladder heading to that catwalk. Krickler descends first, followed by Grimlock. The stepladder actually heads down one more level than that (so the engine room is two levels, each 5 feet from ceiling to floor).

Despite the darkness here, there is a set of small light sources coming in front the front of the torso.

Arthur asks me about the engine. I ask for a craft (mech) check. He rolls high, so I come up with a detailed assessment on the fly.

“The engine still has most of its parts, but they're all aged. Many of the moving bits, cogs, piston axles, transmission arms, piston rods, flywheels are rusted or worn down from use. Walking around the engine, you see one of its four boilers (two on the upper level, backups on the bottom) has ruptured explosively. A few gears are actually barely hanging onto their axles, and an array of worm gears linking transmission boxes to the turbines have been ground almost flat. Parts are going to have to be replaced.”

Grimlock lifts his arms, “I cast make whole.” Says his player. I scratch my head, “That'll work? This is a mech engine not a--”

They take some time to explain to me how make whole works. It specifically targets mundane objects, and despite its complexity, a mech engine is mainly just lots of mundane objects hooked together. It isn't a wand, or a magical item. So it should work – and, since the cleric can affect an area of 10 cubic feet per 2 levels, and is at level six...

“Fine fine, I get it. Okay, you cast it. What was once broken, shattered, or rusted now gleams like new. Many of the parts are almost chromatic. However, parts that have been removed are still missing, and you'll need to assess which parts those are. Since Krickler did such a good job of making his assessment, he has a pretty good idea of what's missing.”

I pause for effect, then say, “But Krickler and Grimlock see that those holes that are part of the scar on the front of the mech are still there. Its front armor plating does not mend. The torn superstructure onto which that armor has been welded also does not mend. Any parts of the engine towards the front of the torso that have also been punctured or broken by the creature that this machine fought in its last battle DO. NOT. MEND.”

Mark looks at me wide eyed, “Because... a Lunar dragon did that?” I nod. Grimlock curses the Lunars quietly as he sees some of the machine's wounds go unrepaired. Krickler whips out some paper and a quill and starts to write down what he'll need to bring the engine back up to running condition. Something inside the engine starts to click - the sound of the pilot lights attached to the gas heaters under the boilers. "Hey! We don't want to fry here!" He shouts upstairs. "Sorry!" Comes Mack's reply. He had been fiddling with the controls and accidentally pressed the boiler stoking button.

For those of you who are actually familiar with Dragonmech: technically speaking, physical damage created by Lunar Dragons on mechs in this setting do not have any special properties, but I felt that as lunar creatures who are almost completely alien, they needed to do something that would set our cleric on edge and make him understand the potency of these extra-terrestrial monsters. It also helped give Mark something to use to roleplay with.

>>13296732
You handled that exceptionally well. Some DMs would have either let them fix the whole damn engine with a single spell or not let the use it at all. Your middle ground response is much appreciated.

>>13296782

Well, I wasn't trying to be a dick. The point here is that this is a really old, very highly respected dwarven mech that has not been touched in a long time. Even if they did succeed to magic the engine back whole, they would only be magicking the parts that are there. Missing components still need to be acquired.

And there are plenty of other things which need to be fixed or repaired on this old mech. Make whole just won't cut it. It needs to be refueled, it needs ammo, it needs water, they have to find the weapon that was originally attached to the left arm. Armour needs to be replaced, and make whole does not fucking CLEAN WINDOWS so that needs to be done as well. Huge checklist of things. In-game time it would take them days to bring this mech back to combat readiness.

But I arranged for some options for them to take to speed that process up so they can get it all done in a in-game evening.

At this point, Krickler takes his grocery shopping list and climbs back up to the cockpit. Grimlock follows after saying a few blessings to the old machine, and gently patting its engine.

"S'not looking good. Even with our pal's magic tricks, we still need to replace a ton of parts. The engine alone could take a few days at most."
Mack nods in agreement, "Yeah... And then there's the armour plating outside. We're in an iron mine though so I do not think new armour will be a problem. Raftrin told us the raid happens tomorrow though. What are we going to do?"
Grimlock looks at them both, "Well, Thedrin told me we wouldn't have to worry about parts since money isn't a concern here... We could also ask some mechanics for help. You think they have a gathering place somewhere in the mine?"

"I'll go have a look. You two can stay here." Krickler offers, but does not bother waiting for a response. He just leaves. Grimlock and Mack shrug. Mack goes back to looking at the cockpit, Grimlock sinks into the empty room below and looks for some maintenance shafts into the arms and legs.

When Krickler climbs out of the cockpit, carefully making his way down the makeshift rope ladder. I roll a d20 on my laptop monitor, thinking there's a 50/50 chance the rope will break. Why? Steamborgs are really heavy. All that modification, the extra water they drink to fuel their boilers and the metal bits for their steam engines does not a light person make (or dwarf in this case).

Th rope holds, so I say nothing and I don't make that roll ever again.

>>13296852
>and make whole does not fucking CLEAN WINDOWS
No, that's what prestidigitation is for, although the small size of the effect probably makes it useless in this case. Perhaps create water? Unseen servant? Anyway, this is moot, because the game already happened.

The steamborg starts heading towards the large iron doors that lead outside. They remain open. A single human guard stands at attention off to one side. He turns as Krickler approaches and starts walking towards him.

Me: "The guard comes towards you. He doesn't make an effort to stop you, nor does he draw his weapon. He's just coming over to talk. He salutes you and says, "Hello sir. Is there something I can help you find?"

Krickler, "Yeah. We need parts for the mech that was given to us."
The guard points back into the tunnel the steamborg had come from and says, "Three alcoves down on the right. You'll find the parts warehouse and the mechanic's shed."
"Thanks." Krickler answers, turns, and chugs away.

Grimlock and Mack see Krickler as he makes his way into one of the alcoves. Their players say they'd like to follow Krickler to where he's gone because there's not much else they can do in the mech at this point without help or parts. So, off they go.

In the third alcove on the right are a pair of buildings. One is a warehouse. It has a single door on it, and sitting on the chair next to the door is a human male wearing worker's overalls. He leans the chair back against the wall next to the warehouse door and isn't paying attention to anything else other than the magazine in his hand. The other building is the deceptively named Mechanic's 'Shed'. Despite being named a shed, it is in fact twice as long and wide as the warehouse, its metal roof is dotted with smoke stacks and buzzing ventilator units. It has a set of double doors and large windows that face the numbered mech bays on the other side of the tunnel.

Minor note here concerning the magazine held by the warehouse guy.

Despite the fact that nowhere in the Dragonmech fluff states that Highpoint has printing presses, I figured that, as an industrial society, there's a printing press somewhere. So... without further ado...

Krickler approaches the guy sitting on the chair, "This the parts warehouse."
The guy looks up with disinterest, but straightens his chair with a grunt when he sees that a steamborg is standing in front of him, "Yeah. You want in?"
"... You just let people in?"
He shrugs, "I take inventory and there's only one way in and out of this place. Look, I don't care what you take as long as you show me what you're took when you're done. I gotta file the fucking paperwork and I don't want to miss anything."
The guy stands up and goes over to the padlocked warehouse door. He unlocks the padlock and tries pushing the door open, but it doesn't give. "Open, damnit!" He swears then kicks the door in. It gives into the manager's foot with a clang. He then sits back down on his chair, pulls his magazine open and goes back to staring at pinups of various female humanoids.

Arthur, "Krickler gives the magazine a weird look before shrugging and heading back in."

And now, back to Mack and Grimlock...

Peter smirks at me, "What? No obfuscating bureaucrat?"
Me: "They care about inventory but they're not anal about it. Besides, do you REALLY want me to be like that?"
Mark and Arthur, "NO."
"Case closed then."

Since Grimlock and Mack do not see where Krickler disappeared into, they head into the mechanic's Shed instead. After opening the door, I describe the cafeteria to them:
It's a pretty standard cafeteria. Long connected tables with benches on either side. There are at least enough rows to house half the mine's workforce here, but right now, it's about a quarter full. Most of the dwarves here are mechanics. There are some off-duty guards and a dwarf sporting a chef's hat stands behind a table that runs along the wall opposite the door you came in. His table has an impressive food spread on it.

Mark asks, "Hey, is uh.. Raftrin's daughter here?"
Peter: "Calm down, Mr. Charisma 18. Goddamnit."
Me: "Mark, are you serious? She's the foreman's DAUGHTER."
Peter is laughing his ass off, "She's in her 30s man. In dwarven years that's gotta be.. barely legal. How old IS Grimlock?"
Mark holds his arms up, "Dude, dude. Didn't you say she had tools on her person?" He's looking at me.
"...Yeah."
"Well, she's a mechanic then. And I figured, from the colour of her overalls, she might be the head mechanic?"
"You don't know that, but you can try looking for her." (Mentally, I suddenly make Raftrin's daughter is the Head Mechanic)

Mack steps in with Grimlock. The cafeteria does not go quiet, but a few of the mechanics look their way. Grimlock gets up onto a table and raises his arms, "Hello everyone! Can I have you attention please?" The cafeteria falls quiet, but before he can continue, Raftrin's daughter puts a foot up on a table nearby, "Aye? What can we do ye for?"
"Are you the head mechanic?"
"Yep!"
"Could you help us? We need parts and people to get our mech up and running. We've got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to get it done in."

It's at this point I switch back to Krickler.

...who is inside the warehouse. I tell him, "Right, you're in the warehouse. It's much bigger on the inside, its outside deceptive. In fact, the high shelves are a few hundred feet long and stretch as far back as you can see. Above you, the metal roof disappears after some distance, replaced by the rocky ceiling of the mountain itself.

Arthur looks at me and smirks, "Krickler takes STR 18 worth of parts."

Laughter around the table.
Me: "STR 18."
Him: "Yep."
Me: "That's a lot of fucking parts, but, alright. You take STR 18 worth of parts - mainly a stack of wooden crates, all marked by serial numbers on all sides. You look rather comical as you carry them around, somehow not tripping and causing the stack to fall.

As you march back out, the inventory manager takes a quick look at the boxes you're carrying. His eyes widen, surprise moving across his face like a blastwave, then he stands and walks alongside you, whipping out a handheld chartboard and a quill. He starts taking down the serial numbers on the boxes, then leaves you alone.

Mark: No tact, those steamborgs.

Back to Grimlock and Mack.

The girl grins as she looks out the window to the right, "Well, people I kin help yeh with, but it looks like your friend has already helped hisself to parts." She laughs, as do some of the mechanics. Mack and Grimlock are left embarassed. The cleric answers her, "I... apologize on behalf of our steamborg friend. We think he knocked his 'social grace' brainpart loose one day. Hasn't been the same since."
"Oh it's fine. But wait. Thought you blokes didn't come in with a mech?"
Mack puts his hand on Grimlock's shoulder, then looks over at the head mechanic, "Your father gave us one. The abandoned mech in alcove #1."

The laughter and casual conversation in the cafeteria immediately dies. There are some murmurs in the crowd. Raftrin's daughter hushes them all up by banging her foot on the tabletop.

A pause in the scene because Arthur is curious:
Arthur: "Okay, just tell us. Is this thing cursed?"
I shrug, "You don't know that. Grimlock would though and in all the time he spent in that machine, don't you think he would have felt something by now?"
Arthur, "Point taken."

Unlike the crowd, the head mechanic doesn't seem concerned about the machine despite its reputation, "Pap trusted ye with ol' Red Zero, eh? Must mean we're facin' a lot of Irontooth tomorra if he needs that old pick axe up and running. Alright. You five." She points at a couple of mechanics around her, "Go with them. Help 'em out, and fer Dotrak's sake quit being so scared."

Hesitantly, the five mechanics now head off with Mack. Raftrin's daughter heads out with the group. "Well, with the help of five trained mechanics we should get everything done in time for bed tonight." Mack says cheerfully.

"I never did catch your name?" Grimlock asks her, speeding up so he doesn't fall behind in the group.
"Maggie." she says simply.
"Maggie." echoes Grimlock, "Listen... Red Zero, you called it? It's missing a weapon. Left arm." He points ahead to the dimly lit alcove where the old mech waits. Krickler is busy opening boxes, using his mechanical arms like crowbars to pry their tops off. "We saw a drill get taken into the mine today, is it?.."

"Part of Red Zero? And ye was wonderin' if it could brought back?"
Mack and Grimlock nod.
"Aye on both counts. This be desperate times so I don't think it would be a problem to get it back from the miners. I'll head down there tae look fer it and be back later."

She splits off from the group and exits the mech cave. They do not see her for the rest of the day.

The five mechanics and my group of PCs spend the rest of the evening working on the mech. They work deep into the night but finish the bulk of the work in time for some supper and bed.

It is during this time that Mack notices a device in the mech's cockpit he had not noticed before...

Mack remains in the pilot's chair after helping install some new armour plating on the chest. This mech isn't designed like a combat mech – some knowledge rolls on mechs and steam technology reveal that it was designed for mining, not combat. Furthermore, the steam cannon built into the left shoulder, he finds out, does not have any controls built in the cockpit.

“Hey Grimlock, there's nothing here for the gun. Want to take a look around? I'm still trying to read some of these control runes.” Grimlock climbs out of the engine room and climbs high enough to stick his head out of the open hatch at Mack's feet. He was below in the engine room helping the mechanics there as best a cleric in a world of machinery can. “There aren't any controls there? Alright, let me have a look.”

So, I describe what Grimlock finds as he goes through the mech. Turns out that there was a not so obvious door built into the wall on the inside of the rear-left corner of the cockpit. It opens without a problem to reveal a skinny maintenance shaft that leads into the shoulder. He goes through that to find the controls for the steam cannon, which is built like an armoured ball turret in a bomber - but no glass. The only way to aim the gun and see out is a periscope.

Grimlock looks through the periscope. It's dark. His end of the scope is clean, but the viewer on the outside of the hull is dirty, so he goes outside to clean it.

Me: "Mack, there's another special part in the cockpit that needs to be mentioned. Sitting in the center of the console array that runs the width of the cockpit is a metal box with no top. It is roughly two feet long, has a set of metal drums at each end, linked together by paper. Pressed against the paper by thin metal arms are a pair of mechanoquills. Cables run from the bottom of the metal box into the array it is attached to and there is only one control for the box. A green button."

"A seismograph?" Peter asks.

Me: "A. GREEN. BUTTON."
Peter stares at me. He looks hesitantly around, then he makes a button pushing motion with his finger and arm.

Me: "There's a soft whirring noise as the gears inside the box spin to life. (it's clockwork powered, independent from the mech's power systems). The drums also begin to turn, which causes the paper to move and the still quills to sketch straight lines on the paper. Whenever an explosion goes off inside the mine, or the aftershock of the groaning rock ripples through the earth, the quills sketch erratic lines into the paper."

Peter nods sarcastically, "A seismograph."
Me: "Your character is a mech jockey. Not a miner, although you could ask a dwarf to show you what it does."
So he plays along, "Alright, I pull a mechanic over to me and ask him to show me how to read this thing properly."
I nod, "He tells you what it is, though he uses the colloquial noun 'It's a shakereader' and shows you how it works. Simple enough. Takes about five minutes but you have a good understanding of it (after I make him take a wisdom roll to see if he understands what is being told to him by the mechanic).

>>13283722
Good stuff here, OP.

However, the Russian tank ballet wasn't that impressive. I think the excavator ballet is more like what you're describing:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYzAJviXr0Y

Me: "Alright guys. Good job! It's the end of the day and you've been hard at work all evening with the help of some mechanics to get this thing back into top shape. Some time was even found to slap a fresh coat of red and brown paint on the chassis. Do you want to keep the mech's old serial number or do you want a new name?"

They talk amongst themselves for a moment, then Peter says, "I don't think we want to change its identity. This is a highly respected machine after all - but I'll ask the mechanic to not renew the entire serial number, only the letters and numbers which are still there." The other two players nod in agreement.

Me: "Alright. The serial number on the right shoulder plating now reads "R E D - 0" in yellow stencil style lettering. You won't know until tomorrow morning if you've successfully repaired the engine, but the hull is as good as new."

"Can't we turn it on now?" One of them asks.

"No. No fuel has been delivered yet. You have coal, but someone needs to pump water into the boilers. One of the mechanics told you that'll happen tomorrow."

Mack lets out a yawn, "I think we should pack in guys."
Me: "If you do, where do you guys sleep?"
Peter: "Mack falls asleep in the pilot's chair. He's used to doing that anyway."
Arthur: "Krickler fall asleep on the floor in the empty room below the cockpit."
Mark: "Grimlock uses his many ropes -"
Me: "You and your goddamn ropes." I laugh.
Mark: "- and sets up a hammock outside between the steam cannon turret and the cockpit. I sleep there."

Next day.

>>13297934

I am impressed. thank you for showing that to me, good sir. I'm actually more impressed with that than with the tanks because those are civilians, not disciplined soldiers.

It is dawn. The day that the raid has been projected to happen. The day of truth to see if the PC's hard work has paid off. Though the help was free and the parts even freer, they laboured deep into the night and fell asleep to dream of cogs, dragons, and mecha combat.

But that morning they got a rude awakening.

A mechanical monster roars to life, its gas engine gurgling each time the throttle is pulled open. There's the sound of heavy cogs spinning faster than they are designed to rotate, causing them to make a heavy buzzing which shakes the ground. The small tremors caused by the source actually register on the seismograph in the cockpit, but the noise of the machine that makes this sound is what wakes everyone my three players in (and on) the mech, not the erratic ringing of the tiny brass bells inside the shakereader.

Mack awakes with a start, whipping his pistol out instinctively and almost nearly fires off a shot into the window.

Grimlock rises so fast out of his hammock that he rolls out of it and nearly meets the edge of the mech's shoulder, narrowly missing the 35 foot drop and the painful impact that would await him at the bottom.

Krickler stands and nearly hits a low pipe in the ceiling of the empty room, his buzz-axe out. He climbs out of the hatch at Mack's feet. "What the hell was that?" He shouts angrily at the mech jockey.

Mack is looking out the cockpit window now. Krickle rises to do so as well. Grimlock, clinging to a bolt in the plating on Red Zero's metal clavicle, looks down.

At their mech's feet is the thirteen foot long conical drill. Standing on top of the noisy armoured gearbox that also houses the steam engine, arms crossed, is Maggie. She is covered from head to toe with dirt and ferrite dust, making the bright toothy grin she's carrying all the brighter.

"Mornin' boys! I brought you a present!"

There's some cheering from my players, excited about the fact that their mech gets to wield a rather impressive looking drill. Everyone disembarks to meet Maggie, who hops off the drill and gives them an informal salute. "Took awhile but Red Zero's left hand was all the way at the bottom of the mine. You boys better treat the old machine well. It's no small favour that I'm doing you."

She hands Krickler a piece of black stone, its surface twinkles a little in the dim light of the mech tunnel. "We've been using that drill to mine this."

I ask for stoneworking knowledge checks from our dwarf players as Grimlock comes over to investigate.

They succeed their knowledge check. I scribble something onto a piece of paper, and hand it to Arthur, then I ask him to hand it to Mark.

Krickler is a little slackjawed. "Uh... Mack?" He looks at the mech jockey as Maggie leaves to wake up some mechanics so they can set up a crane in alcove #1. The drill is too heavy to install it back on Red Zero's arm without some mechanical assistance.

Mack comes over, "What? what is it?"
"It's... It's pure carbon." He is genuinely shocked.
Mack blinks, "I'm no dwarf but I know that's some pretty hard stuff."
Grimlock is staring at the drill now, "What kind of drill does it take to mine pure carbon?"
I grin, "Knowledge check, mechanics or metalworking/stoneworking. Dwarf only check here."

Only Krickler succeeds this check. I scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Arthur.

Who swears, both our of character and in character. "Jesus fucking christ guys. He gave us an Adamantium Drill."

>>13298606
Our drill, pierce the heavens, etc.

Bit late for the question, but can the guys in the machine use the seismograph kinda like a radar for ground units? Did they?

>>13299302

Stick around and you'll see what uses that seismograph had.

Peter, "Will we be piercing the heavens today?"
I smile a little, "Maybe. Who knows what the day will bring, eh?"

Me: "After the crane is set up, the drill is reattached to the left arm. During this, people from all over the mine are beginning to crowd the space immediately outside Alcove #1. There's talk and laughter and many are also looking with awe (and a little reverence) up at this rebuilt and refurbished relic of the mine's past."

My players talk amongst themselves for a few moments. I apologize to my audience here on TG, I cannot remember what it was about.

I say, then, "All that remains now is to turn it on. Where are you all right now?"

Peter: "Mack is, of course, sitting in the cockpit."
Arthur, "Adjusting some rivets on the hull outside."
Mark: "Hanging out in the cockpit with Mack."

MOAR

I gently nod to Peter. He makes a button pressing motion with his right hand after pulling imaginary levers and adjusting phantom dials. Arthur and Mark are still talking when the speakers hooked up to my laptop suddenly go quiet. I lift my arms for silence. They fall silent. I tell them:

"Mack, Grimlock, you can hear the noises of the heating elements that sit under the coal chambers under the boilers of your mech's steam engine click. There's a puffing sound as a fire is started, then a gentle crackling sound as the coal is set on fire. The pilot lights go out and a set of intake/outtake fans whir to life, supplying the flame of your hungry engine with breath. There is nothing for awhile... Then, after a minute or two, you hear the faint popcorn-like sound of broiling water inside the boilers. The broil gradually raises in intensity to a bubbling boil, these sounds only you in the cockpit can hear..."

Next post, an audio file for you all to listen to, and a section by section break down of me describing the mech turning on in time with the MP3.

I play the following file:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIuTQCxiPZ4

Silence to 0:00
Outside, vents along the back of the mech and some of the exhaust pipes which stick out from the back of its shoulders warm up. Hot air blasts from them quietly.

0:00 to 0:34
Everyone inside and out of the mech suddenly hear the sound of sporadically churning piston rods as steam begins to flow through the pipes. There's a loud huff from one of the smoke stacks as a white puff of smoke escapes. A few people in the crowd gasp in surprise, the rest fall silent. Excess steam hisses at a steady rate out of vents on the spine.

0:34 to 0:50
The hissing is interrupted, and the entire mech shudders as the buildup of pressure causes one of the boilers to sound like it hiccuped. Somewhere inside the engine, an axle hooked to a piston rod is churned. With that first rotation, everything else falls into a rhythm, its mechanical heart alive once again. The puffs of smoke from the stacks rise with the same rhythm.

0:50 to end
The engine speeds up. Red Zero shudders again, you can all feel it, within and without. The crowd gives the machine a wide berth now. The mech's internal structure groans as an internal gyroscope recognizes it isn't standing straight, so the torso automatically, and slowly, straightens itself. The metal giant sluggishly waking from its long slumber. Krickler has to hold on to the bolt he was tightening just to keep from falling off. Inside the cockpit, lights flicker to life, pressure gauges give readouts and a console with nothing but runes on it gives an internal status report. Congradulations. Red Zero is now awake.

As smoke and excess steam rise from your mech's stacks, the crowd below roars in approval. There's applause and someone smashes a bottle of ale on Red Zero's foot.

There is much applause around the table. My players are impressed and content.

"Right, so. Who gets to control what weapon? Obviously, Mack, as the pilot, you control both the mech and the buzzsaw arm.That leaves the steam cannon and the drill."

Mark and Arthur look at each other. Mark lifts up his fist, "Rock paper scissors?"
Arthur shrugs, "I'm the melee guy so I should be controlling the drill, but sure."
They throw down. Mark wins, "Alright! Drill time. Grimlock hops into the seat next to the pilot."
Arthur snickers, "Krickler heads into the turret to check out the controls. Shouldn't be too hard. Point and shoot right?"
I nod, pleased. "Alright. But you're not at full crew yet."
All three: "What?"
I hand them Red Zero's character sheet, (pictured in the image attached) "Your mech is a colossal sized. An equivalent of 1/4 of your size class payload units must be devoted to crew. This is to represent that larger mechs require more crewman to operate. To illustrate this with your mech, consider this: You have a pilot and two gunners. Who's tending the engine? You need someone to do that."
Mark stands up, "Oh! I have an idea. Who's in the crowd?"

Me: "Mechanics, mech jockeys. Raftrin's daughter isn't hard to spot, but you think you see Raftrin himself for a moment (Raftrin is the foreman of Redstone Mine). they're all awestruck by the fact that this ancient mech is now combat ready."

Mark: "I climb up on top of the mech, standing on the safe zone just behind the drill and I perform a sermon to inspire the crowd around us. I also use that sermon as a way to ask if there is anyone in the crowd who wants to come with us to be our fourth crewman, feeding the engine coal and keeping it running." Keep in mind, I've never DMed before. Here is my response to him saying that.

I made Alex run his diplomacy check, he made a STUPIDLY high roll, and instead of describing the result to him, I instead told him, "Alright. Let's hear it."
Mark:"...What?"
DM: "You made your diplomacy check. It's a success. But I want to hear that sermon."
Mark: "..."
Arthur: "Oh shit, you're that kind of DM."
Peter: "Oh god, here we go."

I don't think I've ever seen someone grin so widely before. I listened to every word of it too. I've also memorized it and written it down.

I am going to share that sermon with you next.

"We have worked hard to bring this reverred machine back to combat ready status, but take heed faithful dwarves and men alike! This machine is too great for the three of us to fully operate! I ask that one of you step forward to feed the fires of its hungry engine and to care for it internally during the rigors of combat! Who here will help us?"

DM: "The crowd falls deathly silent. They are less intimidated by your request than by the idea of being inside a machine that has been for so long slumbering in peaceful retirement. Naturally, Raftrin's daughter playfully kicks a young dwarven mechanic in his rump, propelling him ahead of the crowd into the shadow of your new mech."

Grimlock: ... "YOU! Come up here boy!"

Waiting for the ending.

Bump with this awesome semi-related image I just found on /co/, from the Invincible comic book. "Robot" (the orange mech) is several mechatronic bodies piloted by a kid genius who was (relatively recently) cloned into a new body after his old, atrophied, life-supported body that he was born with kicked it.

>>13301039
Shit, forgot my pic.

"Yes, you! Up you get! Come on! There's a rope ladder at the back that goes up the left leg."

The boy is hesitant. So young is this dwarf that his beard is barely even a goatee! With some words of encouragement from Maggie, he hesitantly steps forward and climbs up. Grimlock grabs him by the neck of his worker's overalls and puts him on the flat panelling of the right shoulder. He's smiling, "What's your name, son?"

"R-ragnar, sir. I-I-I just became a parble a few days ago sir."
"Ragnar! Come on in with me." Grimlock takes the boy into the mech where he's greeted by Mack. "Mack, this is Ragnar. He's going to be our engineer today. Krickler! Say hello!"
The steamborg pops his head out of the side hatch that leads to the steam gun turret. "Hi." He's there only for a moment, then gone. Grimlock takes Ragnar to the hatch that sits in front of the pilot and drill-arm operator seat, pulls it open and gives him directions to the boiler room. "Not far from here. The mechanics who worked on it today left a box of tools for us in the engine deck, so you can have them. Go on, off you get." He gives the kid a pat on the back to send him off.

"A-alright sirs. Thank you sirs. I'll do my best. Er. Sirs." He disappears. There's a clank as he locks the hatch behind him, and another clank as the hatch in the empty room is also locked.

There's a thudding sound of heavy metal feet not belonging to their mech. The other Stenian mechs are starting to move out of their alcoves. Ones that are not, are just starting up. Somewhere in the mech cave a siren goes off.

A lightbulb that Mack and Grimlock did not notice before turns on above the cockpit window. Next to it is a box with a horn on it, below that, a handheld speaker.

Mack takes it. "...Hello?"

"Mornin' fellas! I hear ye got the old mech workin' again!" It's the voice of The Ace, Thedrin. The growling engine of his larger mech can be heard in the background noise on his side of the communication system.

"Yes we did sir. We'll have to thank Raftrin later for trusting us with it." Mack answers. Grimlock is busy fiddling with the controls of the drill in the next seat.

"Just in time too! My lance has decided to head out. We're gunnae set up an ambush fer them Irontooth bastards. I want ye all tae come along."


"An ambush? Where are we going?" Mack asks. He starts manipulating the controls. Red Zero takes its first step after decades of slumber. the entire cockpit jinks with the machine's stride.

"We go to Ironchar Forest!" Thedrin answers.

As their mech steps out of its alcove, they see the fifty foot tall black and gold Scale Hunter belonging to Thedrin waiting for them. It swings slowly, orienting itself with the open iron doors of the mech tunnel and revs its heavy engine.

Together in single file, they step outside.

Now, they set out to do the job they had been hired for.

Now they set out to defend Redstone.

Pleasan/tg/entlemen and excellen/tg/irls, I have now completely described to you, or rather, in as much detail as I can remember, I have told you the events of the first two hours of my first game as a Scenario and my first time running Dragonmech.

It is here that I offer you two choices.

I can keep going, because I do not know what the limitation is on the number of posts allowed in a thread...

Or I can allow this thread to be fully archived, and then move on to start a new thread which details the second part of this scenario. Mech on Mech combat.

Your choice.

>>13301726

Posts are unlimited. Images hit the limit at 150. You can go on, seeing as this thread is free of the auto-sage.

Well, with only 40 images so far in the thread and an unlimited thread count, I suppose I'll keep going.

I'd like to make a correction for my previous post though.

>> I have told you the events of the first two hours of my first game as a Scenario

I mean't 'DM' but I suppose you all knew that. Still, the mistake fucking bugs me.

Alright. With that out of the way... I suppose I'll start writing the next part of the scenario. I hope you're all enjoying yourselves despite my somewhat wordy writing style.

>>13302041

I, speaking for myself, am very much enjoying it. To be honest, I haven't even known about Dragonmech until you made this thread, and since then I've downloaded what pdfs I could find, reading through the setting when I catch a break from work. Your campaign is doing a good job of introducing me to this world, and I am grateful for that And without further ado, please continue.

A Stenian Juggernaught, one of four, takes up a position behind the party's walker. One of the Juggernaught's gunners adjusting the spinal mounted steam cannon sitting between its shoulders. Steam hisses from it.

Red Zero emerges from the mech hangar tunnel, the iron doors that marked the home where it was bed ridden for well over a decade passing by.

Immediately, their mech is engulfed in a thick lunar haze. It is like fog, but many times more dangerous. Standing in a lunar haze, unlike a full rain, is dangerous only to those who are not wearing some form of body armour. It is a suffocating sandstorm. Being caught in it is like standing in the path of a sandblaster. Luckily, mechs are unaffected by light weather such as this.

Around them at their feet, formations of footmen march towards the Redstone fortifications, manning the seven large cannons that dot the ramparts. Other soldiers climb up Stenian mechs that have come to a halt.
A siren blows somewhere, this one different from the shift-change alert. It is a warning for the workers. Seek shelter.

The particles in the air, lunar sand blown down from the moon above, sparkle beautifully despite the danger they herald. Grimlock takes this moment to remind everyone that this is only the beginning. It will get worse later.

As they emerge from the front gate behind Thedrin's Scale Hunter, Mack increases their speed, taking up a position to the left of Thedrin's mech. Upon leaving the safety of the walls, the party sees how the haze, despite lacking the danger of a fully manifested storm, still creates one major problem. Visual acuity breaks down beyond 300 feet. The haze swallows up everything beyond 600 feet.

Krickler swears from inside his turret. "I hear ya," Mack agrees sympathetically.

"Line formation." Thedrin barks over the com-channel. Immediately, thirteen other pilots sound off, seven flanking Red Zero to its left, the remaining six flanking the right of the lumbering black and gold scale hunter. Together, the Stenian defense lance marches in a loose line formation into Redstone's valley.

Every now and then their hull and those of the other stenian walkers around them are hit by small meteorites.

The rocks bounce off the armour with a sound like gunshots.

"Quarter plus half mile to rally point. When we are a quarter mile from the rally point, verbal radio silence. Stenian morse code only." Thedrin says over the com channel.

Me: "Mack, as someone who's worked with Stenians before, you understand and can communicate in their brand of morse code. Grimlock and Krickler, being dwarves who hail from Stenian regions, you are also familiar with this code language." They all nod.

I have Mack make some mechpilot tests. The terrain suddenly gets very rough when the lance veers off the road. They are now going through rocky outcroppings comprised of ferrite refuse dumped from the mine and maneuvering around stone obstacles - many were once large jagged boulders beaten smooth by the blast of the lunar rains.

The lance travels over half a mile. Banter between pilots dies down. Then they arrive at one of the major landmarks that stand as a burnt signpost which identifies Redstone valley.

They arrive at Ironchar Forest.

I ask for a history check from our cleric who I know has the skill. From everyone else, they may make an intelligence check to see if they've heard of the forest before.

Everyone succeeds. They all roll numbers above 20. So I conjure up the history I created for this ruined place and tell them:

DM: Ironchar forest. It is the remains of a once fertile forest called Wurmglade which blanketed the north western arm of Redstone mountain. What was once a several thousand square foot natural haven was blasted into smithereens when the strongest of the lunar rains fell. The core of the forest, however, was not so lucky to be pummeled into oblivion, because that core, which you now approach, sat on an exposed ferrite vein that was rich in magnesium. Meteors which crashed together either over the forest or at its floor sparked. With thousands such rocks falling from the sky back then, the magnesium was inevitably set alight.

So the forest burned. Despite the incinerating heat of the chemical fire, while it consumed wood, it smelted the iron ore. The resulting sludge bonded with the roots of the trees, producing the dead, silver plantlife you now approach. These remains cover just over fifteen hundred cubic feet of the mountain side, which stretches ahead of you and curves away to the south and west with the road. You cannot see it but somewhere behind the craggy hill tops to your north is the Stenian lookout post, keeping a watchful eye despite the thick lunar haze.

Me: "You hear clicking over the com-channel. Thedrin is communicating in Stenian morse code. He's giving the order to move into the forest and hide. Since the forest does not sit far from the road that the Irontooth will take to approach the mine, it is the perfect ambush spot. What do you do?"

Peter: "I adjust the controls and follow the lance in."

Me: "The terrain is extremely dangerous here. Even though the burnt trees bend to the weight of your mech and break off, the metal stumps and roots could potentially trip you."

Mark, "Grimlock swing the drill every now and then to clear the largest of the trees out of the way, helping Mack navigate the forest."

Me: "I still need some rough terrain tests from your pilot. This place is really rough to get in, and will be just as hard to get back out. Krickler? What are you up to?"

Arthur, "Using the periscope on the steam cannon, I scan around us to keep an eye out. I also look for a good hiding spot in the forest as well."

Me: "Alright, a perception check from you. Mack, some piloting rolls from you. Let's see it."

Arthur rolls alright. Before I respond to him, though, Mack is more immediate...

"Your mech stumbles as a particularly thick root is tripped on. Inside the mech, you can feel your weight shifting. You feel a sense of vertigo for a moment. Another pilot check to balance yourself out before you fall."

Mack saves, the dice plus his skill yielding above 30.

Me: "You manage to balance the mech out by pulling the right levers. Congratulations! Now, Krickler..."

A side note: Mech Jockies get ridiculous bonuses for mech piloting checks even at level 6. On top of the skill point limit for the Mech Piloting skill at level six, which is 9, they get to add their class level as a bonus to piloting checks. So, before rolling, Mack had a piloting skill of 15. Then you add his dex mod, which was 4. Pilots want high dex.

So, base 19, which is enough for him to ignore most piloting checks, but I make him roll anyway in case that 1 comes up...

Or the 20.

Add to that, my players were constantly rolling really high. I have no problem with that though. I was just impressed.

I'm titling this post because I forgot to put that title on my previous one about Mech Jockeys and their piloting skill. This should make it easier to find the post in this immense thread.

Some more piloting stuff:

Unless you're piloting an magically powered mech, walkers in Dragonmech are very clunky. They aren't agile, and they are ridiculously easy to hit. I'll cover combat basics in another post before I begin the battle, but for now, just know that larger mechs, though they have power, can be outmaneuvered by smaller ones.

Mech Jockeys also get a special ability called Push the Envelope. Mack never used it but it allows a Jockey to literally push their mech's capabilities by redlining its boiler. This grants a mech attack bonuses, bonuses to its reflex and fort save, and +10 ft to its movement speed. At the end of the redline, the mech becomes overheated for 1d4 rounds, which means it suffers -2 penalty to attack rolls.

There's lots of other interesting things about mech piloting and mech combat, but we'll cover that after the ambush is set up.

Me: "Krickler, after some observation, you find a collection of trees that are clustered close enough together that if you manuever behind them, you could hide most of your mech from sight. Their tops are, however, low enough to allow your steam cannon to fire over them. Nearby, some of the Stenian mechs start taking up positions similar to the one you just discovered."

Arthur, "Is there a way for us to communicate with each other in the mech? I know I'm in a turret behind a sealed hatch."

I nod, "Yes. There's an internal network of radios on a closed-circuit. One in the turret, one in the engine room, and of course the multi-channel pilot comcaster. Only the pilot's radio can communicate to the rest of the lance or the lance leader."

Arthur: "Krickler tells Mack about the tree thicket and how it would let him use the turret like a periscope to watch the road."

Peter: "I tell him thanks then start approaching the close cluster of trees. Er... the mechs around us, are they kneeling, or crouching in any way?"

Me: "Good question. No, their legs are not flexible enough to do that. Neither is Red Zero's, for that matter."

Peter: "I'm getting a real Battletech vibe from all of this. That's why I ask and I figured since some battletech mechs can crouch..."

I smile, "Since the mechs of Dragonmech are lumbering giants, not agile super-bots, I figured drawing inspiration from Battletech would be best. Hence my overusage of the 'lance' noun to define a group of mechs operating in unison. But, no, they can't crouch. They're not --that-- advanced."

Peter: "I actually appreciate the references. Battletech is something close to my heart."

When they arrange for their mech to take position behind the trees, this is where the waiting begins. Clicking on the comcaster from Thedrin's mech relays a simple order, "Hold position. Keep guns silent. Confirm enemy sightings only when certain." It's a big harder to identify an enemy mech than one might think, what with the lunar rain showering their walkers. The haze, as described earlier, still makes it difficult to see too far beyond the edge of the forest (their mech is sitting two hundred feet from the forest edge to be precise).

It is during this lull that I allow the players to do some in character discussion and activity. They spend much of it watching the surrounding landscape, and neighboring mechs. To their left is a juggernaught, to their right, a Lancer hides. They don't see Thedrin's mech anywhere so he might be deeper in the forest - necessary since his mech is the largest.

During this lull, the lunar haze thickens into a full and proper meteor shower. Those small meteors now come down in the hundreds. They pelt walker hulls repeatedly and create a sound not unlike machine gun fire. Every now and then, a small boulder crashes into the surface with a heavy whumping sound, kicking dust and dirt up in small clouds. These collisions are spectacular to watch as they hit the road.

But the noise is deafening.

Mack licks his lips, folds his arms, and furrows his brows as he stares out of the wide cockpit window, "Good day to pick for a raid this is. So much cover from the rain."

Grimlock responds, "Good day for an ambush, too." In an attempt to be positive.

Peter turns to me after a moment of thought, "Is it possible to use the seismograph to determine movement around us?"

I nod, "Possibly, if you can read through the white noise created by the lunar meteor shower." I take a post it note and scribble on it erratically, "The paper readout looks something like this right now."

Peter, "Well, Mack will keep checking the seismograph every few seconds anyway, between looking out of the cockpit and checking the status of the mech, for anything out of the usual. Anything."

I nod.

And now, I must stop here. Bed time for me, immediately.

Tomorrow, before I continue the story, I will write up a few posts on the basics of Mech on Mech combat in Dragonmech so you can all understand what is going on in terms of game mechanics when the cannon balls start flying and the fists start punching.

>>13304421
Go to bed a magnificent writefag, OP, and awaken a hero to a loving /tg/ audience.

effort like this needs to be bumped

I live again, faithful readers.

For those of you who have stuck with me so long, thank you. I am going to keep working to continue producing this chronicle of my first D&D game.

At this moment I'd like to just remind you, I am remembering this from a narrative perspective that is not entirely fresh in mind, but as accurate to the original game as possible. Think of it like, oh, like HBO's Rome. Was it a totally accurate reproduction of Roman life? No. Was it a totally AWESOME reproduction of Roman life?

Yes.

So. Let us continue. Next up: Dragonmech Combat basics.

Let's begin. I have re-uploaded Red Zero's character sheet so you can look at that while I explain things, allowing you to follow along with me somewhat and understand the mechanical rules governing mech operation in the game. First, the two simplest things:
Determining a Mech's Combat Initiative, and a Mech's Armour Class.

Mech Combat Initiative: You take the Mech's Dexterity Mod + the Pilot's Dexterity Modifier + relevant Pilot feats (Improved initiative, for example). The resulting number is the mech's initiative, which you add to your standard Initiative roll.

In Red Zero's case, as a colossal sized mech with a dex of 8, it has a +0 dex bonus. Mack, our adept, experienced mech jockey, has a +4 dexterity mod. He didn't have any feats which increased initiative (as far as I can remember) so Red Zero's base initiative is 4. Pretty standard for something that big.

Now: Armour class.

Mech AC: 10 + Mech Size Mod (+ Pilot's Dex mod if he has the Mech Dancer Feat)

In Red Zero's case, 10 + (-8) = 2. Yes. Their mech has an AC of 2. When you're 35 feet tall, your size mod makes it pretty damn easy for people to hit you.

But why didn't Mack take Mech Dancer? Because he's never been trained by an Irontooth Mech Devil. Only Irontooth clan members or Irontooth Mech Devils or people who have been trained by them can take that feat, and only after months of hard work. See, the Irontooth clans prize mech combat and mech piloting above almost everything else, and they've honed their minds and bodies to treating a mech like an extension of their own bodies. Someone with the Mech Dancer feat not only benefit from a high AC, but they're so good at moving their mech around they can literally make it dance.

It's a very difficult feat to get but it is pretty damn worth it if you're running around in a smaller mech that has a high AC due to its very low negative size mod.

Stanley, you ever play battletech?

But what about punching the other guy? Or shooting him with a ranged weapon? Well, you'll find things not all that different from traditional combat rolls.

Mech Melee attack modifier: Take the Mech's Strength Mod + the Mech's size mod + the Gunner's Dex mod + the Gunner's mech attack bonus.

In Red Zero's case: 10 (STR mod) + -8 (size mod) + gunner dex mod (+4 if we're talking about Mack) + gunner mech attack (+6/+1 in Mack's case) = +12/+7 Note: More on gunner Mech Attack bonuses in a bit.

Ranged attack modifiers are a little different. You take:
Mech's dexterity mod + Gunner's dex mod + gunner's mech attack bonus.

Notice how we do not factor in the Mech's size mod for ranged weapons, this is to represent the fact that ranged combat is easier than close quarters. But why don't dragonmech mechs just mount ranged weapons if that's the case?.. Well, there's something that balances all that out, which I will tell you about next. Factoring damage.

Mech attack bonuses: If you look to the image I linked to this post, you can see the mech jockey level table. Notice how the jockey has two separate attack bonus columns, one for mech AB and BAB? This is to represent that this person is trained for using walkers and their weapons.

One side note: Concerning Melee attack modifiers for mechs. During the game I made the mistake of telling my players that the size mod for the Mech Attack Modifier is positive rather than ... well, it was supposed to be negative. Nevertheless, the game was a massive success as you shall soon see.

>>13308069

Only the videogames I'm afraid. I always knew of the tabletop and RPG games but I never could find anyone who knew the game or wanted to play it. =/ That said, I've read some of the published fiction and played the games religiously through highschool. My favourite mechs in no particular order:

Masakari (later renamed the Warhawk)
Loki
Raven

In my Mechwarrior 4: Merc days, I was notorious online for never dying, but never getting any kills either. I always ran around in a Raven loaded up with NARC beacons. Tag an enemy mech, give the all clear to our Archers and Vultures and other missile boats waiting on the other side of the hill, and then the explosive rain would fall.

>>13308219
ahhhh, tis the fate of many battletech fans, hard to find others with interest. That being said I lend you my Naga! Pave the way raven.

>>13308260
Naga? Looks like an Archer. Same mech, different name?

Regardless, found myself staring down the launchers of those a few times. Nasty business.

But that's why my Raven was bristling with ECM, ECCM and whatever else I could find electronic countermeasures. Beagle Probes are nice, too.

Back to Dragonmech combat basics.

Normally, characters like our Cleric and Steamborg, who are untrained in operating mechs, would be rather useless at the controls of a mech weapon. They would be forced to add HALF their BAB as an MAB for the mech attack modifier calculation. They would also take a -4 penalty to their attack rolls for using weapons they are not proficient with (I.E, everything on a goddamn Mech).

But two feats were provided for free! You can see them in the image linked to the left. One removes that -4 penalty mentioned earlier) and then there's Mechanized Combat Practice. Obvious enough.

To give Peter, Mack's player, some compensation for this free flinging of feats around, I gave his Mech Jockey one free feat on the condition that it is combat oriented (though not necessarily mech operation oriented). He was happy with that. I cannot remember what he took though.

>>13308260
Wait, no, stupid me. Archer's are totally different. My mistake. Anyway. DETERMINING MECH DAMAGE.

>>13308356
You gonna get Arrow-IV'd.

Damage from melee and ranged sources are calculated very similar to calculating it normally.

Let's look at one of Red Zero's melee weapons, shall we?

We'll take the Adamantium Mass Borer.
Damage dealt by the weapon is calculated as normal. After a successful hit, you roll the weapon's damage dice and add your strength mod.

So, in the case of the drill: 3d12 + 10. That means you'll get anywhere between 13 to 46 That's going put a lot of hurt on anything.

Ranged combat is the same. Red Zero's Huge size Steam Cannon deals 2d10, but you do not factor in the strength of your mech.

Now, damage application to the enemy you hit. Well... You do not just apply the result of your damage roll directly to the enemy mech.

All mechs have something called 'Hardness'. A Mech's hardness is determined by the kind of armour that has been welded and hammered onto its frame plus a size bonus determined by its superstructure.

The cheapest and most effective armour is Iron, which grants a base of 10 hardness.

Superstructure size bonuses do not apply to anything smaller than a colossal mech. There are no negative superstructure bonuses for being smaller than colossal. It starts as 0 for large, huge, and gargantuan sized mechs.

In Red Zero's case, it has Iron armour (hardness 10) and is colossal, so it gets +1 to hardness just for being pretty big (35 feet tall to be precise).

>>13308437
THUNDERBOLTS ARE GO

So, damage to a target is calculated this way:

Weapon dice roll + wielder's STR mod (If a melee weapon) - target's hardness value.

An example: a juggernaut hits another juggernaut with its Huge Axe blade.
2d8 (damage dice) + 8 (STR mod) - 10 (iron armour on the enemy juggernaut)

Say it rolls full damage: 16 + 8 = 24 - 10 = 14 damage. Juggernauts have 132 hit points. As you can see, even with the STR mod, it's going to take awhile if the juggernauts wail on one another with their axes. Normally, you have crews to man each weapon, so a single mech gets to use most of its weapons in its combat turn.

You can also see how this balances ranged combat versus melee combat. Unless you're dedicating a mech with nothing but heavy long range ordinance, you better have something to swing with or you're going to get hurt when the enemy closes into melee.

But what about critical hits? Things get interesting here.

>>13308571
The laser anti-missile system is thinking no.

With the D20 being rolled so much in mech combat (multiple mech weapons + certain PCs and NPCs with multiple attacks), sooner or later, a critical hit is going to happen.

That's when shit starts hitting the fan for the guy on the receiving end.

Critical hits are resolved as normal. You roll again for confirmation, then you multiply your damage dice by the number listed with the weapon (you also multiply your strength mod as well if its a melee weapon).

But, fair viewers, then the DM gets to roll on the critical hit chart. Since all the mechs we're going to see hitting each other today are steam powered, I've scanned in the Steam Powered Mech critical hit chart which I invite you to look at right now.

As you can see, the effects get progressively worse depending on the damage threshold that your HP pool is at the time of the critical hit.

Other than standard mech combat, there are plenty of other ways to bring down a mech in the world of dragonmech. Remember, despite the hard armour on these machines, mechs in this world have two very big weaknesses: the crew inside...

And falling down.

One thing first. Mechs do not grapple. Read the scanned image from the core rulebook to the left for further information.

There are many different ways to make a mech fall down. Rough terrain, the right man-made obstacle, a bull rush...

But in combat, when you don't want to risk falling down yourself (usually what happens with a bull rush attempt in a mech) and can't use the terrain to your advantage, there are plenty of weapons you can arm your walker with to trip the other guy. You can also make a trip check as a melee attack with your mech, but this is less safe than using a weapon designed for that purpose.

Trip checks are made as normal with mechs, but with the following modifications:
* If made with a weapon, follow the usual rules with that weapon. Apply modifiers from strength and dex scores and size modifiers.
* If you fail to trip a mech, that mech gets to try and trip you back.
* The pilot can use his mech piloting modifier instead of the STR or DEX mod, if it is higher.
* If a mech has been successfully tripped, it is considered 'Downed'.

Well, your mech is downed. Gotta get back up.

Mech pilots can make a piloting check to fall in a favourable position. It's a lot harder to get back up from a face up position than it is from a face down position. Falling on your side isn't as bad.

Otherwise, DM rolls 1d6 to determine the side that the mech falls onto.

There's boarding, but we'll discuss that later. For now, I'm done talking about the rules for mech combat. You should all have a decent understanding of how it works in Dragonmech and you're all prepared for the coming battle.

Are there any questions, or shall I get right back to the scenario I was describing and the ensuing battle for Redstone mine?

Dragonmech is a setting that was originally made for 3.0. I realize only now I've been throwing sizes around 'gargantuan' 'huge' and so on to describe mechs, with the PC mech, Red Zero, being itself colossal.

So, just a reminder to those of you who played back in the 3.0 era, and for those of you who never did, here is the size chart from 3.0 scanned in for your reference.

Also, from now on, when I make reference to a mech size by noun rather than numerical feet, I'll include the numerical measurement in parentheses. Gargantuan (25ft). Like that.

That's all about rules and stuff. So, no questions? Shall I get back to retelling that story?

moooooree

>>13308642
>>13308571
>>13308437
>>13308356
>>13308311

I loled so hard I accidently ejected, carry on OP

Alright gentlemen. I will continue talking about the events of this increasingly exciting scenario.

One moment while I get my writing mojo on. I have a tendency to lose it when I'm busy blathering about rules.

>>13309158
Well explained, OP. I eagerly await your next installment.

As Red Zero idles behind the thick cluster of burnt trees in Ironchar forest, Krickler sits impatiently, his eyes glued to the viewer of the periscope built into the steam cannon turret. The gun swivels slowly, tracking the surrounding area. He makes note of their immediate Stenian neighbors, the Lancer which waits patiently a hundred feet to their right, a stout, short, Stenian Juggernaught a hundred feet to their left. The other thirteen mechs in Redstone's defense lance are scattered through the ruins of the forest. The tension is thick despite the lunar storm that batters the hulls of their walkers, like hundreds of hammers banging on metal.

The lance-wide comchannel is left open so that the clicks and beeps of the Stenian morse code can be heard by all under Thedrin's command. There's little else other than no-contact notifications. What little of the road they can see beyond the forest edge and the valley beyond that is empty.

Grimlock has a worried look for a moment. He asks Mack for the handheld speaker and then says to switch it to the engine room. "Ragnar, are you okay down there?"

Ragnar responds, his voice accompanied by the rhythmic mechanical beating of Red Zero's metal heart, "Yes, s-sir. The engine's running fine, sir. Er... As far as I can tell. Lots of noise outside."

"Don't worry. You're doing fine. We're just in a storm right now."

"Ah. Alright. Er... is there anything else, sir?

"No. Just thought I'd check in on you."

"T-thank you sir. Er, I gotta get back watching the regulator for the secondary boiler sir. It.. um, it's got a bit of a personality."

"Alright. Call up if anything out of the ordinary happens, alright?"

"Y-yes, sir." There's a click as the boy hangs the receiver up.

The dust kicked up by the impacts of the meteors and the blowing wind create smoky, silvery shadows in the distance. Everyone nearly jumps out of their seat when a melon sized meteorite smashes against the windshield and falls to Red Zero's feet. Luckily, the windshield is reinforced. No damage.

Meanwhile, behind the DM screen, I'm rolling Mack's perception checks for him. Once every few seconds to represent the fact that he is scanning the seismograph.

"Mack. As the rain grows into a fully manifested storm, the seismograph gets increasingly erratic. It continues like this for almost ten minutes. You think that maybe using this gadget is useless, but something makes you crease your brows as you stare at the spinning paper. You're not sure, but you think you see a pattern emerging in the scribbles of the auto-pens."

Peter lifts his arm up, pretending like he's holding the receiver of the comcaster. His thumb flexes a little, pressing an invisible button. "In morse code, I transmit: 'Possible detection. Please stand by.'"

A response is returned to you. It's from one of the pilots that neighbor your walker. <Where? I don't see a damn thing and I'm further south west of you.>

Peter flexes his thumb again, looking at me, "My response: <We have a shakereader on board this mech. Possible detection of enemy movement. Please, stop, stand, stop, by.>

Me: "The radio goes totally silent. The entire lance is waiting for your confirmation. Let's have a wisdom check with a +2 bonus for being trained to use the seismograph."

He rolls. Succeeds.

I spread my hands with a smile.

Peter's eyes go wide.

Mack's heart stops a beat. The pattern is there. Despite the thick, clustered, almost chaotic lines caused by the lunar storm, he can see it. A few lines actually create a repeating pattern.

Mack transmits back to the rest of the lance: <Contact confirmed. Unknown number of enemy hostiles. They're coming.>

Some out of character talk occurs, directed at me.

Peter: "I assume the reason they're using morse code is because the Irontooth might be listening, right?"

Me: "Depends on which clan you're fighting. Mack would know that Irontooth mech tactics don't use the same kind of organization and regimental discipline that you would see in a Stenian mech lance. That is not to say Irontooth clanners are not disciplined... Well, put it this way:

Peter comes up with an explanation. He's read more of the fluff than the other two players: "Irontooth jockeys, and especially their mech devils, mostly fight like large groups of independents, like a loose group of monks fighting side by side, rather than a regimented formation of soldiers who find strength in their numbers? Like that?"

Me: "Yeah. Couldn't put it better myself. There is a hierarchy though, usually one guy who can order the others around because he's got the best fighting skills."

Mark asks, "Like a warboss?"

I nod, "Er-- well, yeah, like that. But I don't want to suggest that the Irontooth clans are warmongering. They just prize independence, so this shows through with the way they fight."

Me: "But to answer the original question, yeah, they might have ways to listen in on an enemy com network."

Pictured: The Irontooth Clan general flag. (Individual clans have their own identity)

Mack switches to the internal channel. "Krickler, keep your eye sharp. The shakereader's got movement." The steamborg responds with the sound of his metal fist banging on a bulkhead.

<Contact. Contact.> Reports one of the Stenian pilots. <One. Correction. Two. Lancer and Barbagula. Tribal markings. Cannot identify clan flag. Visibility poor.>

Then, in the silvery murk of the storm, Krickler is the first one of my players to see his first enemy mech. He bangs again on the bulkhead to get their attention. Mack and Grimlock have to squint to see through the charcoal coloured ruins of the tree trunks around them. They see a faint flash of metal, then a sword. A clear space between the trees allows them to see the enemy mech in its entirety for the briefest moment, the single smoke stack sticking out at a 45 degree angle from its shoulders belching white smoke. Then it is gone. I describe to Peter and Mark the features of a Fang Biter, but Krickler's player gets to see an actual image of it. I show him the image on the left.

Me to Peter: "Mack knows that Irontooth mechs carry two flags on them at any time. One is the general Irontooth flag that all clans carry. The other is the pilot and crew's specific clan. You, however, cannot see the flag because of your lower line of sight and the obstructing trees."

Mack picks up the comcaster speaker and links to the turret, "Krickler, can you see the clan flag on that mech? What is it?"

I ask for a perception check from Arthur. He prepares his d20.

Krickler focuses his eyes. It's hard to see, even with a clean periscope with some fresh lenses. Yes, he can see the Irontooth flag - but what is that other one?

The dice tumbles. Because of the environment around them, it's a pretty high DC to identify that flag. Despite that, Krickler succeeds.

I write down a description on a post it note then hand it to Arthur. If you cannot tell by now, I'm always stocked with post it notes. I like to find ways to get my players to talk to each other in character.

Arthur looks at the post it note, then hands it to me.

Krickler thinks for a moment. Hasn't Mack told them about this clan before?.. He was probably busy oiling his joints at the time while the jockey was telling one of his stories.

Krickler's voice cackles over the comcaster, "Black flag. Red hawk. Familiar to you, Mack?"

Mack's face blanches a little, his player does as well. "Oh shit." He pauses, "That's clan Hawk."

Ah, I think. Peter has been reading some of the supplimental materials to be found online.

Mark and Arthur ask, "What's clan Hawk?"

I bow my head to Peter, "Mack would know and you would both know some of it as well, so I'll let Peter explain here." And he does.

Clan Hawk is one of, if not the, largest of the Irontooth clans. That's saying something considering there are about fifty clans. Unlike more aggressive and almost barbaric acting clans like Clan Bugbear or Clan Battleaxe, their leadership also operates according to more traditional ways, with an Elder at the top who rules the clan and his oldest son helping out with warfare and daily governance. Compare this to Battleaxe or Bugbear, whose leadership constantly changes as people kill each other to make it to the top. Hawk practice a code of honour when it comes to military engagements. They prefer to take prisoners when possible, and have a reputation for treating their prisoners fairly.

Hawk is also known for training some of the most capable jockeys and producing some of the most skilled Mech Devils in Highpoint. Often the Mech Devils are men and women who arise out of monastic orders that work closely with Hawk. For my players, this means two things:

One; Hawk is a pretty honourable lot despite the fact that they are attacking a civilian target.
Two; This is going to be a rough battle against similar skilled pilots.

And there's something else.

Clan Hawk isn't afraid to engage in boarding actions.

<Keep your guns silent. Do not engage.> Thedrin communicates over the channel. <Wait for them to pass.>

Another Irontooth mech passes by. This time, Mack sees it.

I scribble a description of the flag on a post it note and hand it to Peter. He knows this clan too.

Mack furrows his brows, "Hawk and Lotus?" He asks, watching the flag bearing the exotic flower flap in the hard wind. The mech hoisting it disappears in the raging dust of the storm.

Peter explains, "Lotus ... They're even more traditionally oriented than Hawk. Their name, before being an Irontooth clan, has actually been around for centuries, and they rose out of an actual monastic order. Their reputation for honesty has never been tarnished..."

Peter's looking at me weirdly now. The other two players are as well. They sense something strange about this scenario I'm putting them through.

But I don't give them enough time to think.

I raise my hand and make the morse code tapping motion with it. "Thedrin is on the line, broadcasting to the entire lance now."

<Prepare for incoming artillery fire.>

And the guns of Redstone sing their song of devastation.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0FbGuImTCE

Mack's seismograph registers the seven steam cannons at Redstone as they open fire over three quarters of a mile away. It takes a few moments for the rounds to cross the distance to arrive at their targets. Despite the mine only being equipped with seven guns, their crews are well drilled and the guns themselves have been tinkered with by expert coglayers.

The Redstone dwarves have also pre-ranged every hundred foot square of the valley leading to their walls. With the telemetry delivered to Redstone from Thedrin, who had been collecting the positions of his men, the positions of the enemy, and their heading, the bombardment was deathly accurate.

This is the reason why Redstone has such a small mech lance.

Inside their mech, the three mercenaries hear the whistling of the cannon rounds speeding through the sky. There's dozens being fired off every minute in order to compensate for the lunar storm that might knock the barrage off course with meteor collisions.

Despite this, Krickler can see through his periscope flashes in the grey dust. Several of the enemy number have been hit. The haze that clings close to the ground is whipped into a whirlwind by by crashing of the shells.

Their mech is shuddering as the ground shakes. Mack is forced to whip his hands into a frenzy to compensate, or risk having his mech fall due to the force of the artillery support.

But over the roar of the lunar storm, and the explosions of the guns, they also hear the clang of cannon ball against metal. These are, after all, not shaped armour piercing shells. Such modern weaponry doesn't exist in this world. There are mechs in the Irontooth attack force whose heavy hulls protect them from the guns.

But at least the attackers have been injured for the killing blow that awaits them in the Ironchar forest.

Now, Thedrin's voice is heard over the channel. "Move out and pick yer targets gents and ladies! Yer all free tae engage!"

Red Zero crashes through the forest. The entire mech is shaking with uncertain steps to get through the rough terrain. The loud thunder of cracking wood around them indicates that the rest of the lance is moving with them.

When they break through the cover of the forest and emerge out onto the road that runs along Ironchar's edge, Mack and Grimlock scan their immediate area. The storm is still thick, their vision obscuring with increasing opacity beyond 300 feet.

Perception rolls all around.

Something chuffs noisily in the fog south of them. Krickler sees white smoke rising against a silver backdrop.

"I open fire." Arthur says.

Krickler adjusts the angle of the cannon. The target isn't that far, and the gun has an impressive range (1000 ft increments to be precise). He cannot see his target too well but it is enough that he can see it.

The gun's own pressure tank hisses noisily as the superheated steam within is released into the barrel of the cannon. A round is fired off with a bang and it sails through the air. After seven hundred feet, there's a loud clang as the iron sphere crashes into its target. Sparks are created from the impact and the irontooth mech is illuminated briefly. It is a barbagula which is now turning to them, hefting its ten foot lance and throttling its engine.

It charges.

"Roll initiative."

With Red Zero's character sheet, which I handed to Mack, I also prepared something else for them to use for the coming battle which I wouldn't give them until their first fight.

I hand my players an 8x11 paper with the image to the left printed on it.

One of them drops his jaw. Peter exclaims, "YOU MADE US A FUCKING HEALTH BAR?!"

Me: "Yeah, I figured it would kinda help, what with the fact that your mech has 360 health points. I even calculated the damage thresholds for you, see? They're represented by the colours. Hint: You don't want to get in the red."

I actually get a small applause despite my insistence that it really wasn't that hard to make. "Seriously guys, it just took five minutes."

Mark: "Yeah, a lot of DMs don't bother with anything beyond scenario preparation. Maybe a map or two."

Peter: "Speaking of, what about that grid you brought with you? You told me you had this huge battlefield prepared."

I shrug, "That became a problem. Anytime I tried to scale the grid upward, like making each square 10 feet instead of 5, it created a lot of problems so I abandoned it. We're going to have to use the old fashioned way for roleplaying."

Mark, "Fine by me. It's the way we do things normally anyway."
Peter: "Yeah."
Arthur, "Yeah. Combat grids help, I'll admit, but they can sometimes be a hassle too."

Be right back. Dinner time.

>>13310590
I think there are rules for a hex-based map that scales much easier than squares. It would also be even more reminiscent of Battletech.

>>13311144

I considered it but at the time it would take too much work. The scenario was a huge success nonetheless.

I will consider your suggestion anyway. Create a new thread somewhere on the subject of square to hex conversion, and I will be there to read it.

Now, I suppose I'll get back to writing how this battle played out. Writefag powers are go.

Though I wonder, do I have an actual audience? Either I've captured your rapt attention and you are silent and clinging to my every word, or I am a humble writer narrating a story to an orchestra house with three people in it.

Either way, thank you all for being with me and reading this increasingly large thread I have created.

Now, my heroic players finally get to throw their first punches. This has been a long time coming for them as much as it has for you all. Hold onto your seats, I promise to provide you with the best cinematic scripture my meager skills can weave.

>>13311430
Someone already archived the thread, but I'm still reading this avidly. Please continue, this seems enthralling.

>>13311430
Yes, please. I had to leave for a moment but I am caught up now.

"I see ye've already found yerselves a dance partner! Word o' caution, gentlemen. Barbagulas are scrappy ones." Thedrin is laughing over the com channel, talking directly to my PCs. His mech is nowhere in sight, but the clashing of metal that fills the background on his end of the receiver suggests he's already in the thick of it.

Their initiative is rolled. Their opponent, an Irontooth Barbagula, being a smaller and quicker mech (with an actual dex mod by the by) wins. It will strike first when they come into contact.

However, they must still close. There's about three hundred feet between their machine and the opponent. A barbagula has a based speed of 50, but it can run 100 feet.

With no ranged weapons, its pilot is forced to gun his engine at full speed. Mack, grinning, revs his own. Red Zero, being the larger, makes much more noise, a growling monster compared to the scrappy cougar of the Barbagula's engine.

Their cockpit bounces with each step. There's a low pitched buzzing noise as Zero's drill spins faster and faster. Mack pulls a lever that releases the lock on the buzzsaw's blade and the disc begins to spin, the small exhaust pipes attached to the elbow joint on the arm blast smoke out.

I look at Arthur, "You can fire again you know."

He frowns, "What? But a steam cannon requires a crew of two and our fourth member is in the boiler room. Shouldn't I be spending a turn to reload the gun?"

I smile a little, "A complicated mechanism in a panel next to Krickler's gunner seat suddenly whirs to life. It's an auto-loading system. Each time you fire the gun, the device immediately opens the breach chamber into the barrel and pushes in a fresh round. Then the chamber shuts with a clank.

There's still about two hundred feet between you and your target."

Arthur smiles a little, "Then I grab the controls and open fire!"

>>13311430

Here since the beginning, and archived your thread on suptg. I avoid leaving posts, so as not to ruin the structure of your story.

The earth shakes as the reawakened metal colossus charges into battle. Mack gets a sense that the machine, despite the groggy behaviour it exhibited upon rising from its decades long slumber, is thankful to be of use again in the defense of its home.

Their shoulder mounted steam cannon manages two shots. Surprisingly, the Barbagula actually ducks just enough to avoid having a solid iron ball break open its head, but the second shot was ranged slightly lower. A clean dent is left in the torso of the small mech, but it responds by leaning that much harder against its lance.

Then, the two machines meet with a clashing like the sound of iron thunder.

The tip of the lance punctures its way through Red Zero's right shoulder joint. Their hull groans and the crew feel the jarring effects of the spear in the form of whiplash. Steam billows from the shoulder, misting their cockpit a little, but the arm is still functional. In the engine room young Ragnar quickly reroutes power through secondary pipes to keep the limb operational.

Krickler's eyes smash into the viewer of the periscope but he receives no damage. Mack and Grimlock can hear him swearing up a storm to rival the one outside, however.

Red Zero, on the other hand, seems less impressed by the damage of the lance. Though it cannot use its thirteen foot long mining drill like a lance, the tool is made from solid adamantium. Grimlock, controlling the drill arm, scores a hit directly in the center of the Barbagula's torso, and the drill eats its way through the chassis like a worm through soil. In seconds, the drill has pushed its way past the outer layer of armour, snapped the skeleton of the torso apart, and punctured its way through the engine to explode out of the barbagula's back.

An explosion of smoke, steam, and scrap erupt from from the small machine's spine.

Mack finishes off the job, swinging the buzzsaw upwards and slicing through the hydraulics that control the Barbagula's head. It is decapitated, and what remains of its body slumps against the spinning drill.

Grimlock kills the connection to the transmission box of the mining tool and it stops spinning. He grins as he admires his handiwork. The body of their first kill remains impaled.

The unfortunate barbagula's pilot survives this. They can see him clawing his way out of the wreckage of his walker. For a moment, he looks up at the cockpit of Red Zero, then jumps off and rolls as he hits the earth below.

"Crush him!" Shouts the steamborg in the turret. "Step on the bastard!"

"NO!" Mack shouts back, "That's not how we do things!"

Krickler flips on the channel between the cockpit and his turret, "Why the hell not? He attack us, we attack him."

"No." Mack argues, "He fought and lost."

"So?"

Mack growls, "The pilot abandoned his mech and is in retreat. He's a non-combatant."

Grimlock speaks up now, "They're attacking a non-military target."

Mack shoots grimlock a look, "Attacking yes, but they're only attacking the military elements that are defending the mine! You saw what happened when we left. All the civilians sought shelter inside the mine from the storm."

Grimlock is silenced, but Krickler isn't convinced.

"How do we know they won't attack the miners too?" Krickler shouts.

"The Lotus and Hawk don't operate like that. They'll give the civilians a chance to walk away when they take control or they'll ransom them back to the Confederacy, but they won't kill them."

"Screw that." The turret starts to track the retreating Irontooth pilot.

Mack twists Red Zero's torso to swing the turret away from its target, "KRICKLER! Damn it all, don't make me come in there and shove a wrench up your ass to adjust your ball bearings! As far as I'm concerned, he's now an unarmed combatant, which we treat the same way as a civilian.

We don't kill civilians."

Krickler grunts, "Whatever." And turns his comcaster off. There's a ratcheting noise as the hatch to the turret is locked.

Red Zero's engine idles, the sound almost inquisitive as to why its pilot spun the torso so suddenly like that. There's a moment of silence in the cockpit as tempers cool. The lunar storm has actually begun to die down.

When this occurs, Grimlock looks up and out ahead. The thick meteor shower is thinning. What was once a heavy tempest becomes a quiet hissing sound as winds whip the walker with fallen moon sand. Visibility is still poor, and despite the corpse of the small titan impaled on their mining drill heralding their first victory, the battle still rages.

In the distance, in the direction they believe is towards the north end of the valley where the mine sits, they hear the distant explosions of Redstone's cannon battery unleashing another set of salvos.

"We better start finding another target." Mack says, the sounds of clashing metal can be heard all around them but they don't know where to go.

Peter: "What's the state of the battle right now?"

I think for a moment. "Uncertain. Every now and then your comchannel will pick up reception from a friendly mech passing within range, broadcasting damage reports of their mech and of their kills. You do know of two casualties already - a juggernaught and a lancer. Some other mech pilots have not reported in a while, which means either their communication equipment has been knocked out, or they've abandoned their walkers."

Arthur, "What about enemy forces? What is their status?"

Me: "From what you can tell, they outnumber Stenians two to one at least, but because their mechs are smaller, they're having a harder time taking down the Stenians."

Peter, "Boarding actions, any reports of that?"

I think for a moment, "No."

Peter frowns, "Then that means they're really good at boarding, or no one has done it yet."

I ask for some perception rolls then.

Me: "In the distance, some seven hundred feet north west, along the edge of the forest, Grimlock sees a Fangbiter flying Irontooth colours. It's hull is faint and it threatens to disappear into the lunar mist."

Grimlock lightly nudges Mack and points at the Fangbiter, "There's one." He is about to link the drill's gearbox back into the mech's systems when he looks at the barbagula still wrecked against it.

Mark, "Nah, I think I'll keep it there. Looks intimidating, don't you think guys?"

There's nods of assent from the other players.

"Alright, let's go wail on that guy with the corpse of his friend's mech!"

I grin mentally. They have given me an opportunity.

ALL of your characters are mary-sue weeaboo faggots.

One of these things is not like the other... o/'

Red Zero's engine cycles up and they begin to move in the direction of the Fangbiter. Every step by the machine is mirrored by the steam engine with a noisy huff. After a moment, the pistons are cycling at full speed, and they're off.

They manage to stay behind the enemy Fangbiter, which itself picks up speed as it finds a target. Limping along to the party's right is a Stenian Lancer. It is missing its sword arm. It turns slowly to see the Fangbiter moving in on it, and that's when the Irontooth mech charges.

There's a clang of metal. It doesn't even raise its weapons, electing to simply slam the Lancer instead. The humanoid machine buckles and crashes to the ground.

Peter: "I bull rush the fucker."

The Fangbiter's sword arms raise up high as it looms over the fallen Lancer. It is all the Stenian pilot can do to raise his lance arm to avoid being skewered in his cockpit.

But Red Zero arrives just in time to jostle the fangbiter out of the way. It stumbles over the lancer and comes crashing down, its armour plating ringing like a gong. Red Zero has nothing to help the Lancer right itself with, so it moves onto the fangbiter and Mack prepares the buzzsaw to perform some field surgery.

"Reflex check." I say

"What? Why?"

I stick my hand out, palm open, "Just do it. Results first, narration second."

The players prepare their dice. "No." I say, "One of you rolls for the mech. It has a reflex save."

Red Zero's character sheet is checked. Sure enough, there's the reflex save. Their mech has a reflex save of -4.

They give the job to Mark. Grimlock has been rolling pretty damn high today.

"Give me two reflex saves."

And it is done.

A fail, and a success.

I tell them, "You hear a whistling sound in the air. With the lunar rain dying away, you can actually somewhat hear the environment around you better, despite the rumbling of your engine. The whistling is growing louder."

"Oh crap." One of them says, "Artillery strike."

Clouds of smoke, like tiny explosions, rise up from the ground around their feet. Cannon balls smash into the fallen fangbiter, others glance off its armor.

One wayward shot smashes Red Zero square in its buzzsaw arm. The weapon takes some damage but it is still functional. Nevertheless, the force of the impact causes their vehicle to lurch sideways, away from the Fangbiter. A piloting check is asked from Mack, who manages to keep his mech from falling embarassingly. Krickler offers compensation by letting loose a few steam cannon rounds. They do negligible damage to the fallen Fangbiter.

But the Fangbiter has been given a chance to get back up now, and it does. The artillery barrage has left holes in its armour, but despite that heavy damage, it functions still. A shot from a different source - a Stenian juggernaught to the east, lending support to Red Zero and the Lancer - hits the risen Fangbiter. It lurches, gyros attempting to get the mech to balance itself before it falls again.

The lancer that they came to aid has managed to stand again despite the lack of an arm. Couching the lance and bracing itself, it lets the Fangbiter spear itself on the weapon.

The engine doesn't explode. Instead, an pipe inside the torso bursts, causing the machine to exhale precious steam into the air. It sags.

Crewmen begin to abandon it and flee into Ironchar forest.

Shaking the fangbiter loose, the Lance turns to Red Zero. The pilot has his mech salute theirs before moving off to lend assistance to the Juggernaught which had helped him.

Peter: "Mack turns our mech to follow the Lancer. Gotta stay in a group. If they get us alone, we could be in for a world of pain."

I make a nod of assent, "You move off to follow the Lancer, but there's something wrong. Your speed is not as fast as it should be. Ragnar calls up from the engine and tells you that the boiler is working harder that it should be. 'There's nothing wrong down here, sir." He states.

"The hell? Why are we going so slow?"

Me: "One of the pressure gauges in the cockpit starts buzzing. It is indicating that the boiler pressure is steadily increasing due to the workload."

Krickler calls in, "Check the damn legs."

Grimlock stands and looks down from the cockpit window. They can actually see down the front of the mech and the arms at either side.

The Barbagula which had never left their drill, in its death throes, had unraveled its changler.

A Changler is a weapon that is comprised of a metal drum that has ten chains linked to it. When it is used in an attack against the legs, the chains unwravel and whipped around the feet and legs to tangle up the limbs of the target mech.

These chains were now tangled all up in Red Zero's shit.

Grimlock frowns, "Damnit, I was hoping to keep that there."

He spins the drill up and what remains of the Barbagula comes apart in messy chunks that bounce off of Red Zero's hard hull. For a moment, a wayward fleck of chain hangs from the top of the window, but it slides off.

A mech strength check later, and Red Zero frees itself from those meddlesome iron links.

After the colossal mining mech fumbles forward and regains its balance, they have to play catch up with the Lancer which is far ahead of them.

Mack is about to transmit over his comcaster, when he is stopped by someone else speaking over the network.

There's a blast of chatter and white noise over the comcaster. "BLOODY HELL! L-" The sound of screeching metal is heard in the background, drowning out the voice. When the noise dies down, "-arthing help! Lance lead repeats, I need a-" Iron rings like a metal gong as something hits the mech on the other line, "-st it all. Everyone, this is Thedrin! Anyone receivin' this, ye kin find me at-" He manages to rattle off his coordinates before the line goes dead.

My players look at each other. There's a second of silence.

"Fuck." Arthur says.
"Uh..." gulps Mark.
"We go to him." Peter says finally.

Mack swings the mech around, heading straight east, away from the edge of the forest which had, thus far, been at least somewhat of a safe zone for them. The majority of the Stenian defense force was busy fighting in the direction they were now going. The Lancer and Juggernaught they had been helping were flanking support.

Peter, "How long have we gone? Do we see him yet?"

I restrain the smile playing on my features. I keep myself as deadpan as possible. I am enjoying this too much.

Me: "Despite the grey murk of the lunar haze, there's a bright flash of light far ahead of you. A second later, the flash is followed by a deafening explosion. Seconds later, a blastwave of highly pressurized air crashes into your mech with such force that the hull groans as its forward momentum is flipped. It's stumbling backwards."

A piloting check is made. Mack and his player are swearing.

It is a success, but just barely, "Red zero continues to stumble backwards for a few paces as the wave of air followed by smoke and steam rushes over you. After a moment, the entire mech leans forwards into the rushing wind which eventually dies down."

Peter, "I give the order to redline the engine. We need that extra speed."

Grimlock prays while Mack throttles the engines as much as they will go, then pushes them beyond that, giving Ragnar the go ahead to release the safeties. Valves are opened in the mech's belly. The turbines whine louder now and the lumbering stride quickens.

The hatch to the turret pops open. Krickler is drawn out. He wishes to behold these events with his own eyes and not through some periscope. Holding onto a low hanging pipe that runs along the center of the cockpit, standing on a ramp next to Grimlock's seat, he looks out onto the battlefield. They pass the wreckage of Irontooth as well as Stenian mechs on their way to Thedrin's last known position.

They arrive just in time to see his Scale Hunter fall. Due to the machine's immense size, it's collapse is slow. When it crashes to the earth, parts of its hull crumple, unable to support the weight of its own armor. Dirt and soil rise briefly like an earthly funeral pyre from the weight of the impact before slowly descending back around the metal corpse.

Fire burns brightly, and black smoke rises from the wreckage.

All three are quiet. The cockpit is silent. No one says a word. I can see it in their faces. They want me to tell them that the Scale Hunter's crew have escaped. They want me to tell them that they can visually see people crawling from the twisted metal.

No such thing happens.

Just the crackle of a boiler fire and the smoky ash rising in black puffs from the coal stores in its torso.

Grimlock musters the strength to cross himself in the name of Bahamut, but he finds no strength to speak a prayer.

Krickler's face hardens as he stares into the fire.

Then, something moves behind the smoke, but it is yet too thick for them to see through. The air shudders a something makes a deep mechanical growl. The fumes in front of them churn as something moves.

As one, all three mercenaries look up.

Initially only its upper torso and head are visible, emerging out of the black smoke. Its foot comes down on the fallen Scale Hunter's head, almost intentionally, as if marking its kill.

It is 75 feet tall. Flames reflected in its skull-like face, this machine is head, shoulder, and torso above Red Zero. Its arms end in a pair of dexterous, metallic hands. It sports no special weaponry that they can see. Its hull is dotted by iron studs and spikes, and carries black and yellow tribal markings painted all over its frame. With the traditional Iron Tooth Clan flag, it flies the red winged predator of Clan Hawk.

"Oh sweet Dotrak's gears of mercy." Gasps Mack, his hands immediately grabbing ahold of the mining walker's controls. The machine steps backward, "An Iron Maiden! A FEKKING IRON MAIDEN!" He turns to Krickler, "YOU! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN THE TURRET. NOW!"

>>13313790
I am waiting OP. I am waiting ever so much.

Krickler complies without argument and dives into the turret hatchway like a pig into mud. It slams shut behind him.

The drill whirrs hungrily as Grimlock spins it up. He is swallowing and murmuring prayers to the Dragonfather under his breath.

Mack just grits his teeth, "Make your move pal."

The Iron Maiden steps over the wreckage and comes into full view, but instead of closing with Red Zero, it pauses for a moment to appraise the machine it was about to engage in combat with. The skull-like head turns a little on its joints, tilting sideways like a dog, curious. No doubt the drill and the buzz saw give it pause.

With slow, almost hypnotic motion, it swings one leg in an arc, keeping its toe against earth. It shifts its weight onto the other leg as it does this. Red Zero's crew can hear the grinding of metal against stone as it slowly assumes a stance.

Mark looks at me, "Oh no. You didn't..."

>>13313927

>>13313927
Yea come on come on take the chance, thats right.

Lets dance.

There's a flash of fear on Peter's face. Mark blanches a little, but Arthur is as stern as ever.

As I describe to them the stance that the Iron Maiden slowly assumes, I am also assuming that same stance physically at the game table. "The Iron Maiden's left arm swings over its chest and positions its shoulder facing your mech. The left hand cups itself under the right elbow, while the right arm straightens out."

Peter almost studders, "Oh, shit. SHIT."

Mack guns the reverse throttle on their mech and manages to keep Red Zero facing the new opponent while putting three hundred feet between him and it.

Me: "Its fingers press together, thumb bent against the inside of its palm."

Peter, "A fucking MECH DEVIL."

Me: "A panel opens up below the wrist of the right hand that now faces you. There's a puff of smoke and over your engine, you hear the sound of crinkling chains in the air, then a steel spearhead impales itself in the right shoulder joint of Red Zero. Immediately, the chain attached to the steel tip is tightened. The Iron Maiden grabs the chain with both hands, and it pulls."

Strength checks.

Red Zero's hull groans against the stress. The other mech may be stronger, but the old mining mech was designed for torque and power rather than speed. It held its ground, not yielding to the tug of war the Iron Maiden had forced it into.

The engine, however, could not take too much more. Mack had already redlined it in a vain effort to render Thedrin assistance. He could hear the hiss of water being expended to cool the overheated pressure cookers down below.

Krickler's cannon boomed repeatedly, firing as fast as its reloading mechanism would allow. But this opponent was one who piloted a mech not only several times their size category, but sported a dense, stiff superstructure. From his periscope he could see his cannon balls bouncing off the torso. Headshots were no different. If he got lucky, he could scratch the tribal paint, but little else.

Then he saw something worse than the Iron Maiden itself. He flipped the switch for the internal com-channel. "We need to cut that chain now. Look at the shoulders."

Mack almost bites his tongue, "What? What is it Krickler? I'm busy trying to keep us from falling!"

Grimlock squints his eyes, "What are they doing?"

Mack focuses hard on the shoulders. Men are climbing out of hatches along the Iron Maiden's shoulders. He cannot see them in detail from here, but he is familiar enough with Irontooth tactics involving their Iron Maidens.

He spits, "Fekk. Boarders. Right. Cut the chain, cut the chain."

Krickler shouts, "YOU HAVE A FEKKING BUZZSAW. USE IT! USE IT!" The booming of the steam gun causes feedback on Krickler's end of the comcaster and it dies out for a moment as the entire mech lurches when the Iron Maiden gives them a particularly powerful tug. Mack pulls on some controls for the leg servos and once again saves them from falling.

As their opponent pulls insistently, it is slowly moving forwards, winding up the chain tentacle.

Red Zero swings its buzz saw in a wide arc. The spinning disc meets the steel chain in a shower of sparks that blind the crew momentarily, the tool's loud buzzing roars in their ears...

The chain rattles loudly as the saw eats away at it.

"One hundred and fifty meters." Krickler reports, ranging the Iron Maiden's distance from their mech.

Then, Red Zero's torso jerks backwards. Alarms go off due to the sudden weight shift. They are free. Mack's makes short work of balancing the old metal miner out. Working together with Grimlock, they arrange for Red Zero to assume a crudely defensive stance.

Krickler chimes in at this point, "Do you have anything against me shooting at boarder?"

Mack furrows his brows, but not in thought. He is focused, "Fire at will, boiler brain."

Next to him, a pressure valve under the control console bursts open, spraying Grimlock in the face with hot steam. The Cleric doesn't even care. He just pulls the throttle which increases the drill spinning speed.

Then Grimlock gets an idea.

>>13314651
I already used the reaction image that would be most appropriate here >>13314013 so I'll just use this one.

>>13314702
this would be more like it

Mark looks at me and says, "I summon a giant wasp."

There is silence at the table.

I didn't quite hear him, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I summon a giant wasp." He repeats, "And I send it after the boarders on the other guy's shoulders."

"How big are we talking here?"

"It's pretty big."

Me: "Like... Suzume Bachi big, or Donkey Kong big?"

"Donkey Kong big."

I think this over for a minute, my face is empty of emotion.

Grimlock smiles a little, "Hey Mack, watch this." He points an open palm at the cockpit windshield and shuts his eyes. He murmurs quietly to himself, then the sound of something organic buzzes outside. It's carapace yellow and black, a hard, deadly stinger at the ready. An adult giant wasp, freshly pulled from some celestial plane of Elysium, is inspired by the whispers of the incantation which brought it to this world. Luckily for Grimlock, the lunar rains are now soft. Only fog and dirt obscure their surroundings. The wasp is free to fly without danger from the harsh weather.

And so, off it goes, closing the distance between itself and the boarders of the Iron Maiden.

From where they sit, the three heroes can't see the reactions of the enemy boarders too well, but they can at least read body language from here.

A pair of men fall back behind the Iron Maiden's head while one tries to fend the giant insect off with a large sword. The Giant Wasp, irritated, stings him, the needle piercing his armour. He staggers backwards and falls seventy five feet. Whether he dies from the impact or the poison is anyone's guess.

"Bet it was the impact." Mack remarks.

"Psh. Poison, obviously." Argues Grimlock.

the ulitmate anti mech weapon BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ

Despite the flying pest that now buzzes around the shoulders of the Iron Maiden, this does nothing to stop the mech devil within from piloting the machine. It continues to advance.

"One hundred meters." Krickler reports. There is steel bang as another round is loaded into the cannon. He fires.

The steamborg manages to score hits this time. Despite the small targets the boarders preparing to jump ship present, one gets knocked off. He swivels the turret a little and continues to fire at other men, but many of the shots are too high, too low.

Meanwhile, Red Zero strides to meet this foe in melee combat.

"Fekk it." Swears Krickler. He jumps out of the gunner's seat and squeezes through the access tunnel, swinging the hatchway open. "I'm going to get some air. That cannon is useless in this fight, but I won't let myself be." He unlocks the reinforced door that sits against the back of the control bunker, steps outside, and shuts it behind him.

Grimlock watches him go for a moment, then adjusts the drill's controls to prepare a nice, hard, forward thrust. There's a gurgling noise in the left arm as a pressure tank fills.

Mack flips the control to automatically lock the bunker door. It cannot be locked from the outside.

Krickler looks around at the blurred bobbing landscape. Wind is whipping through his brown and silver beard as he runs his mechanical arm over his steel scalp. The other arm grips tightly onto a handle that sits right next to the door he just crawled out of.

He turns his head a little to look up and over Red Zero's sunken control bunker and sees the Iron Maiden looming ahead, its shoulders filling with boarders preparing to jump down onto their ride.

Fifty feet. Six seconds to impact.

"Krak-thum."

The voice command is recognized. His arm splits in half between his hand and elbow. Steel fingers fold up at the knuckles and tuck themselves neatly away into his wrist. Axe blades with a chrome shine pop into his carpal joints with a satisfying metallic clang. Serrated teeth, coated with a thin layer of acid, deploy from the edges of the blades while a secondary steam engine in his shoulder noisily growls to life.

He stares fiercely at the shadow of the titan that approaches.

The buzzsaw hungers.

"Bring it."

It is the noise of a thousand copper pipes being dropped down a rocky chasm. The cacophony of screeching industry being brought to a halt by a hundred wrenches in the gear works.

It is the sound of trains smashing.

It is the sound of steel thunder in an iron sky.

But above all, it is deafening.

The two mechs come together like a hammer to an anvil.

Red Zero is the first to swing, its buzzsaw striking true and biting into the shoulder plating of the Iron Maiden. Hot metal shards are cut from the armour as the larger machine fails to pull its body out of the way and a clean slice is made through its hard carapace. The force of the impact sends a tremor and not all of the Iron tooth boarders can hold on, so some elect to jump down onto the dwarven miner.

Some miss, but five make it. They cling to whatever they can grab onto. One hangs from the barrel of the miner's steam turret, another catches himself just in time on a large bolt in the hip joint. The rest successfully roll onto the flat surface of Red Zero's shoulders and the top of its control bunker.

Invigorated by the clean hit on the enemy by the pilot, Grimlock pulls a release control that makes the drill arm thrust straight and true towards the Iron Maiden's chest.

Then, in a motion too quick for something that large, the Iron Maiden swings its right arm up upwards, its palm open and at just the precise angle to deflect the spinning drill, slapping it away with no damage to its hand.

Its skull stares down at its courageous but impulsive foe. Mack and Grimlock sense the meaning of that stare as if the metal titan itself pronounced the words for its pilot.

"My turn."

The left arm raises high, the a second chain tentacle deploys from the wrist, but it does not extend fully. It internal engine stops unwinding after fifteen feet of chain is unraveled. It then brings its arm down, hard.

Red Zero buckles as the flail crashes into its top, but the mech weathers the hit nonetheless.

The Iron Maiden's right arm swings in low, digits clenched together in a fist. The torso of its target is left with a nice new dent in its hull.

Inside Red Zero, the punch is felt all too much by the crew. Their ears ring as if they had their heads inside a large brass bell struck by a steam driven hammer.

The first boarder staggers back. Before the life drains from his eyes, he is struggling to keep his entrails from spilling out of his gut. Krickler watches him for a moment, then turns away when he falls down Red Zero's spine.

Another comes at him. A dwarf this time. His leather armor will do him little favours, Krickler thinks. He swings vertically and misses the head, but splits the sternum open.

His buzzaxe gnaws angrily through bone and the dwarf screams. There's a hiss of acid eating at flesh before his dead weight pulls him from the blade of the steamborg's weapon.

The bang from the Iron Maiden's clean hit is ringing in his ears. He wants to turn to look, but he is too busy fending off the pests trying to get inside the cockpit. "What are you doing in there, Mack?" He asks aloud, though he knows the pilot won't hear him out here.

A shadow falls over him. He looks up in time to see the sword coming down onto his head, but is not fast enough to raise his axe to block it.

So he tilts his head to let the blade hit the spot between his shoulder and neck.

It is made of metal. The sword clangs against his body noisily.

"Nope." He states flatly.

Then he shows the man how to properly cut a trapezius.

"Vorel's blood! He deflected the attack! You never told me it was possible to do that!" Grimlock grumbles. He is adjusting the controls to ready another swing.

"It isn't." Mack answers. His hands are a blur as they move from a lever to a toggle to a switch. He is busy keeping the mech's balance in check while preparing to swing with the buzzsaw yet a second time. His face registers surprise for a brief moment when a wayward boarder climbs up the cockpit's window. The pilot and the Irontooth clansman exchange looks, then the boarder is gone.

"The Iron Maiden is piloted by a Mech Devil. They know how to deflect attacks. It's a very precise skill. I've watched them before. Seen one catch a cannon ball with his mech's hand. Fekking scary. I'm surprised we've held out this long already unless..."

"Unless?"

On the left shoulder of the Iron Maiden, someone falls off, clutching his chest. The giant wasp hovers in his place. It appears as if it is going to turn and attack more Iron Tooth when its body suddenly convulses, then falls. It assumes a fetal position as it plummets below.

Their discussion is cut short. To the right is a man wearing a red stained leather vest and a cap. He is hefting a very special looking heavy crossbow. He turns to look down at the cockpit of Red Zero.

Perception check.

"Vorel's blood! He deflected the attack! You never told me it was possible to do that!" Grimlock grumbles. He is adjusting the controls to ready another swing.

"It isn't." Mack answers. His hands are a blur as they move from a lever to a toggle to a switch. He is busy keeping the mech's balance in check while preparing to swing with the buzzsaw yet a second time. His face registers surprise for a brief moment when a wayward boarder climbs up the cockpit's window. The pilot and the Irontooth clansman exchange looks, then the boarder is gone.

"The Iron Maiden is piloted by a Mech Devil. They know how to deflect attacks. It's a very precise skill. I've watched them before. Seen one catch a cannon ball with his mech's hand. Fekking scary. I'm surprised we've held out this long already unless..."

"Unless?"

On the left shoulder of the Iron Maiden, someone falls off, clutching his chest. The giant wasp hovers in his place. It appears as if it is going to turn and attack more Iron Tooth when its body suddenly convulses, then falls. It assumes a fetal position as it plummets below.

Their discussion is cut short. To the right is a man wearing a red stained leather vest and a cap. He is hefting a very special looking heavy crossbow. They can see it is equipped with a repeating mechanism and an autoloader.

He turns to look down at the cockpit of Red Zero.

(Forgive me for the double post above, I am getting sleepy and will slumber soon.)

"That guy is a boss isn't he." Peter asks.

"Sure looks like it." Arthur answers.

Mark looks pensive.

Holstering his ranged weapon, he puts a dagger in his teeth and unsheathes a hook sword, which he raises in the air before leaping across the gap between the Iron Maiden and Red Zero. Three men jump with him. He aims directly for Mack's side of the windshield. The glass screams as the hook leaves a nice, long scratch in its surface.

But the skill with which he hooks himself into the knee of their mech identifies him as a man who is not to be taken lightly. He begins climbing, and unlike his compatriots, he isn't slow about it.

Mark, "Definitely a boss."

Peter, "Oh yeah. Crap. Hope you're ready, Krickler."

Arthur cracks his knuckles, "Bring it."

Mark looks at me, then, pretending to be Grimlock, he looks down the front torso from inside the windshield.

"Can I see down our front?"

Me: "... Yes. What are you planning?"

Mark: "Where is he right now?"

"Left hip joint, making his way to the left side of the torso. Why?"

Mark: "I summon a monstrous centipede."

I'm shrugging. Whatever. It's a big centipede, medium size. Not a problem for this guy, he can take it.

Mark, "And I have the centipede grapple him."

Me: "..."

>>13316440
>>13316258
Shit just got real!

Madek grumbles to himself. He missed hooking himself onto the edge of this strange walker's cockpit. Won't do that again. Will not do that again.

He had to be careful though. Where did that giant wasp come from that was had attacked his mech?

The sound of metal thunder rang in his ears as the two mechs traded blows. He was deafened to it now, though. This was just another day on the job for him.

He stopped for a moment. Wait. Did this mech have a wizard in it? Oh bugger all, that was the last thing he fekking needed. He---

Suddenly, two sounds which did not belong in a battle between steam powered walkers and boarders happened. The first was a slurping, breathy sucking noise, like air suddenly being filled in.

The next thing he heard was a hiss so deep that it cut through his body.

What the heck was that?

He looked up and saw something he never thought he would see on a mech. Blocking his way further up the torso was the coiled up carapace of a fifteen foot long black and orange centipede. Its front end suddenly turned to him and rose up.

He saw the mandibles for a moment, then movement so quick that it registered as a fuzzy smear across his vision.

The insect wrapped tightly around his body and bit his shoulder. He felt the venom going through his body and knew he would not be able to hold on much longer.

So he let go. His free and still functional arm took the machete from his mouth, stabbing the insect as they fell together.

He roared, "FEKKING WIIIZAAARRDS!"

And wasn't seen again.

Applause from Arthur and Peter. "Nice grapple roll mark."

Mark bows modestly, "Thanks."

And now. Now I must sleep.

The writefag in me tires. Good night, elegan/tg/entlemen and excellen/tg/als.

I will continue tomorrow.

>>13316656
Grimlock just fucking won at Dragonmech. Seriously, this kind of shit is the reason I love my players sometimes. They'll come up with solutions that are half magical and half common sense. Boarders on your mech? Drop a fucking summon on their head!

bump to keep alive.

Bumping awesome thread full of awesome whilst toasting in epic bread.

(Glædelig Jul for recognition, Avalon)

Gentlemen, I live again.

How are you all doing? Enjoying yourselves? Got a cup of tea and some biscuits to enjoy while I continue this project and see it to the end (I like Earl Grey or English Breakfast myself with some butter on a raisin scone).


I say the following not with a boasting tone, but as a promise to my faithful audience.

You best hold onto your britches. They're about to get blown off.

Apologies to the ladies, I greet you as well, if there are any in my audience.

Never know when you're on the web.

Now, to get on with the adventure.

Despite being hammered hard, Red Zero manages to give little ground to its larger opponent. As time passes, more boarders start to line themselves up along the shoulders of the Iron Maiden, a third group among potentially many others that still wait inside the Iron Tooth titan.

The torso quakes in the aftermath of another hit from the humanoid looking machine. It had straightened its fingers and thrust the digits straight at mining walker's damaged right shoulder. There's the sound like a nail being driven through steel as the steel spearhead which had always remained there is driven in further. The walker's cockpit jinks hard with the blow.

Somewhere inside Red Zero, a pipe relay fails. Scalding hot vapor fills the cockpit, spraying from metal grills on the floor. Mack is thankful for his pilot's armour, but he feels his face burning. He ignores the burns.

Next to him, Grimlock swears about something relating to Tiamat's ass, but the words are lost over the noise created by a minor system failure.

"What?" Shouts Mack, he thought he heard something on the comcaster.

"We can't take another one like that, sir! We just lost one of our main piston rods! Rerouting power away from the disabled cylinder now, but it'll take a minute." Ragnar says, the noise on his end of the comcaster nearly drowns his voice out.

Mack pulls a lever to raise the buzzsaw arm. Despite the action, the limb doesn't respond. The cutting tool spins nevertheless, operating under its own power. "Fekk it all! Grimlock!" The pilot calls to the gunner next to him, his voice desperate.

Grimlock is adjusting the controls for the drill arm. He does have an idea, but it'll take some doing. He has just enough experience to swing and thrust a mech's limb, but something like this.

"Hold on, hold on. Mack, torso, lean it back a little." Grimlock twists one of the controls, causing the drill arm to pull back.

Mack doesn't question the request. There's a thud as Red Zero takes a step back enough to get some space between itself and the Iron Maiden, which steps forward in order to ensure it doesn't lose its target.

Boarders who had leaped at that moment off the Iron Maiden were caught by surprise by the widened gap between them and their target. They fall out of sight with a collective cry of surprise.

One of them does make it. He rolls on the roof of the command bunker. They hear him scream a moment later as a buzzaxe bites into his waist.

"How many has he killed now?" Mack asks, suddenly realizing that over eight boarders have succeeded in getting onto their mech, but with no success in getting into it.

Grimlock shrugs, "Do you really think I'm counting? Ask him later!"

As the Iron Maiden steps forward, Red Zero's drill arm thrusts ahead with an upward arc. It isn't quite an uppercut since the mining walker's arms are not quite that dexterous. The spinning point of the mass borer is aimed at its opponent's head.

The Mech Devil sees this. His right arm raises to deflect it, but he judges the angle necessary to do so perfectly incorrectly. The rock auger's course shifts away from the Iron Maiden's head to the center-right of its torso.

The sound produced by the meeting of this weapon against the maiden's chassis is not unlike a drill meeting a tooth.

Because their enemy was stepping forwards, the hundred ton weight keeps carrying it into the hard bite of the tool. It eats through the chest armor, with difficulty at first, then there's a clang as it pierces through.

The Mech Devil is not stupid. Though it takes him a while to get his mech to respond, the Iron Maiden steps back.

A clean hole has been carved into his torso, large enough for a head to be shoved through.

Grimlock snorts when he sees the surprised face of a crewman looking through the hole. He disappears immediately after.

Despite the hole, the Iron Maiden doesn't seem to notice it.

In the fog over its left shoulder, Grimlock and Mack can see shadows moving around. A Stenian mech makes an appearance. It is another Lancer, leveling its head cannon at the Iron Maiden.

When it open fires, their opponent does not even turn to face the new threat. They see why.

The shots have no effect. Cannon balls fall to the ground as they bounce off the plating that shields the target walker's back.

And as soon as that friend appears, it is soon chased away.

Three Iron Tooth walkers charge forwards from the north east. A pair of Barbagulas and a Fangbiter. When the Lancer sees them make their approach, it swings and heads west, trying to find support.

When the four disappear into the haze, explosions are heard soon after.

Mack, "I'm not sure if we're going to win this one..." More boarders are lining the other mech's hsoulder. "We need to slow those boarders down or slow that mech down."

I can see Mark is thinking.

Mark is rubbing his chin now. Arthur makes some rolls for Krickler as he boots a pair of boarders off the back of Red Zero.

Mark looks at me then, "How big is the hole on the Iron Maiden's chest?"

Me: "The hole is big enough for someone to stick their head through. As you pull the drill away, you see a face briefly, it has a surprised expression before disappearing."

Mark: "So I can see into the mech right? To be able to cast a spell?"

Me: "Er... Spot check."

Mark: *Roll. Success.*

Me: "Yeah, you see into it. What of it?"

Mark: "I summon a bear into the enemy mech."

There is a second of silence.

Then Arthur and Peter shout in unison, "OH GOD YES."

My reaction: "WHAAAAT!!?"

Pictured: My face as I exclaim my surprise.

Cheering. Roars of applause.

Me: "...I want two goddamn concentration checks from you. One to cast and one to aim."

Mark lifts his d20, and casts it onto the table.

He succeeds and he fails.

A furry shape materializes onto the Iron Maiden's left shoulder. Ethereal smoke rises from its ichor coloured fur, a leftover from the conjuring powers that brought it here. The creature grunts in surprise as it sees is it out of its element. It feels the cold steel under its paws and the world around it rocking with the movement of ground it stood on.

It takes a second to look around, chuffing hot breath from its nose. Not far from it, a man stands, his attention and the attention of the dwarf next to him locked firmly on the giant, headless metal looking colossus ahead of them.

A voice rings in its mind from that giant. "Get them."

Somewhere else, a voice screams, "BEEEAAAR!"

The Dwarf turns to see, his expression one of disbelief that is immediately corrected when he sees the black bear. His eyes almost pop out of their sockets from shock.

"F-" is all the bearded humanoid manages before being pawed away. He tumbles away like a doll off the Iron Maiden's shoulder disappears into the dust kicked up by movement of the feet below.

The man turns to see his fellow boarder plummet, then his eyes turn to the creature.

He decides he'll take his chances jumping blindly instead.

The black bear watches as he leaps away and misses catching onto the other machine. There's a crunch of bone as he bounces off the hull.

The bear grunts as pain lances from its hind quarters. It turns its head to see a crossbow bolt stuck to its rump. There is a red stick tied to it and a string from the stick crackles with light.

ANTI MECH WEAPONRY: BEARS AND BEEEESS

I like how this guy thinks!

Unimpressed, the bear breaks the bolt off with its teeth and tosses it away. There's an explosion a few seconds later. The animal is silhouetted by the flash.

It roars when the flash dies.

The crossbowman who fired the shot gets mauled a moment later.

His screams are heard over the sounds of all combat.

Grimlock looks on proudly as the freshly summoned creature attacks enemy boarders before they have a chance to properly prepare themselves to jump onto Red Zero.

Mack laughs, "Nice one."

Grimlock grins, "Eye for an eye, eh? They board us, we board them. Meant to put the bear inside though."

Their mech jars as it is hit again. The sound of screeching metal is heard in response. The buzzsaw arm had been brought back online and Mack was busy wailing it on the enemy mech, who now sported many new straight scars, particularly on the stylized, spike skull it carried for a head. "Give him a black eye." Mack says.

"What?" There's a crash as the drill is shoved between the Iron Maiden's arm and torso. Sparks fly as metal is scratched by the teeth that cover the drill's spiral.

"The uppercut you tried earlier. Again." Mack starts arranging the controls to prepare the maneuver."

"Sure. I hope we hit him this time though."

A boarder jumps onto Red Zero's left shoulder. He is in view of the two sitting in the cockpit. He looks at the cockpit a moment and pulls something out of a satchel he is carrying before climbing down the front of the torso.

Suddenly the Iron Maiden is no longer aiming its attacks against their chest.

"What the hell is he doing?" Grimlock and Mark ask me.

Peter frowns, "Oh no."

Me, holding my hand out like I'm handling something heavy. "Spot check, Grimlock."

Success.

I smirk a little, "In his hand he is holding a large metal object. It is a metallic bowl capped by some kind of mechanism with a dial on it. After he finds purchase on Red Zero's chest by holding onto some exposed rivets, he slams the device onto the plating where it sticks. Then he salutes the cleric before letting himself fall."

Mark, "He just falls? Won't he die?"

Peter, "He's obviously trained for the specific purpose of... Oh. That's a magnet bomb, isn't it."

I nod.

Peter, "Crap crap crap."

Grimlock furrows his brows, "Uh, Mack?" He slumps back into his seat. "That guy just put something on our front."

Mack is too busy piloting to look, "Probably a magnet bomb." He says, his brows furrowed as he swings the buzzsaw again.

Grimlock is panicking, "How do we remove it!?"

Mack, "Can't. Krickler could, but he's busy at the back."

Grimlock, "Then let's slam him and try to take him with us!" He insists.

Mack shakes his head, "Won't work. Won't fekking work. Shaped charge. All that damage we've already gotten to our torso - when it blows, it'll open us up like grapeshot to a can of paint."

The engine roars below them. Excess smoke from the billow chambers and the stacks flow over the windshield for a moment.

"We either blind him now, or start drawing sticks to decide who gets to defend the hatch to the boiler room. Hint? Not gunna be me."

The Steamborg swears under his breath. His parts were well greased before, and they still are, but not by oil.

He shakes his buzzaxe a little to free it of some of the offal that has covered it. He tried to be clean, he really did, but his axe was hungry today. The area he had spent the last ... how long has it been? Half an hour? An hour? Whatever. It looked like a blood soaked butcher's shop.

He would wipe the blood from his face but he did not want to let go of the handle that gave him a stable foundation from which to fight. Each time the iron titans hit one another, the resulting quake that ran through the hull was enough to topple him.

Thankfully, he never did. Others did though.

He realized then that crossbow bolts dotted his left leg. He turned to see a boarder, trying to draw a bead on his head but it was difficult because of the churning monsters they fought on.

"That won't work." Krickler said. For the first time since the battle began, he grinned. It was almost psychotic in nature. His steel teeth flashed in the light of a sun he could not see.

He let go of the handle and charged. Bolts flew past his head and he brought the axe up from a downward swing, cleaving the crossbowman in two.

Inside the cockpit, Grimlock and Mack were ready to try the maneuver.

"Let's do this."

Mack sent a call down to the boiler room. "Ragnar! I want you to vent a quarter of the water in our cooling tanks and rout the resulting steam through the vents on the left arm. Do it now!"

"W-what?" Came the uncertain reply.

"JUST DO IT!"

"Y-y-yes sir! Immediately sir!" The sound of rattling wood could be heard as the young dwarf left the receiver hanging."

Mack counted a few seconds. He hoped he could time this right.

Red Zero's drill arm sags suddenly. The tool does not stop spinning, but it appears as if something damaged early on in the battle finally gave out from having to support such a heavy mining implement all battle. Boiling vapors are ejected from vents built under the plating of the left pauldron.

Seeing this, the Iron Maiden parries a swing from the buzzsaw arm. It loses a finger from its hand for the trouble, but the Mech Devil inside is hungry to capitalize on Red Zero's moment of weakness.

It readies both of its arms, the chain tentacle retracting back into its home in the wrist, and swings with a 50 ton left hook.

But as it does this, Red Zero's left arm comes back to life. The vents are shut and the buzzing drill comes to bear, lifting the spiraling tip higher and higher.

Its opponent hesitates a moment, its left hook cannot stop, so it raises its right hand to try and deflect the drill.

It fails spectacularly.

The drill bites tip first into the Iron Maiden's right wrist. There's a mechanical cry as the hand comes apart and is devoured. Shrapnel flies, some of it bounces off of the hide of the black bear which skirmishes still with the few boarders which remain crowded on the right shoulder.

Red Zero's thrust goes on uninterrupted. From inside, the Mech Devil watches as an iron corkscrew fills his vision, then the optics go black.

Steel screams. The hungry adamantium spiral bores its way into the Iron Maiden's skull. Shrapnel flies from the enemy walker's cranium. It turns its face away, but this only causes more devastation.

A klaxon goes off somewhere inside the brained goliath. For the first time during this entire battle, its hull visibly shudders, and it takes a step back.

Red Zero holds its position and its thrusting pose. The bore still spins, sending parts, bent pipes and mangled superstructure caught in the teeth careening freely in a shower of metal detritus.

Then, the bomb goes off.

Mack squints, smoke momentarily clouds the vision of the cockpit windshield. He cannot see the Iron Tooth mech they had just maimed, and since he did not hear the sound of 130 tons of iron and steel crash to the earth, he assumes their enemy still stands.

A shadow climbs down the windshield, heading for the opening in Red Zero's chest.

That is when the door swings open. Krickler slams it shut behind him. He climbs unceremoniously over Grimlock and nearly kicks Mack in the face, almost cutting him with the axe blade too.

"What the fekking hell?" Shouts Mack, "Get off of me, boiler brain!"

But the insult isn't heard. Krickler has already gone down the hatch to the empty deck below them.

Grimlock is soaked with blood that he knows isn't his own, "Yuck." Is the only thing he can manage right now, but when he looks up, his jaw comes open a little. "Uh. I do not think he liked that."

Mack is yelling, "Well I didn't like it either! I outta shove my foot up his-"

Grimlock shuts the pilot up, "No, I meant HIM!"

Mack turns to look out the clear glass.

The Iron Maiden's skull, despite all the damage, is slowly turning to face them again. Its right half is no longer recognizable as anything else other than twisted slag and exposed pipes.

The steamborg hits the metal floor with a heavy clank. The room is lit by the new hole that had been blown in the front of the torso.

Towards the spine, kneeling over the hatch to the boiler room, is the last remaining boarder.

He is so busy placing a second magnet bomb on the door that he does not see the half ton of mechanical dwarf crash into his side. The man is crushed against the wall and he falls, but he is quick to get back to his feet again. After slipping around Krickler, he draws a sword. The bomb ticks away behind the steamborg.

"Where is he standing, precisely?" Arthur asks.

"He's about five feet from the opening that the boarders made earlier."

Arthur grins, "Bull rush!" and casts his die.

>>13318851
F5 DOES NOTHING

Krickler crosses the distance between him and the boarder, his shoulder lowered. The Iron Tooth warrior swings his sword in a downward slicing arc, but the steamborg doesn't even flinch. The blade bites into his scalp and stops when it comes into contact with his metal skull.

Krickler's weight wins in the test of strength that comes after the sword swing. He doesn't even feel winded. The boarder is sent flying back out from whence he came.

He is about to go back up the ladder to resume defense of the cockpit door, when he sees a hand clinging to a bent panel in the chest wound.

He walks to the edge, looking down. There's the boarder, clinging. He was trying to get back in before Krickler appeared. Now he is still.

They stare at each other in silence.

"I-I don't want to fall." He says, wanting to break the silence.

"You don't want to come up here either." The Steamborg answers. His buzzaxe growls.

The boarder hesitates, fighting the fear that fills him the way an ocean fills a cup. Perhaps he can survive the drop.

He lets go.

Krickler waits a moment, turns and tears the ticking magnet bomb from the closed boiler room gate.

He spends a few seconds to disable the thing. It stops clicking in his hands.

When he climbs back up into the cockpit, Mack looks at him angrily.

"Where did you fekking rush off to in such a hurry?"

The heavy bomb is dropped into the pilot's lap.

"Took out the trash."

Krickler slams the cockpit door behind him as he resumes his post.

The Iron Maiden stands still, staring at Red Zero frozen in its attack pose.

It lifts its right arm, the empty black socket of its left eye stares where its hand used to be. The skull tilts ever so slightly as smoke rises from the twisted wreckage that is the stump of its wrist.

Then it looks past that at Red Zero. Despite the inability for metal to convey emotion, rage emanates from the Iron Tooth colossus like a miasma.

Of course, that could also be the steam rising from its shoulders as the Mech Devil overloads his walker's many boilers.

The machine begins walking forwards once more. Great white clouds rise from the vents on its shoulders in increasing volume and frequency as it picks up speed.

It does not raise its arms.

Grimlock gulps.

Mack's muscles grow tense, "Brace for impact!"

The Iron Maiden stood so tall that even when it tackled the dwarven mining mech, its upper torso and neck were left unmarked by the impact.

But the jarring momentum of that massive machine crashing into an opponent which has vexed it for too long caused the Cleric's furry charge to lose its footing. The black bear slid off the shoulder and scratched as the smooth armour along the upper right plating covering the Iron Maiden's chest.

It only found purchase when it hooked its paw into the small hole that Grimlock had made with the drill earlier.

Clutching tightly to that makeshift handle, the bear roared. There was a moment where it locked eyes with a crewman inside the Iron Tooth giant.

Crossbow bolts sung in the air as they raced by the creature. It could not attack the men firing on it, so it took its rage out on the passing crewmen within, swiping at them.

It yelped as a bolt struck its shoulder.

Mark, "As Grimlock watches his bear fall and cling to the enemy mech, he frowns, his voice creasing with worry." My player makes a motion with his arm, hand stretched out. "He unsummons the bear. It has earned rest."

Peter lifts a brow, "Points, man. Very in character decision. Unsummoning it before it gets shot up so much that it dies."

There is the sound of a vacuum being filled by air. The crossbowmen who had been firing on the bear exchange looks, then look towards the enemy mech. They load up some special rounds and prepare to bombard the enemy mech with dynamite armed bolts.

They never get their chance to open fire.

Mack is swearing, Grimlock is holding his head. They both received a great deal of whiplash from having well over a hundred tons come smashing into their mech at the greatest speed it could muster in the two hundred feet between them and it.

"Ragnar? Are you okay?" Mack calls out. He hoped their engineer wasn't thrown around too much.

The comcaster is silent.

"Shit." He waves his hands as steam blasts out of the console in front of them. A few of the buttons and lights have come loose. His leg is sore from hitting a lever next to his seat. The lever itself is bent.

Their hull is still ringing from the impact.

The Iron Maiden comes at them again, this time it lifts its damaged arm up and angles the wreckage of its right hand directly at their cockpit.

"Fekk, fekk, fekk, Grimlock! GRIMLOCK!"

The Cleric's heart is thudding as hard as Red Zero's engine is laboring. He can hear his own blood rushing through his ears while his hands are a flurry of motion. The servos in the drill arm groan as the heavy weapon is raised to finish the job on the arm it had damaged earlier.

But Red Zero is too slow to meet the arm. Like a slow train, Mack and Grimlock watch from within the cockpit as the pylon of broken metal, bent pipes and exposed maintenance hatchways pushes through the air to the windshield of the very cockpit they are sitting it.

I roll my d20 for the Iron Maiden.

The result makes my heart skip. My eyes widen in horror and I whisper, "Oh shit."

There is a hush around the as they see my expression. They fear the worst. The image of the party dying as the cockpit is crushed over their heads no doubt flashes through their minds.

I quietly wave for Peter to come and look.

He gets out of his seat and looks behind the screen.

Natural 1.

FUCKING CLIFFHANGEERS, HOW DO THEY WORK!!!


OH MY GOD I NEED TO GET TO BED, OP, I CAN'T STAND IT, YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD!!

Mack keeps his eyes open. He is going to stare death in the face. Next to him, Grimlock is saying his rites of passage for everyone in the mech.

The impact is jarring. Red Zero buckles under the weight being pressed down on its top, but it holds. It was designed to withstand falling rocks in underground cave ins, so it can take being punched in the face by some two-bit ham-fisted clanner.

As the broken wrist fills, then finally smashes into the window, the Iron Maiden's forearm splits apart at its center. The structure that holds that part of the limb together spread open. Steel beams, armor plating, pipes, and cables all twist and flower apart like a horrifying mechanical bloom from a coglayer's worst nightmare.

Blood smears across the windshield as a crewman sitting inside the limb's maintenance shaft is caught in the wreckage and squished like a grape.

Scalding hot steam blasts the windshield soon after, cleansing the red fluid away, as a major pipe carrying the artificial lifeblood of the Iron Tooth titan bursts open, spraying its opponent like an arterial spray.

There's a loud clang as the arm stops moving when the elbow contacts Red Zero's command bunker.

Though neither of them can see it, the two crewmen in the metal miner hear the booming report of a boiler rupture in the enemy walker. The loud turbines inside the Iron Maiden audibly begin to spin down as the mech loses power and freezes in place.

There is silence around the table. Mark and Peter look at one another.

Peter is the first one to say what I believe they were both thinking.

"Coup de grace with the drill." Peter says.

"This is the drill that will pierce the heavens." Mark gasps.

Arrangements are made. Mack has to succeed a piloting check to position the mech properly while they are blinded. Grimlock has to succeed an attack roll.

They both cast their dice simultaneously. Stillness hangs as plastic rolls against wood.

Grimlock rolls a 16.
Mack rolls a 20.

>>13320993
So much epic win in this story.

> ...drill that will pierce the heavens

i am so fucking SICK of hearing that fucking overused retarded asspie catchphrase.

it is not awesome. it is not inspiring. it is not profound. at one point you thought it was, and perhaps by general consensus it truly was, but that point has passed. let it die.

>>13321114
Haters gonna hate.

>>13321142
Speaking of overused retarded asspie catchphrases....

Mack looks to his compatriot, "Want the knockout punch?" He asks with a smirk. He has to yell over the crying glass as the metal rubs against it.

Grimlock doesn't even look at Mack, "Swing the torso." He says. His hands are busy releasing the safeties that keep the drill from spinning at speeds which could throw off the mining mech's center of gravity. "Time to bring him down."

There is a clacking noise as the cogs inside the gearbox of the mass borer rearrange. Something metallic rings as a safety is released. The deep droning of the drill steadily increases in frequency until it becomes a high pitched whirring noise, like a screaming tornado.

Those observing from the exterior can see that the drill has begun to spin at such speeds that the whirlwind created by its rotations cause the floating particles of lunar dust to twist around the tool. The reflective qualities of the dust make the drill flash in the sunlight with a blinding strobe effect. Soon, the flashing is too quick. Now, the drill glows silver.

The arm thrusts forward and the weapon it wields cleaves into the belly of the Iron Maiden like it isn't even there. Red Zero's elbow servos raise the tip as it punches into the other machine, while its torso carefully dips forward a little and swings with the drill arm, turning the thrust into an honest, true, clean uppercut.

The Iron Maiden's crumbling frame screams with steel agony as is split open. The drill tip finds purchase by boring under the chest plating and eating its way up between the collarbones. Finally, it ascends through the throat and erups from the top of the neck, where the metal skull explodes, not because of the drill, but because of a secondary boiler explosion near the spine. The pressure is too much for the damaged pipe systems inside the head to handle, so it blows apart in a shower of wreckage.

Like a decapitated body jetting arterial blood, steam guysers from what's left of the Iron Maiden's neck.

It takes almost a full thirty seconds for the 75 foot tall titan to collapse. Secondary explosions cause more chaff and detritus to rise from its neck and drop out of its chest. What remains of its crew abandon ship.

The machine crashes to the ground. Despite the loss of several secondary boilers, its engine still growls with life.

Color that salvage.

Peter, "Wait. What do you mean its engines are still working?"

I show them the critical hit chart, "Boiler rupture from the critical fail. 1d4 rounds where the mech is completely immobile."

Arthur nods, "Yeah, we got that."

I continue, "The other effect was a secondary boiler explosion. It deals a lot of internal damage, but it does not actually affect systems."

Mark, "So... you're saying..."

I show them the Iron Maiden's character sheet and the sheet of paper I was using to record its damage with.

"The fuck." One of them says. "All that and it's only just NOW under half HP?"

"Technically, the Iron Maiden has 750 health points, but you started fighting it when it had 450. A battle has been going on and the fight with Thedrin's mech really did a number on it."

"So, if we had run into it before Thedrin..."

I chuckled, "Yep."

"...Fuck." Peter exclaims. He looks at Mark, "You need to board it."

Mark, "What? Why me? And why board it at all?"

Peter, "Because someone needs to hold a gun to his head in case the pilot decides to come back for a second round, because I'm more help at the controls of a mech, and because we have a right to take prisoners. The Hawks will want one of their best pilots back so if we can take that pilot alive we can arrange for ransom."

Arthur has been silent all this time. He speaks then, "Krickler is going to go check out The Ace's mech."

Mack exchanges seats with Grimlock. Assuming the controls of the drill, he re-engages the safeties and levels the spinning tool at the center of the Iron Maiden's chest.

Grimlock, before leaving, heads down to the Red Zero's engine room. The place is a deafening roar of coolant pumps, huffing billows and gurgling pressure cookers. He ducks under a pipe with a rupture in it, a jet of steam hisses out. "Ragnar? Are you okay?"

The youth crawls up from the level below Grimlock. "Aye sir. Did... did we win? I can't tell if the banging I hear in my ears is real or just shock from the battle." He rubs his ears a little, "Ow..."

The Cleric gives him a pat on the back, "We're not sure yet. I'm about to head over to the mech we just brought down. We think it has the leader of this raid in it. Hang tight here, alright? Keep the old miner in good shape for when I get back."

The kid gives him a salute, soot getting knocked out of his hair. He was busy shoveling coal before Grimlock came along.

Breathing deeply, both a sigh of relief and also to enjoy the fresh air, the Cleric stretches his arms as he steps out of the command bunker door. There's blood everywhere and the corpse of a badly chopped boarder. "Krickler? Where are you?" He asks aloud. The Steamborg is nowhere to be found, so Grimlock steps up on top of the cockpit roof and looks around.

North by north east. There he is. He is jogging towards the remains of Thedrin's Scale Hunter, no doubt to look for survivors. A good idea, Grimlock thinks.

He turns to look down on the iron giant that he had worked hard with Mack to take down. Iron Tooth clansmen were still piling out of it.

He climbs down Red Zero using the rope tied to the right shoulder and conjures up a centipede, commanding it to slither down the Iron Maiden's open throat. He can see its body worming around for a moment as it tries to find an opening, but one is found nonetheless and it disappears.

Grimlock elects to enter a different way altogether.

As he approaches the metal body, he draws his special weapon, the hooked blade in one hand, the rope attached to the handle in the other. The machine's crew are stumbling or walking past, some with looks of remorse in their eyes, others anger. All are slouched somewhat submissively. They give him no trouble. They know they have lost.

He begins to search for an access hatch and finds one near the center of the right thigh. It was left open by the crew. In he goes.

Like a train, Krickler chugs steadily onwards towards the rising pillar of black smoke ahead. He can see the flames from here.

It takes him about five minutes to reach what's left of Thedrin's Scale Hunter. Its auto-loaded ballista is snapped at the bow, the auto-loading mechanism pulled apart. The massive, hydraulic powered claw that caps the end of the left arm has been torn at the hinge. Though the weapon will be salvageable, the arm it was linked to will not.

The scale hunter is such a mess now that there is no easy way in. There are no obvious hatches. Those are structural weak points that are exploited by the jaws of Lunar Dragons, and as a result, entry into such a mech is limited.

He sees someone stooped over the wreckage that spills out from the torn armor on the Scale Hunter's bicep. Rods thicker than most trees that are part of the pneumatic muscles which move the limb are exposed to the elements. The figure is sifting through the fallen structural beams and smashed armor plating.

Krickler approaches to see what he is doing. He is silent, save for the murmur of the internal steam engine in his chest. He folds his buzz-axe back up.

It is a crewman. His uniform sports two marks of identification. The gear and axe on his left shoulder identifies him as a military engineer, Odhum rank. He would have reported directly to Thedrin.

The man is trying to move a steel beam. He is failing.

He turns when he senses Krickler's presence. Tears are streaming down his eyes, and he stammers when he speaks, "T-theres a m-maintenance hatch under this... this rubble. Not a lot of us m-made it out and when we f-fell..."

Krickler quietly comes over. The crewman moves out of the way immediately.

His engine is no longer silent as he exerts himself to move the one and a half ton steel beam. The metal groans against his insistence but it does not move.

"Fekk it." He growls. The buzz-axe folds out and he hammers at the steel beam until it is cut in half. Then he shoves aside the two pieces and uses one hand to move scrap away from the bulkhead into which the hatch is fastened.

He pulls on it and, after a moment of resistance, it pops open. He looks over his shoulder, "Stay." He snaps at the shaking crewman.

Then, he begins his search for the Ace.

Me: "What's Mack up to while all this happens?"

Peter shrugs, "I'm just watching the Iron Maiden. Keeping the drill leveled at the chest."

I nod. I'm about to go back to the other two players when Peter asks me a question.

"So, what's going on with regard to the rest of the battle?"

I purse my lips a bit to think. "Well, you can hear over the comcaster that what's left of the lance are asking similar questions while phoning in their own reports. Mainly crew casualties, internal and external damages. Everyone is just trying to find each other."

Peter: "The enemy?"

Me: "What's left of the Iron Tooth force is currently in retreat, disappearing into the lunar haze that still clings to the surface of the valley. Above you, you can see the shimmering white disc of the sun as it fights to get some light through the mercury clouds. There's a lot of confusion being voiced by the rest of the Stenian lance but you seem to have driven back the Iron Tooth forces and secured victory."

He frowns, "Any word of Thedrin?"

I shake my head, "No. His mech went silent the moment it exploded and fell."

Peter is silent for a few seconds before he asks, "Then who's in charge?"

I suppress a smile. "That's the funny thing. Some of the Stenian pilots are trying to get your attention to ask for orders. It looks like you are for now."

Mack's eyes are drawn to the left of the windshield, looking east. The Lancer which had been chased away by the three smaller Iron Tooth mechs re-emerges from the fog. It is heavily damaged, its lance bent at the tip, the head-cannon blown open. The scars of changlers mark its chassis.

"He managed to fight all three of them off?" Peter asks me.

A Stenian Juggernaught, painted blue and white, and bearing similar scars as the Lancer, marches up behind its lance-mate. They are both still now, looking down the small hill from which they stand, down at Red Zero and its fallen opponent.

Scattered around them are crewmen from both factions.

Mack gives an order after picking up the receiver of the comcaster, "Start rounding up prisoners. Put them together in one area and I want a few of you on guard duty until we can figure out what to do next."

The other Stenian pilots comply. Non-essential crewmen disembark and begin the process of collecting the grounded retreating Iron Tooth forces.

Still-functional juggernaughts are selected for the task of guard-duty assistance. Their flame throwers serve the job to keep the prisoners from deciding to make any stupid decisions.

This... is... MARY-SUUUUUUEE!!

Fifteen minutes.

Grimlock spent the last fifteen minutes trawling his way through claustrophobic maintenance halls and tight access ways. A mech was a lot bigger from within once you were forced to crawl around its innards to find a single person.

Despite the fact that it felt completely abandoned, Grimlock had conjured up three more animals to search the rest of the mech. Though he had never met or fought one of these 'Mech Devils' before, their reputation preceded them in many ways, almost all of them intimidating, and all of them suggesting that such a pilot was as deadly out of the cockpit chair as when strapped in it.

It was the remembering of that reputation which made him will the animal escorts back to his side.

Because the Iron Maiden had fallen, walls were now cielings and floors, while the floors and cielings had become walls.

Up above him, in the dark, sixteen sets of red eyes hungrily watched their master. A pair of giant spiders, skittering quietly. Their webbing would be useful if the Mech Devil decided to take up arms.

At his left side, a giant centipede.

With time, Grimlock eventually finds his way to the Iron Maiden's command deck, at a strange angle with control consoles and crew chairs on one wall. What should be the ceiling was now in front of him.

A larger mech has a larger control center - there are at least five separate seats here. All are empty, all part of a station for some important system in the mech. Weapons, engineering, internal diagnostics, secondary engineering... Tertiary engineering? Complicated engine. Too much for Grimlock.

Where was the Pilot's chair?

He heard the sound of hard mandibles teething against metal. It was like listening to a nail gently tap on glass.

It took him a moment to locate the source. The centipede he had sent in through the throat on a mission to find the pilot was now nibbling at the steel wheel set into a door. The bulkhead which held the portal was cylindrical.

Ah. The Mech Devil likes to be separate from the rest of the crew so he can focus on just piloting the thing.

He stepped forward, shooing off the giant insect to open the door himself. It was locked.

Me, "You can hear the hatch give off a sound of iron lament as it resists your attempts to break it."

Mark rolls a few more times. Then he grumbles, "Screw it. I get my animals to start hammering on it."

Me, "Before they touch the door, the wheel on the hatch spins slowly."

Grimlock feels his chest tighten as he watches the wheel spin clockwise. The clinking sound of gears and a toothed bar can be heard as the locking braces inside the bulkhead slide from the strike plate.

The sounds and the spinning of the wheel remind him of a clock.

He steps back, draws his animal companions with him. The centipedes remain at his side, but he wills the spiders into positions of stealth. There are dark corners for the to exploit.

He feels like it takes forever, but the door finally opens. The hinges squeal. The door does not quite fit in them anymore. Despite the darkness here, some lights still flicker in the command room, but they aren't necessary for Grimlock, whose dwarven heritage lets him see in the dark.

Light pours out like a shaft from the pilot's chamber. He cannot see the chair, for his view to it is blocked by its owner.

Despite only being five feet in height, Grimlock knows that this man is human.

His breath is short and curt. At times he is heaving. The cleric can see blood running down the left side of his body and pieces of shrapnel jammed into exposed skin. His pilot's suit is an earthy brown, and most of his head is covered by a tight leather cap and a set of green lensed goggles cover his eyes. One of the lenses is smashed open, the eye under it had worked once, but was now permanently blind.

His face is painted. Tribal markings cover the right side of his neck and cheek. Black and yellow.

He is shaking.

Despite all this. Despite his wounds. He stares hard at Grimlock. The quiet rage that was inferred by the body language of the Iron Maiden after its head and hand were damaged now manifests itself here in the flesh of its pilot.

The Mech Devil's hand does not hesitate to reach for the sword sheathed at his waist, but its movement is slow, staggered, and erratic.

Despite the hard look being delivered his way, Grimlock's eyes soften as he watches the man defend himself to the last. He feels his heart sink as a voice inside him tells him that, despite all that's happened, despite the casualties and death of the battle that has finally come to an end, this man, this 'mech devil' is not truly evil.

"You don't have to do that." Grimlock says softly, sheathing his own weapon slowly as a gesture of good faith.

The Mech Devil hesitates.

They stare at one another. Seconds pass.

The clanner furrows his brows. He clearly senses something about Grimlock. The noise of the adamantium bore still rings in the Mech Devil's ears.

This. This is the dwarf responsible.

His hand quakes. He resumes trying to reach for the sword.

"Don't!" Grimlock warns. The centipedes at his side coil themselves and prepare to strike. There's a hiss from the spiders as they crawl forward just enough for their red eyes to glisten in the dark.

Then, the Mech Devil's body makes a decision his mind would not.

He leans against the bulk head. Tired, Exhausted, he slumps against it and falls unconscious.

Grimlock is still for minutes before he steps forward. He dresses major wounds before picking the pilot up and carrying him out.

Once a rival, now a patient.

And now, I must sleep.

We are not done here yet, folks.

Not yet.

>>13322772
You are such a tease, sir. I've been here since the beginning, and if this isn't finished before I leave on vacation, then I will be a sad anon.

>>13322793

Two more days.

Two more days and then it will be done.

I hope.

We are almost at the end.

>>13322801
Curses, I'm leaving in two days. I guess I shall have to see the finale on the archive. Don't rush on account of a single anon, you have an audience to please.

This thread.

This is the best thread on /tg/ right now

Congrats OP, you rock.

I rise again to write again. Writefag powers are go.

Thank you for your words of encouragement gents and ladies.

>>13323552

A bit of modesty. There are many threads better than... oh you said that in the present tense.

Flattering. Very flattering.

But I disagree nevertheless. We come here to /tg/ to weave fanciful discussions about the things we do at the tables we play. Each one is as unique as the other. There is no best or worst, only degrees of greatness.

We love games and the people we play them with, even the ones we hate. Yes, even the ones that fill our hearts with red and our eyes with rage. You don't think so?

Then why is it that you remember those moments of crimson choler, caused by another player or DM? Despite their failings, they are still your brothers, sisters and cousins who throw down dice and cards with you. Many anger you as much as they fill you with awe, and you thank them every time for the situations of like sensation they put you through because those are memories you will cherish and share with fellow players.

These are stories of epic adventure, of loss, of strangeness, and power and madness, of happiness and love, of combat, battle, and war. Faith, faithlessness, redemption and heresy.

This is /tg/.

And we have stories to tell.

And I am but another man who has a story to tell.

The only thing that makes it unique is that it is my first story as a dungeon master, and one that only happened a month ago. Like a fish plucked from the lake of my mind's memory, it is still fresh and young. Not many players are so lucky.

So I write for them as much for myself, so that my reminiscence may hopefully inspire them into recall as well.

Come my friends. We are almost at the end. Let us add some wood to the fire as I finish my tale.

The cleric's scale mail rattles, tiny medallions of iron against one another, as he crawls from the fallen Iron Maiden, its pilot carried in his arms. He does not wish to do it unceremoniously by throwing the man over his shoulder. The mech devil fought hard and with ceremony. He is deserving of respect.

Every now and then he stops. He looks up at Red Zero and can just faintly see Mack looking down at him. The drill arm is pulled away from the now empty Iron Tooth titan and Mack uses the tip to direct Grimlock in the direction where the prisoners are being held. Grimlock turns to look north west. Vision acuity is improving, but not by much. He can at least see a thousand feet now before the lunar haze makes it impossible to see anymore.

Not quite that distance, about seven hundred feet in the direction he looks, roughly three hundred to the left of the fallen Scale Hunter, Grimlock sees them.

A circle of figures, many sitting, others lying down, injured, are being watched over by a pair of Stenian Juggernaughts. The squat 25 foot tall machines swing their torso a little to watch a new group enter the flock, their stylized dwarven faces and iron beards shimmer in the light of a dim sun.

Grimlock heads to the prisoners to add another.

Diplomacy checks, please.
These fallen rivals must become their new comrades, I demand this!

Krickler is alone. Light pours in from outside as he stands in a shaft. The ladder at his feet is useless since Scale Hunter is no longer standing, a shaft now a metal tunnel that runs to his left and right.

He begins his search.

Mentally, he takes note of those who could not escape. He sees bodies. Almost a dozen. Stopping to check, many are unconscious.

Those that are still awake and able are clutching the broken and bruised bodies of fellow crew, trying to keep them alive long enough for someone to break in.

Krickler passes by one souch pair. He stops to look down at them. "Right bicep. Cleared off a beam blocking the hatch. Can you carry her?"

The man is sobbing, partly in desperation, partly out of relief. He clutches a woman in his arms. Her overalls mark her as part of the engineering crew. He listens to Krickler's hard toned statements.

Despite the lack of almost all emotion from the Steamborg's voice, it is that rigid austereness which commands discipline to return to the crewman's mind.

He stands with the girl in his arms. He is a human. She is a dwarf.

Krickler raises a brow, though it is almost unregistered. He only has one eyebrow, the left one gone. Oily metal in its place as part of the frame for a crude ocular implant.

Steam hisses from Krickler's nose, the chrome orb swivels as his body turns away from the crewman. He continues his search.

>>13325987

Dragonmech is not so simple a world where that is possible. You'll see what I mean soon.

The Scale Hunter's insides are a mangled labyrinth of broken pipes, shafts and tight tunnels.

He goes directly to where he'd expect to find Thedrin, Unconscious.

A door, heavier than a company of footsoldiers, a veritable vault that guards the entrance to the command deck, is open. He squeezes through and finds himself in an impressive nerve center. Light is coming in from outside but Krickler cannot see the shaft it is coming through to do so. A hole must have been punched in somewhere.

A Jade Claw is almost as military oriented a mech can be designed. There is no cockpit like that found in smaller mechs. All the controls are inside the heaviest armoured section of the walker. Its torso.

And from where he stands, it looks as if the world caved in on its command crew.

All the chairs here are empty. The pilot's chair sits on a raised metal dais towards the spine.

Krickler uses consoles and empty chairs fastened to the floor like improvised ladders to make his way down to the pilot's chair.

His feet clank noisily across the metal. Then he stands on the flat grill of a safety fence that runs the perimeter of the dais.

Thedrin is not in the pilot's chair.

"Blood and gears." He exclaims in flat shock. Vapor rises from his mouth as he speaks.

His boiler gurgles a little louder and his engine rumbles.

Arthur looks at me with genuine worry. "He's not there?" He asks. I'm pretty sure that's what I just said.

"Nope."

Arthur is quick, "I search the rest of the mech. I do it fast, but I do it thoroughly." He readies his d20 for a search check. I wave my hand. That won't be necessary.

Me, "You crawl all through the ruined Scale Hunter. You find more survivors, many of them able. When they see you, they know you are not part of the crew, and they conclude that there must be a way out of the mech. Some follow you however, knowing you'll come across other crew who need help to be moved or require medical attention."

Arthur shakes his head in disbelief, "What about Thedrin? Where is he?"

I suppress my smile. I remain as deadpan as possible. I am not smiling because of Thedrin's fate. I am smiling because of what is about to happen next.

"Thedrin isn't there. He is nowhere to be found."

No one realizes yet, but the music playing from my laptop has gone silent. There is a reason for that.

Arthur folds his arms and thinks for a moment, "Krickler heads hesitantly back out of the Thedrin's mech."

I nod, "The surviving crew follow you. Some are slower than others, carrying wounded. You emerge from the machine to see that three hundred feet ahead of you is a collection of people. You can see from there that they are parts of the retreating Iron Tooth forces who abandoned their walkers. Grimlock stands at one edge of the group, closest to you."

Mark, "Grimlock waves in Krickler's direction."

Arthur, "Krickler heads on over, tilting my head back in a thuggish nod."

Mack, "I swing our mech around and approach the prisoners as well, then come to a full stop a few hundred meters from the group. What's going on now?"

I shrug, "More rounding up of prisoners. You said your mech came to a full stop, right? I need orientation and facing."

Mark, "Well, facing the prisoners but the mech itself is pointed in the direction of the rising hill and rock that forms one arm of Redstone mountain. Facing the road that runs along the forest we were hiding in."

My players talk amongst themselves for a moment as I think how best to create the most drama to start the final act.

An idea comes to mind. I lift my right arm and make it my forearm perfectly horizontal. My index finger is curved.

Doing this gets Peter's attention. He doesn't quite know what I'm doing yet. After awhile, Arthur and Mark, who had been talking in character, go silent to look at me.

I do not tell him yet. He'll figure it out. I tell Peter, instead.

"Something in the cockpit is beeping. You hear the scratching of pen on paper."

Jesus Christ Stanley you are still going strong?

If you ever get bored of Dragonmech, I'll be ever so grateful if you take a look at Classic Battletech, I do believe we need someone to continue/reboot Mechwarrior quest.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUP6pu3tHS4 < This the song that is now playing on the USB speakers and on repeat I brought and hooked up to my laptop for the game.

As the music plays, my curved finger mimics the stroking of the auto-pen on Red Zero's seismograph. My arm only moves once every thirty seconds.

Mack's attention is torn from the prisoners down below. What the fekk was that?

He looks around the cockpit from his seat. Something was beeping but it stopped.

His eyes turn just in time to catch a few readings from the shakereader scroll away and disappear on the receiving spool.

The rolling paper is blank again.

"Maybe just a hiccup." He says, shrugs, and turns his eyes back up.

Scribbling again, a full minute later. He turns in time to see it. The delicate arms which control the auto-pens threaten to break, their readings pushing the limits of what the seismograph was designed to detect.

Then they go still again.

Whatever was creating the disturbance should also be making noise, but Mack hears nothing outside. Red Zero's engine is idling quietly like the soft breathing of a napping thunder giant.

Once more, like clockwork. A full minute later. This time, faster. Longer. It is getting closer.

Scribble scribble-scribble-scribblescribblescribblescribble.

Stop.

The pilot feels his heart thump hard.

Only a second does he realize that wasn't his heart.

The world shakes.

>Only a second does he realize that wasn't his heart.

* Only a second later does he realize that wasn't his heart.

Fekking not noticing of grammatical mistakes.

>>13326326

I'll consider it, but I admit I do not understand the technical complexities or political depth of the Battletech world. I need to read a novel or two.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUP6pu3tHS4 (As always this song is playing for my players)

Like a man stepping around a table, an iron god steps around the mountain.

It is two hundred and sixty feet tall and easily casts a shadow across the mountain's arm, a black mark that stretches even over one edge of the Ironchar forest.

The ground shudders with its advance. A full minute is needed for it to swing one leg forwards in order to complete a single step.

Covering its broad shoulders is an industrial forest of pipes linking into smoke stacks that rise into the sky. Their number is incalculable at this distance, and their sizes range greatly. Some belch black smoke, others spew white steam. Others still, and these the largest of all, are silent.

Its head sits between the shoulder joints. There is no visible way for its face to turn, instead, the face is rigid against the rest of the hull. One gets the impression of a mechanical golem. Instead of eyes, rows upon rows of reinforced windows mark the command bridge.

Strangely, as its full body comes into view, there is something amiss. Holes dot its swaying structure where armor plates should be. Cables and pipes lay exposed in some areas. At times, crew, like the tiniest of moving dots, can be seen working on these components.

The socket for its left arm is empty, clean, prim, and new, waiting for a limb that was never built.

The right arm ends at the wrist. Incomplete pipe systems are covered with metal caps, or the pipes are linked by temporary rerout junctions, stick out. There are no weapons there.

Pictured: a drawfag attempt to convey the imagery here in a visual manner.

Good morning, dearest of writefags. Have a nice cup of bump.

As it passes the mountain's arm and aligns itself with the valley, it comes to a halt. There is a booming report as its engine, a beating, growling heart which makes noise like rolling thunder, starts winding down. It's legs begin the careful, slow process of turning the machine so it faces Redstone mine, well over half a mile away.

On its head and the front of its shoulder armor flap large flags. The largest is the one belonging to the Iron Tooth clans. The others are numbered three: two of which my players already saw hoisted on the opponents that fought the Stenians during the battle: Clan Hawk, Clan Lotus. Clan Jaguar's flag flies as well, and though my players never saw and Clan Jaguar mechs during the battle, they did hear reports of Jaguar engagements with the Stenian Defenders.

There is a flag pole that remains empty. This one sits above the command bridge.

I lean back against the chair I sit in and look around the table. My players are staring at me with a mixture or horror and disbelief.

"You're got to be kidding me," Peter says after a moment.

"Fucking city-mech," exclaims Arthur.

Mark slumps into the couch, "I think this is the point where we run like hell."

Grimlock, Mack, Krickler, the Stenian walkers, Stenian footmen, and their Iron Tooth prisoners all turn as one as the City-Mech strides into the valley. Despite the appearance of such a clear saving grace, the clanners are silent. Help will come now. It is just a matter of time.

The communication network fills with the frantic cries of Stenian pilots.

"Where the hell did that thing come from?"

"How the fekk did th-- Am I reading those flags right? It's Iron Tooth owned?!"

"We need orders command-"

"Where's Thedrin?"

The questions and shouts are drowned out. Guns ring in the distance as Redstone defends itself. Its wall-guns open fire on the city-mech, filling the sky once again with ordinance.

The rounds collide with the thick plating that armors the giant like toy hammers against a shield. The machine is unaffected.

In response, as its shoulders finally square with the mine, the pipes on its shoulders that neither belched smoke nor steam, begin to move.

Even down on the valley floor below, all the pilots in the Stenian mechs can hear the noise of multi-ton gears and drive-trains lifting those useless smoke stacks further, their length growing with each passing minute. As they reach their maximum length, they tilt forwards and come to rest against braces in the city-mech's shoulders. Their true purpose revealed.

They are cannons many, many times the size of those wielded by the Redstone mine.

"Dotrak's grinding gears, we're done for!" a Stenian cries in horror over his comcaster.

There are five of them. They all open fire with a sound that is so deafening, words fail to convey it.

As their rounds pass through the air overhead, they bring with them a whirlwind that kicks dust apart in the wake of their drift.

But the rounds pass high over Redstone mountain and disappear in the horizon.

There is stillness. The city-mech's cannons go silent, smoke rising from the tips of their barrels. The barrels themselves are wrapped with pipes that shimmer as cold water is pumped through them, cooling the weapons.

Then, behind Redstone mountain, the distant report of the rounds hitting the earth.

>>13327948
Ya mentioned this thread in a livestream last night.
Just gotta say, finally found it, and god damn this is a good read.

The com-channels are once again a mess. Pilots are shouting. Exclamations and swears are screamed.

A gravely voice interrupts the chaos. Slowly, the pilots quiet down.

"Gentlemen, this is Raftrin Willstone. Calm yerselves. Now. Where's me brother?"

No one wants to answer that question.

"One of the mercenaries went into his mech, Plygen. He came back out with some survivors."

"Well? Someone get one o' his crew on the horn."

Mack takes the receiver, "Give me a minute sir. I'll get Krickler in here."

Mack pulls on a string that hangs above the pilots seat. Red Zero blows a loud horn. This gets attention.

The pilot locks eyes with his steamborg compatriot and makes a hand gesture. He wants Krickler up in here now.

Grimlock follows suit. Together they climb back into Red Zero.

"Yeah?" Krickler asks, he's stares out the window, not wanting to take his eyes of the city-mech.

Mack shoves the receiver in his face, "For you. It's Raftrin. He wants to know about Thedrin."

Krickler's words are short, "Sir. Went into his mech. Didn't find a body. Someone in the crew told me he went down with the walker when its main boiler exploded."

There is silence on the other side of the line. Raftrin is thinking the worst, but there will be time enough for morning later.

"Someone is going tae 'ave ta take down that thing 'afore it comes knockin' at our gates, lads, an' we're all miners back 'ere."

Everyone at the table to me, "You're not serious."

Arthur, "How? How are we supposed to board that thing?"

Mark's arms are raised, "Beats me. Goddamn. Goddamn. GODDAMN."

Peter asks, "The other Iron Tooth mechs. The ones we didn't beat. Where are they?"

Perception checks. Rolls are made.

Me: "You can see them in the dust at the feet of the Iron Tooth city-mech. They're clustering around its legs while they aren't moving and they're slowly disappearing. Obviously docking by stepping into the hangars that all city mechs have built into the back of their shins and calves."

Arthur, "They're not going to hang around and defend it?"

Me, "No. The ones that are docking are too damaged to participate in another attack."

Peter furrows his brows but Arthur is the one who senses the hint, "You're saying there are MORE enemy mechs inside that thing?"

Peter nods, "Well yeah. It isn't called a city-mech for nothing. How big is this thing?"

Me: "Smallest size actually, a City-Mech class-A. 260 feet tall."

"Yeah, it's probably got some extras in there." Peter thinks, "But I don't think it's going to commit them into another attack. Redstone's cannons would crush them all easily."

Peter bites his lip. He still doesn't see how they can get in.

Mark, "Maybe we board the damn thing the same way they do and fight our way to the engine room."

Peter looks at mark, "Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how heavily defended a hangar is going to be?"

Me, "Despite the lifting of the lunar weather, the battle you fought in kicked up so much dust that it all still hangs in the air. Since the city mech is too busy watching Red-stone, you might be able to make an approach to its feet."

But that leaves the question of how to get in. I casually mention, "You know, you DO have an Adamantium drill..."

I read them the rules for the mass borer from the Steamwarriors Dragonmech supplement. Its rules specifically state that if the target being hit by the borer has a dexterity of bonus of 0 or less, or if the target isn't moving, then it is possible to create a hole with the borer the size of the weapon. When a tool like that is made from adamantium, however...

"We... could try to make a hole in its foot. If we're lucky, we might hit a spot which opens into a maintenance tunnel or something." One of them says.

I think for a moment, "In the distance, you can hear the city-mech's engines start to spin up. There's a reason a city-mech is rarely stopped. It takes a lot of work and time to get it walking again."

Peter's face is hard with thought, "Better hurry, then."

>>13328109

Welcome to my thread, good fellow. I am sorry I could not watch the rest of that movie last night, I was in desperate need of sleep.

Now, to get back to my steampunk writefagging.

Hold on folks, this is the final act.

Sorry guys, I got pulled away for three hours.

I am back.

Let's do this, eh?

>>13329626
Yes, please.
I'm having the same sensation in my body as I feel right before I ejaculate.
I'm THIS close to literally fapping to this story.

Arrangements were made. As the city-mech stood still, waiting for its engines to spin up and its other systems to prepare for the first step directly towards Redstone, my players began their approach. Vents along the bottom of its torso breath visibly, white smoke puffing out every now and then.

Iron Tooth prisoners were herded down the valley towards the mine. The Stenians were not going to lose the leverage afforded by the captives, assuming the players can put a stop to the metal mountain which towered high above them.

The haze which clung to the surface of the valley gave them enough protection from the line of sight of any of crew crawling through the enemy city-mech. Along the way, a concern was voiced by Mack.

"You know. We're going to have to abandon this mech if we're going to board that thing."

Grimlock was the one to provide a solution after a few moments of thought, "I'm sure Ragnar could handle the task of piloting it away. Shouldn't be too hard for the boy."

"By himself?" Mack looked at the cleric now.

"Why not? It's not like there's any danger left. He just has to keep it straight enough to get back to Redstone."

Grimlock reaches around Mack's front to grab the receiver, "Switch me to the boiler room."

Mack turns the dial on the comcaster box. A little light indicates it is now hooked into the one that sits in Red Zero's heart room.

"Ragnar? I have something to ask you." The response is not immediate. Ragnar is huffing. He was busy working something in the background, "Yes sir? Ragnar here, sir."

"We're going to board the city mech. We need you to pilot old Red Zero here back to the mine when we're out."

"W-w-what?! What do you mean, pilot it? I'm a mechanic! A-a-and did... DID YOU JUST SAY YOU WERE GOING TO BOARD A CITY MECH!?"

"You didn't know?" Krickler says from somewhere behind Grimlock. he's sitting in front of the heavy door that leads outside.

The boy doesn't hear him, but Grimlock rolls his eyes, "He's been in the engine room this whole time, Krickler. Cut the kid some slack."

"B-b-but, I don't know how to pilot a mech."

Mack grabs the receiver out of Grimlock's hands, "Get your ass up here. I'll teach you some basics."

"Wh-what?" Stammers the boy.

"Five minutes kid. Don't be late for class." Mack hangs up.

In the ten minutes it took to cross the distance that spanned Thedrin's fallen Scale Hunter and the spot where the city-mech stood vigil, Ragnar sat in the drill-arm control seat, watching Mack with an index finger hooked innocently in his bottom lip, learning the basics of mech movement operation.

He wouldn't know how to fight, but at least he would know how to run away.

Some people think that is a more important skill anyway.

Mack lifted himself out of the pilots chair when Grimlock finished carving a hole large enough for all of them to comfortably squeeze through. They could no longer see the sun. Everything was cast in the darkness of the city-mech's shadow here, right underneath its incomplete right arm.

Creating the hole took a long time. Each time they pulled the drill back to check the depth, it was never quite enough. One foot of metal, still a solid wall. Two feet, still, nothing. Three feet? The plating was thicker still.

Six feet. The armor covering the outer edge of the right foot was six feet thick. It was made with steel as well.

No sparks were spat. The hole was clean since the target was still. At least, it was still stationary for now.

High above them they could all hear the whirring noises of the mechanical organs inside the giant. Somewhere inside it, pistons larger than most mechs hammered away inside cylinders, propelled by driveshafts and piston-rods dozens of feet long. Any moment now the titan would threaten to take its first step and make its slow stride towards its target.

Krickler and Grimlock stepped out of the cockpit door, out onto what might have been the center of the mech's shoulders if Red Zero had a neck. Mack stopped to look back at Ragnar who looked every bit the virgin pilot with sweat running down his temple as he murmured the identities of the controls to himself, touching each one when he called it.

"Hey kid." Mack called.

Ragnar turned his head to look over the top of the pilot's seat. If it weren't for his stocky body build, one might almost mistake him for a halfling.

"Catch."

A pair of goggles soar through the air. The leather is browned, cracked, and stained with the black soot from many different mech engines. Oil tarnishes the brass rims around clear lenses that are smeared from being blasted by hot steam. The straps which hold them in place over one's eyes are crusted with the salty sweat from a full day of hard, gruelling mech combat.

Ragnar manages to catch them. Such is his surprise that his reflexes do the work of snatching them from the air.

It is the intense surge of pure, child-like wonderment that nearly makes him drop them as he realizes what he is holding. The expression on his face as he stares at them in his hands suggest he feels he is not fit to even hold them.

Ragnar cannot even find the proper words to express his gratefulness. He turns his head to stare at Mack almost reverently.

The mercenary pilot smiles reassuringly then disappears out the door.

The three mercenaries pile in through the hole bored in by Red Zero. It is dark here. There is almost no light.

Around them lies the internal structure which supports the solid iron plating. One of the hardest, sturdiest places on any mech, especially city mechs, is their feet. This is no different for the steel colossus they now crawl around inside.

Grimlock takes out a lantern and lights it for the benefit of the human pilot who travels with them. "Here you go." He says as he hands it to Mack.

Mack accepts it with a nod and looks at the straight beams that crisscross between the plating they just crawled through and the internal structure.

Everything begins to vibrate as the engine begins cycling into its last warm-up phase. The machine is about to take its first step.

"There." Krickler says. He sees a door.

They run down the confined space. It is only five feet wide, but it probably runs deeper into the sole of the iron boot.

Krickler grunts as he forces the hatch. It eventually pops open. They step through the portcullis to find themselves facing a twenty foot long corridor.

And they also find their first obstacle.

This thread is still here? You can't stop now OP you have to finish this.

Bump from the depths!

"Stop." Grimlock grabs Krickler before his foot hits the floor behind the door.

"What?" He freezes his joints. There's there's a jarring motion in his leg as the gears inside it grind to a halt.

Grimlock points. Mack looks over his shoulder. "Check out the bolts along the bottom of the walls."

In the tiny twenty foot hall, there were four bolts set into the paneling every five feet, one for each corner.

Near the center of the room, four of the bolts along the bottom of those walls were not bolts at all. Instead, they were tiny half-spheres set into the metal to look like bolts. In the centers of each one were tiny little green lights.

"The fekk is that?" Krickler asked. He had to squint his eyes just to see them right.

Mack pursed his lips, "That would be an alarm system if I ever saw one."

I palm my face at the table, "Oh shit. That's right. I forgot to alter the rooms... I... I was expecting one of you to show up as a Stalker or some kind of rogue variant."

Pictured: Me at this moment.

My players have a good laugh. "Don't worry, DM." One of them says, "We can handle handle it."

And you know what? They're right.

Despite how well I've entertained them so far, I forgot.

I'm the new guy.

They're all seasoned veterans.

>>13330643
Shit. This thread is autosaging. Start a new one when you get back.

What? WHAT?! CRAP.

What causes an autosage? I never figured that out.

>>13330733
It's just the age of the thread. It's a few days old yet, sir. Just start up a new one and link to this one in the first post.

Panic averted. Doing so immediately.

I link to the new thread from here for future audience.

>>13330806

Goodnight, sweet thread. You were my first on /tg/, and my first on 4chan.