Le groupe prend une marche vers curacava… il approche une petit village en peripheries ou ils voient des gardes mal en point. Les gardes sont méfiants et ils regardent le groupe avec suspicions et leur demandent ce qu’il veulent.

Mace en gueri un et les choses commence a aller mieux.. mais IX decide qu’il est le temps de faire une pipe a un garde.. sans sont consentement.

Les choses dégénèrent rapidement et les gardes et le village sortent les armes.. le tout se termine en boucherie…ou tous les habitants sont abattus. avant que le groupe ait le temps de comprendre ce qui est arrivé.

Deux geants des ombres arrivent et Butch se fait defoncer la geule a coups de debris (il avait été le seul a lever la main en signe de paix)

tous le groupe s’enfuit dans la ville. Ils épient les géants qui ramassent tout ce qu’il y avait de bon ainsi que 2 ou 3 corps.. surement pour les dévorers.

Suite a cet incident, le groupe se questionne et decide de partir vers le le port spatial.. Mace reussi a le voir de loin et Butch guide le groupe a travers la plaine des ombre.

pendant la nuit il se font attaquer par 4 méchants qui voulait les tuers, mais c’était sans compter l’œil vigilant de Mace.. c’est la baston

The towering structure is enveloped in layers of shimmering shadow, as if wreathed in untold volumes of smoke. A few humanoid creatures roam the streets around it in an erratic, listless patrol. From a nearby building, a small figure emerges, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace.

His glowing yellow eyes and skin the color of storm clouds are enough to mark him as a kayal. Entirely bald, he bears a number of ritual scars, tattoos, and dozens of piercings in symmetrical design across his head. The markings continue down his neck and disappear under his clothes, emerging from his sleeves to extend to the tips of his fingers. Flat studs pierce the backs of his arms in what seem to be agonizing inch-wide, bone-deep piercings, and bits of metal seem to have been forced under the nails of his left hand, giving him wicked, painful-looking claws. He’s dressed in ordinary, oil-stained mechanic’s overalls, and various tools hang from his belt. When he talks, his split tongue and chipped teeth move eerily, belying the sweetness of his voice.

“Ah, some well-armed travelers!” he says. “Praise the Midnight Lord! My name is Father Gloom, and Shadow Skydock is run by me and mine. Well, it was until recently. One of my former acolytes turned on us, infected the machines with some kind of virus, and has claimed the place for his own. It all happened so suddenly, we barely got out with our lives. Looking at you, I am sure Zon-Kuthon sent you to help us deal with our little problem. Shadow Skydock has tremendous resources, and I’m sure we can come to some agreement about what we can do for you, hm?”

le groupe se rend a la base spatiale.

baston contre merchants et victoire

The hangar floor is a wide, open space with heavy blast doors to the south. A large section of a damaged starship occupies the center of the area, surrounded by portable industrial machinery attached to generators that chug and strain. Long chains—some barbed, others ending with hooks—hang from the ceiling, some wrapped around the machines or simply dangling loosely. The mutilated remains of several people are scattered across the floor, some even draped across the starship section. Blood is everywhere, accompanied by the smell of ozone and gasoline. Doors lead into two self-contained rooms to the east and west.

Several tools have been pulled from their cabinets along the walls and are arranged on the floor in a horrific display. A halo of gore-covered drill bits lies around a handheld electric drill. An automatic hammer drips a line of blood that snakes around an unidentifiable, pulped organ. A circular saw spattered with an unidentified liquid leans against a short stack of clean saw blades. Spools of wire and other fasteners are scattered everywhere. A metal sink in one corner of the room appears to be filled with a mixture of blood and oil. A door leads west.

“Pain, she told me, can inspire prophecy, but all this one does is scream.” The sinister figure says, his voice distant and cold. “I heard her whispers in a dream. She said you’d come. She told me to violate your routine.” He shrugs out of the plastic tarp as robots standing frozen in the corners of
the room suddenly jerk back to life with spastic motion. The chains attached the former kayal engineer come alive, lifting him into the air, as blood runs down his limbs in red rivulets. He wields a nail gun in one hand and a drill in the other that begins spinning with shrill, metallic sound. “Tell me, have I ruined your day yet?”

Commentaire du DM : Un départ pathétique qui resume en – 1 200 pex par personnages innocent tués. Sans compter des informations cruciales qui ont été perdues ainsi que des alliés potentiels (et des objets). une possibilité de 30 000 pex se transforme en négatif.

Pour cette partie du module tout les joueurs perdent 12 000 pex. Cette perte de pex est brut et les experiences acquise plus tard vont combler un peu la perte. Vos actions ONT des conséquences.


XP
IX176008
Robert W.156378,2
Butch184387
Racksovik111323
Mace Windu188519
Rick Decard149272
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