I wanted to make sure this was in the realm of "strongly plausible" before I said something, but it seems that the stars are actually aligning themselves in my favor (for a change): I will be attending Oddball's Bidet Shoot at Land Between the Lakes, KY, this June 21-23.
I'm as surprised as you are. Probably more so.
I am definitely freaking out more than you are. I've mentioned before how neurotic I am about people seeing and judging me, and now I'm going to travel 12 hours to meet 30+ people, most of them strangers, and hope they won't all hate me on sight.
If you're attending, and you see someone with a paper bag over her head, that's probably me.
Anyway, I'm now in the stages of planning what to bring along. The Visual Offense Against Good Design is coming, of course, as is my tarted-up Kel-Tec Sub-2000, and of course my carry pistol. What else should I bring? I figure everyone has already shot a 12 gauge and a .22 and an SKS. I'd bring along the PMR-30, but that's my mom's carry gun so that's not an option.
Also, I have about 100 rounds for the Mosin. Do you folks think that will be enough, or should I bring more? I want to make sure that everyone who wants to shoot has the chance. That's about 3 rounds/person, which isn't a full clip each, but the recoil is usually enough to turn most folks off after a single shot.
Oh, I'm also planning on bringing along toy ponies, just in case there's opportunity to make a truly absurd Glockenpony.
Anything else you folks want me to bring?
Thursday, May 30, 2013
PDF
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Maneuver
The promised Memorial Day entry, a day late. For the curious, this is a re-work of a story I wrote back in 2009.
We launched from the Hive like a swarm of angry bees, all flying at hypervelocity and accelerating towards our target. We just didn't know what our target was.
In fact, up until this instant, we had no idea we were even in a battle at all. Protocol calls for all DF-12s (official designation: Apis) to be kept in a low-energy hibernation state, with just a trickle of power to vital systems in order to preserve longevity and battle-readiness. But the ships that we pilot can be armed and launched in seconds, and we had plenty of time to wake up and assess the situation between launch and combat.
Telemetry from the Hive streams across my instruments, informing me of my target: an Aegis-class battlecruiser. It was going to take a long time to get there; over 20 minutes of constant thrust just to close to interception range of my target, and then however long it takes to maneuver through its flak shield and point-defense systems to strike at its exposed engines. If I missed, turning around for a second pass would be impossible, for after nearly a half -hour of high-G thrust I would have such inertia that it would exhaust my fuel reserves to overcome it.
Vector plotted; weapons armed; countermeasures at the ready. I would have only one chance at this and I knew I would make it count. With 15 minutes of mindless acceleration ahead of me, I shut down all non-essential systems and doze. Passive sensors will wake me when I reach the Interdiction Zone.
Ten minutes out. The Aegis is sweeping with active sensors and my instruments are pinging like mad. Our swarm has been detected. Acting on a hunch, I perform a one-second maneuvering burn, nudging me aft of the battlecruiser and under its keel. Three swarmmates perform similar operations. At my current speed, even a one degree change in my original vector will be significant.
Five minutes out. A flash of electromagnetic radiation shows that those members of my swarm which didn't deviate from their original vector have been destroyed by a nuclear-tipped interceptor missile. For the briefest of microseconds I ping my target with active sensors, hoping the EM noise of the nuke will mask my scanning. I plot a solution through the defense grid.
One minute out. My swarmmates and I deploy chaff and other passive countermeasures. We know we've been spotted; our only hope for survival is to hide our actual numbers behind sensor noise. Are there a hundred of us on this vector, or just one? The Aegis has no way of knowing, and there are more of us than she has interceptor missiles. We are the Apis, the Killer Bees of legend; we are legion but swarm as one. Fighting us is like fighting a cloud.
Thirty seconds out. A too-close strike destroys the three DF-12s with me, and most of our chaff. I survive only through luck of being on the side farthest from the explosion, but my passive sensors are blind from the radiation. If my vector through the defense grid is incorrect, I will miss my target and all this will be for nothing.
Ten seconds out. I kill the throttle. Inertia will carry me the rest of the way; no sense in lighting up their sensors with an active plume of thrust. All power to weapons.
One second out. Sensors active, weapons hot. Engaging. I launch counter-flak rockets ahead of me, clearing my vector like a shotgun blast with directed explosions of shrapnel. My lasers target the sensors of antiaircraft guns and blind them. My particle guns scramble the delicate electronics of point-defense missiles.
I'm hit! Thrust and control are gone; the g-stresses on my compromised spaceframe will tear me apart in milliseconds. As my nose tumbles wildly, I make the necessary calculations. I have only one shot.
Target lock in 5 microseconds. When that happens, the nuclear warhead I am carrying will detonate, energizing the X-Ray laser in my nose and firing at the Aegis' engines. My mission will be accomplished.
This is the final transmission of the artificial intelligence piloting Apis DF-12 Drone Fighter 7884493. I feel no pain and do not fear death. This is my purpose, to die for my people rather than have people die for me. That is what soldiers do. That is what soldiers have always done.
Maneuver
(A short science fiction war story, written in observance of Memorial Day)
We launched from the Hive like a swarm of angry bees, all flying at hypervelocity and accelerating towards our target. We just didn't know what our target was.
In fact, up until this instant, we had no idea we were even in a battle at all. Protocol calls for all DF-12s (official designation: Apis) to be kept in a low-energy hibernation state, with just a trickle of power to vital systems in order to preserve longevity and battle-readiness. But the ships that we pilot can be armed and launched in seconds, and we had plenty of time to wake up and assess the situation between launch and combat.
Telemetry from the Hive streams across my instruments, informing me of my target: an Aegis-class battlecruiser. It was going to take a long time to get there; over 20 minutes of constant thrust just to close to interception range of my target, and then however long it takes to maneuver through its flak shield and point-defense systems to strike at its exposed engines. If I missed, turning around for a second pass would be impossible, for after nearly a half -hour of high-G thrust I would have such inertia that it would exhaust my fuel reserves to overcome it.
Vector plotted; weapons armed; countermeasures at the ready. I would have only one chance at this and I knew I would make it count. With 15 minutes of mindless acceleration ahead of me, I shut down all non-essential systems and doze. Passive sensors will wake me when I reach the Interdiction Zone.
Ten minutes out. The Aegis is sweeping with active sensors and my instruments are pinging like mad. Our swarm has been detected. Acting on a hunch, I perform a one-second maneuvering burn, nudging me aft of the battlecruiser and under its keel. Three swarmmates perform similar operations. At my current speed, even a one degree change in my original vector will be significant.
Five minutes out. A flash of electromagnetic radiation shows that those members of my swarm which didn't deviate from their original vector have been destroyed by a nuclear-tipped interceptor missile. For the briefest of microseconds I ping my target with active sensors, hoping the EM noise of the nuke will mask my scanning. I plot a solution through the defense grid.
One minute out. My swarmmates and I deploy chaff and other passive countermeasures. We know we've been spotted; our only hope for survival is to hide our actual numbers behind sensor noise. Are there a hundred of us on this vector, or just one? The Aegis has no way of knowing, and there are more of us than she has interceptor missiles. We are the Apis, the Killer Bees of legend; we are legion but swarm as one. Fighting us is like fighting a cloud.
Thirty seconds out. A too-close strike destroys the three DF-12s with me, and most of our chaff. I survive only through luck of being on the side farthest from the explosion, but my passive sensors are blind from the radiation. If my vector through the defense grid is incorrect, I will miss my target and all this will be for nothing.
Ten seconds out. I kill the throttle. Inertia will carry me the rest of the way; no sense in lighting up their sensors with an active plume of thrust. All power to weapons.
One second out. Sensors active, weapons hot. Engaging. I launch counter-flak rockets ahead of me, clearing my vector like a shotgun blast with directed explosions of shrapnel. My lasers target the sensors of antiaircraft guns and blind them. My particle guns scramble the delicate electronics of point-defense missiles.
I'm hit! Thrust and control are gone; the g-stresses on my compromised spaceframe will tear me apart in milliseconds. As my nose tumbles wildly, I make the necessary calculations. I have only one shot.
Target lock in 5 microseconds. When that happens, the nuclear warhead I am carrying will detonate, energizing the X-Ray laser in my nose and firing at the Aegis' engines. My mission will be accomplished.
This is the final transmission of the artificial intelligence piloting Apis DF-12 Drone Fighter 7884493. I feel no pain and do not fear death. This is my purpose, to die for my people rather than have people die for me. That is what soldiers do. That is what soldiers have always done.
Monday, May 27, 2013
No post today
The story I was going to post tonight has been postponed due to my allergies making me miserable and unable to concentrate. When I post my story tomorrow, please understand it was meant for today. Thank you.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Muffin Caliber
Another wonderful intersection of guns & ponies, this was sent to me by The Minuteman.
Now I want a DERP-15 of my own!
Now I want a DERP-15 of my own!
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Petty Divine Relics
For the upcoming Petty Gods supplement.
The Sword of Rasoob
Green with corrosion, this sickle sword looks absolutely ancient. Made of bronze, it is heavier than a steel sword of identical size, and its edge has been blunted over time (-2 penalty to hit and damage). However, these penalties may be overcome through certain ritual actions, which impart a cumulative bonus to the sword for each act:
Once the Sword of Rasoob has reached a bonus of +5 to hit and damage, additional abilities are unlocked:
The Half-Assed Relics of Manidono
Manidono leaves semi-powerful relics of dubious use in his wake like crumbs from a child's lunch. They only last for a short time after leaving his presence.
The Couch of Manidono is any place where the petty god has chosen to rest. Anyone sitting in it must succeed in a save vs paralysis, or be unable to leave due to lack of desire. Those afflicted will ask others, usually in a whine, to bring them food and drink or do other tasks. In cases where they must move, they will wheedle and beg others to carry them and their couch. However, while confined to the chair, they will not suffer from long-term effects such as illness, starvation, etc, as they literally never get around to dying.
The Snack of Manidono is the leftovers of any foodstuff that the petty god has enjoyed. Eating it will result in fingers and tongue of unnatural coloration, and a desire for more of the same. All other food and drink will seem tasteless in comparison, and the fingers will stain clothing and other porous substances, for a day.
The Garb of Manidono is any piece of clothing that the petty god has touched or worn. It will protect from environmental hazards (cold, fire, poison, etc) but it will also cause the loss of 2d6 points of Charisma for as long as it is worn. Caution is warranted to wearers of the Garb of Half-Assery: they never know when it will stop being magical.
The Pipe of Manidono is, like, this thing, you know? And you suck on it? And whoah. Visions, dude. Of the future. You want to know the future? Okay: Ask me a question.
The Sword of Rasoob
Green with corrosion, this sickle sword looks absolutely ancient. Made of bronze, it is heavier than a steel sword of identical size, and its edge has been blunted over time (-2 penalty to hit and damage). However, these penalties may be overcome through certain ritual actions, which impart a cumulative bonus to the sword for each act:
- Remove all objects of iron or steel from the wielder's person: +2
- For each member of the party who similarly forsakes iron and steel: +1 per party member
- Ritually sacrifice magical items of armor or steel in a sanctified forge: +1 per each +1 of sacrificed object.
Once the Sword of Rasoob has reached a bonus of +5 to hit and damage, additional abilities are unlocked:
- Remove tarnish from all non-ferrous objects at will.
- Expend a +1 bonus to rust ferrous metals, as per a rust monster, with a successful strike.
- Expend a +2 bonus to cast flesh to stone (bronze, in this case) as if an 11th level magic-user.
The Half-Assed Relics of Manidono
Manidono leaves semi-powerful relics of dubious use in his wake like crumbs from a child's lunch. They only last for a short time after leaving his presence.
The Couch of Manidono is any place where the petty god has chosen to rest. Anyone sitting in it must succeed in a save vs paralysis, or be unable to leave due to lack of desire. Those afflicted will ask others, usually in a whine, to bring them food and drink or do other tasks. In cases where they must move, they will wheedle and beg others to carry them and their couch. However, while confined to the chair, they will not suffer from long-term effects such as illness, starvation, etc, as they literally never get around to dying.
The Snack of Manidono is the leftovers of any foodstuff that the petty god has enjoyed. Eating it will result in fingers and tongue of unnatural coloration, and a desire for more of the same. All other food and drink will seem tasteless in comparison, and the fingers will stain clothing and other porous substances, for a day.
The Garb of Manidono is any piece of clothing that the petty god has touched or worn. It will protect from environmental hazards (cold, fire, poison, etc) but it will also cause the loss of 2d6 points of Charisma for as long as it is worn. Caution is warranted to wearers of the Garb of Half-Assery: they never know when it will stop being magical.
The Pipe of Manidono is, like, this thing, you know? And you suck on it? And whoah. Visions, dude. Of the future. You want to know the future? Okay: Ask me a question.
Roll 1d4:All of these answers are 100% accurate but annoyingly vague.
- Absolutely, dude.
- No way, dude.
- Maybe, dude.
- Beats me, dude. Ask again later.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Traveller Tuesday: Starport Tech Levels
Because we've all had the problem of players wanting to buy stuff at high-tech, Class A starport on a lower-tech world, right?
All of this is based on the concept of "more granularity equals more fun for your players." Like pretty much all of my stuff here, if you don't like it, don't use it...
I differentiate between the tech level of the facilities (based on their class) and the tech level of non-starship goods and services, which are based on the planetary tech level. For examples of which technology is available at what tech level, consult High Guard, p.52-53.
Class A starports are TL 15 when it comes to building & repairing ships and buying their component parts (GM's discretion if this applies to ship-based weapons). This means they can service all ships and have access to all armaments common in the Imperium.
Class B starports average TL 12*. This means that with the exception of Jump drives, they can service all but the most advanced systems. Class B ports cannot build or repair anything greater than a J-3 drive (which is usually either military or governmental in nature anyway).
Class C starports average TL 10*. Fusion and meson guns are outside their ability to build or repair, as are defensive screens, but lasers, missiles and sandcasters are fine. Most power plants in the Imperium are in the TL 12-14 range, so repairs are iffy. Jump drives are restricted to no higher than J-2.
Class D starports are TL 8* average. Missiles, sandcasters, pulse lasers and particle beams are possible, but everything else is right out, as are power plants and jump drives. Maneuver engines up to 5-G are possible, but unless the TL is 9 or higher, these will be chemical drives only and will lack inertial compensation. In fact, anything involving gravitic manipulation requires TL 9.
Class E starports are TL 6 or lower. You have a landing pad and that's it.
Class X starports are TL hahahahaah fuck you.
Again, these numbers are just for building or repairing ships. For everything else,there's Mastercard use this chart from Supplement 9 (pretty much the only useful thing in that book).
*unless the world is higher TL than the starport average, in which case go with planetary TL. I've never seen a low-tech starport on a high-tech planet, but this is Traveller -- stranger things have happened....
All of this is based on the concept of "more granularity equals more fun for your players." Like pretty much all of my stuff here, if you don't like it, don't use it...
I differentiate between the tech level of the facilities (based on their class) and the tech level of non-starship goods and services, which are based on the planetary tech level. For examples of which technology is available at what tech level, consult High Guard, p.52-53.
Class A starports are TL 15 when it comes to building & repairing ships and buying their component parts (GM's discretion if this applies to ship-based weapons). This means they can service all ships and have access to all armaments common in the Imperium.
Class B starports average TL 12*. This means that with the exception of Jump drives, they can service all but the most advanced systems. Class B ports cannot build or repair anything greater than a J-3 drive (which is usually either military or governmental in nature anyway).
Class C starports average TL 10*. Fusion and meson guns are outside their ability to build or repair, as are defensive screens, but lasers, missiles and sandcasters are fine. Most power plants in the Imperium are in the TL 12-14 range, so repairs are iffy. Jump drives are restricted to no higher than J-2.
Class D starports are TL 8* average. Missiles, sandcasters, pulse lasers and particle beams are possible, but everything else is right out, as are power plants and jump drives. Maneuver engines up to 5-G are possible, but unless the TL is 9 or higher, these will be chemical drives only and will lack inertial compensation. In fact, anything involving gravitic manipulation requires TL 9.
Class E starports are TL 6 or lower. You have a landing pad and that's it.
Class X starports are TL hahahahaah fuck you.
Again, these numbers are just for building or repairing ships. For everything else,
*unless the world is higher TL than the starport average, in which case go with planetary TL. I've never seen a low-tech starport on a high-tech planet, but this is Traveller -- stranger things have happened....
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