places such demands on the Bio-Leech's metabolism that the monster must eat frequently. A steady diet that consists of human or D-Bee flesh and brain tissue. Humanoids and other intelligent creatures (including dragons and demons), are the Bio-Leech's primary prey — presumably, the Splugorth have programmed the creature on some level to need this type of "food" to survive. They will even eat their own kind, making them cannibals. Roughly 100 Ibs (160 kg) of flesh and a pound (1.6 kg) of gray matter (brains) must be consumed every two days to function at peak efficiency. Being deprived of food for a week will cause the abomination to become fatigued, losing one melee attack and -1 on initiative. Each additional week without food makes the character weaker still: -1 on initiative, -1 to strike, parry, and dodge, plus reduce speed attribute and M.D.C. by 5% for each additional week deprived of sustenance. All penalties are erased 1D6+1 hours after gorging himself. Being deprived of brain tissue for a week or two inflicts much more serious penalties. I.S.P. is reduced by half and the character's I.Q. and M.E. will drop by one point every week until brain tissue is consumed. If the I.Q. is reduced to half, the character will suffer a penalty of-25% to all skills. If reduced to a quarter, the skills will be reduced by 50%. Losing all I.Q. or M.E. points, means the character is reduced to a mindless vegetable and will die within 4D6 hours. I.Q. and M.E. return to normal within 1D6 hours after consuming the equivalent of one, complete, human brain. I.S.P. returns after 24 hours. 9. Insanities: The Bio-Leech suffers a great deal of trauma undergoing the transformation and coping with its aftereffects. His horrifying appearance, loss of humanity/normalcy, and the sensations that come with sharing your body with other living creatures which are a constant source of torment and pain. The trauma, pain, sensations and cravings all contribute to the level of insanity. All Bio-Leeches tend to be aggressive, violent, and anti-social characters who enjoy fighting, killing and devouring their victims. Most see themselves as monsters or freaks and are filled with self-loathing, and feel like outcasts even among friends. Moreover, the transmutation and Splugorth conditioning makes the Bio-Borg enjoy killing and crave the taste of brains and flesh. Many are sadistic and enjoy hurting/torturing others. At every level of experience, there is a 25% chance that the Bio-Leech will develop an insanity. Roll the percentile dice upon reaching each new level. A roll of 01-25% means the character gains one of the disorders listed on the Bio-Borg Insanity Table in the Splynn Dimensional Market world book. A roll of 26-00% means no new insanity. Also see the section on Physical Appearance for other disadvantages and penalties relating to the character's inhuman appearance. Bio-Leech R.C.C. Also known as: Brain-eater and simply, the Leech. Character Note: Ideal as an NPC villain or monster, but also available as an optional player character at the sole discretion of the Game Master. Any player character will be evil or selfish, with unprincipled being the best alignment possible. The Bio-Leech is a sad example of the Splugorth's callousness and deliberate cruelty towards lesser beings. Once a normal person, the potential Bio-Leech is transformed into a disgusting predatory cannibal. His training and brainwashing usually suppresses any past emotions and memories, but there are a few Bio-Leeches who manage to hold on to a piece of their humanity. These few must choose between feeding on the flesh of other intelligent beings or dying from starvation (animals can not be substituted as a food source). Bio-Leeches of an Unprincipled (and in some cases, Aberrant) alignment will be torn between their former morality and the drive for self-preservation. The typical Bio-Borg has suffered greatly at the hands of the Splugorth. His training makes him a capable warrior and ruthless killer. He has been taught to be aggressive and to take advantage of weakness. Even in social settings, he will have a tendency to be aggressive in conversations, easily provoked and is quick to anger. This is further exasperated by their inhuman appearance. The Bio-Leech knows he is a deformed monster and is not usually happy about it. Alignment Restrictions: Evil or selfish only! Because of their dietary needs and instinct to hunt and kill other intelligent life forms and their training by the Splugorth, a Bio-Leech cannot be of a good alignment. The best alignment he can try to attain is Unprincipled. Anarchist and Aberrant are the most common alignments among Bio-Leeches who struggle to maintain some level of humanity; most are Miscreant or Diabolic. Attribute Requirements: M.E. 12 or higher — The higher the better for M.E. A high P.E. and P.P. are also desirable, but not required. Race Restrictions: Humans and humanoid D-Bees only! Non-magical M.D.C. D-Bees are acceptable for transmutation, but supernatural beings and creatures of magic are not. Physical Appearance: The body is covered in a thick, gray organic armor for skin, has a monstrous, oversized jaw, fangs and the third eye from the Lobee-Optos parasite. In addition, his facial features are twisted and obscured by the transformation. Note: Change P.B. to 1D6 and give the Bio-Borg a Horror Factor of 15. Life Span: 26+3D6 years after transmutation. Death often comes to the Bio-Leech in combat, but they can also just up and "drop dead" without warning. Their magically augmented and tortured bodies just give up the ghost one day, often without warning. Note that the Bio-Leech can not procreate. O.C.C. Skills: Language: Two of Choice (+30%) Interrogation Techniques (+25%) First Aid (+10%) Math: Basic (+5%) Radio: Basic (+5%) Tracking (+15%) Wilderness Survival (+15%) Running Athletics (General) W.P. Sword W.P. Knife W.P. Blunt W.P. of choice (any) Hand to Hand Combat: Assassin O.C.C. Related Skills: Select eight skills at level one, but four must be selected from the categories of rogue and/or wilderness, plus one additional skill at levels 4,8, and 13. 50
Communications: Any Cowboy: None Domestic: Any (+5%) Electrical: Basic only. Espionage: Any (+5%) Mechanical: Basic only. Medical: None Military: Any, except NBC warfare, parachuting, or demolitions (any). Physical: Any, except wrestling or acrobatics. Piloting: Any, except robots, jets, or tanks. Pilot Related: Any, except parachuting. Rogue: Any, except computer hacking (+10%). Science: None Technical: Any, except computer skills. Weapon Proficiencies: Any Wilderness: Any (+10%) Secondary Skills: Select three secondary skills at level one, plus one additional at levels 2, 5, 9, and 14 from those listed, excluding those marked "None." These are additional areas of knowledge that do not get the advantage of the bonus listed in parentheses. All secondary skills start at the base skill level. Standard Equipment: Slaves start with very little. Usually only has a few knives, two other weapons, and a few wilderness survival items depending on the whims of their master. Ancient types of melee weapons, their modern equivalents (i.e. Vibro-Blades), and energy weapons may all be used by these characters — Kittani items are usually favored. Magic items are rarely used for obvious reasons. Money: Slaves start with none. A small allowance may have been provided by the slave master, but not usually. Free Bio-Leeches also start with none, but may accumulate wealth as luck and the character's inclinations dictate. Slave Market Value: Highly regarded as a torturer/interrogator, assassin, and anti-magic countermeasure warrior/defender, as well as a conventional fighter. Still not quite as in demand as the human T-Man, but the average Bio-Leech sells for an average price of 2D6* 100,000 credits. May sell for two to four times that much to the right buyer, particular other monstrous beings. More powerful Bio-Leeches with higher physical attributes and/or combat experience can sell for three to five times as much. Bio-Wizardry and Cybernetics: Starts with the parasites and augmentations listed previously, but no others. Bio-Leeches are rarely given further augmentation, but exceptions are made depending on the desires of the buyer. However, no more than two additional parasites or symbiotes are possible. The healing powers of the Bio-Leech prevent him from receiving cybernetics and bionics. Any such implants are rejected within a few minutes and replaced by new tissue after a few hours. Fire Eater R.C.C. "Those flames must've been 20 meters high. The crowd was deafening. And when I saw the flesh sizzle right off the bones of that juiced-up wimp, I could feel the gold bulging in my pockets. Yeah, he got in some really good shots, but my boy still came out on top. When his flames finally caught that jumping freak, they really caught 'em! Too bad my Fire Eater had to explode to get the job done, but what the hell. At least, I made a profit! Barkeep! Another round for the house!" — Spoken by a drunken slave owner shortly before spending the last of his winnings Through the miracle of Bio-Wizardry, the Fire Eater's entire digestive system has been removed and replaced by a strange supernatural fire-producing parasitic organism, also called the Fire Eater. Placed in the belly of the Fire Eater, the organism has a long feeding appendage that replaces the subject's esophagus. Any food the Bio-Borg consumes is taken through this appendage and is digested by the symbiote before passing any nutrients on to the host. The organism is capable of totally consuming any organic material that is swallowed and using it as fuel. Thus, the host needs to consume roughly 2-3 times more food than normal (he literally has another mouth to feed). The parasite also has a series of long tentacles that connects itself to the Fire Eater's nervous system, becoming fully integrated into the body. To complete the transformation into a Fire Eater, the subject undergoes further magic transmutations. His flesh and bones are altered to be impervious to the intense magical fire the organism can produce, as well as all other forms of heat and fire. Then, a specially prepared Eye of Eylor is implanted in the Fire Eater's chest. This Eye is designed to combine its own magic with that of the host body and the Fire Eater organism to create a number of other magical effects. All of these other modifications must be done within 24 hours of the organism's initial implantation. After that, the parasite becomes fully integrated and, unless the host is modified to be impervious to fire, he will be completely consumed, body and all, by his own magical flames. Once the parasite is fully integrated, the fire within will feel as if it is permeating every cell of the Fire Eater's body. The character finds the warmth both soothing and energizing. The internal body temperature will rise thousands of degrees. Smoke and flame will leak from the Bio-Borg's mouth and nostrils with every breath, and the eyes turn bright red like a fiery blaze. Meanwhile, the fire inside is contained, maintaining an external body temperature only slightly higher than normal. As the Fire Eater adjusts to his new body, he will learn to release his flame through his mouth in a manner more similar to vomiting than a dragon's fire breath. He will also learn how to channel his flame through his Eye of Eylor implant to perform other feats. As time progresses, the fire parasite will burn hotter and hotter to vainly try to consume its host. As he becomes more experienced, mis increasingly hotter flame will add to the damage of the Fire Eater's attacks. The primal and spectacular nature of the Fire Eater's powers make him a "hot seller" in the Splugorth slave markets (pun intended). They are often sold in groups with other fire oriented beings, like Bursters, for use as slash and burn squads for defoli51
ation projects, demolitions, and combat. They also look great in arena combat, able to finish off fallen opponents with a spectacular burst of concentrated flame. They are also trained in dance and performance arts to add to their stage presence and panache. Fire Eaters assigned to arena combat often deliver consistent victories and crowd-pleasing showmanship. They in turn receive a roar of cheers from the spectators and high praise and rewards from their masters. This comparatively good treatment and star-status makes them more accepting of their life as slaves than most others. Most Splugorth, Lord Splynncryth included, maintain a small stable of Fire Eaters for their private use. Renegade Fire Eaters are uncommon. Those few who have abandoned Atlantis are most likely to be found in hot, arid regions. A small number are found in Mexico, on either side of the vampire conflict. Central Africa also has its share of Fire Eaters who operate primarily on their own, although some have joined the ranks of small death or Phoenix cults. It is interesting to note that the Fire Eater's powers are admired by Necromancers, even though fire is harmful to zombies, mummies, and animated dead. Powers and Abilities of the Fire Eater R.C.C. 1. Immunity to Fire: To survive the intense fires generated by the Fire Eater parasite, the subject's entire body is transmuted to be completely impervious to fire. Mega-damage plasma, magic flames, and heat and fire of all sorts do absolutely no damage to the Fire Eater, hi fact, some show off by attempting to catch fire attacks directed toward them in their mouths or hands to illustrate their immunity. Eating fire provides no nourishment but is an impressive and disturbing sight. 2. Super-Fire Breath: By summoning up the magic fire burning in his belly, the Fire Eater can expel it from his mouth in a powerful destructive blast — spit out as a ball or stream of plasma. Damage is 4D6 M.D. at level one, plus an additional 1D6 M.D. gained at each additional level of experience. Damage can be regulated in increments of 1D6 down to the minimum of 4D6 M.D. or up to full damage. Range is 200 feet (61 m), plus an additional 100 feet (30.5 m) at each additional level of experience. Bonus to strike using fire breath is +3 at level one, plus an additional +1 at levels 3, 7, and 12. No other bonuses apply. Each fire breath attack counts as one melee attack. Payload: One full meal enables the character to unleash 30 blasts. Consequently, many Fire Eaters are gluttons who consume the equivalent of 2-4 meals at any given time and snack continuously throughout the day to maintain maximum combat potential. 3. Mini-Fire Bursts: Rather than unleash the full fury of his power, the Fire Eater can spit forth comparatively tiny gouts of fire. These do only 2D6 M.D., have half the range as the Super-Fire Breath attack, and are typically used to punctuate a statement or as a warning. Payload: 9fr mini-fire bursts per one full meal; three count as one Super-Fire Breath attack. 4. Flaming Fist: Rather than hurl or spit a fiery blast the character causes his fist to burst into fire. This can only occur when emotions are hot and the character desires to fight, lash out or destroy. The Flaming Fist inflicts 3D6 M.D. in addition to his or her normal punch damage. 5. Flame Aura: This power takes the Eye of Eylor's ability to create a force field around itself and its host and combines it with the Fire Eater's magic fire. The result is a fiery aura that originates from the Fire Eater's mouth and then spreads out over his face and body to completely engulf him. The fiery force field provides the character with 80 M.D.C., plus 10 M.D.C. per level of experience. The aura is continually refueled by the internal flames, regenerating damage at the rate of 2D6+10 M.D.C. per melee round. The field also inflicts 4D6 M.D. to anyone or anything the character touches and vice versa. Combustibles ignite instantly upon contact with it. Further note that, unlike the Burster, the Fire Eater has no protective aura to protect his clothing or other personal items from his own destructive flames. Thus, anything on his person at the time the Flame Aura is engaged will burn. Typically, slave owners outfit their gladiators with a special fireproof uniform, but many are allowed to wear just the flame aura. At third level, the Fire Eater gains greater control over his flame aura, to the point that he can reshape it to appear as a swirling field around his body or to pull it away from selected parts of the body, such as the hand or arm. This enables the Bio-Borg to touch and handle things without setting them on fire, but that body part is not protected until the aura is restored to that area. Note: A single meal allows the force field to be maintained for 12 minutes +2 per level of experience. No melee attacks are used in shaping the field, it just comes naturally to him. 6. Hellfire Scourge: The Fire Eater can draw upon his magic to project a mystical flame that invades the victim's body and attacks his spirit. Victims of this attack must save vs magic at 12 or higher or suffer from incredible angst and inner pain. Penalties: -4 to all combat bonuses, -20% to all skills, the loss of initiative and one melee attack. This attack can only be inflicted by touch and can be used once per melee. Duration is one melee round per level of experience. This power can only be unleashed four times per hour. 7. Healing Fire Breath: In addition to being able to destroy targets with his breath, the Fire Eater is also able to heal them. By channeling his fire through his Eye of Eylor implant, he is able to change the normally lethal M.D. flames into a revitalizing life-giving energy. By breathing this flame into the mouth of an injured person, he can immediately restore to that person 4D6 Hit Points and S.D.C. or 2D4 M.D.C. If the person is in a coma, the healing warmth pervades the body, restores half the amount noted previously and gives the character a bonus of +20% to save vs Coma and Death. The Fire Eater can also direct this flame inward to heal himself with the same effect. The healing breath can only be used once per melee round. 8. P.P.E.: The Fire Eater has an available base P.P.E. of 2D6! His P.P.E. is what fuels the parasite's flames, which in turn is converted into his magical powers, consequently, P.P.E. is constantly being renewed and literally burnt up. With his P.P.E. steadily consumed by the parasite, he is prevented from using many types of Techno-Wizard devices or having it drawn off by practitioners of magic or P.P.E. vampires. 9. R.C.C. Bonuses: The Fire Eater's internal fires incinerate all foreign chemicals and microorganisms that enter his system, making him impervious to poisons, toxins, and disease. Even oxygen cannot reach his lungs, but, fortunately, he no longer needs to breathe. This energy also gives him a bonus of+20% to save vs coma/death and +2 to save vs magic. Also, add 2D4*10 53
to S.D.C. and +1 to P.S. All are in addition to any attribute and/or skill bonuses. 10. Penalties and Insanities: Besides having little available P.P.E., the Fire Eater also has the drawback of perpetually having smoke and flame leak from his mouth and nose. To contain it, the character must wear a specially created muzzle designed by the Splugorth Bio-Wizards. The big disadvantage to the muzzle is that it also contains all of the character's fire powers. Common practice is to sell the muzzle with the enslaved Fire Eater to enable his new owner to control him. The Fire Eater is also much warmer than normal, even with the muzzle on. This makes him easily spotted by thermo-imagers and other heat sensitive devices, including heat-seeking missiles. Sensory operators receive a bonus of +30% to their read sensory equipment skill when using heat sensors to track or locate the Fire Eater. Another downside to the internal fires is that the Fire Eater will explode into flames if he is killed. Damage from this explosion is 3D6xlO M.D., +10 M.D. per level of experience, to everything within a 20 foot (6.1 m) radius. Having an alien creature in place of a digestive system and being transformed into a fire-breathing dynamo is traumatic for most recipients. At level one, there is a 40% chance of the Fire Eater developing an insanity. Roll percentile dice. A roll of 01-40% means the character must roll on the Bio-Borg Insanity Table. A roll of 41-00% means no insanity. Roll again at levels 4, 8, 12 and 15. Also, see the section on Physical Appearance in Splynn Dimensional Market for other disadvantages and penalties relating to an inhuman appearance. Fire Eater R.C.C. Also known as: Firebreather, Flame Spitter, and Super-Burster. Character Note: This character can make for an excellent NPC villain or monster, but is also available as an optional player character at the sole discretion of the Game Master. A player character is likely to be good or selfish, and hold a grudge against the Splugorth, their minions and allies. Like the element of fire itself, the Fire Eater can be volatile, prone to rages and often lashes out as a vicious destroyer. On the other hand, the character can be warm, comforting and offer protection or healing. Protected by a Mega-Damage force field and armed with magic flame, the Fire Eater Bio-Borg is both fearless and devastating in combat. He rarely backs down from a challenge, but is respectful of magic and other powerful creatures. Fire Dragons, Fire Elementals, and other such creatures are immune to most of the Fire Eater's powers, but are more than capable of hurting him. Obviously, the Fire Eater watches his step around these creatures and is usually uncharacteristically humble around them. Whether caused by some chemical imbalance involving the parasite or the character's unnaturally high temperature or some other factor, many Fire Eaters are irritable and temperamental. Many have a hair-trigger temper and will attack an antagonist at the drop of a hat. Even good Fire Eaters are easily aggravated. This can spell serious trouble in the heat of the moment, for unlike Bursters, Fire Eaters are not able to extinguish any fires they set. This means that player characters will have to be extra careful when using their powers to avoid burning down entire villages or accidentally hurting their comrades. Fortunately, the character's anger burns quickly and often ends in a short fiery outburst followed by calm and self-control. Also note that like the Sym-Killer, the Fire Eater is a living weapon who rarely uses other weapons no matter how powerful they may be. Alignment Restrictions: None, but the majority seem to be evil or anarchist beings who use their power to dominate or intimidate others. Good characters are usually rebellious towards their inhuman masters, and are likely to try to escape. Attribute Requirements: None. Desirable traits are a high M.E. and P.E., but just about anyone the Splugorth Bio-Wizards deem suitable can be made into a Fire Eater Bio-Borg. Race Restrictions: Humans and S.D.C. D-Bees only. The Fire Eater parasite is not able to bond to and feed on supernatural beings, creatures of magic, or any M.D.C. being. Physical Appearance: Except for his red glowing eyes and the smoke and flame that leaks from his mouth, the Fire Eater looks very much like he did before the transformation. The obvious elemental or demon-like fire features give the character a Horror Factor of 12 and P.B. is reduced by 30%. Note that, unlike the Kill Crazy, the Fire Eater's Eye of Eylor is implanted inside his chest and is not visible on the outside. O.C.C. Skills: Language: Two of Choice (+30%). Radio: Basic (+10%) Paramedic (+10%) Interrogation Techniques (+10%) Intelligence (+5%) Performance (+10%; See Rifts® World Book Ten: Juicer Uprising™ for this skill). Dance (+10%) Boxing Body Building Climbing (+10%) Swimming (-5%; yes minus, the Fire Eater is uncomfortable in water). W.P. Two of Choice. Hand to Hand Combat: Basic; can be upgraded to Expert at the cost of one "other" skill selection, or Martial Arts (or Assassin, if evil) for the cost of two skill selections. O.C.C. Related Skills: Select five skills at level one, plus one additional skill at levels 4, 8, and 13. Communications: Any Cowboy: None Domestic: Any Electrical: None Espionage: Any, except forgery (+5%). Mechanical: Basic only. Medical: Field Surgery and Holistic Medicine only. Military: Any, except NBC warfare or parachuting. Physical: Any, except SCUBA (+5%). Piloting: Any, except robots, jets, and tanks. Pilot Related: Any, except parachuting. Rogue: Any, except computer hacking (+5%). Science: Math: Basic only. Technical: Any, except computer skills. Weapon Proficiencies: Any Wilderness: Any (+10%) 54
Secondary Skills: Select three secondary skills at level one, plus one additional at levels 3, 6, 9, 12, and 15 from those listed, excluding those marked "None." These are additional areas of knowledge that do not get the advantage of the bonus listed in parentheses. All secondary skills start at the base skill level. Standard Equipment: Usually starts with none. The character is a living weapon and has very few needs beyond food. Keep in mind that, unlike the Burster, the Fire Eater does not have an aura that protects his clothing or personal items from his flame aura, so anything he may be wearing and/or carrying on him at the time will probably be incinerated the instant he activates the Fire Aura. Consequently, most wear ponchos, cloaks and robes that can be easily discarded, along with a backpack. Many slave owners provide their Fire Eaters with gladiator garb that has been enchanted to be immune to flame, usually to enhance the warrior's appearance, not for protection. Money: Starts with none, but Fire Eaters are among the most likely slaves to be given a small allowance. Free Fire Eaters will be able to make good money as mercenaries or arena combatants. Slave Market Value: With both healing and destructive powers, the Fire Eater is a good value for most buyers. Their visually spectacular powers also enhances their perceived value. Average price for a Fire Eater is 5D6* 100,000 credits. Slaves with combat experience, high physical attributes, and/or demonstrated showmanship can sell for up to five times that amount. Bio-Wizardry and Cybernetics: Parasites, symbiotes, cybernetics, and bionics implanted in the body will be consumed by the Fire Eater parasite and most externally attached organisms and mechanisms will be vaporized by the flame aura. Bio-wizard additional appendages and partial reconstructions are possible, but rarely added to the Fire Eater. Kill Crazy R.C.C. Psychotic and murderous, the Kill Crazy is the Splugorth's version of the mentally unbalanced Crazy. The conventional Crazy is a superhuman created through the use of cybernetic brain implants which stimulate certain brain activity and chemical stimulation unleashed by the brain. This activity causes the brain to make the body perform beyond its normal capabilities. The result is enhanced strength, speed, endurance, reflexes, and healing. The conversion is called Mind Over Matter or M.O.M. for short. Rather than use cybernetic enhancements to create this super-athlete, the Splugorth have relied on their advanced Bio-Wizardry to create a symbiotic organism to do the job. Along with this organism, they add a number of other enhancements to top of the conversion and make the subject all the more powerful. Unfortunately, the normal M.O.M. process inevitably causes its subject to lose mental stability and act wild and irrational, hence the name "Crazy." The Splugorth's Bio-Wizardry is much more advanced than human cybernetic technology, but their process also results in insanity. Bolstered by cruel treatment and physical torture, the Kill Crazy is even more psychotic and unstable than the normal Crazy. The result is an insane killing machine with superhuman capabilities more than worthy of its name. The root of the Kill Crazy's powers comes from a specially created symbiotic organism called the "Brain Scrambler-Enhancer." This organism is a large, bumpy thing placed atop the head of its subject, giving the individual the appearance that his brain is growing through his skull. During the Kill Crazy's creation, this brain attachment is placed on his head and slender tentacles are extended from its underbelly. These tentacles drill their way into the skull, causing unimaginable pain and severe trauma. Once fully inserted, these tentacles pull the organism very tight against the subject's head and it begins to permanently bond to its host. At the same time, chemicals are secreted through the tentacles which trigger certain parts of the subject's brain. These secretions trigger similar reactions as the mechanical M.O.M. implants do in the conventional Crazy. One resulting effect of this process is the instilling of psionic powers. The Splugorth's Kill Crazy creation process activates much stronger psionic powers than those of the conventional Crazy. The most notable power is the ability to create a much stronger version of the Super-psionic power, Psychic Body Field. The other initial powers are in the physical category, but other psionics are gained as the Kill Crazy becomes more familiar with his abilities. A few other Bio-Wizard enhancements are also added to the Kill Crazy for additional improvements. His eyes are removed and replaced by a single Eye of Eylor. This legendary component of the Splugorth's gives the Kill Crazy a wide range of vision related abilities from telescopic and magnifying eyesight to the power to see the invisible and the auras of others. In addition, the character's sense of smell and hearing are enhanced by other implants. These senses far outclass those of the regular Crazy and help to make the character more dangerous. Despite all of its powers and abilities, the one thing that makes the Kill Crazy so dangerous is that he is totally nuts. The normal Crazy suffers from psychological disorders too, but the Kill Crazy is taken far beyond those personality quirks and bizarre fetishes. Designed from the start to be a killing machine, the Splugorth purposely cultivates the subject with predatory instincts, paranoia and unbridled aggression. This desire to kill backed by the power to carry it out makes this Bio-Borg a relentless monster, psychotic killer and an insane risk taker. Like the Splugorth's other Bio-Borgs, potential Kill Crazies are taken from the ranks of their human and D-Bee slaves. Many are mentally acute, but physically frail before the augmentation process. A high Mental Endurance is critical to the subject's ability to survive the process with most of his intelligence intact, while his poor physical traits are raised to superhuman levels. Before the process, this kind of slave would ordinarily have sold for a very low price, but after being transformed into a Kill Crazy, the value of this once pitiful slave shoots to levels equal to that of the T-men. Thus, the Splugorth are able to increase their profits on these otherwise low quality slaves. The dangers in purchasing a Kill Crazy are immediately apparent — they are insane killers. But the cunning Splugorth have turned this into their biggest selling point. Kill Crazies draw in big crowds in the blood sport arenas and they make ideal assassins, bodyguards and henchmen willing to kill anyone 55
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they are pointed toward. However, their erratic behavior often leads to unexpected developments. A Kill Crazy may attack things, like trees, for no reason, and many succumb to berserker rages. Others must be watched constantly, lest they wander off to rape and pillage, or torture some unsuspecting soul or torment the house pet. They may set fires, steal, or the words "credit card" (or anything) may send the Bio-Borg into a murderous rage. Others are comparatively quiet and obedient, except they hear voices in their heads and do as they tell them to do. Owners must work their way around these problems or risk losing control of their slaves. When it comes to the Kill Crazy, one lapse of control could mean the difference between life and death. Typically, rogues and renegades do not last long on their own. A Kill Crazy may be smart and cunning, but he is also handicapped by his insanities. Many times a freed Kill Crazy will attack his enslavers rather than flee or seek refuge, despite the odds against him. Still, a few have managed to escape captivity and prosper. Many are found in the Preserves, purposely left there to serve as hunting game and "wild cards" to make hunts more unpredictable and adventurous. Of these, a good number work their way into the Refuge every year. From there, some move on to the Demon Sea, where they are Rifted to the far corners of the planet and sometimes the Megaverse. A good number have been Rifted to South America, where they compete heavily with the Ultra-Crazies. Many are also found in Europe, where they seem attracted to the Tree of Darkness. Here, they have developed a strong rivalry with the M.O.M. enhanced creations of Mindwerks. A few have been captured and dissected by the Angel of Death, but she has made no progress in studying them. Powers and Bonuses of the Kill Crazy R.C.C. 1. Super Endurance: Although not elevated to supernatural levels, the Kill Crazy is much tougher and resistant to fatigue than ordinary humans and D-Bees. Base S.D.C. is 4D6*10, plus bonuses from physical skills. Also add 6D6 Hit Points and +1D6 to the P.E. attribute. The Kill Crazy can lift and carry twice as much as a normal person of equivalent strength and endurance and lasts ten times as long before suffering from fatigue. He normally requires only four hours of sleep a night, but can remain active and fully awake for up to 72 hours without any obvious signs of fatigue. 2. Increased Strength: Add 2D6 to the P.S. attribute. Minimum P.S. is 24, adjust the P.S. to 24 if lower. Note that despite the mystical nature of the transformation, the character's P.S. attribute is NOT considered to be supernatural. 3. Increased Speed: Add 4D6 to the Spd. attribute. The Kill Crazy is able to leap up to 20 feet (6.1 m) across or 15 feet (4.6 m) high after a short run. Reduce by half from a dead stop. 4. Heightened Reflexes and Agility: Add 1D6 to the P.P. attribute. Minimum P.P. is 17, adjust the P.P. to 17 if lower. Additional combat bonuses from the faster reflexes and increased agility are included in the R.C.C. bonuses. 5. Supernatural Senses: The Kill Crazy's eyes have been replaced by a single Eye of Eylor placed in the center of where the real eyes were. The Eye of Eylor provides the character with perfect 20/20 vision, nightvision 600 feet (183 m), telescopic vision 6000 feet (1800 m), and magnification to the 300th power. It also gives him the following magic and psionic senses: See Aura, See the Invisible, Sense Magic, and See P.P.E./mystic energy. All Eye of Eylor abilities are usable without limit or P.P.E. or I.S.P. cost. Bio-Wizard enhanced senses of hearing and smell. Sounds as soft as a whisper (10 decibels) can be heard up to 75 feet (22.9 m) away and normal conversation (around 30 decibels) can be heard 300 feet (90 m) away. Enhanced olfactory capabilities allow the Kill Crazy to recognize specific scents at 70%, track by smell at 70%, recognize poison at 80%, and detect changes in the air at 80%. 6. Enhanced Healing and Bio-Regeneration: The Kill Crazy normally heals three times as fast as normal humans and D-Bees. Furthermore, if he has suffered any injury, he can slip into a healing trance similar to the psionic power of Bio-Regeneration. During this trance, the character is restored of 2D6 Hit Points and 4D6 S.D.C. after 2D4 minutes and any open wounds are closed. An extended trance of two hours will restore all S.D.C. and an additional 6D6 hit points. The character is also nearly immune to pain. He will be able to fight at peak performance even when reduced to a mere ten Hit Points and can even ignore pain induced by magic and psionic means, suffering only half the penalties. 7. Psionic Powers: Considered to be a Major Psionic, the Kill Crazy's main power is the ability to create a personal Telekinetic Body Field. It provides protection against all forms of physical harm for 5 minutes per level of experience, but will allow magic, psionic, and gas attacks to pass through unhindered. M.D.C. is 50 plus 10 per level of experience and costs 10 I.S.P. to activate. The field cuts off the character's sense of touch, inflicting a penalty of-15% to skills that require manual dexterity, such as pick pockets, palming, demolitions, etc. This is quite a contrast from the normal Crazy's hyper tactile senses. Other psionics include Telekinetic Leap, Telekinesis (Super) and a choice of three Physical Psi-Powers at level one plus one additional power selected from the Healing or Physical categories at levels 3, 6, and 12. 8. I.S.P.: Initial I.S.P. is the M.E. attribute number times three. Add 2D4+2 I.S.P. at each additional level of experience. Considered to be a Major Psychic and requires a roll of 12 or higher to save against psionic attack, plus bonuses. 9. P.P.E.: 6D6+20. The augmentation increases the character's normal P.P.E. and the Eye of Eylor adds the additional 20. 10. R.C.C. Bonuses: Add one additional attack per melee, +4 to initiative, +1 to parry, +2 to dodge, +4 to roll with punch/impact, +2 to save vs psionics, +4 to save vs poisons, gases, and other toxins, +4 to save vs Horror Factor, +6 to save vs mind control, and +4 to save vs possession, all in addition to attribute and skill bonuses. 11. Penalties and Insanities: All Kill Crazies are psychotics who suffer from mild paranoia, aggression, and a lust to hurt and kill. Also roll once on the Obsession Table, and once on the Phobia Table. At level four roll once on the Crazy Hero Table listed on page 57 in the Rifts® RPG. At level 9 the character begins to suffer from delusions and schizophrenia. In addition, roll once on the Bio-Borg insanity table at levels 5,10 and 15. 57
Kill Crazy Bio-Borg R.C.C. Also known as: Bio-Wizard Crazy, Sym-psycho (as in symbiotic psycho), and K.C.'s Character Note: Ideal as an NPC villain or monster, but also available as an optional player character at the sole discretion of the Game Master. The Kill Crazy is not recommended as a player character. He will always be insane and can never rise to an alignment higher than Unprincipled or Anarchist. His insanities will be a constant source of problems and may lead to unwelcome conflict or unnecessary violence. He may mistake nonthreatening bystanders for potential threats or children for hated enemies. In any event, the character will have to be kept under close watch by his comrades for their own safety, and the safety of innocent bystanders, as well as that of the character. If allowed as a player character, the player will have to play in character and act out all of his insanities. If the other players try to keep weapons out of his reach or otherwise restrain his activities, the player should accept this as a consequence of playing such an unstable and dangerous character and not take it personally, although his character may. His allies may even be forced to shoot him down like a mad dog if they perceive him to be too dangerous a threat to be allowed to live. This should also be grudgingly accepted as a consequence of playing the Kill Crazy. Alignment Restrictions: Selfish or evil. The most common alignments are Anarchist, Miscreant and Diabolic. Only an insanity can cause alignment reversal or ardent pacifism or goodness, turning a vicious Kill Crazy into a steadfast champion of light or a harmless kook. Attribute Requirements: Must start with an M.E. 12 or higher, but the augmentation process will reduce that M.E. by 2D4 points. Physical attributes are usually low since they are enhanced by the symbiote anyway. Besides, slaves in good physical condition sell well without augmentation. Race Restrictions: Humans and S.D.C. D-Bees only! The Brain Scrambler-Enhancer will not work on M.D.C. creatures, supernatural beings, or creatures of magic. Physical Appearance: The character's body is a toned and muscular version of his original form with a large bulbous head that looks like his brain has expanded through his skull. He also has a single large eye in place of his two natural ones. These deformities coupled with his psychotic behavior gives the Kill Crazy a Horror Factor of 13 and his P.B. and M.A. attributes are reduced by half. O.C.C. Skills: Language: Two of choice (+30%) Radio: Basic (+10%) Tracking (+20%) Wilderness Survival (+30%) Boxing Gymnastics (+10%) Acrobatics (+5%) Climbing (+10%) Swimming (+5%) Prowl (+5%) W.P. Knife W.P. Sword W.P. Three of choice (any). Hand to Hand Combat: Assassin. O.C.C. Related Skills: Select four skills at level one, plus one additional skill at levels 4, 8, and 13. Communications: Any Cowboy: None Domestic: Any Electrical: None Espionage: Any (+5%) Mechanical: Basic and automotive only. Medical: First Aid only. Military: Any, except parachuting, NBC warfare, or any demolitions skills. Physical: Any (+5% where applicable). Piloting: Any, except robots, jets, or tanks. Pilot Related: Any, except parachuting. Rogue: Any, except seduction and computer hacking (+5%). Science: Math Basic only. Technical: Any, except literacy or computer skills. Weapon Proficiencies: Any Wilderness: Any (+10%) Secondary Skills: Select two Secondary Skills at levels 1, 3, 6, 9, and 12 from those listed, excluding those marked "None." These are additional areas of knowledge that do not get the advantage of the bonus listed in parentheses. All secondary skills start at the base skill level. Standard Equipment: As slaves, the Kill Crazy starts out with very little. Begins with one set of warrior garb, light body armor, a water skin, a backpack, ammo-belt, and three weapons of choice. Free ones can accumulate a large amount of equipment, although most travel light and tend to focus on weapons. Money: Starts with none. Slave Market Value: A hot seller despite, or possibly because, of their instability. The Kill Crazy has an average selling price of 500,000 to 1.5 million credits. Experienced warriors and/or those without serious instabilities sell for two times as much, sometimes more. Bio-Wizardry and Cybernetics: No additional augmentation is possible because the other symbiotes and parasites interfere with the brain augmentation and powers. Sym-Killer R.C.C. "What do you want a Maxi-Man for? Sure, they can make magic weapons and supernatural monsters appear out of nowhere, but they're not anywhere intimidating enough. Who's afraid of a half-naked human covered with little pictures, anyway? Okay, I've seen them in action with their magic weapons and powers and the monsters they can pull out of thin air. They are versatile, all right, so I guess if you're looking for trickrand magic those human freaks are worth your money. But, when you get serious about buying a bloodthirsty killer whose very appearance will strike fear into your enemies, come back and I'll sell you a Sym-Killer." — A "pitch "from a Bio-Borg dealer trying to keep yet another potential customer from leaving in search of a Tattooed-Man 58
Swift and silent, strong and rugged, the Sym-Killer is the pinnacle of Bio-Wizard technology. He is powerful enough to go toe to toe with the Tattooed Maxi-Man and, therefore, is a potent warrior. As with the Splugorth Conservators, Powerlords, and Slavers, Bio-Wizard transmutation takes the potential Sym-Killer and transforms him from a mere mortal to a supernatural powerhouse. Myriad types of Bio-Wizard transmutations, additional appendages, symbiotic unions and a grueling training regimen all serve to create a near invincible living weapon. The potential Sym-Killer is usually selected from the Splugorth's vast stable of tame, domesticated slaves and captured children who are young enough that they can be molded into loyal slaves. These manageable human, Ogre, and D-Bee candidates for Sym-Killer conversion are put through a set of rigorous tests to see if they are able to withstand the physical and mental stress that accompanies the transformation. Roughly half of the chosen do not survive the transmutation process. The ones who do are transformed into the superhuman Sym-Killers. Enhanced strength and speed enable the Sym-Killer to strike with powerful Mega-Damage punches and move like a whirlwind. A Chest Amalgamate symbiote transforms the subject into an M.D.C. creature and further enhances his reflexes and endurance. An Elom symbiote offers the added protection of an M.D.C. force field and built-in long-range offensive capabilities. A pair of vicious forearm blades and a prehensile tail with a retractable poison-filled stinger provide additional methods of attack in combat. The transformation is completed when the symbiote called the Sym-Killer Masque is attached. Armed with his sharp claws, venomous tail, and the power to release blasts of electromagnetic energy anywhere from his body, the Sym-Killer is able to tackle and destroy even multiple opponents to a young dragon with relative ease. Raised into a life of slavery from an early age and subjected to years of training and conditioning, the Sym-Killer is typically highly skilled, disciplined and obedient, like a loyal and capable Special Forces Soldier. Most learn to accept the monster they have become and to enjoy the power, fear and prestige they possess as a Sym-Killer. Most remain in the service of the Splugorth and their minions as an elite slave force equal to, if not higher than, the Atorian Warrior Women. After a few hundred years of service, the most capable, loyal and long-lived may even earn their freedom and be elevated to the rank of true Minion of Splugorth. A most coveted and honored position. The years of conditioning and training before the transmutation, combined with being well treated and highly respected or feared (more than any other Bio-Borg), the Sym-Killer is usually well adjusted to its lifestyle and is less prone to mental instability or rebellion. Consequently, rogue Sym-Killers are rare. Even those assigned on solo missions or to infiltrate a group of heroes are unlikely to turn on their masters. The few who do rebel are considered dangerous renegades to be hunted down and slain on sight. Reorientation is not an option. A tiny handful of renegades are found among the Liberated Underground. Likewise, a dozen or two are scattered around the world in areas far from Atlantis, especially in combat regions and war zones. In Europe, a trio is said to fight against the Gargoyle and Brodkil Empires, although they are not allied with the NGR. A few are also said to be found in the western part of old Canada with two 59 individuals counted among the demons of Calgary. A dozen are said to prosper in China and other parts of Asia, although nobody knows for certain. Powers and Abilities of the Sym-Killer R.C.C. 1. M.D.C. Transformation: Linked to the Chest Amalgamate symbiote and further enhanced by Bio-Wizard transmutation, the Sym-Killer is a tough M.D.C. creature with 4D4x 10+60 M.D.C. The character's Elom symbiote which is attached to the back of his neck has !D6xlO M.D.C. of its own (typically -4 to target and strike by an opponent even with a called shot, and often covered/protected by additional armor or shielding). 2. Supernatural Strength: The monster has a supernatural P.S. of 40+1D6; no other bonuses apply. Damage is 6D6 S.D.C. on a restrained punch, 5D6 M.D. on a full strength punch or kick, and 1D6*10 M.D. on a power punch. A swat from the stinger also does 5D6 M.D. punch damage. 3. Enhanced Endurance and Resistance: The Chest Amalgamate and transmutation in the Bio-Wizard chamber provides the Sym-Killer with supernatural endurance. Raise the character's P.E. attribute to 21; no other bonuses apply. Additionally, he never suffers from fatigue and requires only two hours of sleep per night. Heals at a rate of 4D6 M.D.C. per hour and is impervious to pain, poisons, drugs, gases, and disease. In addition, the Elom symbiote makes him impervious to all electrical attacks, including ley line bolts. It also makes him resistant to magic and prevents practitioners of magic and P.P.E. vampires from drawing on his P.P.E. Saving throw bonuses are listed under R.C.C. bonuses. 4. Enhanced Speed and Agility: The Sym-Killer has incredible speed and agility approaching the level of a Juicer. Increase the P.P. attribute to 16+1D6 and double the Spd attribute. In addition, the Sym-Killer can leap a distance of 30 feet (9.1 m) across and 15 feet (4.6 m) upward after a short run. Reduce the distances by half if leaping from a dead stop. Combat bonuses are listed under R.C.C. bonuses. 5. Electromagnetic Field and Discharge: The Elom symbiote taps into and feeds upon the character's natural electromagnetic field and provides him with Mega-Damage protection and offensive abilities. Up to 12 times a day, for periods of time no longer than 20 minutes each, the Elom can surround its host with an electromagnetic force field that protects with 60 M.D.C. Once the field's M.D.C. is depleted, another field can be generated within one melee round. The Elom can also release this energy from its host's body in the form of M.D. electromagnetic discharges. Directed blasts inflict up to 6D6 M.D. and have a range of 2000 feet (610 m). Area discharges can be released to inflict up to 2D6 M.D. to everything within a 20 foot (6.1 m) radius around the Sym-Killer. The damage of both discharges can be regulated in increments of 1D6. The bonus to strike with the directed blast is +3 and no other bonuses apply. Two discharges can be released per melee round and count as one of the monster's melee actions/attacks. 6. Poisonous Bite Attack: In addition, the Chest Amalgamate symbiote has a monstrous maw with a second mouth on the end of a tentacle. Both are capable of biting attacks and can inject venom into their victims.
The tentacle can inflict 2D6 S.D.C. on a restrained strike, 1D6 M.D. on a full strength strike, or 1D4 M.D. with a bite attack plus !D4xlO S.D.C. (or 1D4 M.D. to fellow Mega-Damage beings) from the venom. The large mouth bites to inflict !D6xlO S.D.C. on a restrained nip, or 2D6 M.D. with a bite, plus 1D6>< 10 S.D.C. from the venom to mortal beings or 1D6 M.D. to Mega-Damage creatures. Note: The bite action counts as one melee attack, the injection of venom counts as another. Victims automatically get to roll to save vs lethal poison (14 or higher). A successful save means the victim takes only one point of damage. 7. Retractable Forearm Blades, Joint Spikes, and Prehensile Tail: Implanted within each arm of the Sym-Killer are three retractable blades. They extend from their forearm housings through the top of the hand and have a reach of two feet (0.6 m) each. Mega-Damage is 1D6 per blade, so if all three are extended, they do 3D6 M.D. plus normal supernatural P.S. punch damage. In addition, wicked spikes protrude from the Sym-Killer's shoulders, elbows, and kneecaps. 1D6 M.D. is added to punch damage from the elbow and knee spikes, while the shoulder spikes add 1D6 M.D. to the Sym-Killer's body tackle (normally 1D4 M.D. plus knock-down penalties). Attached to his spine is a six foot long prehensile tail. On the tip of that tail is a sharp stinger capable of injecting a debilitating toxin into a victim. The tail itself is +1 to strike, +3 to dodge, +4 to entangle, and adds a bonus of+10% to climb and +5% to balance. Damage inflicted by the tail is 1D6 with a whip attack or 2D6 with the stinger strike plus one of the following toxins. Select only one for the character. Victims need to save vs lethal poison at 14 or higher to avoid damage and/or penalties. Poison: Inflicts an additional 2D6*10 S.D.C. from the venom to mortal beings or 2D6 M.D. to Mega-Damage creatures, plus 60
the victim becomes ill and loses one attack per melee round and is -2 on all combat rolls for 3D6 minutes. Convulsion Toxin: The victim suffers from severe convulsions for 2D4 melee rounds. He suffers 2D6 points of damage (S.D.C. or M.D. depending on the nature of the victim) and cannot attack or defend against attacks for the duration, except to crawl away. Speed is reduced by half. Note that while convulsing, the gyrations make him -2 to strike by attackers and impossible to restrain by less than two or three people. Paralysis Toxin: The victim's nervous system is temporarily disrupted, preventing movement. The victim collapses to the ground, unable to move or speak for 1D4+1 minutes and is completely vulnerable to attack. Only psionic power (if the victim has any) can be used. 8. The Sym-Killer Masque: This is the bizarre symbiote that turns the subject into a Sym-Killer. It totally enwraps the head and face, completely wiping away all traces of the subject's former humanity. It provides its host with nightvision 500 feet (152.4 m) and protection against hostile environments, including the ability to breathe without air. This enables him to operate underwater, through magic fumes, and even in a vacuum without hindrance. It also protects the host's head, providing it with 2D4x 10+20 M.D.C. The only drawback is that it completely covers the mouth, preventing the Sym-Killer from eating normally. To sustain himself, he must rely on his Chest Amalgamate to do all the eating for him; a rather disgusting sight. The Masque is altered to look monstrous, usually skull-like or demonic, which adds greatly to the Sym-Killer's Horror Factor (and consumer appeal — the customers are monsters themselves, after all). 9. Prolonged Life: The Sym-Killer has an amazing life span of 106x100+500 years! This means with time and experience, these monsters can attain levels well beyond 15th. However, because they are "new" creations of the Splugorth, the typical Sym-Killer ranges from level 1-8. 10. R.C.C. Bonuses: Four attacks per melee round (includes the boxing bonus) +1 at levels 2,4,6, 9,12, 16 and 20. Also add 2D6xlO pounds (9 to 54 kg) to the character's weight and one foot (0.3 m) to his original height. +4 to initiative, +5 to strike, +6 to parry, +3 to dodge, +3 to disarm, +2 to entangle, +4 to roll with impact, +5 to save vs magic, +6 to save vs possession, +7 to save vs Horror Factor, +2 to save vs psionic attack and mind control, +22% to save vs coma/death, and the various immunities listed above. These are in addition to attribute and skill bonuses. Combat moves include all types of kicks, paired weapons/claws, Judo-Style throw, critical strike (double damage) or knockout/stun on a natural roll of 18, 19 or 20. 11. Penalties and Insanities: The main drawback to the Sym-Killer is the fact that the subject becomes a hideous monster, with a second carnivorous monster attached to his chest (the Chest Amalgamate). The Chest Amalgamate adds 100 Ibs (160 kg) to the character's weight and requires blood to feed on from time to time. Also, his Elom symbiote is a potential weak point. Killing it will destroy the Sym-Killer's electromagnetic powers and may cause permanent damage. Roll on the Surgery Penalty Table for organism attached to the body, if the Elom is killed. If either the Chest Amalgamate or Masque symbiote is killed, don't bother rolling on the table; the host will die with it. See the section on Physical Appearance for other disadvantages and penalties relating to inhuman appearance in the Splynn Dimensional Market™ World Book. The Sym-Killer may also suffer from psychological problems, but these typically come later in life. To determine whether the character has an insanity or not, roll the percentile dice. At level one, there is a 20% chance of suffering from insanity. A roll of 1-20% means rolling on the Bio-Borg Insanity Table. A roll of 21-00% means no insanity. Roll again to determine any possible insanities at levels four, nine, and fifteen. Sym-Killer Bio-Borg R.C.C. Also known as: Sym-Slayer and Scorpion Beast because of its stinging tail and claws. Character Note: Ideal as an NPC villain or monster, but also available as an optional player character at the sole discretion of the Game Master. Any player character will be evil or selfish, with unprincipled being the best alignment possible. Trained at an early age to accept the Splugorth as their masters, the Sym-Killer is usually very loyal and dedicated towards them. Thus, it is the rare renegade who will try to escape from his masters, and even renegades regard the Splugorth and their minions with respect. Regardless of whether he is free or not, the Sym-Killer is well versed in the arts of war and has been trained to be a quick and effective warrior. His first resort will often be violence and he is merciless in combat. The character tends to rely heavily on abilities and fighting skills rather than machines. Unarmed combat is usually preferred over using weapons of any sort no matter how powerful, unless it is a magical weapon. A renegade Sym-Killer with good friends and allies can re-adjust quite well to a life of adventure, but rarely in a civilized city environment. Most have already accepted their appearance and inhuman abilities and expect others to do the same. Even when faced with occasional prejudice, a Sym-Killer tends to regard fear of him to be a good thing — often mistaking fear for genuine respect. These Bio-Borgs are taught to be self-reliant, so a life of reclusiveness, being on the run and war will not cause any problems or emotional distress. Consequently, many renegade Sym-Killers found in the wilderness operate alone and thrive under these conditions. Alignment Restrictions: Any, but usually evil with 50% Aberrant, 20% Miscreant, and 15% Diabolic. Good Sym-Killers do exist, but, like the Coalition soldier, this warrior may be fanatically loyal towards his leaders and masters and will carry out their bidding no matter what. Attribute Requirements: M.E. and P.E. 12 or higher. A high I.Q. (9 or better) is strongly recommended, but not required. Physical attributes are modified by magic transmutation and the use of symbiotes. Race Restrictions: Humans and S.D.C. D-Bees only! Supernatural beings, creatures of magic, and M.D.C. D-Bees can not be turned into the Sym-Killer. Physical Appearance: With a giant hungry mouth on his chest with a second mouth on a tentacle extending from it, organic blades shooting from his forearms, spikes jutting from his joints, and a giant prehensile tail with a stinger on the end, the Sym-Killer is definitely a very inhuman looking "thing." 61
Added to that is a face totally obscured by the macabre Sym-Killer Masque and the creature looks absolutely atrocious. P.B. is reduced to 1D4 and Horror Factor is 15. O.C.C. Skills: Language: Two of Choice (+30%) Math: Basic (+5%) Radio: Basic (+10%) Military Etiquette (+15%) Camouflage (+10%) Intelligence (+10%) Tracking (+15%) Wilderness Survival (+10%) Boxing Wrestling Athletics (General) Climbing (+10%) Swimming (+5%) W.P. Sword (include retractable arm blades) W.P. Three of Choice (any) Hand to Hand Combat: Effectively Martial Arts, but see R.C.C. bonuses from specialized combat training. O.C.C. Related Skills: Select five skills at level one, plus one additional skill at levels 4, 8, and 13. Communications: Any (+5%) Cowboy: None Domestic: Any Electrical: Basic only. Espionage: Any (+10%) Mechanical: Basic only. Medical: None Military: Any, except NBC warfare, parachuting, or any demolitions Physical: Any (+5% where applicable) Piloting: Any, except robots, jets, or tanks Pilot Related: Any, except parachuting Rogue: Any (+5%) Science: None Technical: Any (+10%) Weapon Proficiencies: Any Wilderness: Any (+10%) Secondary Skills: Select two Secondary Skills at levels 1, 3, 6, 9, 12, and 15 from those listed, excluding those marked "None." These are additional areas of knowledge that do not get the advantage of the bonus listed in parentheses. All secondary skills start at the base skill level. Standard Equipment: Usually starts out with no equipment since he has very little need for armor, weapons, or other equipment. Individual slave masters may equip their slaves with whatever items they may need. Loyal minions are given whatever equipment they may need as deemed necessary by their masters and those who serve the Splugorth are likely to have at one or two lesser to mid-level magic weapon. Money: Starts with none. Even most loyal slaves and minions do not receive an allowance. The few that do receive an allowance are usually allotted no more than !D6xlO credits a week. Free characters can accumulate a fortune, although most Sym-Killers crave action and adventure not money. Slave Market Value: As the most powerful and comparatively rare (the Splugorth allow only a tiny number to be sold at the slave markets), the Sym-Killer is also the most valuable. The usual price is 4-8 million credits, but experienced warriors can sell for 20 million or more. Bio-Wizardry and Cybernetics: None, other than those gained by conversion into a Sym-Killer. Cybernetic and bionic implants are rejected by the Sym-Killer's body and expelled within an hour. Bio-Borg™ Experience Tables Bio-Leech 1 0,000-2,100 2 2,101-4,200 3 4,201-8,400 4 8,401-17,200 5 17,201-25,400 6 25,401-35,800 7 35,801-55,000 8 55,001-80,000 980,001-110,000 10110,001-150,000 11 150,001-200,000 12 200,001-250,000 13250,001-380,000 14 380,001-480,000 15 480,001-600,000 Fire Eater 1 0,000-2,150 2 2,151-4,300 3 4,301-8,600 4 8,601-17,200 5 17,201-25,500 6 25,501-36,000 7 36,001-52,000 8 52,001-73,000 9 73,001-100,000 10 100,001-150,000 11 150,001-200,000 12 200,001-275,000 13 275,001-350,000 14 350,001-425,000 15 425,001-525,000 Kill Crazy 1 0,000-2,200 2 2,201-4,400 3 4,401-9,000 4 9,001-19,000 5 19,001-28,000 6 28,001-40,000 7 40,001-60,000 8 60,001-80,000 9 80,001-110,000 10 110,001-160,000 11 160,001-225,000 12 225,001-300,000 13 300,001-375,000 14 375,001-450,000 15 450,001-550,000 Sym-Killer 0,000-2,400 2,401-4,800 4,801-10,400 10,401-22,200 22,201-34,000 6 34,001-50,000 7 50,001-80,000 8 80,001-120,000 9 120,001-160,000 10 160,001-200,000 11 200,001-250,000 12 250,001-300,000 13 300,001-400,000 14 400,001-500,000 15 500,001-600,000 16 600,001-800,000 17 800,001-1,000,000 18 1,000,001-1,250,000 19 1,250,001-1,500,000 20 1,500,001-2,000,000 21 2,000,001-2,500,000 22 2,500,001-3,000,000 23 3,000,001-3,500,000 24 3,500,001-4,000,000 25 4,000,001-4,500,000 62
Rifter Subscription Don't become a slobbering beast driven mad because you're afraid you'll miss an issue of The Rifter™ Subscribe and get every issue delivered to your doorstep in a protective cardboard envelope. One Year (four issues) — Only $25.00 That's right, only 25 bucks! Postage and handling included. That's over 500 pages of source material, fun and inspiration for an incredible bargain. Of course, every issue should be available from fine stores everywhere — and stores need your support. Each issue will be % to 128 pages (typically the latter). Published quarterly with a cover price of $7.95 (a bargain at that price). Contributing authors will include Kevin Siembieda, Eric Wujcik, Wayne Breaux Jr., Jolly Blackburn and other Palladium notables. What Exactly is The Rifter™? Well, flipping through this issue should give you a fairly good idea, but every issue will be different. Really, there has never been anything like it. The Rifter is a synthesis of a sourcebook. Game Master's guide, a magazine and talent show — a fan forum. The Rifter™ is like a sourcebook because it will include a ton of role-playing source material (optional and official). This will include New O.C.C.s, NPC heroes, NPC villains, new powers and abilities, weapons, adventure settings, adventures and adventure ideas, and Hook, Line and Sinkers™. The Rifter™ is like a G.M.'s guide because it will include special articles and tips on role-playing, how to handle common problems, how to build an adventure and so on. The Rifter™ is like a magazine because it will come out four or five times a year (we're shooting for a regular quarterly release schedule), and because it will feature Palladium news, advertisements, serial articles and continuing features. Most importantly, The Rifter™ is a forum for Palladium's Fans. At least half of each issue will be text and material taken (with permission) from the Web, as well as fan contributions made especially for The Rifter™. We get tons of fan submissions that are pretty good, but not good enough for publication as an entire sourcebook. In other cases, the submission is something clever and cool, but only a few pages long. There's lots of cool stuff on the Internet, but you must have a computer and Internet access, something a lot of fans just don't have. The Rifter™ will reprint some of those "Web-Works™" allowing fans (and the world at large) to get a glimpse of their genius. It is one more avenue in which fans and professionals alike can share their visions of role-playing and the Palladium Megaverse with other fans. It's a chance to get published, get a little cash, get your name in lights (well, in print) and have fun. This also means, more than any RPG publication ever produced, The Rifter™ is yours. Yours to present and share ideas. Yours to help shape and mold. Yours to share. Why call it The Rifter™? Because each issue will span the Palladium Megaverse of games, adventures and ideas. Each issue will publish features from people across the Web and beyond! But mainly because each and every one of us, from game designer and publisher, to Joe Gamer, traverses the Megaverse™ every time they read an RPG or play in a role-playing game. We travel the infinite realm of the imagination, hopping from one world to the next — building one world to the next. Time and space are meaningless in our imaginations as we Rift from one place and time to another. Palladium Books Inc. Rifter Dept 12455 Universal Drive Taylor, MI 48180 63
The Hammer of the Forge By James M.G. Cannon Chapter Nine Ruminations There are still planets in the United Worlds of Warlock that celebrate Defender's Day every standard year, including a full quarter of the Draconid Hub. The festivities are as varied as the cultures that celebrate them, from the parades and fireworks of the Hub Worlds, to the Bardic Regalia ofLegolas, to the bloody arenas ofOgretopia. The one thing they all have in common is a cessation of all hostilities among the celebrants, no matter how grave or petty they might be, so that all sentient beings can engage in a thanksgiving for their present liberty. Today, these celebrations have a festive, light-hearted and often comedic air, but a hundred and fifty years ago the festivals •were spontaneous and heartfelt. The first Defender's Day was a haphazard event, begun only hours after the defeat of Quajinn Huo's fleet near the Asteroid Barrier of the Draconid Hub, a culmination of months of struggle against the tyrant wizard who had conquered and razed nearly twenty worlds in the UWW despite concerted efforts to defeat him. It took the combined might of several brave heroes, among them the illustrious Doctor Abbot, the Wolfen shaman Koguk, the dark sorceress Callista, and the then fledgling Cosmo-Knight Lothar of Motherhome, to bring a close to Quajinn Huo 's bid for power. Even so, the heroes were nearly overcome until a flight of Dwarven Ironships arrived to bolster the defenders at the behest of no less a personage than Inglix the Mad himself. By day's end, Quajinn Huo's fleet lay scattered across the Asteroid Barrier and the systems he had conquered were free. While spontaneous celebrations erupted across the quadrant, and the heroes took stock, the dread wizard himself managed to escape. He bolted for the safety of Center, and only Lothar and Koguk seemed interested in pursuing him. — "Defender's Day," A History of the United Worlds of Warlock, Third Edition Friar nudged the gravsledge with a boot, and the heavy unit slid forward, another meter closer to the customs station. She fingered the hilt of her energy knife, a motion Elias was beginning to recognize as indicative of anxiety. Which meant the sweat beading on her pale brow was not due to the temperature; Elias knew that coming from a frigid world, Friar was inured to cold and uncomfortable whenever the mercury climbed past 15 degrees Celsius, as it often did on Center. He also knew her black and cobalt flightsuit was wired to keep her cool, and it appeared as though her nerves were starting to fray. Elias suppressed a grimace. Now would be the worst possible time for anything to go wrong. The last fifteen hours had been a whirlwind of activity as he pulled together the team he had assembled, purchased the last few bits of gear for the mission, and fitted the ship for an extended trip. The rest of the team, the Relogian weapons expert Hector, the Kisent pilot Orix, and the Oni martial artist Tatsuda were already aboard the ship, running a pre-flight check and securing the last of the equipment in the hold. Elias and Friar would be the last ones on the ship. They had to be, in order to ensure Quajinn Huo made it aboard. Elias did frown finally, and Friar straightened unconsciously. She was not the target of his ire, however, but rather the Draconid sorcerer in cold storage on the sledge. Elias had explained the plan a dozen times to Quajinn, and the Draconid seemed wary of the risks but he also seemed to understand they were necessary. Yet, when it finally came time to put the plan in action, Quajinn had balked. Most of the last fifteen hours had been used by Elias to convince Quajinn to go through with it. It was the only way, as far as the former Guardsman could see. 64
A century and a half ago, when Lothar of Motherhome and Koguk the Wolfen shaman had tracked Quajinn Huo to Center, the Draconid had been able to elude them in the nearly limitless expanse of the great city. They searched for him for months, and even managed to find him on a few occasions, but after a brief skirmish, Quajinn would always escape. Always. While Quajinn searched for a way to eliminate his pursuers, the two Wolfen, tiring of the chase, discovered a way to enforce a small measure of justice upon the wizard. Koguk cast a Curse, an ancient and powerful rite practiced by his people, fueling the magic with the almost limitless energy of Lothar's cosmically powered body. The Curse bound Quajinn Huo to Center for seven times seven hundred years, with the stipulation that no spell could free him and the only way he could pass through the gates of Center before the time was up would be as a corpse. It was much more poetic in the original Wolfen tongue, Elias had been told, but no matter what language you used, it read pretty much the same. Quajinn Huo, former trigalactic despot, was a prisoner of Center. In one hundred and fifty years, Quajinn had not found the loophole. And not for lack of trying; he had consulted other wizards from a thousand worlds and dimensions, studied ancient tome after ancient tome, bargained with the Splugorth. Nothing he tried worked. Not surprising, in Ellas' opinion. Quajinn, like Koguk the Shaman, thought like a wizard. If the Curse said no spell could save the Draconid, than no spell could save him. There were ways around that seemingly insurmountable stipulation, though. And as Elias saw it, Friar the Klikita was the key. An aberration of her birth had gifted her with a cryokinesis, enabling her to manipulate ambient temperatures to a fine degree, even to the point of conjuring ice and snow, or freezing a sentient in its tracks. Friar would freeze Quajinn, slowing his life signs down so that he would appear dead — and if that still didn't work, she could finish him off and then revive him on the ship. A simple plan. A good plan. But Quajinn Huo was as paranoid as a Naruni client with unpaid bills. While frozen, he would be powerless, unaware of his surroundings and unable to act. He didn't trust Elias or Friar to bring him out of the freeze at all, and claimed they would sell him to the UWW for a planet's ransom. No amount of assurances from Elias would sway him, no matter how many times Elias told him he was needed to crush Lothar. Elias made the miscalculation of presenting Quajinn with the mysterious wrist chronometer taken from the Fallen Knight. After a quick analysis of the artifact, Quajinn had declared the chron could be used to stop time, somehow duplicating the effects of the freeze but also enabling Quajinn to remain conscious. Elias reminded him that, according to the wording of the Curse, magic wouldn't do any good. Quajinn grew sullen then, and threatened to melt Elias down with a word, but Elias reminded the Draconid that if he did, he would never get off Center. Elias remained his best chance for freedom. His only chance. At that, Quajinn relented. But just before Friar put him under, the wizard smiled slyly. He placed his right hand on Elias' forehead, and his left upon Friar's. Before Elias could knock it away, Quajinn murmured an incantation. "You have an hour to get me onto the ship before your heads explode," he warned them in his sibilant voice. "I'll reverse the spell once I am again mobile." He smiled like a dragon, and then laid down in the case, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. While Elias balled his fists in impotent rage, the wizard added, "You may begin." Friar brushed her knife hilt and gave Elias a worried glance, but at his curt nod she went to work. Ice slid over the Draconid's reclining form, enveloping him in a heartbeat. Elias reached over and closed the case, checking the computer on the locking mechanism for life signs. Weak, but still visible. "Better kill him," Elias said with a wolfish grin. "Just to be sure." Friar looked like she might argue, but she complied. A moment later, Elias had levered the case onto the gravsledge and they were on their way to the docking bay. So Elias understood Friar's nervousness, though he felt none of it himself. He felt secure in his invulnerability, and presumed Quajinn's threat to be an idle one where he was concerned. Still, it wouldn't do for Friar to die before she could get Quajinn out of his icy prison. And time was growing short. Elias blinked as the gravsledge slid past him, right up to the customs station. Two hulking Prometheans looked down at Elias and Friar, their stony faces betraying no emotion. One stood behind the desk, thick fingers positioned to punch keys that would activate the full sensor package built into the station, reading at a glance everything on Elias' person or in his cargo. The other Promethean stood to the side, propped up by a wickedly barbed halberd that also doubled as a blaster rifle. Elias handed a datacard to the desk attendant, while the other one leaned over and tried to peer through the ice frosted glass window of the case. It actually flinched, tightening its grip on its weapon and turning to Elias with a stormy expression. "That is Quajinn Huo," it rumbled tonelessly, suddenly master of itself again. Elias nodded. "As my card will inform you, I managed to kill him. Now I'm taking him to the UWW for my reward." So said the datacard supplied by Squiddy, anyway. The Promethean behind the desk, having plugged the datacard into the terminal, nodded as well. "Your papers appear to be in order," it told Elias. Turning to its companion, it said, "Tor, ensure the wizard is indeed deceased." Tor stepped around Friar, who gave it a wide berth, and jammed the case's computer with a thick finger. Tor glanced at Friar and at Elias, and then said, "Quajinn Huo is dead." Elias and Friar made it to the ship in record time, though Elias had to make sure the woman didn't appear to move too quickly. The Prometheans had a long history of remaining outside the political and social conflicts of the creatures that visited Center, but for a trigalactic criminal like Quajinn Huo they might make an exception. Better to keep them from getting suspicious. Orix met them at the airlock. Tall and spare, with skin the color and consistency of bark and leafy hair tied into corn rows, he grinned savagely as the sledge slid past him. "All systems are go, captain," he told Elias in the stage whisper that passed for his voice. "We're ready to lift off when you give the word." Elias nodded. "Let's go." Orix spun on his heel and left for the bridge at a brisk pace. Elias turned to Friar to tell her to release Huo, but the case was already open and steaming as the ice evaporated instantly into vapor. Elias suppressed a reprimand. It 65
went against his training in the Invincible Guard to allow an underling to act without express orders, but then he wasn't in the Guard anymore. In fact, he needed people beneath him with some measure of initiative. He would simply need to get used to having people who thought for themselves. Quajinn Huo suddenly sat up, blinking ice from his lids. He stretched and shivered melodramatically, and then muttered a word in some arcane language. Friar instantly relaxed, exhaling a pent up breath. "Welcome back, Master Huo," she said, smiling. Quajinn levered himself out of the case and stood up. Beneath them all, the starship hummed with power as the engines came to life and the ship began to move, guided by Orix into the stratosphere of Phase World and beyond into the reaches of space. Quajinn's Draconian face split into a wide grin, displaying all of his sharpened teeth. "Free," he whispered. "Free!" he said again, at full volume. "After all these years, I am free finally to exact revenge." He turned to Elias with his predator's grin firmly in place. "You have gained some measure of trust at last, Harkonnen. And it will last as least as long as Lothar of Motherhome lives." The grin widened. "Which will not be long at all." Elias Harkonnen, former Invincible Guardsman and veteran of a thousand combats, ruthless and unforgiving, suppressed a shiver at the coldness and sheer evil he saw in Quajinn Hue's features. * * * "So Lothar broke that poor dragon's heart, only realizing after I explained much later what had happened. He's been sore at me ever since, though I promised never to put another love charm on him without his express permission." Kassy and Caleb stood in the galley of Lothar's borrowed starship. She was whipping up an "Atlantean delicacy" from the meager scraps of food the galley offered, while he leaned against the counter ready to assist in any way. So far he hadn't needed to do much. A little stirring, some hunting for ingredients, and the like, leaving Kassy to do most of the work. Now that the casserole was baking, they were taking a break so that Kassy could tell Caleb the story of Lothar's encounter with an amorous dragon. Lothar himself was only a few feet away, sitting at a low table and grinding his teeth, while the shadowy Doctor Abbot sipped tea from a delicate cup and admonished the Wolfen for his behavior. Abbot's words didn't seem to affect Lothar at all, though everything Kassy said increased his agitation. Throughout the story, Caleb maintained a close watch on his mentor to make sure his temper didn't explode. Though obviously annoyed — but when wasn't he? — Lothar remained fairly stable. No growling or brandishing of emerald axes, at any rate. Kassy paused to check on the progress of the meal, offering Caleb a quick smile, saying, "Not quite there yet, but doesn't it smell delicious?" Caleb had to agree. It was amazing how Kassy had pulled together the meal from what they had found in the galley; Caleb had assumed there wasn't much of use besides the strawberry wafers he'd eaten before. Somehow Kassy had been able to mix up a mouth watering casserole from the wafers, some broth, and a few packets of freeze dried vegetables. A few spices, completely unidentifiable to the young man who had never been very good in the kitchen to begin with, added flavor and contributed significantly to the enchanting aroma that filled the small room. "My father taught me how to cook," Kassy had explained. "He'd learned as a young man on the trail how to whip up a decent meal out of almost anything. And when I became a Slayer he insisted I learn how to do it too, to make sure I'd never go hungry. I don't suppose he ever envisioned me being locked in a Delakite dungeon for four days without a decent meal, though." Caleb wished that his own father had been able to cook anything at all, but dinners at the Vulcan house had been just a grade above c-rations for years now. Abigail Vulcan had been the family's cook, but dinner had been the least of the changes in the house after she died. Caleb suddenly wondered if he would ever see his father again. Over six weeks had passed since his transformation from high school senior and draftee to Cosmo-Knight, and he had to admit he wasn't yet missing his old life. He would eventually, however. Probably. And what would he do then? "Most people at least laugh politely when I finish that story," Kassy prompted. "Are you okay?" "Yeah," Caleb said quickly. "I was just thinking of something else. It was very funny. I have to admit though, that I find it difficult to imagine Lothar in that situation." "You and I both, pup," Lothar grumbled. "But old stories about me isn't what I'd like to hear from you, Kassy," he continued. "You have something about Harkonnen, don't you?" Kassy's friendly smile faded, and suddenly the playfulness in her expression was gone. Caleb reminded himself that when he first met this beautiful woman with the wicked sense of humor, she was playing Errol Flynn with a flaming sword, having just freed herself from captivity at the hands of pirates. She might appear to be Caleb's own age, but by her own admission she was an Undead Slayer, an Atlantean warrior skilled at destroying the supernatural, and as much a soldier as Caleb's father. "Right," Kassy said. "Caleb, do you mind getting some plates out? I think you and I will be the only ones eating." She raised an eyebrow in question to the others, and both Lothar and Abbot nodded. While Caleb did as she asked, she opened the oven and pulled out the dish, eyeing it critically. Apparently it passed muster, because she set it down on a heating pad on the counter and grabbed a big spoon to ladle portions onto the plates Caleb handed to her. She handed the first plate back to Caleb, heavy with food, and then took one for herself. They both took seats at the table and Caleb began to eat while Kassy spoke. "The Transgalactic Empire spans many worlds," she began. "In the heart of the Empire lies the Free World Council, an alliance of systems who have rebelled against the Empire and are fighting to free other enslaved worlds under the Empire's control." She paused to take a bite, and Caleb realized that Lothar and Abbot must be aware of these sorts of things, and that Kassy was explaining them for his benefit. Slightly embarrassed at his own lack of what should have been simple knowledge, he dug into the casserole with gusto. It smelled better than it tasted, but it tasted a great deal better than what he was used to. 66
"It's much too big a project for them to tackle alone, so they depend on aid from outside systems, many of which are all too happy to provide it. The Kreeghor have a lot of enemies in the Three Galaxies, and the FWC is a thorn in their side that many governments like to encourage. The people of Alexandria, my world, have been sending aid since the initial rebellion of the planet Good Hope. Money, food, munitions, ships. Anything we could spare went out to the FWC. One of my cousins was a blockade runner who took the trip to Good Hope a dozen times. That twelfth trip would prove to be his last. "The run to Good Hope was never a pleasant one; you can barely go a kilometer without bumping into a Kreeghor dreadnought. Still, many ships slipped through using cunning, magic, or cutting edge tech. The Kreeghor decided too many ships were getting through, and that the only way to stop them was to send in the Invincible Guard, the elite cadre of imperial troops, each with enough raw power to go toe to toe with a Cosmo-Knight They put a century, a hundred troops each, on each leg of the blockade. On the border to CCW space, a centurion named Boreas was in charge. Klygestus watched for S'hree Vek vessels. And near UWW space was stationed Elias Harkonnen, a former UWW citizen himself and the only Elf in the Three Galaxies to graduate into the Invincible Guard. "Elias is as smart as he is ruthless and overconfident. He's completely invulnerable to harm, and has enough raw strength to juggle starfighters. On top of that, he has all the extensive military training and tactical skill of a Legionnaire and an intimate understanding of the way sentients from the UWW think and work. My cousin and his allies, Zeus rest their souls, never really stood a chance. "Running the blockade takes a series of lightspeed jumps from system to system. Short ones are best, zigging and zagging from one to another. Makes it easier to bypass the blockade and lessens the chance of accidentally encountering a dreadnought. Harkonnen knew or guessed well enough the general route the UWW ships would take to Good Hope, and he sat and waited for them to appear in system. "When they did, he let his three dreadnoughts sit in place and lob fire at the UWW ships to keep them too busy to run, but ensured the ships wouldn't take too much damage. Then he and his century went EVA and flew toward the UWW ships. Ship sensors don't pick up human sized targets very well, and most of the Legionnaires could survive in a vacuum unaided, so they managed to cross the void between the two sides without interference. They found airlocks and used their inhuman strength to shatter their way onto the ships. "What followed wasn't a battle in any sense of the word. Slaughter would be more appropriate. Harkonnen and his fellow Invincible Guardsmen tore the crews to pieces. The Atlanteans on board didn't do any better against them than the wizards or the warlock marines. Harkonnen killed everyone on board and then had the Guard break up the bodies and spread the offal and gore on every available surface. Then he set the controls of each ship for a timed jump back into UWW space and returned to his dreadnought. "It would be several more years before anyone from the UWW, my people included, attempted another blockade run." "My God," Caleb said. He didn't feel very hungry anymore, though Kassy had continued to eat throughout her tale. "That's the kind of guy we're going after?" Lothar nodded. "Not all our jobs will be easy like the Zodoran leech," he said with a grin. "Harkonnen is as bad as they come. I've already told you how he sacrificed his crew and his base in order to escape me. Any life other than his own has little meaning to him, and he's quite capable of doing almost anything to further his goals. He no longer has a century or any dreadnoughts to back him up, but that is no reason to underestimate him." "I hope to be able to use the resources at Xerxes to find out more," Abbot said, speaking for the first time. "With Lothar's help I may even be able to see some of the classified records the CCW keeps on Invincible Guards. At the very least, news reports should give us a clearer picture of who he is, and perhaps where he will strike next." "I know what he is," Kassy said coldly. "He is a monster. And he needs to be stopped." A loud beeping interrupted them, and Lothar stood up. "We're coming up on Xerxes. Caleb, why don't you give me a hand bringing her in." "Really?" Caleb instantly brightened. Lothar just brushed past him, growling, "Come on then." Caleb scrambled to his feet, and almost forgot his manners. He shot a questioning glance to Kassy, and she waved him off with a laugh. "Go ahead, I'll get the dishes." Caleb flashed her a grin in thanks and raced after Lothar. * * * The great spindle shaped station, twelve miles long, was once again swarming with ships. Caleb picked out the CCW ships from the Zodoran engagement easily enough; they were the eleven battle cruisers swarming with repair crews. The Zodoran machine had nearly crippled the starships, and had almost proved the end of Caleb as well. He could have died fighting that thing, virtually powerless while it hammered away at him. But he survived. Caleb grinned fiercely. He did a pretty good job his first time out as a Knight. "Pay attention, pup," Lothar admonished from the captain's chair. Lothar rested his hands lightly upon the controls, ready to make a correction if Caleb made a mistake. "Right, sorry," Caleb said, refocusing on the task at hand. Piloting a spaceship was a great deal more complicated than driving a car or even a plane; with no atmosphere to work with, a spaceship didn't have or need aerial vanes to manipulate airflow. Rather, maneuvering it depended upon the careful use of strategically placed thrusters that could set the ship in motion or slow it down. The fact that the ship moved through three planes wasn't anything that concerned Caleb; he had a knack for flying. What did worry him was failing to fire the right thruster at a crucial moment, or letting one bum too long. Either mistake could send the ship on a collision course with any one of the other hundred ships buzzing around the station. The ship shook as a starfighter buzzed too close, nearly scraping a wing along their dorsal surface. Caleb flinched and tried to correct his course, but realized in a heartbeat that he was doing okay. "Jerk," he muttered. Lothar uttered a short bark of laughter. 67
Somehow Caleb managed to bring the ship into range of the docking bay Xerxes had given them without any trouble. With a flick of his wrist he sent the docking claw out to latch onto the station and a dozen umbilicals snaking out to connect with power lines and air scrubbers. He sat back with a grin and looked over at Lothar. "Nice job," Lothar said. He wagged a finger at Caleb. "But don't get cocky. If that space jockey crashed into us, it wouldn't have mattered whose fault it was. You have to keep an eye out for that sort of thing." He stood up. "Now let's go." Abbot and Kassy were herding the prisoners out the airlock when Caleb and Lothar reached it. Paj Pandershon and his Delakite cohorts didn't look too happy, but Caleb didn't feel sorry for any of them. Pandershon tried to snarl something pithy as he was led up the corridor to the TVIA station, but a glare from Lothar had him tripping over his tongue. Caleb decided he would have to practice that move; though it would probably be easier if he were a foot taller and had a huge wolfs head brimming with sharp teeth. With Lothar leading the way, the four of them passed through the inspection station quickly, while the authorities carted off the prisoners for incarceration. Lothar went with them to make sure everything went smoothly, which left Abbot, Kassy and Caleb standing on the railing over the expansive central lobby of the docking level. "Well, we've much to do," Abbot said as Lothar and the TVIA officials walked off. "Caleb, you still need to be deputized. And I need to find those records and start working on this case." "I'll take care of Caleb," Kassy told him. "You start cracking dataspools and we'll meet up with you later." Before Caleb could interject, Abbot was beginning to head away and a figure in a military uniform was striding toward them, calling Abbot's name. Abbot paused, leaning on his cane. Caleb glanced at Kassy, but she didn't seem to recognize the other man. A tall, broad shouldered black man with a shaven head and a neatly trimmed goatee, he was obviously a soldier of some sort, resplendent in the white and silver uniform of the Consortium Armed Forces. He stuck out a hand and Abbot took it, shaking vigorously. "Doctor Abbot, so glad you could finally make it here. Where's Lothar and his apprentice?" "Captain Orestes," Abbot said, his shadowy features lightening in what Caleb thought of as Abbot's smile. "I'm afraid you just missed Lothar. He's on his way to the detention level. But his apprentice is right here and very eager to meet you." Abbot gestured to Caleb. "Captain, may I present Caleb Vulcan, Knight of the Forge. And our friend, Kassiopaeia Acherean." Captain Orestes shook Caleb's hand and then Kassy's, bright teeth flashing in his dark beard. "Good work out there, Caleb," Orestes said. "You saved a lot of lives." "Just, ah, doing my job, sir," Caleb said, slightly self-conscious. "And what was that exactly?" Kassy asked. Orestes put an arm around Kassy's shoulder and steered her towards the huge windows staring out into space. "You see those ships being repaired out there? Not a single one of them would be here if not for Caleb and Lothar." "Really?" Kassy said. She looked at Caleb in a new way, almost as if she were reevaluating him. He resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. "Indeed," Abbot agreed. "It was really nothing," Caleb insisted. "Any one of you would have done the same, if you could have. Doing something because you can doesn't make you anything special." One of the lessons his father had taught him, again and again. Orestes clapped him on the shoulder. "Lighten up, Caleb. C'mon, I seem to recall owing you and Lothar a drink." He grinned at them all. "All of you, actually." Abbot demurred. "I need to get some work done, Captain, but thank you for the offer. Caleb and Kassy, on the other hand, would be honored to join you, I'm sure." Kassy nodded automatically. "Of course, Captain. Lead the way." Caleb hesitated for a moment, but fell in behind them as Abbot left in the other direction. He would have rather gone with Abbot or hurried after Lothar at this point, but it would probably have been rude to turn down the offer of a drink from a man whose life he saved. But the thing of it was, Caleb didn't feel like he'd saved anyone's life. Out there at Teneb-742, with the Zodoran leech hammering him, it didn't even occur to him that by tackling the weapon themselves he and Lothar had spared the lives of the crews on those dozen ships. It really was just a job he had to do, part of being who he was now; as a Knight of the Forge it was his responsibility to put his life on the line for total strangers — the power he had made it more likely he'd survive the experience, after all — but it certainly wasn't his responsibility to feel comfortable around those strangers. 68
Captain Orestes' effusiveness was kind of unsettling in a way. Caleb knew Orestes was genuinely grateful, and friendly, but it still didn't sit well with him. Back home, when you did a favor for somebody, they just thanked you, and that was that. More or less; you knew they'd pay you back when the time came. None of this patting on the back and "let me buy you a drink." Caleb smiled to himself. It had seemed like fun immediately after tackling the machine, and he had argued with Lothar about taking up Orestes' offer, but now that he was here and doing it, he found himself agreeing with the Wolfen. Oddly enough, Caleb found Lothar's gruff manner easier to deal with than Orestes' open friendliness. Caleb shook his head. He supposed that Lothar reminded him a bit of his father, and maybe that was the source of the friction between them as much as the trust. Not that he would be telling Lothar that any time soon. "Here we are," Orestes announced, leading them into a caft packed with other men and women in Consortium uniforms. Everyone seemed to know Captain Orestes, and as soon as Caleb was identified, they all let up a big cheer and started buying him drinks. He was soon surrounded by long lost friends he'd never met, and every time he emptied a glass, someone handed him a full one. He was glad his Cosmo-Knight metabolism could handle all the alcohol; he'd only ever tried drinking once before, and the whiskey stolen from his father's liquor cabinet made him feel nearly as terrible as he did once his father discovered the theft. Caleb lost track of Kassy in the crowd, and it was a few hours later, as the party was beginning to break up and human constitutions gradually gave in to the demands being placed upon them, that he finally found her again. She was sitting by herself at a table in the back of the cafe", drinking what appeared to be water. Caleb put down his drink on the nearest flat surface and made his way towards her. She looked up as he came close. "Having fun?" she asked. "Not really," Caleb admitted, dropping into the seat next to her. "You?" "I think I burned out on this kind of stuff years ago. But I have to admit, soldiers know how to party. And none party heartier than the ones who risk their lives on a daily basis." She looked around at the remaining revelers. "These people lost a lot of friends out there. That Zodoran leech destroyed six Warshield cruisers before you two showed up and saved the day." Caleb nodded, seeing in his mind's eye the floating, shattered hulks that he and Lothar had flown by and later used for cover during the battle. He had tried then to ignore the bodies floating in the vacuum, but now couldn't forget them. They reminded him of Eddie Walters, strangely enough. Eddie, star quarterback, hero of Caleb's high school, and three years his senior. He went to Vietnam and came home in a plastic bag. "How are you holding up?" she asked. "Okay, I guess," he said. "I was just thinking about home." He smiled ruefully. "I've been doing that a lot lately. Back home, I'm supposed to be going off to war in a place that's very far from where I live, to kill people I've never met who mean me no real harm, because they want to use a different economic system than we do in my country. I wasn't too keen on the prospect originally, and after seeing what little I have of the Three Galaxies, it all seems so pointless." Maybe the alcohol had affected him after all; it certainly wasn't like him to talk this way. But he didn't stop. "It's really strange too, because I thought I was on the other side of the universe or something, but then I met all these humans who speak English for God's sake, and I started to think maybe I'm in the future, but no one seems to know about Earth. And I'm further from home and who I was there than I could have gotten if I had just gone to Vietnam." Kassy put her hand over his. "You want to go home," she said quietly. "No," Caleb said. "Maybe. I don't know. There's just too much here that's familiar, and it makes everything seem more alien." He paused. "I know that doesn't make any sense, but I don't think at this point I could explain it any better." "I understand," Kassy told him. "I do. Part of what it means to be an Atlantean is never having a real home. We're meant to wander through time and space. Even Alexandria, our base of operations in the Three Galaxies, isn't really what you'd call a home. We gave up the right to one when we destroyed Atlantis through our hubris. I've had to adjust to a lot stranger places than the Three Galaxies in my time, Caleb." She smiled suddenly, that same smile she had shown him in the tower on Korobas, and Caleb felt his heart tumble in his chest. "Besides," she said, "you've got Lothar and Abbot and me, and you know how to do the right thing. That's more than anyone else in the entire Three Galaxies has, if I do say so myself." "Thank you," Caleb said. He did feel better, and his head was clearing too. "I think I had a little too much to drink," he admitted. Kassy laughed, squeezing his hand. "There you are," sounded a familiar bark. Caleb and Kassy looked up, into the emerald face of Lothar. "We've got word from Center. Elias Harkonnen just left Phase World. With Quajinn Huo's body." Beside Caleb, Kassy suddenly stiffened and removed her hand from his. The moment had passed, and suddenly she was the Slayer again. "Huo? You don't think..." she trailed off, apparently unwilling to complete the thought. Caleb groaned. "Who's Quajinn Huo? No, wait, don't tell me. I've had enough stories for now." He stood up. "Let's go kick some butt." 69
The Siege Against Tolkeen By David Haendler Chapter 36 There was a deep, booming sound, like thunder, and a Tolkeen fighter jet fell to the ground, black smoke blossoming from its engines. Donald Hartman smiled inside his armor, and held up his plasma revolvers. He fired again, and another one of the planes burst into flame. The remaining four began to open fire, spraying the modified Super SAMAS with a heavy coat of gunfire. Red lights and warning sirens began going off in the helmet, as the gunfire chipped away large bits of armor plating. A flying APC threw itself to the ground, and its doors opened wide. A platoon of Tolkeen's finest crack troops began to emerge from those doors, their guns raised high, and a cry of triumph on their lips. They had their enemy outnumbered and outgunned; victory was surely theirs to savor. A platoon of soldiers backed up by a wing of fighter jets would be hard-pressed to lose against six ragtag soldiers and a power armor trooper. The Tolkeenites pressed forward, sensing a short and glorious battle ahead of them. One of the HFA troops looked at the onrushing mass of soldiers, and suddenly turned and sprinted away. He ran behind the Mosquito, seemingly fleeing from his enemy. None of the soldiers bothered giving chase to him, concerning themselves instead with the five remaining terrorists who were firing upon them. The soldiers returned the fire, and two of the HFA men fell, in a blaze of lasers and hellfire. In the midst of battle, nobody noticed the thick, black block flung from behind the Mosquito. There was a massive explosion, throwing the highly-trained Tolkeen soldiers around like rag dolls. Thirty men were knocked to the ground by the blast. Of those, twenty two never got up again. The survivors were badly disoriented, and many of them began to flee back to the transport. They dove behind their APC for cover, and from there began to resume the battle. A few of the soldiers never made it back to cover, and were pinned down and killed by the HFA. Donald Hartman fired his twin revolvers, and two more of the jets plummeted to the ground. But his armor was in bad shape, his men were still badly outnumbered, and incoming fire had disabled his CD player. The situation seemed grim. 70
Suddenly, there was the chatter of rail gun fire, and the Tolkeen soldiers began to melt away. Hartman looked over, and saw a "Jager" power armor emerging from the depths of the Mosquito, opening fire on the enemy troops. This newcomer was too much for the surviving soldiers, who fled back into their flying carrier. The doors to the ship reluctantly slammed shut, and the thrusters began to hum into life. "Oh no, you don't," growled Hartman, as he fired his guns again. The plasma rounds penetrated deep into the APC, and the enemy vessel exploded. The newcomer, meanwhile, busied himself by plucking the remaining jet fighters out of the sky. In a moment all was calm, as the survivors of the battle surveyed the wreckage and devastation. "Nice shooting," Hartman remarked, finally breaking the silence. "I do my best," said the Jager pilot. "I'm Mr. Reiser. Let's get these weapons away from here before reinforcements arrive, shall we?" Lucius Mallen breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the doctor step out of the emergency room. "How is he, Doctor?" he asked anxiously, grabbing the man by the arm. "Well," the doctor replied, his voice somewhat muffled by the surgical mask still on his face. "He's stable. We've managed to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound, and we'll get a magical healer as soon as possible to finish up the job." "Were you able to save his arm?" The doctor shook his head. "Sorry. There was too much nerve and muscle damage. If he had gotten in here twenty minutes earlier we might have been able to reattach the limb, but by the time we got him it was too late." "Can you give him a transplant arm? You know, bio-systems?" "No. Same principle. There's too much damage. We can give him a bionic arm, but that..." "That would destroy his magic." The doctor nodded. "We're going to leave the decision up to him, when he wakes up. We've got him on some heavy anesthetics right now, but he should be conscious by tomorrow morning. You can go in to see him if you want." "Thanks, Doctor," the Wolfen detective said, as he walked into the room. Pete Fransisco lay unconscious on a bed in the small, stark room. A bloodstained mass of bandages and wires adorned the shoulder where his arm had once been. IV tubes were jammed up his nose and into his remaining arm, and his breathing was labored. "Hi, Pete," said Mallen softly. "I hate to see you like this, buddy." The unconscious detective provided no reply. "We shut down that arms dealer real good. The robot that did this to you is sitting in a scrap heap right now. The place's computer records were encrypted, but we've got a Techno-Wizard working on breaking their code. We should have it by the end of the week." The Wolfen looked at his silent, sleeping partner once again. "Sure hope you can make Uzieth's funeral. Well, anyway, I'll see you in a while." The Wolfen gently patted his friend on the head, and then walked away. The doctor, looking in on this scene, wished that he could feel more sympathy. He'd seen so many one-sided conversations like this over the years that he felt numb to them. With the war going on, he had seen more and more such occurrences lately. The doctor sighed, and walked back to his office. He opened up the door, and reached for the light switch. "Turn on that light and I'll blow you in half," said a female voice. The doctor looked into his dark room, and could make out the impression of a woman crouching on his desk, holding a pistol. The surgeon put his hands up in the air. "Wh- what is this all about?" he demanded. "Shut the door, Doc," she said. The surgeon grudgingly complied, plunging the room into total, inky darkness. "If it's money you want, I'll give you my wallet." "Keep your money in your pocket, Doc. What I need is a prescription. I've got a friend who's been magically tortured by the pigs who run this city. He's in a near-coma. What would you recommend for him?" "Uh," said the doctor. "It's hard to say without examining him. But we sometimes get escaped POWs here who were tortured by the Coalition. I give them Verflex. It's a lot like Prozac, but it also gives them extra pep." "Give me a prescription," said the woman, thrusting a pen and his prescription notepad into the doctor's hand. He filled the sheet out as best he could, and handed it to the woman. "Thanks, Doc," she said, climbing up into a ventilation shaft. "And remember, don't tell anyone about our little conversation." With that, she left the room, leaving the doctor in darkness. 71
A few minutes later, Sonja, dressed in street clothes and accompanied by Jack Perrin, used the prescription to buy a vial of Verflex from the hospital pharmacy. With the precious drugs in Jack's pocket, the two walked out of the hospital. "We've got to do something nice for that doctor," said Perrin. "We owe the poor guy one." "Provided that this stuff works," replied Sonja, mildly confused by her companion's attitude. "If he gave us poison pills, then I'm going to be paying him another visit." "Not again," snarled Donald Hartman, glancing at his suit's radar screen as he hauled a crate of rail gun ammunition down towards a hole in the ground, where a few dozen hover-dollies waited to carry the precious cargo away. Other HFA troops had been showing up to help carry the NCR power armor away, but it was still going too slowly. "Hans!" the CS pilot yelled. "We've got more company coming!" "No. We do not," replied the spy, grinning broadly. He had been fiddling around with a machine that had been in the plane, a machine which looked like an old-fashioned mortar with an ammunition drum. Reiser began to fire the thing up into the air, launching out six small mini-missiles which shot out towards Tolkeen at an incredible speed. "Six mini-missiles won't bring down those planes!" yelled Hartman. "There's like twenty jets headed at us!" "Just watch your radar screen," said Hans. "H-hey! They're turning back. The jets are turning back! What did those mini-missiles do, buddy? Did you just fire miniature nukes at Tolkeen or something?!" The spy shook his head. "Their sensors are going crazy right about now. According to their technological sensors, a massive air strike is headed towards Tolkeen. Their magical sensors won't read a thing, but that'll only scare them more." "Cool!" said Hartman, as he got back to work. "Got anything else like that, or is it just armor and ammo?" "It was supposed to be secret," said Hans reluctantly. "The NCR just finished up a major trade with the Coalition States. They gave us about five billion credits worth of top-quality composite steel, and we agreed to give them some of our nicer technological secrets in return." "Like what?" "Well, ever since the Gargoyles learned about technology, we've been trying to use their own weapons against them. Gargoyles tend to overreact to danger, so we create false dangers, then outmaneuver the monsters and hit them with a lethal surprise. We use the Radar Missiles that I just showed you for that particular purpose. We've got code-breaking machines and fake voice modulators that we use to issue false orders onto their radio frequencies, and jammers that we use to prevent them from using their radios. My personal favorite has got to be the Mega-Hologram. It's a hologram projector that creates an enormous image we use to frighten or misdirect the Gargoyles. Generally, we make holographic Devastator robots for the Gargoyles to attack, so that they ignore the real troops. But we can reconfigure the thing to make holograms of evil gods, Alien Intelligences, or even massive explosions. Fun stuff." "Oh, I think Perrin is going to like you a lot," said Hartman. Off in the distance, the anti-aircraft guns of Tolkeen could be heard firing away at a threat that wasn't there. Chapter 37 "Sir, we've found something," said the red-suited forensic scientist, as he sifted through the assorted machine parts at the Naruni garage. He held up an ancient CD, and looked at it in the dim light of the garage. "Prints," the scientist said, smiling blandly. "Human fingerprints." Lucius Mallen walked over, rubbing his eyes blearily. He hadn't slept in a couple of days, and had only talked to his wife once or twice in the past week. This case was putting an awful strain on their marriage. But it couldn't be helped, really. The paperwork for this situation was incredible, and he had had Uzieth's funeral to attend. The Wolfen detective gulped down the remnants of his rapidly cooling coffee as he peered at the disc. "Can you put those fingerprints into the criminal database?" "Sure thing, sir," the scientist said, tucking the CD away into a sterile plastic baggie. "If I go back to headquarters right now, I can have the results for you in fifteen minutes." "Go," said Lucius, his weariness creeping into his voice. "With all due respect, sir, you don't sound so good," said the scientist, as he began to leave the room. "You can't solve a case when you're so tired. Sleepy people make mistakes." "I must have been pretty sleepy when I joined the force, then," growled the Wolfen, under his breath. "Errgh," groaned Hubert Possman, as he slowly rolled out bed. "What a vicious headache I've got. Isn't that just typical? I get crazy nightmares about being trapped in Tolkeen and I wake up feeling like garbage." He laboriously got onto his feet, and walked out of the small, dark room he was in. Suddenly, he found himself in the HFA beer hall, surrounded by city rats and terrorists who were fiddling around with crazy gadgets. "Just typical," he groaned. "It wasn't a dream." "How are you doing?" asked Perrin, walking over to the dazed ranger. "You've been asleep for quite a while, buddy!" "Just a few hours more, please." "It's okay if you're still tired. We've still got a couple of weeks left before the solstice. As long as you're up and on your feet by then. We'll really need your help on that one. You're the only one who's seen the inside of that pyramid, so you'll have to be the one who guides us through." "Great. Going back into that den of evil was the first thing I thought about doing when I woke up. I'm really excited about letting them shoot at me again." "Just think of it as payback." "Too mild. I don't like to just do payback. I like to do vengeance on a cosmic scale. Call back when we've got some nukes." "We've got the next best things! Courtesy of the NCR." Perrin gestured around, displaying the variety of complex gadgets and devices which lay about the place. 72
"Yeah, what is all this stuff? I was wondering about that." "Some German flyboys got shot down by Tolkeen. But we managed to save one of them, and he let us have all of the power armor, ammunition, and electronic countermeasures onboard." "Decent of him. Where is the guy? I speak a little Euro." "Went shopping. The fellow didn't have much in the way of street clothing, and didn't feel like walking around Tolkeen in his uniform." Suddenly, there was a little cry of joy from the rear of the room. Sonja rushed over to Possman, and gave him a little peck on the cheek. "Glad to see you're awake!" she said happily. "Glad to be awake," he said, looking appreciatively at the Juicer. "There any coffee around here? I'm never any good in the morning without my pot of coffee." "Thought you said you were going back to sleep," said Perrin, fetching a chipped mug from a cabinet. "Changed your mind?" "To heck with more sleep," said Possman triumphantly, casting a sideways glance at Sonja. "There's work to be done." Shaard, the ancient ice dragon, knelt in the center of a circle of black flame in a place of darkness. A grimoire with an unpronounceable name, bound in the flesh of demons and inked in the blood of a god, lay before him. The ritual components of his spell were neatly laid out. This spell could be catastrophic if cast poorly. The dragon chanted a brief prayer in a tongue that predated man, and a small Rift between dimensions tore open before him. He grabbed up a massive handful of soil, and then carefully opened up an old wound in one of his claws with a ritual knife. Drops of freezing cold blood dripped down and mingled into the dirt. Shaard reached into a small bowl to his right, and carefully scooped out a little bit of thick blood from an extinct species. He mixed it into the dirt, and then did the same thing with a bowl to his left. The dragon steeled himself against the pain, and shoved the handful of soil into the Rift. Searing magical energies shot up his arms, but he ignored the agony and skillfully shaped the dirt. Massive amounts of mystical energy flowed into his creation as he formed it, endowing it with some sort of life. When Shaard felt content that the thing in his hands contained enough power, he pulled his burnt arms out of the Rift. The tear in dimensions sealed itself off a moment later. The dragon then looked down at what was in his hands, and smiled. A nude human woman, burning with the energies of life, lay before him, recuperating from its creation. The workmanship had been perfect. The spell had gone exactly as planned. "Who's your lady friend, my liege?" asked a deep, fiery voice from the shadows. The dragon turned, and saw his personal Sunaj assassin standing outside of the circle, in full body armor. The assassin's gauntlets were stained with blood. The dragon thought about telling the Sunaj to stay away during rituals, but then thought better of it. The assassin knew the risks involved in disrupting a ceremony, and had far too much self-interest to ever take those risks. "I would like you to meet Elizabeth Perrin," said the dragon, with a little flourish. "I have greatly improved her from her days as a creature of flesh." The woman looked at the assassin, and suddenly her eyes glowed red, and her teeth elongated into savage fangs. But a mere moment later, she was back to her normal beauteous self, as if the horror had been only a mirage. "Very nice," the assassin said, visibly impressed. "My liege, I have just returned from the front. The defecting officer that you told me about has met the fate that he richly deserved." "I shouldn't have wasted your precious time with that fool," said Shaard. "The war with the Coalition doesn't even matter any more. The only one with the power to stop me is Perrin, and the steps that I have just taken have assured his doom. Tolkeen — my legacy — is secure." Chapter 38 In a place of darkness, where time meant little and space could be molded like putty, there was a castle of glass and obsidian. The castle sat on a mountaintop, its twisted spires reaching up towards the heavens and very nearly pricking the fluffy, black clouds. At the foot of the mountain, mindless gibbering things with many eyes and power beyond that of any mortal man danced an endless dance, praising the sole inhabitant of the black castle in a tongue that even they did not understand. They understood very little of the world. Their purpose was to dance and to sing in honor of their lord, and they intended to do it until the stars burned out. The lord of the castle sat on a throne of dragon skulls, brooding and thinking dark thoughts. Although he had been a servant (some would say lap-dog) of the Old Ones and was therefore an unbelievably ancient being, the lord of the castle was stuck in 73
the frame of a lesser being. During the fall of his masters, a spell had shattered his physical body, reducing him to a powerless spirit. After several millenia of wandering the astral planes and other realms for a suitable host, he had finally come upon one. Unfortunately, the only being whose soul resonated properly to subsume had been a peasant. A stinking, sweaty, Elf peasant. For countless years, a being of great power had been forced to inhabit the weak and fleshy body of a pointy-eared dandelion eater. Although the lord of the castle was not terribly conscious of his looks, this seemed to be a cosmic insult of some sort. The only beings who could give him back his former glory were the Old Ones, his masters, and they were sleeping. The lord of the castle wanted to wake them for the purpose, but could think of no way to do so. Every so often he would enter their dreams for clues, but gained little insight and much distress from that. The nightmares of the Old Ones would madden any other being, and badly disturbed the lord of the castle. He spent much of his time thinking about how to save his masters from their slumber. It took him eons to make even the simplest insights into how to resurrect them, but time was meaningless to one such as him. In a few billion years, perhaps he would have the answer, and then everything would be as it had been before. Suddenly, there was a disturbance, and the lord of the castle sat up in his chair of dragon bone. A mystic portal opened up before him, sparkling with chains of vibrant green and blue energy. A shifting, sentient blackness could be seen on the other end of the mini-Rift, tiny tendrils reaching out from its world to his. "How are you, my friend?" asked the lord of the castle, in a forgotten tongue. "Have the ages been treating you well?" "Hhhheellllpppp..." growled the darkness, its voice badly distorted. "I-immprisssoned... b-b-by Shhhaaarhd. Ggoiinnng to... bbbeeee... slaaaainnn." "What?" asked the lord of the castle, badly shocked by what he heard. He invested some of his own energy to widen the portal, only to find his efforts blocked by some invisible force. Something was terribly wrong. He hadn't seen any mortal magic of this caliber since that silly conflict between the Elves and the Dwarves. "How are they doing this?" "Shhhaaaard iss... the key," said the darkness. Suddenly, there was a crackling noise, and the mystical portal slammed shut before either of the two entities could react. For the first time in several hundred years, the lord of the castle rose from his throne. This was disturbing. If the mortals had sufficient magic to imprison one of his brothers, then they could set back his plans to wake the Old Ones. This could not be stood for. Shaard was one of the most powerful dragons in existence, but even he could be swept aside if the situation and desperation demanded it. A trip to Earth was dangerous, but he saw no other options. If the mortals succeeded in this endeavor, then they would doubtless try it again. That could not be tolerated. The lord of the castle strode over to his closet, opening it with a thought. Inside was his armor, a full suit of gleaming, jet-black metal forged in the heart of a sun. He put the enchanted armor on, and then shut the closet with another thought. Then, he walked to the center of the room, where his sword hovered in the air, just inches above the ground. It was a black blade, of the same star-metal as his armor, with a serrated edge that could slice the electrons off of an atom. As he picked it up, the lord of the castle relished how good the thing felt in his hands. After fashioning a crimson cape for himself with a muttered spell, he felt ready for battle. There was a flash of lightning, and the lord of the castle, servant to the Old Ones, thinker of dark thoughts, departed for Earth. * * * Shaard suddenly shuddered, as images of apocalypse and fire filled his mind. Screams, gunfire, and a terrible explosion overwhelmed him for a brief second. "What's wrong?" asked the Codling, suddenly concerned. "Nothing," snapped Shaard, suddenly regaining his calm composure. "Just got a little jolt. The ley line energy will do that to you sometimes." "No," said the Godling. "One of the lesser races might get those once in a while, but not you. An ancient ice dragon should not be getting jolts from the ley lines. So tell me, what's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong!" said Shaard, more than a little defensively. "It's the flashes, isn't it?" said the Godling. "You've been seeing flashes of the final conflict. I've been getting them, too, along with pretty much every other psychic sensitive in Tolkeen. The solstice, which seems to be shaping up as the final battle between us and the Coalition, is just about a week away. And if what you saw in that clairvoyant moment is enough to make even you flinch, then you know how unsavory that final clash is going to be. Shaard, I'm afraid we're going to have a 74
pyrrhic victory here. Whether or not we wipe out the Coalition States with this pyramid, it looks like the Dead Boys are going to stomp all over us." "That doesn't matter. Without supplies and reinforcements, the army will fade away before they can wipe Tolkeen off the map. We can rebuild very easily." The Godling pondered this for a moment. "You know," he finally said, "Some of the other Council members have been talking about evacuating citizens, getting them to other dimensions so that they'll survive no matter who wins. To tell you the truth, I like that idea a lot." "No good," said the dragon, shaking his massive head. "We can't afford the energy that opening those Rifts would require. Everything has to go into the ritual if the spell is going to work properly." "Shaard, these are our own people that we're talking about! You are willing to let the civilians of your own nation be massacred? That's inhuman!" "Inhuman? My friend, you've been living amongst these 'squishies' too long. Mortal things come and go. They achieve nothing, they consume resources, and they die. Tolkeen is more than its citizens. It's more important than you, it's more important than me. If we take care of this city, it'll last forever, an eternal testament to our greatness." "If you keep on like this, Tolkeen's going to be a cinder, an eternal monument to our stupidity! Shaard, do you honestly think that the Coalition States are the only enemies we have? That flash you just had, I know that it takes more than visions of war to make you shudder. If a flash of the future made someone like you quake, then our future has got to be something horrible." The Godling stood up, and began to walk out of the room. "Don't do anything stupid," said Shaard. "Just remember, the ritual can proceed without you." With that, the Godling walked out of the room, leaving the great dragon alone with his thoughts. And although Shaard was never fazed by even the most frigid of temperatures, the dragon felt cold somehow. Chapter 39 "Behold... your destinies," said Shaard in an uncharacteristically amused tone of voice. He gestured to a little table, on top of which lay nine golden rings. Each of the rings was plain and unadorned, but they all glowed softly, with an inner brightness. One by one, the Council members picked up the gold bands, and slipped them over their fingers. "When the solstice comes," said the dragon. "These rings shall help you channel your energies through the pyramid to complete the ritual. Isn't it odd to think that these little bands of metal shall earn each of you a place in the annals of this nation's history?" "I must admit to not liking this, Shaard," said one of the human members, gazing at the shining gold. "In my experience, relying on magical trinkets like this has always led to trouble. True power comes from inside, and you know it." "I sssuposse that the Dead Boyssss do not feel the sssame way," snickered one of the two Lizard Mages. "They have no choice but to rely on their lassser gunsss, and we have no choice but to rely on thesse rings." "I couldn't have put it better myself," said Shaard, reclining in his throne. "Hmph," muttered another one of the sorcerers. "You're seeming far more mellow than usual, Shaard. I would've thought that the upcoming Armageddon would have made you tenser than a constipated goblin." "What can I say?" laughed Shaard, although this laugh was harsh and humorless. He looked around him, at the inner walls of the great pyramid, at the glittering bands on the fingers of the Council members, and at the skulking devil-woman in the likeness of Elizabeth Pen-in, and laughed again. "I've got some insurance." * * * Lucius Mallen, the Wolfen detective, glumly sat at his desk playing computer solitaire. He had gotten stymied in the past few games, and it looked like it was about to happen again. In the back of his heart the D-Bee just wanted to put his meaty fist through the screen of the computer, but knew that it would accomplish nothing. He just felt so helpless, sitting around on his butt killing time while the lab boys tried to pull a fingerprint off of the CD he had found. Things had been going pretty badly ever since the psycho he was tracking had made his first kill. Both of Lucius's partners were incapacitated, one dead and one recovering from bionics implantation, the war was going real badly, and he had been running into more and more problems with his wife. Just the last night they had gotten into a big fight when he had suggested that she take a two week vacation to some other dimension while the war reached its conclusion. The thought of her being in Tolkeen 75
when the CS panzers rolled into town sent a cold shiver down the Wolfen's spine. But no, she had to stay here, to see things through to the end. All in all, these were taxing times to be living in. Suddenly, one of the lab boys ran in, breathless and carrying a sheet of paper. "Hot off the press, sir!" cried the cheerful technician, slapping the printout down on his desk. "We finally got an ID out of those fingerprints. It turns out that our music lover is a Coalition power armor jockey named Donald Hartman. He was one of the men who led that big air attack a while ago." "So he survived the attack, but was stranded in Tolkeen?" "Sure looks that way." "Hmm... our psycho may be involved with a Coalition operative? I don't like the looks of this." "Hmm. Anyway, anything I can do for you on the way back to the lab? I'd hate to disturb you from your police work." With that, the technician cast a sideways glance at the computer solitaire game in progress. "Yeah. Could you put out an APB on this Hartman guy? If any beat police or cameras in the city spot him, I want to be told. If we can track this fellow, he might lead us to our killer." "Can do," said the technician, as he began to walk out of the door. "Oh, and by the way, put the eight of diamonds on the nine of clubs." * * * There was a flash of blue light and the thick stench of cordite, and suddenly the servant of the Old Ones found himself standing in a dusty field. The Alien Intelligence was disoriented for a moment, as this journey through space and time had been especially chaotic and bewildering. The Intelligence looked around, and realized that this was definitely not Tolkeen. There was nothing but never ending plains as far as he could see, with dry scrub and a few curious rabbits. Interesting, the monster thought, rubbing its angular chin. It appears that the Tolkeenites have set up a mystic shield to prevent beings of my power from rifting into their land. I was lucky not to wind up in Olympus, or the pits of Hades. Now, to find out where I am. The Intelligence sniffed the air, and smiled. There were humans, and plenty of them, just beyond the horizon. Hopefully, one of them would know the path to Tolkeen. And if they refused to cooperate, well, the Intelligence had ways of extorting information out of lesser life forms. The monster pulled out its star-blade sword, and casually bisected a bunny which had dared to venture too close. The Intelligence laughed, rose up a few feet in the air, and then sped off to this settlement, to try and procure a map. "First," said Perrin, pointing at a map of the area around the pyramid. "We send the vans containing our men into their positions. We'll have to do it all at once, to minimize the chances that they'll check them out. When all of the vans pull up, the guards will know that something is up, and they will most likely attack. But that's okay, because we'll be attacking as well. We use the NCR electronics to jam all of their communications and sensory technology just as our men are getting out of the vans. Plus, we use high-pitched squealers to take their devil dogs out of the equation. Those distractions ought to occupy the guards long enough for our boys to get to cover." "Have we told the men where each of them is to hide?" asked one of the HFA mercenaries. "We're going to," replied Perrin. "It's not all finalized yet, but they're definitely going to know where they're all going before we make the attack. Anyway, they get to cover, and begin trading shots with the guards. At this point, we're just trying to force the guards into keeping their heads down, so that our pre-positioned snipers can take out the anti-air batteries from a distance. At this point, the fun really begins." "You have a strange definition of fun," remarked one of the terrorists. "With all of the stuff that I've been through in the past few months, taking out these demons sounds very fun. That's when our flying forces take over. We jet overhead, and drop grenade satchels onto anything that looks angry or explosive. Once we're all out of satchels, we hit them with energy blasts until they're dead. Our boys on the perimeter come in and take over the walls, and Alpha team assembles to break into the pyramid itself. That's as far as I've gotten." "When can we expect a finalized plan?" asked the mercenary. "By tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to assemble Alpha team, and get Possman to give me a rundown on what the inside of the pyramid looks like. Any more questions?" Looking around the room, he saw that there were none. "All right then, men," Perrin said, saluting his officers. "Let's get ready to rumble." Chapter 40 There was a sick, wrenching crack, and a deputy's head twisted in a way that human heads were never meant to twist. The man made a little gurgling noise in the back of his throat as his lifeless corpse slumped to the ground. The servant of the Old Ones looked down at the dead body, and at the bodies of the sheriff and the other deputies. This was not going very well. Mortals were never very cooperative. A laser shot rang out, and a beam of energy crashed into the back of the alien's head. The being felt a swift sensation of pain, not unlike that which a mortal receives when being singed by a candle. This Elven frame was far too fragile, and the star-tempered armor left the head regrettably exposed. The alien turned, and saw half a dozen more mortals standing in the road. Apparently this town still had some living beings in it after all. "All that I want are directions to Tolkeen," said the alien, beginning to lose its patience. "Give me a map, and I will leave you alone." "Shut up, freak!" growled some odd D-Bee that looked like a living cactus. "We got armed men all over town gunning for you! You ain't walking out of here alive, never mind goin' to this Tolkeen place of yers. Open up, boys!" Concealed settlers emerged from hiding places, rooftops, and doorways all over the place, their guns blazing. Most of the 76
shots bounced harmlessly off of the armor, but a few painfully struck the head. A little cut opened up on the monster's forehead, and for the first time, it saw its Elven blood. The alien growled in anger at the wound. "Very well!" it cried, focusing its mental energies. "If you are unable to listen to reason, then I will find others who will!" The ground began to shake, and little pebbles and chunks of dirt began to float up into the air. Every glass window in town explosively shattered. "Kill it!" cried the terrified cactus-man, unloading his E-Clip at the murderer. "Kill me?" chuckled the alien, as waves of mystical energy began to envelop the town and every wooden building burst into flames. "I don't think so." The entire town was surrounded by a pillar of blue energy, baking the flesh of the surviving inhabitants. That pillar then exploded, and the agonies of the mortals were cut short as their bodies were blown into vapor. The smoke cleared, and the Alien Intelligence was the only being left, hovering a few inches above the glass circle which would serve as an eternal memorial to the town of Hopefield. Suddenly, the monster saw something that it was intrigued by. In the ruins of the old general store lay a tattered, blackened pamphlet labeled, "Erin Tarn's Maps of North America." The intelligence hovered over it, and picked it up. Tolkeen was conveniently marked. The Alien Intelligence flipped through the pages, quickly memorizing the information contained within, and then flew off at the speed of sound. Perrin slowly walked towards the Tolkeen library, sadly watching a convoy of troop carriers pass through the streets. For the past couple of weeks, he'd been spending more and more of his free time at the library. Since in just a little bit of time the mighty Coalition States would be occupying the area, and the library would be either sealed away in the Emperor's vaults or bombed into a memory, he figured that he might as well get some use out of the place while he could. The books on philosophy, politics, and magic were all tepid, demon-influenced garbage, of course, but there were a few gems mingled amongst the stones. Some of the novels he had read were pretty good. And there was a fascinating xenology section, containing books about everything from cute (yet deadly and hateful) little Faeries to city-busting monstrosities hundreds of feet tall. Perrin wasn't a great reader, but he knew his letters. Suddenly, the pilot's meditations were interrupted by a very loud beeping noise. Perrin turned, to see a spider-legged APC headed right at him! He hurled himself out of the street, very nearly landing in the path of a civilian car, and landed in a heap on the sidewalk. The APC continued by, not even slowing down. "Hey, you crazy moron!" Perrin scramed at the troop carrier. "You've got brakes, you know!" "Ah, those military drivers are a bunch of lunatics," said some bizarre creature with a pair of goat-like horns emerging from its forehead and four spindly arms. The fact that the D-Bee was wearing a tweed suit and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles only added to the weirdness. It offered one of its hands down to Perrin. The pilot, not wanting to arouse suspicion, resisted the urge to pull away, and allowed the monster to help him up. "It's really a shame what the city's doing," said the D-Bee. "Not only do they close off access to the D-Gates in order to Rift in soldiers from dozens of worlds, they give car keys to aliens who've never seen any vehicle that they didn't have to feed. One of those barbarians smashed into my flying carpet yesterday, and just sauntered away." "They closed off the D-Gates?" asked Perrin, suddenly concerned. HFA spies working in that area should have told him about it by now. "But what about people who want to get out of Tolkeen before the solstice?" "Oh, they're free to go," said the D-Bee. "As long as they don't mind traveling through CS blockades, forests full of snipers, and miles of minefields." "Jeez. That's a lousy thing to do," said Perrin, as he continued on his way towards the library. Only when the goat-horned man with the four arms and the tweed suit was out of sight did the pilot realize that he had meant it. He had felt sympathy for the demons! How did that happen? The pilot still wanted to go through with the mission and devastate Tolkeen. He wanted that with all of his heart and soul! So how could he feel pity for these baby eating D-Bees? The pilot looked out at the street, and saw another one of the armored personnel carriers. His heart suddenly burned with hatred. Then, he looked over at a tentacled D-Bee who was waiting at the crosswalk. Surprisingly, he couldn't find any loathing for this being. This was disturbing. The pilot turned to his left, and he saw a red-suited city guardsmen walking by. Perrin was consumed by hate. He turned to his right, and felt no scorn for the bizarrely dressed mage 77
whom he saw there. This was a problem for the savior of the Coalition States. He looked up at the pyramid, and at its orbiting crystals full of malevolence, and felt a profound doubt. * * * "Take that, you blood-sucking, baby-eating monsters!" cried out Donald Hartman, as the Mechanoid invasion forces gathered before him prepared for their charge. He began to unload his firearm at them, bringing down or crippling one of the machine-men every time he pulled the trigger. "Dan, you take out the base's weapons system while I hold these guys off!" His companion began to fire at the distant base. However, Dan's aim had never been sharpened by any SAMAS training. Most of his shots harmlessly thudded into the thick armored walls of the fortress, and those that hit did not destroy the powerful energy cannons of the Mechanoid invaders. "Gimme some help here!" Dan yelled, as the massive beam guns began to turn in their direction. "I'm trying!" said Donald, bringing his gun to bear against the base. However, it was too little, too late. The Mechanoids fired their cannons, easily tearing through the armor of Earth's defenders and reducing their best weapons to piles of useless slag. The charge of the remaining robots ended all hope of saving the planet. "Game over," the arcade machine said, in an infuriating feminine voice. Donald threw down his light gun in frustration. "We're dead, Dan! We were on the last level, too!" "Sorry, man. Those guns are hard to hit, though! And you'd been getting the best weapon power-ups throughout the game. You had a long range plasma cannon, with the energy crystal! All I had was a wimpy little variable frequency rifle." "And a grenade launcher! You could've used that on the turrets." "They were anti-personnel grenades. Those don't make a dent in any of the bosses. I should've held the line, while you took out the turrets." "It's a moot point now that I've lost my credits. You want to go get a pizza or something?" "I dunno. I'm kinda tired of pizza by now. How about Mos Mell instead?" "Never heard of it." "Oh, it's great, man! It's seafood from some other dimension. See, there's an outer layer of skin, and that tastes a little like chicken. And inside the skin, there's this sauce... it's wicked good. Real spicy and filling. You should try it!" "I guess so," said Hartman, as the two men left the dark, smoky arcade. "But you know, the last time I ate food from another dimension, I was sitting on the toilet for three hours! You'd better not be trying to poison me with this stuff." As they walked off, a slim, unhealthy looking man in nondescript clothing looked on. A quick scan with the cybernetic identifying systems in his eye recognized the dark skinned man as being Donald Hartman, wanted fugitive, terrorist, and war criminal. The policeman had been right after all. The slim man began to follow Hartman, knowing that there was a promotion in this for him if he played his cards right. Chapter 41 Rick Freedom looked down at his hand, and tried to hold it steady. His brain, enhanced by M.O.M. implants, should have been easily able to keep the limb as still as stone. But he could not. His hands were shaking to the point where he could hardly pick up a glass of water, never mind a weapon. He felt sweaty and feverish, yet was wracked with chills. An ordinary man would have interpreted these signs as being the onset of a cold. But Freedom knew differently. He knew that his mind was breaking down again. The Crazy picked up a bottle of medication that lay on his night stand and swallowed half a dozen pills in one swift gulp. Almost immediately, he could feel the sweet chemicals going to work, easing his nervous system and his shattered composure. His trembling began to stop, and the spinning, undulating bionic implants on his scalp stopped their mad dance. Freedom's sanity, or what little remained of it, was intact for the moment. But the pills were only a stopgap measure. They would not keep him sane forever. And he was starting to run out. The Crazy got out of his lice-ridden bed in his tiny, dirty apartment. His legs felt like rubber, but he could still walk. He staggered over to his chest of drawers, trying to pick out some clothes. He had to get up, had to help Perrin prepare for the final attack against the pyramid. He opened up the top drawer, only to see a row of bloody skulls neatly arranged there. Other than their eyes, the decapitated heads had been totally shorn of flesh. But their eyes were still perfectly intact, still bright and blue and alive. Those terrible eyes looked up at Freedom, and the skulls said, "It is your duty to slaughter the wicked," in an eerie unison. Then they began to laugh, and their laughter was enough to drive any man to madness. 78
Freedom screamed, shut his eyes, and held his hands over his ears. When he opened up his eyes again, the skulls were gone. The drawer contained only his clean and folded underwear, with no signs of the apparitions which had threatened him a moment before. Rick Freedom, who had fought in dozens of battles and performed many an atrocity in his lifetime, thought of the skulls again, and began to cry. * * * "You're sure that this is their headquarters?" Lucius Mallen asked, holding the telephone so tightly that his paw marks were left on the plastic casing afterwards. "Okay, about how many of the terrorists do you think are in there? That many? Jeez. We're going to have a real bloodbath on our hands. I'll see what I can do about getting some demons for when we raid them, but with or without demons we're going to be soaking up casualties." The Wolfen thought things over while he used his computer to pull up a map of the area. "All right," he finally said, gazing at the screen. "Call for some backup, but DO NOT make your presence known. I want a couple of men watching every entrance and exit. If they start moving out or bringing in weapons or mobilizing for an attack, call back. Tomorrow morning, we'll hit them with the raid. If we're lucky, the psycho-killer associated with these guys will be there and we'll get the personal pleasure of watching our demons hack the monster into fish bait. If he doesn't show, a nest of terrorists goes down nevertheless. I'll call you back in a few hours." The detective hit the END button on his phone, and heard the beeping of a dial tone. After a moment of musing to himself, he dialed another number. "Department of Summonings?" he asked. "This is Lucius Mallen, badge number 617-478-3C. I'm going to need the nastiest batch of devils you can conjure as back-up." "I understand that, detective," said the bland voice of a bureaucrat from the other end of the line. "But we just got a new set of orders from the High Council, restricting our summoning privileges until after the solstice. We're not allowed to summon anything over a Class II entity." "What's a Class II entity? Shedim? Night Owls?" "Gremlins. If you want, I can have a strike force of about 16 gremlins ready and waiting for orders by tomorrow morning, but that's the most that I could possibly procure." "Forget it," growled Mallen, as he hung up the phone. This is trouble, he thought. The bean-counters would have me and the tactical team walk into a terrorist lair with no demon backup. The military can't help me, because they'll be too busy holding the Dead Boys at the gates. Looks like my only option for victory is to circumvent the rules. The Wolfen detective picked up the phone again, and dialed another number. "Hello, evidence warehouse?" he asked. "Remember a large shipment of Naruni Enterprises weaponry and military equipment that came in a while ago? The arms dealer is going on trial, and we need to present the weapons at court. I'll be down in a few minutes with my ID card to pick 'em up." Mallen hung up the phone, and then put his head in his hands. He was tired of all this, and the hardest part was still ahead of him. The detective picked up the phone one last time, and dialed another number. "Hi baby," he said gently. "I want to take another stab at convincing you to leave..." Hans Reiser wandered through the city streets, gazing at the great pyramid and the buildings which surrounded it as he planned his assault. The NGR agent was out of his league here, and he knew it. He was used to wiping out grubby little groups of Unmutuals or finding out the locations of Gargoyle bases. Nobody had ever trained him for life as a secret agent in the midst of a city of magic. But here he was, and there was nothing that could be done about it. // certainly is a fascinating place, he thought, seeing a flying carpet pass over his head while a group of centaurs passed by. Pity that I'm going to have to help our American allies blow it all up. Suddenly, Reiser tensed. He could see one of the Brodkil guarding the pyramid look over at him. The demon had M.O.M. implants sticking out of its lumpy skull, which was often a sign of psionic powers. Was the monster mind-scanning him? Reiser had been taught how to deal with that, at least. There was a little hunk of metal in the back of his skull which sent out mental static to deal with telepaths. Furthermore, Reiser relaxed his mind, focusing on the image of a clean white slate. The Brodkil grunted, and began rubbing its eyes. The mental defenses had worked. Even so, now the demon would definitely know that something was up. This place was not safe. Reiser turned, and began to walk away. He had already figured out the best places to put the white noise generators, the holographic projectors, and the EMP generators. There wouldn't be time to set up any anti-targeting devices, but the Tolkeenites doubtless had countermeasures against the things anyway. All was in readiness. The spy decided that he would spend the rest of the day walking through this city of wonders. Back home in Germany, they simply didn't have any spectacles of this magnitude. It was a pity, but Reiser didn't want to live his entire life surrounded by filthy D-Bee scum. Tolkeen was a nice enough place to visit, but he sure wouldn't want to live here. Especially after the Coalition started obliterating everything. As the Alien Intelligence shot over the landscape at tremendous speeds, he felt a soft buzzing at the base of his skull. Looking off into the distance, he could see the burning, blighted forests surrounding Tolkeen, and the massed armies of the pathetic humans. Even further off, he could see the spires of Tolkeen itself as they really were, without the feeble masking which the mortals had applied. It was there that his brother was imprisoned. The Alien Intelligence slowed his flight, and then came down for a gentle landing. It would do no good for the humans to spot him and force the battle early. He would slip in unnoticed, and 79
bring havoc to those who thought they could control gods. By the time that I am done, the monster thought, the mortals will never dare to insult us again. »O«K$* meson* SYSTEMS ft <OMPUT€ ftOte-PMVlNC CAMC When the cities fell, and the world went "off-line," all seemed lost. Anarchy reigned. All that is left are the Survivalists, Nature-Lovers, Farmers, Gun Bunnies, Eggheads and backwoods wackos living on the fringe. Most are people found in remote regions — many because they were prepared for the Y2K Bug and the collapse of civilization. Oh, there are "bugs" all right. Alien bug-like things that feed on energy and turn humans into zombie-like slaves. Things are even worse than those "prepared" could have imagined, but these survivors aren't ready to give up.America (and then the world) will be free! And they mean business. That's right, play one of the "wackos" fighting to save the world in a post-holocaust environment that makes worries about the Y2K Bug seem like a picnic. • A complete, new role-playing game. • Everything you need to play in one dynamic package (dice and players not included). • Quick, easy-to-learn rules. • Fast paced and dynamic fun. • The Villains: Inhuman invaders from another dimension. • The Heroes: Society's castaways, nutcases & survivalists. • The adventure: Reclaiming the world for god-fearing humans. • Don't miss the adventure. • 128 page role-playing game. • Only $12.95 — in stores everywhere. 80 PAUAMOM M4K50 MtCSCHt* SYSTEMS Palladium Books® Inc. 12455 Universal Drive Taylor MI, 48180
TH6 T6RRITOR? OF HR2NO ON6 Optional Material for Rifts® By Jason Richards and Nathan Taylor In what was once Northwestern Arizona, a new territory has arisen out of the chaos of the New West. This territory revolves around the city of Arzno. Unlike many communities in post-cataclysmic Earth and especially in the New West, Arzno was built from scratch, not on the broken bones of some pre-Rifts city. Other than that, its history is somewhat of a mystery. Due to the uncommonly high percentage of magic practitioners, especially Techno-Wizards, it is commonly believed that the city was founded by refugees from the Federation of Magic, possibly a group of Techno-Wizards seeking something besides the wars, feuds and general violence of the Magic Zone. Others think that a group of mages came North to escape the ever-advancing vampire threat, a theory that is backed up by the large percentage of the people who speak Spanish, most out of pride in their heritage. Whatever the situation, the outcome was a small town predominantly peopled with magic users, human and D-Bee alike. The year that the town was founded is another lost historical tidbit, but it's estimated to be around 50 P.A. What's known is that the population of the city hit a boom with the instating of Arzno Weapons Manufacturing and the Arzno Mercenary Corps in 92 P.A. Arzno is located about a mile (1.6 km) north of the Grand Canyon in the cooler regions of the desert. If it's true that a group of mages founded the city, they chose a good place for it since Arzno is located amongst the vast network of small ley lines that crisscross the canyon region. In most of the city and surrounding territory, P.P.E. levels available to mages are high, doubling spell duration, damage and range, and giving them an additional 10 P.P.E. per level every twelve hours. There are two small nexus points within the city walls, one at the Arzno Mercenary Corps compound and another on the other side of town at Arzno Weapons Manufacturing. Both are carefully controlled and used by Techno-Wizards in the creation processes of their unique devices. The territory claimed by Arzno extends roughly 30 miles (48 km) in every direction except southward, where the border stops at the canyon. There are about a dozen small towns within the territory and various groups of nomadic trappers, wilderness scouts, and cowboys who are all considered to be under the protection and authority of Arzno. The Indian tribes that travel the land are allowed to move about as they please and are generally left alone unless they cause some harm to or otherwise interfere with any of the citizens of the territory. This is a rarity, as the canyon protects the territory from most outside dangers such as violent Indian tribes, Worm Wraiths, and roving bandits. Tech level in the city of Arzno is about that of the 1920's, but many of the comforts citizens enjoy are not technnological wonders, but magical marvels accomplished by the many Techno-Wizards in the city. Most of the city's power, water, and protection comes from, or is at least partially reliant on, Techno-Wizardry. The surrounding territory includes several small villages whose tech level is significantly lower, about the late 1700's or early 1800's. The Arzno Territory Population: Difficult for an accurate census due to nomads, trappers, and small villages that come and go. Estimated to be around 15,000, give or take a few hundred. Racial Breakdown: The Arzno territory is well-protected by the Grand Canyon and is thus well-suited for Fennodi, Cactus People, and others who just want to live their lives in peace. 59% Human 10% Fennodi 8% Cactus People 5% Psi-Stalkers 3% Mutant Animals 15% Other D-Bees Transients: 4D6xlOO transients can be found throughout the territory at any given time, though 3/4 of these are in, en route to, or leaving the city of Arzno. This number fluctuates during the different times of the year since it includes the various nomadic tribes of D-Bees and Indians in the area, as well as the Lyn-Srial who pass through during the Festival of Light. Surrounding Communities: Northern Arizona is largely uninhabited. The Lyn-Srial live in the Grand Canyon, and have trade relations and a peace treaty with Arzno. Through this alliance Arzno has learned of the Gargoyles living in the canyon as well, and is performing intelligence-gathering missions on this possible threat. The Navajo and Hopi are to the East, but have no real contact with the territory other than the occasional commercial transaction. The farms, ranches, and villages that surround the city of Arzno account for easily half of its commerce. There are dozens of ranches and farms surrounding the city, not to mention the shops that lie outside the city limits, which are just outside the walls and virtually part of the city. There has 81
been talk of extending the official city limits to include this area, and it will be on the ballot come the next territory election. Nearby there are also several smaller towns that act as suburbs to Arzno, including Magebrush (pop. 1250), Stony Ridge (pop. 900) and Terrell (pop. 175). Level of Education: Fair to good. In the territory, most are fluent in American (50% of the population), Spanish (20%), or both (20%). The remaining 10% speak a variety of different D-Bee and foreign languages. About 45% are literate in at least one language. As far as non-traditional education goes, 90% of the population over the age of 12 has one modern W.P. (usually some sort of pistol or bolt-action rifle), two Wilderness skills, and at least one Cowboy skill. This is due to various "help others help themselves" programs offered by the city and funded by the AMC and AWM. The City of Arzno Population: 12,500 Racial Breakdown: 68% Human 5% Fennodi 4% Psi-Stalkers (most employed by the AMC or the Civilian Patrollers) 4% Cactus People 2% Mutant Animals 1% Golden Ones/Lyn-Srial 1% True Atlanteans (the names of Lanis and Onra of the clan of Libson have drawn some attention) 15% Other D-Bees (including a few dragons, Sphinx, and other supernatural beings) Transients: 3D6xlOO transients can be found in the city at any given time. Among these are several Justice Rangers, about twenty or thirty Cyber-Knights, and many mercenaries, bounty hunters, Techno-Wizards, and Gunslingers who make regular visits. Most come to catch the latest TW item, visit with old friends (many are former AMC soldiers), or have a night that they know will be peaceful and not require them to be on their guard. O.C.C. Breakdown of the Population: *Note: Of the total population, only about 32% are in the work force. 31% Techno-Wizards; most are employed with either the AMC (8%) or AWM (69%). The rest work as Civilian Patrollers, private shop owners, mechanics, or in any number of other occupations. Several veterans of the AMC have opened a private investigating business and two others have become healers. Several local Techno-Wizards have opened a large farm just outside of the city walls that grows the most impressive crops every year, including those not native to the land (i.e. oranges, bananas, coconuts, coffee, etc.), using magic to change the environment. They have a large grocery near the center of town. 82
12% Operators 11% Line Walkers 11% Mystics 8% Other Professionals (doctors, lawyers, etc.) 3% Mind Melters, Bursters, and other powerful psychics 14% have some other O.C.C. that allows them to be employed as a mercenary (Gunfighter, Gunslinger, Crazy, Juicer, Headhunter, Bounty Hunter, etc.) 10% Others, including cowboys, laborers, gamblers, etc. The low number of "other O.C.C.s" is due to the fact that Arzno is basically a Techno-Wizard and mercenary town. Former meres and mages are responsible for most of the commerce and local industry. Level of Education: Good to excellent. 95% of the population is fluent in either English or Spanish, with many fluent in both. Literacy rate is an impressive 75%, with a third of the population literate in an additional language. Virtually every citizen over the age of 12 has one modern W.P., Land Navigation, and a Pilot skill (usually Horsemanship). Classes in various skills are available for a low price (sometimes for free) at Civilian Patroller precincts, AWM, and the AMC compound. Government An elected council known as the Council of Elders governs the city and territory of Arzno. The Council is a senate of 11 elected citizens, with one of them serving as the Chief Elder, who has no special governing power other than setting the agenda and running the meetings. Major issues are sent to the public to be voted on, and anyone over the age of 16 may vote. There are no political parties or sophisticated politics in the Council. In fact, there are not even campaigns. An open-ballot vote is held every three years and the person with the most votes is Chief Elder. Two alternates for Council members are placed on reserve and attend all Council functions and meetings to serve as secretaries and perform various administrative duties. Membership to the Council can be declined, but that has not occurred to date. Membership doesn't garner any wages, and all members must support themselves in some other way, most often by owning a business in town. The Council has managed to evade corruption and the basic dishonesty of most politics because of the lack of pay and relative lack of power. All of this is possible because the territory is small and lacks many problems of larger communities. Council members are the most highly regarded citizens in the territory and it's common law to tip one's hat when passing a current or former member of the Council. The Council is directly responsible for electing the leadership of the peacekeeping body of the city, the Civilian Patrollers. The Council nominates and elects the chief officer of the Patrollers (who holds the rank of Lieutenant) and must approve his choices for Sergeants. The only qualifications for either position are: the candidate must be a citizen of the city of Arzno, must accept the job and its duties full-time and therefore cannot be a member of the Arzno Mercenary Corps (though most are veterans of the AMC), must be 30 years of age, and must not be on the Council of Elders. Current Council members of note include: Sinsonue Wisp (Sin-son-ew-way), Chief Elder, lady-killer, and 12th level Elven Mystic (Unprincipled alignment; I.Q. 15, M.E. 10, M.A. 18, P.E. 11, P.B. 20). The people (particularly the ladies) adore Sinsonue, and their affections are returned. He's less than modest, a fact that wasn't helped by being named Chief Elder. He's just completing his first term and might not be renamed Chief Elder, which would be a major blow to his ego. He'll undoubtedly be re-elected to the council, but may retire if he gets wind that he might not retain his Chief seat. As an Elf, he looks much younger than he is and is constantly flirting with the women of the town. He is an honorable character, and doesn't do anything to disgrace his position as Elder or embarrass himself. He just enjoys attention in the form of whispers and giggles. He owns two of the larger hotels in town. Lanis Nemesio (Lah-niss Ne-mess-ee-oo), a distinguished 8 th level Techno-Wizard, founder and owner of Arzno Weapons Manufacturing, and co-sponsor of the Arzno Mercenary Corps (Scrupulous alignment, I.Q. 17, M.E. 14, M.A. 19, P.E. 13). Lanis is responsible for making Arzno what it is today. With Mage Onra Misvina III (his fellow clan member) he is involved in a quest to rid the Earth of the vampire threat and it was he who has developed the "help others help themselves" attitude held by his company as well as the Arzno Mercenary Corps. See the description of Arzno Weapons Manufacturing for more information. Lanis is sincere in his quest to exterminate the vampires, though some just view him as a salesman. The truth is evident in the way he runs AWM, selling items for fractions of what they're worth on the mass market, just for the sake of helping others. Lanis isn't rich, but could be. AWM is worth millions, possibly a billion credits. Lanis' name comes up for Chief Elder every time an election comes around, but he has not been elected due to his heavy involvement in the AMC and AWM, the two primary businesses of the city. Some fear that may be too much power for anyone, even the highly honorable Lanis. Lanis has a daughter, Patria, who is, much to his dismay, an Undead Slayer and Sergeant in the AMC. His history with his daughter is rocky and they're constantly on the outs. Lanis has always been a leader of people first and father second, a choice which he is beginning to deeply regret. Braythia Stayma (Bray-thee-ah Stay-ma), commonly known simply as "Bray," is a 5th level True Atlantean Undead Slayer (Aberrant alignment, P.S. 25, P.P. 20, P.E. 22) and one of the two reserve Elders. He's a bright young man (97 years old but looks 24, practically a kid) with big plans and little time, so he says. He sees the city as one not being used to its potential in the fight against the undead, and is anxious to change things. If he gets an audience, most will reject his ideas of violent glory and only frustrate him greatly. The minority that follows him will easily be led into fanatics and could possibly spell big trouble for the city and territory. He greatly respects (almost reveres) Onra and assumes that they have the same outlook on how things should be done. Bray is currently working his way up the ranks in the Civilian Patrollers and has gotten as far as Patroller 1 st Class. If the vampire conflict erupts soon, he'll undoubtedly leave the Council and the Patrollers to join the AMC and follow his idol into glory. The Law The Civilian Patrollers, a militia-style police force made up largely of ex-mercenaries, keep the law in the city of Arzno. They are a totally civilian militia, but can be called to active 83
military duty should a crisis arise. In this case, they basically become extra troops under the control of the Arzno Mercenary Corps. The head of the Patrollers holds the title of Lieutenant and is appointed by the Council of Elders. The Lieutenant selects (with the approval of the Council) four Sergeants: one at the city court precinct in the center of town (Precinct 1), one in the Northwest (Precinct 2), another in the Southwest (Precinct 3), and one in the East (Precinct 4). Officers in the AMC (lieutenant on up) also have police officer authority in the absence of a Patroller presence. For each Sergeant, there are three Deputy Sergeants who help their superiors in the administration of justice and keeping of the peace. AH officers carry a sidearm (standard issue is a Wilk's-Remi 130 "Six Shooter" or AWM equivalent to the TW-45 Revolver, but officers generally have their pick of weapons) and either a second sidearm or a rifle (standard issue is Wilk's-Remi 157 "Judgement Day", Wilk's 567 "Long Gun", or TW Hellfire Shotgun). They may wear a variety of armors, but it's usually something light. Most common are Bushman, Branaghan, Dead Boy, or Bandito armor, often with some TW enhancement. There are three classes of patrollers. Patroller 3 Class, called a P3, is your basic beat-cop. They walk the streets in pairs doing the routine, everyday police stuff, mainly breaking up fights or settling disputes between citizens. They will carry a sidearm (standard issue is a Wilk's-Remi 130 "Six Shooter") and may use their own equipment with their Sergeant's approval. Most wear light armor, standard issue is Bushman. The average P3 will be a level 1-3 Cowboy, Deputy, Mercenary, or the occasional Techno-Wizard with at least two W.P.s, an average I.Q. and physical attributes of about 12. There are 20 P3s per precinct, about half of whom are on duty at any given time. Patroller 2nd Class (P2) is the typical patrol-cop, generally working in pairs patrolling the streets in patrol cars, on motorcycles or hovercycles, or occasionally on horseback. They are responsible for being quick to the scene of a reported crime and chasing down escaping criminals. Each carries a standard issue sidearm and one of the pair will have a standard issue rifle. Bushman or Bandito armor is standard issue for P2s. The average P2 will be a level 3-6 Deputy, Mercenary, sometimes a practitioner of magic, or an Operator with Read Sensory Equipment, a Pilot skill, a modern W.P., an average I.Q. and physical attributes of about 12. There are 20 P2s per precinct, about half of whom are on duty at any given time. Those with the rank of Patroller 1st Class (PI) hold the positions of either modern-day detectives or other specialized field. The mechanics and Operators who maintain the armor and fleet vehicles at each precinct are all PI, as are the criminal investigators. So are many of the desk jockeys who work on the meager computer systems, act as personal aids to the officers, or other secretarial work. Most field Pis such as detectives will be a level 4-8 Bounty Hunters, Super-Spies, Military Specialists, or other men-at-arms with skills in police investigation. Desk jockeys will be of O.C.C.s such as Technical Officer, Traditional Hacker, Cyber Detective, or Operator. Mechanics will be Techno-Wizards (often Gun Bunnies or Aviators), Operators, Technical Officers, or other O.C.C.s with mechanical skills. Armor and weapons vary per assignment, but the Branaghan armor is extremely popular with field Pis. The uniforms of all members of the Civilian Patrollers are basically the same. Dress uniforms have black trousers (men and women) with a double-breasted dark red shirt with silver buttons and black accents. The CP's silver badge is worn over the left breast and a pin showing rank is worn on both collars. No hats are worn on formal occasions. Working uniforms are black jumpsuits with red stripes down the legs and arms with a red "CP" emblem on the right breast and a larger one on the back. A black ball-cap with the red emblem is worn as well. A silver badge indicating the rank of the Patroller is worn over the left breast, as well as an emblem on the right collar. Officers and PI detectives aren't required to wear a uniform while on duty, and technical occupations such as Operator or Techno-Wizard are issued an alternative uniform for work, usually just a plain black or red jumpsuit with their name and rank over the right breast. Armor is painted red and black with the CP logo on the back and the rank on the upper-right torso. Other Defenses In addition to relying on the Civilian Patrollers and Arzno Mercenary Corps for protection, the main city is surrounded by walls on every side. The walls are 20 feet (6.1 m) tall and 10 feet (3 m) thick. Gates on every side are open all day, but are closed at night except for the main northern entrance, right by the AMC compound. The AMC and CPs share the duties of guarding the gate at night. The gate may be closed in the event of an attack, high winds, or some other emergency. The walls have 35 M.D.C. for every 25 square feet (2.25 sq. m). Not enough to repel an invasion, but enough to give the city and its protectors time to rally a defense. The Arzno Mercenary Corps The young soldier, Emory Reins, awoke with the scent of the desert in his nostrils, and momentary confusion raced through his mind before he remembered where he was. He groped in the darkness for his lamp and toggled its switch, illuminating his small, one-man tent so quickly that it stung his sleep-filled eyes. As he adjusted his eyes to the new light, he found the tent's control box and flipped a switch down. A brief crackle was heard as the one-man shelter dissipated into the air and left the private sitting on his bedroll in the middle of the advance camp. The warm desert sun could just be seen in a marvelous sunset as its waning rays sifted through the remnants of a small dust storm to the west. Emory hurriedly laced up his boots and began to slip on his armor. Taking a moment to look around, Emory's eyes rested on his commanding officer sitting at the top of a small hill and gazing toward the sunset. He stopped in his preparations long enough to ponder one more time the mysteries of his Atlantean commander. Before every battle the mysterious mage, Onra, found some place to himself where he could sit with his magic blade and a whetstone, sharpening away. What was unusual was that everyone knew that Onra's blade would never dull and only ate away at the stone. Whenever the stone was worn to dust, it was time to move out. 84
As if on cue the somber Atlantean stood, shook the powder from his hands, and walked toward the transport. A slap on the shoulder awakened the private from his daze. Emory looked up to see the pale-skinned face of his hero, Psythe. "Let's book it, Rookie." Emory grabbed his water rifle and paced the seasoned Psi-Stalker to the transport. A. Sponsorship: Government and Company (Arzno and AWM) 0 Points B. Outfits: Specialty Clothing 20 points C. Equipment: Magic Technology 40 Points, Electronic and Good Gear 5 Points D. Vehicles: Combat Cars 20 Points E. Weapons, Power Armor, and Bots: Basic Weaponry 10 Points F. Communications: Basic Services 2 Points G. Internal Security: Tight 10 Points H. Permanent Bases: Fortified Headquarters 20 Points I. Intelligence: Scout Detachment 5 Points J. Special Budget: Small Potatoes 15 Points K. General Alignment: Unprincipled and Scrupulous 7 Points L. Criminal Activity: None 0 Points M. Reputation: Known 10 Points N. Salary: Good 10 Points Total Points Spent: 174 Points Size & Orientation: Free Company History Onra Misvina III, a True Atlantean Weapon Mage, founded the Arzno Mercenary Corps about the time of the Arzno population boom in 92 P.A. Land was granted by the city with funds and equipment given by the company's fledgling sponsor, Arzno Weapons Manufacturing. The company is actually the private army of the city of Arzno as well as a mercenary corps of soldiers of fortune. The group specializes in destroying the many supernatural menaces that plague the Southwest, especially vampires. In the past couple of years, the nemesis of the Corps has been a new vampire kingdom that has sprung up it Southern Arizona and New Mexico led by the master vampire, Xavier Stuart (see Rifter #8). This militant faction of vampires has presented a whole new challenge to Onra and his team of elite demon hunters. Officially, Arzno is at war with the various vampire kingdoms and engages all vampires on sight. Other contracted jobs for the mercenary army include the extermination of demonic raiders for towns and businesses, protecting towns from raiders and bandits, or any other job suitable for a scrupulous mere organization. These jobs can include the occasional stealing of an item or information, assassination, or bounty hunting provided the party in question is an evil one. Such jobs are always well researched to ensure that the wool isn't pulled over the AMC's eyes. The fees charged by the company are reasonable and consistent with the market. The Corps frequently takes jobs for a bare minimum cost (if any at all) for underprivileged towns and villages, especially when it comes to eliminating vampires. Tactics The Arzno Mercenary Corps never takes anything for granted. While most vampire hunters stroll into a town during the daylight hours and start staking their "easy" prey, they frequently don't get the entire hoard, leaving a few to spread the vampire curse and continue on in their marauding. The basic mode of operations for the AMC is a late-night recon mission where caskets are counted and the vampires returning from their hunting are watched to be sure that none are missed. In addition, the twilight reconnaissance allows the squads to locate feeding and slave pits, allowing them to set more civilian hostages free. Another common problem is that vampires usually have some sort of minions guarding them during the day and it's a little easier to tell what you're up against if you sit back and observe a little. A second team usually arrives at sunup to relieve or strengthen the first team and aid in destroying the vampires. Occasionally, when deemed appropriate, a surprise attack first thing in the evening is the best strategy for dealing with the undead. Especially since the introduction of Xavier Stuart's new kingdom, vampires tend to find avenues of escape or alternative means of protection during the day that one might not expect. A well-placed ward or explosive device can make a vampire hunter very sorry that he opened a casket. In a nutshell, Arzno tactics are honorable, but sensible. The formula has accounted for Onra's success as a vampire hunter as well as the success of his team. The style is starting to spread throughout the New West as more and more AMC veterans start their own small-time operations. The Arzno Mercenary Corps' Colors and Banners The official colors of the AMC are, like the city, red and black, although accents of blue and silver are used often. The emblem of the Arzno Mercenary Corps is a wooden crucifix crossed with a silver sword, with an overlay of a flaming "AMC" against a solid background (color varies, usually black or blue). Beneath the symbol is the text: The Arzno Mercenary Corps "Stake 'em, 'Cap 'em. Light 'em" The slogan is derived from the first rule of fighting the undead — how to kill them: stake through the heart, decapitation, and burning the body. Uniforms and armor vary in color, but are frequently black or dark blue and bear a simple crimson "AMC" with "Arzno Mercenary Corps" written under it. The emblem is worn on the right breast and a larger emblem is on the back. Rank is painted on the left breast, the back directly under the neck, and the front of the helmet on armor, or just on the right shoulder and left breast of a uniform. Rank Rank in the AMC is loosely based on pre-Rifts military, though they have been altered to suit the smaller mercenary unit. There is a rough timetable for advancement, but it can be greatly hurried by a hard-working and disciplined soldier, especially if proven in combat. Pay is actually less dependant on rank than it is on skill and worth. As a mercenary army, the soldiers can leave as it pleases them, though most sign a contract for 1, 2,4, 85
or as many as 10 years. Pay fluctuates with what the AMC makes on contracts and the sometimes high expenses of the mercenary organization. Until basic training is completed, the soldier is referred to as "Cadet" and holds no rank, calling even privates "Sir". Training lasts for at least eight weeks, possibly more if the recruits aren't up to par after the allotted time. Entering rank is private, symbolized by one horizontal bar. Privates are the workhorses of the AMC, doing jobs from basic maintenance to ground-pounding infantry. Typical time as a private is between one and two years, depending on the skills of the soldier and the incoming flow of recruits. Corporal is the rank of most skilled enlisted men, from radio operators to pilots to medics. Most corporals have some additional job to their usual combat duties, setting them apart from and above the lower grunts. A corporal wears two horizontal bars. Typical turnover is two years, but is often sped along by exceptional work or the loss of those higher on the chain of command. Sergeants are the low-level leadership of the Corps and oversee most of its basic operations. Sergeants can command small squads of soldiers, but never much more than that, and must always be supervised by a superior officer. The insignia of a sergeant consists of one chevron. Sergeants generally maintain that rank for three to five years. Sergeants are also eligible for other jobs, the most prized of which is instructor, those who train the incoming soldiers. This special job is usually only performed through one or two recruit classes and is a high honor. Chief Sergeants carry on the same duties as a sergeant, but on a larger scale and less-involved position. They tend to oversee the sergeants in their jobs and can actually command a unit under some circumstances, though they are usually the second gun to a Lieutenant. The C-Serge, as they are often called, wears a chevron over a small triangle. Lucky chief sergeants who have formerly served as instructors can hold the position of chief instructor, the overseer of training for one specific recruit class. Holding this position for more than one session of training is a rarity. Turnover for the average c-serge is about four years. The Lieutenant is the primary commander of the Corps, running squads, overseeing major areas of technical and logistical work, and generally overseeing as many as a dozen c-serges in their jobs. They wear one chevron over one bar. Before becoming a lieutenant the soldier must pass a short, three-month evaluation of command, all the while wearing the c-serge rank. The advancement past lieutenant basically depends on position availability, since the number of captains is set and it is a rare thing when a spot opens up. Captain is about as elite as one can get in the AMC, overseeing a major area of operation. For example, there is a captain of infantry, mechanics, mechanized infantry, training, and every other major area of operation in the Corps. The job is not unlike one of a department head in a major corporation. For all intents and purposes, their word is law. The captain's insignia is one chevron over two bars. There is one captain who outranks all others and is second in command of the AMC. Currently this is Psythe Komodo, one of the Corps' founding members. A small, four-pointed star overlaying the bars on his rank distinguishes him from his peers. The head of the AMC holds the rank of Commander, and wears a large, four-pointed star for his rank. This is currently Onra, founder of the AMC. This position will only be available upon the death or resignation of Onra. AMC Players of Note Mage Onra III Commander, Arzno Mercenary Corps Clothed in his finest red robes and carrying his trusty Pyrus Blade by his side, the Weapon Mage Onra climbed the marble steps of the ancient Temple ofLibson, the temple of his clan and forefathers. At the top of the seemingly endless staircase, Onra found himself far above the clouds and before an altar made of pearl and trimmed in silver. As he knelt before the altar, he heard the voice of his father say to him from the clouds, "Son, you have a great task set before you. Our enemies threaten your brethren, your cousins, your people, who are now your charge. A threat has come to the Earth that you must quell. The demons must be rid of and humanity saved. Gather together an army of the purest warriors, one hundred and forty-four strong. Train them as best you know how and pit them against this new threat." A bright light shone from the altar and on it appeared a wooden cross, trimmed in silver and held on a silver chain. "Take this. Remember this always, my son: This cross will save you. This cross will save us all. Now seek your clansman Lanis. There will answers begin to come clear and your methods be made known." Onra awoke on his bedroll in the middle of the desert with his sword by his side, his clothes soaked with sweat, and a large cross medallion around his neck. His fire dead and the clouds blocking out the night's heavenly lights, he could just make out the lights of a small town across the huge ravine. He quickly gathered his few belongings and began to trek across the bleak wasteland to what he hoped might be a clue to his new task. Mage Onra was given a task through a visitation by his father, long dead. To a True Atlantean there is no greater mission than one given in so dramatic a fashion. Onra went to what was then the small town known as Arzno, just to the north of the Grand Canyon in what was formerly known as Arizona. There he found a community rich with mages, particularly Techno-Wizards, a form of magic with which he was only mildly familiar. After entreating on the hospitality of some local townsfolk for several days, word reached him that another Atlantean had stumbled onto the town. As it turned out, it was Onra's clansman, Lanis, of whom the vision had spoken. Lanis, too, had been guided to the city by strange happenings and with the desire to help his human brethren help themselves. That was the day that the concepts of the Arzno Mercenary Corps and Arzno Weapons Manufacturing were born. The joint venture was to help humans fight against the hordes of vampires who were starting to head north, as well as other demonic threats. Little did Onra know how serious the battle against the undead was to become. There was, in fact, a specific faction of the legions of the damned that was to arise later and prove to become Onra's primary enemy and the most significant danger to humankind. The days of random and scattered vampire tribes 86
bickering and fighting amongst themselves were about to be a luxury no longer available. A new Intelligence was about to introduce a new type of warfare: the vampire army. Not just a legion of the undead, but an organized unit of soldiers with a competent military strategist at the head of the movement. This leader was a turned CS Military Specialist named Xavier Stuart. Xavier's story, in short, is this: The Coalition States mistreated him. He became angry and wanted a chance to lead, as he felt he should have been allowed to. He was given this chance by a supernatural power. He took it. After Lanis and Onra had been operating for about twenty-five years, Lanis building a large and successful TW company and Onra building a relatively small but positively dedicated and potent mercenary corps, Xavier started his operations in New Mexico and Arizona. Surgical military strikes on towns were used to gather slave stock, blood and supplies, and train the army of vampires as well as test what methods were most effective. As Onra and his elite team of vampire hunters (including Samantha the Werejaguar, Psythe Komodo the Psi-Stalker, Rumble the Borg, and Fidel the Dog Boy among others) started to get contracts to stop these attacks, the two chosen heroes of their respective causes began to clash. Xavier and Onra have a mutual respect for one another, which is probably why they're both still alive. The two know each other well and trust the other not to make stupid mistakes. Xavier is constantly adding to his forces and Onra to his. Onra knows his final number: one hundred and forty-four. Right now (105 P.A.) he's at one hundred or so, though many of them aren't the purest warriors. In roughly three years, Onra figures he'll have the strength, power, and purity to attack his nemesis in the final battle. Nobody knows how it will end, but Onra has faith in his cause. You can't ask for more than that. The dream has revealed most of its mystery except that of the cross. Onra has no idea what his father meant when he said, "This cross will save us all." He suspects that this means there will be a climactic battle between he and the master vampire and the cross will play some part in the outcome. He carries it with him at all times for luck, and as a reminder of his mission. Real Name: Mage Onra Misvina III of the clan of Libson Rank: Commander Alignment: Scrupulous Hit Points: 48 S.D.C.: 142 P.P.E.: 156 I.S.P.: N/A Attributes: I.Q. 18, M.E. 22, M.A. 18, P.S. 26, P.P. 18, P.E. 23, P.B. 19, Spd: 36 Experience: 10th level True Atlantean Weapon Mage Weight: 260 Ibs (117 kg) Height: 6 feet, 5 inches (2 m) Sex: Male Age: 126 Disposition: Chivalrous and fair, but brutal to those who would oppress or harm. Especially hates the vampires and Splugorth. Natural Abilities: All the normal abilities of a True Atlantean. Psionics: None Magic Tattoos: Marks of heritage, eye of knowledge, flaming shield, knight in armor, and crossed swords. 87
Magic Spell Knowledge: Ignite Fire, Fuel Flame, Blinding Flash, Globe of Daylight, Chameleon, Magic Net, Carpet of Adhesion, Energy Field, Invulnerability, Impervious to Fire/Heat, Fire Ball, Fly as the Eagle, Fear, Paralysis: Lesser, Thunderclap, Sense Evil, Sense Magic, and Telekinesis. Skills: Literacy: American 98%, Language: American and Spanish 98%, Magic Lore 89%, Demon Lore 79%, Land Navigation 86%, Horsemanship: General 95%, Wilderness Survival 89%, Pilot: Hovercraft 95%, Pilot: Automobile 82%, Demolitions 91%, Intelligence 77%, Tracking 79%, Basic Math 94%, Detect Ambush 84%, Acrobatics and Gymnastics, Prowl 89%, Boxing, Running, Athletics, and Body Building. Weapon Proficiencies: Sword, Knife, Chain, Automatic Pistol, Energy Rifle, Heavy Energy. Combat: Hand to Hand: Martial Arts, Boxing, and Fencing. Bonuses when using his magic blade: Attacks per melee: 8 +10 strike +14 parry +8 dodge +11 roll Critical Strike on unmodified 18-20, Paired Weapons, Body Flip, Karate Kick, Jump Kick, Entangle, Leap Attack. Allies: The members of his Arzno Mercenary Corps, the citizens of Arzno, other AtJanteans, and warriors of Wghr. Enemies: All evil, especially the vampires of Xavier Stuart and the Splugorth. Equipment: The Pyrus Blade — a magic blade created for Onra by his master that, when activated, is covered in red-hot flame that will only hurt its intended target. The blade inflicts full damage to vampires. Damage: Blade inflicts !D4xlO (Mega-Damage to M.D.C. targets, S.D.C. to S.D.C. targets) and the magic flame inflicts an additional !D4xlO. Other abilities: Fire Ball (100 feet/30.5 m, !D4xlO damage, once per round), creates a fiery protective aura of 60 M.D.C. around the user (double at ley lines), and makes the user impervious to fire and heat. TWA-1600 Exterminator Armor, a TWW-3550 Water Rifle, a TWW-1150 Light Dagger, a silver-trimmed wooden cross medallion (magically indestructible), and virtually any TW or survival gear needed. Has all of the resources of AWM and the AMC at his disposal. Money: Onra has about twenty or thirty thousand credits in savings from his work with the AMC, but doesn't really keep track of it. He has everything he needs already provided for him. Psythe Komodo Second in command of the Arzno Mercenary Corps Psythe released another burst from his rail gun into the throngs of pale undead that surrounded him. He didn't intend to kill any of the inhuman beasts, there were too many of them and they were regenerating far too quickly for him to be able to destroy any, even with wooden rounds loaded in his USA-M31 rail gun. No, Psythe's intention was simply to keep them off-balance, to hurt them and prevent them from getting too close; it was barely working. Two men lay dead on the ground, their armor torn to shreds by the vampires' claws. Another lay on the ground seriously wounded and unable to move. The vampires plodded on through the shower of wooden shards towards the fallen man. The situation was desperate but not hopeless, thanks in part to Psythe's sixth sense and quick thinking. Even so, they were not out of the woods yet. Psythe focused on the vampire closest to him, the red circle imposed on the vampire by the U.S.A. SAMAS's combat computer filling his eyes in the confines of the power armor's helmet. Psythe raised his left arm and levelled it squarely upon the vampire's chest until the circle changed to green. "Take this, you monsters." Psythe mumbled. A pair of flaming tails jumped forth from Psythe's outstretched arm. The two missiles flew like comets into the lead vampire's chest and erupted into two brilliant globes of flame, illuminating the dark midnight ground with red light. A dozen of the vampires were flung back onto their backs by the force of the explosion, unhurt but stunned. Psythe took advantage of their position and swooped down to the ground to pick up one of his fallen comrades. Turning around, his back to the vampires, Psythe hit the armor's rockets and flew like a bullet off into the night, delivering his fellow mercenary from certain death. He could only hope the others got his message in time. Psythe is one of the original professional vampire hunters in the deserts of the old southwestern United States, and one of the founding members of the Arzno Mercenary Corps. Psythe was born and raised at Fort Apache and his true Indian name is Eric Serpent Eye, though he prefers to go by his long-time nickname Psythe Komodo. A Psi-Stalker and a natural warrior, Psythe was quickly given the honor of a post with the Apache's warriors. He served extensively as a scout due to his psionic abilities and the fact that his presence at the fort tended to make many there nervous — Psi-Stalkers were not looked well upon by most of its inhabitants. It was during these scouting missions that Psythe discovered and came to despise the wandering tribes of vampires that plagued the land. Psythe had that hatred in mind when he requested permission to enter the Apache's robot and power armor unit using the recovered U.S.A. SAMAS, after seeing them in action against a Plumed Serpent. After a great deal of debate, Psythe was granted permission to join the elite unit and began training in earnest. Shortly after completing his training, Psythe and his squad came across a D-Bee village decimated by vampires. Psythe was deeply disturbed, but his superiors refused to wage a war against the vampire tribes, especially when they were not specifically threatened. Enraged, Psythe left, taking a U.S.A. SAMAS with him. It was about this same time that Lanis and Onra were forging the beginnings of the Arzno Mercenary Corps, and Psythe upon finding them gladly joined. He has been there ever since. Psythe gets along well with the rest of the AMC and is greatly admired by many of the younger members, who see him as a brave warrior who listens to his heart and won't back down from a fight. Psythe is somewhat uncomfortable with his status as an idol to many of the younger men, but thanks to urging from Lanis, he accepts his image as the AMC's perfect warrior, if only to inspire greatness in the men under his and Onra's 88
command. Psythe would simply prefer the excitement and intensity of the battlefield to the hounding of admiring fans. Real Name: Psythe Komodo Rank: Captain Alignment: Unprincipled Hit Points: 53 S.D.C.: 62 P.P.E.: 8 I.S.P.: 107 Attributes: I.Q. 10, M.E. 17, M.A. 10, P.S. 17, P.P. 20, P.E. 14, P.B.9, Spd23 Experience: 4th level Psi-Stalker, 4th level RPA Elite Weight: 169 Ibs (76 kg) Height: 6 feet, 1 inch (1.85 m) Sex: Male Age: 32 Disposition: Psythe has a tough, no nonsense attitude and rarely gives up his alert and serious warrior's pose. He is observant and a quick thinker, able to summarize a situation quickly in the thick of combat. What he lacks in tact he makes up for in ferocity. Natural Abilities: As per standard Psi-Stalker; see Rifts® or Lone Star for details. Magic: None Psionics: Sixth Sense, See Aura, Mind Block, Sense Evil, Telepathy and See the Invisible in addition to the natural abilities above. Considered a major psionic. Bionics/Cybernetics: None 89 Combat: Hand to Hand: Expert: 4 attacks per melee. +6 to parry and dodge, +5 to strike, +1 to damage and +4 to pull/roll with punch, fall or impact. Robot Combat Elite: U.S.A. SAMAS: 6 attacks per melee, +8 to parry, +8 to dodge on the ground, +11 flying, +7 to pull/roll with punch, fall or impact. Bonuses: +4 vs psionics, +2 vs magic, +6 vs Horror Factor, +6 vs mind altering drugs. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Requires regular nourishment of P.P.E. to stay healthy. Psythe also tends to get himself in over his head in combat, particularly with vampires, though so far he's been lucky enough to have always escaped with minimal injuries. Skills of Note: Language: American and Spanish 75%, Radio: Basic 70%, Pilot Hovercraft 80%, Pilot Tanks & APCs 63%, Robot Combat: Basic, Robot Combat Elite: U.S.A. SAMAS, Read Sensory Equipment 55%, Weapon Systems 65%, Climbing 60%/50%, Prowl 50%, W.P. Energy Pistol, W.P. Energy Rifle, W.P. Heavy Energy, W.P. Knife, Hand to Hand: Expert. Allies of Note: Outside of Arzno, Psythe has a few small bandit clans who respect him or are in his debt. Enemies: Apart from vampires, Psythe gained the enmity of several Indian tribes and gangs during his years as a scout and fighter for the Apache. Appearance: A tall, pale-skinned man with the bald head and war paint typical of a Psi-Stalker. Psythe would be an attractive man if it weren't for his weather beaten and scar covered face, or if he smiled on occasion.
Weapons & Equipment of Note: Native American U.S.A. SAMAS with TW modifications: Armor of Ithan, Impervious to Energy, and Invisibility Superior, all at 10 level strength. Money: 16,000 credits. Psythe doesn't have much interest in or need for money. Ban Captain of Infantry "Well you know what soldier? I don't care. Because there's people in that town that need our help or they're gonna die. So you can pout about it being too dangerous all you like, but you're gonna go in guns blazin' just like the rest of us or you're gonna find my boot in your mouth!" Brandon awoke one morning in a seedy hotel in Silverno with no idea of who or where he was. The room he occupied was empty except for a dusty backpack filled with clothes and a few other miscellaneous items, and a laser pistol tucked carefully under his pillow. After a few minutes of pacing around his room, Brandon found a wallet and set of keys locked in a drawer. Inside the wallet was a Coalition ID with his face and the name "Brandon Marshall." Gathering up the pack and ambling downstairs, Brandon turned his room key in to the clerk and was stunned when she pulled a suit of armor and a heavy laser rifle from the storage room and gave them to him. Not to appear uncouth, Brandon took the armor and weapon and walked out onto the street. After several failed attempts at using the keys he found, Brandon finally found the vehicle to which one belonged, a bright red NG-Rocket. Before he even had a chance to pull out into the street, he heard the shouts behind him just before a laser blast blew a pillar next to him in two. Four Coalition soldiers down the street were racing towards him, weapons blazing. Without a thought and much to his amazement, Brandon slammed the accelerator on the hovercycle and fled into the streets, and eventually out of the city and into the wilderness. Running scared, Brandon eventually stumbled into Arzno. Low on food and supplies and in an apparently safe community, Brandon decided to stay and relax for awhile before moving on. All of this occurred over six years ago and Brandon still has no idea who he is or what he was doing in Silverno. All he knows is that his stopover in Arzno has turned into a successful mercenary career and that it's a life he's perfectly comfortable with. As captain of infantry, Brandon is in his element as a down and dirty ground pounder. Brandon now knows that he's a Crazy, and that the implants in his brain may well be the source of his memory loss. They are undoubtedly the source of some of his other "quirks," such as his terrible temper and fear of enclosed spaces. It is also likely the reason for his delusions that he is a True Atlantean instead of an ordinary human being. Without an identity to call his own, and being surrounded by them, it wasn't much of a stretch for Brandon to convince himself that he was one, despite his diminutive stature. Recently, some psychic researchers visiting Arzno suggested that it may be possible to penetrate Brandon's memory block and determine who he was and what happened in his past, once and for all. Brandon adamantly refused their offer and drove them off in a bout of frustration, seriously injuring one. Though the psychics have long since left Arzno, Brandon is beginning to regret his decision and is having second thoughts. He isn't even sure why he refused their offer in the first place. It's a lost opportunity now, however, and Brandon's thoughts are turned back to the task at hand — Xavier's vampire army. Real Name: Unknown; he presumes it to be Brandon Marshall (fake CS I.D.). Goes commonly by the nickname of Ban. Rank: Captain Alignment: Scrupulous Hit Points: 51 S.D.C.: 153 P.P.E.: 20 I.S.P.: 46 Attributes: I.Q. 12, M.E. 10, M.A. 11, P.S. 25, P.P. 20, P.E. 26, P.B. 7, Spd. 24 Experience: 8th level Crazy Weight: 142 Ibs (63.9 kg) Height: 5 feet, 8 inches (1.73 m) Sex: Male Age: 28 Disposition: Brandon is a rough and demanding commander who has no patience for cowardice or inferior work. He's a hard worker who expects the same from every man under his command. It's important to note that Brandon doesn't believe that women are suited for the battlefield, and feels uncomfortable around them on a personal level. He's a pure professional when it comes to his duty. Insanities: 1. Believes he's a True Atlantean 90
2. Claustrophobic 3. Obsessed with Cleanliness 4. Frenzy: Anger/Frustration 5. Obsession: Hates Gambling (even being caught playing games of chance for fun will result in absurdly harsh penalties) Natural Abilities: Standard fare for a Crazy. Magic: None, though he respects and admires it. Psionics: Sixth Sense, See the Invisible and Clairvoyance. Bionics/Cybernetics: None Combat: Hand to Hand: Martial Arts: 5 attacks per melee, +9 to parry, +9 to dodge, +5 to strike, +10 to damage, +11 to roll, +2 initiative, critical strike on a natural 18-20, paired weapons. Bonuses: +2 vs psionics, +6 vs magic, +6 vs mind control, +10 vs poison, +32% vs coma/death. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Well, he's nuts. In particular, his tendency to fly into a frenzy when extremely angry/upset more than slightly clouds his judgement. Brandon also refuses to sleep inside tents or ride in vehicles due to his claustrophobia, which also keeps him outside of vampire lairs, instead directing the action from outside and trying to flush the demons out into the open. Skills of Note: Acrobatics, Climbing 90%/80%, Prowl 80%, Boxing, Athletics, Body Building, W.P. Axe, W.P. Sword, W.P. Energy Pistol, and W.P. Energy Rifle. Allies of Note: Other than the members of the AMC, Brandon doesn't know of anyone who he could call an ally or friend. Enemies of Note: In addition to the legions of vampires, Brandon also appears to be wanted by the Coalition, though he doesn't know why. Appearance: A stocky but short man with dirty blond hair in a crew cut, Ban isn't the most attractive or intimidating guy around, even less so when he claims to be a True Atlantean. Weapons & Equipment of Note: Brandon has access to all of the AMC's armories, but tends towards heavy weapons with a high rate of fire. Money: Brandon has amassed a small fortune of 158,000 credits. Sir Tyrone Captain of Intelligence When no news of Sir Tyrone's expedition into the vampire kingdoms came back to Lazlo for over ten years, Erin Tam and the Council of Learning feared the worst. It wasn't without a great deal of sadness that Erin accepted the sad fact that her loyal protector and friend was likely dead. Now, over twenty years later, Sir Tyrone and his expedition are little more than statistics and rarely enter anyone's minds, though Erin occasionally reminisces about the old times with the Cyber-Knight. Unbeknownst to anyone outside of Mexico, Sir Tyrone is still alive, through nothing but a miracle of strength and determination. Though the majority of Sir Tyrone's expedition was eradicated by the vampires of Mexico, he and a few others were spared and taken to the blood pools of Muluc. The blood pools were insidious places where human cattle were restrained and hooked into advanced life support equipment so that they could produce and be drained of blood for the vampires for years. Most of Sir Tyrone's companions succumbed and died, burnt out after an agonizing five to eight years, but the Cyber-Knight, with his tremendous strength and hope, clung to life for an incredible twelve years before a slave riot released him from the vampires' clutches. Years of being hooked into life sustaining equipment and being drained of precious blood took a tremendous toll on Tyrone's body and mind. Even after years of working to rebuild his lost strength and dexterity, Tyrone is still only a shadow of his former self. Despite his feeble condition however, he pushed on to complete his mission with newfound determination. He must reveal the truth about the vampire kingdoms to the rest of the world. Despite the objections of his saviours, Sir Tyrone set out on a one man mission to the north and out of vampire territory, back to human civilization. His and Erin Tarn's worst fears were confirmed; the vampires were prolific, well organized and powerful. He had to contact Erin and warn the world of the monsters that dwelt in the deserts of Mexico. Numerous times during his voyage, Sir Tyrone narrowly avoided recapture and certain death. Eventually, struggling from exhaustion and dying of starvation, Psythe came across the destitute Cyber-Knight on one of his patrol runs. Sir Tyrone was rushed to Arzno and, thanks to speedy medical attention and magic, was saved from death. After discussions with Onra and Lanis, Sir Tyrone has decided to remain with Arzno for a time before leaving to find Erin Tarn to tell her his tale. Onra and Lanis are skeptical about Sir Tyrone's claims, as is just about everyone else in the city. Sir Tyrone has learned to accept others' doubts and no longer speaks about his past or associations with Erin Tarn. His priority at the present is to prove to Onra, Lanis and anyone else who will listen that the vampires are a greater threat than anyone had imagined. Now that Xavier has made his presence known with his well-organized vampire forces, Sir Tyrone's words are beginning to take on more weight. Real Name: Dorian Tyrone Rank: Captain Alignment: Aberrant (was scrupulous) Hit Points: 68 S.D.C.: 29 (was 93) P.P.E.: 23 I.S.P.: 54 Attributes: I.Q. 10, M.E. 19, M.A. 14, P.S. 8 (was 24), P.P. 9 (was 14), P.E. 10 (was 20), P.B. 11, Spd. 9 (was 39) Experience: 12th level Cyber-Knight Weight: 188 Ibs (84.6 kg) Height: 6 feet (1.83m) Sex: Male Age: 58 Disposition: Sir Tyrone is quiet, serious and forlorn. Few have ever seen him smile, and even fewer have seen him laugh. The years he spent in the heart of the vampire kingdoms have forever jaded him into the cold and calculating man he is today. While he still holds the beliefs and values of the Cyber-Knight above all else, he has become increasingly obsessed with the destruction of the vampire infestation, driving him to "bend the rules for the greater good." Insanity: Phobia: Crypts and underground places. Natural Abilities: None 91
Magic: Lore only. Psionics: Empathy, Sense Evil, Summon Inner Strength and Psi-Sword: 5D6 M.D. Bionics/Cybernetics: Cyber-Armor (A.R.: 16, 50 M.D.C.) Combat: 4 attacks per melee, +1 on initiative, +2 to strike, +8 to parry, +4 to dodge, +3 to roll, jump kick, leap attack, paired weapons, entangle, critical strike on a natural 18-20. Sir Tyrone's fighting prowess was once much greater than this, but old age and the years spent hi the blood pools have taken their toll. Even with a strict exercise regime and extensive medical treatment, Sir Tyrone's body has never fully healed. Bonuses: +2 to save vs psionics and insanity. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Sir Tyrone's, obsessive desire to see the vampire kingdoms destroyed can prevent him from seeing the big picture. Even so, Tyrone is a brilliant and observant man with years of experience, and won't let his emotions overly cloud his judgement. Sir Tyrone's old injuries from the Muluc blood pools also sometimes reassert themselves when he tries to push himself too hard, dropping his attacks per melee, bonuses and speed by half until he can recover himself. Skills of Note: Lore: Demon 98%, Paramedic 98%, Horsemanship 98%, W.P. Sword, W.P. Blunt, W.P. Energy Rifle, and W.P. Energy Pistol. Allies of Note: Sir Tyrone is no longer in contact with anyone south of the Rio Grande. All of his allies and friends are within Arzno, though should he ever return to Lazlo he will be greeted with a hero's welcome. Enemies: Vampires, Xavier's vampire army in particular. Sir Tyrone was also on the Coalition's most wanted list, but has long since been removed. Weapons & Equipment of Note: Sir Tyrone has been a warrior and adventurer longer than many weapons manufacturers have been in business. He's somewhat out of touch with the times and is suspicious and resistant to new technology. Consequently, he tends to stick to the weapons he used in his day, a JA-11 and a Wilk's 300 (precursor to the 320, 1D6 damage but only a 750 foot/228.6 m range and 8 shots per E-Clip). Money: Sir Tyrone virtually ignores his finances, only dipping into his savings to buy things he needs, when he needs them. Incidentally, his savings have swelled to 88,000 credits, and he'd be as surprised as anyone to find out he had that much tucked away. 92
Rumble Captain of Mechanized Forces The lights in the mineshaft were no more than dark globes that reflected the light of Rumble's chest spotlight and shone like raindrops in the dark. Rumble turned his head slowly, surveying the mine walls around him, the powerful servos in the borg's neck surprisingly silent. He switched his eyes through several different optic modes, from infrared to ultraviolet, and turned back to the other three miners that had accompanied him down the shaft. "Doesn't appear to be any damage. No signs of a cave in. Must be something further down," he said. The others behind nodded and the group pushed on toward the pump room. The mine's power and other systems had mysteriously died the night before without warning. Rumble and several other experienced miners had been assigned to survey the mines and fix the problem, if possible. After three hours below the surface they had made little progress, though it was looking more and more like a deliberate act of sabotage than an act of nature. "This was no accident." said Rumble, his voice trembling with irritation or anger, it was difficult to tell which. He was clenching a batch of severed wires in his vice-like bionic hand. The pump room, oddly enough, was still fully operational, though every other system from lighting to communications was forcibly disabled. Rumble released the cable and turned toward one of the many adjoining tunnels. "Whoever did this is still here. We're gonna teach 'em to mess with Rothwell Mines." Rumble's focus was broken by the shout of one of his comrades. He turned to see two spike-covered human forms emerge from the darkness carrying a third, obviously wounded. Rumble raised himself from inspecting the damage and rose to his full seven foot height, nearly touching the stone ceiling. The other miners gathered around him cautiously, eyeing the newcomers as they came into the light of their helmet lanterns. "Are you responsible for this?" Rumble bellowed, his bionicly enhanced voice echoing through the otherwise silent passages. The three spiked men stepped into the chamber and halted. The spikes, part of their bizarre armor, cast long, sharp shadows on the walls and down the tunnel behind them. One of the men in the spiked armor lifted the injured man and left him in the arms of the other. He stepped forward a single step and rose his arms in a gesture of peace. Even so, Rumble noticed the sword scabbard around the man's waist and the rifle slung over his shoulder. "I am Onra, this is Psythe and my injured comrade is known as Vincent, and I assure you we are not responsible in any way for the problems in this mine," the man explained calmly. Rumble eyed him carefully. He sounded sincere, but it was difficult to trust a man with such gear. "Then why are you here? Onra." The man lowered his hands and returned Rumble's cold stare. "We have been on the trail of a band of dangerous vampires. The trail led here, to your mines. We encountered a group of them a short time ago, down this shaft from which we just came. That is how Vincent came to be injured," he said, looking in93
tently at the Borg still standing defiantly in the center of the chamber. After a few tense seconds that seemed like hours, Rumble decided the man's words rung with the sound of the truth. "Very well then. We can't return via shaft four since that's where you came from. We have to assume they know where we are, the only way to go is forward. We can get out through the old shaft from the original mine. Okay," Rumble looked at the frightened faces around him and then to his new comrades and their unusual weaponry. "Let's go." Onra lit the last flare and tossed it into the tunnel behind them where it erupted into a brilliant globe of white light. He dropped the satchel that he had carried the Techno-Wizard flares in on the ground and gripped his crystal-laden rifle tightly in his hands. "That's the last of 'em. It should keep them at bay for a while longer." he turned to Rumble and gestured down the tunnel with his rifle. "How much farther?" Rumble turned his head, looking as far as his spotlight would illuminate before the inky blackness of the tunnel again took over. "A quarter of a mile, maybe a little less." he responded. Onra shook his head and the others exchanged frightened looks. Rumble turned back to look at the globe of daylight that hovered in the center of the tunnel a short distance behind them. He smiled as only a Borg can. "The rest of you go on ahead. I have an idea." A previously concealed compartment in Rumble's left leg opened and Rumble began to pull an assortment of wires and small white blocks out of it. The other miners exchanged worried glances; they knew what Rumble had planned. Onra and his mercenary companions simply watched him confusedly. Rumble looked directly at Onra. "Don't worry. I'll catch up," he said. "Now hurry up. There should be an access ladder that leads upward not too much farther." Onra, still unsure as to the Borg's plans, nodded and the three mercenaries moved on, the three miners right behind. Several minutes later, after Rumble and the globe were lost in the distance, the group came to an old steel ladder just as Rumble had told them they would. Just as Psythe began climbing, their ears were assaulted by a violent "bang," and the tunnel shook around them as dust and small stones fell from the walls and roof. Onra and Psythe, eyes wide with terror, looked to each other with horror as the miners simply lowered their heads. Leaving Vincent with the three miners, Onra and Psythe dashed down the tunnel, guns at the ready. After a short distance their helmet lights caught sight of a large humanoid form. "Egad!" exclaimed Onra, running forward to help the mighty Borg stumbling along, leaning on the tunnel wall for support. His previously shining bionic body was charred and covered in soot with numerous dents and gashes. "Are you alright?!" Onra asked, at a loss to help the mechanical man if he wasn't. "Monsters won't get past that for awhile. I just wish I had better timing. " Rumble said in an irritated voice. "Lets get out of here and then blow the whole place, vamps 'n all." Ferdinand Merris started out the same as many young men in the mountains of what was once Colorado. Young and impoverished, but with lofty dreams for the future, he went to work in the silver and coal mines that dotted the rust colored peaks throughout the area. After several years of hard work, Ferdinand was finally afforded the break he had been waiting for. He was offered the opportunity to undergo a full bionic conversion into a mining Borg in exchange for three years of service. After that he was free to go and do as he pleased in search of his fortune. As a young man of twenty-four with no other prospects presenting themselves, Ferdinand readily agreed. Once the conversion was completed without a hitch, Ferdinand worked for the prescribed three years in the mine, and was housed, fed and maintained by the mining company. When his contract expired, he thanked his previous employers and went on his way. A small but prosperous mining outfit known as Rothwell Mines quickly picked him up. Ferdinand's experience and skill with explosives, in addition to his bionic body, made him a prized catch for the small operation and he quickly rose in ranks to become the mine's foreman. Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, and when vampires infiltrated the mine shafts it became necessary to collapse the entire complex and shut the mine down. Ferdinand's courage and skills impressed Onra, who was all too pleased to accept Ferdinand's request to accompany them back to Arzno. Ferdinand, who more often than not goes by his nickname "Rumble," has adjusted to mercenary work surprisingly well. His mining experience has proven indispensable in deep vampire lairs, as has his knowledge of heavy machinery and explosives. It is for this reason that he's joined the company's mechanized forces. His mining Borg body has been modified and upgraded, adding additional armor and weapon systems while keeping many of the mining implements Rumble has come to rely upon. Real Name: Ferdinand Merris Alias: Rumble Rank: Captain Alignment: Principled M.D.C.: 240, plus 420 for heavy infantry armor P.P.E.: 2 Attributes: I.Q. 14, M.E. 14, M.A. 11, P.S. 30 (bionic), P.P. 22 (bionic), P.E.: 14, P.B.: 6, Spd.: 66 (45 mph/72 km) Experience: 6th level Mining Borg, 3rd level Military Borg Weight: 12001bs(540kg) Height: 7 feet, 6 inches (2.29 m) Sex: Male Age: 31 Disposition: Generally serious and single-minded when on duty, Ferdinand is still a bit too formal in non-combat situations as well. Ferdinand likes it when things are running smoothly and orderly, and hates surprises. Natural Abilities: None Magic: None Psionics: None Bionics/Cybernetics: Full bionic conversion for mining with additional military/combat enhancements. Universal headjack, amplified hearing with sound filtration system, multi-optic system, modular hands and am;.s with access to 94
all attachments from New West™, all bionic lung features as well as large and small concealed compartments in both legs. Combat: Hand to Hand: Expert: 3 attacks per melee, +7 to parry and dodge, +6 to strike, +4 to roll, +1 on initiative, +4 te pull punch, +15 to damage, critical strike on an unmodified 18,19 or 20. Bonuses: +3 to save vs Horror Factor. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Despite his training in Arzno, Ferdinand is still more miner than soldier at heart. Consequently, he sometimes has difficulty with military etiquette and command structures. He is also unwilling to command his armored forces from behind the lines, instead pushing his way right up to the front with his troops. His bionic nature also obviously prevents him from using any kind of magical or psionic enhancements. Skills of Note: Underground Tunneling 65%, Underground Architecture 55%, Underground Sense of Direction 65%, Metal Working 65%, Radio: Basic 80%, Demolitions 95%, Basic Mechanics 65%, Pilot: Tanks and APCs 70%, Fortification 50%, W.P. Knife, W.P. Energy Rifle, W.P. Heavy Energy. Allies of Note: Ferdinand is well known as a loyal and hard-working miner who will stand by his fellow workers and employers through thick and thin. He has been asked on more than one occasion to leave Arzno to become foreman of various prestigious mines in the region, all of which he has politely refused. Enemies: Ferdinand also made a few enemies within the mining industry, particularly with cruel and exploitative mining companies who don't treat their workers with respect. Ferdinand hates nothing more than irresponsible management, since it puts the miners at risk. Weapons & Equipment of Note: Ferdinand still has all of his old mining gear and bionics, as well as several new pieces of military equipment. As head of the Arzno armored division, he has access to just about any heavy weapon or vehicle he may need. He personally prefers large APCs and transports, and high explosives. Money: 240,000 in universal credits and precious metals. Ferdinand amassed most of this during his mining years and has been living off of it for a long time. Patria Nemesio Leader of Delta Squad Patria never knew her mother very well, though she has heard countless stories about her from both her father, Lanis, and other citizens of Arzno. When Patria was only 11 years old, her mother was killed in a massive vampire raid on the town in the early years of the AMC. Over the years following her mother's death, Patria's life was filled with anger and confusion. Her father, who had always been somewhat distant, found himself at a loss when it came to raising his young daughter. Though he tried, he was unable to replace the void left by Patria's mother. In fact, he ended up pushing her farther and farther away, as he tried to make up for his own loss by pursuing the vampire threat with a new passion, leaving Patria to find her own way in life. Unfortunately, it was not the way Lanis had hoped she would chose. Patria's mother was an accomplished wizard, a lover of life, freedom and happiness. It was these things that Lanis had loved in her and he imagined these things becoming a part of his daughter, that she would carry on where his wife had left off. To his disappointment, Patria turned out to be quite different from what he had hoped. The years of awkward silence between the father and daughter had a profound effect on Patria. Though she was young when her mother was killed, she could still sense the incredible loss and change of personality in her father, a change she couldn't help but make herself. Patria became increasingly militant and aggressive, joining the Arzno militia rather than studying the mystic arts like her father wished. When Lanis expressed his anger to Patria and demanded she leave the militia to study at the magic college, Patria fled from Arzno and her father's demands. Eventually, Patria ended up joining a group of fighters for good who called themselves "The Crusaders," with members across the Megaverse including Cyber-Knights and Atlantean Undead Slayers. For the first time since her mother was killed, Patria felt that she belonged. In the following years, she underwent the arduous process of acquiring the tattoos and training of an Undead Slayer. Shortly afterwards, Patria returned to her father and Arzno, ready to do what she could to rebuild her father's dream. When Patria returned a tattooed warrior, Lanis wept tears of anger and regret. His hopes that his daughter would become like her mother were shattered. Not only was she a warrior and destroyer probably destined to die on the field of battle, she could now never practice the magical arts like he had hoped. Patria was equally disappointed when she met with her father's tremendous disapproval. Today the two have scarce little contact with each other. Lanis feels that he has lost not only his wife but also his daughter to the vampires forever. Patria hopes that one day her father may realize that she isn't her mother and that she must follow her own path. All she seeks is her father's approval, which is not yet forthcoming. Until then, she continues that which she sees as her duty, slaying the beasts that have caused so much pain for her and her father. Real Name: Patria Nemesio Rank: Lieutenant Alignment: Unprincipled Hit Points: See M.D.C. M.D.C.: 289 P.P.E.: 258 Attributes: I.Q. 21, M.E. 22, M.A. 24, P.S. 30, P.P. 15, P.E. 18, P.B. 22, Spd 28 Horror Factor: 13 to monsters and practitioners of evil. Experience: 6th level Undead Slayer Weight: 1531bs(68.9) Height: 6 feet, 3 inches (1.91 m) Sex: Female Age: 32 Disposition: Patria is a tough and self-reliant warrior who is willing to put her life on the line at the drop of a hat. She has suffered disapproval and disappointment in the past and has come to rely on herself more than anything or anyone else. When things get tough, Patria remains steadfast and will take action when others back down. Ironically, though she remains distant from other troops, she inadvertently inspires many to push themselves further and to test their limits. Natural Abilities: Increased P.P.E. recovery, cannot be meta95
morphosed or otherwise transformed in any way, impervious to vampire bites, sense the presence of vampires within a 1000 foot (305 m) radius, and recognizes vampires by sight. In addition, she can sense ley lines and dimensional Rifts the same as a Ley Line Walker, as well as ley line phasing, and can operate dimensional pyramids. Also see combat bonuses. Magic: A general understanding of magic tattoos and how to use them. As a True Atlantean Undead Slayer, Patria has the Marks of Heritage plus the following 23 tattoos: Weapons, Animals & Monsters: Flaming Sword, Flaming Bow and Arrow with Wings, Dagger, Staff, Flaming Shield, Flaming Spear with Coiled Snake and Wings, Animal: Wolf, Animal: Eagle, Monster: Leatherwing, Monster: Grigleaper, Animal: Cheetah, Whip. Power Tattoos: Protection From Vampires, Turn Dead, Invulnerability, Control the Forces of Air, Healing: Basic, Healing: Super, Knowledge & Reading, Chain with a Broken Link (strength), Chain Encircling a Skull (psionic save), Lightning Bolts (shoot lightning) and Third Eye (supernatural vision). Psionics: None Combat: Hand to Hand: Martial Arts: 3 attacks per melee, +3 to parry and dodge, +2 to strike, +3 to roll with punch/fall or impact, critical strike on a natural 18,19 or 20. Bonuses: +4 to save vs psionics, +6 to save vs magic, +2 to save vs poison, +6% vs coma/death, +8 to save vs Horror Factor, 70% to trust/intimidate, and 60% to charm/impress. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Patria's rugged independence and lurking anger at her father have resulted in her having great difficulty with figures of authority. On numerous occasions Patria has disobeyed direct orders, instead doing what she has felt was best. She has accomplished great heroics this way, but also puts herself and others at great risk. Sir Tyrone is the only senior figure she listens to and respects, primarily because he treats her more like a person than anyone else does. In a sense, Sir Tyrone is the father she no longer has. Skills of Note: Languages & Literacy: Dragonese/Elf, American, and Greek 98%, Languages: Spanish, Euro, and Faerie Speak 97%, Intelligence 69%, Tracking 72%, Wilderness Survival 77%, Lore: Demons & Monsters 82%, Lore: Faerie Folk 67%, Swimming 87%, W.P. Archery & Targeting, W.P. Knife, W.P. Sword, W.P. Energy Pistol, W.P. Energy Rifle, Hand to Hand: Martial Arts, Prowl 62%, Horsemanship 77%, Escape Artist 72%, First Aid 87%, Pilot Hovercraft 92%, and Detect Ambush 72%. Allies of Note: Apart from the citizens of Arzno and the members of the Arzno Mercenary Corps, Patria is also on good terms with the Cyber-Knights and others amongst The Crusaders. Enemies of Note: Vampires and the Splugorth. Appearance: A tall, slender beauty with flowing blond hair, deep green eyes and outstanding grace. Patria has been the object of many a man's affection, but is too dedicated to the crusade against the undead and the disdain of her father to be distracted by love. Weapons & Equipment of Note: A wooden cross, a dozen wooden stakes and mallet, a TX-5 Pump Pistol, a JA-11, 3 silver plated knifes, a longbow and quiver of arrows, and a 96
TW Water Shotgun. Rides a male Psi-Pony named Thunder. Thunder wears cavalry barding when entering combat or traveling (90 M.D.C.). Money: 13,000 in universal credits. Patria donates most of her money to the poor and to the war effort. Gerra No'ta Head Field Mechanic for the Arzno Mercenary Corps The advance team was cornered, pinned down by the adult Hydra and its nine ugly heads, laying in wait just outside of the cave entrance. The team had been sent to investigate some vampire activity in the canyon, and got a little more than they bargained for with their hungry serpent friend. Gerra looked around and assessed the situation. They had only lost one man, but several of the twenty or so were injured. The troop transport lay fifty yards behind the leering head of their monstrous foe. Thus far, any attack on the beast did nothing but unleash a hail of attacks through the cave entrance, which burned, froze and poisoned all inside. They were in a pinch and were all looking toward their Techno-Wizard mechanic for help. He was way ahead of them. For the past hour of the standoff, he had been busy cannibalizing parts from weapons and hurriedly lacing them with stones and gems from his trusty field pouch. The result was half a dozen hand grenades armed to distract the monster while they made their escape. They weren't pretty, but they would do. He handed the grenades to six healthy troops and made the count to move. As the troops ran from the cave, the grenades were thrown. The crystal-laden spheres soared upward, then detected the evil presence of the Hydra and were drawn toward it. The troops shielded their eyes as the blinding flashes ignited in the many eyes of the beast. It reared back, firing its various breath weapons randomly as the last of the soldiers reached the transport. In another moment they were fleeing hurriedly from the scene and patting Gerra on the back. Gerra is a relatively new member of the Arzno Mercenary Corps, especially for his high status. His position was given directly by Lanis, the Corps' sponsor who found him to be far above the simple manufacturing of the TW items sold at Arzno Weapons Manufacturing. His ability to think on his is feet amazing, and with his skill as a Techno-Wizard coupled with his mechanical knowledge and psionic abilities, Lanis declared and Onra agreed that he was perfect for the job of field mechanic. On the field of battle, Gerra is a cunning magical tactician and a ruthless warrior. Off the field, he is the brilliant mind behind the TWA-1250 Imitator armor, the TWW-2000 Vamp Killer and many other unique inventions. Gerra is a non-commissioned officer in his position, and is most commonly sent on reconnaissance missions (where quick thinking is often critical) as the team co-leader. His troops respect him for his abilities on and off the battlefield and few are troubled by his unusually alien appearance. Real Name: Gerra No'ta Rank: Chief Sergeant Alignment: Unprincipled Hit Points: 29 S.D.C.: 51 P.P.E.:105 I.S.P.: 79 Attributes: I.Q. 17, M.E. 10, M.A. 11, P.S. 12, P.P. 12, P.E. 14, P.B. 7, Spd. 10 Experience: 5th level Trimadore Techno-Wizard Weight: 21 libs (95 kg) 97
Height: 7 feet, 7 inches (2.31 m) Sex: Male Age: 25 Disposition: Gerra believes strongly in the cause of the people of Arzno, and fights diligently for them. The fact that he is respected and well paid doesn't hurt either. Natural Abilities: Like all Trimadore, Gerra has perfect vision and excellent hearing, a strong mechanical aptitude and a superior sense of touch. Magic: Blinding Flash, Globe of Daylight, Ignite Fire, Fuel Flame, Fire Bolt, Call Lightning, Energy Bolt, Energy Field, Impervious to Energy, Telekinesis, Armor of Ithan, Fly as the Eagle, Create Wood, Create Water, Invisibility: Simple and Superior, Sense Evil, and Teleport: Superior. It is important to note that in addition to these, Gerra has access to the spells of all of the mages at Arzno for the purposes of TW devices. Psionics: Mind Block, Speed Reading, Object Read, and Tele-mechanics. Considered a major psionic. Bionics/Cybernetics: None Combat: Hand to Hand: Basic: 4 attacks per melee. +2 on initiative, +2 to parry and dodge, +1 to strike and +4 to pull/roll with punch, fall or impact. Bonuses: +2 vs magic, +7 vs Horror Factor, +1 vs disease and sickness, and +1 vs possession. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: The Trimadore is clearly inhuman, making disguise impossible. Skills of Note: Language: American and Spanish 87% and Techno-can 73%, Literacy: American 63% and Techno-can 53%, Mechanical Engineer 48%, Weapons Engineer 48%, Armorer 63%, Robot Electronics 53%, Robot Mechanics 43%, W.P. Energy Pistol, W.P. Energy Rifle, W.P. Heavy Energy, Hand to Hand: Basic. Allies of Note: The few fellow Trimadore on Rifts Earth, and the people of Arzno. Enemies: The vampires and other menaces fought by Arzno, and he isn't too fond of the Coalition. Weapons & Equipment of Note: Specially designed Rhino Imitator Armor with an extra-heavy force field (100 M.D.C.) and an extra-large P.P.E. battery (100 P.P.E.). His weapon of choice is a silver or standard rail gun. He also carries a pouch with a dozen each of the most commonly used gems and crystals. Money: 90,000 in hard credits, and another 120,000 or so in gems. Fidel Sergeant in the AMC and rogue CS Dog Boy The smell of the supernatural filled the air and the nostrils of the hefty mutant Rottweiller as he swung his neuro-mace at his seemingly invincible foe. For the hundredth time, the club found its mark, discharging its stunning energy and sending it coursing over the pale white body of the attacking creature. Still, unfazed, it leapt forward and literally took a bite out of the shoulder of the Dog Boy's riot armor with its massive fangs. The Dog Boy grabbed the demon and threw him across the room, sending him into a wall. He took the moment to look over at his shoulder toward his comrades to see how they fared. To his dismay he saw only corpses, bloody and dismembered, each with one or even a couple of the pale demons crouched over it, siphoning the rich fluid from the veins of the fallen through jagged breaches in their armor. Only then did the CS soldier realize what he was up against, and that all of the terrible stories were true. Vampires. Quickly he estimated about eight of the demons, as they one by one lifted their eyes to him. He became suddenly aware of his heart pounding in his chest as he began to pant in fear. At that moment the CS Dog Boy veteran, Fidel, turned tail and ran. After narrowly escaping his first encounter with vampires, Fidel returned to his CS outpost to report the incident and the true presence of vampires in the south. He was given a mental examination, found unfit for combat, and reassigned to the Lone Star ISS. His report was never officially filed and dismissed without examination. After about a month with ISS, Fidel bugged out and went A WOL. He hired himself out as a mercenary and bounty hunter in several of the larger towns in the southwest, until he stumbled upon a poster for employment with the AMC. When he saw the chance to learn more about vampires and how to fight them, he took it. He has now been with the Corps for eight years and has emerged as a real veteran and leader, especially in the areas of reconnaissance and seek and destroy. Fidel would be somewhat happy to know that his report, though officially ignored, did not fall between the cracks. His story has happened a dozen times, to many CS troops from all walks of the service, from Juicers to decorated officers. A research team has been assembled and will soon be released into the wastelands of the southwest to study the many legends of vampires, and document the truth. If Fidel learns of this team it is likely that he'll at least find them and see what they're doing about the problem. Right now he's happy in Arzno and would not likely leave, even for his former masters. 98
Real Name: Fidel Aliases: None, other than typical slang for Dog Boys. Rank: Sergeant Alignment: Unprincipled Hit Points: 48 S.D.C.: 82 P.P.E.: 12 I.S.P.: 93 Attributes: I.Q. 11, M.E. 13, M.A. 12, P.S. 25, P.P. 18, P.E. 28, P.B.8,Spd.41 Experience: 6th level Rottweiler Dog Boy Weight: 160 Ibs (72 kg) Height: 5 feet, 10 inches (1.78 m) Sex: Male Age: 11 Mutant Abnormality: Full color vision. Disposition: Fidel is a fun guy to be around, and loves the AMC. He feels that he has found a place to belong, both with his (somewhat) human masters and his fellow misfits. His experiences now have only accented the lies and mistreatment he experienced with the CS, yet something inside him still longs for it. He accounts for this as a genetic program and does his best to dismiss it. Natural Abilities: Has the abilities and senses of any Dog Boy. Sense Psychic and Magic Energy (75 feet/22.9 m if dormant, 650 feet/198.1 m if active): 16% to recognize a specific psychic scent, 65% chance to track if powers are in use. Sense Supernatural Beings (100 feet/30.5 m if dormant, 1500 feet/457.2 m if active): 72% to sense or identify the type of creature. Tracking these creatures by scent is 55% if dormant or 82% if powers are active. Magic: None, but loves using TW weapons and armor. Psionics: Sixth Sense, Mind Block, Sense Evil, Sense Magic, and Empathy. Considered a master psionic (rolls 10 to save). Bionics/Cybernetics: None. Combat: 5 attacks per melee, +2 initiative, +7 to parry and dodge, +5 to strike, +10 to damage and +6 to pull/roll with punch, fall or impact. Bonuses: +1 vs psionics, +7 vs magic, poisons, and toxins, +26% save vs coma/death. Vulnerabilities/Penalties: Ley lines disrupt many natural abilities of the Dog Boy. See Rifts® or Lone Star for details. Skills of Note: Language: American and Dragonese 90%, Prowl 55%, Intelligence 58%, Radio: Basic 80%, Radio: Scramblers 65%, Pilot Hovercraft 85%, Read Sensory Equipment 65%, Weapon Systems 75%, Land Navigation 66%, Wilderness Survival 55%, W.P. Energy Rifle, W.P. Energy Pistol, W.P. Heavy Energy, W.P. Blunt, and Hand to Hand: Martial Arts. Allies of Note: In addition to Arzno and its citizens, there are still several Dog Pack soldiers who are friends of Fidel and would help him if they could. Enemies: Vampires and other supernatural evils, plus he's wanted by the CS, especially by many of the Dog Boys. Some may understand his motives for bugging out, but few condone it. Weapons & Equipment of Note: Usually wears TWA-900 Light Armor (he loves the spikes) or occasionally his old riot armor for show. His favorite weapons include a Neuro-Mace, a TWW-1300 Lightning Mace, and a TWW-3500 Water Rifle. Money: Keeps a modest amount of cash nearby for emergencies, roughly 35,000 credits immediately available in Arzno. Samantha Sergeant and resident werebeast of the Arzno Mercenary Corps The half-human creature crept in the shadows cast by eerie green street lamps, in the main square of the small southwestern town, her eyes focused on her prey across the street. Her keen vision saw every movement of the three demons, as they crawled from the cellar of the small pub and made their way toward the hotel next door, full of unsuspecting, heavily sleeping travelers on their way to El Paso for the weekend festivities. Samantha watched as the three vampires started to make their way across the alley, like snakes entering the crib of a child. It was then that she made her move. Her inky black coat bristled with excitement as she all but flew across the street and pounced on one of the demons, slashing with her claws and biting with her deadly fangs. Her pride rested largely on the fact that she didn't need fancy weapons or magic to fight these creatures, only her natural gifts. As she clawed through the flesh of one beast, another struck her from behind. Leaving the first too damaged to fight back for the time being, the werejaguar turned, grabbed the next creature and threw it into a nearby horse trough. The demon screamed as its skin burned, and the third beast began to metamorphose into a giant wolf, taking flight. Samantha's fangs found the creature's neck and held on tight. She whipped him around and drove his body over a hitching post. As her attention shifted back to the second creature, she pounced and held it under the water, and pumped the handle on the faucet above. The creature's screams were muffled by the water, but they soon enough ceased. Just as she was about to turn back to the first of her victims, her sixth sense alerted her. It was too late; he had found her first. Samantha was caught off guard for once, and the regenerated demon jumped at her, wailing and screaming. She winced, preparing herself for the impact, but the demon fell short of his mark, blood spewing from his chest and a giant wooden stake protruding from his back. The werebeast looked up, panting and coat glistening with sweat, to meet the veiled face of the huge armored figure before her. The voice boomed from behind the helmet, "I need your help." Samantha caught her breath as she looked upon the pearl-white, silver spiked armor and didn't question her instinctive answer for a moment. "I owe you more than that," she whispered. After meeting the Mage Onra and hearing of his mission, Samantha could be happy nowhere else besides the Arzno Mercenary Corps. She was the first inhuman member of the Corps, and therefore spent most of her time in her human facade, and continues to do so out of habit and for the comfort of others. Still, she is most comfortable (and formidable) in her natural form, and does not hesitate to use it when hunting or in combat. Despite her insecurities, she is fully accepted as an indispensable member and leader of the Corps. Still, she has declined having a unit under her command on numerous occasions, be99
