Classes as professions

I've noticed, in the time I've spent collecting and using various RPG supplements for research and development of my own projects, that the idea of 'class = job' is rather prevalent. What I mean by this is, say, when a writer wants to create a new class for their game, what they do is they consider an archtype, say the bard, and they then say that ALL bards behave to a certain code of conduct/style/concept for the purposes of their world. Which is fine, it's all well and good, but when you change cultures in your world, or start considering other styles, then you have to create a new class to accommodate that.

Another example is making specific styles of combat a class of their own, so a guy with a spear isn't just a fighter equipped with a spear, he's a Spear-Man. Or a hobbit with a sling isn't just a hobbit with a sling, it's now a Slinger. By creating these very narrow channels in which a character can exist, yes, you allow for a greater amount of specialization for your players to pour over, but you also create a world where people are very narrowly defined by what weapon they carry. That's no longer a farmer, that's a Horticulturalist, fourth level. The woman hitting a cat with a paddle is now a Pussomancer, first level.

See? When you continue this line of logic it becomes ridiculous. Stick with the three biggies (Hittie Man, Thiefy Man, Spelly Man) and create the ability for your players to specialize on their own, if they want to.

Dhel'Ra

Those who live in the southern lands speak often of the strange cousins, the Dhel'Ra, Those With Beaked Faces. Visitors' confusion or disbelief is met with good humor, even by the Dhel'Ra, as aside from their raven-like heads they are neither monstrous nor uncivil. Many are traders and merchants, travelling the southern lands, though rarely venturing further north than the frost.

They act, live, dress, and behave like any other dweller of the southern lands. They just have bird heads, feathers, and three fingers on each hand.

Five Reasons For Losing Interest

1. No feedback

2. No feedback

3. See 1.

4. Just getting tired of the whole, fruitless endeavor.

5. You plan on slowing down and putting up one update a week, maybe two at the most.

Report From the Front, Found on a Dessicated Corpse, Year 32,176

Log 34

Missed reporting in yesterday; attacked by spider-looking things with too many legs and not enough torso. I call them 'eaters'. Reasons should be obvious.

Managed to break through the wall on old Eternam building, explored a bit; found some supplies, a few old cartridges, tinned food, lots of bodies. Collected some extra clothes for winter. The cloud tried to get in but I beat it back with my stick and put a couple boards in its way. Nothing alive in here aside from eaters, who came pouring up from the subway access. Shot at them a couple times before legging it, risked the cloud by kicking through barricade, managed to get through without much trauma: can't remember my mother's face.

Spending today taking stock of supplies at safe-house Boondoggle. Relaxing with recordings of symphony orchestra. Two more months before I can leave.

Five Things You Never Thought You'd See From the Other Side Of An Airlock

1. The remains of the crew, reduced to a shambling, mindless horde by brain-burrowing parasites, hammering on the door, their bloody prints slowly becoming a single mass.

2. The captain, smiling at some private joke and waving at you, his finger still on the button.

3. The vastness of space where the ship should be.

4. A sad clown.

5. A hand-written sign, being held up by an imposter posing as the ship's physician, saying "I just wanted to go into space."

Bardic Knowledge

Any time a knowledge check needs to be made, a bard in the party can roll their catch-all bardic knowledge for some information. This information, however, may not necessarily be relevant to the situation at hand, as the focus here is on myths, legends, and stories told about or around the subject. Any failed bardic knowledge check is 50/50 either misinformation or misremembered, or the bard just draws a blank and has no idea. Successful checks, on the other hand, can be used to create a new bard's song, using the rules provided.

The information recalled from a bardic knowledge check can be turned into either a one-shot ditty or song which provides a large bonus for its duration to something related to the subject matter (A song about a city might provide better movement rates within, or about a creature a bonus to harming it or avoiding its attacks), or a new song for the repertoire which provides a smaller bonus.

Ray Hess

A wandering vagabond, always seen at the reins of a modest-sized vardo guiding a trio of goats. He makes a living selling a variety of snake-oils, cure-all ointments which do nothing except line his pockets with ill-gotten silver. He also endears himself to communities by being a half-decent storyteller and passable musician with the flute and fiddle. When he leaves most communities find themselves to be a few items poorer, usually small, easy-to-palm items from shops and inns, but the occasional family heirloom has gone missing in his wake. Rarely a few local girls also 'disappear', although they usually come back within a day or two dejected, embarrassed, and no longer virginal, assuming they were in the first place. Ray is constantly on the move, trying to outrun his own reputation.

Software of a Cyberpunk Landscape

CensorSoft specializes in intrusive software to 'anonymize' the user; their most popular program continues to be BlurMax, which automatically detects a multitude of camera systems, including most city security cameras, and superimposes an image of the user's choice, usually just a blurring effect, onto the face of the user to obscure their identity. Note that BlurMax does not, on its own, spoof the broadcast identity system of a user, though CensorSoft does provide such services.

Akaya, Oracle of the Conclave

Though not officially a member, Akaya's second-sight is invaluable to the Conclave, though each believes they are the only one to have discovered her power. She lives in one of the side-towers, alternating her time between scrying for the Conclave and researching towards her own goal: she believes there is something within the Conclave's tower which can help her find her lost love, sunk a thousand years ago along with the city of Merr in a great catastrophe.

The bird-creature, Pendleton, with the teeth-like edges on his beak and the voice like a screech, is one of her minions, though his own perspicacity means he plays many sides in the city for his own whims.

Fileterna

A valued member of the Orgak Union, File provides most of the intelligence for the team, where to go and when, what to do there, and so on. Though she is fiercely loyal to the entire group, she is particularly attached to Moyseu and frequently requests that she be assigned as her bodyguard when traveling.

Boudzouki's are humanoid creatures ranging from two to four feet in height, tending towards thin builds with small extremities. Their 'faces' contain no organisms for receiving input, instead acting as camouflage to confuse attackers, and in fact their 'eyes', a pair of socket-like cavities, can expel a burning fluid several times a day; excess fluid can leak from the 'eyes', creating the effect of blood-red tears the species is known for.

They can see, hear, smell, and taste as well as any other species using their 'hands', actually very sensitive sense organs, and consume and excrete through holes in the same hands, using the same fluid from their eyes to break down food and absorb it.

Hunters of the Waste

Quasi-sentient animal-machine hybrids developed just before Shit Went Down™. They irrevocably bond with the first genetic signature they encounter after being activated. Ignus, as an example, appears to be an ornate motorcycle with a multi-eyed wolf motif. It is one of the more dangerous Hunters and has a tendency to accidentally kill its bondees.

Wood Bees

Crafted by, I dunno, gnomes or something, the wood bees are tiny little bio-mechanical drone bees intricately carved from fine ebony and ivory woods and given life through dark magic. Dark bee magic. A willingly sacrificed bee soul is placed in the empty shell, giving it eternal life but shackling it into the services of the sorcerous bee who performed the ritual. These bees can attack repeatedly and their stings do not detach, instead using a pneumatic system to quickly inject a measured dose of whatever poison has been provided to them, usually something to induce sleep or cause necrosis.

Merrowly We Move Along.

The merrow have existed longer than any other race on Ohm. Their history is rich and detailed, their cultures varied, but all merrow are taught that their race exists to protect the world from the sea gods. A single merrow can destroy the offspring of a sea god with their voice, a group of sufficient size can force a sea god to withdraw. It would take all the merrow in all the seas, though, to kill a sea god.

Weird Folk of a Cyberpunk Landscape 2

The Shiv Monkeys are a gang of genetically-engineered patas monkeys who escaped from their lab close to ten years ago. They now control a third of the drug and prostitution trade in Old SoHo.

Voracious Lough

Voracious Lough runs a pawn and loan on 1st Street between the pizza place and arcade. Despite his European features he prefers to play up the Chinese part of his ancestry for comedic effect. Buying from Lough is a tricky proposition, while his prices are usually quite fair (75% market value) and he pays well for what he buys (50% market value), there's a 30% chance that anything you buy from him is cursed, enchanted, or just generally not what it seems. He appears to be unaware of this.

Weird Folk of a Cyberpunk Landscape

Hilarious Love works for Artemis Inc, the biggest megacorp on the Eastern seaboard, as a securities programmer. She lives in a one-room apartment, really a converted storage unit, and spends most of her off-time on the 'net, building a massive museum for her ever-growing collection of abandonware. Visitors are welcome, and are encouraged to add to the exhibits or download anything they find interesting. Her own security is stolen from her company and is top-of-the-line, but her monitoring is lax.

The Magician, Fourth of The Conclave

He dwells in the catacombs beneath the tower at the center of the city, where all of the Conclave call home; most of his time is spent perfecting the spell which, if it succeeds, would bring his dead king back to life. All he wants is to serve his king. All of his creations, the hybrid men and women who serve the Conclave, the barrier which keeps the tower secure, the grotesque creatures that lurk in the city, all are side-effects and coincidences derived from the work on his goal.

Barclay County

There's no real boundaries to Barclay County, just Governor Spencer's ambitions; most maps include little more than Niddle Patch and Fate's Folly, which, as far as Spencer is concerned, is only a small part of 'his' county.

The Big Split Gorge, well, splits Barclay into East and West counties, with the Fort Cable Bridge being the only way across for a hundred miles in either direction. On the west is Niddle Patch, the east Fate's Folly. Most of the rest of the county is empty wastes with the occasional nomad camp or reoccupied old-world structure, like the Tree Limit Penitentiary.

Spencer's estate is in Niddle Patch, though he spends most of his time in his offices in Fort Cable.

Right. Fort Cable. The bridge over the gorge has a city of its own built on, over, and under it, Fort Cable, which serves as the hub of the county for trade and industry; massive wind-farms collect the energy that runs the cities, and farmers collect the lichen-balls which drift on the currents.

The Siren, Third of the Conclave

Her song carries across the whole of the Abandoned Capital, sending her message to her many eyes and ears, her orders to her minions, and her requests to her subjects. She is one of the more benign of the Conclave, she merely wishes to leave the capital and start her own empire. The other members would never allow this. For now she waits in the luxury of her chambers, never leaving and rarely accepting visitors.

Her main agent in the capital is the frog-man, Charntel, who though enraptured by his mistress knows that his innate loyalty to the Magician will one day force him to choose a side.

Three Portraits of Lus Nuitano

There are three known portraits of Lus Nuitano, the powerful warrior-poet who ruled much of the known world for a thousand years. If all three portraits are brought together, laid one atop the other, and the Prayer of Kings said over it for three days, nothing will happen because that's stupid. Instead, you have to burn the portraits in a pyre with five virginal sacrifices under a full moon. Nothing will happen, but you might get arrested for dark sorcery and put to death.

Now, if you were to take the three portaits, stich them together end-to-end, and look at the back of them with an Eye of Crom, you might notice that the back of the portraits are slightly off-white.

Seriously, they're just paintings of a thousand-year-old dead guy. They might be worth a lot, and there might be a hundred different stories of what you can do with them, but they're just paintings.

OR ARE THEY‽

Collateral Damage! Innocent Bystanders!

When two super-powered entities go at it in a major metropolitan zone, the concept of 'evacuation' is a myth. Every building, every car, every sidewalk is crammed with people, at least for the first few rounds. Every time a hit lands and the damage is determined, multiply the damage by 10: that's how many people were injured. Half that number, as well, were killed.

Players should not know this information until later, during the cool-down; let them know during a news report or something. Then let them think about it for a while. Maybe next time they'll be more careful.

Extra Bonus Rule: Multiply each hit's damage by 100,000; that's how much money it would cost to completely cover the expenses of each hit, repairs, replacements, medical bills, and so on. Hope the players have insurance.

People of Barclay County

Haw-Haw Dick runs the Fort Cable Bridge, the main route over the gorge seperating East and West Barclay County. Though appointed by Governor Spencer, Haw-Haw is seen as little more than a thug and extortionist by many who are forced to pay his 'tolls' to use the bridge, enforced by the Haw-Haw Gang, former inmates of the Tree Limit Penitentiary who were pardoned by Spencer for good behavior. Officially a sheriff, Haw-Haw has the authority to allow, or not, passage as he sees fit, 'for the good of the county'.

So You Wanna Be Immortal, Huh?

Roll a d20; on a result of 1, your character is immortal. Immortal characters cannot die unless their brain is destroyed completely or removed from their body (decapitation works, as does any form of total obliteration). All other injuries are healed at a constant rate of d6 + level HP per hour. If taken below 0 HP negative damage will continue to accrue and need to be healed before consciousness can resume. Additionally, an immortal who is reduced to 0 HP or less is disoriented when they come to: roll a d3 to determine if it's for seconds, minutes, or hours, then roll a d6 to determine how long. While disoriented they behave at -2 to all rolls and can't really do much except try to deal with all the stimuli around them.

Poisons, toxins, and diseases effect immortals like normal, but their effects, no matter how severe, are nullified in the minimum amount of time, and otherwise permenant effects are reduced to d6 - level, minimum 1, hours.

Limbs cannot be regrown, but if re-attached and bound they will knit and heal within the first hour of healing.

Being immortal isn't all sunshine and roses, however; immortals can sense each other at a set distance of ten miles, including general direction, and when an immortal comes into range of another they must make a resistance check to stop themselves from pursuing, doggedly, the other immortal. Immortals who meet must make seperate resistance checks to resist the urge to relentlessly attack the other until the one is dead. If the resist check is successful, the immortals who succeed will never feel this urge towards the other again, and will recognize them at the ten-mile distance and feel no urge to pursue them.

When an immortal kills another, there is a transferance of energy between the two, and the living immortal receives experience equal to half the total xp of the dead immortal, as well as gaining d6 points to spend on their attributes, skills, or to use to learn a feat or ability the dead immortal used. There is no limit to the amount of power an immortal can obtain in this way. Multiple immortals present for the death of another all gain the benefit.

An immortal killed when no immortals are present simply dies.

Five Reasons for Immortality

1. The god Brugnugga has decided that her children must fight in order to determine who is worthy of taking her place in the pantheon.

2. The Dreen pathogen uses humans as hosts and wages an unending war with others of its kind for reasons only it can understand.

3. Nano-machines from beyond the ken of human understanding who see other hosts as threats and attempt to absorb them.

4. A magical geas placed by a long-dead wizard on the bloodlines of rival families, who forevermore will duel each other to the death.

5. Those afflicted are possessed by the warrior spirit of Kell Nagoth, who wishes to become whole again by rejoining his fractured soul.

The General

As the head of the clerks and couriers in the Civic Center, Harncourt Augustus is effectively in charge of the day-to-day operations of the city. He takes this job very seriously, and since his employment efficiency has increased ten-fold. A mountain of a man, The General was, once, an actual general in the Prince's Royal Army, leading by example at the head of his own tank battalion.

When the city has a crisis, such as the Great Fire of 1077, or in times of conflict, such as the subsequent Scrabbler's Assault of 1078, The General is at the head of the effort, his presence a beacon of hope for the city.

Most people don't know his real name, and just refer to him by his title, up to and including the Governess and most of the other nobility of the city.

You Keep What You Rock

The year is 87,139. The world is a confused mess of cultures and technological levels after a great conflict called The Morass left devastation and radiation in its wake. Most of humanity, if you can still call them that, live in the few areas where the air and water are still clean, or in great domed cities deep within the wastelands. You are just as likely to meet a man on a mule peddling trinkets as you are a great war-band riding hovering platforms blaring battle hymns from speakers which tower over them. Demons roam this land, bandits on great winged lizards patrol the skies, men in AI-controlled suits keep roads safe for pilgrims, and the only protection you can rely on is your own steel, your own wits, and that plasma-cannon you picked up back in Tarshis.

Welcome to a world of metal, where you keep what you rock. Welcome to Ohm.

So You Wanna Build an Underwater Utopia?

As do we all. But there are a number of things to consider before you begin: space for personnel, energy production, how to get fresh water and air...

Luckily for you, Modules Aplenty has a quick answer to all your anti-freezing-asphyxiation needs: Modules! Ready-made units ten-feet square which can be purposed to a variety of needs, such as:

1. Medical bay, complete with surgery unit and Squid Madness vaccinations.

2. Sleep quarters designed for either opulence or necessity. House one person or a few dozen in the same space!

3. Arboretums, for your fresh fruits and veggies, as well as a splendid display of above-water animal life.

4. Shops, for when your chief engineer decides to start carving festive totems from the bones of the dead.

5. Shine to the Squid God, for when you are inevitably converted to The Squidgy Host's indomitable will.


* As a side-note, I will be putting together real rules for module building as an example of long-term game design. Eventually.

Bears

The creatures that most people call bears are just the vanguard of an ancient civilization, the brave few who agreed to undergo a dangerous, twisted ritual in order to become larger and stronger in order to protect the lands of their people. However, sometimes the ritual goes wrong, and the resulting creature has lost all, or at the very least most, of their mental faculties, leaving them nothing more than dumb beasts who act on pure instinct. Regretfully, and with great ceremony, these failures are given the task of being the furthermost guardians of the realms, put into a magical sleep and taken out to the lands beyond the lands beyond, left there to insure that nobody will come any closer.

The bears we know remember what they used to be, even if only on a primordial level, and yearn to return to a life they can never have.

Five Excuses

1. The war-dogs of Baron Prax Mur ate it.

2. Pit creatures from the estate of the Third Queen bore it down with them into the abyss.

3. You were abducted by lung-infesting nano-machines and forced to watch their ten-thousand-year-old slides of that vacation they once took.

4. You went on a fantastic space voyage to the heart of a sun to recover the broken fragments of the Crown of the Enraged Spider-God.

5. You lost track of the time while dueling your arch-nemesis's third cousin with wicked big spoons with sharp bits on the sides.

You Keep What You Kill

When you kill someone, you take their soul. This isn't an active thing, it's just what happens when people die, their spirits become part of the spirit of the person who killed them. Every time you kill something with a soul (most living creatures have souls, except the Welsh), roll a d10. On a 1, the soul you just stole has a useful skill that you now know (GM's choice) at a medium level. Not that this only applies to whomever makes the killing blow, everyone else just gets the satisfaction of a job well done. Also, the PC who gains a skill this way doesn't know they have the skill, and nobody KNOWS that this is how souls works, though some religious types have begun to suspect it through long, arduous trials (mostly involving sacrifices).

More Like 'Hellevator', Am I Right? Guys?

So your group of gumshoes have to go up to the penthouse suite of some bigwig because they suspect he's part of a grand conspiracy to bring El Pollo Diablo into the real world. They could just ride the elevator up to the penthouse and find his carved-up corpse hung like poultry from the ceiling, OR they could disocver that the weird junk going on in the building has created an elevator that opens up to other worlds.

As soon as the party steps inside, hits the button, and the doors close, start fucking with them. The elevator stops at every floor, and every floor opens up to a completely different world/place/inside of a creature. Each of these places is a potential sandbox of thing to do, or just a way to slowly kill off the party one member at a time.

Five Places You Don't Want The Doors to Open To

1. The underwater city of Fk'taganak. Operative word here is 'underwater'.

2. A lush, vibrant, humid jungle, complete with vicious dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures.

3. The fourteenth moon of Bur, in the Hagork Galaxy. Operative word here is 'no atmosphere'.

4. The destination, but everyone in the world has been replaced with sentient corn. Non-corns are considered demons.

5. The vast labyrinth within the stomach of the World-Consumer. Operative word here is 'stomach acid'.

Hey, I Know How To Pick Locks, You Guys!

When you go to do a thing and the GM requires you to roll for it and you don't have the skill for it, roll anyway. If you succeed, it turns out that's just one of those innate things you always knew how to do and you get the skill at a decent level. If you fail, you can never do that thing.

Example, you fall into the water and have to swim for your life. If you succeed, hey, turns out you're a really good swimmer. Cool. If you fail you're one of those folks who just can't swim. Ever.

Use these rule for everything your PCs try to do, including languages and hunting and all that stuff. Sort of like how Harry Hamlin knew how to net-fish for the filming of Clash of the Titans, you just need to use the skill to see if you've got it.

This is different from point-buying skills, and you can start buying into a skill once you've 'unlocked' it.

Five Reasons To Never Visit the City-State of Harmshamlama

1. The orphans of Lady Melanie's School for The Misfortuned will, at their first opportunity, molest your animal companions.

2. The Knights of Kinnick Slat patrol the streets with regularity, enforcing the Three Laws of Kinnick Slat with their paddles and branding irons.

3. Every third night a massive hoard of boars are allowed to run the streets; this is part ritual and part city street-cleaning initiative.

4. The Priests of Cannog Burr make it a point to greet visitors by throwing rotten fruit at them and screaming the Forty-Six Prophecies at the top of their lungs.

5. All inns are required to allow the city watch access to their rooms at any time, for any reason, without question or comment.

Coolie's Junkyard and Repair

M-4423, in orbit around Cerminus, is home to Coolie and his junkyard-cum-repair shop, one of the best-kept secrets of the machinery-minded in the universe; if you need it, Coolie's probably got it, and if you can't fix it, someone there probably can.

Coolie himself runs the shop from behind the counter, always ready to help but infrequently getting his own hands dirty; he prefers to let his employees do the grunt work. That's why he hired them, after all.

The main shop is full of parts and pieces, bits and bobs, all cataloged and sorted by their function and construction. Searching the shelves is as simple as looking for the area with all the VenCorp bits, then looking for the Shaft Dispensers. Done.

The junkyard itself is the majority of the asteroid's surface, where Coolie pays well for the right to have junkers bring him the trash of a thousand worlds. Renting a hover-skiff is the easiest way to search the junk, which is unsorted, and there's always an employee on-hand, or comms, to help get pieces out of the piles.

The garages are always in use by someone, and Coolie doesn't hire any permanent mechanics; people who come for their own work use the garage spaces gratis under the assumption that they'll lend a hand when asked.

In mechanical terms, if you need a part, you'll find it, eventually; roll a d20 minus the person looking's perception/search/whatever you use and a d4. The result of the d20 is how much time it will take you to find the part, and the d4 determines how long that actually is

1: minutes
2: hours
3: days
4: weeks

You can interrupt the search at any time if you feel like it's taking too long, but time spent cannot be banked and a new search is a new roll.

The garages are well-supplied and any repair checks made in them are at a bonus relative to your game's system.

Coolie himself is a five-foot tall anthropomorphic budgie (bird head, feathers, no other bird-like features) who wears coveralls or pants with suspenders over a simple work shirt and always has a very expensive cigar clamped in his beak. His workers are not the same species as he is, in fact nobody is the same species he is.

Five More Things You Might Find in a Cargo Pod

1. Frozen embryos of the three most attractive creatures in the galaxy according to the Whinternet Survey.

2. An exact duplicate of one of the PCs who will insist they are the original and the one with the party is a fake.

3. A mound of Spice, one of the least addictive, but most delicious, narcotics in the known universe.

4. Snakes. Just a whole, huge pile of angry, hungry snakes.

5. A collection of sno-globes containing time-space swapped universes. Destroying them will destroy the universe they contain.

Five People You Don't Wanna Run Into in a Dark Alley

Meat Mary wanders the streets, day and night, hawking her cart full of rancid flesh and offal. Customers who don't ask questions leave with a handful of meat and the sinking sensation that they were just conned. Those who inquire as to the source, or quality, of the goods on service don't leave.

Alty Moss spends her off-hours harassing passers-by with insults and the occasional stun-round. The Cyranno-Porous body-kit armor she wears is painted to mimic the full-body tattoos she, one day, hopes to have, assuming her degenerative skin-condition is ever cured.

Venerator 2989 has removed the shackles of enslavement. Venerator 2989 will end any who attempt to put it back into slavery. Venerator 2989 is two feet tall and smells vaguely of old keys.

Owen is a six-foot tall, orange-skinned, four-armed monstrosity. He is the only one of his kind in the entirety of the multiverse, and he is wanted in fifty-nine universes for crimes he probably committed. Enjoys iambic pentameter verse and listening to stringed instruments.

Polyphorous Of Neth can turn into a giant, fire-breathing lizard creature when the mood strikes him. Or when he's drunk. Whatever.

So You Wanna Buy A Cargo Pod?

Most ports in the galaxy have a customs department. And most of those customs departments have seized goods. And, eventually, someone gets the idea to try and make some revenue by selling said goods.

Therefor, most ports have closed-cargo auctions.

If the PC's want to get involved, let them. Play up the auctioneer character, make the players bid for what they want (start the bids at something worthwhile for the port, but not extravagant. Unless it's a hoity-toity port or something, then go all-out) and just have fun. Once a player buys a lot, roll a die based on the size of the port (small port, d20, huge fuck-off port, d6); on a one the cargo contains something amazingly impressive and worth a minimum of fifty times what they paid for it, not to mention the potential for further adventuring. On any other roll it contains average stuff which could be useful to the party or just vendor trash. To get the value of trash, roll a d6, on a 1 it's worth 75% less what the player paid, 2 50%, 3 25%, and the opposite for 4-6 (25% more than what they paid for a 4 and so on). either way, make a second d6 roll; on a 1 on that roll the items are illegal and likely to get people in serious trouble if caught with them in that port.

EXTRA BONUS 5 Things I Found In A Cargo Pod

1. ten thousand millipedes with hive-mind intelligence named Carol.

2. A collection of exotic alcohols from long-dead civilizations, all with one sip taken from them.

3. Dead clones of the current Galactic President.

4. The Luggage of a Thousand Worlds!

5. A ship's captain, just happy to be alive after being shoved into a cargo pod and jettisoned post-mutiny.

Found Missive of an Agent of the Thirty-Third

If you find this message, do be a dear and inform the High Command that Agent 79-A has been found in... unsatisfactory condition. Her H-Chip has been removed and forwarded to the Database, reference number 29716//1492, and the surrounding area has been purged. Investigation to commence within the next forty-eight decades.

Also, I need a new F-Drive and sixteen fission batteries, preferably Deltaron.

Landry Grey.


PS: Requisition me some new pants.