>>5167079>>5167086>>5167103>>5167155>>5167205>>5167266>These XB mines might be a fucking War Crime. >I'll round the number up once it is on or over .50¾ of 32
8 Exterior Damage.
24 Interior Damage.
¾ of 21.
5 Exterior Damage.
16 Interior Damage.
¾ of 43.
11 Exterior Damage.
32 Interior Damage.
¾ of 17.
4 Exterior Damage.
13 Interior Damage.
¾ of 34
8 Exterior Damage.
26 Interior Damage.
¾ of 37
9 Exterior Damage.
28 Interior Damage.
>Total Damage Dealt.139 Interior Damage.
45 Exterior Damage.
<span class="mu-s">Unit Name:</span> <span class="mu-i">The Howler</span> <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Unit Disabled!</span></span>
<span class="mu-s">Unit Pilot:</span> <span class="mu-i">The Wretch</span> <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">Pilot Eliminated!</span></span>
<span class="mu-s">Exterior A.Plating:</span> <span class="mu-i">300/87</span> <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">-45!</span></span>
<span class="mu-s">Interior N.Cluster:</span> <span class="mu-i">200/105</span> <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">-139!</span></span>
The Wretch's call for aid was interrupted by the detonation of the mines. From within his sour Umbral Core he heard the hissing and scraping of the Seekers, he felt the pain surge throughout his entire body as six XB mines ripped and gnawed through the alien ores that made up his hide and organs. His howl of pain joined in with his encrypted orders as the little metal maggots writhed around in his guts. His drones wouldn't process them, but the other units sharing the channel heard his agony. The pathetic whines of pain. It didn't stop as one after another they ravaged him, they were in his arms and legs. Gods how they were everywhere. He screamed against and again, this time fear truly claiming him. Writhing within his core he twists swatting at the invisible threat inside him, trying to stop them as they nibble and stripped away his body. His gutted Phobos failed to recreate the act. Instead a jittery death throes taking its place. The machine cursed him, dragging his butchered mind into the deep.
Assistant Gunny Vika Ilye watched through the infrared sight as the giant bled great spurts of sparking metal. The clattering and tinks cutting through the roar of the world around her. She covered her eyes as white hot globs of slag trickled from the Phobos' open wounds painting it bright in the night. The Destroyer's comms were set low, radio silence mostly in effect. Orders from the howler only. The young gunner swore that despite the driver cutting the comms off the moment the screaming started she could still hear the cries echoing down from the hollowed out machine as it swayed in the wind. As if stunned, wobbling back and forth like a weary boxer. And despite the cold she began to sweat.
>Third Roll Best of Three Skill Test. Using simple test rules.
Failure: 3-7
Partial failure : 8-10
Partial success :11-13
Success : 14-18
Critical Success: 19
