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Close Topic OptionsWrong Way Go Back By Ulysses Ai - Page 3 of 17
We were supposed to know that. I guess we - Page 3 - D&D / Pathfinder Archive - Posted: 5th May, 2008 - 2:30pm
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Wrong Way Go Back By Ulysses Ai Archive Pathfinder / D&D
I think this is one of those 'rooms' where you get information for later. I think we should talk with them.
Wrong Go By Ulysses Ai - Page 3
So here we go I will ensure to drop by Zedhead he might join us here. Be nice to have an odd number of players.
So I rolled a 2 so Steven is off to the observation room.
| QUOTE |
58 You push open the doors and find yourself at the bottom of a wide, carpeted stairway. The single flight leads you up onto the floor of a large dome that sits on the top of the ship like a bubble. It is filled with deck chairs allowing passengers a spectacular 360-degree view of the surrounding space. The view is somewhat ruined by the massive hot-burning star directly ahead, and you quickly turn your attention to the two arguing men. They are dressed as ships stewards, in short maroon jackets and black pants with little black hats bearing a maroon and gold band. They seem oblivious to the danger, so you hurry over to warn them. "Gentlemen!" you say, interrupting them. "The ship is going to crash into that! We have to get out!" The two stewards look at you impatiently, not even following the direction of your urgent point. "Yes, yes!" says one. "We know! That's why we have to get this right before we can go! Now stop bothering us!" They get back to their argument, which seems to be about the correct positioning for the deckchairs in the observation dome. Astounded that they would bother with such a thing, you interrupt them again. "All these chairs will be burnt up when the ship falls into the sun! It doesn't matter what position they are in!" The two of them look at you coldly. "Do we tell you how to do your job?" one asks you. "No, but-" "Then leave us to do ours!" thunders the other. They turn away from you and start tugging at a deckchair, fighting over its position. Shaking your head, you leave them to their dispute and hurry back out into the main corridor. Turn to 57 152s |
152+88=240seconds gone
| QUOTE |
57 You continue on your way and finally the corridor ends at a pair of doors bearing the designation: "Bridge." The doors open at your approach and you enter into the correctly labelled room. As you step inside, the first thing you notice is the bright light shining from the front of the room where the large viewscreen fills the wall. Light and heat from the image of the sun directly ahead blaze upon you, making it difficult to see. You stumble inside, until your hands hit upon a polished wooden rail. Shading you eyes and squinting for good measure, you manage to see that the bridge is a multi-layered affair, with rows of tiered consoles below you extending down to the foot of the viewscreen. Where you stand is the highest tier, unoccupied except for a large comfortable chair, with a quaint old sailing ships wheel before it. You give the wheel a spin, hoping against hope that it is more than ornamental. The wheel spins easily, a testament to the loving care bestowed upon its ball-bearings in the form of regular greasing. However, apart from testifying to the aforementioned loving care, the wheel is non-functional. Going over to the captain's chair, you sit down, feeling yourself settle into the soft clasp of its silken cushions. Your enjoyment of the chair does not prevent you from scorning the decadence of the former captain, and after a moment's indulgence, you get to the matter at hand. "Computer," you say in your most commanding voice. "Change course!" "Who is squeaking?" the computer asks politely. "The captain! I am the captain now!" you announce. "Yes, sir," the computer agrees without any resistance. "Please input your command code." "Wa? I don't have one," you reveal, your voice trembling with the kind of uncertainty that has spawned countless mutinies ever since men went to sea in groups together. "Navigational command requires command status," the computer tells you sympathetically. "I am the last crewmember left on board, am I not?" you ask. "Yes, sir," the computer agrees. "That makes me the captain now, doesn't it?" "Yes, captain." "So why don't I have command status?" you want to know. "You need to submit your CMN and apply for command status. If your application is successful, you will need to register and create a command code. Then you can login and take command." "What's a CMN?" you ask, perplexed. "Crew Member Number," the computer informs you. "It is the prominent number on your Crewmember Identification Card." Now you are getting somewhere! You reach into your pocket for the card. Not in that pocket. You check the next likely pocket. Nothing. You check the remainder of your pockets with growing dread and dismay that reaches a peak, then sends a wave of fear crashing down upon you, wiping you out and dumping you upon the shore of frustration. You know you had it with you last night. The card is used to make purchases from the funds in your on-board account. You had it at the club last night, purchasing the alcohol that was subsequently poured down your throat, resulting in the state of extreme charm that you are still recovering from. You must have lost it in the dance club. "Be right back!" you shout, springing up from the chair and dashing towards the exit. The opulent corridor sweeps past as you run towards the lift, pound the button and hurl yourself into the small, vertically mobile room. You lift your extended finger to press the button, yet it pauses, trembling in anticipation of function. What floor was the dance club on? There are 26 buttons, marked A to Z. You are always getting lost on this darn ship. You can't even remember the name of the dance club. If you know what floor you were on, you can turn to the correct reference by converting the letter to a number using A=1, B=2, "¦ , Z=26. Otherwise, you will just have to guess. If the passage you turn to makes no sense, then turn instead to 49 right away. 264s |
240+264=504second elapsed
So what letter is our nice dance club on?
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