From the themes of Play-By-Post (PBP) games, I’ve decided to workshop and test one of these set in the universe of Freelancer. You are a miner, a construction engineer, reactor crew, a doctor - one of a select team assigned to Camp Lakewood, Planet Hallam. More specifically, you’re one of the second team this year. Congratulations, the hazard pay is good enough that you probably volunteered for it. Probably.
Your job? Find tangible proof of bigger ore deposits while continuing to prospect for what we’ve found thus far to keep the site running. Weather forecast says that we might have the landing pad shut down due to rock slides in the coming months, so pack your rations double and keep an eye on it all. The previous team also says that the water purifier has been on the fritz a little.
In general, the RP will be focused on…
>> Construction expansion at Camp Lakewood and the problems that might cause. >> Rationing of supplies. >> Viral outbreaks. >> What does cabin fever look like.
It’s recommended that players who apply, apply for the advisory/lead roles before the subordinate roles (Chief Engineer before the Reactor Crew, for instance). When dealing with subordinate roles, to keep the roles open for others to jump in later on, it’s recommended that players write those subordinates as generally competent, but with no specific traits or quirks. Leave space for others to be able to apply, essentially. This does not apply towards “Mining Specialists”, as they’re the majority of the crew and it’s doubtful that all slots will be filled by players there.
For additional information on Camp Lakewood and Planet Hallam, refer to here.
Available Slots
(1) Crew Chief: Jack Sloan - @Shulsky (1) Chief Engineer: (3) Reactor Crew: (1) Primary Doctor: (2) Medical Specialists: (2) Construction Engineers: (2) Shift Supervisors: (8) Mining Specialists:
Rules
1. No Godmodding (Taking control of another player’s character. 2. Post Quality of at least 2 paragraphs. 3. Have manners, inRP and ooRP. We’re writing a story, not playing to win the game. 4. Character death is possible - you will be warned and opportunities will be given to recover. 5. No Metagaming.
To join, players will…
1. Join the Bristol C&M Discord. 2. Let me (Shulsky) know that you want to join Hallam 836-2. 3. Fill out the following application and post it in the Applications thread on the Discord.
Name:
Gender:
Age:
Nationality:
Role:
Personality:
Short Biography:
4. Be accepted!
Bear in mind we’re also accepting people from outside Bristol C&M to write and play in this. Playing this PBP does not constitute joining Bristol C&M by any means, though you will be expected to be playing in-character.
Camp Lakewood.
When it was first named in 827 AS, apparently from the sky it looked like a lake. Well, that was a horrible lie because it was neither a lake, nor were there woods, nor was there ever a ‘camp’ like anyone off of Erie might have named. No, Camp Lakewood was a half-underground structure that extended some ways below ground, with mining tunnels like a web of roots. The communications antennae had been twisted some year back, though was still serviceable enough as it jutted from one cliff, and the landing pad lights flashed dimly compared to the cold rock that surrounded the place. Yeah, and this was home for the next few months. Those extra credits will be nice once you’ll be able to spend them.
The freighter turned in to the landing pad, one of the older C2000 Sunbursts in Bristol’s fleet, as you shake in your seats. The swing down harness kept you in place, even if you might swear that one of the bolts was clattering ever so. The bright flare of the hull against the atmosphere was broken quick, a sign of exactly how thin that atmosphere was, and you were glad of the heavy suit and helmet you were wearing. Gloved hands kept hold of that harness, though, as you could feel the ship slow down before lowering gently onto the pad.
The door hisses, opening up. There is no one to greet you. The last team has already gone - they weren’t contracted out for the extra days, you’d heard. The harnesses come up.
Camp Lakewood, Hallam, Pennsylvania
Crew Chief Sloan, Jack
26.04.836
The fan was mumbling.
Jack knew it wasn’t mumbling. He knew it didn’t mutter about there being dirt under his fingernails, though he checked his fingernails anyways. There was dirt there, but it wasn’t because the fan knew. He knew that the fan had just had some problem or another, even though he’d checked it three times since the start of their rotation. He knew that mechanically speaking, there was nothing wrong with the fan, it just was like that. It was just all in his head, that the whole thing was broken. He knew that he could check it a fourth time, and verify that it wasn’t broken, and then it’d stop mumbling for a few days.
An eye grazed over his toolkit. Yeah, he could do that. He could do that, and dirty his hands with the grease that he’d need to re-apply after cleaning it off to do a proper inspection, and then have to clean under his fingernails. The water kept pouring. He’d cleaned them enough that his hands were red.
But - the fan was mumbling.
It was the kind of under-the-breath mumble, the kind that you got after handing a service worker a five when they need a twenty, the kind where you punch in the wrong code the first time at a terminal with a line behind you. It was paranoia, though, Jack knew that. They hadn’t been there for that long for him to be paranoid. So…was it mumbling, then? The man swallowed. It felt too hot in the room for the fan to actually be working.
Turn off the sink. Take two steps and look at that thermometer. Yeah, the room was fine. It was just him that was the problem. The man sighed, scratched at the stubble on his chin. Did he really want to shave? Did he really need to shave? The answer to both those questions was no. Walk back past the bathroom to the desk, and try to not look at the mirror. It was too late for that, of course, and he glanced long enough once the light glinting off had caught his eye. Goddamn, there were shadows under his eyes. Sleep wasn’t easy.
They hadn’t been on for that long. There was a reason why the last crew had left a month early. Things just seemed to love breaking, and this time it was their communications system that was out of alignment. No NeuralNet streaming for anyone, it was just all with the comms pass-ons when the freighters came down to pick up their cargo. Yeah, that was regular enough for communications reports but not quite good enough for sanity. He’d watched the five downloaded shows three times each, already. It wasn’t a great look.
The chair creaked as he sat down. It was metal, but it still creaked. The last Crew Chief must have been a fatass and bent the thing. He was glad they hadn’t met for the turnover. That would’ve been a fucking pain, considering that some engineer or another had left five cases of cigars behind. They’d been doused in something or another; Jack hadn’t risked keeping them around, had the whole thing tossed into the incinerator. Yeah, the last thing they needed was for some poor schmuck to overdose because they had a cigar laced with something and was forty pounds lighter than the guy who laced them. He’d detailed that in the report last time, too. Hopefully they found out who the fucker was and fired him. Jack didn’t have time for druggies.
The Libertonian - well, sort of, really - leafed through the reports. It was all pretty spotty, just enough material and ore that they knew there was something, somewhere but never enough for them to know they’d hit a good spot. ‘Exploratory Mining’, someone had termed it. Really, Jack was sure that they’d decided on the name because it sounded better than giving out the easiest-to-move stuff to a bunch of employees and telling them to just spread around and see what they find. It wasn’t costly enough to make any severe loss, and they always found enough to keep the operation running. A few kilos here, a few there, that’s all it ever seemed to amount to.
Jack sighed, leaned back in his chair, listened to it creak. He’d asked for a survey, a proper survey, a bit back with the last communications link. Hopefully it’d get to Hallam soon. He was eager to figure out what the hell there actually was on the moon.
As he did, the fan mumbled. The Crew Chief’s eyes darted to his toolkit, exhaled long and slow.
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