Steam Valley Girls: We Crashed Here .254b [NSFW]

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 44, Hour 22
From the journal of Angela DeSoto, castaway.
It's hard to believe it's been over a month and a half since I landed on this forsaken rock. Time does tend to fly.

After geothermal plant #2 went up, things have been quiet. There's been construction, of course, but no disasters, no raiders, nothing but a single psychotic muffalo that Ilona and the marines and pirates took care of. Dumb thing pitched over right into an empty grave when it was dead - how's that for convenience?

Another drop-pod fell, this one full of metal, making it worth our time to go out and grab. While we're out there, we're going to build some graves for the first three raiders and collect their grenades. Hope they're not in bad condition after being neglected for so long!

Day 45, Hour 2 On our way back, we detected another pod crashing to the ground. Lee started sprinting up north to collect her.

Day 45, Hour 15 It was a long march, Lee's only now inside our gates, and of all things, a fucking solar flare starts up! We're gonna have to start cutting agave, fast. This poor woman's in bad shape. I ordered all the harvest ready plants - every potato that was in good shape, every agave and every berry bush - to be cut from, and all hauling stopped, so nobody does a stupid and dumps them into the matter-disassembler stockpiles.

Fortunately, things grow swiftly here.

Day 46, Hour 7
Not only are we having a solar flare, but we're having a fucking dry thunderstorm. There's fire to the south of us, inside our walls, and it makes me nervous, but for now we're not going to bother it.

I took the newfallen woman her food. Her name is Newton, Olivia Newton. She's very, very exotic; head to toe, her body's covered in some kind silky-smooth fur, in various creamy and orangey shades, and straight black. She's actually quite beautiful, in a strange way, and I found myself stroking her like she was some kind of pet.

That didn't go over so well when she finally woke up from her daze, especially given that I was basically groping her breasts at the time. She let out this terrified, tiny squeak, and, well, it's a good thing she was manacled to the bed, or she probably would have hurt herself trying to get away. Anyway, I managed to smooth that over (gods know how,)  and learn somethings about her.

She's twenty-eight years old, and was a vatgrown soldier, an experiment to see if humans could be imbued with catlike reflexes. That didn't take, but it did result in her being imbued with a catlike fur. Unlike what you'd expect from a vatgrown soldier, she's actually rather timid. She learned to fight, of course, but she doesn't like to. Having completely failed to raise an aggressive creature, and growing her slowly because she was an experiment, her creators discovered decided to cut their losses when she was ten. They were going to just get rid of her, but when they gave her an aptitude test they learned she had a pretty decent mind, and shifted her over to the Navy science programs.

She'd just barely won her freedom when she got onto our ship, and, well, here she is!

Other than that, things are coming along apace. The Commissar proposed that we build a proper bunkhouse for prisoners rather than building ad-hoc sheds here, there, and everywhere. We've been working on it a while - it's built and carpeted, we just need to furnish it. That won't take long.

Oh, and more metal just crashed. We're throwing down a new stockpile near it, and we'll be able to mine a deposit in the canyon wall next to the stockpile, and grab a pile of food that we've been ignoring.

Day 46, Hour 23
Another pod of metal landed, this time practically right outside Geotherm #2!

The stupid flare's still not over, though.

Day 47, Hour 4
And we have another crashed scientist! Wilcox's jail is getting swiftly furnished.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 48, 10:00
The journal of Aimee Blake
My head hurts, but it beats the alternative.

I'm not sure how long I drifted in space in a damaged escape pod, but apparently, it was about forty-seven days or so. I crashed on this miserable rock, and evidently I should thank my lucky stars, because I crashed right next to a colony... Of sorts.

Three teenaged girls that were on my ship settled this place, and now it's... Well, fairly bustling. I didn't need any convincing to be let out of their prison (just in case I was dangerous,) and join them. It turns out they were expecting me to need some convincing, as they haven't yet constructed a room for me, so for the time being, I'm housed in the original structure, with the hydroponics tables and the geothermal power generator.

Great... Anyway, the girl who recruited me, Angela, told me that people are keeping journals/diaries/logs/whatever around here. So here's mine.

My name's Aimee Blake, and I'm thirty-five. I grew up as so many children did, unwanted on an Urbworld. Pinched by the fuzz, I was given a choice between enlistement or prison, so I went with enlistment. They aptitude-tested me and determined that I could best serve by joining the Naval Research Corps, so that's what I've been doing. I mustered out about a week ago (awake time, not counting time half-insensate in an escape pod hooked up to a life-support system,) and was flying to my homeworld when the ship I was on went to hell. I managed to get into an escape pod as everything was tearing itself apart, but the pod was damaged on launch. Figures, right?



This is where I landed. What a charlie foxtrot.

Day 49, 15:00
Welp, the orchestra's arrived. Shipload of raiders down south, looking for trouble. In other news. I threw together a rather expensive, expansive, but effective landing-pad area with stockpiles all around the beacon. Anything that lands should be automatically deposited in the stockpile.

It's a lot of money, but hauling is a pain in the ass, and this will save us a lot in the long run if we're planning to do much trading, and I think we are.

In other news, Sheckley is a trading machine. She sold off a belt of hand grenades and a handful of molotov cocktails for thousands of creds to an industrial trader, and then bought all their metal; then she sold 'em a shipload of food - almost all of it, honestly - and took 'em for every credit they had.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 50, Hour 10
From the Diary of Graciana Luisa Acosta Rodriguez


What more needs to be said? My plan to plant explosive charges in the doorway paid off. It's an horrific, gruesome scene out there, yet somehow, I think it fits this miserable planet. If you want to get in or out, you have to climb over the graves of the dead. Body parts are lying everywhere; bone chips embedded in the walls. What was the alternative? Admit them to kill us?

It saddens me, though. It saddens me a great deal. Well, the woman amongst them does, anyway. The big oafs who were coming to kill us all can suck on my chota from hell!

Day 51, Hour 7
After the vast success of the last one, we're expanding my "Blast Corridor" idea... A lot. While we were working on that, however, another escape pod fell from the sky, practically on top of our cafeteria! We quickly drag her into the jail to rest. She's huge!

Day 52, Hour 9
DeSoto managed to recruit Lee on the first try. Evidently, the people who saved your life tend to have a nice step up in terms of getting you to join their cause.

We've rescued a Yin Lee. I feel sorry for her. She was a medi-world lordling, until she developed a touch of gigantism. This puta is huge!

Evidently, her family didn't want a great mammoth of a woman becoming a lord, so they exiled her and she wound up as a farm oaf. An uplift ship took her away, and she was heading to some medical facility to receive some treatment - it turns out that gigantism is a condition that will kill - when the ship wrecked.

Poor puta. Her life is just a non-stop parade of shit, isn't it? At least she'll be somewhat helpful here...

Day 52, Hour 16
We were just informed that a traveller named Ward had arrived and was joining the colony.

He's some medieval lord. He walked in here with gigantic brass cojones (and he actually has them; and now I understand that saying,) looked around at all of us with female faces, and said "This will do nicely. I'm Ward, and I am now the Lord of this castle! Build me a palace, women!"

That went over about as well as you would expect. I looked at Angela and nodded. She told Inola to take him away, and before the great oaf knew what was happening, Angela's pet assassin had clubbed him over the head with the butt of her rifle, slapped him in irons, and was dragging him to the prison. Somehow, it doesn't look as if anyone is going to object at all to selling him to the next slave trader to come by.

In other news, more bandits have arrived. The new and expanded boom-corridor is going to get a trial run!

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 53, Hour 11
From the Diary of Graciana Luisa Acosta Rodriguez



Merde! The blast corridor didn't work! Because of the walls being lined to prevent the spread of fire, the puta have all run down the sides! Most of them are injured badly, but few of them are dead! Red alert! To the barricades!



Well, that went as well as could be expected. We ran them off!



I feel like such a pendejo for mandating those gigantic mandibles; one of the raider puta lit some of our walls on fire, too. (We need to fix those.)

I was beating myself up over it, but the old lady smacked me on the back and said that as long as nobody we cared about died, it's a win. Then we went and celebrated by administering a mild beating to that so-called "Lord" who tried to take over the other day.

I'm tired. We can pick up the pieces tomorrow.

[ShadowDragon8685]

[I wonder if anybody's even reading this?]
Day 56, Hour 17
From the Scrolls of Yin Lee, Rightful Heir to the House of Lee
I am a dead woman.

I have come to accept this as my lot in life. Those who had taken me from the world which was all I knew until very shortly ago gave me hope - false hope, it seems. They filled my head with promises that they would make life better for me, that they could fix the condition which caused my parents to abandon me.

Perhaps they were dishonest, but I do not think so. It seems that fate has intervened once again in my disfavor.

I admit to finding this all very confusing, but with the guidance of the other woman named Lee - a distant relation? One may never know. I have at least learned how to put my words to this strange, hard plastic scroll.

We have cleaned up our fortress after the last battle, repaired the damage done to the outer walls, though there is now talk of adding an additional, inner wall. This seems sensible enough to me - a stout fortress is one which has more than one line of defense, although I would prefer stout walls of stone to this strange metal that seems so eager to catch fire.

There are merchants nearby, I am told, although I cannot see them. Yet with them, I may speak, through the strange machine in the feast hall. I do loathe the food they serve here, though I am gladdened to note that my dislike of it seems to be universal. I am told that it will keep me alive, and that is, at least, sufficient.

So I go to the dining hall to speak with the merchants.

The smallest of us, DeSoto, gave me a list of what we had for sale - all armaments. She wants me to sell off all of the small arms and all but two of the bombs. That's easy enough, the art of haggling comes back to me quickly. Then I buy all of the metal the merchant had for sale, selling him all of our foodstuffs. That seems crazy, yet I have seen the rapidity with which we grow more. I do not believe we shall go hungry for more than a night, at most.

I opened communications with the flesh-traders as well, but DeSoto said to let finish the negotiations with them. She ran into the stockade and delivered quite a ferocious beating to that arrogant man who had come in and declared himself to be the lord of this castle, then sold him. I do believe she took quite malicious glee in doing so. She traded him for an old woman, which seems to be a bad idea, yet this woman has clearly unnatural arms, like so many of our people. She is said to be a miner. I hope this means we shall quarry rock to erect massive fortifications soon.

Day 57, Hour 0
The new old woman, Dougherty, seems at turns both dismayed and amused by our settlement. She laughed when she was told that if she wanted a place to sleep that wasn't on the floor in a few days, she'd have to hew it from the rock herself.

I think this is a mean trick to play on the old woman, as we are more than capable of erecting another house on the plains south of our walkways, but on the other hand... She seems to relish the heft of a mining tool in her hands once more.

Day 60, Hour 15
Four days of peace and rain have gone by, but now our peace is shattered. A group of brigands have arrived to take from us that which is ours. Fortunately, there are merchants of death who are not afraid of these raiders, and I quickly check with them to see if they have any more of these strange, demon-spitting armaments which we may make use of...

We were very lucky. There were two demon-smiths ready to send these weapons down to us. One of them had the most potent weapon for sale, an "R-4" demon that spits blue-fire, the other had two "Uzi" type demons that spit shards of metal very quickly. The brigands shall find us a most well-armed encampment, not at all easy prey, even should they survive the explosive trap beyond the gates to our fortress.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 61, 07:00
The Audio Diary of Elissa Dougherty
Well, doesn't this just beat all? Wildcattin' an asteroid belt with a little ship I managed to buy with the fruits of thirty years' hard work, caught by slavers, I thought I was a goner. Then these folks bought me - sold off a medi-world Lord to buy me, no less, heheh.

Well, dirtside ain't how I wanted to spend my golden years, but a shaft to work is a shaft to work. The food's the same crap I've been eatin' for thirty years, so no change there, and these folk have a policy of givin' everyone individual rooms.

Hah! I've got a 9-meter room all to myself, built half into the mountain's side. On the mining scows I used to work on, they could've packed eleven folks into one of these if they didn't like 'em, or at least four if they did. Sure, it ain't nothin' but a carpet, a bed and a light at the moment, but that's more'n I've had most of my life.

I was a vatgrown soldier, yanno - lot of us in the galaxy. They grow folks to fight their wars, then when the war's off, well, they ain't exactly enlisted veterans worthy o' benefits, now, is they?

Anyway, I'm ramblin', as old women are wont to do. After I got out, I went into mining. It seemed a nice, antisocial job where I could earn, and it was. Sort-of. Anyway, now I'm here, an' a bunch o' pirates just tried to bust in the front doors. They set off those 'splosive charges on account of the barricades not being finished.

Dumb mother-fuckers. Didn't nobody ever tell 'em the easy way is always mined? Anyway, now we're just gonna toss 'em into the ditches an' grab their guns. Probably in rough shape, but I've made do with worse.

Day 62, Hour 17
Welp, we're hard at work, and who should appear but another slave-trader? The kid, DeSoto, ran straight to the comms to check out the wares. She's a funny girl, and now I think about it, I don't think I've seen any men here. Well, don't that just beat all?

Anyway, there were two ladies for sale. One of 'em was a midworld nerd who grew up to be a commissar somehow; the other was a vatgrown soldier-cum-con artist. I told her to leave that 'un be; Con Artists are notoriously pussy in a fight, and no vatgrown soldier I knew of had ever managed to actually be sociable, so whatever she was, she wasn't good news.

So, now we've got ourselves a new twenty-somethin' commissar running 'round. Joy. I ain't gonna interview her.

[ShadowDragon8685]

[d]Day 63, 09:00[/b]
The Diary of Amanda Booker
Irony. I think that's a good word to describe my life. Irony.

I grew up on a mid-world; not a mid-pop world, a mid-tech world, equivalent to Earth during the late 20th and early 21st century. It was a nice place, all told. I had a good house in the suburbs, reasonable parents, and I lived my life on computers and in books, in games and fiction.

My favorite fiction was a military war-game set in a far-flung future wherein vast armies marched against each other by the millions, fighting men who didn't want to fight being forced forward at the point of a commissar's gun. I thought it was delightfully sociopathic. I thought that was cool.

Then I wound up drafted at the age of 17 by a TMC uplift ship. Somehow, they sorted me into the commissar ranks. Suddenly living that life wasn't such a great thing. They were shipping us off to a war when the ship I was on exploded. I managed to get into an escape pod with a cryo-tube. I drifted for... Well, god knows how long I drifted.

Then I was picked up. Rescued? No, I was captured by slavers. They defrosted me eventually, poked and prodded me, assigning credit values - credit values! - to my bust size, hips, age, virginity, previous experience...

It was terrifying to learn that my being a virgin was the single largest contributor to my value, and the only reason they didn't pass me around.

Then, it was over. Just like that, they had a buyer, I was bundled into a delivery pod and dropped onto this world, to see a young girl carrying a submachinegun running up to me. She hugged me and smiled, told me I was free.


So, here I am. This place is some kind of fuck-tarded combination of a suburb and an armed camp. Everyone's carrying guns; I was issued a rifle. Not an R-4 like the Navy gave me, but a projectile assault rifle like I'd known from the real life of my world before the uplift ship arrived... Then I was handed a C-Tool and told that if I wanted to sleep in a bed tonight, I'd have to build it today.

Well, we were low on resources, so instead, I'm bunking down in the armory while more are mined...

I'm not sure if I want to be here, but compared to where I was? Oh yeah. This is definitely much better.

Day 63, 14:00
Lovely. We'd just got done mining the ore deposit that was going to be my house, aaaand a solar flare pops up. Pretty much only our C-Tools are unaffected.

Fuck. I guess we're gonna have to get dinner from a bush. I hate nature.

Day 65, 22:00
Ahhh, bedding down in a bed of my own. It makes me miss home. There's a dry thunderstorm out there, which is scary. The sound of rain on the roof might be soothing, but just... Boom! Boom! Boom! It's like I figure being shelled would be like.

This beats the military, I admit, but it still sucks. It's long, hard work, nutrient paste at the end of the day (ugh.) and then bed, back to work the next day. I should be in college now, being a BUG and earning a degree... I just miss home.

On the other hand... Playing with the C-Tool all day is kind of fun.

We're going to need a new power source soon. We're debating solar panels or expanding the walls to encompass another steam geyser. The miners favor digging into the rock and looking for more steam geysers under the earth; more geysers, more metal, less danger.

I like that plan... But that's a long-term plan. For now, the plan is to clear the debris from our claimed grounds and put up panels and a battery system.

Day 67, 17:00
Li Lee, Annabelle Lara and I have spent the day turning scrap and rocks into gravel and splinters that can be easily built over with grenades. We've just got the word; bandits. Space bandits.

Three years ago I would've said that was so fucking cool. Now that I'm here, though, it just fucking isn't. I'm afraid.

We blew up a boomrat and a dead muffalo, too. That was pretty fucking sick. Not "sick-awesome" just sick...

Okay, it was a little awesome. We're going to get our rifles back, and head to sleep.

Day 68, Hour 8



Are you fucking kidding me?! Only half of the explosives were set, so the raiders are still alive, and worse; another pack of raiders has landed! Oh, this is gonna be bad!

...

Oh dear. We managed to capture one of them, but there's more raiders to the north. We need to get the defenses up, haul all this stuff in, fast!



Day 68, Hour 18
Oh my fucking god. Aidan Flynn is here!

Aidan Flynn is the commissar who inducted me into the commissar corps. He's a brutal bastard. He showed up and declared that he was part of the colony, but he came in from the north, where all those fucking raiders are. I hope to hell he gets himself killed.

...

AWH FUCK! They spotted him and now they're rolling in! We haven't got the defenses back in place and he's leading them right to us!

...

Well, Flynn is dead. Damn. I was looking forward to selling him into slavery - that's what we do here to men who show up and try to declare themselves in charge (and I know Flynn - he was going to declare himself in charge.)

But now more fucking raiders are coming! There's no time to get everything set up, so we improvise and sell off the walls. Now they'll have no cover and have to march straight into our killbox!



Fucking hell that was scary! But we ran them off, and sent an entirely different raider group packing. And we caught one of them, too!

Day 69, 11:00
Fuck. Solar flare... Just one more day in paradise.

Day 69, 19:00
A traveler is passing by. He seems to be a colony settler, and evidently our reputation precedes us because he hasn't walked in and declared himself our penis-leader. We're going to just let him pass. We're not interested in him, and not quite depraved enough to hijack random travelers to sell them just because they have testicles.

There was some debate on that last point, but ultimately we decided against it.

Day 70, 12:00
After several people began complaining about being desperately hungry (and after all the violence yesterday,) we took a break to eat agave and raspberries from the bushes, like primitives...

They were good raspberries. They would have been better if they were washed by more than the rain.

Day 71, 05:00
Oh, what the fuck. First a muffalo decides it doesn't like Shekley's face and comes after her, and now the entire herd is coming! FML.



Fucking Muffalo. In other news, the defensive plans seem to be working well! I revamped our defensive line with a strategy from my wargames. The old soldiers think it was nuts, but it certainly slowed those muffalo down. It remains to be seen if raiders are so stupid as to crawl over sandbags.

Day 71, 14:00
Fuck my life. More fucking raiders.

Day 72, 02:00
FML. Here they come.



The bombs didn't kill many of them. We need a better defense mechanism... But, it wounded most of them. And blasted the graves clean, which is a little disturbing.

...

I wish I could say this was just like a video game, but it's not. You don't get headaches from the smell of propellant after playing a video game, and you don't have to clean up the mess. Still, that was an excellent enfilade, the old soldiers tell me, and my entryway brought them in without any way for them to take cover. Now we just need to figure out how to house the two prisoners we already have once we convert them.

I wish we had giant stompy mechs to run these assholes off with. I want a giant stompy mech with a chaingun or something.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 72, Hour 14
From the research logs of Dr. Mina Kaufmann, Ph.D. x10, PharmD, D.P.A., DBH, J.D., Dr.PH., D.M.A., D.M., Etc.

Well, I've been entrusted with introducing our prisoners. We're going to induct them into the colony, just as soon as we get their living quarters illuminated and furnished. Interestingly, they both hail from the same world.

Tina King, 24F
An urbworld urchin - like so many of us, it seems - Tina King is a vaugely Eurasian woman with short black hair. Tall and wiry, her body is covered with a number of scars, most subtle, some not-so-subtle. I must confess, I find her dangerously attractive. Like some urbworld urchins, she attempted to get out of the rat race before a younger rat consumed her. Unlike those who turned to business, or piracy, or the military, she turned to her hands. Tina King's prior occupation, before finding herself in a band of raiders, was that of an illegal shipwright, performing pirate modifications to vessels.

After some time in our prison, enjoying our hospitality, she appears to be ready to join us full-time. She seems to savor the idea of a colony populated exclusively by women - barring my hermaphrodite co-founders, of course, but she doesn't seem bothered by them.

She's well-suited to construction work, although I believe by now I may actually be superior to her in that regard. Nevertheless!

And our second contestant...

Bryony Mooney, 29F
A former commissar, Bryony hails from the same urbworld and same urbworld background as Tina. Like many urbworld rats, she was arrested by the police and enlisted in the military to avoid jail time and forced sterilization.

Byrony finished her mandatory duty as a commissar at the age of 17, and found herself drifting, enlisting in a mercenary band. That went south fast, and the band found themselves eventually stranded on our RimWorld, desperate, hungry, and foolishly willing to throw themselves into the jaws of hell.

I think that she is, above all else, chagrined by having attacked us, especially when told that we would have gladly shared our food with her band, if they had only asked. She seems humbled, and wishes to join us.

In other news, we are doing reasonably well, and once things settle down from the incessant attacks, we'll get back to the business of clearing rubble and establishing a solar farm and battery cage.

Day 73, 02:00
King was asleep when we went to recruit her, but Mooney was awake. She seemed beside herself when we actually invited her to come out of the cells and become one of us, she'd expected to be sold off to slavers. Angela actually hugged her.

She broke down crying as we led her from the stockade. Well, she'll get over it...

And, oh, goodness! More bloody raiders! Upon hearing that, Bryony sprinted to the armory. I believe she feels she has deeply wronged us (which she has,) and wishes to make up for it by throwing herself into this colony full-tilt. I believe she will be fine here.

We aroused King from her slumber. She seemed happy, eager, to get to work. First up: getting her a weapon.

Day 73, 14:00
Ohhhh, feces! We forgot to put the stupid bombs back up. Here they come!

...

Ha-hahahahaaaaaaah!

That went perfectly! None of us were hit at all, our turrets are all intact, and we gave those ruffians a perfectly Newtonian demonstration of what happens when flesh is violently accelerated by means of a bullet!

I like my Uzi. It's not the most powerful weapon here, but it's easy to use, which is important. I'm not very good with it, but you don't need to be when you're solving sixty problems a second! (The answer is HL. HL = Hot Lead.)

...

Oh dear, the others are giving me that look again. The same look they gave me when I designed the gibbet cages. Perhaps that was a little too megalomaniacal?

...

Oh, no, that look was confusion. Blake understood me. She smiled. I smiled back. I do believe I shall inquire as to whether she would like to celebrate our ballistic triumph with some celebratory coitus later. She is quite a bit older than me, but no matter.

...

Hrm. I wonder how much of this attraction is inherent to me, and how much of it is simply situational sexual behavior brought about by our current environs. We are quite the band of amazons, aren't we? Ah, well, finding out shall be fun! For science, I mean... And me.

Day 74, 01:00
Well!

I'm no longer a virgin. That was... An experience. One I'm quite conflicted about, I'll admit, but in all, I think, one I'd care to repeat. I wonder if that was the first sexual dalliance to take place in our settlement. Perhaps I'll distribute an anonymous poll..

In other news, thanks to an ill-timed blight and the previous sale of our foodstuffs, and the constant conflict, we are desperately low on food. Therefor, collecting the food which has previously lain ignored in the south of the valley has become a matter of some urgency, which we shall be seeing too forthwith, first thing in the morning.

Day 74, 10:00
Well, isn't that just fortitutious! More food simply fell out of the sky, immediately to our east.

We have quite a lot to collect.

Day 74, 15:00
How... Remarkable.

A traveller came by, immediately next to Angela's pet assassin. As this one was possessed of breasts, Inola escorted her promptly to our resettlement center.

In other news, we are no longer direly in need of food, but our productivity is unsatisfying at present. It seems that our current farm may be inefficient. The other scientists and I have gathered together to blueprint a new hydroponics farm for construction once the solar farm is finished. We're going to need more metal, though.

Day 78, 14:00
There's a rather beautiful eclipse going on. In other news, we've done a bit of mining, and some more metal fell out of the sky, practically on top of our heads, so we're about ready to start building a solar battery, but first we need to excavate a sectioned battery housing.I favor bare rock walls for this endeavor, as these batteries are notoriously volatile.

In other news, a traveler named Avila is passing by. As he is male, we're going to leave him thoroughly unmolested.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 79, Midnight
From the diary of Tina King
Isn't this a twist? My life seems to be a roller-coaster; up and down up and down. I thought I'd hit rock bottom when the band of stranded pirates I'd found myself among decided to storm a perfectly benign fortress to take their food.

Then we walked into a well-designed killbox and I got shot. Repeatedly. Thank goodness for the finest in wilderness medical care - and thank goodness I had the good sense to throw myself on the ground and play dead 'till all the hooligans I was with were actually dead or legging it.

These girls are quite friendly, more or less... There's a few surlies in the bunch, but find a group of humans and you'll find someone who's surly. Anyway, they took me in, fed me, bandaged me up. After a while, they asked if I would like to be let out to join them.

Just like that. No jumping me into their gang, no fucking me in - I was actually kind of hoping it would be that, rather than getting jumped in - just "you're going to cooperate? Okay. Here's the key to your shackles, there's the armory door code, the canteen is at the north end of the street, there's your house."

I've never had a house before. It's rather... Bare, I'll admit, but still, it's more than I've had to myself before. Sure, it's a box, but it's got a delightful toe-tugging carpet and it's my box.

Anyway, we're pitching in. I'm a shipwright by trade, which means I know quite a lot about power supplies, which is good, as these ladies have exceeded the power output of two survival-class geothermal generators and are busy erecting a battery farm. They could use my expertise, and I'd be glad to give it. First up: We're excavating the crag they plan to put it in. We've already found one mineral deposit in the side of this crag, there may be more.

Day 79, 1 AM
More bandits. I was like them, once. I wonder how many of these are cold-hearted bastards, and how many are desperate, or terrified.

I'm just gonna assume they're all cold-hearted bastards unless captured alive. Then we'll see.

...

Well, that was a slaughter. The poor bastards didn't stand a chance. The most damage they did was that one of them set one of our turrets on fire with a goddamned molotov cocktail. Putting that out was hair-raising, but we got it done.

None of them got captured alive. I thought one of them might have been still alive, but she wasn't... pity.

Day 81, 2 AM

Awh fuck. One of the walls caught fire and nobody noticed it. It's out now, it was just an outer wall, anyway. But we've all been passing it all day, thinking someone else was handling it. Hopefully, tomorrow we won't be so damn stupid.

Day 83, 7 AM
We're engaging in a rather large public works project, you might say; we're making the outer walls double-layered for redundancy. They also recruited that Horn woman, and are putting her, for now, in the cafeteria.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Day 84, Hour 9
The journal of Kearney Horn
I wondered for the longest time, if they were going to sell me to slavers, despite the wardens being unfailingly sweet and nice to me.

It turns out they were merely embarrassed by an inability to provide me with a house with lights in it. So now I'm bunking down in the canteen as a temporary measure while we sort out the power supply issues.

I don't mind much, really. I like people coming and going, and in the dead of night, I have all the privacy I could ask for. That's good, because I like the dead of night.

There's so many faces here - well, not compared to the urbworld I previously plied my trade upon, but still! Many faces here, all of them women. They all keep asking me so much about myself, I'm about ready to put a cork-board in the canteen with my biography pinned to it.

My name is Kearney Horn. I was born as a slave on a miserably primitive, backwater medi-world, but I was rescued at the age of nine by an uplift vessel. They taught me to read, and write, and I took to them like a fish to water. Eventually I was set up to work for myself on an urbworld, and I found that socially greasing the wheels came much more readily to me than anything else. I became a businesswoman, glad to see that I had been right, all those years staring at the stars as a child, knowing there was more out there.

How did I wind up here? That's a long tale. My name became well-known. I'd never looked back at the world I had come from, and perhaps I should have. It's usually taken for granted that medi-worlds which are found by the uplift ships will soon be pulled, kicking and screaming, into some semblance of civilization. That was not the case: a large band of mercenaries also chances upon the world I came from, and the local lords, who were not pleased by their slaves being commandeered, paid them a great sum of gold to drive off the uplifters.

Now they lord over their world with charged pulse-rifles instead of swords, but they remain ever as they were; fuedal bastards. Evidently, those who had lost slaves began looking for them; to the upper-culture of the world I came from, a slave is for life, or death, and it is a matter of honor that no person shall escape his or her bondage alive. They hired bounty hunters to track me down and drag me back in chains.

They nearly succeeded, but for a friend noticing I was being absconded with. She sabotaged the cryo-pod I was on to release me mid-flight, I took an escape pod, and landed on this world. I've been wandering ever since... And now, here I am.


Day 87, Hour 21
I've finally got a house to myself, since we've finally got the battery and solar farm up and running. Hooray!


Day 88, Hour 16
Oh, look. The local zealots have stopped by to murder us. I haven't killed anyone before... But it's a good time to learn! I have an Uzi, and I've been shown how to use it

Day 89, Hour 0
A Medi-World Lord named coffee is coming by. Since he's a man, we're not going to do anything to him. Perhaps the raiders will murder him; it's none of my concern.

Day 89, Hour 15
Well, that's made a day of it. The raiders came, they attacked us, we killed them all. One of them attempted to flee, and got outside the baffles.
Sheckley, of all people, dashed over the barricades clutching her uzi, brought her C-Tool around to sell off the walls and sandbags in her way to get a jump on him, ran him down and shot him dead outside the walls.

That was more than a little bloodthirsty of her.

[LoneTophat]

What the fuck did I just read...

[ShadowDragon8685]

What the fuck did I just read...

Two pages of in-character diary/log/journal explaining the crazy shit that happens in RimWorld? I'd have thought that was rather obvious.

[bigwolf2101]

pleas keep up the story it was a good read I rely like the part of the man thinks he all shit and then he was sold and beat that was just funny

[LoneTophat]

What the fuck did I just read...

Two pages of in-character diary/log/journal explaining the crazy shit that happens in RimWorld? I'd have thought that was rather obvious.

It's a mess, is what it is. You make my author's heart weep. It's so vulgar, and not in a colorful way p.p

[ShadowDragon8685]

It's a mess, is what it is. You make my author's heart weep. It's so vulgar, and not in a colorful way p.p

Vulgar?

Well, it is rather hard to prose-format something that is, essentially, a record of the things that have happened to my colony, written as they happen or just after, told from the perspective of at least a dozen different characters of wildly varying backgrounds and upbringings, raising from a woman who'd spent nearly her entire life on a medieval world to people from advanced future-tech societies.

But I think I'm doing a rather nice job of making it an entertaining read nontheless.

pleas keep up the story it was a good read I rely like the part of the man thinks he all shit and then he was sold and beat that was just funny

I really need to knuckle down and get some prep-work done for my Star Wars game that I need to GM on Sunday, but I'll keep at this, roooughly until the next version comes out.

(Last Sunday, I basically winged it, and kept them all busy talking in a stair-well in-character for about three-four hours real-time.)