This game was premature and deserves to die. Please finish abandoning it and let it die in peace.

Jon'than sighed and groan through the trip. The entirety of it seemed to be one big inconvenience to him, but in realty there was real fear behind those mocking noises. This wasn't some small town operation that he could swindle and smooth talk his way out of anymore. This was an organization using brute force and anonymity to keep the haves from the have-nots. An anchored deck, Jon'than might have said if relaying the tale to someone at a campfire.   Coming into Reng'pya, the sounds faded. This was not a place he came to lightly -it rarely if ever had coin for his kind- and the deeper they drew into the city, the more ominous it became. Jon'than stared at the looming rock formation, sat wide-eyed in the trolly as it moved higher into the dark-recessed heavens, and eventually stood motionless on the top of the world. It was only after a moment of astonishment did he even notice the airships at all.   They both looked as though they'd been through something -perhaps a storm? or war?- and were on the mend. To a degree. They both looked in worse shape than his pony wagon, he admitted, but he also didn't know what an airship required in the way of structure and stability. There was a chance the whole thing was cosmetic and he simply didn't know better.   But the name of the one larger ship did not escape him. Either he needed to get on board that ship, or had already been marked to join it by way of the marking. Leaving it to the fates felt almost comical. The fates cared little for him or his wellbeing. He was a slug on a stone in a raging river. It was his duty to ensure the slug made it to the next stone.    In front of him, he saw his jailhouse companion doing a similar dance about. They'd exchanged the word before and Jon'than assumed this was of the same doing. With him dancing about, Jon'than was almost assuredly going to get the proper ship, he simply had to line himself up with what was already in play in front of him. He was a secondary actor on the stage of a play. He simply had to play his part.  

Quickly counting to himself, Arthur works out which ship he will be "assigned" to. The message stated something about "I Tung" and clearly that was a reference to the Schooner. The threads of fate were pulling him towards it, the former nomad mused, and who had the temerity to tangle that timeless weave? No, Arthur knew there was work to be done. One way or another, the self-proclaimed Peacekeepers, scions of a rotting carcass-empire, would learn where their path of self-righteousness and tyranny led. Until then, he had a ship to board. Sailing was a dangerous business after all. Many had met an untimely end from a frayed line, a fouled lump of hardtack, or a errant block and tackle.   If he is slated for the Klers Nawo, Arthur will arrange otherwise by slipping forwards or backwards a spot or even pretending to trip and stumble to create a momentary commotion. 

The clamor outside quiets, but never dies away. There's the muffled, echoing voices of arguments, or at least very passionate discussion. A few minutes later, it grows louder and becomes accompanied by the sounds of many hurried footsteps approaching the door.   Again, the door bolt is thrown open, and then the cell door as well. Outside stands over a score Peacekeepers - many patrols' worth of them. Two of them appear to be freshly, if lightly, injured - there is blood on their robes, a small bandage wrapped on one shoulder, and another has a developing bruise on their jaw. These two, like all the others, quickly sweep the cell's occupants with their gaze before returning their attention to the speaking Peacekeeper.   "- is final. Get them moving. Kai 4-1" The speaker finishes, turns, and moves down the hall to the next cell with most of the Peacekeepers.   Five remain. They look at each other briefly before one of them - the one with the jaw-bruise - speaks up with a little unwillingness in his voice. "You are being transported immediately. Line up for manacles." When nobody moves, he hiss-whispers something at the youngest Peacekeeper, who runs off to presumably fetch said manacles.   The bowl-bringers are not among the 5 here, but they seem to have been with the rest of the Peacekeepers.   One by one, the prisoners pass through the cell door and are bound wrists behind. As you enter the hallway, you can see that the same process is happening to the other 3 cells in the hallway, and a steady stream of prisoners are being moved. Starting in the third cell, prisoners were being bound with rope instead of manacles - quickly and efficiently still in the hands of Peacekeepers, but clearly the supply of ready irons in this house has run out.   Outside the house, there were wagons waiting. These are Peacekeeper purpose-built iron cages on two axles, each one hauled by a pair of four-horned aurochs who have riding-saddles mounted in addition to their wagon yokes. No mounted Peacekeepers had been seen in the city to date. Mixed together by cell and in no particular order, the prisoners are pushed tightly-packed into the wagons by harried Peacekeepers, and the convoy rumbles off at a brisk walk towards the mountains at one end of Reng'pya.   -----------------------------------------------------   Like any harbor town, Reng'pya is built around a tall mountain. It is even named after the Snake Mouth Mountain, a pair of sheer peaks which together do sort of resemble a snake's head, mouth wide open and pointed at the sky. The city's buildings trend to mansions and gardens as the convoy closes; the typical lightlly-built Klesk timber-frame housing giving way full-stone walled houses with curving and decorated roofs. The streets turn cobble-paved and the traffic thickens. The crowd parts obediently before the two Peacekeepers holding big "Silence" and "Give Way" signs at the head of the convoy, and though there's much barely-hushed speculation about the nature of the obvious criminals in the cage-wagons, not a single vegetable was hurled and nobody jeered. These were, after all, good Kleskian citizens.   Near the base of the mountains, the wagon convoy passes through a masonry wall perhaps 20 feet high, with banners and patrols atop it. The gatehouse has a long line of wagons lined up in both directions, waiting for what appears to be customs and cargo inspections. The Peacekeeper wagons are waved through without inspection by the guards - who nod to their brothers and sisters in passing. Beyond the walls there were no longer big houses, but rather ramshackle tenements nestled into the alleys between hulking great warehouses and workshops. The people are much more shabbily dressed and, instead of lining the street to watch the cage-wagons, they flee into the alleys before the convoy passes.   As the Snake Mouth Mountain rises steeply ahead, the wagons slow, then enter one of the larger funiculars that rise straight up the sides of the grey-and-green monoliths. The mountains were lousy with elevators, funiculars, and lifts going up and down in continuous motion. Long chains and ropes twang and sing in the wind under their tension. The aurochs are unhitched and sent away, then the funicular clanks noisily into the air. The wind strengthens with altitude and you can hear the funicular creaking against the rails bolted to the mountain stone at each gust.   As you rise the two-thousand-odd feet into the sky, you can feel weight lifting off of you. At the top, you're nearly free-floating inside the cage. The sensation is, to some, nauseating. At least six different prisoners retch and vomit against the bars or, in two instances, right onto their wagon's floor. The escorting Peacekeepers appear largely unperturbed, neatly sidestepping the floating globs of vomit arching languidly past and into the acrophobia-inducing space beyond.   At the top of the mountain is a dense forest of stone-and-steel structures, each sticking into the sky like a thin spike. A little under half of them terminate at tied-up, weathercocked airships. Chains are hitched to the wagon-cage from all sides, and the Peacekeepers haul with one hand while maneuvering themselves in the micro-gravity towards one tower with a large sign at its base. "4-1" Atop this tower are two airships, one hitched to either side of the quay boom.   The ship on the left is a 2-tiered 5-mast schooner, shallow in the hull with fine lines and a severe aft rake. Several strips of planking along her side is unpainted, like they had just been replaced. The ventral port mainmast is a repair, steel-bound to the jagged stub of its previous incarnation. Black Kleskian words painted on her bow naming her the "Ai Tung"   The ship on the right is a 1-tier X-mast sloop with a short, bluff hull and bearing two extra fore-mounted pods for cargo. One of her spinnakers is deployed being mended, several crew can be seen stitching along a wide gash down its front. One of its gunports is open, as well, and cannon-balls are being gently thrown into it from a supply-wagon. Black Kleskian words painted on her bow naming her "Klers Nawo"   -----------------------------------------------------   The prisoner wagons are tugged to a halt and made fast to stanchions at the bottom of the tower, the kai. The doors unlocked, and the prisoners unloaded to form a ragged line headed up the tower's main path. At the fork, there's a somewhat nonplussed, confused-looking Peacekeeper who is no longer looking at his papers and instead just directing the prisoners to evenly load up the ships. "Left. Right. Left. Right." he drones.   The line shuffles forward in the miniscule gravity, with much bumping and harsh words, reforming into a line at the chivvying of the escorting Peacekeepers each time that it dissolves into a crushed-together blob.   "Left. Right. Left. Right." The director drones.

Jon'than sniffed the putrid, stagnant air that surrounded him and his fellow prisoners. The whole showcase was beginning to stale on him and whoever was in charge had only just started. When the bowls were left in the center of the room and an argument broke out, Jon'than slipped in and grabbed one of the bowls quickly. He did not want to be a part of the next stage act.   No shame and an empty stomach, he dug in with two fingers making a shoveling tool. His tongue barely acknowledged the taste of the food as it went down. His shoveling action carved finger-length ditches in the gruel and gave hint to something beneath; he noticed the note. He mulled the word while he finished fishing the last of the food scraps from the bowl. No sooner had he finished did he have company.   "It means nothing to me." He replied, staring at the bottom of his bowl for another second longer. The commotion broke his personal reverie and he was forced to face the world again. He sighed at the inconvenience of it all. Just as quickly as the man had approached him, he was away again. The rest of the room seemed content in personal grievances too, which suited him just fine.    "I will it to be fire." He said with a sneer. 

Arthur was beginning to realize that the state of affairs was perhaps more complex than simple detention for transportation. The bureaucrats adored procedure and ceremony as a facade to be sure. Yet underneath all that, most of their doings were the straightforward workings of violence for self-serving ends. The departure from the expected choreography began with the open door, although that had been written off as shameless bait, continued with the cryptic message in the bowl, and was now appended with the sound of a potential prison riot. Somewhere in this was opportunity. Bureaucrats and their thugs were prone to inertia, and a single disruption to their plans tended to be their undoing. Not so for Arthur, he liked to believe. Survival was a ongoing negotiation with the situation as it existed.   First, he needed allies. A few stuck out, a cultist (really a unionist from what he'd gathered), a scam artist, and a animated statue. The statue seemed too naive by half, and the cultist's god seemed to be commerce more than anything else. A con man, now that was worth a chance. As surreptitiously as Arthur could manage, he asked in a low tone to Jon'than, Did anything strange arrive in your bowl? I found a note that had some indecipherable scribble followed by "I tung". Mean anything to you? Let's also get some eyes on whatever that disturbance is. Could be the difference between life and death be it fire, riot, or crackdown.   And with that, Arthur pokes his head outside the door, looking and listening for any hints of commotion in progress.

- would I recognize the phrase I found? - if people are alright, I'm tempted to handwave the fact that none of our characters really have reasons to trust one another and just confide in the discovery with the "party" - is it common in this region for the prison kitchen or commissary to be at least partly staffed by inmates?

Chnai and Unai give a slight shake of their heads and settle back against their bit of the cell wall, obviously disappointed that a jail-break was not in the cards.   The two Peacekeepers say nothing to Arthur, but instead back towards the door. As the second one was leaving, and drawing the door closed behind her, she pauses and eyes TWC with some concern and slight amazement. "This monk shall inform the Host. What comes of it is unknowable."   Then the door is closed and the bolt scrapes shut on the other side, leaving the wooden bowls and tray in the center of the room. It's boiled tubers and roots, over hand-ripped hunks of dense bread. It had been made with attention and care, but there was little salt added. A few pigeon-bones are in several of the bowls, with traces of meat still on them. Prisoners eagerly shuffle forward to claim the bowls, and almost immediately shoving develops between some of them. Two men and a woman, in particular, make off with 4 bowls, "That thing don't need it. It's ours."   There's no utensils in the tray, so the sound of messy hand-eating quickly develops in the cell.   Outside, there's a commotion. People shouting distantly, echoing down the stone corridor.   To Arthur Show this As the bowls are being claimed, you notice that Chnai and Unai are missing from the room.   You notice, stuck to the bottom of your bowl, is a smeared, hand-scrawled note reading, "<unreadable short word> I Tung"   To Syes Show this You notice Chnai and Unai silently slip out through the open door, a moment before the two Peacekeepers turned around to leave.   To Jon'than Show this You notice, stuck to the bottom of your bowl, is a smeared, hand-scrawled note reading, "<unreadable phrase> Tung"  

Third Warranty Claim TWC looks at the 'Bromida' who spoke to him. Bromida - slang term meaning friend, person, buddy, companion some cultures it just means another person, typically male. The odd looking hairy man considered TWC a 'companion' or 'friend' perhaps? Maybe TWC should return the sentiment? By the time TWC had finished pondering this the door swung open, as his new Bromida slides away TWC makes sure to make "eye contact" with his front sensory components and gives them a strong thumbs up. TWC's databases told him that meant agreement and satisfaction.   TWC did not move from his position near the cell grates and warily watched the peacekeepers enter.    "This Unit does not consume organic sustenance,  is there a location where this Unit can have an unobstructed view of the Gyre Core for a recharge cycle in the next 3 cycles? Further to this inquiry, what is your intention of leaving the door to our confinement chamber open, is this a sign that our charges have been dropped or must this Unit continue to file reports of this Unit's confinement without notice of charge?"  

I'm gonna kick the tires on this game and say that it's been a few weeks since the last GM update to the main game thread. What is the update rate you are aiming for? I am trying to gauge how big of a commitment each game I am in is so I know whether I can manage applying to more games.

So far, everything she had seen has her fighting at a relatively close range, and she is certain that while the delicate rifled muskets would be fascinating to use, and genuinely a work of art, she knows too that the revolver gun is her best bet.  Grabbing the cylinders and shoving them into a haversack, she slings the firearm and sees it lacks a name.  Something to resolve later.  She shoves two powder horns into her bag, and takes a long look at the mysterious air gun.  Beyond my knowledge.  Likely to blow it up in my face.   Now armed, she opens the chests to see what might be inside.

(Nobody else want to do anything vis-a-vis the hook?)

Contents of the stash:   Hand Cannon Adarache This is a large-bore, short-barreled muzzleloading cannon on a heavy wooden stick. A solid steel double-hinge at the stick-breech allows the stick to fold down to be a rest, or straighten out for carriage. The stick has brackets holding a sponge, a separate ramrod, and a waterskin. The cannon has a nub at the muzzle for aiming but no rear sight. Damage 1d12 or Grenade-like weapon; Attribute Dex; Range 5/100; Traits AP, M; Reload 10; Enc 3   Blunderbuss Featherbolt This is a matchlock blunderbuss with etched and silver-chased barrel, but the wooden stock is just a square-ish stick bolted on as either an afterthought or a replacement. The name is on a metal plaque brazed to the rear of the breech. Damage 1d8 max; 1d10 within 40; 1d12 within 20; Attribute Dex; Range 5/100; Traits AP; Attack +2; Reload 2; Enc 3   7-barrel Volley Gun Tunray This is a 7-barreled, matchlock, smoothbore volley gun with separate pans and locks on each barrel. Each barrel bears an inscription from an unknown language, alongside a small engraved scene highlighted in a red substance. Presumably it tells the chapters of some story or legend. The name is taken from large letters etched to the muzzles. From 1 to 7 barrels can be cocked or decocked as a single Move action. All cocked barrels are fired simultaneously during the next attack. Damage 1d10; Attribute Dex; Range 50/150; Traits AP; Reload 1 per barrel; Enc 3   Revolver Gun Untitled No. 3 This is a matchlock rifled musket with removable breech cylinder with revolving chambers. 3 cylinders are stacked next to it, and it can be seen that each has 4 chambers. A second attack can be made as a Move action immediately after a regular attack, so long as the cylinders are still loaded. Reloading cylinders are 2 chambers per focused action, as long as the cylinder is removed from the weapon. Damage 1d12; Attribute Dex; Range 75/1000; Traits AP, PM; Reload -; Enc 2   Rifled Musket pair These are two identical wheellock, rifled muskets with delicately-made diopter sights. Their stocks are decorated in leaf-patterned, curling silver filigree and their barrels are smooth and polished. A small measuring cup for powder is tucked skillfully near the ramrod-holder. Damage 1d12; Attribute Dex; Range 200/1000; Traits AP, PM; Reload 2; Enc 2   Unknown two-forked gun-like object This looks like a musket, but instead of a barrel it has two long, bluish-gray metal tines stiffened by several wooden rings along the length - like a skeletonized barrel. The open-air "chamber" is backed by a large, spring-loaded plunger. The trigger seems to release the plunger forward. Three glass vials stick out of the breech-like area, but they contain nothing in them and seem to only open inward into the breech. ??? You do not know how this weapon (?) works ???   4x Narwhal Powder Horns Open the chests?

Biography Name: The Assembly Race: The Assembly Age: Unknown Height: Variable, >8' Max Weight: 200lbs Occupation: Unset Class: Adventurer, Partials Expert and Mage Character Sheet Mechanics Abilities (Modifiers) STR:  9 +0 DEX:  9 +0 CON  14 +1 INT: 14 +1 WIS:  9 +0 CHA:  7 -1   (Saves) BAB: Evasion: Physical: Mental: Hitpoints  D6 +1 [Expert/Mage + Con] Hitpoints: 7 Class Features - Copied from book Partial Expert A Partial Expert is treated just as a full Expert, including gaining the benefits of the Quick Learner ability. They do not have the Masterful Expertise ability, however, as they lack the polymathic versatility of a full Expert. Partial Mage A Partial Mage is treated as a Mage, and gains the Arcane Tradition ability, allowing them to pick a magical tradition for their powers. That tradition’s abilities will be more limited for Partial Mages, however, as described under each of the paths. A Partial Mage must adhere to the restrictions and limits of their magical tradition in order to use its abilities, regardless of whatever other partial class they may have.   LEVEL Hit Dice Attack Bonus Focus Picks 1 1d6 +0 1 Expert + 1 Any 2 2d6 +1 +1 Any 3 3d6 +1   4 4d6 +2   5 5d6 +2 +1 Any 6 6d6 +3   7 7d6 +3 +1 Any 8 8d6 +4   9 9d6 +4   10 10d6 +5 +1 Any   Focus Picks  1 - Expert: Polymath  1 - Any: Origin Foci - 4 Million year old, magitechnic, hivemind slime creature  2 -  5 -  7 - 10 -   Arcane Tradition - Elementalist   LEVEL MAX LEVEL SPELLS CAST SPELLS PREPARED ARTS GAINED 1 1 1 2 Elemental Resilience, Elemental Sparks, and Any One 2 1 1 3   3 1 1 3 Any One 4 1 2 4   5 2 2 5   6 2 3 6 Any One 7 2 3 7   8 2 3 7   9 3 4 8   10 3 4 9 Any One   Arts Elemental Resilience You are unharmed by mundane extremes of cold or by heat less than that of a furnace. You suffer only half damage from magical or extremely intense flame or frost attacks.   Elemental Sparks You can conjure petty amounts of flame, water, ice, stone, or wind, sufficient to do small tricks, chill drinks, light candles, or do other minor things. Conjured substances last no longer than a scene, and conjured water cannot lastingly quench thirst. This art cannot actually be useful in solving a problem or overcoming a challenge more than once per game session.   Flamesight Commit Effort as an On Turn action. While the Effort remains Committed, you can see thermal gradients sufficient to distinguish surfaces and living creatures, even in perfect darkness. Optionally, you may cause your own eyes to cast a light sufficient to illuminate your surroundings clearly out to a range of 30 feet.   Spells Prepared X The Excellent Transpicuous Transformation X Velocitous Imbuement                               https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2699300 - Link to SWN Sheet for The Assembly

The clattering of the metallic bars caused Jon'than to lurch backwards a step. He'd truly not expected the Relic's words to encounter sympathy or remorse; or frankly any response at all. So when something new happened so quickly after, it was hard to not see it for what it was: a response.    The tone quickly changed though when he saw who was entering and what they brought with them. A preordained meal. Nothing about it felt like it was a reaction to the pleas of the Relic. Jon'than shrugged and pressed against the wall once again, humbly honoring what little space befit him and his captors.   He looked at the open gate recognized it for what it was, and promptly forgot about it. It would take more than that to con a man, especially a man such as he. 

Finally unburdened of the lurking assassin behind the door, Cassandra goes to the bed to take her pick of the long guns.  Equipping herself appropriately, she then looks to see what might be in the closed chests.  Certainly tempted by the dagger in the door, she is equally certain that if she pulls the dagger, the door will somehow explode.

A bit of the man comes away with the pistol, and it seems to have been an important enough bit that he goes limp in his little cubby-hole. The insane person still twitches a bit, but in that uncoordinated, dead-fish sort of way.   Victory Fanfare Noise.

She doesn't know why the dagger point is smoking, but she knows that's probably a bad sign for anyone holding an unlit grenade.  Happy to oblige the insane person, however, she brings the butt-end of her pistol down onto his head with all the force she can muster.

Cassandra's sad pistol runs buttlong into the man's outstretched fingers, then hammers his hand into the nearby wall. There is a chorus of pops, accompanied by a whining grunt from the man. He falls back on top of his grenade-clutching hand, breathing heavily where a moment ago he was barely breathing at all. His eyes dart between the dagger handle and Cassandra.   "Kill!" The man's voice is thickly nasal, and he spits blood that had flowed into his mouth. With his broken right hand, he points at himself, "Kill!" He sounds pleading.

She knew he was faking from the beginning.  (She didn't really know that.)  She knew it!  As someone prepared for just such an eventuality, she tries to bludgeon the man with her sad pistol before he can reach the dagger!

System Quick Reference Sheet   Skill Checks • Roll 2d6 + the skill level + most relevant attribute modifier and equal or exceed the check’s difficulty • The easiest checks are difficulty 6, most are 8+, the most difficult are 12+ • Without even level-0 skill, take a -1 penalty if the skill cannbe attempted at all by the totally untrained • Bad or good circumstances or tools can apply up to a -2 to +2 penalty or bonus to the roll • Allies can aid with their own skill use at the same difficulty, granting a +1 bonus if any helper succeeds. Saving Throws • Roll 1d20 and equal or exceed your saving throw score to succeed • Roll Physical saves against poison or bodily stresses • Roll Evasion saves against perils you can dodge or duck • Roll Mental saves against mental or intangible magic • Roll Luck against things only blind luck can forfend • Monsters and NPCs have a single saving throw of 15 minus their halved and rounded-down hit dice Injury and Healing • A creature dies or is mortally wounded at zero hit points • Minor NPCs, PCs with the Frail quality, or creatures hit by unsurvivable injuries die instantly • Others are Mortally Wounded and die six rounds later • An ally can stabilize the Mortally Wounded with a Dex or Int/Heal check at a difficulty of 8 plus the number of full rounds since the target was felled • Stabilized creatures stop dying and revive in ten minutes with one hit point and the Frail quality • Creatures lose the Frail quality after magical healing or a week of bed rest • Magical healing stabilizes and revives a Mortally Wounded PC with no Frail quality applied • First aid after a battle heals 1d6 HP plus the healer’s Heal skill. This can be done multiple times, but each use adds 1 point of System Strain to the target • A creature’s maximum System Strain is equal to their Constitution score, and if maximized they can no longer benefit from any effect or healing that would add strain • A creature that is not Frail recovers their level or hit dice in lost hit points after each good night’s rest and also loses one accrued System Strain point Spellcasting • Casting a spell takes a Main Action, one free hand, and the ability to speak in a clear voice. Spells cannot usually be cast while wearing armor or while holding a shield • If a caster suffers damage or is badly jostled, they cannot attempt to cast a spell for the rest of the round • If the caster is struck while actively casting, they lose the spell slot and the spell fizzles uselessly Combat Rounds • A combat round lasts about six seconds • At the start of combat, each side rolls initiative once on 1d8 and adds the best Dexterity modifier on their side. The highest-rolling group goes first; ties go to the PCs. • At the GM’s discretion, each individual combatant can roll initiative and then everyone acts in descending order • On their turn in the round, a creature can take one Main Action, one Move action, and as many On Turn or Instant actions as the GM thinks reasonable • Main Actions are attacks, spellcasting, or other activities that would eat up most of six seconds • Move actions allow the PC to move 30 feet or do similar short, simple actions • On Turn actions allow the PC to say a few words, drop prone, or do other reflexively simple things • Instant actions can be taken at any time, even during someone else’s turn, or even after dice have been rolled. Instant actions are usually special powers the PC can use or the result of holding an action in combat. Hitting and Damage • An attack is made with a hit roll of 1d20 plus the attack bonus, weapon skill, and the weapon’s attribute modifier • If the resultant roll is equal or higher than the target’s Armor Class, the attack hits • A roll of 1 always misses and a roll of 20 always hits • On a hit, the attacker rolls the weapon’s damage die and adds their relevant attribute modifier. That much damage is done to the target’s hit points • Weapons or unarmed attacks that use the Punch skill can also add the wielder’s Punch skill to the damage total • On a miss, melee attacks may do Shock damage. If the target’s Armor Class is less than or equal to the weapon’s Shock value, then Shock damage is done. Thus a weapon with “Shock 2/13” does points of damage even on a miss to a target with an AC of 13 or less • The wielder’s attribute modifier and any Shock-specific damage bonuses are added to the Shock damage done • Shields negate the first instance of Shock that a target would take each round. The Total Defense action makes the target immune to Shock for the rest of the round • A successful hit can’t do less damage than the weapon’s Shock would do on a miss Morale Checks • A Morale check is rolled on 2d6. If it’s higher than the target’s Morale score, they rout, retreat, or surrender, depending on the situation and their overall discipline • PCs never check Morale. NPCs do so when an ally first is downed, when half of them are down, or when shaken by some great reverse or terrifying foe • Even on a successful Morale check, NPCs will not continue to fight when it is obviously futile or not worth the risk   WWN Quick Reference Sheet.pdf

Cassandra watches the man's eyes pop open with the speed of someone who was definitely pretending to be unconscious. They are grey-blue and bloodshot and wild and desperate. She sees him start springing off of the floor and reaching for the dagger hilt. She sees the round ball in his left hand, with the unlit fuse hanging from it. She is ready.   Take your turn

Well, he doesn't seem dead... yet, Cassandra thinks to herself.  Not really sure what I've gotten myself into.  Still, she tries to look the person over and figure out just who they were and why they were here.  It seems like just another pawn, but on the losing side of the board - a position she could easily find herself in if she's not careful.

There's a bloody red spot on the wall, about head-height. It smears downwards, pointing towards the man crumpled over in the tiny door-wall triangle. The lower half of his face is a mass of blood from a badly broken nose. He is pale-skinned, unlike one of the locals here in Reng'pya, and he is very close-shaved all around. He's dressed in a baggy, ill-fitting dark green tunic and chalk-colored trousers, and a longshoreman's sun-hat is snapped in half and fallen against the wall near him.   On the back of the door is wide, bloody spot matching the one on the wall, as well as a long dagger stuck sidelong into the wood. The dagger is slim, pointed, and straight - a stiletto for armor work. There's faint wisps of smoke near where the dagger is stuck in, and the wood on the door looks charred around it.   The man's right hand lays limp against the wall and his left hand is unseen - pinned behind and under him somewhere. His eyes are shut, but he breathes, bubbling noisily through the flowing blood.   (Roll Notice and Initiative)

She's not one hundred percent certain how conscious the man on the other side of the door is, or isn't, but she knows that as soon as she lets up on the door, she will be alone, with an unknown person, who she was previously detaining by way of door.  She doesn't have a match in her sad pistol, but at the end of the day, it was at least a handy cudgel.    Bracing the door with her body, she flips the pistol in her hand so as to use the handle as a bludgeon.  She slowly peers around the door to get a feel for who is actually on the other side, deciding suddenly not to reach around with the pistol and hammer it down on the person's head as she had previously planned.