Trial by Fire (Part 2)

[Cointhief]

 

Today is the day! Whether thrown into it blindly or after a years-long passion, it is the official start of your academy training. With the bruises and mysteries of yesterday's orientation still fresh, you and your crewmates are to soon report to Saerthe Abizin, the Spelljamming training officer. Gossip in the halls is that a complex, long term Wildspace simulation is in the pipe for today...so of course the Fleet has prepared a delicious pre-flight meal.

The colorful contrast of dawn. Seagulls caw their morning announcements as large schools of ghost fish descend deck to deck down the Rock of Nimbral. You hear the chatter of youth, the clinking of dishware, the anticipatory groans of a big breakfast meal. Sol slowly outshines the blue-glowing orbs lighting the bronze gilded outdoors patio of the large communal dining area, as peaceful lappings beat upon a distant ocean horizon.

A sturdy looking L-shaped counter nearby is covered with small tools, contraptions, and alchemical tubes and containers. Before you can think 'oh dang what is all that doing near the kitchen' a stout looking giff in an apron bursts through a door, above which reads a sign: Staff Only.

"Breakfast of Champions." he announces with a smile. Its Petty Officer Winston Reyback, the beloved Galley Cook. From what you've heard of him, he's a staunch believer in the four food groups: beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard. If you get too close, he might just break your rib from a pesky involuntary bear-hug response...and even if you escape such a bone-splintering you would need to deal with the thin coating of sweat and kitchen grease dappling his grey skin. "Best way to someone's heart is through their stomach, right lads?" dishing out one bowl after the next of what looks like a smoking pile of fried meat, beans, and an unidentifiable sticky starch holding it all together.

"Gunpowder Chowder again, eh Ryeback?" so another student calls the concoction playfully. The giff's mood becomes solemn suddenly, as if he just remembered a pet dog died. "Eh? I was just kidding, you know we love you." but the mood stays put. Something seems to be eating Ryeback.

There is a standing line. It would be rude to cut.

Glancing about, a number of other cadets are either ahead of you in line or have already taken a seat. Notably absent are Nazira and Chaeek, who were put on special assignment earlier than most of you were done with the communal washrooms this morning. You recognize some of them as the jeering faces after your first simulation, the cheering faces during Lou and Nazira's gymnasium show-down, and the leering faces of Veena and the cadet quarter brawlers. For the tactically inclined, only one table seems to offer the space to sit your newcomer crew. The boy with the good questions during Tarto's Astromundi lecture sits at an otherwise empty table with his head buried in a book.

Edited December 15, 2023 by Cointhief (see edit history)

[JubalBreakbottle]

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim

Inspiration Yes | HP 14/14 | HD 2/2 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1

Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 1/1 | 1st-level 3/3

---

Celsior arrives at breakfast excited for the new day and potential Wildspace simulation. His first Spelljamming session left him wanting more. Last night in his trance, his ancestors continued his training on spelljamming ships and the importance of listening to his crew. A happy ship is a safe ship, they reiterated.

Then, his great aunt slaps the prince upside his head to get his attention. What’s the point of listening to your crew if you embarrass yourself leading by example. She forces him to relive the painful obstacle course of the day.

The astral elf made his new studded leather armor look majestic to complement his cadet uniform and service rapier. He felt more confident in the armor so projected even more confidence.

The prince waits in line for chowder taking the time to continue to survey the room for threats, rivals, and allies, just like his court at home, and casually listening to the conversations of others. When they finally get to be served by the giff, he asks after ordering, "Officer Reyback? Everything alright, sir?" He hopes just showing interest would unlock the officer's concerns.

Mechanics

Trance skills: Athletics & Vehicles (space)

Prepared spells: Magic Missile, Shield, Sleep, Burning Hands & Absorb Elements

 

Edited December 16, 2023 by JubalBreakbottle (see edit history)

[DM-Tareth]

Yahs Anirys Plasmoid Monk 1 CG

AC: 16 | HP: 7/16 | HD: 2/2 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: Yes | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60
Str 11 (0) Dex 16 (3) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1)

Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+5;1d6+3 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+5;1d4+3 | Sling(B)1d20+5;1d4+3 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+5;1d6+3
Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 2/2

---

Her optical receptors still ached from her evening foray to the library. Her mind even more so as she still tried to reconcile the rather inept, pants dropping, drunkard that was Mirt as a past lord of anything, better yet the grand city of Waterdeep. But perhaps more important than Mirt's past, was the little fact that there was a second Fleet. Or was it a second faction within the Fleet? She might have to go back over her notes later. Things were a bit blurry toward the end. But one thing certainly still looms within her neuron weave. The Mercane. Mirt's former partners who would like nothing more than to see the old man's idealistic Fleet fail miserably. They seemed like good candidates for wanting the old man dead. But what to do about it? She'd no real idea. So she decides to concentrate on eating.

Taking one of the open seats at smart kid's table. Yahs nods a greeting to the studious cadet. "Good morning." She says with a friendly but slightly off center smile. "I don't think I caught your name yesterday. Mine's Yahs. Do you mind if I ask what you're reading?"

[Cointhief]

Ryeback wipes his hippo-sized tears as best he can with the large grease soaked apron "*sniff* gunpowder he says...reminded me of what they took again, I had nearly put it from my mind. Of all the things they could take, they chose my custom Vega 42..."

"For Crisps sake, Ryeback..." another cadet in line whiplashes his head around "...they nabbed your prize revolver? Someone told me it was just a map or something. That's some tough shit!" The cadet seemed earnest, though as for his last crass statement, it was unclear if he meant the Petty Officer's situation, or the steaming chowder he was dousing with hot chili sauce.

The giff sighs "I'll probably never get it back..."

Celsior's elven ears perk up and twinkle at some other gossip going around the tables. One group seems to be pestering a young girl terrified at the idea of neogi hatchlings squirming around the Academy walls "...they're watching you with those beady little eyes, always." snickering without taking it too far. Another group chatters about the attack on Mirt "...that penguin told me he was drunk out of his mind." But his feast-mate isn't buying it "No way, Mirt doesn't drink. He always acts drunk but think about, have you ever actually seen him take a sip? Tell me one time. You can't, can you." A third group places bets on which crews will be pitted against each other in today's exercise, murmuring about you all "...not so hot without the Emerald Commendation winner I bet. I hear Tarto's making their 6th that clownspace rehab patient."

Yahs takes a seat at the only open table. The bookish fellow cautiously meets the plasmoid's gaze, which is more like a weird organ scintillating light roughly in the middle of her headspace. The hag-like appearance ruffles his feathers a tad "...me? Oh, uh...hi. I'm Miken." He turns over the binding of the little tome, revealing an alien script covered with a little sticker translation: Illithid Origins: the Astromundi Postulate. "One of the the zodar's recommendations, but I don't know how factual it is...it says illithid were once human." he gives a little shrug. "Librarian's steered me wrong before...I can never tell precisely where it's pointing. I read zodar only speak 3 times in their life, make a wish, and then die...isn't that odd? But...honestly? I'm just reading it to take my mind off of today. I don't think the simulation is going to go very well..." This cadet seems to have a classic case of fear being his worst enemy. "I mean I'd like to be a great spelljammer, but I don't know if I've really got it in me."

Edited December 16, 2023 by Cointhief (see edit history)

[KingGoblin]

Lazuli Lazali Lulura, AKA Squishy

AC 17 | HP 19/19 | HD 1/1 | Inspiration Yes | P.Perception 15

Saves: Str -1 | Dex +3 | Con +1 | Int +2 | Wis +5 | Cha +0

Resistances: Acid and Poison

---

Lazuli joins Yahs at the table, after taking a bowl of assorted goop. Not for the first time, she is happy she can't taste, as she pours the steaming slop into herself, and allows it to digest slowly.

 

"Don't worry, Miken. All you need to be a spelljammer is a peg leg," she produces hers and waves it around, "A scimitar," she waves hers vaguely, "An eye patch, if you have eyes, and a neogi halfling skull," she pauses for a moment, "Not that I have one of those," she comments, guiltily. "Oh, and toilet paper! Don't forget that, so useful," she declares, producing her slightly soggy roll that she has kept on her for some reason.

 

"If the simulation is anything like yesterday's, we just fight some creepy monsters and everyone dies. Easy peasy one-two-threesy."

[BobtheWizard]

"Lou" Louis Dufray (Goblin Ranger 2) sheet

---

AC: 16 | HP: 18/24 | Initiative: +3 | Passive Perception: 17 | FeaturesAdv. on saves vs. charm
60' Darkvision
BA Hide or Disengage
Fury of Small: 2/2 LR
Favored Foe: 2 /2 LR
Hit Dice: 1 / 1d10+2 LR
Conditions: none

---

Lou waits in line to get his stew. He's not been here long enough to get tired of it so it looks delicious to him. He loves the smell of meat and lard. He takes a bite while he is still there in line.

"Ryebeck, this is amazing. I love your cooking. A man after my own heart. Not trying to force any green vegetables on us."

He spins away in time to avoid the famous bear hug, nodding at Ryebeck as he follows the others over to the table.

---

Mechanics Main Hand: Shortbow Off Hand: none Action: grab Popsicle, cast goodberry, then feed it to him. Move: none Manipulate: none Bonus Action: none Gnarley's Knack: You have Advantage on the next roll you make regarding ship repairs or ship weaponry.

 

[JubalBreakbottle]

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim

Inspiration Yes | HP 14/14 | HD 2/2 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1

Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 1/1 | 1st-level 3/3

---

Custom Vega 42? Celsior has no idea what that is but infers that it could be a revolver. He tries to look sympathetic and follows up with, "when did someone steal that? From your quarters?"

Eventually, the prince receives his breakfast and joins his crew at the table. To the new cadet, he introduces himself, "Good morning. I'm Celsior," while reading the title of his book.

Mechanics

Trance skills: Athletics & Vehicles (space)

Prepared spells: Magic Missile, Shield, Sleep, Burning Hands & Absorb Elements

 

[DM-Tareth]

Yahs Anirys Plasmoid Monk 2 CG

AC: 16 | HP: 16/16 | HD: 2/2 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: Yes | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60
Str 11 (0) Dex 16 (3) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1)

Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+5;1d6+3 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+5;1d4+3 | Sling(B)1d20+5;1d4+3 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+5;1d6+3
Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 2/2

---

Yahs can sympathize with Miken's plight. The library was certainly full of a lot of drivel. Her excursion the night before proved that most emphatically. It made finding the useful stuff much more daunting and time consuming. Of course, maybe there was some hidden agenda like teaching cadets the rewards of persistence or how to discern fact from fiction? Or maybe the librarian was just a hoarder and couldn't throw anything away. Pulling thoughts back to the moment at hand, she nods at Lazuli's estimation of the coming sim.

"My teammate is right. It's just a simulation. And I think we're meant to fail those most of the time. It's probably to do with some new instruction method. Building our character, teach through failure and all that." She says casually waving a pod in the air. "Besides, I'd say, you have a good mind for tactics and strategy. After all yours were the only questions that seemed to make sense in old Tarto's class yesterday. Seemed like you were on to something. Trust your instincts today and you'll be fine."

Just then a thought pops into her neuroweave. "Say Miken, you've obviously spent a bit more time in the library than I've been able to. Have you read anything about a group called the Mercane? I guess they are the ones who make those fancy spelljammer helms. Have you come across anything else about them? A history or corporate report? I was thinking about doing an extra credit essay and maybe you could save me a little time."

 

Edited December 17, 2023 by DM-Tareth (see edit history)

[Cointhief]

At Lazuli's words Miken looks embarrassed "...I don't think I have an extra roll. Darnit..." The cadet seems genuinely upset with himself about the lack of hygeinal preparedness.

The crying giff meanwhile explains to Celsior "Yeah, right out of my room yesterday during lunch...when that attack on Mirt happened. That six-shooter's been in my family for generations...Now all I have is this:" and he pulls out an enormous musket, lighting the wick near the lock in one swift action. Sighting a morning seagull over the Astral Elf's shoulder, the Petty Officer doesn't hesitate.

*KABLAM*

The cadets all duck reflexively and scream in terror. Ryeback's shot nails the bird with practiced accuracy. Once flying so gracefully over rocks and trees and sand, soaring over cliffs and gently floating down to land, she once proudly lifted her voice to sound her mating call...a mate soon responded *caw caw caw*. But now her brains scattered across the sea, chumming up the waters for deadly sharks and titanic squid monsters.

While the improv skeet lifted his hippo-spirits somewhat, the valve letting Ryeback's tears loose finally shunts closed with Louis' bottomless appetite for protein and carbs. While the bearhug may have been avoided, the goblin pirate willingly fails evading an extra scoop of the stuff. "Nothin' round here anyways but sea kelp and space cucumbers. And I hate space cucumbers." reloading his bayonetted musket before slinging it back around his broad shoulders.

When Yahs presses Miken about the Mercane, another cadet with a hook for a hand turns around pointing "Yeah Havenstance knows all about them, because he's a mega-douche." before tossing a spicy breakfast bean ricocheting off Miken's head.

"*sigh* See what I mean, I'm part of their crew but they just think I'm useless...Sorry, did you say 'Mercane'? I wouldn't say I'm an expert but they trade in ships and helms...weapons too. Pretty much any society that spelljams has at some point made a massive deal with them...usually for some raw resource materials. Most of the charted routes between Wildspaces exist because of these agreements...sort of the backbone for the multiversal network as I understand it."

"Ha, called it. Dork." High-fiving his mate with the blunt-side of his hook hand.

"...they're big, they're blue...you'd probably have to be a Lord of Lands to have a chance at dealing with them."

If you'd like, you can continue distracting Miken from his worries about today with more Mercane conversation and a DC 12 Arcana check. Otherwise, he gets bored at how little you know about them. You could also encourage him more or boost his confidence with a DC 12 Persuasion. Finally, you might get his crewmates to like him more with a DC 12 Persuasion. Or something totally different.

 

Edited December 17, 2023 by Cointhief (see edit history)

[Cointhief]

...or if no one cares at all we can move on I suppose. ;P

[Cointhief]

Just after breakfast...

Following your assignment to the Simulation Deck, it soon becomes clear you are not alone. Veena and the other bullies from yesterday apparently have the same orders, not to mention Miken, the hook-handed jerk from breakfast, a grasshopper-green Thri-keen, and an extremely burnt-out looking space clown.

Saerthe, the spelljamming officer with the quicksilver eyes, along with the chain-smoking hadozee Tarto begin partitioning you into two groups. "Well, this is going to be fun." she says with a somewhat sarcastic tone as she glances from group to group. Illusionist Bacon is nearby as well, tinkering with the arcane glyphs and ritual-tech that power the reality-warping illusions. The auditorium is packed with other cadets taking notes, and placing hushed bets.

Saerthe motions the clown into your group, saying "Ah, Zibbles. You'll be filling in for Team 1. I know you've not worked together before, but quick crew changes are a fact of life for the Fleet. The training will keep us together, alright?"

Imagine the most strung out Silkweed addict from the nastiest, darkest copper brothel alley. The young man is emaciated, with eyes sunken and lips chapped. Health? What is health. Such a concept is foreign to this long time abuser of demonic substances, replaced only with the cold emotionless stare of a reality now prohibited from a drug-induced euphoria he knows he will never again experience. He is also dressed as a children's clown, complete with jolly colorful makeup and wacky over-sized shoes. They squeak as he approaches...

"...uh...hey. Look, I know this awkward but I'm like...legally required to read this..." The clown pulls out a wax sealed envelope, and upon breaking the seal a burst of zany butterflies pops out in surprise. He could not be less amused. "...god damnit...sorry...*ahem* 'My name is Zibbles and I'm here to inform you that I am a recovering addict." His voice is monotone, somewhat slurred and dull, as if someone awakened from a long slumber. "I am providing this information to ensure transparency and compliance with legal obligations regarding public safety. I am not allowed, by my own volition, to participate in any...pranks, goofs, silliness, gags, tricks, shenanigans, or japes. I want to assure you that I am committed to main...maintaining a safe environment for everyone in the community.' *sigh* thanks..." As he slips the little note back in his wacky striped vest, it lets out a little *honk* horn sound. Zibbles dies a little bit more inside.

A brief nod of affirmation comes from the instructors, before Saerthe mentions "Not to worry, its been a year since Zibbles has dreamed of any Thrill Joy, that intoxicating mixture of demonic ichor and bozo flowers."

Zibbles' body twitches briefly at the mention of 'Thrill Joy'.

Tarto adds helpfully "...and of course that habit of eating humanoid flesh has been kicked to the curb where it belongs. Yes, Zibbles the Space Clown is very much on his way to being an integral part of the Fleet. A model of our rehabilitation program."

If apathy could be distilled and molded like clay into living form, Zibbles might be the result when an empathetic child attempted to liven him up with splashes of color. He carries a goofy looking ray gun that looks like its been pawned 100 times. "...I can help with deck work." he offers, as a pack of cards flops out of his pants leg. "...god damnit, that wasn't intentional..."

Rounding out your crew is of course the inscrutable Popsicle, avatar of midnight and a thousand icy moons. With his trusty dynamite stick at the ready, you can be sure he is well-equipped for any operation thrown your way.

Team 1: Celsior, Lazuli, Louis, Yahs, Popsicle, Zibbles.
Team 2: Veena, Hook-hand, Miken, Fat Bully, Skinny Bully, a Thri-keen.

As the other group starts to murmur and chatter, Tarto puts a quick end to it with a glare. It seems today is all business. Taking a long pull from her cigar "Cadets, welcome to your first Trial by Fire. The assembled crews here will be competing today in a simulated mission taking you deep into Wildspace, near the gas-giant Coliar. Your mission: navigate a debris field on the outskirts of the planet, salvage the captain's log from the wreckage of an abandoned ship, and return to your starting point with your own ship intact." Leveling an eye at Veena "Intact, not first. Get the mission done well, not quick."

Saerthe adds "You are being marked at every turn on your individual skills and talents. We can see you but you will not be able to see us, just as before. However, this is also a scored competition between the two teams. High score will receive a bonus commission."

Tarto flips through a few pages of notes "We have some suggested crew assignments. You are welcome to change these, but they all must be assigned and agreed on before we begin. Team 1: Captain: Prince Celsior Loriniscil. Team 2: Captain: Dame Beatrice Veena...Team 1: Spelljammer: Lazuli Lazali Lulura AKA Squishy. Team 2: Spelljammer: Sir Miken Havenstance. If your name was not called, you've been assigned as Shipmate."

Saerthe picks it up again "The Captain is expected to give intuitive, sensible, fair-minded and decisive orders when necessary. The crew is expected to follow such orders. Spelljammers will pilot the training ship and oversee navigation. Shipmates are an integral part of any crew and must operate rigging and onboard weapons...the Captain can switch to this role as required."

*wrrrWrrrWRRR*

Magical bursts of light jump from one rune to another. Slowly, ghostly images of ships take form in the large chambers. Two identical Hammerheads begin to materialize from shadow and the will of Bacon. The autognome, Mister Blip, appears to be offering technical guidance to the halfling wizard. *bbzt* What in tarnation? You call that a catapult shot container?*

"You will both be manning Hammerheads, so we will see who was paying attention on the Sky Dock yesterday. Both are fully armed for war with a pair of long range 5-man mangonels, a single 3-man ballista, and of course the hammership's trademark Blunt Ram." As all good cadets know, this reinforced, flattened bow is designed to inflict maximum internal damage to an opposing ship...without the limitation of getting locked together like the smaller Piercing Rams. "You have a turn of the sands to agree on any crew changes, then the illusion will become real for you. Begin."

The fog of the illusion slowly creeps into your vision and psyche as the final decisions are made. Just as the fog takes over, Miken offers a "Good Luck!" while Veena flips the bird.

You guys can change captain/spelljammer etc if you want but lets not spend forever on it.

Edited December 19, 2023 by Cointhief (see edit history)

[DM-Tareth]

Yahs Anirys Plasmoid Monk 2 CG

AC: 16 | HP: 16/16 | HD: 2/2 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: Yes | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60
Str 11 (0) Dex 16 (3) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1)

Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+5;1d6+3 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+5;1d4+3 | Sling(B)1d20+5;1d4+3 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+5;1d6+3
Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 2/2

---

Yahs was about to sneak a bottle of tabasco into bean-tossers stew when the chime for the top of the hour echoed across the hall. Maybe later. She thinks, letting the bottle slide into her storage pouch before hurrying off to the simulation chamber. Seeing the space clown approach, her body fluids turn a pale, pale green and she's barely able to keep herself from smacking the forlorn buffoon right between the eyes with her mop in order to scrub away the horrifying make up. It had been months, years even since her coulrophobia had struck. Actually she didn't even remember her abiding fear and dislike of the irritating entertainers. Then again, there weren't many clowns floating around out on the Astral Sea to trigger such a memory. Unconsciously, oozing as far away from the habit kicking joke maker as possible, she barely registers their instructions and is a bit surprised when the simulation actually begins.

[KingGoblin]

Lazuli Lazali Lulura, AKA Squishy

AC 17 | HP 19/19 | HD 1/1 | Inspiration Yes | P.Perception 15

Saves: Str -1 | Dex +3 | Con +1 | Int +2 | Wis +5 | Cha +0

Resistances: Acid and Poison

---

Lazuli extends a pseudopod with a wad of toilet paper over to Miken, for luck.

 

At Zibbles's speech, she burbles a bit. "I'm sure you'll fit right in. We are very serious people, and understand the desire to eat humanoid flesh, so you won't need to worry about that. We won't cause any risk of backsliding on the pranks, goofs, silliness, or japes. Popsicle is the only one that partakes in gags, tricks, and shenanigans, so probably stay away from him, if you are worried," she lies, smoothly.

 

"Captain Prince Celsior Loriniscil, Spelljammer Squishy reporting for duty!" she squeaks, waving a pseudopod in what is probably supposed to be a salute. "Just point me where you want something rammed!"

[JubalBreakbottle]

Celsior Loriniscil, Prince of Alfheim

Inspiration Yes | HP 14/14 | HD 2/2 | Step 2/2 | Shield 1/1

Bladesong 2/2 | Recovery 1/1 | 1st-level 3/3

---

Celsior non-verbally welcomes the space clown to the crew. Although obviously disturbing, the clown probably might be more useful than the penguin. We'll see.

At the announcements of crew positions, Celsior is conflicted. Initially elated at being selected to command until, he realizes that it also means that he won't be the spelljammer. Then, Dame and Sir? Who are their parents?

"Excellent, Squishy. Take the helm, and prepare a course to the outskirts of the debris field near the gas-giant Coliar." The prince replies.

"Everyone else, let's first assemble at the turret mangonel and load it first. See how we work together, and ensure that we all can fire it if needed." He looks in the eyes of each of his crew to ensure that they are ready.

Mechanics

Trance skills: Athletics & Vehicles (space)

Prepared spells: Magic Missile, Shield, Sleep, Burning Hands & Absorb Elements

Edited December 19, 2023 by JubalBreakbottle (see edit history)

[Cointhief]

 

Many spelljamming vessels are equipped with these mangonels, or so-called 'traction trebuchets'. Unlike a normal trebuchet, there is no counterweight to produce the lever action. Instead, a number of ropes dangle downwards and are pulled in unison by the firing crew.

The primary advantage of mangonels on spelljamming vessels is exactly that reduction in weight, which might take up precious supply storage poundage. They are also relatively easy to assemble and repair; the core construction being essentially a frame, lever arm, and sling. If one can find a planet with a wood-like substance, that is.

A secondary advantage is of course the range. With a maximum firing distance of 800 ft, they are capable of striking things even beyond the craftiest of mage artillerists. Their accuracy does suffer at such extreme distances, however. Another shortcoming is its uselessness at close ranges, but then the canny cadet would have other means of combat available...the 3-man Ballista or his own wits.

Some mangonels on Toril might require 400 men to pull in unison, a single 50 lb shot able to sunder the hardiest of castle walls. These space mangonels need only penetrate a thin ship hull...and could kill a seasoned veteran in a single blow with a lucky strike.

Such considerations and recollections go through the minds of those with proficiency in space vehicles.

Mangonel (Crew: 5)

Armor Class: 15

Hit Points: 100

It takes 2 actions to load the mangonel, 2 actions to aim it, and 1 action to fire it.

Mangonel Stone. Ranged Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, range 200/800 ft. (can’t hit targets within 60 feet of it), one target. Hit: 27 (5d10) bludgeoning damage.

Popsicle (barely reaching the ropes) places his dynamite stick into the sling. "Like this?"

Zibbles appears old hat at the weapon's operation, giving the fulcrum a bit of oil and tying a hand-hold knot into the ends of the ropes. He glances around nervously "Do you think those guys will attack us? That really stresses me out, man."

A cool breeze blows away the last signs of reality, and you find yourself at Sky Dock atop an illusory Rock of Nimbral...your goal 100 million miles above you.

So, spelljamming helms require attunement which normally takes a short rest (1 hour). But all helms also have a special property to transfer attunement with a touch (of a willing spellcaster) to instantly transfer attunement. Much later when magic items come into play, bear in mind attuning to a helm will take one of your precious attunement slots.

Since this is an illusory trial exercise, you don't need to spend the 1 hour attuning first.

@KingGoblin If you wish to obey the captain's orders, roll a DC 13 wisdom check. Unlike the model ships from the Nexus orrery, this full sized replica takes much more effort.

Edited December 19, 2023 by Cointhief (see edit history)