Stalker Overhead Maps 02

Bull Island ship graveyard – the rotting hulks from the Dublin port evacuation now shelter free stalkers and a trader by the name of Beard. Some zombies from the Brain Scorcher to the North have been spotted on the beach. A half-mad stalker by the name of Noah is building an ark he says will shelter the worthy from a coming flood. Links to Howth at low tide on the easterly point.


Howth Head: The EU-sponsored scientists called the Ecologists were guarded by a platoon of EU military. But a helicopter crash and mutant attacks have left the two scientists Sakharov and VonBruegher alone and under siege.  They are totally lacking communications with the outside world, and a nearby psy-field is making mutants highly aggressive.

Ben of Howth


This the North Dublin faction map as it stands.



The Virgin baby killer v the Chad child savior

Today Ireland votes to retain or repeal the 8th Amendment on the equal right to life of the mother and the unborn. Some of you may appreciate a quick run-down on this long and contentious campaign:



The repeal voter is flabby and feminized, forced to hide his soy-riddled body in a baggy black jumper, baying for the blood of the only thing weaker than him.

repeal voter
typical repeal voter


By contrast, the retain voter is virile, masculine and wears either a 3 piece suit, a jumpsuit or nothing over his chiseled physique. He understands the duty of the strong is to protect the weak.

Note the small penis that indicates an Apollonian alpha male: cool headed and logical. Virility is in the balls. As it the duty. The hedonism and barbarity is in the shaft.


Rich Piana knew this, but chose to disregard the ancient wisdom of the dick to ball ratio:

Now he’s in a 6 foot wide, lead lined coffin designated as a Superfund cleanup site.


The entire world is the struggle between the Apollonian and the Priapic in man.
Or between the Platonic and the Socratic.

Or between the Socratic and the Socratic.


Priest and Beast


Part one here


‘From the temptations of the Flesh, Silica cleanse us

From the ravages of the Destroyer, Anima shield us

From this rotting cage of biomatter, Machine God set us free.’

-Catechism of the Machine Church.

For he bringeth down them that dwell on high; the lofty city, he layeth it low; he layeth it low, even to the ground; he bringeth it even to the dust.

-Liber Arcadia.


Archimandrite Quine began to snip away the flesh of his dead servant. He worked quickly, neatly as the suns of Wodenheim set and the desert winds blew. He blessed each implant and bionic part as he removed it and laid them carefully in a lead-lined box. He removed the small glowing chunks of wyrdstone that powered them and slipped them in a pouch inside his robes. One of his many mechanical arms swung a censer of sacred incense over the operation to stop the oxidation of the monk’s blood and the fouling of the remaining holy systems still within the body. Quine had hoped to save these parts for the next recipient, but a giant monster had pulverised the control system of the implants and eaten some of the corpse. Without the proper sacraments, these parts would rust and fail in the blighted desert. The bionics were useless without a control system, and he had no hope of finding another in the desert, but Quine continued with his work out of reverence for the sacred steel and silicon. His remaining brothers secured the site against interlopers while chanting their evening prayers.

“Your second-such salvage operation, Quine,” the technosatyr said from behind him.

“Be gone beast. You shall scavenge nothing from my fallen monks,” Quine replied. He had to tolerate the presence of the technosatyr, as he was their guide to the dead city where the meteorite had fallen. He had to preserve the site for the Machine Church and await the prophesised blessing of the Shepard.

The beast tittered, and there was a grinding creak as it flexed a new and powerful hydraulic claw. Quine tried not to look directly at the fusion of beast, man and machine. He knew the technosatyrs modified themselves as they pleased, without caring for the rules of the Shepard. This one wore a horned skull over its mechanical face. Quine was increasingly disgusted by the monster, since it grew stronger as they travelled. Where was it finding all this treasure?

“The desert has a rich bounty… if you know where to look,” the technosatyr said. “But perhaps- “

“I will not divert from the grand schema laid down by the Shepard’s book, beast. To do so invites the anti-pattern: corruption of form and mind from unsanctioned modification. And that means death – spiritual death,” Quine replied.

“Your orthodoxy is your downfall, priest. Too keen to show your power in battle, too keen to run headfirst into ambushes and feigned retreats. You have spent too long in your monastery. You need to change, to adapt. Otherwise you will find your pilgrimage a short one, ending in real, physical death. And we shall never reach the green glow prophesied by the Shepard,” the technosatyr said.

“I will not take maintenance advice from a mutant and heretic such as you! Be gone! Cavort in the sands and install what you please!” Quine shouted. The beast sneered, and slunk out of the ring of monks defending their master while he worked. Quine tried to return to the operation, but his hand still made of flesh was shaking.  He had lost two of his most trusted hieromonks in their first two skirmishes with the bandits and monsters of the deserts. While the surviving brothers trusted him absolutely thanks to their faith implants, Quine was not sure in himself. He had been too eager to show the might of the Shepard’s word after such a long period of confinement on Mount Asus. While they had slain many foes, their victory had cost them dearly in blood and oil. The path towards the dead city where the green meteorite crashed was growing fainter as they journeyed on. Quine felt his task becoming heavier and heavier – a task only he could bear.

He opened the Liber Arcadia for sustenance, the book written by the founder of the Machine Church on the planet and the foundation of the Mount Asus monastery. Every faction and every Conclave on the planet cleaved to its word and every power-hungry zealot had a spin on it. Quine had grown tired of the infighting in the city and journeyed to Mount Asus nearly a century ago. Since then, he had produced nothing but prayer, taken nothing but a strict diet of machine oil and steadily followed the Via Mechanica until all that remained of his weak flesh was his right hand and his brain. But this path of pilgrimage to the source of the green glow seemed so narrow and beset at all sides with danger. Quine began to read and pray for guidance.

“I seek an inheritance uncorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away…” His prayers were interrupted by a yelp and a crash from outside the circle of monks. He snapped his vision to the source of the disturbance: a puff of dust in the direction the technosatyr went. Quine covered the operation for now and hurried to assess the situation.

In the flinty dunes, Quine saw a new and gaping hole in the ground. At the bottom of the deep shaft, the technosatyr lay in a twitching heap as its systems rebooted after the fall. Quine recited the Rite of Maglev Transcendence and stepped over the rim. He began to fall at the speed of a feather, able to counteract the pull of gravity with powerful electromagnetic fields generated by his implants. As he descended into the cave, there was a metallic rattling as small bits of rusted scrap danced in the wash of his energy. It seemed this was not a natural cave of stone, but one of steel. He flicked on his lamps and the light was reflected in a panel of control screens tilted at a crazed angle. This room looked to be man-made, with storage tanks either side. Perhaps it was an ancient factory, lost to the shifting sands? There was a legend inscribed over the bank of panels, superimposed over the cog and skull symbol of the Machine Church. Quine heard the technosatyr panting behind him as it staggered over. It jabbed a pale and clawed finger at the terminals.

“Ask, and it shall be given you: seek, and you shall find: knock, and it shall be opened to you,” the technosatyr said, pointing to the words.  “This has always been the motto of our Conclave, even before the others cast us out for our crimes. We never betrayed the Shepard’s command to hold fast against the Children of Green. In return for our faith, he prepares a table for us even in the presence of our enemies,” the technosatyr said.

As if on command, one of the terminals flickered into life.








Quine had never seen anything like this before. It had lain untouched for thousands of years, as if waiting for him. He fell to his knees and began to pray before this manifestation of the holy machine. But the technosatyr merely made the sign of the cog and shunted his tangle of cable into the interface and raked his fingers along the keyboard. There was a hiss as one of the storage pods began to open in the room, spilling out a jelly-like grease.

“Stop beast, you profane this most holy place with your tampering!” Quine said as he grabbed the technosatyr by the horns and pulled it away. The technosatyr shoved back, and Quine fell to the ground. The technosatyr hung over Quine, making the difference in their strength clear. Behind the horned skull, he saw glittering optics and whirring dials. He felt fear – what if the technosatyr had lured him here to strip him of his machinery? But the technosatyr stalked away to the pod.

“Less of your sermons, priest. I know what you need to salvage your pilgrims.” The technosatyr picked up a handful of parts, cables and connections, then dumped a control chip onto Quine’s chest. Quine groped for it, and the silicon felt warm in the flesh of his hand. He had never seen this design before, but it was beautiful. There was some residual preserving grease, but a quick test with a burst of electricity showed the ancient chip was working. Quine shook his head.

“I… can’t. It’s unsanctioned. I have no idea what this might do to my monks. I can’t tell whether it would warp them beyond recognition or turn them insane,” Quine said. The technosatyr hunched down in front of Quine. It locked eyes with Quine for a long time.

“Install it in me. Along with these,” it said, splaying out strength boosting circuits, pain-shunts and combat-skill nodules.  “No one outside this room needs to know,” it finished.

Quine weighed up his options. The beast would likely install them anyway. It would be better if he could oversee it and observe the results before risking the others. As much as the technosatyr disgusted him, his natural curiosity was getting the better of him. There was a shout from above that made Quine start.

“Archimandrite – are you down there?” Brother Phystor called down.

“Yes brother, yes… Nothing to concern yourself with. The technosatyr has damaged himself in a fall and I am repairing him,” Quine lied, adjusting his faith implant master unit to maximum power. “Maintain your watch and do not disturb us.” The monk shouted his assent and joined the watch once more. He was thankful for his servant’s obedience.

“Are you ready, priest?” The technosatyr stripped off the armoured panels and loincloth to reveal old scar tissue and cancerous looking growths around existing upgrades. He kneeled before the priest and stretched his arms out as if crucified.

Quine’s hand was shaking again.

Mists of Mosney Session 3


The party got word from Avalanche that one of his boys was captured. Nimble had found a route to Mosney and was on his way back when the Monk’s Bandits ambushed him and took him prisoner. Avalanche asks the party to rescue Nimble before the Bandits murder him or get his info.

The reward is a path through the mists, to the promised land of Mosney. Every stalker dreams of making it past the Brain Scorcher radar in Dublin Airport, but no one has made it yet. This could be the start of something big… Between missions, they tooled up with grenades, conibear traps with 300lb of force, one set of night vision goggles and they trained their fighting skill for an additional +5.

The party began by scoping out sites for a more permanent base. Their first site was on the fringes of Bandit territory: the Pumping station opposite Clontarf village and right beside the sea. There was a poisonous mist creeping in from the sea as the party snuck in, finding a firepit, an empty stash and lots of empty Bavaria cans. Visibility was poor. The tag on the wall marked it as the Monk’s territory. The party set to fortifying it against an attack, but out of the fog came 7 bandits who were seeking shelter. The party hightailed it out, figuring they were outnumbered. Disaster struck: Darragh Treacy tripped on the stairs and his new steel-jawed traps jangled against the railings. This alerted the Bandits. MC Geist blew his whistle to draw attention and took a few pellets of buckshot in return which bruised him beneath his new ceramic plates. A few stray pistol rounds clipped Aódhán and Geist until Darragh was able to get out. The party decided to retreat, but MC Geist stayed put to watch the bandits while the others regrouped at the rally point 800m away.

The toxic fog rolled away, replaced by rain. MC (Most Caliphate) Geist began to creep forward to try infiltrate the bandit’s hideout. At great risk to himself, he snuck close and played dead. When a suspicious bandit on watch attempted to loot his body, Geist stabbed him in the dick and muffled his screams. Geist then planted his plastic explosives on the stairs. He was unsure how to detonate it however, and mashed the buttons until a timer read 6 seconds. He ran in panic, and the rest of the party heard thunder rolling across the bay as the explosives went off. He looked back into the rain to see the front of the building blown off, and the bandits inside likely dead or seriously injured. With the party now wet and injured, they set off back to St. Paul’s school to the free stalker camp to rest and gather info.

On the way, they came across the ruins of the CRC building and saw several pings on their PDAs of nearby stalkers. A man named Wolfgang warned them of the rat swarms in the area, and to avoid the burner anomalies which had turned the car parks into an inferno. He also asked for assistance as his group of mercenaries had dwindled from 15 to just 5 thanks to anomalies, bandits and Zone mutants. The party, while initially wary, though they could recruit the Mercs to help rescue Nimble. They triggered 3 large swarms of rats while moving through the ruins, but were able to get to the door of the shelter where Wolfgang met them. They offered them some dogfood from MC Geist’s stash and had a rest. Then they began to formulate a plan to fill the corridor with CO2 from the fire extinguishers, which Darragh knew ought to scare the rats off. Then MC Geist would lure the rats into the burner anomaly field, and the party would mop up the rest.

The plan went flawlessly, but MC Geist tried to hurl a grenade at the Mercs in the shelter. Thankfully this exploded harmlessly short. But something was up with MC Geist – he began talking of epiphanies from god above and to not trust the Mercs as they were aligned with the EU. The Mercs replied they only served their buyer, who asked them to retrieve documents and a device from under St. Pauls.

They got a tip off that the bandits held prisoners in St. Anne’s park in the ruins of the GAA club. Spudgun and Wolfgang’s Mercs closed in on the building, taking positions that would let them approach safely while bringing as much firepower as possible to bear. They popped the sentries posted at the entrance, and closed in to rescue Nimble. From inside, they heard shouts and threats from the bandits. An American voice said the bandits were in over their head, and broke away from he building. Darragh saw a flash of a EU army uniform. At this MC Geist asked his accompanying Bulgarian Merc if he was a religious man. And the Merc replied in a firefight, you pick a god and pray. This sent Most Caliphate Geist into a religious rage and he attempted to slash the Merc with his axe. He missed thankfully, and the merc shot him and began backing up, telling him to drop the axe. Wolfgang ordered his men to drop Geist if her took another step. The Mercs moved to flank Geist, while maintaining overwatch on the last room containing Nimble.

Geist made a break for it, and the Mercs got spooked again. They drilled him with two shots center mass, one hitting him low in the kidneys and taking him out of action. The party had just moments to clear the building and stablise Geist. Darragh and Aódhán simultaneously killed two bandits guarding Nimble, Aódhán with a shot from behind and Darragh through the crumbling walls with a .308 from his rifle. He saw blood running down the two Addidas stripes of his target and knew he got his man.

The party managed to stabilize Geist just as he was on the cusp of death. Nimble himself was in a bad state: much of his teeth smashed out, his fingers broken and his eyes swollen shut. Nevertheless, they had succeeded in their mission, and returned to the free stalker camp in St. Pauls. They brought two prisoners from the raid, and set them free on the condition they left the Zone forever. In return, they received several new rumors about the Bandits and the Clontarf area.


Nimble’s info:

A way to the North, to Mosney –  through the Port Tunnel. Any one traveling that way will need certain items:

Psi-protection to get past the Brain Scorcher at the airport once they escape the tunnel. There are probably labs in the fallen town of Maynooth that could supply either drugs or a replica of the headgear they picked up in St.Pauls. But it would mean fighting whatever caused the town to fall.

Closed cycle breathing on your suit – a gasmask will not be enough to survive the carbon monoxide in the tunnel. Some kind of positive pressure suit will greatly help. The Ecologists in Howth have the best equipment for the purpose.

Some way of sneaking past the SAFE EU special forces or of avoiding the machineguns of the outposts overwatching the M50.

Tunnel schematics – much of them are been sealed off by rubble, crashes and welded shut once mutants made lairs there. But there is always a way around. There could be pockets of clean air – but only a proper site analysis could determine this.

Several days worth of food and a way to transport all this gear without being encumbered. There will need to be a new basecamp set up and a new chain of logistics to supply stalkers heading for Mosney.