Alice Black: Blood Tribute

By Chris Challice

You are Alice Black, feared feline space pirate and captain of the dreaded Manticore. For years you have plagued the spaceways trading slaughter for profit. You seek no approval from King or Lord. Yet infamy has a price and your coffers are low. Without the necessary funds your ship will fall into scrap, shadow ports will close their doors, you and your crew will be left helpless against the tender mercies of the Wolves. Your one chance at salvation lies in stealing tribute from a faded Wolf House. However, your success will break a treaty and doom trillions to annihilation. Alice Black: Blood Tribute is a solo game and adventure in one book. All you need to play is this book, a pencil, some paper and a few common dice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365843600

Book preview

Alice Black: Blood Tribute

Alice Black: Blood Tribute

To Jenny Doleman with all my love.

Edited by Melanie Jacobs

Illustrated by Xenotropos

Copyright © 2017 by Christopher Challice

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN 978-1-365-84360-0

This is an adventure book which will involve playing a character, making decisions, rolling dice and seeing where you end up. After reading the introduction and the rules, don't follow through page by page. Instead, turn to the sections your choices lead you.

Introduction

The Manticore is a 300 meter beast of steel. She resembles a mechanized sphinx. In flight, her claws are stretched as if leaping. On her back are a set of gleaming bat wings with powerful engines. At her stern is a segmented tail ending in a massive cannon. At her bow, a stylized lion skull with a metal mane. She is a black, sleek star hunter. She is all yours.

The Manticore's bridge is buried in the deepest part of the hull. It's a red room with an oval view-screen. At the bow are two stations, their chairs and tablet seem whipped up from the floor.

Manning the port station is your helmsman, Wraith. He's a short Husky man with thick white fur and ice blue eyes. He wears a simple but fine black tunic and breeches. He's paying rapt attention to the tactical displays before him, his steady fingers sliding on his tablet, guiding the ship in smooth, subtle maneuvers.

Manning the starboard station is Patch, a young Border Collie woman. She's mostly white but has a black fur patch around her left eye and a black band around her throat. She's dressed in a dark flight suit with a Jolly Roger woven onto her shoulder. She's keeping close watch on the readouts from her tablet.

You're sitting behind them on your dark pine throne. You're a black Tabby woman with gold stripes. Your hair is bobbed. Your leather-gloved hand strokes your chin thoughtfully as you watch the view screen with golden eyes. You're dressed in an outfit befitting your station; a sleek, armored space-suit with long gloves, a long cape, leather thigh-high boots (flat souls of course); all jet except for the Jolly Roger on your chest. The picture of your title; Pirate Captain Alice Black.

Patches tablet pings. She's in range but hasn't spotted us, Captain.

You consider the prey before you; its black, armored carapace is teardrop shaped and long in the pointed end. You're looking underneath her, staring up at her vulnerable egg shaped command center, its lights gleaming in the shadow under her shield. Your readouts show outlines of her weapons, her two star shaped plasma ports, nestled in the underside of the carapace, are your biggest concern. While not as powerful as the long plasma lance that runs the length of her shield, the star ports, unlike the main gun, could hit the Manticore in her current position and do considerable and, expensive damage.

You press the comm on your armrest. Starboard Gargoyles launch. Board the prize with no rockets. Any Dog who disobeys floats home.

Numerous fighters launch from the fore starboard paw of your ship. Gargoyles; the t-shaped green fighter craft, with bat wings and standing, steel, frontal cockpits are fragile, but maneuverable, with very powerful weapons. You watch as they streak for your prey, the tips of their weapons brackets glowing white and sending brilliant rays of plasma at your foe.

"Wing cannons fire. Take her engines first, then her guns.

Wraith, stay under her."

Aye, aye captain. reply both Wraith and Patch.

Your view screen lights up as plasma cannons blast the prey's two large engines. They glow for a moment and then go dead.

Your Gargoyles fly close to the command center, their guns blazing and the small anti-fighter cannons return fire.

The ship suddenly lurches out of the view a second before a bright flash lights up the edge.

Well done.

Wraith only nods, keeping his blue eyes locked on his console and edging the enemy back into view.

Second volley away Captain! two separate, cluster beams stab to either side of the command center, destroying the star ports.

You tap your comm. Ship's yours, Nix.

On my way Captain Returns a sweet, feminine voice.

You stand. I'll be out raiding. Keep them scared.

Good hunting. Wraith says, focused on his console.

Patch grins back at you and gives a thumbs up.

You spin, your cape flourishing, and leave the bridge.

Starry space and the enemy spin as you weave and race your Gargoyle towards the egg-shaped command center. Your sensor lights flash red and you hear a frantic twirr from your proximity alarm, you veer violently to port. There's a flash, you craft shakes and a small alarm signals you've been hit.

You'll berate yourself later. You squeeze your guiding grips, pulling them gently and your prize fills your sight. Your thumbs click the fire buttons and two plasma lances shoot ahead to melt the offending enemy cannons.

You heave back on both grips, your cockpit swings to the coffin position. Your engines scream, there's a tremendous lurch and your armored cockpit punches through the enemy's hull.

Boarding Successful. Breach sealed. Atmosphere and gravity optimal. says the calming voice of your computer. Your full length canopy sensor shows you're in a dimly lit metallic hallway.

You glance at ghostly web readout in front of you and narrow your golden eyes.

Blast. you curse, your voice echoing in your cockpit cocoon.

Your engines have given their last. Your Gargoyle can be salvaged but the repairs will be costly.

You pull the hatch leaver and the cockpit rolls up allowing you to rise out. Your keen ears perk up, you hear shouts and plasma rumbles to the left.

You leap out of your cockpit and race towards the fight.

You arrive just in time for the enemy's last stand.

The Wolves you're facing are dressed in black and gold power armor. They're armed with blast swords that have white-hot plasma blades that can also fire deadly plasma blots from their tips. No Wolf wears a helm. All have gray hairs, either peppered or completely covering their hair and hide. Most have scares or missing eyes or ears. They fight with terrifying ferocity.

Your Raiders are holding their own. They're Dogs of various breeds, all dressed in black leather and steel plate, from the tip of their helmeted ears to their soles. They're armed with plasma blasters and plasma edged swords. They've already killed, many; fresh, singed corpses litter the floor.

The enemy attacks with reckless abandon. You see one cut down in the open by three Dogs while another, using his friend for cover, breaks through. He pays no heed to his flank and buries his blade through the helm of one raider, the other two Dogs blast him and he falls, a triumphant sneer on his lips.

It would be a very close fight indeed, if it weren't for your officers.

Donovan, a tall black Jackal stands in the open facing three Wolves at once. He's dressed in the same black and leather plate of your raiders but his has two white Jolly Rogers on his shoulders, his helmet has stylish elongated ears. One of the veteran Wolves attacks and Donovan slices through his guard, dropping him and continues his swing to block the attack of the second, seamlessly dodging the third.

Fangrim stands beyond him. He's a massive polar bear dressed in a loose, green, gold edged tunic and breeches. He's suffering from a bloody tear that's ripped out one eye. His lips are pulled back revealing a mouth full of shark teeth. He's fighting bare-handed, his massive paws clamped around two Wolves ready to smash them together. He roars. Their armor cracks. They stop moving.

Donovan runs his second opponent through, leaving his rear for you to protect. You're there in a flash; your plasma rapier removes the gray Wolf's head before he can strike

Captain. He greets without turning. He slashes another reckless Wolf in two.

Donovan. You reply with a smirk as you level your blaster at another Wolf, it fires with a flash and rumble, melting through the silver haired warrior's armor and leaving a gaping hole in his chest.

The few remaining Wolves close in but you've already won.

An hour later, the three of your sit around the oval oak table in your ready room. You're at the head, with your gloved hands folded in front of you. Donovan's to your right, he's pulled off his plate and is dressed in a fine red, silk shirt. He sits, his brow furrowed in thought. Fangrim is to your left. He's troll-blooded, which means he's a shapeshifter. He's shifted down to your height, his face is sleeker, both of his blue eyes are intact. His gold-green tunic is wrapped around him like a blanket. He's tapping with slender fingers on a white tablet.

You close your eyes and rest the bridge of your nose on your laced fingers. You let out a half sigh.I'm ready. What's the damage?

Fangrim glowers at his tablet "Lost 3 Gargoyles and 7 Raiders. Gained a day''s worth of supplies, 20 Blast Swords, 7 useable suits of Wolf Plate and can