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| The Bacchae | |
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| Category | Random Event |
| Type | Random |
| Data ID | 302861 |
The Bacchae is a Sunless Skies Random Event.
Story description[]
Trigger conditions[]
Airs of Terror ≥ 51
Terror ≥ 100
Nightmares ≤ 3,
Served by Shades ≤ 2,
Location: The High Wilderness
Area: The Sky
Frequency: Always (100%)
Interactions[]
| Actions | Requirements | Effects | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
| Care for the crew
Go amongst them with a lamp. Raid the stores for what they need: whether it is bandages, or water, or strong rope.
Game note: Even if you succeed, you will lose some Crew and many Supplies. Your Nightmares will worsen. |
Failed event | ||
| The fate of Pentheus
As you step out among them, their heads lift. Their eyes are lambent, like the eyes of lions. Interested and hungry. Their teeth bare. Their sinews tense. You turn to flee back to the bridge. They pounce.
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| Successful event | |||
| Reason's return
You pass through the frenzied displays. Your crew have torn their uniforms and daubed themselves with oil. The galley is smeared with filth. In the engine room, books burn in the fire-grate.
This crewman needs bandaging, after they rested their face against the boiler as if it was a pillow. This one needs to be restrained for the protection of others. This one only needs tea and a fungal biscuit. Gradually, the scales begin to tip. Have you weathered the wildness? Or have you only bought their sanity with your own?
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| Convince your shades to care for the crew
The dead have no fear; you can remain safe.
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Failed event | |
| Alone
You wait for a long time, barricaded in your crew. The shades are silent, so you should not expect noise. Still, the quiet is unearthly. It lengthens, stretching like a contented cat at your side, becoming your companion.
Your only companion. The shades are not returning. The crew throw you their masks at your feet when they come to take you away. You will be joining them very soon indeed.
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| Successful event | |||
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You wait alone and in silence for what might be days. The baying ceases; the wild howling, the tearing and the screaming and crying. Your engine is quiet as the grave.
And then there is a knock upon the door. The shades returning, though fewer than there were. There are bodies in the corridor and cordite on the cold air. Any surviving crew, it seems, have returned to their senses and their cabins. Amidst the debris, are masks, trampled into the dirt. There are other things in the dirt: best not to look too long. The shades help clear up. Have things returned to normalcy? Or is this but a temporary reprieve?
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| Barricade yourself in your cabin until the madness passes
You can only hope that afterwards there will be enough left of your crew and your engine to make it to port.
Game note: Even if you succeed, you will lose many Crew and take damage to your Hull. Your Nightmares will worsen. |
Failed event | ||
| A hot death in the cold sky
You huddle in your cabin as your crew lament and howl, rampage and plead and weep. There is a cacophony from the engine room. The pipes in the walls begin to rattle and whine. There is a trio of gunshots.
Twice, someone tries to break into your cabin. You are forced to shoot them, and repair your barricade. It is to no avail. Three hours later, the boiler explodes, ripping the whole engine apart.
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| Successful event | |||
| What remains
Outside, your crew bay and shriek. After a while the engines judder and die. Later still, an explosion from the gun batteries cants your vessel to the side.
Then someone snuffles outside your door. The handle rattles, experimentally. You raise your pistol, but they move away on socked, shuffling feet. You emerge when all is quiet. There are bodies in the corridor and cordite on the cold air. Any surviving crew, it seems, have returned to their senses and their cabins. Near the guns, a detonation has torn through your hull and hold. The surrounding supports groan, plaintively.
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| Reign in glory
That night, the stars invite you to join them, and you set course for the brightest of their number. For a time, all is well.
Game note: Alone, there is nothing you can do to prevent your death. |
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An end
You are untroubled by lesser company. It is just you and the stars. Your chariot carries you through the heavens towards their resplendent courts.
Then, impertinently, your engines die. The cold begins to encroach. You order it back but icicles fringe the piping, despite your contrary desires. You are forced to dirty yourself with oil and manual labour. It is possible your newly elevated mindset causes you to make a mistake. A crossed fuel line, perhaps. A leak you missed. But when the engine reaches temperature, there is an explosion. Briefly, a small, bright star joins the others in the sky.
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