Story: Dream The Crow Black Dream

Dream The Crow Black Dream
An Oneiropelago Story
For Hannah

--

1978

I am woken again by the filth water filling my nostrils. White mud, black ash, cover my uniform.
Choking, I shake myself awake with a burst of energy, yet swiftly lethargy takes me again. Ebon and ivory female hands coax me back into the dirt.
I lie in the mire, my fatigues heavy, my ceremonial sword rusted. My gun is so deep, it's strap on my shoulder has cut a groove into my skin.

My eyes are thick with dirt and sleep, they hurt with a pain I am unused to. But every day I turn to watch you.
Your voice is just as I remember. Flawless, beautiful, a tinge of amusement. I look up to see you, but you are gone. I see the last wisps of misty blonde hair, the final scent of your perfume, but you vanish.
When we are together, I cannot see you.
When I see you, I am alone.

And when I am alone, the sadness wells up.
Sadness becomes despair.
Despair becomes hatred.
Hatred becomes trauma.
And the trauma burns me.
Waves of pain flood me from my knuckles to my clenched teeth, and I roar. I roar amongst the fires of my loneliness.
I writhe, and the waters take me again. I burn, I drown, I fall into the darkness. It takes me hours to claw back to the surface, my lungs bursting from the pressure.
And I lay in my silt bed, and it all begins again.

Every night.

Every night I burn.
Every night I call your name.

Every night I burn.
Every night I fall again.

--

1980

"He's just lying there. Every night."

"It is Despair. He is lost in it. Lost in the mire."

"Is that his wife?"

"Not real. His despair. She is gone. He is here."

"He needs to leave. We need to rescue him."

"Ha! You're still a stupid Green. Ain't that right Rap--"

"She is right."

"WHA-"

"Creativity trumps stagnation. He needs to continue living outside this dream."

"But how? We don't exist?"

"No. But we can inspire."

"Yes. And you were always good with inspiring the dead. Rebirth and all that."

"Crows. Yes! Crows... Now everyone think corporeal thoughts..."

--

1981

...My eyes are thick with dirt and sleep, they hurt with a pain I am unused to. But every day I turn to watch you.

But there is another.
She, they. A crow? All shadows and fire.
A crow? Or a woman? Or three?
I see a small clown. A rabble in rags.
And a tall woman in all black, masked. Parasol. Shrouded in shadows and fire.

"Don't look. Don't look," the shadows breathe.
Whispering, she pulls my attention away from your voice. In my mire bed I stare.

Her ivory figures play with my hair.
"Don't wake at night, to watch her sleep
You know that you will always lose."
I bite my lip. She is right. Every time.
But I lov--

Her finger touches my lip.
"Don't talk of love," the shadow lady purrs, murmurs.
"Don't talk of worlds that never were. For the end is all that's ever true."
She is right. There's no end here. Always the same.

Fingers, feathers wrap around my hand and lift. Strength. Burning, painful strength. I want to look at you, but can't. I won't.
My jacket and straps tear, rotten, and sink.
My skin, muscles, burn. In the air, in her flames.

I burn.
I scream your name.

I burn.
Every night, the dream's the same.

I burn.
Waiting for you.
My only friend.

I burn.
Waiting for the world to end.

I am reborn in the fire of my pain.
The swamp burns, colourful flames in the black and white stagnation.
I love you, but you are gone.
I need a new face...

"Just paint your face" the shadows smile.
Yes. White, cold like here without you.
Black, the scars I bear. My eyes and lips.
I am new, yet exhausted. I have work to do.

The water clears around my firey silhouette friend. Filth burned away.
"Slide back down, and close your eyes.
Sleep a while. You must be tired."

I spread my wings, my arms, and fall into the clear, deep water.

I open my lungs.
Scream the animal scream

I close my eyes.
Dream the crow black dream...

--

"Is he gone?"

"Yes."

"Are... Are we gone?"

"Spent. Yes. All used up."

"Good."

"Sleep. Rebirth will happen. It always does."

"Eventually."

"Raphaella?"

"Yes?"

"Will your crow be happy?”

"Oh, I didn't make *him* into a crow. Now sleep..."

--

1981, Berlin

James looks at his work, fingers stained with ink.
Black on white. Darkness amidst infinity.
A comic. A revenge fantasy.
A woman is killed. A love is broken.
A man is returned. To kill the killers.

He is no longer a man.

He is The Crow.

--

Author’s Notes
James O'Barr, born in 1960, trained as a US Marine in 1978, following the death of his girlfriend Beverley, caused by a drunk driver.

In 1981 he started work on a cathartic violent comic where a dead lover avenges his wife's violent death.

The Crow was a huge success, despite the work only filling him with more anger.

The 1994 film adaptation featured a soundtrack by Goth bands chosen by O'Barr. "Burn", written and performed by the Cure, features lyrics inspired by the protagonist's rebirth, lured away from quiet death by a crow, who leads him into a burning but righteous path of redemption.

Setting: Roads

Attempting to fix a Road, a player needs to;
* Ask to Move the Shard
* OR Ask to see the Engine Room, and activate the Engine
* Either way, they must pay the amount needed to activate the Engine
* Move the Shard to the Road (their path must not be blocked)
You can take up to six people to do this.
They will then receive a description of what they see, before they can move the Shard...

Not all players have access to knowing all devices installed, so communication, or sending an expert, will help.

Many roads are deadly. As the Shard takes damage, devices on the Shard will be destroyed as collateral.
The Locomotive Engine is *always* the last thing to be destroyed; if it is, the Road trial ends, resets, and the Shard breaks down. The engine needs to be repaired before attempting again, with another key, from the beginning.cUntil then, it is stationary on the Road...

Ablative protection are always the first to go, but will help massively...

Some Devices are passively activated when the Engine is, allowing the Shard to swim, fly, travel through space, or plow through walls, etc.
Be warned: trying to fly over every Road to the exit may not be as productive as it sounds...

Some need to be activated additionally.
These may include environmental protection, camouflage, a helpful searchlight, or cannon emplacements.

There are a swathe of other devices that can be built to turn the Shard into a pilotable war machine...

There is also a Telescope somewhere that can spy on roads from anywhere...

Once the Roads are fixed, a Reward is left outside, ready to be collected.
That Road can now be feely traversed... Though some may still require specific devices.
There will be a map / model with the details needed for easy access.

Roads claimed by Entropy are Gone. They cannot be flown or Space Travelled over.
However, falling into the void might still lead somewhere...

Story: Banshees

Banshees

An Oneiropelago story.

For Katie.

--

BAN-shee
From Old Irish: ban síde, pronounced [bʲan ˈʃiːðʲe], "woman of the mounds") is a female spirit in Irish mythology who heralds the death of a member of one of the prominent Gaelic families, usually by shrieking, screaming or keening.

--

The Girl staggered through the dark, clutching her ears. The scream continued, an alien mix of static, fevered wailing and a hundred mechanical tonal howls, all multi-layered and looping over and into each other, endlessly. If it was a manmade sound, the production values were perfect in creating such a hideous experience.

The Girl showed no understanding or appreciation for the sound's construction, instead focussing on the bright white sand underfoot, her teeth clenched and her eyes squinting against the pain. She staggered through the pain barrier, the shadows around her literally reaching out, fingers tearing at her clothes in failed attempts to drag her down, onto the ground. The womanly makeup she had applied ran down her cheeks in thick black rivers.

Weak, she collapsed, the shadows pinning her down. Darkness had her.

The elderly woman came out of nowhere. She just appeared, as if sidestepping perception. For her build, and her age, she was fast. Blue trails of flame followed her eyes, and white afterimages came after every swing of her mace, after every intimidating battlecry.

The Darkness knew the sun when they saw it, and withdrew. The shadows parted, and the pitch black silhouette of a city equal parts pyramids and art collectives appeared against a royal blue sky. The woman dragged The Girl up, onto her shoulders, and walked to the glittering polis.

A little voice sputtered behind the warrior's shoulder.
"...I'm sorry I tried again..."
The woman laughed. "Every time you try, I'll be there to drag you back."
"...thanks Horus..."

--

1971

Horus saw many Sleepers come here. These weren't the Dreamers of old, these were the unfulfilled, those on quests and journeys. They passed through the glittering dark tombs and statues of the Fugue (was it still the Mourning Eye?), away from the clanking, whirring Tower that ate the skyline, through the Scream. The howling shadowy forest of limbs and voices had something important on the other side, but it was a Sleeper thing, not a piece of interest to Winged. Some Sleepers passed through.
Some got caught and dragged down.
And then there was The Girl.

This was the sixth time The Girl had tried to pass through The Scream. Sleepers did that sort of thing; repetition to succeed. The Girl, like so many others, didn't know why exactly she needed to cross. At first she'd mentioned following her father, but that hadn't come up again.
She was thin, her dark school uniform slightly too long for her, her dark hair an explosion of brushy, uneven textures. Every night, she wore different make-up, attempts to look more serious, more mature Horus thought. Every time, it ended up streaming in dark rivers down her cheeks, black and red smudges over her finger tips. The red from an open wound on her hip she tried to ignore.

The Girl was obviously Too Young. Sometimes they were.
Unlike Winged, age was important to Sleepers. This one had somehow qualified for whatever cryptic sequence of fates determined a Sleeper, and fell through the cracks.
Following the Phoenixes, and the Aeon, not many that Horus knew had remained. The other Gods had been reborn elsewhere distant. Amon had become part of the new reality, constantly with her but never together. The Phoenixes' inevitable wrath & return was yet to come.

All Horus had was a duty to fight the Darkness.
And The Girl.

--

1973

"Are you really the God Horus?"
The Girl lay on her front, writing in a leopard-skin covered journal. She half-mindedly watched a distant figure trek towards The Scream.

Horus sat on her outcrop of rocks, running a cloth over her mace. A particularly fickle group of rogue Singers had opted to get their fluids all over the Falcon's weapon in an attempt to upset The Girl.
" Yes. Well, the thing that became the Slee-- human God, at least. I'm what's left at most, the bit that represents hope after despair. With a hefty helping of who I used to be."

The Girl looked up. "Who did you used to--"
Horus lifted a finger. "My turn. Where did you get that wound?"

The Girl stared at The Scream. The figure had walked into the dark static and began to falter. Her eyes were glassy.
"What wound?"
"You know which one." Horus gestured at the red streak, the white sand around it stained artistically like a crimson fractal, "Your hip."
"Nothing. Nothing happened."

Horus raised an eyebrow.
"Do you think anyone can walk through The Scream unharmed?" The subject had officially changed.
Horus took the clue.
"Yes. You just need the right armour. My Turn. What are you expecting to find on the other side?"

"My Father. Do you think I will?"
The figure in The Scream was gone. Either triumphant, or consumed.
"No."

--

1975

"You look ridiculous."

Horus eyed The Girl up & down. She wore leather, all straps and buckles. A lot was on show.

"Its armour. You said I needed armour."
"Armour needs to fit you. That doesn't fit you."
"I wear it all the time. They see me in this, and they know I have claws."

"If you wear it *all the time*, its not armour. Armour fits you."
The furious Girl cupped her chest."It Fits".

Horus shook her head. "No. You. The person. I know you. That doesn't fit you. Close, but not yet. You're not quite *you*. You still have things to discover. And accept."

The Girl touched her wound. "Shut up."

"You need to accept that. You need to accept you've been hurt. Being strong is not the same as lying."

"Shut up. You don't know me." The Girl's black makeup spread like a dark butterfly, or a monstrous sea creature, leaving dark stains.

Horus closed her eyes. She wasn't going to learn. Her knuckles hurt around the mace.
She was tired, so very tired...
She had to.

"Your father's dead Susan.
The Scream, it's not a feature of The Fugue. It appeared when you did. It's you... It's your grief. It hurts you. And it hurts others.
Beyond it is... Nothing. Everything. Something.
But it's not your father."

The Girl shook, incandescent.

"I know death, Susan. I know despair. And I can taste why you are here.
I need to protect you before you are ready. I don't want you throwing yourself into The Scream, into Despair, thinking you'll find an answer..."

A single tear stuttered in the Falcon's blue flames.
"...because we both know what happens if you go in there now. You don't come out. It ends.
You join your father.
You die."

"At least I have a reason to live!"
The Girl turned and ran. Away. To the Tower.

Horus collapsed and buried her face in her hands.
This all felt vaguely familiar. Had her name been… Elsie? Had Warret even been there for that? Time was difficult...
The God cried. She distinctly didn't feel a hand on her shoulder.

"Give her time," whispered the dead prince, "you know what she will start."
Wasret nodded. She stared at her Ankh necklace.
"I know."
There was little else to do but stare into The Scream.

--

1977

"Hello" said a calm voice.
Horus jumped. She had not heard anything but The Scream in years.
The Girl teetered from one foot to another. Her makeup-less face looked calm, slightly guilty. Her dress was only slightly different from her school uniform, just significantly less white. Despite awkwardness, she radiated control, acceptance.

"Sorry" mumbled the girl.

Horus just smiled. She pointed at the girl's hip.
"Yeah. The wound's gone. I... I've been tackling some things. Down there, in the kaleidoscope of the Fugue. Red Lights. Juju. Arabian Knights. I... Came to terms with some things. Face to Face."

Horus raised an eyebrow.
"Something happened... hurt me. Ages ago. I'd pushed it away... But now..." She touched her hip "It happened. A reason to keep going."

Horus beamed. "Your father..."
The Girl interrupted. "Isn't on the other side of the Scream. I know that now. He's gone, and I was too distraught to realise. I was hurting myself trying to get to him. I was fighting the darkness… Or drowning in it. But now I know it. Its a part of me."

"You're almost ready."
Horus approached The Girl. She touched her finger to the black of The Girl's mane, and with the darkness that lingered on her fingertips, she drew around the girl's eyes.

"Eyes of Sekhmet. The symbol of emotion, of a lioness ready to hunt. They will let you see the darkness, see through the shadows, embrace the black."

From around her neck, Horus gave The Girl a silver pendant. Funny. The Girl thought she already had one of those...

" An Ankh. The symbol of the House of Osiris. Death in Life. Life in Death. It protects you. I protect you. A Message in Silver to always push forward."

The broken deity met The Girl's eyes.
"You still have to walk through The Scream. There's nothing on the other side but the Future. It is a part of you."
She took a deep breath.
"I only meet artists and warriors here. You are both. Your Scream will outweigh all others. In despair there is light. You feel a rebellion, but others see a new Gothic age of art and shadow. You are part of the Aeon. I will always be with you."

Embrace. The Girl took a breath and strode down the plateau.

Horus smiled, content, and closed her eyes.
"Okay Meri-Neb. She's ready. I'm done."
Her mace hit the sand.
And Wasret was gone.

The Girl confronted The Scream.

She howled in defiance. The darkness shook, knowing its fate.
With a resolute face she strode through the shadows and the howl and the static and the pain, and into...

Static.

--

1977, February

Southwark

Blurrily, Susan woke up.
The TV buzzed away, nothing but static.

Early morning light caught her eye. She'd had the dream again.
Horus. Sekhmet. Cities in Dust.
Her brain was working over and over, like a key had unlocked a part of her mind.
Lyrics. The Scream. A name.
She felt... Tougher. Armoured. She'd been acting like a big cat for months, but it was a show. Now she really was a tigress.

She rolled out of bed, her eyes wide. Well, best she could do in the cramped bedsit was crawl awkwardly over Steve-- Severin, grab a silk kimono (one pound, camden) and wrap it round herself.

Stalking to the mirror, avoiding the leather bondage stuff on the gritty floor, her hip hurt. For the first time in ten years, she admitted to herself that the pain was real. But she was on the move.

An arm swept makeup and knickknacks off the old desk. A clatter. Susan rescued the picture from its broken frame. A little wild haired girl, a smiling man and a snake.

"Bye Dad." Lips kissed the photo, before folding it and slipping it away. She grabbed an eyeliner and began to go to work.
Happy, she pulled up a red lipstick, and unhooked a necklace noisily from a knot of jewellery. She knew she had one.

Severin stirred. Switching off the TV, he said something to her, guttural and primal.
"Metal Postcard" replied Susan.
He hoisted himself off the stiff mattress, silhouetted in the early sunshine against ragtag posters. David, Iggy, John & Paul.
"What. What?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Metal Postcard. The staccato drums? It's a message in Silver." She held up the necklace; an Ankh, rescued from a market stall. "The song we wrote. Metal Postcard"

He scratched his wild peroxide blonde hair and nodded.
"Yes. Yeah. Yeah! I like it. But slow down. We don't even have a band name."
"Yes we do."

Susan ran her fingers through her hair, and knew this was a new beginning. Being scared Susie was over, walking in the wake of an unspeakable incident and a dead father. The TV incident was behind her, as was faking her shield.
She remembered the screaming souls. She remembered a conversation... Maybe. Or at least nocturnal thoughts.
Susan was gone. And now here was someone edgier... Tougher. The same sound, different textures.

"It just came to me. All the screaming and crying. That stupid incident with the Sex Pistols wailing away. The pain. Dad. I get it now. I know who we are and what we do. What Creatures we are. We have to tell Budgie, he'll love it."

She turned on the stool. Her kimono open, the Ankh rested on the pale skin above her heart.
Her lips were blood red. The black ink lines around her eyes was delicate, not running.
Lines resembling an Eye of Horus, but also a savage lioness, accentuated by her wild, sable, upstanding mane.

She thanked Horus. Whoever that was.

Severin gulped. Her presence was commanding.
Her stony face cracked into the slightest smile. She didn't blink.

"Banshees," Whispered Siouxsie, "we're called The Banshees."

-

Author's Notes:

Susan Janet Ballion was born in 1957.
At ten years old, Susan suffered something she refuses to comment on that changed her outlook on life, turning her quiet and insular.
At fourteen years old, her father, a snake expert, died.
She spent the next six years being very ill, dropping out of school, attending the underground gay disco scene, and starting the movement that would become British Punk. She had a fear of performing. She constructed a savage and dominating persona to protect her fragilities.

Following a famous incident on British Television, Susan rebranded herself Siouxsie Sioux. She saw this as an attempt to remake herself and go beyond her painful past. She formed the Banshees in 1977 with Steven Severin and future husband Budgie. Their first album, The Scream, was a critically loved, and opening track Metal Postcard is considered one of the earliest pieces of Goth music, despite Siouxsie's punk insistence.

Today, Siouxsie & The Banshees are widely considered one of the greatest bands of both the punk & goth genres, and their music and stark image have had an incredible influence on pop culture. They have been noted as hailing the end of an age before the artist-led music that became the New Wave movement.

Siouxsie considers the Ankh her personal emblem.

Example Domesticated: Winged Rook

CROW from SHELTER
* 1 Hit
* Start each Event with minimum 5 Emotion
* Start each Event with minimum 5 Scrap

EMOTIONAL HUNGER
By eating an Emotion, and roleplaying that emotion, you may regain 1 Hit.
Winged count as Smiths and Scribed for Singing and Building.

REALM: CHESED, SHELTER
SHELTER - TEND WITH MERCY
With 5 Minutes appropriate roleplay, you may heal someone other than yourself back to full hits.
You may reduce this by a minute, to a minimum of 1, for each Emotion spent in addition; roleplay feeling this emotion for each spent.

SHELTER - MARKET AWARENESS
All from Shelter gain 5 Scrap.

SHELTER - HOARDER'S BOON
You may take an additional Item.

SHELTER - READ THE BRICK PATTERNS
You gain the Brief for Shelter.
(OC, Nope)

DOMESTICATED TRICKS
* Treats: Extra Item
* Treats: Extra Item

ITEMS: 1 Key, 5 Scrap, 5 Scrap, 5 Scrap, 5 Scrap, Tool

--
THE FREEDOM OF SONG
* You start each event with 5 Emotion.
* Every song requires an amount of Emotion to be spent, as well as minimum 30 seconds of roleplay. This doesn't need to necessarily be so going; it can be prose, poetry, dance, any form of performing. It must be appropriate in some way or another.
* If a song uses Emotion or Scrap, this is in addition to minimum cost.
* Extra Emotion and effort can be of into the song to improve its effects.
* Any emotion you spend for a song's minimum cost must be roleplayed.
* As well as singing the Songs you know for their desired effect, you may attempt to Sing a Song of your own choosing for your own effect; this will not necessarily have any effect, but is more likely to do *something* through effort, performance, and Emotion spent.
* Multiple​ people may join in with your Song. This will have an added effect; this effect can be greater if they can also Sing, and even greater if they are a Smith.

SONGS:
TITLE; Money For Nothing, Tricks For Free
DESCRIPTION; Convert a bag of any amount of Emotion into Scrap, or vice versa. The bag, or container, must be in your hand.
MINIMUM COST; 1 Emotion
BASIC EFFECT; Exchanges the total bag for 1 of the desired currency.
MAXIMUM EFFECT; Exchanges the total bag for 10 of the desired currency.

TITLE; Your Heart Shaped Box
DESCRIPTION; Turns every 5 Scrap in a bag of any amount of Scrap into Keys. The bag, or container, must be in your hand.
MINIMUM COST; 5 Emotion
BASIC EFFECT; Turns every 5 Scrap into 1 Key, to a maximum of 5 keys.
MAXIMUM EFFECT; Turns every 5 Scrap into 5 Keys, to a maximum of 5 keys.

TITLE; Eye of Braille, Hem of Anorak
DESCRIPTION; Convert a bag of any amount of Scrap into items, or vice versa. The bag, or container, must be in your hand.
The items can be any combination of;
* Basic Weapon
* Tool
* Large Weapon
* Firearm
* Basic Armour
* Heavy Armour
* Tough Armour
MINIMUM COST; 3 Emotion
BASIC EFFECT; Exchanges the total bag for 1 of the desired item.
MAXIMUM EFFECT; Exchanges the total bag for 5 of the desired items.

TITLE; Stem of Wallflower, Hair of Doormat
DESCRIPTION; Gives you or a Target knowledge of a Blueprint. If *you* gain a Blueprint this way, you count as a Scribed when aiding in Blueprints as well as anything else.
MINIMUM COST; 10 Emotion
BASIC EFFECT; They gain 1 Blueprint.
MAXIMUM EFFECT; They gain 2 Blueprints.

TITLE; Like A Bridge Over Troubled Water, I Will Lay Me Down
DESCRIPTION; You gain a Brief on one of the Roads.
MINIMUM COST; 10 Emotion
BASIC EFFECT; You gain a Brief on one of the Roads.
MAXIMUM EFFECT; You gain a Brief on one of the Roads. Until end of Event, the Shard may pass over the Road as if it was fixed.
--

USING BLUEPRINTS;
At minimum, the Blueprint's Required to Build Cost must be met. The creator must then perform a minimum five minute ceremony where the desired Blueprint is built; this can take the form of any related applicable roleplay. Others can be directly involved in the ceremony to lower it's cost.
~ A Blueprint also has a Temporary Build for half price. This device only lasts 1 Event.
* For Each Scribed involved, reduce the cost by 5.
* For each Codex containing Mocker's Blueprints, reduce the cost by 5.
* For each Tool being used, reduce the cost by 5.
* For each Smith singing as part of the building, reduce the cost by 10.
* For each additional Singer, reduce the Cost by 2.
* For each additional other helper, reduce the cost by 1.
* If the building exceeds 10 minutes, reduce the cost by 20.
~ The minimum cost can never be lowered below 5 Scrap.
* It is possible to build a Blueprint you don't own. The same rules apply.

Blueprint; Brickshod Deadend
Description; Door to Shelter
Function; Allows Jaunts and DT trips to Shelter without The Shard being on Shelter.
Requires to Build; 100 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 50 Scrap
Door Toll; 1 Key for up to 5 as a Jaunt

Blueprint; Merciful Gaze
Description; Spyglass on Shelter
Function; Allows user to gain a 2 minute viewing of the Shelter Brief. During this time they cannot make notes.
Requires to Build; 50 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 25 Scrap
Toll; 1 Scrap

Blueprint; Hordes Of Tiny Legs
Description; Locomotive Engine
Function; Allows the Shard to travel. Paying the Toll allows the Shard to travel to any Realm or Road currently available, and unobstructed on its path.
The first time the Shard ever moves, you can choose where on the map it enters.
Requires to Build; 100 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 50 Scrap
Toll; 1 Key

Blueprint; Big Old Hand
Description; Mechanical Armature Hand
Function; Allows user to punch & fight with the Shard's Mechanical Armature. Requires a Mechanical Armature to build onto.
Requires to Build; 50 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 25 Scrap
Toll; -

Blueprint; The Biggest Sword I Ever Saw
Description; Armature Weapon; Sword
Function; Allows user to sword fight with the Shard's Mechanical Armature. Requires a Mechanical Armature with Hand to build onto.
Requires to Build; 50 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 25 Scrap
Toll; 1 Key to Equip

Blueprint; Armoury
Description; Armour Dispenser
Function; Gives user their choice of Piece of Armour. A Physrep must be provided.
Requires to Build; 30 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 15 Scrap
Toll; 2 Stuff

Blueprint; Blacksmiths
Description; Better Armour Dispenser
Function; Gives user their choice of Tough or Heavy Armour. A Physrep must be provided.
Requires to Build; 30 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 15 Scrap
Toll; 5 Stuff

Blueprint; Junkpile
Description; Scrap Dispenser
Function; Gives user a token worth 50 Scrap. It cannot be banked.
Requires to Build;  300 Scrap
Requires to Temporary Build; 150 Scrap
Toll; 3 Keys

--

In Conclusion:
1 Hit
1 Key
30 Scrap
Start each Event with minimum 5 Emotion
Start each Event with minimum 10 Scrap