Yet Another Bloodthirsty Alien


Pokey, 200 pts.

TL9 (15)
ST 8 (-20)
DX 12 (40)
IQ 12 (40)
Ht 10 (0)


Extra eyes/enhanced tracking (5)
Peripheral vision (15)
Regrowth (40)
3 Legs (5)
Claws (5)
Combat reflexes (15)
Ally: spirit (8)
Regeneration, 1 hp/hour (25)
Enhanced move 14 yds/sec (20)
DR2 (10)


Short Arms (-10)
No sense of smell (-5)
Intolerance: Giant Monsters (-5)
Increased consumption, six meals (-10)
Low empathy (-10)


Piloting, spacecraft 4
Beam weapons, pistol 4
Survival, American Southeast 2
Crewman, spaceship 1
Engineer, space drive 2
Mechanic, spaceship 2
Expertise, current events 1
Expertise, film 1


Particle Projectile Pistol

Spirit ally, constant 70 pts.

ST 0 (-100)
IQ 10
DX 10
HT 10


Insubstantial, always on (40)
Possession, limitation: corpse (70)
Doesn’t eat (10)
Doesn’t breathe (20)
Immune to metabolic hazard (30)


The 1950’s, when alien movies were all about giant alien robots, and invincible bug critters… That was the golden age for being an alien. Everything that was civilized believed they’d be towering steel goliaths, and country hicks couldn’t get on the news or internet, where someone might believe that they saw another alien. Pokey sat up in his teeny space cruiser, a yellow saucer-plate stacked on top of another with a light green toned bubble for him to pilot through.
Pokey loved to watch movies, and read the sparse messaging that Earth radiated every now and again. Earth seemed fun, with big fuzzy monkeys dressed in fluffy plant matter, which danced and sang, and gave him small scriptures for him to read through. It seemed like a fun place, singing, and no violence!
What a place that’d be!
Pokey never made contact that was to be of any real reason other than freaking out country folk, until he was shot down out of space by a government rocket. The sheilds of his cruiser prevented him from being blasted into very fine bits, but the ship was in ruin. It fell across the america’s, skidding to a stop somewhere in Southern America. His first contact with someone on Earth more advanced than a hunter, and they’d blown his ship screaming out of the sky.
The small alien chittered, crawling from his mangled wreck of a vehicle. He then began trekking for a toolkit for his Hjayur’ Frape-Cruiser. They should be pretty common, he thought to himself.
The small alien believed that Earth was under constant attack by giant bugs, bigger than the giant monkeys, and robots much more vast than those very same large creatures. “Now to find those Giant Robot’s, I guess…” Pokey was only able to salvage a small Frap ray-gun, and his familiar, and they’re the only things he has now.
Life is hard, but especially so when you’re a small alien bred and raised on bad 1950’s Science Fiction.


To Schlep up a Ziggurat Neko_Bijin SlippyMagnus