All zee-beasts will ignore you unless you get too close - and will not pursue if you leave their territory. Except this one. The Constant Companion hunts by smelling fear - indeed, its very name is an allusion to fear - and only appears when your Terror is high. So as long as you aren't scared there's nothing to be afraid of! But if you are...
General Information[edit | edit source]
Constant Companions only appear if the player's terror is at 65 or above, and only when they are submerged. They announce their presence before they arrive on the map with clicking noises, before appearing suddenly. This is accompanied by a unique musical cue. More than one constant companion may spawn.
Constant companions have a ranged attack dealing 14 points of damage per hit, as well as a ramming attack that deals 40 points of damage. Should they damage hulls that are under 50% strength, they also inflict 5 terror per hit. While they are difficult to fight for weaker ships, the treasure they drop and the stat boosts they grant make fighting them well worth it for prepared ships.
Interactions[edit | edit source]
You have defeated a Constant Companion[edit | edit source]
Its cluster of articulated legs are curled back on themselves and its variegated stomach exposed. Its mandibles clack gently in a zee-current. Otherwise the Companion's only movements are spasmodic jerks as its limbs stiffen in death.
|Sever a limb and use it to brace the hull.
Those limbs which attacked your ship could be put to use repairing it. And one of the claws are clutching something...
|Bending and groaning
The creature's carapace is difficult to scratch, or even get a grip on. Pliers, saws, a mallet - all break. At last, with a groan, a snap, and a spray of viridian blood, a fragment of spindly limb comes free. Suited divers rivet the forelimb to your shell-hull. And what's this? The Companion was clutching something...
|Game note: Repair your hull and claim a treasure.|
|Rare event (50%)|
|Bending and groaning
The creature's carapace is difficult to scratch, or even get a grip on. Pliers, saws, a mallet - all break. At last, with a groan, a snap, and a spray of viridian blood, a fragment of spindly limb comes free. And what's this? The Companion was clutching something...
Suited divers rivet the forelimb to your shell-hull. Later, they complain about a recurring tapping sound from without - but it's probably just the steel contracting in the cold.
|Take a memento and leave.
Quickly. No good can come of interfering.
The Companion shivers in death. The grubs flecking its belly whine, plaintively, in the stirring waters. Confined in an armoured diving suit, you hack clumsily at an exposed pedipalp. While you work, its long hairs brush gently, almost lovingly, against your suit. Your zubmarine is primed to make a hasty escape as soon as you return with your trophy.
|Doesn't raise stats that are already 100 or higher
Game note: This will significantly reduce your Terror, and it may raise all your stats.
|Bring a grub aboard
The wriggling children of the Companion still cling to their parent's husk. Perhaps one will live. It will be interesting to study at close quarters regardless.
|Failed event||The Iron check is actually ≤ 95 +( Iron-[qb:102894]). QB perhaps means "Base", so without modifications? Game note: This will significantly improve your Iron if it is not already too high.|
|A last retort
It takes a pry-bar and a pickaxe to detach a grub from the bulbous hulk of its mother. It emits a constant, irritating noise - like the whine of a wasp trapped in honey, amplified and prolonged. Eventually, one of the small grubs pops free. Once on board the ship, the curled, yellow mass wriggles and squeals, before whitening and falling still. A crewman tentatively approaches. The grub writhes to life, burrowing into him hungrily. By the time you are able to separate them, both crewman and grub are dead.
|A mess on the floor
It takes a pry-bar and a pickaxe to detach a grub from the bulbous hulk of its mother. It emits a constant, irritating noise - like the whine of a wasp trapped in honey, amplified and prolonged. With a pop, it comes free. You haul it back inside. The curled, yellow mass writhes and squeals as you squeeze it into a brine-filled barrel. Eventually, after you heave on the lid and seal it in the dark, it settles down - only giving the occasional mew.