I'm thrilled! Can't wait. 

Me. Not rehashing what we've talked about off-line too. Still, you've got to take care of yourself and no one is going to hold it against you when you do. If you need an ear, I've got a string of orc ears lying about somewhere (seriously, just drop me a line).

Wait... Casino is concerned about Vegas? When did that happen? Stay in character, Tann.

Nope. Charlie has not offered breakfast out loud. Unless Espatier wishes to alter his post, that is.

Me too. I agree too.

Anyone have any idea when Olan is planning on starting the new storyline? I haven't seen him on the Inn much of late.

OLAN! OLAN?

Thanks for the post, Espatier. Am I correct that the current plan consists of just taking the team to Charlie's pad for some breakfast? Is Charlie contacting Starlight?

I've been meaning to say that this is mucho bueno!

Stay tuned for a new summer hit, Casino's Adventures in Babysitting! Only on the SciFi Channel.

At the beginning of any fight sequence, I make a COOL check for the characters involved. A failed check results in... less involved actions. Until a check succeeds, that is. With phases being 3 seconds long, you ha e to fail your COOL check quite a bit to miss out on the fun. Casino never missed his. People were just in his way and I thought it was cute that he was stuck babysitting. He's already had a lot of fun that everyone else missed out on.

By the way, Tann. Good memory concerning the injury. By the way, I made an executive decision and used some of Casinos Creative Currency to give him a reroll. Jase was awfully squirrelly and there was an attempted grab that went amiss...

Mischief, I apologize. I often forget to do that when adding players. I've remedied the problem. 

As promised, the game has been updated. You folks faired really well. The die were in your favor more often than is fair.

All right. You have Jace, the only injured member of your party is Casino who is still bearing that serious wound to his arm from his hospital firefight. The AirJeep is cram-packed like a sardine can. 

Backseat: Ghlahn, Fixer, Rya with Jase on her lap, Casino with Echo on his lap.

Frontseats: Bloodbank with Blossom on his lap, Charlie driving.

It isn't comfortable by any means. You're fitting four grown adults in a seat that is designed to fit three comfortably, not to mention all the lap-sitting. 

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, 12th Street, at the mouth of 12th Alley | Night City Integrate | Undercity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 9:35 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Phase 1

To his left, Echo visually sweeps the street starting at her left. Spotting one of the jumpsuit wearing fellows by the door a little over twenty-two meters away, she meets his eyes. He stares. She stares back. Echo is used to people checking her out. She’s got a good body and knows she’s attractive, but this fellow feels different.

“Got a possible bogie south of us,” she reports in a low voice that she hopes carries back to the others.

“And one to the north,” Bloodbank adds just before the fellow with the wolvers calls out.

“Hey! Skelator,” Wolvers grins broadly. “You just as pretty underneath that mask?”

“No weapons,” Echo surmises, taking in the approaching ganger with a quick mental inventory. “Ignore him.”

“I wasn’t planning on inviting him to dinner,” the medtech replies dryly.

“Yo! I’m talking at you,” Wolvers snarls changing his pace to quickly close the gap between him and Bloodbank, the last step turning into a leap, fangs bared.

In the time it takes for Echo to change her focus from the ganger to the South and observe Wolvers, two shots crack the damp Sunday morning air and a nanosecond after the first, Echo is struck by a fierce impact in the neck accompanied by another heavy blow to her left bicep. The force of these blows staggers her into Bloodbank and pain threatens to blind her but for the symbiotic nanotech coursing through her system.

With the pain instantly being swallowed up by her NuCybe, Echo responds to the threat leveling her precious submachine gun across her body and firing a three round burst at the man who had attacked her. Hot lead pelts the jumpsuit wearing gorilla and he staggers back a step from the barrage.

Seeing the potential danger, Ghlahn has already unholstered his trusty Colt but as he raises it to level a shot off at the ganger, he’s struck from behind and to the left by two more shots. Immediately realizing that the two individuals who were hanging out by the van are the likely culprits (his cyborg body absorbing the rounds without him doing more than a slight jolt with each impact), the CEE-Metal soldier receives his internal damage report. Strikes to the lower back and left read thigh. No penetration. Undamaged.

Within the Ether, Blossom attempts another tactic. She simply approaches the watching icons, her schoolgirl avatar bubbling across the void to arrive directly in front of the arachnid and scorpion. Activating the greeting function, her avatar waves, giggles, and clasps her hands in front of her, swiveling her torso about and causing her vibrant hair to flow magically around her.

“Hello!” she declares in her avatar’s sweet, high voice. “Are you OK? You’re kinda creeping on me.”

As Ghlahn turns towards his attackers, two more shots echo down the street and he’s impacted twice more, this time in his collarbone and throat. Once more, he barely flinches as his system immediately reports, strikes to the left clavicle and throat. No penetration. Undamaged.

“Back into the alley!” Casino orders. Reaching out and snatching Jase with his left hand from where the 10-year old is cowering, he hauls the boy back out of the line of fire. He has no target in sight. Wolvers is blocked by Bloodbank and though he can hear the shot being fired, and see Echo’s barrage, he can’t see who is firing. His best option is to withdraw and get Charlie to bring that aerodyne into the alley to pick them all up.

In answer to Blossom’s greeting, the spider quickly weaves a program with its front legs and spinnerets. Within a mere blink of an eye, a silvery samurai warrior is woven with glowing red eyes. Well, s**t, the netrunner curses, recognizing the program as a Killer.

Screaming out Jase’s name, Rya spins about, grabbing for the boy she claims is her son and though she’s able to grab his outstretched arms as he is hauled backward by the big solo, she isn’t nearly strong enough to impede Casino’s move and is, instead, dragged along with them.

At first, concerned about the potential for an attack from the rear when Wolvers leaps at Bloodbank, Fixer has turned almost completely around when gunfire erupts. Attempting to resist the urge to duck and turn towards the sounds of combat, the Techie finds himself unable to completely do so. Crouching, he moves back as quickly as he can and positions himself between Jase and the mouth of the alley. The whole while, his heart rate impressively elevated, he scans the alleyway with wide eyes.

Already in mid-leap when the guns start firing, Toser Harris’ attempt to bite Bloodbank is foiled by the surprise that the weapons fire produces in him. Instead of latching his wolvers onto the man in front of him, Toser impacts his body.

Meanwhile, back in cyberspace, the scorpion raises its tail and a black bolt of energy flashes towards the schoolgirl avatar. Blossom was clued into the attacks by the appearance of the Killer and with a high-pitched, “hee-yah!” she ducks and spins away from the negative energy.

Ready for Wolvers’ attack, Bloodbank was not expecting gunfire or Echo to run into him. Adrenaline pumping through his body, the medtech does manage to brace himself against Echo, helping her to retain her footing and twist his torso enough to roll his attacker off of him without disturbing his stance.

Struggling in Casino’s grip, Jace screams out, “Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped!” Despite his squirming around, the solo is able to maintain his grip on the boy’s left bicep.

The ganger who has fired on Echo isn’t alone. Another peels away from the wall and entrance to the building, leveling two shots from a heavy handgun at the Rolling State beauty. Both rounds strike her in upper left leg but already supported in part by the medtech’s body, she’s able to take the blows feeling minimal pain as her adaptive nanites take the brunt.

Leveling his Colt at the fellow ducking down by the hood of the van, Ghlahn’s HUD reticle focuses over the exposed chest. His weapon jerks, the retort is cavenous and the man is rolled off his feet and onto his back, greenish yellow fire bursting out of his chest, igniting his clothing.

With chaos taking over his world, Cred Stick Charlie shifts in his seat, attempting to take in every angle and see who’s firing on whom and from where. Realizing that he’s accidentally placed the group in a position where they have an open stretch with no cover between the alley and the AirJeep, the fixer fires up the fans.

Phase 2

Buster Guns winces from the pain in his leg and hobbles quickly to the parked car a meter away, dropping to use the vehicle as partial cover and support, he sinks to his buttocks. “Oh, hell no! I didn’t sign up for this.”

Surging from her rest against Bloodbank, and seeing her first attacker duck out of sight, Echo levels her submachine gun on the second but hesitates to fire with the crowd of people scrambling to get out of the way behind her target. Snarling into her balaclava, she darts to the mouth of the alley and plants herself against the corner, providing partial cover. Now, with her back to the building, she spots the other shooter that Ghlahn is dealing with across the street. No one behind that a******, she thinks as she brings her weapon to bear and pops off another three round burst.

Major Mamba isn’t even aware that he’s under the nomad’s sights. Armor piercing rounds chew through his left knee, splinter his left femur, and tear out his intestines. Falling forward and to the left, his face hits the asphalt just as the life leaves his body.

Cursing under his breath as the two hired guns across the street succumb to their wounds and another down the street from him hides, Doc Anteres breathes in deep and pushes away from the wall. Ducking so as to make a play at a civilian running for cover, the solo dashes towards the mouth of the alley and takes his shot just as he reaches the corner. He’s received the first team’s dossier and suspects the one called Casino is the head of the snake. As soon as the blonde solo comes into view, the bolt is released from the old cyberarm. Seeing the one called Fixer and the package, Jase, between him and his intended target, Doc adjusts and fires at Echo, growling his displeasure. This was supposed to be a clean ambush!

Doc’s rush attracts the attention of the dangerous Rolling State soldier, who jerks her torso to the right and rolls her left shoulder forward. The deadly crossbow bolt strikes her leathers cutting through the outermost layer but skipping off the armor and bounding sideways off the wall.

“Attack!” Blossom’s avatar screams and points dramatically at the spider. The Hellhound at her side surges forward only to be met by the Killer program, who deftly shoulders the mastiff backward.

“Get down, you little s***!” Casino growls and pushes Jase down onto the boy’s knees. “I’m trying to save your ^7$@#$^% life.” With Rya pulling on the kid’s other arm and the struggle to keep hold of the boy, the big solo needs a solution. Leveling his .44 at Rya’s face, he growls, “Knock it the %^&# off.”

Drawing herself up, eyes wide, Rya sinks down next to the child and wraps her arms about him, putting her body between him and the street.

The Killer strikes out at the Hellhound with its silver katana but the black mastiff leaps to the side causing the program to miss.

Shaking off the shellshock, Fixer clenches his jaw and fires off two shots at the individual with the black cyberarm that just shot—Was that a crossbow?—Echo. The first shot goes wide to the left between the foolish Wolvers and the techie’s intended target. The second, however, tears through the man’s thigh. Bone shattering, the solo screams in pain as he pitches face forward, extending his cyberarm to break his fall.

Recovering from his ill-fated attack on the skull-masked edgerunner just in time to see Doc get taken out, Toser makes a quick decision and bolts northward.

Tail arching backward again, the scorpion avatar launches another Hellbolt at Blossom, this one sizzling the cyber air over her right shoulder.

Ignoring the retreating Wolvers, Bloodbank resolves himself to combat. The man who had rushed the alley is injured but not down. Following Casino’s orders, the medtech rushes back into 12th Alley and on the way past the falling crossbowman, fires off a quick shot right to the back of the man’s neck, the .44 round neatly severing the spine and blowing out the throat.

Whatever Rya is whispering to Jase has the boy no longer squirming, much to Casino’s relief.

“Let’s get the hell outta here!” Pogo calls to Little Gonzo who is on his haunches behind the car. Following his own advice, the solo turns and hauls ass away from the fight.

With his two attackers dead, Ghlahn returns to his objective of getting in the now hovering AirJeep. That’s when he registers the fellow crouched behind the car and the other running away after yelling to beat it. Coldly, the Capore Metal sniper levels his Colt AMT at the one running away, the other appearing to be paralyzed with fear. It’s a clean kill, which it often is for Alex, thus his callsign of M'harú Ghlahn which actually means Clean Kill. The fleeing man’s head explodes against the wall of the building and his body tumbles and rolls to a floppy stop on the sidewalk.

Throwing his arm over the back of his seat, Cred Stick Charlie backs the Jeep up to the mouth of 12th Alley, jerking on the wheel, he quickly reverses right up to, and partially into the alley, placing the rear door in front of Echo. “Let’s go!” he calls out to the majority of his team, Ghlahn being the only one on the street still.

“Pogo!” Little Gonzo screams as his best friend’s brains are deposited on the building. Rage overpowers his fear and the solo levels his Nova 757 Cityhunter right at the man who had robbed him of his partner. “Die you mutha******!” Two rounds exit the massive barrel and slam into Ghlahn’s chest, jerking his torso to the left and then to the right.

Strikes to the left and right chest. No penetration. Undamaged.

Head on a swivel, Echo steps up to the door and swings it open, holding her weapon in her right hand, her left gripping the handle to the door. “Get Jase inside!” With Bloodbank’s kill, she has no apparent targets in sight.

“Get it, boy!” Blossom’s avatar commands the Hellhound forward again. This time it slips past the guard of the Killer and sinks its teeth into the face of the spider, digitized flames spewing from its mouth and eyes. To the netrunner’s satisfaction, the Killer program fizzles out. Didn’t quite kill ya, huh? She observes as the Hellhound releases the spider but it doesn’t derezz.

“Move!” Casino hauls Jase to his feet, forcefully untangling the boy from Rya, and drags him as much as assists him to the open AirJeep door. Shoving the package inside, he looks to Fixer and calls, “Take the other side.”

With sickly realistic movements, the spider avatar weaves a shimmering shield between itself and the Hellhound.

Rya follows hot on Casino’s heels and pushes herself inside right after Jase. 

Following orders, Fixer rushes up to the Jeep on the other side and swings the door open, “Jase, sit on your mother’s lap.”

Suddenly, the scorpion avatar vanishes. “That’s right! Run b****!” Blossom’s avatar squeals.

Grabbing the handle of the passenger door, Bloodbank urgently makes a request of Blossom, “Hey! Hop out so I can get in. You can sit on my lap.” Unfortunately, the netrunner is Interfacing and can’t hear a word that he says, but Charlie can.

“She’s jacked in,” the fixer informs the medtech. “Push her to the side and pull her onto your lap. Hurry!”

“G****** small ride, Charlie,” Casino growls from the back seat door.

Jase is crying, sitting on Rya’s lap, his face buried in her shoulder as she strokes his hair.

Seeing the AirJeep move to pick everyone else up, and having been shot twice more, Ghlahn levels off another shot at his attacker as he begins to sprint towards the vehicle. He doesn’t get visual confirmation of the kill, but he’s confident in his shot. He’s correct too. The last part of the partnership between Pogo and Little Gonzo is ended.

“We’re going to have to cram,” Luther calls into the back. Now’s not the time to be shy.”

Echo see’s no problem with cramming and motions for Casino to get in, following to plant herself on his lap. Bloodbank is struggling with Blossom’s limp body but making progress as Fixer settles in on the other side of Rya and Jase. Ghlahn assesses the situation inside and changes his trajectory to put him on the north side of the vehicle, squeezing in beside Fixer and forcing the others to twist and fold in order to fit everyone. 

“All in!” Bloodbank calls as he wraps his arms around the netrunner’s body and secures her to him.

Without another word, Cred Stick Charlie accelerates out of the alley and to the South, away from any possible additional interaction with people he’s already flagged as possible attackers. 

Leaving the bloody scene behind them, the Edgers can only speculate at how much of the second team is left to pursue them. Breathing in the faint scent of lavender through the filters of his mask, the medtech asks, “Anyone injured?”

A quick self check and it is apparent that they have all miraculously avoided further injury in this firefight. With the whole event has taken less than ten seconds, they are now safely (if uncomfortably) speeding towards what they hope is the successful end of this gig.

"Did we get 'im?" Blossom asks as she comes out of cyberspace. "Hey Go-Boy! Buy me dinner first!"

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 09:35 AM PST - 12th Street at the mouth of the alley)

I'll be posting the combat with the Wolver fellow and what follows tomorrow. Please have your contributions in place today.

Gracias for the kind words. I'll try to post again tomorrow. There's more to the story.

At this point, things are as they lie.

Harrumphing, Moreno settles against the stiff-backed, uncushioned, wooden chair and stares into the candle's waning flame. Before him, strewn across a desk far too small to hold all of the books and scrolls, is the combined total of his study materials. Focusing on the one clue that he has to work with, Kithran's pregnancy, the scars of his battles with the undead minions of the death cult and the party's encounter with those worshipping cultists in the underground temple are more than physical. Weary, moss-colored eyes drift to the thin window placed high in the wall from which a pale glow of moonlight is barely visible in the night sky and his mind drifts back to the events leading up to the present.

Primal urges to survive no matter what had been the fuel that had kept the priest of Therassor from succumbing to his despair after Davena—aided by a turned Kithran—had escaped justice leaving them to the horrors in a collapsing temple. Gib had never seen the like. Even in his studies at the Temple as an acolyte, he had never encountered a tale depicting the terrors of that day. When he is able to sleep, his dreams are wrought by replays of melting flesh, screaming people, merciless souls hungrily seeking their next victim, slabs of stone obliterating nearby people; one second they are running, terrified by the hunting ghosts and the next, there's a boulder where they once were and everything nearby is splattered in gore. And there they were, his surviving companions, wounded, suffering as much from the cuts and clawed gouges in their flesh as the stabbing, painful realization that their own Kithran had betrayed them. Moreno hadn't even had the time to appreciate Cedric's quick thinking in getting to Ch'dau to save his life; the Collapse had happened all too quickly.

With Aranwen out of action—the look on her Syl face haunting and hollow—Gib had been forced to take charge. Thoughts of the decisions he made over the course of the next couple of weeks are constant pins poking at his confidence. Was he right? Did he do enough? Should he have eliminated that foul cultist that had survived with them? Of course, they wouldn't have received the full story had he, but sharing the stale air in the crumbled temple with the man had been poisonous. Still, it was through that man's story that they learned of the Anchor and Kith's part in it; a bug planted in the warrior-priest's mind that picks and scratches at his every waking thought.

Shifting forward in his appropriated chair, Gib draws in a deep breath and uses the heels of his hands to rub away the grip exhaustion has on his eyes. Time is of the essence. Before, when they first encountered the undead on the road outside of Crandel, time wasn't even a concern. Then, their ignorance protected them from the ghastly truth of the situation they sought to stave off—an agenda that they knew nothing about. 

Memories of Atharis' body lying torn open on the ground flit into the forefront of his mind. I died, the spirit of his fallen friend declares accusingly, and for what? Next to the young wizard's mutilated form lies a Cidal, slowly being devoured by ghouls. Midge's small ghost rises from the carnage and joins the young wizard's. Have we died in vain, Gib? Anger and loss fill his chest like waters pushing through a broken levy. Vocalizing the emotions in a primal growl the Kazari might have been proud of, the newly advanced Corporal-Elect of Therassor slams his hands onto the desk sending a jolt through the items spread across its surface. 

"Frustration is the enemy that defeats the seeker," the Sergeant of Knowledge chides from behind the podium at which he labors, his threadbare voice strangely echoing in the cavernous chamber. 

"A scant collection of available knowledge is the main force," Moreno replies in his deep timber, meeting the higher ranking clergyman's disapproving gaze with an even stare. "Frustration is the bloody aftermath of the battle.

"I've torn this library apart in search of information, Sergeant. There's nothing here."

"If information about bringing an incarnation of a god to this plane were prevalent, Corporal-Elect, I'm afraid we would have a much larger problem than that which we face this day."

Sighing, Gib concedes, "Be that as it may, this—" he waves a hand dismissively over the materials before him, "—has proven to me that our Mighty Lord has never intended to manifest Himself in such a way. There isn't even so much as a scribble indicating that walking Audalis was even a spark of a thought for Him."

"Rest assured, soldier," the skinny priest replies, "If D'hurgen succeeds, Therassor will meet him on the field of battle despite your inability to discover a plan to do so. There are many things that are above your rank and understanding."

"I spoke with the Most Holy Field General Gerrtalt and expressed to him the direness of these circumstances," Gib retorts with a curled lip barely visible under his heavy black mustaches. "This is the most exhaustive library in the Church. If there are plans to counter the god of death's earthly incarnation being born to my friend, they are surely hidden well."

"Not all knowledge is kept in a library..."

"You were ordered to help, not play at riddles, Filas," Moreno growls and pushes himself up from the chair to stand defiantly before the smaller man.

"Mind yourself, soldier," Filas, Sergeant of Knowledge, cautions, his narrow face imperiously lifted to stare the Corporal-Elect down. "I have opened halls that have been long ignored, even that is reserved for those of higher standing and position than you may ever dream to achieve, and have helped you search the tomes with my own eyes. Forget not your place with me, Moreno Enderedre."

Matching stare with glare, Gib breathes fiercely through his crooked nose for a few beats of the heart before dipping his head a little in deference and stating through clenched teeth, "My apologies, Sergeant. We've been at this for days on days and have yet to discover anything of value. I do not even know if this... this pregnancy has a normal gestation period or if, because of the divine element, it is escalated. I do not know how much time we have let alone where Davena may have stolen Kithran away to."

Dropping his clenched fist to grip the hilt of his sword, the warrior-priest continues, "Sitting in these musty halls reading text after text, following rabbits down holes and crows into shadows... I long for a simple battlefield."

"Battlefields are rarely simple," Filas reminds him with a sorrowful note of remembrance. "But I understand. The hour is late. The acolytes have already retired and without rest, your mind isn't as sharp as it could be. Take my advice, Corporal-Elect. Seek out your bed. Return tomorrow with fresh eyes and a renewed vigor. I will commandeer another class of acolytes to assist in the search and we'll magnify our efforts. I'll also send a runner to the Great Library to see what has been found by the squad researching there. We are not beaten yet."

Releasing the death grip on his sword, Gib turns a dejected eye back to the mess of literature before him. "I would like to but I haven't been sleeping so it is a waste of time to try.

"Another day has passed with no news from Cedric of Solanis, no word from our counterparts who are searching through other libraries. It's been weeks since my companions parted ways in Crandel. I'm left with handfuls of nothing for all of our efforts. I need to find a better way to be useful."

"You can certainly use time in prayerful contemplation as armor against frustration," Sergeant Filas slyly brings the conversation roundabout. "Perhaps pray for some guidance on how best to address your superiors even when beset by that pesky enemy, frustration."

Closing his heavy eyelids and shaking his head, Gib steps out from behind the desk and positions the chair beneath it. "I'll leave you to your books, old man. For now, at least. The chapel is a clarion call that I must answer. You should seek out your own bed. Therassor knows you'll be waking soon enough to piss."

Filas chuckles, his smile twisted by the scar that cuts through his lips and jaw, as the warrior-priest makes his way past the podium. Rubbing the back of his neck where stiffness has taken root, Gib makes his way through the tables, bookshelves, and cases containing histories, philosophical musings, scripture, and more esoteric documentations. The walk is made longer for the winding path through the collections eventually spilling the troubled bearded man into a torch-lit corridor. The chapel is near the front of the temple within easy access for those coming in from the parade grounds, but from the library, the journey takes much longer. Passageways leading to dormitories, classrooms, and more mysterious chambers wind through the majestic and stately temple. White marble columns and statues, silver metalworks, mosaics depicting glorious scenes from scripture are everywhere and eventually, the halls grow in height and splendor with their vaulted ceilings and intricately detailed reliefs. 

The beauty and majesty of this edifice are lost to the harrowed Corporal-Elect. Each battle scene he comes across turns into that fateful battle wherein they had failed to stop the end of the world. Every carved marble scene, miniature though they may be in their alcoves, are a monumental reminder of how great his god is and how ineffective he has been. The halls are empty as the clergy have long retired for the night but they echo with the words of his friends, filled with despair as they discussed Kith's fate during those days underground, digging themselves out. Words flit about in whispers like the spirits released when Davena's denizen had destroyed that crystal... words that melt the flesh of confidence away leaving the bones of doubt.

Scratching at the stubble growing on his newly shaved head, Moreno stops before the intimidating double doors to the chapel and considers the scenes worked into the hardwood. Here, the image of Therassor in his glorious armor bearing Meritorious, his trusted sword, is depicted leading a charge against horned demons. The demons are, of course, falling beneath the hooves of the cavalry and being pushed back by the pure righteousness of the warrior god. Here, Therassor and his faithful are winning the day.

So many times before, when he had been a younger more optimistic man, this scene had excited Gib. Now, standing before it with his head shaved in mourning and his black beard shaggy and grown out of his normal point, Corporal-Elect Moreno Ederedre feels shame. A shame that is as effective as a stone wall in keeping him from entering this holiest of places. A shame that mocks him with shadows and intimations of what could have been had he but been stronger. Heavy is his head as he raises it to peer up at his beloved god's image.

"I commended my soul to your charge on more than one occasion, my General," his husky words are hacked free of his mouth, sharp and splintered. "Why did you not take me to your halls then? What deeds had Atharis and Midge performed that earned them their places but not me? And now... now there is no relief, no hope to be found? I walk a battlefield of bones and hear naught but their crunching beneath my boot. Where are the birds? Where are the blue skies? It is blood that I see covering the land, Mighty General, and I cannot see the field for it."

"Let me know if that door has an answer for you," a tenor says quietly from behind him and to the right. 

Giving a start, Gib turns with embarrassment to see the angular form of Right Major Alesh approaching from an adjoining hall. Alesh is an athletic woman, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. Her curly, dark brown hair is cut short and shaved to above her ears, a portion of it tied up in a topknot. She isn't a traditionally beautiful woman with sharp features hardened by time in the field but she is said to be a brilliant tactician and very capable swordswoman. And although she isn't every man's dream to look at, what beauty is there has been accentuated by her confidence and airing. Standing a full span of a hand shorter than Moreno, she looks up at him as she draws within his blood circle. 

"I've held many a one-sided conversation with that door in my time," she smiles wryly, "and will be quite offended if it decides to answer you when it has been ignoring me all these years."

Unable to smile in return, Gib bobs his head in understanding. 

"You're Corporal-Elect Moreno Ederedre, correct?"

Again, Gib nods.

"I was there at your advancement ceremony," Alesh hooks her hands in her swordbelt and drops her weight to her left. "You've stumbled upon quite the conspiracy. Do you mourn your lost companions or the lost war?" Her inquisitive brown eyes look to his shaved head, accentuating her question.

Gib considers the query knowing that the war to which she refers is the one they are fighting to keep D'hurgen from Audalis. "Can it not be for both that I have presented myself such?"

"Surely," Right Major Alesh narrows her eyes, "but I didn't take you for a fatalist. The tide of war can change at the outcome of a tiny battle, Corporal-Elect. I've seen it—experienced it—even read about it. The principle is taught in every strategy class within our ranks and yet here you are seeing valleys of bone and blood caught up in the hole you currently find yourself in when you should be seeking the higher ground."

"A task that I've been about for weeks now," Gib responds cautiously, folding his arms across his chest.

"It is a forever task," Alesh spreads her arms wide and raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Any field commander will tell you that. Battles are unpredictable. The enemy strategists will have their own plans devised and will throw them at you when they deem the time is right. Have you forgotten the lessons found in the Book of Epectir?"

"Be resilient as the water," Moreno responds tiredly, "for it will eventually win over any stone thrown in its path."

Alesh strikes Moreno's shoulder with the back of her right hand, "There you have it! This is the problem with defeat, it breeds self-pity. You need to overcome that wound and pull yourself up by the boots, soldier. Therassor would expect nothing less. By the Nine Hells! You shouldn't either."

"And what does a field commander do when all signs point to utter defeat?" Gib strikes back in a low and quiet voice.

"That's easy," Right Major Alesh grins and settles back on her boot heels. "You fight like you've got no tomorrow, for if you do not fight, you have no tomorrow."

"More wise words from the Book of Epectir?" Corporal-Elect Ederedre presses.

"No," Alesh keeps on grinning while she starts to walk past him. "That is from the Book of Alesh."

Turning so he can follow her exit with his eyes, Gib shakes his head, "You don't know the weight—"

The Right Major stops and spins on her heel to glare imperiously at the man, "By daybreak, I leave for Daviena Castle to assist in the preparations for this dreadful event. Do not think that just because you're neck-deep in dusty old tomes the rest of us are sitting on our laurels. There are parts to be played by every man and woman in Ertain. Messages have been sent to spread the news of your discovery as far away as the Syl forests beyond Coria. Do not presume that this burden is upon your shoulders alone. That mantle is very unbecoming a servant of the God of Righteous Battle."

Taken aback, Gib holds his hands up before his chest, "I did not know."

"Of course not!" Alesh shoots back with a furrowed brow that sets her fiery eyes deep in shadows. "You are a Corporal-Elect. There's no need for you to be privy to anything except that which is within your jurisdiction." Her expression softens. "War finds all people. There's no running from it."

Dipping his bald head in acceptance of her words, Gib presses his lips together. He hasn't considered that the work he was doing wasn't the only work being done, that the Church of Therassor wouldn't be doing more. For the first time in weeks, he feels a little lighter. The burden of finding the answers, or preparing the world, is no longer on the shoulders of the cave-in survivors alone. For a moment, hope spears the chest of despair allowing a little light through.

"Therassor is waiting to give you council, Corporal-Elect," Alash holds her left arm out and points towards the chapel doors. "Listen closely."

As the accomplished woman strides into another corridor, Gib turns back to the chapel doors. Standing erect, he pulls the doors open and proceeds down the long aisle between the pews towards the dais at the end. The chapel room is a grand rectangular display of Therassor's might. The pews are divided into three sections by massive white marble pillars upon which, two thirds of the way up their height, lifelike carvings of stone soldiers blowing trumpets and wrapped in the livery of their god lean out from the base. Overhead, arched vaulted ceilings are painted with visually stunning depictions from the Histories of the Righteous, A Scripture of Therassor. Multiple smaller altars run along the walls of the chamber providing places for more private worship, each contained within a small, dark cherry wood booth with gothic ornamentation along the tops. Centered at the end of the chapel and upon the five-step dais is the main altar, broad and ornate, gilded in silver and dark cherry wood, its surface covered by a blood-red silk cloth hemmed in silver thread. This altar is surrounded by candelabra standing upon staves eight feet in height bearing an impressive one hundred light candles—one hundred for the Hundred Martyrs. Behind the altar is an alcove bearing the seats of the Council of Therassor at the head of which is the always empty Mighty General's chair. Even the Most Illustrious High General sits to Therassor's right. Behind these chairs is one of the crown jewels of the Faith, the forty-foot by one hundred foot stained glass windows depicting Therassor with Meritorious held boldly before him, his armor radiating righteous light, his helm's visor open so that his eyes can bear witness to all unrighteousness that the council may seek to battle it.

Drawing up to the altar, Gib draws his sword from its scabbard and brings the crossguard to his lips. "Holy General, Mightiest of Battle Lords, I have come to seek wisdom."

Kissing the holy symbol upon the crossguard, Moreno sets the blade upon the altar, piercing end towards his heart. Bowing his shaved head, the warrior-priest whispers his heart's desires to his god. "I've lost so many of the battles that should have won you the day, my Commander. I cannot see for the blood that veils my eyes. Clear my vision. Let me see the field's potential. Grant me insight and wisdom that I may serve you well. The enemy of righteousness has taken to horse, his armor is solid and proven, his spear is sharp and unbroken. The world lies before him, defenseless, breast bared, ready for him to strike the killing blow. I would have it be otherwise. 

"Again, I commend my soul into your service. Show me how to defeat this enemy." 

Corporal-Elect Moreno Enderedre stands body erect before the Ertainian Command of Therassor, hardened moss-colored eyes riveted upon the righteous symbol of his deity emblazoned on the back of the central chair. Colored light paints the marble floor of the hall, the blood of stained glass windows pierced by the sun. The austere chamber is quite full with members of the clergy from all stations present. Five other priests and priestesses stand beside Gib, each paying rigorous attention to the ceremony.

“We feel that we can waste no further time,” Worshipful Field General Bertylmew Occidente’s voice carries easily throughout the hall. “We gather this morning to take action in the matter of Corporal-Elect Enderedre’s report. Let the Ceremony of Strategy begin.”

Two columns of five bannermen, each in full ceremonial plate armor and carrying dangling tapestries depicting various deeds of martyrdom by legendary members of the faith file out from side chambers. Their matching steps echo with a gripping beat as they spread out around the back portion of the map of Anteron depicted on the floor behind Moreno and his companions. The crowd draws back so as not to interfere with their progress. Once in position, each counterpart to the other in position along the opposite column slams the end of their staves to the marble in unison resulting in five thunderously loud cadences of three each.

“All who are present, manifest,” Field General Huchon Temerario rises from his chair to the right of Worshipful Field General Occidente and draws his sword. Gripping it by the blade near the crossbar, he holds it proudly aloft, displaying the holy symbol of the Just General prominently to the masses. 

As though the wind is whistling through the leaves of a forest, the unsheathing of many hundreds of swords whispers through the air, including Moreno’s own blade. Holding his weapon out in front of him and over his head, Gib answers along with the others, “For the Glory of Therassor, Honored General, Battle Lord!”

“Look to your neighbor,” Field General Temerario commands loudly. “If you do not recognize them as a devout soldier of the Battle Lord, it is now when you must act. For the sanctity of our counsel, repeat after me.”

Field General Temerario looks to his right upon the stocky form of Colonel-Elect Peares Listo and declares, “My life is in your hands, Brother Soldier.” The Colonel-Elect brings his sword up to his chest and responds, “An honor I accept, Brother Soldier.” Peares turns and repeats the ceremony to the Field Colonel next to him, who delivers the same response and continues the practice by declaring his part to the Council Guard. Eventually, the practice progresses from individuals in the highest ranks to rows a hundred deep on the floor. 

“My life is in your hands, Brother Soldier,” Corporal-Elect Watt l'Égoïste intones to Gib as all who are behind him do to their neighbor. “An honor I accept, Brother Soldier,” Moreno replies before looking to his right. Acknowledging Corporal-Elect Aphrah Asesina with her red hair, freckles, and quick, thin-lipped smile, he intones. “My life is in your hands, Sister Soldier.” Bereft of her humor, Aphrah replies, “An honor I accept, Brother Soldier,” before turning to carry on with the ceremony, their voices swallowed up by the orchestra of clergy enacting the same ceremony.

Eventually, the rounds have been completed and Temerario looks to Worshipful Field General Bertylmew Occidente on his left and states the same. This process repeats in the opposite direction until it has been fully executed. Then, Temerario declares loudly, “The Halls will accept no cowards!”

“The Halls will accept no cowards!” Moreno joins his fellows in their declaration.

“Our swords shall not be raised unjustly!” Temerario calls out, this time, turning his sword so that the blade is held in the air before him.

Mimicking the position of the weapon, Gib calls out alongside the faithful, “Our swords shall not be raised unjustly!”

“With this understanding,” the Field General commands, “we secure our strategies in the name of our Honored General, Therassor. Blood be our pain and a shallow grave be our consequence should we fail in this duty!”

“Blood be our pain and a shallow grave be our consequence!” the crowd bellows.

“It is done, sir,” Temerario turns and salutes Occidente by bringing the crossguard of his sword level with his eyes, his blade upright.

Occidente matches the salute, then turns to the crowd and receives their salute before sheathing his weapon and returning to his seat. At which point all present do the same, except that there is no chair to return to for all but the Counsel. 

This time, Field General Joetta Géant rises and places her right hand upon the hilt of her sheathed weapon. A square-jawed woman, Joetta is scarred along her neck by fire, her face is wrinkled with time spent in the sun, and her brown eyes are colder than the Northern Winds.

“What intelligence has been gathered proves to this council that there is indeed a threat the likes of which we’ve not faced in ages,” she speaks with splintered metal darting from clenched teeth. “Our decision is thus. 

“You who stand before us are each tasked with missions of equal importance.” Looking now upon Gib and his companions she makes a point to meet each of their gazes. “For all but Corporal-Elect Enderedre, that mission is to take your choice of companions and spread throughout the land in search of this Devourer’s Cult. Should you be able to destroy it, do so, but your primary duty is to observe and report. You will be supported by camps placed at regular intervals between here and your field of operation. Riders will attend delivering your findings and we shall work together with the standing army of Ertain to see that this cult does not expand its threat while Corporal-Elect Enderendre and his companions carry out their mission.”

Now looking directly at Gib, she continues, “A mission that is of the utmost significance. A large force will be easy to spot and avoid, thus it is left up to you and your companions to seek out this treacherous ex-companion of yours and destroy the threat at all costs.”

Only through great effort is the warrior-priest of Therassor able to keep his emotions from exploding across his face. Kill Kithran? Is there no saving her?

“These orders are sanctioned and sealed in the name of Therassor, the Honored General,” Joetta motions with her left hand and scribes rise up from their seats behind the council, rush forward, and deposit sealed scrolls in each of the officers on the line’s hands. Moreno accepts his and quietly returns his hands to his sides.

More follows. More ceremony, more orders delivered to other members of the Faith, and even some open argument amongst council members. Eventually, Gib finds himself waiting on the gathered masses to disperse, lost in thought while staring at the slowly shifting colored motes of light.

“Are you ready, then, Corporal-Elect?” the words break through his reverie with the gentleness of a wave crashing upon the beach. Looking up with raised brows, Gib is met by the weathered, silver-bearded face of Most Holy Field General Gerrtalt. Gerrtalt had not been seated amongst the Council and his presence startles the priest.

“Sir,” Gib acknowledges, returning to his rigid position. “My travel pack is ready.”

“And so it is that you are ready as well?”

“Sir?”

“You have shaved your head in mourning, as is the custom,” the leader of the Ertainian Church of Therassor observes. “You have spent a great deal of time studying your enemy. Your armor is oiled, your weapons sharpened… you are ready to face this challenge?”

Gib sets his jaw and nods, “I am, sir.”

Gerrtalt studies his face for a moment before shaking his head, “You cannot be.”

“Sir?”

“Walk with me, Corporal-Elect.”

You're welcome to wait, Mischief. Though it would be handy to have your combat actions. 

You are correct, Tann, about the position. Remember, Casino, Echo, Bloodbank, and Fixer don't know about the sightings that the other characters have had of potential trouble. You also don't know what Bloodbank's action is going to be. This is all within a 3-second block of time.

Espatier made the comment that he parks between Lite Design and Greek Dan's. Thus the placement. 

Mischief, I need to invite you to the game in Roll20.net. You can set up a free account there. Just let me know what your username is and I can invite you. 

Right now you only have Wolver to face and he's closest to Bloodbank. Bloodbank is front right, Echo front left, Rya and Jase in the middle, Fixer rear right and Casino rear left. I placed the airjeep where Charlie said it was in his post. This here is the situation you find yourself in.

I'm disturbed.

This is still a PG site, right?

I've been thinking about the next phase of Gib's education. May post it in the next couple of days.

Different character, Tann. Different game. 

I hereby apologize for any decisions made that lead to character(s)' death(s).

Once, there was a game here...

Thoughts and immediate action are always appreciated when beginning a combat scenario. Roll20 has the map updated to the current situation. 

I just completed another image. This one is Calisto, High Priestess of Ugermane.

The game has been updated. You are about to enter into a combat situation. Rather than bog the game down with a round by round accounting for your character, I'll need to know what your character does with the following:

• Primary Offense


• Secondary Offense (if the primary doesn't work or you are somehow disarmed, etc.)


• Primary Defense


• Secondary Defense


• Retreat Mode


• If your character notices an ally injured and in need

Note: Wolvers is attacking first but he does not retain the initiative. Unfortunately, both Charlie and Ghlahn have failed their initiatives with critical 1s.

I will post the combat and results next Friday. Feel free to post your character's "prep" mode response to what's been posted. Just don't dive into the combat.

Mischief, if you need any help, just ask.

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Frontline Apparel | Night City Integrate | Undercity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 9:30 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

GHLAHN

~“Got the kid, second tent, Mendez is here. Fixer, Echo on me, Bloodbank continue cover watch. Ghlahn if this other team is here, they'll make a move within minutes of us moving with him. Stay on your feet, watch your six and ours."~

Casino’s voice in his pocket is a welcome report. Eyeballing the two figures across the way, the red-headed cyborg assesses the situation. Still no movement. Still nothing to indicate any interest whatsoever in their operation. Fanning his gaze out to the rest of the street, he narrows his eyes. Nothing. Nada. No unusual activity. Was this second team even on their heels or were they so far behind the game that they hadn’t even discovered where the object of their mission was?

Ghlahn, hearing the package has been retrieved, takes one last look towards the homeless pair. Seeing that they are not making any threatening moves, the CEE-metal turns to the AI sales hologram and states, "Well, I am leaving. Nothing really caught my eye." 

Moving casually, Ghlahn makes his way out of the shop and begins to cross the street just as the airjeep rounds the corner.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 09:35 AM PST)

------------

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, 12th Alley | Night City Integrate | Undercity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 9:30 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

CASINO, FIXER, ECHO, and BLOODBANK

Standing outside of the tent, Fixer visually scans the end of the alleyway, his audio splice working overtime. 

~ “Jace!” ~

~ “Don’t!” ~

~ “Get up and move over to me. We are leaving here and taking you home to your parents.” ~

~ “They aren’t his parents… I’m his mother.” ~

~ “Got the kid, second tent, Mendez is here. Fixer, Echo on me, Bloodbank continue cover watch. Ghlahn if this other team is here, they'll make a move within minutes of us moving with him. Stay on your feet, watch your six and ours." ~

~ “Please, don’t take my son.” ~

"I think Bloodbank wants us to join Casino,” Echo says as she slips up on Fixer outside the tent. Fixer is tempted to glance back at the tent they have just left but doesn’t bother. Echo knows her business. At least, he has to assume she does, and Bloodbank might have some intel?

“Casino has the kid,” he relays. “Rya claims she is his mom. That isn’t our issue, and Casino won’t care. But a mom will fight like hell. Likely, we need to take both.” 

He glances at the other edgerunner to gauge her reaction. The mom comment has been a surprise, but when he thinks about it, not really that surprising. Something is odd about this mess. But right now, they just need to get the package and get the hell out of this alley. If they don’t, that other team will be up their backsides before you could say “Mother’s Day.” Every second that passes drops Vegas’ chances as well, and he knows Casino has that mental clock ticking away. He feels bad for the kid in a way, but whatever game he is playing is going to get more people killed. It already had, and on this, he sides with Casino—he doesn’t want Vegas’ name added to that list if possible. That trumps Jace. Well, it trumps Jace’s sob story. Getting the kid the X#&*! out of Dodge comes first.

Listening carefully to his audio splice—trying to pick up anything from behind them in the tent they have recently vacated, he and Echo begin their advance on Casino’s position. The last thing they need is for some feisty grandparents to suddenly try coming to the rescue. Hearing their whispered argument (which contains nothing he is alarmed about) and getting no negative feedback from Echo he simply says, “Let’s go.”

Approaching the other shack, he speaks up. “Casino, it’s backup.” 

Entering the tent before the pretty little nomad, he proceeds through the cluttered entrance and rounds the corner. Seeing Rya wrapped around the kid she claims to be hers, he glances at Casino. “Let’s take them both. Easier than one.”

“Look,” Casino attempts reason, “you got two choices Mendez. Stay here and try getting him out again at another time, or come with us. We were hired to bring him back—alive—but nothing was said about you. 

“I have a friend in deep s***, his life on the line, so I won’t have any problem tying you up and just leaving you behind. On top of all that, there’s a second team out to get Jace back and they might not be as nice as us. So,” the big solo switches tactics, “Jace, think fast. It’s up to you. Come with us peacefully, or I zip tie you and do this the hard way. Your call, kid.”

“Your kid or not,” Fixer adds, “you have put a lot of lives in danger. As the big guy said, we have a pal in danger and that means we move now. Sob stories wait until we are out of here.” The comment about Vegas was as much for Casino as anyone. He wants the big guy to know that he hasn’t forgotten that the plan is to get to Vegas as quickly as possible. But if by some small chance Mendez’s story is true and they really are the ‘good guys’ in this story, then them knowing lives are at risk might push them in the right direction. He can hear the clock ticking. Damn, we needed to move.

Waiting for Rya and Jace to make their decision and Casino to organize the move, he uses his audio feed to listen as carefully as he can to any action outside.

Echo frowns behind her balaclava, the only indication of which may be visible is the crease between her eyebrows. A mother protecting her child—if Rya is to be believed—touches a little close to home. She could be lying… but look at Jace. That kid is as wrapped up in her as she is in him. She’s genuinely concerned and he’s spreading himself out to put himself between the guns and Mendez. No… I’m willing to bet that Rya is Jace’s mother. Elizabeth has a good grasp on corporate ethos. Her father was involved in a lot that made her skin crawl. That’s why she went to live with her mother’s people. Things are usually more morally simply on the Road.

Darting her narrow gaze to the back of Casino’s combat mask, she quickly looks back out the shack’s entrance where she has her submachine gun leveled. Why am I so drawn to him? Vegas is interesting and she doesn’t really want anything bad to happen to him but she also doesn’t know either of these men well. Yes, it isn’t uncommon for edgers to be flung into a team situation that requires them to trust each other with their lives, but in this case she had felt something deeper for Casino almost immediately. An animal attraction has caused her to behave less cautiously than she’d learned from the Tribe. If we don’t deliver Jace, we’re going to be hunted and killed. If we do deliver Jace, Rya is most likely going to be killed. If we survive this run, then what? I’ve already promised Casino I’d help him rescue Vegas, but what are we rescuing him from? A sec-team for a megacorp? At this rate, I’m never going to be able to prove my innocence and regain my position within the Tribe. I’ll be too dead.

“Please,” Rya tries again. “I came here ten years ago as a nurse. I worked at Night City General. I got caught up in a genetic test with one of the docs that I worked with. I needed the money, so I agreed to be tested. I was in a bad place. I have family in Mexico City and the wars… The doctor told me there was a corp woman who wanted a child but couldn’t have one. She said that I’d get a nice apartment and money. I could bring my family here.”

“I don’t care,” Casino growls. “We’re taking the kid, so you two need to make up your minds.”

“No!” Mendez cries. “Listen! I regretted the decision and spent years trying to find him. I lost everything in the process—the apartment, my job, everything. When I finally found Jace, I took a job with Upstairs/Downstairs so I could be close to him. But he was so unhappy. He was going to an expensive school, had all of the nice things he could want, but he didn’t have the love of a mother. I told him who I was and asked him if he wanted to come with me.”

“It’s true,” Jace blurts out, still standing with his arms spread wide in front of Rya to make it more difficult to shoot her and not hit him. “I’m not kidnapped.”

“Please,” Rya persists. “Let me be his mother. Let me take him away from here. Let me make him happy.”

“Ghlahn,” Casino calls across the radio, “we’re bringing the kid out now. Any second team movement or anything catching your eye as bad news?”

Waiting for the sniper’s answer, he shakes his head. “I don’t care. Time’s up.”

“Wait!” Rya squeezes Jace closer to her. “I’ll come with.”

Bending over a little, the tall Hispanic woman attempts one last gambit, “But if you let us go, I’ll give you the corp woman’s name and address. You could likely get a lot more money from her by applying a little pressure—”

“Enough!” Echo charges. “Enough already. You want to be near your boy, fine. You’re coming with us then. Don’t make me regret that kindness.” Did I really just say that?

Rya stares past the two men as though seeing Echo for the first time. Tears stream down her cheeks as she straightens and places both hands on Jace’s shoulders. “All right. We’ll go with you. Dios nos mantenga a salvo.”

Motioning the pair to move past him, Casino holds out a hand to pause their progress. “Search them,” he orders.

While the solo keeps them in his weapon’s sights, the Techie complies with the order. A thorough, yet polite, patt down proves to him that they have nothing to be concerned with. Giving the solo a nod, Fixer indicates that they are cleared. 

With Echo leading the way, Fixer and Casino move the group to Bloodbank’s side. Casino indicates for the man to join Echo in leading the way. Not taking chances on a safe extraction, the big solo loads an H.E. grenade into the MPK’s launcher. If they have to fight their way out with the prize in hand, it will not be without a big bang.

“Charlie,” Casino queues the radio again, “you and Blossom are up. We’re going to need transport in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” Bloodbank glances over his shoulder, the cracked skull combat mask facing the solo. “It’ll only take us a couple of minutes to get out of this alley.”

“Caution is our best bet right now,” Echo answers. “Don’t wanna rush into an ambush.”

On full alert, all human and cyber systems on, the group makes their way past the shacks. Echo, Bloodbank, and Fixer all catch small glimpses of people looking out of the ramshackle abodes as they pass. Casino is intent on the package. Rya and Jace are in the midst of the group, not making a sound, pressed closely together.

Looking ahead, the team spots the AirJeep passing by the mouth of the alley heading south. With their weapons lowered so as not to cause alarms, Cred Stick Charlie’s voice comes across the radio, ~  “I’m double parked. Hurry, before I gather more attention. Unlimited space, first come first loaded. Thank you for riding with Mr. Charlie. Best of luck, travellers.” ~

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 09:35 AM PST)

------------

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, 13th Street | Night City Integrate | Undercity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 9:21 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

CHARLIE

Casino squelches the mic. ~ “Got the kid, second tent, Mendez here also, Fixer, Echo on me, Bloodbank continue cover watch. Ghlahn if this other team is here they'll make a move within minutes of us moving with him, stay on your feet, watch your six and ours." ~ 

Charlie messages Blossom with the update and then flares the AirJeep’s engine. The blowing fan begins to whir to life yet again and the fixer snatches up the radio, “Copy, clear. Over," Charile signals.

~ “Charlie, you and Blossom are up. We’re going to need transport in five minutes.” ~ Casino’s call comes over the radio. 

“What's going on? Anything that we need to be worried about yet?” Charlie asks the Asian decker while at the same time, sending the message over the link she set up. “Watchers…?”

Charlie frets for a bit in his head... Is it Saint Nick and his group? Is it heavy-handed Spring-Heeled Jack flexing his muscles? Too many variables... 

~ The Watchers aren’t doing anything. They haven’t taken any bait I’ve thrown their way either. ~ Blossom reports.

Deciding that he needs to focus, Charlie sends a report to Starlight. ~ Got the package. Will let you know when it’s in my hot little hands. Not much action… yet, but we have an extra set of eyes watching for now. ~ 

He isn’t sure how many would be able to fit in the air raft but the kid is going to be one for sure. Charlie lifts the beast, activating the fans, and makes a lazy u-turn. He’s going to come into the entrance of the alley to collect all that he could from the other direction. It’s a last-second decision. Pulling in so that the air raft is pointing away from the two schecky ones on the corner is the better plan. The big question is where to go until Starlight delivers the drop coordinates. 

Charlie looks for a random point on the Air Jeep’s nav for now. His eyes search for signs of any big vehicles that might attempt to block their path during their get-away. But what could possibly go wrong? He muses sarcastically. Everything could still go wrong, the fixer answers himself.

“Let's grab the kid and get out of here. Buckle up, kiddo,” Charlie uses his infectious smile and looks over at Blossom’s still form as the vehicle responds to his commands, throwing groundwater everywhere. As various disgruntled persons in the crowd walking on the debris-littered sidewalks wave rude and off-color gestures to the driver, he continues to smile to himself. 

He takes the vehicle East, then turns onto 13th Street and heads North. Casino had said five minutes, so he’s got the time. Turning left onto 18th Street, he looks ahead towards the corner where the two out of place individuals are planted. Rounding that corner, he catches sight of them out of the corner of his eye and proceeds South on 12th Street towards the alley. Traffic is about the same, allowing Charlie to double park, facing oncoming traffic, and use his flashers between Greek Dan’s Gyros and Lite Design Services. 

Snatching up the rudimentary radio that Fixer had crafted for the team, he declares, “I’m double-parked. Hurry, before I gather more attention. Unlimited space, first come, first loaded. Thank you for riding with Mr. Charlie. Best of luck, travelers.” 

---------------------------------

BLOSSOM

Quickly relaying the message to those with optic splices, Blossom focuses more intently on the icons. Let’s see if this kicks up your skirts. Typing up a simple fake message reading, “Package on the move. Regroup at airport,” she shoots it to a temp message server.

Nothing, huh? Frowning, Blossom eyes the potential threat. What’s your purpose, my pretties?

Blossom’s avatar frowns, mimicking her consternation. “I guess they aren’t here to play, huh puppy.” The Watchdog program continues its watchful pose. “One of these days, I’m going to have to give you a personality.” Continuing her digital scans, Blossom occasionally glances towards the creepy icons. 

~ “What's going on? Anything that we need to be worried about yet?” ~ Charlie’s message pops up as a bubble in front of her face. ~ “Watchers…?” ~

Turning another critical glare at her fans, the pretty Asian sighs and responds, “Nope. Nada.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 09:35 AM PST - 12th Street)

--------------------------------

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, 12th Street, at the mouth of 12th Alley | Night City Integrate | Undercity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 9:35 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

EVERYONE

Stepping outside of the shop, Ghlahn spots two individuals to the north of him, hanging out against the west side of a moving van. He couldn’t see them before from his vantage within the shop. They appear to be locked in conversation and their posture doesn’t set off any warning bells inside the Capore Metal sniper’s head. So, he continues into the street, his objective the EEC Airjeep that Charlie has just settled on the wrong side of the road. Scanning the rest of the street, M'harú Ghlahn feels at ease. Maybe their luck has turned and that second team Cred Stick Charlie had warned them about is too far behind on the trail to be of immediate concern.

Setting the Airjeep to hover, Charlie surveys their surroundings, glancing in the sideview mirrors and eyeballing the street riffraff. Most pass under his critical gaze without so much as a second look but then he settles on the entrance to the building between Greek Dan’s and the recording studio. Two men, almost identical in appearance (ugly doesn’t begin to describe them), wearing dark green jumpsuits and boots with a bulkiness that almost puts them in the same category as a Whaleboy are looking just a little too tense and observant. They both have light submachine guns slung so they are hanging at about waist level and a holstered heavy pistol.

Coming up to the mouth of the alley, Bloodbank glances to his right. Almost immediately, he notes the approach of a big fellow with a shining chrome dome and a heavily-scarred face who seems to be staring right at them. The man smiles revealing sharp, wolf-like teeth. Wolvers, the medtech acknowledges, eyes narrowing.

To his left, Echo visually sweeps the street starting at her left. Spotting one of the jumpsuit wearing fellows by the door a little over twenty-two meters away, she meets his eyes. He stares. She stares back. Echo is used to people checking her out. She’s got a good body and knows she’s attractive, but this fellow feels different.

“Got a possible bogie south of us,” she reports in a low voice that she hopes carries back to the others.

“And one to the north,” Bloodbank adds just before the fellow with the wolvers calls out.

“Hey! Skelator,” Wolvers grins broadly. “You just as pretty underneath that mask?”

“No weapons,” Echo surmises, taking in the approaching ganger with a quick mental inventory. “Ignore him.”

“I wasn’t planning on inviting him to dinner,” the medtech replies dryly.

“Yo! I’m talking at you,” Wolvers snarls changing his pace to quickly close the gap between him and Bloodbank, the last step turning into a leap, fangs bared.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 09:35 AM PST - 12th Street at the mouth of the alley)

Legends Rise

Kaitlyn is on one of my all-time favorite shows: Last Man Standing.

Sounds good! I will be posting tomorrow whether or not I have repaired posts... things will likely go better if the posts are repaired, but... no pressure.