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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: OK, next question then.


Do you want it to be done through PMs or do you care if your fellow players see the information?

Posted on 2008-12-16 at 05:25:26.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: There's no rest for the wicked Sui.


Looking forward to the post , Cathy. And congrats on the Cleanroom Effect.

A couple of suggestions have been made concerning the fact that you're all playing in a new system with established (in the sense that they've reputations) characters, but before I dive into a bunch of additional time addressing the suggestions I'd like to find out who is interested in them:


  • Outline the character's strengths and weaknesses;

  • Rework and define character histories to flesh out relationships.



Posted on 2008-12-15 at 23:23:29.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Action figures. LOL


Did they just call us suckers?

Posted on 2008-12-15 at 05:45:49.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Yes...dead.


Both AVs are visible. You can check out the map for estimated distances.

Posted on 2008-12-15 at 05:41:39.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Action figures?


Char had his doubts about how effective his bow was going to be on a creature that could hover and command lightning from his weapon, but a plan was a plan. So, as they drew near, the woodsman took up a position that gave him both a nice line of site unobstructed by the knight and ex-gladiator's approach, as well as providing him with a quick approach once it was apparent that he'd have to engage in melee.

Then, as everyone else readied themselves, the brothers seemed to take notice, and their conversation turned strange indeed. Char's brow furrowed as the halting speech from the first brother indicated that he was aware of their pending attack. An arrow was knocked and the string drawn to his cheek as the ranger took into consideration the wind and weather, paring it with distance and necessary arch.

Then his mouth turned down in a frown when the brother declared them as Arien Thedell and His Succoring Six. Wot da bloo'y 'ells? Still, Char never took his eyes off of the lightning-flinging brother--the one Char deemed most dangerous at this time. Da beasties know us, an' dey've given us a name, eh? So be i'. Time t' show 'em wot we ca'do!

With that, the ranger's arrow flew, followed swiftly by second.

(OOC: Char's intentions are to remain ranged so long as his arrows prove to be useful. Once he deems them no longer effective, or an ally moves into melee combat with the enemy, he will charge forward, shouldering his bow as he goes and unsheathing his kukri. He's used to fighting alongside Arien, so that will be whom he goes forward to help, unless the other fellow is between them.)

Posted on 2008-12-15 at 00:41:57.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: I must be missing a PM


I replied to your PM the day you sent it, Sui. Am I missing something?

Posted on 2008-12-15 at 00:30:03.

Topic: The Embodiment - A FUZIONfantasy Game
Subject: Two of Five updated


The Poor Sect | Alleyway | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:25pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered



(OOC: Human Perception 34; Persuasion & Fast Talk 26; Spent 2 falchions in gathering information; )

Having learned what he wanted from Tales, Lloyd abruptly peeled away from the shack, no longer concerned with remaining quiet as he strode out onto the street, his cloak swirling about his legs, caught up in both his gait and the wind, the snow crunching loudly beneath his booted feet. He was determined to make a couple of stops along the way towards collecting the bounty, and he had no time to waste.

The tavern that he found first was called The House of the Twin Minotaur, a rather illustrious name for an establishment that failed miserably to live up to it. The building was made of ill-fitting planks giving the whole exterior the look of being shingled. It wasn’t painted, and the roof was in ill-repair, and looked as though it could barely hold the weight of the snow it carried. The sign bearing the twin minotaurs roughly painted in out of proportion style in front of a cottage was sitting against the wall at ground level, having fallen from its post long ago. It was nearly half covered with snow.

Stepping inside, Lloyd immediately caught the attention of the crowd, for the wind followed him and shook the very rafters. But these were men used to being left alone, and after they’d made sure their hateful looks had penetrated Lloyd’s very soul, they turned back to what they were doing. There was surprisingly little in the way of sitting accommodations available, and it took a few long seconds for the bounty hunter to pick out a proper place to seat himself. It put him between a large, swarthy-looking fellow with a huge red nose and watery eyes nursing a large, clay tankard of flat ale, and a rat-like man with a lazy eye and drooping jowls that were curtained by strands of oily, black hair and canvassed by thick stubble.

The barmaid was nothing too pretty to behold, slightly too skinny to be healthy she carried herself with a limp, and wore a shirt that was obviously made for a woman with bigger breasts. Her skirt was patched and stained about the hem, and she was missing her left pinky finger. There was also a scar that had apparently been created when her left earlobe had been removed, and it continued on down her jawline pulling the corner of her mouth into a permanent frown. Her black hair was done up in a loose bun and held in place by a simple, dingy white bit of cloth.

“We gots ale, black grog, and lentil stew, an’ that’s it, so don’t be askin’ fer nothin’ else,” she said as she hobbled up to Lloyd’s side, leaving the tray she’d just emptied dangling by her side. “The ale’d be two shill, the black grog’d be three shill, an’ a bowl o’ the stew’d be five shill.”

(OOC: Order if you’d like, she’ll deliver within minutes.)

Once she’d stepped away, Lloyd went to work. The man was used to working people for information. It was often necessary when in pursuit of a mark, and he’d honed his skills to perform just such a task. Within moments he was reading those at the table like an open book. Every twitch of a facial muscle, every shift in their position, the nuances of their tone, their language, their pauses, and the focus of their gaze; it all helped him determine the truth and accuracy of their statements. His probing questions were practiced to not alarm, and to help draw out more from the individual, and the little bit of extra coin he offered up, or topping off a mug, were all designed to help loosen the tongue.

In the end, Lloyd has spent three hours milking the tavern so close to Tales’ home that it was a safe bet this was the one he frequented, and it paid off to some degree. The locals determined that Tales had come in bragging about some lucrative deal he’d just struck that was going to take him away from there. He’d been blathering on about how he’d sworn his allegiance to a new power, and that it wouldn’t be long before he’d be saying goodbye to the lot of them. They’d just dismissed it as the man’s usual behavior since Tales’ profession was that of a sewer rat, and he was occasionally hired to clean out the privies in noble’s homes which led to the man’s constant dropping of important people’s names and indications that he’d fallen into favor with one noble or another—he’d even claimed to have been invited to audience with the King some few years back, though he’d never offered up proof of such a thing. The revelation that he’d be skipping out on them was just another act, so they thought, and the balding Tales was certainly never taken seriously while he mouthed off within the Minotaurs.

Making sure to top off their drinks a bit further, Lloyd proceeded on with his evening’s plans. The Western Gate was shut for the night by the time von Schtreider reached it. His feet were cold as ice, and he’d developed a bit of the shakes due to the wind eating at his warmth like some rat on a corpse, but he was determined. Arriving at the large, slate-colored guardhouse, Lloyd was greeted by two men emerging from the shadow of the awning, both wrapped up heavily in fur cloaks, wearing the fur-lined winter helmets traditionally set with the guard uniform. One carried with him a glaive, and the other a heavy crossbow already loaded. They both wore thick beards and the one with the crossbow bore a horn at his waist which would make him the watch sergeant.

“Sorry, friend,” the sergeant said, holding up a hand gloved in thick, brown, deerskin lined with fox fur. “Gate’s closed. You’ll have to come back in the morning…it opens at dawn.”

The West Ward | Westgate Guardhouse | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:42pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered






The Dirty Gryphon Inn | Pardinal | The City of Portua | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:18pm | Storming



(OOC: Human Perception 11; )

Sna’kti leaped into the room and snatched the man up off of the bed and lifted him up in his arms, “You dodgy twit, I could have killed you!” false anger in his voice. Laughing, he lowered the guy and hugged him tight to his sopping wet fur.

“By the Good Gods, Snickers!” Gen forceably pushed his face out of the dank-smelling fur and disengaged himself from the emphatic greeting, laughing the whole while. His usually handsome face was stricken with the stubble of a couple of days without a shave, and his clothing as still wet from the storm, but he looked healthy enough. “You could suffocate a man by doing that!”

It had been a couple of years since they’d parted company, Gen always reluctant to return to his homeland for fear of being recognized and his older brother Benedict finding out about his return. There was no love lost between the two brothers, and even though Gen had never actually wanted the throne of Pardinal, Benedict had always thought his younger, more intelligent brother was a threat and had worked very hard to get him exiled.

“Going somewhere?” Gen asked, motioning to the kazari’s belongings that were still packed in his single sack. The exiled prince backed up casually and leaned against the rickety bedside table, the smile still on his face. For the life of him, Sna’kti couldn’t read the brooding look in Gen’s eyes to tell what he was getting at.

“The food’s decent at the palace, no?” Gen’s smile remained on his face, even touching his eyes a bit. “There’s something afoot, friend, and it threatens Pardinal. That’s why I’ve returned. I sent word to Herai as well—even received a missive in return. She’ll meet us in Visden; The Company of the Rose reunited, eh?”

The exiled prince split his face into a broader grin as the words settled in the air. “It will be like old times. Oh, don’t even ask how I found out—well, all right. I’ve still friends amongst the servants at the palace. Lord Ontzlere has been very busy, and it came to the attention of more than a couple of these servants. Word got out, and here I am. Now, what I’m really interested in hearing is what Lord Ontzlere has assigned to you down south since he’s sent so many others in various other directions, it is almost as though he’s searching for something, though no one in the palace is allowed to remain within the room with him when he’s offering the deals, and most aren’t speaking of what he’s offering as they leave the city. In the past two days there’s been three adventuring parties who’ve left town rather quickly, and at least three times that in capable men-at-arms following apparently on their own.

All of these people are capable warriors, wizards, and priests…and then they invite you up to the palace. It can only raise the question, my friend. After all, you aren’t exactly among the Menbren’s favorite people.”

The Dirty Gryphon Inn | Pardinal | The City of Portua | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 9:20pm | Storming






Taurwen | Rayther | Outside of The City of Rayther | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:03pm | Storming



(OOC: Expert: History 22; Expert: Arcana 24; )

“I shall help you, Judge Cyeen, as best I can,” she spoke softly. “I shall seek an audience with the High Speaker tomorrow, late afternoon, if it pleases him.” Looking the judge in the eyes, “I should like it very much if you would accompany me.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea what a relief it is to hear you say such, Lady Sanya,” Cyeen breathed, but immediately followed it up with a slight shake of his head. “I’m afraid that if I present myself with you at High Speaker Todraid’s estates it could be construed as picking sides in what could eventually become a political battlefront. I’m sure that if I remain your silent supporter I can be of more assistance than were I to publicly make my affiliations known.”

Sanya gave the man a slow nod and continued, ““You are welcome to enjoy my hospitality for the night, good judge. Youdar will ensure a room is made available for you, and can provide you with anything else you desire.” Sanya rose from the table. “I must retire for the evening, however, and try to discern the truth of the matter behind your troubling news. “

Then paused again, another thought coming together, “I shall also like to examine your ‘gift’ more closely, if I may. I realize you have left it back in your office. Perhaps in the morning, I could see it.”

“Again, I think it wise to have it shipped to you. I’ll be certain to do so upon my return home. I thank you for your hospitality, Milady.”

Once in the hall outside of the dining room, Sanya motioned Youdar close to her for instructions. The aging human obediently bowed and complied.

“Treat him as an honored guest, Youdar. He may be one of our few allies.”

“As you command, Milady.”

Once she was certain that her duties as hostess had been resolved, Lady Sanya retired not to her bedchamber, but to her library. She had an evening of study ahead of her and wasted no time in getting to work.

First off the shelves were the historical documents she’d procured years prior on the lineages of Rayther and their pedigrees. High Speaker Todraid was from a long line of wealthy nobility, and his lineage was well documented, but Sanya’s knowledge was not in heraldry and nobility, but history, and her library consisted mainly of books, tomes, documents, and scrolls pertaining to the histories of the land she’d come to call home, not their genealogical trees. But the history books did provide her with some knowledge that might be useful.

After piling her desk high with various manuscripts detailed by monks of different orders, Sanya had discovered that Todraid’s family heralded from Sendria, though it was near to the splitting of the Empire that they’d made the journey, it was plausible that there were remnants of his family line still in existence elsewhere upon Antaron. And, since the founding of Rayther, the Todraid family name showed up frequently, and prominently, in the histories, and usually for the good of Rayther, even if the described methods weren’t something that Sanya favored.

Having spent a couple of hours cross-referencing the histories, the Lady of Tuarwen turned her attention to the magical ramifications behind Cyeen’s claims. This was more up her alley in terms of respective knowledge. If there was something Sanya could lay claim to it was a knowledge of the arcane. Her travels had taken her to the mystical City of Spirits (of which she’d documented much in her memoires) and within that magical city her knowledge of the arcane had blossomed. She’d studied with some of the most powerful people she’d ever dreamed of, let alone thought she’d meet, and in the end she’d returned to the arcane wasteland of Antaron out of a love for the land, and only when she was sure she’d be able to find her way back to the magical epicenter she’d spent such little time in.

Now, with the candles flickering, she reviewed the notes on magical items and their construction, those catalogued in existence at the Tower of the Lost in the Protectorate of Estandy (where she’d spent time studying with the head of the college there on another plane of existence so far from Audalis), and checked these against a list of known cursed items. While her search wasn’t as fruitful as she’d hoped and she was unable to match the description of the gifts’ powers provided by Cyeen to any known items, she was able to determine that it would be possible to create items that allowed the transference of enchantment magic in a similar contingent manner to activating a gate (something she was also familiar with). The real challenging aspect of this, however, was that it would likely take a very powerful practitioner of the Art to perform such a deed, and Sanya knew of only a few figures within Antaron with that kind of power (and most of these by reputation only)!

Sitting back in her comfortable chair, Lady Sanya considered her discovery until well past the mid of night, and then, tired and still with her mind working at a million miles per second, the Lady of Tuarwen retired to her bedchamber where she changed into her silk robe and slid beneath the warmth of her heavy blankets, the generating heat from her brass bedwarmer a welcome addition to her covers.

Taurwen | Rayther | Outside of The City of Rayther | Claise 24th, Viladay, 452ER, 1:18am | Storming




Posted on 2008-12-14 at 21:29:30.
Edited on 2008-12-14 at 21:30:11 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Pretty sticky situation.


Good luck with your next decisions.

Pekka, if you're able I left it open for Guardian to respond and lead the way, but if you're not yet ready than I'll be happy to move it forward again next Sunday.

YeOlde and Drakar, yours is not a position I'd ever like to find myself in. Enjoy!

Sui, your instructions please.

Posted on 2008-12-14 at 19:50:00.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: They'll be comin' round the...corner when they come.


I16 Southbound – North Oak – Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 4:58am

"What makes you think your shooter's that good?" a cruel, knowing smile ran across Spiff's face.

Kremlin burst out in his belly laughter once more; the mirth filling the cabin like liquid. When he’d wheezed to a stop it was some seconds later, and the effort of the laughter had forced tears from his eyes. Wiping away the salty cheer he did his best to resettle himself comfortably and tugged at his jacket to relieve some of the stress on his shoulders.

“OK, Mr. Spiff,” the fat man forced out through his thick lips. “A shooter then you shall have—what makes me think he that good? Ha! We return to the ship, and I send man to fetch shooter. You meet him, and then you give him instructions. Then you see how good he is.”

(OOC: open for additional conversation if so desired.)

Shaking his head slightly, Kremlin turned his gaze to the cityscape as they sped between the first of the skyscrapers downtown Night City had to offer. He was obviously caught up in his own thoughts as he’d chuckle every once in a while between sips of his vodka. The others in the cabin were just as want to flash a toothy grin at Spiff when they caught his attention, but it was difficult for the fixer to determine if they were sharing their boss’ laughter, or if they were wolves.

Eventually the freighter came into view once more and the rolling seas were lit up by the flash of lightning revealing that the storm was still raging, and intent on continuing for an undetermined amount of time. The group’s umbrellas offered little protection against the windswept torrents, and the gangplank up to the painted causeways was slippery forcing them to move slowly up it lest one of them (namely the overweight Kremlin) find himself going for a swim. Eventually, they were shaking the water from their jackets and settling into the relative warmth of the smoke-filled, shipboard crew’s lounge.

“Mikhail,” Kremlin breathed heavily as he settled into the chair where Spiff had first met him. A sallow-faced man of average build who’d remained in the ship when they’d left stood up.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Go fetch Kolchak. Bring him to me.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Mr. Spiff,” Kremlin motioned to a chair at the table. “Please sit. We play game of durak and order in.”

The bodyguards who’d accompanied them on the ride took their respective seats while another fellow—a blonde-haired fellow with a thick jaw and a pale blue eye that didn’t match his hazel-colored left eye—pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. The man spoke in Russian so Spiff couldn’t understand what he was saying, and the call only took a minute or two, but the fixer had a hard time paying attention to the inflections in the conversation due to Kremlin’s loud instructions on how to play the popular Russian card game.

(OOC: Saturday, 14th, 6:30am)

The food that was brought consisted of large slices of toast, heavily buttered with a very sweet berry jam, omelets, and pancakes provided on actual plates and served up with large, steaming mugs of coffee. They continued to play durak throughout the meal, andKremlin made sure that all conversation was light and avoided business. Eventually, the large blonde fellow’s phone rang and again he spoke in Russian as he received the call. He reported something to Kremlin and then slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Your shooter, Mr. Spiff,” Kremlin said as he studied his cards. “He is on his way now.”

(OOC: Saturday, 14th, 7:20am)

The man that entered the room was best described as breezy. He was no more than five foot eight, had wispy blonde hair that draped his thin face, pale blue eyes, and obvious interface jacks Frankenstein style on his neck. He wore a black, knit turtleneck sweater underneath a heavy black leather jacket, and covered his head with a black knit cap of a low thread count. He wore navy blue cargo pants, the kind that might be found in the Russian navy, and scuffed, and worn black combat boots. As he entered, he removed his black synth-leather gloves revealing his left hand to be covered in high-gloss gold finish.

“Mr. Spiff,” Kremlin intoned distractedly as he made his play. “Meet Kolchak, your shooter, yes?”

Kolchak’s face was still wet from his travels and his pale gaze was wide-eyed, yet somehow still disinterested as they fell upon the fixer.

“You tell him now what he is to do for you,” Kremlin chuckled as he took the hand. “I take a nap now.”

Whether it was due to a genuine disinterest in Spiff’s business, or as safety precaution, Kremlin struggled to his feet and huffed his way from the room, his two bodyguards following. This left Spiff alone with the phone-toting mafiaso and Kolchak.

Kremlin’s Freighter– Docks – Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 7:20am




Biotechnica Facility; Southernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:10am

The layout of the facility Guardian, Scribe, and Javier found themselves in wasn’t being relayed to them through Times Square Marquee. They had to find their way through it, and that mean wrong turns, encounters with more corporate guards, personnel, and whatever else Biotechnica had to offer. Guardian knew full well that if this were the building containing the drug the security would be high, and Scribe was just as aware.

The first room had been a lobby, open and wide with gray tiled floor and large bullet-proof glass walls. There was a semi-circle desk that bore a gray marble surface in a double-layered manner at the far end, and two doors on either side of the desk. These doors both had retinal scan security boxes as well as keycard swipes, and behind the desk were two security guards.

Guardian was quick to action, slinging himself forward and leveling his .44 as he ran. Two shots later and both of the security personnel were drained of their lives. Frankie moved in on his bodyguard’s heels and Javier stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The media noted the security cameras in the two corners of the room and immediately determined that their coverage was of the entire room combined. There was nothing to it. They’d definitely be on the cameras now.

“You don’t have someone running interference for us, do you?” Scribe asked as he jogged quickly to the blood-spattered desk and rounded the side.

“If you mean a netrunner, I do actually,” Javier’s voice was calm and quiet, barely detected above the sound of the continued gunfire from outside. The corporate was looking through the glass walls to the halls beyond, the same as Guardian.

“Can he pop these doors for us?” DigitalScribe was already dismissing the computers since they were locked down with encryption and password protection, and had turned his focus to searching the first guard for his keycard.

“He’s working on it,” Javier made his way casually over to the desk and leaned against it with one arm propping him up.

“Can he go any faster?” Scribe mumbled as he pulled the guard’s Image Wallet from his pocket and palmed the card from within. “And while he’s at it, can he tell us where the drug it?”

“We’d already determined that there was no actual indication of the drug by any particular naming convention on their servers—“

“Already determined?” Frankie moved over to the door with Guardian stepping up to advance through it once it opened. “If you’d already determined this then why the hell are we here?”

Javier smiled disarmingly and Frankie had to admire his moxy. This fellow was cool right to the core. “This doesn’t mean that we didn’t find the source. We just need access to one of the computers on the right network and I can download the formula. A working sample would be nice for reverse engineering purposes, but the formula will suffice.”

The door buzzed and all of the telltale lights turned green.

“Fantastic,” Scribe muttered as Guardian swung it wide and swept inside the adjoining corridor, weapon ready. “And where can we find one of these computers?”

“I believe the Biotechnica computer geeks referred to it as the ‘Inner Sanctum’. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Scribe followed after the imposing black man after he’d motioned it clear, Javier close behind him. The media wasn’t too thrilled about the relationship here, but it had been the most promising method for survival even above and beyond that which they’d worked out with Croaker, so here he was.

The corridor was bland in décor, done up in a cement and modern edge design. Once they’d made their way across twenty meters the lobby’s glass walls were left behind and they were surrounded by pocked cement.

That’s when the trouble hit in the form of two security bots. They were the height of medium-sized dogs, bipedal with smooth, spider-like, bulbous bodies upon which were mounted single, turreted guns. The heads of these devices were an array of sensors and cameras, and they moved fairly quickly, rounding the corner ahead and immediately swiveling their weapons on the trio.

But Guardian was quicker, again, due to his speedware.

The loud report of his smartchipped .44 echoed in the man-made cave and the impact of the rounds burying themselves in the armor of the bots was equally striking. Sparks flew from the casing and the force of the blows caused the small robots to jerk about on their hydraulic limbs.

In nearly the same motion, Guardian moved to the left, since that was the position he’d last seen Scribe. The media wasn’t useless, and though he relied heavily on Frank to protect his skin, he wasn’t about to sit idly by and leave it all up to the man. It was one of the things that made their relationship so successful. He’d instinctively moved to the right, which put him opposite the direction Guardian had gone to cover him. However, this opened up the hall for his line of sight, and he plugged two rounds into the bots as well.

The first sparked further, its camera system completely destroyed by Scribe’s round. One leg flung out at a strange angle and the whole bot slid up against the wall where it lay twitching, its turreted gun disengaging its lock and pointing towards the floor. The other round wasn’t so effective, and the smudge mark it made against the bot’s glistening armor was barely noticeable.

This is when Javier came into play. He fired his Militech-made weapon just past Scribe’s shoulder, the ringing in the media’s ears testament to the killing power of the handgun. He was obviously of the mind to try and take out both of the bots as well, since his first round struck the bot Scribe had just disabled, but his second round did the trick, driving the remaining bot back a couple of steps to where it sank to the cement sputtering sparks and a little smoke.

There was no words spoken as they rushed past the disabled machines, their weapons covering the devices in passing, and then Guardian reached the corner. The corridor ended with two doors, one obviously an elevator, the other bearing a bronze nameplate and a keycard security lock.

“Any word from your netrunner on a particular direction?” Scribe asked as he peeked past the large, black-garbed bodyguard’s shoulder.

“No,” Javier shrugged. “Just have to find the Inner Sanctum.”

“Any ideas, Guardian?” Scribe asked.

They were in a building that didn’t have a second story, so that meant that the rest of the facility was underground. To Scribe’s way of thinking, the elevator would be their access, unless the door led to stairs. Then again, there was the other door out of the lobby that could lead to the remainder of the first floor…

Biotechnica Facility; Southernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:12am




Biotechnica Facility; Northernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:10am

“Well boys,” he said softly as he came up to them and stopped, “sounds like help may have finally arrived.”

Firewind nearly leapt out of his skin at MDK’s voice. As it was, the medtech spun about and raised the submachine gun to fire before catching himself. “You crazy sneaking up on us like that!?” But Keahi didn’t wait for an answer to that particular question, and Lightning cut MDK off before he could answer anyway.

"MDK I thought you died covering our backs. Did something happen that allowed you to turn the tide or are they coming up behind us?”

The assassin didn’t appear inclined to answer, his emotionless battle mask momentarily matching their questioning gazes before he stepped into the lobby and made his way quickly to the door, cracking it open and peering outside. After a second, he motioned the other two into the room and swiveled about to catch the camera’s angle and point at his eye.

Keahi frowned for a second before realizing that the man was likely looking for some direction from Jack’s netrunner, then the medtech crept from his hiding spot into the room as well and made his way to the front door, his heart racing.

Unfortunately, the netrunner was either not paying attention, or had left them to their own devices. No more instruction came over his Times Square Marquee, leaving them to figure out what was going on by themselves.

“You sure what’s going on out there is helping us?” Firewind asked as he peered through the small crack he’d made between the door and the frame by opening it a little.

The AV-4s were hovering a couple of hundred meters away: one at the southernmost building in the compound, and the other in a position to cover the building they were in and the building they’d been rescued from. The miniguns in the bellies and on the nose and aft were blazing away, expending hundreds of rounds in periodic displays of fiery eruptions. There were no Biotechnica soldiers to be seen from his vantge.

“What now?” Keahi closed the door again and checked the submachine gun. He did not like their position one bit.

Biotechnica Facility; Northernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:11am


Posted on 2008-12-14 at 19:46:03.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I will be posting Sunday.


As it says in the subject. So...if you haven't posted please do.

Posted on 2008-12-13 at 19:00:32.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Yeah, dealing with much of the same.


Coupled with the amount of work being piled on me right now at the office, and I'm plum drug-out tired. If we're at a point where I can post again, I will be making some posts on Sunday.

Get better.

Posted on 2008-12-13 at 18:59:32.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Sounds good.


I'll hopefully be posting on Sunday again, so if you haven't posted yet, I urge you to do so.

The characters are shaping up nicely folks! Great job thus far.

Posted on 2008-12-13 at 18:58:13.

Topic: Failure to thrive
Subject: Nothing to worry about.


Everything is likely going to turn out to be fine. Medicine is akin to working on a car. Both the mechanic and the doctor don't really know what's wrong. They just say, it sounds like it could be this issue so we'll try this. It is likely that Noah is just picky. Or that he's slight of frame.

Posted on 2008-12-13 at 00:47:22.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: No problem


I'd rather have you healed than posting. So, get better before posting again!

Posted on 2008-12-09 at 01:50:16.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: So, some of you have progressed.


Sui and Blammm are the ones I left behind for the time being. The rest of you are moving along nicely.

Posted on 2008-12-08 at 00:17:15.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Onward!


We've moved forward yet again.

Posted on 2008-12-08 at 00:15:45.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Made!


Post made! Let's go kick some floaty bad guy's butt!

Posted on 2008-12-08 at 00:11:24.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Reunions and New Opportunities


Biotechnica Facility; Southernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:10pm

Guardian led the rush from the AV-4 to the front door of the building while all about them gunfire sounded like smaller cousins to the thunder of the storm raging overhead. Scribe moved on his heels as they’d done so many times before, his adrenaline racing. Both men had weapons in hand, and as they reached the doorway to the facility Guardian stopped his momentum with the wall as he peered past the bodies laid to waste by the minigun and scanned the interior. DigitalScribe took the opposite side, though he wasn’t sure of what he’d be able to contribute he was fairly certain that he’d be of more use than Javier whom he was surprised to see arrive just behind him.

“What are you doing?” Frankie breathed, intently motioning back towards the AV-4 as though telling the corporate to return to the relative safety of aerodyne.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Javier grinned back, producing a .45 handgun from his trench coat and giving Scribe a wink. “I thought not. Don’t worry, though. I do. Just get me there.”

Guardian was finished surveying the room beyond, and with a nod to Scribe, he ducked inside.

Biotechnica Facility; Southernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:10pm




Biotechnica Facility; Northernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:09am

The sound of Lightning’s booted feet behind him was something of a comfort for Firewind. It wasn’t that he felt the Techie was a solid combatant ready to spare them death at the hands of the Biotechnica corporate guards, it was just the nature of Man to appreciate sharing a bad situation with someone. And a bad situation was what they’d found themselves in from the moment they’d signed on for this gig.

Reaching the ground floor, the medtech paused and took a deep breath, trying his best to peer through the small window without putting his face in open view of what lay beyond. The hall beyond carried the sound of gunfire to their ears, muffled and definitely somewhat distant, but still very much apparent.

Glancing back at the techie with him, Firewind raised his eyebrows, crinkling the tattoos across his forehead.

“On three?” Keahi whispered and motioned to the door while gripping the handle. When Lightning indicated he was ready Firewind swung the door wide and stepped out into the hall.

It was empty.

Letting out the breath he was holding, Firewind proceeded cautiously forward, retracing the steps they’d taken to get to the stairs and eventually peering around the corner of the hall leading back to the guard’s room where MDK had knocked that guard unconscious and the room they’d first entered through.

It was then that MDK slipped through the door in their wake and looked upon their backs. The gunfire was much more prominent, and the assassin could easily recognize the difference between submachine gun fire and a heavy caliber, fully automatic machine gun. There was no sign of any enemy, and it didn’t appear that the medtech, or techie, had noticed his arrival.

Biotechnica Facility; Northernmost Building – Northeast of Night City – March, Saturday 14th, 2020, 12:10am





Posted on 2008-12-08 at 00:09:04.

Topic: The Embodiment - A FUZIONfantasy Game
Subject: Eavesdropping, Answer Seeking, and Night Time Visitors...Oh My.


The Poor Sect | Alleyway | The City of Ethryn | The Kingdom of Ertain | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 6:22pm | Overcast and Snow-Covered



(OOC: Stealth roll 19/Hide & Evade roll 18/Human Perception roll 33)

The snow fell under his boot to compress in a soft cushion, its icy surface crumbled away by the slow footfall as Lloyd left the secretive embrace of the shadows and made his way with the patient deliberation of a practiced man across the mud-covered and snow-packed street. Arriving on the other side, the bounty hunter swept his cloak about his body and merged himself with the engaging shadows of the target shanty. His footstep remained careful, the pressure he applied to the crust of the snow was light until he’d forced it to cave allowing him to address his concern for silence with measurable success as he made his way around to the single window he’d observed before. He made certain not to touch the rough wood wall as he crouched beneath the curtained opening.

Within the shack there supposedly resided the man who’d orchestrated, possibly performed, the assassination of one of the kingdom’s greatest patriots. Behind these walls there supposedly sat a man who had robbed the kingdom of a great proponent for the Ertainian way of life. Before he went waltzing inside and apprehended the murderer, he wanted to possibly learn something about what was happening in there. It paid to be in the know after all; that’s one way he’d managed to stay alive as long as he had. So, he crouched in the bitter cold wind, his bland gray cloak wrapped tightly about him straining to hear past the whistle of the wind in his ears at what occurred within.

“You promised I’d ‘ave a way outta the city, ‘fore dawn, Milord.” The voice was plaintive, and carried with it a definite note of worry, concern, and fear. Lloyd could practically taste the owner of the voice’s trepidation it hung so thickly in the air, but while this was valuable to note, the second voice was even more interesting.

“Do not pretend to educate me on our agreement, Tales.” The second voice, barely heard above the wind, was deep and resonate, like that of growing thunder. It echoed a bit as well, as though it came from someplace hollow and distant. “You’ve served your purpose here, and shall be rewarded accordingly.”

“But the Law’ll be closin’ in any time now, Milord,” Tales continued to whine. “I—I can already feel their eyes on me. You don’t want me t’ fall int’ their hands, do you Milord?”

The deeper voice chuckled, an affectation almost lost to Lloyd as the shanty creaked in the weather and a bit of snow fell from the roof. “No, my good Tales, I do not want you to fall into their hands. But do not think that you have anything you could give the authorities to compromise me.

“As you’ve said, I did promise you an escape from the city. Be at the western gate by dawn. There will be a man there to meet you named Madius. You’ll know him by the burn scar that covers his face. He will be your means of escaping Justice, Tales. Do not be late.”

“Thank you, Milord!”

At that point there was the sound of glass fragments striking a stone floor and then a very audible sigh of relief.




The D’Oro Estate | The Empire of Drannon | Outside of The City of Drefast | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 11:50pm | Abnormally Warm



The chapel at the D’Oro estate was constructed in the year 393ER. Caterina’s grandfather had been a devout worshipper of Merca, believing the fulfillment of duty to be the end all requirement for a good life. It had been constructed of rich red oak, hand-carved walls, a pale sandstone marble tile with a black ceramic mosaic in the center bearing the falcon of Merca, and an arched ceiling that bore the work of Blenis Piline, one of the famed artists of Drannon, in a mural depicting Merca granting favor upon Eswan Cosius, a knight of some renown. The singular purpose of the chapel had been augmented by Caterina’s father when he’d sworn his sword to Rydor in 411ER. At that point, Caterina’s grandfather had been dead for a few years—killed in service to his god—and the alter to Mercan had been moved to make room for the alter to Rydor. Both alters were placed at an angle to each other just off center, respectively, of the center of the chapel in the style of a forum. Rydor’s image had been added to the mural by an aging Blenis Piline on the other side of the room, granting favor to Sir Idaine Pharadine, and many of the accouterments had been replaced to equally represent favor from both gods. Caterina had left the chapel as it had been when her father and brother had been murdered: dedicated to both gods in equal part even though she’d declared her allegiance to Rydor, Merca was still a big part of her life.

It was at the foot of Rydor’s alter that she laid Ethain’s body and took the time to prepare him in state, and it was kneeling before him that Ulant, the house butler, found her when he returned to the estate close to midnight and discovered the bloody mess left by the attack. The white-haired, able-bodied man (still as strong as an ox) had flung the door open in a panic, terrified of what he’d find there. He’d nearly collapsed in relief upon seeing his master, but his relief had been short-lived at the sight of the humble, quiet squire lying in restful repose at the foot of the alter.

The D’Oro Estate | The Empire of Drannon | Outside of The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 6:00am | Abnormally Warm



As the false winter dawn crept across the Drefast skyline, Caterina set about making the arrangements to entomb her friend and servant. Ulant had returned to the servant’s quarters after confirming that Caterina was planning on remaining in the chapel for the remainder of the night. The revelries he’d partaken in took a heavy toll upon him, and it was Caterina who found him in the morning curled up on his bed snoring the sleep of a man who’d drank too much. The empty ceramic jug lying toppled near his outstretched arm stood testament to this fact. Was he was awake, Ulant was a great help in getting the rest of the servants together to prepare for the ceremony. One was sent to fetch a priest with urgency.

The D’Oro Estate | The Empire of Drannon | Outside of The City of Drefast | Claise 4th, Viladay, 452ER, 9:00am | Abnormally Warm



Ethain’s burial ceremony was attended by all within the household. It wasn’t mandatory. He was a loved member of the house, and his loss brought an end to the celebration. The priest who’d arrived was named Carin Sollance. She was a kindly woman whom Caterina had met before in passing, but there was no friendship there. Caterina had Ethain entombed in her family cairn. He’d deserved as much. And though she’d have liked the luxury of allowing herself to be overcome by her feelings of grief, the Right hand of Rydor was sure that Time was not on her side.

She’d instructed Ulant to take care of cleaning up the manor and packing up her traveling gear just in case, and then she’d donned her armor (now with the help of a young, solemn-faced squire by the name of Tilian), strapped on her sword, and with the dagger in hand she summoned Rico in his resplendent barding plate.

Caterina D’Oro struck cut quite the image as she rode into Drefast. Her sorrow-filled golden eyes caught those who gazed upon her up in wonder at what could make such a heroic figure so melancholy. Needless to say, by the time she arrived at the temple of Rydor she was expected.

The Master of the Iron Tomb, Manderes Fetrese stood at the top of the stairs, his royal purple robes were of the lighter make due to the unseasonably warm weather they were experiencing. Behind him stood his entourage of priests ready with scrolls and books bearing writs of law and the commandments of Rydor. His ceremonial sash bore many of Rydor’s greatest commandments embroidered across its length. Manderes was of the Order of the Iron Flame, and though he wasn’t of the same sect as she was, he was the head of the church in that area, so he represented all of Rydor’s interests.

“Lady Caterina,” He spread his arms wide, his sleeves falling to his knees as he did so. “It is truly an honor to receive you. We heard you’d entered Drefast and could only hope that you’d grace our humble halls with your presence. We’re pleased that this is the case.

“Do you require a private prayer room? A blessing, perhaps?”




The Castle | Pardinal | The City of Portua | Claise 23rd, Teladay, 452ER, 7:20pm



(OOC: Awareness/Notice (Smell) roll 35/Awareness/Notice (Visual) roll 30)

Leaning over the map Sna’kti studied it further, “I will need a small copy of this map and since I am on official kingdom business, I would like a writ stating such so that if I need aid along the way I will have the authority to request and get it.”

The statement had put the servants in motion once more. The flurry of activity about the kazari was lost to the adventurer as he continued to study the map.

Lord Ontzlere gave a slow, calculating nod. “So be it. While we don’t expect you to set off tonight, I would appreciate word the you’d left Portua by first light. The sooner we can put this concern to bed, the less the King has to concern himself with the matter.”

At mention of the King, Sna’kti looked at the old man. Glancing over to Lord Ontzlere and lowering his voice so only the Lord could hear him he said, “Is the King unwell? He doesn’t look good to me.”

Lord Ontzlere didn’t even bother looking at the king as he replied, “The king is being well cared for. The royal family will appreciate learning of your concern.”

The remainder of the evening at the castle was soon over with the kazari warrior’s promise to do his best still hanging in the air, Sna’kti excused himself from the presence of the sour-faced nobleman and returned to the rain-filled night.

He’d already procured for himself a room and it was to this that he returned intent on putting the rest of his things together. Arriving at his room a strange odor caught his attention. It was the smell of wet wool mixed with leather, and it was enough to cause the large felinian to pause at the door, hand outstretched to grip the iron handle. His yellow eyes slowly moved to the floor where he found the remnants of wet footprints, not his own. Whomever it was had left a puddle on the floor that had been there long enough that the water had either mostly seeped into the floor, or evaporated.



Posted on 2008-12-07 at 23:31:12.
Edited on 2008-12-07 at 23:32:17 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Danger Will Robinson, Danger!


Char had used rocks, reeds of long mountain grass, and twigs to best create a map of the village and pin point the positions of their enemies, and as the others discussed their strategies he stood next to Northwind's long face and studied the rough layout with a frown and creased brow. There wasn't any cover to provide them with a clean approach, no matter the direction the party entered the warzone from. They were going to be open to whatever attacks these creatures had in store for them the whole of their approach, and knowing Arien and Maximus, at least those two would be rushing directly into battle hoping that the rest will be able to distract the enemy long enough for them to engage in melée at which time Char knew that he'd have to break off his ranged attack and join them.

The crushing effects of the green armed Imperial was still fresh on his mind, and the fact that these "brothers" had argued over waiting for the arrival of another Char could only assume was their superior didn't sit well with him. These two likely did have some supernatural powers they'd have to contend with. Probably at least in the same vein as the green arm fellow had demonstrated. There was nothing yet linking the two instances, but the ranger's gut told him that there was a distinct possibility they'd be finding some in the future--it was all too circumstantial.

"Aye," Char looked up as Arien finished suggesting his strategy and asked if he was leaving anything out. "Dey be waitin' on de arri'al o' some bein' so we bes' be makin' shor' work o' dis pair 'fore der frien' show up.

"Also, if'n we can take a prisoner I tink we be be'er off in de long run. Ya 'mem'er what dat green arm'd fella did t' us Arien? Dees fellas stri' me as de kin'a folks dat be able t' do da same, so be careful. All o' yous be careful."

Swinging himself int the saddle, Char settled his quiver so that it was more comfortably positioned and reachable. "I say we go to da ben' jus' 'fore da village an' den approach on foo' from de diffe'n angles."



Posted on 2008-12-07 at 18:20:43.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Uh...Boss?


Did we all die and we just don't know it yet?

Posted on 2008-12-04 at 06:34:58.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: OK, so with Raven incapacitated...


That leaves Drakar left to post. Still looking to update the game by Sunday.

Posted on 2008-12-04 at 06:30:43.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Great! Looking forward to Blammm's return.


Any word from Robert? These long absences are concerning.

Posted on 2008-12-04 at 06:29:34.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Question...


Can I triple up my weapon specialization with Char, Roger? It's been so long, I've forgotten the rules.

Char would vote on a split attack, putting some people at range while the hack-n-slash types rush in to connect and do some damage; maybe soften the baddies up with some spells and arrows before the risk becomes too great to fire upon them (once allies engage in melee). Then the "second wave" of melee combatants enter while the spellcasters bolster the fighting group and offer what support they can.

With the approaches so open, the distraction of ranged attacks might make it more possible for the fighters to reach them without difficulty.

Spellcasters...anything to ground a flying creature in your spellbooks? Take away their flight ability and we might put them on even ground...no pun intended. OK, the pun was intended, and I won't apologize for it.

Posted on 2008-12-04 at 06:28:43.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Did I leave that part out?


The offer is for five thousand royals alive. It drops to one thousand dead due to them having to pay for a Speak With the Dead spell to get their answers.

Sui, I've answered your questions via P.M.

Looking forward to being able to post a continuance this Sunday.

Posted on 2008-12-04 at 06:22:14.

 


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