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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Sorry...


I wasn't able to get as much posting done tonight as I'd hoped due to packing issues. However, the good news is that this game is one I can likely post to while I'm out and about this weekend, provided I can maintain the information I need in my itty-bitty brain. In any case, I'll do what I can to at least not hold things up.

Posted on 2008-07-17 at 06:04:32.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings, and we're fresh outta fat ladies...


Stardate: 2374.09.06
The Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 07:00 hours


Kelsey Gavison had been up for two hours by the time the ready room’s computer chirped indicating he had a visitor. He'd long since done away with a yeoman—no sense putting someone’s life at risk just for a little luxury; besides which, he never really felt like he deserved to be waited on. So, without a yeoman, it had to be something to do with the Cerberus. At least, one could always hope.

“Who is it?” Kel’s voice was weary due to a lack of sleep since he’d received this assignment.

“Gunnery Sergeant Rhiannon MacQueen, reporting in for MACO Team Beta.”
He’d heard that the MACOs had made it on board just before they’d departed from DS9, but hadn’t seen any sign of them, and had been so busy with the details of tracking down Mac’s ship that he’d completely forgotten their presence on board his own.

“Enter,” he commanded, unintentionally allowing a little of his disappointment at the lack of news on the Cerberus to seep into his gravel-filled voice.

The captain barely took notice of the statuesque sergeant as she swept into the room—his eyes had returned to the computer readout displaying the scans from Science and TAC over the third shift. He could tell that she’d saluted my the blur of motion on his peripheral, and when she’d finished he settled back in his chair and looked at her through brooding, deep set eyes.

“My orders, Sir.” MacQueen stepped forward and placed a PADD on the table in front of him, sliding it to within easy reach.

Kelsey remained still for a moment while he considered her. In his estimation she looked on edge—not nervous, but…coiled; as though ready for immediate action. As a matter-of-fact, Gavison wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d learned that she’d been ready to spring since birth, and at the same time, he knew that her countenance was more of a newly acquired flavor.

“I know what your orders are, Gunnie,” he said in a low voice. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

“Sir, might I inquire,” MacQueen started right in; there was no bashfulness in this woman. “What is known of the Cerberus’ disappearance? My twin sister is the NCO of the MACOs on board the Cerberus.”

“Right now, Gunnie,” Kelsey said in an even tone, watching the mettle of her face with a scrutinizing gaze. “We know absolutely nothing. The Cerberus disappeared from all Starfleet sensors…” He would have continued, but the picturesque MACO was staring out the window to the left, a faraway look in her eye. Kelsey gave her but a few seconds to daydream about what he knew from experience was the worst of nightmares before clearing his throat and rising. “Unless there’s more to your inquiry, Gunnie, I’ve a full day ahead of me. You’re welcome to join us on the bridge once we reach the Cerberus’ last known coordinates.”

Stardate: 2374.09.06
The Charon – Captain’s Ready Room – 13:19 hours


/--\ Bridge to Captain Gavison. /--\

Kelsey blinked away the glazed memories of loss and swallowed the hatred that soured his pallet as the commlink chirped.

“Gavison here.”

/--\ The Cerberus survivors are all aboard. The few wounded have been transported directly to sickbay where Doctor Hamilton is looking in on them, and the surviving senior officers have been shown their quarters. /--\

Kel rose from his seat and made his way towards the door. “Acknowledged,” he muttered in response to Kennedy’s report. “I want that meeting with Mac and his officers right away, Mr. Kennedy. Clear the mess hall, and make sure that there’s something on the table for them to refresh themselves with.”

The door slid open revealing the bridge. Lt. Kennedy wasn’t present, having been sent about his duties by Commander Fletcher, but Jonathan was there. Kel strode purposefully across the room to the turbo lift as he finished up his orders and received confirmation from the Ops head.

“Mr. Fletcher, Talon, Mr. Kato, and Jones, you’re with me. Mr. Mas’Riat, you’ve the bridge,” Kelsey would have preferred to have left someone with more experience in charge, but he needed these with him to hear Jack’s report. The more minds at work to determine what had occurred, the more likely they were to come out of this mess on top.

Ten minutes later, Captain Gavison entered the mess hall, his senior staff following in his wake. On most starships, the crew was allowed to decorate the mess hall as they saw fit: the Charon’s was a memorial to those lost in battle. The names of those known by the crew who’d fallen to the Dominion-Cardassian alliance were glued to the surfaces of the walls on replicated brass plates. It hadn’t been Kelsey who’d directed them to do so, but he wholly approved of the décor. He distinctly remembered the ensign who’d placed the first plaque in memory of his brother who’d been killed during the Battle of Kador III. Others had quickly followed, but it wasn’t until Kelsey had placed the plaque of that very ensign who'd started it all had it become tradition on board the Charon. This was a crew that would always remember. It strengthened their resolve, tempered their mettle, and gave them something to chew on as the pain of the war continued to develop.

Amongst this morose memorial sat Jack MacTavish and his officers, one of which Kelsey recognized.

“Mac,” Gavison stopped in front of his old friend and embraced him, immediately dissolving all formalities in the room as they ended the welcome with a warrior’s clasp and grim smiles. Nodding to the large security officer, Kel offered him a serious expression, careful not to show his teeth. It had been a long time since he’d seen Rrowl.

“There’s a lot to discuss,” Kelsey said as he motioned for everyone to be seated. “So, we’ll get the formalities out of the way forthwith.” The captain proceeded to introduce each of those officers who’d arrived with him, Lt. Kennedy having already made his introduction to Mac’s team when they’d beamed aboard. Once Jack had endured the same formality, Kel settled back in his chair, his brows coming together causing his haggard visage to become very foreboding.

“What happened, Mac? Was it the Romulans like so many of us already believe? Mr. Kato and Talon have been working hard to put the Charon’s equipment to use in order to help with the investigation, but I’ve already received missives from Headquarters wondering after our findings, and at the risk of sounding treasonous, what I want to report back to Starfleet is that the bastards that did this are cold, and dead.” Kelsey’s tone was wicked enough to send shivers up and down Lt. Kennedy’s spine. “There’ll be no tribunal, no Starfleet justice, here, Mac. This is Frontier Justice that we’re going to enact—“ The captain eyed each of those at the table in turn. “—and I defy anyone at this table to argue that particular with me.”

Stardate: 2374.09.06
The Charon – Sickbay – 12:51 hours


Lt. Jon Hash leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, a bitter scowl on his face. Had he been able to save any of his cigars, he might have been chewing on one right then. It was something he did when bothered and contemplating that which was bothering him. He never lit up, that was far too obnoxious a thing to do on a starship, but he chewed them nonetheless.

He was watching the Charon’s medical crew at work, eyeing the semi-conscious Romulan that lay on one of the five beds positioned against the wall, her vitals showing over her head on the wall display. Her companions hadn’t been allowed to join her, being beamed aboard and escorted to the cargo bay with all of those survivors who weren’t being accommodated in crew quarters, much to their dismay. The Centurion hadn’t been in any condition to argue.

There’d been a few others from the Cerberus brought into sickbay as well. A couple of security personnel who’d been rattled and shaken when their ASRV had been caught in the blast shockwave, an engineer who’d looked like he’d taken the loss of his crewmates rather poorly, and a science officer who was recovering from dehydration. But Jon wasn’t interested in any of them; it was the Centurion that held his attention, that had his brow furrowed, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and his blood boiling.

He had to remain impartial, capable of administering aid when aid was needed, but right then he was debating providing the woman with a stimulant so he could shake a confession out of her. Something deep inside told him how ridiculous such a desire was, and it was that small voice of reason that kept him against the wall.

“All vitals are stable,” one of the medical technicians stated matter-of-factly as he compared the vitals to the library records on the PADD he held in his hands.

“She isn’t dying, you moron,” Jon pushed away from the wall and strolled across the floor in a wide circle, as though getting too close to the woman would break his resolve to remain impartial. “She was knocked over by a clumsy oaf of a security detail. Check the condition of the muscles in her back, if you can find it without looking at that damned book, that is. It’s my understanding that she hurt her back due to that imbecile’s pigeon-toed dance.”

The technician stared at Hash with raised eyebrows as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Blowing air between his clenched teeth, Jon walked purposefully towards the man, every bit the picture of disgust.

“You are, apparently, either hard of hearing, or the mere presence of my genius has left you in an unprecedented stupor,” Grabbing the man by his elbow, Jon directed him towards the examination table. “Get your playmate over there, and the two of you move this Romulan centurion to the table so we can do a full body scan. A f-u-l-l b-o-d-y s-c-a-n, you know?” Jon articulated the last sentence especially carefully and slowly so as not to confuse the tech.

“Excuse me?” The man’s expression had sweetened to one of ripe dismay. He glanced about, perhaps looking for a sign of his commanding officer, Chief Hamilton, but seeing how the Chief was off with that sick engineer in the dental area (he’d been concerned about contaminating other patients with whatever illness the man had contracted), the technician found himself alone with the unorthodox lieutenant and two other crewmen.

“For the love of all of the Klingon gods,” Jon barked. “Just get that damned woman on the table!”

The response time still wasn’t what Hash had hoped it would be, but had Centurion Sienae woken entirely from her hazy dream at that moment, she would have found herself being moved to the table in the center of the room. Once there, Jon initiated the full body scan. He didn’t know what he was looking for specifically—part of him wanted to find some portion of a swallowed explosive detonation device, part of him wanted to actually figure out how a simple accident in an escape pod could result in the woman being incapacitated, and in need of sedatives. Age-old relations bred hatred in a number of people, but pure and simple scientific curiosity could beat tradition into dust in a heartbeat.

“Well, spank me and call me Shirley,” Jon muttered as the readings came in while the device passed repeatedly up and down her body. Peering at the musculature that had been created in holographic detail hovering over her body, the doctor reached up and turned her generated body on its side with a simple flick of his wrist.

“Here,” he said, circling a cluster of nerves near the spine so that the medical technicians could see what he was talking about. “What’s that?”

“Severe nerve damage,” the first man responded quietly.

Jon paused for a moment and gave him a confused look. “Can’t understand a simple command, but he seems to be somewhat educated in medicine nonetheless. Wonders never cease.

“Yes, Jasmine, it appears to be nerve damage, and I’d agree with you in the categorization of its severity, though should you ever tell anyone what I just said, I’ll hide your uniforms so you’re forced to prance around the decks of this boat wearing your lacy pink undergarments. And trust me when I say no one wants to see that.”

Hash turned back to the holographic display and “grabbed” that section of Sienae’s back, expanding it to show more minute detail.

“Can you heal it?” The technician had apparently forgotten his most recent lambasting as he peered over Hash’s shoulder at the destroyed nerves.

“Good lord, Jasmine,” Jon cocked an eyebrow at the man. “Your breath on my ear is sending tingles up and down my spine, but the odor coming off your breath is enough to cause me to hurl. Back off, girlie! Dinner first, and then maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you clean between my toes.

“Much better. Now, let’s talk repairs, shall we?” Hash turned his attention back to the Centurion’s displayed back. “With nerve transplants, and a very intrusive surgery we could gift the woman with six to ten follow up visits filled with painful growth stimulants that would likely result in her being exhausted and without an appetite, but that’s wholly contingent on being given access to state-of-the-art surgical equipment the likes of which this boat doesn’t even come close to having on board.”

“So, there’s nothing we can do?” Another of the technicians asked, her eyes wide with fear at the reprisal of her counterpart’s humiliation.

“Nothing we can do?” Jon muttered, his eyes now narrowed at the real Sienae’s pale face. “Oh, don’t give up on the patience just yet, Sister. We could always dose her up with truth serum and jam so many questions down her throat about all of those people who died on the Cerberus—“

“Doctor!?” The woman’s mouth dropped open at the suggestion.

“What?” Jon continued to stare at the Romulan, his face impassive.

“Not without Captain Gavison’s orders, certainly!”

“Not without…” Jon frowned. He wasn’t in his sickbay. “No, Centurion Khnialmnae, I’m not going to interrogate you. That particular pleasure belongs to Captains MacTavish and Gavison. I am, however, going to make damn sure you’re fully cognoscente and ready to stand before them when they call on you.

“Jasmine!” Jon glanced about until he’d found the first technician he’d tortured. “Bring me some stimulants…” Lt. Hash proceeded to give orders on how to prepare the concoction that would provide the Romulan with relief for her pain as well as that which would wake her from her dazed slumber. In time, those in the sickbay had responded well enough to provide him with a hypospray of his own special brew, and another filled with enough stimulant to pop her off the table.

“First, let’s wake her,” Jon said as he leaned over Sienae and pressed the hypospray device to her exposed throat. Settling back he watched her come to, the realization of her pain evident on her face.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to be polite and ask you how you’re feeling,” Hash sneered. “But, I already know you hurt like hell. I saw what your service to the Empire earned you, Centurion. A crap post that no one in the Romulan Empire would volunteer for, and a lifetime of crippling pain. I wish I could say I felt sorry for you—ah, who m’ kidding: I don’t really.”

Leaning forward, Jon pressed the hyposray against her neck once more, this time it was the one filled with the pain killer. As he leaned close, he whispered, “If I find out you were responsible for killing the Cerberus, the pain you feel in your back will be but a small taste of what I’ll visit upon you, Centurion Sienae I’Mhiessan Khnialmnae. This I promise you.”

The dosage shot into her system backed by the power of the device, coursing through her veins to attack her damaged back within a couple of seconds of the injection. During that time, Lt. Hash moved away from her and replaced the medical devices he’d used on the tray near the table. Turning to the two security personnel who’d sat idly by witnessing the whole thing, already having been treated for their minor injuries he growled, “Return her to her people, and keep a close eye on her. I don’t imagine that the captains are going to want my work undone anytime soon.”


Posted on 2008-07-17 at 05:38:40.
Edited on 2008-07-17 at 05:45:29 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Well, now...


Since it is apparent to me that those still in the game have posted, I'll try to get my continuance post in place tommorrow night. If not? It won't be until Tuesday or later that I'll be making that post most likely.

Posted on 2008-07-16 at 05:24:19.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: I'm going to try to post again...


Tomorrow night, since I'm going to be flying to New Jersey for a convention on Agenisis of the Corpus Colosum for the rest of the week, and Monday of next. Can't say that I'll have much of an opprtunity to post during that trip despite having the iPhone and its wonderful Internet access.

I'll be looking to add my bits for bringing the Cerberus survivors on board the Charon; including posts for Hash, Gavison, and maybe a little Kennedy (Im beginning to like the character). So, officers of the Charon, feel free to start bringing those Survivors on board:

A little direction even though this is freeform: protocol wouldn't allow for immediate arrests of anyone since the survivor's health--both psychologically, and physically--would be the first order for standard personnel. Except where the Romulans are concerned. Diplomacy is barely in check as far as Kel is concerned, and the most obvious threat to his ship until Mac and his senior staff are debriefed is the Romulans. Starfleet personnel will be treated medically, and the Ops staff will show those they've arranged quarters for to said quarters while crewmen and enlisted are treated to Cargo Bay 2. Injured and sick personnel will receive priority attention, being transported directly to sickbay--except for the Romulans. Where Mac had to keep diplomatic relations in mind, Kel isn't so prone as to care what with the confirmation that the Cerberus was destroyed.

Isn't it strange how Mac used to be the one Starfleet Command had to be concerned with, and now its Kel? War changes people...

Posted on 2008-07-16 at 05:18:05.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Glad you like it.


Once all of the characters are created I'll really flesh out their coinciding relationships. The challenge lies in creating parts of the history that bring characters together, so don't be surprised if the future changes some elements of a character's past...if you know what I mean.

Posted on 2008-07-16 at 05:02:24.

Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: Thank you, Cap'n.


All right, so Septimus' character is posted. The QA thread has the link. Since I have the most information for Cap'n Lou's character I'll be working on it next.

Posted on 2008-07-15 at 06:06:58.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: After a review of where things stand...


I was hoping for a post from Raven, but nothing yet. I'll give it a couple of more days tops. I want to get at least one more post in before I leave for Jersey on Thursday, so be prepared for that.

Posted on 2008-07-14 at 04:08:05.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: Number one.


All right, the first character is created. Link is the Character's name in the first post.

Posted on 2008-07-14 at 02:35:43.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Huh?


Things might've been a little prickly a moment earlier--Wyatt's hat could attest to that! But it weren't the gunfire, explosions, or people bleeding all over the goram place that set the hair on the back of Wyatt's neck standing on edge. No, it was the poignant look Willow gave him before gliding into the destroyed bank.

Now, he weren't no psychic telepath, or nothin', but he could've sworn she'd just screamed, "Danger! And it's the guy carrying the bag you should be worried about, you dumb space cowboy!" At least, that's what Wyatt had ringing in his brainpan as the scent of Willow's perfume dissipated into the overpowering, acidic odor of gunpowder.

(OOC: though Wyatt will continue with that which I posted above, he'll do so while keeping one hand on his newly reloaded Colt, and one eye on the town physician.)


Posted on 2008-07-13 at 06:45:46.

Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: No rush really.


I'm still working on Septimus' character sheet.

Posted on 2008-07-13 at 06:34:03.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: There may be considerably less shortly.


I don't know which will happen first: a Romulan being mauled by one of the cat people, or the cat people killing each other. Either way the fight will likely be offered on Galactic Pay Per View.

Posted on 2008-07-13 at 06:32:32.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation Persephone
Subject: Commence Rescue.


Stardate: 2374.09.06
The Charon – Bridge – 12:25 hours


“We’re being hailed, Captain,” Kennedy stated, his hands flying across the Ops controls in front of him, and to the front right of the Captain’s chair. “It’s one of the ASRVs.”

“Open a channel, Lieutenant,” Gavison said in a low voice filled with tension.

“Channel open, Sir.”

“Attention USS Charon. This es Captain Jack MacTavish, USS Cerberus. A warp core breach an’ failure of critical emergency systems ‘as resulted en th’ destruction o’ Starfleet vessel NCC-83964 an’ th’ loss o’ 132 crewmen abaird. Th’ remainin’ 15 ASRVs’ve been clustered as per battlefield recov’ry protocols an’ await yer int’rvention a’ coordinates bein’ transmitted tae ye…” He nodded to Duncan who wordlessly sent the coordinates to the approaching Saber-class frigate… “We’ve eighty-one Starfleet personnel an’ six repr’sentatives o’ th’ Romulan Star Empire fer recovery, along wi’ the remainin’ cloak an’ wha’e’er data me crew’s managed ta salvage from the library dumps prior tae the destruction o’ the vessel an’ a bit more tha’s been gathered en the past 24 hours per our own limited investigations.

Cerberus standin’ by fer further direction an’ recovery op’rations.”


Gavison sighed at the sound of the ornery Scotsman’s voice. He’d been afraid that Jack would have followed the old seafaring rule of going down with one’s ship—a practice Starfleet had worked to abolish since the inception of the War had put the number of qualified captains on the decline. The report that Mac had relayed concerning the Cerberus’ losses weighed heavy on the captain’s soul, but there were survivors to worry about at this point, and Kel was more than a little eager to find out what had happened to their sister ship.

“Captain MacTavish, this is Captain Kelsey Gavison,” Kel entered the communication with formality. “It is good to hear your voice. Prepare to be transported aboard the Charon as soon as we’re within range. We’ll have all of the survivors aboard within the hour.”

(OOC: a response, if so desired…)

Once the channel was closed, Kelsey turned his focus to the bridge crew. “Lt. Kennedy, on screen when within range. Then begin immediate coordination with Doc Hamilton to prepare a triage in the shuttle bay. I want to make sure that every one of those that are brought aboard have a clean bill of health before they’re allowed to wander my ship. Captain MacTavish will have the diplomat’s quarters. I want a meeting with Mac and his senior staff in the Observation Lounge as soon as they’ve had a chance to settle. All senior staff will attend.

“Mr. Kato,” Kel switched his attention to the science officer. “Tone those scans. I want to know every detail of those in the ASRVs, as well as the surrounding space. You find any debris from the Cerberus and I want it brought on board for further analysis by yours, and Chief Jones’ team.”

“Talon, you know what to do.”

Rising from the chair, Kelsey glanced over his shoulder to where his XO sat at the starboard wall. “Mr. Fletcher, you have the Bridge. I want to know the instant the rescue operation is a success.”

Striding from the bridge, Kel entered his ready room, waiting for the telltale sound of the doors closing before he dropped his fists to the table top and let his head fall. He hadn’t really known what he’d find upon reaching the coordinates, and he hadn’t realized it until he’d heard Mac’s voice, but he’d actually thought all of them would be gone. Vanished, or dead, or something of the sorts. He felt a relief that he hadn’t known he’d needed, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to show that side of him to the crew.

After a time, Kelsey moved around to the replicator and ordered himself a coffee. With it in hand, he returned to the head of the table where he seated himself. He’d been intent on closing his eyes a while, temporarily forgetting the events of the past couple of days. Instead, he found notification on the computer that a high priority message was waiting for him. He stared at it long and hard for some time, unsure of whether he wanted to trouble himself with it, or not. Starfleet politics were droll, and tiresome. Looking a rescue in the face, the last thing Kel wanted to do was deal with a politician’s inquiry when he had no answers.

He considered ignoring it for the space of five minutes while he sipped the coffee. It had been some time since he’d had to deal with any on a personal level, and that’s just the way he wanted to keep it. Unfortunately, in the face of what had just occurred he knew he could only avoid it for so long, and Kelsey wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

Activating the message, Captain Gavison watched detachedly until it was over. He considered the request and wondered at the response he’d be sending. In his years of service he’d sent many a letter informing family of their loss. No matter the number, it was never an easy thing. The only thing he could hope was that the girl was alive, by some miracle, and that Talon’s security measures helped turn up something.

Back on the Bridge, Lt. Kennedy was working through the logistics of establishing a quarantined triage in the shuttle bay, working with Engineering on the logistics of transporting all of the survivors in the timeframe that the captain had promised, and integrating security’s measures into the whole operation.

Posted on 2008-07-13 at 05:56:42.

Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: Yup. That you were.


As was everyone else. I need the questions listed below answered so I can get the character sheets made:

What's your character's name?

I also need you to choose three words to describe the character's disposition:

How the character feels about people:

What your character values most: examples would include money, knowledge, power, land, love, friendship, honor, etc.

The person the character values most:

Most valued possession:

The character's general philosophy (alignment):

Patron deity:

Character's description:

A list of mundane gear that the character absolutely must have:

Any livestock that the character may own:

Description of clothing worn/carried:

Any aliases that the character may have gone by in the past:

Any organizational affiliations that you'd like me to entertain:

Posted on 2008-07-13 at 04:26:52.
Edited on 2008-07-13 at 17:46:58 by Bromern Sal

Topic: The Embodiment
Subject: Bravo.


Received. And everyone else's?

Posted on 2008-07-13 at 00:26:20.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: That's fair enough.


Still not a lot of responses, but I'll likely be posting again this weekend.

Posted on 2008-07-12 at 17:48:21.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: I wonder...


Will those on the Charon be posting this weekend?

We'll be right back after these messages...



Posted on 2008-07-12 at 17:46:14.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Have fun!


Don't get eaten by bears. That'd suck.

Posted on 2008-07-11 at 04:43:30.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Nice round of posting.


I'm trying to give poor Eol time to catch up before posting a continuance, especially since there's some things he'll be sharing that will influence my post. I just wanted to let you all know that I've been enjoying the read.

Posted on 2008-07-09 at 05:39:33.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Hmmm...


That's an ominous disclaimer...


Posted on 2008-07-08 at 05:24:59.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Its like...


Missing the season finale.

Posted on 2008-07-07 at 23:34:10.

Topic: Computer Games
Subject: Computer or Console


As far as computer games are concerned, Baldur's Gate was really fun for its time, and Neverwinter Nights as well, but I grew bored with both rather quickly. For the console, Oblivion IV has held my attention for the better part of a year now.

I have to agree with Eol, though. Nothing out there comes close to comparing to a tabletop game with friends.

On a side note: Rock Band has been my addiction as of late. One of the best all out cooperative options available in my humble opinion.

Posted on 2008-07-07 at 20:21:11.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I believe the proper response to my post is:


OH, CRAP!

Posted on 2008-07-07 at 06:09:25.

Topic: The Embodiment Q&A
Subject: A decent start to be certain, but...


In order for me to create the character sheets I'll need the answers to a few more questions from everyone. I'll try and get the questions posted soon. I am currently working on Septimus' character.

Posted on 2008-07-07 at 06:07:54.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Trouble...


The Mean Streets – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:45pm

Spiff’s decision to shut off his phone likely saved his skin. Unfortunately, it also meant that the fixer would be unreachable, and for a business man, that was a very detrimental thing. Fully aware of this change in habit, Spiff and Preacher rode about in the cab sweeping the streets in search of someplace safe to hole up. There were plenty of choices cheap motels were more prominent than DataTerms, and they were on practically every street corner. The question became which one, and how far from downtown Night City did he want to go before he felt “safe?”

Preacher was unsurprisingly unresponsive during the ride. Should Spiff press, he pointedly looked towards the back of the cabbie’s head and then turned to peer out through the wash of rain once more. There were a lot of questions to be asked, no doubt, but Preacher wasn’t about to share dirty little secrets with a perfect stranger in such a private environment. So, the solo remained watchful even though Spiff had said he didn’t need a bodyguard—didn’t want one. If Spiff died, there went Preacher’s paycheck, and as much as he hated to admit it, the team needed to stick together in order to survive this, and right now his link to the team was this hot-headed fixer. So, if he didn’t keep them alive, he’d be hard pressed to keep himself alive for much longer.

“There,” Preacher said after nearly a half hour of driving. He’d spotted a Sunshine Cottages just off the freeway. They’d traveled north of downtown Night City, across the Bay Bridge, and were now in the northern sub-cities. Preacher had always had a hard time with the maps, never really caring about the political lines—to him it was all Night City. All he knew was that the Sunshine Cottages wasn’t a coffin motel, but wasn’t high class enough that it didn’t take cash.

(OOC: assuming Spiff doesn’t object to Preacher’s choice…)

The cab dropped them off with the cabbie accepting payment by Spiff in the form of the colorful Euro bills before speeding off in the direction of Downtown once more. Spiff also procured a room at the price of forty-five Eb, again paying in cash. The room Preacher requested was ground level, at the back of the motel, without pool access. It afforded them an open view of the freeway on its raised path, the off-ramp, and the frontage road that led to the motel.

The room had two beds, a desk, an entertainment center, a closet, a bathroom, and a mirror. It also had a sliding door, a swamp cooler, and a small refrigerator that was stocked with four bottles of water.

Preacher made a quick sweep of the room, checking the phone, the mirror, the television, and the clock radio for bugs. Snatching up the complimentary guide, Preacher thumbed through it.

“There’s Internet access through the television,” he muttered, turning to look at Spiff directly from beneath the rim of his hat. “Not The Net mind you, but the Internet. I can skim forums, blogs, RSS feeds, news sites, and public media, but I won’t really know what’s going on Inside. Do you understand? All the Internet time will be a prepay situation ‘cause you paid cash, but the good thing is tha’ it won’ be on a card, an’ the name you used isn’t traceable to you, so it is fairly safe.”

Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:30pm




The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:14pm

Words were a weapon that could be used to destroy, aggravate, stall, and save. DigitalScribe was capable and familiar with each and every one of those uses, and could claim no favorite. They were each like a child of his, and he loved them all equally. When they’d settled, Frankie had dropped into the single chair at the desk and produced his Zetatech “Black Book” from his pocket. He’d bought the high-end model, complete with the voice recognition transcribing software as he preferred to write his stories verbally, usually while pacing in his conapt, a brandy in hand. Perhaps it was due to self-consciousness, or that he didn’t like his works in progress being reviewed before they were finished, but he was going to start on this project using the tiny keypad built into the Black Book, even if it killed him.

There was no way that he could have known the trouble they were in while he plugged away at the first version of the story. He had no way of knowing that a black ops team had broken into the mallplex business sector, killing his video friend and taking the recorded media. He had no way of knowing that they’d received a response to their “all ears” broadcast for information pertaining to the group of saboteurs: a waitress at a restaurant had individuals matching the description eating, and discussing things pertaining to Biotechnica. She’d even recorded some of the conversation and had provided it to another black ops team just before she “jumped” from the Bay Bridge. Of course, DigitalScribe had no way of knowing this as he continued to type.

Nor was he aware that his and Guardian’s mark had been had thanks to the information provided the black ops teams. He wasn’t aware that they were converging on his very location, so caught up in his second version of the story was he. This is why he had hired Guardian. It was a similar situation to that of a Netrunner needing a meat bodyguard while they were In. Scribe’s only salvation would have to come at the hands of Guardian.

The large black man’s profession required him to remain alert, active, and ever imaginative. It was his creative vision, his own methodology for determining the best assassination approach of his mark that would result in the success, or failure, of his contract. It was his restlessness that gifted him with insight into the future.

Approaching the window, the bodyguard opened a sliver of a view outside by pulling the curtain aside with the knuckle of one finger. The storm was still pounding Night City in its attempt to tear the city apart, but that’s not what interested him. Their room was at the back of the motel, ground level, with a sliding door that opened into the courtyard where the rectangular swimming pool was located. There was one way out without going through another room, and that was to Guardian’s right…the same direction that he spotted two completely black garbed individuals bearing automatic submachine guns, full-face battle masks, combat webbing, and body armor entering the courtyard with weapons at ready.

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:28pm




Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm

“So you don’t trust me either,” MDK stated from behind his mask, quite suddenly turning on his heel to face Peacekeeper. The move immediately brought the bounty hunter to the balls of her feet, her hand dropping to the Automag she had holstered at her back waist.

Cocking her head to the side, Jaimy used her left hand to brush some errant hair from her face, its soft blue tip having been faded to black before she’d left the RV.

“You’ve got a complex, Choomba,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “My coming along on this little excursion has little to do with my level of trust for you—though you aren’t too far off. The only reason I trust you at all in this is because Jack sent you.

“I’m not here to babysit, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Peacekeeper pointed in the direction of their objective. “Going at things alone is about as smart as playing Russian Roulette—I’m here to provide back-up, and to make sure that this mission is a success. You haven’t been here from the start, but our very lives depend on this plan working, so forgive me if I don’t waste any more time in a pissing match with a man who is obviously severely…wanting, and get on with this.”

Peacekeeper made good on her word, turning from the black-garbed assassin to start on her way again, pushing past a pine branch to jog briefly across a small clearing and drop behind a scrub oak surrounded by a sort of fern. Her thermograph sensor was in full operation as she scanned the area ahead. Alternating the view between the thermograph and her infrared where she deemed fit.

(OOC: assuming the confrontation is at an end…)

MDK and Peacekeeper made decent time crawling over the mountainside. A ten mile hike through the mountains is never a simple thing, and even less so over a terrain without trails, markings, or paths. Forced, as they were, to keep in mind the possibility of sensors, bots, and patrols, the pair crept along in the fastest fashion possible. The storm that was raging along the coast was far fiercer than the storm that thundered overhead, but it didn’t make their trek any easier. Many times they slipped in the mud while traversing a steep incline, sliding down a hillside, or worked to avoid a wash. Peacekeeper didn’t complain, because the weather removed the immediate threat of a patrol spotting them from any distance. She’d been through plenty of hellish circumstances before, and this didn’t even register on her high mark.

Two hours into their hike, while cresting a small rise pouring a steady stream of water down over him, MDK spotted the first possibility of trouble. His quick eye saved them from the embarrassment of being registered on a high-mounted, heat-sensitive camera. The pin-point green power light was what gave it away, and MDK’s angle of approach was the only thing that afforded him that particular pleasure. The two had to proceed in a more cautious manner from then forward. Over the next hour they encountered four more of those cameras, and each time, either MDK or Peacekeeper spotted them in what they felt was enough time to avoid detection. Again, the bounty hunter had to thank the weather for the help they were receiving. Even if they weren’t registered by the heat detector, had the rain not been pouring they might have been detected by the visual aspect of the camera.

Three and a half hours into the hike the pair encountered their next challenge. This time it was Peacekeeper who kept MDK from inching into the detection grid. She’d been advancing, leap-frog fashion, with MDK and had been crouched behind the mossy side of a rather thick fir tree scanning the area ahead, first using her thermograph and registering nothing. Then, she switched to infrared as MDK advanced. Just as he reached her position, she’d switched to her image enhancement, scanning left to right across the rushing stream of rainwater, the assassin starting forward just as she caught sight of the small glint of metal in the shrubs before them reflecting a lightning flash.

Her hand shot out right across MDK’s chest, stopping him from moving into the open. “There,” she whispered, motioning with her head. The image was sharpening under her cybernetics. She dropped her voice even more as she realized that audio enhancement might be a possible threat as well. “It’s about three feet in height—do you see it?”

As MDK focused his own cybernetics on the area he discovered exactly what the bounty hunter had spotted. It was about three feet in height as she had said, roughly a foot and a half in diameter, and shaped much like an office trash can. It was smooth, wet from the rain, and nestled within the undergrowth enough that it had been very difficult to discover, and would have been even on a clear day.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jaimy whispered, crouching just over his shoulder so that her voice practically tickled his ear. MDK hadn’t, but it was out of place in nature enough to immediately realize that it was a possible threat.

Further surveillance of the area they were in showed that the terrain they were in was sloping down to the right at a five percent grade. They were at the edge of a clearing that was maybe forty meters wide and cut in two sections by a rushing stream, overflowing with the rain water. There was very little by the way of foliage in the clearing. If they belly-crawled they might have been able to cross with little chance of notice by the human eye, but this canister was a new threat…unpredictable…unknown. From the looks of things, they’d have to go out of their way by at least fifteen minutes, or more, to avoid the clearing.

“Grand,” Peacekeeper muttered in MDK’s ear once more. “I think we may have entered into their secondary parameter. Any idea what it is?”

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm

Posted on 2008-07-07 at 05:52:46.

Topic: Star Trek: Operation:Persephone - Q&A
Subject: Eol?


How's the remainder of that post coming?

Posted on 2008-07-05 at 19:56:48.

 


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