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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: No. No stopping the game yet.


I've no plans of stopping yet. I'm in the middle of a huge art project and have a deadline of the end of November. Work has been keeping me late as I develop my department every week night making it so that I am falling behind on the art. Seeing how I've never missed a deadline this is taking up most of my time. This is why I've been slow with responses, posting irregularly, and more of a wraith around these parts of late than an admin.

Posted on 2007-10-27 at 07:56:22.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: fighter with a big budget...LOL


Nice sketch. Little known fact: Char's portrait is the dude in the upper right portion of the RDINN banner.

Posted on 2007-10-26 at 02:39:32.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Propriety, or loyalty?


Nice... keep them grunts in line!

Posted on 2007-10-25 at 02:48:31.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: If I weren't in the Army I'd release a rather heavy sigh...


Monty let his counting fade away as the Corporal relieved himself of any decorum. The lieutenant did nothing more than raise his eyebrows in an expression of visible consideration as Hart readily dismissed himself and made his way to Blake. The Lieutenant tilted his head to the side slightly at Blake's confirmation of his request for information from the soldier, and then gave a slight twitch of his head as though shaking the memory of what had just happened from his mind. He was about to address the man when the Staff Sergeant stepped in. This time, Monty let him have his way with the man, and instead turned to the Private.

"Well, son? You got some smart ass way of responding to a superior officer, or are you itchin' to keep your skin in tact? Sergeant Kane likes to peel it off of greens who like to smart off real slow, kinda like skinnin' a rabbit."

Monty spoke calmly, even casually, without an edge to his voice as though what he'd just said was just a matter of fact, no elaboration.

Once the introductions are in place (OOC: didn't want to hold up game play so I'm moving things forward by intention. I don't pretend to be running the game, so if Olan determines otherwise, then I'll backpost) Monty will review the new personnel files with Blake, make sure that Inga has all of the medical information she needs on each of the team, receive a report on the condition of the unit from Kane, and review the maps Blake has with the team developing a point of entry plan and a preliminary plan of action for the teams that involves separate into each fire team to cover more ground while maintaining radio contact. If there's enough time, he'll order everyone down for some shuteye and then they'll hoof it to their ride, all clean and proper like.

Posted on 2007-10-25 at 02:46:12.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Stay on target... stay on target...


Char had little choice, but to make short work of the fellow in front of him; who seemed to be a bit more resilient and resourceful than the ranger had hoped. Curling his lip into a snarl, the woodsman pressed, spinning his blades in a portentous display of swordsmanship, he cut, slashed, and danced the deadly weapons in and around the Green's defenses.

(OOC: continue with the fight. If he kills this one, he'll move to support anyone who looks like they could use help. Barring that, Char'll take Arien's sword side to help protect against an attack not covered by the shield. Barring that, he'll make sure Da' Moon isn't in trouble and move to help Da' Dwarf.)

Posted on 2007-10-25 at 02:33:01.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: A decision has been made.


Why'd it seem like all the jobs they ran as of late got 'em in trouble? Wyatt impatiently drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as the suggestions came in. One ear on the intercom, the other to the ground, so to speak. The way he figured it they were humped whether they flew in nose first, or ass first. Once it became known they weren't who was expected questions'd be raised 'bout how they got past the blockade, the Consortium'd send in the Law, and they'd be bound by It. Rocinante'd wind up grounded, and likely auctioned off while they spent a good long while rotting away in prison on some God-forsaken backwater moon. Even with these erstwhile thoughts bouncing 'round his head the captain's face remained a mask of calm.

The intercom fell silent and Wyatt paused for a brief moment longer while he formulated a plan. The fuel readings were as much a deciding factor as their lack of resources on the planet--God, but he wouldn't give a fortune to have a connection with the local authorities right then! Then again, he'd be happy with a major distraction; maybe a meteor shower, or a Reaver raiding party, or the Alliance showing up to recognize some big damn hero to take the focus off them. It wasn't in the cards though, which meant that the crew of Rocinante'd have to play the round holding butkuss and bluffin' like they was born to it.

"Alright," Sung clicked the comm button and held the receiver close to his lips. "We'll continue on in. Ash, get strapped. Willow, get all gussied up 'cause you're the ace up our sleeve at the moment. Yer gonna hafts have yer game face on, Sweetheart, or we'll like be eating jailhouse grub tonight. Once were earthbound everyone but Trish'll make landfall like were accompanying Willow as bodyguards. Let's hope that there's no registered companions portside or we're humped."

Wyatt released the clicker and dropped the device back in its cradle. "Take us down Sam, and once we're landed get your hog's leg and meet us in the hold."

That said, Captain Sung rose up out of his seat, retreated to his quarters, and began getting ready for action by slipping into his mesh shirt, slinging his Colt, and sliding his shotgun rig into place. He didn't leave off his knife, holdout, or patting his picture of elephants good-bye either before he made his way to the cargo hold to experience their welcome.

Posted on 2007-10-22 at 06:23:30.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Shopping list


While we're at it can we get a topographical map, a heat imaging map, a satellite imaging map, a DNA map, a political region map, a "location of bad guys" map, and a toothbrush? I don't know... I'm just trying to make more work for Olan since he smite me. It isn't my fault he decided to maim Noah, why do I have to get smitten?

Posted on 2007-10-20 at 17:55:29.
Edited on 2007-10-20 at 17:55:42 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I replied.


I'm beginning to think people don't like the game no mores.

Posted on 2007-10-18 at 02:14:19.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: I intend to.


I fully intend to post soon, but am currently swamped. So, in case my not posting would hinder the progress of combat, and thus the game; please know that Char isn't going to change his focus from the Green he faces unless something serious occurs...which could mean any number of things, but includes the Green's death, a party member's serious injury necessitating retreat, or the discovery that Darth Vader is Char's father in which case the fact that I've used an impossibly long, and somewhat exhausting, run-on sentence in this thread is entirely moot and should be ignored.

Posted on 2007-10-17 at 01:37:06.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: I wouldn't know...


I've never been in a game of yours that's lasted. Oh, no he di'n't. Yup... I went there.

Only because we've all had them so it isn't like I'm picking on Olan--well, OK, I'm picking on Olan. But he deserves it for cutting his son's feet off for a photoshoot.

Posted on 2007-10-13 at 18:16:28.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Response


Monty stopped short in the middle of the hall when Sgt. Kane addressed him. The Lieutenant listened to the suggested assignments and gave a nod.

"Sounds good to me Sergeant. Way to take the initiative," the latter end of the statement was offered with a rather informal slap to the shoulder as Monty turned and proceeded on course for the barracks.

Once in the drafty quarters, Lt. Kernan returned the salutes before offering an, "As you were." Then, as he made his way to one of the cots, the country boy dropped introductions over his shoulder like a week-old newspaper. Setting what gear he carried with him on the flimsy-looking bed he turned and gave a nod to the shorter of the two men.

"Corporal Hart," he slid his gaze to the larger man as though it were on ice. "Private Pearson. Welcome to the team.

"We haven't been together for long, and yet, we're being asked to perform like a well-oiled machine. I don't appreciate anomalies on my team, and right now, that's what the two of you are. I don't doubt that within the next thirty seconds or so Chief Blake will pipe up with the fact that she's got your files on hand for my review, but if there's anything you wish to share in the meantime, I expect y'all have about fifteen seconds apiece to do so. Fourteen...thirteen...twelve..."

Posted on 2007-10-11 at 01:16:21.

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Hmm... Warning Wil Robinson, Warning!


If we have an NPC joining the team he's bound to be a doppelganger of alien origin ready to rip our faces off at the first opportunity and assume our identities. Forget that this would require him to have had prior knowledge of our arrival and arranged all of the proper paperwork. Forget that nothing about this has yet been but assumed paranormal. Forget that assuming all of our personalities would lead to extensive psychotherapy (do aliens have that). Just, for the sake of all that is holy: BEWARE THE NPC!

Posted on 2007-10-11 at 01:02:05.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Uh... Call me Mr. Team Player.


I vote one unplanned nap per adventuring party per adventure is plenty.

Posted on 2007-10-11 at 00:59:19.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Gwai Ma Jeow...


“We’re humped!”

Wyatt’s face remained impassive as his eyes played quickly over the readouts and displays. It sure seemed like Dash was right, and in the split second it took Wyatt to come to that conclusion the warnings went dead. Sung held up a hand to stall the evasive maneuvers he knew were just a blink of an eye away—not that he needed to, Sam was well aware of the sudden change as well, and the telltale sensation of being pressed back into his seat told Wyatt that the pilot had acted on their good luck.

The black gave way to atmosphere, slowly at first, the coupled with a slight burn across the nose of Rocinante that crawled up to the cockpit and shook the whole of the ship like an angry child. Dash made the announcement that he was going to Burn and Wyatt snatched the intercom from its perch.

“Looks like we made it boys an’ girls. Fasten in ‘cause we’re burnin’ atmo.” As soon as his announcement was made, the radio squawked to life.

“This is the Frisco Port Authority! Gau Guhn! The whole town’s turned out to greets you. There’s a band and everything. Mr. Blake is hopin’ you’ll make a speech when you land—you know, to get everyone’s sprit up and all. You are cleared to land on Pad One. See you in the world!”

Wyatt sat back in his seat and cocked his head slightly to the side while he stared at the console the happy voice had just emitted through. Then, slowly, Captain Sung turned and offered Sam a questioning gaze while tilting his hat back on his head.

“A shipment of ice don’t warrant a parade in my book. I think the mule we piggybacked in here might’ve been set fer somethin’ glorious, an’ we’ve now been mistaken for the other boat. How W’rin Bu Lai, Whai W’rin Bu Jwo (Good luck don’t come, bad luck don’t leave).” Wyatt thought for a moment… they didn’t have too long.

“Need some suggestions, folks,” Wyatt had grabbed the intercom again and was now relaying his request throughout Rocinante’s interior. “Seems we’ve slipped into the boots of expected guests, only we’re not gonna be received too well once we dock an’ the good folks down there realize we ain’t who they was expectin’. Then, as I see it, it’ll all come t’ light that we just ran the gauntlet and the bloody Consortium’ll be itchin’ for our scalps.

“Though, the other side t’ the coin is, we hoof it for greener pastures elsewhere an’ we’re like as not t’ get the Consortium all spit shining their iron and testin’ their hangin’ rope all the same. Either way, seems we’re humped ‘less we can come up with somethin’ Da Chung Wu Dahn (impressive display, despite having no substance).”

Posted on 2007-10-10 at 01:59:22.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Not enough time.


He wouldn't have had enough time to do anything efficient before the warehouse. We'll get to that though in game play.

Posted on 2007-10-08 at 18:56:27.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: We've plenty...


There're plenty of virgins in Utah if we need a sacrifice. Oh, that's going to come across wrong on a search for Evils and D&D.

Posted on 2007-10-08 at 18:46:15.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: That's one of the problems...


With long lulls between posts. I thought I'd got everything. Send me a PM with the items I didn't cover that Spiff was trying to accomplish and I'll give you results if any. As for the medical care... as of yet; no. Firewind was trying first to save the package, then to figure out what exactly killed her.

Posted on 2007-10-08 at 03:19:09.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I've sent the sheet.


I've sent the Excel spreadsheet that contains the character.

Posted on 2007-10-07 at 20:42:51.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Oh, if it weren't...


Then we wouldn't be enjoying things Roger!

Posted on 2007-10-07 at 20:39:58.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: How come I have a sinking feeling about this?


Empty rooms soon gave way to an occupied chamber and Char immediately felt his heart leap. It wasn't that he enjoyed battle and the killing that resulted. No, he was more about the art of swordplay, the form, the challenge it presented oneself, but in this case, Greens meant that he wasn't about to face down some crazy powerful wizard, and for that, he was gratefully excited.

Stepping to the side of the armored men, Char let fly two arrows for the commander; quick, precise, and hopefully more than a little deadly. Then, as quickly as he could, the ranger sets himself behind Arien and sheathes his bow in the quiver before drawing his two Kukri blades. His smile is faint beneath his mud-colored facial hair, his long, unruly locks flowing before him in a fashion that should be disconcerting, but that he is so used to it bothers him not at all. Greens for the picking; Arien and Maximus as the brute force, Char glides in with grace and skill, spinning his weapons and hunting prey.

"Side t' side, Lads!" he calls just loud enough for his companions to hear, and hopefully not loud enough to give the Greens time to react to a shift in position. Normally that would have been Arien barking a quick field command, but the knight's disposition seemed more intent on wading through this to get up the stairs. The ranger didn't know if the big man would have made the order or not, and despite the rush of battle, he felt a little embarrassed at having given orders when Arien was back in action.

Intent on the Greens, Char will stay at the side of the knight, working to eliminate the threats as quickly and efficiently as possible while not giving up their flank...and hoping to use a bit of Arien's shield to keep those nasty little stingers at bay.

Posted on 2007-10-06 at 21:09:05.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: A lot of reading.


The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am

Croaker’s orders spilled into the van’s cavernous cargo hold as liquidly as the blood flowing from the head of the dead girl to the floor. Firewind had overcome his initial bout of shock at the sudden turn of events and was now adjusting his MedScanner to see if he couldn’t determine what had caused the aneurisms. It was just too…impossible for him to accept as a result of excessive drug abuse. No documentation he’d ever read about (and he often kept himself up to date on medical blogs and journals) detailed multiple aneurisms with a birth-to-death rate of a few seconds. Hell! For that matter, none described any patients with that many aneurisms. With his jaw set, the medtech studied the readouts of his scanner while he passed it over the head, heart, and vital organs of the victim and the nomad jumped onto Peacekeeper’s cell.

“Hello? It’s Croaker. We have the package, but there’s been a complication…”

”An’ wot might that be?”

“She’s dead.”

”Hmm. Thought the deal was, no ‘arm t’ the bird, an’ the lot o’ ya get paid. If ya go’ the bird shot—“

“Multiple brain aneurisms.”

”You don’ say…”

“Still headed for the meet as we were told at this time. Any new instructions?”

There was momentary silence on the other end, then, “No. Keep on, lad. We’ll meet.”

The line went dead at that point leaving the sounds of the storm to dominate the minds of everyone inside.

Minutes later, Bullseye turned the van onto the cement tarmac of the docks. The bay was being tossed about like black oil being carried about by a drunk. Huge waves crashed against the bulwark sending sprays of heavy water over the retaining wall twenty to thirty feet onto the docks. The van was hit by this spray more than once, and the electrical display of lightning against the backdrop of the bridge was like something from one of those holographically-enhanced operas corporates enjoyed so much. One could almost see the fat soprano standing in her valkyrie costume, spear raised to the heavens as she delivered that piercing high note.

Finding the warehouse where they were to meet wasn’t difficult. The large loading bay door was open, light spilling into the storm. Four men in long, black armored trench coats carrying heavy submachine guns stood at the mouth and as Bullseye pulled the vehicle up to them, three slivers of red laser lights passed through the windshield and found a home as dots of red light on the nomad’s chest and forehead. The fourth man walked calmly up to the driver’s side window and motioned for Bullseye to lower it. Before the man could say anything, Croaker stepped to the front, hands in plain view.

“We’re here with the bird.”

The trenchcoated man was thick through the jaw, mustached with a thick rake of black hair beneath his nose, and narrow, beady eyes. His head was bald and currently receiving a pelting massage from the rain. He eyed Croaker for a minute, tiny digital readouts running across his left eye for a moment and then nodded as he stepped back and motioned the van inside.

The interior of the warehouse was stacked with crates and steel shipping containers. Every so often another of these black-clad soldiers motioned the van down another aisle, or around a corner, until they were well within the belly of the structure. The overhead lights were hung by twenty-foot stretches of long inch-thick chain—large upside down troughs of fluorescent lights that cast a sickly yellow glow over the valley that lay hidden within the mountains of crates. Within that valley rested three vehicles: a large, black, SUV with tinted windows, and two black sedans the type very wealthy individuals have chauffeured. There were ten more of these black-clad soldiers with their submachine guns waiting in a semi-circle in front of the vehicles, and as the van slowed to a stop just inside the clearing, the door to one of the sedans opened.

The man who stepped out wore a ratty old fedora hat, a leather jacket with an American Flag on the shoulder, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stepped aside just enough to allow an equally domineering figure to rise from the back seat wearing jeans and a bomber’s jacket—completely out of place with the luxury and high-class of the vehicles and soldiery.

The Piper (for that was the fellow in the fedora) and Springed-Heel Jack waited for Croaker and Peacekeeper to drop from the side door and step forward before they broke the circle of watchers and strode forward to meet.

“Where’s the bird?” Springed-Heel Jack went straight for the throat and Croaker motioned towards the van. The four made their way over to it with an air of confidence that spoke volumes for The Piper’s ability. At a motion from the infamous fixer, Croaker lifted the back door and sent it rolling upward, revealing the bloody scene to his employer for the first time.

Jack took in the new faces, the blood-covered floor, and the corpse without expression. “Brain aneurisms?”

“Yes.”

Firewind turned and peered at the man he knew was Springed-Heel Jack for the first time. He was an impressive figure to the islander, but Keahi had dealt with impressive before and now he was the man with the answers; what little answers there were.

“That’s not normal.”

“No shit?”

Keahi frowned a little at the man’s response, but continued none-the-less, “The sedatives that I gave her have no known side effects, and especially wouldn’t have set off the clots, so I’m fairly confident her death wasn’t caused by our actions.”

“Fairly?”

“I can’t be certain until bloodwork is done, and I’d need a full lab for that.”

Jack gave the faintest of nods, though Firewind didn’t really know what that meant and the man continued to stand there, staring at the inert form of the dead girl. Shifting his weight, the medtech waited for any further instructions or questions. His last round of scanning had been inconclusive and he was really hoping he’d have the chance to solve this mystery.

“A lab…” Jack scratched at his chin and glanced at the tattooed face of the medtech. “Like at a hospital?”

Keahi nodded, and then added, “Or the University.”

“You ‘ave access t’ either of those, Lad?”

Firewind shook his head a little sadly.

“Right, then.” With nothing more said, Springed-Heel Jack turned from the van and began to walk over towards his cars, his hand going to his pocket and retrieving a cell phone. The Piper stepped back just a little so he could keep everyone in sight. The fixer’s walk took him far enough away that he was able to mask his conversation from even those with enhanced hearing. It was a tense while, a number of minutes, a number of phone calls, and then the phone went back into his pocket and Springed-Heel Jack returned to the rear of the van.

“You’ll be followin’ us.” That was all he said as he collected The Piper and returned to their vehicles. It was with precision that the ten soldiers moved away, vanishing amongst the cargo rails and shipping containers leaving just the vehicles. The headlights switched on, and the sleek, black machines rolled out and past the van. It took Bullseye a two point turn to roll the van around and follow into the storm once again.

Their trip took them across town to the college campus where they road up the deserted streets and down some service alleys to the back of a large, looming structure made of red brick and white cement blocks. There was a loading bay nearby with a ramp and a side door. As the black vehicles rolled to a stop, their lights shut off and the doors swung open. Once again, the Piper was the first out, scanning their surroundings before allowing Springed-Heel Jack to step into the rain. Two men in black trenchcoats made their way to the back of the van and said nothing as they rolled a blanket out and made to move Merry Deth’s corpse onto the rough wool. All the while, those in the van could see Springed-Heel Jack and The Piper make their way to the service door, knock, and then knock again.

The door opened to reveal a man wearing the coveralls of a janitorial staffer. There was brief conversation before the man stepped aside, holding the door open for Springed-Heel and The Piper. The rest of the crew followed, including the two men who now carried the covered body of the bird between them wrapped in the blanket. Most of her blood had drained onto the floor of the van and the bleeding had subsided.

Almost immediately upon entering the yawning halls of the building the smell of cleaning supplies overruns the odor of the storm. Firewind immediately recalled his days at college and the types of rooms they’d all be encountering in this building. The fixer had arranged for him to be able to find the answers. Within short order they were being admitted to a room that required a security card access that the janitor provided. Everyone filed in: Springed-Heel Jack, The Piper, Croaker, Peacekeeper, Bullseye, Firewind, Preacher, DigitalScribe, Guardian, Spiff, and the two men carrying Merry Deth. These two set her on the floor behind the central counter, out of sight from anyone coming to the door. The janitor politely excused himself (or was it smartly), and Springed-Heel Jack turned to Firewind, spreading his arms wide.

“Have at it, Lad. The world is your oyster.”

The medtech immediately stepped to action. First, finding a syringe and drawing some of the blood from the victim’s body, and then moving to the back counter where vials stood waiting and he could fill various vials with small amounts of the blood as well as a Petri dish, or two. While Firewind worked, Springed-Heel excused himself and stepped out into the hall, cell phone to his ear the moment it closed, The Piper on his heel. This left the group alone with the two soldiers.

Needless to say, a number of looks were shared amongst the group, but little was spoken. DigitalScribe had managed to stay near the back of the crowd, probably as a favor to Croaker and to reduce the chance that he’d be recognized. Guardian, of course, stayed close by. Peacekeeper had made it publicly known (not that many didn’t already figure it) that she and Croaker were an item, and now the two stood close to each other near the door watching Firewind move excitedly about the room, peering through microscopes, typing away on a computer keyboard, checking chemical reactions within vials and on Petri dishes. Preacher found a three-legged stool and planted himself on it, while Spiff and Bullseye found out of the way places to seat themselves as well. The two guards Springed-Heel Jack had left with them remained watchful, but silent and time passed.

It was nearly an hour and a half later when Springed-Heel Jack returned with The Piper in tow. By that time, Firewind had been at the computer for close to fifteen minutes, apparently finished with the work involving the lab equipment.

“Well?”

“I was right,” Keahi began. “It wasn’t the sedative that acted as the catalyst. There was definitely a foreign drug in her system though. I won’t bore you with the breakdown, but this is something that hasn’t hit the market yet.”

“Designer?”

“No. More like a combat drug, though it doesn’t effect the nervous system so much as the synaptic relay.” The tattooed face of the Hawaiian wore a quizzical expression. “Have you heard of the drugs Sixgun, or Boost? Well, amplify the effects those two drugs would have and focus it on the logic center of the brain, the problem-solving center, and the comprehension center, then as near as I can tell, you’ve got this system enhancer.”

“You figured tha’ out in an’ hour’s time usin’ college equipment, Lad? What in the Hell are you doin’ edgerunnin’?”

Firewind paused for a moment, his mouth slightly open before he continued. “Look, it isn’t difficult to tell where the drugs focus lay once I was able to combine the results of my scans with the bloodwork. The downside is that I only have half the equation. I can tell what the sum of it all is, but I don’t know what made it all work—I don’t have the equation, if you will.”

“But this drug killed the lass, no?”

“Or a combination of drugs; yes.” Keahi glanced at the body for a moment. “Though, like I said, this isn’t something that’s on the street as near as I can tell—“

“No,” Springed-Heel Jack and Spiff both spoke up at the same time, but it was the more prominent fixer that continued, with a glance at the other man. “I’d ‘ave ‘eard of it had it been available on the streets.”

That said, Springed-Heel Jack turned and began a slow pace of his end of the room, all eyes on him. Tapping his chin, arm folded across his chest, he was nodding slowly as he began to talk.

“So, we’ve go’ ourselves a bit o’ a predicamen’. The contract said t’ deliver the bird by three in the mornin’ unharmed, bu’ the drug—or drugs—she was takin’ killed her ‘fore we could deliver.”

“Hey,” Preacher growled from his perch. “If that cocktail made a person smarter, more capable of solving problems, an’ better able t’ comprehend problems; would it make them smart enough t’ the point of organizing the Wild Things t’ where they’d become a problem for megacorps?”

Keahi nodded, slowly at first, then more assuredly. Springed-Heel Jack paused as he considered this, then turned and faced the lot of them, his brow creasing in sudden anger.

“Folks,” he said in a low voice. “We’re the fall guys now, an’ I donna like being the fall guy.”

The statement caused the room to fall silent or a moment before DigitalScribe spoke up using a tone of dawning realization. “The package was supposed to be delivered unharmed, and instead, she dies of an overdose from an experimental drug. Let me guess; the contract was initiated through crystal palaces and glass buildings? Well, I might be pissing into the wind, but I think ol’ Springed-Heel Jack is onto something here. This is a megacorp trying to get something back and we’ve just stepped into the frackin’ grave they’re going to bury us in to cover this up.”

The fixer stared at the media with narrowed eyes for a moment as though considering him in more detail for the first time, then he turned to Croaker, “Yer friend has hit the proverbial nail upon the head, Lad. I’m thinkin’ that we’re about t’ be fracked from behind without no Vaseline unless we do somethin’ about it first hand. I’m also thinkin’ that we’re no’ about t’ get paid on this one.” With a sigh, Springed-Heel Jack looked down at his boots and swore silently to himself before looking up at everyone again. “Every one o’ you are targets now. There’s no doubt about it. I donna know the lot o’ ya as it seems tha’ Croaker and Peacekeeper ‘ad t’ pick up some additional meat t’ replace some that was lost, but the storm ain’t the only thing blowin’ tonight. I’m afraid tha’ unless we take action, we’re all dead.”

“What kind of action?” Keahi said in a voice so low it was barely heard. His eyes were wide, and his mouth dry. This was what he wanted; to take on the megacorps, to bring down their tyrannical rule on society, but up to this point in his life, he’d been handling odd jobs that remotely affected them. Now, he was looking down the barrel of a gun, and it was held by a full-fledged corporation from what he was gathering.

“Who is it?” DigitalScribe asked. “Who’s the employer? Arasaka? Biotechnica?”

“Biotechnica is who the man works for as near as my sources can tell.” Jack was taking notice of Scribe’s intuition. “Now, we can still hold the meet with the contractor as he’s expecting us t’ deliver in…” Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. “…thirty minutes a live package. We haven’ relayed the fact tha’ she’s flatlined yet. Tha’ might give us the opportunity t’ grab the bastard an’ figure a way t’ deal with this mess if’n the lot o’ you want a piece o’ that action.”

“Finesse,” Scribe countered. “Yeah, that has finesse written all over it. Look, no offense Mr. Jack, but your organization against Biotechnica? I’m sorry, but isn’t that a bit like you taking on the Mob? If this is a leak—if this is a Biotechnica operation—this corpo has a lot to lose. You think he’ll just roll over and hand you your out? I don’t.”

Night City University, Medical Education Laboratory, Science Labs Building – Lower West Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 2:35am

Posted on 2007-10-06 at 20:46:49.

Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Oh, we're likely dead.


I agree... but we're likely dead. This reminds me a bit of the time my friend had my 3rd level druid go up against a red dragon. Now, I'm not stupid... I had him run. As a matter-of-fact, he ran straight for the water of a lake not too far off where I hoped to shapechange into a fish and escape. Didn't make it.

Green rays of light destroying boulders--boulders being hefted into the sky like artillery... I'm pretty sure that this fits that category.

Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:45:32.

Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I think...


I'm thinking that with Firewind's player having quit, I may take the medtech as an NPC, unless Drakar is really set on playing him. I was originally keeping Preacher as the NPC, but the information that the Medtech needs to have on hand is a little more daunting to take over than a solo.

So, Drakar, if you want to play you can take on Preacher, or the Netrunner Jazzer (though he has far less to do with the game at this point).

Oh, and by-the-way, I've moved the storyline on. Good luck.

Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:42:40.
Edited on 2007-10-06 at 20:55:27 by Bromern Sal

Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Good on ya.


Monty gave the Chief a nod of approval as she returned to her seat having successfully changed things up. All confidence and calm, the lieutenant silently returned to peering out the small cockpit and considering what ramifications this deviation could entail. The Army trains paranoia into a person--especially a special ops person. You had to be paranoid to survive--everyone out to get you, the slightest disregard for a little old lady in a heavy coat resulting in the whole team being blown to smithereens by a suicide bomber...it wasn't a pretty world that the military trained you for.

These pleasant thoughts remained foremost on his mind for the remainder of the flight, even into the landing and right up to the point where they disembarked, if somewhat clumsily, from the scramjet to be received by the soldier. His team were all trained personnel; the files he had overlooked on the B-52 had attested to that. He had no reason to organize their boarding of the Arctic Cat, no reason to assume any of them didn't know their stuff. As a matter-of-fact, the looey was perfectly content to keep on considering the strangeness that was the malfunction, or prearranged failure, of the coordinates.

When they arrived shivering and jarred at White Horse, Monty was more than ready for the relative warmth of the facility. It had been cold enough that it was difficult to keep his mind on the business at hand. When meeting with the Major, Lt. Kernan offered a salute as was appropriate and then shook the man's hand, nodding at his statement.

"We appreciate the hospitality, Sir." Monty gave a curt nod. "But if I may; we need to report that scramjet's coordinates either malfunctioned, or were entered in incorrectly in the first place. If it hadn't been for the Master Chief here, me and my team could've ended up in God-knows-where. Chief Blake can give you further detail on what the on-board contained if you don't have the staff on-hand, Sir."

That little bit of information delivered to a superior officer was all Monty needed to relieve his mind of the responsibility such an oversight presented him. Sure, he'd keep in mind that there was the possibility this mission was a suicide from the get-go, but he'd handed the relative information over to Mother Army and could focus then on getting his team ready for the final leg of their mission.

"One final thing, Sir," Monty remained 'At Ease', his hands behind his back, clasped at the wrists as he spoke. "Is there any recent satellite imagery of the science station? Weather patterns, topographical and thermal imaging, any intel you've got for further consideration would be appreciated."

Barring any additional information that comes up resulting in continued conversation, Monty accepts the invitation to get a little rest, sure that his team won't be able to attain such a luxury for the remainder of the mission. He is not going to allow all of the time at White Horse to be spent in R&R, but will set his watch alarm for an hour before the E.T.D. where he will go over the information the Major provides (if any), and the information Blake can pull up on her laptop, developing a plan of entry.

Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:39:04.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I don't have...


Not a lot of time right now but didn't want to hold things up.

Asher'd be in the engine room then, and the move's a go.

Posted on 2007-10-03 at 01:59:41.

 


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