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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Yeah?
I seem to remember a few exploding arrows a while back. There wasn't any excuses there... *realizes he's opening too many doors* Not that I mind. I mean, Char could go this whole adventure without any further injury and I wouldn't complain. Nor would I rub it in the faces of those less fortunate. I promise.
Posted on 2007-07-31 at 00:46:19.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: You're still in.
No problem. You're still in.
Posted on 2007-07-31 at 00:43:56.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Yeah.
Yup. It was seen.
Posted on 2007-07-29 at 17:38:17.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Plan making.
Sam Hawkes voice answered Wyatt’s instructions instead of the mechanic’s, “Kora is helping Miss Willow. For pity sakes Captain Wyatt, can’t we leave them their dignity? It is so little to ask yet sometimes it is all that separates us from them.”
Wyatt glanced at the man as though he were using his brainpan to fry eggs instead of think, and then shrugged. “This is still your house, Sam.”
Not nearly as confident as he would have been with Kora watching his back, Wyatt makes his way out to the porch and listens to their explanation of how they’d wound up at the Lullaby. Now, Wyatt had known his fair share of dangerous criminals, as a matter-of-fact, some would consider him to be one in some instances, and despite his raging mind, the captain just couldn’t see Sam Hawkes as a dangerous criminal. It didn’t fit none. And even if it did, these misbegotten backwoods folk had just hurt what was his to protect. That alone made him awful unforgiving despite their loss. Wyatt kept skipping back and forth between reminders of how he had felt upon finding Summer and Eden to wanting to end their wasteful lives then and there and be done with it. In the end, it was the memory of his wife and daughter that brought him around.
“All right,” he drawled coolly. “I ain’t one bit pleased about the fact that the lot of you happened in on our business dealings when you did, and what’s more is that I ain’t at all pleased with being shot at, much less having my crew being blown up. Seeing how this isn’t my mine, however, you’ve just found yourselves some saving grace.
“I’m gonna tell you once what you’re gonna do next, an’ only once. Dohn-ma?” Without waiting for them to confirm an understanding, the captain continues. “You’ll return to your ship and sit pretty quiet an’ still in your galley until we figure out whether you’re going to be the ones to make up for the damages here, or not. If I so much as see red-hair in the next while I’ll blast it clean through before I ask any questions. Now git!”
(OOC: assuming there isn’t any resistance… if there is, I’ll retrace my steps.)
After the lot of them had returned sniveling to their ship, Wyatt drops from the porch and approaches the mad man who’d caused them so much grief. The man’s legs were buckled under him, his black eyes staring up at the simulated sky, the gat he’d used to pepper the house pointing back towards the bay door. There was a single bullet hole visible in his forehead, not clean through the center like a circus sharp-shooter could have done, but off to the side a bit. It had worked though, in combination with the other rounds. Standing over the corpse as he was, Wyatt popped the empty shells from the cylinder and thumbed new ones into place before holstering the weapon. Stepping over the dead man, the captain searched the body over, complete with pulling the boots and looking for hidden pockets in the hems of clothing and in the back sides of belts. Gathering up everything of consequence that he finds, Wyatt returns to the house, dropping the weapons on the tabletop and turning to Sam Hawkes with a level gaze that belied the pain he felt in his shoulder.
“They said you was a criminal, Sam. Now,” he held up a hand to forestall anything by way of protest, or explanation, from the man and continued. “That’s none of my concern. What is my concern is that I’ve got crew who are cut up and bruised, an’ you’ve got a partner that needs some lookin’ after. You’ve also got a pack of mongrels hanging out on your doorstep with a broke-down ship that ain’t goin’ nowhere soon. So, the way I look at things, is that we’ve some decision-makin’ to do.
“My suggestion is that you an’ Jim should take their ship by way of payment for the trouble here. You can chose to keep the crew if’n you want, but I’d suggest that anyone stupid enough t’ fall in with that three-eyed corpse out yonder might not be worth their weight in manure… of course, they might be worth something to you on the cargo end and it might work out—“ Wyatt paused as though saying the next part was difficult. “—you using them to run cargo for you an’ all. It’d provide some half-wits with an honest job and give you and Jim somethin’ extra by way of ownership. Either way, I’ll back ya up so long as I’m here.
“Speakin’ of which, once Willow’s looked after everyone, we’ll be beatin’ a quick path to the Black providin’ everything’s decent an’ all. We’re already on a tight schedule t’ meet that delivery date of yours. I don’t wanna leave no one in a lurch though, so we’ll do what we can t’ help while we load up. I’ll just have t’ check in with the crew to see which o’ them can exercise.”
Wyatt looked down at the weaponry and then back up at Sam Hawkes. “Well?”
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:52:38.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: All righty then...
Well, choombattas, the ruling is in. Croaker, for not knowing how to use a submachine gun, you may very well have saved Preacher's life. Obviously, this depends a lot on what happens next because the Wild Things have plenty more where these first few came from. You get an IP in submachine gun! Congrats.
I made a couple of assumptions. Bullseye and Firewind have each used one action already. Bullseye, to spin about with his Llama Comanche at the sound of the gunfire in the back, and Firewind to draw his Baretta. This doesn't mean you don't get additional actions, just keep in mind that every additional action past the first is resolved with a cumulative -3 modifier.
I was going to take you through to the end of the gunfight, but the exchange at the van needs resolution before I do. Bring it about gatos... you've a bird to deliver.
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:23:17.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: A lot of exploding heads... the dice must like you today.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Crouched in the rain, the solo kept the submachine gun at ready, his eye sighting along the slick, black length. He could easily make out the inert form of the ganger Coyote at the end, but it wasn’t to this that he focused. For around that corner he saw two of the Wild Things stick head and shoulders out bearing handguns while three more sprinted across the alley’s mouth, water splashing up from their boot heels. His boosterware was a constant, forcing him to practice slower movements so as to appear natural when he didn’t want it to show. Now, however, he was letting loose, and with smooth movements Preacher had corrected his aim and squeezed off a three round burst. The rounds took the first ganger up the chest and exploded his head; the corpse falling back onto the pavement, his arms wind-milling, his weapon begin flung into the street.
“Part of the deal is no cameras. I’ve got way too much riding on this to have that thing frack it up.”
DigitalScribe continued to point his handgun at the other man’s head, and with a mental command, disengaged the camera. Why the media blackout? he wondered as Spiff finished holstering his weapon.
“Let me pay for the repairs on that thing. In exchange, I don’t want to see any of this on the morning news if you know what I mean.” The fixer gave his pockets a quick pat and snarled, “Frack! I hope she gets back her quick.”
It took seconds for Guardian to clear the stairs and reach the van. He’d always been fast despite his bulk, and with the Sandevistan activated, he was on the top of his game. His quick pause at the mouth of the van caused water to cascade from his shoulders and spray those within.
“Scribe,” the bodyguard instructed as Frankie looked up at him through squinting eyes, his left hand raised to shield him from the sudden torrent of rain.. “Keep your piece aimed at his head.”
DigitalScribe glanced back to where the fixer lay looking at his watch, apparently unconcerned with the arrival of the large black man. “You will hand over your gun to Scribe now. I will not ask again.”
The corner of Frankie’s mouth twitched a little upward as it struggled to smile, but the media’s attention momentarily shifted to see how the driver and Firewind were handling the change of events. Either one of them could really frack this up, and to the media, the potential for a huge story was growing with every passing second.
“It’s all good—be chilled, Guardian,” Frankie’s tone was non-plussed, though he secretly worried about the condition of the camera. It was battle-ready, but you never know what kind of ammunition a person was using, and armor piercing rounds were more and more common these days. The media’s voice was calming, and not just intended for the bodyguard, but for everyone in the van as he relaxed, rolling his handgun back in his hand and dropping his arm to his side. “We just needed to config an understanding here, is all. Everything is chilled now.”
As soon as the dead weight of Guardian had left her, Peacekeeper used the railing to hoist herself to her feet and take advantage of the situation her lover had arranged. Out of habit more than anything else, the bounty hunter quickly scanned the destruction in the room as she rapidly descended the stairs hot on the bodyguard’s heels. The apartment hadn’t been in great shape to begin with—things rarely are when under the care of boostergangs—but it was a shambles now. The couch behind which the gangers had been positioned was on its back, smoldering. The bodies of the gangers were strewn about, some with lacerated limbs, some smoking as much as the couch. A chunk of the floor was missing and the whole space about the couch was a blackened shadow. At least two were rolling about in obvious pain, one stood near the door, a girl about eighteen or nineteen. She had some black smeared across her cheek, her bright pink and black hair was disheveled and hung in her face. She wore a black leather trench coat that was obviously armored, had nose piercings with chains running across her cheeks to her ears, and was raising a Militech Mini-Gat submachine gun in the slow motion action that non-boosted users make when facing down boosted edgerunners. Guardian had passed by quick, without even looking into the room, but Peacekeeper saw it and reacted quickly as she continued on her way.
There was no pause, no hesitation, the threat was there and it didn’t matter that it was a teenager. Peacekeeper’s arm crossed her body, the submachine gun hanging at her left side while she brought her .44 up at chest level and she squeezed off a single round. She’d never been partial to submachine guns… too messy, but in this situation, she’d accepted the weapon for the full auto capabilities; best to be able to spray an area filled with boostergangers with hot lead than try to be clean and precise. The bounty hunter continued down the stairs as the ganger’s brains painted the door and Peacekeeper was out of sight of the scene even before the girl’s body had hit the floor. Moments later, the beautiful, dangerous woman was passing Croaker at a dead run, giving him a look with her eyes that spoke volumes and yet was nearly unreadable. She arrived not half a second behind Guardian and was momentarily taken aback by the sudden trouble in the van. Sure, she harbored no good will for the media, but they had bigger fish to fry, and now, Guardian was holding Spiff at gunpoint, and DigitalScribe was saying something about everything being chilled.
From the driver’s seat, Bullseye frowned as he watched the alley behind them through the side mirrors. He was basically oblivious to the upcoming exchange between the media and fixer until the gun went off. At that point, any number of things passed through the nomad wheelman’s mind, and since he’d already had his Llama Comanche out and at ready, it took practically nothing for the man to spin about in his seat, weapon held at the ready, though not aimed at anyone in particular, his eyes searching for trouble.
The gangers at the other end of the alley opened up. Three were beginning their sprint across the opening, weapons pointed down at Preacher and Croaker and the already disappearing Guardian and Peacekeeper. One remained crouched at the corner near Coyote’s body, and another stepped up to take the place of the one Preacher had ended, standing over the crouching figure. It was the crouching figure who fired next though, putting three rounds down the alley with surprising accuracy. Preacher felt the impact strike him in hat, biting through the crown and ripping a gash along his scalp; the armor plating he had in the hat having saved him from a deadly wound. The second and third impacts were to the body and leg, both didn’t penetrate, but the solo knew he’d have some nice bruises to remind him of the near misses. Blood poured down his forehead and across his face almost immediately. Head wounds bled badly. But that wasn’t the end of it for the man. The second ganger opened up as well, firing three more rounds. The first took Preacher across the head again, gashing his forehead over his left eye, but not penetrating the skull. The second went past, and the third struck him dead in the chest. This time Preacher gasped as the round penetrated his armor, punctured his pectoral muscle, and buried itself in his flesh. Grimacing against the pain, the solo remained steady.
Within the cargo bay of the van, Firewind sat with his back against the wall of the van with one hand next to the unconscious girl’s head, the other resting in his lap when Spiff came sliding in on his back. Firewind knew DigitalScribe. They’d worked together before on a contract where the media had caught wind of a rather shady political deal going down and had felt that his team might need some medical backup. His perception of the man at the time had been one of similar intentions. Firewind, after all, was not a corporate slave. He’d long ago decided that wasn’t his gig. DigitalScribe seemed bent on bringing down the big dog, and had been the whole reason the medtech was on this run tonight, but then Spiff—relatively new to the evening’s activities—had popped off a shot at… the camera, yes, the camera. That’s what it boiled down to. The Baretta M20-F that the medic carried holstered under his left arm had suddenly found its way into his hand, though the medtech didn’t know which person he’d end up shooting if it came right down to it as both men ended up pointing their weapons at each other for a moment. A brief exchange and the arrival of more guns… this whole thing was a frackin’ mess! Then there was the additional gunfire from the alley! The chaos was enough to freeze most people, but Keahi wasn’t most people. He was a combat medtech.
Croaker knew Preacher had been hit. He’d heard the whine of the round that had missed pass his ear, and the impact of the rounds had caused the cowboy solo to jerk about a bit, but standing slightly behind the man, he didn’t know how badly, and the situation meant that he didn’t have much time to ascertain the fellow’s condition. They were being fired upon and that constituted immediate action. Croaker’s thumb flipped the regulator to full auto as he brought his weapon to bear on the alley. Twenty rounds of armor piercing heat flew from the barrel to pepper the whole mouth of the alley. The first sprinter spun about and fell to a roll, lying still at the end; the second stumbled and rolled to lie on the drenched pavement jerking about and screaming in pain. The third sprinter’s head vanished in a spray of dark liquid; the crouched individual bowed backward and the his head exploded as well, while the man standing above him had his legs whipped out from underneath him, an action that put his head right into the path of another bullet, killing him.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 20:19:48.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: I'll scout ahead some.
Char stood over the fallen form of the abomination with the fiery weapon in hand a moment longer than, perhaps, necessary. He sensed more than saw the abating battle around him and a quick glance about had proven his assumption correct. He’d been lucky enough to remain untouched… the only one in the party it would seem, and the noise from above echoed much more loudly in his ears for the danger it proposed. His heart still raced and anger was slowly churning his insides—he’d never been one to quick anger. The fell magic used to transform these bodies had a touch of nature in them, and the fact that such pure and neutral sources were used for such evil did not sit well with the ranger.
As Jal quietly agreed that they should not retreat, Char dropped the fire on the corpse and moved quickly to Arien’s side. There, he paused long enough to place a grimy hand on his friend’s armored shoulder.
“Goo’ t’ ‘ave ya back wit’ us, frin’,” said the woodsman. Then, with a quick nod, he moved to the foot of the stairs, drawing his strangely curved blades. Some scouting needed to be done and Da’ Moon was bleeding from her leg. Though the inside of a crumbled keep wasn’t his forte, Char was the man for the job. The others would search the dead, he was confident in that. He’d let them clean themselves up while he assessed the danger.
Creeping along the inner wall of the stairwell, the ranger crouched low, moving as silently as he could (Move Silently check please), while keeping his narrowed eyes peeled for signs of any more invisibility, and his ears open for sounds of danger approaching. His intention was to get an idea of what they faced before it became a real threat. He was not completely oblivious to Da’ Moon’s assessment that Arien had been the target of the legendary blue, and while he crept along like a lynx on the hunt, he pondered the situation a little further.
There was no doubt that either Alloryn was being held—or had been held—here in the keep. That keepsake now in Arien’s possession was proof enough of that. Then there was the apparent attack on Arien when any of them could have been equally appealing targets. O’ course, Char-lad, the ranger found the voice of Eftari covering the opposite end of the argument as though his mentor were still training him in the ways of man. I’ could-uh been tha’ da knigh’ appeared t’ be da mos’ dangerous wit’ dat flamin’ sword an’ such. But then, Char had been the one shoving fire in the faces of the abominations, so he’d have been just as likely a target. No, the ranger reasoned. Dey were afta’ Arien, fer sure. So, as near as he could figure, this whole operation had something to do with the twins, whether it had begun that way or not, it was certainly working out as such. Dwan couldn’t have known it, but it seemed odd that they were the company sent none-the-less. Another disturbing thought was that Alloryn was something of a prodigy when it came to magic—at least that’s what Char understood from the short time they’d spent together. He understood the use of magic about as well as he understood the desire to dress up in silks and parade oneself around like a peacock at a formal dinner, but he’d gathered that she was good, and had a lot of potential. If that were the case, then the capture of the lady could very well have something to do with tapping into that stream.
As his mind worked over these various aspects, Char continued his ascent as quietly as he could, using the shadows to the best of his ability (Hide in Shadows too if you will), though he wasn’t fooling himself that he was as good at it as Da’ Moon, and this knowledge made him proceed with more caution.
No matter how one looked at it, he had friends in danger and that made this mission all that much more important.
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 17:28:59.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Too late.
I tried to give time to post, but I'm moving the game ahead... today!
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 17:00:30.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Uh...
Char hasn't been hurt yet (knock on wood) so I've got to say, I'm not that worried yet. 
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 16:59:55.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Sorry for any delays my late posting my have caused.
We could resolve things via email by way of what information we were able to glean total and what we did with the riff-raff, then move on.
Albeit, there are a lot of things that could still go down at the mine, so I'm going to have to agree with Mr. Ambiguity. I can go either way. Wyatt will go with the flow.
Posted on 2007-07-28 at 16:07:57.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Pick me! Pick me!
I posted.
Posted on 2007-07-17 at 03:33:59.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Um...
He can certainly see the stand-off.
Posted on 2007-07-17 at 03:33:39.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Strip!
Wyatt watched their every move with the cold, calculating eye of a killer as the oldest of the group looked up from the mangled remains of the young man. ‘Sir, we ain’t lookin’ to fight you and we weren’t lookin’ from the beginning. Mr. Ludlow hired us to bring him here and back to Regina. Told us he was picking up a someone named Hawkes and we’d be heading back and we’d get paid. Said some woman wanted to see him. He was hard demanding man with a devil of an influence on poor Kenny. I should have done something then, and I pays the price. It was only when we arrived that things got nasty and fast. Suddenly he was after a criminal and there was a bounty and he had a ton of guns and buddha knows what. We just want to collect our brother and get going. If you be really needin’ to kill someone, then you can kill me for my sorrows but let Penny and Denny here go.”
”We’s ain’t going anywheres Lenny.” The balding one said glumly, “Them there gizmos and dodas are fried in the ship. We stuck tight like a tick on a dog.”
Lenny sighed and shook his head, “Well ain’t that the half of it.” He shuddered and looked to Wyatt like he was about to cry. “Please have mercy sir. I was just looking to keep my family fed and now …”
Behind him Sam Hawkes fussed over Jim having retrieved a stretcher for his friend to lie upon, ‘you don’t die on me. I ain’t working this claim without you boy and I ain’t cleaning up your mess.”
“You can save him, Can’t you Miss Willow?” the prospector asked quietly as they prepared to move him.
“Lio Coh Jwei Neong Hur Ho Deh Yung Duh Buhn Jah J’wohn!” Wyatt swore under his breath. He’d been so hoping to vent some more of his righteous rage on these backwards folk, but now he felt all of that anger flying away faster than a pheasant on the wing, replaced, as was its pattern, by disgust with himself for allowing his anger to well up inside. Sure, he’d remained as cool as an iceman in the Arctic of Earth that Was on the outside, but inside he was a smelting pot of everything a human being could muster that was negative and dangerous… until now. At that point, he became sullen and disconnected, wanting nothing more than to get back to the ship, make sure his people were taken care of, and to drown himself in whiskey.
“Strip to yer skivvies, the lot o’ you. I want t’ make sure none o’ you are packin’ no heat. Then step to an’ bring yourselves right up to the porch here.” More quietly, Sung said out of the corner of his mouth, “Kora, keep an eye on them, I’m going out t’ meet ‘em.”
(OOC: assuming no objections or the like)
Wyatt didn’t sheathe iron, but kept his Colt in hand as he made his way to the front door and onto the porch where he could watch their approach. He held his handgun at hip level, but ready none-the-less, watching as they stripped clean of any possible weapons. He felt for them, understood the agony of losing someone you love to the ideals of someone else’s war, but he couldn’t afford too much sympathy right now.
“Now,” the captain said with ice in his tone and danger in his eyes. “I want to know everything you know’d ‘bout this Ludlow. Be quick ‘bout it.” His wound was smarting and the smell of the fight was still in the air. The combination of which was enough to make him a Wei Shian Dohn Woo should they decide to do something foolish.
Posted on 2007-07-15 at 21:15:06.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Not exactly where I'd hoped to be, but...
Char continued to dart in and out, away from the arms and legs, but trying to score another, good, solid strike with his fire.
"Kilgrim! Arien needs ya!" Char had caught but a little of the interaction, and, in fact, hadn't really seen what had caused the big knight to go down, but he'd heard the gasp of pain and the clatter of the knight's tumble to the floor and he had seen the twisting fall.
Ducking in again, the ranger felt urgency swell inside as he slapped fire at the beast once more. They needed to end this as quickly as possible. He didn't know how much more they could take.
Posted on 2007-07-15 at 20:59:46.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Explanations
'Punk allows you multiple actions within your 3-second phase. My own house rule limits how many actions you can take before moving on based on a formula derived from character stats, but that's not really something you need to to. In addition to this, moving up to a character's RUN in a phase doesn't take an action. Unlike in D&D you can move a great distance and still perform some actions. As such, both DigitalScribe and Spiff (both of whom only ran this phase) had actions available for the phase.
Guardian, Peacekeeper, and Preacher are all in the same boat, though time is passing. Bullseye and Firewind can also respond to the activity taking place, and Croaker has already stated he's reloading so his only other action available to him to to run, but he's opted to stay behind and provide cover. So, one more round of posting from everyone (but Croaker, though you're more than welcome to post thoughts) and I'll move to the next phase.
By the way, Sui, that was an insane shot and you nearly pulled it off. Old Spiff isn't so shabby with a handgun.
Oh, and no gunfire was taking place during the little scrape taking place in the van so everyone heard that shot fired, and was able to tell the direction it came from.
Guardian and Peacekeeper: at a full "Hey, I'm hauling ass" run you could be down the fire escape and to the van this phase, but you wouldn't have any other action until next phase. That's 4x your MA. This puts you about seventy feet from the van, or roughly twenty-one meters if you were ground level. The remaining nine meters or so is your height, the stairs, etc.
The way I figure it, if Guardian and Peacekeeper make for the van and reach it this phase, Preacher will go the next, and Croaker the one following that; putting Croaker in the van in roughly seven to eight seconds. Of course, this is provided you all stay on the current trajectory... and when does that ever happen?
Posted on 2007-07-15 at 20:02:26.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: The fun... the excitement...
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Crouching within the mouth of the van, Frankie Tordesky barely glanced at Spiff as the fixer slid past on his back. His focus was truly on the activity going down at the Hole, at least that’s the front he presented. The cybernetic hook-up he had with his camera was specially designed. The tech was fresh and DigitalScribe was the type that had to have cutting edge technology. His camera was designed to provide a panoramic view of his surroundings with wide-angle lenses both front and rear. Frankie had been drawn to this particular camera for that reason specifically. He’d known a few combat reporters who had bought the Big One because they’d been so focused on the story that they’d been unable to react to the threat coming from behind them until their brains painted the sidewalk. This Nikkon America Campod was designed to help keep the reporter alive while at the same time gather more of the story than previously possible. Picture-in-picture display shown in an overlay in front of Frankie; the wide screen presentation of what lay before, and the spread of what lay behind. This is how DigitalScribe spotted the fixer’s actions before Spiff could execute.
Both men had their weapons in hand. Neither had holstered them since the fire escape and within the Hole. It all lay within their reflexes at that point… reflexes and initiative. Frankie threw himself to the left, spinning and bringing his Sternmeyer to bear on the fixer while Spiff—still on his back—raised his weapon to target the camera.
Had DigitalScribe remained perfectly still, Spiff’s sharpshooting would have been easy, but the media was moving and moving quick. The round dispensed from the chamber of the Mark II with a slight kick as Spiff pulled the trigger. It burst into the air with a fiery intent, driven forward by gases and combusted explosives and tore through the fuselage of the Nikkon America’s rear interface. Sparks erupted, and pieces of metal chipped away slicing into Frankie’s neck, but the damage to the camera was superficial. It was, after all, a combat camera with bullet-proof casing. The only thing that really changed in DigitalScribe’s view was the rear image flickered and wavered for about three seconds before stabilizing.
The media’s initial impulse was to drill the fixer. As he slammed up against the other side of the van (the side that Merry Deth lay sedated against), his arm remained outstretched, the Sternmeyer leveled right at the fixer’s head, the media’s brow furrowed, anger and confusion in his eyes.
“What the hell!?”
“No cameras,” Spiff muttered as his weapon trained on DigitalScribe’s forehead.
“Peacekeeper, Guardian, move your asses now!” Croaker’s voice was carried through the storm on the wind.
DigitalScribe’s expression suddenly broke into a charismatic grin, though his weapon never left its target. “Ever hear of asking, Choomba?”
Back at the Hole, Croaker continued to give orders with a sharp tone derived from stress: “Preacher, once Peacekeeper and Guardian hit the street, fall back and cover them as I cover the three of you. Then at the van cover me as I withdraw.”
“And so it was,” the solo drawled, glancing over his shoulder up to where the bodyguard was pulling himself off of on top of the beautiful bounty hunter. He could still hear the screams and cries from inside of the wounded as Croaker slipped his last grenade from his pocket and slipped it into the chamber.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Posted on 2007-07-15 at 19:45:42.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: *Chuckles*
Chill folks. Fact is, I haven't had a whole lot of time to deal with things in the game due to RL, but there's no fears. I've got things worked out. You'll see. Certainly no need for anyone to take offense at anything. 'Punk is a game of hostilities. The beauty behind it is when players find a way for their characters to work together despite differences and conflicts.
Posted on 2007-07-14 at 17:39:39.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Answer: Unteachable.
I use Photoshop. Without it, you won't be able to replicate the build very easily and I've got years of experience with the program so it isn't that easy to teach.
Posted on 2007-07-08 at 19:56:48.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: There's a post in place...
New map...
Answers: The character sheet I have showed two grenades. There's some confusion somewhere, but the ruling is to go with the two. So you, Croaker, have one grenade while Peacekeeper would have two.
I've opted to keep Preacher as an NPC for now.
Posted on 2007-07-07 at 01:24:51.
Edited on 2007-07-07 at 01:25:37 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Thanks for the patience.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Taking DigitalScribe’s instructions to heart, Firewind ran the best he could under Merry Deth’s slight weight towards the parking garage where Bullseye was just pulling into full view. Overhead lamps spilled across the brown delivery van’s wet surface and reflected from the puddles all about it. The medtech could feel the sensation of the erupting volcano behind him and it urged him on. Slipping once, he felt a slight tingle and a burn rush up the inside of his right calf and instinctively knew that he could have seriously injured himself just then, but had somehow managed to keep his footing.
“Frack this! I’m getting’ the frack outta here!” The fixer’s voice rang out above the gunfire and ricocheting bullets. Hooking a leg over the rail, Spiff flung himself into the rain where he immediately plummeted to the pavement below. The impact was jolting and the pain that shot up his leg wasn’t necessarily centered on his thigh, but more originated around the right knee. Perhaps he’d favored the injured leg subconsciously, perhaps it was because of the injury that his strength had given and he’d twisted his knee. Whatever it was, the pain wasn’t enough to keep the fixer from lunging into a somewhat spastic sprint towards the retreating media and medtech.
For his part, Frankie wasn’t about to disobey Croaker on this one. The story was in this little chica draped over Firewind’s shoulder with a… with a rather nice suitcoat draped over her head. From his angle, the media had not been able to catch her face on camera when they had been inside the apartment, and it irked him just a little that he still couldn’t. DigitalScribe’s eyes widened a bit as a van swung around in the parking lot. He prepared himself to push Firewind out of the line of fire and dive to the side as well, but the medtech kept on cruising.
“You know them?” Frankie asked.
“Yes,” Firewind replied through clenched teeth.
That was enough for the media to keep on full steam ahead.
Reaching the southwestern corner of the building, Preacher barely ducked past Spiff as the man came raining down from above like a screaming banshee.
“Lord have mercy!” the solo declared as he spun about and raised his submachine gun at the lurching form of the fleeing fixer. Quickly blowing out the air he’d held in his lungs Preacher turned back towards the way they’d come. Gunfire reigned to his left and overhead and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the gangers built up enough alcohol-fueled guts to round that corner on them. In the mayhem, he’d missed the arrival of the van altogether, dropping to one knee in the rain, pinning his trench coat about him and taking aim on the corner.
Frank felt the soft body of Peacekeeper pressed against him as he pushed her back, instinctively putting his body between her and danger. Bullet’s belted against the corrugated metal all about him, another round striking his right leg to jerk it violently and bruise the skin and muscle beneath the protective layer of armor. He was using his considerable bulk to not only make it quite nearly impossible for the bounty hunter to move, but to make her an improbably target while he hoped to everything Holy that Croaker put that grenade through the window, and that they didn’t get plastered by the blast in the meantime. Tucking his head, he breathed in the sweet aroma of Jaimy’s wet hair, felt the shape of her body underneath him, and the rigid line of the submachine gun he’d just handed her sitting between them at waist level.
Trapped as she was underneath the large black man, Peacekeeper could only guess where her lover was, and wonder at whether Spiff had survived his leap. Rounds were sounding all about her, Guardian’s breath was hot against her neck, and the wind howled its fury overhead while rain lashed at their bodies trying to tear them from the fire escape.
Muttering to himself about their predicament, Bullseye could see Firewind and another individual he barely remembered from the bar earlier that night come lumbering up to the van, a body slung over the medtech’s shoulder. The second man—Croaker’s friend—lifted the back door, sending it on its runners with an irreverent clanking to end in a bounce off the stoppers. He felt the van dip as Firewind clambered into the bay and then again when the other man entered.
“Name’s DigitalScribe,” the other man offered with a bit of a harried smile while slicking back his sleek black hair. Bullseye caught tiny nodes of light flickering about the ends and knew instantly that the hair was TechHair™. “Glad you showed up when you did.”
With that, the man turned about and crouched at the rear of the van, weapon in hand, but not pointed at anything, the green light on his shoulder-mounted camera indicating a recording in progress. Meanwhile, Firewind gently placed the girl against the side of the bay lengthwise, and made sure she was secure.
Croaker had used heavy weapons in the past, but it had been a while, and he wasn’t as familiar with this underbarrel grenade launcher as he’d of liked. Still, the love of his life was up there pinned to a metal stairwell by a large black man and gunfire. If he didn’t do something, there’d be no living it down. He’d already loaded the thing, and now he raised the weapon to his shoulder and pressed the trigger. He felt the shwunk-swoosh of the release, heard the compression of air, and watched as if in slow motion as the grenade flew from the barrel, sailed through the air, and went right through the window, shattering the glass inward as it did so.
The explosion blew the glass of the windows out, challenging the raging storm and rolling a brilliant, momentary flash of fire into the rain. The immediate second following the explosion was silent as though sound had been blown away. Then, the screams of wounded filled the gap.
Spiff heard Croaker call out his warning and the following explosion, but had continued on his hellbent pace for the van, as the screams started up behind him, the fixer leapt and ungracefully slipped past the media to the floor, sliding across some raised molding to come to rest on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his right leg burning, his heart racing.
DigitalScribe smiled a little foolishly to himself as the man became a blur through his camera, the whole of his haphazard escape caught on digital media. The explosion had been beautiful and the light sensitive sensors in his camera had immediately compensated for the glow. He knew that the action he was recording would sell like wildfire if not to his immediate publisher then hundreds of BBSs and social hotspots across the Net would fight for the footage. Now if they could just get out of there alive and convince Croaker that it was in their best interest to publicize. After all, that’s how those big sardines from Solo of Fortune magazine landed the high paying contracts, neh?
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Posted on 2007-07-03 at 04:54:00.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: And for my next act!
Even after the third round was released, Wyatt Sung stood picturesque, right side turned towards the target, arm outstretched, his sights following the dead man to the ground. He was cold inside, like a man who knew he was destined to burn in Hell and who, in his resignation, had decided that there weren’t no one who would stand in the way of his descent. He’d faced many a big damn bad-guy, and there’d often been the cold, welling rage that surfaced in those encounters. It was a rage that he knew only too well; a rage that was companion to his deepest depression: the harbinger of the sickness that had led to his drinking. It was the fury that had caused him to slaughter those men who’d taken everything from him. It had caused him to walk into that bar with a scattergun and leave no one standing, but the staff. And it was who he was at the moment, fully embodied.
Still standing with his arm outstretched, the captain watched as the red-head rushed towards the corpse. He didn’t change position much, but his gun sights jumped to her pretty little head, and then to the bay door where two more men came through. He itched to end them all, to bring about the hell that they’d wished upon his, but tiny strings of civility clung tightly to his conscious despite the sawtooth action vengeance took to cut them free and he remained still until they had descended into the homestead a little, arms up-raised.
“Stand where you are, or sure as I cleaned his brainpan, I’ll clean the lot o’ yours.”
(OOC: assuming they stop)
“I assume the Sah Gwa that’s now lookin’ to fertilize our host’s ‘maters was the Lurn Shwei Jah Jwohn that ran yer operation,” Wyatt’s voice was cold and held nothing but death in it. “Seein’ how the lot o’ ya tossed aside as soon as he ate dust, that is. It also didn’t pass by me that the li’l miss seemed right bent on killin’ him had I not had the honor, so I’ll wager that yer none to pleased with the killin’ o’ Kenny.
“See? This is where I’m supposed t’ start givin’ a damn ‘bout ya all bein’ human and such, but I’m gonna need some pretty sweet talkin’ t’ keep me from puttin’ the lot o’ you into my airlock and pressing go. I don’t take kindly t’ no one treatin’ such perfectly amicable hosts as we’ve had with such straightforward rudeness as I seen here an’ I sure as hell don’t take kindly t’ people shootin’ up what’s mine. So one o’ you better speak up and say your piece quick while the rest o’ you hold mighty still.”
Behind him, the captain could hear Willow emerge and begin taking charge of the carnage. As usual, her presence did a bit to calm him, but not enough for him to lower his iron.
“Captain-san? What’s the situation out there? Am I needed? You’ve got blood on your shoulder, but you’re standing… what about everyone else? Jim’s badly off, I’m going to need the medical bay to save him.”
Wyatt swallowed back a curt retort. It had never really been intended for her anyway. Taking a breath he never took his eyes off those outside while he answered.
“Looks t’ me like it’s about over. You should have a pretty clear shot getting the wounded back to Rocinante. The rest o’ us’ll stay and make sure the Ma fuhn goes away. Who all is wounded?” Receiving his answer, Wyatt clenched his jaw and started to feel the little bit of pain from his own wound. Mentally shrugging it off, the captain gave an almost imperceptible nod and reiterated. “Git on to Rocinante, Willow. Take care o’ the wounded.”
Posted on 2007-07-03 at 04:01:30.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Could I impose
Could I impose upon the DM for a map showing positions? Thanks a-plenty.
Posted on 2007-07-03 at 03:25:27.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Not a problem.
I am still around... just working ten hour days. I'll be back soon. Ah, the hell with it. I'm posting!
All right, here's how things stand:
Croaker: You've just used one concussion grenade reducing your total payload to one more. Even though you didn't declare it, I used four Luck to put that grenade where you wanted it to be. I figured it would be too important a roll to botch, but I didn't want to use up your total pool of Luck, so I hope you don't mind. I could take it back, but then your lady love would be mixed with black bodyguard all over the pavement... You can begin the reload process this phase, but you won't be able to fire another grenade until next phase. You can move up to your total Run still.
Bullseye: Firewind, DigitalScribe, Merry Deth, and Spiff are all inside the van. You're watching the explosive display through your sideview mirrors.
Preacher: The solo is focused on covering your retreat, down on one knee, ready to open fire back the way he came (to the east).
Firewind: You've reached the van, placed Merry Deth lying down against the corner of the van bay lengthwise so she's as out of the way as possible.
Peacekeeper: You've got Guardian lying on top of you and have felt the impact of a round against his leg. You're no dummy and are full on aware of the fact that his bulk is protecting you from a maelstrom of bullets, but you can't move until he does unless you make some serious strength checks... he's a big dude.
Spiff: Ouch... that hurt. You've twisted your knee something fierce, but it isn't debilitating, just really painful. You're lucky you didn't break an ankle... close, but lucky none-the-less. You've made it to the van.
Guardian: You've been shot! OK, don't panic. It bounced, but it still bruised. You're also going to be peppered with glass fragments, but you're alive and the shooting has temporarily stopped.
DigitalScribe: FILMING... yup, catching your heroic actions on digital media for posterity. He'll likely even put some real fancy words like "hero" and "sacrifice" into the rhetoric when he splices his report together. Lucky you.
Please keep in mind that each phase is only three seconds when you post your reactions.
Posted on 2007-07-03 at 03:18:39.
Edited on 2007-07-03 at 05:05:53 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: It may appear...
I know it may seem like I've vanished, but I've taken steps towards freeing up some of my ten hour work day so I can reduce it back to a normal eight hour day, so I'm not going anywhere. As far as suggestions... well, you could always open characters up, do an offshoot, backstory role-play opportunity, or just let us throw in some NPCing for the other players through our posts.
It's always fun to get that surprise "between the eyes" shot. 
Posted on 2007-07-03 at 03:17:58.
Edited on 2007-07-03 at 04:02:12 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I had intended...
So, I had intended to post tonight. Not gonna happen. A lot of stuff kicking up at work has kept me way past normal closing hours. Then an art project with a crazy deadline... and I haven't even gotten to the writing I have to do. Thank goodness I have an August deadline on that one. Anyway, thanks for bearing with me. I promise this is not forgotten. I've been using this time to come up with more devious plot twists.
*Did you guys know that Croaker is not actually a nomad, but is, in fact, a special government agent who has been purposefully brainwashed into thinking he is the nomad you've all come to know? With the use of a single keyword they can turn him into a raging homicidal maniac. I'm not going to tell you what the keyword is, but it starts with porkchop and ends with sandwiches.*
Posted on 2007-06-28 at 03:40:45.
Edited on 2007-06-28 at 03:41:13 by Bromern Sal
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