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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...

“So, Little Kitten,” Ch'dau says softly as everyone gathers together once again, “what have your keen eyes uncovered?”

"As may be obvious, this was not a random ambush, as the other attacks around this city. Athandar was targeted," She gestures to the debris covering the bloody footprints, "By who or for what I cannot say." She turns to Midge and holds out one of the piles of papers, "It isn't much, but these seem to be some of his personal scribblings. There may be something of interest for you here."

Moreno glances at the top paper in the passing and confirms that these appear to be what he was toeing through earlier. Returning his gaze to the quiet woman's face, he focuses on her lips—something he's done quite unconsciously since he was a young man; an act that helps him process and comprehend the discourse better.

Kith turns back to the others and holds up another small pile of papers, "As I said, I couldn't find what, if anything, may have been sought after here, however, I did find something interesting. These notes and letters all reference something he called simply a 'death cult'." Kith feels the ghost of a rare smile creep slowly across her lips and quickly banishes it. She would be lying to herself if she said she doesn't also feel a slight ping at the party's lack of excitement at her news that they could be dealing with a "death cult".

She continues, "It is difficult to make out much of what is said as these papers have all been severely damaged, but there is talk of some 'ritual' or 'rituals', that may also have something to do with this death cult, as well as an 'anchor'. Again, I've not idea what that could be in reference to, but it is repeated often in what is left of his writings. Have any of you heard of anything like this or know of anyone who could make sense of all of this? Midge, are there any other mages that may have known more about Athandar or have been familiar with his work?"

Gib turns his attention to the Cidal and awaits his reply. He doesn't have anything really to offer to Kith's findings. No piece of information spurs anything he considers worth bringing up and his knowledge of D'hurgen's religious appendant organizations is severely limited—D'hurgen being the god of death thusly being who he naturally turns his attention. Ritual is a complicated thing for any religion with most not understanding the deeper meanings—the esoteric side—of the rites, even amongst priesthoods. For some, that is a lifetime journey which destination is never achieved. And, for all he knows, a death cult could be a part of D'hurgen's church or a rebirth of an ancient and even more pagan religion. All of this being conjecture, he holds his tongue, for no wise advice is ever given without fact or experience as a foundation.

Posted on 2018-10-03 at 13:52:56.

Topic: Hidden Corruption Q&A

I shall wait to post for Gib until Breebles has posted for Kith and shared her findings.

Posted on 2018-10-02 at 10:56:28.

Topic: Star Trek: The Fallen Star Recruitment

I second Eol's sentiment. Talk to your CO and get assigned today!

Posted on 2018-10-01 at 08:34:19.

Topic: Hi, I'm Charra!

Welcome to the Inn, Charra! 

Posted on 2018-09-29 at 19:49:54.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

I'm still posting! Can't help myself. Should be working, but I'm posting instead. 

Posted on 2018-09-28 at 16:35:43.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty

Stardate 42150.1 (6:10 PM, 02/13/2365 Saturday)
Science Officer's Office, Lab 1

Insects on Andoria are not the same as those on warmer worlds. They tend to either move slowly in their blubberous state, thick and rife with fatty tissue designed to protect their innards from the extreme temperatures or they bore extreme layers of fur and in some cases, both. Either way, their biological designs are repulsive to the blue-skinned scientist. There is one aspect about Andorian insects that she does appreciate, however, and that is that they don't fly. They don't pester... like the flashing notice on the upper right portion of her screen indicating in bright yellow that she has a video message waiting for her. Attempting to ignore the persistent notification as proven impossible. Every time she instructs the computer to dismiss it, the notification vanishes for a moment and then reappears; which she is quite certain is not supposed to happen. 

"Oh, by the Blood of Uzaveh the Infinite!" Will this incessant distraction not leave me be?

Placing her index finger against the screen at the point of the notification once again, she angrily swipes to the right and sends it off screen. 

"Computer, run a level five diagnostic scan on the messaging system," she commands flatly. I'll see what's broken and have Engineering come to repair the issue right away. Then, perhaps I can get some work done.

Rising from her desk, the Andorian Shen makes her way to the replicator and leans her shoulder into the wall next to it. "Katheka, hot." 

As the replicator dispersed with her order, Asovil settles her frustration and focuses her internal energies on the mental exercises taught her as a young girl by a priestess of Uzaveh. Are you one? Are you of two? Are you the third part of three? Are you a whole four? Are you one? Are you two? Are you the third part of three? Are you a whole four? Repeating the phrase over and over again, her antennae stop their quivering and return to their stationary rigidity.

Taking the steaming cup of Katheka from the replicator bay, she blows the tendrils of mist from the surface and sips lightly at the refreshing liquid. Returning to her desk, she sets the mug on the Andorian painted tile she uses as a coaster and takes up her PADD once more. In the upper right-hand corner of the screen, the notification has returned and with it, the shaking of her antennae.

"You win," she snarls, tapping the indicator once resulting in the screen filling with the video link.

Just moving into position behind a desk is a shadowy form, male, human, and wearing black clothing. The figure's features are almost entirely draped in light shadow, not enough to make it impossible to see his features but certainly enough to add a sense of mystery to the whole communication. 

He's an older human, Asovil places him at around fifty to fifty-five years of age, with graying brown hair cut regulation short and sagging cheeks. His eyes look tired, the upper lids hanging heavy over his dark irises and massive bags rolling over his cheekbones. Bushy gray-white eyebrows adorn his brown in a tilting frown and his tall forehead is alive with creases.

"Lieutenant Asovil Sh'iraolnas, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," his lilting voice announces as he settles into his chair. Peering past him, the scientist attempts to pick out any item of decoration she might recognize, symbols, or another identifying object, but is immediately disappointed to see nothing more than a dark blue wall.

"I would say the same but for the fact that I do not know you and you've interrupted my work with your persistence," at this, her antennae press towards the screen though her face remains emotionless.

"Yes," he shakes his head in what the alien assumes is an unspoken apology. "I regret that. I'm sure you have a great many details to iron out concerning your recent success with dark matter."

Chills spread through her chest and her body freezes as the only movement that continues is the slight turning back of her antennae and the marginal tremor that courses through them. "Who are you?"

"My name doesn't matter, but my reason for reaching out to you does," shifting in his seat, the older man leans into the camera causing the shadows to deepen about his eyes. "There will be many requests by the scientific community to collaborate or expound upon your findings, Lieutenant. It is in the best interest of all that you do not turn your discovery over to anyone until you hear from me again."

"And you'll tell me who I'm supposed to share my research with, am I correct?" Asovil's voice carries with it the cold winds of the Mesanthi'ton Plateau. "Do not contact me again." 

With that, she ends the conversation revealing her paper as though emphasizing the man's words. Narrowing her eyes, she sets the PADD down and looks up at the picture of the Andorian mountain range called Abpathni, a tourist attraction and a very dangerous but beautiful local. 

"Lt Sh'iraolnas to Lt Berk," she states crisply.

=/= Berk here. =/=

"I just received a video transmission. I'd like to know where it came from."

=/= Was that just now, Lieutenant? =/=


=/= One moment. I'll look into that for you. Is everything all right? =/=

"Please just locate the source of the transmission," she responds, not intentionally coming across as surely, but unaware of any way to change her mood at the moment.

=/= I show that you've not received a transmission for days, Lieutenant. =/=

"That's impossible. I just ended it."

=/= With who? =/=

"I don't know, Berk. That's what I'm attempting to find out."

=/= Don't bite my head off, Asovil. I'm trying to help you out here. Look, I show that you ordered a scan on your messaging system that's close to finishing. I'll come to your office and we can look into this further. =/=

"Yes. Let's."

Staring balefully at the PADD lying next to her computer on the desk, Lt Sh'iraolnas takes her Katheca in hand and sips at it. Like most Andorians, she is a patient woman, the trouble here is that she feels threatened and she has never taken that sitting down. Peering out her office door to the empty lab, she wonders at how this individual could have received the information he had so quickly. Her report would be accessible to the brass within Starfleet but this man was cloaked in shadows and mystery, not the usual approach ranking officers take. The only other way she can surmise such information reaching someone else's desk would be if it were actively shared, and she isn't entirely sure that many on board the Peregrine would even know what she'd done, let alone with enough information on hand to elicit the kind of call she had just fielded. There certainly was intrigue and non-conforming actions going on within her department before she arrived but not to the level where she felt as though she were suddenly a part of some great conspiracy. Did this call have something to do with Captain Drake? Was this an attempt to keep a potential command victory out of the discussion when her captain went to trial? 

Antennae pressing forward, she sits upright at her desk, the cup of hot liquid sloshing in her hand but thankfully not spilling over. I may be on top of something, she incorrectly uses the human phrase. "How realistic is this hypothesis?' she remarks out loud, setting the mug on the table next to the tile coaster.

"Drake is going to be court-martialed, of that there's no doubt," Asovil muses, her antennae now dancing about in excitement on the back of her head, her braided white hair already showing signs of whispy defeat at the end of the day now swaying with the steps she takes. "Jacobs obviously dislikes Drake, even I could see that. Would he attempt to conceal events to eliminate appearances of success from the Captain?"

Pacing about in front of her desk, Asovil's mind works furiously over the data points she has on hand. "He is certainly political enough, and to be disgraced in front of his ship like that would elicit any Andorian captain to demand Ushaan. Perhaps this is the Terran version of Ushaan?

"Computer, what is the Terran version of Ushaan?"

=/= In the medieval era of Earth history, humans would engage in duels over besmirched honor, but this practice was outlawed and aside from a time in the pre-industrial era where cowboys would have violent gunfights in city streets, duels do not take place within human society. =/=

"Not even in different forms?"

=/= I do not understand the question. =/=

Sighing, Asovil attempts to rephrase her question in a way that the computer might better decipher. "Are there any forms of human dueling that take place today that do not include physical altercations?"

=/= Duelling is considered a barbaric practice and has not been— =/=

= Beep chirp =

=/= —in practice for hundreds of years. Other forms of dueling included rites of manhood within tribes of natives on the continent of Africa, the western cowboys and their glamorized showdowns in the American Old West— =/=

"Cancel," grumpily admitting defeat, Asovil turns to face her new arrival.

Lieutenant Berk stands just inside the doorway, his eyebrows raised quite high on his forehead. "Thinking of challenging someone to a duel, Asovil?"

"No," she replies bluntly, feeling a little embarrassed and defensive at the same time. "Please, just look at my system."

"So long as we're not going to end up in a duel..."

"No dueling," she assures him irritably, her antennae rigidly quivering and pulled back nearly against her silky white hair.

Shrugging, Mathias moves to her desk and holds a tricorder over the components. "Has the system finished its diagnostics?"

"It has not reported yet, no."

"All right, well, I have Engineering running a deeper scan on the shipwide systems. If you received a transmission—"

"There is no doubt that a transmission came through, Lieutenant," Asovil snaps.

"—right. Sorry." continuing while looking at his tricorder readings, the Chief of Security attempts to assure her, "We will find any sign of it with these deeper scans."

Remaining silent (in part because of doubts that she's harboring), the Chief Science Officer continues her pacing and her deliberations while her counterpart in security does his work.

Posted on 2018-09-28 at 16:35:01.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

I did. I posted quickly and then realized it didn't feel complete.

The discussion between the Admiral and Drake was entertaining. Well done!

Posted on 2018-09-28 at 13:58:49.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

It's Christmas in September!

I have posted for Asovil as well.

Beautiful posts, everybody! Good reading.

Posted on 2018-09-27 at 16:02:23.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty

Stardate 42146.6 (11:48 AM, 02/12/2365 Friday)
Science Officer's Office, Lab 1

=/= Zai to Lt Sh’iraolnas… =/=

Blinking away the strain she feels within the deepest recesses of her alien eyes, Asovil Sh'iraolnas breathed in sharply and practically jumped against the chair back in surprise.

"Uh, yes? I mean, this is Lt Sh'iraolnas," the voice sounds familiar... oh! OH! "Tochi! Hello."

=/= Good afternoon, Asovil. If you’re not busy with more important things, we were hoping you might consider having lunch with me. =/=

"Lunch? But it is still ear—" pausing, the Andorian scientist taps her computer screen and raises her finely manicured eyebrows. "It's already close to twelve-hundred! Time buys when you're eating plums, I suppose. Although, that makes no sense as I'm not eating plums..." Considering the statement for a moment, she shrugs it off and realizes that she's not yet answered the man.

"Yes," she finds herself responding thoughtfully and then following it up with a more forceful affirmation, "Yes. I would enjoy that. Shall I meet you in the galley?"

Still caught somewhere between her analytical mind and her fumbling social persona, Asovil returns her attention to her work for a moment, unconsciously picking up a couple of sentences up from the end of her recent report on the Black Matter Displacement Formula for Determining Cloaked Objects in Space. It's one thing to have come up with a methodology; it's another thing entirely to write it in such a way as to deserve publication. Glancing at the commendation Captain Drake had awarded her with earlier this morning, the blue-skinned woman fears for a moment that she had missed Tochi's reply, lost as she was in her thoughts.

Stardate 42150.0 (5:35 PM, 02/13/2365 Saturday)
Science Officer's Office, Lab 1

= Beep chirp =

"Come," Asovil responds absently, her nose just a few inches from the screen of her PADD and the sensor report she was looking at for the hundredth time since the battle.

"I thought you'd want to know," Ensign Maize remarks on the heels of the hydraulic hiss emitted from the opening door, "that we've arrived at Starbase 118."

Settling back in her chair, the Chief Science Officer of the Peregrine rolls her head on her elegant neck and sets the handheld computer on the smooth surface of her desk. "And the captain?"

"No word has come down yet... officially," Dalia responds.

Eyeing her subordinate with slightly hooded eyes as the strain of her studies slowly leaves her shoulders, Lt Sh'iraolnas considers the other woman's words for a moment before pursuing further insight. "And unofficially?"

"Word has it," Dalia slides into the chair opposite her superior officer and leans forward conspiratorially, "that Captain Drake and Lt Cmdr Zai are preparing to disembark without a retinue."

"And this is newsworthy?"

"It means that the captain is expecting the worse from what we can tell," the other scientist discloses excitedly.

"I am confused," Asovil's brow furrows, creasing her otherwise smooth forehead and her antennae press forward. "Who consists of this group of observers and why is it that you appear thrilled at this assumption? Having been in a far less contentious circumstance, I can assure you that the whole event—while necessary—is unfortunate."

"It is! It really is," Ensign Maize licks her lips and blinks rapidly a few times. "I am not excited because of Captain Drake's circumstances, sir. I'm sharing with you the scuttlebutt about the ship and... well... we humans have a particular affinity for gossip. So, I guess it could come across as something I'm excited about but I assure you that I am not."

"Your explanation does you no credit, Ensign Maize," Asovil frowns a little and reaches up with both hands to rub the back of her neck. "Please, check with Ops and determine what availability there is for our department to experience some leave while we're here, and Dalia? No more shufflebutt."

"Skuttlebutt, sir?"

"Yes, that."

"Are you not—never mind, sir. I'll see to a potential leave schedule right away," rising from her seat, Ensign Maize pauses. "Sir?"

Pausing her self-inflicted therapeutic massage, Asovil raises her eyebrows and peers up at her sub-officer, "Yes?"

"If there is a trial, and it's public..."


"Would it be appropriate for the crew to attend? To show support for the Captain, I mean."

"Those who are on leave are welcome to attend any public event that they should desire, I would presume," feeling a bit annoyed by the round of questions, Asovil drops her hands back to the desktop and swipes her PADD up. Why such simple questions? Of course people can attend! They should, even.

Without further engagement, the Assistant Science Officer made her way from Lt Sh'iroalnas' office leaving her superior to the work of fine-tuning her paper.

Posted on 2018-09-27 at 15:30:19.
Edited on 2018-09-27 at 15:55:26 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Hidden Corruption Q&A

I've posted... Gib's intent is to perform a thorough search to shed light on the summons if at all possible. If they find nothing, then he'll feel that they've done what they can in this town to report their friend's death and carry out the quest. Such reports will have to wait until the next civilized outpost.

The body will be saved for last... Gib is hoping that they find something without having to search it.

Posted on 2018-09-27 at 15:07:42.

Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...

Peering at the corpse of the middle-aged wizard dressed in the blue robes of his order, Gib steadies his emotions. His body is not alone; several zombies lie scattered around the room, and it is easy for the warrior priest to make the assumption as to how the poor man met his end.

"He put up a fight, this one," The cleric of Therassor remarks solemnly and with respect, wrinkling his nose at the sudden wafting odor of bodily waste that strikes his nose. Scanning the body's gore and ichor, his mouth growing dry in the process, Gib cannot tell whether the man's bowels and bladder were released upon death or if one of his attackers had been particularly disrespectful. 

Coughing into the back of his hand, the priest shakes his head and turns back to the door, calling, "There's no threat here. But mind yourself as it is rank within."

Then turning back to Aranwen, he adds, "Perhaps there's some indication as to what he had summoned our friend for amongst—" sheathing his sword, he tips his helmeted head towards the messy interior, "—this."

Shouldering his shield, the warrior priest of the Battle Lord moves about the room using the toe of his boot to push papers aside or reveal their writings. 

Posted on 2018-09-27 at 15:05:43.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game


Espatier, check your PM.

Posted on 2018-09-25 at 23:21:21.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

Great post, Giddy! I like the fear of heights reaction and the thought process. +1 CC!!!

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 17:10:18.

Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...

"Blessed Battle Father," Gib mutters the prayer as the charred earth and exploded door come into view. Heart racing, the warrior priest unsheathes his sword and rolls his shield from his shoulder to hand. Prepared for battle again, Moreno waits on Aranwen to give the order for their advance and positioning. Straining to hear from beneath his helmet, the cleric attempts to catch hold of any fleeting sounds that might indicate what to expect as he strains his other senses in the same endeavor.

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 17:08:50.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

I don't like commercials. I am hereby DVRing this show.

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 10:42:37.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

Rolling, rolling, rolling... this has been too long a commercial break.

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 09:41:13.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

Espatier, an Awareness check should suffice.

Nomad, consider all doors closed at this point in time and most likely locked with access granted by a card reader (scanner). The black squares along the wall are just architectural pillars. Windows are represented by black rectangles and the circles are lights set in the ceilings. Within the Roll20 site, those actually provide "light" on the map and your character tokens are able to see within the confines of their line of sight and the lit areas as well as what I reveal through the fog of war on the map.

Still need posts from Giddy, Tann, and Aletheia...

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 09:35:24.

Topic: Hidden Corruption Q&A

Yes. Welcome, Breebles!

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 09:25:01.

Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...

“Are we then resting before pursuing a meet,” Gib asks, raising his brows.

“What say you, Aranwen?" Ch'dau inquires. "Would you have me fetch Cedric or do we wait?”

"Neither, I say," Midge pipes in. "Cedric is indeed resting, sleeping hopefully if the Merciful Mother has any kindness left. And I'd suggest most of us see if we might find a little more of Mort's hospitality. 

"I, however, am going to meet Atharis' contact," the conjurer continues. "I do not imagine needing a full retinue. Aranwen, perhaps."

"Though it is now day and Solanis' Light shines upon us," Gib peacefully contends, "I do not relish the idea of division among the ranks. There is too much we do not know and to many questions that rest upon my brow for me to sleep easy at this time. We know not where the woman and her bodyguard are—the man, at least, could have been of great help these past few hours. And why would the Inn where we—and they—sleep be targeted by the undead when there are so many other homes with sleeping, defenseless souls? Perhaps the representative from our fallen companion's order can shed some light on these events, perhaps not. Either way, I advise us to remain a singular party that tends to our business together for the time being."

Such a long-winded council draws the need to yawn from the priest and he clenches his jaw to stifle its persistent prying which, in turn, causes his eyes to water a bit and him to blink rapidly.

Posted on 2018-09-24 at 09:24:32.

Topic: Grugg's Charity Run

I too, want to wish you all of the best of luck in your recovery, old friend.

Posted on 2018-09-21 at 11:02:22.

Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A

Oooooooo! I liked it! Bravo!

Posted on 2018-09-21 at 11:01:15.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

The game has been updated. Nomad, sorry that I didn't give you time to write out the work Fixer was doing. I used your rolls to flesh the process out though. 

Fixer came through in a critical moment. I'm awarding the character an IP in Jury Rig and an IP in Electronic Security. Blossom also came through for you all in a big way. I'm awarding that character an IP in Coding.

The question was raised, what is Creative Currency and how do I use my character's Luck?

Creative Currency is awarded for great role-play. Plain and simple, if I think you've provided an excellent post, I'll award a Creative Currency (CC). In a tabletop game, you could only ever have 10 carry over from session to session. As this is kind of an on-going thing, I won't hold to that limit. You can accrue as much CC as you are capable of accruing through your exceptional role-playing.

Now, what good is CC? You can use it to alter the story to your benefit. 

  • Reroll: 1 CC (May only be done once on any particular check and the result of the reroll must be accepted)

  • Increase the die roll by +1: 2 CC (may be done before or after the die roll but may not be used to modify a critical fail)

  • Decrease damage roll by -1: 2 CC 

  • Add a minor story advantage such as a knowledge of where to find a contact, where to locate a fairly common item, etc.: 3 CC

  • Add a major story advantage such as a friend in the right place, the availability of an item that can help them, etc.: 5 CC

CC can be pooled by the group, but only if all characters contribute equally.

Now to explain Luck. Like Creative Currency, you can use Luck to modify your rolls. Luck is expended on either increasing a die roll by one point per one point of Luck used, or decreasing a die roll by one point per one point of Luck used. In a tabletop scenario, Luck is replenished each new session, but in PbP, I'll provide you with a return of one luck point every time you make a contributing post. What's a contributing post? Something more than a couple of sentences. Flesh out the character's thoughts, bring the character to life with memories (using the Lifepath), etc. Contribute to the story.

Here's an example: Espatier joined the game and has very nearly derailed the adventure for me with all of his own goals for his character, developing his character's business, etc. () I say that good-naturedly. I encourage this bringing the character to life concept (even though I have to reign you in a little sometimes, Espatier). His posts flesh the character out, bring Charlie to life, and complicate the character. I've awarded both CC and IP (Improvement Points) for the work he's put into Charlie and I encourage the lot of you to do the same (not that some of you haven't explored the idea). 

PbP is slow... it's limited by waiting on others to contribute to the story, but it also allows a player to think things through, consider their options by reviewing their character sheet, expound upon things in a way that Tabletop doesn't allow for. This one job doesn't have to be the end for the character if you players want to continue. I know Espatier has shared with me his desire to keep growing Charlie so I thought I'd bring it up.

All right, so what now? For the group of you entering the building; I have a map available to you on Roll20. Please provide me with your plans on how you're entering and where your character is positioning themselves according to your allowable movement.For example, Bloodbank's Move is a 7. That's seven meters that he can move. Each square on the map is 5 feet. Bloodbank can move a total of 4 squares into the map. Feel free to place your character within the hallway of the map if you so desire. Make any rolls you want to once you're in and provide me with your intent on how you're going to proceed about the task of finding the HR office.

Once you all have posted for that, I'll move you through the offices to your next challenge.

Espatier, you've got the whole interaction with Fluke underway, so I look forward to continuing that.

Keeper, Ghlahn is faced with a challenge that I need you to decide how you're going to resolve. He has no radio to communicate with the rest of the team. 

By the way, the lot of you entering the building would have heard the announcement from the APC, but since that happens some time before on the timeline than where you're at, I didn't expressly put it in your update.

Posted on 2018-09-19 at 17:05:44.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure

Outside the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building - 8th Floor Fire Escape Window | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 3:03 AM PST

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

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

The group seems to have already handled the actual breaking part of breaking and entering when Casino and the medtech arrive at the 8th-floor fire escape platform; indeed, they are already in the process of doing the entering. Without a word, Bloodbank nods to those still outside, and quietly waits his turn to enter. From what he can see past his companions, the dimly lit hallway is blessedly dry and—more importantly—it looks deserted. Silently, Bloodbank thanks his lucky stars but with a clearer view available into the hallway he notices something he hadn't seen before: some small white boxes with opaque glass noses that cover a full 180 degrees semicircle from the base of the box located at the joint of the ceiling and wall about halfway down the first stretch of the hall.

Bloodbank has no idea what those are, but he knows that he doesn’t like the ideas that come to mind. Holding his fist up to warn Casino behind him, he gently taps the person in front of him and points to the boxes, his unseen eyebrows wise behind his rain-slicked battle mask.

Fixer, too, has noticed the box on the wall and has stopped Vegas and Echo before they could enter. Pondering his options, he decides that he doesn't have any great ones, so he looks back at the rest of the group and reconsiders. Coming to a conclusion he stands up carefully and quietly. He holds his finger to his lips to indicate silence and points at the noise alarm that is no longer on the other side of solid glass. They need to be quiet. He points at Blossom and indicates that he wants her to move with him well out of the range of the alarm system’s noise detection. White lollipop stick frozen in her mouth, the beautiful netrunner rises from her crouching position and follows. She’s not the only one. The others move down the flight of stairs with the techie so as to be apprised of the plan when it comes together.

When they reach a spot of presumed safety, he whispers quietly to the Asian girl, "In addition to the motion detector on the window and the noise detection on the opposite wall there is a motion detector further down the hall. Somewhere, there has to be a code box to put in a security code to disarm the system. If I could reach the box, I could probably get the code. But I can't see a box. Which means it will be extremely hard to NOT trip that damn alarm." He looks at the woman who has spent her time surfing the buildings communications system. "But we do now have access to the electronics of the alarm system. If we open up those wires and get you in, is there a chance that you can prevent the alarm from being sent out of the building? To be clear, I'm pretty sure we will trip the motion detector. We need to stop that alarm from getting beyond this floor?"

Fixer looks at her as she thinks about it, "What do you need me to do? I'll help as I can."

“The sensor doesn’t have any wires running from it which means that it’s running on WiFi,” Blossom removes the sucker from her mouth and points its purple ball at the techie. “Can you get that sensor box open without setting off the alarm? If you can, I can probably hitch a ride on its signal and see what blocks I can put in place. Once I’m surfing that wave, I should be able to locate the central alarm system and given enough time, bypass the system’s firewall… maybe even turn the whole thing off.”

“So,” Vegas inserts with a tense whisper. “The success of this whole plan is contingent on a bunch of maybes?”

Turning her heart-shaped sunglasses towards the crooner, Blossom smiles seductively, “Adds a little spice to the evening, don’t it, gato?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Vegas glances at Casino, receiving his unspoken response, and then shrugs and steps aside, motioning back up the stairs. “The band’s playing your song, sweetheart.”

“You good with this?” Blossom asks Fixer directly.

(OOC: Fixer’s answer… going to assume it is affirmative.)

“It is what it is,” she replies with that same smile. Placing the sucker back in her mouth, she sweeps her hand towards the stairs in a similar manner to Vegas’. “And we are what we are. Let’s go work some magic.”

The team approaches their previous destination with caution, unsure of whether the situation has changed. Echo leads, in her hands she holds her cherished H&K MP2020 heavy submachine gun up to her shoulder. Her approach to the newly opened window is ghostly, quiet, as though she is hovering above the grating. Barely turning the corner with her head, she observes the still empty hall and motions the others forward with her left hand over her right shoulder before gripping the underside of the submachine gun’s barrel once again.

Mathis approaches the window with just as much care but trusting in the nomad woman and focusing his attention on the small sensor box. Even as he kneels at the base of the sill, the microtool rolls out from within the cybernetic bracer on his right forearm and extends into his waiting hand. Fixer finds the plastic covers for the screws holding the sensor box on the sill in place and uses the microtool’s flathead mini screwdriver to very carefully pry them open. A mental command replaces the screwdriver in the tool body and a wire cutter takes its place.

As the techie works his magic, Blossom accesses the side pocket of her bivvy bag and fishes out a tangle of link cables. Sorting them, she slides one over Fixer’s left shoulder just as he gently strips the casing from a blue-colored wire revealing the silvery copper threads.

Expertly extracting the wire cutter from the sensor box, James “Fixer” Mathis takes the offered link cable in his left hand and cuts the connection jack from the approximately two inches up the length. Stripping the remaining link casing back another half an inch, he holds his right hand over the exposed wire and watches the technical readout display in his optics slice showing him which bundle services which purpose for the interface cord. Selecting the correct piece, he pulls it apart from its fellows and then proceeds to deftly bind it to the exposed sensor wire. Settling back on his heels, Fixer assesses his work before relinquishing his position to the netrunner.

Settling in, Blossom pulls her long leather trench coat out behind her and rests just as Fixer had done, butt to heel. Interface cables are old school—she grins around her lolli stick as she thinks back to her first experience with them. Plugging the intact end into her wrist port, she mentally calls up the protocols necessary to bring her into the digital realm.

Gravity takes a spin and immediately the world around her turns from the wet fire escape to a barely perceptible landscape of sullen gray slopes over which a single trail of flowing light hovers at about waist level to her anime character avatar.

With a light-hearted giggle and an overly dramatic spin, Blossom darts after the flow, the sprite’s long, blue hair flowing behind her much like two rivers cascading out either side of her cartoonish head. Rolling featureless hills pass underneath in rapid succession until she witnesses the massive wall of coded flowing upward from the ground, the data stream she’s been following abruptly striking it and apparently either becoming part of it or passing straight through. The wardriver knows that this is not something she’ll just be able to move through or over; she’s reached the system’s firewall.

“They’ve certainly wasted no money on this system’s VR,” her friendly high-pitched observation echoes endlessly behind her. “Barbarians.”

Taking the bull by the horns, Blossom immediately activates her Wizard’s Book resulting in her avatar calling out in Japanese, striking a dramatic spread-legged pose with her undersized arms outstretched before her and schoolgirl mini-skirt billowing about while brilliant white light flows from her splayed fingertips and strikes the data wall with force.

From the center of where the light strikes, the wall begins to peel backward. Within a few blinks of the eye, there’s a sizeable hole showing more of the same landscape beyond. Blossom floats her avatar straight through with another light-hearted giggle.

In the distance, the netrunner spots a small structure made of pulsing blue planes set in a multitude of various angles resulting in a glowing prism-like obelisk. From its point flow streams of waving bluish-white tendrils that extend into the ether.

Another giggle and the avatar is speeding across the space that separates them, drawing up with a slide any baseball player would be proud of. This is where things are going to get interesting, Akira remarks. Gotta do a little hacking on the Liche…

Mental commands draw up a console screen hovering in front of Blossom’s schoolgirl sprite and the tiny fingers begin to play in the air in front of it mimicking the work of typing on a keyboard. The data file before her reveals the code for her Liche program of which, she first creates a copy. Then, working in the copy file, the programmer begins the process of adjusting line commands, functions, and models. Where the original program is designed to mindwipe a target and install within a simple pseudo personality, Akira “Blossom” Oshiro’s adjustments make the program capable of sending false data packets mimicking a clean report until recalled. Seeing how she’s going to be disconnecting from the system, whoever it is that performs the security analysis will find her modified Liche basking in its purpose, but there’s nothing for it now. At least they’ll find her signature and her notoriety might receive a little boost because of it.

Swiping away the console, the avatar calls up the modified Liche. In front of her, a tattered black-robed figure materializes seemingly from nothing but the air. Within the flowing remnants of the robe is a blackened, charred skeleton with glowing, fiery pink eyes and a pink rose colored crown upon its head.

“Liche, I call you!” the avatar giggles. “Now go and do my bidding!”

Without any further prodding, the digital construct spins about and very gracefully flies up to the streaming tendrils. Stretching out its hands to either side, the program immerses itself in the base of the flow, glowing brightly as it absorbs the data and changing the color of the flow above it to pink.

Pleased with the results, Blossom jacks out, returning to the real world where seconds have passed while the others waited.

“It’s done,” she quips, rising to her full five foot five inches and unplugging the spliced cable from her wrist. “We’re solid. I’m ghosting the system at the source so we don’t need to worry about sound or motion. Now, let’s get to the human resource computer.”

“Great work, sugarplum,” Vegas smiles with approval but doesn’t raise his voice to the decibel that the netrunner just used. Still speaking quietly, he gives a nod to Echo and says, “Let’s still try to keep quiet. Don’t know what onsite security they have here.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:08 AM PST)


Near the Parking Garage two blocks from the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 02:32 AM PST

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

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

He can feel the press of the vehicle’s undercarriage against his shoulder blades. Pressure that’s not uncomfortable, just present. Of course, if he wants to, the Cee-Metal edger could turn down the pain receptacles in that portion of his bodyshell but it isn’t necessary.

Peering through the scope, Ghlahn watches the developing mess below while occasionally scanning upward and across the street, to the building his companions are supposed to be breaching just to make sure they don’t need any help.

A small gathering has grown to a pretty good-sized mob consisting of approximately fifty people (a number that fluctuates as more either join or removes themselves). The leader is still charismatically urging them on and the congregation has migrated further down the street to a point where they are within meters of the apartment complex’s entry. Here, the leader continues to rile them up, fanning the flame of social unrest with words of hate that Alex can easily pick out with his enhanced hearing but doesn’t care to catalog. Racial hate isn’t new to the cyborg as his people experience their own prejudices, both against others and being shown against them. Choosing the Flesh Bodyshell meant that Alex McKennon, aka, M'harú Ghlahn, can blend in with humanity and avoid a greater amount of these prejudices. Were he showcasing an entirely chromed exterior there would be no doubt that he never would have made it through that crowd without eliciting violence.

For minutes, the sniper watches the mob leader engage in his spiteful rhetoric against the Muslims within the apartment building behind him, and then, just when it seems that the man is going to lead the charge, a rumbling a ten ton BTR-15 APC comes rumbling around the corner at the intersection down scope from him. Two spotlights on the front switch on and pan the crowd with sweeping lines that illuminate the drifting rain as little motes of white fire.

== This is Marcom Security. You have ten seconds to begin dispersing before we take extreme action. Starting now. ==

The vehicle’s speaker system isn’t loud. Perhaps it was designed to barely meet legal requirements but still allow the security company personnel some fun whenever the people they were addressing were too loud to hear the message. In this case, calls of angry protest rise up from the crowd, fists are shaken towards the interloping vehicle, but the mob knows when it has been beat, and panning over their numbers with his scope, Ghlahn cannot find the skinhead who was leading them. He’s been lost to the crowd or abandoned them altogether.

== Ten… nine… eight… ==

Humanity peels apart with people going their separate ways in a hurry to not get caught up in the consequences of disobedience. The 30mm turret cannon being the largest of their concerns. All the while, the vehicle continues to roll towards them on its six oversized tires and the other vehicles in the street are forced to move aside.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 02:50 AM PST)


the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 2:10 AM PST --- Weather Conditions: High City (heavy rain, 20mph winds from the N.) | Midcity (light rain, 10mph winds from the N.) | Undercity (fog and drizzle, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 15 | Midcity = 36 | Undercity = 86 (masks required - Red warning)

“I’m Fluke,” the driver states, sliding into the booth on the bench seat opposite the well-dressed fixer. “You Cred Stick Charlie?”

His companion, a short woman with wild red hair and dirty, but somewhat pretty face covered in freckles seats herself next to him, her shotgun now in a sling on her back. She calmly chews, open-mouthed, on a piece of gum, eyeing Luther as though she can see right through to his soul.

Charlie nods yes.

His companion, a short woman with wild red hair and dirty, but somewhat pretty face covered in freckles seats herself next to him, her shotgun now in a sling on her back. She calmly chews, open-mouthed, on a piece of gum, eyeing Luther as though she can see right through to his soul.

“Is that the air raft?” He questions motioning his a head movement to the lot. “ Did you want to sign docs now so we can both be on our way?” Charlie sips his coffee.

"Docs?"  Fluke chuckles and peers about the room distractedly as his companion pops her gum. "Dude, you ain't working with a neocorp here. You borrow the jeep and if you **** us, we skin you and use yer hide as a tent. Now, here are the keys--ya, keys. Old school, but effective."

Dangling the keys over the table, Fluke looks lazily across the table and presents a crooked grin.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 2:14 AM PST)

Posted on 2018-09-19 at 16:45:48.

Topic: Hidden Corruption Q&A

That was a fun little moment of NPC growth.

I've posted. Gib will push to seek a meeting with the member of Atharis' order sooner rather than later. He'll also advise that the party get that done and then immediately look into the disappearance of Davena and her bodyguard. There are too many unanswered concerns for him to rest easy.

Posted on 2018-09-19 at 11:24:55.

Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...

As dawn's first rays begin to lighten the eastern sky, it becomes apparent that Crandel is now safe—for the time being, at least.

Weary to the bone with no more adrenaline coursing through his body to keep him going, Gib tiredly addresses his companions. "I shall now hold services to honor the Work of the Battle Lord that was done this past night. Should any wish to participate, you are welcome. I know not what friend Atharis' order holds as ritual or rites for burial and to honor him, I believe we should wait upon our meeting with said order's representative before deciding such things."

Turning to the Innkeep, the priest asks simply, "Will you mind if I hold services here, at the hearth?"

(OOC: Assuming there is no such complaint...)

"I shall return momentarily," Gib informs his friends and promptly, if somewhat doggedly, makes his way back to his chamber where he has left his gear.

Gathering his remaining possessions, the warrior priest is once again struck at the loss of his young friend. Death is nothing new to the cleric of the god of war, but it has yet to be stingless, especially when it D'hurgen comes for those who are close. Pausing in his repacking, Moreno allows his head to drop back on his neck and closes his eyes to the view of the rafters. "Lord of Battle, give me strength," he mutters, truly feeling the wear on his muscles, bones, and spirit of the past day's events. Holding this position for a time, the bearded Ertainian allows himself these few moments to be human, finally filling his lungs with a slow, cool breath as he returns to his chore. He would leave the gear were circumstances normal, allowing himself to spend some time in respite within Crandel's walls. But, he has now experienced an assault on the party within the supposed safety of the city and feels he must be prepared for anything. So, the heavy equipment is shouldered and the cleric makes his ponderous way to the common room once more.

Dirty and crusted with blood and ichor from the battle, Gib's experience is that Midge and... he sighs again at Atharis' absence... that Midge kindly uses magic to clean them and make their image presentable, so he is not concerning himself with such luxuries as a bath at this time. Instead, he makes his way to the hearth and sets his pack aside while retrieving his prayer book. 

In more civilized circumstances, and were a pack horse something he could afford, the cleric would have more ceremonial accouterments on hand to truly venerate his god. In cases such as this, field protocol for the clergy requires just the prayer book, proper catechisms, and ceremonial recognition of those who have ultimately sacrificed themselves to the work of his god. And so it is that Moreno “Gib” Enderedre opens his services with a rededication of loyal service to Therassor, including any who join him. All in all, his venerations take approximately four finger widths of time, one turn on an hourglass. Upon finishing, he spends a few moments in silent prayer and then rises stiffly from his kneeling position and quietly replacing his prayer book within his pack.

"So," he begins, turning from the hearth as he shoulders his gear, "Are we to be about our business then? Seek out Atharis' order and then—where is Cedric?"

Gazing upon those present, the priest puzzles at his fellow's absence.

(OOC: Any response...)

"Are we then resting before pursuing a meet?" Gib raises his eyebrows. He is tired, of that there is no doubt, but when duty calls a soldier must soldier. 

Posted on 2018-09-19 at 11:21:49.


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