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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Star Trek Hidden Depths Q&A
Subject:


OK. No sign of Crowe. I've emailed him a couple of times without reply, PM'd him, and am sad to say that I've had no replies. As such, is anyone interested in me taking over this sim? I'd keep the captain in play as well as Cole. If we have enough people, I'll start the game moving again.



Posted on 2019-01-09 at 14:54:59.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Q&A
Subject:


Thank you for the compliment, Breebles, but everyone has their own style of writing. That's all there is to it.


I have updated the game for Lanur. please keep in mind that he's a gruff, impolite, man of the wilderness who rarely deals with people directly. Nothing he has said is meant to be an insult to any player or the GM. This should be my standard disclaimer.



Posted on 2019-01-09 at 14:53:09.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Game
Subject:


Bland and pasty, heavy on potatoes and leeks, the stew is messily devoured by the woodsman as soon as the bowls are placed in front of him. Head bent over the crockery, Lanur barely pays any attention to the conversation taking place around him. People are too loud when they should be taking advantage of the feast in front of them. Animals take the opportunity to eat when it presents itself because they don't necessarily know when or where their next meal will come from. The fur and leather-clad man is of such a mind. 


 "I... I am unsure... I spent all morning with my Millae, trying to provide comfort and the guards did not tell us much. It isn't much of a secret, though, that Millae and a young Whitecloak were getting... rather close..." Mistress Velalin pauses here, a slight scowl twisting her tearstreaked face. It is only a brief pause, however, and Mistress Velalin picks up again, her voice a little stronger.  "I would bet my last copper that has swayed opinions."


Stalling the delivery of yet more stew into his gaping mouth, Lanur Dinas tunes his ears so that he might hear more. Whitecloaks are like snared badgers, crazy and unpredictable with the ability to wield dangerous power. The woodsman makes great strides to steer clear of them; a task he has been quite successful with his whole life. Aes Sedai and Whitecloaks in the same city... no wonder there are troubles. Willfully pushing the morsel of food into his mouth, Lanur chews thoughtfully. One of the witches dead and one of the Children involved with the suspect while the witless ruler suspects a young girl of doing the deed.


A short chuckle bursts from his chest and sprays a few small chunks of potato from his lips. Shaking his mane of hair in disbelief, the wild man returns to shoveling food into his mouth. Even a simpleton can put this one together. Best that I be far from here when this mess boils over.


"Was your daughter acting strangely..."


Snatching one of his ales up, Lanur sucks down three large gulps before setting the mug back on the table with a loud thunk. Allowing the bubble of air to rise in his chest, he strikes his sternum once and lets out a surprisingly loud belch. Shaking his shoulders and head the way a horse would when antagonized by an annoying fly, the woodsman immediately sets into his meal again.  


"...scared out of her stockings by the guardsmen restricting her to our home, she seemed unworried. Normally she'd be... she'd be worried sick about keeping Nelelle Sedai waiting..." Mistress Velalin pauses, the scowl on her face shifting to a worried frown as she considers the revelation.


With a clatter, Cho'Ra cast her spoon down into her nearly empty bowl, a small sigh escaping her lips as she adopts a polite smile. “Bowman, please do excuse my intrusion here—”


Initially captured by the sudden unladylike gesture, Lanur returns his attention and his thoughts to his meal once he's sure she isn't about to crazily attack. Lifting the bowl to his lips, the cleanliness of his mustaches and beard being damned, Lanur drains the dredges into his gullet and practically drops the bowl to the table before scooting the second into place and piercing the thick surface with his spoon.


"—it is... difficult to talk about." Velalin tries to smile at Cho'Ra, but with her red eyes and blotched face, it is more of a grimace.


As Cho'Ra continues to comfort Mistress Velalin, Za'ahrat leans forward and fixes the tragic woman with a piercing violet gaze, "Mistress Velalin," the Aes Sedai says, "perhaps you can begin by telling us about your daughter and the Aes Sedai. Begin wherever you like."


Eyes narrowed, Dinas casts a quick look at the silky-voiced woman. He is barely capable of suppressing the hackles rising on the nape of his neck. With his immediate needs being fulfilled and the chance for a little exercise no longer distracting him, the athletic man takes full stock of the bearing that this woman has. Like a swan with a birdsong's voice. Nobility? If so, which of these others be her guard? Him? Maybe... maybe more than one. What if the little one there is the cygnet to the swan and these others are their contingent? She called him, Bowman. They are not close, though I've seen enough t' know that servants are rarely close to their masters.


"She... She was of the Yellow Ajah," stammers Mistress Velalin, "and although rumors indicate that she was very proficient at healing she evidently had... difficulties with the healing of Lord Rain. As for Millae... She is such a sweet girl. When she was younger, she would bring home injured birds or other animals, determined to nurse them back to health. Until she was brought into the service of Nelelle Sedai, she assisted me at the tailor shop I run. She is such a beautiful young woman." Mistress Velalin perked up at that, looking almost fiercely proud. "She had any choice of suitors, why she picked that Whitecloak, I shall never understand! He is--"


Repressing a shudder at the mention of the Whitecloak again, Lanur uses his fingers to pick up a plump carrot and shove it into his mouth. Get out. Leaving it be. That's the best.


Mistress Velalin stops short as the Innkeeper walks up. Behind him stands two burly men with telltale scars that make them out as the Inn's personal guards. All three of them are carrying cudgels and looking grim but determined. Ignoring the others sitting around the table, the Innkeeper focused on Mistress Velalin. "Mistress Velalin, Teni tells me that these strangers seem to be troubling you. Shall I escort them out?"


Mistress Velalin blinks, obviously surprised. "Master Masteon, that's not necessary." She replies, her voice hoarse from the sobbing. "These kind strangers have offered to help free Millae. I'm... I'm just answering any questions they have."


Master Masteon visible relaxes, and as he eyes all those around the table, he begins to blush. "Oh," He says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down bashfully. "Oh, my. I see... That... Well... I'm glad to hear that, Mistress Velalin. We're terribly sorry to have interrupted... You know that everyone here at the Gleeman's Abode is with you. No one here believes for a second that Millae did... well, no one believes what the guards say. And if they do," he adds forcefully. "Then they won't be here much longer. If there is anything that we can do for you, Mistress Velalin, don't hesitate to ask." With on more embarrassed look at the group, Master Masteon turns and shoos the toughs away, scurrying back behind the bar.


"And what if they are bothering me with their constant yammering?" Lanur calls after him with a huff. Not waiting to even see if there's an answer or a response from the others at the table, he practically dives face first into the bowl.


With a soft sniff, Mistress Velalin addresses the group, "I... Please. Please, if you can save her... Thank you... I... I am very tired and I just wish to return to my bed. If you have everything you need from me, please, I would like to take my leave."


"This Whitecloak she was seeing. What is his name?" One of the other men continues the questioning.


(OOC: Velalin's answer.)


"Does he know of Millae's situation?" the man continues.


(OOC: Velalin's answer.)


"You have given the impression that he might be involved, or that this relationship might be a reason why Millae was accused.  Why? And do you have any idea what has brought Whitecloaks to this town? Are they here often?" More question flow from the man.


(OOC: Velalin's answer.)


"The Lord's son died?" the man confirms. "Is there a reason his death would be linked to Millae's trial? Is it more than just the Lord being in a black mood? Is it just that the Aes Sedai was trying to heal him?"


Now, Lanur is exasperated. "Blood and ashes!" he growls while leaning forward so as to look the inquisitive man in the face. "I've not been able to eat in peace as my ears are filled with this simpering. Maybe if I were to draw it out in the mud, the case might be clearer.


"The girl was tending the Aes Sedai who was caring for the young lord. From all accounts, the witch was the only one keeping the little lordling alive so with her death the natural result is the lord's demise. The girl is in bed with the light-blinded fool of a Whitecloak, so he's in a prime position to set the whole thing in motion. 


"He likely has the girl's routine with the witch memorized and knows what she's fed and when. Would be a simple matter to either convince the girl to deposit some poison or to sabotage the girl's offering with poison. Then the Tar Valon Witch's death is blamed on the girl by the wooden-headed buffoon of a ruler and the Light-forsaken Whitecloaks get off without even being looked at.


"A blind baby goat could have put this together. The only one who seems to be not guilty of anything is this poor woman." Lanur tips his mug towards Mistress Velalin, spilling some of its contents over the side. "The lot of you would do well to follow my lead; eat your meal, get some rest, and then leave the boneheaded behaviors of city folk to the city folk.


"Now, mayhaps I can eat in peace? Hmmm?"


Gruffly turning back to his meal, Lanur Dinas frowns into his stew and then takes a deep breath as he snatches up the spoon once more to begin his excavation.



Posted on 2019-01-09 at 14:51:18.
Edited on 2019-01-09 at 16:01:14 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


It could be. Breathing in the fumes of the alcohol isn't exactly healthy and could result in a "high" feeling but Fixer came up with an idea that the NPCs agreed with, so you're off the hook.


I've advanced the game. Looking forward to everyone's posts. As usual, if you have questions, let me know.



Posted on 2019-01-07 at 10:53:28.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


The Alley Outside the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 3:35 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)


 


Arriving at the bottom of the ladder, Echo grits her teeth and stares in revulsion at the swirling brackish liquid awaiting her. She has no idea how deep the muck is and is fairly certain that there are things floating in it that no human being should ever come into contact with, but they have a job to finish and—her stomach churns, the foulness of the air and the thought of wading into the repugnant water have gotten the better of her. Coughing and dry heaving wracks her shoulders and chest with such violence that she nearly smashes her head against a rung. Scrambling up the ladder, the nomad flings herself into a bent over crouch and pulls her balaclava down so she can relieve her urge to vomit.


 


“Ew!” Blossom steps back quickly and holds the back of her hand up to her mouth. “Gross.”


 


“I can’t,” Echo coughs, eyes squeezed shut, skin appearing pale even in the poor light. “I can’t go down there.”


 


“Uh-uh,” Blossom shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. I’m not going down there now either. Sh*t be too real. Too real!”


 


Looking up from trying to create a blind, Casino can't help but understand, the smell reaching him also. Looking at the group as a whole, he raises his hands and sighs.


 


"Well that was my idea, Blossom, Echo, anyone got another one, I'm out."


 


"What if," Bloodbank asks, rising from crouching and scrounging through his bag holding two items, "I was able to fashion us some masks to filter out that sewer smell. At least for a bit."


 


He holds up the items he; an undershirt and some rubbing alcohol disinfectant from his medkit. "I could tear this into strips, and soak those strips in this alcohol, and we could tie that around our noses. As long as we tried to breathe through our mouths, I'm pretty sure that the fumes wouldn't be too much to cause us problems, but the sewer smell could be largely blocked out with that of sterile alcohol. Think you two could stomach the sewers then?"


 


Could I stomach the sewers, then? Bloodbank wonders to himself. The smell is truly toxic, and he can feel the bile trying to rise in his throat as he thinks of descending into the filth. Do I really have the luxury of that choice, though? We are running out of time, and we are out of ideas. We need to do something!


 


Fixer watches Echo and Blossom try and fail to go down into the sewers. The smell is truly awful and he is glad he has been assigned homeless duty. That sewer is nasty! Fixer does his best to avoid grinning when Bloodbank attempts to come to the rescue. With or without the Medtech's improvised masks, he is glad he is not being asked to go down. He wonders if the masks will work.


 


"I don't know if the masks will work, but what about those shelters over there," He nods his head in the direction of the boxes and things forming a shelter in the alley for some wrecks unfortunate enough to have no better shelter. "For just a few credits I'm sure the residents could be persuaded to vacate and we would at least have a hidden location in which to work. It isn't perfect, but the smell will at least be tolerable."


 


“No offense, Doc Bloodbank,” Blossom pops her lolli from her mouth and uses it to indicate the sewers, “but our girl here literally lost her sh*t after spending a few seconds in that hellhole. Way to attempt to McGuyver a solution but I’m voting for droppin’ a couple of C’s on those streetrats and seeing what kind of hospitality that wins us.”


 


Echo uses the back of her hand to wipe the corners of her mouth and gags again before nodding in agreement still doubled over. “I can taste it.”


 


“Ew!” Blossom shoves the candy back into her mouth and screws her face up in disgust.


 


(OOC: Assuming the plan will proceed as outlined by Fixer.)


 


The area in which the techie had referred everyone to is located further down the alley where the inhabitants are less likely to cause disturbances along the street and thus are less likely to be ousted. Wet cardboard boxes are propped up against the outside amongst pallets, discarded poles and other garbage. While not reaching higher than a small pup tent, there will be room inside to sit if the outside provides a correct estimation.


 


Approaching what appears to be the opening, a growling voice rolls from inside, “Just ‘cause I don’t live in no fancy conapt don’t mean I can’t defend myself. Roll on, ‘less you want some new holes t’ breathe through.”


 


(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:38 AM PST)


 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


 


Near the Parking Garage two blocks from the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 03:09 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)


 


“No one wants to be here right now, choomba,” the guard calls back. “Hell! I’m missing a great playoff game because of this mess. You’ve got sixty seconds to give yourself up. After that… well, we’re all going to be adding some numbers to the daily death pool. Sixty seconds, starting now!”


 


The offered bribe is not accepted. Ghlahn’s hope that a bit of credit would defuse the situation fizzles as it seems the team leader is set on a confrontation. That thought is confirmed when he announces that in 60 seconds there will be trouble if Ghlahn doesn’t turn himself in. What kind of idiot gives a countdown? Ghlahn muses. Sixty seconds is an eternity for an accomplished assassin.


 


Ghlahn calculates that the two men directly to his front are the most dangerous as he has little cover from them. Those to his right are at least blocked a bit by the car.


 


"Alright, you win, we will do it your way. Just calm down." Ghlahn hopes his answer will cause a moment of pause and maybe even a bit of a relief to the team members. Dropping into a prone position, Ghlahn brings his rifle to bear on the legs of the farthest team member across the driving lane and in front of him. By shooting under the cars he hopes to hit their more vulnerable legs and take them out of the fight. He squeezes the trigger and sends the first round off, then a second flash sends another round towards the second team member’s legs. Almost by reflex he rolls back under the car for better cover while he seeks to target the remaining team members.


 


The leg of the first target is swept backward and though the Cee-metal sniper’s vision is partially blocked, he’s pretty sure that the man falls into the vehicle he’s taking cover behind. Too intent on his second target to register anything more of the first’s situation, Ghlahn expertly places his second round into the exposed shin area of the closer of the two soldiers. Again, the leg swings back with the impact from the round and Alex McKennon scrambles behind the tire and under the car.


 


Unable to see anything of his next targets from between the tires, the sniper has to quickly belly crawl forward in order to gain a line of sight and even then, he can just make out the right side of the fellow hiding behind the cement pillar. Squeezing off two more shots, Ghlahn watches with satisfaction as the first round strikes the fellow in his exposed right arm and immediately ignites the fabric on fire. His second round tears through the inner thigh, penetrating the armor and spraying arterial blood away from the limb. The man falls out of site as the chaos of battle descends on the parking garage.


 


From off to Ghlahn’s front left the sound of automatic weapons fire is immediately accompanied by the high pitched ring of rounds striking metal as twenty to thirty rounds pepper the vehicles over and around him. These are followed by more of the same. Glass breaks, the vehicle covering the Corpore Steel soldier is dancing with the barrage but so’s the yellow sports next to him.


 


With his eyes still on the targets by the pillar, Ghlahn spots the other soldier in the area pop up and spray rounds his way with a submachine gun while more rounds come in from the left. Oil begins to drain from multiple holes in the engine block overhead spattering down on Ghlahn like dirty rain. Sparks fly and whistling bullets strike right near Alex’s head spitting fragments of cement into his combat mask like tiny bugs against a motorcycle helmet windscreen.


 


His situation has changed. Six seconds have passed since he started shooting and already Ghlahn feels that he may have eliminated three of the potentially eight from the fight but his left side is now definitely under siege and their reactive barrage of fire is quickly going to be replaced by a more strategic assault.


 


(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:09 AM PST)


 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


 


the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 5:05 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)


 


Pulling up his browser, Luther pulls up Vegas’ contact information and accesses the messages.


 


I’m less than 30 minutes out, do you have the package yet, has Santa’s elves been seen yet?


 


Before a reply is given Luther fires another message.


I don’t have a lot of room in the vehicle, wrap that package up and get ready to have it picked up.


 


Unfortunately, that’s when the lights start flashing behind him. Blue and red illuminating the early morning skyline. Glancing in the side mirror, Cred Stick Charlie can readily make out the profile of a police cruiser flying in his wake indicating that he is to descend and land on the side of a street.


 


"What the heck?" Luther says to himself.


 


Producing his fake ID from the side pocket of his agent’s case, Cred Stick Charlie places it on the console separating the front seats, ready for it to be scanned. As he did, Luther mentally goes over the checklist that he performed at the fueling station parking lot... everything looked good then. Weird, he thinks as paranoia sets in.


 


Mentally ordering his agent to dial 911, the fixer begins to pull his hover jeep over, seeking someplace well lit and potentially in the public eye.


 


⇐ 911 What’s your emergency? =>


 


Relaying to the dispatcher that he is being pulled over, the well-dressed dealer asks for verification that the vehicle behind him is, in fact, a police officer.


 


<= Yes sir, it is. Officer Burns, badge number 34285 has called in the stop. =>


 


Still unsure of why he’s being pulled over, Luther asks if there’s a patrol sergeant nearby that can join them.


 


<= I can assure you, sir, that a patrol sergeant isn’t necessary. But if you’d really like one present, I can see how long it will take for a sergeant to get to your location. =>


 


Spotting a descent position beneath a streetlamp and in front of a semicircular building face with four stories of glass facing the street, Luther pulls over and stops the vehicle, allowing the winds of the hover turbines the settle and the jeep to slowly lower to street level.


 


(OOC: Luther’s answer.)


 


<= Very well, sir. =>


 


Behind him, the patrol car swings its nose out towards the street for an easier departure, blues and reds still flashing, reflecting both off of the wet street and the windows of the buildings around them.


 


(OOC: I’m holding off posting further so that you, Espatier, have time to answer dispatch and tell me how Luther is preparing to meet the cop(s). )





(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 5:07 AM PST)



Posted on 2019-01-07 at 10:51:49.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Q&A
Subject:


It looks like we're moving again. At least, the Wheel is starting to turn once more, anyway. I'd like to suggest that people review their posts carefully against what Gid posted and what the other players have posted. When I was reading through, I thought I saw some inconsistencies.


Just a suggestion. Looking forward to your post tomorrow, Gid. Might I convince you to hit that Flesh & Blood game while you're at it?



Posted on 2019-01-03 at 18:47:39.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Hello? Missing a few posts. 



Posted on 2019-01-02 at 23:09:21.

Topic: Star Trek Hidden Depths Q&A
Subject:


Don't give up on the game yet. As stated before, if Crowe doesn't return, I'M take over the sim. 



Posted on 2019-01-02 at 23:08:11.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Keeper:



  1. They are wearing full-face combat masks so he cannot tell who is doing the talking. You should be able to see figures on the map on Roll20 and that will indicate what Ghlahn can see as well as distances.

  2. The map should show you who is in Ghlahn's line of sight.

  3. Overhead LED lights. They are approximately two and a half meters in length and about half a meter wide, maybe four centimeters deep. They are placed every ten meters or so overhead beginning ten meters in from the side. On the map, they would be vertically aligned.

  4. Dart gun range is 5 meters for short, 10 meters for medium, and 15 meters for long. The closest target on the map is about 7.6 meters away.

  5. An Arc Thrower is a weapon that discharges massive electrical charges that are particularly effective against Cee-Metal opponents. It can be deadly and has a short range of 20 meters, medium is 40, and long is 60.



Posted on 2018-12-27 at 13:45:04.
Edited on 2018-12-27 at 13:47:40 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


I have updated the game and look forward to everyone's posts. 


Ghlahn might seem to be in something of a pickle. Keeper, please check your PM.


Luther has picked up a tail and a little trouble himself. Law states that the vehicle will need to descend to regular street level (being a hover jeep, that's not far) and pull off to the side of the street so that the officer can approach on the sidewalk.


The rest of you... well, those who were about to plunge into the sewers have failed their COOL checks and nobody wants anything to do with that crap.



Posted on 2018-12-26 at 17:59:48.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject:


The Alley Outside the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 3:24 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)


 


This job is turning out to be one never-ending party, Fixer muses. But at least the group generally seems to know what they are doing—and listening to him when he knows what he is doing. Which isn’t all the time, but he has his specialties. And one of those is knowing he does not want to get caught with the stolen goods. The group seems to get this and gets to work dealing with it.


 


“Look,” Blossom remarks as though the information she’s sharing doesn’t really matter. “Fixer’s probs right. Many companies rig these boxes with tracing hardware in case some of their employees decide to make a few bucks selling surplus. So, we need to find someplace secure where I can jack in and do my full data transfer. Give me a quarter and I’ll make this pony dance.”


 


“Subway, maybe?” Echo steps up to the blonde solo so that their shoulders are touching. “We might be able to find a corner and give her some cover while she works. It’s close.”


 


Casino’s masked gaze fixes on Vegas’s back as his partner moves away. Casino has a sudden bad feeling in his gut that this will be the last time he sees his Sinatra look-alike friend and partner alive. Turning to the rest of the group he attempts to put the grim thought behind him and ponders the discussion for a moment.


 


“Ok,” the big man begins, having come to a conclusion, “Echo suggests the subway, however we are carrying too much stolen stuff to blend in. I say we find a sewer entrance somewhere out of sight and use the area below it as temp base till we reconnect with Vegas and Ghlahn. Or are there any better ideas? Blossom, you OK with a dark deep sewer squat?”


 


Stomach lurching as the memory of the sewer’s rank odors flood her senses, the netrunner swallows the urge to puke and frowns. “I’ll do what needs doin’. Don’t like it but…” she shrugs.


 


He’s got a point, Echo admits admiringly of the blonde solo’s change in plan. Better to do this without all the potential rubberneckers. Checking her submachine gun, the nomad woman gives the masked gunman a nod indicating her readiness.


 


Leading off in a casual stroll, Echo on the group’s six, the big solo takes the small company in the opposite direction that Vegas had gone, out onto the still fairly busy street. Ground cars weave past each other with automated AI-controlled vehicles mixing seamlessly alongside the manually driven cars and vans. While not as crowded as during daylight hours, the sidewalk is still full enough of rain-slick wearing people and delivery bots that the edgerunners find themselves navigating a particularly full swell of humanity immediately upon exiting the alley. Blue hues paint the watery surfaces, cast by a large holographic sign of a beautiful Asian woman advertising a nanobite cosmetic pack.


 


Casino leads the team to the right—north along the busy thoroughfare. Each cut in the architecture is an opportunity. Most hold some form of huddling homeless party but experience has shown that in most cases, at least in this part of the Integrate, they aren’t going to be able to hold that position for long before security, gangs, or another group of homeless force them out. Their plight doesn’t matter right now, however, the mountain of a man is looking for access to the sewer system and at least a semi-private means procuring one. Surprisingly enough, a garbage-filled, nearly empty alley with a sewer entrance is discovered within minutes of beginning the search.


 


Those with optics have immediate access to the distance between the buildings: five meters. Five meters of wet, disgusting trash, mud, and unnamable refuse. Discarded shipping boxes, mostly flattened, are scattered about the alleyway, with at least three in plain sight that have been built into a shelter that includes old tarps, printed screamsheets, full print magazines, old blankets, and some plastic shipping materials. The occupants of these three ramshackle abodes wisely avert their attention or numbly make no move to take notice of the edgerunners at all. The manhole cover sits center in the alley, the pavement lowering a good five centimeters to form a nice gully through which the dirty water can flow.


 


Swiftly making their way to the manhole, Casino and Fixer set about lifting the cover and setting it aside while Echo, Bloodbank, and Blossom stand watch. Candied decay wafts up from the exposed hole to eagerly strike out at the edgerunners’ noses while the sound of rainwater cascading into the depths below makes a hollow beat.


 


“Dear gods above and below,” Blossom gags. “That’s worse than last time. Is that worse than last time?” She looks to her companions for confirmation. “That’s gotta be worse than last time.”


 


“Ok Blossom you, Echo, and Bloodbank head down. Fixer and I will become ‘homeless’ and watch the alley for ‘intruders’.” Casino instructs them through the stink.


 


Echo nods in agreement, squinting against the awful bouquett. Squaring her shoulders, the athletic woman peers into the space below. Producing a flashlight from her pocket, the leather-clad nomad illuminates the darkness within. Without a word, she crouches, turns, and descends the slippery, mold-covered ladder with her flashlight held in her left hand pointing down.


 


Arriving at the bottom of the ladder, Echo grits her teeth and stares in revulsion at the swirling brackish liquid awaiting her. She has no idea how deep the muck is and is fairly certain that there are things floating in it that no human being should ever come into contact with, but they have a job to finish and—her stomach churns, the foulness of the air and the thought of wading into the repugnant water have gotten the better of her. Coughing and dry heaving wracks her shoulders and chest with such violence that she nearly smashes her head against a rung. Scrambling up the ladder, the nomad flings herself into a bent over crouch and pulls her balaclava down so she can relieve her urge to vomit.


 


“Ew!” Blossom steps back quickly and holds the back of her hand up to her mouth. “Gross.”


 


“I can’t,” Echo coughs, eyes squeezed shut, skin appearing pale even in the poor light. “I can’t go down there.”


 


“Uh-uh,” Blossom shakes her head emphatically. “Nope. I’m not going down there now either. Sh*t be too real. Too real!”


 


(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:35 AM PST)


 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


 


Near the Parking Garage two blocks from the Upstairs Downstairs Inc. Building | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 03:07 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)


 


“You’re not doing yourself any favors here, choombatta,” calls out the first voice. “If you aren’t trespassing, your tag will prove your story. Refuse to comply and we’re going to have to assume you’re not supposed to be here. You see what kind of situation you’re in?”


 


“We’re not the only team up here,” a second voice drifts through the garage. “You have absolutely no way out. Don’t be a dick.”


 


Corporate security isn’t known for patience and if they do have another team moving about on that level then Ghlahn will be facing a minimum of six opponents and possibly eight to ten. Not to mention that his back is to a chain fence. A well-placed sniper could take him out from behind.


 


"Well of course I don't have a ticket.” Ghlahn is fed up with the situation. “Already told you I was trying to get away from that riot down there. Since you all cleared it up, I was just about to head out myself. You sure we can't come to some understanding that has us all just walking away? I'd love to give you credit for your time and effort if that helps."


 


A bribe might help. Soldiers are soldiers and most aren’t paid well for their services. And though it is worth a try, the security team doesn’t seem to be biting. There’s a moment silence… maybe a few seconds… and then the answer comes.


 


“No one wants to be here right now, choomba,” the guard calls back. “Hell! I’m missing a great playoff game because of this mess. You’ve got sixty seconds to give yourself up. After that… well, we’re all going to be adding some numbers to the daily death pool. Sixty seconds, starting now!”





(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 03:09 AM PST)


 


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


 


the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 5:03 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)


 


After a half hour on the phone with Blackbird, Cred Stick Charlie has managed to wheedle her down by 50 credits for the printer and the modular holographic imprinter taking the price to 900 credits. He’s positive that this is as low as she’s going to go and she seems to be losing patience.


 


Returning to the bottom screen, he checks on the search results which have been presented according to his preference of urgency ratings. There are five people total who can make use of the office equipment right away.


 


== Text Message ==


 


I’ve worked 14 hrs already. Tired. Deal?


 


== End Text Message ==


 


The fixer quickly thumbs in his reply.


 


Yes we have a deal


 


Work out details when you are feeling better?. How about over some coffee... my treat of course.


 


Luther hits send and continues his hourly lesson in Chinese while the self-driving car’s GPS brings him closer to Upstairs Downstairs, Inc’s office building. But his agent reminds him that he is within a half hour of arriving at the address and that he’d asked for a reminder at that time.


 


Pulling up his browser, Luther pulls up Vegas’ contact information and accesses the messages.


 


I’m less than 30 minutes out, do you have the package yet, has Santa’s elves been seen yet?


 


Before a reply is given Luther fires another message.


I don’t have a lot of room in the vehicle, wrap that package up and get ready to have it picked up.


 


Unfortunately, that’s when the lights start flashing behind him. Blue and red illuminating the early morning skyline. Glancing in the side mirror, Cred Stick Charlie can readily make out the profile of a police cruiser flying in his wake indicating that he is to descend and land on the side of a street.


 


(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 5:05 AM PST)



Posted on 2018-12-26 at 17:56:53.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Q&A
Subject:


I have sent you the description. Thanks! Hope everyone is having a wonderful Holiday season.


 



Posted on 2018-12-26 at 17:40:06.

Topic: A valid excuse to be slow at posting?
Subject:


Well, congratulations! That's a terrible thing to have to endure but a bright outcome. 



Posted on 2018-12-23 at 14:28:31.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Thank you for the posts. I'm going to get the game moving again with or without a post from Giddy in the next day or so. Have some real pressing Holiday things to take care of at work so my time is a little tighter than usual.



Posted on 2018-12-18 at 10:15:03.

Topic: RDINN Feature Updates/ Suggestions/ Bugs
Subject:


What voting bar, Chessicfayth?



Posted on 2018-12-14 at 13:51:29.

Topic: Olan missing...
Subject:


Yup. What he said.



Posted on 2018-12-13 at 16:23:13.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


 You, Keeper, and Giddy.



Posted on 2018-12-13 at 16:22:20.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject:


Still need more posts...



Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:49:16.

Topic: Star Trek Hidden Depths Q&A
Subject:


I've reached out to him via email and haven't heard anything. I'm giving the absence until after the Holidays before making a decision as to how I want to proceed. If Crowe doesn't return, maybe I'll take over the Sim. I'm really hoping he does, though.



Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:48:31.

Topic: Hidden Corruption Q&A
Subject:


I've posted again. Why not, right?



Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:36:34.

Topic: The Corruption Hidden Beneath the Surface...
Subject:



"Northwest takes us deeper into the furthest regions of the Kingdom," Gib states as they work on their food, "I would have thought we'd find ourselves marching towards Sendria but here we are. I am attempting to recall maps of the area that I've seen but even with this image in my head, I don't know how far we are from any of the major landmarks that I might remember. I'm afraid that I've no further insight into what might lie ahead."


"Sir," Kith uncharacteristically turns to the woodsman and politely addresses him, "you must know this area well. What have we to expect in our journey to the northwest?"


((OOC: assuming some response))


"That's something at least," she turns back to Gib and the warrior priest nods appreciatively.


"I would suggest being consistently watchful all the while moving to support one another as we progress. Kith might do well to scout ahead a bit provided we can find a means for her to communicate back to the rest of us without alerting any adversary of her position." Kith nods her agreement to that plan, and Gib continues, "So far, we've had Shinara watching over most of us—" he pauses for a moment, his eyes slightly losing focus, before finishing his thought, "—but we cannot allow this foolhardiness to continue or we'll soon be whittled away into nothing."


"I don't mind scouting ahead, I'm much quieter without you armored lot beside me," the rogue half-Syl offers them a sardonic grin. "Perhaps we can work on a bird call or something of the sort. Though," she thinks aloud, "I haven't heard or seen many since this blasted fog swallowed us all." She shrugs, "If we can't think of anything, I can simply return to you if I find anything of interest. I am not the type to charge in, as you know," she turns that small grin to her large cat friend. "Though if I do end up in trouble, please feel free to charge in as wildly as you like."


Looking askance of Aranwen first, followed by a raised eyebrow request for additional feedback from any of the others, Gib waits until all have either acknowledged and passed on commenting themselves, or offered their input, and then adds his thoughts.


"You're right, Kith," he states grimly, "there are few enough nature sounds that a bird call will probably be inappropriate. Be safe and return to us with any discoveries. Check back every so often so that we know you're not lost to us and please, make the intervals reasonable."


When ready to move out, Gib properly outfits himself and shoulders his heavy pack. What I wouldn't give for a pack horse or wagon, he mentally groans. With the rest of the party moving as a company along the evident path that the zombies so graciously left them, the warrior priest keeps his eyes peeled for danger. Occasionally, along their march, he'll whisper songs of praise to Therassor, or prayers and catechisms. As thoughts and recollections come to him concerning the undead they've already encountered and labeled, he'll offer this knowledge to those around him in a quiet, low voice so as not to allow it to carry. Aside from shifting his pack or his shield to more comfortable positions as they move about his shoulders, his hand rests upon the pommel and crossguard of his sword. Attempting a state of vigilance, Therassor's cleric also works to keep spirits high and minds focused to the task at hand.




Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:36:10.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Q&A
Subject:


I have posted. I apologize for the delay. 


Giddy, may I suggest that you place a general Character description on the first post of the QA thread so we may refer to it when writing our posts and engaging with the other player characters? Something along the lines of:


Character Name:
Player:
Description: (Include visible weaponry, armor, racial distinctions, etc.)


It would be right handy. Gracias, mi hombre.



Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:20:54.

Topic: Lights Last Embrace - A Wheel of Time Game
Subject:


Shrugging his way into the Inn, Lanur surveys the Gleeman's Abode with a furrowed brow and an expert eye. While preferring the sweet scent of earth and the lullaby of the birds and crickets, the woodsman isn't unfamiliar with the ways of "civilization." He just prefers the simple nature of the wilds. 


"It's something I can understand," he once told a furrier as he brought in his winter haul. "People have ulterior motives, schemes, and tend to be untrustworthy. Animals are as they are and Nature—though unpredictable at times—is always true to itself."


Odorous human beings and spicy stew are an interesting cocktail for the nostrils. The Gleeman's Abode, though clean, cannot escape the flare. Turning his lip at the unnecessary noise of the fiddler, the bear of a man saunters to the back table, ignoring the cheerful greeting of the proprietor, and plants himself in the furthers corner where he can watch the happenings of the establishment with his back to the wall. Unslinging his quiver and bow, he sets them at his side, leaning against the wall, dropping his pack next to them and shifting his blade so that it rests at an angle that still allows for him to quickly retrieve his sword. 


Deepset eyes watch, perhaps a little feral, as those from the encounter outside—a bit of business that still flutters about his brain like a mad bat—make their way into the Gleeman and over to the same table as he. Not surprising considering it is the only one available. Slipping his belt knife from its homemade leather sheath, Lanur proceeds to pick at the dirt underneath his nails while he waits on the serving girl to arrive so that he can place his order. He cannot keep his eyes from darting to the women, but not out of lust or appreciation. His heavily bearded face is difficult to read, but the creasing between his brows gives him a dark countenance.


Ordering three bowls of the stew, bread (if they have any... a loaf will do), and a couple of mugs of ale, the woodsman continues cleaning his fingernails, even trimming them a bit with the blade. After the orders are placed, one of the fellows begins firing questions at the sobbing woman whose child had just been taken into custody.


Lanur shakes his head just enough to make his long hair roll a bit at the shoulders. He offers nothing further to the questions and focuses on his hygiene routine until his food arrives. Bread to sop up the stew's juices followed by a spoonful of the hearty substance and not really caring how much of it dribbles into his beard at the present. Stew will drizzle and until he's done wolfing down the ambitious portions in front of him, Lanur Dinas doesn't concern himself with a clean face. Bread, mop, spoonful. Bread, mop, spoonful. Gulping down some ale. Bread, mop, spoonful... drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. Manners be damned. He's hungry and angry.



Posted on 2018-12-12 at 11:18:32.

Topic: Wheel of Time recruitment - CLOSED
Subject:


Ah! This is what Eol meant. Welcome to the game! 



Posted on 2018-12-10 at 21:56:56.

Topic: Hello!
Subject:


Welcome, Traveler. I am pleased that you found us. The more the merrier! As has been mentioned, feel free to ask whatever questions that pop up. I look fixable to watching you at play or even joining in! 


Keep in mind that throughout the Holidays, the Inn's activity level slows down quite a bit but it always picks up again after the Holidays end. Also, we occasionally endure attacks by mean little gremlins that cause the Inn to be unavailable for a time. Olan is usually really quick to sweep in and blast those beggars away but we Moderators need to know when they attack to rally a defense. This is usually done on our Facebook page, so look us up there too.



Posted on 2018-12-10 at 21:56:04.

 


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