Oooooooo! I liked it! Bravo!

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.

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)

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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)

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.

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. 

I, too, am happy. I posted for Lasad as well.

Stardate 2365.02.12 (Friday - 42949.4)
USS Peregrine; Deck 1 - Main Bridge – 12:25

Lieutenant Dio Lasad sits at the operations con and calmly observes the end results of his report displayed on the PADD in front of him. He is up late in the day due to his beta command shift, but early enough to take care of more than a few of his ongoing responsibilities, this report not being the least of them. Here, in his quarters, he has not yet tended to his long, black hair and it hangs loosely about his gray undershirt.

Frowning and furrowing his brow, the Risan sets the handheld computer on the desk in front of him and attempts to melt it with his emerald green eyes. Despite the known necessity of the report, he can’t help but feel that there are more pressing matters he should be attending. Drawing in a deep breath, he stretches his athletically slim form over the back of the chair and rolls his shoulders, knowing all too well that there’s nothing he can presently do about those pressing affairs.

Straightening, he places the first two fingers of his left hand on the smooth edge of the PADD screen and turns it a little to the right. “Watching the pot boil…” he mumbles, unsettling green eyes scanning the words displayed on the black screen of the mobile computer without registering them.

With a barely perceptible sigh, the Chief Operations Officer leans forward and commits himself to finish Lt. Moridan’s ops report from her last shift. Sliding the PADD back into his waiting right hand, Lasad raises it once more and jumps to where he left off.

42142.5 was an auspicious day for the crew of the Peregrine and Dio can’t help but feel the tension still coursing through the ship despite his relative newness. Truthfully, the pending return to the starbase is part of the reason he could sleep no more. He hasn’t known Captain Drake long at all but he can see that the human is a man of deep honor and he knows that he’s behaved in the only way he thought he could under the circumstances. Circumstances, Dio has reminded himself time and time again, that could potentially linger with those who serve beneath him.

“Is it too early for a drink?” the Risan asks his empty quarters, suddenly swinging around in his chair and making his way to the small bar he had set up when he had first arrived. “It’s not too early, surely…” He needs to relax his mind, enjoy the pleasures of a woodsy Risan brandy, and forget the pressure of the situation he now finds himself within.

Placing the PADD on the bar, he takes a square, crystalline decanter in hand and pops the bulbous top immediately releasing the potent, earthy scent of the alcohol into the air beneath his nose. Closing his eyes, the operations officer savors the sensation of it tickling his nostrils. As the smell dissipates, he takes up a small, matching tumbler in his other hand and pours the perfect portion. Setting the drink aside, he caps the pitcher and places it back on the tray, takes up his glass, and hatefully eyes the PADD.

“To decisions,” he lifts the glass slightly and holds it towards the computer. “The spice of life.”

Taking a third of the available liquid into his mouth he rolls it about with his tongue allowing the sensations it brings with it to play with all of his senses and sealing the synthetic light of his apartment away with closed eyes. There’s time for him to decide. The Peregrine still has a while before it docks.

Tease!

Awesome sauce. And thank you for the compliment. It takes a great game to inspire great writing. Kudos to you, Grand Storyteller!

I have posted! Every time I do, I'm reminded of how much I love this game. Too bad it is ending.

Stardate 2365.02.12
USS Peregrine, Captain's Ready Room - 09:17

Rest is for the weak and only those who persist through the long hours of service excel. At least, that's what Asovil was taught at the Imperial Academy and, for the most part, still subscribes to. Such a commitment had seen her up quite late the night before reviewing reports, confirming data, and logging her findings all in support of the actions her captain had taken and all scientifically proving that... that, what? That Drake had acted as he had because of the data on hand? That Jacobs had been "hellscrooked" on disrupting the negotiations? Rubbing her eyes, the Andorian woman's antennae droop against her white hair with weariness. 

"All you unwell, sir?" Ensign Maize's voice echoes in the comfortably quiet science lab.

"I'm well enough, Ensign," the lieutenant replies in a way that she hopes placates her subordinate. Truth be told, she's worried. Worried that just as she is starting to make a real home for herself in an assignment she had felt was the beginning of the end to her career in Starfleet, it would all be swept away and there's not a thing she can do about it.

"Headache?" Dalia presses. "If so, the replicator makes a nice ginger root tea that will help."

Drawing in a deep breath, Lt. Sh'iraolnas straightens her back and forces her antennae to perk up. Pressing her lips together, she opens her purple eyes and focuses them once more on the incoming report from SciCon 1. Tea, the officer contends. Why is the solution to everything with these humans, tea?

=/= Drake to Lieutenant Sh'iraolnas. =/=

Surprised by the interruption, the Andorian rushes to respond, "Sh'iraolnas here."

=/= Lieutenant, please meet me in my Ready Room. Drake out. =/=

Wrinkles play across her forehead with the raising of her thin, white eyebrows and her antennae pull backward almost like a cat's ears. Swiveling in the chair, Asovil drops her booted feet to the carpeted floor and rises, tugging down on the waist of her blue and black uniform to remove the wrinkles that had nested there.

"Good luck," Ensign Maize offers.

"Thank you," Lt. Sh'iraolnas replies. "I shall grab you later."

Dalia's brow furrows as she considers the alien's meaning, "Right... um, do you mean, catch you later?"

But Asovil was already through the door and engaged in her own thoughts.

****************************************************************

Sitting in a chair on the other side of Captain Drake's desk, Asovil briefly reflects on the first and last time she had experienced the honor of meeting privately with her warrior captain. She had been far less impressed and more than a little trepidatious about what was pending. Now, sitting straight-backed while her commanding officer leans back somewhat in his chair, she's all ears as the Captain speaks.

"Lieutenant, my impression is that when you first joined us, you were less than thrilled. Don't get me wrong; I understand. You are a woman of science, and this is a warship that would appear to provide you a limited platform to pursue your field. Correct?"

"Yes, sir," she presses her lips together and acknowledges the accuracy of his statement with a slight tip of her head and a quiver of the antennae.

A wry smile touches the corner of Drake' mouth, "And yet, you managed to find a way to continue your pursit of scence, even so," he continues.

"Yesterday, when given a stressful, unfair situation, you persevered and came up with a legitimate scientific breakthrough. Asovil, you saved lives yesterday—and I have no doubt in my mind that your work will lead to more Federation lives being saved in the future. Your resourcefulness under pressure speaks volumes to your character, and I am proud to have served with you, even though the duration of that service has not been long."

Drake places a small box on the desk and opens it to reveal a ribbon inside that causes the Andorian woman's heart to skip a beat. "I have recommended you for the Cross of Alexander; your actions saved lives, demonstrated great achievement, and certainly set you apart from the performance of your peers in the same sort of circumstance. I have no doubt that this will be confirmed; however, a review board must issue it, as I lack the authority to do so. In the meantime, please accept this Captain's Commendation for your service."

"I don't know what to say, sir," a slight shake of her head causes the tendrils of her white hair not caught up in her service bun to drift lazily about her elegant neck. "Thank you. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you again, Lieutenant, and congratulations," Silas responds. "Dismissed."

Rising immediately, instinctively, at the command, the blue-skinned scientist offers a salute, retrieves the parcel from the desk and sharply makes her exit. With the sound of the swishing hydraulics fresh in her ears, Asovil makes her way briskly across the bridge towards the turbo lift. Lost in her thoughts as she is, the woman doesn't even notice who's present and steps into the lift having experienced nothing but a memory of a blurred passage along the way. With the doors closed, she gives the absent-minded order for the floor of the labs and settles into her thoughts. 

The whole journey seems to have been so short and yet so much has happened. Captain Drake has commended her for her use of Dark Matter scans—a full report of which she still has yet to complete—and put her up for a highly sought after commendation. All of this after she was demoted and reassigned for striking a superior officer; reassigned to a warship where her skills (she had thought) would be wasted. Excitement boils inside threatening to erupt in a gleeful hop as the doors to the lift open revealing the hall beyond. 

Settling her revitalized muscles, the Andorian scientist strides towards her lab—my lab—with a stoic expression on her face that belies the joy she feels inside. A thought tickles the back of her mind, If he hadn't already won my loyalty through his selfless and brave actions, Captain Drake certainly has now. She couldn't wait to share the news with her parents, with her friends back home, with Tochi. But for now, she had a report to write further detailing the means by which she utilized Dark Matter in her scans and following that, a paper with all of the details.

She would be attempting to, yes. And yes to the roll needed. Remember, Fixer has Luck he can add to the roll and Creative Currency if he needs to reroll.

Negative, homefry.

Vegas has nothing positive to offer. This is way outside of his wheelhouse. 

Blossom will suggest that there's the possibility she could hack the alarm system by splicing into the sensors on the window. There's a chance it could set off the alarm and will require Fixer's Electronic Security expertise and luck.

Espatier, I just edited your post with my update. Feel free to do the same.

So... this email hit my inbox inviting me to come back to the Inn. I didn't realize I'd been gone so long. 

I'm playing out Gib's notion of services for Atharis as the same for individuals lost in battle where their bodies are irretrievable. Atharis was killed by a giggler as was at least one or two of the pilgrims... oh, look! There's one of those pilgrims come back to life as a giggler. Ergo, Gib deduces that there's a real significant chance Atharis' body could come back as a giggler. Ergo, fire.

Not that I really needed to explain any of that but I thought it would help establish the cleric's frame of mind as he turns his friend's body over to the watch.

Now... about the charity Ch'dau would suggest. As a priest, and an ex-military man for the kingdom, Gib will not argue offering what help the party can to the repairs. He'd be fine with all of Atharis' coin going towards that fund.

And believe you me, Davena and her bodyguard have not escaped Gib's mind. Until the immediate threat is resolved, the warrior priest sees no point in spending the mental energy to investigate.

I figure Gib will suggest the party resolve the zombie threat, make sure that the gate is secured while offering whatever assistance the party can to increase security there, help the citizens deal with the corpses in a sanitary and final manner, seek out Atharis' Circle friend, and then look into the disappearance of Davena. 

In light of this, Gib will also readily offer up his thoughts on the woman and her bodyguard. They are obviously conjecture, but that's all we have right now. 

First, there's a chance that Davena isn't who she claimed to be and actually orchestrated the whole thing. Motive aside, Gib feels he would be remiss if he didn't consider this possibility. Especially with their sudden and opportune absence.

Two, there's also a chance that Davena's man spirited her away to safety somewhere. If this is the case, they will likely turn up, or be discovered in hiding, when a thorough search of the town for any straggling undead is made.

Three, the whole attack was a distraction while someone swept in and kidnapped Davena. She's of some importance if I remember correctly, and this close to Sendria the involvement of a necromancer in a plot isn't entirely impossible.

That the undead would attack the inn specifically would indicate that either the party of adventurers were the target, or one of the other patrons were. Obviously, there's the third possibility... that the inn is just where the majority of people would be gathered at one time and the ghouls could just sense that. But, Gib isn't buying that. His money is on one of the other patrons and to his knowledge, Davena is the only one worth grabbing. Why not the party, you ask? He'll respond that the undead didn't attack the party outside of the city, they attacked the pilgrims. Why when they could have just attacked the party if the group of adventurers was in fact, the targets? 

Anyway, some musings.

I think that makes sense even for the pious. There's no sense in wasting. Everything that the group can assess as "of value" from the mage's remains will be collected before the body is turned over to those collecting the dead. Thanks for that tender mercy reminder, Olan. 

Gib would, potentially, insist that the money or some of the items that can be sold, be used to pay for a proper burial, though.

Great questions to pose to the players, Nomad. Participation from those players at the scene is highly advised... and appreciated.

Keeper, I've posted an update for Ghlahn. I'm looking for description on how he's set up in the corner (lying on his belly, rifle poking out the chain link, bag to his right and under the vehicle a little... stuff like that).

Espatier, I've posted for Luther too. 

Here's to posting, meatbags!

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)

Ghlahn makes his way upwards, the climb is not difficult but after four stories he comes to an impasse. The chain link fence nearly meets the floor of the next level and there is no way to wiggle through. It looks to him like some cutting is in order as he needs access to that level for a good lookout position. With no other option other than retreat, he grips the fencing tightly with one hand and mentally activates the body shell’s wire cutter installment. Cutting the wire just enough to make a hole to squeeze his way through, the sniper eventually recalls the shears into his arm and pushes his bag through before pulling himself into the garage and dropping to the cement floor between two ground cars spaced approximately two meters apart.

Pausing, crouched, the red-headed Cee-metal edger scans his surroundings, looking for any sign that he’s been compromised. Oil and exhaust odors predominantly fill his nose, though the mask he’s wearing succeeds in filtering most of it. The ground cars are both sedans, four-door; one being black and the other being dark blue. Further assessment of this garage level eases the sniper’s mind. No one appears to be aware of his presence and as no being is about, he is relatively free to move to a position closer to the front of the garage that he has already targeted as his perch.

Snatching his bag from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder, Ghlahn crouches low and moves to the back of the blue sedan, cybernetically enhanced vision aiding him as he cautiously surveys his surroundings before moving low to the next vehicle, and then the next parked car, and another, until he finds himself at the rear bumper of a 2034 American Motors Nighthawk Coupe in the corner stall.

It is here that his experience tells him will be the best position for overwatch. Now, he just needs to decide how he’s going to situate himself to remain lost in the shadows once the unruly crowd below meets the corporate security that is undoubtedly on its way.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 02:40 AM PST)

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the Long Mile Fueling Station | SanFran Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 1:40 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)

Unfamiliar with his surroundings, and more than a little harried, the fixer immediately makes his way over to the fueling station’s building. He still has a little while before his contact, Fluke, is supposed to arrive with the air jeep, so the well-dressed man ducks inside the establishment and scans the layout, searching for a place to do some work.

As with most waystations along the massive string of freeways stretching across California, the Long Mile caters to those who are on a journey, like freight truckers who still deign to brave the wilds, nomads, and corporate families making road trips. There are three fast food restaurants inside, but only one is still open… McDee’s. In the back, there will be coffins, even a few showers and some laundry services, but the best place to sit will be in the restaurant.

Looking to the attendant—an overweight white fellow with a huge handlebar mustache and beady eyes that stare flatly and suspiciously his way—Cred Stick Charlie makes his decision. Turning abruptly on his heel, he steps back into the wet exterior, moves to the sill of one of the broad storefront windows, and props his drone case on the brick edge. Balancing the expensive machine’s housing on his knee, the Native American edger withdraws his drone and sets it aside to close the case again.

Setting the case’s rubber feet on the ground, he preps the small technological wonder for flight and then calls up the HUD on his optic splice making certain of its connection. Satisfied, Luther retrieves his case and makes his way back into the establishment while mentally directing the drone to take to the sky. Sliding into a table so that he can use the drone and still watch the outside, he responds to the cheerful holographic table attendant by ordering a cup of coffee.

Looking through the drone’s camera is done as a semi-transparent overlay within his optic splice. It took practice at first to readily determine what was in front of him versus what he was viewing, but now… well, now, Luther is experienced enough that it doesn’t take any time whatsoever to fall back into the game.

Flying the drone about the parking lot, Cred Stick Charlie is barely distracted at all by the arrival of the delivery bot—a small red and yellow robot whose height is just tall enough to slide a tray onto a table, it also has two small three clawed arms by which it carries drinks—that places the steaming biofoam cup to the right of the fixer’s elbow.

Luther is nearly finished with the bitter McDee’s brew when he picks up two motorcycles pulling into the parking lot from the exchange that stand out from the usual traffic he’s been monitoring from on high. These bikers roll about the lot for a bit adding to the suspicious nature of their arrival and then they pull up to the building, dismount, and mosey inside.

Both men are wearing balaclavas that cover their face, riding goggles, and have long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Their clothing is a mix between leather and rugged outdoorsman styles with flannel, boots, and leather jackets mixing in metal accouterments and accents. They pause at the entrance, survey the rooms, and then walk into McDee’s dining area and plop down in a booth across the way and further down a bit from Luther.

They seem to be paying the fixer no mind, ordering a burger meal apiece and settling back to engage in laughing conversation. A few minutes more and Charlie picks up the arrival of two more vehicles through his drone observance. One is a large rig, six wheels, likely a biofuel n-energy cell mix monstrosity of mottled tan color with an open short bed covered by canvas. The other is a hover jeep being driven by two individuals, one at the wheel and the other riding shotgun, literally with a shotgun in hand.

Once the vehicles find parking, the driver and the gunner in the jeep make their way inside. There’s no hesitation, no need for a sign; Luther and the two bikers are the only ones in McDee’s dining area and the small population of travelers in the station’s lobby are obviously of no interest to the nomads.

“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.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 2:10 AM PST)

I agree. Great battle! 

I have posted for those that are interested. as you'll see, Gib is suggesting the hunt continues for the undead and that it be their priority while the city watch makes securing the gate and rousing the men of the town to deal with the bodies by putting them to fire. 

While not engaged in battle but making their way towards the zombies, he will be willing to discuss their next course of action. Even though Midge is not of the same order as Atharis was, Gib wouldn't assume that their responsibility to their companion has ended in his death. He will absolutely be for continuing the quest to meet up with Atharis' wizard contact if for no other reason than to report the fate of Atharis the Great. It is what he'd expect when he falls to the evil he will face in this life; at least then there will be a record of his passing.

Gib also feels the urgency in pursuing the undead to eliminate the threat to the city. If anyone's wounds need binding, he'll quickly work with Cedric to administer first aid. If any prove to be visibly at a point where Gib is concerned that the victim wouldn't survive another dance with the zombies, he'll use his high prayer level to request another miracle of Therassor in healing.

Glorious light spreads out from Cedric's staff but much to Gib's disappointment, it is very quickly devoured by the enshrouding mists. The battle priest cannot help but feel grim satisfaction and pride at the watchmen's stand, desperately driven, the melee is certainly worthy of song and the cost already worthy of notice.

Midge's spell is a brilliant and nearly blinding flash of hellishly hot flames fanning from his little, splayed fingers. Flames billow into the giggling creature, setting his rotting clothing afire and causing serious him serious harm while also roasting the zombies that flank it on either side. Moreno's heart leaps with the success of the attack, but there's a cost.  

The giggling monster spins and slashes Minto with its corrupted claws and the wizard stumbles back, reaching for a sling bullet, even as he backpedals from melee. Ch'dau leaps into the fray, roaring his battle cry and calling out, “Back from the fray, my brave little friend,” the Kazari snarled as he placed himself between the Cidal and the immolated chitterer, “You have done more than enough from this range!” The giggler advances too far, and the Kazari plunges one of his blades deep into its chest while the second weapon removes the rotting arm just below the elbow. This one, at least, will giggle no more.

Wrapped up in his holy plea, Gib barely hears Cedric's call to Solanis but he does notice quite a few of the zombies turn from the battle and shamble away, though more approach from the mist. Still, the kindness of the divine offers the watch a brief respite, and a ragged cheer rises from them as they redouble the fight.  

Engaging now with the shuffling dead, sword and shield in hand, the warrior priest uses what small moments he can to keep his allies in sight, changing position, side-stepping the enemy to rearrange his line of sight, using his shield to push the decaying foe away and giving him room to advance.

"Ast amroth es garna tu matra..." Atharis' spidery incantation picks up over the clash of battle and the Priest of Therassor is grateful that the young mage has joined the cause but the wizard's incantation ends in a choking gurgle, followed by the ghoulish maniacal giggle of his killer. Therassor's soldier swings his shield into a creature that's missing his entire left side causing it to stumble and nearly fall to the ground. Turning a wide-eyed gaze towards the ghoulish murderer just as the monster rips Atharis' belly open, the mage motionless at its feet in the mud, Gib can only scream his name.      

"Atharis!"  

Whether it is because of the warpriest's call, or his own battlefield insight, Midge almost immediately fires a sling bullet into the offending creature's back. Spinning around and to its feet, with the fallen mage's lifeblood dripping from its mouth and fingers, the giggling abomination makes to advance upon the Cidal but is met almost immediately by Kithran, who cries out and closes the distance with Cedric right behind her. She cuts the loathsome creature, but it rakes claws along her arm in response, and Moreno is horrified to realize that she has been struck with the same paralysis as both he and Ch'dau have experienced.  

Cedric bashes the creature with his stave, pushing it back and away from Kithran—for the moment—and with a furious cut to the midsection of the animated corpse in front of him, Gib fells the creature allowing him to break free of the fray to rush to his friends' aid. Sliding through the mud, Moreno drops to his right knee placing his thrust just below the wicked undead's swiping, clawed arms. Pressure from his crossguard against the meat between his forefinger and thumb lasts but a small portion of a moment before the well cared for blade pierces the failing flesh and slips between the ribs to erupt from the back into the night. Dangerous clawed hands drop and its arms drape across the priest's shoulder, the full weight of the undead thing resting into Gib's body. Meeting the frightening eyes as the possessed life drains from them, Gib snarls, "May Therassor's Justice be swift."

Rolling the body of the twice dead from his blade and tugging the weapon free of the sucking hold persisting upon it, the warrior priest immediately recognizes the sad truth of his companion's fate. Atharis the Great walks no longer in the Land of the Living. The time for mourning is not now, and the bearded cleric steels his heart while returning to battle. As Sylvari and Kazari lay about with ferocity, Gib picks his position wisely and suggests to Cedric, "Stay near Kith and guard her lest she suffer the same fate as our friend, Atharis." Striding back into the melee, Moreno sets about striking down foe once more, moving to maintain an advantageous flanking location to his deft allies. Somehow, no more watchmen fall; soon the battle ends as the last of the undead are struck to the ground.  

The guard are incredibly grateful for the aid. Amazingly, the gate guard is among the half dozen survivors; the man bears a huge gash across his arm, but he lives. One of the hateful guards from the Inn is present, as well; his companion is also here but lies among the dead.  

Still chuffing, and the angry growl persistently rumbling in his chest and throat, the Silver Cat finds his eyes coming to rest on the gate guard who had earlier in the night granted the party passage into the town. Ch’dau flicks the blood and gore from his blades and forces himself to sheath the things when no obvious threats presented themselves.

“One 'o those laughers cut me at tha gate,” the gate guard continued as the cat-man blinked down at him, “I couldn'a move, an' they all came in. By tha time I could do summat, they were movin' in tha town. We fought them, but they just kep comin'! If na fer tha lot 'o ya, tha whole town'd be lost!”

“Unrrrrngggnnnnh,” comes the cat-man’s initial reply, his chest heaving and his battle-hungry eyes still darting about the death-strewn thoroughfare. He offers a very curt nod of acknowledgment too, before his gaze darts purposefully toward where his fallen companion lies... For his part, Gib surveys the situation in a detached manner, noting the zombies that are still barely visible through the mists as they shuffle deeper into the gloom. These must be contended with...

The gate guard’s own eyes pan the scene in confused wonder and, after an instant, lift back to those of the big cat-man. “Cap'n Stran 's dead,” the little man observes, “So's Les an' Ben. Mother protec' us, I don' think tha any o' tha officers are still alive!”

“That makes you an officer, now, I suppose, rrow’ka,” the Kazari rumbles, clapping the man on the shoulder with a bloody paw, “See to it that you do a better job than they did, yes?” His cat eyes flick away from the man and regard the spot dominated by the frozen form of Kithran and the lifeless form of Atharis for an instant. “Rouse whatever is left of your men and burn the bodies of all of the fallen,” Ch’dau orders, giving a gentle shove to punctuate the statement, “but get the gates secured, first. I have my own dead and wounded to attend.”

"I think that wise advice, sir," Gib states in a low and reverent tone and though he is addressing the guard, he does not look his way. Rolling the hilt of his sword in his hand, the warrior priest adds, "Though I would amend such advice with this: wake the men of this town and have them be about the immediate task of properly disposing of these dead things and your fallen companions. And this, only in the areas that have already been secured against the remaining undead. But do this with only one of your number as the messenger for the gate needs to be closed and secured as well as any other ways in or out of your city."

Looking to Aranwen so that the leader of their band may counter his next statement if she so desires, the bearded cleric finishes with, "We shall hunt down the remaining zombies and clear the threat to your people before the night is through."

(OOC: Assuming further discussion isn't necessary and that Aranwen won't object...)

Striding to where Kithran’s frozen form stands vigil over Atharis’ fallen body, Gib joins his friends as Ch'dau kneels at the side of the fallen mage. “You were an honorable companion, Atharis the Great,” Ch’dau murmurs, dipping his fingers into the blood that soaks the mage’s robes. He streaks the wizard’s blood under his eyes as war-paint might be applied, and then says, “Your death will not go unanswered. May Rrowl welcome you into his hunt.” The Kazari plunges both hands into the wizard’s blood with such finality that Gib shudders. Streaking bloody paw prints across his chest, Ch’dau throws his head back and roars into the mist-choked night to honor his fallen comrade. Such emotional tribute evokes goosebumps all along the warrior priest's flesh and beneath his helmet, his hackles tingle. 

"Come," he says quietly once the Silver Cat's tribute is paid, "Therassor's work is still yet to be completed this night, friends. We will celebrate Atharis' life and mourn his loss once we are finished. There is naught we can do here but make certain that his body isn't used to wreak more havoc and we do not, unfortunately, have the time to prepare his body properly so we will have to provide Atharis with funeral rites sans his mortal vessel."

(OOC: Assuming people are starting to gather the dead...)

Motioning to those gathering up the bodies, Gib reluctantly indicates that Atharis' should be collected as well before turning away from the gruesome scene and summoning the mettle necessary to ward off the feeling of loss threatening to overpower his will to proceed. 

"This way to those shambling dead that still threatens the living," again, he points with his sword and once Aranwen and Ch'dau begin their advance, he joins them in hunting the dead.

Nomad, I sincerely apologize. I went back and looked at my PMs and you had. I'll get you the consequences tomorrow as I'm on my phone right now.

Indeed, in the past I have rolled for you. But, Nomad, you and Espatier have been recently (and Espatier more so from the beginning) making your own rolls on Roll20 so I was expecting you to do so again. Sounds like there was an expectation on my part and no communication for which, I apologize.

Feel free to make the rolls and let me know the resulting number. I'll share with you the consequences and you can post.

Keeper, I need to know how Ghlahn is handling his latest challenge: Chain link fencing covers the gaps between the cement levels and pillars. It isn’t a difficult climb and soon, Ghlahn finds himself hanging from a chain link spacer four stories up. This is the level he can keep an eye on the crowd and maybe his companions from. There’s a small gap at the top of the fencing, between the underside of the next level and the sharp, pointy ends of the obstacle, but other than that, the only way through will be to cut.

Well, I'm a little disappointed that there hasn't been any discussion concerning Giddy's questions. Got to admit. 

Giddy, you are correct about the goal of this breaking and entering. Additionally, it was brought up that the team makes it look like a burglary by stealing some items of value to cover their intention—something Bloodbank was initially against and the reason he was drawn away from the party to accompany Ghlahn.

Great questions as to the gameplan and no one has established a plan as of yet. So, the world is your oyster. Seeing how Vegas was originally kind of leading the group, I'm sure that the other players are looking to the NPC for some guidance, but it would be refreshing to see a player take some leadership of the party.

Also, I only had two players post since my last post, so I will not be continuing the game this morning. Thank you, Tann and Giddy for your posts. Aletheia, Espatier, Keeper, Nomad? Hola?

My condolences on your loss, Ayrn. 

My post is up as well, Olan. Here are my intended actions.

• Offense: Focus attacks on one giggler until it is dead, then move to the other. Yelling out to the remaining watch to keep their attention on the zombies if no one else does. Once the gigglers are dead, then he'll take care of the remaining threats.


• Defense: If any of his companions look to be in a life-threatening condition, Gib will move to their side, use his shield defensively to protect himself and them as much as possible while calling upon Therassor to heal his companion using whatever second level prayer slots as needed to accomplish this. If he is the one who finds himself in a life-ending situation, but the fight is still raging, he will call to Therassor, commending his soul to the Battle Lord's Eternal Fields, and fight defensively until death. In his mind, there is no retreat possible while the town remains threatened.


• Retreat: See above...