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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Yummy fake food...mmmm...

Well, I've subtracted the mullah for your meals (and homemade radios) already so you lot don't need to.

Looking forward to your posts. Hope you all had a great Holiday weekend.

Posted on 2018-01-16 at 10:46:40.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
Subject: Adopts a Fezick voice.

Hello, Hammer!

Posted on 2018-01-12 at 19:20:48.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: That was then...

That was lunch. If you'll look at the time stamp, it is now 5pm. Bloodbank's suggestion to eat was based on the idea that you all may not get another chance until morning as you're heading into an unknown, yet possibly highly charged, situation. If you'd rather Casino go without dinner, that's fine. We will add 8 NCD back to his total.

Posted on 2018-01-12 at 19:19:39.

Topic: I seek advice
Subject: You are the GM...

If that's the way you want to do it, you are welcome to. I see no problem with making alterations to certain aspects of monsters based on my campaign.

Posted on 2018-01-12 at 17:34:28.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Thank you, everyone...

That's the first time in a while where we had everyone post. Bravo!

All right, I've continued the game. Some things you should know:

  • Each character was charged the $65 NCDs needed to construct the homemade walkie-talkies. Each of your character sheets have been updated with the device. Range on them is only a quarter of a mile (small antenae) and battery is about the same as a modern cellphone.

  • I'm going to also assume that everyone buys food at Green Gene's, so I've subtracted an additional $8 NCDs from your sheets.

  • Looking forward to the next round of posts!

    Posted on 2018-01-12 at 17:17:28.

    Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
    Subject: The Streets | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 2:30 PM 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)

    "I've just heard from Starlight," Vegas says in a low tone barely perceptible above the roaring engines of passing traffic, coughing human beings, and rainfall. Those with the enhanced audio cybernetics are grateful for the enhancement as he looks up from his phone and meets their eyes. "Starlight is about to undergo surgery. She's opted for a proxy to join us on this run. A vetted chap by the name of Cred Stick Charlie, it would seem. Her message states that he'll be contacting us to meet up and that he's her eyes and ears on this gig. I don't think she's too happy with this performance, gatos."

    Hearing Vegas, out of everyone, saying that causes Casino to look his partner straight in the eye and say sardonically, "Well, hopefully she'll come out of it OK, right Vegas?" Casino's anger at his soon to be former partner held easily in check for the moment, yet by the dead tone of his voice easily noticed.

    Flat gray-blue eyes meet the large solo's gaze from beneath the dripping brim of his fedora, "Fourteen years, we've been pulling each others' asses out of one hot mess after another. I've helped you get petty revenge on people, when you got shot in the head I dragged your heavy ass to a hospital and made sure your medical and recovery expenses were paid, when you were accused of rape I not only stood by you but lost work because of it and continued to find ways to help in your defense—which I might add, eventually led to the freedom you enjoy today. When you were accused of murder, I stood by your side and helped with your legal fees and defense. You being pissed at me over a miscalculation on one run is rich, sport. How many times have I helped you through your own troubles when your jealousy issues, hot temper, impulses, and injuries could have been enough for me to walk?

    "Get over yourself."

    Casino looks away from his long time friend and partner in disgust and anger for the way this run is shaping up and the mistakes already made just as Vegas' agent bleeps and draws his and the others attention back to the matter at hand.

    Bloodbank raises his eyebrows at the fanboy's acidic response and the reveal of so much of the pair's history. Mentions of past romantic trouble faced by the craggy blond solo brought back memories of Lucy and Tina to the young medtech and he felt the frustration and sorrow welling up inside of him once again. Fresh wounds not yet healed are easily agitated.

    "That's this Cred Stick Charlie," Vegas moves on from the confrontation and confirms after reviewing the message. "Wants to know where to meet up."

    "Can he meet us at the iQuality Outlet?" Bloodbank asks from behind the cracked skull combat mask he wears. He's grateful to the concealment the mask provides his features as he can tell that his emotions are showing on his face.

    "I'll find out," Vegas replies through his clear Skinmask. Typing a reply, he waits. Shortly thereafter, he looks up. "If the bus stays on schedule we'd have to wait for about a half-hour at the outlet for him to meet us. Any reason we shouldn't? Seeing we don't have the lay of the land at the mallplex yet, it'll be the easiest place to team up."

    Echo listened as the two (former now?) partners speak about Starlight's condition, the barely disguised undertones of anger apparent in their words. She worries about the boss lady's welfare greatly as it was her who contacted Echo for this job in the first place. She hopes all will be well with her, and also the two friends who are at odds with each other over the cause of her injuries. Echo doesn't know exactly what happened but she hopes it won't affect the job. The whole team has already succumbed to too many distractions and need to be on the job if they are going to save the kid. And this "Cred Stick Charlie" character—who is he? Are they being babysat now since they screwed up? Echo isn't sure about the new arrangement, but if he is there to help, it can't be all bad, right? Echo is brought back from her thoughts by Casino's next statement.

    "Half an hour is good," Casino growls. "I need to find a mask to cover my face seeing as its all over the goddamn news. That's unless any of you have a spare one?"

    She turns to the solo, "I don't have a spare, but I'm willing to help you search for one, if you want company?" she asks with a small smile.

    Happy with the offer from the nomad, with a plan made, and with tickets in hand (The cost is $8 NCDs per person) Casino joins the group as they crowd onto the bus once it arrives. Warm, odorous, crammed in like sardines, this is certainly not the most glamorous way to travel. People are careful not to meet the eyes of the obviously armed Edgers. There's no hiding the long Nomad .44s and when pressed up against, handguns and submachine guns have a recognizable feel. Long past are the times when people report every weapon carrying Edgerunner to the police. It usually takes a firefight breaking out to do so these days. All the same, the layman remains uncomfortable around armed individuals and their level of anxiety adds to the tension of the trip.

    iQuality resides in a two level storefront location with two separate street level entrances; one at each end of the wide windows displaying digital, projected ads of store specials. Security consists of a Samurai construct at each door, just inside but readily visible. These spectacular silver warriors mean that iQuality has employed at least one wardriver to watch out against thieves and vandals. Additional security is likely present, but hidden from immediate view.

    "I've told Cred Stick Charlie to meet us at the communications department," Vegas states dryly as he adjusts his coat against the weather's onslaught once the group departs the bus. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is paying too close attention to them from the city transport, he motions towards the store with a sweeping gesture. "Shall we?"

    "Shouldn't take all of to to just meet this Charlie guy," Ghlah asserts. "We don't exactly blend in and the more of us in a group the more likely we get reported. Maybe a couple of us set up an overwatch just in case things get dicey. It was certainly a good idea last time."

    "Not a bad idea," Bloodbank acknowledges.

    Vegas looks about the street and then through the large glass panes of the iQuality storefront. "If you can find a position that'll give you line of sight, sport, then have at it, I say. I can't, for the life of me, see any such vantage."

    (OOC: Ghlahn isn't going to be able to pick out anything that looks decent either with a Combat Sense roll of a 14, FYI.)

    "I'll meet you all at the comm department in a few," Casino notifies them. Making sure, or at least trying to, not show his face too much, he and Echo make their way quickly and yet in a casual, relaxed manner away from the group to the other door. After all, if iQuality doesn't have masks, they'll be searching for some other outfitter either up, down, or further along one of the streets. Best to try this location first.

    (OOC : Time is 3:37 PM)

    "Driver... Change of plans, please... can you reroute me to iQuality Outlet, Midcity, one four point three five five by twenty-three hundred x?" asks Luther to his armored AV-4 taxi driver, a black fellow with a shaved head wearing an armored Icon Americana brown leather jacket and a faded tan newsies cap. Before getting an answer verbally he then felt the slightest change in vector for his reply. "ETA will be 1608 local time, Sir," a mechanical voice with a French accent booms a reply over a small intercom.

    "Thank you," Luther replies back to the bodiless mechanical voice as he settles back into the seat after peering through the vision porthole to the front seat.


    Bright white LED lights illuminate the interior with ferocious unforgiving detail. Aisle height is only five feet leaving plenty of room for the security cameras (both visible and hidden) to see down each row with a watchful eye. Autofacs line the outermost walls allowing individuals to purchase customized materials and goods, but the pre packed, generic items are all available down the aisles. In the middle of the store, a pair of escalators take people up to and down from the second floor. Payment is made through scanning items with your agent, or utilizing the credchip readers at the head of each aisle.

    Arriving at the communications aisle, the team waits for Fixer to gather the components he needs to resolve their communications issues and the arrival of Cred Stick Charlie.

    Looking a lot like vending machines and slot machines had babies, most of the autofacs are 3D printers with the capability of inserting pre-manufactured technology into the programmed plans at the right moment allowing the purchaser full customization and individualization of the product while still providing them with the desired functionality. Large pieces of equipment, furniture, and other items are manufactured onsite through much larger autofacs than those at the iQuality Outlet, but finding an autofac for filtration masks is very easy.

    Megatechnix, ZetaTech, Raven Microcyb, and Kiroshii neocorps are all represented whether through subsidiaries or straight out of the box autofacs with their logos plastered all over them. Standing in front of the machine starts the sales pitch.

    "Welcome to the fashion center of masks," a beautiful woman's bust with Pacific Islander bloodlines hovers just in front of the autofac for Megatechnix. "Whether you're looking for a simple air filtration mask or you're interested in putting an exclamation mark on your face, you'll find the full selection from our option catalog. When you're ready to begin browsing, just say so and we'll start your shopping experience."

    Smiling, the holographic head and shoulders waits patiently for Casino's orders. Glancing down the line of autofacs, their pricing is comparable. Deciding what style one is interested in sporting is really the only deciding factor at this point. Megatechnix offers celebrity face masks, American cartoon masks, sports teams, and historically themed characters all focused on the American brand. ZetaTech's options really take a page out of Time and provide masks the likes of which Vegas would approve of, ex-Presidents, prominent cultural heroes such as Johnny Silverhand and Rache Bartmoss, collegiate sports teams, and Edgerunner specific montage masks. Raven Microcyb's offering ranges from utilitarian (flat-faced, no featured masks) to highly artistic (like Bloodbank's combat mask). Meanwhile Kiroshii's brand focuses on the European and Asian cultures featuring grimacing samurai faces, demonic representations of ancient deity, and the more flamboyant manga and anime character masks. Each of these machines will output clear skinmasks, air filters, and even regular industrial respirator masks.

    (OOC: Casino makes his selection and he and Echo seek out the rest of the party,)

    (OOC: Time is 3:40 PM)

    Fixer didn't particularly enjoy the ride to the mall. Public transportation wasn't very comfortable and was filled with far too much Public. Plus, it smells. But it gets you around and that's important no matter how you looked at it.

    Even in the iQuality store, nervous habit has him always checking out his surroundings and always thinking about how tech can help him cover his movements. That is part of the idea for being here now; cover and communications. So, once inside the store he quickly moves to the communications department and comes up with three options.

  • Store bought walkies

  • Homemade walkies

  • Store bought NuCybe

  • He likes the NuCybe idea, but is always more comfortable with something homemade, so he prefers this route. Quickly and quietly relaying the options to the remaining group, he asks how many they wanted made. "One a-piece" seems to be the answer, and he receives no argument to making his own equipment plan. With the decision made, he sticks out his hand and says, "Ok, pony up then. $65 NCD each. If there is any extra I'll split it back."

    "What?" Bloodbank turns his masked face back towards the techie with incredulity dripping from the soundwaves. "Are you charging us for your time too?"

    "Money is money, Bloodbank," Vegas defends. "We need an untraceable way to communicate and this is it. Consider it an investment.

    "Get the parts you need, Fixer, and we'll pony-up at the register."

    Fixer quickly makes his way up and down the rows grabbing the pieces he needs. This is followed by the purchase, with each paying their fair share using either their agents paying apps or credchips. Now he just needs a good place to work.

    He doesn't like the idea of sitting in the middle of the store, working. The last thing he needs is for someone to question whether he had purchased all of the pieces he was using or to ask after what he's making, let alone the scene of it all. There are times when it is best to not attract attention—actually, that's almost all the time—but right-now certainly qualified.
    Turning to the group just as Casino and Echo rejoins them, Fixer expounds, "Ok, I've got what I need. I don't want to sit here and work on it, but we need to be here for the meet-and-greet. I'm going to go out into the lobby to play with these parts. It'll only take an hour. One or two of you should come with me just in case there's trouble. Nobody's alone, and we stand out a bit less when not all clumped together like a little army." He looks around at his teammates,
    "who's coming with me?"

    "I'll go," Vegas chimes almost musically before sparing a look for the rest of the group. "Once this Cred Stick Charlie arrives, send notice to my agent."

    "Roger that," Bloodbank affably confirms.

    Fixer and Vegas move through the store to the main floor interior door, past security, and out into the building's lobby. Gazing about searching for the most out-of-the-way spot to sit and work that he could find, Fixer is glad when his companion places a hand on his shoulder and points down the hall. Trusting the other man's sense of field command, the techie and solo make their way to a corner bench behind the escalator block with a fake fern plant in an oversized red Greek vase providing some cover from prying eyes.

    Quickly finding a seat, Fixer sets to work letting the clone of Ol' Blue Eyes keep vigilance. James Mathis can't ignore his surroundings entirely—too much history makes him always aware of what was happening, so he keeps his focus on the task at hand with one eye open for trouble. It isn't a task that taxes his skills at all; he could have done this in junior high, in fact, he had. The memory causes a small smile to cross his face as he works. Easy or not, he wants the task done quickly and correctly and since part of the reason for making these devices instead of buying them is to build untraceability into them, he does his best to make sure that any identifying marks on any of the bits and pieces going into his creations are removed.

    (OOC: Time is 4:00 PM)


    Within a few minutes the armored AV-4 taxi flies a lazy eight over the landing site, then, receiving a green light for a touch and go at a nearby taxi pad above the iQuality location, the pilot gently lowers the boxy vehicle to the protruding platform.

    Flashing a pale blue, the screen in front of Luther lights up, changing from the map display showing their progress to a representation of his bill. Totalling $150.00 NCD, this was not a cheap leg of the trip. Riding in style has its cost. Withdrawing his luxury agent, Cred Stick Charlie activates the payment app and holds the device close to the screen authorizing payment in full plus a 20% gratuity, totalling $180.00 Night City Dollars. The paying patron quickly exits the VTOL craft and turns his back to the AV-4 as he strides out of range of it's buffeting engines allowing it to lift off to make it's next fare. Fedora held tightly against his head as the gust of vectored air slams into his back, Luther steps through the sliding Plex-Glass2 doors and exits the craft blast area to briskly walk down the hall to the security station.

    Drab gray prefab-cement walls surround the podium booth within which sits a building security detail consisting of four men in black and gray uniforms bearing the symbol of their security company on their left shoulder, heavy handguns on their right hips, and a visible stock of submachine guns on the wall. Secure in their booth, new arrivals are ushered through a high-tech scanning arbor and stopped from proceeding by another Plex-Glass2 door while the sec-team reviews the scans.

    "Do you have any questions about the building's rules?" the Japanese man at the microphone queries tiredly after registering the weapons and cyberware on Luther's person.

    (OOC: Assuming something to the negative,)

    "Have a good day and enjoy the amenities of the Pallmack Building." Plex-Glass2 doors slide open allowing Luther to continue his journey.

    From the rooftop Luther takes the escalator block to the second story and steps off to enter the iQuality Outlet with its gawdy blue and white neon sign casting ghostly lighting across the polished brown tile floor of the lobby. Stopping at the iQuality security station just inside the interior door, he checks in his Megatechnix suitcase with security before continuing on his way once they confirm that it contains no explosives or other items harmful to the store and its occupants. Here, too, a security construct stands awaiting instructions from the wardriver controller.

    Finally succeeding in entering the store, Luther looks every part the stylish businessman in his navy peacoat styled top coat over his navy color Takanaka Cotton/Arachni-silk smart cloth three piece suit with its orange interior lining and vest. Removing the topcoat and placing it over his non firing arm as he lightly brushes the persistent droplets of rain from his brown burnished leather Chelsea Boots, the fixer glances at his Sam-Moto Luxury Agent and notes the time as 16:08.

    "I hope that they aren't late," he says aloud as he peers down each aisle looking for the new group of edgerunners. Spying the communications department, he walks casually down the aisle to introduce himself to the group with a nod and a smile.

    Loitering about at the end of one row, Luther spots at least some who match the descriptions he's been given by Starlight. A woman standing about one point six to one point seven meters in height wearing leather clothing that appears to have seen a lot of wear with a dark brick red balaclava covering her head and face leaving only her brown eyes to define her personality while the rifle bag slung over her shoulder next to the campbag and daypack presents a little more character. Echo is here name, Then there's the large, masked fellow wearing Gibson Battlegear leathers underneath a black duster standing next to her who must be Casino, one of the guns hired in the tandem solo team. Cred Stick Charlie doesn't see the one who looks like Frank Sinatra, but the team dossier definitely points to this fellow as the brute force.
    Peering at a prepackaged NuCybe splice through its Plastik case is the one called Bloodbank. Luther immediately recognizes the design of the combat mask from the description Starlight provided, and last, but not least, is another long rifle-toting, mask-wearing individual of smaller stature but certainly a combat veteran: M'harú Ghlahn. That leaves the techie, Fixer, and the crooner, Vegas, out of the picture for the time-being.

    "Hello," comes with a slight dip of his head, which in turn drizzles a little water from the brim of his fedora, "Cred Stick Charlie or Charlie for short." An infectious smile spreads across his face.

    Bloodbank allows the Plastik box to fall back into its hold and turns to urbanely step towards the fixer and extend his right hand, "Bloodbank, Charlie. I'm here to keep you from leakin' out and drawing the Ace of Spades."

    (OOC: Introductions all around,)

    "Fixer and Vegas are out putting together a means of untraceable communications," the medtech offers after everyone has extended their greetings and welcomes. He tilts his head towards the lobby. "I sent a message to Vegas' agent while introductions were taking place. He replied and said that Fixer still has a ways to go. Seeing how we might not get the chance again any time soon, I suggest we find a place to eat and kick up our feet a little while we bring you up-to-speed and those two rejoin us."

    (OOC: Assuming no complaints,)

    (OOC : Time is 4:13 PM)

    Across the street from the Pallmack Building, another modular starscraper continues its towering existence from the bowels of Under City to the wind-blasted balconies of the skies above. Easily noticeable through the large plate glass windows is a Green Gene's Cafe. Food here consists of soylent, or enhanced PrePak based meals, but it's something more than Kibble so there's not much to complain about. For the low, low price of $8 NCDs you can get yourself a soylent burger with PrePak fries and a soda (Wendy's type options but none of it with real meat).

    Here, Cred Stick Charlie is filled in, (OOC: If one, or more, of you wishes to recap, we'll use that as the basis for what Luther will know about the run so far).


    At 5:00 PM on the nose, Fixer has a pile of wiped-clean little communication devices. It is now time to rejoin the rest of the group, meet the new guy, and continue this run.

    "Done?" Vegas asks as the techie begins his clean-up process.

    (OOC: Assuming a positive answer,)

    "Good," the crooner stands up and straightens his trench coat. Readjusting his hat, he looks back the way of the iQuality and its glaring signage. "The others are all at the Green Gene's across the street. We'll meet them there."

    Traffic has picked up with various lines and models of cars, trucks, vans, and motorcycles easing up at the crosswalk to allow the stream of pedestrians in their varied costuming to pass by unmolested. Fixer and Vegas are among the crowd with the rain spraying against the exposed portions of their flesh like tiny ice darts taking apart their skin molecule by molecule. Once the interior of Green Gene's is achieved, Vegas shakes off his coat by grabbing the collar and snapping it to send a shower of water all over the white with black speckled tile floor.

    "There they are," he acknowledges and walks over to the area in the dining room where the team has gathered by pushing two tables together.

    Remnants of foodstuffs and wrappers adorn the surfaces and once Vegas and Fixer seat themselves the tabletop in front of them detects a new customer and presents the touchscreen menu.

    "So," the Frank Sinatra fan declares while making his selection of a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink, "You must be Cred Stick Charlie. You can call me Vegas. Have the others brought you up-to-date on our run?"

    (OOC: Assuming something in the affirmative,)

    "Fantastic!" Order complete, Vegas leans back in his chair and looks around at the team. "So, we had a plan. Me, Fixer, and Bloodbank were to going to go in and see if Dr. Carey is home and there's any sign of the mark. The rest are to take up positions outside West Park where exits and entrances can be watched to make sure he doesn't rabbit. At least, that was the plan.

    "Unless there's been some kind of enlightening and the plan has changed—Charlie, I think it is probably a good idea for you to join us inside the mallplex. What do you think?"

    (OOC: Now's the time for any alterations to be made. The next post takes you into the mallplex or puts you in position around it.)

    Posted on 2018-01-12 at 17:14:00.
    Edited on 2018-01-12 at 17:28:34 by Bromern Sal

    Topic: I seek advice
    Subject: My advice is worth what you paid for it...

    I realized that you also asked what kind of solutions to present to the players. The way I see it, you're correct about the Tarrasque population becoming amazingly out of hand... unless the lich council did something to contain it. What was the reason for the liches to bring the Tarrasques into the world to begin with? To free the god of destruction? Here's the problem with total destruction: there's nothing left to rule over. I, personally, don't see the liches being favorable of the idea of a world where nothing exists by Tarrasques, so they could be "allowing" the population to exist at a certain level using Wishes or other magic to contain it so they can rid the world of the Tarrasque infestation when their god is freed and thus have a world to rule over.

    Personally, I'd put the solution to the players and provide them with multiple ways of dealing with it. It is, after all, as much their game as yours.

    • Slaying all Tarrasques, a hefty task. (But for those players who love combat, a Disneyland like experience!)

    • Finding a way to reverse the ritual that summoned them, effectively sending them home. (In this, they will not only be able to avoid the daunting task of facing off against Tarrasques left and right, but at lower levels could see success—if they can overcome the lich obstacle too...)

    • Escaping to one of the parallel worlds that no longer has a tarrasque, which while being safe let's the Council succeed in freeing the sealed God. (If my players chose this, I'd allow it but I'd have it be something that comes back to haunt them regularly. Characters are supposed to be heroes and this is by far the least heroic of the solutions. Of course, being unable to see past the forest of Tarrasques may lead them to this solution so you'll need to make sure they have the other options as viable solutions to begin with.)

    • Die a horrible death inside a tarrasque. (I still talk about my Paladin who gave up his life in exchange for the lives of his people while he was duke. There was no fighting involved. His people were severely outnumbered and outclassed and the common folk would suffer fates worse than death, so my paladin offered up his life in exchange for theirs. He was simply beheaded by the opposing leader and that was that... or so I thought. My DM and I continued to run campaigns in that realm and when my new character came to that domain there was a statue erected of my paladin and stories were told about his heroic sacrifice. If you can make them go down in history, this might just be an option they willingly choose.)

    Now a new question that I just thought of, what would be the moral implications if the group decided this world was beyond saving and instead found a way to flee this Plane and let the God of Destruction be unleashed again as his bonds grow weaker with each ravaging? If they do decide to flee, do they try to get the Elves and Dwarves on board, do they make the trip across the sea to invite the desert natives, or is it acceptable in this situation for a group of desperate people to just get out as quickly as possible and never look back, essentially moving the game to another world, with a real economy, and no giant murder-beast rampaging every century?

    Again, this would be up to the players and whatever their choice, I'd have there be consequences. Let's say they do decide to flee and they do attempt to get the other races to flee with them. Not only does the God of Destruction get to basically devour the world they left behind but perhaps it "follows" them into the new one. Then the native population learns of the reason they are now faced with a great Ravaging of their own plane/world and now the player characters are faced with trouble on multiple fronts. Let's say they attempt to convince the older races to leave and learn that it is actually because of humans that the world is threatened with destruction. The older races had been the reason the god had originally been jailed (but they don't remember how) with the help of humans, but humans are the reason everything has gone wrong and now the players are suggesting they just up and leave? How dare they! Cowards!

    See where I'm going with this? Leave it up to the players but whatever their choice, consequences follow.

    Posted on 2018-01-12 at 12:54:13.
    Edited on 2018-01-12 at 12:55:21 by Bromern Sal

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: Geeze!

    We all gotta stop getting old!

    Posted on 2018-01-12 at 12:39:46.

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: I feel for you!

    You have my sympathies. Get the rest you need!

    Posted on 2018-01-11 at 18:21:23.

    Topic: Equipment
    Subject: This...

    Yes. What Eol said. My characters have a general rule and that's the sword, armor, something to hunt or fish with, and then—like I said—what Eol said.

    Posted on 2018-01-11 at 18:20:40.

    Topic: I seek advice
    Subject: Quite the conundrum... but not impossible.

    If I were running this campaign...

    First, Tarrasque are, as Eol has said, huge destructive beasts. They hunger, eat, sleep, hunger, eat, sleep, and are rather indiscriminate when it comes to what they eat and destroy in the process. In short, your world is screwed each and every time the Ravaging occurs.

    You're right, the land mass upon which these Tarrasque reside would experience massive changes every Ravaging. Burrows, forests destroyed, mountain ranges altered... there's no end of change possibilities.

    Being large and ravenous, Tarrasque are also solitary except for mating. I'd have them do both every Ravaging. Kill and eat rival males while mating with the females. So, each Ravaging could also include hatching periods. Scary to contemplate, really.

    Now, what does this do to the fauna and sentient beings on the continent? Well, you've already established humans high-tailing it to the arctic while the other races have secularized themselves. Why couldn't the other races have done the same (hobgoblins, drow, orcs, goblins, etc.)? After all, Tarrasque wouldn't get deep into mountain ranges, canyons, etc. with their burrowing and that leaves room for many subterranean civilizations to be struck by other races and/or including humans. Honestly, hundreds of Tarrasque, in my opinion, could beat down any walls constructed to keep them out. What's going to keep them away from the populace isn't crafted defenses per se, but more natural ones. Huge and deep crevices the provide the stupid lizards enough footing to take them out over the depths and then it crumbles away under their weight to send them crashing into the depths and away from the occupants of the safe zone.

    Next, let's take the human lifespans into consideration and apply the same method of survival to other creatures. Everything from rats to giants. Every one of those species have lifespans. Those with longer lifespans and intelligence (like your dragons) would have developed methods for surviving the Ravagings, while those of a shorter more human-like lifespans would have done something similar to the humans if they could, or—like rabbits—would be able to overcome near extinction with their ability to rapidly reproduce. So long as a male and a female survive they can repopulate in the 100 years between Ravagings.

    Like Eol said, I'd have this world be a post apocalyptic version of high-fantasy. Magic is a mystery waiting to be uncovered, but it is obviously not unknown. Magic items, existing gates, portals, magical sites, etc. as well as the existence of weird and fantastic wildlife clue people in.

    The trick is to not make it so bleak that the players get frustrated and don't want to continue so you need to give them wins without giving them too much power. Frankly, I wouldn't even have them aware of the quest to end the Ravagings. I'd continue to give them hints and tastes of success through these small quests, but I'd be absolutely sure not to overpower them with magic items. Everything needs to be a skin of their teeth success; something to talk about, laugh about, and reminisce.

    Now, you've got a scared "Dwarf" and I'd award experience for playing that hurdle through while at the same time, I'd provide the players with a method(s) for overcoming the fear and continuing everything as a group. Maybe a magic item or a quest that allows him to face his fears and overcome the phobia. Something... While I prefer to promote the type of character development you've outlined your players doing, I also need them to work as a group and be cohesive. So, if I can't get the party to follow-up on, or play through the character overcoming their challenge that's keeping the group from moving forward together, I adjust the adventure to make it possible for them to move forward together. I absolutely despise splitting up player characters. It slows the game down for some of the players and stops it for others. Just plain sucks.

    Mind you, I'm shooting from the hip here. So, bear with me if these thoughts seem scattered.

    Instead of having a thief take them into the Plane of Shadows, I'd have the thief take them into a secret enclave, ruined city, or something else that helps the "Dwarf" overcome the phobia.

    Aside from what I'm detailing here, what was your question(s)?

    Posted on 2018-01-11 at 18:17:04.

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: This is how Wyatt spent his afternoon...

    Feeling the slowdown of wits that accompanies a heavy meal, Wyatt had taken his leave of the ranch to attend to captainy things. Things such as double-checking maintenance reports, searching out potential business leads on the cortex, check up on the latest news (especially as is pertinent to Roc), and catch up on communications with those that would still deign to speak with him. This is how the afternoon is spent, nary any interaction with anyone as to whom he don't have to engage.

    Posted on 2018-01-11 at 00:47:05.

    Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread
    Subject: Huzzah!

    Sounds good to me. Hammer is away. He had to resign from two of my games due to his schedule. I don't know that you should hope for him returning to this game but who am I to say?

    Posted on 2018-01-11 at 00:39:50.

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: If there's one thing I've learned about negotiations...

    It is start higher than what you want and you'll usually end up nearer to it than otherwise. I'm hoping that the Barter skill and the fact that Potter appears to be a businessman (and is likely used to the whole negotiation process) makes it so he doesn't cough up a laugh and walk away.

    Nice add, Eol! Figure Wyatt would just dip his head in acknowledgement of the offer.

    Posted on 2018-01-10 at 15:42:43.

    Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
    Subject: Day 1, Whitefall - Necessity, "The Slaughterhouse", 8:30 PM PT

    Pegasus, Wyatt draws up a mental map of the ‘Verse trying to place the distance they need to travel and what he knows of the destination. It's one of Bellerophon's moons if'n I remember correct. Two—maybe three if'n were runnin' quiet—days away. Wasn't there a Lián méng base being built there during the war?

    Dash's attention is diverted for a second by the barkeep's return. He offers the man an appreciative nod as his drink is refilled, then, reclaiming his glass and indulging in a sip, he turned his eyes back to Potter.

    "How ya lookin' ta pay?"

    "Well, that depends on the fare? How about 500 credits and I could part with 5 of the fuel drums if you were willing?" Potter asks politely. He appears relaxed but his eyes are constantly moving around the room like he is expecting something to jump out at him.

    "So whaddya think, Wyungsung? Mr Potter here's lookin' ta get hisself, a couple o' his puhn yohs, an' some gear off world,"

    Holding up a hand to stall the barkeep, Captain Sung continues staring down at the battered surface of the counter as he considers the offer. We sure as hell ain't fuelin' Roc here—too aiya expensive. Five drums, let's see, maybe a hundred hours flight. That'll easily cover the trip t' Pegasus an' leave us some excess. Refittin' Roc'll be a little over one point five kay leavin' ‘bout four hun'red fer each o' the crew, Might be able t' get tha' up a bit.

    "Well, puhn yoh," he verbally trudges forward, "I think it's a place t' start."

    Lifting his pale gaze from the swirling pattern of the worked wood, Sung turns and leans his right elbow against the bar while tilting his hat back with his left hand. Meeting the business end of Potter's stare, he states (OOC: using Barter), "Shian Shen, I don' know if'n ya heard, but my crew is powerful strong, so yer not only gettin' transport but yer gettin' added professional protection fer yer delivery. So, this is what I'm conjurin' up; Eight hun'red plus the drums already on the table an' an additional five hun'red should there be a need t' engage in any kind o' cowboyin' plus the cost o' any munitions spent in yer service. Hazard pay, dohn ma?"

    Posted on 2018-01-10 at 11:15:40.

    Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
    Subject: Where are all the players?

    Hello? Holidays are over, right?

    Posted on 2018-01-09 at 18:15:24.

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
    Subject: Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 5:48 P.M.; Beach

    "Sailmaster," Seamus Higgins is the sailor on the oars. A broad-shouldered, slim waisted man with a crooked smile and good looks, Seamus wears his red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. His freckled skin makes him look older than he is and his Irish accent often causes people to have trouble understanding him. "Ready t' return t' da Dog, are ya?"

    Goncalvo steps into the launch. "Aye, I am ready to return to the ship."

    Higgins looks behind Goncalvo and sweeps the town's outskirts with his pale blue eyes. Satisfied that no one else is coming, the Irishman turns and, together with the Sailsmaster, pushes the craft into the increasing waves.

    "Did ya ‘ear wha's ‘appened?" Seamus grunts while clamoring over the side of the boat and dropping into position.

    "Hellfire kilt a guard an' a city official," Higgins grins handsomely.

    The dignified Portuguese sailor is just about seated when he hears, "—kilt a guard—".

    "What? Who killed a soldier?" Goncalvo knows this is not good news.

    "Hellfire did, and a city official as well," Came the calm reply, though the sailsmaster can recognize a hint of amusement in the Irishman's tone.

    Oh, this is bad news for us. Very hard to do business in a port if you make enemies of the local government. Then again what else should I expect from a boatload of pirates. Outloud, Goncalvo Goncallves d'Gafanha da Nazare speaks with urgency, "Pull hard for the ship. I must give my news to the captain and see if she wants to ready sails in case we need to leave quickly."
    Seamus raises his eyebrows but his is to do as he is told and speculate in his own time, so, with a grunt, he sets to the oars. Fighting through the evening waves they are slower in reaching the Dog's starboard side than they were in leaving it. Upon approach a rope and wood ladder is dropped over the rail and Goncalvo ascends as quickly as he is able.

    Few sailors are still aboard the Sun Dog and the main deck is nearly empty except for Anraoi Ó Fathaigh, a fierce Irishman and close friend to Seamus; Ardeshir Ghazali, called Bloodless by the crew, a Pakistani with black eyeliner and a black turban to match; a fellow Goncalvo had never seen before with a bandaged leg and dark countenance; and Salazar, the cabin boy. Bloodless and Anraoi seem to have pulled guard duty while the injured fellow appears to be asleep and Salazar is dutifully mopping the deck.

    "Welcome back, Sailsmaster," Anraoi grins through his thick red beard while wild blue eyes drink in the well-dressed officer's worried face. "‘Tings no' go as ye hoped ashore?"

    Bloodless carries a flat stare with him almost all of the time except when in battle. At that time, his visage becomes horrific and demonic. Now, he looks over the side and waves Seamus off while not offering anything further to the Irishman's inquiry. Salazar glances shyly up from his work but immediately returns to his task when his dusk blue orbs meet Goncalvo's.

    (OOC: Whatever response you deem appropriate,)

    "If yer ‘bout t' see the Cap'n," O'Fathaigh calls after the officer as Goncalvo strides towards Anne's quarters, "ya might be cautious, sir. Ol' Hellfire came back t' the Dog with blood on ‘er ‘ands an' Cap'n Cole weren't none too ‘appy ‘bout it. She's in a black mood."

    (OOC: Assuming you'll continue,)

    Standing straight-backed before the weather-worn door to the captain's quarters, Goncalvo Goncallves d'Gafanha da Nazare knocks. Silence follows for a few short breaths before the door is flung open and a glowering Anne Cole stands before him.

    "Ah," she exhales, her hard yet beautiful features softening just a bit. "Back from shore so soon, Goncalvo?"

    (OOC: Time is roughly 6:08 PM)


    Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:03 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

    "Sir?" Emanuel queries with raised eyebrows while immediately assessing that his quartermaster is in a predicament. All three of the Dog's crew have hands on sword hilts and both Emanuel and Aleksi Rautio have their other hand on pistols at their waists.

    "So ya did hear me, eh?" Fin smirks in response to the brawny little Mexican. "Yer a bit late ta th' party, lads," he adds, mopping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm as his gaze flits to Alexi and Zec, "but I'd appreciate ye seein' tha' these lubbers clean up their rubbish ‘fore they shove off," He gives Kidane's cooling corpse a kick to emphasize the word ‘rubbish' before he steps over it and strides for the door. "I'm in need o' an honest drink," he mumbles, clapping Emanuel on the shoulder as he passes by.

    Emanuel Tenorio gawks at the scene before him even as he's being given instructions and a slap to the shoulder. Sharpening up once Fin passes by, he returns to a steady countenance just as the stunned entourage of the dead slaver begin to shift.

    "Now, don' go doin' nothin' estúpido," he growls whilst taking up a more threatening stance. The five men pause, unsure of their course now that Kidane is dead.

    "Ne siivota sotkua, neljännes mestari," Alexi says in his native tongue which somehow makes his reply seem threatening. "We shall ensure it."

    Adrenaline still coursing through him, the Sun Dog's quartermaster shoulders through the crowd still gathered in the doorway with scarcely a "get th' f*&# outta m'way" needing to be uttered and snatches a half full cup from one of the onlookers' hands as he goes by. He drains the thing in a single tip of the container and, as he reaches the top of the stairs—completely uncaring of the man whose drink he just stole's response, unceremoniously tosses the cup away.

    "Jus' tryin' ta find a job," Fin grumbles, mostly under his breath, as he stomps down the steps, "but tha' can' be done wi'out someone tryin' ta kill me, No, tha'd be too bloody simple, wouldn' it?" A wide-hipped blonde woman with a dingy white blouse and a low neckline struggles to move out of his way. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Crowe strides for the door leading to the street, his hard eyes sweeping the room before him, daring any to meet his gaze.

    "Where c'n a bloke find a decent bottle o' rum in this shyte-hole town," he asks no one in particular, and certainly not under his breath.

    "I dare say you've found the place, sir," echoes the reply in a fine alto.

    Gazing in the direction of the instruction, Fin watches as a man descends the last few steps. Taller than Fin, this individual's brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail and tied off with a black bow. Collar high with a blue tie, he wears a powder blue top coat despite the heat and a ruffled blouse beneath it. Ruffles even spread from his sleeves draping over his hands, one of which holds a black cane with a silver knob on the end in the shape of an owl's head. His britches are knee-length and of a similar blue to his coat, and his stockings are a light gray. Black, highly-polished shoes with brass buckles scrape the last of the stairs and settle upon the squeaky wooden floor. His thin brown eyebrows are raised politely and his aristocratic features set in a bored play.

    "Perhaps you would deign to allow me the honor of purchasing you said beverage?"

    (OOC: Time is roughly 12:03 PM.)


    Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 1:47 P.M.

    Gliding gracefully to her booted feet, Maggie shoves the flintlock back into her brace.

    "What ‘ave ya bloody done?" Shark Tooth barks irreverently whilst sliding to a halt in front of her.

    "Don't you %$*&!^& forget herself, ya daft bastard," she fumes, leveling her murder weapon before his face. "The pompous ass put it on his %$^*&^% self."

    "Capt'n Cole—" Wylie coughs around his swollen lips.

    "Is not bloody here," Maggie growls. "An' we shouldn' waste no more %$# $*^$ $%&^##% time here neither. So, stop standing there like a ^%&^%#÷ fool an' move!"

    If there's one thing that Shark Tooth is extremely good at it's following orders. So good is he, as a matter-of-fact, that he starts off in the direction of the nearby beach only to be stopped when Maggie calls out, "Not that way you *^*&!"

    Sheathing her sword, the younger Cole sister secures her pistols with her hands as she runs for the nearby alley with Sharky hot on her heels. About them the life upon the dock reels back as most are content to stay out of this murderous woman's way rather than involving themselves. Shortly burning away the distance between them and the relative shelter of the side street, Maggie slows to a swift walk while casting a furtive glance over her left shoulder. Few are purposefully paying her any mind and those who are quickly redirect their gazes.

    "We keep moving," she purrs. "We keep moving until we're sure that we're too &^%$$^( far from the scene to be associated."

    "Aye, miss," Shark Tooth replies. His good eye is on the space ahead. "Calm an' cagey."

    "Ya," she spares him a look, "calm an' %@!$^(( cagey."


    As he draws closer to the docks the crowds get thicker, with many people rushing back towards Wiley, which doesn't make his progress any easier. Caution takes the lead. About a block from the docks, Wiley ducks into a side street—as best as he can tell it should move him further down the beach and closer towards where the Dog's skiff is located if he needs to get back to the ship. Hopefully, it will also allow him to come out on the docks, or shore, on the other side of the commotion. If the roads run the way he hopes they do, he should be able to look back at the source of the commotion and back towards where he is to meet the First Mate. The two locations seem close together by his best estimation.
    Wiley has never been a fan of coincidences and his imagination provides many possibilities—few of them good—as he picked up speed down the side street. He hasn't given up on caution, but at the moment it seems to be losing the race to imagination.

    Red catches his attention as he passes between buildings. Not the red of blood or the bright red of a dye, but the red of a fiery woman's hair flowing from beneath a broad brimmed, dark colored hat. Pausing, Cracker can't believe his luck. Down a short alley and across the busy street he has just left, and then through another short corridor, William is sure that he's just witnessed Maggie Cole pass by in the opposite direction followed closely by Shark Tooth Stryker!

    (OOC: Time is roughly 1:50 PM)

    Posted on 2018-01-09 at 18:00:32.

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
    Subject: Indeed...

    Still no word from Altaira. That bums me out. All right, as you've all posted, I've set about writing the continuance.

    And done.

    Posted on 2018-01-09 at 16:46:41.
    Edited on 2018-01-09 at 18:01:12 by Bromern Sal

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: Awesome!

    Before I post, I've a question.

    As we started this leg of the adventure, you posted:
    The ship is at ¼ tank of fuel (15 tons or 200 hours). The ship is parked in a field right now so there is nowhere to refuel unless you move the ship to a spaceport and pay the hefty docking fees and maintenance fees and the Patience's tax. The ship is about one month behind its usual maintenance right now (1030 credits if you wish to invest). Your cash reserves are down to 2500 credits and you were paid 1000 credits up front for hauling the bees. So, you are looking at 3500 in hand with 1030 needed for maintenance and if you fill up on this planet, 800 for fuel, 400 for port fees and supplies refills).

    The five drums that are being offered along with the 500c would take our fuel reserves up to 1/3, basically 300 hours. With those five drums, what does that reduce the fuel expense to (800c down to...)? If my math is correct, and not figuring in the offer for transporting the pregos girl, that would mean that with a total investment of 1,030c (maintenance & repairs) + 400c (port fees) + ? (fuel). Leaving Roc's expenses at a total of...?

    Total income from the bees delivery and what money we had in escrow is, as you've stated, 3,500c. I'm assuming that's before splitting the credits amongst the crew shares. With the 500c offered, that means that we have 4,000c if it is paid in advance. 4,000c that is divided up 10 ways with each participating crew member taking one share, and Wyatt taking the remainder (which he generally puts towards ship improvements and Trish). That means that there's 400c per share. We have Sam, Asher, Wolf, and Stephanie on the participating crew list, so 1,200c to the crew leaving 2,800c to cover the maintenance & repairs, port fees, and supplies, correct?


    2,500c (cash reserves)
    +1,000c (bee payment)
    +500 (transport of Potter & Friends)
    ÷ 4 (participating crew)
    400c (crew share per person)
    x 4
    -1,200c (deducted from the 4,000c)
    - 1,030c (maintenance & repairs)
    - 400 (port fees & restocking)
    - unknown amount (fuel)

    Knowing this will help me determine Wyatt's thoughts on the matter. Thanks, Roger!

    Posted on 2018-01-09 at 16:33:13.
    Edited on 2018-01-09 at 16:34:50 by Bromern Sal

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
    Subject: Amen to that...

    Except when they are possessed.

    Posted on 2018-01-08 at 09:44:32.

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
    Subject: All kinds of confusion!

    Yeah... I really shouldn't post using a phone. I shall commit a right proper self-flogging.

    Still waiting on posts from Keeper and hopefully Altaira. Once I at least have the post from Keeper I'll continue the game.

    Posted on 2018-01-08 at 09:29:47.

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
    Subject: You are right...

    My apologies. I wrote that post on my phone while watching the Crown with my wife. Maybe I shouldn't do that...

    Posted on 2018-01-05 at 14:51:57.

    Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
    Subject: All of them...

    Any radio frequency has the chance of being intercepted if someone knows what they are looking for. The NuCybe is the least troublesome but it is also a buy as is scenario. The jury-rigged are the second most secure becauseFixer has more control over distance, band, etc. (e.g. AM band vs. FM, 500 ft vs. 1 mile).

    Posted on 2018-01-05 at 14:50:42.

    Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
    Subject: Burner phones

    They do exist. However, tracking software and methodology in law enforcement is much more advanced. Anything pre fabricated would be considered susceptible to teaching or interception.

    Posted on 2018-01-04 at 23:39:52.

    Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
    Subject: Quite fun!

    And I have updated the game. Sail on.

    Posted on 2018-01-04 at 23:34:56.


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