Awesome! Gib has a pet! 

By the way, I sent you a Google Sheet, Olan. It's a 3.5 character sheet, but I can't find my AD&D sheets right now. Funny thing is, Gib was created a long time ago for an Audalis adventure that never took off. So, I'll be happy to play him.

Seeing how we're all together already as an adventuring party, I present to you Moreno Gib Enderedre, Cleric of Therassor, God of Righteous Battle.

Moreno Enderedre (going by Gib) is an old soul. He's a bit of an extrovert while at the same time, he's very comfortable withdrawing and observing. The priests at the temple where he was initiated would often commend him for his ability to learn from others' mistakes and not have to repeat them.

Born to a farming family as the oldest of eight, when his younger siblings came of age, Moreno determined to join the Ertain military and satisfy his thirst for adventure in an upright manner. At the time, he really wasn't interested in adventuring as most of what he had heard about that class of people wasn't good. 

Within the military, his pious nature came out and he was assigned to serve beneath a cleric of Therassor by the name of Jamys Anscoul as his personal servant. This suited Gib just fine as he was often out and about with troops on maneuvers while Jamys acted as their spiritual guide. After a six month stint following Jamys, Gib was blindsided when the priest's life was taken by a group of trolls that the troop had come across. He was further dismayed when he was assigned to serve in the Temple of Therassor in the city of Dergeroth, but it is here that he truly flourished. 

Under the tutelage of Regal Iohne Wauter, Gib was truly trained as a Cleric of the Faith. He took to it as though he had been born to it. While he wasn't the top acolyte, or even amongst the top acolytes, he was a favorite due to his good nature and friendliness. He quickly became a confidante for many of his fellow acolytes as he had a way of producing wise anecdotes, stories, and philosophies from scripture, tales he had heard, and a deep font of his own imagination. Because of this, he eventually caught the eye of Captain Dawkin Richarde, a higher-ranking priest of the Faith that was often in and out of the temple due to his proselyting and guiding of the Adventuring class.

At first, Gib was only really interested in Dawkin's stories for the lessons contained within and he was caught by surprise one afternoon when working in the training yard, the Captain asked him if he would consider his calling beyond the temple and outside of military ranks. He was even more surprised when he found himself answering that he would. The next few weeks were a whirlwind as Captain Dawkin worked his influence to get Gib honorably released from military service and the young cleric rushed through the remainder of his cataclysms to graduate from Acolyte to Adept.

Captain Dawkin had promised Regal Wauter that he'd show Gib the ropes and he did just that. As a matter-of-fact, his first "adventure" took the group of individuals Dawkin had gathered together into a cave delve that actually required ropes. Adept Gib found himself eating up the life despite the hardships and trials they faced. Danger became a way he could venerate Therassor and when he faced the enemy in battle he was always quick to do so in honor of the Battle God.

After a few outings, Captain Dawkin declared Gib ready to continue the Work on his own and the two parted company. Gib wouldn't say that Dawkin was a friend, but there was mutual respect. Haunting the usual locations where adventuring groups formed, Gib was soon able to join a new group. They called themselves the Legendary Drakes (not a name Gib voted for) and were led by a fighter named Myghell the Strong. Additionally, there was another swordsman named Bat Auguinare, a wizard named Magdalin Luned, a rogue named Gelen, and a bard named Simmond Ansgot.

The Legendary Drakes were successful as far as adventuring parties go and Gib made hefty donations to the Church of Therassor as he gained more and more knowledge and experience. Simmond was a quick friend and the two shared stories back and forth, jokes, and old tales adding to Gib's mental library. Magdalin also became a fast friend, but it wasn't until Gib's healing skills and divine magic were put to the test saving their lives that Myghell and Bat came around. Gib never could warm up to Gelen and felt sorrier over his lack of grief when the thief was killed by a rampaging owlbear than he should have losing a comrade at arms. The Legendary Drakes continued adventuring minus Gelen's deft hand until they entered a cavern system just outside of the borders of Ertain that proved beyond their skillset. 

Only Gib and Bat emerged, both terribly wounded and grief-stricken over the loss of their friends. Journeying back to Ertain, the pair were beset by bandits and Gib was felled by a vicious blow to the head. When he awoke, he found himself in a camp set by Bat, but the fighter was nowhere to be seen. Searching about for his friend and aware that the warrior had saved his life, Gib was overcome by grief when he found the man dead by a nearby stream having succumbed to his wounds.

Alone, Gib journeyed to Ethryn where he fell upon the mercy of the Priests of Therassor having failed his companions and furthering his god's will. Again, he was surprised when instead of punishing him, he was initiated into the rank of Priest and the Warders of the Gate and sent back out into the world to do as his god would have him do. It was then that he truly understood the sacrifice of his friends meant to his Faith. Therassor looked upon those who gave honest battle with favor and Gib set his mind to the task of continuing to do his friends honor. 

Joining up with a new adventuring group, Priest Enderedre quickly found a new home amongst friends... friends he has been worshipping Therassor with ever since.

So, I have a number of 3E characters that I could revert to 2E with your assistance. I thought I had a slew of 2E but they must be on a back-up somewhere and I've not had a chance to dig. Available classes are:

• Cleric


• Bard


• Wizard

I think I'll steer clear of the fighter, ranger, what-have-yous. What preference do you have if any?

Oooooooooooo! Shiny!

Me thinks I'm going to have to dust off a character concept.

Is that all the posts I'm getting this time around?

LMAO

Huzzah! I've missed this game.

Good. I was beginning to think Reavers gotcha.

I have posted for Asovil!

Stardate 2365.02.11
USS Peregrine, Main Bridge - 11:12

Asovil deeply focuses on the console before her. Heart racing, she can only imagine the consequences her bold captain faces. The concept of standing up to a superior officer is not alien to the Andorian but in her experience, nothing good comes of it. She cannot imagine this scenario ending well as the Peregrine shifts and her stomach lurches. Orange indicators on her screen show the gap closing between the two Star Fleet vessels and her lithe fingers dart from command to command adjusting the shield polarization to the front hull in the hopes that any beam weapon attacks from the Coronado will be greatly reduced.

"Captain, the Coronado has locked on to a Kuldar vessel and is closing to optimal firing range."  The Ops officer's voice is understandably tight.

Silas nods., "Lieutenant Berk, lock our phasers on the Coronado. Are those calculations complete?"

The TAC officer pales and swallows before answering, "Aye, Captain. Phasers are locked on. Calculations are complete."

"Captain," Lasad interjects, his voice several notes higher than before, "the Coronado is charging her phasers!"

The Andorian Science Officer frowns and double checks her calculations. This is really happening! she thinks, her mind matching her heartbeat. 

The Captain swallows, "Mister Berk, fire."

Was there hesitation? Was there even a second thought given? Asovil glances over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her captain's stern face. Clenching her jaw, she draws a deep breath in through her nose and returns to her console. The following moment feels like an eternity and then the orange-red beam leaps from the Peregrine and lights up the shields protecting the Coronado. Within a second, the first phaser fire is joined by two more. The older Miranda class vessel's deflectors gamely try their best, dissipating the energy around the surface of the shield bubble, but they are no match for the Saber class frigate's power. Berk keeps the energy pouring out, and within a startlingly small window, the diplomatic ship's shields collapse and she pitches to the side. 

"Target's shields are down, Captain," Berk speaks rather unnecessarily. "Minor hull damage inflicted."

"We are being hailed from the Coronado," Lasad adds. After a nod from the captain the viewscreen shifts to the bridge of the other Federation vessel.

Front and center is the visage of Captain Jacobs, whose skin is mottled purple with rage. The man had been angry before, but now he is truly apoplectic. "You filthy piece of dog s***!" He spits. "You treacherous bastard!" Spittle drips from the lips of the Coronado's CO's lips as he rants. "When this is over, I will hang you myself!"

Lasad chimes in, his voice now filled with regret at having to interrupt. "Captain, the Coronado is changing course, she's coming around."

Berk joins in, a note of panic hanging heavy in his words, "Captain, they have locked phasers on us... they are firing!"

Asovil's fingers tap quickly across multiple buttons bringing up the readings assessing the Coronado's attack. With the nose of the Peregrine facing into the attack, the Andorian braces for the impact and sets her rich blue eyes on the numbers showing the strength of the hull and the shields. An instant later, the deck pitches from the force of the blow. "Direct hit, sir! Shields are holding," Lasad reports. "No physical damage, shields at ninety-two percent."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lt. Sh'iraolnas allows herself a small moment of relief. Her calculations had been correct and the buffer has done its job.

His voice more even, the TAC officer speaks up again, "Captain, the Coronado is charging for another shot..."

Drake's voice cuts through the chaos, "Captain Jacobs, stop this madness at once," he orders in a commanding tone. "This has gone far enough!"

Asovil reads another barrage from the Coronado's phaser banks and blazingly adjusts the math to take some of the power from the phaser attack and disperse it across a wider berth. Physics... physics within war... Father would be so proud...The deck pitches again. 

"Another direct hit, sir," the OPS chief reports. "Shields are holding, down to eighty-three percent."

Scanning the readings, the science officer initiates a structural scan. Everything is holding up just fine except for the slight reduction in shield integrity. If she debuffs, she could potentially regenerate some of the shields. Setting about the task, she barely pays attention to the following conversation.

On the viewscreen, Jacobs sneers. "What a surprise. The coward is not prepared to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Did you honestly think that I would be bullied by the likes of you, Mister Drake?"

Once again, the deck pitches. "Captain!" The Risan OPS chief exclaims. "Sir, one of the shield generators has failed! Backup coming online, overall shield capacity down to fifty-nine percent!"

Asovil's heart clenches in her chest. She wasn't fast enough. But there's still the need so she presses on.

"Lieutenant Berk," Drake speaks calmly, "lock phasers on the Coronado. Target their phaser bank. On my mark, remove their offensive capabilities, please."

"Phasers locked on, sir," Berk reports. "Captain, you do know that with no deflector shields, even localized phaser damage will likely cause loss of life aboard the Coronado."

Lt. Sh'iraolnas practically glues her eyes to her work.

Drake's voice seems unnaturally calm to the science officer. Focus... focus... 

"Captain Joshua Jacobs," Silas says aloud in a measured, almost disinterested tone, "as lawful commander of this battle group, I hereby find you unfit for duty. You are relieved of command of the USS Coronado, effective immediately. Commander Bethany Farr will now assume command of your vessel. My phasers are locked onto your own; if you do not comply, I will render your weapons useless. If that is not sufficient incentive to ensure your acquiescence, I will move on from there to cripple your engines."

Jacobs, if possible, turns a darker shade of purple. "You wouldn't dare!" he shouts. "Even your treason does not run this deep!  Our shields are down, thanks to you! If you fire on this vessel, you will surely kill Starfleet personnel!" 

Drake nods his head ever so slightly, "You are correct, Captain... and I will regret each and every one of their deaths for the short remainder of my own life. But you leave me no choice. I cannot allow you to harm my own personnel, nor can I allow you to kill innocent Kuldarians." His voice deadly calm, he continues. "You have ten seconds to comply."

Jacobs sputters in fury. "I... I will do no such thing! You are bluffing! You will lose your commission, your freedom, your life! For what? Some ignorant, backwater sentients too stupid to take advantage of the dilithium under their noses? Why, I will…"

Silas tempered words flow over Asovil's shoulders and send shivers down her spine. "Your time is up. Mister Berk, fire on the Coronado pha..."

"STOP!" rings a feminine voice from the bridge of the Coronado. "Captain Jacobs, I relieve you. Please leave the bridge at once."  Commander Farr appears next to her commanding officer.

"Not now, Farr!" Jacobs roars. "I don't have time for your nonsense right now, I..."

Commander Farr interrupts. "Captain, I must insist. She gestures to her left, and a gold-suited officer appears with phaser drawn and leveled at the Captain. "Ensign Phillips will escort you to your quarters, sir. Please do not force us to stun you." 

Unable to help herself, Asovil pauses in her work to look at the screen just as Jacobs gapes, opens and closes his mouth twice as if to speak, but no sound comes out. For the briefest of moments, his muscles tense, and it looked as if he might attack the security officer. But the moment passes, and the now former CO of the Coronado visibly deflates. His shoulders slump and the Captain allows himself to be led towards the turbolift. For a brief moment, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at the viewscreen.

"You will burn for this," he spits. "The both of you." The ensign then places a hand none too gently on Jacobs' shoulder, and the two disappear into the lift.

Somewhat surprised, the Andorian science officer watches as the new commander of the Coronado settles into the command chair. A fairly pale Farr barks orders, "Phasers offline, Lewis. Helm, all stop."  She then turns her focus to the viewscreen. "What are your orders, Captain Drake?"

Silas responds with amazing composure, "Hold position for now. Let's see if we can still salvage this thing. Drake out."

Turning back to her console, Asovil cannot help but smile in relief. Captain Drake has pulled off what was needed and now she can focus on her duties of helping TAC and Engineering repair what damage has been caused to their vessel. 

"Captain," Lasad reports, "several ships from both sides are moving to engage one another. Weapon systems are armed... it's about to become a full battle out there."

"Open all hailing frequencies, broadcast on all available channels," the Captain snaps. 

"NOW HEAR THIS!" Drake bellows in that stern voice that had first caused Asovil to be frightened of him. "This is Captain Drake of the USS Peregrine. All Rytain and Kuldar forces will stand down AT ONCE. Power down your weapons systems and hold your positions! This is a peace summit, and as God is my witness, there WILL be peace talks - terrorist attack or no! If any vessel makes an aggressive move of any sort, I will cut through it like paper. The delegations will proceed as planned to the rendezvous at the station, OR ELSE. Drake out."

"Captain, it worked!" Dio exclaims and Asovil can't help but feel his surprise. The approach was, after all, less Starfleet and more Klingon Empire. "all vessels have powered down their weapons."

Silas promptly responds as though he had been expecting those very results. "Inform the Coronado to resume their original path to the station. Offer the Rytain our assistance in their rescue and recovery efforts; we can dispatch another shuttle if they want our help. Lieutenant Zai, lay in a course for the station; I want these diplomats off my ship."

Glancing once more over her shoulder, her white hair drifting about her cheeks, the Science Officer catches the determined look on her captain's face and resolves herself further for it. Tapping the console's comm section, the Andorian woman brings it to life. Seconds later she has opened direct lines of communication to her staff and has set them to work assisting in the repairs. Captain Drake has earned her respect and loyalty time and time again. Even if Starfleet court martials the man for his actions on this day, Asovil is determined to stand beside him.

I just read what you've posted thus far and am eager for more, Mr. Olan-boss-sir.

We're all gonna die!!! 

Day 2, Whitefall - Necessity, Rocinante, 10:25 AM PT

Refraining from resting his hand on the grip of his Colt, Wyatt Sung inadvertently strikes a grim figure as Sam pilots the mule into Necessity. Stark blue eyes graze the settlement's landscape searching out possible roosts for Patience's men and other dangers that might be lurking about. He's already played through countless scenarios during the overland trek from Roc to town, prayed to the Powers that Be for the safety of his crew, and sworn revenge upon any who hurt them. Now he's about surveying the situation, assessing the trouble, and...

"Is that them?" Wyatt furrows his brow and looks over the hood of the mule with no small amount of dismay. Asher and Dr. Young are walking down the street as if nothing unusual is underfoot; a morning stroll in a town with no armed men chasing them or anything by all appearances. 

“Oh good!” the Doctor calls out, “Thank you for coming, Captain. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk back to the ship. On the plus side, I can let you all in on what is happening with having to repeat myself over and over. Does anyone have any food? I’m starving.” She says as she climbs into the mule. Looking at the stares she is getting, “What? I did not eat breakfast.”

Shifting in his seat, Sung hooks his arm over the rest and pushes his hat back on his head. "Well, Miss Stephanie, I can't say that we came this way intent on catering a picnic. So, you 'ave my apologies. As fer what's goin' on... well, I'm keen on the education. Sam, take us home, if'n you'd be so kind."

Love it! Made me smile. 

I'll have a post up tomorrow or the next day for sure.

And another HUZZAH!

Huzzah!

I've added to the game. We're moving again.

Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:34 P.M. 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)

Fixer listens as the egos go back and forth: to steal or not to steal, to rent or not to rent, to work for Charlie or to walk... to act like a complete dick or to hold up your end of the deal...

Vegas finishes insisting that everyone join this little parade, so Fixer figures it’s time to add his two-cents. Sadly, two-cents is about all he has, which is part of the problem. But whatever problems this causes, they need to find a way to save the kid. As had been pointed out, their reputations depend on it. And after all this time he is beginning to feel like he knows the kid – and likes him. He wants to succeed at this thing and for the first time, feels like they have a real clue. The kid had disappeared and Upstairs Downstairs seems to be involved in some way.

He looks at the others, “Ok, folks. As Vegas said, we need to act. If that means trading a bit on our skills, then so be it.” At this point he looks directly at Vegas and Charlie, “But, I do want to know what we are promising. Yeah, I can fix things. Stuff. Gadgets. And sometimes ‘things.’ But I want to be sure we know what we are promising. I’m not signing on for a long-term gig on this thing. I’m in for the trade, but only enough to cover 1/8th of two days rental of two vehicles. And cash at the end may cover it. Plus...” and here he looks at the medic, “my trade is clean. If I’m doing dirty work, I want to control when, where, and for whom I do it. In other words, if I’m jacking a ride, it isn’t to pay off renting no damn ride. Right?”

“Ok, we need to get there and get moving. Also, we still have those walkie talkies from earlier. Let’s make sure those going by public transit and those arriving later with the rides can all communicate. And both vehicles need one. This is our best lead yet – we actually have reason to think this might lead to info. We need that data.” He rubs his hands together a bit. “I’m in. Let’s move.”

"If you all are set on a break-in, you are gonna need a lookout,” Ghlahn adds flatly. “Sure, I’m fine to stay outside and keep my eyes open. Bloodbank can join me so we have two sets of eyes."

“How long will it take to get those rides, Charlie?” Vegas asks, assuming that Casino and Ghlahn are now on board with the reality of their situation having been fully explained.

“I can get you guys that Air Jeep in about 3 1/2 hours, maybe sooner if I seal the deal with these other guys. As for the Bedouin Truck, in maybe about 12-14 hours... maybe sooner, yet again no promises... No promises,” explains Charlie as watches the group for reactions. Reading people is difficult enough when they aren’t wearing masks, but this group is geared up and only Vegas and Blossom are without a mask and Echo is the only other one with visible eyes.

“I’ll be in touch via agent, texting with potential drivers where to meet your vehicles when they come in. Besides, I need my rest and I have long day ahead of me tomorrow morning.”

“Damn!” Vegas looks around in frustration. “OK, I say you get to work on those rides and we’ll use public transportation to make our way to the offices. No more wasted time, savvy? You’re with me, right, Casino?”

(OOC: Assuming Casino is, like, Right on! Let’s ride!)

“All right,” Vegas nods, “Where’s the nearest terminal?”

“Two blocks south,” Blossom replies instantly. “This enclave’s got a hold of it but there’s still public access. We can take the train and it’ll put us within a block of the office.”

“OK, one last time… Everyone on board?”

“I’m good,” Bloodbank replies.

“Count me in,” Blossom remarks with a charismatic grin.

“So for now... you’re on your own and it’s very late. That light lev-rail is ran by NCART and they stop running close to midnight or slightly afterwards, so you might want to consider getting there by other means. I would suggest you find a way to procure wheels along the way. But I will leave the kid’s life in your hands, I’ve made my offers and that, for now, is the best that I can offer,” Charlie remarks as the group mills about. “Well, that kid isn’t going to rescue himself, so you guys better get started. God’s speed to ya.” Charlie tips his hat to the ladies and gentlemen, then returns to his agent and tapping away at the keys as he makes his way to the Giri board.

(OOC: Charlie’s evening continues below&hellip

Vegas stares at the man for a few seconds as though considering whether to address him further, but after shaking his head just a little, the solo turns and says, “Let’s go, folks. The band is winding down and the night is short.”

Leaving the relative safety of the enclave, the team (less Cred Stick Charlie) make their way across the remainder of the enclave courtyard and back towards the alleyway checkpoint where they are checked for any unregistered tech before being allowed back onto the wet streets of the Night City Integrate.

“Fixer,” Vegas calls ahead to the techie, “Hail us a cab, will ya? I don’t favor ruining my shoes any further with this rain.” Feeling that the quiet fellow would do as asked, the crooner turns his attention to his partner and proceeds to engage in a quiet conversation.

“Hey,” Bloodbank turns his masked face away from watching the pair of solos and addresses the techie. “I appreciate you siding with me back there. I’ve got no problem doing what’s necessary to get the job done but if I can do so without causing harm to people who aren’t involved… well, that’s my preference.”

(OOC: Fixer’s answer, if any, and I’ll assume Fixer will use his agent/app to hail a cab that can hold all seven of the current edgerunners.)

Crammed in a black City Traveller van, the team takes a little comfort from the momentary relief the dingy cab provides their weary dogs. Blossom spends the whole ride lost in her VR world doing—Bloodbank hopes—things that will help them in the long run. Vegas and Casino continue their private conversation but for his part, the medtech pulls up his agent and begins to run searches on news of missing children. Unfortunately, there are a large number of recent stories, the pure number of which have him lost in the forest for the duration of the ride.

Drawing near the destination, Vegas orders the AI driver to drive around the block. Peering through the rain-slick windows, the solo observes the street and the traffic thereupon. No exterior security that I can see, the crooner observes. But he’s never been the keenest eye so he turns to his companions.

“See any sign of security out there?” he asks with a nod of his head to the outside.

“The offices we’re looking for take up three floors,” Blossom explains, coming out of her virtual world. “I couldn’t find the actual floorplans for the place but I was able to get a directory. The floor we’re looking for is the eighth.”

“Twenty-three-thirty-and-some-odd-minutes…” the medtech chimes in with little humor to his voice. “I doubt that the building is open at this time.”

“I agree,” Vegas acknowledges. “We need to get up close. Ghlahn, you need to find yourself a perch that will provide proper support for those going in. We also need to find out what else is in the building. What’s on the main floor? How can we gain entrance? Ideas?”

“There’s a garage, if that helps,” Blossom pipes up around her lollipop stick.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 01:38 A.M. PST)

Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:34 P.M. 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)

Figure out the vehicle situation. That’s the plan for the fixer. That’s the value he’s adding to the company of edgerunners. So, to the boards he navigates intent on finalizing the agreements.

Hitting the Air Jeep response first, Luther rereads the correspondence from another Edgerunner Enclave near the Central Valley Integrate. Luther will be working with a guy by the name of Fluke to pick up this ride and they aren't trekking anywhere, so he will have to go get it. The truck belongs to a nomad combi going by the name of Vagabond Santiagos. They are a ways north on the freeways and it will take hours for them to be within range of a connection. They'll meet Luther in the southern part of the SanFran Integrate at a fueling station called the Long Mile. The bloke Luther is dealing with in that group is called Nightowl. Cred Stick Charlie isn’t dealing in cash or credit… he’s dealing in favor; trading future services. He’s already worked what little magic he can manage. Now, he needs to bring the deals to fruition. The crew of edgerunners he’s currently teamed with are busy, so where is he to get his drivers from?

I've updated the game!

Wednesday, June 4th, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 6:30 A.M.; The Sand Dollar || Clear, High: 124°F (51°C) /  Low: 108°F (42°C) :: Wind Force: Light :: Wind Speed: 1 mph (1 kph)

Dawn finds the sailors boarding a smaller sloop of approximately 50 feet keel-length under the captainage of one Leonardo Collazo, a Latino man who is reluctant to take the three on, but was convinced over a few drinks the previous night by a persuasive Crowe.

Standing to the right of the gangplank, Captain Collazo scowls through his heavy black mustaches and narrows his beady eyes. Grunting with a finality that speaks of little joy, Leonardo motions his crew to bring up the planks.

“Stay out o’ me way an’ we be square once we hit port,” he snarls and uses the cloth about his neck to white the resulting spittle from his lips as he walks towards the poop deck.

Other crew cast wary glances their way but ignore the three while going about their various duties. There’s not much room on deck but around the forecastle and within minutes of being aboard, that’s where the Dog’s crew find themselves.

The ocean is calm and there’s nary a wind. The weather doesn’t look fair and the cursing and bellowing of Captain Collazo confirms that the conditions are less than optimal. Still, a small taste of wind can move a sloop and that’s what they have. Within an hour they’re underway at a ponderous pace.

Despite the Sand Dollar’s graceful lines, the heated hours drift by like seaweed upon the swell. Devilishly slow does not suit the captain of this vessel and Collazo is a loud fellow when cursing the winds. It is mostly what the crew of the Dog hear throughout the rise and fall of the sun. While the captain swears, the sailors remain sullenly quiet.

Once the sun kisses the waters of the horizon bringing relative relief from the burning rays, Leonardo Collazo stomps into his quarters and slams the door shut only to be disturbed when a lone man brings him a tin plate filled with his dinner.

Dinner is nothing to be excited about, consisting of salted herring, boiled eggs, and sea biscuits with a mug of ale to wash it down. After the meal, while the day shift settled down and the night shift came alive, the passengers are left to sleep on deck at the stern. However, as small a vessel as the Sand Dollar is, interaction is inevitable.

With the changing of the shift a figure practically floats onto the forecastle. He’s olive-skinned with a split beard and wide, curled mustaches. His nose is large and beaked, painted black at the tip and he wears heavy eyeliner. Thick black hair is braided down his bare back and his muscular form is covered by only a broad brown belt, a scimitar, and a burgundy wrapped cloth about his loins. His feet and hands are blackened through to mid-forearm and mid-calf.

“Up for some dicing?” he grins broadly and says in a heavily accented voice dripping oil. Holding out his painted left hand, the man displays five bone die.

(OOC: roughly 9:00 PM)

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

Wednesday, June 4th, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 7:30 A.M.; The Sand Dollar || Clear, High: 124°F (51°C) /  Low: 108°F (42°C) :: Wind Force: Light :: Wind Speed: 1 mph (1 kph)

Properly refreshed, Goncalvo is awakened by the clomping of boots on the deck overhead and the muttering of his fellow shipmates stumbling from their hammocks about him. Following the pattern of his mates, the sailsmaster has time to prepare himself for the day. He can tell from the way that the air hangs heavy with humidity throughout the belly of the Sun Dog that it is going to be a scorcher. Barely bobbing in the water, the ship is an indicator that there’s not much wind to boot.

Before he had managed to climb into one of the free-swinging hammocks in the aft section of the ship, Goncalvo had been told by the captain herself that he would be assisting her with their situation in Ile de la Tortuga and no sooner than he’d snagged a plate of boiled fish—likely near the last of their stores—and climbed the hold ladder to the main deck does he catch sight of Captain Cole peering across the remainder of the bay to the settlement beyond.

She strikes a mean pose; commanding, domineering, and sullen. Red hair hangs limply about her shoulders, already caught up in the salted mists and dampened by the sweat the early morning sun coaxes from her brow. A paisley sash is wrapped about her head and hangs down the back of her dingy white blouse, of which the sleeves are rolled to her elbows displaying the many bracelets she wears on both wrists. Her broad black belt bears a brace of two flintlocks and her saber as well as a dirk. Red and black striped pants are tucked into knee-high leather boots with buckles at the ankles and slightly raised heels common amongst the French aristocracy.

“She be lookin’ fer ya, mate,” Nico Berganza, a Spanish fellow with a nose that has been broken multiple times steps up near the sailsmaster and shoves the remainder of a hard roll into his mouth.  

(OOC: Assuming that Goncalvo approaches Anne.)

Glancing his way as the well-dressed man sidles up next to her, Anne Cole returns her gaze to the buildings along the shore. “Still no sign of the harbormaster,” she mutters through a frown. “I don’ like it none. ‘Tis no’ like the other ports. They would no’ ‘ave allowed us t’ stay sittin’ in their waters without so much of a hello. I don’ like it none.”

Straightening, Anne wipes the sweat from her cheek with the back of her hand causing the baubles about her wrist to jingle. “What could they be waitin’ fer, Mr. Goncalvo?”

(OOC: Room for an answer&hellip

“Huh,” chewing on her bottom lip her frown deepens. “Well, whate’er it be, I want you t’ go pay the harbormaster a visit. Check us in. Make sure there’re no surprises. Take a couple o’ the crew with you. Send one o’ them back when you’ve accomplished as much. Then, I want you t’ set up a meetin’ with Mr. Davenport. Savvy? I wanna read the tides within his eyes an’ see where he sails.

“If he asks what the meetin’ be ‘bout, tell ‘im I’m lookin’ t’ set up business relations.”

(OOC: Questions, acceptance, and other things&hellip

(OOC: roughly 8:10 AM)

Huzzah! 

You aren't a true gamer if you don't have your own version of "The Die!"

We've been locked in a bottle waiting to be unleashed upon the oceans once more. 

Translation: I have been really busy at work and Eol has let me know that he has been dealing with a situation at work as well... and has been knocking honey-do's off his list. I will post to get us moving again this weekend.

Still waiting on my good friend, Robert the Black.

Edgerunner Enclave | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 11:20 P.M. 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)

*------------------------------- Casino and Echo Back Post -------------------------*

Watching as the others besides Charlie and Casino filter into the sleep pods, Echo moves over to stand by Casino.

“Aren’t you going to get some shuteye, Choomba?” she asks quietly, indicating the pods. “I can keep watch over you all, unless you’re not tired,” she says, “Or I can just keep you company so we have two sets of peepers keeping track of the team?”

Turning to face this young edgerunner, Casino thinks to himself as he smiles, what had caused such a young girl to get into this type of scene?

“Sure, I’d like that,” My god, I’m falling for a kid, the big solo has to be honest with himself that he is, in fact, falling for Echo. However, as his thoughts move forward he has to ask himself, was she really a kid anymore? He has no way of knowing what she has been through and what brought her to this run, but knowing Starlight and her rep, Echo is no slouch. Casino has to admit, even though he is 35-years old, he feels years older from all that he has been through. From getting shot more than once—the wound in his arm sending a spurt of pain as his Pain Editor faults for just a moment—to remind him of his latest, to the number of people he has been forced to kill in the course of a run. From the number of skills learned and bettered over time and the smarts and ways of the street that has kept him alive this long. Who is to say how many bodies lay at Echo’s feet, or kknowledge learned, for just like him and Vegas, she is muscle on this run. Only way to find out more about this dangerous beauty is to ask, and Casino always sucked at asking.

“So, ahh, tell me...what got you started as a runner?”

*------------------------------- End Casino and Echo Back Post -------------------------*

*------------------------------- Current -------------------------*

“Damn... you all look like hell...warmed over,” Charlie muses and changes the subject as he looks over the group. “I know that we as a collective don’t have too much and we have even more questions. So, I’ll make my part quick so that you guy can figure out what your going to do.”

“I would like to recommend that if you’re going to go through all of this mess that you should get a little something more for it, right?” Charlie smiles, “And what I mean by that is, my next proposal…”

Charlie leans into the group with hushed tones, “Make your move on Upstairs/Downstairs look like a 211, you know...a burglary, and that way if something goes awry, then the kid doesn’t get moved or hurt. Anything that you guys take from the offices, you can take your time analyzing at your leisure later and make a few credits along the way.

“This is the part where I come in again.

“Anything that you take, you drop off to me and I’ll fence everything off for you. Look...you’re going to the home office, they also have several vans and maybe a few cars too. Load one up, or two...then I’ll help you get a clean pair of tags, registration, and a new ID if you wanted one. It will beats sleeping outdoors.

“Anyways...think about it. But I’m sure that everyone here is tired of walking, am I right, yeah?”

“I don’t mind making some extra dough, choomba,” the crooner smiles his crooked smile. “But, do we have the skills to jack a ride?” He looks directly at Fixer as he says this.

Fixer looks at the crooner and shakes his head a bit, "I've done a few jobs and I can jury rig a lot of things, but I wouldn't want to promise something I can't deliver. Hitching a ride? Maybe. But that isn't where I usually work."

“Any further objections?” Vegas looks around.

“Yeah,” Bloodbank folds his arms across his chest, his battle mask facing the two fedora wearing men. “I’m not averse to breaking the law in the course of doing good—like finding Jace—but breaking the law solely for the sake of profiting is outside of my comfort zone.”

“Cool yer jets, Goody-Two-Shoes,” Blossom grins at the medic and pats around in her leather jacket before producing a wrapped lollipop.

“The man has a point. Makin’ our little B&E look like we came for some goods and not information’ll throw any bloodhounds off our trail. It’s a good’ne an’ I’m for it.”

“Think of it as an additional safety precaution for the kid,” the dapper solo adds, but the medtech is having none of it.

“No deal. If you choombas are heading to the LZ to rob innocent people—because for all we know that’s what they are—then you’re doing it without me.”

It becomes obvious to the techie that his opinion on the subject doesn’t really matter. It seems the medic isn’t up for a life of crime. Fixer is happier not being a thief anyway. "Ok, Bloodbank, I'm good with not being a thief. Happier that way even. But you gotta know that at the very least we are breaking in and stealing data. Nobodies harmed, but one or two laws might get stretched." He grins at the rest. "Lets get on site. We want the best chance of success and now that we are all fully rested and relaxed after two hours of shut-eye, lets get a move on. That kid’s chances are ticking."  

Fixer knows that at this point most of what they are doing isn’t really up to him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to get moving. Standing around and doing nothing has never been his strong suit and now they are on a clock.

“Data is one thing…” Bloodbank mutters behind his mask but falls quiet when the team leader speaks up.

“OK, Ok,” Vegas holds up his hands. “We’re not heading into a possible hurt situation without a barber, so you win. No stealing nothin’. We good?”

“Yeah…” but the tone of Bloodbank’s voice is cautious.

Casino, quiet the whole time up to now, looks directly at Bloodbank.

”Well, choomba, way I see it is you hired onto this run the same as we all did to get the kid back, and I don’t remember Starlight putting limits on how we do so. If breaking into the place and stealing some petty s*** to make it look like a robbery is not to your taste, then ok, pull out and you can tell Starlight yourself. But trust me your street cred with the fixer’s in this town will go hard and you’ll be damn lucky to get another good paying run. Only jobs you’ll get will be cheap ghetto trash ones for self styled Johnsons. But hey, that’s your call, Choomba."

Turning to the rest, the gruff solo continues.

“I’m in with Charlie’s idea of making it looking like a snatch and grab, however in difference to Bloodbank, we only take things a bunch of drugged out crack bangers would want. Easy money, shiny things, the easy to sell in pawnshop s***. Nothing major that could hurt these people too bad if stolen. If it’s as easy as you say, Charlie, to retag a vehicle; we can steal one someplace else on the way there so the lack of transport we all face is gone. We need to find the kid and soon and playing at being a bunch of goodie two shoes ain’t gonna get us there. I’ve already killed more people than all of you on this run and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start playing f**king nice.”

With his voice and choice heard the big solo folds his arms across his armored chest and waits on the possible fallout with the Medic or any of the rest of the group.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with having a bit of honor and self-respect, meat shield,” the medtech retorts.

“Cool it,” Vegas orders. “The both of yous. We already determined we weren’t gonna reduce ourselves to common thieves so there’s no reason to snap at your teammates, capice?”

“Good,” turning to the rest of the group, the crooner continues, “So, we good? Everyone on board? Fixer? Blossom? Echo? Ghlahn? Bloodbank? Casino? Charlie?” He waits to receive an affirmative from each of them before laying out the plan.

“Yeah, yeah... I’m still good and everyone is still poor here,” Charlie frowns. “I might know a guy... or two, that I can talk with. Give me a few moments alone to make a few well placed calls.” Charlie explains as he momentarily excuses himself from the group.

“Make your calls,” the crooner waves him off. “What about you, Echo? You got any in’s?”

“I’m afraid not,” the pretty nomad shakes her head, her eyes still visible above her balaclava darting to the ornery blond solo. “Best not to try and involve any of the nearby caravans unless we want to operate on giri and that might delay our current run.”

“Sure ‘nuff,” Vegas looks over to where the fixer is trying to work his magic. Hours versus minutes, here, choomba. Let’s see why Starlight puts her trust in ya…

Charlie walks over to a more secluded area, stopping near the entrance to an old army tent from within which a very old man with a scruffy white beard and a grimy old bandana around his head is trying to sell knives. Tapping away at his agent, he waits for the replies he hopes are forthcoming.

Moments later, his agent and the visual splice shows that he has a couple of messages.

His original reach across his network is to seek out the possibility of procuring a jeep, sky barge, Agro Nomad, Family Flier, Bedouin Truck, or a Gevhog. Some responses showing up from his agent’s search algorithm show the Gevhog as a kind of water-going, large jetski.

“Damn,” Charlie looks at the photo and frowns. That isn’t the Sk5 hovercraft that I was thinking of… His head bobs up and down for a bit as he rattles the idea about.

Walking back over to the group, he decides he isn’t going to put in the work without knowing what preferences the others have. “Ahem… I have had a few new ideas since we all need to stay on the same page here, I thought I’d run them by you all. First things first...” Charlie eyes the group over, “If I’m scratching someone’s back... they want something in return. It’s just the basic nature of the game. Play or get played. So...

“I can get a vehicle but I need to make promises that it has to come back as it left, capisce? Price tags are just too high to try and buy, so we’re renting. Also, I need everyone to kick in with NOT CREDITS, but the use of their skill sets, can we agree upon this?”

Bloodbank scratches at the back of his head below the bandana knot and eyes the fixer through the heightened visuals of his combat mask. Promising anything to dealers is a dangerous gig in his experience, but the idea of trade isn’t a unique thought. He’s done so before and for a cash-strapped edger, trade is kind of a lifesaving solution when in need. So, he remains quiet, waiting to see what the others think and still feeling more than a little put out by Casino’s argumentative tirade.

Blossom shrugs the rain from her jacket’s shoulders and pulls the sucker from her mouth with a slight popping sound, “Sounds like a standard deal.”

Charlie looks to the techie, “Your street name is ‘Fixer,’ right? So, I’ll assume that you can either—” Charlie's uses air quotes, “—fix things, or you fix mechanical things. Either way, I can borrow these services when needed.” Charlie turns to the solos: Vegas, Casino, Ghlahn and Echo. “You three work the mean streets and don’t take alot of drek, right? So... from time to time, I'll need something delivered, picked up or... a friendly reminder that someone is owed something. In return, I’ll then be able to get you rides, and even meals from time to time, would  this interest you?” Finally he turns to Bloodbank. “Well, Mr. Paladin... can you provide me with some of that humanitarian aid that others will need from time to time, patients that would need a no questions asked medical person? If so… I’ll have a ride for you if you wish it. Besides... I would like for you to make a wish list of item that might be needed so I can keep a look out for them as well, like some field bandages, pain killers, and other medical things. Or, if you know anyone that makes or sells low to high grade drugs, point me in that general direction.” Looking at the whole group, he adds, “We all have something to throw in, so help me, help you. Let me know a name or names of who you do business with so that I can serve and assist you better, please.”

Charlie claps his hands with a rub, after his small speech. “Okay, those that are willing to aid me, I have what you are looking for. It’s what everyone needs to find a kid in the hood, it’s a jeep.”

Ghalan listens as the others talked about stealing vs not-stealing. It is interesting where some choose to draw the line after all that has occured in the past few days. Personally he doesn’t care if they snuck in and out, made it look like a drug-user stole stuff to sell, or robbed the place blind. However, when it comes to the idea of getting a ride, he certainly has an opinion. "You want me to promise to be your attack dog in return for a ride?  Not gonna happen. I may be many things, but a low-level flunky is not one of them. I'll walk."

“Okay,” Cred Stick Charlie draws out the word, “I’ll take that as a maybe…”

“Wow,” Casino adds without the inspired inflection, “I admire a man who is confident in being able to get and give what he offers.” The solo looks to the China girl who is still perusing the contents of a nearby shop. “However, your lack of ability to read the people in this group just shows your lack of street smarts and plays heavy on your credibility. I work for cash, not a ride, not for a meal, and sure as hell not for you. If you think my partner and I will act as your on call little errand boys, then your living in a world of dreams.”

His hands on his H&K, the big solo looks to the rest of the group, his gaze holding on Vegas, Echo, and Ghlahn the longest. Then without a word he starts heading away from Cred Stick Charlie and his bulls***.

“For the love of—” Vegas declares. “Did everyone wake up on the wrong side of the coffin, or what? Casino, get your ass back here.

“Look, we’re short on time,” the crooner explains. “We have already established that the kid has a limited amount of time. Right?”

“Every hour counts,” Blossom confirms, staring right at the leather-clad solo.

“We need a ride,” the Sinatra clone smacks his right hand into his left with a wet splattering sound. “We’ve wasted hours on sleep, on—stupid decisions—and chasing ghosts. Casino, you rode Bloodbank pretty heavy on his decision not to participate in stealing from the innocent. You even said his cred will take a shot. What do you think’ll happen to ours if this kid dies on our watch? Especially if word gets out that he drew the ace of spades because of our pride?

“Maybe the lot of us has got some cash sitting around that we aren’t all aware of, but near as I can tell, Charlie’s right. We can’t afford to buy a ride, and even our techie is unsure of whether he can lift one, so our options are to rent. I got news for you all, I don’t have the credits to rent sh**. But what I do have is trade. I can trade my services for a little something to carry us forward. Pride be damned.

“What’ve you got, Partner?” Vegas turns to Casino and spreads his arms wide. “You got some dough tucked away somewhere I’m not aware of? How about you Ghlahn? You got enough scratch to buy?

“There’s a number of us… we might need more’n one vehicle.”

Not waiting for the other solos’ responses, Vegas turns his attention back to the fixer. “What’s the full story, Charlie?”

“We’ve got the air jeep, like I said, and next we have either a nomad agro truck or a bedouin truck available as well. So? Ms. Echo?” Luther looks to Echo for her comments about what vehicles if any could be acquired, but interrupts again before she starts, blurting out, "Oh! And you can use them for 48 hours... just sayin’." Then he nods with a sinful gin and mouths, "Go ahead, your turn" and gives an "okay" sign to boot.

“I’ve seen the air jeep in action,” Echo replies tentatively. “Ugly, but it is a solid ride. Won’t carry the lot of us though. Especially not if we find the kid. I’d suggest we try to get the Jeep and the Bedouin. There’s eight of us and the boy will make nine. The jeep will carry six people max load while the Bedouin will take six. The Bedouin is covered, so that’ll be important for secrecy.”

“How long will it take to get those rides, Charlie?” Vegas asks, assuming that Casino and Ghlahn are now on board with the reality of their situation having been fully explained.

(OOC: Charlie’s answer&hellip

“Damn!” Vegas looks around in frustration. “OK, I say you get to work on those rides and we’ll use public transportation to make our way to the offices. No more wasted time, savvy? You’re with me, right, Casino?”

(OOC: Assuming a yes&hellip

“Ghlahn?”

(OOC: Assuming a yes&hellip

“All right,” Vegas nods, “Where’s the nearest terminal?”

“Two blocks south,” Blossom replies instantly. “This enclave’s got a hold of it but there’s still public access. We can take the train and it’ll put us within a block of the office.”

“OK, one last time… Everyone on board?”

“I’m good,” Bloodbank replies.

“Count me in,” Blossom remarks with a charismatic grin.

(OOC: Everyone else’s replies&hellip

(OOC: Time is 11:34 P.M. PST)