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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: I want a nap...
And a cheeseburger.
Posted on 2017-07-31 at 10:46:06.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Need a couple more...
Posts! I do need a few more to get the game moving forward again. Just an FYI.
Posted on 2017-07-31 at 10:45:21.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Vegas has too great a distance...
We're talking 20-meters distance between the door and the position of the two sec-team members. That's at least enough time to be fired upon. You sure you want Vegas running that distance to use gas and tasers?
Posted on 2017-07-31 at 10:25:04.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Living is a bonus...
There's something to be said for surviving in one of my realityBITES games, to be sure. 
Posted on 2017-07-29 at 16:57:01.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: The die are as fickle as the seas.
Blame the Inn's dice roller.
Posted on 2017-07-28 at 10:05:30.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Game updated.
I've posted and here's the skinny.
Ghlahn can get off one more shot at the uninjured or injured sec-team member before they are out of sight behind the sports building. The team in the administrative building has plenty of open space to engage the two surviving members of the security teams. You all have no idea how much longer before reinforcements arrive, but you can all bet that they are close. It will take a half-minute sprint from the administrative building to reach the sewer entrance where Ghlahn is. Longer if you engage in combat that requires you to seek cover or delay movement.
Posted on 2017-07-27 at 23:52:07.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
Subject: What's next?
West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:12 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)
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With one sec-team member moving to help his wounded partner and one moving towards his position, Ghlahn raises his now reloaded rifle and scans the field. Ignoring the two who are out of the fight for the moment, the sniper focuses on taking out the man rushing his position. As long as they come one at a time he knows he holds the upper hand. He hopes the others will return sooner rather than later as he takes his shot.
The retort of the rifle rings through the tunnel system behind the sniper and the round flies true striking the armored chest of the advancing assailant. Though it jars him and twists his body to the left causing the spray of his machinegun to vanish into the night, the man manages to remain in forward motion and, crazily enough, eating up the distance between them.
"Reload Your Weapons!" Vegas barks out the command more from his years spent in partnering with Casino than trying to direct traffic with a group of people he barely knows making this run together in the midst of a sticky situation.
Bloodbank checks his clip to reload if needed. He's two rounds down in an eight round clip. Two rounds can mean the difference between life and death so he expels the metal container into his left hand and drops it in his jacket pocket, fishing out his backup clip as he draws his hand back out. Slamming the fresh ammo into his weapon, the medtech chambers a round with a practiced move. He also glances at his medical bracer to ensure nothing has been damaged.
"Loaded and ready," he mutters through his skull combat mask. Awaiting the rest of the team to give the signal he looks toward Vegas' sentry point for clearance.
The Dapper Solo is relieved that Blossom has acquired the video footage without any of the group being compromised or eliminated from the equation. The Chairman of the Board takes charge as he reloaded his guns, plus he makes sure his other weapons are at the ready.
"I will cover our backs as we retrace our steps to the door we entered to gain access to this building," explains Vegas as the others attend to their various weapons, "just in case reinforcements try to attack us from behind, or from another office."
"Sounds good to me, sugarlips," Blossom quips and brushes by him with the ragged samurai in tow.
As the group slowly makes their way back out of the building, the Frank Sinatra look-alike calls out to Fixer as quietly as possible: "Have those grenades ready that Casino gave you. Authorities are probably on their way to investigate the disturbance here."
Vegas thinks about his partner and how they parted ways on a negative note when Starlight was caught in the crossfire from the Boosters who tried to rub him out for dancing with Dimples. Plus Santa is still waiting on a letter in regards to their progress locating the missing boy. But he quickly pushes those thoughts aside, focusing upon the task at hand.
"We may have to toss a grenade to disperse any security patrols blocking our way to where Ghlahn is covering our tracks and waiting for us," he explains. Vegas is referring to the extra arsenal that Casino bought from Starlight before this already twisted caper had begun!
"If there is no opposition by the time we reach the door," Vegas further explains, "then I will take the lead and immobilize any threats with my gas weapons, if at all possible!" Vegas listens intently for any response from the group, or any tell-tale signs of unwanted guests trying to ambush them by surprise, before proceeding with a final explanation of his plan: "If I have to, I will use those grenades that Casino ordered to clear a path for us."
As they make their way slowly and cautiously down the hallway, the Dapper Solo asks in a low voice, "Any better suggestions for reuniting with Ghlahn and getting us out of this mess?"
Just in front of him, the petite Asian wardriver turns a quick glance his way and smiles brilliantly. "Call an AV for pickup? What? Price prohibitive?" Shrugging, she turns her attention back to the fast-approaching doors.
One more try, maybe two, before the contract cop becomes dangerous so Ghlahn squeezes off another shot. This time the bullet strikes the target in the right arm as he jukes to the left a little. Despite having his arm jerked violently backward he still manages to not only keep running forward, but maintain a grip on his weapon enough to discharge the spent magazine. While he's jamming a new mag into his machinegun, M'harú Ghlahn lines up and fires again. Staggering a little from the impact, the sec-team Rambo remains upright much to the sniper's dismay.
Lining up his final shot before truly becoming threatened, Ghlahn witnesses the soldier putting his newly reloaded Militech Assault Rifle to his shoulder and firing at his hole in the ground. Still running, the rounds strike the watery ground before the sewer runoff entrance spraying muddy liquid back into the rain. Last chance, Ghlahn pulls the trigger.
Head snapping back, arms flailing, knees buckling, the terrifying soldier slides into a convulsing mass of black cloth and mud a mere five meters from where M'harú Ghlahn stands on the ladder, elbows resting in the runoff.
Approaching the glass door with caution only slightly diluted due to urgency, Echo swears she can hear the familiar sounds of a Nomad .44 rifle followed by a three-round burst. Holding up her hand to slow the group, the masked and leather clad woman peers through the glass into the night, heart racing to find two members of a security team some meters away near the corner of the adjacent building. One appears to be severely injured and the other just reaching his position.
Assessing the situation with a practiced eye she quickly determines that the damage done is Ghlahn's work. "Ghlahn's been busy," she reports grimly. "At least one member of a two man team is seriously--no. Wait, make that one member of a three man team is seriously wounded, another is down, and the third is providing aid trying to move the injured one out of Ghlahn's line of fire." Pausing, she turns back to the others reluctant to move any closer to the door for fear of positioning herself within the dim light spilling through the glass from outside. "What's the plan?"
Posted on 2017-07-27 at 23:47:50.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Can't wait for more!
Loving this so far, everyone.
Posted on 2017-07-27 at 18:03:51.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I apologize that it took so long to post!
With everyone split up like they are and my penchant for long-windedness, it took quite a while to write the post. Enjoy, and here's to the next set of player posts!
Posted on 2017-07-27 at 18:00:58.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Progress...
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:35 A.M.; The Le Porc Fattest Tavern
"New here, eh?" the chubby man says after eyeing the Portuguese sailor up and down. "I wasn't aware any trade was due this day. Please, be seated." He points to the remaining chair at the table between the other two and continues. "I am Captain Thomas Levy of the Azure Seas. This is my sailmaster," he motions to the wiry fellow,"Mr. Olsen, and this is my quartermaster, Mr. Fernandez. We thank ye kindly for the libations, Mr,?"
Goncalvo takes the offered seat. "My name is difficult to pronounce for most not of Portuguese blood. Call me Mr Jonnie for ease sake, it is what most end up calling me anyway." Motioning for the bar wench, "A round of ale for my new friends and another of the same as I had before for me.
"As for arriving cargo, we made an unscheduled stop to repair some damage and replace a few lost souls. Ran into a bit of nasty weather. It is up to the captain to choose whether to unload here or maintain our cargo for another port. I just take the ship where told."
This elicits a knowing chuckle from Mr. Fernandez and a smile from the other two while having the necessary effect that the Portuguese sailmaster is looking for and breaking the ice a bit more. Conversation is guarded, but friendly enough. Beginning with simple talk about the local weather patterns this time of year to which Fernandez has a great deal to expound upon. Occasionally, Olsen chimes in with a wry comment about how certain conditions make the transport of sugar more difficult than others, or the risks of losing cargo to flooding in heavier storms. There's even the story of a ship that was lost in the recent Spring gales somewhere north of Bahie du Mole with no survivors. One hundred and thirty men lost their lives during that storm and the local cane farmers lost hundreds in profits as well as a good fifty slaves. The captain is grim as he retells the tale like he had been there, which, of course, was impossible. The three appear to be ready to relax and willingly accept the drinks Goncalvo plies them with (OOC: Watch your coin. You'll need to let me know how much of it you're willing to spend. You can purchase enough ale for one person to get drunk on by spending 1 penny. I've posted a breakdown of currency on the 1st post of the QA thread) but they also do not seem to be in any kind of hurry. This may take a while.
After a time, the Dog's sailmaster presses for the information he's seeking. "From what you mentioned about knowing the arrival of cargo, I infer that you are men who know things. Always good to meet someone with an eye towards business.
"Soon as repairs are done we head toward the American coast. I cannot say I have been there before so I am not familiar with the wind patterns or the safest routes. I'd hate to be stuck with my sails hanging limper than a eunuchs peter. And, it would be a shame to run into any trouble on the way, especially any trouble that brings its own ship."
Captain Levy settles back in his chair and smiles softly at his battered clay mug as he turns it slowly about with two fingers at the base. "Winds be as they are about channels and shorelines. Currents too. Ships, now, ships are another tale to be told, Mr. Johnny." He raises his eyes and Goncalvo can sense mistrust in that hooded gaze. A quick glance towards Fernandez and Olsen reveal that they've fallen mysteriously thoughtful and contemplative, the skinnier of the two wearing a deep frown to boot.
"No captain in his right min' would talk ‘bout courses with any other than his own sailmaster an' navigator. So, beggin' yer pardon but I'll politely ask tha' we change the subject."
(OOC: Time is roughly 11:35 AM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 10:45 A.M.; The Wharf
"Th' more things change," Fin rumbles, nudging Cracker with an elbow and nodding towards the wharf. "Best place ta start huntin' prey, Cracker," he continues as he takes his first steps in the direction of the quay, "is ta check th' places where it eats an' s**ts," Without another word, Crowe strides for the wharf, pausing only once, and, then, just long enough to pull a smoldering twig from the remains of some salt's campfire and use the thing to finally light the cigarillo he's been chewing.
Cracker says nothing in response and wanders with Fin along the docks, keeping his eyes open to try and identify any cargo being unloaded or, more significantly, loaded onto a vessel. There are ships of all sorts, perhaps numbering in the ten to twelve at anchor, and Tortuga proves an interesting port as the pair moves along.
Once quayside, Fin mounts the salt and sea stained docks and moves through the throng of folk milling about the crates and cargo that are stacked and scattered along the planks of the piers. As he walks, he smokes and surveys the array of shipments along with the faces of the people he passes. At the end of one long dock, Crowe catches sight of a bedraggled wharf-hand whom, it appears, has taken a moment from his task of stacking piles of provisions in order to prop himself against a cluster of rum barrels and enjoy a puff or two from his pipe. A long draw on his own cigarillo and a few steps brings Fin alongside the barrel stack where the wharf-hand stands puffing on the pipe and staring wearily out over the harbor. Fin leans casually against a barrel and, for a long moment, says nothing. He simply stands and smokes and, like the wharf-hand, lets his gaze skim from ship to ship where they bob in the bay.
Cracker hangs back, feeling that a second lurking presence will only make the dockhand feel uncomfortable. Instead, he moves towards the ship that seems to have the most appealing cargo getting loaded.
The wharf-hand puffs absently on his pipe and, with something of a discontented sigh, blows a smoke ring into the air toward the boats that buoy on the blue waters of the harbor. For his part, Fin blows a jet of smoke past his own lips, shooting it through the middle of the hand's smoke ring as it slowly expands and roils away on the wind.
"Long day ahead," Fin's rasping voice finally breaks the silence, though neither man's gaze falls away from their surveying of the ships. It is more a statement than a question.
"Aye," the wharf-hand returns, sparing only a sidelong glance at the dark man who leans against the rum barrel, "an' she looks ta be a hot'n, as well."
"Mmm," Fin rumbles with a fractional nod as he takes another drag from his smoke; his squinting stare still dancing over the bay.
"I‘m a'ready wringin' in me own juices," the wharf-hand fumes softly, poking at the dregs of his bowl with a splinter he pulls from a deck board, "an' by th' time th' next boat sallies out, I figger I'll be all but melted, an' fer what? A penny' an' a half-pence." The man sighs his exasperated sigh again, spits into the water off the side of the dock, and clamps the stub of his pipe back between his teeth.
"Sounds 's if ya might need anoth'r line o' work," Fin grumbls in reply.
"So says you an' th' missus," the hand answers around his pipe stem. "It's God what don' seem ta agree."
Fin snorts out a short chuckle at that, sending a cloud of his own smoke billowing out on top of it. "Tha's th' way it seems ta work," he says. "Anythin' o' interest goin' out er comin' in?"
The wharf-hand's shoulders tense a bit and he turns to actually look at the surly man who is now crushing out the remains of his cigarillo on top of the rum barrel. "Reckon tha' d'pends on who's askin'," he remarks cautiously, his eyes going from weary to wary.
Smiling a mirthless smile, Fin flicks the crushed stub of his cigarillo into the water, dips his fingers into his belt, and draws them back out with a silver coin pinched between them. "Th' man who'll give ya more'n a penny' an' a half-pence fer th' right scuttlebutt, mate."
Staring at the proffered coin, the wharf-hand's brow furrows into a webwork of crisscrossed lines deepened by a lifetime of weather abuse. Sticking his pipe abruptly into his mouth with a click of clay to tooth, he says nothing further to Fin, but pushes from the barrels and walks slowly away. After a few feet of this casual strolling, the man retrieves his pipe and taps it completely out before slipping it into a pocket of his trousers. He doesn't grant the Dog's quartermaster another look as he sets about his duties once again. The best, Crowe can hope for at this point is that he'll keep his mouth shut merely because that's what people do who wish to live.
(OOC: Sorry, but the roll failed.)
As Fin continues to talk to the dockhand behind him, Cracker moves on to a ship that has caught his attention; a barquentine of a dark, rich coffee color with three masts and about three hundred tons. It appears to the bosan to be loading a cargo of large, square crates that could contain anything from sugar to coffee, potentially good prizes if a buyer can be found and the crates remain in good condition in the taking. Cracker approaches the ship next to his target first and advances on what appears to be the quartermaster, who is busy overseeing the loading of the cargo. William's real goal is to watch the target ship, but he speaks briefly to the man in front of him, asking where this ship is heading.
"I've sailed on a number of ships, so I could help you. But right now I'm without a crew. And I need to get home. So I'm wonderin' where yer headed. If I might be of service on this ship here. I'm experienced, as I said." He ducks his head low, trying to seem like a man desperate for a job. He isn't going to be disappointed when the man sends him away, as he doesn't really want a job. This man is a poor replacement for Fin and the Cole sisters.
As expected, the ship's quartermaster responds to Cracker's 'I need a job' routine by sending him away. "We're headed to London sailor, but I have a full crew, so unless you want to pay your way home, this ship isn't your answer. There's more here headed out soon—and a few taverns where hiring happens. Look there." The man looks hard at Cracker and is about to add a curt "move on!" but Cracker has already done so.
Moving off quickly—his attempt on the first ship just a feint as if he actually is looking for work, it's best to look like he is moving ship to ship to be sure his story can be checked if needed. So, he moves directly from this ship to the one he is most interested in, being sure that a couple of sailors see him approach from the other vessel. He finds a man directing the loading of goods onto the ship—probably the quartermaster, although he might well be a bosun like Cracker, himself. The game is afoot despite the boatswain's inability to determine the type of cargo being loaded.
Approaching the man with his hat in his hands, Cracker states in as pleading a voice as he dares, "Sir. I'm looking to ship out with a good crew, sir. I've been a good boatswain afore sir. I can do good work."
Turning from his duties, the broad-shouldered individual with a closely shaved head and a scar under his left eye looks the smaller individual up and down while Cracker rolls his hat a few times in hands to give the look of a desperate man.
"Where are you headed to sir?" William presses. "My Mam, Sir. I have received news it goes poorly. I need to get home. but I can work my way there. I'm a good sailor. It is a fine ship, sir., I've served on her like afore. Where is it headed, sir.? If only—"
"We're already at full muster, salt," the fellow replies in a deep voice that practically resonates in Cracker's bones. "I'm ‘fraid you'll no' find passage here."
William persists, still wringing his hat. "My Mam, sir,"
Sighing, the fellow looks over his shoulder at the activity on board and then turns back to the boatswain of the Dog. "Look here, we're due in the Colonies within five days. Where's yer port o' call?"
"Carolina, sir."
"Well, we're t' put in at Georgia, but I could, perhaps see if the quartermaster has a need. It will at least take ya tha' far."
"Oh, no, Sir!" Cracker becomes agitated. "That is no good, Sir. I need a vessel going to Carolina, Sir. My Mam, she is in Carolina, Sir. No, that won't work. But, I thank you, Sir." He drops his head a bit and turns to go, but stops and turns to look over his shoulder at the dismayed sailor. "Sir? Carolina, Sir. I need to get home. Do you know if any of these other ships are headed that way? Do you know sir? Could you help a fellow Bosun?"
Frowning and shaking his head, the other bellows while waving William away, "I care no' where others be sailing, salt! Get off with ya."
(OOC: Time is roughly 11:00 AM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), 11:15 A.M.
"I'll show ya mine if ya show me yours," Anna Cole states coldly after a moment's thought.
Grover flashes a wily grin, "Delightful."
"Mags," Anna begins without taking her eyes off the wide features of the proprietor. "Head on back t' the Dog an' prepare t' receive a visitor."
Maggie turns her head to look at Anna as if she hasn't heard her correctly. If Anna is to look at her, she will be able read the thoughts dancing in her head. Why should we give in to this man? Why not find someone else? But she knows that Anna always has a plan and that she doesn't always share the details with her; so she simply gets to her feet with an audible deep sigh.
"Aye, Captain," she replies and, without another word, turns and strides from the Tavern into the blazing sun and the rising temperatures. Her angry strides leave no doubt to her thoughts on her orders.
She returns directly to where the longboat had previously beached without obstruction and then waits for five minutes while it brings the third round of Sun Dog sailors ashore. Most on the Dog know not to pester her even good naturedly, but being hungry for wenches and ale they barely pay her any heed as she commandeers a seat on the return voyage, allowing the assigned sailors to row back to the ship as ordered. Once aboard, she gathers some of the watchmen left aboard and makes sure to address anything she thinks might seem out of place to a fence. She has the men clean up the deck, though most of it is already shipshape as the sailmaster doesn't allow the men to go ashore without all the lines properly stowed and secured.
Maggie next turns her attention to the hold and organizing their sparse prize of goods that for sale to the merchant when he comes aboard. Once everything is ready (approximately twenty minutes after arriving on board the deck of the Dog), she has the men return to their duties as she stands upon the forecastle and looks out over the water towards the dock to keep an eye out for the longboat that would bring Mr. Grover and her sister.
She hasn't much longer to wait and can see through Anna's long glass the pair approach the shore from the town. The Dog's longboat is still beached with a single man stationed to protect it and man its oars should the need be. Mags watches as her sister engages in brief conversation with the sailor and then, when Mr. Virgil Grover boards, Captain Cole assists the crewman in pushing the boat into the softly rolling surf before climbing in herself. Another few minutes and the longboat is aside the Sun Dog, the rope ladder hanging over the side and a couple of watch sailors standing by.
Anna is first to board, followed by Mr. Grover who pauses at the rail to scan the deck before swinging his leg over and fully boarding.
"Seen some rough seas, have ya?" Grover remarks dryly as he spots the still unrepaired damage from their last hunt.
"Rougher than some," Anna replies. "Satisfied tha' we are who we say we are?"
"No' quite," Virgil rolls his thick jaw about and considers the lay of the land, as it were, but Captain Cole is tired of playing the complacent and presses the issue.
"You asked t' see the ship, Mr. Grover," she narrows her eyes strikes a stubborn pose, feet shoulder-width apart, fists on her hips. "You've seen ‘er. I'll allow fer you t' inspect the cargo seein' ‘ow yer here, but mind yerself, sir. I'll no' accept a wit further insult withou' answerin' it in kind."
Grover lazily turns his tiny eyes to the protesting woman and with as little release of energy as possible, raises his eyebrows into the sweat beginning to form on his forehead. Beneath his walrus mustaches, the large man presses his lips together as his shoulders square to the much smaller captain. The watch sailors shift warily and drop their hands to their pistols and swords but make no further move. Virgil's beefy hands remain relaxed, however, and after a moment's further consideration he motions with his left and accompanies the extended arm with a low, "Then, t' the hold, captain."
Motioning the watch to the hold grating, Anna turns sharply on her heel and strides purposefully to the latched door they open. Hovering at the top of the descending stairs, she stiffly mimics his recent motion by extending her left hand towards the opening and offering, "After you."
Knowing Maggie's moods, Anna meets her eyes and gives a slight shake of the head before following the hulking tavern owner into the lower reaches of the Sun Dog. The message isn't so much to dissuade Mags from following and participating in the engagement as to warn to rage off and remind her to keep a cool head about her.
Mercifully cooler than the deck, the Dog's hold is mostly empty. Faint odors of saltwater, sweat, and other unpleasantries hang in the air with a persistence. Stronger whiffs of lime and oil caress the nostrils of all who have made their way into the shade, farming implements are tied against the small stack of barrels containing the raw lime, rough cut lumber in a pile approximately six feet tall and eighteen feet long runs up to the other side, and set next to the lumber are various pieces of residential furniture. The "treasure" is embarrassing to the captain, but she cannot run a ship without what little money it will bring in and is determined to negotiate the best price for it.
"This be it?" Grover folds his arms across his chest and rocks with the delicate sway of the ship.
"Aye," Anna cagily watches his response. "This be it."
"Wha's tha' smell?"
"Lime," Captain Cole replies steadily.
"Lime? Wha' the ‘ell is that good fer?"
"It's good fer somethin' or they wouldn' be shippin' it, now would they?" Anna boldly proceeds. "The furniture an' the wood'll bring a fair price on the market. As will the farmin' goods. I'll wager a pretty penny tha' the barrels o' lime'll fetch a fairly decent price as well. I'm willin' t' part with the whole cargo lot fer five hundred crowns."
To his credit, Virgil doesn't openly scoff. Doing so might have won him a shortsword in the gut by an irate Hellfire Maggie and it is possible that he sensed as much. Instead, he calmly counters with, "A hundred crown in cash, two hundred in promise at the sale o' the goods, an' another ten shillings in drink fer each o' yer crew at my tavern."
Anne begins a methodical stroll about the hold, her thumbs hooking her belt as she mentally works through the offer. After a time of consideration she turns to face the large business man and counters, "Four hundred an' seventy five crown. Two hundred in cash, two hundred in promise on the sale, an' seventy-five t' split amongst my crew in food, drink, an' women courtesy o' yerself."
And that's how the negotiations proceed for the next few minutes before Mr. Grover concedes to a price of four hundred crowns, one hundred and fifty in cash, two hundred and twenty-five in promise, and twenty-five in food, drink, and wenches for the crew. Anna accepts Virgil's outstretched hand and allows hers to be engulfed in its mass for a few shakes before extracting it.
"I'll see ya back t' shore, Mr. Grover," she declares and starts for the stairs.
"There be one last thing, Captain Cole," Virgil tilts his head on his thick neck and waits for her to turn around and face him again. "I'm wond'rin' if I can sweeten our relations a little."
"Careful, Mr. Grover," Anna Cole cautions, a wary look resting on her beautiful, freckled face.
"There was a time when I held a much larger share o' the sales here," Grover ignores her warning and charges forward with his offer. "Tha' is ‘til Davenport muscled me out. I wan' me share back an' I wouldn' mind seein' ol' Davenport experiencin' some o' the hurt he's put on my business as well."
"An' what makes you think we're the types t' handle tha' sort o' thing, Mr. Grover?" Anna refrains from looking to her sister to catch Maggie's reaction.
"Yer new t' Tortuga," Virgil replies easily. "Ya ‘ave little t' nothin' ‘cept what I jus' ceded in these here negotiations besides yer ship an' crew. People in these parts rely on reputation as much as skill an' ya do this, you'll be building on tha' reputation quickly and fiercely."
"Besides ‘avin' you owe us a rather large favor," Captain Cole states.
"Besides the favor," Virgil repeats.
"I'll think on it, Mr. Grover," Anna turns and begins ascending the stairs. "Meanwhile, I'll ‘ave me crew deliver the cargo t' yer warehouse if you'll tell Maggie where it be."
As the captain achieves the main deck, Virgil turns to Hellfire Maggie and scratches at his jaw. "I no longer ‘ave access to the main warehouses. Those be Davenports' now. Yer crew can deliver the goods t' me tavern. We'll put it in with the stores fer now.
"Davenport thinks he's dug in quite well, Maggie," Virgil shares in a quiet voice. "He won' be expectin' trouble. Should be easy, an' might include a nice haul fer the Sun Dog too. I'll be happy t' discuss shares o' whatever Davenport holds with yer captain at her leisure."
(OOC: Time is roughly 12:15 PM.)
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Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 11:17 A.M. - Port of Tortuga - The One-Eyed Parrot
"We been keelhauled fer shur!" Shark Tooth squints through his swollen right eye at the wounded man who lies bleeding on the floor with his own dagger protruding from his left leg.
"Muh name's Shark Tooth... Wylie 'Shark Tooth' Stryker. Ah best be gittin yer leg ta stop leakin' ballast ... shur dun look purty!"
Blackheart listens to his new found friend and feels relief that he is receiving help. "Me name is Daxon Blackheart mate. I am indebted to ye fer yer help."
"Ah be needin uh rum ter clean yer leg," the other man replies before turning gingerly to flag down one of the wenches swishing about in her skirts serving the remaining patrons.
A brunette with large, watchful eyes and pouting lips that give her the appearance of one none-too-pleased with being the one to answer the summons approaches if a little slowly. Shifting her gaze from the beaten man requesting her attention to the one still bleeding all over the floor, she stops a good four paces from Shark Tooth's right side and awaits his word.
"The salt ‘ere needs uh hand, miss," he struggles to look upon her face with his damaged one eye. "Is thar a surgeon about?"
"This be Tortuga Bay, mister," she winces as though feeling his pain as he talks. "We're no' like Boston ‘r the like with doctors an' such."
Wylie allows his head to droop a little with the news but presses on, "Then ah needs some o' yer ale an' a cloth."
"I'd be beat fer sure if I let ya bloody up one o' the cleanin' rags," the woman gasps.
Daxon moves slowly. He has been awaiting instruction from Wylie as to not further cripple the situation, well aware of the beating Shark Tooth took intervening and not being sure why someone would do that for a stranger. Now, at the onset of her argument, he checks his pockets for a token of payment to help Wylie get whatever he needs to assist and is comforted to find his coin purse still beneath his belt. Removing the leather bag made from the scrotum of a large bull he'd picked up in his travels, Blackheart grimaces as pain shoots up and down his leg. The sensation is nearly enough to do him in but he manages to keep his wits about him as he lies back down fully upon the floor. Fishing two fingers into the mouth of the purse, the wounded sailor finds a half-penny and holds it up high enough that the wench might see it.
"I'll see what I can do," she mumbles while taking the long way around Wylie's table and timidly approaching the fallen Blackheart to snatch the coin from his fingers.
As the serving girl makes her way to the bar under the watchful eye of the grizzled barkeep, Shark Tooth grunts away the pain coursing all through his body from the beating and does his best to help his new friend up to a tabletop. It's a challenge due to the wounds both have sustained but by the time the serving wench returns, Daxon the Blackheart is positioned somewhat securely on the table, his injured leg propped up on the back of one of the chairs, his other foot resting on the seat of the same chair.
"The ale is a farthin' an' the cloth's another," the woman says with obvious disgust in her voice while waiting to deliver the mug and stained cloth for the money to exchange hands. Once she's in receipt of the coins, the amber colored liquid is placed to Daxon's left along with the cloth and she quickly returns to the bar.
Dipping the cloth in the rum, Shark Tooth begins to explain his position. "Ah run me a gun crew aboard the Sun Dog—we jus' dropped anchor—bu' some time ago ah los' me a man an' need t' fin' a replacemen'."
Fire ignites within the wound in Blackheart's leg as the cloth is administered and Wylie grips the hilt. Again, Daxon is able to stave off the desire to pass out.
"This'll ‘urt, mind ya," Stryker casually says just as he yanks the dagger free and another jolt of lightning snakes through Blackheart's body. Darkness threatens the edge of Daxon's vision and he presses his lids together tightly to ward it off, gasping through the effort. Shark Tooth continues his work by pouring a large portion of the rum over the bubbling wound mixing the golden liquid with the bright red in a torrid spill of color.
"The Dog—she be a righ' swift ship—is captained by Anna Cole. Ah know, ah know. A woman, ya say! Bu' she's go' more guts than mos' men an' a ‘ead on her shoulders t' boot. Her li'l sis is the first mate—Ah know, ah know. It works on the Dog t' have a first mate. We call her Hellfire Maggie an' she deserves it, too."
Tying the rum soaked cloth around Blackheart's thigh, Wylie unsympathetically pats his work drawing more groans from between Daxon's clenched teeth. "Got us a good quartermaster as well, an' our sailmaster is gifted. You'll need t' meet with Fin—he's the Dog's quartermaster—an' Hellfire Maggie afore ya can sign on, but what say ye? Oh! An' we ‘ave Mr. Hughes too. He's our ship surgeon. He'll do ya a lot better than ah did fer tha' hole in yer leg."
(OOC: Time is approximately 11:25 AM.)
Posted on 2017-07-27 at 17:59:03.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Huzzah!
Updates! Feed the puppy Benedryl and tell work you need to take a "potty" break.
Posted on 2017-07-26 at 10:21:15.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I've made my play...
Wyatt is not even interested in winning if he feels (Intuition) that he can gain some valuable contacts. If not, then he'll do his best to win at least a few hands to keep himself even, if possible. He'll engage in conversation without revealing too much about Roc's crew or history and steer clear of drink. Once the evening has drawn on, or in the case of the Man in Tweed leaving or getting restless, he'll politely break away and ask Eagle for that introduction. If he can, Wyatt will catch Willow's eye as he's about to engage in business and her skillset is much appreciated.
Posted on 2017-07-25 at 19:06:21.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Day 1, Whitefall - Necessity, "The Slaughterhouse", 8:00 PM PT
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. As the day draws on, Captain Sung forces himself to ascend his room ladder and meet up with Ma to discuss pantry needs and to see what all she would like if he can locate it from the town. Money is as tight for the scarred matron as it is for everyone else so the list is short. The time spent together is pleasant all the same. Ma has a way of knowing when Wyatt is stressed and calming him through distractions and idle "chatter." She knows as well as any that Sung's soul is troubled; that he worries as to how he's going to keep Roc afloat and his crew fed. By the time he's to skidattle, she practically has to force him away from the game of backgammon they are playing (something they often do as they discuss the larder) and shoo him out the door to the cargo bay where the mule is stored.
Wyatt doesn't know what to expect of Necessity. The name is quaint but the meaning isn't lost to him. Having been a ranch owner himself before the war, he knows the struggles these people face. First thing he notices is the lack of apparent planning in the sprawl of the town. Buildings are lining the main street, sure enough, but after that it would seem that a child spilt his toy structures and someone righted them but left them where they lay.
Rolling up on the Slaughterhouse, Wyatt takes in the three-story building with no patio or veranda outside with a critical eye. A large, well-dressed man at the door carrying a sidearm greets Eagle-Eye pleasantly enough and smiles warmly at Wyatt as he approaches, opening the door for new arrivals. Captain Sung takes a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before drawing in the lay of the establishment like a long breath.
"There be rules here," Eagle speaks up from Wyatt's elbow, "Kim don't put up with trouble so don't give any. You get one warning and then you are out. You are here on my word so I'd appreciate it if we kept things civilized." He smiles at Wolf. "No fighting. Do not draw a weapon unless you hear a siren or someone yells, ‘reavers.' Women serve food and booze here—nothing else. You looking for company, the Honeydew will do ya. Oh, if you do hear sirens, there's a basement there," He points to a trapdoor in the centre of the room. "Men head to doors and window and defend, women and young'un go to the basement first, then we maintain an orderly retreat. If we're breached, the door is sealed and we take care of each other—you catch my meaning."
Sung does know what he means. Stories of Reavers have been all over the Cortex. Most are dismissed outright, but not by this captain. Wyatt has seen atrocities committed by men who claim to be civilized and he can well accept that those caught on the god-forsaken fringes of the ‘Verse could do far worse. Not deeming anything their host has said as response worthy, the dark-haired captain follows Eagle-Eye towards a six-person table where four players are involved in a game of poker.
"Evening gentlemen," Eagle says as he approaches and points to one of the empty chairs, "Where's Ernest?"
The man dealing barks a laughed, "Oh, he ain't gonna be here tonight. Got himself a woman that won't say no so he is occupied."
"Really?" Eagle-Eye sounds surprised and Wyatt immediately assumes that this Ernest isn't exactly a player with the womenfolk. "When did he meet her?"
"Recent hire of serving staff as I understand it," the fellow responds. "Apparently, she likes to serve him more than dinner." The other men at the table laugh and ante in.
"Oh. Well good for Ernest. He could use a little TLC. Or a lot. Either way gentlemen, this here is (introduces all who are there). This here is Dimitri, he's a sheep wrangler."
Dimitri, the dealer, nods and smiles, "Nice to meet you. Sheep wrangler is not as dirty as Eagle makes it sound."
"This here is Giles, a cattle rancher."
"Pleasure," Giles replies doffing his bowler hat to reveal a balding head.
"This is Hiram. He ain't a farmer but we let him hang out."
"And I am so honoured by your letting me lose, too. Evening." Hiram stands and makes a point of shaking everyone's hand.
"Enos—he owns the general store."
Enos nods without saying anything.
"And this is Jeremiah, another cattle rancher. We got a lot of them in these parts."
"Hello!" Jeremiah says like he has discovered a gold coin. His gaze is fixed directly on Fenris.
Eagle pats Wyatt on the shoulder and gestures slightly to the bar and a man in a tweed suit, sitting alone. "That there is Saul Potter. I can take you over to him if you like and introduce you—before we start a new hand. Or if you'd like to join the game—Ernest's good fortune can be yours as well. We don't play big money, we just like a social game. He is likely to be there all night. We can grab a couple of chairs if you boys want to join. The more the bigger the pot."
Eyeing the suit, Wyatt wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and contemplates the social position he's just been put in. On one hand, if he heads straight for a resolution of possible business he can put that side of their plight to rest, potentially. On the other hand, doing so might paint him to be a none-too-friendly type and that could hurt his chances for future business. Ranchers and farmers have the occasional needs that a crew like Roc's can fulfill, but without networking there's no real chance of coming up flush. Turning back to the table, Sung considers what little money he has and his chances of winning anything. He is not a gambling man. When he commits to something it is because he ethically has to, or he knows that he's got a good chance of coming out on top. Of course, winning at poker with a bunch of potential clients isn't exactly a way into their confidence. Losing, on the other hand,
"It's been somethin' of a day, Eagle, an' yer likely wantin' t' kick yer boots up an' have a good time fer a bit. I don't mind a game o' cards every now and again. What's the game?"
(OOC: Answer)
"Well," Wyatt pushes his hat back on his head and raises his brow. "If'n there's room at the table you can deal me in." Looking at his remaining crew, Wyatt gives them the nod releasing them into the wilds of the saloon.
Posted on 2017-07-25 at 19:02:47.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Gratzi!
I appreciate the well-wishes. I have returned and am ready to continue this seafaring adventure.
Posted on 2017-07-25 at 17:21:40.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Thank you all.
I'm back and will be looking to continue the game, read the updated posts, etc. shortly.
Posted on 2017-07-25 at 17:21:00.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: SilentOne...
Writer's block is only ever overcome by writing. I'm not talking about the ever present option of waiting for inspiration. I'm referring to actually beating writer's block into submission.
Write about anything. Describe the room you are in, your most recent meal, how annoying that freakin' fly is that's buzzing around your head. Anything. The very act of writing (no matter how good or bad the subject, grammar, or prose) is what breaks through the muck of the block.
And for the rest of you! I've returned from my anniversary weekend so... ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE!?
Posted on 2017-07-25 at 17:20:18.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: This upcoming Monday
By way of an FYI, I may or may not be posting Monday. This weekend is my wedding anniversary and I'll be spending tomorrow through Monday with my wife. Depending on the downtime, I may get the post in.
Posted on 2017-07-20 at 14:49:46.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Mission Trips...
Have I mentioned that I love the fact that you do those, Hammer! I'm more than happy to carry your character whenever you need me to in those cases.
FYI - My wedding anniversary is this weekend. Rather than become un-married, I will be devoting tomorrow through Monday to my wife which most likely means I will not be posting an update to the game Monday but will post Tuesday. There may be down time from the festivities where I will post, but I thought I'd give you a heads up just in case.
Posted on 2017-07-20 at 14:45:58.
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Topic: Star Trek: the Edge of Duty Q&A
Subject: I hear tell
That the Captain is preparing to make a post!
Posted on 2017-07-19 at 10:40:36.
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Topic: Looking for games
Subject: These are all great games!
There's also the Cyberpunk game that has been going for a while but isn't even out of its infancy in terms of where they stand in the Run. I have a Medtech character that could use a player as the one I recruited from elsewhere seems to have vanished.
Posted on 2017-07-19 at 10:39:51.
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Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Thank you for the post!
I appreciate it, Keeper.
Looking forward to everyone else's posts.
Posted on 2017-07-19 at 10:38:03.
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Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: No bread for me...
Which eliminates most of the burger and all of the onion rings.
I'll go with a nice steak though! Steaks are like burgers but without the cape. No capes.
Posted on 2017-07-19 at 10:36:06.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I see that...
...The cheeseburger properly nourished you. Great post. I didn't leave you a whole lot to work with and you passed muster. It honestly wasn't intentional.
The character creation side is moving right along. I'll hopefully have a couple of additional character sheets out to players this week.
I'll be making the game update Monday as scheduled since it looks like we still have some players who need to post.
Posted on 2017-07-19 at 10:34:21.
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Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I'm glad the results of the fight...
... didn't turn you away Elious. And, Eol, I'm good with what you've done.
Posted on 2017-07-18 at 16:01:12.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Shiny!
Loved it all.
Posted on 2017-07-18 at 10:54:31.
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What game do you own the 
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
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