It’s the great equalizer. It’ll stop a troll the size of car as easily as the smallest dwarf or the thinnest elf. It ain’t a weapon, spell or even a dragon—it’s hunger. When it’s time to eat, you just gotta get the stuffers into your stomach before you go berserk. They used to be called junk food or munchies. They’re probably just as good for you as nutrisoy and krill-filler, regardless of those ads from the Nutrition Council. When the pangs hit, there’s only one place to go (especially when the sun rises in about an hour) to find that kind of chow. It’s the place everyone loves to hate: Stuffer Shack.
Our story starts with a Shack in the northern Boston Sprawl, UCAS, on March 15th, 2072. The only way you'd know is from the outside, though, because on the inside the Shack looks just like every other installation across the world. Great tracts of neon and fluorescent lights leech away at the colors, giving everything in the place a touch of gray overcast. It's the home of synth-alcohol, soykaf, cheap porno-simchips, 3D greeting cards, pneumatic fluid, cheap fetish trinkets with less magic than a deck of playing cards, and all the stuffers you could want, with none of the social or nutritional value that comes along with a good bite to eat. There's a smell that can't quite be identified, and probably shouldn't be.
You could probably navigate the place with your eyes closed, since you've been in Stuffer Shacks before, and often enough to know the layout. You may not even need to think about what you want to get: some people spend so much nuyen here over the years that they ought to own stock in the company. You've got your soykaf, your soy-snacks, your heat-on-open soy meals in a can; just about the only thing you don't see is genuine food that came out of the ground instead of a factory. But hey, it's cheap, it's open, and it's here.
There are several folks in the Shack at the late hour when we arrive at four in the morning. The store clerk on duty is a young human with half-open eyes, absently flipping through a holo-zine. Chatting him up is a pudgy, homely-looking dwarf, filing her nails and yammering on about what sounds to be a completely mundane day. A middle-aged human man appears to be sampling "ice cream" in the frozen aisle, using his finger to test them before putting the containers back. In Aisle 7 (pet food), a human couple in punk rock regalia--lots of leather, chains, and zippers, with fringe for lack of taste--is getting handsy and romantic.
Sylvie once again turns over the bag of soychips, eyeing it with almost wrathful intensity. In her other massive paw is a nearly identical bag of soychips, with barely different branding and of a smaller size. That one was on sale.
With a resigned sigh, she puts the larger bag of soychips in the cheap plastic shopping bag, and is about to lumber over to the cashier when a sprawling tattoo on her left hands shifts slightly. Grumbling, the young troll moves over to the ice cream isle, giving the man there an odd look.
Four in the morning. Another night with no sleep. Considering this awful last month it came at no surprise, though.
Submerged in his thoughts came Nicholas Smith, another sleepless day weighting on him. A quick nod to the clerk was the only ceremony, and the man in the long coat went straight to get his fix: soysnacks, cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey.
Well, cheap and sinthetic whiskey but it would do the trick.
When was the last time you drank anything of quality, Nick? Or ate, for what is worth. Rose was the one who knew how to cook, you can barely heat some soywieners without screwing them.
"The devil's kiss first." muttered Nick smiling to himself, as he crossed through the dog food aisle towards the booze one.
Giving a quick look to the post-punk pre-marital couple, Nick reflexively tapped his holster. He was so used to getting shot without getting paid that he usually slept wearing it. That's it... when he slept through a night.
Ignoring his own gesture, he grabbed the least oily looking bottle and headed to get his munchies, where he almost bumped into the undecided troll.
"Pardon, ma'am, I dinnae see you..." was his apology, before continuing his way. Not even four steps later he turned to curiously peek at her as she walked to the ice cream aisle.
Talking to anyone other than yourself for once won't harm you, you chummer. What are you waiting for?
Sighing and wondering what was hetrying to achieve, Nick followed her.
"You seem to be an expert on soychips, which one would you recommend a bored, sleepless, forty years old human? I'm on a hi-carb diet."
Halal. Heh, sure, I guess that's possible. Phineas turns the can of hot-on-open dumpling with onions soup over in his hand. Between the pounding in his head and these insanely bright fluorescent lights. Why, exactly, do they have to be so bright? The man sighs and pulls his Red Sox cap lower over his eyes.
He makes his way over to the drink isle and tries to find some tea. Black. Green. Kahwah...yeah, we'll see. Picking up one of the plastic bottles he taps the top absentmindedly with his thumb as he makes his way to the counter. Turning the corner into an aisle he notices the large troll woman and the other man. He stops short, drops his gaze and hesitates a moment, then turns around to take another aisle. Ugh, this place is always packed at this time of night.
Sylvie gives a small chuckle. "Get a job. That way you won't have to eat this processed crap. Of course, I can't exactly go lecturing you about that," she says, before pausing for a moment. "Snappers. They sink to the bottom of your gut quickly, make you think you're not hungry for a few hours. Or if you need a quick boost in the morning, Chipper Chips are chock-full of soykaf. Lot cheaper, too." The troll shakes her head. "It is sorry that I know this crap."
The troll takes an actual look at Nick, scanning his stance, any bulges that might be weapons, and current state of slouch. "On bad times too, arentcha chummer? Say, do you know any good handymen to fix my friend's bike? She said she'd reimburse me if I got it done fast. My mechanic is outta town right now."
Nathaniel emits a heavy sigh as he leaves the aisle with the pet food, having had to squeeze his way past the amorous couple on his way towards the counter. He ducks down through another aisle quickly, with a large bag of dog food slung over one slim shoulder. "Excuse me," he says, his voice rough and tired. He pauses for a second as the troll mentions a mechanic, backing up a step. "You need a mechanic? I... might be able to help. What's wrong with the bike?" Despite his relatively small size, the massive bag of dog food doesn't seem to hinder him. While he's certainly not as strong as the troll standing in front of him, the elf's thin frame hid strength you might not expect. One chrome arm holds the bag on his shoulder, while the other hovers at his waist, next to the holster of a pistol. He doesn't make a move for it, but it's obvious the man isn't worried about someone catching him without the proper licenses.
His spare hand brushes the bangs of his short hair, a stark white, from his face. "I'm not really a mechanic, per say, but I can find my way around things well enough. I won't have it done in an hour or two, but it'll get done."
The troll smiles. "Thanks for the offer. But the bike's an oldie. Hell, even my Mr. Fix-It had to have serious connections, and ask me for a few favors, to repair it last time it broke down." Sylvie rolls her shoulders and sighs. "It would've been a whole lot easier to get the money together for rent this month if I still had my old job in demolitions. Not the stuff with the explosives, though. I like working with more subtle hand tools. More precise." It's starkly obvious to any shadowrunner that the troll is not-so-subtly dropping hints that a) she's out for a fixer, at least for now, and b) she's hurting for cash, badly.
Phineas starts down another aisle before looking up and seeing the slightly too romantic couple. Seriously? With a sigh and a slight shake of his head he abruptly stops in his tracks. The elf taps the brim of his cap down, pushes the glasses back up his nose, and turns to go down another path. Still idly tapping his bottle, he thinks, Something new every night.
The automatic doors slide open as another late night visitor steps in off the street. Victoria momentarily shields her eyes from the overly bright neon, pulling her hoodie tighter over her neon blue hair. The teen glances at the cashier and nods once before heading straight for the food. She barely seems to pay attention to any of the other customers, grabbing a pre-packaged soyburger from a shelf. "Dad always hated me eating this stuff. But he's no here to complain about it anymore. Besides, I need protein. Even if it's sh*tty soy protein."
Anya despaired at finding anything that really inspired her appetite. She'd had only three krill-steaks an hour ago, so naturally she was starting to have hunger pangs, and her standards were dropping.
In despair she wandered over to the frozen foods section. She usually didn't buy from here, but tonight she was willing to wade into the deep end of stuffers.
She glanced at row after row of stomach-turning faux-chocolate bars and "ice cream" sandwiches made of things that even she dared not touch...and that when she saw it! The very very, very last quart of Killer Krill Krazy Ripple. Yes! At last, bliss and joy would be hers. She moved to possess that which she sought...
Then a guy moved in front of her. In slow motion he reached into the ice cream section, and...took the Killer Ripple. Anya's heart sank as she knew the depths of despair. Ah well, at least he WHAT THE FRAG IS HE DOING?!? The man opened the quart, tasted a finger-full...and then PUT IT BACK?!?
Anya turned to see what other flavors were left, but her right arm snapped up, her taunt arm holding the autopistol unerringly at the man. "You can either pay for that, or your brain matter can decorate it. Your call, chummer," she mumbles softly to the man. The autopistol disappears back up her sleeve as fast as it came out as her hand falls back at her side.
There are certain places in hell reserved for those types. Right next to child molesters and people who talked during the trids.
Only half following the conversation about motorcycles and lack of cash, Nick defaulted to his second favourite hobby (the first being talking with himself about how stupid he usually was): observing his surroundings.
That's why the faint -And quite fast, faster than you Nick... must be a chromey or bioaug'd.- shine of a gun caught his attention. The ex-cop tried to listen what all the fuzz was about, but most importantly, to discern if he was going to get shot before dawn.
Recognising the finger dipper, it dawned on him that it was probably a dispute around the rights over a certain ice cream, so he simply returned his attention to the troll and the elf Note to self: the elf must be ex-military, ex-cop, ex-security or at least trained... you know their pose and standing, same as yours Nick...-
Or he tried to, his damned chivalry sense kickstarting again. With a sighing sound, Nick excused himself for a moment, with actual intention of returning with them -You took a liking to the troll's straightforward honesty, aint'ya, bo? Good, you need some friends before you talk back to me instead of only listening-, and walked closer to the young woman and the weirdo, close enough so he could tackle the first chummer to try and open fire before everybody there started a hardcore food war... but far away enough so he wouldn't have to get involved otherwise.
With that plan in mind, Nick started "browsing" the items in that aisle, gazing from time to time to his attention's focus.
Victoria glances around the corner at the rather large woman in the ice cream aisle. Her hand goes straight to the large front pocket of her hoodie for a moment, her form visibly tensing for a moment. "Interesting crowd tonight. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone will start something. I could use some entertainment." She chuckles and grabs a bag of soychips. She hesitates, then decides not to go ice cream shopping when there's a twitchy orc between her and the goods.
The elf turns round the last corner, down the aisle for frozen goods, just in time to see a pistol flashed and hidden as quickly as it came. This is like a bad joke. Phineas pushes his glasses further up his nose and shakes the bottle as he makes a quick u-turn and goes back to finding another aisle to walk through.
So at this point, from what I understand, Sylvie, Nick, and Nathaniel are in the ice cream section of the frozen doors, near the front of the store. Anya's there too, currently threatening the dipper. Victoria's over in the chips, which are a ways off, but she can see down that way--certainly enough to see a troll and an ork. Phineas is probably near the back of the store, having turned back into aisles after seeing the stuff going down in frozen.
The man dipping ice cream doesn't react to Anya's threat for a moment, staring directly at the space the gun occupied even after it's hidden away again. Finally, he stammers out, "S-s-s-s-s-s-" and swallows heavily before he can finish the word. He quickly reaches back into the freezer to grab the container, probably so he can leave.
A new arrival interrupts the exchanges, though, with the dual sounds of automatic doors and a crying infant. Through the entrance comes a moderately attractive elf woman, clutching a baby in her arms. The clerk and his girlfriend--as well as the couple in pet food--are visibly perturbed by the noise, which is interrupting what should be the quiet stupor of the late late night.
Just as the woman reaches the aisles, though, another interruption comes, and chummers, this one's a lot more straightforward. Just outside the doors an explosion occurs, orange flame and smoke leaping up where there was previously a standard car. The shock blasts out the windows and doors all along the front of the Shack, and glass and stuffers go flying. Without the support, the front wall buckles and starts to cave in, and the ceiling groans and shifts over, lights sparking as they sway down. Everyone in the store is thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, although our runners are quick enough to get to their feet again without much downtime.
There's a brief moment of shocked silence, but one thing's clear: hell's breaking loose at the Stuffer Shack.
I do want to give you guys a quick chance to react to things going on here, but I'll stress quick and moment. You can all stand up freely, but other than that, you're looking at a few words and/or a simple action at most, with maybe some movement. Here's a handy picture of the shack's layout; K is the frozen section, with ice cream near the front of the store (the bottom edge of the picture). The first four sections of shelf are now demolished, as is the front of the counter in area A, and, sadly, the trid arcade in area B.
Baby. Where's the baby? Phineas wasn't sure why that was his first thought, but he also wasn't concerned with that so much as the failing roof. He didn't bother picking up the things he dropped.
Sylvie wastes no time being dumbstruck, and quickly analyzes the situation. "Everybody! Get to cover!" Sylvie proceeds to scramble behind the nearest shelf and unholster her handcannon-emphasis on cannon.
Victoria's head spins toward the new arrival as the door opens. "So of a..." She barely has time to finish her thought before the front of the store f*cking explodes. She immediately dives for cover behind the nearest shelf, drawing her holdout pistol from inside her jacket. She pokes her head around the corner, quickly assessing the situation.
"Always know who or what you're dealing with," her father always said. "Know their numbers, positions, and armament. Take an instant to plan your moves. How can the environment help you? Where are their blindspots? Who else might be on your side? Take every advantage. Then act."
"Oh, drek," Nathaniel says, ducking and rolling behind one of the shelves as he reaches for his pistol. "Money might be tight, but I knew I should have sprung for the good stuff..." the elf mutters, eyeing the bag of dog food now lying in the middle of the aisle. He pulls the pair of goggles on his forehead down over his eyes, and they light up with the flip of a switch. He checks the magazine of his Ares Predator once before he levels it at the door, finger resting outside the trigger guard until he sees movement.
"Cuervo, if you hadn't wanted your fraggin' soychips..." the elf mutters to himself.
Perception:6d6 ⇒ (6, 2, 4, 5, 4, 3) = 24 Total of 2 successes.
Nicholas smiles to himself, he knes full well the week was being too mild Hello darkness my old friend
A quick glance to make sure everybody is unharmed was the only thing before he dove into cover and grabbed his pistol.
Quick question: As my cybereyes have recorder and image link, would it be feasible to quickly sort through the moments before the explosion to 'use perception' looking for the source or is it a process that would take longer than simple perception? If he can't do that, Nick's going to stay alert and watch the entrance.
"Drek," Anya mutters as she picks herself up. Seeing that no one is currently shooting at her, she ducks behind the nearest intact endcap and quietly pulls out the HK 227.
Joining the other eyes sweeping the wreckage, she turns on her Radar Sensor and pings outward, trying to get a count on any approaching hostiles.
While waiting for the dust to clear, she notices that a bag of FunSunSoyChips has spilled onto the floor. With her attention co-processor looking out for people trying to kill her, she has attention to spare to reach down and start crunching a few salty chips. 'Bad news: I might die by fire. Good news: Hey. Free chips!'
Our runners come to quickly and begin to take cover draw weapons, knowing a fight is upon them. (I meant to comment earlier at some point asking what all people would have on them to a Stuffer Shack run, but it seems like you all picked up on that anyway.) The direct source of the explosion was clear: it originated in a car just outside the doors, now a smoldering wreck of metal and flame. The more human source becomes apparent shortly after everyone comes to, though: three large figures who step into what was the dingy front of the store. All three are armed, two with pistols and one with a carbine, and the man with the bigger gun calls out in a rough voice, thick with the accent distinctive to the Boston Sprawl's slums.
"Ahright! Nobody gets hurt if ya keep ya yaps shut stay outta the way. Tell me where the lady with the baby is, and ya live to see the sunrise." The speaker takes one more step into the restaurant and you can see he's even bigger than the other two, although not the size of a troll. All three men appear to be wearing ski masks; the two with pistols are wearing armored jackets, while the front man has apparently traded safety for style with a new brand protective vest.
All of you who rolled Perception noticed where the woman and her baby ended up: they're on the ground, partially hidden under some collapsed shelving and goods, although they look mostly unharmed. They're definitely not in view from where the gunmen currently stand. Anya and Phineas, you both also notice a fourth figure approaching the Stuffer Shack from outside, walking up at a fairly leisurely pace--likely an accomplice of this group.
Since I'm assuming combat is likely to break out here, I'm gonna go ahead and roll initiative now, but that doesn't mean we're moving into round-by-round instantly, just gives us the setup for when we do.
INITIATIVE: Sylvie, Nick, Nathaniel, Victoria, Gunmen, Phineas, Anya. Obviously if somebody declares "I take a shot" they get to go first for that round, and then we'll go through regular order after that.
It's your call whether or not I need another Perception check for this, but I'm going to roll just in case. Can Nathaniel spot any obvious cyberware on any of these guys, especially the leader? He's looking in particular for things like cyberlimbs or cybereyes, but anything he can spot will do.
Perception + Intuition:6d6 ⇒ (2, 5, 6, 1, 3, 6) = 23 Total of 3 successes.
Great, Nick, moral quandaries. Your skin or the baby's? Who are ya trying to lie to, Nick? It's never yours...
Nick crouched sligthly to peek without offering a clear target and observed the chummers. None of them seemed to carry heavy ordinance, so either they carried some det-candies... or one of them was a wizard.
Perception to confirm the lack of explosives/appearance of damned mucked mages:8d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 4, 5, 6, 3, 3, 6) = 36 4 successes
Nick turned to the itchy trigger woman, and he realised she was an orc. A beautiful and human looking one, but an orc. Smiling, he whispered "Psst! Miss Quick Draw! I'm gonna draw these chummers' attention, can you spot the baby? There's a backdoor over there." as he pointed with his head.
She smells like danger, Nick... danger and vanilla. Or is it verbena? Anyway, cut it chummee. You decided to be a damned hero, go bleed to glory.
Without waiting for a response, he crawled closer to the attackers, stopping before the last standing aisle.
"Hoi, big boy! How can I shut my yap and tell you drek at the same time? It's late and explosions don't fragging help my understanding" he yelled as he prepared to open fire on the speaking one.
Anya made a quick mental note of the radar-pings and mentally tagged each of them. Baby and lady over there, forth man over there, still inbound.
"Dude," she replies softly to the man addressing her, "these guys just blew up a car -and- my fav 'Shack. Grabbing package an' skee-fragging-daddling are -not- in my wheelhouse. Creds or cuts, they're gonna pay. But you wanna lead off this dance, so let a lady follow."
'That guy look familiar? Smells like a cop. Didn't I date a cop when I first got here? What was his name? Paul? Something with a P? Or an S? Steve? What did he look like?'
The thought goes nowhere as she gets bored and starts lining up a shot on the funboy nearest to her. She didn't really -want- to be the first to shoot. Okay, yes she did. But she wouldn't this time.
Normally I'd post a combat action out of turn just to save time, but here it actually matter what people are doing before me, so I'm here! Just waiting to see what happens before my pass.
Sylvie doesn't even waste time for witty banter. She slowly emerges out of her cover, hands up and holding her massive Sheriff by the trigger. "Alright, alright, here's my weapon," she says calmly. "Now I'm going to drop it. Don't worry, the safety's on," In the split second that the handcannon is in the air, Sylvie leaps forward, leg outstretched in a flying side kick towards the nearest goon.
"And I thought tonight was going to be boring. Come on, come on, someone do something. Start the party." She's actually smiling, her hands clenched tightly around her pistol. She giggles as the massive troll promptly jumps in and starts to kick the sh*t out of the thugs. "There we go!"
Same as Phineas actually. Let's get some action here!
And here I thought we'd have some parleying going on. I'm kind of glad I didn't update earlier. (Although I also didn't have the time to do more than check in.)
Nick and Anya trade a glance, and it's clear that sooner or later a fight is going to break out--probably sooner. Nick is the first to respond to the gunman, and all three intruders turn their weapons to point at his shelf as he speaks. There's a brief pause and then one of the men with pistols drops it slightly. "Yeah, Crank, he makes a point..."
"Shut up!" The one with the rifle--apparently Crank--shifts his grip on it and takes a cautious step forward. "Listen, how's about ya step outta there and we talk this out."
Nick contemplates this as he keeps his eyes open, glancing through the gaps in the shelving to see what's going on. It's not easy to tell a mage on sight unless they're flashing their skills, but Nick does catch a fourth figure who's made it to the burning car wreck--a figure in some sort of long coat or robe, and not apparently armed.
About then Sylvie makes her own move. The gunmen turn to look at her--all three, switching their attention entirely from Nick--and Crank stupidly lets his gun drop a few inches. "See, now that's what I--" Then the troll launches herself forward, a couple of the goons start to swear, and a foot connects soundly with Crank's face. There's a sickening crunch as his neck snaps backwards, and he drops to the ground without ceremony, the gun dropping from his hands. By the by, that doesn't look like a glitch to me, so you didn't need to spend any Edge.
The troll doesn't stop there, though, and she swings around in a haymaker to one of the pistol fellows. This one, however, brings his arm up to block the swing, and actually succeeds. After a moment, the sound of the block catches up and sheds some sense: a metallic clang, dampened slightly by the man's jacket. Apparently he's got some chrome under that sleeve.
Nick, Nathaniel, and Victoria are up before the enemies. The pistol-wielders are inside the store, the unarmed man is by the car outside. The apparent leader, Crank, is currently lying fairly still on the floor, blood coming out of his nose and mouth.
Rolls:
Crank Tries to Block:6d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 4, 3, 2, 4) = 18Hahahaha no hits DR vs. 15P:9d6 ⇒ (3, 2, 4, 3, 2, 4, 6, 4, 5) = 332 hits, not enough to save him. Pistol Man Tries to Block:6d6 ⇒ (1, 3, 5, 6, 5, 3) = 233 hits, wow.
Phineas ducks down behind the shelves and concentrates. This is going to hurt.
Summoning a Force 10 Spirit of Man. Going for one that has an Innate Spell (Improved Invisibility). Normally I wouldn't go this big, but Phineas hasn't ever had something blow up next to him before, so he's kind of going overboard. I'm also not planning on asking it to manifest...yet.
Nick watched dumbfounded as probably half a tonne of troll lunged forward with a kick that even Crank's ancestors sure have felt.
His eyes returned to the man in the robe, and Nick gritted his teeth. Come on, Nick. Trust me, I'm your damned instinct. Why would a civ walk towards a explosion site unarmed within sight of three guntotting thugs? Geek the mage.
With a half-smile, Nick showed from behind the trusty aisle. Raising his gun to better aim, the investigator exhaled and fired. Twice, just to be sure.
Okay, Free action take Aim. Simple Action to shot and 'nother Simple to shot. Just in case.
1 take aim, 2 smartlink, -1 range, 6 guns, 2 semi auto spec, 4 agi First Bang bang:14d6 ⇒ (5, 3, 4, 6, 2, 3, 4, 5, 4, 5, 5, 3, 3, 3) = 55 5 successes Second Bang bang:13d6 ⇒ (5, 4, 1, 4, 1, 6, 2, 5, 5, 4, 4, 1, 3) = 45 4 successes
"Perfect," Nathaniel mutters, as he hears the sound of the metallic clang. He seems to hesitate for a moment, but ultimately decides to take a shot at the robed figure, guessing it'd be best if he could take out the mage now rather than later. One of the lenses on his goggles rotates slightly, calculating the angle of his shot, and a second later the elf fires twice in rapid succession, both shots headed for the robed man's chest. "Leave the other one!" he hollers, before ducking back behind cover. "I can deal with him later."
"Right, why would I leave one of these thugs breathing?" Victoria leans around the shelf, getting a clear line of sight on the man who hasn't been attacked yet. She lines up her shot and opens fire on the man.
Nick, it's worth noting that Taking Aim is a Simple Action, not a free one, so you'd only be able to make one attack rather than two if you used it. Trades output of fire for making a shot really count. Not that it matters much this time.
Even as the echo of Sylvie's strike is ringing out, and the leader of the gunmen is falling to the ground, a drekload of bullets comes blazing out of the shelves of the Stuffer Shack. Nick is the first to start shooting, and although he hasn't been looking at shadow work for long, he keeps to one of the field's best pieces of advice and geeks the f*cking mage. His shots both connect with the robed figure's torso, and the newcomer collapses with barely a sound, falling to the pavement outside.
Seeing this, Nathaniel quickly switches his shots to the gunman not yet attacked. His smartgun system activates, pinpointing the best placement for his shots, and the Ares technology doesn't disappoint. The bullets slam into the man's chest, slipping through weak points in his jacket to drop him senseless and bloody to the Stuffer Shack floor.
Finally, Victoria draws her own pistol and fires a couple shots at the only standing figure left, the man who blocked Sylvie's punch. The rifleman might have been the "leader" of the group, but this man once again proves himself perhaps the toughest: both shots connect home, pounding into his torso, but he remains standing, his arm locked against the troll's.
It does look like the tough is smart enough to cut his losses, though, as his wild eyes take in the rapid gunfire and the huge opponent bearing down on him. "Oh, f*ck this drek," he shouts, dropping his arm and stepping back from Sylvie. With barely a backward glance he takes off sprinting away from the Shack, back into the early morning darkness of the parking lot and beyond.
We are still in initiative, at least in theory, if anybody wants to try and take the guy out. Everyone/anyone is "up" at this point, or you can just move on to figuring out what else is going on, just let me know.
Rolls:
Mage Reaction 1:3d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 5) = 101 success
[dice=Damage "Resist" vs. 8P]3d6[/dice] No successes!
[dice=Damage "Resist" vs. 9P]3d6[/dice] 1 success
Pistol Man 1 Reaction 1:3d6 ⇒ (2, 4, 1) = 71 success Pistol Man 1 DR vs. 9P:12d6 ⇒ (2, 4, 6, 4, 6, 1, 2, 1, 4, 1, 3, 5) = 393 successes Pistol Man 1 Reaction 2:1d6 ⇒ 4Heh Pistol Man 1 DR vs. 13P:12d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 1, 5, 1, 3, 1, 6, 6, 2, 2, 3) = 393 successes
Pistol Man 2 Reaction 1:0 = 0As the modifiers have reduced his dice pool to 0 Pistol Man 2 DR vs. 9P:12d6 ⇒ (1, 2, 4, 6, 2, 1, 4, 6, 5, 5, 2, 2) = 406 successes, wow Pistol Man 2 DR vs. 9P again:12d6 ⇒ (2, 4, 6, 6, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 1, 1, 5) = 51G~% d~%n pistol man, you a badass. 6 successes again.
Since Trolls have a higher base speed than any other metatype...
Sylvie almost lazily closes the distance between her and the final assailant. When she reaches him, she waves a finger in rebuke. "I have some really f%%!ing critical questions, and when you wake up, you're going to answer them," she says calmly, before swinging an uppercut with enough force to K.O. even the most wired up of prize fighters, following it up with a lightning-fast roundhouse if it proves necessary.
Anya peeks up from her hiding spot, ready to take some heroic action of some kind or another, but when she sees a charging troll running hell-bent after the last remaining gunman, she things better of it. 'Meh. Why bother?'
She bends down and grabs the remains of the torn bag of chips and stuffs another in another mouthful. 'Mmmm. Chicken an' Waffle!' Not her usual fare, but she's busy claiming it right of conquest. Or Right of Heroics? Right of Savior? Right of Pillaging!
She daintily picks her way across the rubble, sending out radar pings looking for the mother and child that were the target of so much hullabaloo, and also for the clerk and his slotport that was so banally chatting him up.
As Sylvie gives chase to the running man, Phineas ducks down and begins summoning a spirit. It takes a great deal of concentration as he reaches out to contact something powerful, and a trickle of blood starts running from one nostril as his eyes roll back (1 physical damage). After a few seconds, though, a ghostly shape begins to take form in the aisle. It is vaguely humanoid in shape, hulking the height of a troll but with a slightly leaner build. Phineas opens his eyes to regard it, and with his sense of astral perception, he sees the spirit open its own eyes, which shine fierce like fire. A voice booms in the elf's mind, deep and hateful. Wh̴o͟ ̴d̀a҉res i̵nv͘ók͢e my̨ ̨p͠resence̶ ͠i҉n͠ this͠ pi̵t̨i͏f̷ul̸ place?̛ S͞ṕe̢ak yoųr̷ ́wil͟l,͏ ̧morta̧l̨,͝ ́an̨d̢ pr̀ay͏ ̷I̴ do͢ n͞ot͢ ͝k͟i͝ll y̴ǫu bef́o͝r̶e ̢g҉o͝ing on ͡my w̕ay̛.͜
Anya, meanwhile, makes her way toward where the woman and her baby fell. The pair seem to be in good shape for going through an explosion: there's a small cut on the woman's forehead, but otherwise she looks only dazed, and the child is quiet, but its eyes are wide open and looking around. They seem more shocked than injured. The clerk and his girlfriend also look relatively fine, as does the man from the ice cream aisle--he's currently trying to climb into one of the freezer doors, apparently not aware the trouble's already over.
Sylvie catches up with the last gunman near the edge of the parking lot, and he glances behind as he hears her heavy steps. "No-no-no-no-no-don't--!" he shouts, and tries to bring his arms up to fend off her attack. It proves harder to stop a troll when you've got a couple of bullets in you, though, and Slyvie's first punch connects heavily with his jaw. He slumps and she easily grabs his unconscious form and hauls him back toward the Shack.
Sylvie walks in brusquely, muttering, "I just wanted some chips. Why do I always end up getting embroiled in some sort of insane plot every time I just want to get a snack?" Pulling herself together, she turns to the other people who had good enough reflexes and gear to hop into action. "I'll put it simply: we don't know who that chick is, we don't know why that baby's important, and we don't know who sent these thugs. But that's not the point. For the ones who still have a scrap of morality, she's innocent, and that's enough to help her out and stop... whatever the hell is happening. I fall in this first category. But for those of you who take the wet work jobs, the ransoming, the terrorism gigs? You're part of this, whether you like it or not. The person who sent these thugs is probably scrambling to find out right now how their target managed to hire a crack shadowrunning team. Sure, you can say f$~* it and leave, but then you'll be isolated. They'll target you. Capture you. Interrogate and torture you until you just say something to make it stop. Then they'll kill you. I don't care how quick your trigger finger is, how much mojo you can sling, how you can convince a raging 'squatch to have a nice tea with you, how you move like a shadow, or whatever your specialty is. You're part of this now." Her speech done, she casually drops the unconscious body. "Now, does anybody have a safe house we can get to before the cops and/or reinforcements arrive? Preferably one with medical supplies? He might be bleeding out." Sylvie then turns to the clerk and says, "I'll give you twenty nuyen if you go to the nearest Inferno club and drop off my groceries there. Devi is going to throttle me if she doesn't have something to eat by morning." The massive troll looks at him expectantly.
"Dramatic much?" Victoria mutters. "It was a pretty standard kidnapping attempt. You don't even need runners for this kind of sh*t. Hired goons can do it. You don't even need good hired goons. Street thugs with big heads can grab some random woman off the street just fine." She slides her pistol back in to her jacket and walks over to the woman with the baby. She offers a hand to help the woman up. "You alright?"
Phineas wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve and responds to the spirit with equal fervor, Pray? Do not presume to speak to me in such a way. You will show me the respect I am due. Now. Protect that woman and her child. Let no harm come to them and...don't kill anyone.
He gets to his feet, steadying himself with the shelves. With a shake of his head, as if to clear it, he steps around the corner as the Troll starts speaking. The elf frowns as he looks around, Is everyone alright? He steps gingerly through the rubble. You two, he says, pointing to the clerk and the girl, Are you alright? Any injuries? He keeps moving and doesn't wait for a response. Hopefully that gets them to check.
Almost ignoring Sylvie, (though, obviously not completely as...how do you ignore someone so large) he moves past her to look at the fallen men. That one I can't do anything about, he says, nodding to the one named Crank, whose head is tilted the wrong way. He walks quickly, but calmly over to the man who had been shot. You. He says authoritatively, as he points towards Sylvie. He kneels down to check the man. Looking back up at the troll, his tone softens for a moment, Sorry, I don't know your name. Those two, indicating the other two men at her feet, Are they alive? his questions come even as he reaches into a leather haversack and pulls out a small red and white medical kit. If this guy's still alive we're going to have to stop this bleeding. How, exactly, am I so calm?
Sylvie shrugs and turns to Victoria. "I've been watching way too many trids lately. Truth be told, that speech was ripped straight from NtOB. Neetob? However you pronounce the acronym. And I meant us. Protecting her. That... might have not been completely clear." Sylvie wisely decides to not upset the woman and her baby, due to her rather... intimidating appearance.
Offhandedly, she says to Phineas, "Name's Gauntlet. They might be. I'm not a medic. But the one I brought in is definitely alive."
As others are seeing to the woman, the child, the clerk, and his girlfriend, Anya stuffs the last handful of chips in her mouth and lets the bag drop. "Meh. Snatch'n'grab is easy. But blowing up a whole wall? That's just ostentatious. N00b mistake by chippers what saw it on a trid some day an' thought 'D00des! If I ever get to be a shadowrunner Imma totes do that!"
She floats over to the 2 men and a mage that are moving a bit less. She does a quick check on the three of them, then gives each one a good deal of individual attention, thoroughly searching each of their bodies with the air of a professional who has searched bodies before.
Perception(visual):12d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 5, 1, 1, 3, 4, 1, 5, 5, 4, 1) = 35 3 hits
Valuables are nice, weapons are better, but sometimes you get lucky and find intelligence...and THEN the game begins!
"No, those shots were center mass, and as fast as they're bleeding we likely hit some major arteries. This one started to spasm as he fell; my shots probably clipped his spinal cord. They're dead, or might as well be." Nathaniel moves over to examine the man Sylvie knocked out, taking a look at his wounds. He ignores Anya as he pillages the dead bodies, instead focusing on the man that's clearly still breathing. "Here, let me; I used to... I've got a lot of experience with gunshot trauma." With a practiced hand, Nathaniel pries the bullets out of the man's chest, before wrapping it with some gauze. "He'll need some stitches, but that'll keep him alive. My apartment is just around the corner, if we want to shack up there for the time being."
I'll default on First Aid tests, which gets me 3 successes which hits the threshold for the test to examine their wounds. I'll roll to Stabilize.
First Aid; Stabilize:15d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 5, 6, 6, 6, 3, 1, 1, 2, 2, 5, 1, 5, 3) = 55 Total of 7 successes. Dice Pool is reduced by 1 for every 2 points of Essence he has lost, but my last two rolls were not successes, so it should be the same result.
"W...what?" The clerk's voice is weak and unfocused, much like his gaze. He's just coming to when Sylvie makes her deal, and he's clearly unable to agree or disagree just yet.
As the group comes together and starts talking, the others in the Shack settle down as well, if a tad slowly. The man in frozen stops cramming himself between shelves of ice cream, and sheepishly steps back to the floor, scratching at his balding scalp. The couple in the pet aisle poke their heads out to see what's going on, both with terrified eyes. The clerk staggers to his girlfriend and shakes her awake as they both clear their heads.
In one aisle, Phineas replies to the spirit, which looms over him for a long moment before 'speaking' again. Whoa҉, he̴y th͟ere k̀i̸d, cut ͞th̢e̛ ̵t͘hea̷t̀r̸ic͝s̡.̢ ̢Do n̴ot͡ p̨r̨e̡su̵me͡?̵ Phineas gets the sense of a smirk from the entity, although without looking on it fully in the astral plane, he can't be sure. I'̷ļl̴ ͞s̛h̛ow̢ ͜ýou̵ ͠re̴s̕p̸ec̷t̀ i̡f ̶ýou ̷sh̷ow̵ me ̨m͜i͢n̴e̛. ͞D͢ȩal?̡ ͏Aņd I͜'͟ll pr̶o͝t̕e͜ct y͡our͝ squeéz͟e̛, ͏n͝o ̵worr̸i͟es.́ ͞Jusţ say̛ '̛when,' ͝y͏ơu̧ kņo̧w. It moves an arm in the suggestion of a not-entirely-respectful salute and fades out of view, retiring fully to the astral plane to stand by.
As members of the group begin to look over the gangers, it's quickly obvious that the chrome Sylvie just brought back is the only one still breathing. Anya searches the corpses for their valuables while Nathaniel takes point on patching up the man who's still breathing. The elf's quick hands close up the wounds that are bleeding and stabilizes the man before much time passes by, and he's confident he can be moved without causing more trauma.
The woman looks up at Victoria after a couple of seconds, and with a thin smile she takes her hand and stands up. "Thank you. I... I owe you my life." She speaks with a curious accent that's not fully uncommon in these parts: lilting Irish combined with the street tones of a native Bostonian. "I'll make sure to repay you as soon as I can."
About the time that Nathaniel finishes patching up the unconscious man, and Anya finishes going over the sweet loot, the group hears a new sound beyond the crackle of flames and the whimpering of the baby and the civilians in the Shack. There's a Knight Errant siren coming from down the street, and it's getting louder.
Phineas almost imperceptibly rolls his eyes and smirks as he works. Spirits and their games. I almost prefer the other act. He continues checking the men calmly and quickly as he responds. I'm supposed to quit the theatrics? I'm not the one that showed up as if I'd skipped my morning soycaf. His tone wry as he chuckles quietly to himself, appearing almost mad with his hands covered in another man's blood. Of course, of course. Thank you for showing up at all.
Gauntlet? Nice to meet you. He nods as the elf speaks, You're right, this one is dead too. He frowns as he finishes checking the fallen and wipes his hands on one man's coat. How am I this calm? I should be freaking out right now. Looking around he walks over to the clerk and the girl. Are either of you hurt? Were you hit? Phineas stops suddenly as he hears the sounds of the siren. Some of you may need to go. And if you do, you should do so quickly.
If she leaves, conceal her and her child and get them to safety. Leave no trace to be followed. I have full confidence in your ability to be as discrete as possible. He pauses a moment, and adds, And...thank you. I think I'd be significantly less useful here if I were only talking to myself in my head right now.
Victoria chuckles. "I just enjoy a good dust up. And those morons were hardly a warm up." Her head spins as she hears the sirens coming. "If you'd like to dodge the cops, I'd head out the back while you have the chance. If not, I doubt the Knights will cause too many problems." She glances outside as the sirens get closer. "Personally, I'm going to take my soyburger and leave before they get here. The less I have to chat with the cops, the better."
Everything happened in a moment. One second he was honouring the time-long advice, and the next a drama-inclined tonne-weighting kung-fu-doing troll have knocked out the runner and is doing his best impresion of a trid.
Never again tell me you are bored, Nick. You just lost that privilege.
The man in the longcoat holstered his iron as he walked towards the elf and her chilf "You aight, ma'am? Good."before he turned to Crank's lifeless body and closed thr distance.
"This one was a doofus, an idiot with more ammo than common sense..." he says before pointing to the fourth figure lying on the ground "But that one was a mage. Hundreth percent sure now. None of them carry blast candies, so he did blow up my favourite convenience store. And that's bizarre, you don't send wizards to kidnap a mother and her child."
You are doing it again... you want to know more, ain't ya? God's sake. You NEED to know more.
Nick walks to the clerk and smiles "Oi bo, it seems we saved your bacon. Ain't it? Those fellas and I only wanted to buy stuff, so how 'bout a deal? I pick the whiskey -which I'll need to swallow this-, we leave through the backdoor and you haven't seen a s&!~. You dig? Now that I think it would be wise if you frag up the vidfeed, betcha there's security cams in here. Say a mage did it, and don't tell the Knights nothing. I'll drop by when the waters calm and pay the bottle... and treat you to a couple drinks too."
Negotiation:6d6 ⇒ (6, 1, 3, 2, 5, 4) = 21
The booze-needed PI returned to the rest and spoke calmly "My place is close, boyos, or we can go to Doc's -anywhere better than here-. I don't know why I am trusting a group of armed unknowns, but hey, you did jump to save her. And her-" he nods towards Gauntlet "-did a moving speech about it all. I'm Nicholas, but call me whatever the frag you want if you do it as we walk out of this pile of dreg. I got ny licenses in order, but something tells me you may not. Who am I to judge tho?"
Gauntlet nods. "Nice to meet you, Nick. Your place sounds good, but then again, any place not currently on fire and half destroyed would be a step up from here. Not really inclined to theatrics myself, really. Bear just really likes trids. And ice cream. In case you couldn't already tell." Gauntlet peers over her shoulder. "Does anybody have a way out of this mess? Preferably one that can fit 8 people and a football-sized package?"
Sorry if my RP is a little weak right now. It always takes me a while to get to know my characters, even if I just wrote a novella on them :P
Do I find anything on the bodies? Maybe some phat l3wts, or...a plot hook? =)
As Anya finishes policing the bodies, she heads over to Nix. "Hellz ya! A good dust-up will surely get the blood rolling! Up top!" she says throwing up high-five.
She turns to the man and she-troll making light conversation. "And a big hoi-hoi to you as well. Pleased to meet you, Nick,"You sure I don't know him?' 'Nope, that guy's name was P...Paul? Pulaski? Puknik?' 'How sure are we?' 'Pretty sure.' 'You're sure you're sure? ' 'Nope. But are we ever?'"And as for this half-a-dozen packages of dried YESbaconYES and a sixer of NagasakiNecterine, I'm -not- coming back to pay for it. Half the store just got shrapneled and the other half is smoke damaged. The whole inventory is a write-off, so I'm not gonna shed moisture over some corp number-cruncher wondering where the burning ashes of the stock is. And...and another bag of Olive&Onion SoyFunHappy chips. Srsly, these are -amaze-.
But you!" she says, pointing the finger-taster in frozen foods. "You are STILL paying for that Ripple!"
She turns back to the group. "I'm Wraith. Lead on. Where we goin'?"
Sylvie gawps for a moment at the hyperkinetic woman, then shakes her head. "Nick's place, apparently."I... I didn't know it was possible to pronounce Matrix slang.
"I don't care where we go, but I'm guessing most of you won't want to be around once Knight Errant rolls in." Nathaniel hoists the unconscious man up, before hauling him over one shoulder. "Let's go, then. Unless any of you want to take a nap in a jail cell for the foreseeable future." He heads towards the back, motioning for Nick to lead the way. "C'mon, we'll take him to your place and get some answers."
'Like you'd end up in a cell... if anything, I'd have someone trying to get me back to work for them within a week. Still, better to avoid them for now; don't want anyone thinking I'm still something I'm not.'
Hoi! There you are, chummer. Was wondering where you'd gotten off to. I'd hate to see you disappear so soon. Although maybe disappearing isn't such a bad idea. Given the circumstances.
But that's not what you're here for, is it? No, you're looking for something a little more interesting than just going off the grid. You're looking to go under it. You aren't content to keep going through the routine of life with all the other wageslaves out there. The daily grind, working your fingers to the bone and kissing your boss's ass just to get one step ahead. And even then, you're still so far beneath the real big shots that it barely seems worth laughing. Am I right, omae?
Of course I am. The whole thing's a pile of drek. And that's why you came to see me.
Slot and run though, right? We're both busy, so I'll get to the point. You've got some smarts, some skills. I've heard of your work, not too shabby. Between you and me, I think you might have a shot. But if you wanna run the shadows more than a week before having your head show up on somebody's desk, you'll need more than that. I can hook you up with people I know--not personally, you understand, but through business--and you do the jobs. I take my cut, you take yours, the Johnson walks away with whatever they want, everybody wins. Sounds like a milk run, right? Wrong. But don't worry, chummer--that's what you've got me for.
So get out of here, I got another potential client showing up in, oh, three minutes. Line's short, looks like I'll be able to get another cup of soykaf before they get here. You good to go? Wiz. Here's my number, my work number, so you'll know who I am when I call. Yeah, I call you, never the other way, got it? Otherwise we get who-knows-who on both our heads, and we don't need that.
Alright, I'll see you out in the sprawl, chummer. Oh, and remember: Watch your back. Shoot straight. Conserve ammo. And never, EVER, make a deal with a dragon.
Hey all! Here's the official recruitment thread for my Cthulhoid Shadowrun game. A more full lineup of what I'm thinking of can be found in the old interest thread, but long story short, you'll be a team of runners that will have jobs exploring some of the stranger secrets hiding in the sixth world. Ancient cosmic horrors, Things Man Was Not Meant To Know, and--if you pull it off--a whole heap of nuyen.
Just Who Are You, Chummer? Character Creation:
Build Points: Standard 400 BP and its rules. You can spend up to 200 on your base attributes, up to 50 on money for gear. Extra costs as usual for maxing out an attribute or skill.
Metatypes: I'll allow all the base metatypes obviously, and if you want to play the slight variants on them, you can, although the stranger you are the more I'll want a good backstory and everything. I'd rather people stick to core here if you can. I'd also rather not deal with any exotic creatures that are way out there, so please stick to the base five and work from there.
Archetypes/Concepts: Normally you'd talk about classes here, but Shadowrun doesn't have those. Instead, just keep in mind that while you can play anything that'd normally fit in a Shadowrun game, it would be interesting to see concepts that are reminiscent or linked somehow to the kinds of characters common in Lovecraftian stories and games. Some make more sense than others--playing a runner who still considers themselves to be mainly an author would probably be strange at best, for example--but there are lots of good concepts to reflavor, rework, and otherwise play with to fit here.
As a second note on your character concept, please don't shoot too high in terms of power and prestige and all that. I'd like for people to either be fairly novice runners who have a few jobs under their belts but nothing big yet, or else entirely new to the game--maybe not even considering themselves a runner at all, at least not yet--but with some sort of past experience that gives them the edge to succeed.
Gear: You can spend up to 50 build points here as normal, getting 5000 nuyen per BP spent, and the regular Availability cap of 12 is in place. However, I'm very aware that gear more than anything else is where you can break SR six ways to Sunday. I won't actually restrict anything outright, but I'd ask that you not equip your novice runner with crazy amazing custom weapons and armor. A little bit here and there is fine, of course, but especially with weapons and armor, the more you stick to the core rulebook and off-the-rack stuff the better. You'll have plenty of opportunities to buy shiny toys in-game, no worries--and besides, if you start out with the tricked-out machine gun, where do you go but down?
Sources: I believe I have every rulebook for Fourth Edition, so pretty much everything is open within reason. Please let me know if you're grabbing something particularly obscure from an out-of-the-way book just so I can double check it and all, but you should be good to go.
Background/Backstory: I just want a good feel for the character, so don't feel you need to write a novella. Use whatever format you like: simple description, in-character narrative, the ten-minute backround format, anything that works. One thing in particular you should note, though: Why has your character come to the local Stuffer Shack late this night?
I think that's everything basic you'd need to know for now; I'm going to double-check the Interest thread for questions I haven't answered, but feel free to post here and give me any questions you have. I'm not going to put a final date on when recruitment ends, because I'd rather get a full party I love than stop before someone gets something in, but once I see a good team of characters I like I'll call for an end of new interest and a short period to wrap up submissions before picking. In terms of team size, I'd go as high as six.
Hey, Loup! I just need to write up Sylvie's backstory and... crap, forgot to drop a few points into contacts. I'll make sure to do that, too.
The thing is, I'm not super-familiar with Lovecraft's work. I've read a few of his stories, loved them, and I'm working through the rest, but I don't really have a good feel on character archetypes yet.
As for the Stuffer Shack question, between her girlfriend's late shift at the local talismonger and her last job, Sylvie didn't realize until about 20 minutes ago that they were out of groceries, and went out on a bleary-eyed milk run to grab some before breakfast.
Before I write up her backstory, did spontaneous goblinization just occur on the 30th of 2021, and all new orks and trolls are born as such from their goblinized parents; or does spontaneous goblinization still occur?
Quick question about the character I'm working on:
Will you all me to use the enhanced aspected magician option from street magic (on page 31)? All it really does is increase the bonus for aspected mages in their realm by 2, but gives a -6 to casting outside of their realm.
As far as my initial idea for my character, I'm thinking about 2 different aspected mages: either a conjuration specialist who hates corporations because they ruined his family's small store, or an astral aspected mage who is a runner because he can't get work anywhere else.
I'm always highly interested in Shadowrun games! I'll just throw out a few character ideas for now. I've got a ton of work to do in the next two days, but on Wednesday I should be able to write up either character completely.
Character ideas:
An ork sharpshooter from a large poor family. Joined the military at a young age and recently got out. Doesn't have a lot of contacts in the business and very new to shadow-running (probably hasn't done any real shadow work), but experienced with the streets and shady work in general. Good at stealth and tracking, he'll primarily use a hunting rifle as his main weapon. Despite being large, he's very shy and awkward in social situations.
The second would be an academic magician. Smart and curious, he's from New England and went to the university to learn magic. Got good grades and would have graduated high in his class, but he became obsessed with oddities that the professors told him to stay away from. Eventually he failed out of school and has been living on whatever he can find trying to continue his studies...with very little success. He's very likable and charismatic, but not familiar with the shadows at all.
Did someone say this was 4e? Didn't see the interest thread, but just want to verify. I would be pretty interested.
Given the theme I think I might be looking at a NAN street sam type who, despite living in a world with magic and arcane horrors like insect spirits, always thought the shaman's warnings about even darker things were hyperbole.
Just to put it out there...
Character will be an elf archer
And maybe. If gm allows a banshee carrier. So doesnt start as one. But maybe during the game starts to turn into one
=^^=
Just so the non "Interest Threaders" know: indeed it is 4th Ed.
Still have to put it all nice and well written, but count this both as a dot and my interest on submitting Nicholas Smith, police officer turned private investigator turned runner.
Foci will be around interrogating, following clues as the bloodhound he is, good ol' fisticuffing and stylish big bad pistols.
First off, yes, I should have mentioned for those who haven't been following, I'm using Shadowrun 4th Edition rules. I don't own any other edition of the game, so that's what I've got. My apologies if you own/prefer something else.
Gauntlet--I believe spontaneous goblinization only occurred on that date, yes. Since then, orks and trolls are born that way. As far as Lovecraft's work, don't worry if you're not super familiar--I'm far from an expert myself, and it'd mostly just be useful for references and general knowledge. Even if you don't know much about the mythos at all--hey, that only adds to the horror fun!
Vrog Skyreaver--I'm okay with the aspect option, yeah. No initiating before play, though, as that tends to be in the realm of RP and such.
aptinuviel--Either concept would work, but I do like the second a little more if only because it'll be more tied into the concept of the game as a whole. Certainly seems a fitting update of the common student/researcher character in mythos stories.
Seth86--Elf archer sounds fine, but I'd rather not have someone infected with HMHVV at the start, and banshees do receive a number of powers. If it comes up in game perhaps, but it'd also change the tone to have a party member mutate into a blood-sucking "monster" and be more or less Cursed with Awesome.
And a couple quick notes on the game itself: Firstly, the setting will be in New England, I'm thinking the Boston Sprawl to start out. Secondly, as a relatively simple (heh) but helpful houserule that I know is fairly common, melee attacks with one-handed weapons are simple actions, not complex. Knife-happy assassins and martial artists, rejoice.
Okay, I'll get cracking on both my characters and see which one gels more/will be more useful. I should have a decision no later than a day or two and will get my character posted soon after.
While UGE first appeared in 2011 and Goblinization occurred in 3021, when Haley's Comet passed in 2061 there was a "second round" called SURGE (Sudden Unexplained Recessive Genetic Expression). Usually those who goblinized during the SURGE event were variations on already existing phenotypes, however, so unless you're looking at a variant metatype or a changeling, I don't think it really applies.
While UGE first appeared in 2011 and Goblinization occurred in 3021, when Haley's Comet passed in 2061 there was a "second round" called SURGE (Sudden Unexplained Recessive Genetic Expression). Usually those who goblinized during the SURGE event were variations on already existing phenotypes, however, so unless you're looking at a variant metatype or a changeling, I don't think it really applies.
My understanding was that goblinization continued after the initial event, though it's become less common over time. It definitely wasn't just a one-day thing
Orcs and trolls born to other orcs and trolls will be born that way. Those born to others, mostly to apparently normal humans, will be born human, but goblinize at puberty.
As the metatypes segregate themselves and recessive genes work out of the populations, it happens less and less.
That is true, it wasn't purely a single day for either the initial UGE or goblinization events, but did quickly taper off after the initial occurrences with rare goblinizations happening for some time afterward. In the case of SURGE, it was essentially the entire time Haley's Comet was visible from Earth, again tapering off.
In fact, IIRC, the first Shadowrun novel series' protagonist's sister was a rare late-goblinizer. It is one of the reasons Twist eventually joins the shadows because Renraku had her shipped off to that island where they exiled orcs and trolls and he is trying to recover her.
Thank you guys so much for the info! The reason that I love Shadowrun is it's lore. The mechanics are cool and deep-although they can get a bit awkward at times-but the main reason I love SR is for its setting.
Alright, here's the first part of her backstory.
Opening Narration:
Sylive Jewel Staite, by most common metrics used in the Boston sprawl, had a nice childhood. Not an extraordinarily cushy one, by any means, but a nice one nonetheless. She was born at the level of poverty that instilled a certain amount of camaraderie between those with very little nuyen to their name, but not so desperate that her parents had to go mug neighbors in alleyways to keep her and her baby sister alive. Paul and Eve Staite, Sylvie’s parents, worked at a small, shabby Stuffer Shack on the corner of 29th Street and W c k D. Nobody in the sprawl knew what the actual name of W c k D was, so they simply took to calling it Wicked Street. (It later became general knowledge that the original name of Wicked Street was Wackman Drive, but Wicked Street was both easier to remember and appealed to the general sensibilities of its inhabitants far more, so Wicked Street stayed).
It is here, on the dirty corner on Wicked Street and 29th, that Sylvie’s story truly begins.
Part the First:
The little doohickey that let Eve know when a customer walked in hadn’t worked in weeks, and Mr. Reynolds didn’t have the money to repair it, so Eve didn’t even notice that the four gangers had walked into the convenience store until one waved a Predator in her face. It was her fault, really. Even though Mr. Reynolds had beaten it into her cranium time and time again, Sylvie was having her Algebra I finals in the corner on the family commlink, and the ARO which showed how she was doing while Eve was biting her nails took up the entirety of her vision. She wasn’t even really supposed to be using the trodes. Mr. Reynolds didn’t like it when the Staites touched his things.
“Hand over the money and we don’t hurt you too much, tusker,” the lead ganger drawled, his speech somewhat clouded by how he filed all of his teeth to points. Eve sat, nearly paralyzed with fear. Paul was out on a supply run, so he wasn’t there to protect her in case things went bad.
“Huh? Is your tiny little green brain too small to know what I’m saying?” The ganger, his eyes dancing with a cruel light, began to speak agonizingly slowly. “Hand over the money, or,” he cocked the gun, “I shoot you in the head.”
Sylvie set down her CMT, her posture suggesting both wrath and fear in equal measure. She said, “Nobody talks to my mom like that.”
One of the gangers, a scrawny-looking elf who looked like he was hopped up on enough cram to cause an overdose in anybody other than a long-time junkie, turned around and crowed, ”And what’re you gonna-”
His few remaining teeth flew across the room from the force of Sylvie’s punch. The young troll only spared a moment to look surprised, which she shared with the gangers, before following up her punch with a knee to the reeling elf’s genitals, which left him writhing on the ground.
The other two gangers, a burly ork with a lead pipe and another human with a knife, charged at Sylvie, rage and confusion plain on their faces, while the leader turned around and shot twice at the troll. One she dodged with inmetahuman swiftness. The other simply glanced off of her skin.
Sylvie’s swift sidestep took the human by surprise, who, by virtue of his momentum, crashed into the shelves of candy. A punch to the back of the head knocked him out cold. The ork, on the other hand, was not dealt with so easily. He swung at Sylvie with wire-enhanced strength, his right arm visibly rough steel. Sylvie easily blocked it, the lead cracking as it collided with her forearm, and she responded with a jab to the kidneys. Although the ork grunted in pain, he didn't go down, and took another swing at the teenager, this time to the ribs. Although the pipe cracked in half and Sylvie staggered back, the ganger was only allowed a moment of victory before Sylvie grabbed both of his shoulders and made an introduction between her right knee and his face. The ork promptly dropped after that pleasant conversation.
Stalking menacingly towards the leader, Sylvie gave an almost feral snarl. The leader frantically gave off another two shots, which both missed by a mile, before the teenager reached him. Sylvie broke his arm with brutal efficiency, before growling, “Now. You are going to drag your men out of here. You are going to go to your gangboss.” The leader was about to open his mouth before Sylvie silenced him with a single forceful index finger. “No arguments. No interruptions. You are going to go to your gangboss and you are going to absolutely, positively convince them that the Stuffer Shack on the corner of 29th and Wicked Street is not to be messed with under any circumstances. If I ever see so much as somebody tagging this place, I will be going after you personally. Understand?” It wasn’t a question. The ganger nodded frantically, before proceeding to drag all of his lackeys out of the Stuffer Shack with astounding speed for a man with one functional arm.
aptinuviel--Either concept would work, but I do like the second a little more if only because it'll be more tied into the concept of the game as a whole. Certainly seems a fitting update of the common student/researcher character in mythos stories.
I agree, it's definitely more mythos friendly. I'll work on that one!
Of course, because of the astounding display of mojo that Sylvie had just produced, taking up the family business of working in someone else’s Stuffer Shack was now out of the cards for her. Ever since what became lovingly referred to as the Incident, Sylvie spent less time studying on her pseudo-legitimate education program and more mulling over her future. That is, until she discovered the gentleperson’s sport of Urban Brawl.
I will not bore you with the details of how Sylvie Jewel Staite became a Diamond Demon. Suffice to say, it involved numerous hi-jinks, escapades, three dirty syringes filled with an unidentifiable substance, and a Bug Spirit possessing a McHugh’s salesman, but all of that is too much for me to relay to you in the time I have allotted.
Regardless of how she got there, Sylvie eventually joined the Diamond Demons at the tender age of nineteen years. From her point of view, Sylvie was rapidly approaching middle age, and wished to make her mark on the world before she began to decline.
And indeed she did. Under the anonymous moniker of ‘Gauntlet,’ Sylvie carved a place for herself in the Boston circuit. She was offered a contract from Ares, and she almost signed it… except it was made abundantly clear that she was to take bribes. Lots of them.
Being possessed of astounding moral fiber for someone who had grown up in the sprawl, Sylvie declined, and was about to go to the press about the incident when she was brought up on false charges and disbarred from all leagues.
Fortunately, Sylvie used a large portion of the money she had saved up from her matches to buy an excellent lawyer, and she managed to evade the charges. However, now with nothing but her combat gear, a commlink, and some pocket change to her name, Sylvie drifted from job to job, even becoming, ironically, a McHugh’s employee for a few months. That is, until…
Part the Third:
”I need a job,” Sylvie said without preamble as she squeezed into a booth clearly designed with humans in mind. The smell of frying potatoes wafted to her nostrils and her stomach growled, helpfully reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything in sixteen hours.
The slick-looking elf tilted his shades down and looked at Sylvie, but his eyes were far away. ”I would normally at this point make some pithy remark about how you already have one, but you really do,” he said smarmily. ”What is somebody with mojo like your’s working in a McHugh’s? Shouldn’t you be doing Urban Brawl or something?”
Taking the fixer’s quick analysis of her magic in stride, Sylvie replied simply, ”I was. Now I’m not. Long story, and not one I’m inclined to share on a first date.”
”Is that what this is, then? Well, I should probably introduce myself. Mr. Fix-It, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He extended a hand, eyes twinkling. Cautiously, Sylvie took his hand, being careful not to crush his delicate bones.
”Well, Mr. Fix-It, I need a job. You got anything coming up?” Technically, Sylvie didn’t have to become a shadowrunner. She was paying bills, feeding herself-although McHugh’s wasn’t a good diet, as her quickly growing gut attested to-and could’ve spent the rest of her life like this. Except if she had to endure another month of the soul-crushing corporate bullcrap, she would kill everyone in this hellhole, followed by herself. Bear would probably aid in the endeavor, judging by the grumbling she’s been getting from him for the past few days.
Mr. Fix-It steepled his fingers, giving her an up-and-down look. ”Welll… I would normally send you on a milk run, since this is your first job. Buuut, because I like you, I’ll give you a delivery of a somewhat exotic nature.” He casually tossed a package clearly labeled “DO NOT SHAKE” in thirteen different languages to Sylvie, who caught it easily, followed by what was obviously a detonator.
”The job is simple: you go in, clear out the zombies-the client wants collateral damage, but no collateral damage, if you catch my meaning-and walk away from the explosion looking cool. I can supply the trenchcoat and shades if you want. You can get buddy-buddy with the rest of the team at the local Inferno tonight before you do the job. Real simple. You in?”
Sylvie paused for a moment. You didn’t walk away from the shadows. Not ever. There would be no turning back if she said yes.
The job wasn’t real simple. Sylvie had to break two of the three fundamental rules of shadowrunning within the first hour of complications, fought her way through a horde of ghouls alongside a demented dwarven rigger and an albino elf mage, and then finally facing off against twin street sammys in a high-speed chase.
Regardless, she succeeded, and Sylvie felt at peace for a week. She still went to McHugh’s, but only for the food. Then the urge came on again, and she scheduled another job with Mr. Fix-It.
The cycle perpetuated itself, and all was well. It all got even better during Sylvie’s celebration of her first year in the shadows, where she went to the Dante’s Inferno where she first met the team for the Ghoul Job, as she now called it…
Finale: The Happy Ending of the Beginning:
The dress stretched under Sylvie’s bulk. But then again, dresses always looked ridiculous on trolls, even if they were specifically designed for them. Sylvie didn’t even know why she decided to wear one. But, hell, she was here to celebrate and get drunk off her ass. She wasn’t there to find a date. That’s what she thought, anyways.
Then she saw her. A pretty elven woman, with obvious cyberware implants. They weren’t combat warez. They were medical-grade, although they obviously made her at least a bit more graceful, as she twirled beneath the chandeliers with incredible grace, and an easy smile. One eye was also obvious warez, but the differing colors gave her an endearing look, and it complemented her brilliant smile perfectly.
As if entranced, Sylvie got up. She had absolutely no chance. She was a troll, for goodness’ sake! Not the prettiest one, either, and that wasn’t saying much. Bordering on obese, even, due to her steady diet of McHugh’s. But still, she got up, and lumbered over to the dance floor.
The woman was a whirlwind, dancing like a demon. Sylvie couldn’t hope to keep up. But she tried her damndest. She was surprisingly agile for an overweight troll, and that was saying quite a lot.
”Well, you’re persistent, at least,” the elf said, aiming that wicked smile at Sylvie. ”You’ve got that going for you, even if you’re dancing’s absolutely atrocious!” Sylvie gave an awkward chuckle as she continued her embarrassed shuffle. ”C’mon, let’s grab a drink. I’m dog tired, anyways.”
Sylvie followed the elven woman, lumbering while she skipped. When they reached the bar, the elf ordered some McDevitt, and Sylvie ordered a Scalper. ”I s’pose I should introduce myself,” said the elf, eyes twinkling. ”I’m Devi. What’s your name, you beautiful succubus you?”
The troll blushed slightly, replying, ”Sylvie. And thanks for the flattery, but I’m not beautiful, not by a long shot.”
Devi eyed Sylvie lecherously. ”I’d say you are.” At Sylvie’s slack-jawed expression, Devi replied, ”Oh, c’mon. One, you’re on the high-end of the troll scale. Two, being fat is attractive, at least economically. You’re not a junkie, or at least not addicted to any of the dangerous stuff, and you have enough nuyen to feed yourself well.”
”I… uh…” Sylvie was speechless, before clearing her throat. ”I suppose so. I guess.”
”And big bellies are cute.”
Sylvie snorted her drink out of her nostrils before doubling over, embarrassedly laughing. She responded with a quip, which Devi parried and riposted, and so went their night. And the next six months, as well.
Okay, so after spending most of the afternoon building characters and looking at different options, I'm going to go with my Astral Aspected Magician. Backstory to follow.
Alright, so I think I have my character mechanically ready. I'll put a more complete backstory together in a bit.
Only thing you seem to be missing is actually possessing programs to run on your commlink; I'm also picking up some decking, so it might behoove us (assuming we both get in) to pick up each other's slack in certain areas. I'm going to buy what I think i need for now, but we might want to adjust it later so we can both do different things in the Matrix.
It was a pain in the ass just to find the god d*mn section on commlinks. I'll make sure to add that in. If you have suggests on how to handle decking and computer stuff, I'm open to advice. I don't build Shadowrunners very often.
Well, it all depends on what your character would be good at. Given the circumstances, you seem as if you'd probably be good at hacking and electronic warfare (less so with cybercombat) and have a good rating in Computer and Data Search while probably not having anything in Hardware or Software. You'd want to purchase Matrix programs that key off of Hacking so that you can hit things subtly without being spotted. You'd probably jack out if you ran into trouble, since even if you can break through their Matrix security you'd still have other problems once you got out. That lets you focus your BP a little more and keep yourself from being spread too thin.
Also, remember that the rating on your Programs is what combines with you Skills, not your Attributes. You want a Commlink with a good System so you can have more programs running and more powerful programs. There are guidelines to upgrading the base ones in the same section.
Just leaving this here for "review" by my peers and the GM.
Still pending adding aaaall the combat stuff as well as the backstory (which I have more or less pretyped but can't add it now) as well as his lifestyle expenses (which maybe will require some adjustment so I can pay for it).
Also, I can't for dear life find any reference to legal licenses cost. Can any of you please illustrate me?
Oh yeah, we all love Shadowrun for it's voluminous volumes of lore. Hence, for anyone not familiar with Lovecraft, or if you just want to get in the mood, the Wikipedia articles are quite fine.
There's the basic Lovecraft bio. (Irony: His life kinda descends, not unlike the protagonists in his stories.)
Then there's a page devoted to the genre that he created.
Aaaaaand then there's a page devoted to his main meat directly, the Cuthulu Mythos.
Last but not least, I leave this here just because you're not spending enough time on the internet. Enjoy!
(Character will come soon. First things first. =-])
Quick notes before I'm off to class: First off, feel free to leave minor things up in the air, and you'll definitely have the opportunity to change characters a bit once we get started. I allow modifications through the first "adventure," typically, so if you realize that some aug you chose doesn't really fit, or you'd rather have a different pistol, you're good to go.
Secondly, nice links, Atlas. Definitely a decent place to start if you don't know much about Lovecraft or his work.
Thirdly, I'm not sure if Shadowrun even has rules for legal licenses since the assumption is you're all SINless criminals. I'll try looking later, and if I or anyone else finds anything we'll use it; otherwise, I'd say a legal license costs the same as a fake one, due to legal fees rather than black market up-pricing.
It doesn't have any rules for legal licenses, and there isn't a lot of indication as to how much they ought to cost. The reason that fake licenses have Ratings is to see if scanners notice they're not real, but a real license doesn't have that problem. You wouldn't have to buy a Rating 6 license for your actual SIN, since there's no chance the machine will realize it's fake.
I am building a Rigger Drone Operator, so I can provide recon, antagonize the aberration so you Mythos types can deal damage, give aberration followers the lead finger, and provide a means for all of us to travel together to our run.
Well, I would have to be one of the ones chosen. I guess in some cases, it is better to show up individually to not draw attention but if there ever comes a time where we all need to be together, I will have the vehicle for it mainly because I need room for my toyz!
I'm in the gear-buying phase of the character, so will post something shortly. It has been too long since I'm hit the shadows, and even longer since doing a CQB street sam type, and I am a fan of Mythos, so hopefully I get in. :D
Working on a roof-running burglar adept. Got the mechanics worked out, mostly.
He's a stealthy, lock-picking, snag the valuables and run Cat adept, packing a bunch of B&E gear, and excellent perception skills.
Working on his backstory, but basically a slum kid originally from New Haven, who started at MIT&T for a brief stint on scholarship, until he got booted for swiping stuff from the dorms.
There are few fundemental truths in this world. Gravity goes down, water is wet, and dealing with a dragon is a suckers game that you sometimes don't get a choice as to whether or not you play. Barring wierd weather-based phenomenon, another such rule is that everyone is found by the bright light of day.
This was my first thought as I realized that I was awake, and the sun was glaring at me all judgemental-like. I rubbed my hand across my face and immediately regretted it: Everyone talks about how great it is that Dwarves grow beards, but no one talks about how when that beard is growing out it the hairs are like little needles. Sitting up and looking around, I realized that it was neither daytime, nor was I in my doss. I was an a coffin motel where I occasionally did my astral travelling. The rooms weren't much to look at, but the place was run by Wata-Rengo Yakuza, and they respected a client who paid extra and up front.
I climbed out of the bathtub where I had been laying and turned on my commlink. While it was loading up I began doing stretches to get the rather significant kinks out of my body. Apparently I had been out for over 2 days, and it was currently in that magical time in-between "far too early in the morning for corporate wage slaves to be getting up" and "far too late in the evening for the clubbing or shadowrun types". I continued stretching and after a few minutes began planning my all-too-long day. As I began folding up the plastic that I sat in and rubbed down the walls for DNA evidence I noticed I kept rubbing the spot where a ring used to reside on my finger.
Damn it, the divorce was over a year ago. It was an argument that I frequently had with myself, but this morning I just didn't have the heart for it. I finished cleaning up and then stuffed the folded plastic into the cardboard box that I always brought with me and then left the building, nodding politely to the bouncer at the door. I walked to my car, which was parked in the secure lot and did my traditional vehicle check (nothing in, on or under the car). I also took an astral look around, and while there were spirits coming and going, none seemed particularly interested in me. I opened the back seat long enough to deposit the cardboard box then entered the drivers seat and started up the car.
I made it two blocks before the grumbling of my stomach forced me to turn into the stuffer shack to get something to eat.
Technical Skills
Computer [Log] 1+2
Hardware [Log] 1+2
First Aid [Log] 1+2
Locksmith [Agi] 3+4
Social Skills
Con [Cha] 2+2
Ettiquette [Cha] 2+2
Knowledge Skills (15 points from (Int + Log) * 3)
Boston Sprawl Life 3
Urban Brawl 2
Magical Theory 2
Parazoology 1
Corporate Fashion 2
Boston Geography (Rooftops) 2 (4)
Martial Arts Trids 2
English N
Contacts[/b] (16 BP)
Joe Walsh, Human Fence (Southside) Connection 2, Loyalty 3
Sarah Morningside, Elf Fixer (Cambridge) Connection 2, Loyalty 3
Skinny Pete, Dwarf Black Market Dealer (Downtown/Waterfront) Connection 4, Loyalty 2
Gear (15 BP = ¥75,000
Lifestyle[/]
Low x 3 Months (Summerville Housing Project Apartment)
[i]Weapons
Shock Glove [DP 8, DV 5S(e), AP -half, Ammo: 10]
Defiance Ex Shocker [DP 7, DV 8S(e), AP -half, SS, Ammo 4(m)
Survival Knife [DP 4, DV 3P, AP -1, Reach: 0]
Walther Secura Kompakt (Heavy Pistol) [DP 10, DV 5P, AP -1, SA, Ammo 9c]
w/ Concealed Holster (-3 total concealment), Laser Sight, Silencer, and 2 spare magazines
Colt Manhunter (Heavy Pistol) [DP 10, DV 5P, AP -1, SA, Ammo 16c]
w/ Quickdraw Holster, Laser Sight, and 3 spare magazines.
Twitch is a human male, aged 22. He stands 175cm tall, and weighs 75kg. He has dark brown hair, shaved except for a slightly elevated “mohawk” strip down the center, and hazel eyes. His skin is fair, weathered on his face and forearms, and he has a few tattoos. The one on his left bicep recalls the track a wet bicycle tire leaves on concrete, wrapping around the arm entirely. On his right shoulder, a round spiral pattern in alternating red and blue checks stands out brightly.
Lean of frame, Twitch is definitely both stronger and faster than he appears, and closer inspection of his hands and forearms reveals significant callous development around his fingertips, knuckles, and other striking edges commonly used in hand-to-hand fighting. He commonly wears a charcoal grey jumpsuit and triangular single-strap backpack, with tightly laced, light soled boots tucked into the pants. Pockets bulge here and there with numerous bits and baubles, and large smoked-glass goggles typically sit on his forehead.
Twitch hails from New Haven, originally. Born to low-class manufactory workers, he expressed his natural proclivities in running, climbing, and getting into places he shouldn’t be early on in life. He did not realize it, but Cat was with him in those early years, guiding him on daring and probably foolish “quests” to satisfy his curiosity and seemingly limitless energy. A “talent” scout saw him out and about one day, when he was around 17, having just scaled a sheer brick wall about 3 meters tall before jumping down it and clearing several parked cars nearly effortlessly. A few phone calls, an email or two and a face-to-face interview later, and Twitch was signing up for a scholarship to MIT&T, ostensibly for their track and field team.
While at the prestigious school, Twitch found himself bored and frankly uninterested in the mundane schooling. He sort of paid attention during magical theory classes, but only the gym and nearby parks held any sort of real interest for him. The whispers of Cat constantly goaded him to poke his nose into places, and the lure of cash, electronics, and other toys proved too much for the young man. He soon found out just how fast a well-funded and staffed school, especially one with such a large amount of magical talent, could track down a thief. Expelled, on his own, and still being driven by the insatiable curiosity of his mentor spirit, Twitch took to the streets. There’s plenty of work to be had for a man of his talents, and his youthful follies have only sharpened his skills to avoid being caught again.
He’s got plenty of fun toys, now, even packing some real firearms (almost exclusively loaded with non-lethal ammunition, unless he knows there are ghouls, dangerous paracritters, or drones about), and lots and lots of ways to break into places. He’s even amassed a small collection of “disguise” outfits, allowing him to blend with the workaday folks coming and going near his Summerville doss, as well as a decent corporate suit. His favorite remains his pocket-festooned jumpsuit, however, especially when he clips a camera to the helmet and records his runs.
While not a stranger to the streets, per se, Twitch is not a professional shadowrunner by any means. He steals to make a living, and fences his takes as he can. Things that he really likes, or that may help him continue this line of work, he keeps when able; everything else gets converted to cold hard cash. One night, out on one of his standard sunset-rooftop runs, he finds his helmet camera’s battery has died. Stepping into a nearby stuffer shack to grab a replacement, his life soon changes.
Okay, here we go. If selected I will create an alias and format to your preference, this post is mostly based on output from the Chummer character building app for 4th Edition.
Info:
Street Name: Tall Ted
Name: Talted (fillet knife)
Movement: 10/25, Swim: 5
Karma: 0
Street Cred: 0
Notoriety: 2
Public Awareness: 0
Human Male Age 21
Height 1.78m Weight 110kg
Composure: 6
Judge Intentions: 4
Lift/Carry: 11 (90 kg/60 kg)
Memory: 6
Nuyen: 0
Talted tries his best to dress in a non-descript manner, though the fact that he is built like an athlete sometimes leaves a mark on those he meets. He always wears clothes that cover as much skin as possible to conceal scars and wounds from his pit fights and keeps his hair and nails clipped short also due to his fighting career. When not working on runs he wears an armored duster of a style popular back home in Seattle.
Talted tries not to be the hothead he was in his youth, hoping to project the image of a calm young shadowrunning professional. He prefers to stay silent during social interactions related to running work, knowing that his lack of training in such realms could cost him a payday. Despite that, Talted is friendly once on the job and enjoys chatting up women when he isn't working.
Background:
Originally born in the Redmond Barrens of Seattle to a BTL addicted mother and a dealer for a father, Talted had a harsh childhood, punctuated by the occasional trip to visit his uncle who provided him with some sense of his tribal history in a small Salish community close to the Sound. When his father was imprisoned for a murder at the age of 15, he was forced to provide for his little sister Amanda by joining a small crew of displaced Salish and Tsimshian enforcers who performed some work running drugs and collecting debts for the Komun'go Seoulpa Ring. This arrangement worked for Talted and his sister for several years, and Talted managed to save quite a bit of money in the process. Around the age of 17 he began to spend his off-time competing in underground pit fighting for some extra income. By this point he was paying for his sister to attend a corporate school run by Mitsuhuma in the hopes she would not become the itinerant, drug-addicted, prostitute that their mother was. This was about the time that he began to seek surgical implants so he could compete better in the fights.
Around the time that he turned 20 things began to change in Talted's life. First his sister disappeared from the corp school he had enrolled her in. He could not get any details about her disappearance from the school who denied she had ever been enrolled. Even teachers who knew her for the previous few years denied knowing anything about Amanda. Desperate, he went to the cops to report her disappearance. Though detectives intially responded to his claims, as they investigated the case the question of his income sources came to their attention. This in turn lead to vice task forces beginning surveilance operations of him. He was busted a month after reporting his sister missing as he recovered from his latest implant surgery. Although he refused to become a cooperating witness, the Komun'go believed he had rolled on them. When Talted found out, he knew he had to get out of Seattle, which is just as well as the Seoulpas have placed a bounty on him.
Following up on a rumor that his sister had somehow been spotted joining some doomsday cult outside of Boston, Talted made arrangements to relocate to the East Coast with the help of his uncle and the tribal community. Since arriving in Bean Town, he has failed to pick up Amanda's trail, but has started working as a Shadowrunner for a low-rent fixer called Jackie Nolastname. Talted has also been looking to pickup some extra cash by becoming involved with the local underground fight clubs in town. He has yet to climb too far up the ranks, but has managed to seriously tick off a brash ork everyone calls Gordi who he took down during his first fight. In these clubs he has made friends with an old fight promoter named Jorge. In his social life he has been seeing a young med student named Tara O'Dell, a native of Boston with family roots going back to the city's earliest days.
Concept:
The skeptical street samurai has always felt that despite the wonders of modern life the tall tales his tribe's shamans were ridiculous and primitive misinterpretations of otherwise explainable scientific phenomen. Magic exists, and spirits, sure, but that doesn't mean that talk of all gods or alien beings is actually valid. Vampires, afterall, are just people infected with a disease! Still, some legends of his coastal dwelling ancestors are repeated through oral tradition.
I just noticed that I forgot to revise a few things after writing up my backstory, so note that the Lost Loved One negative quality applies to his younger sister, not twin. It is a dangerous move to have family which can be exploited, and something I try to avoid in games because in my real life table one of the GMs is a bit sadistic about that, but for a Mythos themed game, having that personal mystery just seemed like a good idea and a personal plot point for the GM to exploit.
