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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: RPG Mythbreakers Has Returned!
Subject: RPG Mythbreakers Has Returned!

We are pleased to announce that the webcomic is returning to the Inn!

Just see the latest comic to confirm for yourself.

Posted on 2018-03-16 at 17:11:34.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread

With everyone involved, I vote we just post out the conversation.

Posted on 2018-03-15 at 18:26:08.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA

I've continued the conversation and brought it to the kitchen table to involve everyone else.

Posted on 2018-03-15 at 18:25:06.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A

Excellent post, Eol and Nomad. As usual. Do I see others on the horizon?

Posted on 2018-03-15 at 18:23:59.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

And I have replied, good sir.

How about all y'all? The rest of you getting posts together?

Posted on 2018-03-15 at 18:22:45.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Day 2, Whitefall - Necessity, Rocinante, 7:30 AM PT

The pilot glances sideways as the Captain flops himself into the co-pilot’s seat and, as the man tends to do when he is pondering a weighty matter, plucks off his hat and starts turning it round and round in his hands. Dash doesn’t say anything right away, though; just keeps himself immersed in his calculating until…

“You got any concept as to how we get one Petrie, Mr. Reverend’s son, on board ‘fore we burn atmo,” Wyatt queries wearily from across the bridge, “an’ avoid havin’ Patience hire every bounty hunter this side of Reaver Space to hunt our sorry skins down an’ relieve us of ‘em?”

At this, Sam abandons his figuring for a moment and, reclining in his seat a bit, scratches at his head and puts some thought to this new equation Wyatt has placed before him. “Petrie, huh,” he murmurs, “Him bein’ th’ one as knocked up tha’ li’l Chloe girl we got stashed away in th’ infirmary?”

“That’s the one.”

“Guay, Cap,” Dash sighs, “in the time we got left ‘fore we’re set to dust off this rock, I dunno. Don’t leave a whole ruttin’ lot o’ time ta conjure up no elaborate schemes, get me?” He chuckles a little, leans back a might further in his chair and scratches again at the whiskers that bristle out from his jaw. “I conjure we could kill ‘im…”

Wyatt tilts his head ever so slightly to the side like an inquisitive dog and raises his eyebrows at his friend.

Sam grins at Wyatt’s reaction and throws his hands up in mock-defense, “You asked th’ question, Wyungsung. I’m jus’ spittin’ back th’ answer. Gettin’ my own self kilt worked fer me fer many a year, right?” He shrugs, then, and turning in his seat to more fully face Wyatt, laces his fingers behind his head and ponders further; “O’course killin’ m’self took weeks o’ plannin’ an’ an assist from Tink on th’ back end an’, as I done said, we got jus’ a sniff more’n twelve hours ‘fore we burn atmo… We kill this Petrie kid an’ we gotta do it quick an’ ugly…

“I din’t figger we was et ta turn this run inta no honeymoon cruise, Cap,” Dash smirks, “buuuut, ya want I should send a wave ta Neverland an’ see if we can get some fairies ta work some o’ that tian-ling-ling, di-ling-ling? ‘Bout th’ best I c’n come up wit’ given our schedule, get me?”

“Naw,” Wyatt tosses his hat on the console and stares at it with a slight frown on his face. “I ain’t promised nothin’ t’ Chloe ‘cept we ain’t bringing her beau along on this cruise. The more I percolate on the matter, though, the more I think ‘bout… well, the more prone I am t’ consider, ya know?

“Now, this killin’ idea holds more merit than originally struck me, Puhn yo.” Turning back to the wirey pilot, Sung considers the concept for a couple of seconds in silence. “Quick an’ dirty might jus’ be the best path. There’d need t’ be proof he’s dead an’ our best bet would be t’ put the blame where it best helps these poor folk under that pofù of a woman gov’nuh’s thumb.”

This might take more knowledge of the politics of the region and Wyatt isn’t sure he wants to involve anyone outside of his crew. He doesn’t trust easy and though he’s been treated well by a few planetside, he is still loathe to extend himself. Then there’s the theater behind what Sam has proposed. Can Stephanie create a blood pack and with Wolf’s help rig it to explode by remote in a real enough way to be convincing? Then what? Someone has to be witness to the whole performance… someone who can also account for why there’s no body. And why is that? What could possibly cause the body to vanish?

“Maybe yer too right this time, Sam,” the captain shakes his head and then turns his attention to the bridge doorway and what lays beyond. “In order t’ pull this off we’d need t’ make damn sure people think he’s dead and gone while not leavin’ a body fer burying.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Wyatt stands and scoops up his headwear, “Let’s run the concept by the rest o’ the crew at breakfast an’ see if’n any o’ the others ‘ave themselves a better go of conjurin’ up something magical.”

Once their conversation finalizes, Wyatt makes his way back down the stairs from the bridge, down the main hall, and back into the galley where he joins Ma in finishing up the breakfast prep. He works in silence while still pondering the prospect of killing off Petrie Tubbs for the sake of a young pregnant girl’s love of the man and his misplaced guilt over his own wife’s and child’s murders. Noticing that the table is set and food is all but placed, he snatches up the intercom mic and informs the crew that the meal is ready.

“Mornin’, folks,” Sam almost sing-songs as he steps into Roc’s gathering room, “Hope ya’l’s night was’s good as mine!” Grinning like a fool and absently humming under his breath again, Sam makes a beeline for the galley and, after planting a kiss on Ma’s cheek, helps himself to a large cup of the freshly brewed coffee before taking his usual seat at the table. “I got me some, last night,” he grins at the faces around the table following a long, satisfied pull from his mug, “How’d ya’ll do?”

Wyatt takes up his chipped ceramic mug and sips at his own black brew while surveying those present and observing their various reactions. He doesn’t engage. Sam already knows what’s on his mind.

The pilot chuckles, softly and fondly, recalling the hours he spent with Misty. Then, his gaze skinning faces, again, he asks; “So, we gonna talk ‘bout this job, now, er we gonna get chores an’ s#!t outta th’ way first?” Not waiting for an immediate answer, his eyes fix on Wyatt; “Cap, I got some plans an’ back-up plans laid out on m’ console if’n ya wanna take a gander…”

“I ‘ppreciate it, Sam,” Sung acknowledges and shifts in his chair at the head of the table as he gently sets his mug down. “First, I’m playin’ with an idea that could use y’all’s input. I already ran this past the Gentleman Dash, here, so he’s got a leg up on the rest o’ ya as far as thinkin’ on it, but the more minds we put to it, the more likely we’ll come to a good conclusion. So, here it is…

“Young Miss Chloe has revealed who her child’s father is,” Wyatt meets each of those who are present’s eye as he continues. “She’d like fer him t’ join her on this new leg o’ her life an’ be the father to her child, but it ain’t as easy as us jus’ takin’ on another passenger. Her beau is a rather prominent figure on Whitefall. It jus’ so happens that he’s the preacher’s son, Petrie Tubbs.

“From what I gather, Petrie’s father, Reverend Tubbs, is in tight with Patience. So, we go cartin’ off the Reverend’s son and we’re likely drawing attention from one of the Rim’s most prominent warlords makin’ our lives difficult an’ dangerous. ‘Course, this could also help us with that black cloud hangin’ o’er our heads since the gorram Lián méng started bein’ all friendly-like with us. Puts us back on the side o’ things where we make our bread an’ butter… kinda.

“Anyway, Sam suggested we kill the poor kid an’ while I was mildly amused with the idea at first the more I pondered, the more I think his idea has mettle. The problems, as I sees it, is that we got less than half a day t’ make it happen, we gotta convince folks hereabouts that Petrie is, in fact, dead, an’ we gotta do so in a way that leaves no body t’ inspect. And, it’d be a bonus if we could conjure up a way t’ put the blame on someone else that’d help those like Eagle Eye in their politics with Patience.”

Leveling his gaze directly at each of his crew—his family—Wyatt asks, “Ideas?”

Posted on 2018-03-14 at 11:02:04.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A

Sorry, Keeper. Everyone is so far behind Goncalvo that I need to get them all caught up.

Everyone else, I've updated the game to a point where your input is needed. Also, Lady Dark, Maggie is being awarded a Knowledge Point (KP) in Intimidate, which is a skill she does not yet have. So she'll need to keep attempting to intimidate people to keep building on that skill in order to get a full Skill Point. I've also awarded her with a KP in Streetwise. Those exploding 10's when rolling for ideas of what she'll encounter in any particular direction pay off.

Looking forward to your posts!

Posted on 2018-03-13 at 18:44:58.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 7:23 P.M.; The Sun Dog


Since Goncalvo is the furthest ahead on the timeline, we’ll try to get everyone else caught up pronto.


(OOC: Time is roughly 7:23 PM)




Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:23 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte


He washes the grin away with another tip of mug to lips and, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before setting the cup back down on the table, he offers the dandy a curt nod. “Well then,” he rasps, rising from his seat now, “bein’ as tha’s th’ case, I reckon I’d best set ta work, aye?

“Ye’ll be hearin’ from me soon enough, Mester Oken,” the Sun Dog’s quartermaster promises, “an’ I’ll have yer thief in tow…”  As Fin hasn’t seen Oken so much as smell the first mug of rum he’d poured, the pirate casually lifts the bottle of rum from the table and takes a quick pull directly from the thing’s neck. “Apologies in advance if’n I should have ta kill any o’ yer other crews,” he chuffs, turning for the door now, bottle still in hand, “Tha’s th’ price o’ business like this, savvy?”

“Either that, Mr. Crowe, or you’ll not find this port so friendly as you have,” Elias Oken calls after him as the quartermaster parts.

Stepping back onto the street, Fin is slapped by the heat of the midday sun. Something nearby smells of manure and the flies have really set into their annoying dance. Crows and smaller birds hop about on nearly everything looking for some morsel to steal while chickens, dogs, and cats scurry about underfoot. People about their daily routines add to the commotion on the street and the stench in the air, but those close enough to him to, perhaps, engage (even accidentally), drawback. Others on the street who aren’t privy to what went down within the Rub of Del Monte pay him no mind.

Meandering back towards the beach, Fin keeps a close eye on his surroundings while occasionally taking a pull off of the rum. The harsh liquor stimulates his body with shivers and warm that threatens to overheat the man while at the same time, it soothes his nerves. In his wandering, he spots a couple of the others from the Dog and nods as they call out to him, but he doesn’t join them. He’s got business to attend to, after all.

Arriving at the beach, Fin’s narrowed blue eyes dart along the shoreline for signs of the Dog’s boat, eventually falling on it and a sailor near some of the fishermen who had just come back from their morning haul. Trudging through the shifting sands, the athletic quartermaster makes short work of the distance between them.

“Ahoy, sir!” Cyril Daumier calls out as he catches sight of his quartermaster. Springing to his feet from where he was sitting on the bow of the launch, the large-nosed fellow turns and positions himself to push the craft from the beach.

(OOC: Room for whatever interaction Fin wishes to have.)

The sea is calmer this time of day, but calmer doesn’t mean calm. Fighting the waves, the two sailors eventually roll themselves into the launch, their footwear and most of their clothing soaked through. With seawater and a small amount of seaweed floating in the bottom of the launch, Cyril begins to pull on the oars.

“Please tell me tha’ the ladies are delectable an’ the ale flows freely,” the Frenchman calls over his shoulder to Fin.

(OOC: Fin’s reply&hellip

“Bless me an’ God forgive,” Daumier laughs and shakes his head. “Canna wait too much longer t’ wet my whistles.”

Ten minutes later and the launch is bumping up against the Dog’s hull near the rope ladder. Cyril nods the ship’s officer away and then calls up, “Any others goin’ ashore?”

Chimwemwe’s bald head peers over the rail to the right side of the rope ladder Fin is ascending. “No,” the African says simply and vanishes from sight once more.

An unladen Fin Crowe crests his ascent with athletic ease and rolls over the weathered banister to plant his booted feet firmly on the main deck. Chimwemwe greets him with a nod before returning to the rope repair work he’s focusing on. Salazar and Blaize Campbell are just emerging from below deck with Campell’s tools and a bunch of wood. Aside from these, there are few sailors in view. About to continue forward towards the Captain’s cabin, Fin is drawn up when Anne flushes herself outside.

Resplendent in her white blouse, baggy gray cotton trousers and thigh-high boots, Anne Cole has her hair pulled up beneath a red cloth, her saber at her side, and a brace of two flintlocks across her bosom secure in a black leather baldric. Squinting her lovely eyes, she scans the deck from left to right before spotting her quartermaster.

“I weren’t expectin’ you ‘til after dark, Mr. Crowe,” she states before thinning her lips and standing firmly with her feet a shoulder-width apart, hands on her hips. “Whate’er you’ve experienced ashore is likely t’ be a tale judgin’ from the blood you’re wearin’.”


(OOC: Time is roughly 1:15 PM.)



Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 3:03 P.M.


William Wiley looks around the deck of the Dog and doesn't see the captain. He really doesn't want to track her down. Somehow, searching for a woman famed for her temper when her sister is in trouble with the law does not sound like fun. But delaying talking to her under the circumstances might have even worse repercussions. Between a rock and a hard place—hopefully would leave Cracker more than just crumbs.  

His first move is to find Sharky, which he does below deck. The bruised and battered gunner is breathing heavily through his swollen lips and stowing his weapons. Pulling him aside, Cracker whispers, "Does the captain know what happened with the first mate? Have you told the captain where you last saw her?"  

“You foolin’, sir?” Shark’s Tooth opens his one eye wide, a feat in and of itself since it, too, is swollen from his earlier brawl. “No’ my place, to be sure. I’m afraid tha’ honor falls on yer shoulders, Boatswain. I’m jus’ a lowly gunner, after all.” Scratching with thick fingers at his scruffy chin, Sharky tilts his head to the side and sniffs. “‘Course, you could always wait ‘til, Hellfire Maggie tells her herself.”


(OOC: Time is about 3:06 PM)




Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:14 P.M.


"Now give me a damned dress, you rotten old man, so we can both be about our important business."

Raising his eyebrows, the old man produces his cutting knife. “Now, girly, you can’t be serious.”

One would think, given the severity of the situation, this would not be a prudent time for laughter, but the sight of the old man before her, his dark skin creased and wrinkled with many a year, induces laughter that begins as a snort, melts into a chuckle, and then evolves into a hearty guffaw.

"Aye, but I ain’t the one standin’ here brandishin’ a toothpick, aint I, ye spiteful ol bastard. You think spillin me blood wi' that—" and again, she can't help it; the absurdity of it all has caught up to her by now, "—is gonna please yer own master any? Because I'll be sure to bleed all over as many o’ these fine rags as I can afore the beatin' o’ me blackened little heart stops."

She doesn't have long. The longer she waits—the longer she delays and plays these games—the longer it will take her to get back to the Dog—Back to safety. Although, she's fairly certain if Sharky and Cracker have made it back to the ship already, her sister might have worse things in store for her then any law here.

A dullard could have responded quicker than the old man, but respond he does… eventually. Slowly replacing his cutting knife in his apron pocket, he steps to the side and a little behind one of the tables bearing the store’s wares. “I’ll no’ stop ya, but I’ll no’ lie fer ya none neither. My skin ain’t fer sale fer yer freedom.”

Seething, she takes a step back and lowers the blade a little—enough that she'll run him through if he advances, or take off his wrist if he's intent on using that sad little blade—and sighs. For a moment, she steals a quick glance towards the back of the room, and narrows her eyes.

"you and I be headed fer a reconking, ye mean old s***e. Be sure o' that. But not today." And with that she leaps forward and sprints past the tailor’s assistant and into the back room.

Hovering near the furthest wall to her left is a pair of black women, one older and one younger, huddling against each other near a table filled with various colored threads. The back door to the shop is to the far right, however, and it is to and through this exit that the fiery first mate bolts.

Sunlight is not her immediate companion as there’s an awning’s shadow she must break free from first. With sunlight stinging her thinned eyes, Maggie visually swallows her new surroundings with a desperate hunger.

The backstreet is much thinner than the main street she had been on shortly before. A thin wagon could fit down it going one direction but no one would be able to pass the other way and would be forced to step right up against the buildings to avoid being dragged under the wheels. Tall and cradling, the buildings on either side rise up into the blue of the Caribbean sky as two to three story wood structures painted mostly white and accented by turquoise, sky blue, red, green, and brown. Other alleys cut into the facade without any care for how it breaks up the patterning of the structural faces but on the street she has now found herself there are precious few people in her immediate vicinity and, for that matter, nearly as far as the eye can see to the right and left.

Almost instinctively, Maggie can tell that the ocean is off to her left, the right should take her deeper into the city, and any of those small alleyways will likely take her to less prosperous parts of town.


(OOC: Time is roughly 2:16 PM)

Posted on 2018-03-13 at 18:41:41.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

You done good. 

I've posted as well. So, game on!

I'm awarding Espatier 1 IP in Persuasion & Fast-Talk for the Persuasion & Fast-Talk performance.

Posted on 2018-03-13 at 13:02:12.
Edited on 2018-03-13 at 13:07:31 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure

West Park Mallplex | Night City haveegrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:11 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


“Done your research, Doctor Carey?” Vegas casually accuses.

Phil’s expression turns sharp for the first time since the group entered his apartment. “I teach corporate law, sir. A knowledge of kidnapping insurance and negotiation agency options is required.”

Fixer listens as the group converses with their armed host. He is glad to see that at least one other in their numbers has picked up on the kindness bit. Being a jerk usually doesn’t pay—Well, sometimes it does, but not often, and likely not with someone like this. 

But he isn’t the group’s mouthpiece, so he stays in the back and continues to look around the room while listening to the conversation. Corporate law? That was an interesting bit. It doesn’t likely mean much, but it might mean the guy knows some interesting things. He looks to see if there is a good way to get a glimpse behind the curtain into the room the "queen" has gone into, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

“Of course you would know that, sir,” Echo says gently to the now annoyed man hoping to calm him back down. “That’s been a well-known fact for hundreds of years and anyone with a minimum of intelligence would know,” she says with a glare at the crooner. “Please forgive our gruff ways, we are all genuinely concerned for Jace’s welfare, and have found very few leads. If there is anything you remember, no matter how insignificant you may think it is, please tell us so we have that better chance of finding him alive.”

Echo finishes with what she hopes is a warm smile and not the anxious terror she feels in her gut from speaking in front of a group. Shoving her hands in her pockets to hide how badly they are shaking, she swallows; never one for public speaking as it usually makes her feel nauseous and dizzy, she couldn’t let Vegas’ accusation stand. It just isn’t right. She is able to keep eye contact with Dr. Carey, trying to give him even more reason to at least trust her, and waits for his answer, if he has one.

“Hey,” the dapper solo spreads his arms and cocks his head to one side while affecting that famous smile. “I get that there’s reason to take some offense at what I just said, Doc,” folding his arms, Vegas’ countenance changes as his face becomes stern, “thing is, there’s a life at stake here and pussy-footin’ around isn’t going to get us nowhere. I’m still not sure you didn’t have something to do with Jace’s disappearance—” holding up a hand to forestall any objections, he continues. “A search of your domicile would help settle my mind, though.”

“And I suppose I’m supposed to trust you lot explicitly?” Dr. Carey affects a thoughtful frown.

“It’s like she said,” Bloodbank chimes in, giving a nod to the nomad, “anything you can give us to help…”

“He’s right,” Phil awards Vegas with an ungracious nod. “There’s little time to waste and allowing myself to take offense at the urgency of your treatment of me in my own home isn’t going to assist in Jace’s safe return. So I will do as the… um, young lady… suggests and ply my memory to see if anything useful presents itself. Meanwhile, you can feel free to walk about. I’ve nothing to hide. The only thing I do ask is that you not bother my wife.”

“That’s all I was sayin’,” the crooner explains before turning and nodding to the others. “We won’t disturb a thing, Doc.”

Finally releasing the handgun, Phil Carey seats himself in such a way as to allow his knees to act as a rest for his elbows. Tapping his thin bottom lip with his finger he stares over Vegas’ head at the strange piece of art in the corner.

(OOC: You can walk around and look things over, but if you’re thinking of trying to get into the computer or if you go into the bedroom, you’ll draw Phil’s attention and there will be interaction.)

“A couple of weeks past,” Dr. Carey muses while still observing the drifting art. “Young Jace approached me asking about Parental Rights in regards to their children. He was vague in his inferences, but was keen on the particulars in a child’s legal options where Parent Time is concerned. I found it odd at the time especially since Jace had never spoken of his family before… at least not to me. The entire conversation was quickly forgotten as the issues with my wife escalated, but I do recall this intensity to him that I’d not witnessed before.

“He’s something of a lonely boy, as a matter-of-fact,” Carey continues in a level lecturing tone. “And I didn’t see him spend much time with the other boys. He tended to like the company of adults—socially, I mean. He would engage in conversation about topics that most children his age veer away from. It was most endearing and I think you’d find that the staff at the school are all quite taken with him. He was such an amenable sort that takingen witnessed him speaking with the janitorial staff on a number of occasions. Strangely enough, I don’t recall any other students even taking the time to notice the maids and custodians working the buildings and grounds except to, perhaps, make fun.”

Shaking his head, Phil finally looks back up at the edgers. “I’m sorry. I wish I could offer more but it isn’t exactly good form to get close to the children and as I already said, Jace is something of a loner.”

(OOC: Time is 6:30 PM PST)


Wolf Point Plaza | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:58 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Cursing his luck, Ghlahn stares at the unmoving door. He is a man of many skills but bypassing security is not one of his best. Sometimes the best option, when faced with an obstacle, is to simply avoid it. Ghlahn picks up his things and moves a few doors down to the temp agency.  Should be a little easier to get into a temp agency. Nothing worth stealing in there so they should have minimal security.  

Dynamicworks Temp Agency is located in a typical office prefab cube with slate gray light-weight cement walls housing electronics that project ever-changing broadcasts of available legitimate work positions ranging from temporary to potential for hire jobs in an array of glassy-looking lights adorned by colorful company logos and always the words See Inside flashing or pulsing below the title. The entrance to this location is barely inset from the hall and as the wiry man approaches a flat ray of greenish light flickers to life and begins to scan him from head to toe.

Ghlahn has seen these scanners before and doesn’t worry about it. Designed to do nothing more than taking a cursory exterior reading, the limited AI interpreting the information the scan gleans makes a decision about potential employment opportunities. The Cee-Metal enclaves have a similar body shell scanner to determine how a member might best assist with enclave work for the day.

Stepping forward, he checks the door to the agency and hopes for an easier time. It’s locked, but the lock is primitive and standard. A key lock with tumblers set into the aluminum frame of the L-shaped handle.

Looking to the right and left once more, the red-headed solo squints through his combat mask’s goggles and takes a moment to determine whether any of the sleeping and bundled forms are taking an interest in him. Seeing none, he frees his wrist from obstructions once more and sets about working at the lock with his insectoid pick kit. Two minutes into the work and he’s frustrated.

Allowing the arms of the kit to retract into his bodyshell, Alex tugs the sleeve of his jacket back into place and swings his smartbag around to dig into the main compartment once more. Retrieving his torch, he sets his jaw and begins cutting away at the lock. Thirty seconds later and the locking mechanism falls away as molten slag. Returning the torch to the bag, the masked redhead grips the handle, pauses, and inspects the area surrounding the frame for any sign of additional security. Another thirty and he’s assumed an all clear due to a complete lack of any visible wires, laser sensors, or other paraphernalia.

Pulling the door open, Ghlahn takes a breath and steps through. Open space has been sectioned off with tan and brown cubicles masted by a receptionist’s desk. Obviously, profitability isn’t something this business struggles with. They don’t even have a holo-sec—a holographic secretary service—to greet people who approach the desk. Artificial green eyes lift to take in the back wall where a bank of offices are divided by two hallways leading deeper into the prefab cube.

Were this business showing more signs of technological advancements, M’haru Ghlahn might be concerned about a construct lying in wait. That kind of financial commitment to protecting assets is the realm of much more profitable business.

Striding through the sardine can of stations, the team sniper accesses the random choice algorithm in his body shell and comes up with the left hall. Darker for the lack of the large windows looking out of the face of the building, the hall is tight due to architect programs packing as much into the space as they can. Every five paces or so, two doors flank him barring access to additional offices. These are not the goal, however. Colliding with the corridor at the end is a cross hall. And again, the random algorithm determines that he continue on to the left. Left towards another hall breaking to the right before running the sniper into a conference room.

Taking the right, he sees his end goal, a larger office with a window overlooking the circle and the mallplex beyond. This office space is also locked requiring a repeat performance with the torch opens the room to him and within a couple of breaths he is setting his smart bag on the desk and looking out through the rain pelted panes at the building containing the advance portion of his team. Panes of glass that do not open.

(OOC: Time is 6:07 PM PST)


Tranquil Grotto | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:54 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

As he finally reaches his first destination, Windy Grounds West Park, Casino finds himself facing a flat stainless steel door without a handle, but wide enough to allow for two people to easily pass each other as they walk through in opposite directions; the door is a barricade that requires a keypass to pass through. The keypass box sits to the right and unlike those keypasses that require the card to be inserted or swiped, this has a little laser that reads the cards through a Plastek case protecting it from tampering. Glancing overhead in frustration, Casino watches the words, Windy Grounds Park get blown away by a wind animation only to “grow” back into place from the nothingness below the holographic display to be blown away again moments later.

Cursing under his breath that the chances are quite good the other parks offered their tenants the same level of protection, the big solo takes a step back. All he can really do is continue to try and find a good spot to use to cover his assigned exits. Laughter, raucous, boisterous declarations using street lingo, and music invades the hall to his right quite suddenly. Liquid steel courses through his veins, but the idea of tangling with a boostergang isn’t thrilling. Moving down the hall to the left, he proceeds to check the rest of the circle-facing prefabs, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex is old school secure with an iron gate that looks like it was installed after the building security failed. Behind the gate is an alcove approximately five meters deep with what appears to be storage lockers on either side and a green door with a large steel plate behind the doorknob offering additional security against someone wanting to kick it in.

Passing by the gate, Casino proceeds on to Whitewater Estate. Security on this private residence is higher—not the high level stuff one finds in the High City, but definitely better than at Aprico Co. Apartment Complex. Still, it’s beyond his skillset so he continues on. Meanwhile, the sounds he is hoping he had left behind aren’t growing dimmer. Those responsible seem to be matching the distance between them while moving down the hall in the same direction he is.

Whitewater Private Park appears to be attached to the Whitewater Estate. Not something he’ll likely be able to gain access to and Tranquil Grotto Elementary... the thought of firing from the elementary school brought to mind images of the senseless school shootings that regularly pop up on the news. He does not want to be involved in anything close to that and will only use the school grounds as a last resort on this floor.

Time is of the essence and the fifth floor is turning out to be a bust. Deciding to head up to the sixth floor with the hope for better luck, the large man turns to make his way back to the elevators right when a person steps into view from further back down the hall towards the noise.

“Holy s***!” maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, the young man making his declaration of surprise wears a red, green, and white leather jacket. His head is shaved into a short mohawk that’s been dyed neon green. He’s of Indian heritage, or a half-breed, and hovering over his left shoulder is a SkyWorm cybernetic companion—a six inch drone that acts as an entertainment device, recording device, and net link. “You startled the hell outta me, solo. You a f****** solo, right? You look like a f****** solo. S***! You here to croak someone? F***. Can I watch?”

(OOC: Time is 6:10 PM PST)


Infinity Towers | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:57 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Charlie holds his agent up to within a few inches of the receiving agent and commands the device to share his contact info.

“ I want return the favor, okay?” Dipping his head and looking through the thin drizzle of dirty rain water pouring from the brim of his hat, the fixer quickly negotiates the price of entrance down another twenty-five percent. Once the transaction is completed he offers up his future assistance once more. “I meant it. Need anything in the future, just let me know.”

“Seriously? Maybe I will,” the guard replies as he holds his agent up to receive the data. “You shouldn’t get bothered by anyone, but if you do, you’re a guest of Ms. Holst. She’s practically senile and wouldn’t remember if you were her son.”

“ Thanks.”

Pressing a digital button on his flat screen panel opens the doors for the Native American fixer. “Remember, choomba, this access will allow you into the building and when you get to the West Beach Garden on the third floor I’ll buzz you through.”

“Good luck, Bakuto.” TechHair swirling in purple waves, the Asian returns his attention to his agent and Charlie shrugs off the clinging weather to step through the open portal.

A hold holdout of better times, the Infinity Towers is easily one of the higher-end buildings in this area of Night City. The lobby is more of an atrium with floating holographic plantlife overhead and designer-looking couches, chairs, and coffee tables arranged about pillars of smooth black marble with white and green veins. The lighting is more old-world chandelier style than modern display, though the LED energy-saving bulbs are certainly being used sharing a brighter, white light with the occupants. And occupants there are. A few of the people milling about in the lobby glance up as Cred Stick Charlie enters, but no one appears concerned and most, if not all, are confident in their security and feel that anyone let in is of no threat.

Infinity Towers ownership must be trying to sell a lifestyle because there are actual human servers in uniforms mingling with the residents. The lobby is obviously intended as a social gathering place and as the fixer moseys through the maze of furniture and pillars, he finally catches sight of elevators embedded into the black marble tile walls of the room’s interior and makes his way right over to them. Approaching the lift’s jade plated doors, Luther takes in the Latino woman in a black business suit standing by the control panel wearing a digital name tag displaying her profile from the shoulders up, slowly rotating on a central axis and sharing her name as Sofía Carita, Hostess. Rotund and a bit puggish, the woman politely smiles as he arrives.

“Going up, sir?” she asks with a slight accent.

(OOC: Assuming a positive response.)

With a nod, Ms. Carita turns and pushes the button that Charlie could have pushed himself. “Are you enjoying your day, sir?”

(OOC: Response.)

Waiting on the elevator affords the pair some small talk. Sofía is very adept at drawing out just enough to keep the conversation flowing while not even scratching the surface of the participant’s private life. By the time the lift’s arrival is announced by a soft female voice saying, “Main Floor,” Cred Stick Charlie doesn’t know a thing about Ms. Carita and she doesn’t know a thing about him, but they haven’t had a moment of silence between them.

Stepping into the elevator, Luther is greeted by an average-looking woman in a similar black pantsuit with another digital name tag presenting her name as Premwadee Chuan. “Good evening, sir,” she chirps in a high voice. “What floor please?”

(OOC: Assuming the number three is thrown around.)

“Right away, sir,” Premwadee cheerily declares and calmly presses the large, green three on the touch panel. Unlike Sofía, Premwadee does not engage in conversation. She doesn’t even attempt to and the elevator compartment is filled with the odor of Cred Stick Charlie’s wet clothing and Premwadee’s flowery perfume accompanied by the dulcet sounds of a violinist with piano and electric guitar streaming from the hidden speakers.

Charlie finds himself on the third floor shortly thereafter. The elevator lobby is similar to the main floor lobby except for one minor detail; a damaged portion of the wall is being repaired by builder-nanos. Glancing at the holographic display of the floorplan, the well-dressed fixer quickly determines where he needs to go and proceeds there in short order. There are few people who pass him in the hall and those who do pay him no mind. They are secure in their little world within the Infinity Tower and most pay no mind to each other so how are they to know if he’s a resident or visitor. Either way, it’s none of their concern and they move on.

West Beach Garden is accessed through a long set of glass doors that Charlie can easily assume is bullet proof. True to his word, Si Jun-Yeong admits the fixer and Cred Stick Charlie’s ears are almost immediately buffeted by the sounds of birds chirping, his skin is kissed by a pleasant warm breeze, and the light overhead bathes him in simulated sunlight. Carefully manicured grass grows on either side of a pink cement path imprinted to look like stone. Park benches are placed every so often and as the fixer looks over the lay of the land, he’s impressed by how many people are actually in the park.

Beyond the grass are groomed trees with large shade footprints. The winding paths lead up to the treeline and through them towards the street outside of the building. Charlie can even catch glimpses of the mallplex through the trees. Again, he’s practically ignored as he progresses through the trees and emerges on the other side to a stretch of sandy beach and a man-made lagoon. People lounge about in swimwear and children play in the water here, but it isn’t the bikinis and skin that the fixer is interested in and he continues to look ahead, following the beach to the sandy path on the left that leads to the wide boardwalk and the open air of the city beyond.

As with most boardwalks, the ground beneath his high-end half-boots is wood. Benches line the wood rail (which sits just inside the Plexglass barrier between the outside world and the inside) and despite the architect program’s best efforts, their surfaces are wet from the rain being blown in. Here, too, people walk the length; some are arm-in-arm, and others are walking real animals or cyberpets, and still, others are leaning against the rail looking out on the city street twenty meters below, oblivious to the rainfall and the large air purification fans that filter out the pollutants from outside.

(OOC: Time is 6:08 PM PST)

Posted on 2018-03-13 at 13:01:28.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA


Posted on 2018-03-13 at 11:00:59.

Topic: PM Order Updated!


Posted on 2018-03-12 at 17:10:11.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A

I don't think we have. He's likely just a little busy right now.

Posted on 2018-03-09 at 17:22:30.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA

I threw you a bone, Eol.

Posted on 2018-03-09 at 17:21:39.

Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Day 2, Whitefall - Necessity, Rocinante, 7:20 AM PT

Chloe looks up at Wyatt, meeting his eyes firmly with her own gaze that seems so much other than the girl before him. “If you are giving me the choice between saving my baby or staying here, there ain’t no guess – I’ll save my baby. I’ll take my chances with what Ms. Wilson is offering, can’t be worse than here. Like I said, I ain’t important but this baby is important to me. But leaving won’t change how I feel about Petrie and I’ll regret leaving every single day that I live. Have you ever loved someone Captain? I mean really love someone so much so that when you are apart your gut just hurts? “She looks away as tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother and I don’t want you risking yourself or yours for me. If you drop me on Bellerophon, I’ll take it as a kindness and thank you for all you have done.  Even if you just take me somewhere else away from here … cause, I know what Patience would do to me. She’d rip my baby out of my body, kill me and sell the child so she wasn’t out of pocket. It is all credits and cash to her, and love doesn’t hold a candle to money.”

“Sounds like the Patience I’ve heard tell of, sure enough.” Pushing away from the counter, the captain retrieves his hat and avoids being drawn into talking about his feelings and his dead family. “I’m sorry ‘bout Petrie, Miss Chloe.”

“Thank you Captain. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.” She says quietly and as Wyatt leaves the infirmary, he can hear Chloe crying softly to herself.

Hanging a left and strolling up the metal stairs, Sung does his best to put the crying out of his mind. I hate it when they cry. No fair, he tumbles the thoughts around as he passes through into the cargo bay. The air here is always cooler no matter the heat settings. The vastness of the bay is almost like open sky to the ex-rancher but this morning he’s barely paying attention to it.

Passing the first set of stairs, he makes his way over to the second and only pays partial attention to the fact that the mule is gone. Miss Stephanie probably took it to church, he briefly muses and continues up to the main deck. The stairs spit him out in the kitchen area of the galley where Ma is continuing her breakfast prep.

“That went as well as can be expected,” he remarks in dry answer to her questioning gaze. The scarred woman shakes her head and goes back to her mixing. “What?”

Ma doesn’t make any move to reply so Wyatt continues on through, making his way to the forward hallway. Boots clanging on the metal gangway, Captain Sung proceeds to the cockpit. Looks like Sam realized he weren’t wearin’ no pants, he muses as he catches sight of the pilot in his usual chair after ascending the gangway.

Unceremoniously dumping himself into the co-pilot’s chair, Wyatt takes his hat off and begins to spin it in his hands. Peering across the bridge with a tired expression, he says, “You got any concept as to how we get one Petrie, Mr. Reverend’s son, on board ‘fore we burn atmo an’ avoid havin’ Patience hire every bounty hunter this side of Reaver Space to hunt our sorry skins down an’ relieve us of ‘em?”

Posted on 2018-03-09 at 17:20:48.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game

Excellent. I can give those out all day! *Like Oprah*

FYI - I've been in communication with Espatier and he's got a post coming soon. I just PM'd Aletheia and asked if she has time to post. I'll post again when these two remaining contributions are made.

Posted on 2018-03-09 at 15:39:32.
Edited on 2018-03-09 at 15:44:11 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A

I don't know what voodoo you need to perform, but you're right. The die have not been favorable.  Nice post.

OK, so I'll be attempting to post again no later than Friday.

Posted on 2018-03-07 at 14:54:30.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread

Indeed they do, Puhn yo.

Posted on 2018-03-07 at 14:50:18.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread

The way I handle conversation opportunities between players is to ask them to resolve their conversation via PM and then one of them posts it. I let the players know that if it isn't posted by the time I post, there's always a reasonable amount of back-posting allowed so long as it doesn't change the way things are already moving forward. 

Eol and I once spent weeks going back and forth on back-posts for our characters that just fleshed the characters out more but didn't interfere with the game.

Posted on 2018-03-07 at 14:29:36.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Where is everyone!?

I've received a post from Keeper, but where's everyone else?

Extra "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" points for Keeper!

Posted on 2018-03-06 at 18:10:22.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread

I apologize! I had completely missed that portion... I guess it's been long enough I forgot the character's names.  I have posted!

Posted on 2018-03-06 at 18:08:24.
Edited on 2018-03-06 at 18:08:39 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Hunter the Vigil, A supernatural Game
Subject: The Owl, a Local Pub in Markham a Suburb in Toronto, Canada. Thursday, August 28th, 2016.

The priest leans forward, propping his head on his arms and says, "Just wondering what type of things you've seen. Some think of the Devil as a metaphor, something to scare the people to the masses. Others think of him as this spiritual being that tempts the weak. Me..?". He looks knowingly at Colum, as if he is gauging the biker’s reaction. "I think the Devil takes many forms on this lovely earth. And sometimes, someone has to deal with it." He gathers all of the documents and places them into the envelope.

McRath chews on his tongue while contemplating the turn in the conversation. His experience is that people are loathe to speak of the supernatural at all except in jest or in reference to a movie. That this pastor is hinting so blatantly—or is he? Second guessing Preston’s meaning, Colum clenches his jaw and glances at the shuffling papers being stuffed into the package.

There’s benefits to being blunt… there’s also a fair share of troubles that follow. The “Devil as a metaphor” comment paired with the flat out declaration of “dealing with it” are points that make up the rough man’s mind. If Pastor Prowler looks at him sideways afterward, so be it.

“I’ve seen my share of weird, Pastor,” Colum shares warily, looking at the other man from beneath his brow, his head slightly dipped. “There’s a very real fight, that’s for certain. It takes a special someone to handle that fight and often requires more’n a sermon.” Glancing about at the crowd milling in proximity, McRath decides to take the plunge. “This white-suited fella seems to be always in the mix or thereabouts from what I hear. You gonna go looking for him?”

Posted on 2018-03-06 at 18:07:42.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A

I like the posts thus far. Who are we waiting on? Keeper? Lady Dark? 

Posted on 2018-03-06 at 17:54:35.

Topic: Supernatural Q&A thread

Ah-ha! So you aren't waiting on me for anything? 

Posted on 2018-03-05 at 17:19:41.

Topic: Cleaning up posts

No HTML necessary! That's the beauty of this new editor. 

Posted on 2018-03-05 at 17:18:35.


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