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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Bromern Sal
Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Excellent.


You do that! Hang 'em high... sorry. Wrong genre.

Posted on 2017-08-23 at 11:27:42.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: I've returned...


I'll be catching up over the next couple of days. So, prepare yourselves.

Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:50:38.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I have returned.


I'll be catching up over the next couple of days (both work and games).

Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:50:09.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I'm back.


Have I lost anyone?

Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:49:34.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: OK... I'm back.


I have returned from a very hot vacation to the beaches of Fripp Island in South Carolina. I'll be catching up on my posts over the next couple of days (also catching up on work, so...).

Eol, grab that bull by the horns and twist sharply to the right. When you hear the snapping of cartilage, you'll know you've killed it. That's when you stab it repeatedly with a sword and then kick it really hard... a lot.

Posted on 2017-08-22 at 11:49:11.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Vacation


I am on vacation in South Carolina this week and may,or may not, be able to work in a post.

Posted on 2017-08-15 at 11:10:02.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Ugh...


Groaner...

I am on vacation in South Carolina this week and may, or may not be able to work in a ppst.

Posted on 2017-08-15 at 11:09:02.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Jokes. LOL


I am currently on vacation in South Carolina. I may, or may not, be able to post this week.

Posted on 2017-08-15 at 11:07:34.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Um...


Posts anyone?

Posted on 2017-08-10 at 19:29:09.

Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I'll stick with the original idea.


I was playin'. Thorpe is an individual whose intellect I greatly admire.

Wyatt isn't trying to beat these fellas. He's trying to build in-routes.

Posted on 2017-08-10 at 12:44:55.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: I can understand the desire...


But I urge you not to. Post thoughts, observations, etc. The character has managed to make all of his CONC % checks thus far, so he's not yet been unconscious. Now that the wound isn't being messed with, he'll likely not have to make another CONC % check until he visits the surgeon. This is a light wound and though it is painful, it isn't life threatening anymore. Cleaned (relatively) and bandaged, he's stable.

Posted on 2017-08-10 at 12:43:24.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Well, I'm waiting.


I want to know what Disturbance does before Overwatch does anything further. So, I await someone's post!

Posted on 2017-08-10 at 12:41:00.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: You're doing great!


Don't sweat it. Post and the GM will correct you (kindly) if it needs correcting. I'm sure you've seen that I appreciate players posting actions in the event I move a storyline in a particular direction. In my post, if I don't feel that a part of the player's post would have happened due to everyone's involvement, events, etc., I just cut out that portion of their post.

Posted on 2017-08-10 at 12:39:27.

Topic: Making my little introduction
Subject: Welcome!


Glad to have you!

Posted on 2017-08-09 at 10:26:40.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Looking forward to it!


I await your post with anticipation akin to a pirate seeing a huge treasure!

Posted on 2017-08-08 at 18:03:44.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Aw, you mean it isn't going to be easy?


And here I was thinking that Hammer's absence would make it easy to procure Disturbance!

Posted on 2017-08-08 at 18:02:55.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: True dat.




Posted on 2017-08-08 at 10:19:09.

Topic: Genesis Q&A
Subject: Woohoo!


Can't wait!

Posted on 2017-08-07 at 17:37:52.

Topic: The contact form doesn't work
Subject: If only....


I wish I had the time to draw up some more RPG MB comics. I did, however, put these quick and dirty banners together.







Posted on 2017-08-07 at 17:24:34.
Edited on 2017-08-07 at 17:37:11 by Bromern Sal

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: Yes!


Sounds good.

I laughed at the joke. Just didn't post the action.

Posted on 2017-08-07 at 11:03:18.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon Q&A
Subject: You're now ready to proceed...


I've updated the game. Have at it, ya landlubbers!

Posted on 2017-08-04 at 15:30:40.

Topic: Bring Me That Horizon
Subject: Thicker than tar...


Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:35 A.M.; The Le Porc Fattest Tavern

“No captain in his right min’ would talk ‘bout courses with any other than his own sailmaster an’ navigator. So, beggin’ yer pardon but I’ll politely ask tha’ we change the subject.”

The captain asked for a change of subject in the discussion so Goncalvo obliges. "So, tell me about the cities in the Americas. Having never visited, what can I expect. Are they civilized or filled with uncivilized savages?" Not yet ready to concede defeat, Goncalvo settles into his chair. Motioning the barmaid again he slips her a silver. "See that these men's throat do not get parched while they regale me with tales of their adventures."

Dull brown eyes widen at the vision of the shilling and the maid delicately takes the coin between her index finger and thumb. “Aye, sire. They’ll no’ want fer drink this day. I’ll see t’ it.”

Plying the sailors with drink should be a tactic all too familiar to those sailing the lanes, after all, pirates are crafty folk. Tales told about pirates at the pubs and taverns are propagated by those who would strike fear into the hearts of pale women and wan-eyed children; often by pirates, or the agents of pirates, as such tales limit the actual necessity for brutal fighting when chasing down prizes. Time, however, is the ally of the patient man and the Portuguese sailmaster is a patient man.

Stories and drink… more time… more stories… more drink… and tongues become more glib, more free. As the afternoon wears thin, da Nazare begins to feel Lady Luck tickling his ear.

Captain Thomas Levy of the Azure Seas is so red in the face he might as well be cooked by the sun instead of the liquor and more to the point, he’s a lovely drunk. Following his very friendly lead, Mr. Olsen and Mr. Fernandez begin to open up as well.

As it turns out, charts are very hard to come by in Tortuga. Should Mr. Johnny wish to procure some new charts he’ll need to go someplace more established like the French and Dutch populated Port-au-Prince, Santiago de Cuba, or even the newly founded Charles Town in the Bahamas. Information is more freely shared concerning shipping lanes and seasonal winds but it is convoluted and difficult to immediately piece together like a series of puzzle pieces on a board waiting to reveal a work of art.

This is slow work, gathering information from reluctant purveyors, and is even slower gathering coherent and useful information from drunken purveyors. By the time Goncalvo feels that he has exhausted this source, Mr. Olsen’s forehead is firmly planted on the battered tabletop with snores regularly rumbling into the wood. Mr. Fernandez is sprawled in his seat like a child’s ragdoll tossed without care into the wobbly chair his head lolling backward, mouth agape, bulbous Adam’s apple rolling up and down his elongated throat with each gurgled breath. Only Captain Levy remains even remotely coherent with his right arm acting as pillow to his chubby, ruddy face. Thomas stares blurrily at the clay mug he is tilting precariously on edge and rolling about with the threat of spilling the half-drunk contents at each turn.

Bustling folk still wander the streets and the afternoon sun has sank into a position of repose. He has spent all of his time ashore cultivating and plucking what he can from their alcohol seeped minds.

OOC: Goncalvo will stay as long as the men continue to converse. He will try to steer the conversation back to the info he seeks. He will do checks to determine their "openness" to talking when he sees they are more inebriated.

(OOC: Time is roughly 5:15 PM.)

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

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 11:00 A.M.; The Town

“Aye. Fine,” Fin grumbles, tapping the edge of the coin on the top of the rum barrel as the wharf-hand moves away, “Per’aps we’ll offer it ta yer wife, then, fer somethin’ more entertainin’ than jus’ information.” The Dog’s quartermaster pushes away from the barrels himself then, and slipping the refused silver back into his belt, turns and strides back up the wharf towards the town. Cracker nowhere to be seen, Crowe saunters on.

Given the hand’s reaction, Fin doesn’t imagine that any of the other workers along the quay will be any more forthcoming. Something in the man’s eyes spoke of more than just skepticism toward the proffered bribe… fear, perhaps… though, not necessarily fear of Fin. Fear, instead, it seems, of something or someone with a much broader, farther-reaching influence than what a gruff pirate quartermaster might have. A well-heeled merchant who has cultivated his money into power over the town, maybe, or a British-installed governor positioned to stake and hold the crown’s claim on the island and the waters surrounding it. Crowe’s gaze, bluer and darker than the Mediterranean, squints toward the fort as he clomps up the pier and contemplates the wharf-hand’s reluctance.

“Always someone a’ th’ top dumpin’ their pot on th’ heads o’ those b’neath,” he rumbles under his breath, shouldering his way through a knot of workers and sailors on the dock. “Prob’ly’s got a lash an’ a leash fer each o’ these.

“No matter. There’s always someone in ev’ry port tha’ll respond ta silver over shackles… jus’ th’ matter o’ ferretin’ ‘em out.”

Striding deeper into the bowels of the settlement, Fin scans faces, searching the crowds for the telltale signs of those wanting more and willing to act upon their desires. These are the people someone in Fin’s line of work can appreciate. However, in the ports along the northern coast of the New World, the faces of the townsfolk are less guarded. Here, they all read wary and furtive. None willing to meet the narrow-eyed gaze of the hardened sailor and most walking with eyes turned down. Bereft of soldiers, the streets should be bustling and filled with raucous life. Not in Fin’s path, however. Crowe is a shark among minnows.

Face lined with worry, a woman breaks from the crowd as he draws near. She’s familiar while unfamiliar at the same time; a confusing mix of recollection. Black-skinned that’s dark as the jungles of Africa, she stands a full half-foot shorter than the quartermaster. Her hair is tightly braided beneath the broad-rimmed hat Fin has seen on Asian tradesmen and her clothing is of a light enough fair to practically float about her body. Wide in the hips, she is forced to saunter as she walks, a sway that attracts attention. Not burdened with a heavy chest, she is perhaps a little disproportionate but not in an unpleasing way. Fin readies himself for the unpredictable as she draws near.

“Why are you back?” Hissed words pelt his right ear as she leans in, stopping his progress with a dainty hand on his chest.

Her voice is dusk. Throaty and rich like the promise of the exotic location her accent promises and it strikes a match in his memory. Raisa Taïa. The name rushes to the tip of his tongue carried on wings of an invisible bird. The problem is, that’s all the memory he has of her.

(OOC: Time is roughly 11:12 AM.)

----------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), The Sun Dog, 12:15 P.M.

“Davenport thinks he’s dug in quite well, Maggie,” Virgil shares in a quiet voice. “He won’ be expectin’ trouble. Should be easy, an’ might include a nice haul fer the Sun Dog too. I’ll be happy t’ discuss shares o’ whatever Davenport holds with yer captain at her leisure.”

“The Captain will let you know if she's interested,” Maggie replies as she guides the man back to the launch which will take him back to the shore.

“It seems t’ me tha’ you’re the voice she’ll listen too,” Virgil Grover states lowly as he mounts the rope ladder. “There are powers that control these waters, Maggie Hellfire. There’s no fence-sittin’ in Tortuga. No fence sittin’ at all.”

She watches the man descend the ladder to the launch, and instructs the rowers to deliver him back to where they had picked him up. Once the launch is away, she turns back and seeks out Anna, finding her in the captain’s quarters sitting at the desk, booted feet crossed atop her opulent desk (a prize from their first hunt). As she walks up to Anna, her sister raises her thin brows reading Maggie's thoughts before she even voices them.

“We are going to do this job right?” Maggie says, her excitement evident in her voice. She isn’t usually the thinker of this pair, but she thinks this could be a major boon for them. Anything that might bring them more coin, and better trading relationships was always welcome. She knows that having a favorable relationship with a trader, in a port like Tortuga, is a good thing. They can often steer you towards good prospects to 'hunt' in the future.

“You think so, do ya?” Anna graces Maggie with the contemplative look of one who knows something the others in the conversation do not and are not asking the right questions to win over.

(OOC: response…)

“So, we’re t’ jus’ flip up our skirts and offer ourselves t’ the firs’ sweet talker we come across in port, Mags?” the captain instructs by patiently posing questions, something she’s done as long as Maggie can remember.

(OOC: response…)

“We need t’ get a better picture o’ the tides before we become bedfellows with anyone,” Anna takes up the quill from the cork holder in the writing set on her desk and delicately runs the feather along her lips. “We need t’ see ‘bout this Davenport. We need t’ see ‘bout the others as well. Any others. How’re we going t’ go ‘bout that, my dear sister?”

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:25 PM.)

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

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga (Ile de la Tortue), 11:25 A.M. - Port of Tortuga - The One-Eyed Parrot

Tying the rum soaked cloth around Blackheart’s thigh, Wylie unsympathetically pats his work drawing more groans from between Daxon’s clenched teeth. “Got us a good quartermaster as well, an’ our sailmaster is gifted. You’ll need t’ meet with Fin—he’s the Dog’s quartermaster—an’ Hellfire Maggie afore ya can sign on, but what say ye? Oh! An’ we ‘ave Mr. Hughes too. He’s our ship surgeon. He’ll do ya a lot better than ah did fer tha’ hole in yer leg.”

Shark Tooth begins exchanging histories with Daxon, while the Master Gunner does his best to patch up the damage to Blackheart's wounded leg by tying a rum-soaked cloth around the knife wound in his thigh. After pulling the knife out of his meat and bone, he returns it to its owner. Barely able to hold onto consciousness, Daxon accepts the weapon by the hilt and fumbles to return it to its sheathe while the swarthy, one-eyed sailor shares more about the Sun Dog's captain and crew, having made up his mind that Daxon is exactly the type of man who will not only fit right into the vacancy on his gun crew, but also be a welcome addition as a fighter for the Sun Dog and Captain Cole.

Once Cracker disappears into the crowds he moves away from the docks at a leisurely pace, the heat building to a baking resonance between the clay structures and swell of people. He wants to talk to Fin about what he has learned—he doesn’t know much about the cargoes, but at least he knows the destination of a couple of the ships harboring here. That might prove useful. But for now he also wants to enjoy a bit of time with his feet firmly on the ground. He finds a tavern not far from the harbor called the One-Eyed Parrot and enters in to find the best meal he has eaten in months.

At least that was what he hopes for. Mealy biscuits and watered down rum can only keep a man happy for so long. Real food, that is what he wants. What he receives is tavern food, but it serves the purpose. It is better than ship food despite the cook’s best efforts.

Stepping from the sweltering equatorial temperatures into the stale, dust mote-filled air of the Parrot it takes a moment for Cracker’s eyes to adjust. Dim light battles for ownership of his pupils and eventually beats back the brilliance of the sun. Within this newfound vision, the Dog’s boatswain is able to survey the elongated room.

Population is not something that this establishment can currently boast. But there’s more than just a lack of people. Immediately apparent to William is the unbalanced nature of the occupation. Heavy to his right, the left side of the chamber is practically empty but for two shadowy figures, one of which is lying on the table while the other is chattering away. Whether due to the dim lighting or the angle by which Cracker is viewing the two, seconds pass before he realizes that the hefty build and dungy clothing are familiar. Two further steps into the room and William is not only further relieved of the intense heat but is able to gain a better view of the mens’ faces. Familiarity turns into immediate recognition.

(OOC: I leave it up to the players to engage, or not…)

"Aye Shark Tooth, mate, ye gander Mr. Hughes sharp to fix this ole leg?" Blackheart manages through clenched teeth. Rolling waves of ache still accented by the occasional sharp sting of the alcohol are right prevalent.

Daxon proceeds to asks questions about the ship—the Sun dog and her crew. Not so much as of further interest in the moment, but to keep his mind off of the pain he is in. He begins with, "Me last captain gone, no one like a man that he was. None. Think about him every ship I see. I'm not looking to replace the ones lost but it be nice to find me place in this world again."

Forcing conversation, Daxon tells Shark Tooth about himself, his background, and where he’s come from. He figures he better get to know the man who is trying to save his life. He owes him as much. Wylie is just as eager to share and whether that’s because of the weeks at sea, or the need to build rapport, it matters not.

The two men are talking themselves in circles and finding himself repeating information about the crew, Shark Tooth shifts to explaining his nickname as he helps Blackheart to stand upright in spite of all the aches and pains coursing through his own body from the merciless beating.

"Time ta get yer ta der Dog," grunts Shark Tooth. "Ta git Mr. Hughes ta fix yer laig proper."

(OOC: Time is approximately 11:35 AM.)

Posted on 2017-08-04 at 15:29:09.

Topic: Flesh & Blood - A CyberPunk Game
Subject: Sooner than I thought...


Ok, so here's the breakdown.

  • You are all (except Tann's Casino) now in the tunnel within a few meters of each other and still within sight of the school grounds drain off. You cannot see the school grounds, but the light from the AV-4 is definitely shining into the tunnel so it is safe to assume that they've at least seen Echo if not more of you making your escape.

  • While some of you have sustained some injuries, they are superficial (STUN damage) and will heal in a few hours.

  • You have a decision to make: return the way you came and try to make it out onto the street hoping that the AV and its crew have neither the knowledge, nor the support with access to the knowledge, of the sewers to determine where you might emerge, or... take your chances wandering through the sewers and hope that Blossom's maps are recent enough to not only help you get out at a safer location, but avoid areas where businesses, the Triad, the Mob, and gangs have secured the tunnels for their own purposes.



  • AV-4


    Posted on 2017-08-03 at 16:55:34.

    Topic: Flesh & Blood - A Night City Adventure
    Subject: Some good, some bad...


    West 43875 St. 52 High -- The Bartholomew School Grounds and Sewage/Runoff Drainage System | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 4:13 AM PST
    Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
    Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

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

    Assessing the situation with a practiced eye, Echo quickly determines that the damage done is Ghlahn’s work. “Ghlahn’s been busy,” she reports grimly. “At least one member of a two man team is seriously--no. Wait, make that one member of a three man team is seriously wounded, another is down, and the third is providing aid trying to move the injured one out of Ghlahn’s line of fire.” Pausing, she turns back to the others reluctant to move any closer to the door for fear of positioning herself within the dim light spilling through the glass from outside. “What’s the plan?”

    Fixer, usually unencumbered, except for his "Gadget Bag" is now wearing a bag with Casino's weapons and all the other stuff that the large solo has burdened him with. Once to the group stops at the door, he removes the bag with Casino’s stuff in it, rummaging around in the semi-darkness until he feels the grenades. Pulling four from the bag, he stumbles up to Vegas. Holding out the grenades, Fixer whispers, "I got four to start the show."

    "The plan is, we go for broke!" Vegas stares at the four grenades that Fixer has pulled from Casino's bag and the words out of his own mouth in response to Echo's question do not surprise the Dapper Solo one bit. He motions to Fixer to put the grenades back into the bag.

    "I will lay down some cover fire," explains the Chairman of the Board, "while the rest of you make a run for it to where Ghlahn is waiting for us."

    Checking his guns to make sure they are fully loaded, the Frank Sinatra look-alike makes his way to the door, easing past Echo, before smiling at the Asian beauty who has captured his heart during the course of this bizarre caper.

    Bloodbank feels a heightening sense of adrenaline as they prepare to move. Listening to the words of Vegas "I will lay down some cover fire while the rest of you make a run for it where Ghlahn is waiting for us!" he grips his gun a little tighter and pulls his arms in closer in hopes of increasing his speed.

    Bloodbank speaks up, "I'm sticking close and tight to Blossom. Don't stop moving unless we do."

    "Save me your best kiss, Blossom!" the well-dressed gunman brazenly declares and then, without further ado, Vegas pushes through the door and begins running at an angle that will hopefully draw any fire from the Sec Team away from the rest of the group before he, himself, opens fire on the unfortunate members of the security team who are just trying to do their job.

    But it is Echo who moves with blinding speed the instant the door is swung open. Leveling her H&K MP2020 straight across the fairway towards the two soldiers, she pulls the trigger on a three-round burst. Black armor cannot protect the target and the man standing over his wounded ally has his head jerked forward, his body staggering towards the gym building before spinning as the third round takes him through the shoulder. He drops like a bag of potatoes to lie still in the drifting rain.

    Still moving with blurring speed, the masked nomad darts from the dark doorway into the slick, gray night. At the pace she’s setting, it is easy to believe that she’ll be right on top of the wounded fellow within a couple of seconds.

    Recovering from the surprise of the swiftness and decisiveness of Echo’s action, Vegas makes the decision to change his course. Brown leather long coat flying out behind her like a cape, the nomad has already eliminated the primary threat and with the speed she’s invoked, there’s no longer any reason to detour. Dress shoes slipping slightly in the wet grass, the Chairman of the Board clone darts after the lithe woman, leveling his weapon at the surprised, wounded guard remaining.

    Ogata Roka cannot believe what’s happening. He had figured that being posted to a private school in Mid-City would be a cushy assignment—no violence, subdued and obedient students, and a secured compound. The night has most certainly been anything other than cushy what with the report from the security office that the grounds have been infiltrated, the search for the interlopers, and the sniper fire from the darkest corner of the compound that killed Eric and Josh along with the dog, Tripper, and put a bullet through him as well. If Marshall hadn’t started to drag him off towards the cover of the building, he’s positive that sniper would have finished him off. Of course, luck is not on his side and as Marshall falls face forward into the grass having been murdered by an attacker on a new front, Ogata twists his body about to raise his rifle and defend himself. The last thought that goes through his head as his face is demolished by Vegas’ round is oddly enough about his mother’s Ramen noodles and how he is never going to get to taste them again.

    "What the hell are they feeding these guys?" Ghlahn wonders as the rushing sec team member finally drops. Refocusing his attention on the remaining two team members he has a choice. Target the injured sec team member and ensure he cannot fight or target the uninjured one in attempt to make him a lesser threat. In this case, killing the injured man will simply put the uninjured one back into the fight with a vengeance. Taking aim once more, the sniper places the crosshairs on the uninjured sec team member’s left ear and slowly squeezes the trigger, only to stop as the man stumbles forward to fall mostly out of sight behind the corner of the building with only his left booted foot showing that he’s not moving.

    From his vantage, the red-headed sniper can see other lights in the compound coming on in buildings further away, but more disturbingly, he can see an AV-4 sweeping in from the front and knows that it will be only a matter of seconds before the heavy AV turns its powerful guns on the rest of his team.

    Seeing that the two last members of the school’s security team are dead, Echo rushes right past the bodies and into the open grass remaining between them and their escape route. Ghlahn momentarily tenses at the sight of the slim nomad in her full sprint being immediately followed by the others. Bloodbank and Blossom are running closely together and a strange-looking silvery man-thing shaped like a samurai from ancient Japan but filled with holes accompanies them, sword in hand. Fixer is next followed by Vegas who pauses at the corner to look back and cover their retreat. There’s no way that the suited solo has seen the AV yet, not with the trajectory of the vehicle and the man’s position against the athletics hall. But firing on the support vehicle will draw its attention to them making escape impossible.

    Sliding down to her knees and twisting about athletically at the mouth of the tunnel in which Ghlahn holds position, Echo brings her submachine gun to bear on the school grounds she’s just devoured to provide cover fire if necessary as her allies escape. She’s some distance ahead of them, but only a second or two timewise. Spotting the AV-4 descending on the school, her heart skips a beat.

    “Go! Go! Go!” she commands, using her left hand to usher her team mates quickly past. Scanning their numbers, she notes that Vegas is just now leaving the corner of the gymnasium and beginning his sprint towards her. The AV is now nearly below the available line of sight over the gym building it’s floodlight sweeping the semi-circular drive for any enemy.

    Dropping from the ladder into the murky waters below, Ghlahn makes way for the teams’ arrival while scanning for any threats in the tunnels. Already beginning to move back the way they had come, the sniper makes his way down the dank and rot smelling corridor.

    Blossom is quick to toss her bag through the tight tunnel mouth and slide in on her butt until her smooth bare legs vanish over the edge of the precipice. Twisting to her bare stomach, she grimaces at the feeling of squishing mud and grass while sliding over the edge and hooking her boots on the ladder. Careful not to repeat the fall in the train station, she gingerly makes her way into the ankle-deep waters below, turns, retrieves her bag, and begins running after Ghlahn.

    Bloodbank follows suit, though not tossing his bag filled with expensive medical supplies. This slows him a little, but the urgency in Echo’s orders to move has already stimulated the adrenaline rushing through his body like a match to a stream of gasoline and he finds himself almost stepping on Blossom’s delicate fingers in his haste to get down the ladder.

    Having to wait for the medtech to retire from the field, Fixer turns and catches sight of the AV-4 rising back up again over the roofline. AV-4’s are the threat that no one, not even full cyborgs, can ignore. With the body-style of a minivan, the side doors can be open (and usually are) for the side gunners to completely thrash any target with 50 caliber weapons. And as if that weren’t enough, the nose gun of the aerodyne vehicle is linked to the smart-chip of the pilot allowing him to gun you down with equal ferocity. Fixer had worked on an AV-4 that had been shot up in a firefight with a cyborg who had gone cyberpsycho. The vehicle had its ticket punched and a number of the crew had been injured—one even killed—but there had been nothing left of the ‘borg except parts by the time they had finished. Waiting around for this thing to find them is not an option.

    Tearing his attention away from the horrible visage of the AV, Fixer sees that Bloodbank is in the tunnel and proceeds to perform his own extraction with only a minor glance towards the remaining member of their team, Vegas, before he descends the slippery ladder.

    Light breaks the roofline like a rising sun spilling over the dark yard beyond but casting deeper shadows before it—shadows that cover the dapper solo’s retreat for the time being. Not knowing what was casting the light, Vegas lowers himself into the run and deftly closes the distance between him and the waiting Echo in mere seconds. Sliding on his right hip like a baseball player stealing a base, the Chairman’s coat splays out underneath him, being dragged through the mud without care of ceremony.

    Two hundred and fifty lumens cascade down the inner side of the cement wall, spill across the crease of the connecting yard and brilliantly crawl back towards the gymnasium as the hovering AV crests the building and begins to descend on the yard. Vegas scrambles down the hole and out of sight just seconds before the light breaks into the tunnel. Impacting the water-covered floor and sliding a bit on the slick algae growing there, the well-dressed but sodden man steps back to provide cover fire for the nomad hot on his heels.

    Following the solo into the run-off return, Echo slips in over the edge but catches her coat on the skeleton of the bars Fixer had cut through. Turning to descend the ladder she is caught up in the twisted coat and her boot slips off the rung. Smashing into the ladder, pain jolts up her right knee just before the sound of ripping warns her that she’s about to be released. Too late, she attempts to regain her grip on the water-spotted ladder. Fingers slipping, Echo finds herself falling backwards into the dark.

    Standing at the bottom of the ladder there is no other option for the Frank Sinatra look-alike but to try and catch the woman, with try being the operative word. Even with the work-tread on the bottom of his stylish dress shoes, the tunnel floor is too slick to maintain his footing. As the light from the AV-4’s spotlight spills into the tunnel, Echo collapses on top of him and the two of them crash to the cement and muddy, debris filled waters in a heap of limbs and clothing.

    Impacting his left elbow and hip in the fall, Vegas winces with the pain. Echo’s knee is still pained from when it struck the ladder and the fall results in her landing awkwardly on her right wrist and forearm. Rolling off of the Chairman mimic, she mutters her apology (a barely audible, “Sorry.”) and scrambles to move off down the tunnel, obviously following the pattern that Vegas has been operating under where he brings up the rear.

    Posted on 2017-08-03 at 16:49:23.

    Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
    Subject: Wyatt is using...


    ...the Ed Thorp method of counting cards.

    Posted on 2017-08-03 at 15:13:58.

     


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