Characters Round 0 - Shadowrun 5e Applications - RPG Crossing
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Old 06-05-2020, 08:28 AM
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Round 0 - Shadowrun 5e Applications

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The 9 had found a new champion to fill their ranks in Tobias. Now that they were at full strength, the world was supposed to go back to normal. Balance restored. But, it wasn't. Every step the Nine made to bring things into balance was countered by unknown forces working against them. As their strength grew, so did that of the opposition, seemingly by double. The troubles of the world seemed to be just too many for such a small group, powerful as they were, to control.

You chuckle. Wouldn't it be wiz if ten people weren't enough to rule the world with an iron fist? You power off the trid and look at the Seattle skyline. Anything to take your mind off the sea of red ink you called your expenses. The jobs were few and far between, there was a new crew in town, The Crossing Companions. No one knew where they'd come from, but they'd erupted on the scene.

Grandma's basement filled with devil rats, done. Ghouls creeping from their holes, handled. Missing persons, high stakes negotiations, transportation, extraction, retrieval, they have a hand in it all chummer with nothing left over for you. Good, bad, and in between, their members do it all. Drek, they'll be knocking over Zurich-Orbital soon if even half the rumors were true.

Your com buzzes. It's your fixer, not with a job, but with an introduction, to meet with The Crossing Companions. Speak of the devil and he doth appear. The name may not inspire confidence, but the cred they're rolling in more than makes up for it. You click the link.

<<Today is special omae. At the edge of Auburn, just a stone's throw from council lands, you'll find The Waltzing Witch. It's not much to look at, but the liquor is real, the beer is cold, and the creds are waiting.

All invited parties are requested to attend the mingle. There, they will have the chance to meet our team, impress its members, and hear about our biggest score yet. All skill sets are invited to attend, we need it all. No credit check or references required, but please leave all spirits, drones, and other pets outside. Exceptions may be made for emotional support persona softs.

You laugh until you see the fine print, every runner gets ¥5,000 at the door, and another ¥5,000 on the way out after the shindig was through. You then scan the matrix for The Waltzing Witch and come up empty. Pop up clubs weren't unheard of, but they are so 2060. Still, ten large was ten large, and you could certainly go for a drink right now.

Besides, if you can't beat em, join em.

Application rules
  • This year we are using CRB P354Street Scum priority generation (C,C,D,D,E or B,C,D,E,E for troll runners only) applied to the chart on CRB P65.
  • Standard starting 25 Karma with a possible additional 25 with the purchase of negative qualities.
  • Free contact points equal to three time charisma
  • Free knowledge skill ranks equal to 2(Log+Int)
  • Standard 10 karma transfered to cash at a rate of 1->¥2000
  • Core rule book only. Please make sure you've read the errata as well, located here.
    • Please note:
    • Burning Edge: Smackdown, is disallowed
    • Drugs will be subject to augmented maximums and only a single dose, of a single drug may be used during the entirety of the competition.
    • Edge will not refresh between rounds of the competition
    • The following spells are disallowed: Control Actions; Control Mob; Control Thoughts; Mob Mind
    • No bound spirits of any kind (spirits may be summoned in real-time following CRB P300regular rules and be warned, over cast spirits will resist with edge)
    • registered sprites are allowed for technomancers
  • Gear Restrictions: Device Ratings must be rated at 4 or less. Maximum Availability is limited to 10 or less.
  • We STRONGLY suggest the use of a runner generation program such as Chummer5a or Hero Lab Classic. Make sure your RPGX username does not appear anywhere on the sheet. If you wish to fill out a runner the old fashioned way, please be as clear as you can within that sheet about all calculations, including karma spent, priority selections, skill point use, and nuyen expenditures.
  • Please be mindful of the availability limit of 10. Later in the adventure, you will have the opportunity to acquire more gear.
  • Your application should be anonymized. When you post your application, please put it under BOTH a spoiler tag AND a secret tag
  • There is a MAXIMUM length of 1000 This excludes and BBcode mark-up, but DOES include any and all visible text in the applicationwords.
  • Images are not required but may be included. Please keep them to a reasonable size, if you include any. Musical selections will likely not be considered by the judges.
  • Your character write-up should provide:
    • A backstory
    • Tell us why your character is interested in meeting the Crossing Companions.
  • Applications close on Friday June 26th at 6pm EST. You may freely edit your submission up to that due date. Any edits after that time will result in disqualification.

Last edited by Imveros; 07-06-2020 at 05:43 PM.
Old 06-05-2020, 02:14 PM
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Outplay 2020

Stenson "Steppz" Brighttallow
Rabble Rouser
"The corps own us, sure, but no way in hell I'm lettin' em control me."

Metatype: Elf Sex: Male Age: 36 Height: 6'2" Weight: 71kg
Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Dice Starting Nuyen (Squatter):
2d6*40 (3, 1)*40 Total = 160

Priorities: C - C - E - D - D
Way of the Wicked | P6 Arena
See something you like? Nominate it for Post of the Month!
I have taken the Oath of Sangus

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:07 AM.
Old 06-08-2020, 03:48 PM
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Silk Silk is online now
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Character Submission: James Moranis
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Name: James Moranis(Adept)

James grew up as a UCAS citizen in Renton on the border of the Redmond Barrens. Not the nicest part of town, but it was the best a working-class Troll family could afford. But even though that part of Renton was "safe" compared to the barrens, the area was full of crime, and the police were no help to the Moranis family when someone broke in and stole what little they had. When James was nine years old, it got to the point where his parents would no longer call the police after one of the Knight Errent officers asked for a bribe, or else he would conveniently find some drugs and drag everyone off to jail. This was where James got his dislike for authority figures, especially cops. By the time he was eleven, James had dropped out of school and joined a local gang after his father got arrested for being a Troll and fitting the 'description' of a suspect. James never saw his dad again. Maybe he split after serving his time, perhaps he died, or maybe he was still rotting there, forgotten. As his mother, Sarah was working full time at a factory on the other side of Renton and a part-time waitressing job just to make ends meet; it was no wonder she didn't notice her son's slide into gang life.

James was never good at school and hated it when his teachers called him slow, so he never paid much attention to what was being taught. In the gangs, however, he was the big bad troll and popular to boot, what with his unusual burgundy skin color and constant smile gave him distinctive style. James developed a reputation and was called 'DJ Cleaver.' Cleaver, after he made a Troll sized sword from a truck door and carried it around as his only weapon. DJ, because he liked music and is always playing toons. Any kind of music, in fact...except for classical music as James would never recover from the blow to his rep if he ever admitted that he kind of liked the classical compositions that were fast-paced.

But all good things come to an end, and in his early teens, James was charged with vandalism and arrested. His mother put her foot down after that. But that only caused a rift to form between him and his mother. For the majority of his teen life, James was in and out of prison. After he was charged as an adult for a crime that he didn't commit at the age of seventeen and served a two-year prison sentence, his mother wanted nothing to do with him and kicked him to the curb. It was no surprise that James fell on hard times and ended up living in the Redmond Barrens. The gangs in the Barrens were more hardcore than James wanted to deal with so he struggled to find a place to fit in. All he wanted to do was become popular, listen to the latest music, and have some fun. Killing people for not wearing the same gang colors and following orders was not fun in his book. It was during this time that he was struggling to eke out a living that his Adept powers manifested themselves. It was like a godsend, though James didn't believe in a higher power. His life turned around as he became 'cool' again and began running the shadows. To come up with a runner name James meshing the first two letters of his name together and Jamo was born. It quickly got changed to JamO once people found out about his passion for music.

Why met the Crossing Companions?
JamO was just getting out of prison...again! This time he did a three-month stint for not broadcasting his criminal SIN when a Knight Errant officer stopped him in Tacoma just after his current team did a job. It was possible the officer might have pressed the issue but JamO's attitude may have agitated the officer just a bit..."Naw." Receiving a commlink call and noticing it was Bast, his ex-girlfriend turned fixer, JamO accepted the call and said, "Hay girl! What's happenin'?" JamO listened attentively as Bast informed him of a job at The Waltzing Witch in Auburn and welcomed the information about the Crossing Companions from his former flame/fixer and let out a whoop of joy, "Straight out-a the can into a ten gee payday, yeah! Thanks, Baby! You know I'm needing the nuyen. I owe you one."

Chummer pdf

"Learn from your mistakes, repeat only as needed, live long and prosper."

DMing: An Untimely EncounterSun - Thu: NORMAL / Fri & Sat: UNAVAILABLE

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:07 AM.
Old 06-08-2020, 05:20 PM
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Smiling Jack
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Jakk "Smiling Jack" Takkalo
Race: Ork
Age: Unknown, but firmly Adult. Probably middle aged by Ork standards but the damage his body and mind has suffered makes pegging his exact age impossible.
Role: Armory Specialist / "Gun Nut" / Prophet of Cara Fahd

Appearence: Rough around the edges is putting it mildly. He is strongly built and his hair suggests it used to be kept Military or Security forces short but has let it grow out for a while. There's always some sort of strange look in his eye. Sometimes it's a nervous energy, sometimes it's a hundred yard stare, sometimes it's pretty obvious he's seeing something that isn't really there.
Particularly ragged looking even by Ork standards, there's so much scaring on his body that it looks like he just happened to survive a 'Death by 1,000 Cuts'. Nothing important seems to be missing though, save maybe a chunk of his upper lip on one side like someone tried to give him a Glasgow Smile and got interrupted. Some of the scars go over what were obviously once tattoos used by Ares Macrotechnology Security Forces. The scarring is extensive enough that even other Orks find it impossible to guess his age beyond being an adult, and Jakk claims to not remember how old he is.
If his body looked bizarre his taste in clothing is even stranger. He seems downright uncomfortable in anything but animal skins and body armor, which outside of a neo-primitive community gives him a very uncivilized look. Often seen wearing what used to be the chest piece of Knight Errant body armor, now painted with neo-primitive designs including an orc equivalent to the "Have A Nice Day" smiley. It may or may not be magically enchanted.

Personality: A psychologist's field day, and it's immediately apparent that what happened to his body was just as damaging to his mind. Possibly even more, as he claims that a large majority of his scars were actually from self-inflicted wounds. In his defense, he'll add that they weren't self-inflicted for no reason but they were at first necessary to save his own life and later to help himself and others achieve spiritual enlightenment but he then acknowledges that's exactly what a crazy person would say.
That's probably what saves him in the end. Jakk Takkalo is not mentally well, but he is fully aware of that fact and has managed to hold onto his conscience. Sometimes he expresses it as a sort of playful form of insanity, but that's a mask and he knows it. He's trying to hold onto his faculties, and sometimes that's the best he can manage.
Most dramatically, Jakk Takkalo has come to believe that he's a Prophet with a spiritual link with the ancient guiding spirits of the Orks. As such he does believe that at least some of his delusions and hallucinations are in fact spiritual visions. He believes this to the point that he'll occasionally undergo what he claims are shamanistic rituals meant to encourage more "visions", usually these rituals coinciding with certain phases of the moon and involving psychoactive/hallucinogenic drugs and cutting himself with a ritual knife. Actual Shamans have noted some similarities with some more extreme forms of their own rituals, but rarely if ever sense any genuine mystical energies or spiritual significance.
He loves music, especially Pre-Comet Bands, and has strong Neo-Primitive beliefs. He not only sleeps with a gun under his pillow but the pillow is usually a piece of body armor. He shows very little actual concept of danger and often finds life-threatening situations funny. He has a shocking level of pain tolerance, but can crash a "Fischer-Price My First Decking Rig" if left unsupervised with it. Above all, he 'Seeks Cara Fahd' - but whether he means he's looking for the mythical Ork-Shangra-La or if he has a deathwish and he's seeking an Honorable Death not even he knows.

Backstory: Truth be told, there's a lot about his past he simply doesn't remember. He remembers that he was raised Corporate, and that when he became an adult he got a job as a Security Officer for Ares Macrotechnology. He doesn't remember most of how his time of service went, but he claims his squad's last mission was to wipe out a Terra-First village somewhere in South America. Off the Books, of course.
He doesn't remember exactly what happened during that mission, beyond lots of death. He remembers going into a schoolhouse with his weapons hot. He remembers there were children in the schoolhouse - but he doesn't remember if he pulled the trigger or not and that haunts him. He likes to think he didn't, because the village's surviving Shamans struck back and hit the squad with a particularly nasty Curse.
As he remembers it, all of his squad were heavily Chromed and the Curse made their bodies reject all their Chrome at once. Most of his squad were killed outright and torn apart from the inside out. For some reason, the Curse decided that Jakk deserved a Chance to Survive. Instead of killing him outright, he got a chance to save himself - by cutting out most of his own cyberware with an old hunting knife by hand then having to walk back to official civilization with no supplies afterword.
During that journey; between the blood loss and the pain and the starvation and dehydration; he claims to have had his first vision. A vision of Cara Fahd, of slaying Dragons made of Steel and Glass, and of finding Himself at the Soul of the World. Whether or not he really is a Prophet of Cara Fahd or he's just a Madman, that remains to be seen.

Why the Crossing Champions?:
To put it bluntly, after getting the message for the possible job he took a bunch of Peyote and interpreted the resulting hallucinations as the spirits and the universe saying it would be a good way to search for Cara Fahd.

Quod Confutat Veritas, Ut Destruatur
Poetice Vivere, Aut Mori Stultitiam - Nullius In Verba
Outplay X: The Rise of the Revenge!

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:07 AM.
Old 06-08-2020, 09:05 PM
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I tried making Chummer5 accept the creation rules, but once I tell it I want Street Scum, it won't let me tell it that I get 25 karma.

So I went old-school. Since I've only played at the "street scum" level once before (and that was a point-buy build under 4E rules), I decided to start with exploring what was possible and see what character emerged.

Coughed up a backstory at last! Application complete.

Ork Muggle
Concept: Urban Explorer turned Watchmen wannabe.

Race: Ork(0) (C)
Skills: 28/2 (C)
Attributes: 14 (D)
Resources: 50,000¥ (D)
M/R: Muggle (E)

Blandness (8)
Catlike (7)
Toxin Resistance 4
Code of Honor -15 (Warrior's Code; if disallowed, Refuses to kill children or animals, and generally regards killing anyone at all as an unnecessary risk)

Quality balance: -4. 21 Karma remaining.

Atrributes (14; 20 karma spent):
Body 7 (base 4, 3 attribute points)
Agility 5 (base 1, 4 attribute points)
Reaction 2 (base 1, 1 attribute point)
Strength 4 (base 3, 1 attribute point)
Charisma 2 (base 1, 1 attribute point)
Intuition 2 (base 1, 10 karma points)
Logic 2 (base 1, 1 attribute point)
Willpower 4 (base 1, 3 attribute points)
Edge 2 (base 1, 10 karma points)
Essence 5.2 (see gear below)

Skills: (28/2):
Athletics SG 2
Con 2
Clubs 4
Palming 3
Sneaking 6
Perception 6
Pilot Ground Graft 2
Exotic Ranged Weapon (Parashield Dart) 4
Exotic Ranged Weapon (Grapple Gun) 1

Knowledges (8):
English N, Or'zer 2, Commercial Architecture 2, Paranormal Critters 2, Seattle Street Gangs 2

Contacts (6)
Fixer (Loyalty 3, Connection 3)

Gear (52k¥; 1 karma spent)
Chameleon Suit (Thermal Damping 4, Chemical Protection 2, Nonconductivity 3). 3,950¥. Availability: 10R.
Helmet (Thermographic Vision, Flare Compensation, Image Link). 875¥ (running total 4,825¥). Availability: 9 (2+6+1).
1 dose Jazz. 75¥ (running total 4,900¥). Availability: 2R.
Contacts (Capacity 1; Smartlink). 2,200¥ (running total 7,100¥). Availability: 10R (6+4R).
Fake SIN (3) ("Liz Tuttle, freelance zoologist"). 7,500¥ (running total 14,600¥). Availability 9F.
4 Fake Licenses (@3) (Armor, Firearm, Concealed Carry, Narcoject) (associated with the Liz Tuttle SIN). 2,400¥ (running total 17,000¥). Availability 9F.
Tooth Compartment (breakable; Jazz dose housed inside). 800¥ (running total 17,800¥). Availability 8.
Smuggling Compartment (under ribs). 0.2 Essence loss. 7,500¥ (running total 25,300¥). Availability 6.
Bone Density Augmentation (2). 0.6 Essence loss. 10,000¥ (running total 35,300¥). Availability 8.
Grapple Gun. 500¥ (running total 35,800¥). Availability 8R.
8x100m stealth rope (stored in smuggling compartment). 680¥ (running total 36,480¥). Availability 8F.
Catalyst Stick (also stored in smuggling compartment). 120¥ (running total 36,600¥). Availability 8F.
Miniwelder with 2 spare fuel canisters. 410¥ (running total 37,010¥). Availability 2 (each).
Yamaha Growler. 5,000¥ (running total 42,010¥).
Erika Elite Commlink. 2,500¥ (running total 44,510¥). Availability 8.
Parashield Dart Pistol (Top mounted external smartgun system; 30 Narcoject darts; 5 spare clips). Total 2,550¥ (running total 47,060¥). Availability 8R (darts), 4R (pistol, smartgun system).
2 concealable holsters (1 each for grapple gun and narcoject). 300¥ (running total 47,360¥). Availability 2.
Staff. 100¥ (running total 47,460¥). Availability 3.
Micro-transciever. 100¥ (running total 47,560¥). Availability 2.
White noise generator (4). 200¥ (running total 47,760¥). Availability 4.
MCT Fly-Spy drone. 2,000¥ (running total 49,760¥). Availability 8.
Bland clothing. 240¥ (running total 50,000¥).
Low Lifestyle, 1 month prepaid. 2,000¥ (total 52,000¥).

Karma tally:
25 (starting) -4 (Qualities, net of negatives) -20 (attributes) -1 (extra cash) = 0.


Unlike so many other 'runners, I grew up in a pretty stable home. Yes, home. Like a house. Three kids growing up with two parents. Or at least, that's what it looked like from the outside.

And I guess an abusive home is stable on the inside, too... just not, y'know, wholesome.

My older brother Robbie probably got the worst of it. Dad liked his booze, and liked to use his fists when he was lit up, but he wasn't into hitting girls - so he wouldn't swing at me. And Robbie wouldn't let him go after Freddie. So he got the worst of it... and Freddie and me, we learned to make ourselves scarce.

In time we also learned to make ourselves unobtrusive. When you don't know what will set the old man off, you learn to be invisible as a defense mechanism. Or you get the heck out. I actually did both. The only thing that really changed when my tusks started coming in is that suddenly dad didn't count me as a girl... and it took a while before the muscle mass caught up enough that I could swing back, so if anything that just reinforced my basic defenses. Be invisible, or be gone.

I spent a lot of tiem as a teenager poking around the Sprawl, exploring abandoned buildings and generally minding my own business. Looking back I'm amazed I didn't get myself killed, pressed into a gang, or trafficked. But I guess I had got pretty good at keeping my head down.

The day I started making a career out of it started out like any other. I was just minding my own business, poking around a burned-out stuffer shack that had never reopened. Under a charred pallet I spotted a glint of chrome, and my curiosity perked. I moved the pallets... and found an intact cyberarm, with a gun still in its hand.

I freaked out a little at first... but once I got over that, I was fascinated. And once I got over THAT, I found myself getting greedy. Nobody had been here in at least a year, I figured. Nobody was looking for this arm. But I bet somebody would pay some money for it.

Living in the sprawl, it isn't that hard to find a street doc. I spoke to one, and once I made him understand that I wasn't looking to have the thing put on my body, he hooked me up with a fixer. I sold the arm for ... well, probably a lot less than it was worth, and ditto the gun. But I found myself suddenly with a few thousand nuyen of my very own... and a chance to disappear for good.

I took it.

Over the next few years I scraped out a living, mostly scavenging, but occasionally doing jobs requiring someone good at getting places others can't or don't want to go. I got a better place, a fake ID, an a cover story in case I ever got stopped.

And now I get this message from my fixer, and a shot at the big time...
When all is said and done, more is generally said than is done.
Join the fight against inflation!
Posting status:Note to self, laptops do not like Coke Zero. Like, REALLY don't. But I have a new laptop now...

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:07 AM.
Old 06-08-2020, 10:33 PM
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AlphaZ AlphaZ is offline
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Pro tip, tell Chummer 5 you want sum-to-ten, drop gear limit to 10 and sum limit to 6, but leave the level at Standard, not Street Scum.
Obviously make sure you pick the right priorities since it's not really sum-to-ten.

CONCEPTFormer fixer, recent 'runner; Face, infiltrator, assassin

BACKGROUND"Y'know, not everybody's cut out for corp life. You wanna sell out? Be my guest. But you gotta know what you're in for, and that's life, pal. You're worth a drek to these megas and they'll collar you like a dog and keep you until you're not. And when you're not, they'll throw you out like meta trash. If you're lucky." The tip of the cigar brightened up as the air pulled through it and a small cloud of spiced smoke soon drifted past in reply. "Just because you're good don't mean you gotta work for the man. You got skills? Go freelance, be your own boss. Everybody needs somethin', you just gotta find who's got the scratch to back it up." New ashes fell upon old as the dying glow was given fresh life with a tap on the edge of the ceramic tray. "And that's exactly what I do, pal. I do the finding so you can do the work and get the paycheck. Bingo?" The cigar found a comfortable resting place between the man's impossibly white teeth as he tilted back his hat to show soft brown eyes waiting expectantly for the answer that he already knew was coming. His name was Jonas, alias Sideways, and damn if he didn't love being a fixer.

But all good things must come to an end.

Sometimes, when the drek really hits the fan, there's nothing else you can do besides take a minute to consider how your life got to this point and where it all went wrong. And when you're lying on a street doc's table getting a new-to-you arm that cost you every nuyen you had and some you didn't, well, there's really no better time.

Growing up poor, well that was alright. Momma always said better poor than corporate. Still, money did have that certain appeal. The kind that could really get a young kid into trouble if he didn't keep his nose clean. But Jonas was a real magician at getting out of trouble. True enough he was the awakened sort, though not with any fancy spells or spirits. Just the sort that makes you a little too good at something. Like getting out of trouble. Which of course meant just as often getting into it.

A salesman, a dealer, a broker; different names for a middleman who gets paid for someone else's work. That was his ticket to the good life. Lined his pockets and never had to get his hands dirty. Just had to know what to say, to whom, and when. And what not to say. That's probably where things went sour.

It was really all Raven's fault. That flawless beauty of a spirit, black-clad and feather-masked, teaching him how to play people. Little tricks and games. Harmless pranks. Some good-natured skimming. All's fair in love, war, and crime. But not everybody sees it that way all the time. A little slip of the tongue, a tip of the hand, and suddenly gangers with dogs are quite literally breaking down your door. Dogs, chummer. Mean ones that'll chew your arm off.

Well anyway, that old piece of chrome would look slick in the right suit. Even if it was going to throw a big sopping-wet blanket on his supernaturality. Only one ol' Zed had lying around that would fit. Apparently some HTR sharpshooter piece, hence the insane price. But something had to go in that hole and he was in no position to bargain. Zed might be a greedy old bastard but he kept you this side of alive, and that's alright.

So what do you do with half your mojo and a cranked-up shooting arm? Well, "Sideways" was going to have trouble selling jobs if word of this got out. Better to bury that old SIN as KIA and start over. A new SIN, a new suit, a few new contacts, he'd be a new man. But he'd need to make some money before he could build up a new network. Maybe some of that work he'd spent so long selling to others. A little risky, but... well, there's bills to pay. Something's got to give. Though he'd need a new moniker too. Would "Sidelong" be a little too familiar?

DESCRIPTIONTall, handsome, and thin, with a well-cut suit and perfect shades, Jonas can blend in at any corporate function. He wears a black glove over his chrome right hand to keep things formal. A well-sculpted beard gives him that uncivilized edge that, combined with the pheromones, makes anyone putty in his hands. The look, the smell, the voice, the eyes, and the cybergun to top it all off: Jonas is equal parts heart-breaker and life-taker.

Dice starting money:
4d6 4, 6, 5, 2 Total = 17


Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:07 AM.
Old 06-09-2020, 10:50 AM
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Round 0 Application Complete

Big things, Small packages
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Buzz, choob.
Handle: Bonus
Metatype: Human
Role: Metatype D, Attributes, D, Magic C, Skills, C, Money EJust a kid with a gun in a grown-up profession

I don't know what's worse, nothing left to live for or only one thing. Lacy and me lived on the streets and ate garbage long enough to know that some have it way worse. I know it's real weepy, woe-is-me drek to whine because mommy and daddy are dead and sis sits around on useless legs slotting dream chips because the hit team didn't have the balls to geek a couple of kids while they were at it. Welcome to the Barrens, right? But frag, it's got to be worse in some way to have something and lose it than to never have it at all, isn't it?

I don't remember how we ended up at the clinic. It's not like Mel is a real give things away for free sort. Maybe someone paid, but the Street Doc never said. She didn't tell me who left the Fichetti Security 600600 for us either but I remember when that rubber grip hit my hand. It was heavy, but it just felt right. It turns out we traded our SINs for that gun, or maybe I got it to make new sins. All Mel said was, "You have a bonus life, omae. Maybe it's not the same but it's equal. See if you can score a few more before you lose it."

We were twelve.

We got shoved to the Yesler Way ShelterYesler and that's where we met Daniel. He's a real nice man and treated us like people instead of kids. He knows what it's like to lose people, but there was only so much he could do. Without SINs, we couldn't go foster and a shelter is more dangerous for two girls than the streets. So that's where we ended up. I almost sold that gun to get some food early on. Lacy begged me to. There was a real low point where we considered something else, too. But something in me said, No, this is your way out. Use it to make the cred you need.

Other kids like me used to write symphonies or like solve math stuff. It seems warped that the gift I was given came in millimeters of lead. I don't get how everyone in the world hasn't been geeked already. It's as easy as pointing and pulling a trigger. It doesn't take a genius; wherever the barrel goes the bullet follows, but I guess it's something not everyone can do. Mel said it's that awakened nature that saved me from ending up like my sister. Sometimes I wish me and Lacy could swap places...even with those little bird legs bent without purpose... Not every time out there is fun. I don't like ending people, but I did it once just so they know I can. Warped, I know! But it's my Bonus and have to wrack up enough points for a few more. At least enough to make sure Lacy can make it without me. Savvy?

So yeah, I've got the one thing to live for. And based on some of the ghosts and psychos I see in this work, that's more than most. Maybe that's why I'm still here. Dad used to say, Seven falls, get up eightNanakorobi yaoki. Well, I'm still standing.

Doubledown told me about this meetup in Auburn. The Crossing Companions? At first I thought it was a joke or that he wanted to send me down there to embarrass me for fun, but it's his rep on the line. Daniel filled me in on the council lands around Auburn before I left. The Waltzing Witch wasn't a Amerindian name, for sure, but that close, it didn't hurt to get the lay of the neighborhood.

It's always the worst meeting new people. Everyone thinks I'm the joke. What the frag are these super-runners going to think? If I can get in the door though, 5000 could go a long way. Time to
normal image without text wrap
trying to pass as 21
put up my hair and let Lacy do my nails.
Dice Starting nuyen x60 (Low lifestyle):
3d6 6, 1, 2 Total = 9
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the floors of silent seas

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:08 AM.
Old 06-09-2020, 10:21 PM
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Originally Posted by AlphaZ View Post
Pro tip, tell Chummer 5 you want sum-to-ten, drop gear limit to 10 and sum limit to 6, but leave the level at Standard, not Street Scum.
Obviously make sure you pick the right priorities since it's not really sum-to-ten.
Good to know.
When all is said and done, more is generally said than is done.
Join the fight against inflation!
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Old 06-13-2020, 08:14 AM
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Dice Starting Nuyen:
2d6 1, 6 Total = 7

Name: Arturo Castro

Handle: Colmo (Sheet)

Metatype: Dwarf

Job: Mountain Shaman

Appearance: In some ways Colmo is the picture of a stereotypical dwarf. His head is shaved bald for ritualistic purposes, however even before picking up that habit he’d lost much on top. His beard is long, black and bushy, his skin a deep tan. His bare feet and rough hands are calloused and worn, his eyes deep black pools of patience and inner energy. Colmo’s bulky body is wrapped in mismatched rags and second-hand clothing, and while he is neither stronger nor physically more resilient than the average dwarf it makes him look quite solid. Like a rock, in fact.


You've got to have something to look up to.

No, not talking about god, nor the latest Trid-star or whatever else you're thinking.

I'm talking about the mountain, the thing that goes deep down to the bedrock but still towers above you. We all have a peak inside of us, but there's always a taller summit. You just have to listen and look upwards.

Arturo Castro, later to be called "Colmo" as a professional, was born at the foot of the Pyrenees. The Spanish side to be exact, Aragon, just west of the highest peak of the region, the mighty Aneto Mountain.

His parents were sheep-herders, simple folk living on the fringes for being dwarves. Metahuman-rights did not reach that far into the periphery forty-odd years ago. Arturo grew up immersed in this lifestyle, receiving no schooling but that relating to tending to the animals. He helped his father watch over sheep as best he could, listening to the sounds of the mountain. Soon they would go from mere sounds to a definite voice resonating within himself.

His parents were rural people, stubborn in their views on society and religion, never-mind them having been changed to their current form. It was all part of the godly design. What wasn't, however, was the sight and abilities that their son started to display. Much later in his life Arturo would forgive them for casting him out a Brujo, a warlock working black magic.

Arturo wandered west, living off the land as best he could. The people that he met in the countryside were as repulsed by his magical tendencies as his parents had been, but he was a boy of twelve, too naive to keep it secret for very long. Having heard that life in the cities was different and that in fact many people just lived on the streets off the fruit of the labour of others he wandered north to Bilbao. He could still hear the mountain wherever he went, guiding him, steeling his resolve to live.

Life in the city was different than he thought, of course, and he was abused and used repeatedly for his complete obliviousness of modern life or technology. Eventually, he became wise to it, and not being one to either bend or break he pushed back. Pushed back against the wrong people as it happened, because eventually he ticked off the largest local network of organised crime. Arturo had to leave, even if the mountain inside reminded him that he was rooted to the land. He didn’t have much of a choice, however, feeling that there must be land just as good elsewhere. He was nineteen years old.

Arturo hid on a freighter he thought was leaving for the British Isles. At the time his English was near non-existent, his geography even worse, and let’s not speak about his reading and writing in general. So he did not question his assessment even when the journey took almost two months. When the freighter finally landed and he made his getaway onto dry land it took him a week before he found out he was in Boston. It was a cold place and it was rainy, much like he had expected England to be, so the difference was largely academic at the time. The first winter was the hardest.

It took him months to halfway establish himself with the people on the streets, and small step after small step he made something of a life in the UCAS. Arturo finally found people that had some appreciation for his awakened status, other shamans living on the street that taught him much. None of them heard the call of the mountain, however, the voice that he could still hear even when looking up at a high-rise. It was all stone after all.

Most of the time he lived off begging and small services, but petty crime soon joined his general activities. As strong as the mountain was the lines blurred eventually. Fifteen years later he found that he was called in to support others in major shady business on the regular, having adopted the handle of “Colmo”.

It was a job that brought him to Seattle, about a year ago, and leaving had turned out to be harder than getting in, especially when one had to lie low. So he hunkered down and networked, finding that in theory Seattle seemed like a good place for a life like his.

However, finding jobs was not as easy as he thought. The Crossing Companions had the market cornered, and Colmo did not seem to have an in, nor did his Fixer at the time. Today that might have changed, and Colmo had to go and find somebody that could press the right button to answer the call on his commlink.

The offer was tempting of course, and not only because of the money involved. No, Colmo found it auspicious that he was called in to a “witchy” bar, when that was what he had been branded so many years ago. Almost made the stoic dwarf nostalgic and rueful, but the need to put food on his cardboard table superseded all that emotional nonsense. It would be a long hike, but if the Johnson won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to him. [/SECRET][/SPOILERBUTTON]

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:08 AM.
Old 06-15-2020, 02:33 PM
RainyDayNinja RainyDayNinja is offline
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Stretch - Character Sheet
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Stretch was born in the streets, and hadn't managed to get much further since then. A longtime resident of Redmond, he never knew his parents. He spent his childhood bouncing between do-gooders looking for a project and gangers looking for a novelty, but he always ended up back on the street when they ran out of nuyen. That's how he ended up with tattoos and cigarette burn scars from the Crimson Crush, Rusty Stilettos, Halloweeners, and even the Brain Eaters, all before puberty.

Once he was big enough to look tough holding a weapon, people started asking him to do small-time security and grunt work: muscling out rival drug dealers, evicting problem tenants from slums, and the like. The jobs felt beneath him, but he learned to use a blade pretty well, and enough about guns to spray down a horde of go-gangers with lead. He didn't see any way out except Shadowrunning, but while some of the crews liked to recruit muscle from the slums, there was always someone bigger, tougher, and faster than him.

He picked up a little cyberware along the way, usually with fleshy bits still attached, and begged and cajoled his way into getting street docs to install it. They quickly informed him that he wasn't built for ware, and he'd probably not handle much more unless he got the primo stuff. Just another nail in the coffin of his Shadowrunning dreams.

But things changed the day he disposed of a script kiddie that had been causing problems for the Red Hot Nukes. He recovered a cheap cyberdeck from the body, and rather than hock it for more second-hand cyberware he couldn't use, he started tinkering, and once he had it unlocked, he taught himself the basics of decking. He'd always had a knack for puzzles, and knew he was smarter than most of the wannabes that he worked for, so it came relatively easy for him. He rebranded himself on the Matrix and started hiring out his services to the local gangs, usually sight-unseen to avoid the prejudice that came with being a troll. He'd need some more experience and better gear, but he finally saw a way out of the slums that didn't rely on his sword arm.

Present DayStretch was zoning out in a low-key Matrix game when he got the call. Placing the game on pause, he skimmed the text and chuckled at the oddity of it... at first. His eyes bugged out at the 5000 nuyen payout they mentioned. He glanced around his sorry excuse for an apartment, at the piles of food wrappers for cheap soy noodles and imitation burgers. Five thousand would go a long way to getting him into a proper apartment, maybe even with a food extruder so he wouldn't have to live off of takeout.

They seemed open-minded too, which was good for someone like him; work was hard to come by. Once Johnsons got a look at him, they assumed he was only good for muscle, and with only a few pieces of second-rate cyberware, he didn't exactly shine in that arena. He really needed to make a name for himself as a decker, and this could be his ticket.

Stretch hastily put together a reply to Greenback, accepting the invitation. He checked all his gear before heading out; sharpened his katana, loaded all the spare clips for his gun, made sure his Dodge scoot was fully charged, and defragged his cyberdeck. This was going to be his big break. It just had to be.

Dice Starting Nuyen:
2d6x40 (2, 3)x40 Total = 200

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:08 AM.
Old 06-18-2020, 04:05 PM
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bothers bothers is online now
Rhymes with 'frothers'
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I couldn't figure out how to do this standard setting+prio trick in Chummer, so I just used the Street Scum settings and sucked up the 12 karma hit. If I miraculously get any further than round 0 then I can figure something out then, even if it's just accepting that I have 12 karma less than I'm supposed to

Application is 778 words, here's my Chummer chargen:[/SECRET]

Sim0ne rubbed a weary hand over her head and scanned her apartment. Unwashed dishes teetered in the sink, surrounded by empty cans and boxes, just visible by the scotopic light of a single fading bulb. Periodically, under the chop of the fan and the rumble of traffic, she could make out papery skitters in the walls.

“Drek it, I ain’t got no choice, do I?”

She stood, pushing away the sheet of paper. Should have become an accountant like that old teacher said. Make a lot of money if you’ve a good head for numbers. What was his name? Galkin? Galkey? Hardly matters now. She rolled her eyes, took the half step towards the window and leaned against the frame. Traffic thrummed by in the rain.

10 grand, though. That’d get her back to London suborbital with change to spare. Enough to set herself up somewhere with a floor she could actually see. Somewhere with more than one window! Where she could sleep in a bed, and not on a rat-gnawed mat on the floor!

“And what’ll you do when I go back home?” she asked the tabby cat dozing on the thin mattress. It looked up at the sound of her voice and gazed serenely back through sleepy eyes.

“Who’ll look after you? Maybe I’ll club ya over the head and chuck you out for collection with the rest of the garbage. What d’ya think about that, eh?”

The cat’s face split open in a gargantuan yawn, and it stretched a single paw out towards her, each claw extended to the max. Sim0ne watched the cat tuck its paw back in and begin to purr.

“Well, we’ll figure it out, won’t we? We always do.”

She squatted to wrestle the battered suitcase out from under the tiny table. Pirouetting the case and her own muscular bulk around the tiny room in a complicated foxtrot, she finished up with the suitcase on the mattress, she on her knees, and the cat hissing grumpily at the imposition.

“Oh, allow it. It’s my bed anyway, I can put stuff on it if I want. Ain’t you got rats to be catching? Lazy!”

Sim0ne scratched the cat behind an ear and popped the catches on the case. She had one good outfit and now seemed as good time as any to wear it. If these Crossing Companion jokers could afford to splash out this much courting street scum like her, it couldn’t hurt to try to make an impression. The kind of impression that says “I’m a professional who has her drek together”, not the one that says “I’m a loser who lives in a squalid pit”.

With her one good outfit on, Sim0ne did look dapper. It wasn’t a decent suit, exactly, but respectable enough. She was lean and strong, with modishly-razored short hair above a well-defined square jaw and two gravely intense, chatoyant brown eyes. Her slightly asymmetric tusks were scrupulously clean and smooth, without breaks, cracks, or chips. She always took care of them. She straightened up before the dingy mirror, tugged her waistcoat into place and pulled her shoulders back proudly.

“The clothes maketh the ork, innit,” she informed her cracked reflection. It didn’t look convinced. Sim0ne sighed. Who was she trying to kid. She’d been out here in Puyallup for a year, burning nuyen. Back home she’d had a solid rep, contacts, friends, reliable work. All she had here was a fixer with no jobs, a whole lot of competition, and a stray cat who hissed and swiped when she tried to use her own damn bed.

“Maybe a hat’d help. Used to have London slang: lots of, severalbare hats, you know,” she told the cat. “Had a proper wiz one in grey with a… like, a bit on it, you get me? A bit? On the thing.” She pointed, to illustrate. The cat blinked, unmoved. “Grey suits me. Should get another one.”

She slipped her cheap, beat-up commlink visor on. “When you get back to London, the first thing you’re gonna do is go to South London's most famous fried chicken chainMorley’s,” she told the ork in the mirror. “Yeah! For some London slang: the very highest quality chickenpeng chicken! I mean, obviously not actual chicken innit. But not Stuffer Shack.”

Kneeling by the bed, Sim0ne gave the tabby cat another scratch around the ears and chin. With her free hand she slipped her Ares Predator into its concealed holster. “If I get outta this fraggin’ place alive, I’ll bring ya back some real meat. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?” The cat rolled, still purring, onto its back.

“And if I don’t, you’ll just have to get a job so you can pay the rent instead. Noodle shop downstairs is hirin’.” [/SECRET]


Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:08 AM.
Old 06-22-2020, 05:24 PM
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Blackfyre Blackfyre is offline
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Outplay 2020
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Age: 52
Height: 5’4”
I sit in my green Jackrabbit and fiddle nervously with my lucky rabbit’s foot. At the other end of the block is the Waltzing Witch and for the hundredth time I ask myself what I am doing here. I have no business in this area, let alone in the company of the folks headed for the Witch right now. Well, that may not be entirely true. I am sure that several of my usual customers have more than a little shady occupations, but the fact remains that there is a difference between meeting them while cutting their hair and walking into a bar they frequent. Especially when adding the fact that a group of shadowrunners has issued the invitation here.

My stomach feels on the verge of suggesting to reconsider lunch and I have to take several deep breaths to calm it down at least a little. I know the feeling. Stage fright. I had it on the opening day of my salon. And every time I showed a new cosplay costume to more than just my dear Rusty or Jake and went on to act the part of whatever persona I had chosen. I have to chuckle. As much as I logically know that it always went away in time, my emotional side can’t really believe it. It’s an odd quirk of my psychology really.

Like the tongue looking for a missing tooth again and again my thoughts return to the fantasy of all the things that could go wrong should I drive the rest of the way and walk into the Witch. My mind conjures up the pleasant idea of just leaving and the relief I might feel then. At least right until I walked in through the door at home to see Jake and the reason I am here in the first place.

If only he had never followed the opportunity to become a shadowrunner. Maybe then… guiltily I push the thought aside. While I voiced my concerns as any mother likely would have, I did not push him to leave it be. And I did not say no when he gave me the keys to the little salon he had bought for me. He was so proud and happy that day. As was I, if I am being honest. But the bill always comes at the end as they say.

He doesn’t know what exactly went wrong. If his team’s hacker betrayed them from the start or “just” took the opportunity to make the best out of a bad situation for himself. Either way, the team nearly got wiped out. The hacker vanished with whatever money he could secure and Jake needs more money for his medical bills than even a sale of the salon would bring. Else I would have already sold the place, no matter how much it has come to mean to me. A son is far more important!

I was still wondering how I would make do when Jake told me of the call he had gotten from his fixer. And then he talked me into going in his stead. “Think of it as the most elaborate cosplay of your life, mum,” he had said amongst other things. And here I am. Wishing that I could have brought Rusty with me, so I would not be alone on this potentially very deadly stage. But if wishes were horses…

I put the rabbit’s foot into my handbag and without giving myself time to think about it again, start the car and drive towards the Witch. The things we do for our families.




Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:09 AM.
Old 06-23-2020, 05:26 PM
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TADHG TADHG is offline
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Street scum rules C,C,D,D,E
Saoirse, Elf from Tir Na Nog.

16 points to spend on abilities:


Karma 25
Positive Qu.ality: Aptitude, Focus. Concentration 4
Cost. -14. -16
Negative Quality: SINner (Tir Na Nog)

22 points to spend on skills.
Skills: rank(dice pool)
Pistols 2(4)
Spellcasting 5(7)
Biotech 5(10)
Medicine* 5(10)----*aptitude
First Aid 5(10)

Spells: Heal, Stabilize (Magic 2)

Gear: Fichetti Needler Holdout 8P
Medkit 2 (x2)
Trauma patch 2 (x2)
Tranq patch 2 (x2)

Saoirse [SHEER-sha] is a female elf from Ireland or Tir Na Nog as it is now known. She came to the area to practice medicine. Seems to have a knack for it. Her major concern is helping others, she takes the Hippocratic Oath seriously, and if she finds herself forced to shoot you, she'll probably patch you back up. She does have a bit of healing magic to help her in this quest to help others. It really isn't all about the money for her, and her funds or rewards would be spent on medkits and drugs to ease the suffering of others. Not likely to get into the action but to perform triage after a runner is injured in a fight. That's what drives her and makes her interested. Knowing someone will wind up needing her skills. She's presently more likely to treat you in her tenement apartment than at the hospital she works at. Not quite ready to risk her employment since she's on the books as a professional.


Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:09 AM. Reason: add karma and build specs.
Old 06-24-2020, 12:05 AM
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Taking that dive into the deep end where the big fish swim...
Runner Dossier
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Name: John Constantine (J.C.) Reznik
Alias: Ju1c3, Thom Anderson
Nationality: UCAS Citizen
Born:01-23-57 (Year of the Dragon)

Hair: Brown (Typically dyed blue black) Eyes: Grey Height: 5' 10" Weight: 140lbs

Appearance: J.C. has pale skin, he doesn't get out much, and even if he did well, it's Seattle. He dyes his hair a black that shines with blue in certain lighting like in the old comics from the latter half of the20th century, it's cut in a mohawk that's always worn down helping to conceal the datajack behind his right ear. No tattoos mark his incredibly average body. In fact, he's overwhelmingly unremarkable overall which helps him blend into the crowd. A man of the times, he often dresses in all black but occasionally mixes it up with a splash of blue or green.

Family: Richard Reznik, Father: Lone Star TacDiv Seargent (Deceased); Sonja Reznik, Mother: BTL Addict (Whereabouts Unknown)

History: Early childhood was fairly normal, at least for anyone who's folks had any cred. Like many other forgotten youths of the Sixth World, he was raised by trids and AR games while his dad climbed the Lone Star ranks and his mom played the role of an artist and socialite. As soon as J.C. could figure out how to access the Matrix he spent all his time there soaking up information like a sponge. He idolized hackers like Captain Chaos and FastJack and absorbed all he could learn about Shadowland BBS, the crashes, Jormungand, and JackPoint.

At 14 his old man got himself geeked trying to bring down members of the Komun'go Ring at the beginning of the tempo crisis. He found out from a pre-generated e-mail the tin star superiors sent out talking about honor, privilege, and sacrifice. His mother never recovered from the loss and turned to simsense. Rather than see her blow his father's pension on beetles, the teen put most of it on some credsticks and left home at the ripe age of 15. The first thing he did was buy a deck and get a datajack, young J.C. never looked back. Shortly after, he picked up a pistol. No one enjoys having their hoop handed to him by some young gangers. J.C. became Ju1c3 and has been trying to make a name for himself ever since by snatching data, opening doors, and dodging spiders but the nuyen is running out.

Personality: J.C. didn't have many friends growing up, when pops is the Star it doesn't exactly make you the most approachable even in normie circles. So he learned to be independent early but it made him somewhat socially awkward and less than confident. This complicates his desire to find someplace to fit in. The boy never felt the sense of belonging from his absent parents but craves a community to be a part of. He turned to the Matrix and found a vibrant one waiting for people like him. The young hacker's quick thinking and adaptability flourished there as he learned and built up some skills slinging code. Ju1c3 feels at home in the Matrix, in fact, he prefers to be there. When meshed his confidence is bolstered and he can be whoever he wants to be. One thing Ju1c3 knows for sure, he'd rather live in the streets than be some dataslave or suit generating nuyen for the corp only to be tossed aside and forgotten once they squeezed out all they can.

Goals: Ju1c3 wants to earn enough nuyen to live comfortably and enough notoriety to become a member of JackPoint. He thinks his ticket to the top is with The Crossing Companions. Considering the heat they're generating lately, he's probably right. They don't just have a hand in the biz, they are the frakkin biz.

Notes: Ju1c3 is one of the many forgotten youths raised by the matrix looking for his place in the sixth world and scrambling to scratch up enough nuyen to sustain the tech-heavy life he wants. Always has his deck with him, if it's not in hand it's concealed in his long black coat next to a pistol. He feels a bit self-conscious around some other runners due to his relatively nice childhood but he's smart and eager to prove himself to the right team.

Chummer Sheet[/secret][/spoilerbutton]
Owain ap Gwalchmei of Snowdonia; Jack of Tales, Dashing rogue; Rolen Liadon, Barovia Buddy; I have taken the oath. “Stand high long enough and your lightning will come.” -Willam Gibson

Last edited by Imveros; 07-08-2020 at 08:09 AM.
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