This thread is for your character bios/pictures/sheets.
For making character sheets, I’d prefer you to use Chummer5 (or Herolab). We’ll using the Core Rulebook only (this is once again to keep the overhead of Stuff To Learn as low as possible). Use any sourcebooks you like, just let me know what you're using so I can make sure I have it!
If you're new to Chummer, check out Marshmallow's So you want to run the shadows guide. Ignore the first two sections ("Chummer Legal Application Simplification" and "Build method"), they were written for the 2020 Outplay contest and don't apply here.
Character name: Sergeant Deacon 'Skinner' Kull
Metatype: ORK
Archetype: Weapon Specialist
Physical description: Deacon stands about 6'4" with a barrel chest and thick arms. The soldier wears old Army T-Shirts with an old Kevlar plated vest. His neck is adorned with multiple sets of dog tags which dangle down the center of his torso. His combat pants are old and faded though otherwise in ok condition as well as worn combat boots. Deacon has a short crew cut, but wears a beret most of the time.
Backstory: Sergeant Kull was a top notch soldier in the military, but never advanced past sergeant because of his mouth and unpredictable actions. When the circumstances required combat operations the non-commissioned officer was in his element. In garrison, well not so much and was viewed as a bull in a china shop. His last court martial didn't go so well when he stood up and mooned the presiding judge. He served eight years in military prison on the charge of aggravated assault on an officer. The incident was regarding Deacon cutting his Captain with a combat knife and peeling the skin off of the officer's face. The criminal SIN card now prevents him from obtaining good legal jobs and forced him into the burbs doing runs.
Deacon spent time with other veterans on the street, learning mechanic skills which help him earn extra money from people not wanting to be tracked by the government. He has built a nice network of contracts from among his veteran community, but those officers can go suck it.
Olshi Kelsu turned the corner along the stench filled street heading to his favorite dive, it didn't take long before a large cyberware hand grabbed Olshi's neck and pulled him into a dark alley. A deep growling voice whispered "I'm gonna cut you from ear ta ear you stubby dwarf. Why aint I been gettin any jobs?" The dwarf felt the honed edge of a military blade along his neck. "Now now Sarge, you have sort of a reputation around here. You are a blunt object and the jobs needed more finesse" the steam of an angry orc's breath began to slowly searing the dwarf like a furnace "You're tellin me that you been panderin to the pixies while letting me hang out to dry? Remember what happened last time you had me sit this long?"
Olshi rolled his eyes "Boy do I, three doc wagons had to respond because you skewered three of their top customers. The amount of blood attracted the brass badge and you almost got iced." Deacon pulled the knife away from the dwarf's neck "Right now, your gonna make a few phone calls. To Mr. or Ms. Johnson and you're gonna get me a job. Now." The short stubby man balked in fear "I, I, told you they don't want blunt force." a loud thud broke Kelsu's words, a knife penetrating a wooden door at the far end of the ally "You're running out of time tree stump. I'm really trying to keep control here, but it aint workin cause I aint been eatin since you frittered away my chance to get paid"
Olshi swallowed into a deep gulp as he slid his phone from one of his pockets. Nervously he fidgeted with the numbers until ringing broke the silence. [SAY]Uum Mr. Johnson, this is your favorite Dwarf Kelsu. I'm calling to see if there are any jobs[SAY] He looked up at the Ork "What are you're" Deacon placed his hand on the handle of a second survival knife before the Dwarf halted him with a hand "He can do anything you need Mr. Johnson and he is really good with blades."
Hooks:
* Who or what does your character care about in life? He is trying to get by, but the only thing he's good at without pissing people off is running. Without these runs, his mouth gets him in trouble....and maybe the occasional shoving kids on the local bus has a tiny part too.
* What sort of runs or activities are beyond the pale for your character?
Your previous Shadowrun experience:
Well? Have you been doing this for a million years, memorising the contents of every book, including all the novels? Have you only played the SNES game? Have you always wanted to play Shadowrun but have never had the chance? Lay your soul bare!
Character name: Lucas "Gunner Hawke
Metatype: Human
Archetype: Street Samurai / Mechanic
2 meters tall, dark hair, dark eyes, buff build
Lucas Hawk wasn’t always known as Gunner. In fact, for the first dozen years of his life, he was a non-descript little kid with average experiences in a blue collar family. His father works for Aztechnology in a lower capacity (what we’d now call ‘wageslave’) and made enough his mother didn’t have to work, she could stay home and take care of him and his one sister. That all changed when Lucas was turning 13. His family was on an outing, going to a restaurant for his birthday, when the car accident changed his life.
His parents and sister were killed, and he was hospitalized for nearly a year. The bills were taken care of by Aztechnology, but when he was discharged from the hospital, they cut him loose. He found an apprenticeship at a machine shop. He began learning how to operate the machines when he wasn’t sweeping floors, and by the time he was 17, he’d completed high school and earned himself a scholarship to the local Trade and Technical school. It took him three years, because he had to continue working to support himself, but he graduated near the top of his class.
Unfortunately, he had no hook, no in with anyone higher up, so he took in ‘odd jobs’ from the local gangs, anything that needed repair, fixing, and sooner or later enhancing. He managed to negotiate with several groups though, that his business (where he worked) was neutral ground. The quality of his work ensured that agreement was beneficial to all. In addition to working on their hardware, he learned their languages! Who knew a blue collar kid from West Seattle could learn Farsi, Russian AND Chinese! Anyway, he used his language skills to keep the gangs off his place of work, and things were quiet for a couple years.
Then, one afternoon, one of his friends, well, really an acquaintance, put him in touch with a “fixer” called Jester. He met his first Johnson, went on his first run, and he was hooked. A couple heavy cred sticks, he upgraded his life, and let it be known he was the man if a group needed his skills. A couple short but fruitful jobs, and he was hooked. “Gunner” was his new identity.
Up to his elbow in grease and both hands wrist deep in a transaxle, Lucas was in no mood for frivolity. But when Jester, his fixer strolled into the place, he knew he had to lighten up. Jester just didn’t take all that much too seriously, unless of course it was getting Lucas work. Wiping the lube from his hands and arm, Lucas set about wheedling out of Jester exactly what the new deal was. Jester, for his part, felt comfortable with Lucas, but didn’t ever want to come across too easy, too amiable, so he played hard to convince, even though he already had the Johnson’s contact info firmly embedded in his mind. Some light banter, a few veiled suggestions about alternative work pending, and finally Jester got to the point.Listen close chummer, this offer isn’t going to last forever… Johnson wants to meet you at Noon at the Freespot, that dive under the old causeway. He’s putting together a team, and he’ll spill the details on you when you show up, IF you show up. Seems a good bloke, offered me a finders fee if you work out. So don’t let me down ‘k? Standing there with his hands on his hips, Lucas once again took the measure of the man. So you’ll split that finders fee with me? Lucas smiled as Jester, in just that certain way that Jester couldn’t really tell if Lucas was joking or serious. After the pause and the smile, Lucas went on, So work clothes, street clothes or job gear? You have any clue when his job is going down? Here in Seattle? Up north, or in South Sound? No, of course you don’t. Ok. What else do you know? You wouldn’t have come to ME if you didn’t know more, now, would you?
Former gang associates,
current employment in a garage/machineshop,
some old “Aztechnology” issue from his father’s employment come back to haunt him.
Character name: Tucker "Doc" Lane Metatype: Human Archetype: Gunslinger Adept/Combat Medic Physical description: Dark and grim with a wicked wit, he is much like the character he has taken his nickname from - Doc Holiday. Tucker is a bit obsessed with old westerns, and has chosen to style himself off of the gunslingers of old. He wears a lined coat/duster and cowboy hat (all in black). His pistols are worn on his hips in quickdraw holsters, with extra shells in his gun belt. Backstory: Raised on the streets, Tucker's only solace was found in old western novels that he discovered in an abandoned book store in the barrens. He was immediately taken with the code of the west and resolved to escape the streets and live according to the code. In order to do so he enlisted for a stint in the military at 16 lying about his age, where he was trained as a combat medic. It was also here that Tucker discovered he was an adept - a fairly new kind of adept, one whose focus lent itself to mastering sidearms like the characters he had read about. He took advantage of the many training opportunities offered by the UCAS to pursue not only his adept powers but also a degree in medicine. While he served he became more and more disgruntled as a result of the the lack of morality displayed in modern warfare. He had assumed a soldier's life could be an honorable one, but even as a medic things were never black and white. Tucker left after his second hitch, having achieved his degree and with hopes that civilian life might provide a more suitable arena for his skill set. His experience landed Tucker a job with Doc Wagon where he continued to develop his skills as a paramedic but even here in what should have been an altruistic role he found corporate greed to be the dominate influence. He toughed it out, rationalizing that he was at least doing some good but eventually came to a crossroads where he had to make a choice. According to the Corp he chose wrong, and it cost him his job. Disgusted with Doc Wagon, Tucker realized that life on the streets had held more honor than military or corporate life so he spent his savings to have his SIN wiped and recreated himself again - this time harkening back to his heroes of the old west.
Tucker wiped the sweat from his brow as he stripped off his soiled scrubs. That had been a close one. The kid was barely out of diapers and had been in need of more invasive surgery than Tucker had received after six years of service in hot zones. If he ever found out which gang leader had decided it was a good idea to throw down in a local stuffer shack he would be returning the favor, only he wouldn't be missing. No, and they wouldn't be walking away no matter who their surgeon was. Ten dead, eleven injured, and all so pointlessly. Sighing, Tucker threw the soiled scrubs in the bin and washed the smell of latex off his hands. It was high time he got out of here, maybe found some gainful employment. That kid was going to need antibiotics and major pain meds, and the clinic's larder was looking pretty bare just now.
Buckling on his guns and sliding into his trench, Tucker grabbed his hat and slipped out the clinic's back door. Most everyone knew that Tucker was the runner known as Doc, but he still liked to try and keep his two lives separate as much as possible. Mounting his bike, Tucker headed deeper into the barrens in search of his contacts. Surely someone would be in need of a medic.
***
"Sorry, Doc, the streets been quite of late. You know, if you was willing to get your hands dirty things might be a bit different. Heard about a little something over the border that promises to be pretty lucrative. Man with your skills could go far.
Tucker frowned down at Gretel. Even for a dwarf she was short, or perhaps it only seemed that way because she was always accompanied by her bodyguard - a troll named Hansel. Of course those weren't their real names, anymore than Doc was his. Everyone on the street went by a handle, concealing their identities right along with their real names, if they ever had one. Since having his SIN wiped Tucker reckoned he didn't exactly have a real name either. Pickings were slim, and his need was great, but Gretel knew better than to try and tempt him towards wetwork, let alone something inside the Tir. That was practically a suicide run. He had face a few Paladins during his time with the UCAS, and the team had never come out unscathed or on top.
"No thanks, I like my skin right where it is." Keep your ears to the ground for me?"
Gretel nodded vigoursly, Doc was too good a medic to burn any bridges with. If only he wasn't such a saint. "Sure, Chummer. Never hurts to ask."
But it does, Tucker thought, as he exited the bar and headed for his bike. It hurt because it meant either Gretel wasn't playing him straight or his rep just wasn't good enough yet to earn him a seat at the table. Gunning the engine, Tucker headed for his next contact. Perhaps Jax would have some better news.
Hooks:
* Who or what does your character care about in life?
Tucker has a personal sense of honor that matters a great deal to him - he doesn't attack a truly unarmed man (making allowances for cyberware, magic and adept powers) and won't do wetwork. He doesn't attack from ambush or concealment. If he is forced to fight unarmed opponents he uses only nonlethal force. Combat is a necessary component of life on the streets but it isn't an end unto itself, and death should be reserved only for ones enemies. That said, when it comes to combat it pays to be the best and the fastest.
Tucker has a real soft spot for street dwellers in general, kids in particular, and helps out at a local street clinic when not running. Tucker has a beat-up Harley Davidson scorpion, his own version of an iron horse, that he treats much like a living horse. Life on the streets is rough, and this is actually his third such horse as the other two didn't pull through, but each 'horse' is unique and valued.
* What sort of runs or activities are beyond the pale for your character?
Wetwork/assassination - it doesn't jive with his code. Tucker won't even take a backseat role like medic on such a run. He is also very careful not to put innocents in harms way, one of the reasons he prefers revolvers to automatics.
Oct 30th, 2020, 04:04 PM
