I was thinking an Oni (orc metatype variant) Adept who used to be a Bunraku doll before she was 'rescued' by allies of Brother Kevin Vawter. They couldn't find her original memories from the mess that the Personafix chips had made of her head, but they were able to assemble her a personality that was free and her own person. She works with them because she wants to do something meaningful with her life and maybe reconstruct who she was before she was kidnapped. Oni are kinda stand out, you know? Someone had to have known her... before.
Real Name:Mike Avedesian (Matrix persona: 8bit [mark]) Runner Name:Sarariman (Matrix persona) [mark] Metatype: Human Role: Decker Build: It was very easy to convert over from Lifepath to a straight karma build, I even had a few points left over. Buying gear always gets a little ticky-tack towards the end so that may be a work in progress right up until the closing date.
TLDR version
Attributes: 320
Active Skills: 282
Knowledge Skills: 20
Qualities: -1
Resources: 160
Contacts: 11
Unspent (so far): 8
Qualities:
[24]Positive - analytical mind (5), codeslinger: hack on the fly (10), common sense (3), go big or go home (6)
[25]Negative - SINner (5), dependent (6), day job (5), addiction to alcohol (moderate, 9)
Subtotal: -1
Resources: 320,000 nuyen
Subtotal: 160
Contacts:
Subtotal: 9 ranks from derived stats plus 11 karma
Appearance: Mike is a human male who stands about six feet tall or maybe a bit more. Far from musclebound, he is nevertheless fit with a clear complexion that suggests that he gets regular excercise and has a diet that is mostly free of soy. He dresses in a laid-back business casual manner that has been the norm in Seattle for almost a century. He carries himself with confidence, has a ready smile, and is comfortable around others.
Sarariman is a quiet brooder. He slouches when standing up and hunches over when he's sitting down. He wears dark hoodies and other concealing attire even when it's inappropriate. He avoids eye contact and answers questions with as few words as possible.
Backstory: Growing up as a human in Portland's equivalent of the Ork Underground was about as fun as it sounds. My Russian-Armenian parents were both just this side of Awakened and ran a little talismonger shop. I never got a straight answer out of them as to why we lived there but I think that's where our family had always lived and they were just too set in their ways to move out when the trogs moved in. I got picked on enough that I only went out when I had to so, of course, the Matrix became my real neighborhood and first-person shooters were my thing. I was wiz at Johannesberg Nights and when that started to die out, I jumped over to Longhaul IV where I only dropped out of the top 5 on the Unlimited leaderboard twice.
Once the parental unit realized that I didn't have any magical talent and couldn't take over the family biz, they drop kicked me in the direction of the University of Oregon. I thought I'd become this wiz game designer but by the end of my first year, corporate espionage and military applications of the Matrix had stolen my heart. I left U of O with a Ducks jersey and a piece of paper that said I was officially smart. The think tank Analytical Services, Incorporated agreed and hired me before my shoes were scuffed. I learned alot there but it didn't take me long to see the rotten underbelly of ASI. Our Findings Reports always seemed a little off and by doing no small amount of digging, I found out that several executives were lining their pockets with Evo cred. A little bird - coincidentally enough - dropped the relevant data on the UCAS and after the dust settled, I took a golden parachute from the think tank and was out on my own. During the fallout, the board of directors for ASI were hot to find the whistleblower who'd brought the roof down so I got out of town.
Now I live in Seattle. The first friend I made here in the Emerald City runs a shelter for mundane animals. She gets by with tenacity and hard work but relies heavily on donations and volunteers. Her passion for the animals is infectious though, so I do what I can to support her. Mostly with nuyen but occasionally I pull a shift feeding and cleaning up after anything that I think won't bite me. The nuyen? I do some independent contract work for startups and some of the smaller companies in and around Seattle. And when I'm not doing any of the above, I... volunteer... at a soup kitchen down in Tacoma.
Role-Play Sample:
Sarariman weaved his way through the crowd at Soybucks. Street kids rubbed elbows with corp wage slaves inside the coffee shop as a cold, slashing rain chased SINner and SINless alike indoors. Unless they had a very good reason to be outside, the citizens of Seattle were all doing their best to stay warm and dry.
The decker made his way to one of the few remaining seats available and the only one that put his back to a wall. He set down his caramel Soykaccino as though it were a holy artifact and brought up the camera feeds that he'd hacked into earlier. It would be out of character for the dour Sarariman to admit but he was still high-fiving himself mentally for landing this gig. He had been on double decker runs before but this was the first time that he would be working with two other deckers on the same job. CraZZZeee was taking a group of hitchhikers on a foundation run, TwoPointOne was there with him as a lifeline and for point security, and Sarariman was on the outside looking in.
Sar nursed his still-too-hot beverage as he thought about his fellow deckers. They were the epitome of shadowrunners. They screamed rebellion, toughness, and independence right down to their names. He often thought that he should have chosen a more edgy handle; Sarariman seeming flat by comparison. But his name had a purpose and that purpose was concealment. He wasn't shaking his fist at the world, he was trying to live in it. Sarariman was blank, ubiquitous. His persona fit into most host architectures seamlessly and people still acted surprised when a six foot tall black man showed up to the meet instead of a Japanese guy with glasses so he knew it was working.
WHOA!, he thought as his head snapped sideways in a visceral reaction as old as hunting mastodons. A Puerto Rican girl dressed to kill wafted through the crowd. Sar guiltily thought of Mac as he pulled his attention back to the job. He flipped from one of the cameras at Intersection A to the one outside Dunkel Donuts as he collected his thoughts. If Mac had been there she would have simultaneously laughed it off and made him feel two feet tall at the same time. Sar jumped to the Stuffer Shack feed and mused about his relationship with Michelle MacCaffrey. She was so into her work at the animal shelter that sometimes he felt like she forgot about him. Other times she would look at him like he was the only other person on the planet. Sar hoped to take their relationship beyond friendship but with as much time as she spent keeping the doors open at the shelter and him leading a double life that she knew nothing about, so far it hadn't happened. Sarariman glanced at the ARO of Mac that permenantly sat at the upper left corner of his visible area. He resolved to push things forward with Mac as soon as this job was over. Well, maybe nudge things forward.
Experience Level: I've been a fan of the game and the fiction since they came out. I usually play Street Sam-type characters so playing a decker is a little bit off the beaten path for me but I'm very fluent with the Sixth World and the mechanics of 5e.
__________________
Onomatopoeia FTW!
Last edited by Kerchunk; Jan 8th, 2019 at 01:56 PM.
Reason: Updates
I really shouldn't make an application for your game. If you look at all the characters to games I've listed in my signature you'll see why. That being said I might, just might make a character for your game. Well, if I come up with a good concept that is
Gonna throw this up here to show interest, will update as I work on it. Runner Name/Real Name: Clutch/Jonas Rainier Metatype: Human Role: (Decker, Summoner, Infiltrator, Face, etc.) Stickman, with a little face. Build: Metatype C, Attributes A, Resonance E, Skills B, Wealth D Appearance: Backstory: Jonas Rainier has always been lucky. Firstborn to a wealthy family with significant stake in Aztechnology Jonas lived the life of a Corporate Lacky, and made-man. His luck didn’t end with the circumstances of his birth however, Jonas was just alway lucky. Every roll of the dice, every turn of the card, it always went his way. At 23 his natural Charisma and unnatural good fortune Attracted attention from those up above and got him put in charge of a large PR division in Aztechnology, putting the best spin on their dealings. His luck continued as every PR spin and tall-tale he wove paid off for Big A, and himself. Money and influence were the for the taking, and Jonas took as much as possible, moving up the Corporate ladder and descending into a life of decadence and hedonistic excess.
It was during this time of money, drugs, and illicit dealings that His luck finally took a turn. A fateful night, an incident at Big A’s HQ, and a very pissed up upper executive left Jonas on the street, seemingly cut loose with no money or power to call his own. But even as everything from his former life abandoned him, something of his luck still remained. Setting himself up as a Runner, Jonas embraced his life on the streets, and found his calling as a wheelman. Compared to the luxury sports vehicles and private aircraft he was accustomed to, the tools of a Runner were quaint. Taking on the persona Clutch, Jonas proved that a steady hand, and a little luck was all it took to keep his competitors in the dust.
But nothing is quite as simple as it seems, and no one gets to quit the Corporations entirely. Jonas quickly learned that even if he was ignored, he wasn’t forgotten and he would always be a Company Man. A Runner was a great asset for Big A, and a wonderful way to have a man connected to the underground, someone who had dealings with other Corporations and could report back to them. To his credit Jonas tried to resist, but the threat of exposing his identity was all Aztechnology needed to keep Clutch in line. Role-Play Sample:
Jonas took in a deep breath of the cold night air, past the odor of filth, and the street. Beyond the stench of piss, garbage, and the junkie scum around him. Up in the towers, up in the penthouses you miss out on these smells. Everything is pleasant, perfect, manufactured. This was real, this was living.
A crunch from refuse being stepped on by shoes worth more than a years rent signaled the arrival of his contact, Jonas let out his lung full of garbage, sweat, pollution, and filth in a sigh and turned to get a look at the Wage-slave in front of him. ”Mr. Rainier?” skepticism flavored his words, taste must have been sour judging by the way his lips pursed. ”I am Mist..” anger darkened his face as my hand clasped over his mouth. ”Names Clutch, you best forget any other names you know when you are out here on the street Mr. Johnson”. The newly baptized Johnson raised an eyebrow as he leaned his mouth away from my palm, but his eyes showed understanding, making him smarter than the last Johnson. If he was lucky he might just live long enough to survive these meetings on the streets; course that just meant he will have lived long enough to know too much and Big A would have introduce him to a cleaner.
No, only those at the very bottom or the very top survived the Shadow games between Corps...... ”This is what you are after”, the Datastick bounced off his chest before Johnson realized what it was, fumbling before capturing the data, pressing it close to his breast like a newborn. ”Bunch of Runners from the slums hit your warehouse, hired by some leaf eater who manages out of a coffee shop, but if you follow the cred trail it will lead straight up to Bellevue, and outta my reach. It’s your game now.” I turned and walked away, ignoring Johnson’s stammering thanks as I disappeared into the nearest alley. Past time I was gone, only the very Top and very Bottom survived these games, and I had no illusions where I fit now.
Runner Name/Real Name: Silvertooth Metatype: Elf Role: Technomancer, a kind of shaman decker Build: I have no idea how to do this, but I am happy to learn from you all. Appearance: Mouth and nose masked, hood held up with goggles, body covered in form-fitting dark strips of clothing, joints protected by thicker grey knee and elbow pads, obscuring all skin except the wide eyes, which reveal dark skin and luminescent eyes. Silvertooth Backstory:
Living in the hills of Mt. Rainier, Silvertooth grew up in a natural environment living in a close relationship with the land, and was brought up with an aversion to the big city. Once, while still young, a foreign ambassador from one of the big cities came to his peoples' land. This person was supernaturally found to be lying and malicious of intent, so they were killed and their body discarded. Though modern technology was forbidden, Silvertooth had heard of tools the city folk use. Going to investigate the ambassador's corpse, he found some devices on the dead man's body. To Silvertooth's surprise, they were not totems which summoned devils. The devices he found were an intriguing puzzle, but just as natural and useful as an axe or a wolf.
Fast forward to modern day, and Silvertooth is now older, living in the big city. His curiousity killed his natural soul. All the elders were right: This place is a cancer to the world, and a poison for the mind. But there is no turning back. Silvertooth is exiled from his home now, and has survived in the city using his unique skill and connection with technology. Role-Play Sample:
A dark, gloved hand hastily jams a needle into the data cable snaking away from the terminal. Gently tracing the needle, back along a clear tube, like a drip IV, finding another thicker needle loose at the other end. Silvertooth deftly inserts the needle plug straight into a premade hole in his skull; like a headphone jack. Turning on his shadow-generators to hide himself from the world, the bundle of clothing disappears from the physical world, and with it, his consciousness disappearing into the needle.
He knew the risk of trying to get past this megacorp's ice without any kind of firewall of his own, but he was past deadline and nothing else had worked after days of trial and error. Silverooth's avatar was naked and alone inside the angular, clean lattice of data, the thin network of 0's and 1's silently booming all around him. The first obstacle was a simple, flat, green tundra against a starless infinitely black sky, with only a hint of light and colour on the horizon. With no tools or web crawler, Silvertooth resolved simply to walk the entire way on foot. He knew time was dilated inside, but it would still be a test of patience and mental endurance.
Experience Level: I am somewhat familiar with the setting, and am excited to explore more through this game. I have played Shadowrun boardgames, and read up on some of the lore because they intrigued me so much. I like Android: Netrunner and cyberpunk as a genre. I played in a Shadowrun 5E one-shot once at a con, as a dwarf decker, and really enjoyed myself.
Appearance: Patrikos looks like what happens when a troll decides to mate with instead of eat a cow. Which is fair really, being a Minotaur that's kind of a common theme. His skin/short pelt is more a red then grey, the bone protrusions are less obvious, his nostrils are more flared like a cow's, and he has two big symmetrical horns on the sides of his head. His physical shows no obvious signs of implants or scar tissue, which given his past is unlikely on both counts.
For clothing, Patrikos likes the sleeveless look to show off his 'guns'. Preferring basic and dark colors he thinks that he's very handsome by Minotaur standards and might be right. Often seen wearing shades, his last job was usually in conditions of poor lighting. His weapon of choice is his bare hands, with a big hammer coming a close second. He will use other things if the situation demands it though.
Backstory: Patrikos Mitsotakis was born in Greece, the son of a chef and a vegetable supplier. A Minotaur by birth, meaning basically he's what they have instead of Trolls in Greece. He remembers as a child hearing the stories about the Minotaur and the Labyrinth, though the version he heard would of been from the beast's point of view. He would learn a thing or two to fight with for the sake of his cultural identity, even pop for a few bioware implants to help, but nothing really going for him. With the accidental death of his parents he inherited some money but had no real direction in life, until he heard through the 'trix that a team of runners found the original Labyrinth in Crete. Having sold the information to a crime boss, Patrikos would be one of the first to sign on for a little operation that organization had in mind.
Popping his money into more bioware implants so he could pass for being unmodified, Patrikos would be known on the 'trix and in the world of illegal cage fighting as 'The Real Thing'. The Labyrinth was an amazing gig for Patrikos. Described in certain corners of the 'Trix as 'Professional Wrestling but Real, Cranked to 11, and even less predictable', it was of course very illegal. Killing an opponent was considered poor sportsmanship but within the rules, not to mention how many local and international gambling laws it broke. The game itself fit the surroundings and the myths well. 7 male non-Minotaur and 7 female non-Minotaur vs 7 Minotaur, the non-Minotaur that find the exit within 24 hours split a large cash purse while the Minotaur win cash based on point scores with a large bonus for stopping all non-Minotaur from finding the exit. Non-Minotaur may outnumber Minotaur 2 to 1, but they also have more reason to actively sabotage each other's progress then the Minotaur. Not to mention all the gambling spectators could do on the side.
For Patrikos it was a life of fast cash, fast cars, fast women, and fast parties as a underground athletic 'trix celebrity. He'd quickly pick up the fan nickname 'The Real Thing' because of his play style. No [obvious] modern technology, no modern tools, armor, or weapons- just his fists and a big hammer with his knowledge about the layout of the Labyrinth. Of course, he may not of been the smartest of the competitors but he did figure out that 'someone' had written out hints to shortcuts through the maze in Old Minotauren along the walls. Unfortunately, the crime ring that hosted the Labyrinth decided to just start grabbing up homeless people and police who got to close when they needed to fill out the non-Minotaur ranks. Why exactly he came to the decision he couldn't tell you. Maybe he had a conscience, maybe it went against the old Minotaur version of the myth of the Labyrinth he was brought up on. Whatever the case, he subtly began feeding information to police as a result.
In time 'The Real Thing' was both a fan favorite of the Labyrinth and an inside man used regularly by interpol similar organizations. What happens next isn't public record, but whatever it was the Labyrinth is no longer open for cage fighting bets and Patrikos went into hiding instead of a standard arrest. That's the problem with being the good guy though, you kind of get a taste for it.
Role-Play Sample: Welcome to the Matrix Wayback Machine Archive Project
Please Enter Search Parameters:"The Labyrinth"+"Illegal Sports"
Searching . . .
Primary Search Results are in a language other then the ones indicated as your preference. Translations and Dubbing from Greek to English are available. Continue Y/N?Yes
Welcome, Sports Fans!
The hottest game on the 'Trix is now at your fingertips. With the discovery of the original Labyrinth, how can someone not do this? And now you get to watch as teams of fighters battle it out for a nuyen prize and glory.
Rules are Simple. On game day we're going to release 7 men and 7 women into the Labyrinth. The ones that are in final room at the end of a 24 hour clock splits up the prize money. They can work together, they can fight each other - their call.
Meanwhile, before anyone thinks they have it easy, there's also a team of 7 Minotaurs loose in the Labyrinth. Their job is to make the non-Minotaurs earn their money.
Let's meet the home team in the Labyrinth.
Buzzsaw
Demon
Hellhound
Lady-Of-War
Nitro
The Real Thing
X
*The picture given with the profile is most certainly one of Patrikos. However, while the other Minotaur images show various levels of implants - near-cyber-zombie levels for Buzzsaw - Patrikos appears to be the only one with absolutely no obvious implants. In fact, he seems to have run with the idea as his "uniform" for the games appears to just be a loincloth, and not a particularly modest one.*
Sometimes, you just have to step back and do things the old-fashioned way. Legend has it the Labyrinth was built to house the original Minotaur, and here we bring you a direct descendant of the original. No fancy gadgets, no cybernetic hardware - just meat, muscle, endurance, skill, and instinct honed by years of training and experience. Delivering the pain, the way your grandpa used to.
The Real Thing -
Preferred Weapons: Fists, then Warhammer
Pros: Trains extensively, very skilled with very high strength and endurance.
Cons: Unaltered meat means he's not going to be pulling any hidden weapons or anything like that. No range beyond the length of his arms.
Top Comments: We sure there's no implants in him? I've seen guns that hit softer then he does. Seriously. I've done the math.
-Razor
I know I'm supposed to be rooting for the other guys, but there's few things quite as satisfying as seeing The Real Thing break the jaw of someone whose just backstabbed their teammate for a little cash.
-Tapout
So when you say "just meat", how much "meat" we talkin'?
-Kitty967
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, at least the Johnson never pretended it wasn't going to be a rough job. Some rich guy pissed off the wrong Yakuza so they grabbed his niece and rigged her up for a Bunruku Parlor. Job was to get in and get her out. A job that wasn't as morally grey as they usually were - the problem was that if you burned the Yaks and they knew they did their best to burn you back.
Patrikos wasn't a Mage, wasn't a Decker, wasn't a Face. What he spoke was the Language of Meat and Pain.
"So that's the plan, Pretty Boy goes in as a potential customer while Rude is his bodyguard for a distraction while we come in from above. We knock out the power, you two keep them from turning on the emergency system as long as possible, we get in, avoid the Sword Adept, and get out. Nice and Easy. Sound good?"
"No." Pat speaks right off with a chuckle as he leans back in the chair and points to Pretty Boy with a Greek accent so think it could kill a small animal. He keeps going too, once in a while running a whetstone over a horn. Just to make sure they stay sharp.
"Look at him. Dress him in that suit, you really think it believable that he can't find willing Hooker somewhere else? Me on other hand, I look like I play rough. I go in as Client, Prize Fighter - and Pretty Boy my agent. Much more believable."
Pretty Boy raises a finger as if he's about to argue, but stops - the words just seeming to die in his mouth as the hand goes back to the chin. It's Spark who finally speaks with a bit of a giggle.
"The Double Quarter-Pounder With Cheese has a point."
Specs sighs, but it's not a big change to the plan and gives a little nod. Pat responds by grabbing a whole bottle of whiskey and taking a drink right there.
"Rude?"
"Just getting into character." he laughs, and the show gets on the road.
Pat stumbles into the Parlor with Whiskey on his breath and a little bit of a stumble in his steps, but that's part of the act. Truth was he wasn't even feeling tipsy, but Rude was acting pretty good, better then you'd think for a dumb ox. He grinned as he walked with a little unsure step up to the main desk, like this was somehow a respectable business.
"This is where I get Kefi?" the show starts as Patrikos looks between the yaks in the front and Pretty Boy. Three. One at the desk, two more standing on each side as security guards. He stumbles closer, and Pretty Boy comes in to get under and arm as if he needs the help staying sure on his feet.
"Apologies, my Client is seeking - I think the literal translation is 'Joviality'."
"I understand. Inform your client that we have Entertainment available but if he breaks the Entertainment provided we will charge extra."
Patrikos gives an extra drunken stumble to hide the flash of rage, but he keeps his acting face going. Both the famous Yakuza anti-Meta racism and how they talk about the girls like they're just tools for some fun. Just have to wait for the signal. He "stumbles" up to the desk and puts his hand on it like he's ready to barter.
"I have questions. One - Is there discount for More then One? Two - Do you have any Ork Kefi? I like big butts, can not lie."
"Sir, tell your client - "
Then the lights went out. The Yak behind the desk doesn't even finish the sentence as Pat reaches out, puts his hand behind the man's head, and smash him downward and what was a human face makes a wet slapping, crunching sound that is followed up with the sound of glass shattering as Patrikos smashes his whiskey bottle against the desk and stabs one of the other Yaks in the neck with what's left. Pretty Boy pulls his gun and takes down the last one with two placed shots.
"Alright, Rude. If anyone presses that button on the desk the cameras will turn back on. That happens, we're all dead. Can you stay here and guard it?"
"No Need."
"What makes you say that?" Pretty Boy asks as he takes position to get ready to knock down anyone that comes down the hallway. Pat however has a simpler idea. The desk is one of the pseudo-marble ones with a keyboard built in. It would be kind of impressive if the wires weren't visibly going into the wall behind it. So, simple solution. Patrikos gets on his knees, puts a shoulder under the pseudo-marble, and starts to rise.
The desk breaks free of the floorbolts with a loud crack as metal gives up on holding things in place. After that it's a yank and the desk is just a fancy rock-slab.
"Now, No Button." Patrikos chuckles a bit as he leans up the slab against the wall and starts stepping toward the hallway. Yeah, that was a distraction alright.
Then there's a sound in the night like a faint whooshing. The Sword Adept doesn't approach Pretty Boy and Rude so much as appear, blades slacing away what looked like fingers on Pretty-Boy's shooting hand as he falls back, already bleeding badly.
"You and your Beast are Dead, and I will Enjoy this. Prepare your Soul for the Death of 1,000 Cuts from the Heavenly Scissors Technique and -"
A Monologue. Seriously? Patrikos wasn't a Mage, wasn't a Decker, wasn't a Face - but he spoke the Language of Meat and Pain better then most. And part of that was shutting the frek up and just getting to the killing when you had too. Patrikos didn't wait for the Sword Adept to finish his monolgue, just grabbed the rock slab, held it in front of him like a shield, and Charged forward. Apparently the Sword Adept, whatever his name was, was racist enough against Minotaurs that he considered Pretty Boy the real threat. Or maybe it was the fact that Pretty Boy had a gun and 'Rude' was barehanded at the time.
The result was that Mr. 'Heavenly Scissors' as crushed between a slab of Psuedo-Marble and the Wall, already coughing up blood as his Torso was now definitely the wrong shape. Patrikos didn't care how well trained you were - when someone pulverizes your rib-cage you lose your concentration.
"Rock Crushes Scissors."
Experience Level: Been a while, but I've hit the Shadows before.
Metatype: Oni Metavariant Ork Role: Combat/Light Face duties Build: A. Resources
B. Attributes
C. Metatype
D. Skills
E. Mundane
Appearance(Picture to right): A surprisingly gorgeous Korean heritage girl with bright red skin and two horns rising up from her forehead and silky black hair. She's not a big girl, but she's compact and is a natural beauty if one can enjoy such a different skin color. Her eyes are amber colored and she has a somewhat empty look in her eyes, like a doll's.
Backstory: Mi Kyong isn't her real name. At least, it is the 'real' name on her fake SIN she has now. In reality, she was kidnapped from somewhere far away many years ago to serve as the exotic fare in a Bunraku parlor. Her personality and memories were wrecked due to the extensive use of Personasoft chips, and she doesn't fully remember who she was. The runner group that ended up rescuing her did so almost as an afterthought, as they ruined the Bunraku parlor in a completely unrelated shadowrun. It was discovered she was a physically superior specimen packed with combat-useful bioware and cyberware.
The decker on their group managed to salvage a workable baseline personality and restored some basic memories, the best he could do to scrape off any lingering fragments left behind by Personasoft. Since then, she's taken on the name on the SIN she was given and does runs as a way to make a living while she tries to figure out who she wants to be.
"She's just a doll!" one of the Yakuza's men complained in very informal Japanese. "What drek is this?"
The two men stood, donned in simple suits and armored vests, They both wore sunglasses and carried automatic pistols under their coats. One of the two, the older, was missing the pinky finger of his left hand.
Between them was the doll.
It was immediately obvious she was exotic since every inch of her perfect skin was brilliant crimson in color. It was more than just a stain or dye, it was far too deep to have been a cheap job if it was a job at all. Her korean face was angular, exotic, and beautiful, with long sleek raven-black hair that hung to her waist. On her forehead, though, were two horns grown of the same color as her skin and also just as sleek and slender as the rest of her. Her body was... perfect. Perfectly toned, perfectly soft, and every curve and nook on her exuding an allure that made men and women yearn for her. Her nails were done perfectly, both fingers and toes painted black to match her hair Dressed in a simple silk Kimono that both revealed and hugged her breast, and platform sandals that did delicious things to her legs, she looked ravishing.
Her crystal clear amber eyes did not convey any awareness of these facts. In truth, her vapid expression was beyond the normal airheaded nature of many club goers or addicts. Her eyes had no light in them because no one was there.
The three were waiting outside one of the Bunraku parlor's rooms, where a very expensive client was exercising his 'tastes'. They were supposed to offer this model next, but were told not to slot a personafix until the client had made a choice. "Shut it." the older replied, barely tilting his head to glare at his ally. "You know this is the boss' favorite." "But we don't need to watch her." the younger complained. "She's not going anywhere." "Look. You didn't see what the boss put in her." the older replied. "Like his dick?" the younger quipped. Neither one of them noticed the figure slowly creeping up the stairwell. An elf in black tactical gear, cyber visor and a silenced assault rifle.
The elder gave him a warning glare. "No, the tech he's invested in her. He wanted her to do more than just lay on her back and take it from some dumbass client. He wanted her to also do some other drek." "Like what?" the younger sniped. "So he put some nuyen on skin upgrades, now she won't come back bruised when a client gets rough with her." "And quite a lot else going on in there." the older grumped. "She's probably more dangerous than you are, kid." "No way." the younger replied, tapping a thumb to his chest. "I got my own 'ware, too."
That instant, a faint THWIP came from down the hall and the kid's head exploded like an over-ripe melon as a high caliber bullet erases his memories permanently. "Good to know!" Spectre mutters, shifting his Ares Alpha to fire again. The elder yakuza raises his arm and draws his gun, bullets spraying into the floor and along the wall next to Spectre as he stumbled away from his dead ally. Thankfully the yakuza also tended to use silenced weapons, so no one but Spectre and the doll could hear the shots. The doll remains motionless, not having been given an order to move. Flecks of blood and brain matter splattered the side of her face and she didn't even flinch.
The second and third shot took the yakuza in the chest, and he went down. Spectre moved at a quick crouch over to the body and put two more in his head just to be sure.
Turning to the doll, Spectre whistled appreciatively. "Wow, she's... top of the line." he muttered. "Spectre, your comm's still on." crackled in his ear. "I know." he replied, "Should we take this one with us?"
"Stick to the mission."
"We should take this one with us." "Goddamnit Spectre, leave the sex toy alone and finish the damn mission!"
He turned away from her, rifling through the two dead men's equipment. He collected a box of chips from one and a handful of credsticks from another. "Hey... Personafixes. Nice onces. These aren't gonna burn out." "Mission? Please?" "I'm just checking. Agh, these are all labeled in Japanese." he complained. "I hated that class." "Oh my god, Spectre. You're doing this on purpose now."
He pocketed the findings and hefted his gun. "I'm on it, hold your ****ing horses."
He turned from her and the dead men and opened the door they were standing in front of. "Room service!" Spectre trilled with an obviously tacky false accent. "Mint for pillow? Bullets for corporate shitheads!"
A suppressed gunshot was followed by a woman's scream. Seconds later another doll, this one a young human woman with a sheet wrapped around her sweaty naked body fled from the room, bounced off the oni doll, and ran down the stairs in terror. "Got it." Spectre spoke into his comm when he emerged a minute later, tucking a core-covered piece of headware into a belt pouch. "So about that doll." "Dammit Spectre, do not bring the doll."
***
"I can't believe you brought the goddamn doll!" "Look, Richter." Spectre snapped. "You heard what they said. She's got several hundred k in hardware in her. She's got nothing upstairs, sure, but I couldn't just leave her there. She's gotta deserve a better life than that. And with the right skillsofts... she'll be more than just a sextoy on legs."
The doll sat in the cramped quarters of the van where she had been set down. Her personality had been so gone that she didn't even fight being picked up and fireman carried down sixteen flights of stairs. She didn't cough or sneeze at the barrage of smells of cigarette smoke, body odor, ozone and traces of Jazz in the air. "You just wanted her for yourself, you sick ****." Richter snapped back. In front, a woman in similar body armor glared at them both before jacking in and switching to drive-by-wire. A dwarf in heavy overalls looked over the bloodstained headware that Spectre had taken, plugging it into a complicated looking array of decking hardware. "All right." the dwarf said with a heavy californian accent. "Got that unspooling, and have three redundant systems running in parallel for backup. We'll get the codes from the datavault. Now what's this about a..."
His eyes lost a little focus spotting her. "Holy ****. They had an Oni in there?" he chuckled. "That's some rare meat, you know."
"Can you do something with these?" Spectre shoved a box of personafix chips into the dwarf's hands. "Maybe... find who she was?"
The dwarf blinked at the box, opening it. Almost a dozen chips shifted in their padded case. "****, son. She was running ALL of these?" he complained, reaching out and roughly shifting her head to the side. She moved where he wanted her without resistance, holding the pose. The back right of her head, hidden under her hair, was a well-maintained datajack with chipjack addition containing numerous chip slots. "Well I'll be." the dwarf muttered. "Hi-Rez?" Spectre asked, ignoring Richter's irritated eyeroll. The team leader chose to ignore them, and instead checking his comm and setting up to contact their Johnson. "I'll need to root around in there for a bit, find out what she's got left." Hi-Rez replied, watching the doll curiously. He held out a finger and slowly lowered it towards her face. He pulled back when she parted her lips when he got close. "Though I don't think there's really anything we can do."
"What about those?" Spectre asked. "Could we... at least put together a personality from those?" "What, like make a collage?" Hi-Rez quipped. "What is this, Dollhouse?"
The elf's blank expression caused the dwarf to shake his head with a groan and look over the chips. "Fine but I am not Topher. Maybe I could use this... F.M.L. I am Topher in this situation, aren't I?"
"Brother, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." Spectre replied, puzzled. "Probably for the best. Now shut up and let me work." Hi-Rez pulled his datajack cable out and looked at it before sighing and jacking into the doll.
Richter turned back to Spectre and jabbed a finger at his chest as the van suddenly changed direction. "It's your lucky day." Richter growled. "We're getting paid sooner than later. And you get to keep her, but it's on YOUR dime. We green?"
Spectre leaned back and nodded. "Green." he replied. "Supergreen."
I've played SR5 a few times, am familiar with the system and SOME of the metagame revolving around making an effective character. I have PDFs of many of the books. I also have a character builder, Chummer, that I use for making my characters.
Last edited by Runetide; Jan 14th, 2019 at 02:29 AM.
Reason: completing application
Metatype: Orc Archtype: Adept Archer Core character concept: An Ork ganger physical Adept who's model himself after Robin Hood because of his interest in old literature and stories. Role: A combination of lookout (both mundane and arcane), sneak, and sniper. In many way's Robert can take on the role of scout and even has some wilderness training despite his urban upbringing. He also acts as a street level connection with his contacts in the Hoods and other street people.Scout, Sniper, and Gang Connection Build: Metatype=B, Attribute=A, Magic=D, Skills=C, Gear=E
Appearance: Hood is a male ork around 13 years old (looks 21) with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed goatee. Robert's clothing is very simple, sometimes even homemade, usually favoring dark browns and greys, and hidden under an old brown duster. Most notably is the fact that all of his outfits, including the duster, features some form of hood which Robert uses to cover his face with when ever he's out on business.
History:
Robert grew up in the Redmond Barren's north side just outside Touristtown. Life was hard for him and his folks but they got by keeping their heads down and working whatever jobs they could get. For their part Robert's parents even tried their best to educate their son so that he might be able to have a better life then they did. Since formal education is about as rare as a working knowledge soft in the Barrens the Locke's had to fall back to teaching Robert with books Mr. Locke had once found while scavenging an old school. Although most of them were old textbooks there were also a few novels as well. For Robert these books were his escape from the real world, passages into adventures and settings that were exciting rather then terrifying like the violence Robert would see on the streets. His favorite was "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood", with noted hero Robin Hood, who robbed the rich and gave to the poor. To the young Robert there was no better man then Robin and he swore he would one day become just like his idol.
Robert began his hero worship by making his own bow out of old plastic and a string. It didn't last long and he never hit anything but he tried again and again until he started to get the hang of it. Of course being "different" Robert didn't have the easiest time of it, having to suffer several beatings from other kids who though his bow and books were stupid. Despite this Robert never gave up and continued to push himself until he was better with a bow then most were with guns. Unfortunately it was around this time, just as Robert was becoming a adolescent, that new members of the Yakuza started pressuring the people in his neighborhood. When it was his father's turn to pay and the aged orc didn't have the money the Yakuza decided to make an example of him by shooting him in the gut, making him watch as they raped his wife. Robert had been away, practicing his bow, when this all happened but as he returned he heard his mother crying out. Still two blocks away from his home Robert's eye's suddenly zoomed in on the image of his father, dead upon the asphalt, and one of the Yakuza's standing over his naked mother, shooting her in the head. Without a second thought Robert loosed an arrow from where he stood and shot his mother's murderer straight in the eye. Now chased by the Yakuza's, and even shot twice, Robert ran until he collapsed and darkness fell across his mind.
When Robert awoke he found himself in a filthy tent, full of strange objects and being tended to by a drunken man wearing a brown robe. This man was Frank Tuller and he had found Robert on the edge of the Plastic Jungle where they were now in. Frank was a street shaman and self imposed hermit who had decided to take the boy in for ... well he couldn't really remember why but since the boy was here, and Frank had been nice enough to heal him, he might as well clean the shack. It wasn't like Robert was a prisoner or anything and Frank even explained to him that the changes he was undergoing was his talents as an adept emerging. Robert also soon found himself befriending some of the locals, who were willing to accept the boy because Frank had a reputation as a good judge of character.
Eventually Robert even moved to one of the tribes village, lending his talents as a scout, spotter, and learning how to help in the tribe's vegetable fields. If it had continued like this Robert may have been able to live a reasonably peaceful life but such is not life in the sprawl. Because the tribe lived reasonably close to the edge of the Plastic Jungle the vegetables they grew were a prime target for the Yakuza to extort from them. During a particularly lean harvest the tribe's head had had enough and decided to fight back. Unfortunately the Yakuza had bribed one of the tribe to turn into a spy and the leader's plan was revealed; ending before it even began. With their leader killed the night before the Yakuza would return for their tribute Robert was faced with the ruthless nature of the Yakuza but this time he was in a position to do something.
Robert gathered what people who could fight and rallied them to drive back the Yakuza's as the tribe's leader had originally intended. Surprised by a resistance they were sure they had already crushed, and the devastating accuracy of Robert had with a bow, the Yakuza soon retreated. Since then they have tried several times to reassert their dominance over the tribe but between Robert and his newly founded gang, The Hoods, it continued to prove difficult.
The Hoods were formed shortly after the first time the tribe successfully defended themselves from the Yakuza and were primarily composed of young adults who were attracted to Robert for his talents and ideals. Robert immediately knew that he needed to do more then just defend his home with his new band. He would become like his hero and take from those who unjustly took from the poor and return that wealth to those who needed it. Initially this was against the Yakuza but soon extended to include violent gangs and even the occasional corp boy slumming it in tourist town. Robert always kept their operations small enough to not shake the hornet's nest but still enough to make a difference. This coupled with the groups tendency to keep to the shadows, never needlessly exposing themselves, helped to ensure retaliations were rare.
Soon however Robert learned that some of the men who originally killed his parents were still around. He needed to learn where they were and take revenge for his parent's deaths. He couldn't risk endangering the tribe for this so, leaving Big John in charge, Robert stepped down from leading the Hoods until his quest was over. So begins his life in the Shadows, looking for information about the men who changed his life forever and maybe finding the chance to really make a difference for those in the slums.
Personality: Robert seems a little out of place in the slums, especially within the Plastic Jungle. True, he's an ork but he doesn't wear tattoos, piercings, or typical street/tribal cloths and is actually quite eloquent when speaking; sometimes even waxing poetically. He considers himself well read and can usually be seen with his face in old books he's collected which are damaged and weathered from age. Many may consider him noble but he can be realistic. As much as he would rather never see some one die he knows that the reality of the world sometimes makes this impossible and is willing to make the hard decisions when he needs too. The only exception to this is members of organized crime, especially Yakuza, who the vigilante feels should be dealt with harshly. Robert wants the world to be better, for the hopeless to be given a chance, but knows he has to temper his idealism with reason and experience.
Motivations and goals: Robert wants to help people. He wants to help his neighborhood, his friends, his gang, and anyone else he feels has had to suffer unjustly. He started the Hoods for this very purpose but it was never more then a way to help them survive. Maybe by being a Runner Robert will eventually be able to make a real difference in people's lives and truly help heal the Slums. Robert also want's revenge on the people who killed his parents; especially the one who he's already taken an eye from.
Contacts: Big Johnny (Male Troll)- Big Johnny was the man Robert put in charge of the Hoods when he decided to step down as leader. Known for his intimidating presence and skill with a staff it was actually Johnny who taught Robert how to fight with one. Not the biggest troll, but still the biggest person in the gang, Johnny was Roberts most able body man and someone Robert could trust to always get things done. Although he agreed with Robert's ideals to rob from the rich, he felt it should be for the benefit of the tribe rather then for poor people in general. It was also Johnny who convinced Robert to keep the gang's thefts quiet since being too noisy would just bring the Yakuza and everyone else to the tribes doorstep looking for trouble.
Johnny knows why Robert made him the gang's leader but he doesn't agree with it. Robert's place is with the tribe, protecting them, not as a Shadowrunner. Despite this, Robert's promise to return and take back leadership of the Hoods when he's done getting revenge has caused Johnny to not totally turn his back on his friend. In the mean time Johnny will continue to keep the tribe safe, leading the Hoods as best as he can. Other then his staff work Johnny is also the one who built up the fortifications that protect the tribe in the Plastic Jungle. He may not be as charismatic as Robert but he has the respect of all the gang's members and understands the need to plan ahead and be prepared. This, coupled with the gang's skill with hiding and eavesdropping, means that Big Johnny usually knows when something is happening in the Barrens and is ready for it.
Alex Dalin (Male Elf)- A clubber and informant of Robert's. Alex likes to club and drink at bars and knows a great deal about the social circles on the street, including organized crime. Born in the Barrens Alex was only slightly better off then most since his father worked in one of the clubs of Touristtown as a bounce. With a mother dead years ago and his father unwilling to leave his son alone in the Barrens Alex grew up in the club becoming an unofficial mascot of the staff there. Never having the muscle of his father Alex instead turned to selling information he overheard from patrons and charming the occasional salary woman. Alex met Robert when the orc saved him from a jealous husband and his buddies that didn't appreciate the young man being so familiar with the one man's wife. Since then Alex has been happy to drop a tip or two to the Hoods when he spots a good mark within the clubs, especially since he gets a percentage.
Frank Tuller (Male Dwarf)- Frank use to be a healing mage who ran in the shadows years back and went by the name "Priest", having been one before a gang members hired by a Corp burned down his mission. Years of running and dealing with Corps eventually made him lose faith with Frank turning to the bottle to deal with his depression. Eventually he settled into a secluded part of the Plastic Jungle to keep to himself and not have to worry about dealing with others. When he saw young Robert he could help see the potential in the boy and might have even chalked it up to divine intervention if he was still faithful. Frank knows a lot about the arcane and can still heal people when he needs to but his drunken, antisocial behavior hasn't made him a lot of friends. There are still those who trust his judgment but if you want anything from him you better bring a few bottles or he's likely to throw his empties at you.
The Hoods (Small Gang)- Specializing in stealth and physical spying, the Hoods were the people Robert gathered to help protect his new home and to take back that which criminals and Corps took from the people. Not physically dominating the gang instead uses hit and run, ambush, and trap tactics to defend themselves and makes money by quietly stealing from the Yakuza, Mafia, Touristtown tourists, and the more violent gangs in the area. When things go well no one even knows something was stolen and even when they're spotted they'll usually disappear or lead their pursuers into prepared ambushes. Many of the gangs members don't understand why Robert has stepped down from leadership and most have conflicting feelings. Although many still respect him they also feel slightly betrayed and even if Robert did try take back his original position many would not accept it because of the perceived abandonment.
Mary Fritz (Dependent/Girlfriend/Waitress)- May, as she prefers to be called, is Robert's girlfriend and works as a waitress at one of the rundown bars in the Barrens. Robert met her when one night a group of Red Stilleto's decided they wanted a little fun and chased her down a dark alley. Just as they were about to start having "fun" Robert started shooting the orcs from the shadow's, driving them off. When he emerged from the shadows Robert insisted on escorting the young lady home and along the way had a very nice chat with her. Robert continued to keep an eye on her, making sure she wasn't attacked an additional time, which eventually led to Robert teaching her how to keep out of trouble/defend herself. This eventually led to diner, which led to going out, and eventually the two started seeing each other regularly for just over a year now.
May thinks of Robert like a noble hero who regularly reads her poetry and stays up with her to watch the stars when it's clear enough. She understands he has responsibilities to his gang, so she appreciates the time he can make for her but wishes they could see each other more. May, for her own part, isn't much of a maiden and is more your basic girl from the streets; a little crude, a little tough, but with a good heart. Her connection to Robert has mostly been kept secret even from the Hood, with only Big Johnny knowing about her. May knows that if she's ever in trouble to go to the Plastic Jungle and ask for Johnny but other then that is as in the dark about the gang as most other people are about her.
Enemies:
-The Yakuza's: Obviously the Yakuza, and other criminals, in Redmond have a bone to pick with Robert and the Hoods but their stealthy/secretive nature has mostly kept the gang off their radars. There is one exception of course and that's the man who was shot in the eye by Robert on the night the boy's parents were killed. Named Yakeda Rushi, this man lost his eye and much "honor" that night and wants payback against the child that scared his face. Fortunately, Yakeda hasn't been able to track down Robert in the last few years and is becoming very frustrated. Despite his injury, Yakeda has risen through the ranks of the Redmond Yakuza and currently occupies a position of power (How powerful I leave to you). As a last attempt to draw the child who wounded him out of hiding Yakeda has started to leak information about the other men who were with him that night, believing that if Robert is out there he'll eventually show himself to take revenge.
Robert lay there on the roof of an old apartment building, the pounding base of the clubs within Touristtown beating like an ill heart off in the distance; one of the few signs of life within the Barrens. It was late fall, just cold enough to make you know that the icy grip of winter was right around the corner but still warm enough to be outside provided you bundled up or were tough enough to endure. It was one of those rare nights when the smog and clouds that normally loomed over the barrens had given way to a star lit sky. Not that most within the Barrens ever noticed, being too repressed by the mere act of survival out here in the Wastes to look up and dream. Robert was different, loving these opportunities to relax and imagine the infinite possibilities that the stars had for so long represented to humanity; remembering the stories of his childhood.
The tribe, his tribe, had just pushed back the forces of the Yakuza a few scant weeks ago, thereby ensuring that there would be enough food to survive the coming winter. Robert had even surprised himself, rising up to inspire the tribe to continue the late chief's plan after he had been murdered for daring to stand against the oppressors of his people. Robert had barely known the chief, having joined the tribe less then a year ago, but the young orc had known him to be a good man; one who didn't deserved to have been cut down over the greedy machinations of those with power taking from those without. It had been just like Robin in his fight against the Sherriff, fighting against the odds to save the poor who merely wished to live in peace, so Robert had no choice but to take a stand; to use the very words of his hero to show that all was not lost and that the people could still grasp a glimmer of hope as long as they were willing to stand and fight.
After the battle, after the Yakuza had been surprised to face a people who's spirit had not been broken, after Robert had shot his arrows to cripple so many of the invading men; the tribe had proclaimed him a hero. Many of the younger men had come to him, begging to be taught how to use a bow like him as well, exclaiming that they wished to protect their home as well. Robert knew where this was leading, how his path seemed to mirror that of his hero, but he still didn't know if it was the right thing to do. As much as he loved his stories Robert knew this wasn't one of them, this was real life, but the tribe did need a way to protect itself. More the that, the Barrens were a cesspit of violence and those who would use their strength to take what little the residents here held. If he were to train these youths, some technically even older then him, should it only be to protect their small corner of the world or should their purpose be greater? To that end, to answer the question that had haunted him, Robert had taken to the roofs to clear his head but despite it all the answers he sought were not revealing themselves to him.
That's when, as Robert was staring at the night sky for an answer, a shrill scream pierced the thumping of the distant base, shocking the orc to his senses. Below, in the nearby alley, a young woman was running from a pair of rather nasty looking orcs but didn't get far as a third soon appeared from behind a garbage pile. It wasn't an unusual sight within Redmond, common enough that even if anyone else heard the young woman's pleas no one would come to help her. To do so would only endanger your own safety and then there would be two dead bodies in the alley the next morning rather then just one. So was the way of the Barrens.
No.
If Robert didn't do anything, if he did nothing but stand here like all the others then it would never change. He had grown up on these streets, suffered like any other, but it was still his home. It needed to be better.
Without another though, just as the young woman was being cornered, Robert retrieved his bow and shot a single arrow at the scene below; whizzing straight past one of the assaulters nose, catching the orc's nose ring as it was ripped from it's mounting and was binned into the ground below.
Confused and with one of their own now screaming from the blood streaming down his face the group looked around but could find nothing. Suddenly another arrow, this time from a window, ripped through the air, piercing another's hand where the would be killer had been holding a gun; easily crippling the appendage and knocking the weapon to the ground. It was almost like a shadow was flitting about within the building, where ever it appeared another shot flying forth to pin a foot, sleeve, or weapon; further disabling the group but never killing them.
Finally, with the three orcs trying frantically to free themselves to try and mount a counter attack, Robert kicked open the door to the alleyway, bow in hand and his face hidden within the shadows of the hood he had recently begun wearing for warmth.
"None of those were misses. If I had wanted you'd be dead by now. I suggest you call it a night and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Only warning".
For a moment the three muggers appeared to be shocked enough that they just might listen but one, the ugliest of the bunch, covered in boils and scars, howled as he charged at the man in the doorway. Three arrows made a perfect inverted triangle within the attackers eye's and mouth before he could even make it to the door; sending a clear message to the other two who quickly fled.
Breathing a sigh of relief Robert watched as the pair ran, turning the one left and noting the symbol hidden under his jacket that marked him as a part of the Rusty Stilettos. Those sociopaths didn't usually come out this far, it was technically Crimson Crush territory, but it looked like they were growing bolder. The woman, who had fallen to the ground and sat their shaking, was trying to say something but nothing but small squeaks escaped. Her jacket had opened revealing a cocktail dress, likely that of a waitress from one of the nearby bars rather then a tourist as no one was that stupid to walk this far from Tourist Town just for a thrill. Kneeling down and removing his hood to help calm the woman Robert noticed she had cut her leg.
"It's ok now, they're gone now and unlike them I don't want to hurt you". Pointing at the young woman's injury Robert asked if he could help her with that which she answered with a weak nod. "Your a local right", Robert continued as he took out a bandage from his pocket and began to dress the cut. "You should know it's not safe to walk alone at night, especially when your as cute as you are", Robert said with a smirk.
"I-I was fired. T-That prick Paul wouldn't let me stick around until sun up", the woman said, barely more then a whisper.
"Waitress, right", Robert retorted. "Why didn't you stick around the more crowded streets? I'm sure it wouldn't have been too bad waiting until morning".
"D-didn't want to deal with corp boys hitting on my like I was some kind of a call girl. That said"... she said as she glanced over to the body of her would be attacker. "Might have been better if I had".
Turning the woman's face away from the corpse with a gentle hand Robert spoke to her in a somber tone. "Nothing you can change now. Best to get home and get a good rest. I'll escort you if you wish. It's the appropriate thing for a gentleman to do when faced with a lady in need".
The woman snorted slightly, trying to stifle a laugh. "Gentleman? Right. Not exactly a lot of those in the Barrens; although".. she said as she looked into Roberts eyes. "I guess it's not impossible".
Finishing with the bandage Robert stood and extended his hand to the young woman. "Well then fair maiden", he said with a slight exaggerated flourish to lighten the mood. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Robert of the Hood and who might I have the pleasure of escorting this fine night"? The name had been a joke John had started making when Robert had first started wearing the hood, the Troll having already heard of Robert's fictional man crush when the orc had first talked about why he was always interested in books.
With a giggle the young lady took Robert's hand and began to rise. "Mom named me Marian after my Grandmother but everyone calls me May".
For a moment Robert stood silently, trying to restart his mind which had just now decided to stop working after hearing the woman's real name.
"Hello? Are you all right"?
"Oh! Ah, sorry", Robert said with a stutter as he remembered to breath again. "Just.. thinking of something you reminded me of. Sorry. So.. Uh, I guess we should get you home then".
Character sheet:
Experience Level: I've been following Shadowrun since 3rd edition and although I had primarily been a DnD/Pathfinder player during those years, I always went out of my way when given a chance to play the gritty cyberpunk/fantasy mash up; whether it was running games myself, playing with my main crew, or the occasional pick up game at conventions. I will admit that I never dived deep into the topography of the matrix, finding that particular rabbit hole a little confusing at times, but I do at least understand the concepts present there.
I've also played the majority of the video games (yes, including the original Snes and Sega ones; Xbox too but I don't like to talk about that) and read several of the novels (Albeit a much more limited percentage then the video games). I am even currently playing in a game for which, as a side project, I'm creating an interactive map of Seattle 2072 using Google Maps that has not only points of interest listing relevant data pulled from books and wiki's but district and (perceived) Gang areas; all organized in specific fields for easier use for when one wants to focus on particular types of areas/points of interest. As your focusing your game on 2081 I don't think it would help you much but it is a decent example of my dedication to the setting.
Last edited by taleteller50; Jan 13th, 2019 at 11:34 PM.