Hi all, this is the OOC thread. I'd like y'all to pose your app and your sheet here as your first post, and also claim a color for you character's speech. We'll get started once Abombom has his revised sheet done.
Background: My mother always told me once. "The world rewards a kind soul." Bless her drunken heart, but I fail to see any truth in what she's saying. I live in the most disgusting cruel dreked out neighbourhood this side of Seattle. I run a modest business as a street doc in a small shop. There, I help sick people for chicken feed and even do probono work. I turned down a high paying job at Evo for frag sake! What do I get? Debt collectors and every junkie looking for a fix on my door step. Some reward mum! So why do I do it? Well, because someone did it for me. When I was just a kid, some drek for brains did a number on me with his car and left me for dead. A doc named Alistair took me in and patched me up. He was some old human who dropped out of college and took to the streets to make a living. One day he just started helping people. The guy was great to me! I started going there nearly everyday. He taught me how to read, write and how to do math. Eventually he got a fixer to connect me with a pretty nifty school. He was like a father to me.
He eventually passed away and I followed in his foot steps. It may sound like I'm complaining, but I'm doing what I love. This world may be morally bankrupt, but there are moments of hope and I wouldn't trade a single one of them, for all the credits in the world. But, in order to keep up my work and pay the bills. I need to run. I'm gonna do it my way though, as clean as possible. Let's hope I won't need these Flechette rounds, but who is this saint for a shadowrunner you might ask? I'm Rohan Rane, but you can call me Docbox.
Appearance: Docbox is a young dwarf, who looks prematurely aged. He has a bald head and a well trimmed beard. He has black hair, but he is slowly going prematurely grey. His face has undeniable character, like a man who spent his entire life laughing. He wears a jumpsuit with a lab coat over the top and when he's on job he's rarely seen without his helmet. He carries around a Remington shotgun and a Remington pistol, usually loaded with shock rounds. He uses the spraying mechanism to subdue as many people as possible.
Shadowrunning: When Alistair passed away, Rohan found a list of shadowrunning contacts. This was a great surprise to Rohan and he decided to take advantage or them and took a job. His first run was an undeniable blood bath. His group consisted of him, a kind hearted Troll named Skar and a vicious human with a sadistic streak named Lesley. The finished the job, but in a rush Skar and Rohan had no choice, but to abandon Lesley.
He continues shadowrunning to pay his debt and keep his clinic open. He typically takes missions that have enough breathing room to avoid killing. He's not a popular choice by the Mr. Johnsons. He generally gets his work from other shadowrunners, who need a trustworthy medic to save their skins and provide medical care post mission.
If he's running in a group, he won't lecture his fellow runners about not killing. He won't enforce his ideals on other people. He'll likely only keep a strictly professional relationship with a murderer and will prioritise other group members for medical treatment. If they take it too far (torture, rape) he will try to stop them.
Personality: Docbox is a kind and charitable man, but also aware of how unpractical it is in the 70s. He rarely talks medical jargon despite his formidable knowledge. He seems to think he's talking down to them if he does. He has a keen memory and tends to enjoy complaining when things are bad. He is a gregarious man and enjoys making friends.
Contacts: Detective Sean McCarthy is a human lone star detective. Docbox patched up his son a few years ago and now Sean keeps the local enforcement from harassing him. Sometimes Docbox is invited to family dinners or hangs out at the bar with Sean after his shift.
Spoony is a well connected fixer in the area. Docbox and Spoony don't know each other very well, as it's mostly a business relationship. Docbox isn't normally asked to perform surgeries for the fixer's clients in exchange for what he wants.
Character concept: A lost dog without its master, Rover lives a meaningless existence appeased only by trid flicks, nightclubs, BTLs, drugs, and the spirits he keeps for company.
Rover’s earliest memories consist of begging for scraps of food with his older sister in the business district of Downtown Seattle. Since as long as he can remember, he, like his sister, always knew how to work magic. Liz taught him his first spell by the time he was only four: how to take the form of the everyday animals around them. This served them well as they went around panhandling. Acrobatic shows as monkeys for nuyen by day, sleeping in dumpsters as dogs by night. It wasn’t a great life, but Rover was happy.
That simple life ended when Rover turned seven. Liz had been trying to look for a better life for them both and had arranged a meet with some beat cops who had promised to raise them from poverty. She stuffed her Ares Predator, as well as a fake dog bone she always carried around, into his hands and told him to wait until she came out of the meet’s building. And so he waited and waited for hours, until he finally saw some men leave the building around midnight. Unable to keep waiting for her, he creeped into the building. And there he found his sister… beaten, raped, dead.
He dragged around her corpse with the jaws of his dog-form, from dirty alleyway to dirty alleyway, for days. When someone finally discovered her and the Star came, he ran. He blamed all cops for his sister’s death, and carries a grudge to this day. His sister told him never to trust ‘the adults,’ anyway.
It was at this time that Dog first manifested itself in front of him. Something about Dog reminded him of his sister; did Dog follow her too? A young him thought that Dog was simply contained within the dog bone he carried around with him… Rover would only in later years understand the concept of mentor spirits. Regardless of the spirits origins, it would advise and accompany Rover for the rest of his life. At one point Rover named it ‘Lucky’ for it seemed to always show up right before Rover got himself out of a dangerous situation.
The next few years were a blur as Rover wandered Seattle and became intimate with its streets. From the busy Downtown, to the overprotected parks of Bellevue, to the rural areas of Snohomish, Rover has been everywhere. He soon stopped his sister’s way of begging for food and simply became a scavenger. When he tired of one area, he would take to the skies as a bird, but he soon stopped that habit when he almost found himself on the wrong end of a watch-drone’s rotors.
Eventually, at around age 13, Rover crossed Snohomish into the Redmond Barrens, after being chased off a farm by some angry shoot-first-ask-questions-never, shotgun-toting men. He had avoided the Barrens his whole life, because his sister had warned him never to go there. But he actually found the area to be a refreshing change of pace; food was harder to come by, but nobody really looked twice at the stray black Lab moving aimlessly about.
One day, while scavenging for food outside a Stuffer Shack, an old man dressed in tattered clothes and smelling even worse than Rover grabbed the young pup and threw him against the wall. “Outta the way, magic stray! Ingredients, ingredients, ingredients…” he shouted, belligerently. Despite having just received a killer migraine from the man, Rover was shocked that he could see that Rover was not in fact, a real dog. Curious, lonely, bored, and starving, Rover followed the crazy old man back to his home on the outskirts of Glow City.
The man’s name was Seth and he shooed Rover away. But Rover didn’t leave, not even after the powerful Rat Shaman flung him around like a meat-doll a few times. Impressed by his persistence, he eventually let the dog in and let him have a few scraps. Rover had so many questions for him about magic. But the man had no need for an apprentice, and he only helped Rover out after Rover ran errands for him.
Seth, throughout the years, has helped teach Rover. Even so, despite years of working together, he has never cared about him. He still doesn’t. The only thing he really had to teach Rover was how to be selfish and the life lesson that you can’t get something for nothing. He made it clear he didn’t want the kid living there. And so, Rover trekked through the Barrens, only occasionally wandering back to Seth when he was desperate enough to work for him just to have a roof for a day. He walked Redmond’s streets for a year or so before ever having any purpose in life. However, purpose finally came when he met Natalie.
Natalie was the first kind-hearted person he had met in the Barrens. Seeing him as an abandoned dog on her streets, she took him in and fed him. “Here, Rover!” she named him. The middle-aged elven woman headed a local Mafia-backed gang named the ‘Terminators’ over in the Bargain Basement district of Redmond. Rover kept his shape-shifting charade up for weeks until he came to see all of them, especially Natalie, as family. He dropped the ruse one day, summoned up his courage, and told them all who he was. Expected to be shunned and sent away as Seth had done with him, they instead, to his surprise, welcomed him with open arms.
Natalie “Big Momma” Greenhill taught the boy how to read, how to be around people, and how to be a decent human being. And, ecstatic upon seeing his magical abilities, she also molded him into the gang’s perfect little spellslinger, providing plenty of financial support for him to be tutored under Seth. Just two years after being with the crew, they initiated him into the gang by making him get their signature Terminator-Red cybereyes. Before long, he was doing courier runs and little jobs with them here and there.
But the Terminators, despite being named after late 20th-century action-movie killing machines, weren’t a band of lunatics, nor were they very professional. They did some shady things, like extort protection money from the locals, or run drugs in their turf, but people didn’t mind. Most of the locals preferred having to deal with the Terminators rather than actual Mafia Made Men. Natalie wanted them to go big though… to not just be some Mafia lackeys… to be more than just a bunch of well-meaning neighborhood thugs. She began taking the gang on mysterious ‘runs, trying to take them to the next-level. Rover would never be taken along, he was usually too busy training under Seth. The odd jobs were all provided for by a Fixer named ‘Mr. Shark,’ whom only Natalie knew. Rover was never given a chance to meet the man.
Nor would he ever have a chance to. Three months ago, while the gang was off on one of its ‘runs, Rover found himself waiting… and waiting… and waiting. Just like when he was a child, and he waited for his sister. Except this time there was no building to run in to, and find a fresh corpse waiting. Instead… there was nothing.
Rover was lost. Not one number in his phonebook worked. All his friends’… his family’s usual haunts, homes, safehouses; they were all empty or abandoned. The only Made Man Rover knew hung him out to dry; he refused to work with ‘kids’ like Rover. The few people Rover knew outside his group knew nothing about the gang’s disappearance. When Rover kept calling them over and over to find out what happened, they simply stopped answering.
He took up refuge in the Natalie’s old home. The landlord warned him not to; apparently Natalie owed some money to the wrong people. But, like a dog laying down to die with its master, he insisted on living there. Before he had even paid the first month’s rent, some men came looking for Natalie and found him instead. They refused to accept that Natalie was dead and refused to walk away empty-handed. When they said that HE was the one who was going to be paying up now, he didn’t even flinch. In his dream-like state he accepted their terms and kept on thinking about the one thing on his mind… What had happened to the Terminators?
Were they killed? Was it even the run? Who knew what? Was it the Mob? Did they just… disappear? Rover only knew one thing.
He was alone again.
He had no real friends, not a single person he could really call. Was he supposed to make a new family? Was he supposed to wander the streets, like a dog again, hoping for someone to take him in? He tried summoning some Spirits of Man to keep him company; the spirits always treated him nice. He never quite got regular ones either whenever he conjured them… they always came out looking odd. In the last year even, they always appeared to him as objects and characters from the old action movies he loved watching on the ‘trid with Natalie. But spirits were no substitute for the real thing.
What was the point of it all? He quickly turned to drugs, BTLs, and Seattle’s clubs to alleviate his existence. He should’ve been obsessing over searching for his family, and he was; but the one time he tried to follow one of the fixers Natalie knew and try to find out more, he ended up staring down the wrong barrel of a troll’s rifle. He was scared, weak. Lucky was ashamed of him. How could he stop trying to look for his family? He let those cops that beat and raped his sister get away, and now he’s going to let Natalie and the gang get away, too.
But he hasn’t completely forgotten about his family. With the last of his creds, despite collectors ready to barge through his door, he’s managed to learn the basics of a Mind Probe spell, which lets him look into a person’s thoughts and rip information out. Maybe he’ll try to find out what happened to the old gang. Lucky sure wants him to look for them. Maybe he’ll run away from it all, flying away as an eagle, as his sister always promised him they would. Maybe he’ll fall into an abyss of escapism and nightclubs. Or maybe he’ll be a smushed red paste on the side of a curb when whoever the hell he owes comes looking to collect while he’s trying to figure it all the **** out.
Contact Notes: Seth, Rat Shaman Talismonger. Eccentric old man who lives in Glow City. Tutor, old acquaintance, extremely selfish. (see background) Juicer, gang member of the Redmond-based Crimson Crush. Juicer is tiny for an ork, but don’t tell him that to his face. A friend of Natalie’s, he’s the only one from those days that still answers Rover’s phone calls. They get along well and try to watch some trids or go clubbing together, but Juicer’s natural racism towards humans and mistrust of the Awakened get in the way.
Personality: Zoned out most of the time, but overeager and naïve when tuned in to reality. Often on edge come-downs of the drugs he takes to cope. Likes to take dog form. Developing a twitch.
Appearance: Raggedy, unkempt. Weakened from drug use and mistreating his body. Often has cybereyes set to a 'Terminator-Red.'
- Summons Spirits of Man differently than most shamans. Instead of wise spirits, he tends to summon creatures that look like something out of a movie and talk more like humans and less like benevolent beings.
-Normally has spirits on call at any given time as he enjoys their company and has no friends.
Calling Dark Orange.
For the backstory, I changed everything and changed his contacts. He no longer has any friends in the world. He also has no real idea about who he owes money to, but he's the type of person that doesn't care. He just wants to live in his old friend's home (medium lifestyle) and isn't in touch with reality at all. If you aren't fine with this, I'll likely just remove the negative quality, change my foci due to lack of $, and replace the quality with addictions. Rover has some Addictions (mild) I put just because it makes sense at the moment (receiving no benefits).
Regarding mechanics, I unoptimized Rover a bit. Took away the Adrenaline Surge quality (which I think is super cheesy) and replaced it with Perceptive (level 1) and Spirit Affinity (Spirits of Man*). Changed some stuff around.
In Tir Tairngire the politics of Nobility is serious business. The medieval revival that is the Tir government elevates the ancient notion of Noblesse Oblige to a twisted art form. The lesser nobles obliged to one of the council princes either show appropriate loyalty or face the cold realities of the common Elf. For those who owe their positions to the Elven supremacist Princess Jenna Ni'Faira this is a truth beyond the pale of Elven society.
Et’Thir was born to parents who owed their position in Elven society to Jenna Ni'Faira. When he was born it was obvious that something was wrong. His features were distinctly un-Elfish. He grew up in seclusion born of fear and revulsion and as he approached school age it became apparent that he was at least partly human. This prompted strong recriminations aimed at his mother by his Father’s family. A genetic test was quickly ordered by both sides to establish the truth of young Et’Thir’s bloodline. The results were more alarming than both families could have imagined.
Et’Thir was full-blooded Elf, and worse, he was full-blooded theirs.
Fearful that having what looks like a half-blooded child would damage their position with Ni'Faira, they decided he would have to disappear and all ties severed. To accomplish this in the awakened world that would mean removing both his mundane and magical connections to the family.
Breaking his electronic trail to the family meant altering his SIN, but that was not so easy. At any time he might pop up on the net and be revealed as their son. So it was decided to proceed with altering his SIN, effectively removing it from existence, and then monitoring the net to make sure it never re-established itself.
Clouding his bloodline to the awakened would be much more difficult. Fortunately his father’s sister was a shaman of not insignificant power. She devised a blood ritual which would block anyone from tracing his origins. Unfortunately for Et’Thir, magic seeks a balance. After the ceremony was completed it was obvious to all that it had affected his aura in an unexpected way.
One of the consequences of being considered an abomination by your family is that they take very little, read as no, interest in you. So, it was never discovered that Et’Thir possessed the undeveloped powers of an Adept. Having not taken this into her calculations, the strength of the magic commanded by the great shaman caused Et’Thir’s aura to pulse with the power of the ritual. The residual effect of the ritual announced the presence and nature of Et’Thir’s aura to anyone who could read it. As interesting as this phenomenon was, it did not seem to have any effect on the intended purpose of the spell, so the planed disassociation could proceed.
At this point the reader may be asking the question, “Why not just kill him and be done?” the answer is asa follows. Et’Thir’s soon to be ex-family was of sufficient station that the fact, if not the details, of his birth was well known. It is one thing to have a reclusive child in such a circumstance, it would be another for him to be killed. Such an event would be investigated, undoubtedly at the demand of Ni'Faira’s enemies on the council. This could not be allowed to happen. However, it is not uncommon for a child of a high family to leave on a spirit quest, or some other such journey of enlightenment and be gone for an undetermined number of years without raising any suspicions.
So it happened that Et’Thir was awakened the night following the ritual and, bag on head and all, loaded into a vehicle and driven over the borders of Tir Tairngire into the outskirts of the Redmond Barrens. There he was dumped, bag and all, and commanded in a firm and familiar voice to forget his past and make his own way in the world. The deadly consequences of making contact with the family again were made equally clear. What felt like a bag was thrust into his arms, and he heard the sound of the vehicle speeding off into the distance.
Thus came to be the second birth of Et’Thir to his new family, the blighted and cursed streets of hell known as the Barrens.
He worked the hood from his head and tossed it aside. The “bag” that was thrust into his arms is a cheap backpack of the kind a child would take to school back when children carried books. Backpacks like this were a popular anachronism around the time of his first birth. It was full of several useful, if uninspiring, items…. a flashlight, cups, saucers and silverware.
And a note……
EtThir: Second Life.
In the bottom of the backpack, Et’Thir found a folded piece of paper. Knowing that this might be a last trick of his Aunt’s, he looked closely at the paper. He knew that sometimes he saw images surrounding objects. He didn’t understand what he saw, but he had learned it was important to be wary when he did. He didn’t see anything unusual though, so he carefully unfolded the paper.
Written inside in an unfamiliar hand he found this message:
“Young one, you and I have never talked, but I have known you since the day of your birth. I am not in a position which allows me to stop this injustice done to you, nor will I risk helping you directly as I have my own position to protect. I know this must make me seem a coward in your eyes. I can live with that, given the alternative.
As you grew, I noticed something in you that the others missed. It is good that they did, or they might have chosen to end your life rather than throw you away as they have.
I will not explain this to you any further in case this note is discovered by someone other than yourself. What I will do for you is give you a chance to survive. Once you have finished reading this note, touch it to your forehead. It will become a map. On the map you will find a building marked.
Go there and ask for the “One in Charge” If that one will speak to you, you will then be tested. If you pass the test that One may choose to train you. If you are given this chance my advice is that you seize it with both hands.
It will save you.”
Et’Thir set the note down on the ground quickly. He did not know what would happen if he did as the unknown writer had instructed him. He had never found any reason to trust his family before, and the events of the past days had not shown him otherwise. He sat alone in the ruin of the street. It had once been home to families, but they had long ago given up. As the eastern sky began to lighten he began to feel a strange kinship with the homes surrounding him. Both of them had families that feared them and so abandoned them.
He looked down at the piece of paper on the ground. What did he have to lose really? If it was a stupidly elaborate method of killing him, what did it matter? If he avoided this trap, they would find another way.
He picked up the note and placed it to his forehead. Nothing seemed to happen, and despite himself he looked around to see if anyone was watching him perform this ridiculous “Ritual.” He brought his hands before his face and he saw that the paper had indeed changed. It now had lines and grids on it, and a path faintly glowed from one point to another. A brighter blip moved repeatedly from one point to the other. He assumed this meant one of those points was him, and one was his destination. He stood up and oriented himself to the direction of the first path on the map. When he began walking he saw that the corresponding point moved along the path.
Et’Thir smiled grimly, “I will go to the end of the path and see what this “One in Charge” has to say.”
Et'Thir: Third Life.
Et’Thir stands on the uneven sidewalk outside the Dojo which has doubled as his home for the past 7 years. His master has sent him out on another errand. He has been on countless errands since he first poked his head inside the crumbling building behind him.
He grasped the small case he wore around his neck as an amulet and touched it to his forehead performing the centering ritual he had repeated so many thousand times over those 7 years. “I am the path which leads home. I will follow the path and be saved.” Et’Thir intones the words that complete the ritual. He tucks the case back under the light body armor he wears at all times, unless he is bathing…. or being bathed. Et’Thir smiles to think of the gift his master provided him last night. He honored that gift several times.
He ran through the mission details he had memorized.
1) Go to the Doc’s house and give him the case.
2) Wait there until he is called for.
It seemed a simple enough task, and that worried him. His master never gave him simple tasks, not for the last year at least.
He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rotten Dragon’s eggs. That was not good. It meant that it had been waiting some time for him to come out. He looked around scanning for the telltale sign. Yes, there it is. Looked like a big one too. The Aura was unmistakable, a city spirit had taken up the customary position just far enough to be out of reach should Et’Thir choose to take a run at it, close enough to interfere should the occasion arise.
He headed for the Doc’s place trying to ignore the spirit without actually losing track of it. Ever since the blood ritual which had severed his connection to his first family had left its mark on his own Aura, Et’Thir had attracted the unwanted attention of the Barren’s Spirits of Man. His master believed the taint on his Aura offended the senses of the spirits, and they saw Et’Thir as a being to be abhorred, a condition that had been as much a part of both his lives as the skin that surrounded his body.
He didn’t care, he had learned how to deal with them should they come too close. He had learned to deal with most things should they come too close. Et’Thir flexed his hands and felt the power they held pulse through his arms and shoulders. He had learned many things in his second life.
He quickened his pace. Thinking of his training always lifted his spirits. It had saved him many times, true, but it was the training itself that he loved. The katas performed till they were no longer thought of, but simply came unbidden to his mind when needed. The poundings he took, training his power to block blows even if he was not consciously aware of them. Meditating for hours on end until he could see the life force of everything surrounding him and know it for what it truly was. Moving through the city like one of the countless spirits from rooftop to alley to fence to street. His body flowing through the motions as his mind watched for the signs that meant he had found what he was sent to find.
He had become something his first family could never have imagined, and something his second family valued greatly.
He was an Adept, the personification of Awakened Power in flesh and blood. It was this his unknown benefactor had seen, it was this his master had trained, it was this Et’Thir had honed through these 7 long years.
“Hey ET!” A huge beast waved it's arms at him.
It was his only friend outside the Dojo. Carlos was huge, even for an Orc, with the telltale bulges that meant his own thick hide had been augmented with dermal armor. Et’Thir had ridden shotgun with Carlos on many runs, providing the scouting while Carlos provided the up close protection of their clients.
He liked working with Carlos. Despite his looks, the intimidating frame of the Bodyguard hid a mind that was both sharp and wise. Carlos knew the value of life. It was his most important attribute, and made him a much sought after bodyguard. That and his cybernetic right arm which he could use to crush a small car or unload death at 200 rounds per second. Carlos valued life, but he wasn’t a pacifist. Not many were in the Barrens.
Et’Thir was one of those few, not just because it instinctively felt wrong to kill, but because it really pissed off his spirit “chummers”. Though when it had absolutely meant his life or death, he’d killed in the past, but he hoped he would never have to again.
“Hey little brother, you busy, or on a “Mission from God?” Carlos bellowed from across the street.
Et’Thir crossed the street to his friend. “Keep yer voice down ya big ugly dumbass troll.” Et’Thir grinned at Carlos as he insulted him. “Hey, watch yer mouth chummer, or you’ll make me angry. You don’t want to see me when I’m angry.” Carlos was a nut for old 20th century films. Et’Thir had no idea if he was getting the references right, but it was usually best to assume he did. The Orc could really hit you hard with that piece of Ares Tech. Even in jest and against Et’Thir’s defenses it would leave a mark.
“So?” the look in Carlos’s vatgrown eyes, his pride and joy, meant he had biz to talk if Et’Thir had the time. “Sorry metal man, he’s got me workin’ this morning.”
“Too bad, I could use that second sight of yours for this run. Think old Mental is available?” EtThir knew most of the Street Mages around, and Carlos must have a serious pressing need if he was askin’ about that old rez-head. “Yeah, heard he was hangin around up by the shoot-n-snooze. I’d be sly of that burner Carlos, he’s near snapped.” The Orc nodded his head, “Yepper, but all I need is a quick scan into the ass-fog.” That was Carlos’ name for the Astral.
“Yeah, well if something pokes its head out of that ass-fog, don’t forget, I get that tech off your smelly ass carcass.” Et’Thir tried not sound too worried as he smacked his friend on the back of his thick skull, ducked under the retaliatory strike and slipped away down the street. He’d pay for that latter for sure.
He was almost to the Doc’s clinic. It was a hole in the wall, literally, with a ragged tarp creating a makeshift operating room with an office in the back. Street Doc’s were pretty good at making do with what they had. Et’Thir focused his attention on the area. He needed to be sure it was clean, with nothing mundane or magical out of place. When he was satisfied it was clear, he approached the Doc’s sidewalk waiting room and called back through the hole.
“Hey Doc, you in there?” Et’Thir winced, he hadn’t meant to be so loud, That frakin’ Orc was a bad influence. He heard the Doc moving around in the office and he stepped off the street and into the surgery. Doc came out of his office, “You rez-head Keep your voice down, neh?” Doc was in a bad mood looks like. “Someone sleeze their bill?” Even street docs kept an eye in the net, rumor was, Doc had an actual account with an orbital.
“What you want slag-fragger, I don’t see any holes in your hide.” The old man actually looked a little disappointed. “Or maybe you got some new wet tech you want installed?”
“You know I don’t snatch metal Doc. ‘Sides it don’t scan right with my system.” Et’Thir had tried to have a datajack installed once. It damn near burned a hole in his head before the c-tech had it halfway in.
“My master has this for you.” Et’Thir drew himself up strait and made a formal bow as he handed over the package. "He said I was to wait here until called for." The Doc shot him a look at this last statement. “Yeah? Then I better take a look at this.” Et’Thir keyed in the code on the small mag-lock and the Doc opened the latch, lifted the lid and slipped his wrinkled hand inside.
He pulled out an old data crystal and a cred-stick. The Doc slotted the crystal behind his ear. Et’Thir could see data scrolling across the small HUD in front of the Doc’s left eye. When it was finished, the old street Doc looked tired. “That piece of drek, why does he always have me do the dirty work.”
He looked up at Et’Thir, and shook his head. “You want the bad news or the worse news?” Et’Thir smirked, how bad could it be? Doc was gettin’ soft in his old age. “I’ll take it in order.” He said, but suddenly he got the feeling he didn’t really want it at all. A cold knot slipped around his gut.
“Ok then,” the Doc said. “The bad news is, you ain’t gonna be called for, the worse news is, ya can’t go ask why.” Et’Thir looked blankly at the Doc, the cold had wrapped itself around his brain now. “Wha.. what?” was all he could manage.
“He says you gotta start your third life, he taught ya all he can.” The old man grimaced, “He’s shown ya the door and locked it behind ya. Looks like the street is your new dojo chummer.” The doc pocketed the cred stick as he opened the flap to his office. He stopped before he went in and said over his shoulder, “Ole “One in Charge” said you should go see that young street doc you did those runs with last month. Docbox’s his name. He says that you should run with him now.” The Doc went into his office, but before the flap closed Et’Thir heard him mutter, “Makes sense I guess, Docbox is a passyfist too. Fraked up kids.”
Et’Thir looked at the flap for a minute, then, numbly, he turned around and stepped through the hole.
He stumbled down the birth canal of the Barrens streets and began his third life.
He was born again, a runner now.
Somewhere nearby, but not to near, he heard laughter.
Abombom, is Jasmine still a contact for Rover? And, am I reading correctly that despite allt he crap he has seen, Rover is still a decent guy underneath? Or is he consumed with revenge for whomever took the Terminators?
Maugan_ra: Please add Mouse's background/writing sample to your first post.
No, Jasmine isn't a contact anymore, I didn't like the idea of Rover having any reliable friends. I replaced her with Juicer, just some Crimson Crush ork gang member he doesn't know that well that he likes to sometimes party with. I can replace Juicer with a fixer if you need a way to tie him into the party.
I also didn't like the idea too much of a Dog Shaman having actually betrayed his family of sorts, since I think that'd put him down the path of being a toxic Dog Shaman. So instead the Terminators just mysteriously vanished.
Rover's a halfway decent guy, although he's seen his fair share of terrible things on the streets during his life with the Terminators. He isn't really consumed with revenge; I picture him more as a self-loathing kid who's just really lost and confused... very out of touch with reality. Sort of given up on life, very scared to make some real friends again since he ends up losing everyone he ever cares for.
He definitely should have tried to find out what happened to the Terminators more, but every time he's tried, it's ended up in disaster. Everyone screws up. I had lowered his willpower from 4->3 to make this seem a little more believable. He'd be obsessed with revenge (assuming they were even screwed over in the first place) if he could only stop having an escapist pity-party of sorts. They're on his mind but, fearing the worst, he keeps putting off the search for them.
When play begins he won't have gone on a job since before the Terminators disappeared. He probably wouldn't even be going on shadowruns if it wasn't for the fact that he's deep in the red, wants to keep living in Natalie's old apartment, and needs some nuyen for BTLs, drugs, spirits, and the occasional lonely night out on the town.
Well, until we know the job and potential payout, there's not a vast amount of planning we can really do, and right now the best we have in terms of avoiding our employer screwing us over is just generally acting cautious.
So I'm good with Mouse and El'Thir heading in first, just in case it is a massive trap. Mouse is very good at spotting potential escape routes, but with only an hour until the meet he doesn't have a lot of time to scope the place out in advance.
"Not trusting me might be the smartest decision you made since getting off of your horse."