Emerging Experiment, Rules light, character driven PBP - any interest? Options

[Mister Juan]

I could most definitely work on creating a team. Doing the writing and creative bit doesn't bother me in the slightest, but I do take WAY too much time when it comes to actually crunching down numbers and doing character sheets. So, yes, I can most definitely create the team if you want to stat them out (IMG:style_emoticons/default/wink.gif) So lets say... 3 extra characters, to bring the team to 4 counting Pope?

Also, when is the deadline for this? I've got plenty of time today and tomorrow, but my weekend might be a bit cramped up.

[kxU]

this sounds very cool, and it's been so long since i've been around these parts that i've forgotten my account info and had to go create a new one. anyway, echo mister juan's question on the deadline - i, too, tend to spend way too much time creating a character and it would be nice to have some kind of time table to get my ass in gear. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

[Aria]

this sounds very cool, and it's been so long since i've been around these parts that i've forgotten my account info and had to go create a new one. anyway, echo mister juan's question on the deadline - i, too, tend to spend way too much time creating a character and it would be nice to have some kind of time table to get my ass in gear. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

Well the sooner the better but I know people are busy at this time of year (myself included). If I say 1-2 weeks for character concepts and backgrounds and the numbers can come afterwards (I still haven't seen a sheet for one of the current players...). Story and roleplaying character driven stuff are more interesting than the numbers anyway...especially as you don't even get to pick up the bucketfull of dice and roll them (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

Any rolls that are required can either be done on a generator or rolled at home...your choice...but I always prefer a roleplayed solution so I leave that in your capable hands!

A

[kxU]

aria, is there a specific archetype of runner you're looking for? it's been awhile since i played sr4, and if i remember correctly, emergence was a campaigned centered around technomancers, yeah? is this going to be a matrix heavy game, or will there be room for runners of all hats?

[Ezeckial]

Aria, it seems my current pbp seems to have died so I'd be interested in a spot in your game.

I've been pondering a Character concept around a dwarven Chaos Mage. A summoner/rigger his team consists of his spirits and drones. A personafication of the Chaos Mages tendency to be technophiles.

Concept

[ Spoiler ]

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. - Arthur C. Clarke

When thinking of this character I picture an image of a dwarf, a weapon focused hammer slung over his shoulder, a shotgun in the other, flanked by 2 combat drones, with a large fire elemental standing behind him.

"Some people think they're clever. They like to say things like "Say Hello to my little friend." I don't think they're so clever, my friends are bigger, and they'll say hello all by themselves."

[Kerris]

I'd be interested in a spot. Attempting to make a runner that can act solo kind of intrigues me. I can see a face with lots of contacts and a "jack of all trades" sort of thing working out well. Mostly focusing on the social skills, but dabbling in things like weaponry and the matrix. I'll flesh out the concept and post here once I have something workable. (Is there a Latent Technomancy quality?)

My original thought was to play a pet character of mine, but she's a Chaos mage, and there are already two magical concepts going on. And I like to mix things up a bit.

[kxU]

i've sketched out a basic character background, and left it open enough to fill in whatever shoes the team needs, though right now i'm imagining the guy as a gunslinger/face kinda operator. since i'm rather rusty on the transition between editions, i thought it might be fun to roll with a character who is also out of the loop. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) i'm imagining his story as kind of like the grand theft auto games - show up in a new city with little but the clothes on his back, starting over from scratch and trying to make a name for himself.

[ Spoiler ]

James Lassiter, alias "Merlin," Former Company Man

James Lassiter was woken up from a six year long slumber by an alarm clock, of all things. It wasn't his - it belonged to his roommate at the Bellevue Hospital Center, a grizzled old chunk of ork named Andy, who was having his arthritic hand replaced with a cybernetic one. James has had many roommates over the years; after all, patients were many and funding was short at Bellevue, just like at most New York City hospitals, and coma patients who've been in slumber for six years were expected to share their room with others. Andy was a war veteran, a former Special Operations Weapons Sergeant with 28 confirmed kills (he kept count), and he always woke up at 0600 hours sharp. As he grew older and his internal time clock slowed down, he took to carrying a small pocket alarm with him wherever he went, including to the hospital room. On January 2nd, 2070, at precisely 6 o'clock AM, the alarm clock went off and James Lassiter opened his eyes for the first time in a long time.

It didn't feel like six years. It felt more like a long, restful nap, and the only sign that so much time has passed was a haze that seemed to have settled into his memories. The first thing he did upon waking up was to lay in bed and go through those memories with a mental checklist to see if anything had fallen out of his head. He grew up in Brooklyn, enlisted in the UCAS army after high school. Served four years, found military life too rigid and stifling, so decided to drop out once his contract was up and pitch his fortune in the private sector. Signed up with...Mitsuhama. Everything came back to Mitsuhama. The skills he developed in the army were worth a premium there, and it was at the Japanacorp that he became a company man, an all-purpose troubleshooter with broad duties, a fat paycheck, and a nondisclosure contract enforced with a bullet. When did things start to go sideways? Oh yes, the business with Takashi. A high level exec in the company, whose nose James broke with one punch. James had always had a temper that ran red hot, and Takashi-sama had made a stupid, selfish call that got three of his teammates killed on a mission. The Japanese never forget a slight, and Mitsuhama especially likes to take care of problems in house, so Takashi pulled a few guys from another division and sent them to James' apartment; after all, all it takes is some editing of the records, and a mission with three casualties can become a mission with four. James dropped two of them before the third put a bullet in his head. That must've been what put him in the coma.

Luckily, he'd set up a prepaid medical plan beforehand, and when his biomonitor went red, they sent a team to pick him up and bring him to Bellevue. He'd purchased a platinum contract, which was good for exactly seven years in the event of such an emergency. A few more months and they would've pulled the plug and sent his body down to the morgue to be incinerated. But then Andy the ork showed up for his hand operation with his little alarm clock, which rung on January 2nd, 2070 at precisely 6 o'clock AM and woke James up.

They released him from the hospital after checking his vitals to make sure he was physically sound, as well as to make sure he hadn't died and been possessed by a shedim. Staying in New York was out of the question, and so much has changed in the last six years that James barely recognized the world anymore. Most of his old contacts were either retired or dead, and his expense account at Mitsuhama had long since been terminated. All he had was a duffel bag stuffed into a Manhattan storage locker with a forged credstick containing a fake SIN and associated e-documents, about a thousand nuyen in certified cred, and a pistol with a spare clip, but that was all he needed. The time to start a new life was now, and James has always been a restless spirit - new adventures await on the horizon.

This post has been edited by kxU: Jun 14 2010, 04:22 AM

[Aria]

Is there a Latent Technomancy quality?

Unwired p37 5BPs and LOTS of roleplay potential (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

A

[Aria]

Ok folks, I think we should pause recruitment here and give everyone who has posted before this a chance to flesh out their concepts etc. and see if the original players want to post their concepts up.

Just a few clarifying points…

Originally this was conceived as a low magic game with a focus on exploring the new wireless world and the events that follow its beginnings. That being said, magic is cool and there is no reason not to have magic elements in the game, it just won’t be the primary focus (unless it is part of a character driven plot line.)

I originally asked for no TM PCs (Latent is fine…) but as secondary characters in a team they might be workable…provided no one really knows about them…YET! Because of the alternate matrix rules I’m setting the BP cost of TMs as 20 (they don’t need to buy complex forms or worry too much about threading…) but admittedly I’ve not thought this through very hard or play tested it in any way. The same could be said for the implications on hackers not needing to spend loads of cash on programs but hopefully it won’t unbalance things too badly.

Team Builds…I’m reasonably happy to stat secondary characters for you provided you can give me name, background and any general traits (qualities…) that you want. I will then use a combination of AH’s PACKS and the pregenerated characters (along with my own twisted imagination) to come up with something hopefully not too silly. No non standard metatypes here though…save the weird stuff for your principal characters (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

So far I make it:

pbangarth with Hodder (mystic adept solo type)
Mister Juan with Dexter Pope & team (military muscle + 2-3 assorted runners)
kxU with James "Merlin" Lassiter (Former Company Man solo type)
Ezekial with Chaos Mage (magic and rigger combined solo with a drone army?!?)
& Kerris with a Face (latent TM?!? solo)...

A

[Dumori]

I have an idea for a team an AI and a B&E either adept or pure bio.

[Kerris]

I'm guessing the 20 BP cost for the TM quality is also the cost for a Latent TM quality? In my last post, I was actually asking of the latent quality existed, because I think it would be awesome to have, but none of the books I own have it.

Edit: Oops, I'm a moron. Didn't see the reference to Unwired. Maybe I'll buy the PDF this weekend or something.

[kxU]

i'm kicking around the idea of giving james a sidekick, a gm-nissan doberman piloted by a primitive, first generation a.i. whose processing capabilities are around that of a very smart canine. it seems like it would go well with the theme of the game (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

[Mister Juan]

Alright! Rewrote part of Dexter's background. Here is the final draft.

Dexter Pope Background

[ Spoiler ]

DOB: 2021



Dexter is old. Or at least, he is getting old. Had his life being that of your average corporate Joe, he would either currently be at the very prime of his time, or contemplating early retirement with a fat pension.



But it isn't the case.



Dexter might not exactly be old, but he is surely feeling so. By the time they reach his age, those that thrive in his line of work are usually one of two things: retired on some tropical island with more money then they'd ever need, or dead. Either by some incredible turn of luck, or because he literally has been cursed, Dexter is neither of those. He hasn't gloriously died for his country. He hasn't made the very last stand for freedom, holding back the odds until his last clip was dry. He hasn't caught some random stray bullet. He hasn't given his life for a noble cause or any of the ideals he believes in. No. Dexter has survived. His friends. His comrades. His brothers in arms. His squad mates. Every single one of them is dead now.



The screaming Drill Sergeant at Paris Island.

His bunk mate during basic.

All the Commanding Officers.

All the NCOs.

Every single last on of them.

Everyone is dead.



Dexter might be old, and he also might be tired. But not matter how tired and old he'll ever be, the man will always be a soldier. Even when most of what make him a human being will be gone, he will remain a soldier.



It would be a rather obvious cliché to state that Dexter started his life when he joined the CAS Marine Corps at 18. Like every single human being, he started his life by being born. Contrary to a lot of people you'll find out there, creeping around in the shadows, Dexter wasn't born in the UCAS, or CAS, or in any of those “new” country. Dexter Pope was born in a place that doesn't exist anymore, beside inside his head. He was born in 2021, in New Orleans, Louisiana, United States of America. Actually, he was born a little outside of New Orleans, in a small farming community. By the time he was old enough to get beatings from his drunken old man, the USA was in shambles, the family business wasn't fairing quite well, and redskins were causing all sorts of havoc. As much as the First Crash barely hit them, in 2029, the formation of the CAS was a whole other story.



One thing Dexter had a lot of, beside beatings from his dad, were brothers; all older. And all of them had escaped the family life, as soon as they had been able to, by joining the armed forces. When what was left of the different branches had to pick which side they would stay on, most of Dexter's brothers left for the UCAS. The others ended up fighting in Texas, and all laid their life down to defend their newly formed country. For a whole summer, working with his dad and having dropped out of school, young Dexter contemplated what he would do with his life. He sure as hell couldn't stay on the farm much longer, or he'd end up killing his father in a fit of rage. As soon as he was old enough, Dexter enlisted in the Marine Corp. That was in 2038; over 30 years ago.



Fresh out of boot camp, the young Dexter was placed, like about 90% of the country's military assets, near the Aztlan/CAS border. For the first two years, Dexter saw very little action, until things started to flare up along the border. Nothing was ever publicly disclosed, but by 2040, skirmishes with the Azzies became almost daily occurrences. They would test them, and in return, they'd try to sneak in as far into Texas as they could. But it still wasn't much. At least, it wasn't what Dexter had envisioned when he had enlisted. He wanted action. He wanted adventure. He wanted to make a difference and to take the fight to the enemy’s door.



His time to shine finally came through when he was hand picked to be part of a multi-branch unit. Along with Special Forces soldiers, Dexter was sent deep inside Azzie occupied Texas to train militias and provide a little more firepower than they had. And he did exactly that; he covertly tagged and bagged a lot of Azzie troopers, up until his unit was called back to CAS soil.



Back in New Orleans, in early 2046, Dexter met a then student and waitress at a local bar; Sue Morgan. Cute, smart and most of all single. When Dexter's extended leave was over, and his unit redeployed, Sergeant Pope was not only married, but also had a baby girl; Catherine. From the swaps of Louisiana, Dexter found himself waist deep in jungle mud, as he became quite personally acquainted with Colombia... and how he could help their guerrilla fighters push back both Aztlan and Amazonian's forces. Dexter's unit, now “officially” disbanded, stayed in South America for three years, hopping from one covert assignment to the next, taking part in missions that still wake Dexter at night; doings things to people that still plague his nightmares. Dexter's last mission, as part of that covert unit, took place in 52, when a shard from a mortar shell ripped about three quarter of his right arm off, knocking him unconscious and, apparently to his squad mates, dead and gone. What did bring Dexter back to his senses, a few days later, were the rats gnawing at him. They had eaten through most of what was left of his arm, and taken a good bits of his right eye. Miraculously, Dexter survived and when the fighting died off a bit, was rescued and extracted back to mainland CAS. It took Dexter a long time to heal, and not just physically. Most of the scars from his trip down in South America are still quite there. Most of the ghosts still haunt him to this day.



In 2053, the Pope family grew faster than expected: Sue gave birth to twins: Emma and Arthur. Sue had now been out of college for quite some time, and taken up a job with mid size law firm in New Orleans. She was making more than enough money to support the now growing Pope family. For the next two years, Dexter did very little but heal; taking extended leaves, going fishing, training new Marine Recruits. He also spent his time at home, taking care of his son and two daughters, getting acquainted with the new chromed part of his body.



By 2058 all was well with the Pope family. Catherine was on her way to high school, and the twins were just starting 1^st grade. Dexter had just come back from a 8 months stints doing black ops in the Caribbean League, mostly Haiti, when he decided to take the twins to the local mall. A good friend he had met in Port Au Prince, Maurice Raine, was due in town the next day and the twins had nothing fancy to wear. Sue had been working late every single day of the week. Giving his wife some well deserved rest, Dexter took Emma and Arthur with him. Until today, Dexter doesn’t know what happened, or how.



To this day, Sue hasn’t forgiven him. To this day, neither has he.



As Emma, energetic and giddy as usual, pulled him toward a store, Arthur’s hand slipped from his father’s. It lasted barely a few seconds, but it was all it took. His back turned to his son for the briefest of moment, and he was gone. Footage from security cameras revealed nothing. One second, Arthur Pope was standing right there, and then he wasn’t.



From that day forward, something died inside Dexter. Something died inside Sue. After months spent in anxiety, fear and anger, the police finally gave up. Told the Pope they should grieve and put it behind them. From that day forward, there was nowhere to go for Dexter but down. He began to drink. He began to take unwarranted risks on the job. He became an unreliable loose canon of a soldier; the sort of operator no one wanted on their op.



When the summer of 2060 swung around, Sue had filed assault charges on Dexter, and the divorced procedures had started. Taking the girls with her, Sue moved to Seattle and remarried within the year. Dexter disappeared in Yucatan, doing his best to die as a mercenary on some forgotten battlefield. By 2062, Dexter Pope was already making himself a name as a reliable gun for hire… who wasn’t afraid of death. It was during those years that Dexter met what he could have only called a “peculiar” man. A suave, good looking and charming fellow from Boston, with a Spanish as good as his, who had no business what so ever down in that part of the world. A corporate looking fella’ who didn’t seem phased one bit by the going-ons around him. A few weeks later, when contracted by a local kingpin to provide security, Dexter discovered who the man was. Forester. Terrence Forester. An ex Lonestar Homicide Detective turned Ghost Cartel professional hit man. Although it would take a few more years for both men to start trusting each other, at least partially, Dexter and Terrence quickly entered into a “professional partnership”. Each man had a very precise skill set, with clear shortcoming. And so, it was during a local carnival day, in some backwater town in what used to be Mexico, that Dexter and Terrence did their first wet run. Even thought they have now been working with one another for about 6 years, neither man completely trusts the other. Yes, professional and mutual respect is given. But Terrence knows very well Dexter is, at his core, too good of a man. To vulnerable and usable. And Dexter knows very well that Terrence, at his core, is a grade A sociopath who gets a trill from garroting people.



Today, Dexter’s self destructive streak is almost gone. Although he hasn’t truly been able to put any of his past behind him, be it his actions or the disappearance of Arthur, he has decided to keep on living. If not for him, for his daughters at least. For the past 5 years, Dexter has been living in Seattle, with court permission to see his daughters 1 week per month. Emma adores he father beyond reason, Catherine, on the other hand, resents him. Old enough to remember the start of his downward spiral, she barely speaks to him, and since she started attending UDub, he hasn’t seen her.




For about 4 years, Dexter has been more or less at the helm of a small team of runners, composed of three other runners.



Terrence Forester, the ex cop turned hitman, acting as the team’s face and covert ops specialist.

Eugénie “Queen” Raine, a seductive combat mage from Port-Au-Prince, Maurice’s daughter.

Malcom “Glitch” Prior, a brilliant and upbeat hacker, the newest addition to the team and the only Seattle local.




Catherine Pope (DOB 2047): 23

Emma Pope (DOB 2053): 17

[Kerris]

I'm working on fleshing out a background for Artie "Classic" Shaw, my face/dabbler/latent TM. Here's a brief summary, as well as some build ideas.

[ Spoiler ]

Artie is an old-school criminal - pick-pocketing, con schemes, and B&E. He's dabbled in hacking, though he's best at the "social engineering" part of it. He's decent with a gun and a blade, though he'd rather stun than kill (uses stick & shock most of the time). He's middle-aged and definitively average in looks (Blandness quality), but attractive enough to employ seduction tactics when necessary.

He's older than most runners: late 30's/early 40's (haven't decided yet). He was heavily affected by the crash, being actually online at the time, though luckily unaffected. All his financial and identity data was gone, but he took the opportunity in stride, using his few certified credsticks to leave L.A. and move to Seattle. He figured he could start with a completely new and legitimate identity (SINner), as well as a few fake ones.

He has a few contacts that made the move from L.A. to Seattle before he did, as well as a couple that followed him, and some in other parts of the world, as well as the matrix. He doesn't associate with everybody, but when he meets somebody who impresses him, the makes sure to stay in contact.

Skills:

• Influence Group (high)
• Stealth Group (high)
• Electronics Group (low)
• Pistols (mid)
• Blades (mid)
• Perception (high)
• Dodge (mid)
• Pilot Groundcraft (low)
• Hacking (low)
• Software (low)

Qualities:

• Blandness
• Latent TM
• SINner
• (something else interestingly negative)

[Renard]

Hi, folks !

Would be interested in joining...
Is there any place left ?

[Panzergeist]

I'm interested in joining. I have a few concepts I'm tossing around; just let me know which archetypes the team needs and I'll pick one to develop.

[Mister Juan]

Terrence Forester Background

[ Spoiler ]

Ex LoneStar Homicide Detective
Hitman

Bio
Terrence Forester was born in 2028 (which makes him 42 now a days), in the small working class town of Gary, Indiana. During his entire childhood, Terrence couldn't quite understand why all the other kids had moms, and he didn't. All he had was his old man, a steel mill worker, who did very little to raise his child. For starters, he didn't find Terrence as useful as a scotch bottle... altought he did make for a good punching bag. It wasn't until his teens that Terrence finally understood why his mother wasn't around. What smarts he had, he had no doubt gotten from her. Only a bright woman could have anticipated the situation, packed her bags and left. All Terrence knows of her is what he has been told by his father. No pictures. No memories. Just stories. Taking it from him, she left when he was still a toddler because she was a junkie and a hooker. Nowadays, he doesn't even think of her anymore. He doesn't curse her anymore. All the self pity he had is dead and gone.

Because, probably like her, Terrence is a survivor. First and foremost, what is important to him is his survival. During his entire childhood, Terrence suffered beatings from his father, who's behavior sometimes got so out of controls that, thanks to neighbors, got his kid sent to foster homes. Back and forth it went. When Terrence was 11 years old, he discovered what he still believes is the true nature of people. Brought along for a wild ride by his bigot father, on the Night of the Rage, Terrence witnessed the lynching of several metahuman families. The day after his 15th birthday, now a teenager, Terrence ran away from home, hitching a rides and train hopping around the country until he made it to Boston. There, as a street urchin, he lived for about 8 months, all on his own, before being picked up by the local cops... and sent back home, to be taught a lesson. When Terrence finally hit 18, he moved back to Boston and started work as a security guard, holding night shifts in various corporate housings facilities around town. Maybe it was because of the lawlessness of Gary's street, maybe it was because he wanted to make the work a better place for others, of maybe it was just so he could finally feel powerful and in control... Terrence wouldn't say... he never said why he started attending Lonestar Training Courses. In 2048, now 20 years old, Terrence Forest became a patrolman for Lonestar. Odds are, he could've had a brilliant career. Maybe he would have made it big. Who knows?

But things have a way of not always going the way they should. Still a very bitter young man, and in dire need of more money than regular patrol pay would bring in, Terrence began to turn a blind eye to many crimes: that is, when he was paid the right amount. Introduced to the world of the corrupt cop by his senior partner, Terrence began a bright career a crooked cop. In 2053, he did his very first contract hit. Some local mafia outfit had decided a local gang leader was getting a little too big. That day, said ganger was busted by a boy in blue. Two days later, his body turned up on the river bank: plastic zip tie around his wrists and a single .22 at the back of the head. Terrence got paid, and well. For him, it was the beginning of a new lifestyle. He was living twenty times the life a regular cop could enjoy. And he liked it. He liked it a great deal. At 29 years old, Terrence passed the Detective Exam with flying colors, and began working for Homicide. Great contacts acquired through his work in the underworld made him rise fast. After all, what syndicate wouldn't want a great detective on their payroll. His fast rising earned him the ire of another detective, Brad Sullivan. Sullivan quickly became jealous of Terrence's success, and the rivalry that blossomed between the two man was everything but friendly. Throughout his entire career as a cop, Terrence was kept on the payroll of almost every major criminal outfit on the UCAS sea coast. He wasn't just good at bending the rules, feeding information and planting evidence. Where he truly shined was in the hits he could perform. His charming attitude, his good looks and the way he had with people (that and a badge) meant he could go almost everywhere. He always had the perfect cover, and sometimes even ended up investigating the very murders he had himself committed.

Everything went smooth until 2061, when somewhere along the foodchain, a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who was an undercover cop heard about this hitman detective. Tipped off by one of his fellow bent cop, Terrence wasn't at his place when Sullivan and his partner, now working for Internal Affairs showed up with a warrant. He fled south of the border, making his way down to South Aztlan. There, Terrence took up work as a hitman for the local kingpin, rising quickly in reputation until he came under the regular employ of the Ghost Cartel. It was while working in Aztlan that Terrence met Dexter Pope, a man who would become the only person to ever be something of almost a friend to Terrence. About a two years later, while on "personal business" in Austin, Terrence was tracked down and cornered by Sullivan and his partner. When they finally caught Terrence, it was supposed to be the high point of his career. Brad Sullivan had caught THE dirty cop; the detective who thought he was so smart he could get away with everything.

Arrogance and pride would prove to be Sullivan's undoing. Wanting all the glory for himself and his partner, they decided to bring Terrence in themselves. Caught flatfooted, with Dexter out visiting some old Marine Corps friends in Baton Rouge, Terrence surrendered without a fight, letting Sullivan cuff him. Not an hour later, Sullivan's partner had gotten his jugular sliced, and the ceramic knife Terrence had been hiding was now in Sullivan's eye... all the way to the handle.

Since then, Terrence has been living the life of a hitman to the very best of his abilities. He's taken contracts all over North America, and with his partnership with Dexter Pope, has gotten to people who thought they were untouchable.

Timeline
2028 : Terrence is born in Gary, Indiana
2029 : The 1^st Crash
2030 : Creation of the UCAS
2036 : After being beaten severely by his father, he is placed in a foster home
2038 : Goes back to live with his father
2039 : Night of the Rage, Terrence is dragged by his father into the riots, he watches him beat an ork family to death with others
2040 : Placed in a foster home
2042 : Goes back to live with his father
2043 : Runs away from home, is picked up 8 months later in Boston
2046 : Moves out to Boston, starts work as a Security Guard while attending a Lonestar Training Course
2048 : Joins Lonestar as a patrolman
2050 : Starts taking payoffs from different syndicates
2053: Starts doing hits for different syndicates
2055: Establishment of the Chicago Containment Zone
2057: Dunkelzahn's Assassination
2059: Passes Detective Exam, Assigned to Homicide
2061: After having found himself under investigation by Internal Affairs, an arrest warrant is finally issued. Getting an early warning, Terrence bails out and goes on the run.
2063: Arrested in Austin, Terrence is brought back to Boston to face charges. While in transit, escorted two IA detectives, he kills one, maims the other and escapes.

Physical Description
Contrary to what a lot of people might think, and to what rumors have stated, Terrence is rather physically unimpressive. Not particularly tall, or physically imposing, Terrence would easily be described as "average" in many respects. His hair is always kept short, usually following the corporate executive trend of the month, and was probably black or dark brown until is started to get peppered with bits of gray. Terrence's age is also somewhat difficult to peg down. Although the bits of gray hair tend to betray him, as well as the look in his eyes, he could be anywhere from early 30s to mid 40s. With a square jaw, no signs of wrinkles and piercing natural looking blue eyes, Terrence is a rather good looking man. That, coupled with his natural charisma and confidence tend to make him attractive.
Unless he needs to pass for someone else, Terrence will usually opt to wear suits, varying mostly on the main theme of "gray".

Personality Traits
Before everything else, Terrence is a survivalist. He will always do what he needs to survive. This, in a way, makes him a very dangerous person. Greedy and egocentric, Terrence will usually tend to put himself before others, a thing he does without even thinking about. What Terrence does have going for him is that he is an excellent liar, and understands people very well to a certain extent... even though he probably cannot genuinely "feel" for others. He also fancies himself something of a "philosopher", freely expressing his disgust for the situation of the current world.

Malcom "Glitch" Prior Vignette

[ Spoiler ]

Orange.
Red.
Yellow.

All flashing in a stroboscopic waltz, setting the whole scene a blaze. All over the floor, numerous bodies danced amongst flames of light. Some were gracefully gliding; seemingly hovering about like they were stepping on clouds. Other were twitching painfully, their body apparently convulsing in painful manners, tingling with impulses no one was clearly meant to experience. Some were screaming, others chanting. A great many had fallen completely mute, a glaze over their eyes as they saw things only they could. The night club was packed to it’s fullest.

Glitch loved the place. Although always packed to the breaking point, it was one of the lesser known establishments of the city. With no advertisement, a barely glimpse of it’s existence here and there on the net, the place lived only by non regularized viral advertisement. In other word; you only heard about it from someone else, who heard about it from someone else who’d stumbled upon it. But now and then, you’d get a few patrons stumbling in, having chanced on the entrance, late at night, through a haze of whatever they had consumed earlier. The music was great, sure. But the fact the place was pretty much as underground as it got meant just getting “in” made it an experience in itself. Glitch could feel the heavy thump of the bass, the electronic music coursing its way through his entire body, almost punching clean out the air out of him. With each beat, he felt a wave of pressure hit him full front, minutely shifting his internal organs.

His neck was almost sore from the head bobbing he was barely aware of doing. The stims he was riding on made everything brighter, slowing the action down to an almost crawl. Glitch relished the moment, lived in it. It was a beautiful place. Sights. Sounds. People. Feelings. With each passing moment, the beat would get heavier and heavier, crushing the crowd as everyone bumped against one another. People drifted in and out of each other, briefly becoming something else entirely. They would then break off on their own, regain their individuality and drift off. It was like watching someone shake a bottle of water and oil.

Glitch stood, his back against the bar, resting on his elbow. Every now and then, he’d stop for a beat and realize that his eyes were closed. Stims and music did that sometime. He’d find his mind drifting miles and miles away from his body. Ridding himself of his restrictive meat gave him a rush he only found deep in the forgotten reaches for the Net. Out there, in the dark corners of cyberspace, between bytes, in grids no one went to anymore. Sometimes, he’d stay there, for hours on end, just drifting in zeros; going to the places were null was the norm and no data existed. He would float there and listen to white noise. Just like he was floating right now, his body pummeled by the beat and his mind far away.

His eye balls felt sticky as he remembered to unglue his eyelids from them. His mouth felt dry and his palms sweaty. Glitch did his best to swallow, but didn’t find anything. He looked down as his hands to find them shaking, twitching. He didn’t realize he was laughing until he was out of breath. And then the throbbing came, in the back of his head, just at the bottom of his skull. It wasn’t quite there yet, but it was well on its way.

In a few hours, he’d have to call it quits and crawl out of the club. Crawl on the sidewalks. Crawl on the alleys. Crawl into the dingy little place he had rented. Crawl into his stiff bed, under the scratchy synthwool covers. And he’d dream of white noise and whiteouts.

Ever since he’d managed to crash himself on a run, getting within an inch of burning his entire brain in the process, Glitch hadn’t been quite the same. He’d earn his handle even more. Glitch. At first it was because he was good at finding them. Afterwards, it was because his presence in the net always went perfectly untraceable; leaving only faint glitches in the systems behind him. Now, it was a way to describe his body. Glitched. He’s pushed himself a microsecond too far, and had paid by frying quite a handful of neurons. Luckily enough and some said miraculously, he’d been left mostly intact… at the exception of some rather severe chronic migraines. A black clinic doctor had given him a full brain scan. The little black blotches of dead brain tissue looked almost aesthetic on the print out Glitch had taken with him. Battle scars no one would ever get to see.

Even though he didn’t really want to think about it, Glitch knew all to well he’d have to get at least a small fraction of his act tomorrow. Work had been a bit scarce these days, and at the speed he was popping stims, he’d soon be completely dry. That meant no more stims. That meant loosing his edge. And then the pain would come in.

And it was here, knocking at the back of his brain.

Hello? Can I come in? Well, nevermind me, I’ll just make myself at home.

It felt like someone was trying to squeeze his eyes out of his head.


Glitch pushed himself off the bar, an invisible hand guiding him through the crowd and towards the exit. Some water and some sleep would do the trick.

[Renard]

Okay, i can offer three characters:

a) Hacker (A 42 year old Decker with a bit of military training, working as a programmer and technician, that is. Quite adept at hacking, although specialist for pre-WiFi Tech)

b) Private detective (Ex Lone Star Patrol sergeant in his late forties)

c) Medic (An ex-military surgeon gone to the shadows)

All three are single runners, but they are used to teamwork. Although they are not the youngest any more, they have their expertise in their field of work.

[Ezeckial]

I've been busy at a gaming convention all weekend. I'll try and get a little vignette and character sheet up later tonight.

[Kerris]

Here's a little Vignette while I work on compiling Artie's lengthy history:

[ Spoiler ]

This club is high class. The kind of high class you can only get in L.A. That trendy, out-to-be-seen kind of high class. Women in skimpy dresses on the arms of the only men who can afford them, and the younger men only there to entertain the older ones' wives.

Not the kind of high class Artie likes, but he can fit in when he needs to. And he needed to up until about 30 seconds ago.

That's when he stood up and downed his glass of vodka. He stumbled over to the bar, and asked for another one. Well, not really asked. Demanded. Slurred may be a better word. And shouted is what he did when the leggy blonde behind the counter refused to serve him. Cursed. Threatened.

Got himself kicked out.

Security came over and asked him to leave. He refused. It's not often these high-class bouncers gets to throw someone out - literally - so they take the chance whenever they can. Artie tried to put up a fight, but he's not as spry as he used to be, and he ended up in the alley without his jacket.

- - - -

Artie stands up and brushes himself off, assessing the situation. No jacket, but that's okay. There's nothing important in the jacket, and he'd have had to ditch it anyway. He'd fit in better like this.

No broken bones, and they didn't touch his face either. Lucky, that. He kneels to buff his shoes and check his ankle holster. The shoes are quickly cleaned, and the Special is still there. Not bad at all. Time to get back to work.

Artie rushes around to the back of the building, nearly at a sprint, and catches the attention of some waiters having a smoke break. He rushes to the door, and takes out the maglock key he lifted off the bouncer.

"Shit shit shit"

One of the smokers speaks up: "Hey omae, calm down. Bossman left."

"Yeah, yeah." He'd seen that a minute or so beforehand, just before he'd made his own spectacular exit.

He can hear them laughing at him as the door closes, and he shifts demeanor from panicked and worried to calm and collected. He walks into the kitchen, and grabs a random tray from a serving station, carrying it out toward the dining room. He promptly hands it off to another waiter and makes a sharp left down the hallway toward the offices.

From his left ankle, he takes out a set of lockpicks, and kneels in front of the door. Mere seconds later, it's open, and Artie's rifling silently through filing cabinets. He finds the one he's looking for, and slips out the window.

Time to get paid.

[kxU]

i had a new idea for a character that i just had to put together, so scratch my original concept. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) introducing milo sinclair, enthusiast in all things weird and wacky. maybe him and hodder have crossed paths before. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)

[ Spoiler ]

Milo Sinclair, Paranormal Investigator

It surprised absolutely no one in his family when Milo decided to drop out of college ten years ago to open up his own paranormal investigation agency. If anything, they were surprised he lasted so long before he, as Aunt Wilhemina had so delicately put it, "fell off his fuckin' seahorse." Even as a kid, Milo has always been fascinated by the zany and the weird, the mysterious and unexplained. He would tell his mom he's doing homework, then lock himself in his room and read books about blackberry cats and wendigos. His mom would get all sorts of pissed off when she found out, and beat him with a plastic clothes hanger until it broke, but that didn't faze Milo one bit. Eventually she gave up and accepted the fact that her son was forever doomed to be an oddball. School had never been the boy's strong suit (unless they were learning about dragons), but he managed to get himself accepted into the local community college with a major in Magic Theory. Life was a peach, and he was heading towards a career in magical research until one fateful night his junior year, when a barghest broke into their residence hall and decided to have itself a midnight snack. Students and staff were running about in terror, and the beastie was about to take a chomp out of Milo's roommate when our hero sprung into action, drawing his roommate's competition pistol and shooting the barghest through the eye, dropping it in one shot. There was a lot of hoo-hah for a few days, he got his face in the local screamsheets, congratulations were abound, then life returned to normal for awhile. Milo's roommate managed to convince him to join the school's target shooting team, where he discovered a remarkable talent for handling a pistol. He took the team to nationals, then suddenly had the inspired thought to drop out of school to start up his own business in investigating all things supernatural.

Unfortunately, Milo had about as much business sense as a door nail, and his venture quickly got sunk by overhead costs and increasing debt. However, his escapades caught the attention of a corporate recruiter for the Draco Foundation, who offered him the opportunity to work as one of the Foundation's many instruments in executing the late dragon Dunkelzahn's will. It needs not be said that, to Milo, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and he said yes before the recruiter even finished giving his pitch. After being churned through their rigorous, year long training program, where he perfected his talent for target shooting and picked up a few new tricks along the way, Milo officially became a consultant for the Foundation, complete with a new car and apartment, all on the company's dime. Unofficially, he did whatever the Foundation needed him to, from tracking down wayward beneficiaries to hunting blood mages in Aztlan. For the next few years, life was dangerous, but never dull, which was just the way Milo liked it. Unfortunately, when the second Matrix crash took the world by storm and Foundation chairperson Nadja Daviar became one of the disappeared, the company was thrown into chaos, and in the ensuing corporate shuffle, many assets were downsized. When the smoke cleared, Milo found himself with a generous severance package, but no job. Ever the optimist, and never one to stay in one place for too long, Milo packed his bags and headed out on a new journey towards the great unknown, ready and willing to tackle whatever life was going to throw at him next.

[Ezeckial]

Dugmaren

Vignette

[ Spoiler ]

The large mug of beer slammed down noisily onto the workbenches surface, scattering tools across the area. The multicolored light from multiple AR displays glistening off the few drops that escaped the dwarfs thirst and dribbled down his fire tinged beard. His face, covered in dust and oil from his work on the shotgun that he'd just finished working on turned to look at his newest acquisition. His contact at Ares said it was something R&D was working on, but he didn't know what it was. The dwarf got up to fill his stein again, he'd need the beer help with the headache this piece of tech was going to cause him. He hated not knowing what it did. Perhaps a little bit of magic would tell him what it did!

As he filled his mug from the keg he kept in his workshop for just this purpose he sensed a presence behind him. Turning he saw saw the large fire elemental who guarded his place materialize in front of him.

"What is it! You know I don't like to be disturbed while I'm working on a project" he exclaimed, taking a swig from his mug.

"The perimeter patrol drones have reported an incursion, I figured you'd want to know." The spirits face showed know emotion, but his voice was obviously amused by the dwarfs outburst.

"Are you sure they're not malfunctioning again! I swear they're cursed, I keep fixing them, and their sensors keep getting fouled up." The dwarf sighed and scowled at the amusement the spirit was obviously getting from their exchange.

"I checked it myself. Maybe the reason they malfunction so much is because you keep fixing them?" The spirit chuckled.

"Are they any threat?"

"No, it just looks like a few street kids."

"I'll deal with it then, now buzz off, your warming up my beer!" The dwarf sighed and sat down, mentally issuing a few commands to his households drones.

The houses outside floodlights come on, illuminating the interlopers, causing them to stop suddenly in their tracks. As the speakers started to hum to life, the dwarf grinned to himself, the next part was the best. As the Ride of the Valkyries starts playing roto drones take off from the roof and start to slowly fly down towards the kids. The dwarf takes another drink of beer as he grins and activates the guns on 2 of the drones, slowly moving them to point at the group of kids. the kids take off running and he let's loose with all barrels. The blanks make a hell of a racket, but leave the kids untouched. As they make their way down the street he turns off the music and sends the drones back to their landing pads.

Now that the entertainments over, the real fun begins. His hand reaches out, sparkling with arcane energies as he touches the new tech, a glow surrounds it as his eyes roll back in his head. Who knows what secrets will be revealed.

[Aria]

Ok folks, I think we should pause recruitment here...

pbangarth with Hodder (mystic adept solo type)
Mister Juan with Dexter Pope & team (military muscle + 2-3 assorted runners)
kxU with James "Merlin" Lassiter (Former Company Man solo type) EDIT: Milo Sinclair
Ezekial with Chaos Mage (magic and rigger combined solo with a drone army?!?) EDIT: Dugmaren
& Kerris with a Face (latent TM?!? solo)... EDIT: Artie

Sorry for not posting sooner, been jumping off waterfalls this weekend (IMG:style_emoticons/default/spin.gif)

Thanks to everyone for all your interest. In fairness to all those who have thrown some concepts my way before the pause, we'll run with you guys for now and keep the others in reserve until I know a bit more about how the game is running and whether my poor little brain can cope with juggling the multiple story threads.

So those above please post character sheets in the Emerging Characters thread when they are more or less ready - I'm happy for you to tweak them for a couple of weeks past then, even if the game is underway. Dumori, Renard and Panzergeist, I'll be in touch if it looks like there's space, hopefully that's ok...

A

[kxU]

i'm just going to cannibalize most of james' sheet for milo, so it shouldn't take too long before he's up and running. i assume aria is talking about this thread, which fell off the 30-day log of topics.

[Aria]

i'm just going to cannibalize most of james' sheet for milo, so it shouldn't take too long before he's up and running. i assume aria is talking about this thread, which fell off the 30-day log of topics.

Yep, that's the one!

A