Vignettes and short stories Options

[pbangarth]

For me, one of the most enjoyable parts of this game is the creation and fleshing out of characters. Once you have a good character built, stories just flow naturally. I would like to see some of those stories and characters depicted here. Please, contribute stories here to help make he dark days of COVID a bit more pleasant. I have a few of my own that I will sprinkle in here to keep things going.

As a starter, let me introduce to you Quick Willie, who has enjoyed stints in face to face and online play. Here is a vignette from his early life.

[ Spoiler ]

“So what the fuck is it? Whadda ya wanna show me?”

“Not here, dickwad. Around the corner, in the alley, so’s no one can see.”

The two Halloweeners duck into the darkness behind the bar where both had drunk their fill. The smaller one, Skank, scans both ways up and down the street to be sure no one is near. Satisfied, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small rod that reflects the street lights with a metallic glint. “Check it out, Lance.” He whispers. “It’s a platinum credstick!”

“Fuck off, Skank. Where would you get sumpin like that?”

“I’m cuttin’ through the back of one of them fancy restaurants downtown when this old guy in a white suit steps out and starts pissin’ on the wall. Beats me why he didn’t use the bathroom, but he’s havin’ a grand old time till I decides to shiv him and check for his watch and stuff. That’s when I found this! I booked it outta there right away and checked it out a couple a blocks later. And know what I found?”

“Whut?”

“One hundred and seventy five fuckin’ thousand nuyen! That’s what. This thing is a gold mine!” Skank can’t contain his glee and starts hopping from one leg to the other.

Lance twirls and pumps his arms wildly. “You lucky sonofabitch! Party time!”

“Damn right, Lance. But you’re sayin’ it to the wrong guy,” a voice from the dumpster behind them exclaims. Mouths agape the two gangers turn to meet face-on two bursts of automatic fire. The Halloweeners fetch up against the dirty brick wall and spoil the graffiti with their blood.

Before they finish slumping to the ground, Willie snatches up the credstick and, still chewing on the fried chicken leg he found a moment ago, dials up the street doc he met yesterday.

“What’d I tell ya, doc? Somethin’ came up, and I’m ready to deal. See ya in half an hour.”

[Sendaz]

Dating in the 6th World can be tricky.

[ Spoiler ]

<Chauncey> Got a sec Sendaz?

<Sendaz> Yeah, what’s up?

<Chauncey> You know Aviatrix, that cute VTOL pilot who flew us out of the Central job last week? Think Grinder mentioned you two went back a ways.

<Sendaz> Yeah, we’ve done some delivery runs over the border together over the years. Solid Rigger. Why?

<Chauncey> Well, I am thinking about asking them out for a drink, maybe even a bit of clubbing and thought I would ask what you thought my chances were or let me know if they are already in something.

<Sendaz> *strokes their chin thoughtfully* I couldn’t say if they have a SO or not, not really that close and wouldn't be my place to say in any case.
But I can tell you one thing….

*cue flashback*
Avia flew during the Azzie-Amazonian war running supplies to the locals. Anyway, their plane got shot down this one time and Avia had to bail out over contested territory.
All they had beyond their parachute was a flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife.
They drank the whisky on the way down so they didn’t have to worry about breaking the bottle.
The winds were against them that day and they literally landed in the middle of an Azzie encampment of some 20 soldiers.
Avia shot 15 of them with their pistol, until they ran out of bullets.
They killed four more with the knife, before the blade broke, after which they then killed the last Azzie with their bare hands.
After boosting one of the Azzie jeeps they played dodge'em with various patrols until they bounced back over the border.
*end flashback*

<Chauncey> *Look of shock crosses their face* Spirits that’s … gruesome, and they look so quiet….

But what ARE you trying to tell me?

<Sendaz> Do NOT mess with Avia when they have been drinking…

[ker'ion]

Dating in the 6th World can be tricky.

[ Spoiler ]

<Chauncey> Got a sec Sendaz?

<Sendaz> Yeah, what’s up?

<Chauncey> You know Aviatrix, that cute VTOL pilot who flew us out of the Central job last week? Think Grinder mentioned you two went back a ways.

<Sendaz> Yeah, we’ve done some delivery runs over the border together over the years. Solid Rigger. Why?

<Chauncey> Well, I am thinking about asking them out for a drink, maybe even a bit of clubbing and thought I would ask what you thought my chances were or let me know if they are already in something.

<Sendaz> *strokes their chin thoughtfully* I couldn’t say if they have a SO or not, not really that close and wouldn't be my place to say in any case.
But I can tell you one thing….

*cue flashback*
Avia flew during the Azzie-Amazonian war running supplies to the locals. Anyway, their plane got shot down this one time and Avia had to bail out over contested territory.
All they had beyond their parachute was a flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife.
They drank the whisky on the way down so they didn’t have to worry about breaking the bottle.
The winds were against them that day and they literally landed in the middle of an Azzie encampment of some 20 soldiers.
Avia shot 15 of them with their pistol, until they ran out of bullets.
They killed four more with the knife, before the blade broke, after which they then killed the last Azzie with their bare hands.
After boosting one of the Azzie jeeps they played dodge'em with various patrols until they bounced back over the border.
*end flashback*

<Chauncey> *Look of shock crosses their face* Spirits that’s … gruesome, and they look so quiet….

But what ARE you trying to tell me?

<Sendaz> Do NOT mess with Avia when they have been drinking…

LMAO!
I've heard similar stories.

[Sendaz]

Ever wonder how some of those NPCs got their start? Some used to be Runners.....

[ Spoiler ]

While tooling around in Europe our group discovered Lofwyr had standing reservations under Herr Brackhaus for several posh restaurants and clubs in different cities. Imagine it was so nobody knew when or where he might turn up.

Our face must have been feeling a bit cheeky and took to turning up at some of these spots with a date in tow, taking the Herr Brackhaus reservation. Now these kind of places even celebrities have to fight tooth and nail to just get onto a list, thus impressing his date with his 'connections' to breeze them in right to a table.

As most did not know exactly what Herr Brackhaus looked like plus most would not dream of someone passing themselves like this he got away with it for a good while.

At least until the day the Big L and Herr Bracky turned up for a meeting right in the middle of the face's meal with a leggy redhead from the Tir.

Sure do miss that guy....

Anyway, sometimes it might open doors. Just make sure to have an exit strategy should the real guy turn up.


We did later obtain video footage of that fateful meet-up which we include below for your edification:
*recording begins*
Lofwyr: "Reservation for Brackhaus."

Maitre'd: "I ... you seem to already be here, sir."

L: "Really. Well, by all means, let us go speak to me."

*is brought to the table*

L: "Herr Brackhaus?"

Face: "Yes?"

L: "How fascinating. I am Herr Brackhaus as well."

F: "I ... I, uh, I, um ..."

*Face, along with their date, scramble out from their seats; Lofwyr points to the floor, basically ordering the guy to freeze in place. If he doesn't, Lofwyr makes the point stick with a quick and subtle 'Control Actions'. The maitre'd gestures, and the table is cleaned completely up and re-set for Lofwyr and associates. Lofwyr settles into place, elbows on the table, leaning forward a little, fingers folded together as he eyes the Face.*

L: "You have two choices, now. Experience what Mr. Hobbes described as life - "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short" - or work for me. Exclusively. You'll receive an address shortly; you can be there at six-thirty prompt tomorrow morning, or ..." He tilts his head meaningfully, and turns his attention away from the Face, effectively dismissing him.
*recording ends*

[KCKitsune]

Ever wonder how some of those NPCs got their start? Some used to be Runners.....

[ Spoiler ]

While tooling around in Europe our group discovered Lofwyr had standing reservations under Herr Brackhaus for several posh restaurants and clubs in different cities. Imagine it was so nobody knew when or where he might turn up.

Our face must have been feeling a bit cheeky and took to turning up at some of these spots with a date in tow, taking the Herr Brackhaus reservation. Now these kind of places even celebrities have to fight tooth and nail to just get onto a list, thus impressing his date with his 'connections' to breeze them in right to a table.

As most did not know exactly what Herr Brackhaus looked like plus most would not dream of someone passing themselves like this he got away with it for a good while.

At least until the day the Big L and Herr Bracky turned up for a meeting right in the middle of the face's meal with a leggy redhead from the Tir.

Sure do miss that guy....

Anyway, sometimes it might open doors. Just make sure to have an exit strategy should the real guy turn up.


We did later obtain video footage of that fateful meet-up which we include below for your edification:
*recording begins*
Lofwyr: "Reservation for Brackhaus."

Maitre'd: "I ... you seem to already be here, sir."

L: "Really. Well, by all means, let us go speak to me."

*is brought to the table*

L: "Herr Brackhaus?"

Face: "Yes?"

L: "How fascinating. I am Herr Brackhaus as well."

F: "I ... I, uh, I, um ..."

*Face, along with their date, scramble out from their seats; Lofwyr points to the floor, basically ordering the guy to freeze in place. If he doesn't, Lofwyr makes the point stick with a quick and subtle 'Control Actions'. The maitre'd gestures, and the table is cleaned completely up and re-set for Lofwyr and associates. Lofwyr settles into place, elbows on the table, leaning forward a little, fingers folded together as he eyes the Face.*

L: "You have two choices, now. Experience what Mr. Hobbes described as life - "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short" - or work for me. Exclusively. You'll receive an address shortly; you can be there at six-thirty prompt tomorrow morning, or ..." He tilts his head meaningfully, and turns his attention away from the Face, effectively dismissing him.
*recording ends*

Sorry to say it, but that Face has got to be the BIGGEST idiot ever. You find out that LOFWYR goes to these restaurants, and he thought it was a good idea to use HIS reservations. Idiot or has BIG brass ones.

[Koekepan]

I was running a game for some folks who'd taken a trip to the Yucatan.

They needed to get a distraction for the goons guarding an installation. Not high quality professionals, but regular rental bodies with drinking habits to support, and the runners just wanted them looking in a different direction.

So they locate some local toughs with dirtbikes, and figure out that they idolise combat bikers. They get a bulk deal on the shittiest beat-up machine pistols that they can find, and convince them that they're running scouting try-outs for a combat biking league, and get them on a fake run past said facility.

It worked fine. Half a dozen screaming dirtbikes with idiots spraying full-auto everywhere will get attention.

[pbangarth]

I present Bongo Slade, the kid who wants to drum the heartbeat of Gaia.

[ Spoiler ]

The late afternoon sun glaring through the dust on the window didn't help his just-awake mood, but the stale pizza hanging over the edge of the dinette table did. The beer beside it made things even better. Bongo Slade considered his options for this evening. A quick run at midnight meant he had a few hours to kill. He packed the necessities into a duffel bag and headed to the Rex. The band tonight was supposed to be into old-style jazz, and he hadn't played any in a while.

Queen Street West was the usual, pink mohawks and chains rubbing shoulders with slumming Armantés. The doorman at the Rex lit up a big smile when he saw Bongo and waved him through the lineup. He called up a buddy by commlink, "I don't care who you're with, drekhead. Get your hoop down here, now. Slade is here tonight."

Bongo found a good vantage point by the bar despite the crowd. The bartender brought him the usual, and he settled back to scan the audience. "Oh, now she looks amazing!" he thought. He memorized her in great detail. Sometimes a memory like that made a long stake-out bearable. She seemed to enjoy his scrutiny. "Hope she's here later."

The band had just started, and their style went way back. Oscar Peterson, Herbie Hancock, Joe Pass. This was a treat. He settled in and let the music flow through him. Near the end of the set, a waiter came to him and said the band would be honoured to have him sit in for a piece or two. No problem. He signaled the bartender to watch his gear.

Bongo scanned the instruments on stage, thought about the style so far, and asked the percussionist if he could borrow the djembé for a while. The drummer was happy to comply. The band conferred with him a moment, and they selected a slightly more modern piece that highlighted the percussion. Bongo quieted his thoughts and centered himself. He set the piece in motion with a single, deep thump at the centre of the instrument, then pulled out the rhythm from inside himself. Horns, bass and guitar wove their themes around the rhythm, and Bongo called up the magic. The patrons stopped eating and drinking, the waiters struggled with their orders... all eyes sought him out. The musicians on stage found new hooks in the rhythm they never new existed, and danced intricate improvisations they had never tried before. "Yeah," he thought, "I'm in the pocket tonight."

The applause eventually died down, and Bongo thanked the musicians for the opportunity to play. He checked the time and decided he had to go. Collecting his gear, he headed out the back, avoiding the sizeably increased crowd. Nearby was a room he kept for business. He made sure no one tracked him, and went in. Minutes later, a different man came out. Older, worn clothing, five-o'clock shadow from days ago, smelling of sweat and something indescribable, he shuffled down the alley and onto Queen Street. The nightlife gave him a wide berth and looks of disgust. He mumbled incoherent phrases and stumbled as if drunk. A nearby alleyway was his destination. It led behind Club Rojo, tonight's target. He tripped and fell into the alleyway, climbed up the brick wall to standing position again, and shuffled down the alley, singing in a gravelly voice, "One hundred days, one hundred nights, to know a man's heart..."

At the back of the club, a bare bulb lit a door and entryway and two men in cheap suits standing in front of the door. They watched Bongo approach, and kept an eye on him. He fell beside a dumpster and the garbage can he had moved close to it last night. "...and a little more, for him to know his own." The door guards were not sure about what he was doing, except for the disgust they felt for him. His left foot started to twitch, banging against the dumpster in a long, complicated rhythm. He grabbed the garbage can, as if to stand, but drew it down onto himself, clanging. He held onto the lid, flailing as if to ward off something flying around him, banging against the can in a counterpoint to his foot-beat. Once again, he called the magic. The guards paid him very close attention.

As they watched him, someone dressed in black leaned down from the roof of the entryway to the club and adjusted something on the video camera above the door. Two others, dressed similarly, slid down either side of the entryway and incapacitated the guards easily. The only thing they would remember later is the drunk and a sudden pain in the neck. Bongo finished the contrapuntal composition with a flourish, and rose steadily. One of the team in black nodded to him, and he replied in kind. He headed out of the alley, drunk and disorderly again, and the three in black opened the door with a key from the guards, and entered.

As he took a more circuitous route back to his change room, looking forward to cleaning up, Bongo recalled the image of the woman in the Rex. He wondered what language they might speak tonight.

[KCKitsune]

I present Bongo Slade, the kid who wants to drum the heartbeat of Gaia.

[ Spoiler ]

The late afternoon sun glaring through the dust on the window didn't help his just-awake mood, but the stale pizza hanging over the edge of the dinette table did. The beer beside it made things even better. Bongo Slade considered his options for this evening. A quick run at midnight meant he had a few hours to kill. He packed the necessities into a duffel bag and headed to the Rex. The band tonight was supposed to be into old-style jazz, and he hadn't played any in a while.

Queen Street West was the usual, pink mohawks and chains rubbing shoulders with slumming Armantés. The doorman at the Rex lit up a big smile when he saw Bongo and waved him through the lineup. He called up a buddy by commlink, "I don't care who you're with, drekhead. Get your hoop down here, now. Slade is here tonight."

Bongo found a good vantage point by the bar despite the crowd. The bartender brought him the usual, and he settled back to scan the audience. "Oh, now she looks amazing!" he thought. He memorized her in great detail. Sometimes a memory like that made a long stake-out bearable. She seemed to enjoy his scrutiny. "Hope she's here later."

The band had just started, and their style went way back. Oscar Peterson, Herbie Hancock, Joe Pass. This was a treat. He settled in and let the music flow through him. Near the end of the set, a waiter came to him and said the band would be honoured to have him sit in for a piece or two. No problem. He signaled the bartender to watch his gear.

Bongo scanned the instruments on stage, thought about the style so far, and asked the percussionist if he could borrow the djembé for a while. The drummer was happy to comply. The band conferred with him a moment, and they selected a slightly more modern piece that highlighted the percussion. Bongo quieted his thoughts and centered himself. He set the piece in motion with a single, deep thump at the centre of the instrument, then pulled out the rhythm from inside himself. Horns, bass and guitar wove their themes around the rhythm, and Bongo called up the magic. The patrons stopped eating and drinking, the waiters struggled with their orders... all eyes sought him out. The musicians on stage found new hooks in the rhythm they never new existed, and danced intricate improvisations they had never tried before. "Yeah," he thought, "I'm in the pocket tonight."

The applause eventually died down, and Bongo thanked the musicians for the opportunity to play. He checked the time and decided he had to go. Collecting his gear, he headed out the back, avoiding the sizeably increased crowd. Nearby was a room he kept for business. He made sure no one tracked him, and went in. Minutes later, a different man came out. Older, worn clothing, five-o'clock shadow from days ago, smelling of sweat and something indescribable, he shuffled down the alley and onto Queen Street. The nightlife gave him a wide berth and looks of disgust. He mumbled incoherent phrases and stumbled as if drunk. A nearby alleyway was his destination. It led behind Club Rojo, tonight's target. He tripped and fell into the alleyway, climbed up the brick wall to standing position again, and shuffled down the alley, singing in a gravelly voice, "One hundred days, one hundred nights, to know a man's heart..."

At the back of the club, a bare bulb lit a door and entryway and two men in cheap suits standing in front of the door. They watched Bongo approach, and kept an eye on him. He fell beside a dumpster and the garbage can he had moved close to it last night. "...and a little more, for him to know his own." The door guards were not sure about what he was doing, except for the disgust they felt for him. His left foot started to twitch, banging against the dumpster in a long, complicated rhythm. He grabbed the garbage can, as if to stand, but drew it down onto himself, clanging. He held onto the lid, flailing as if to ward off something flying around him, banging against the can in a counterpoint to his foot-beat. Once again, he called the magic. The guards paid him very close attention.

As they watched him, someone dressed in black leaned down from the roof of the entryway to the club and adjusted something on the video camera above the door. Two others, dressed similarly, slid down either side of the entryway and incapacitated the guards easily. The only thing they would remember later is the drunk and a sudden pain in the neck. Bongo finished the contrapuntal composition with a flourish, and rose steadily. One of the team in black nodded to him, and he replied in kind. He headed out of the alley, drunk and disorderly again, and the three in black opened the door with a key from the guards, and entered.

As he took a more circuitous route back to his change room, looking forward to cleaning up, Bongo recalled the image of the woman in the Rex. He wondered what language they might speak tonight.

OK, this guy is cool as hell. Mirrorshades ALL THE WAY!

I'm assuming either a full mage, or a Mystic adept with Artisan Way. Either way he's Initiated (at least one level, most likely two or three levels)

[pbangarth]

OK, this guy is cool as hell. Mirrorshades ALL THE WAY!

I'm assuming either a full mage, or a Mystic adept with Artisan Way. Either way he's Initiated (at least one level, most likely two or three levels)

Nope, Phys Ad out of the box. Here's the stats:

[ Spoiler ]

Bongo Slade
Human [0BP]
Attributes [260 BP]
BOD 1 + 2 = 3
AGI 1 + 2 = 3
REA 1 + 2 = 3
STR 1 + 3 = 4
CHA 1 +3 = 4
INT 1+ 4 = 5
LOG 1 + 2 = 3
WIL 1 + 2 = 3
EDG 2 + 1 = 3
ESS 6 = 6
MAG 1 + 4 = 5
INIT = 8
Active Skills [100 BP]
Artisan 6 (9) INT
(percussion) (+2)
Perception 3 (+3) INT
(hearing) (+2)
Influence Group 1 CHA
con, etiquette,
leadership, negotiation
Stealth Group 1
disguise INT
infiltration AGI
palming AGI
shadowing INT
Throwing Weapons 3 AGI
Dodge 2 REA
(ranged attack) (+2)
Survival 1 WIL
(urban) (+2)
First Aid 1 LOG
Computer 1 LOG
Data Search 1 LOG
Contacts [17]
connections / loyalty
Joe Coole 3 / 2
- music agent / fixer
Mick the Slick 3 / 1
- pawn broker / fence
Johnny Winnipeg 2 / 2
- Algonkian Raven shaman
Runs-with-Tricks 2/2
- Pueblo Coyote shaman
Qualities [-5 BP]
Adept 5
Inspired 5
Perceptive 10
Linguist 5
Fame, Local 5
- Toronto music community
SINner -5
Sensitive System -15
Mild Addiction -5
(tobacco)
Mild Addiction -5
(Betel chewing gum)
Mild Prejudice -5
(established authority)
Knowledge Skills (24 pts.) [17BP]
Music Theory 2
(composition) (+2)
Ethnomusicology 1
Sound Engineering 1
Toronto Music Scene 2
Toronto Street Gangs 1
Denver Music Scene 1
Seattle Music Scene 1
Musical Drum Design 1
Exotic Woods 1
Gaia Theory 2
Magic Artifacts 1
English N
Nahuatl 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Pueblo 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Algonkian 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Cantonese 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Japanese 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Morse Code 1 (no Linguist increase yet)
Adept Powers (5 pts.)
Enhanced Perception (1) 0.25
Improved Artisan (1) 0.25
Enthralling Performance 0.5
(artisan-percussion)
Commanding Voice 0.25
Linguistics 0.25
Multi-tasking 0.5
Eidetic Sense Memory 0.5
Three Dimensional Memory 0.5
Nimble Fingers 0.25
Power Throw (3) 0.75
Missile Mastery 1.0
Gear [11 BP] 55,000 ¥ ¥
Percussion Equipment - drum kit 4,000
- bongos
- djembe
Fairlight Caliban Commlink 8,000
Noritake Navi 10,500
upgrades: - system 6
- response 4
- firewall 6
- signal 5
Sim Module (hot sim) 250
Trodes 50
AR Gloves 250
Satellite Link 500
Programs - analyze 6 1,800
- browse 6
- edit 6
Computer Toolkit 500
Datachip X 5 1
Mapsoft (6) - Seattle 30
Tag Eraser 150
Microtransceiver (6) - subvocal mic and earbud 1,200
Medkit (6) - supplies X 5 850
Stimulant Patch (6) X 5 150
Survival Kit 100
Myomeric Rope X 10 m 200
lLightstick 5
Low Lifestyle X 1 month 2,000
Fake SIN (3) 3,000
Fake SIN (4) 4,000
Fake Licenses (4) - thermal smoke grenade 1,600
- flash-bang
- smoke grenade
- ballistic shield
(all licenses are performance related)
Contact Lenses - low light 2,225
- flare comp
- image link
- thermographic vision
- vision enhancement (3)
- vision magnification (electronic)
- smartlink
- ultrasound
Earbuds - audio enhancement (3) 1,910
- select sound filter (3)
- spatial organizer
Latex face mask 500
Nanopaste, small X 2 1,000
Laes-laced cigarettes X 20 500
Psyche - dose X 3 600
Red Mescaline - dose X 8 400
Loco (speedballed Red Mescaline and Psyche) - dose X 1 350
Raecon Sting holdout pistol + 4 clips ammo 390
Shuriken X 10 300
Throwing Knife X 10 200
Grenades - flash-bang X 4 1,350
- fragmentation X 4
- flash pack X 2
- high explosive X 8
- smoke X 2
- thermal smoke X 2
Ballistic Shield (6/4) 1,500
Urban Explorer (6/6) 500
Lined Coat (6/4) 700
Synergist Business Line - suit jacket, slacks, shirt (5/3) 1,500
Clothing, various styles (better than low lifestyle) 1,300
55,000 ¥
Starting Cash 3D6 X 50 ¥ => 650 ¥
Acquired for job in Bump N’ Grind:
He tapped a brilliant oyster shell cymbal and watched for a reaction as the tones swept through the store.
“Five piece conch and oyster shell set, authentic carrib pirate, all natural fish gut and skin. Coral sticks. “

Well, OK, this is him after his first job, a scouting mission in "Bump 'n' Grind".

And here's the back story:

[ Spoiler ]

Bongo Slade - Mystic Drummer
Martin O’Malley (Bongo Slade on the street) was born into a middle-class family in Toronto. Martin’s
parents are very conscious of class mobility and wanted their son to have as good a life as they could help
him get. They had high expectations for him because of talents he exhibited early in life. He has a knack for
languages, and so “foreign service” was discussed, and he is also very artistic in several ways, and so, while
not as lucrative, a career in “the arts” was also seen as a possibility. Above all, education to a high degree
was considered necessary.
Martin just wanted to play music. He skipped school, but studied music and poetry (lyrics) on his own.
Percussion was his calling. Anything you could hit was his instrument. He engaged in petty crime to pay
for fun with his buddies and private lessons with the best teachers (and that he didn’t convince his parents to
do so in a legitimate fashion tells much about him). He travelled all over Toronto and region, playing music,
dealing and stealing. His school report cards were … well, not always failing, but certainly not encouraging.
He thought it would be cool to have electronic instrumentation implanted in him, but a test implant quickly
showed that he was unreceptive almost to the point of allergy to mechanical implants.
One music teacher was an adept, and saw the spark of Magic in the boy. (Martin picked up the old, outdated
Morse Code in a couple of days at a museum. The rhythm of the ‘language’ attracted Martin. The speed
with which he picked it up caught the teacher’s eye.) The teacher helped the Magic develop in Martin, who
himself developed the Adept way, focussing everything he could into playing his music better, ‘attuning’ to
the world around him, ‘listening and seeing’ the music of the world.
Over the course of a few years, Martin developed some regular places to play, pretty seedy some of them,
and learned some survival skills as well. It’s amazing what you can do to an unruly patron with a wellhurled
cymbal. Eventually the inevitable happened, and Martin came afoul of the law. Petty theft got him
police attention, which his parents managed to smooth over. The Crash 2.0 did the rest. Disapproval and
constraints from his parents, and disappointment from his Magic- and music mentor decided Martin that it
was time to move on.
Denver was cool for a while, but the border crossings were always a hassle, and Bongo never was sure when
his fake ID would fail. Seattle looks good. Half a continent away and full of intrigue and exotic foreigners.
There have to be interesting things going on here, new music to learn and play, and maybe a clue to his
dream.
Even before he new of his own Magical talent, Martin had a sense that there was a ‘music underlying it all’.
In dreams and daytime musings (in class of course) Martin imagined that the Earth has a heartbeat, and that
the right person, maybe in the right place and time, could play that rhythm and be in tune with Gaia. This is
the goal that Martin, now Bongo Slade, seeks in the streets of Seattle and in the countryside around.
The first step is to become the best drummer in the world. (Hey, he’s young enough to think in those terms.)
His skill is amazing, to the point that he can mesmerize his audience if he wants to. He is trying to hone his
skill, his talent and his Magic to bring him to the point where he can play that dream.
He figures he must also develop his Magic into that scary realm of Metamagic. Bongo knows that in an
academic environment he could have access to the latest theories, but he won’t go there ever again. Even
worse would be to sell his talent to some corporation, even if they would think it worth hiring. No, he has
to do it on his own, on the streets and in the woods. He uses his Magic for music and for profit, exercising
it in order to make it grow. When he can initiate, he will seek talents directed towards making his musical
ability beyond the range of ordinary humanity and designed to open his senses to the intricacies of Gaia. In
the meantime he keeps his eyes and ears open for any clues or stories about the underlying rhythm of the
world. He is learning how to make musical drums, and is especially keen on finding out if some kind of
‘music focus’ had ever been made. (That is, something that enhances magic directed specifically towards
performance.)
So he does what he has to in order to make ends meet and to stretch his talents. Runs in the shadows are
a fast way to wealth and power, as far as he can see. He offers the ability to distract, to investigate and
memorize instantly, to describe in great detail what he has heard and seen, ‘five finger discounts’, basic
computer skills and second-string backup in a fight. As yet, he hasn’t become disillusioned, despite the
seamier aspects of things he has done ‘for his art’, and despite the signs all around him that failure can be
final.
Character Traits
- brash, young know-it-all in his early 20s (though of course he is too young to know much at all)
- consummately confident in his own skill as a musician
- willing to do almost anything to get ahead in his goal – wetwork?? Hmmm…
- able to cooperate with a team, even a team leader, but despises established authority figures and
organizations
- curious about anything and everything going on around him, and will investigate
- always looking for the music in things, particularly rhythms
Contacts
Joe Coole - music agent/fixer
Runs Coole Inc., a talent agency in Toronto with connections in Seattle. Joe saw the opportunity to branch
out in business during the making of a simsense action flick when elements of organized crime threatened
to derail the production because his client took the place of a low-level mobster’s sweetheart. Joe hired
protection and set up a run to convince the mobster his girl was not right for the part. Since then, he has
protected a number of productions, and hired his teams out for more conventional runs. He takes a cut of all
proceeds.
First used Bongo’s musical talents, but increasingly finds his skills useful in the shadows. He has tried, but
failed to convince Bongo to become part of a regular team.
Mick the Slick - pawn broker/fence
Seattle pawn broker, willing to accept anything brought through the front door, and most of what comes in
the back door. Has made some good profit on ‘five-finger discount’ items Bongo has brought him. In return
he has provided Bongo access to some interesting, quality musical instruments.
Johnny Winnipeg - Algonkian Raven shaman
One one of his forays into the wilds north-west of Toronto, in search of ‘the real Gaia’, Bongo ran across a
group unfriendly to anglos from the south. They were led by Johnny. Bongo gained their confidence when
he learned their language in a few hours and talked at length about his dream to drum the heartbeat of Gaia.
Johnny Winnipeg has skirted the edges of eco-terrorism and is cold-hearted towards those he sees as the
enemy, but will bend over backwards to help those he thinks ‘see the light’. Bongo has won membership in
the latter group, though Johnny is waiting to see if the boy lives up to his promise.
Runs-with-Tricks - Pueblo Coyote shaman
A man of boundless energy and mischief, Runs-with-Tricks lives to fool others through practical jokes and
money-making schemes. He met the boy when Bongo ranged through the drylands south-west of Denver.
Bongo’s good-humoured response to a somewhat painful joke earned him a good meal, stiff whiskey and a
hangover. Bongo’s drumming won a longer-term respect and a promise to help in Bongo’s quest, once he gets
“... a little chest hair.”

[pbangarth]

Here's Oro the Unstoppable. I made different builds of him, and the stats and history below are for an 800 point (BP and Karma) game here on DS that never really got off the ground. I must have earlier versions on an old hard drive somewhere.

Vignette - one of my favourites. If you can do a faux Eastern European accent it comes off better

[ Spoiler ]

I telling you story. Was years ago, in Kazakhstan. I was drafted into army when war breaking out. Heh... drafted. They hold gun to my father's head and say, "Welcome to army, big boy!"

Later, was patrol behind enemy line. I part of Special Forces because of my magic. Making mistake, we get trapped in open country. Helicopter come. We run, I take rear like always on way out. I see we not get to cover in time. So I turn, shout,"You go down with me, son of a dog!" I start firing my RPK. Heh. Stand. Out in open. Fire at helicopter. Yah.

Helicopter focus on me. Was my plan!

Machine guns hit me, I keep firing. Rockets hit near me, knock me over and ring my ears. I keep firing. Son of a dog float there in sky, throw everything at me. I keep firing. Just as belt run out, I get lucky, hit something important. Helicopter start spinning, fall to ground, explode.

It fall. I stand. I sore like hell, but I stumble towards helicopter, beat chest and shout, "Я живу! Я живу! " I live! I think, maybe nothing kill me.

Then other three helicopter come. I throw down machine gun, run screaming. Only thing save me, patrol in woods call MIG-67, come get us out. It scare away helicopters, pick us up, get us home before fighter jets come.

Back in barracks, my team laugh at me. I have to pay for machine gun I drop. Say I scream like little girl. But I see their eyes. They know. I not turn, fight helicopter, they all die in open.

I am their shield. They know.

History - again, a favourite of mine

[ Spoiler ]

He was born a troll, Kasimir Nazurbayev in rural Kazakhstan in 2040. (See Google Earth 49°43’09.11”N, 86°39’52.34”E for a photo of his homestead.) Because of his size, his frail, human mother died in childbirth, and Kasimir was raised by his father alone. Kasimir’s rapid growth and great strength helped immensely on the farm, and went a long way towards helping his practical father quell anger towards his son over the death of his wife. “Life is hard,” he would say to little Kasimir, “and one must take what is given.”

Unfortunately, Kasimir was given one of the most repulsive countenances ever seen in that part of the world, perhaps exacerbated by the emergency methods used by the midwife to free him at birth from his dying mother. He came to be known throughout the region as Kasimir the Ugly. When he was little, he was bullied and teased by the older children. When he was bigger, Kasimir ended the bullying by breaking a few heads, but this labeled him a violent and dangerous creature to many who held to the old ways and traditions. Life became difficult for Kasimir because so many would avoid and shun him. Mothers would take curious children in their arms as he walked by. When a traveling circus passed through, he said his goodbyes and ran away to the circus.

Fluent in both Kazakh and Russian, strong as an ox and oddly hard to damage, Kasimir flourished as a labourer and eventually as a performer. He loved to wrestle, and soon became a regular act as a wrestler of bears and all manner of opponents At age sixteen, Kasimir Awakened, An old Samoyed shaman who traveled with the circus and acted as the healer/medicine man for the performers and crew helped Kasimir draw the mana out and elicit his talents. Kasimir focused the magic towards developing his physical attributes, summoning the mana to empower him when needed; towards hardening his body against damage; towards fighting, both lethally and non-lethally; and as acknowledgement to his mentor, towards healing.

The circus traveled throughout Kazakhstan and Russia, gaining notoriety for Kasimir’s act among others. After four years political strife broke out and Kasimir, among many, was drafted (read: impressed) into the Kazakh army and trained in the special forces because of his talents. His adept powers were honed in training and in battle, but Kasimir’s heart was still with the circus. His chance came in 2064, when the Crash destroyed all electronic records of Kasimir in the military. Before he could be re-inducted, a miraculous opportunity arose, as another circus came near, with some of his old performing colleagues. It was a sign.

With a hard-negotiated trade, Kasimir won his freedom by bartering the introduction of his love-struck sergeant to Zheshien, the beautiful contortionist, in return for erasure of his hand-written records and a few choice pieces of equipment to take with him. Kasimir disappeared, and Borat the Indestructible joined the circus some weeks later. Now not only did he wrestle bears, but he also contested elementals whose powers he could astonishingly resist. Borat was shot from cannons and dropped into pits with frightening paranormal creatures brought from all over Asia. The circus traveled widely for the next three years, even into China and as far as Korea. Far from home, Borat forgot most of his birth language, Kazakh, and put memories of his homeland to which he could never return out of his mind.

He, however, was not out of the minds of some back home. His former sergeant was dissatisfied with the outcome of his introduction to Zheshien, and was reprimanded for the disappearance of important military equipment, including armour and weapons. Eventually he confessed to the deal he had made with Kasimir, and a search began through diplomatic channels for Kasimir Nazurbayev. It took four years for the connection to be made between Borat and Kasimir, but they found him.

Borat was not about to go back and face the harsh military justice he expected. So, once again, a few broken heads solved the immediate problem, but now Borat had to flee yet again. With some of his money saved over years as an entertainer, Borat bought passage to Japan on a merchant ship. The rest he spent on a Power Focus of considerable force to augment his magical abilities. With this, and the military equipment which caused so much of the trouble, and yet had not been used since he had left Kazakhstan, he set out across open water for the first time.

During the voyage, two things came clear. The first was that he was mildly allergic to seawater. The second was that the skills he developed labouring in a circus were adaptable to work onboard a vessel, and by the time the ship worked its way up the coast of Korea and across to Japan, he had made a connection with the shipping company. Borat worked for some months around the inland seas, content to do simple, honest work, and on occasion taking part in a little smuggling for the Vory v Zakone. When he could, he made time to explore Japan. There he found an almost universal disgust for his state as a ‘changed one’, which reminded him of his first years at home. Only in a dojo where he was taken in by a teacher of great wisdom and insight did he find peace. He quit work at sea and spent a couple of years secluded in the dojo, learning the art of swordplay from the master.

One day, early in 2070, the master called Borat to him. “I have been reading the tea leaves about you, Borat. I have troubling news. You must leave Nippon immediately. One who despises changed ones such as you has sought out some danger that seeks you from afar. Even now, it approaches our shores. Go, my son. Go now.”

“But master, I have run most of my life.” said Borat. “I am tired of running. Let them come. I will deal with them.”

“No. You will not. This time they would succeed. I would not have one so talented be imprisoned, or worse. I sense in your aura a greatness to come. I don’t know what it is, but you must live to fulfill your destiny.”

“But for all my travels, I am nothing but a simple farm boy, master. What destiny can I have?”

“It is not for you to decide, or even necessarily to understand what your role in this turn of the wheel requires of you. Know only this: Life is mysterious, and one must take what is given.” Stunned, Borat waited for what came next.

“And now I give you something. It is handed down through many generations of masters in this school. Had you stayed, then one day you would have earned it as master here yourself. Now, you must take it and make your way across the ocean to the Americas in the east, where they will not find you.” The master handed Borat a long, narrow wooden box. Inside, Borat found a magnificent katana.

“Take this sword. Bond with it. It will serve you well and strike deep into enemies that otherwise could not be harmed. Fight only if necessary. Kill only if necessary. But when duty or obligation require it, be swift and merciless. Now, wipe those childish tears and go. Go!” The master stood and with clenched fists walked quickly out of the room.

Borat did as he was told. He gathered his belongings and booked work on the first freight ship to go east to America. A place called Seattle. As he approached the walkway up to the ship, a startled dock worker spoke the word of amazement the Japanese so often used when they first saw him. Borat smiled… and faded away.

A disfigured but powerful man climbed the planks to the ship, and Oro the Unstoppable set sail for a new world.
**********

Oro’s connections with the Vory gave him inroad to the Russian underground community in Seattle. He has worked for them as a contractor, but does not wish to join formally. One friend in that community introduced him to a fixer in Seattle who was able to help Oro acquire some new equipment and find work in the shadows. So far, Oro has built a spartan life for himself in the UCAS, but as work continues he may develop a taste for finer things. He is very fastidious, and dresses well, if not opulently. Grooming appears to those who work with him to be almost an obsession. Getting dirty on the job is no problem, but he gets clean as soon as he can. Oro is obviously equipped and trained for heavy combat, but when necessary approaches jobs with more discreet outfitting. Fully armoured and armed, though, he lives up to his chosen title. More than once Oro has protected his team members by being the obvious target that just…won’t….die.

Despite his ability to deflect and absorb physical and magical damage, Oro has designed himself to be a team player and greatly values cooperation. Not only can he reduce damage for party members in unusual ways, he is also able to hold spells on himself without taxing the spellcaster. Many of his adept powers are guided by his desire to be flexible and adaptable to changing situations. And even stark naked, he is difficult to stop.

Oro’s outlook on life is a balance between the hard realities of work and an optimism teammates find hard to fathom. It’s as if he knows something they don’t. He won’t talk about it, though. He radiates a stoicism his teammates admire.

Oro has worked hard to develop social ways to overcome his physical appearance. He adamantly refuses surgical modification. Despite his ugliness, animals and little children seem drawn to him. This seems to give him joy. He never fails to attend when the circus is in town. Oro is a passable singer, with a deep bass voice. He knows several songs from the Altai region of central Asia, which he likes to sing when memories grow strong.

He carries a copy of The Book of Five Rings with him, and tries to understand it, even without the help of his erstwhile master. In combat situations, where possible Oro uses non-lethal methods, subdual, nerve strikes, whatever. If the team is in danger, however, he kills quickly.

Oro has developed far in his magic, and has initiated many times. Try as he might to hide in the shadows, he radiates brightly on the astral plane, and is noticed because of it. This is a quandary that Oro has yet to solve. Awakened, dual-natured creatures take note of him immediately, and for reasons he doesn’t understand, spirits of fire have taken a particular interest in him. In opposition they attack him first before any other team members. In alliance, they seem to take pleasure in tormenting and challenging him. His master’s words come to him, and he wishes to explore the meaning of this particular interest from the plane of fire. He cannot project astrally, or even extend his senses into the astral plane, as he has opted to keep confrontation with astral beings to his own plane, rather than going to their place of strength. He may have to reconsider this in the future if he is to unravel the mystery.

Stats - The stats are, well ... it is 800 points!

[ Spoiler ]

Oro the Unstoppable

800 Points [BP] {Karma}

Troll [40]
Attributes [220] {264}
Qualities [-33]
Initiation {77}
Active Skills [116] {14}
Knowledge/Language Skills {15}
Contacts [17]
Focus Bonding [12]
Gear [58]

Attributes

BOD 8
AGI 3
REA 3(4)
STR 8
CHA 4
INT 4
LOG 4
WIL 6

INI 6(7) + 1 pass
ESS 6
MAG 12
EDG 3

Qualities

Adept
Martial Arts (wrestling) (level 3)
(subduing +2, knockdown +1)
Maneouvers
(throw, ground fighting, focus will, disarm, break weapon, iaijitsu)
Sensitive System
Simsense Vertigo
Poor Self Control (compulsive grooming)
Allergy (mild: seawater)
Addiction (mild: tobacco)
Addiction (mild: Betel gum)
Spirit Bane (fire)
Astral Beacon

Initiation (6)

Adept Centering
Adept Power Point X 5

(Magic limit raised by 6 to 12)


Adept Powers (17 points)

Attribute Boost BOD (1)
Attribute Boost AGI (1)
Attribute Boost REA (1)
Attribute Boost STR (1)
Improved Reflexes (1)
Killing Hands
Nerve Strike
Spell Resistance (4)
Iron Will (4)
Mystic Armor ((IMG:style_emoticons/default/cool.gif)
Elemental Resistance (Fire)
Elemental Resistance (Cold)
Elemental Resistance (Electricity)
Elemental Resistance (Radiation)
Heightened Concentration
Living Focus
Pain Relief
Empathic Healing

Active Skills

Dodge 4
(ranged attacks) (+2)
Unarmed Combat 4
(wrestling) (+2)
Blades 3
(swords) (+2)
Perception 3(+1)
Etiquette 3
Negotiation 2
(bargaining) (+2)
First Aid 1
(combat wounds) (+2)
Outdoors Group 1
(navigation, survival, tracking)
Heavy Weapons 4
(machine guns) (+2)
Pilot Ground Craft 1
Artisan 1
(singing) (+2)

Knowledge/Language Skills

Russian N
Kazakh 1
Korean 1
Japanese 2
English 1
Circus Procedures 1
(performance) (+2)
Bear Wrestling 2
Biology 1
(bears) (+2)
Parabiology 1
(bears) (+2)
Folksongs of the Altai 2
Transport Ship Procedures 1
Trans-Pacific Smuggling Routes 1
Russian Crime Syndicates 1
(Vory v Zakone) (+2)
Military 2
(Special Forces) (+2)

Gear 290,000 ¥

Acquired in Kazakhstan

RPK HMG
APDS ammo X 200
Regular ammo X 200
AV ammo X 100
Various clips and ammo belts (adds to 65 ¥ value with those below)
-smartgun system, external
Light Military Armor 12/10
-gyromount (L) (recoil 3)
-gyromount ® (recoil 3)
-quick release
Military Helmet +2/+2
-micro-transceiver
-sub-vocal mic
-flare compensation
-radio signal scanner
-olfactory sensor

Acquired after Kazakhstan

Power Focus (6)
Weapon Focus (6)
Fake SIN (6)
Fake SIN (4)
Middle lifestyle X 1 month
Quality clothing (1,000 ¥)
Armor jacket
Urban Explorer jumpsuit 6/6
-helmet 0/+2
Securetech PPP
-forearm guards 0/+1
-leg and arm casings +1/+1
-shin guards 0/+1
-vitals protector +1/+1
Form-fitting body armor
-half-body suit 4/1
-full body suit 6/2
Ballistic shield 6/4
Ares MP-LMG
-regular ammo X 500
-external smartgun system
Various clips and ammo belts
Gyrostabilization (recoil 6)
Commlink Novatech Airware 3/3
OS Iris Orb 3/3
Microtransceiver (6)
Subvocal mic
Goggles
-low-light
-image link
-smartlink
-ultrasound
-vision enhancement (3)
-vision magnification
-flare compensation
Earbuds
-audio enhancement (3)
-selective sound filter (3)
-spatial recognizer
Medkit (6)
-extra supplies X 2

[pbangarth]

Art imitates art ... and inverts it.

In post # 10 above, I present a vignettte about the early days of Oro in which he outfights a helicopter.

I am in the middle of a game of Civilization VI. A recent mod adds 'eternal heroes' from myths around the world. In this game I am Hammurabi and lead the Babylonian Empire. I am at war currently with Pachakuti of the Inca. He summoned his great hero Beowulf to fight against my forces. I hunted the hero down and killed him with ... you guessed it ... a helicopter unit. I'm going to have to think up a good name for that unit.

Maybe, 1st Babylonian Air Cavalry, "Hero Busters".

EDIT: My hero Maui just killed an Inca helicopter! Yayyy!

[pbangarth]

Hodder, a 4E mystic adept of the Kabbalah tradition.

[ Spoiler ]

A night bird almost flew into him, veering at the last moment and disappearing into the darkness.

"You sound just like my mother," Hodder thought.

"Of course I do. Your mother a wise woman she is. A doctor she wanted you to be. A good man at heart, Simon you are. Talent you have. A great healer you could have been. Instead to be a scoundrel and a thief you chose."

"Nonsense. I chose a life of adventure and travel. Profit comes to those who seize opportunity."

"Baubles you seize, that belong to someone else, and sell them. Some son you turned out to be."

"There with my mother you go again. Shut up."

"Service request is that?"

"You know it is not. I summoned you to strengthen me and lend your magic to my purpose. Not to lecture me."

"Your every request I fulfill. As one with you in your flesh I walk. Conceal you I do. What I do on down time, my own business it is. And since control of your body have you taken to steal into this building, on down time I am."

"You are distracting me. Causing me to fall because I cannot concentrate is not fulfilling a service to me."

"Hmph. Very well. You should be so lucky as to have advice such as mine, but your way have it."

"Thank you."

Hodder continued to scale the wall of the chateau, much more smoothly now that the voice in his head was silent. He cautiously peered over the edge of the railing of the balcony. Yes, there was a heat outline of someone, armed with a firearm. Probably human by the size of him. Sonja had dealt with the electronics. The rest was up to him. Hodder gathered mana and channeled it towards the guard.

[[What a quiet night. A quick chicken sandwich from the kitchen wouldn't hurt.]]

The guard looked around, as if to see if anyone was looking, and ducked in an open doorway. He left it open in his hurry. "How lucky is that? I don't even have to pick the lock."

Hodder rolled smoothly over the railing. He took a few seconds to erase the signature of his spell, and then padded softly to the door. An astral glance inside showed no patrolling spirits there, either. Hodder flowed among the shadows through the drawing room. The hallway with the prize was just through that door. Check astrally, listen, quietly open and peer through a crack... the drill was second nature.

There it was! On the pedestal by the stairs, as he was told. A soft night light illuminated the bronze rooster head. Even at this distance, Castiglione's genius was apparent. No wonder the English and French stole the twelve of them from the Summer Palace. Seeing it in life for the first time, Hodder rued the paltry sum he asked of the Chinese. A little red flag went up in the back of his mind. "Not even a watcher?" There was no time to ponder. The guard would be diverted only so long.

Hodder approached the statue and Assensed it. "There you are, you sneaky little drek." A small spirit possessed the statue. It must have been prepared as a vessel, for such a weak thing to overcome it. And masked, too. "Probably as soon as I touch or move you, you will raise the alarm." Hodder prepared himself to snatch the statue, and focussed his will. With willpower alone, he attacked the spirit. No damage to the statue, and no astral signature to waste time erasing. It shrieked once as it disrupted. Alarm bells rang. <<"Sonja! What the frak?">>

<<"Sorry. Independent system. Didn't see it ... couldn't get it.">>

Hodder grabbed and ran. Out to the balcony, then he leapt over the railing to tumble onto the gymnastics mat he had unrolled on the ground before he climbed. Even so, only the hardened armour of the elohim spared him injury.

Gunfire erupted. Bullets thudded into his back as he ran for the forest. The worst of them only knocked him over. He rolled and continued running.

"Glad are you now that I walk with you, no?"

"Yes! Now quit talking and hasten me!"

"Of course ... master."

Hodder ran like a mustang and dodged like a rabbit. Once in the woods, he cut to the trail where he had left the motorcycle Sonja had jacked from some berk. Within minutes he was in town, and ditched the bike. He walked to his hotel, presented his baggage check to the valet, and took a taxi to Paris, to the Gare du Nord. From there, he walked to his other hotel, and contacted the Chinese. There was time for a shower and a bite of dinner before the handoff. He changed clothes, and dismissed the elohim. "Thank you for your help. Know that I always appreciate the power your kind lends me."

"Know that my kind would rather you had continued your studies with your rabbi. Goodbye."

"Always the last word they need to get. Well, off to dinner. I think… chicken would be appropriate."