The power does it to everyone. It corrupts us all, or at least those of us who embrace it.
Although we dive right in to be swept away by the black waters of necromancy, it’s not easy for us to stay afloat. Our humanity is the coastline, the palm trees, the dry land itself. You put your humanity side by side with the fact that you’re a wizard of hell, coastline next to infinite expanse of ocean, and you decide being a wizard is more fun. It appeals to you. You can’t get away from it, so you dive in and swim out in to the ocean to get a bigger taste. To feel it all over your body, instead of just staring at it and dipping your toes in.
The first time you swim in the ocean of the dead, the waters are electric to your soul. They shock you, show you things that you can’t possibly understand but eventually DO come to understand. One day, it just so happens that you might decide you’re tired of swimming, so you try to turn around, but the coast is gone. You don’t swim back. You keep being swept out. To the sharks and an unknown abyss below you. The only place you can go is down, and that leads to a place that no man has been before.
That is my family’s struggle, and they have devised a society and a code over the years. If I have the right person, then the man in front of me has trampled our ideals in to the ground. Our traditions, our laws, our fellowship. In truth, we necromancers are afraid not of the dead, but of each other. We know that one of us might become too potent somewhere down the line because we stumble across the right demon with the right power, or because we sacrifice a particularly powerful spirit to the underworld. We know that one day, one of us might rise up and try to assert a kingdom of the dead on earth.
The Chomhairle believe this is the man who poses that precise threat. They sent me to find him after we found his diary. When my father learned that his own brother had deserted the coven and handed over a bloodstone to a random child due to a disagreement, he put a death sentence on this man’s head. We couldn’t begin to search for him until he left his bloodstone behind. A trace of his power that we could latch on to, that we could follow.
The man shuffles past me to the urinal with a mumble of “excuse me,” and he shies away from looking me in the eye. He seems tired and drained. This is a good start. It could be him.
I linger by the sink, lather my hands, and rinse them off, hoping that he will finish in time for me to see his face in the mirror. To strike up a ten second, meaningless conversation. Anything. It’s been such a long road here. I’ll take what I can get.
I have to know. I can’t walk out of this place now, even if I’m on the brink of death. I might have to teeter here for awhile. He is so very, very familiar with the spirit world; he might know it more intimately right now in this very moment than I ever will in my lifetime. If this is him, then his guise of deception is stronger than any in our history.
We know some of what he is capable of. But not all.
I hope one minute spent in this bathroom will be the conclusion to the longest wild goose chase in the history of the Chomhairle. If this is him, then I’m initiated as a council member. If it’s not, then I’m at least another hundred years out. My ambitions within the council are nothing in comparison to the thirst for power.
The bathroom is fritzy, five star, and new age. It’s deep in the heart of Soho, of course. A cesspool of youthful rebellion. The green light in this place is too strong. That’s hint number one that I have the right man. Let me go down the list for you.
When he shakes it off, he spends an extra five seconds scratching his testicles, and then he rubs them a bit as he stares at the ad for the after hours swinger’s club in the corner above the urinal. Even if this isn’t the guy, he’s still a pervert, and I’ve decided to sacrifice him if he’s my sixth case of mistaken identity in a year out of simple frustration.
I wash my hands a second time, waiting on him, trying not to be disgusted. He finally zips his fly and moseys over to the sink. So there’s hint number two.
“You spill something on yourself?” He asks me.
I’ve never heard his voice. It sounds different than I expected.
I know how this dangerous sorcerer sees the world. He’s made a mistake, sharing his most intimate confessions with me. He never should have written them down. His ego may be his weakness, if I’m strong enough. Maybe.
This has to be him. I say it in my head a thousand times in a split second.
“Crawfish bisque. Good as hell, but I can’t seem to finish a bowl without spilling it all over my sleeves.” I say, squirting a fresh batch of soap on to the paper towel and scrubbing at my perfectly clean fisticuff.
“Aren’t you a little old to be dining here? I’d think you would be at the Mesa or the Palm.” He says, and he makes a valid point. I do feel out of place here. I’m the only person in the building over the age of twenty five.
He’s bold. He thinks he’s invincible, and I know that this is hint number three. He says the first thing that comes to mind with impunity, and he always has. That explains the four ex wives and the masculine decorations in his town house.
I stare at his eyes in the mirror, and he’s too busy focusing on my pocket. This is hint number four, and this is the best of them all. I know this is the rogue necromancer. His eyes have a green twinkle in the backs of them, something that normal humans can’t see. He feels the stone, burning with ice fire in my pocket. He knows it’s fucking on me, and he’s stood next to me for less than half a minute. That’s because he can’t ignore the pull. It shows.
This is him.
Full Version: What isn't yours..
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 @ 13:15 : Q's Apartment, Loveland, Puyallup, Seattle Metroplex
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The incessant buzzing in his head was cut off when his conscious mind finally acknowledged alarm and Q was able to focus enough to flip the mental switch, turning it off. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes, then scratches his beard. Rolling out of bed, he makes his way to the sink. There, he turns on the tap, insuring the water is running mostly clear before splashing some on his face. He swishes some mouthwash around in his mouth, spits and rinses that out as well with the tap water.
The morning rituals continue as he pulls on cotton underclothes, before his form fitting body armor.The kevlar/beta-cloth/carbon nano-fibre mesh of the material was both light and flexible. It would do little against high caliber rounds, but every little helped towards the overall goal of saving his ass. Next he pulled on the skin tight chameleon suit. Made mostly of the same material, it added a second layer of protection and was reinforced around the vitals. The gloves and hood he left in the pouch sewn into the suit and the footwear covers stayed rolled up around his ankles. He tested the circuits and ran a quick diagnostic. After evaluating the results in the mirror, he was satisfied everything was in order and turned the suit off. Next came a layer of street clothes: well worn jeans, a nondescript black shirt and his boots. After trimming his beard and brushing his hair, he felt ready to attack the day.
He pauses a moment to look around the apartment. In the main living area, the entryway, living room and kitchen all flow together. The furniture, scaled to his height makes the ceilings seem high and give a vaulted feeling even though they are only three meters high. One bedroom and a bath give the space a cozy feeling and the furniture, while it doesn't all match, is all in good repair. The appliances are were gently used prior to his acquiring them and Roomba drone is busy collecting any dust from the floor while a Duster-2K is buzzing about keeping dust collecting above the floor level.
Grabbing his day pack on the way out, he frowns as he heads to the door. I've been here too long.
Passing through the door is like passing through some sort of transportation device. The hallway beyond is ill maintained and a steady drip from the ceiling to a bucket on the floor tells him the weather outside. A trio of young ork children race past him snickering and laughing to each other. The slur, "Digger", in their hushed conversation is not missed on the augmented hearing of his earbuds, but he ignores it. Shaking his head he thinks to himself, They little realize the hypocrisy, that they are becoming that which they claim to hate the most...
Exiting the building, he notes that today's rain seems to be subsiding and is little more than mist and puddles at this point. At least I won't need a respirator. Given the time of day, the street is mostly quiet. A pair of orks wearing orange slickers over their armor are slowly working their way up the street on electric motorcycles. Forever Tacoma. Q reflects on his situation. Have to pay these goobers off for protection that I could damn well take care of myself, but if I make a scene then people ask questions. People pass my picture around. People ask where I came from and who knows me... He turns his head down the street, choosing not to give the gangers a second thought.
With a thought, his comlink opens a connection to Dolly, his fixer. Also a dwarf, the two had hit if off reasonably well. He has worked off and on for Dolly for about six months. She's not aware of his skeletons, but he would have to admit the same. Over the past few weeks, he has considered that the two could develop a friendship, or more, if not for his one continual nagging issue that keeps him moving. Been here too long.
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The incessant buzzing in his head was cut off when his conscious mind finally acknowledged alarm and Q was able to focus enough to flip the mental switch, turning it off. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes, then scratches his beard. Rolling out of bed, he makes his way to the sink. There, he turns on the tap, insuring the water is running mostly clear before splashing some on his face. He swishes some mouthwash around in his mouth, spits and rinses that out as well with the tap water.
The morning rituals continue as he pulls on cotton underclothes, before his form fitting body armor.The kevlar/beta-cloth/carbon nano-fibre mesh of the material was both light and flexible. It would do little against high caliber rounds, but every little helped towards the overall goal of saving his ass. Next he pulled on the skin tight chameleon suit. Made mostly of the same material, it added a second layer of protection and was reinforced around the vitals. The gloves and hood he left in the pouch sewn into the suit and the footwear covers stayed rolled up around his ankles. He tested the circuits and ran a quick diagnostic. After evaluating the results in the mirror, he was satisfied everything was in order and turned the suit off. Next came a layer of street clothes: well worn jeans, a nondescript black shirt and his boots. After trimming his beard and brushing his hair, he felt ready to attack the day.
He pauses a moment to look around the apartment. In the main living area, the entryway, living room and kitchen all flow together. The furniture, scaled to his height makes the ceilings seem high and give a vaulted feeling even though they are only three meters high. One bedroom and a bath give the space a cozy feeling and the furniture, while it doesn't all match, is all in good repair. The appliances are were gently used prior to his acquiring them and Roomba drone is busy collecting any dust from the floor while a Duster-2K is buzzing about keeping dust collecting above the floor level.
Grabbing his day pack on the way out, he frowns as he heads to the door. I've been here too long.
Passing through the door is like passing through some sort of transportation device. The hallway beyond is ill maintained and a steady drip from the ceiling to a bucket on the floor tells him the weather outside. A trio of young ork children race past him snickering and laughing to each other. The slur, "Digger", in their hushed conversation is not missed on the augmented hearing of his earbuds, but he ignores it. Shaking his head he thinks to himself, They little realize the hypocrisy, that they are becoming that which they claim to hate the most...
Exiting the building, he notes that today's rain seems to be subsiding and is little more than mist and puddles at this point. At least I won't need a respirator. Given the time of day, the street is mostly quiet. A pair of orks wearing orange slickers over their armor are slowly working their way up the street on electric motorcycles. Forever Tacoma. Q reflects on his situation. Have to pay these goobers off for protection that I could damn well take care of myself, but if I make a scene then people ask questions. People pass my picture around. People ask where I came from and who knows me... He turns his head down the street, choosing not to give the gangers a second thought.
With a thought, his comlink opens a connection to Dolly, his fixer. Also a dwarf, the two had hit if off reasonably well. He has worked off and on for Dolly for about six months. She's not aware of his skeletons, but he would have to admit the same. Over the past few weeks, he has considered that the two could develop a friendship, or more, if not for his one continual nagging issue that keeps him moving. Been here too long.
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 @ 13:20 : Vincent's Apartment, Sumner, Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
The money. That's all it comes down to in this day and age. There are those who have it, and those who don't. Vincent is lucky enough to know those who have it and be like by them. That's the only reason he's not still rotting in that cell. Unfortunately, the Haves always want more, and they've decided that he owes them for what they did for him. 30,000 worth of owes them. It would have been more, he knows, if the old man hadn't reminded them exactly who they were trying to extort. Doesn't matter. I'll remind them of how things should be amongst the Family. First, though, I'll remind them how much of a discount they were getting on my services...
Vincent tosses the gun he was cleaning onto his coffee table, leans his head back to rest against the back of the ratty old couch he is sitting on, and sighs in disgust. Can't believe things declined this much while I was in there. Shouldn't be having thoughts like this about Family... Stupid bastards are ruining everything.
His eyes roam around the apartment that the family arranged for him, noting once again the signs that the younger generation lacked the knowledge about how to treat a Made Man. His equipmet was neatly arranged on a folding card table between the door and the window, ready to be swept into the open duffle bag nearby in the case of an emergency. A thin bed rests against an interior wall. The apartment has very little else in the way of comfort. At least it had enough open space for him to run through his kata. Sighing again, he closes his eyes and tries to relax. His days have been like this regularly since he got out. Wake up, exercise, eat, wait for another job, go clean up the mess as yet another member of the greedy new generation screws up, sleep. All in the name of lying low, though. Once he finishes paying off his debt, Vincent needs to save up enough to get the hunt for him called off. A hefty bribe in the right place should take care of things nicely.
His commlink goes off suddenly, drawing his eyes to the device. Pulling it over to himself, he sees an update from Ghent. He smiles, happy to see that Ghent is still covering his tracks after all of these years. It's good to know that some people, at least, are loyal. It gives him a bit of hope for the future.
Just as he closes his eyes and gets ready to sleep, his commlink goes off once again. what's this, then?
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
The money. That's all it comes down to in this day and age. There are those who have it, and those who don't. Vincent is lucky enough to know those who have it and be like by them. That's the only reason he's not still rotting in that cell. Unfortunately, the Haves always want more, and they've decided that he owes them for what they did for him. 30,000 worth of owes them. It would have been more, he knows, if the old man hadn't reminded them exactly who they were trying to extort. Doesn't matter. I'll remind them of how things should be amongst the Family. First, though, I'll remind them how much of a discount they were getting on my services...
Vincent tosses the gun he was cleaning onto his coffee table, leans his head back to rest against the back of the ratty old couch he is sitting on, and sighs in disgust. Can't believe things declined this much while I was in there. Shouldn't be having thoughts like this about Family... Stupid bastards are ruining everything.
His eyes roam around the apartment that the family arranged for him, noting once again the signs that the younger generation lacked the knowledge about how to treat a Made Man. His equipmet was neatly arranged on a folding card table between the door and the window, ready to be swept into the open duffle bag nearby in the case of an emergency. A thin bed rests against an interior wall. The apartment has very little else in the way of comfort. At least it had enough open space for him to run through his kata. Sighing again, he closes his eyes and tries to relax. His days have been like this regularly since he got out. Wake up, exercise, eat, wait for another job, go clean up the mess as yet another member of the greedy new generation screws up, sleep. All in the name of lying low, though. Once he finishes paying off his debt, Vincent needs to save up enough to get the hunt for him called off. A hefty bribe in the right place should take care of things nicely.
His commlink goes off suddenly, drawing his eyes to the device. Pulling it over to himself, he sees an update from Ghent. He smiles, happy to see that Ghent is still covering his tracks after all of these years. It's good to know that some people, at least, are loyal. It gives him a bit of hope for the future.
Just as he closes his eyes and gets ready to sleep, his commlink goes off once again. what's this, then?
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 :1020- Titan's Doss - Touristville, Redmond
The big troll rolled over, trying to clear the haze and figure out what was wrong.
Right ... morning. Fuck. Stupid alarm.
Titan sat up on his mattress, which sat directly on the floor. "Box Spring" got to be a little ridiculous at his mass. He looked around the room, finally spotting the remants of the latest alarm clock. His sister had replaced his last ruin with a new gimmick, an alarm housed in a baseball, meant to be turned off by throwing it against the wall. Titan had a vague memory of blearily waking and throwing the thing. It wasn't until he'd noticed the dent on the bathroom door he'd figured it out.
Grumpily, he slowly got up, trying to shake off sleep. Too damn late in the day ta be sleepin' so deep. The troll made his way over to the toilet, grunting in amusement as he relieved himself on the baseball alarm, already sitting in the toilet. Couldn'ta made that shot if I'd been tryin'... he thought with a grin. He shrugged, flushed, and waddled out to face the day.
An hour later, the troll was at the gym. With the amount he ate, a regular workout was required to keep him from looking like something out of a Tolkein book. Titan didn't have a lot of patience, especially for people who talked first and thought about the consquences only after they'd had something broken. His lack of control over his temper was just as bad, and had gotten into issues with the Star, and later the Knights, more than once. Bribes and hackers to clear up shit little Criminal SINs was just too damn expensive. So it was the gym, and a proper diet. Both helped him relax, kept him from getting "too bitchy", at least according to Carla, his sister. She had some balls, he had to admit. Titan was a "late bloomer", a human who'd SURGEd in '61, at 15 years old. His "little sister", three years younger than him, and still human, remembered him more as a bratty older brother, not a mountain of bad temper. It was nice that some family still remembered.
Finished with his workout, ready to deal with the rest of the world's BS, Titan fished his comm out of his gy bag and finally switched the thing on. There weren't a lot of upsides to living on the edge of Redmond, but a lack of heavy spamming was one of the few he cherished.
Time to see what crap we've got today. Helloooo Shadowland ... sea... whatever. That shit's still weird.
The big troll rolled over, trying to clear the haze and figure out what was wrong.
Right ... morning. Fuck. Stupid alarm.
Titan sat up on his mattress, which sat directly on the floor. "Box Spring" got to be a little ridiculous at his mass. He looked around the room, finally spotting the remants of the latest alarm clock. His sister had replaced his last ruin with a new gimmick, an alarm housed in a baseball, meant to be turned off by throwing it against the wall. Titan had a vague memory of blearily waking and throwing the thing. It wasn't until he'd noticed the dent on the bathroom door he'd figured it out.
Grumpily, he slowly got up, trying to shake off sleep. Too damn late in the day ta be sleepin' so deep. The troll made his way over to the toilet, grunting in amusement as he relieved himself on the baseball alarm, already sitting in the toilet. Couldn'ta made that shot if I'd been tryin'... he thought with a grin. He shrugged, flushed, and waddled out to face the day.
An hour later, the troll was at the gym. With the amount he ate, a regular workout was required to keep him from looking like something out of a Tolkein book. Titan didn't have a lot of patience, especially for people who talked first and thought about the consquences only after they'd had something broken. His lack of control over his temper was just as bad, and had gotten into issues with the Star, and later the Knights, more than once. Bribes and hackers to clear up shit little Criminal SINs was just too damn expensive. So it was the gym, and a proper diet. Both helped him relax, kept him from getting "too bitchy", at least according to Carla, his sister. She had some balls, he had to admit. Titan was a "late bloomer", a human who'd SURGEd in '61, at 15 years old. His "little sister", three years younger than him, and still human, remembered him more as a bratty older brother, not a mountain of bad temper. It was nice that some family still remembered.
Finished with his workout, ready to deal with the rest of the world's BS, Titan fished his comm out of his gy bag and finally switched the thing on. There weren't a lot of upsides to living on the edge of Redmond, but a lack of heavy spamming was one of the few he cherished.
Time to see what crap we've got today. Helloooo Shadowland ... sea... whatever. That shit's still weird.
Saturday, April 19th 2072 Seattle
Your commlinks beep with an incoming message:
I hear you may be looking for work. You came highly recomended for what I need done. Come to Matchsticks tommorow night. 9 o'clock. Get there in time for happy hour. You'll be paid 750
up-front, just for showing up. I hope to see you then.
Sincerly
Mr. Johnson
Your commlinks beep with an incoming message:
I hear you may be looking for work. You came highly recomended for what I need done. Come to Matchsticks tommorow night. 9 o'clock. Get there in time for happy hour. You'll be paid 750
up-front, just for showing up. I hope to see you then.Sincerly
Mr. Johnson
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 :1330 = Titan: Big Boy's Gym
"750"? Fu... eh, well... pays for dinner. Why not.
Titan packs up his things, heading out of the gym and back to his doss. A gym is a grea place for a hot shower, especially for a troll. Open bay showers are just the trick for some people. A quick stop by the Stuffer Shack for a quick lunch, and he's home watching the brawl.
Crappy thing about early notice for work, I always feel like I need to just sit around and wait. ... Good thing the game's on.
A beer in hand and the Terminators on, it's a day well spent.
"750"? Fu... eh, well... pays for dinner. Why not.
Titan packs up his things, heading out of the gym and back to his doss. A gym is a grea place for a hot shower, especially for a troll. Open bay showers are just the trick for some people. A quick stop by the Stuffer Shack for a quick lunch, and he's home watching the brawl.
Crappy thing about early notice for work, I always feel like I need to just sit around and wait. ... Good thing the game's on.
A beer in hand and the Terminators on, it's a day well spent.
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 @ 13:30 : Johnny's Corner Pub, Loveland, Puyallup, Seattle Metroplex
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
The call rolling to Dolly's message box did little to improve Q's disposition. He made his way to Johnny's and had no more taken the first drink of his stout when a message chimed in. 750? No one ever lets you play for free. You win a game of pool, then the hustle is on. You take the nuyen, they're gonna want something in return...
As he takes another draw from his mug, he reaches his mind out to his software. A large, Irish wolfhound shimmering with neon blue accents to its fur appears. Bran. Seek out Matchsticks. Probably a bar, somewhere in the metroplex. The great hound shook its head once before fading into the background of the matrix, off running its quest...
Comlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
The call rolling to Dolly's message box did little to improve Q's disposition. He made his way to Johnny's and had no more taken the first drink of his stout when a message chimed in. 750? No one ever lets you play for free. You win a game of pool, then the hustle is on. You take the nuyen, they're gonna want something in return...
As he takes another draw from his mug, he reaches his mind out to his software. A large, Irish wolfhound shimmering with neon blue accents to its fur appears. Bran. Seek out Matchsticks. Probably a bar, somewhere in the metroplex. The great hound shook its head once before fading into the background of the matrix, off running its quest...
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 @ 13:30 : Vincent's Apartment, Sumner, Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
750 to show? How... disturbing. They wouldn't need to offer any carrots if they were offering a job I wouldn't have a problem with... but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose...
Having decided to go, he begins to prepare for the worst case at this meeting, sending off a message to Talon before he reviews what he knows personally about Matchsticks.
Talon,
What can you tell me about Matchsticks? Who runs it, who frequents it. The usual questions.
Thanks,
Vincent.
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
750 to show? How... disturbing. They wouldn't need to offer any carrots if they were offering a job I wouldn't have a problem with... but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose...
Having decided to go, he begins to prepare for the worst case at this meeting, sending off a message to Talon before he reviews what he knows personally about Matchsticks.
Talon,
What can you tell me about Matchsticks? Who runs it, who frequents it. The usual questions.
Thanks,
Vincent.
Q
Vincent
Talon gets back to you fairly quickly with the details
Titan
[ Spoiler ]
Vincent
Talon gets back to you fairly quickly with the details
[ Spoiler ]
Titan
[ Spoiler ]
Bran, the neon Irish Wolfhound returned with a brace or hares in its mouth. As he dropped them at Q's virtual feet, they melted into bytes of streaming data that Q sensed as information available at the edge of his thoughts.
The next day was pretty much the same as the last. The day was spent in lazy anticipation until he finally caught a cab headed for Matchstick's. He arrived 30 minutes ahead of the meeting in order to get the lay of the land.
The next day was pretty much the same as the last. The day was spent in lazy anticipation until he finally caught a cab headed for Matchstick's. He arrived 30 minutes ahead of the meeting in order to get the lay of the land.
Saturday, April 9th, 2072 @ 13:30 : Vincent's Apartment, Sumner, Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Vincent reads through the info and smiles grimly, already planning to leave his gun in the car. He won't need it to survive a betrayal. Merely to track down and eliminate the betrayer.
Talon,
Exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks. I'll be in touch.
Thanks,
Vincent.
Matchsticks Bar
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm
Q
The bar is dimly lit with the air thick with old ciggarette smoke. The soft blues playing over-head sets a relaxed mood that is aparant with the other customers as they sip their drinks in peace. It seems to be a quiet night. An older looking troll works behind the bar. Eyeing each of the team as they walk in, but not saying a word. Towards the back there is a man sitting in a booth. Black suit, oiled back, blonde hair. Obviously standing out among the regulars. Must be my guy. Only people near by are a group of orcs a few booths over. Just out of ear shot with the music playing over head.
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm
Q
[ Spoiler ]
The bar is dimly lit with the air thick with old ciggarette smoke. The soft blues playing over-head sets a relaxed mood that is aparant with the other customers as they sip their drinks in peace. It seems to be a quiet night. An older looking troll works behind the bar. Eyeing each of the team as they walk in, but not saying a word. Towards the back there is a man sitting in a booth. Black suit, oiled back, blonde hair. Obviously standing out among the regulars. Must be my guy. Only people near by are a group of orcs a few booths over. Just out of ear shot with the music playing over head.
[ Spoiler ]
Intuition(4) + Perception(2) + Specialization[Visual](2) + Visual Enhancement(3) [2,1,3,3,4,1,4,5,3,2,6] = 2 hits
Arriving in the bar as early as he does, Q takes the time to sip a beer and get a feel for the place. He watches for others to arrive who also stand out against the regulars.
Arriving in the bar as early as he does, Q takes the time to sip a beer and get a feel for the place. He watches for others to arrive who also stand out against the regulars.
Q
[ Spoiler ]
The orks, obviously not the Johnson, keep Q's attention. Not expecting a couple of jittery tuskers...
He considers sitting down at their table just to see if they'd soil themselves, but decides to find his own table to wait for the meeting instead. After sitting down and taking another draw, he considers his curiosity peaked and decides to check out one of the ork's comlink. Firing up his exploit, he decides to simply use a little brute force
Hacking on the Fly for User level access [Stealth is 5]: Exploit(5) + Hacking(1)
[3,1,5,2,3,6] = 2 hits
[4,3,5,2,1] = 1 hit; Total of 3 hits. If it takes more than that, he'll quit.
He considers sitting down at their table just to see if they'd soil themselves, but decides to find his own table to wait for the meeting instead. After sitting down and taking another draw, he considers his curiosity peaked and decides to check out one of the ork's comlink. Firing up his exploit, he decides to simply use a little brute force
Hacking on the Fly for User level access [Stealth is 5]: Exploit(5) + Hacking(1)
[3,1,5,2,3,6] = 2 hits
[4,3,5,2,1] = 1 hit; Total of 3 hits. If it takes more than that, he'll quit.
Matchsticks Bar
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm
Titan walks in to the familiar bar, heading straight for the drinks as any sane person would, giving an eye to who's in the old haunt for the night.
Beer. He points a local brew out, not to picky, as long as it's cold. Taking a bottle, he walks over towards the table where the Johnson is sitting, grabbing himself a chair along the way.
Having a care, he surreptitiously glances around the place to see who else is paying attention, more eyeing the folks in the other booths than the other men walking up to the table. He spins the chair around, in no real hurry, setting it at the edge of the table and straddling it, looking towards the blonde human.
Ain't you kinda young for a 'J'? he asks, without introduction.
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm
Titan walks in to the familiar bar, heading straight for the drinks as any sane person would, giving an eye to who's in the old haunt for the night.
Beer. He points a local brew out, not to picky, as long as it's cold. Taking a bottle, he walks over towards the table where the Johnson is sitting, grabbing himself a chair along the way.
Having a care, he surreptitiously glances around the place to see who else is paying attention, more eyeing the folks in the other booths than the other men walking up to the table. He spins the chair around, in no real hurry, setting it at the edge of the table and straddling it, looking towards the blonde human.
Ain't you kinda young for a 'J'? he asks, without introduction.
Q
Titan
The man appears bored with his soroundings. He looks Titan up and down for a moment while stalling to take a drink. Once he sips, he puts on a smile. Resembling that of a snake, who knows somethings the fellow predator doesnt.
Pardon? Is there something I can do for you? He glances away for a moment, then back at Titan.
[ Spoiler ]
Titan
The man appears bored with his soroundings. He looks Titan up and down for a moment while stalling to take a drink. Once he sips, he puts on a smile. Resembling that of a snake, who knows somethings the fellow predator doesnt.
Pardon? Is there something I can do for you? He glances away for a moment, then back at Titan.
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm: Matchsticks
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Vincent spent a while watching the bar from a soykaf shop down the road, keeping an eye on anyone who caught his eye. When the time of the meeting rolls around, he quietly rises and slips away, a credstick lying next to a cleaned cup.
As he enters the bar, his shoulders slump slightly and he adds a bit of a shuffle to his step. He makes his way to the bar and sits, gesturing for a cheap beer as his eyes cut across the room, just another worn-down wageslave trying to forget his troubles.
Scan the room (int 5, perc 4, 'ware 4)
[1,3,1,3,5,1,6,3,4,5,5,1,2] = 4 hits
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Vincent spent a while watching the bar from a soykaf shop down the road, keeping an eye on anyone who caught his eye. When the time of the meeting rolls around, he quietly rises and slips away, a credstick lying next to a cleaned cup.
As he enters the bar, his shoulders slump slightly and he adds a bit of a shuffle to his step. He makes his way to the bar and sits, gesturing for a cheap beer as his eyes cut across the room, just another worn-down wageslave trying to forget his troubles.
Scan the room (int 5, perc 4, 'ware 4)
[1,3,1,3,5,1,6,3,4,5,5,1,2] = 4 hits
Mickle
[ Spoiler ]
Saturday, April 10 2072, 8:30 pm: Matchsticks
Commlink: Mode = Hidden, SIN = [None Broadcast]
Vincent keeps an eye on the Troll and the obvious blonde as he feigns drinking his beer.
Matchsticks Bar - Saturday, April 10, 2072@20:30
Q considers walking out the door right then. He remembers a lesson he learned as a kid. He and another guy, Mark, went into a bar. Mark started playing pool with an older guy. Then a friendly wager and Mark won 20 ... But the guy demanded a chance to "win his money back"... and the bet was double to start... and he showed Mark his gun...
He keeps the channel open to the ork's com and scans for a link to or ID for the Johnson's com.
Looking over at the Johnson he considered slipping out to the alley, waiting for the J and his unwilling guards to exit... No family, no attachments, nothing to hold over my head... This norm better pay up or I'll air him out. He takes a moment to compose himself and heads over to the table, taking a seat as he arrives. "Mr Johnson, I presume?"
Q considers walking out the door right then. He remembers a lesson he learned as a kid. He and another guy, Mark, went into a bar. Mark started playing pool with an older guy. Then a friendly wager and Mark won 20
... But the guy demanded a chance to "win his money back"... and the bet was double to start... and he showed Mark his gun...He keeps the channel open to the ork's com and scans for a link to or ID for the Johnson's com.
Looking over at the Johnson he considered slipping out to the alley, waiting for the J and his unwilling guards to exit... No family, no attachments, nothing to hold over my head... This norm better pay up or I'll air him out. He takes a moment to compose himself and heads over to the table, taking a seat as he arrives. "Mr Johnson, I presume?"
The blonde man takes his seat again as Q aproaches.
You presume correct. Please take have a seat. We're only waiting on one more. We'll give him a few more minutes before we make this a bit more private. He quietly sips his drink. He doesnt seem to be interested in idle conversation.
You presume correct. Please take have a seat. We're only waiting on one more. We'll give him a few more minutes before we make this a bit more private. He quietly sips his drink. He doesnt seem to be interested in idle conversation.
Guess that is my latest employer... Vincent thinks to himself as he rises to his feet. He shuffles to the bathroom and returns a minute later, taking a seat in the booth "Is it just the three of us, or will there be any more joining us, Mr. Johnson?"
Titan
The troll smiles, glad that the Johnson isn't looking to waste time pretending that they like or respect each other. Waiting for the last of the 'invites' to show up, he drinks his beer, still wondering why the damn J is so young.
Maybe the suit's had work done. Hell maybe he's just some wageslave's brat kid, got more money than he knows what to do with. Hell, 's long as he's payin'.
Titan patiently waits his beer, and waits for his money.
The troll smiles, glad that the Johnson isn't looking to waste time pretending that they like or respect each other. Waiting for the last of the 'invites' to show up, he drinks his beer, still wondering why the damn J is so young.
Maybe the suit's had work done. Hell maybe he's just some wageslave's brat kid, got more money than he knows what to do with. Hell, 's long as he's payin'.
Titan patiently waits his beer, and waits for his money.
Matchsticks Bar - Saturday, April 10, 2072@20:31
Q sits quietly as the conversation continues. Now that all three are here, he expects the Johnson to take the lead.
Q sits quietly as the conversation continues. Now that all three are here, he expects the Johnson to take the lead.
The Johnson nods his head when Vincent finishes asking.
Indeed. He reaches around and flips a switch on the side of the booth. The familiar hum of a white noise generator is heard. Ensuring the teams privacy during the meeting.
Gentlemen, I'm pleased that you could all make it. You all came highly recommended and I have yet to be disapointed. He takes a sip from his drink.
I understand you each have a set of skills that may prove useful to my organization. We are willing to pay for those skills being put to use in our favor. He taps a few keys on his com. As agreed. Each of the teams com-links beep, with 750 cred added.
Now, down to why you are here. Something was taken from an associate of ours. It is a bit of an inconveiniance, however we still need said item. The item in question is a book. A collectors item, if you will. We are interested in getting this book. The pay 5,000 each upon completetion of the job. 1,000 upfront for excepting the job. Does this interest you gentlemen?
Indeed. He reaches around and flips a switch on the side of the booth. The familiar hum of a white noise generator is heard. Ensuring the teams privacy during the meeting.
Gentlemen, I'm pleased that you could all make it. You all came highly recommended and I have yet to be disapointed. He takes a sip from his drink.
I understand you each have a set of skills that may prove useful to my organization. We are willing to pay for those skills being put to use in our favor. He taps a few keys on his com. As agreed. Each of the teams com-links beep, with 750 cred added.
Now, down to why you are here. Something was taken from an associate of ours. It is a bit of an inconveiniance, however we still need said item. The item in question is a book. A collectors item, if you will. We are interested in getting this book. The pay 5,000 each upon completetion of the job. 1,000 upfront for excepting the job. Does this interest you gentlemen?
Q answers without hesitating, "Interest me? Yes, 5k interests me." He sets his elbows and arms down on the table and interlaces the fingers. "But not yet enough to jump, at least not yet. If the person or persons who took the book are 20k of whoop-ass, it surely doesn't interest me enough. How about some vague details about who we have to take it back from?"
Item retrieval? This is what I am reduced to? How the mighty have fallen... Vincent thinks to himself as he nods to the Johnson. "In addition to my colleague's question, I would like to know if we are to quietly take it back, or if we are to insure that nobody will ever dare to take from your associates ever again."
The Johnson grins at Vincent.
I do enjoy the way you think. Yes, I would like a message delivered. Ill let you get creative. But I want it known, that stealing from us is bad for your health. He takes another sip of his drink, enjoying it before he sets the glass back onto the table.
It was taken while in transport from one location to another. Its vulnerable then Im afraid. As most things are. Taken by a team much like yourselves. Shadowrunners as you call yourselves. Simple hired guns. Frankly Im quite suprised they pulled it off. Even if a few of them were killed in the proccess. It was a six man team if I remember correctly. Two of them were taken out. One was taken by us and interrogated. Before she passed, she told us where to find one of the others. Thats where you will start. He takes a folder out from the seat beside him and slides it across the table. Im afraid we did not get the name of whom they were working for. But this man... He taps the folder. ...was their leader on the assignment. Or so it would seem. His late associate claimed he had contact with the employer throughout the entire job. All the necessary information on him is in the folder, and that is all I am able to provide. Now, do we have a deal gentlemen? I would like to get this nasty bussiness out of the way as soon as possible.
I do enjoy the way you think. Yes, I would like a message delivered. Ill let you get creative. But I want it known, that stealing from us is bad for your health. He takes another sip of his drink, enjoying it before he sets the glass back onto the table.
It was taken while in transport from one location to another. Its vulnerable then Im afraid. As most things are. Taken by a team much like yourselves. Shadowrunners as you call yourselves. Simple hired guns. Frankly Im quite suprised they pulled it off. Even if a few of them were killed in the proccess. It was a six man team if I remember correctly. Two of them were taken out. One was taken by us and interrogated. Before she passed, she told us where to find one of the others. Thats where you will start. He takes a folder out from the seat beside him and slides it across the table. Im afraid we did not get the name of whom they were working for. But this man... He taps the folder. ...was their leader on the assignment. Or so it would seem. His late associate claimed he had contact with the employer throughout the entire job. All the necessary information on him is in the folder, and that is all I am able to provide. Now, do we have a deal gentlemen? I would like to get this nasty bussiness out of the way as soon as possible.
The troll shrugs. Sending messages, that I can do. Tracking people down, that I can do. Going up against other runners, that too. Just don't sell us a line about how 'non-chalant' this whole thing is. If this book was worth the money ta' grab it in the first place, issa big deal. The details don't really matter ta' me as much as they might ta the man 'ere. Jerks a thumb in Q's direction, ... but he ain't wrong. My only question is, is it magic?
Q listens as the conversation continues and the Johnson asks a second time for a commitment. "Retrieval. Message with prejudice. Opposition is not only runners but their employers and their employers resources. Seems like that's stacking a little high against 5k each for a three man team. Perhaps an starting point in these negotiations are warranted?"
Vincent sits back and stares down the Johnson, letting Q do the negotiating as he considers the situation.
He takes a breath before awnsering Titan first.
The object itself is not magical. It wont be glowing on the astral by any means. However, the words inside them, quite. Its known as The book of Horrow. Its very old, so try to handle with care, if possible.
He pulls a pack of ciggerettes out of his coat pocket, slowly, so not to cause anyone to think he was reaching for a weapon. After lighting a smoke, and taking a quick drag, he turns to Q. It almost looks scripted out of a trid.
Very well. That sounds fair. What did you have in mind? Ive named a price, now its your turn. We'll negotiate from there.
The object itself is not magical. It wont be glowing on the astral by any means. However, the words inside them, quite. Its known as The book of Horrow. Its very old, so try to handle with care, if possible.
He pulls a pack of ciggerettes out of his coat pocket, slowly, so not to cause anyone to think he was reaching for a weapon. After lighting a smoke, and taking a quick drag, he turns to Q. It almost looks scripted out of a trid.
Very well. That sounds fair. What did you have in mind? Ive named a price, now its your turn. We'll negotiate from there.
Q measures up the Johnson based upon his gestures, tone, inflections, grammar, demeanor, vocabulary and his own gut. He weighs the information given against that most assuredly withheld.
He keeps his elbows on the table, hands stacked as the Johnson pulls his cigarette, waiting through the dramatic pause. After Johnson's retort, he looks the man straight in the face with a deadpan expression. "You want success. We want to be successful. Triple the offer. 15k each, 5k upfront. If the book leaves Seattle, expenses either open up or we renegotiate them."
He keeps his elbows on the table, hands stacked as the Johnson pulls his cigarette, waiting through the dramatic pause. After Johnson's retort, he looks the man straight in the face with a deadpan expression. "You want success. We want to be successful. Triple the offer. 15k each, 5k upfront. If the book leaves Seattle, expenses either open up or we renegotiate them."
Q
[ Spoiler ]
Had posted this earlier in OOC: Charisma(4) + Negotiation(4) + First Impression(2) [2,6,6,1,2,3,6,6,4,1] = 4 hits
Q
The Johnson thinks for a moment, scratching his chin with the thumb of the same hand hes holding his ciggarette with.
I see your point, and it is well-noted, however, Im not sure it holds enough water for a jump to 60k for the entire team. So how about 8,000 each, 2,000 upfront. And if the book leaves Seattle, you make a list of the neccessary gear you'll require, plus an additional 3,000 for traveling expenses. Does this sound fair, Mr. Q?
[ Spoiler ]
The Johnson thinks for a moment, scratching his chin with the thumb of the same hand hes holding his ciggarette with.
I see your point, and it is well-noted, however, Im not sure it holds enough water for a jump to 60k for the entire team. So how about 8,000 each, 2,000 upfront. And if the book leaves Seattle, you make a list of the neccessary gear you'll require, plus an additional 3,000 for traveling expenses. Does this sound fair, Mr. Q?
New Negotiation Roll: [6,5,6,3,3,4,2,4,6,3] = 4 hits
Q works the math in his head. "Then there will be a fourth member to the team? To make the numbers work easier, while it may make us tighten our belts later, I think we could split the difference with you and drop in at 50k for the foursome with 30% up front. The additional gear and expenses to be solidified if and when the mark leaves Seattle, though on principle 3k and selected gear, to be itemized later, seems fair to me." Q kept his poker face on, this Johnson seemed the type to be offended if his ego was bruised. Q also ended the stated with a subtle praise to the Johnson. It was something he'd picked up from Dolly about always trying to end an exchange in a negotiation with a perceived positive.
Q works the math in his head. "Then there will be a fourth member to the team? To make the numbers work easier, while it may make us tighten our belts later, I think we could split the difference with you and drop in at 50k for the foursome with 30% up front. The additional gear and expenses to be solidified if and when the mark leaves Seattle, though on principle 3k and selected gear, to be itemized later, seems fair to me." Q kept his poker face on, this Johnson seemed the type to be offended if his ego was bruised. Q also ended the stated with a subtle praise to the Johnson. It was something he'd picked up from Dolly about always trying to end an exchange in a negotiation with a perceived positive.
His face lights up. Cleary pleased with the negotiation.
Very well then. Agreed. And yes, Mr. Q, there will be a fourth. A late hire. Since the item of topic is that of the Arcana, I beleive you will be needing the aid of one familiar with these types of things. Consider him a specialist in it. I will give you his contact information before I leave. Are there any more questions?
Very well then. Agreed. And yes, Mr. Q, there will be a fourth. A late hire. Since the item of topic is that of the Arcana, I beleive you will be needing the aid of one familiar with these types of things. Consider him a specialist in it. I will give you his contact information before I leave. Are there any more questions?
Q looks to his new teammates. If they'd been on at least one run together, he'd feel comfortable speaking for them. He looked their way to insure that they were in. "Gentlemen. I think we have an agreement." Looking back to the Johnson. "I guess the next step should be more details about the thieves and the item."
Vincent nods when Q looks his way"I believe this is a fair deal. I would also like any information on parties who know of the book and would be interested in acquiring it."
The troll nods after a moments pause.
Said I only had one question.
I'm in.
Said I only had one question.
I'm in.
Pardon my intrusion, but I'm in too, as well. I've already been briefed by another party.
An elf says as he stands awkwardly at the end of the table.
An elf says as he stands awkwardly at the end of the table.
The troll turns his head, looking the elf in the eye from his chair.
Oh great, a keeb. You bring any cookies with ya' elf?
Oh great, a keeb. You bring any cookies with ya' elf?
The other elf snaps his head around to stare at the troll.
Oh great, a troll. Goin' back to your bridge after this?
Oh great, a troll. Goin' back to your bridge after this?
The Johnson holds his hands up, attempting to calm the group, like a child would attempt to stop a boiling pot he cant reach.
Gentlemen, please calm yourselves. Theres no need for this kind of behavior. We're simply bussiness men, conducting bussiness. I care very little for your personal oppinions, and only wish to extend an offer, you have each agreed too. Now, can we carry on? Or is there a pissing match you'd rather get to?
The Johnson looks to the Elf at the end of the table, he narrows his eyes.
You. He starts. You were supposed to be instructed to wait on a phone call from the team, after the team was breifed. As eager and impulsive as your reputation stated. Though annoying, its tolerable. For now. Sit down.
He turns back to Q, obviously irritated.
[color=salmon] Now, Mr. Q, to awnser your questions, the item, is a book. A spell book. Its called "The Book of Harrow." Not much is known on its origions. Its supposed to a book of dark arts. Necromancy, as it was once called. Still is is some circles. Its not the type of book that glows on the astral, as I stated before, just as useful as the words inside, which no man on earth can read anyhow. Like I said, a collectors item. As for the team, three people. One mage, and two others. Most likely as muscle. All three are human. They go by the call signs: Raid, Breaker, and Malon. Malon is the awakened one. They're good. No known noteriety. Very clean, and aparantly organized. They seemed to have very little trouble acquirring the book. Perhaps they had the element of suprise helped. As it will for you, as long as no one goes Jakob Sinner on this job and FUBAR's everything in site in the proccess.
Gentlemen, please calm yourselves. Theres no need for this kind of behavior. We're simply bussiness men, conducting bussiness. I care very little for your personal oppinions, and only wish to extend an offer, you have each agreed too. Now, can we carry on? Or is there a pissing match you'd rather get to?
The Johnson looks to the Elf at the end of the table, he narrows his eyes.
You. He starts. You were supposed to be instructed to wait on a phone call from the team, after the team was breifed. As eager and impulsive as your reputation stated. Though annoying, its tolerable. For now. Sit down.
He turns back to Q, obviously irritated.
[color=salmon] Now, Mr. Q, to awnser your questions, the item, is a book. A spell book. Its called "The Book of Harrow." Not much is known on its origions. Its supposed to a book of dark arts. Necromancy, as it was once called. Still is is some circles. Its not the type of book that glows on the astral, as I stated before, just as useful as the words inside, which no man on earth can read anyhow. Like I said, a collectors item. As for the team, three people. One mage, and two others. Most likely as muscle. All three are human. They go by the call signs: Raid, Breaker, and Malon. Malon is the awakened one. They're good. No known noteriety. Very clean, and aparantly organized. They seemed to have very little trouble acquirring the book. Perhaps they had the element of suprise helped. As it will for you, as long as no one goes Jakob Sinner on this job and FUBAR's everything in site in the proccess.
Q looks to his new team in disbelief as the unprofessional display begin right in front of the Johnson. 5.56 caseless to the head all around should resolve that issue... And the new guy can't execute a simple plan. Ego issues perhaps?
Q noted the names all around of the book and crew. Suddenly the job felt too easy. He picked his brain looking for the catch, but couldn't yet see it. He looked to his team and realized the catch may not be external on this run. Looking back to the Johnson he nods. "That will definitely get us started. Unless you have additional details, I think we only need the expense account to get started."
Q noted the names all around of the book and crew. Suddenly the job felt too easy. He picked his brain looking for the catch, but couldn't yet see it. He looked to his team and realized the catch may not be external on this run. Looking back to the Johnson he nods. "That will definitely get us started. Unless you have additional details, I think we only need the expense account to get started."
The troll grins at the "old" elf's quick reply, nodding in appreciation.
At least this one has some spine. That's good. 'J' doesn't seem to have much patience for the new guy though.
He waits why the J and the dwarf finish the bargaining. There's plenty that needs to be discussed, but nothing that needs the Johnson present, as long as his 'file' is as good as he suggests.
At least this one has some spine. That's good. 'J' doesn't seem to have much patience for the new guy though.
He waits why the J and the dwarf finish the bargaining. There's plenty that needs to be discussed, but nothing that needs the Johnson present, as long as his 'file' is as good as he suggests.
Oh I'm very sorry, I misunderstood.
The elf said with a nervous tone. He awkwardly sat down in a vacant seat, before leaning towards troll and loudly whispering to the troll. I apologize I don't have any cookies with me.
He leaned back in his chair, and looked down at the table.
Curses, You have already messed up.
The elf sat with a small rocking back and forth motion as he reached up and started rubbing his left ear, it was raw, and noticeably more rounded than the other one.
The elf said with a nervous tone. He awkwardly sat down in a vacant seat, before leaning towards troll and loudly whispering to the troll. I apologize I don't have any cookies with me.
He leaned back in his chair, and looked down at the table.
Curses, You have already messed up.
The elf sat with a small rocking back and forth motion as he reached up and started rubbing his left ear, it was raw, and noticeably more rounded than the other one.
The troll glances sideways at him, not being a fan of having anyone inside his personal space.
What the f...
Shakes his head a little but turns back to the J and Q.
What the f...
Shakes his head a little but turns back to the J and Q.
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