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Dave ST last won the day on July 14

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About Dave ST

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  • Birthday 02/09/1977

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    Paris, Tennessee

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  1. They made their down the musty, dank concrete hallway. The scent, whatever it was, seemingly moist feces and decaying garbage, only got stronger as they made their way through the tight passageway (which only two people abreast could fit into at a time). This was the life... dank basements, abandoned sewer tunnels, haunted crypts... there wasn't much Shadowrunners weren't asked to do and most days, besides a payday, the best thing you could hope for was a shower and some booze to wash the day away. [Magic, Astral Senses] The air down here was heavy, moist, but damp... but it was also... something else. It was saturated with something unnatural and while it had no scent or taste or appearance... it was still there. That feeling down along the spine that one felt as a ghost passed through the living. A chill. A hunch. Something was down here. The laundry room wasn't too far from the stairway. Off to the left there was a thick, brick trabeation that lead into the laundry room. It was a room that you entered after going down two small concrete steps designed to keep the rest of the basement from flooding if the washroom flooded. Unfortunately... it was flooded. Lumpy, black stagnant water rippled in the laundry room as the washers and dryers were all stacked across the walls and a two by two placing down the middle of the room. [Perception] By looks of it it was about knee deep, but nothing within the room seemed out of place aside from the water which had long one stagnant and nasty, possibly polluted if any of the laundry chemicals had been left behind and soaked into it and the reasons for the lumps became obvious... it was filled with hundreds, if no thousands of dead rats! [Perception] Down, into the shadows where the light failed to reach they could all see it... where the corridor become onyx and unknown... there they were... like a demonic night's sky... the perfect square of the coridor's darkness was lit up with hundreds, if not thousands of of tiny little red eyes blinking in in random patters from floor to ceiling...
  2. The stairs, at one point in the last century, had been concrete poured into sturdy metallic framework. At some point those collapsed, were gutted and wooden were built. Those probably collapsed a few times too at some point, because these new steps were certainly not the most finely crafted. With the exception of Jenny, every step made a low, long creek that seemed right out of a horror trid. This wasn't grandma's basement... this was the basement of a large apartment building. It was brick and cement and several passages that led off to laundry facilities, a boiler room, electrical and plumbing... the basement was, to say the least, huge. Then... the door closed and they were all left in the pitch black of the eerie basement. In the pitch black everyone spun about to face the door (to the best of their memory). "Relax, relax..." Piper offered in a low whisper, clicking a flashlight on. Those with low light vision winced slightly. "...They're locking it up in case something is dangerous down here. We're fine. Jerry is by the door waiting to let us out if we need to make a quick exit, but they're worried for their safety, so we had to compromise." She shined her light down the steps, of which she was already half way down. "Well, c'mon, lets get this over with... I have no idea where this thing is, I've never been down here..." From where they were nothing seemed out of the ordinary as Piper's red light scanned the area. It was cold and filthy and something down here stank. Stank bad. A small plague of rats scurried away at the shuffle and noise of the four ladies arriving. The floor was damp and scattered puddles seemed to dot the hallway that stretched out before them... ...this was going to be a long night.
  3. "Eccellente," Mr. Johnson said calmly. "Do try to be discreet, but I know the nature of the job all to well. I trust your discretion. Do this, and I may have more work for you." As he was finishing his sentence two dancers apprached the table with devilish smirks on their faces. "Now, if you'll excuse me. Ragazzi, vedete fuori il signore." The two bodyguards turned to the table and gave the message, very clearly, that business was concluded. The runners left without incident, the guards weren't handsy and remained professional. They moved through the crowd of people and dancers and servers, and within a few moments were out in the streets of Downtown. It was dark and wet and the rain poured down from the sky like heaven's bath tub had the drain pulled. They stood under the cloth over hang leading to the club's entrance. People weren't exactly lining up to get in this place tonight, so they had a few moments. "Name's Mycroft." The dwarf offered. He extended his hand, and the men shared a classical gentleman's handshake. "Chunin." Replied the man. "The hell is a Chunin?" He asked in typical dwarven gruff. "The hell is a Myrcoft?" Retorted the strange human. "Fair point." The dwarf shrugged. "What say we go find a shady spot and talk business. We'll take my car, since your genius self decided to ride a motorcycle in the rain." "How did you know that?" Chunin asked. "That I rode a motorcycle. It wasn't raining when I get here a bit ago." Mycroft throaty 'harumph'. "I'm a dwarf, boy. We drink and we know things. Car's this way." He nodded off to the side and began walking. "I'm impressed," Chunin said, fiddling with his commlink as he followed the dwarf. "But, I have ground rules. I don't go all the way on the first date. Non-negotiable. Heavy petting, that's all you're getting." The dwarf grumbled under the sound of the rain. This was going to be a long night.
  4. "Beleg!" She clapped her hands and bounced up from her place on the steps and walked past the ladies. She motioned for them to follow her. "Afad-nin. Uh, I mean, follow me, sorry." The Sperethiel seems more common to her than English, but she didn't dwell on the ceremony of mixing languages long enough for it become a topic of conversation. Not far from her little closet, down the hall to the right was a single door that, for the most part seemed pretty unassuming. It was old, torn to shit and smeared in graffiti, but it seemed like it was solid and sturdy enough. The series of locks and bolts, plus the bar across it, made them all wonder if they were keeping a herd of ghouls down there to feed the local Shadowrunners to... but hey, Redmond... that'd be par for the course. After what was almost a comedic bout of unlocking and unbarring of the door Piper open it and stood aside. They'd all seen this trid before... a sinlge creaky staircase that led down into the pitch blackness. The light from the hallway, which was already weak to begin with, barely reached far enough down the steps to show the cement floor at the bottom for maybe a couple of feet. What was beyond was all darkness. "So, um," Piper chimed of in a quiet whisper. "I have no idea what's down there. The well was here before I moved in, so uh... we're kind of on our own."
  5. "His name is Thomas Crowne," he slides a chip across the table. "Some people want him gone. Stuck his cazzo in the wrong lady and now he needs to pay for it. Unfortunately, everyone answers to someone and the powers that be are telling my employer to leave the man be. So, he can't do it." "But we can," Mycroft politely pointed out. "Esettemente," Mr. Johnson said. "That chip'll provide you with a last known address and a few associates of his that might know where he's hiding. Off him, and we're talking 1,500¥ for each of ya. Agree and I'll slot you the password to the chip."
  6. It didn't taste like it should have, but the Guinness the lady delivered was made a bit more tolerable by the smile she offered him as she dropped it off. He and the Johnson talked about Seattle's chances for the season while going over a little of Mycroft's background. The shrewed dwarf was smart enough to only tell him what needed to be heard to get the job handled and be on his way. The dwarf didn't care for wet work, it wasn't generally the highest tier of accolades a Runner could strive for, but every runner at least once found themselves an assassin of some sort, whether they were ruining a marriage, a life, job, a history... didn't matter. All things died and sometimes God worked too slow. "Boss," the ork interrupted in a deep voice. Mr. Johnson gave a nod and the second runner they'd been waiting for, arrived.
  7. "You're back? That's a new one. They usually just creep me out." She turned about and skipped up the steps like she wasn't in the middle of a gang infested, toxic, hell hole of a city block. "C'mon, we can go inside." She got to the door and pounded on the thick reinforced steel that was definitely an after market addition that did nothing to raise the property value. Several locks and bolts clicked and the muted yellow light from the inside stretched it's way out in to the street banishing a small portion of the Barrens' darkness. A middle-aged, African American man poked his head around and waved Piper and her guests through. Beyond the door was just as Piper described. A hallway of doors that led to apartments, four floors of them. Almost every door they could see was open and the smells of various foods cooking took hold of their senses. Some sort of meat (they dared not guess what), boiled vegetables of some kind, and others they they couldn't make out. Everyone in the hallway poked their heads out of their rooms to see why the main door had opened. It was just as Piper described, these were just ordinary people trapped with no place else to go. The hallway was lit with nothing more that a strong of white Christmas lights with the multicolored ones wrapped in little designs along the walls that seemed to spruce up the place a bit. They were living on barely any power, less food and currently no water. The halls echoed with that awkward sound of arriving in a new home your unfamiliar with and every step seems louder than it is. Following Piper the ladies made their way down the hall and took a left near the stair case that wound it's way up three more floors. Of to the right of the stairs was a door that was wide open to a small janitors closet. Lengthwise across the room a hammock and littered across the floor were a variety of music softs and a matrix games. The walls were littered with AROs of popular bands and trideo action movies. Wires spread out all over the ceiling and floor to the rest of the building it seemed, all originating from a wall junction box in her closet. Everyone still had their heads poked out into the hallway. "Go back inside everybody! They're here to help," she said, waving her arms in a motion to back everyone up into their rooms. "I hope." She silently mumbled. She sat on the steps, and faced the ladies. "There's my room three," she said with a smile, seemingly proud to have her own space, even if it was an old closet. "So, it breaks down like this... the people here built a well, and well," she smiled. "See what I did there?" Everyone just looked at her. "Wow, tough crowd, hoookay, that well was tapped into the municipal pipes here, but about a month ago a few of us got sick. Then a few more. And about a week ago, the water just to smell funky. It can't be the pipes, so it must be the well. Thing is... it's in the basement... and it's creepy down there. Craig, up on two, he think something might be nesting down there so we need you guys to figure out what it could be, blast it to smithereens, so I can fix the well. And I'll give you 900¥ each for it." She looked to Echo cautiously, yet inquisitively. "I do that right? Job, then money... right?" She ticked off the steps on her fingers.
  8. Shadowrun: 'The Thomas Crowne Affair' The Cutting Edge, Seattle Downtown... The Cutting Edge was a low class bar and strip joint in Seattle's Downtown. The whole place was lit up with AROs and exotic neon lighting as women of all metatypes worked the floor and stage wearing little more than what the Good Lord blessed them with. The music thumped and pounded in Mycroft's ears as he made his way through the crowd, pushing people to the side and weaving through some of the congested areas near the bar. A few polite smiled to the ladies that took an interest in him and he was on his way. He was smart enough to know they didn't want him, just his money. Finding the Ork and the dwarf weren't too difficult. Like the message had said, the Ork was wearing a black 'I [heart] Seattle' t-shirt under a heavy armored jacket. The piece underneath it he wasn't trying to hide very well. His pal, the dwarf, made of the second leg of the security detail for the man he was about to meet. The dwarf was mean looking biker dude with thick arms and a braided grey beard that went almost to his waist. Expecting him, the drawf nodded for Mycroft to pass on by them and into the booth where a short, fat human man who was obviously Italian, greeted him. "Welcome. Welcome." He greeted Myrcoft personably enough in a thick Italian accent. "Waiting on one more, Mr... Mycroft. I'm sure you now how this goes, so in the meantime, may I offer you a drink? Perhaps we can go over your credentials or what passes for small talk." As if on cue a scantly clad, relatively attractive, human woman approached the table and set a drink on the table for Mr. Johnson. "Thank you sweetie, you're a doll. Mr. Mycroft?" He motioned from the lady to Mycroft. She smiled at him. "Heya sweetie. Can I get you anything?"
  9. Shadowrun: 'I Drank What?' It was about two, maybe three blocks away from where Touristville stopped and the real Redmond Barrens began. The Runners had all arrived separetely, making their way to the address on their won terms and maybe it because sun hadn't quite been down too long, or they were just lucky, but they all made it to the building within a few minutes of each other. Horns were blaring towards Touristville, mingled with the screaming and carrying on from a few blocks away echoed almost clearly in the distance. Almost every night was like this out on Touristville. Every well off young kid or wagesalve would hit the strip on the borders of the Barrens to get that extra dose of adventure and excitement pumped back into their lives with the feeling of living on the edge. Yeah, the edge of the edge where the real drek happened. The whole strip was more of a Red Light District for gangs and seedy bars and strip joints. Drugs, prostitution, chips... you name, hell, 'The Strip' had it. 'Regular' patrols by Lone Star kept the tourists relatively safe, some gangs even considered it neutral territory because the businesses all provided protection money so messing up the strip messed up everyone's cash flow. That wasn't good for business no matter how one looked at it. Sure, sometimes someone would go missing or there would be an out of control situation like a bar brawl turning into a gang war... but hey, that's why they came to Touristville, right? To get that real experience? The building was nothign more than a condemned four story tenement that, from the looks of it, was over a century old. The architecture was last century, maybe the 80s? Still it seemed like it would be one of the quint little apartment buildings one might see back on... what was the term? Oh, yeah, Tee Vee, back in the day. The whole place was spray painted and tagged in places that didn't even seem logical (how'd they tag the 4th story corner)? It was riddled with bullets holes, but the brick seemed to still be sturdy. Several scorch marks laced the front of the place so it was either used as a molotov target practice at one point, or magelings were blowing off steam. Every window was boarded up and only the tiniest bit of light could be seen through the tight cracks. The people within obviously were unwelcoming, or living in fear. Echo arrived first, professionally punctual as usual, and came upon an elven girl sitting on the front steps. Echo quickly noticed she was taking no steps to hide the Colt L36 strapped to her thigh. Couldn't blame her, in this neighborhood, bad didn't begin to describe it. She was pale, even for an elf. Like girl hadn't ever seen a lick of sunlight and although one might assume albinism, her stark white hair, she was quick to admit, was a dye job. Jadzia and Red Jenny were not far behind, approaching the building from opposite ends of the street, only to meet at the staircase with a few steps of each other. It wasn't hard for them to guess why they were all here, so in typical Shadowrunner fashion, silence and head nods were exchanged in greeting. "Okay," Piper stood up. "So, uh, hi. I'm Piper, Piper Frost. Everyone around here calls me Rime and I uhh, well, I don't do this sort of thing, like, ever. Bare with me." She carried herself differently than a typical sprawler. She was articulate and obviously educated. And obviously out of place. "So, um, thanks first of all. I appreciate it. So, we managed to scrape enough to pay you guys, but it's not a lot. The people inside are not gangers or chip heads or addicts... they're just, outcasts. Good people with nowhere to go in a world that doesn't want them anymore, or doesn't care." "Anyway," she expressed herself with her hands and communicated clearly. This girl was definitely not in the Barrens by choice. She seemed to perky, to excited... too nice. "So, the tennants and I managed to scrape up, with the three of you, about 900¥ each. Oh!" She swiftly reached to the mall of her back and before her hand madeit that far the three women had their hands on sidearms. She froze like a deer in headlights. "Woah! Woahwoahwoah... it's not like that... just... getting..." She lifted a small plastic card that shimmered to life an ARO that orbited the card announcing an advertisement for Stuffer Shack. "...and a 40¥ gift card for Stuffer Shack? This guy, Cooky, who was crushing on me gave it to me as a present, said he stole it from this touristy guy he guy he mugged and wanted me to have it. Which I guess is sort of romantic, but he was kind of a creeper so I didn't use it..."
  10. The one in the rules thread (which I used) and the one you just posted are different. Which are we using?
  11. Anatoly... Please get with me before you post your character.
  12. >>>>>[I wouldn't waste your time darlin'. Not even a Johnson for that job.]<<<<< - Doc Hollah >>>>>[I posted it. There are some people on hard times and we're stealing as much as we can from the grid already to stay afloat. The people here can barely pay their protection money to the local gangs, let alone hire professional runners to help them go after whatever is sullying the water supply here. It's not much, but everyone has chipped in what they could. Please?]<<<<< -Piper >>>>>[This ain't no charity here, little on-]<<<<< Connection terminated... >>>>>[I don't know how you did that, but you do it again and we're going to have the kind of sit down no one likes to have with me. You're new, consider that you're only warning.]<<<<< -Bull >>>>>[I'm sorry. Trog D'ore is a jerk.]<<<<< -Piper >>>>>[I don't know. I kind of like her, Bull.]<<<<< -DevGurl
  13. >>>>>[It's a hit. Apparently this Crowne guy was sleeping with the Boss's son's Fiance... I dunno. The Johnson in respectable enough. He's small time, not alot of nuyen to be made by making him a full time gig, but, if you want some scratch to blow through for a weekend, hit him up. The work is quick and usually pretty easy.]<<<<< - Cat O' Nine >>>>>[Small time crime family business (I won't say which). If you're gonna do it, do it right, and be respectful. These guys are big on respect.]<<<<< - π Zano >>>>>[Wow, a hit over an affair? Doesn't that seem... excessive?]<<<<< -Kia >>>>>[You should see what they did to her.]<<<<< -Trog D'ore
  14. Welcome to the game's start! Currently side fictions and karma are worth... Side Fic: 1 Karma. Karma: 800¥
  15. House Rules, knickknacks and paddywhacks all go here. You'll also find some interesting stuff lying about. You'll notice that it's locked. Because you don't need to post here. There is an OOC thread to handle all of the questions and concerns. House Rules- Regeneration does not add the Body Attribute. Only what is rolled is healed. (BOD + Hits = Full Health nearly 100% of the time, that's not fair to other players.) This ability is also pending. If it's too OPed even with this clause, it will be further reduced in potency. Positive Qualities 'only available at character creation' may still be purchased. You have to get with me first. Thugs are only packing 4 (Orks have 5, Elves have 3 because fuck em') health levels and do not get a chance to dodge. As long as you hit them, you can move on to damage. They still may resist with Armor, however. Trolls do not follow this rule. They are always the biggest and baddest mo'fos in the room. The Troll Clause also applies to 'bosses' like Lieutenants (earn that money!). You have skills for a reason. Stick to what you know. Skills default for a reason, to allow you to know a certain amount. Just because your Logic is 6 don't assume you know everything... roll the appropriate dice, see what your attribute tells you. Skills in 5E got to 12, but language skills are a bit different. Once your Language Skill reaches 7 you may change your rating in it to 'N', making you a fluent speaker of that language (no more rolls). At your option, should you choose to raise a the Language Skill to 12, you can. Once it reaches 12 you are considered to so fluent wit the language that you speak like a native speaker, accents and pronunciations are perfect. More pending... Shadowrun Etiquette (or, how to communicate) - "Text Here" - This is what you said. "More text here." - That was an emphasis. Text Here - This is what you thought (no quotes). Meaning mind reading spells/powers might hear you. >>>[Text Here]<<< - This is what you said through the Matrix via commlink, email, text, etc... it's electronic.
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