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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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Would people be ok with a non-2D people starting a storytime? His is slowing down due to work and nearing it's stated end, while my group has several runs to tell (Well, one today. If people enjoy this, I can do another later)

Go ahead and start storytiming! /tg/ always loves a good storytime.
/tg/ always loves STORYTIME! Go for it.
Alright. To start, lets set our characters. As they are at the beginning of the tale.

Sherman: Patriotic Human Mage of AMERICA. Potentially a revolutionary. Think Bandit Keith if he summoned monsters to fight...think Bandit Keith.

Ears: Elven Face and Social Infiltrator. Loves her car like a child. Rather new to the whole 'Running' thing and idealistic.

Mike: Japanese Ninja. Authentic Ninja. Has a clan and everything. Good at things ninjas are good at. Also Rap.

Barak: Elven Mech Pilot. Pretty good with machinery, very good with gunnery.

Hang: Chinese Elven? Mystic Adept. Exceptionally good with a blade and a lot tougher than she should be. This is my character.

Kaitab: AI. Loves cats. Hates having to deal with the physical. Generally on 2 MMOs at any time we are doing anything.
It is currently August 14th, 2072. The world is much different now than it was in decades past. Magic, monsters, dragons and--some say--demons rub shoulders with megacorps and megatech, CEOs and cyberware. The city is Atlanta, largest city and capital of the Confederated American States.

Skyscrapers reach up, towering over slums. Cars ride, and drones fly... and, in the deepest of shadows, deals are made. Several people have received a message--from one contact or another--to meet at a certain bar, called the Rusted Nickel. The barkeep is an old, fat dwarf, bald and shaved. They are to tell him you're here for the special... and then proceed to the back room.

There, a man sits. He's not a notable man. In fact, he's nearly so unnotable that is becomes uncanny. A tailored suit from a store that no one could place and simple mirrorshades to hide his eyes. He waits patiently as they all arrive, on time or close enough.

The first to arrive is brown-skinned elf, trim and fit in the way only a body shop can manage, in a pink kimono with darker pink obi and trim. She gives a movies star smile to the Johnson as she watches the others enter.

The next is a very strong contrast to her. An Elf standing well over 7ft tall, she could easily make one of the Tir Basketball teams, or football easily enough, seeing as she is built like an ork. Grey sleeveless shirt and brown pants. Long shaggy white hair hangs down to just short of her hips. She has yellow eyes and a rather animalistic look to her.

The next two people arrive, both human. One shows up, holding his scooter helmet under his arm, a garish, loud nightmare from Glenn Beck's wet dreams on the outside; Waving American flags and amber waves of grain coating the surface. The man himself is a medium height, Caucasian human with light brown, straight hair, and wearing a leather duster with a large flag on the back.

The one with him enters, checking an actual watch to make sure he isn't too late nor too early. His skin is pale, his hair white, his eyes red - an albino, and it's apparent he prefers the inside. He reaches into the inside pocket of his Fallon and Nelson suit, producing a cigarette.

Finally, a third elf joins them. Red hair and green eyes and a friendly smile on her face. She’s dressed in a pilots suit, the sort normally worn by professional riggers and pilots. She is the first to speak. “Hi everyone. I’m Barak”

The Johnson nods “"We're all here, then," he says, his voice perfectly modulated that he could be from anywhere at all. “Each of you came highly recommended. I understand you have not worked together, but I trust it will not be an issue. Would you like for me to cut to the chase, in regards to the job at hand, or would you like to take a moment and...Introduce yourselves?”

The white haired elf speaks up. “I Hang. I am a Xia. I can fight or track. I also good with magic knowledge.” Her english is shockingly, in a day of cheap linguasofts, rather broken and the Chinese accent very clear. The others follow

The movie star elf gives another smile “Ears, call me Ears. I’m…a socialite and a good driver.”

The pale man nods “Mike. Infiltration.” Quick and to the point.

The man with the obscenely American helmet has gotten himself a drink on the way to the back room. An Old Fashioned. The most American of Mixed Drinks. He raises it to the others. “You can call me Sherman.” He has a very American accent. No one can quite pick what part of America. It’s managing to be perfectly generically American. “I’m a mage. A pretty good one too.”

The Chinese woman, Hang, speaks up “Zoroastrianism.” Sherman shakes his head “Close, the Founding Fathers, and the ceaseless struggle between Washington and Nixon"

Hang shrugs “Same thing, I think.” Sherman looks a little bit affronted. “Look, I have talks on the subject.” He sets his comlink to public and shows off a link to his Future-Youtube account. It’s…extensive…and can basically be described as a patriot ranting about everything that’s wrong in this country. Which seems to be a lot of things.

Barak nods “Alright…we can talk history later. I’m a pilot and a decent hand with most anthroform machinery.” She grins “I’m a mech jock.” She taps her comlink “And THIS is Kaitab.” There is no response.

“Kaitab?” Still no response.

“Kaitab, stop looking at cats on the Matrix and say hello.”

A persona forms in AR. Currently, the AI's Persona is that of some gender-neutral human glowing green manipulating several image windows. "Wait, what? Someone said something? What did I miss?" Kaitab had been enjoying images of cats doing things cats should not do with misspelt text.

Barak rolls her eyes “This is Kaitab. He’s matrix support.”

The Johnson nods, looking over each in turn. "You can, of course, call me Mister Johnson. Now... my employers require a package delivered. Simple enough. The place of delivery is to be the Decatur Barrens. We are prepared to offer nine thousand nuyen--or the equivalent in corpscrip or CAS dollars, for the job. “You are free to deliver it however you wish, so long as it is by ground, does not attract official attention, and is delivered within two weeks of this date. A.. easy job, by any reckoning” he finishes.

"What is package? Or at least, how big?" Hang sniffs the air slightly as she looks about the room at everyone.

"The package is a hermetically sealed manacoffin, approximately three feet by four feet by three feet, and weighs about one hundred and twenty-five pounds," the Johnson says.

Ears nods “Should be easy enough to transport…”

The Johnson allows a small smile to cross his face. "I am good we understand each other, then." He reaches below the table, and pulls out a series of datachips--five of them--and places them on the table for the Shadowrunners to take. "Each one contains two addresses--the pickup and dropoff--and the comlink number, should you have any pressing questions. You will receive payment promptly upon delivery." With that, the man stands and walks out, quickly vanishing from sight.
Out of interest, are people reading? I've never really done this before.

And yeah, as we go on...well, sorry about Hang seeming to do most of the stuff out of the run itself. I was the only Shadowrun veteran other than the GM, so this was the first session every playing for the others.
Yes. Keep going.
Don't leave me hanging.
Keep going. I'm just hanging about trying not to disturb no one.

Ears smiles to the others “Drinks as we get to know each other and plan?”

The AI generates an AR map in from of himself "While you are getting your drinks, I have taken the liberty of creating a route to and from our destination that will keep our transport from the prying eyes of drones, police, and corporate territory. However, there is one problem."

Hang shrugs “There always is. Oh, by way. Mr Johnson have cultivated Chi. Internal Alchemy. Like my breath…but he has a lot more tools to help him. So…probably Wuxiang.”

Kaitab ignores the interruption "Our drop off point is a Compound in the Decatur barrens, and that area is infested by a gang called the Bastard Dawgs. From what I've been able to find, their leader is a Troll who goes by the designation of Jim 'Uga' Smith. Unit Smith is rumoured to be in bed with a megacrorp, either Ares or Saeder-Krupp. Smith is also one of the Awakened."

Mike nods “Perhaps I can go see what they are like, if we can slip past them?”

“I go with you, see if I can find out what Tradition he is.” Hang stands up. “Perhaps we meed up when we know more about them? Make plan to get there? People talk to anyone who might know?”

And so, the first meeting breaks apart into drinking and chatter before they all go their separate ways.


Oh good. Sorry, as I said, first time. Got a bit nervous at this.

The night before the investigation, Hang talks to a contact of hers. Her housemate, Red. Red is a Aztec mage, though she will tear your heart out if you say she is related to Aztechnology. Her English, like Hangs is less than stellar. This has led to the pair being labeled 'The Broken English Brigade' a few times.

"Oh? What is job?" She asks. She's a strong-looking woman, though a bit short--especially to Hang--and she has very tangled black hair, still a quite bit dirty despite Hang's insistence on showers. She is Hispanic, her skin very tanned, and her eyes a piercing green. There's still smudges of dirt and grime on her. Her nails are still fairly long, but at least trimmed now. When Hang met her she was a lot more feral.

Hang tells her what she knows. "Make delivery in barrens. Have to deal with gang there. Thought to maybe ask you if you knew about them. Bastard Dawgs. I not hear of them before."

Red nods, grunting. "Bad gang. Sexist, not like women as members. Leader mage. Felt him before. Dark, deal-maker. Fight in astral as good as fight in physical," she says, voice having a bit of respect.

"Based out of old bar. Gang grows awakened plants. Does not sell many, but brings in lots nuyen. Also have old military gear. Much bears marks of fighting along Aztlan border."

After that, they have a rather nice, pleasant nice. Disposing of a body used in human sacrifice doesn't take long.
oh, you.
> not mentioning Kaitab's unique place markers
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The next day, Hang and Mike go to inspect the gang headquarters. The plan is that Hang will be a distraction, walking through their territory, while Mike goes full ninja and scouts the place out. They split up and prepare.

It doesn't take long at all for a pair of toughs to sidle up to Hang--with more showing up behind them. "Hey, bitch, what you doin' on our turf, huh?" one of them says--a troll with a huge, overgrown cyberarm and a broken-off horn. He holds out an arm to stop Hang. "Pretty thing like you don't need ta be walkin' alone, hehehe..."

"I going to my grandmas house. She live deeper in barrens. This way faster." She explains/bullshits with her strong chinese accent.

Over at Hang, the troll smirks. "Well then, little girl, you betta watch out. The barrens are fulla big bad wolves... or Dawgs," he says, reaching his arm to try and pick Hang up as a few of the other gangers howl--a bit literally--with laughter. This effect is ruined a bit by the fact that Hang is only a tiny bit shorter than him.

“I be careful” She assures them, touching a knife at her side. They don't take it well and the head troll growls (It's not sure if he has another method of speaking) “You'll be commin' with us.” They reach for her...and Hang decides this distraction could use a bit of a chase.

She sidesteps his swung fist and the heavy metal bat of another ganger, drawing the knife in a smooth motion.

Red blood spurts as the leader of the trolls hits the ground. The gangers are stunned for a moment at the elf who just put a troll down with a tiny ceramic knife...then they raise rifles.

“YOU BITCH, YOU SHANKED HIM! I'LL KILL YOU! IMMA MOTHERFUCKIN' KILL YOU!" one shouts. Hang sprints for cover with a taunting grin and slightly mad laugh. She's not quite fast enough and she catches fire from a pair of orks, a few rounds going right through her bulletproof clothes and sinking deep.
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Mike, meanwhile is examining the base as bullets ring out. He's made it past the guards unnotice and is currently doing the ninja thing along roofs and ceilings.

It's mostly a standard gang hide out, except for three things of note. A chapel, a very extensive armoury for a Barrens gang and a greenhouse of all things. A small oasis in the middle of the barrens, full of many pretty plants. Mike snaps pictures along the way of all the things for later look before tapping his comlink.

<Mike: You ok out there Hang?>
<Hang: Yeah, I fine. I run faster than them and they not that good a shot. Good guns though.>

Hang is, at this moment, hiding on the first floor of a burnt out building, picking bullets out of her side and wincing as she tosses them aside.

<Mike: Ok, you want to see the pictures that were took?>
<Hang: Sure. I get smell as I go past. There strong magic there. Mostly black but there some others too>

Mike transmits the images and Hang is shocked by some of them. Particularly the Chapel and the Plants. The Chapel is very classic black magic. An inverted cross hanging above a black altar where a man has had his neck ripped open by a ceremonial dagger. A cut open dead man in an area that stinks of magic is never a good sign.

The armory is well stocked...but a little generic. Last generation military gear mostly. Probably sold off by failing terrorist groups or managers trying to get a little money from useless stock.

The plants are also odd. Hang doesn't recognize the vast majority of them. Which concerns her. She's pretty good with plants. She's got no clue what they are or what they are worth.

<Hang: I better take these pictures to contact. She might know. This right up her alley.>
<Mike: Alright. See you in a few when I get out.>
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Would I be right in reading all of Hang's speech in Chinglish's voice.
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In which the GM introduces the more Mary Sue of Contacts (And proceeds to have them be enjoyable enough that no one has complained about a Black Mage Fox Girl Vampire)


They escape the barrens and go their respective ways. Mike heads home via several other places, in case anyone is tracking him. Hang heads off...to a fashion boutique. Fox and Drone. Run by a pair of friends of hers, Kumiho and Antiope. Or at least that’s the names they worked under.

Hang enters the store. Inside, the light doesn't reach far--the sunlight, anyway, but the store itself is well-lit. There's a whole bunch of AR displays and physical displays for clothes in all sorts of styles--mostly Neo-Victorian Postpunk Tribal this season, but there's a smattering of everything that's 'in'. As she walks in, a voice calls out from the back. "Ah, hello!"

Looking to the source, it's a woman who's just walked up behind the counter. The woman... well, she's probably an elf. Her skin is pale, amazingly pale, like sun has not kissed it in ages. Her eyes are red, but it looks natural... and she has fox ears topping her head which twitch at various noises, and a fox tail, very fluffy, is seen poking up from behind the counter on occasion.

"Heeeeey girl! Have some stuff for me?" She says brightly.


Pretty much. Think Chinglish as an ALLY OF JUSTICE and you more or less have Hang.
You know, you're telling the story of the entire group, not just your character.

GM of this group here: Hang's player was the only veteran shadowrun player in the group, so the first run was alot of showing the others how things go. Runs past the first are much less 'hang does alot' and much more 'other people contribute'.
Oh, okay. it just seemed like Hang's Player Talks About Hang And Also Other People Are Involved. If that's how the session actually went, nevermind me.

Sorry, I refer you to >>24362844

This first Run is a little Hang heavy because I was the only veteran player. As it goes on, she is used a lot less compared to the others...but as I was the only veteran, I ended up doing a bit more than the others. Also being used as an example of 'No, even street sams don't like full auto to the face' and other lessons.

Sorry about that.
It did for at least this part. It gets to more "Other people do other things" once the mission proper starts.

Hang pauses "Depends what stuff you want...I still working on debt. I sorry. Still, on job now...should be able to pay some off."

Kumiho nods. "Sure, girl, you know we aren't into the leg breaking business, just the favor-calling business," she says, smiling like a predator--though she probably can't help it, guessing by the two very prominent fangs in her mouth. "Guess you're calling for help on the job? Need me to take a crack at some mojo?"

Hang nods "You know more about this than me." She transfers the footage of the greenhouse and the black church. "Corrupt Chi. Very much so. Plants not corrupt...but smell very powerful."

Kumiho purses her lips, looking over the footage. "My, my, my," she says, laughing a bit. "Such a TRADITIONAL Black Church! And is that a window? Whoever does work here is quite the brave one, not hiding his lodge. Fancy one, too, that looks like a real black gold reverse crucifix... and is that what I think it is on that altar? Oh, naughty boys have been bleeding people." She pauses for a moment. "Did you smell...THAT sort of dark magic or just my sort of dark magic?"

Hang shakes her head "Normal. It not smell like blood...well, more than it should. Rotting, Poisoned Meat...not an Oosing Black Wound. Sorry, not good explanation."

"Good enough. Probably just a classical Satanist, then. Black masses, that sort of thing, bloodletting for power, the usual bits and bobs of black magic," Kumiho says, reaching down to fluff her tail a bit. "Adversary, by my reckoning, but no way to be entirely sure." She goes over to the greenhouse, eyes widening. "Oh my! I recognize some... oh. Oh my."
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Pic surprisingly not related.


"Interesting Plants?"

She points out the central plant in the greenhouse, a solitary one kept separate from the rest. "That's a BLack Mana Orchid. You said these were a Barrens Gang? What are they doing with a BLACK MANA ORCHID? Some other interesting ones--deepweed, Devil's Breath... I think those are some San-gre Del Diablo cuttings, but that small they shouldn't be dangerous..."

Hang proceeded to give a very cunning grin, forgetting one of the very important issues with a cunning grin. Everyone else can see it and knows you think you are being clever.

“Weeelll…we might be able to get you some plants if you like. For price. I mean…we probably going to have to fight them anyway…”

Kumiho gives a genuinely warm smile. “That would mean a lot to me, you know. I can help you sell most of them…and I’ll talk to Antiope about grabbing the Black Mana Orchid myself.”

Business concluded, they proceeded to chatter about trideos and music and how Kumiho would love to meet Hangs new friends. The pair is friends who have known each other for years.
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August 16th, 2072

Early morning dawns over the Atlanta metroplex... not that it's, strictly speaking, easy to tell, what with the smog, the air traffic, the neon skyscrapers reaching high into the sky... though out near the Decatur barrens, where the light glare is less, the streets are darker indeed. A package is to be run through the territory of the Bastard Dawgs... and the couriers plan to make a little extra.

The group has divided itself up into two teams. The Courier team, made up of Ears, Kaitab and Barak. They are loaded up with the package and Barak’s prior unseen mech.

It’s a lot lighter than the phrase ‘mech jock’ would have led itself to. Sleek and High Tech, it looks more like superheavy power armour than an Ares Warhammer. A machine gun is clutched in one arm, a grenade launcher jutting out of one shoulder. They are waiting just outside the area for the go signal.

The second team is the Assault team. The group collectively agreed that the barrens could do with one less gang and they could do with the extra money from the plants and the foci. You can’t really steal a garden subtly. It is made up of Hang, Mike and Sherman. They are making their way through the territory, looking for a patrol.
> the pair is friends
Getting in character, OP?

Dammit. I didn't even notice that. I not grammar good apparently.

Independent of Hangs less-than-stellar English.

All three of the assault team hear--and hang smells--a group of gangers, probably the patrol, moving nearby. One of them, his voice deep, is speaking louder than the others. "Fuckin' morning patrols... hate these goddamn things, ain't nothin' ta howl over when we're this damn hung over..."

Hang steps back into the shadows, crouching low.

Sherman slips his helmet on and takes his gun in one hand, other hand on his lapel pin (An American flag, of course) focus.

Mike scrambles up into the alley, melding into the scenery and unwinding the mono-wire of his gloves.
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Soon enough, the group of gangers starts to walk through--two orks and a troll, with the troll leading. The troll has a huge poleaxe that looks like it's made of scrap metal and the other two tote mossberg AM-CMDT automatic shotguns. The leader continues to snarl and bitch about being up this goddamn early.

Hang nods to the others and slips behind one of the shotgun wielders…driving a heavy blade through his back. The other ork raises his shotgun towards her, a shout about to reach his lips…and is cut off as he finds his neck wrapped in monowire. A splash of red joins the ork as he drops.

The Troll leader turns “What th-“ And then Sherman throws his spell. With a flick of his wrists, the world of the gangster becomes a nightmarish world of garish colors, blaring sounds from all directions, and crying bald eagles swooping at him.

The troll snarls angrily. "The fuck is this, the fuck is that, the fuck are those?!"

Hang uses the chance to dash forward, putting her sword into the trolls stomach. He manages to curse once more before he find himself, like the ork, with monowire around his throat. With a sick thud, he joins the others.

Mike takes a puff on his cigarette hanging from his lips. "Nicely done." Hang nods back and Sherman, having dealt poorly with the drain…has a bit of a sit down. That hurt.
>The troll snarls angrily. "The fuck is this, the fuck is that, the fuck are those?!"
This is the proper response to Runners, I think.

<Hang: Kaitab? We ready>

Phase two of the plan started. Phase one was to take out a ganger group and liberate their comlink.

Phase two was chaos.

Kaitab clears its digital throat, having broken into the comlink without straining his metaphorical matrix muscles. "AH WHAT THE HELL! WE'RE GETTING SHOT AT, SEND BACK UP!"

Sherman stands and gestures to a ruined wall. The trio scramble over it and Sherman throws up an illusion of a moderately damaged wall instead.

... and a reply comes over the comms. "We gotcha, big dawg, sendin' a couple teams!" And, it looks like--from Kaitab's view high in sky--that they are, mobilizing about fifteen gangers out of the bar that is their HQ.
Scene Music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmkJxL3ryKI


Ears has been idling in an alleyway this entire time, subjecting the rest of the car to what can charitably be called 'elven meditation music' and accurately called "boring". At the message form Kaitab, though, her ears twitch, and she straightens up. "I think it's finally time."

“Thank all that’s holy.” Mutters Barak. Normal Milspec is cramped in a car. Trying to fit her superheavy armour was just painful and she’s filling rather flat.
Ears flips a switch on the radio and the music cuts out. A moment later a different tune starts up, a much rougher one, that Jess nods her head to, as she guns the engine and starts driving hell-for-leather!

Jessica guns it, her vehicle purring... then roaring as it speeds up, barreling into the street and into the Dawg's territory, burning asphalt through it, towards the concrete bunker that is the dropoff point for their precious, precious cargo--whatever that cargo may be.

Damnation. Well, I suppose that spoils one name. For the first few sessions, a lot of the new players didn't use Call Signs, so I've been reconning them in. I guess I missed one when writing.


The assault team is waiting carefully when Sherman spots something sneaking through the astral. Or trying to sneak at least. Not doing a very good job. A little imp, cackling to itself about how clever it is and how it’s going to cause so much chaos with the invaders. Sherman rolls his eyes and, reaching out, rips control from its master to himself.

Suddenly the imp feels a little worried and very silly.

Back to the driving team, both Ears and Kaitab notice--just as they approach it--another group of gangers leaving the Bastard Dawg's HQ... lead by a huge troll in armor, a crooked top-hat on his head, a giant upside down cross and pentagram hanging like bling off of his neck. He turns to notice them, opening his mouth to say something.

Ears narrows her eyes behind her mirrorshades, the grin on her face too big to be anything but natural. As the troll opens his mouth she puts the pedal to the metal, pushing the car to its limit and zooming past. "We gon' ride!"

The Troll snarls, realizing that he just sent most of his gang out the complete other direction, and a few of his remaining men level guns at Ear's car. Some bullets ping off of it, but none get through, though between those impacts and the road Ears barely manages to stay in control.

Barak raises her grenade launcher and pop, pop, pop, three grenades come flying out at the group. They look small, shiny, and, once all three are in optimal position, AIRBUST TIME! The grenades explode, decimating the group of gangers... though the armored troll is still up--but at this speed, the car's long gone at that point, escaped towards the drop off point.
Jessica's a better name for an elf anyway, even if it's not a callsign. Did she really choose "Ears" of her own will? Did none of the veterans help her choose something non-retarded?

Yes. She did. The character is very very new to the whole running thing and sort of grabbed the first thing that came to mind.
And nobody stopped her and went "no, that's no good, try again"?
Stop interrupting the storytime, asshole.

Not really, no. She gets a better one later though when she realizes it's silly though.

She was incredibly sheltered. You'll find out just how much in a later story (If people don't mind this continuing)
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In Which The GM asks the veteran to show New Players that Grenades are their Friends. Sometimes.


Back in the alleyway, the first of the fifteen spare men sent arrive in it. The leader, an ork who looks more metal than flesh, calls out. "Bubba blue! Where the fuck you at, I don't see no gunfight!" His boys walk down cautiously, most of them with predators, and assault rifles, a few shotguns scattered throughout.

From her hiding place, Hang gives a wolfish grin to the other runners as she draws a pair of round grenades. A quick signal from her PAN and a tap of a button and they are primed and…over the ruined wall they go, right towards the gangers.

"... 'NADE!" an ork yells out... just in time for a pair of explosions to go off.


When the smoke clears, six of the gangers are dead and most of the others look very hurt.

Hang gives a slightly mad laugh as she pops up over the wall, draws a more can shaped grenade and gives it a toss. It goes off... and another scream goes up as a number of orks are caught on fire, a few falling instantly. The leader snarls. "MAN UP PANSIES IT'S JUST SOME FUCKIN' FIRE!"

Deciding turnabout is fair play, the heavily cromed ork draws a pineapple grenade from his own pouches and returns it to about where he figures the runners are.


Mike is already gone from the blast radius like a shadow, circling the group. Hang and Sherman are not so lucky. Hangs armour saves her from most of the damage but Shermans leather jacket doesn’t hold up so well as he’s blown off his feet.
Please, by all means, continue. Storytime is always welcome.

Nah, it's more than cool. I'd honestly rather people chatter than worry people are ignoring it.

That and 2D set up Shadowrun Storytime threads to also count as a Shadowrun General if people have questions and I find that a rather cool thing.

High in the sky, Kaitab lines up the Chromed up ork with a rifle on his drone. He fires…and the Ork just dodges the supersonic round. "GOTTA MOVE FASTER THAN THAT, DREKHEAD!"

“Oh?” Mike emerges from the smoke like a wraith, flicking monowire at the ork. The ork gasps as his arm simply falls off, followed by rather a lot of the rest of him.

Hang leaps the wall, tackling one of the few standing minions to the ground and bringing her force into him via a large sword. The last couples of minions, unable to hear any leaders or see more than a meter in the smoke break and try and escape. Most don’t make it. White Phosphorus isn't kind.
>Elven Face
Oh god my sides.
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Meanwhile, the courier team has run into a small problem. Alright, small was probably not right. It involved a creature of smoke and flame appearing out of nowhere on the back of their car and trying to smash his way in. Apparently the Ganger leader was a Tolkien fan, as the spirit bore great resemblance to a Balrog.

Barak looks at the Demon! The Demon looks right back. Right. Demon. Demon. Big demon. Huh. Well, that's why god invented anti-tank weapons. Karen reaches into the back of the car, arms a LAW, and leans out the side of the care to fire it, right at the Balrog.
The missile hits the Balrog, and it is most definitely feeling some pain there... a huge chunk of flame was knocked out of its shoulder, and it looks, if possible, even more pissed.

It roars and brings it’s sword down on the back of the car. Ears looks back at Barak “Get if off my baby!” She yells as she swerves left and right.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Barak returns as the raises the LMG built into the suits arm and un-leashes a withering volley of fire that sinks deep into the Balrog. The Balrog, unable to main-tain form any longer, dissipates.

The courier team continues on towards their goal as the Assault team prepares for the final push.
> un-leash
> main-tain

I have no clue. Copied like that from Word (I prewrote the story so people wouldn't have to wait forever) and I didn't notice. I've been removing them in other ones.

The trio creep towards the base, hidden under the protection of Sherman’s invisibility spells. In front of it stand five men, prepping for trouble.

One of them is the Troll gang leader, dressed in his suit and looking suitably angry.

There's another troll, this one almost runty looking, toting a pair--not just one, but two--Ares Alpha assault rifles, like pistols in his hand.

A bored-looking bald ork is covered in FAR too many knives.

A second ork has hair that is entirely too long and wild, and he's not got much more than basic pistols... but he has a huge, blinging iron pentacle hanging at his neck.

The last member is an unassuming looking dwarf, with fairly standard equipment on his body--one rifle, a pistol, a knife--who looks... entirely to ordinary. All are wearing body armor of some sort.

Unfortunately for these five gangers with attitude, distinctive appearances and presumably backstories, they didn't manage to penetrate the illusion spell.

Hang sniffs the air again and looks at the five gangers carefully.

Hang: <Kill ork with necklace first. He...bad. Very bad. All have powerful chi.>
Mike: <Understood.>
If there's only one person posting in a thread (such as an anon doing story time), then it autosages. By commenting, he's keeping the thread alive.

Sherman weaves up a spell of silence as they get closer. Fortunately as he winces like he has been slugged in the gut. “I think…I’m gunna just stand here and stop any spells. Maybe have a sitdown later.”

Mike nods and lines up the boss troll with a heavy pistol, who is giving an angry pep talk about people 'invading their turf' and 'killing their boys'. Two silent shots later, he finds himself missing two eyes and a lot of brain matter.

As the remaining quartet panic, Hang takes a careful breath...and her arm moves down with inhuman speed, sending the blade on an arc towards the too-many-blades-orks heart.

He goes down like a tonne of bricks as Sherman lines up the dwarf, putting a bullet in his throat with his own pistol as Hang introduces the second ork to the wonderful world of Wile Pete.

The last standing ganger, the troll with the two rifles, looks to his companions... shrugs, drops his guns, and raises his hands up in the air. "I give. Y'all got the fuck out of me wherever you are."

The trio allows him to leave…as they head in to start gathering up the plants and magical implements that are the spoils of this fight. Black Mana Orchid sells well.

The Courier team has made it to the compound. It’s built like a bunker of solid concrete and lacking any corporate or group logos at all. They are met by a pair of men in Biohazard suits who, without any talking, take the manacoffin and hand them several credsticks.

They delivered the plants and implements to Kumiho who kept the Black Mana Lotus as most of her payment for selling the others to people she knew who were interested. She may have scammed them a little with that trade. Just to the amount it’s ok to scam friends.

The armory was stripped. Some things were kept, most were chucked to a guy they knew who sells guns. Another gang has them by this point.

In the news a couple of weeks later there was information about a new type of HMHVV spreading through the barrens no one had seen before…but that’s completely certain to have absolutely nothing to do with our protagonists.

And that’s the story of the first run of this mad lot. Hope you had fun and wouldn't mind me sharing another at some point.
I like it. Another!

Thanks. I'll probably post the next one in a few days or such.
Storytime archived
Sounds like a fun run. How did the newbies end up liking the system? And what were their reactions to some of hte lessons?
Barak's (Karen really) player here. We loved the game and the system. A lot more fun stuff happens and I think we break nearly every rule of Running (deals with dragons, demons, Corps, so on) but haven't died yet, so, it's all good!

I believe the correct term is 'Yet' certainly.
Eventually you ALWAYS break the rules of Shadowrunning if you play long enough.
I've made deals with dragons, been forced to blow all the ammo we brought in one fight, and stab each other in the back because of rampant paranoia.

Yeah, out group just seems to enjoy doing it at record pace. Or in particularly fabulous ways.
If it ain't done fabulously it ain't done right is kind of a personal motto of mine. So I give you two thumbs up.

Have you, like, employed a blood mage or something?


>Tears out Hearts.
>Mentioned Human Sacrifice

I think one of them is rooming with one.
That one isn't a mage, actually. She's just a regular Aztec. She also specifically targets blood mages for her sacrifices for "polluting her religion".

>isn't a mage
>Red is a Aztec mage,


Are you SURE she's not a blood mage in denial or something? I mean, isn't basically every aztec mage a blood mage? It's part of the tradition, isn't it?
Played a blood mage before.
He kept trying to convince people in the team that he really wasn't any worse then any of them: he only used blood magic as any other runner magician uses magic, and that he was more stable then our resident street samurai.
Which actually was true to some degree.

Huh, reminds me of an idea I wanted to play once.

Bug mage, mantid totem. Giant hate-on for other bug mages--I figure a survivor of Bug City, turned to the Mantids to make the other bugs SUFFER. No sane GM would let me play it, though, I figure.
should have said "isn't a blood mage". She pretty specifically doesn't do blood magic.
The character's name was Juan Sangre, and was actually from the Yucatan rather then Aztlan proper.
He was sort of a runaway from Aztechnology, but still relatively amoral: as he liked to put it "I just have more restraint and common sense then those idiots at Teotihuacan."
He believed blood magic was a perfectly legitimate form of magical research, and avoiding it because of silly things like "ethical implications" was just stupid, though mixing it up with religion was equally dumb.

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