![Stefan [GM] Avatar](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a338/nachyl/malkavian.gif)
Post by Stefan [GM] on Feb 21, 2011 18:58:01 GMT -7
[Personal Journal] > [Baptiste]
July 1st, way too early in the morning
Well, I've got a flight. Got a group, some guns and muscles and a so-it-seems good way into the Zone. More wrong I could be not.
After I arrived at the junkyard, a certain tension surrounded the plane and this group. I coulnd't help but notice that those runners aren't much of friends.
And what a glorious ensemble of professionals. The pilot, an Oni from the looks of it, is still the most normal; with his pale white skin and the fact that he is a technomancer. He ordered us to stash our weapons in some lockers, secured and slaved to the main-node of the plane. If it wouldn't have been for that, somebody would have shot something vital, and we all would've crashed.
The troll lady, Guai as I gathered, seems extremely strong, determined. Naive, not to say. Very green, which only makes her more dangerous. I hope her emotions won't get in our way, down in the Zone.
Oh and the street-sam, Hiro. Japanese, according to accent and shark-eyed face. Just as emotional as the troll, and just as dangerous.
And then the reason, both of the muscle-bags are so upset; the spell chucker. At least I assume he slings some mojo, the way he handled the assault on the plane.
Yes, the assault. Both the troll and the jappy attacked the mage. Apparently, he's accused of holding information, which the two want to squeeze out of him. What ever happened to a healthy conversation over a beer?
I even had to break into the planes node, unlock the locker with my stash and fly my newly modified Savelette Guardian up to control the scene.
Any-which-way, none of my biz. Hopefully they get over their over-wired, mojo-twisted egos and get this fucking job done.
July 1st, after a long flight, somewhere in Oklahoma
The mana-storming clouds in the distance are even more disturbing then I expected. Though, the Oni got us in. He seems to be as useful as I hoped, after I pulled his profile off of JackPoint.
Now, we are here. The Zone. Great, big mystery. Our only contact, a fixer by the name of Mercury, didn't help much, either. He sent us west.
Here we found a handful of shelters and a barn with the big, red R - standing for Resolve I'd guess - painted on it. Apparently a recruitment camp for the faction.
Shortly after we arrived, a group of anarchists attacked the camp from the north, and before I could even jump out of the truck, we already drove right towards them - slaughtering the guys.
Better them then us, I guess.
But the victory got us closer to a chum, named Rampage. He is the highest ranking Resolve-member here and surely the only one, that can help us out.
We talk in the morning, he said.
July 2nd, 1:54am
Frag.
Drek.
Something just touched my face.
I couldn't find a shelter, and the truck was filled with people already. So I crashed on the ground; my coat as blanket and my backpack as pillow.
Just after I managed to drift away into the land of dreams, something touched my fucking face. A soft stroke, gentle, intimate. I jumped up like a scared chicken and ... nothing. Most people here sleep. The truck is quiet. My cybereyes went to every spectrum of vision, but nothing is close enough to be able to touch me. Yet, I still feel its warmth on my cheek.
I filed it away as nerves and went back to sleep. Then, a sharp, high pitched howling arose in the distances. Not a wolf, or any kind of animal for all I know. Like it's calling for something. Something, close by.
Every hair on my body stands up and an electric shiver covers my skin. For a while, I scan through the camp carefully. My guts tell me that there is something hidden amongst us. Something is stalking through this camp, I'm sure. Something is observing us, and it loses patience with every living heartbeat.
I know this, though I don't know why I do.
Where are these thoughts coming from?
July 1st, way too early in the morning
Well, I've got a flight. Got a group, some guns and muscles and a so-it-seems good way into the Zone. More wrong I could be not.
After I arrived at the junkyard, a certain tension surrounded the plane and this group. I coulnd't help but notice that those runners aren't much of friends.
And what a glorious ensemble of professionals. The pilot, an Oni from the looks of it, is still the most normal; with his pale white skin and the fact that he is a technomancer. He ordered us to stash our weapons in some lockers, secured and slaved to the main-node of the plane. If it wouldn't have been for that, somebody would have shot something vital, and we all would've crashed.
The troll lady, Guai as I gathered, seems extremely strong, determined. Naive, not to say. Very green, which only makes her more dangerous. I hope her emotions won't get in our way, down in the Zone.
Oh and the street-sam, Hiro. Japanese, according to accent and shark-eyed face. Just as emotional as the troll, and just as dangerous.
And then the reason, both of the muscle-bags are so upset; the spell chucker. At least I assume he slings some mojo, the way he handled the assault on the plane.
Yes, the assault. Both the troll and the jappy attacked the mage. Apparently, he's accused of holding information, which the two want to squeeze out of him. What ever happened to a healthy conversation over a beer?
I even had to break into the planes node, unlock the locker with my stash and fly my newly modified Savelette Guardian up to control the scene.
Any-which-way, none of my biz. Hopefully they get over their over-wired, mojo-twisted egos and get this fucking job done.
July 1st, after a long flight, somewhere in Oklahoma
The mana-storming clouds in the distance are even more disturbing then I expected. Though, the Oni got us in. He seems to be as useful as I hoped, after I pulled his profile off of JackPoint.
Now, we are here. The Zone. Great, big mystery. Our only contact, a fixer by the name of Mercury, didn't help much, either. He sent us west.
Here we found a handful of shelters and a barn with the big, red R - standing for Resolve I'd guess - painted on it. Apparently a recruitment camp for the faction.
Shortly after we arrived, a group of anarchists attacked the camp from the north, and before I could even jump out of the truck, we already drove right towards them - slaughtering the guys.
Better them then us, I guess.
But the victory got us closer to a chum, named Rampage. He is the highest ranking Resolve-member here and surely the only one, that can help us out.
We talk in the morning, he said.
July 2nd, 1:54am
Frag.
Drek.
Something just touched my face.
I couldn't find a shelter, and the truck was filled with people already. So I crashed on the ground; my coat as blanket and my backpack as pillow.
Just after I managed to drift away into the land of dreams, something touched my fucking face. A soft stroke, gentle, intimate. I jumped up like a scared chicken and ... nothing. Most people here sleep. The truck is quiet. My cybereyes went to every spectrum of vision, but nothing is close enough to be able to touch me. Yet, I still feel its warmth on my cheek.
I filed it away as nerves and went back to sleep. Then, a sharp, high pitched howling arose in the distances. Not a wolf, or any kind of animal for all I know. Like it's calling for something. Something, close by.
Every hair on my body stands up and an electric shiver covers my skin. For a while, I scan through the camp carefully. My guts tell me that there is something hidden amongst us. Something is stalking through this camp, I'm sure. Something is observing us, and it loses patience with every living heartbeat.
I know this, though I don't know why I do.
Where are these thoughts coming from?