Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 06:10 PM, said:
It is Night 1. 24 hours remaining
Players still alive: Anomandaris, Barghast, D'riss, Emurlahn, Galain, Gamelon, Hood's Path, Kaschan, Liosan, Meanas, Mockra, Omtose, Ruse, Silchas Ruin, Spite, Tulas Shorn
~~
A young woman crosses the street, her red hair shining in the twilight. On a rooftop, a man dark blue coveralls aims a Dragunov sniper rifle, serial number filed away. Patiently, he aims for her forehead, when all of a sudden, his heart catches in his throat at her stunning beauty, making him hesitate. She turns around a corner, and he lowers the gun. Next time, she will not be so lucky, he vows.
~~
She stretched her legs, carefully running a ladyshave over them. A long bath, then off to bed early was her plan for the night - new opportunities would come during the day. The door was cleverly guarded with a blinding light - anyone opening the door would turn it on and be staggered by its sudden flare, giving her time to employ her small handgun. Moreover, in the bed was nothing but a heap of clothes - she had made her bed on the tiles of the bathroom.
~~
He waited patiently, back against the wall, his dark skin and black clothing protecting him well enough to his own judgment from the light. The woman he had been following was slight and would be easily strangled. He waited for her to emerge from the chinese takeaway she entered five minutes ago, and when he saw a glimpse of long blond hair, he rushed her, all 2 meters and ninety kilos stretched out. She spun faster than he thought she would, planting a knee against his nose, then turning and running like a well-trained athlete. Prone on the ground, nose bleeding, he could only watch her. The smell of noodles next to his face did nothing for his mood.
The 1st I think is either a BP or failed vig. Also, I think it's fairly safe to assume that the ostensible killer was Russian - no other nation among our nationalities uses the Dragunov in standard combat.
The 2nd - maybe a protection against NKs if a NA is not undertaken?
The 3rd is, again, either a BP or failed vig, I would think.
Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 06:39 PM, said:
"I'm sure you and I can come to an agreement," the man with the grey hair said, leaning back in his rocking chair. The radio on the window sill softly played a classic by the Buena Vista Social Club.
"I could use a holiday with undeterminable length," the man with the weathered face and the half-closed eyes replied, toying with the dogtag around his neck.
"Of course, but there is something you should do for us first."
"No rewards without efforts," the other agreed.
"Betray your country for our cause."
"I figured, but wanted to be sure. Go fuck yourself. Next time I see you, you're dead."
~~~
Out of the jungle, about six miles from Citte Anaranjado, the capitol city of Isla Verdia, a man came, radio slung over his back, minigun in hand, Irish ancestry visible through the lovely red sunburn the day in the bush had caused him. Protocol demanded proper entrenchment, and he found it in a nearby deserted shack.
"Delta's position is secure for now, ready for action," he reported.
The 1st is I think a failed recruitment of an American because of the dogtags. Which makes the scum that much more dangerous if they can recruit non-scum to their cause as symps or even full-blown scum.
The 2nd is obviously some sort of American action. Not sure what it could be though.
Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 06:53 PM, said:
A dark bar in Citte Anaranjado. At the bar, a narrow-eyed man with violence written in every single wrinkle of his weathered face. A woman enters, business outfit immaculate, probably designer stuff. She sits next to him at the bar. They drink in silence, she slowly, he with abandon. Finally, she looks at him, raises an eyebrow.
"Take your business elsewhere, woman. I'm not interested in anything you may say, turned an offer for a fucking long vacation down already, and as cute as you are, there's nothing you can do that will make you more appealing than a life of quiet to me."
She exits the bar, hours lost.
~~
He enters the garage. There she is: ripe, sleek and fast. A beauty, a wonder on this god-forsaken island. The varnish isn't all that, though. Few understand his passion for speed, or his choice for a car as his weapon of choice, but he is comforted by te sense of safety a beastly engine, bulletproof windows and some on board gadgets grant. Soon, he will drive, but not tonight.
Another failed recruitment I think. Of the same person, looks like. That might mean that among the factions there is one player that can recruit once per night or once per game.
This looks to me like a BP that is available for one night only. Bulletproof windows? Seems almost straightforward. Could be a vehicle for vigging/NK'ing that grants you a BP for that particular night.
Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 07:03 PM, said:
"Fuck you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said fuck you, pretty boy."
The man with the long hair and hispanic features frowned. He knew he looked like an improved version of Antonio Banderas with blue eyes, but while many men were envious of it and would love to mar his face with a few unsightly scars, few dared to take him on - he had the easy stance of a martial artist.
"Seems to me you're looking for a fight, big man," he said, removing one hand from his trouser pocket, bringing up a cigarette. He looked at the giant in front of him. Bulky, covered in tattoos extending all the way to his hands, peeping from under the tasteless red shirt. Blond crew cut, small brown pig eyes glittering with malice.
The giant moved faster than he could anticipate, grabbing him by the balls, smashing an elbow into his arm.
"I said: fuck you." the guy snarled, then headbutted him on the nose, which snapped. The brute left him lying on the street, in what the Hispanic man saw as a lesson in humility.
Guard maybe?
Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 08:18 PM, said:
The man in the dark blue coveralls approached the van he had put in the shadow of an alley. He swung the door open, lifted the shotgun seat, and stored the Dragunov rifle.
he started as someone tapped him on the shoulder, and was greeted by the sight of a Greta Garbo in her prime look alike, complete with a mazy black veil covering her eyes.
"I so like dangerous men," she said. "and if you're done with your mischief for the night, would you mind giving me a lift?"
Beneath the mask, the man smiled.
Lover connection?
I'm also seeing a connection with veils. There have been a few players with veils on, male and female. It may be indicative of nationality or action.
Path-Shaper, on 22 September 2009 - 08:23 PM, said:
The woman in the business suit sauntered through the street, to all appearances pleasantly buzzed with drink. At the door of a non-descript house, she paused, then knocked in a pattern that could only be a code. She was greeted by four hired carpenters and an electrician, who mutely held up their hands asking for pay.
She smiled, handed out a few dollar bills, and watched them leave. She then spoke into a phone, and a van drove in, seemingly just another run down transport, but on the inside, a mobile communications base. It also contained all the equipment to turn the warehouse into a fortress.
No idea.
Path-Shaper, on 23 September 2009 - 02:44 AM, said:
She slunk slowly out of the shadows. Her willowy frame encased in its skin-tight dark leathers moved easily onto the street. She looked straight ahead as she approached her destination. It was tall, far taller than most in this district. They usually were tall, of course. That was part of the thrill.
She scaled it swiftly. If someone had watched her, it would not have been a stretch to say she made love to the wall as she scaled it. She purred to herself with a small laugh when she reached the penthouse patio door, marveling her skills. Nobody was home, of course, and she was certain there was some unopened champagne inside, just waiting to be consumed.
She had delivered it.
It would be a quiet night, but that was enough for her.
No idea. Infiltration? Finder action? Not entirely sure.
Path-Shaper, on 23 September 2009 - 04:00 AM, said:
The man lay low underneath the brush. He had awakened a few hours ago and prepared head to the designated point, but something in the air didn't smell right, however, and grumbling, he decided to stay put.
~~
He looked over the paperwork in his hand, casually thumbing the pages in the middle of the conversation.
"Yes, of course. I'm well aware of the significance here. That's why you brought me in, isn't it?" He smiled that sheepish smile that made him look 10 years younger and stood up.
"Right then, I have some reading to do."
The first one might be a guard? Not sure.
Path-Shaper, on 23 September 2009 - 04:48 AM, said:
"Of course... I'll be there at 8 sharp, looking sharp... mkay, bye."
He chuckled softly, to himself, trying to work out the mental math. He'd have to keep it all straight somehow.
~~
He stood up, groaning slightly. It had been a damned long night and he was pretty sure there were going to be a lot more to follow, but he wasn't about to get stymied now by a little fatigue. The man he had been waiting for had just walked in and sat down, ordering a brew.
He walked over the bar and sat next to the behemoth of a man. Looking to break the ice, he said, "So how about those shanties? Looks like a mess for people to live in, right?"
The larger man didn't respond, but calmly drank his beer.
The veteran spoke again. "Hell, it's a wonder they don't all have staph, living in their own filth. Can you be--" but he was stopped short when the larger man turned and spit a large mass of phlegm right on the ground between the two of them. The gesture was not subtle.
Sighing, the grizzled man stood up and tapped the larger man on the shoulder. "Hey buddy... I have a message for you..." The larger man didn't immediately turn around, but slowly stood up, his entire frame slightly dwarfing his counterpart.
Then, with sudden quickness, he spun with a haymaker aimed right at the chatty man's jaw. But the scrapper had already ducked, prepared for such a reaction. He came up from his crouch with a vicious uppercut so hard you could almost hear 'SHOR-YU-KEN' escape his mouth. The large man lay out on the floor, gasping for air. He'd also had a rough night.
"Buddy, like I said... those shanties are a mess. Now clean yourself up." He tossed a bar towel onto the supine man. "And stay away from you-know-what."
He walked out of the bar.
Communicating with another faction? There may be an ability that allows you to communicate with whichever player, and impart a message.
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