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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Countdown: 2060 (Shadowrun D20 Campaign; sorta updated 3/27)
- Thread starter Andrew D. Gable
- Start date
Andrew D. Gable
First Post
Horacio said:Hmmm, Las Vegas... I hope the poor runners won't wastetheir future payment in a casino
I'm sure they would, provided of course that they survive intact enough to do so. The Vegas of SR has new things to gamble on... not just casinos (like pitfights).
Little inside DM joke-thing in the last update: Eiji and Inoshiro, the two Japanese bodyguards. Their names are derived from Eiji Tsubarya and Inoshiro Honda, the FX guy and director, respectively, of Godzilla movies in their heyday of the 60s and 70s. I find that sort of pop-culture reference fits the somewhat ironic tone of Shadowrun.
Last edited:
Andrew D. Gable
First Post
Metus said:
There's several websites, but the one I'm mostly using is Grinning Cat's. Other than stuff like spells, totems, and all that, it's pretty easy to transfer most things. I've found that SR d20 tends to hold up well - it may seem to lose some of the "Shadowrun feel" in the transition, but if you're a DM really into the setting, it holds up well. Just be prepared for a somewhat different, more easily survivable game than Shadowrun usually is.
BTW - I find I can DM Shadowrun a lot better than DnD, even. I guess my love for the setting shows through.
Andrew D. Gable
First Post
Sept. 8, 2060
8:30 PM
The runners drove their van along the beginnings of the I-90, coming eventually to a roofed enclosure bridging the highway - the crossing into Salish-Shidhe, and strangely blocked. Five border guards milled about along the roadway, and a sixth guard had stationed himself in the crossing booth. One of them motioned to the runners to roll down the window.
"How long have you guys been in Seattle?"
"Few days," answered Ghost, who was driving. "Why, is there some problem?"
"I’ll need you to step out of the car, please."
"What is it?"
The guard rolled his eyes. "We’ve had reports of a low-key viral infection in Seattle. Please step out of the car."
"We’ve heard of no infection."
"I don’t know if it’s an accurate report or not. We’ve simply gotten the reports, sir. It’ll only take a few moments, we need to run some quick tests, and then you’ll be on your way. Ghost looked at the five rifle-toting guards behind this guy, and could see the faces of several more inside a building to their left. Rasta and Plunkett nodded, and the three runners pulled their van into a small lot and exited the vehicle.
"Thank you, sirs. As I said, this’ll just be a few moments. You’ll be on your way soon enough." He opened the door of the building and ushered them inside. "Wait here, we’ll be with you in just a moment." The guard slipped outside and shut the door. Rasta heard the barely audible click-thunk of a bolt being slid - they were locked in.
They looked out the bulletproof window to where the guard who had shown them in walked across the lot to meet the others. He was saying something - Plunkett’s amplifying cyberear picked up, "The UCAS Feds’ll be here shortly."
The ork winced. "They’re bringin’ in the Feds," he said. "We need to get out of here ‘fore that happens."
Ghost and Rasta nodded. All three of them split up and searched the building, Ghost eventually finding a locked door to the outside in one of the other rooms. He deftly used a telekinesis spell to pick the lock.
The three runners pushed open the door and found themselves in a parking lot - on the other side of the border from their van. "Only one thing to do," Rasta said, answering the unspoken question on their minds. And so over the border they went, guns blazing.
The Salish border guards weren’t pushovers - they were quick to return fire with their HK-227 rifles. Ghost sent a dart of fire hurtling towards one of the guards, who screamed in pain as his body was ignited. He ran towards the runners, Rasta blasting the burning man in the gut with his shotgun and sending two more slugs hurtling towards the guards. As Plunkett opened fire, three other guards - hardcore badasses, by the look of ‘em - came out of the forest on the other side of the road.
More fire flew from Ghost’s hands as the elf walked about with eyes closed, using a centering technique. Guards burned and died, lead flew, and in a matter of moments, all the guards lay dead. Rasta held his hand to a bleeding gunshot wound in his thigh. Plunkett ran over to the van and hurriedly retrieved the first-aid kit from under the seat. He slapped some medical patches onto the troll.
After a few moments of rest, the runners made their way to the van, Rasta limping along behind them. They had to get out of there before the Feds came… although they’d like to know just what was happening. They hightailed it out of the border crossing.
When they heard a woman’s voice shout, "Stop the vehicle!". Ghost looked back to see a squad of 10 or 12 agents at the border crossing, some 500 yards behind them. The shout again. The voice sounded as if the speaker was right on top of them, though none of the Feds were. Plunkett slammed on the brakes and pulled a U-turn.
One of the agents was running at them, some others jogging behind. Then it was to be seen the lead runner was a woman. Not just a woman, but so heavily cybered that every exposed surface, save her face, gleamed with chrome. And she’d just run 500 yards in a matter of seconds.
"Don’t bother trying to escape!" she shouted. "FBI!"
An identification badge was thrust in his face. AGENT DELLA COOPER, it read. "Step out of the car," she ordered. Plunkett did. Abruptly, he was pulled down to the ground and handcuffed. The other agents levelled their arms at the van, urging the other two to come out of the van, which they did as well. Soon all three, handcuffed, were led to the front of the van.
"Do you know this man?" Agent Cooper asked as she thrust a glossy file photo of an aged gentleman - Mr. Johnson - in front of Plunkett’s nose. "Do you?" she asked again when he paused, in a sterner tone.
"Yes," the ork replied. "He tried to contract us. But no dice. The job was too high-risk. What’s this all about?"
"Shut up. I’ll ask the questions here. What did he hire you to do?"
"He wanted us to knock somebody off, some guy named Ben Johnson. Indian-looking guy. But we said no."
The handcuffs were loosened. Cooper slammed the photo onto the hood of the van. "Who did he tell you he was?"
Rasta shook his head. "He didna tell us. Just said ‘is name was Mr. Johnson."
Plunkett continued. "Guys who contract us use that name a lot if they don’t want us to know who they are. Or who we’re working for. Now who’s this guy?"
"His name’s Karl Brackhaven," Cooper said. "You may recognize the name as he’s an important figure in Seattle finance. That and his son ran against Dunklezahn in ’56.
"By day, he runs a highly profitable investment firm in Seattle. But he has a double life. The other aspect, the one of interest to us, is that he’s known to be the head of the Seattle branch of Humanis."
Humanis was a big organization, very big, that made its name from hating metahumans. A descendant of the white-power and neo-Nazi groups common in Europe and America during the 20th Century. Humanis formed from a consolidation of many of these groups who in the post-Awakening world transferred their hatred to any non-humans. Humanis had some even more violent splinters, like Alamos 20K.
"All of which makes it unusual to say the least that he even approached you," Cooper went on. "Humanis makes no secret of their ‘humans first’ mentality. I’d watch your backs, if I had to take a guess Brackhaven sees this as a risk of some type that needs eliminated, and he picked you guys cause he wouldn’t feel bad if he lost you.
"Be on your way, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you."
The runners got in their van and thought for a good long while. Then they turned and pressed on towards Vegas.
8:30 PM
The runners drove their van along the beginnings of the I-90, coming eventually to a roofed enclosure bridging the highway - the crossing into Salish-Shidhe, and strangely blocked. Five border guards milled about along the roadway, and a sixth guard had stationed himself in the crossing booth. One of them motioned to the runners to roll down the window.
"How long have you guys been in Seattle?"
"Few days," answered Ghost, who was driving. "Why, is there some problem?"
"I’ll need you to step out of the car, please."
"What is it?"
The guard rolled his eyes. "We’ve had reports of a low-key viral infection in Seattle. Please step out of the car."
"We’ve heard of no infection."
"I don’t know if it’s an accurate report or not. We’ve simply gotten the reports, sir. It’ll only take a few moments, we need to run some quick tests, and then you’ll be on your way. Ghost looked at the five rifle-toting guards behind this guy, and could see the faces of several more inside a building to their left. Rasta and Plunkett nodded, and the three runners pulled their van into a small lot and exited the vehicle.
"Thank you, sirs. As I said, this’ll just be a few moments. You’ll be on your way soon enough." He opened the door of the building and ushered them inside. "Wait here, we’ll be with you in just a moment." The guard slipped outside and shut the door. Rasta heard the barely audible click-thunk of a bolt being slid - they were locked in.
They looked out the bulletproof window to where the guard who had shown them in walked across the lot to meet the others. He was saying something - Plunkett’s amplifying cyberear picked up, "The UCAS Feds’ll be here shortly."
The ork winced. "They’re bringin’ in the Feds," he said. "We need to get out of here ‘fore that happens."
Ghost and Rasta nodded. All three of them split up and searched the building, Ghost eventually finding a locked door to the outside in one of the other rooms. He deftly used a telekinesis spell to pick the lock.
The three runners pushed open the door and found themselves in a parking lot - on the other side of the border from their van. "Only one thing to do," Rasta said, answering the unspoken question on their minds. And so over the border they went, guns blazing.
The Salish border guards weren’t pushovers - they were quick to return fire with their HK-227 rifles. Ghost sent a dart of fire hurtling towards one of the guards, who screamed in pain as his body was ignited. He ran towards the runners, Rasta blasting the burning man in the gut with his shotgun and sending two more slugs hurtling towards the guards. As Plunkett opened fire, three other guards - hardcore badasses, by the look of ‘em - came out of the forest on the other side of the road.
More fire flew from Ghost’s hands as the elf walked about with eyes closed, using a centering technique. Guards burned and died, lead flew, and in a matter of moments, all the guards lay dead. Rasta held his hand to a bleeding gunshot wound in his thigh. Plunkett ran over to the van and hurriedly retrieved the first-aid kit from under the seat. He slapped some medical patches onto the troll.
After a few moments of rest, the runners made their way to the van, Rasta limping along behind them. They had to get out of there before the Feds came… although they’d like to know just what was happening. They hightailed it out of the border crossing.
When they heard a woman’s voice shout, "Stop the vehicle!". Ghost looked back to see a squad of 10 or 12 agents at the border crossing, some 500 yards behind them. The shout again. The voice sounded as if the speaker was right on top of them, though none of the Feds were. Plunkett slammed on the brakes and pulled a U-turn.
One of the agents was running at them, some others jogging behind. Then it was to be seen the lead runner was a woman. Not just a woman, but so heavily cybered that every exposed surface, save her face, gleamed with chrome. And she’d just run 500 yards in a matter of seconds.
"Don’t bother trying to escape!" she shouted. "FBI!"
An identification badge was thrust in his face. AGENT DELLA COOPER, it read. "Step out of the car," she ordered. Plunkett did. Abruptly, he was pulled down to the ground and handcuffed. The other agents levelled their arms at the van, urging the other two to come out of the van, which they did as well. Soon all three, handcuffed, were led to the front of the van.
"Do you know this man?" Agent Cooper asked as she thrust a glossy file photo of an aged gentleman - Mr. Johnson - in front of Plunkett’s nose. "Do you?" she asked again when he paused, in a sterner tone.
"Yes," the ork replied. "He tried to contract us. But no dice. The job was too high-risk. What’s this all about?"
"Shut up. I’ll ask the questions here. What did he hire you to do?"
"He wanted us to knock somebody off, some guy named Ben Johnson. Indian-looking guy. But we said no."
The handcuffs were loosened. Cooper slammed the photo onto the hood of the van. "Who did he tell you he was?"
Rasta shook his head. "He didna tell us. Just said ‘is name was Mr. Johnson."
Plunkett continued. "Guys who contract us use that name a lot if they don’t want us to know who they are. Or who we’re working for. Now who’s this guy?"
"His name’s Karl Brackhaven," Cooper said. "You may recognize the name as he’s an important figure in Seattle finance. That and his son ran against Dunklezahn in ’56.
"By day, he runs a highly profitable investment firm in Seattle. But he has a double life. The other aspect, the one of interest to us, is that he’s known to be the head of the Seattle branch of Humanis."
Humanis was a big organization, very big, that made its name from hating metahumans. A descendant of the white-power and neo-Nazi groups common in Europe and America during the 20th Century. Humanis formed from a consolidation of many of these groups who in the post-Awakening world transferred their hatred to any non-humans. Humanis had some even more violent splinters, like Alamos 20K.
"All of which makes it unusual to say the least that he even approached you," Cooper went on. "Humanis makes no secret of their ‘humans first’ mentality. I’d watch your backs, if I had to take a guess Brackhaven sees this as a risk of some type that needs eliminated, and he picked you guys cause he wouldn’t feel bad if he lost you.
"Be on your way, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you."
The runners got in their van and thought for a good long while. Then they turned and pressed on towards Vegas.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
At least the Feds are on their side, right?
hey, glad I found the story! I've never played S'run, but a friend of mine says it's to die for.
i'm interested in how deadly the game is for you guys. i really didn't like d20 modern or StarWars treatment of modern weapons. T20 with the lifeblood system works the best for me. what do you use?
my friend said that in S'run if you get caught out in the open...you become chunky salsa!
will that be mild, medium or hot!
hey, glad I found the story! I've never played S'run, but a friend of mine says it's to die for.
i'm interested in how deadly the game is for you guys. i really didn't like d20 modern or StarWars treatment of modern weapons. T20 with the lifeblood system works the best for me. what do you use?
my friend said that in S'run if you get caught out in the open...you become chunky salsa!
will that be mild, medium or hot!
Andrew D. Gable
First Post
Gaah! And wouldn't ya know it... the dreaded beast called DM and player burnout has once again reared its ugly head. And always when I'm in the midst of running a campaign which I'm really into (first it was COC, now this). *Sigh*. So...due to some nasty burnout, I believe I'm going to be resigned to placing this campaign on hold... and as we all know, a camapign on hold is a campaign never picked back up. *Sigh*.
You know, if I could ever actually finish a storyhour, I'd like it.
You know, if I could ever actually finish a storyhour, I'd like it.