View Full Version : Welcome to Seattle, 2071: A Campaign Journal

2009-11-06, 10:49 PM
This is the thread for my Campaign Journal for my pbp Shadowrun game via Skype. Feel free to comment, post ideas, or what ever.

2009-11-06, 10:54 PM
Er, may wish to put this in the Forum Games section.

2009-11-06, 11:09 PM
No, this is not where the play by post is at. This is just the journal log.

Was told this is the right forum for it.

2009-11-06, 11:17 PM
Oh, then you might want to edit [Campaign Journal] into the thread title (edit the original post) to avoid confusion.

2009-11-06, 11:54 PM
Oh, then you might want to edit [Campaign Journal] into the thread title (edit the original post) to avoid confusion.

Aaaaand done. Thanks guys.

2009-11-06, 11:57 PM
What sort of motley crew do you have running this round?

2009-11-07, 04:29 AM
One of everything, although a cyber street sam is missing.

Got an adept, hacker/rigger, Face, and cyber - mage. Have something called "Ork mercenary", but we still need to hammer out details. Hopefully he will fill the Street Sam role.

Edit: 11/11/2009, scratch that, Street Sam is accounted for.

So far, the team is working together pretty good.

Edit: 11/12/2009:
Spoiler tags put in to make scrolling easier.

Edit: 12/03/2009:
Updated the logs since I can now.

2009-11-07, 04:33 AM
And now, for the intro post:

Prelude: A diamond in the dump.

Seattle, UCAS, December 22nd, 2070

Jamming his finger into his mouth, Kerwin Loomis tasted the metallic tang of blood mixed with sweat and grime. He wondered if this whole thing was worth it. Kerwin slumped back, running a hand back across his sweaty, bald head. He stank, he needed a good whiskey—not that synthahol crap—and he was seriously beginning to doubt that there was anything here worth his while.

At this point, it was probably a waste to have spent the cred on a plane ticket to paw through Dad’s collection of crap before it all got hauled off to the dump. It wasn’t like the two of them had gotten along or anything. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kerwin was K-Spot’s only son, he doubted he’d have even gotten the formal email from the lawyer announcing Dad’s death and informing him that he, Kerwin, had been left everything.

This large storage locker was all that remained of dear old Dad, known to the entertainment world as Clarence “K-Spot” Loomis, mid-level purveyor of mostly two-bit acts that everybody with any sense had forgotten about twenty years ago. Naturally, since Dad had been about as good with cred as Kerwin himself was, “everything” amounted to some clothes, a few random bits of furniture and household appliances, two ratty old guitars, a nonfunctional pre-2055 cyberdeck, and the key to the storage locker.

From the look of things, the place hadn’t been opened in a good ten years. The locker company was making noises about dumping everything in the street if the last three months’ back rent wasn’t paid, and since Kerwin didn’t want to pay it, here he was to grab any good stuff that might be hanging around. The hell with the rest of it—let them dump it. It would save him the trouble, and it would serve his old coot of a father right.

He didn’t quite want to admit it to himself, but he had a reason for pulling open carton after carton of junk. It was probably just another fib, but his dad had mentioned it enough times when Kerwin was growing up that he had to believe that it might just possibly be true. The faint chance that it might be somewhere in the locker was what kept Kerwin going long after he’d normally have given up the job in favor of getting good and drunk (and maybe even laid, if he was really lucky).

It sure as hell hadn’t been in the apartment—Kerwin had made sure of that, going through every drawer, every possible hiding place, even looking under the smelly old carpets before he’d handed the key back to the landlord. No, if Dad still had it (and hadn’t sold it to finance any of his sleazy habits), it would be here. Kerwin was going to keep looking until he either found it or was convinced that it wasn’t here. He had a feeling that if Dad had sold it, he’d have heard about it. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could keep quiet.

“Come on, you old bastard,” he muttered to himself. “You better not have been lying, all those times you ran your mouth about this thing. Don’t make me sift through all of this crap for nothing!” He savagely threw yet another box full of junk into one of the locker’s walls, where it burst and scattered its contents all over the floor. He was sullenly about to move on to the next one when he spotted a bulky cream-colored envelope in the midst of the spilled junk. He’d been so impatient he nearly missed it going through the box, hidden as it was inside a folder with some other old papers.

Something was written on the envelope. He kicked his way through the trash-drifts and snatched it up, peering at it in the grimy overhead light from the single naked bulb. “To K-Spot,” it said in a flowing, somewhat old-fashioned hand. “Enjoy these with my gratitude.” It was signed, “JB.”

Kerwin held the envelope in front of him, just looking at it with wide eyes and open mouth for several seconds. Then, his body seized with a kind of jerking urgency, he fell back into his chair, ripped open the envelope, and allowed the contents to drop into his lap. He stared at the old-style optical disk in its paper slipcover, entranced as the quivering light made dancing rainbows on its silvery surface. Written on it in the same handwriting as the outside of the envelope was:

“Carrion Sessions, ’48, JB. For enlightenment, seek out absent friends.”

“Holy ****,” Kerwin breathed, hardly daring to believe his sudden change in luck. “This is it!” Letting his breath out slowly, he slumped back, clutching the precious disk. His eyes were already beginning to gleam with the light of avarice, but he knew he had to be careful. He sat abruptly upright, realizing he was alone in the storage building and it was getting late. His plane
back to Seattle was due to leave tomorrow morning; the sooner he was packed up and on it, the better. He slipped the disk inside his jacket, kicked the boxes back inside, and closed and locked the door. The devil rats could have the rest, as far as he was concerned. He had what he’d come for—old Dad had come through for him in death as he never had in life.

But he’d have to be careful … very careful. If he didn’t handle this just right, he was likely to lose his prize. He didn’t even consider that it might also cost him his life.

Seattle, UCAS, January 4th, 2071, 9:35 AM.

The rain and the ash and the acid are mixing it up today. It is rather cold today too... so the wet, acidic, slightly toxic goo that makes up Seattle's rain fall is also slick as it is freezing too. The sun should... oh, wait, what sun. The damn clouds never move out of the way, either.

The news feeds are rather boring too... "Technomancers are evil!" "Mandatory Registration for Technomancers and Virtual Kinetics!" "In a press release today, Governor Brackhaven released his picks for his cabinet...." "Lone Star arrested 17 in a raid..." "blah blah blickety blah..."

Frankly, its hard to decide to why you do get out of bed. The fusion plants are working overtime to meet the demands of rich needy customers who want to stay warm, so the rest of suburbia get by on what ever is left over, which aint much...

From the comfort of [the players] toasty bed, piled high with micro fusion powered heated blankets your commlink chirps up...

2009-11-08, 02:03 AM
*A side note, to those runners that like music.*

Seattle, UCAS, January 4th, 2071, 11:55AM
K A S F live matrix feed:
In a surprising, but not unwanted move, Nabo, the latest Ork Goblin Rocker to come shooting out of Redmond barrens announced his intention of hosting a free concert in 3 days, in the Touristville neighborhood of the Redmond Barrens.

When asked why such a show in a dangerous area, a press agent for the new star had this to say:

"Nabo is born and bred from the hood. He wanted to give back to the people who made him what he is today, and to let them know he hasn't forgotten his roots. In fact we are scheduling several stops in the Seattle area, calling it "Nabo's Roots Tour". And of course, the concerts are free."

When asked about security, he had this to say:

"We are not stupid, and we intend to hire extra security staff for the tour. But for now, we discussing this behind closed doors."

The press agent had nothing further to add after that brief statement.

Would you like to know more?
<Nabo>___<Goblin Rockers>___<Roots Tour>___<KASF>___<Redmond Barrens>___<Horizon Media>

2009-11-09, 09:11 AM
(Story update: 11/9/2009)

Seattle, UCAS, January 5th, 2:35 AM, 2071

The runners have met, and are going to meet with the J in two days. They met at a hangout of the face, man by the name of Mark Boers, which is a bar called "Sharkie's" just on the safe side of Redmond, in the Touristville area.

They met, had a few drinks, laughed, sized each other up, and then went their separate ways, meeting back up in two days at the meet with the J.

More on that later.

2009-11-11, 07:49 PM
(Story update: 11/9/2009)

Seattle, UCAS, January 7th, 8:35 PM, 2071

Club Infinity!

Of the bright new stars of Seattle nightlife, Infinity features state of-
the-art holographic and sonic projection systems, known for its spectacular light shows, images, and music. The club’s design is meant to enhance its appeal, with plenty of gentle curves, and cunning use of dark glass and mirrors to give you the feel of near-infinite space, even with the biggest crowds. Whatever night you choose to visit, you are virtually guaranteed to see some of the best musical and dance acts in the Metroplex.

Before you even schmooze past the formidable pair of troll bouncers at the door, you can hear and feel the pounding beats of the latest club hits. Once you’re inside, the bass line thrums through the walls and floor like a giant subsonic heartbeat, making it difficult even to breathe out of time with the music. All around, people dressed in the latest club wear fashions writhe and gyrate on the dance floor, with holographic images skittering over and above the moving display and adding to the sensory overload.

When you subscribe your PAN to the club’s network, things get even more chaotic; Dozens of messages and signs flash across your vision, everything from mundane AROs, like directions to the restrooms and a list of the bar specials, to private messages from clubbers who want to get to know you better. Adjusting your commlink’s settings to filter out unwanted information, you’re glad that you and your team can use your links to communicate, since you sure aren’t going to hear anything audibly over the music.

You spot the elf bartender the message mentioned immediately— she’s the only woman back there, and she’s a beauty.

2009-11-11, 10:58 PM
*Meanwhile, in the hotel across the street.....*

Hotel Chadwick, 10:07am
The two men had arrived at the hotel, reserving a room with a good overlook of Club Infinity. They had set up in the room, then ordered a few drinks to take the edge off. The complementary coffee maker had been set up to start at 7pm, so they could caffeine up before the meet. "Lock & Key", the team hacker, made a note to disable the wireless before the meet.

"Rook", the ex-Ranger turned Shadowrunner, finished off the Azteka beer, then began to dig around his over-sized suitcase. The T-shirts and vending flats where tossed out, and peices of a massive rifle came out.

Rook began to lovingly reassemble a Barrett Model 121 Sniper rifle. Slowly, took out the firing mechanism and put it on the bed. Then he took out the stock. He was about to attach the stock when a clip caught on his overcoat.

This caused the stock to get pulled out of his grip. Reacting, he reached down to catch the metal stock, but the firing bolt caught on his coat, too. What weird luck he was having. However, when the bolt pulled back, a 12.75mm FMJ sabot popped out and went flying across the room. It hit with a thud! against the wall, then clinked against the ground.

Rook's eyes went silver dollars as this happened, and L&K turned to see a shiny new, and very large, bullet laying on the floor. As luck would have it, the massive cartridge did not fire.

L&K let out a long breath. "Dude, watch what you are doing. If we shoot someone now, we lose our position. Or my life. I would really prefer to keep that," he said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

The surge of adrenaline sent shakes to Rook's hands, and he put the rifle bits down, and went to the bathroom. While he was in there, he put some cold water on his face, and calmed down.

L&K decided to put the massive rifle together himself. He was familiar with the rifle, but was having a hard time with the electronics and remembering what went where. Rook came out of the bathroom and lent a hand; they finished putting the rifle back together.

At the correct time, Rook took up a firing position to cover the front of the club. He scanned around, spotting "Mark" and "Wolf" right on rue. Slowly, he scanned the front of the building looking for the rest of the team.... (to be continued)

((Today's lesson: Dice are a harsh mistress. Roll untrained skill checks (Armorer) at your own risk.))

2009-11-13, 12:48 AM
Seattle, UCAS, January 7th, 9:01 PM, 2071

Inside Club Infinity, secure room:

Mark: *I nod my thanks to her and then write a text which I send to the rest of the team:* "We are about to go and meet Mr. J, but before we go need to know all of you are in your positions and ready, so report in."

Rook: I mouth words quietly, speaking into my subvocal mic. "Rook here. I'm in position."

Nine: "This is Nine, ready." Nine rubs his temples. "Ugh, why didn't I get sound-filters along with the rest of my headware..."

Zero: *I enter the club about this time. I am in club clothes, dancing with the beat. No weapons and just trying to look normal. I will grab a drink and set myself up so I can observe anyone coming and going out of the room that Argent is going into. I subvocal: "Zero is good to go"

L&K: "Lock & Key here, eyes are a go"

Wolf: "Wolf is here and has your back Argent."

Mark: *As Mark moves to the back room, he texts Wolf: "Record the meet please." When he reaches the door he knocks twice.

Wolf: Wolf follows Mark to the door and secures his shades on his face to hide his cybereyes. He texts back, "I am recording as we speak."

GM: *As you knock on the door, you find that it is already open, and you see a very well dressed troll sitting at a table. A white noise generator sits on the table humming.*

"Yes, do enter." he says, as he waves you in. He has a Corona sitting in front of him, and a half empty glass of the bubbly golden brew in hand.*

Mark: Mark moves to sit on the chair directly across from the troll. Sitting down he says: "Greetings. I am Mark Bores, and this is one of my associates. You must be Mr. Johnson."

The Troll goes on, "Quite so," he says, as he takes a sip of the golden bubbly. "Can I get you guys something to take the edge off? My treat." he offers.

Wolf: Wolf follows Mark into the room, scanning and recording every aspect of the room with his cybereye before settling on the troll, making sure to take in every feature for future reference.

Mark: "Thank you, a Corona will do nicely."

GM: *As soon as Wolf enters, the door to the room closes. The difference in the sound is immense. You cannot hear anything inside the room, other than the present company. Even the bass is not heard nor felt in here.*

*For those with a live wireless feed, it is cut, as Wi-Fi mesh blockers are in effect. Mr Johnson presses a button on the wall, and a waiter comes in taking a order for the 3 Coronas. She comes back quickly, serves the 3 with a frosted mug (one troll sized), and then quickly leaves.*

The three of you make small talk until she does leave ("The weather is really ****ty this week eh? All that frozen acid rain plays hell on my skin.") then he gets to business.*

"So, about the job. What I need is a simple data retrieval."

Mark: Taking a few swallows of beer, Mark says: "Go on."

GM: *gulp* *sets down glass*

Mark: Mark waits politely for him to start talking.

GM: “Someone has stolen an object from the people I represent. We would like to get it back quickly, as we have reason to believe that this person is trying to sell it.

What you’re looking for is some music-related data that’s important to my employer’s business. We don’t know who stole it—my employer’s home was broken into a couple of days ago, and the disk was taken along with some other items in which we have no particular interest.

Your best bet is probably to keep your ears open to whatever channels you think might be appropriate—if the thief is going to sell it, word will have to get out that it’s available.

The object storing the data is an old-style optical disk. We want both disk and data returned, in the eventuality that the one no longer resides on the other. In case it’s not clear, my employers don’t want the disk’s data getting into the hands of anyone but themselves, so if the data gets out, we expect you to track down and eliminate any copies.

Once you’ve located it, the second part of the job is to track down the person who’s offering it for sale—probably not the same person who’s offering the information, since the thief will probably be working through intermediaries—and get the disk back.

You can do this in whatever way you see fit: if you can get it back by making an offer for it, my employers can cover the arrangement and take care of getting my money back later.

If you’d prefer something a little more larcenous, that’s fine too. Just do it as quickly as possible and make sure the disk is not harmed. We are also looking for discretion. A trail of bodies will not be needed to recover the disk.

I’m authorized to offer your team 10,000¥ for the job, half up front and half upon the return of the disk to me. Do we have a deal?”

Mark: Mark considers this for a few moments and then asks: "Could you be more specific? It might be easier to track this disk, if we knew what sort of data is on it."

GM: "Music tracks, to my knowledge. Rare stuff. Beyond that, I am not sure."

Mark: "Before we agree to anything, I am going to provide you with some advice. Generally, in jobs like this, a Mr. Johnson gets the team to agree to it before giving out the data. Especially when the data involves an item that is very valuable, and can be sold to other interested parties. Some runner teams might just thank you for your time, and walk out, trying to find the disk on their own, hoping for a better price." Mark says while watching the troll for any reactions. "Of course We are not going to do that." Mark says with a smile.

GM: "Well that's good then." *The troll seems not to be moved by the little lecture, just sipping his beer.*

Mark: "Now that that is out of the way, lets get down to the negotiations. A sum 10,000 nuyen seems a tad small for a team of 6 experienced shadowrunners."

GM: "6? Do you feel that 6 is needed for this kind of task?"

Mark: "That is the team. We work together and we work well, and are prepared for any eventuality that might occur. Think of it this way, you do not pay for quantity, you pay for quality."

GM: "Oh? And how much 'quality' are we expecting here?"

Mark: "For such quality personnel, a price of 45,000 nuyen is not out of the question."

GM:*His eyes narrow and stares at you for a bit.....* "Well... 7500 a head is a bit much I think. Hows... 5 ahead sound?"

Mark: "Agreed. 5000 now, 25k apon completion." Mark holds out his hand for a handshake.

GM: "I can live with that." *he takes your hand, careful not crush it under his troll stregnth.* "Let me make those funds for you."
*He transfers the funds to a cert cred stick, then hands it to Mark.*

Makr: As he is preparing the funds, Mark asks: "Will the number you gave us be valid when we want to contact you?"

GM:"Yes of course. If it changes, I will send you a new number to the one I contacted you at, though I don't foresee that happening."

Rook: Across the street, staring through the lens of his rifle's scope, Rook adjusts himself minutely. He was bored, but that was nothing new. He was worried, though; That move earlier, with the shell...it wasn't like him. He idly wondered if the old squad's bad luck was catching up to him.

Mark: Mark takes the credstick. "All right. Now if you will excuse us, I believe we have some work to do. You shall be hearing from us soon."

Mark: *Then he nods once more to the troll and leaves the room.*

Wolf: With a nod to the troll Wolf follows Mark out, leaving his corona untouched.

GM: Before you leave, the troll calls after you. "I would like an update every two days, if that can be arranged. I will be following up on you as you go."

Mark: "All right. I will be contacting you in two days then, unless we retrieve your data sooner."

GM: "Fine by me. I can drink to that!" *which he does, finishing his Frosted mug.*

Mark: *Mark will toast him with his drink, and finish it as well.*

Wolf: As soon as he leaves the shielded room Wolf sends the video from the meet to the rest of the crew.

GM (not as the troll): *The meeting goes off with out a hitch, and you guys leave the room. Wolf punches through the AR interference and broadcasts the meeting to the team.*

Mark: After Mark is out of the club he will go to the hotel room. Once everyone has gathered: "Ok, first part is done. Lock how are your efforts to keep tabs on our Mr. J? Can you manage to ID him, with the footage from Wolf?"

Wolf: Before heading to the hotel room Wolf makes a stop at his bike to pick up his light pistol, his stun gun, and a couple more knives. Then he makes his way to the meeting point.

Mark: "For the disk I will start checking my contacts, see if they heard anything about someone moving some music recordings. Maybe those better versed then me can scour the Matrix for clues as well?"

Zero: Zero is waiting a half hour before rolling out. I want to see if anyone else is meeting with the Johnson. (Which there wasn't) I will keep in the loop with my sub vocal and pan. If I don't see anything odd I will roll back to the hotel room. (which he does)

GM: *The J leaves a little after Mark does. He heads down the road.*

Zero: Then I will roll out to the room and report that also.

*Everyone is now in the hotel room. The coffee maker is on and running, keeping the cold runners warm. L&K has secured the room with a white noise maker, killed all of the RFID tags in the surrounding room, stuck a vibrator on the windows (which kills Laser Mikes) and sprayed FAB on the walls to keep out the astral peeping toms.

Some pizza boxes are on the counter. Nothing says home like cold pizza and warm coffee.*

2009-11-13, 12:52 AM
Damn, rereading our session gets makes me realize how paranoid we really are. And none of us took that quality.:smallfrown:

2009-11-13, 12:54 AM
Paranoid? I call it clever role playing.

2009-11-13, 02:29 AM
Thanks, Slade. =) At least the Mr. J seems to appreciate our level of caution; The pay is quite good, considering. Of course, all thanks to Mr. Argent.

2009-11-17, 03:39 AM
Seattle, UCAS, January 9th, 9:35 PM

Well, the party scoped out the warehouse, enjoyed Nabo's music.

They also enjoyed the commlink, which Nabo's homies were quick to...

hey what is that chick wearing?! Holy sh*t man, she hot!! Hey baby....

One quick palming check and no bullets fired later, the party sneaked out of the warehouse with no one the wiser.

They decided to go to the stuffer shack and hit up the Doritos and Brawndo, while they checked the gold plated commlink.

Inside, they found that Nabo's commlink travel light (few common use programs, some rough cut songs he was putting together, a sex trid (because all real playah's have one), and... and expense account. With the access codes....

2009-11-17, 06:53 AM
The phys adept and the street sam just made a bet who will geek more dudes. Which given the current lack of things to shoot at makes me worried that they might start creating opportunities.

Note to self: don't let bored killing machines drink Brawndo (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tbxq0IDqD04).

2009-11-17, 02:00 PM
Come on, we will only kill them a little.

2009-11-17, 02:12 PM
Damn, rereading our session gets makes me realize how paranoid we really are. And none of us took that quality.:smallfrown:

There is no such thing a paranoia in shadowrun.

2009-11-19, 01:16 AM
Come on, we will only kill them a little.

Is that like being sorta pregnant?

Anyways, so to update the merry band of liars, hackers, thieves, witches, and killers.... in a spoiler package....

The runners plundered Nabo's link like any good band of crooks would. They discovered the seller of the disk was a Dwarven Hacker named Zipper, and that she hangs out at a bar called the Cathode Glow.

Showing up and "persuading" her to part with the info, they learned that real seller is a human by the name of Kerwin Loomis. And that he lives in the Redmond Barrens (and not the good part, either) and runs a "bar" by the name of the Coda.

Showing up in a part of town that amounts to a DMZ on a bad day, the crew realized that they are walking into a death trap, since some of them know about the entertaining "tourist traps" of the barrens, like the charnel houses, the drug dens, the ghoul warrens, cat houses, and of course, the prisons.

Can't forget the prisons.

Anyways, the "bar", if you want to call it that, looks like a house that even a crack dealer would say "HELL NO" to. Holes in every flat surface of the place, piss poor lighting, water pipes that have been dry, or non-existent, since crash 1.0, bathrooms (and main rooms) that smell like a slaughterhouse on a sunny afternoon, and so on and so forth.

The occupants are not much better (or cleaner). The 12 of them, aside from Loomis, who is upstairs, consist of orks and trolls that look like hardcore Mad Max refugees on a bad day. But all is not lost; since they are gang bangers, at least they all match in color scheme.

And these nice-looking, handsome, polite, bundles of joy are playing pool on a table that has color stains of various dubious origins. Each is armed to the teeth with various pistols of the Light, Heavy, and Machine variety, a few shotguns that look like they might explode if used, and various sharp, blunt, choppy, stabby, slashy, things that probably have been used, as early as just that morning.

In short, this place is a real **** hole.

Anyways, the boys set up a perimeter (thumbs up!) and secure the area, as best 6 guys armed to teeth with fully automatic weapons and explosives (and an air spirit!) can do, in a third world country full of people that have not real food in a year. And that is where we left off...

2009-11-24, 11:52 PM
Seattle, UCAS, January 12th, 2071

So, the runners are awaiting the arrival of Kerwin Loomis, when he goes running out the back, giving himself a sprained ankle in the process.

A blazing firefight erupts when another runner team tries to take Kerwin, but despite a few injuries, the team comes out of it, alive. Then they find the disk.

Then they take Kerwin to a safe spot while they figure out what was on the disk. Leave the poor dude in the ice cold van while they figure this out, he almost dies from Hypothermia, since they left him out there overnight.

They learn the disk's origins (see the first post) then give him some cash to GTFO and take the disk from him. Now they are looking for Carrion Studios...

2009-11-26, 11:42 AM
An update on our in game betting. My character (the face) joined the game, and the other participants allowed me to get kills by "facing" NPCs into what we want done. Thus netting me 3 "kills".

The end result after the junkyard fight (where my character didn't shoot or get shot at); is 3-2-2 in favor of the Face. Can the Face win the bet with a chromed up Street Sammy and a enhanced adept? Will the game escalate into needless violence? Can the Face prove that the pen is mightier then the sword? Stayed tuned to see the thrilling conclusion, same Face time, same Face channel.

2009-12-06, 04:49 AM
Quickie Update:

A few days (and a dose of hypothermia) later, they find Carrion, though now it is a real shady operation. And we got to watch the face make a total ass of himself, despite the player RPing his character excellently...

He rolled 24 dice (12d6 twice, using edge) and got only 4 suxx. I even took mercy on him, and let him roll again, and it was still sucky. Sometimes the dice are a REAL HARSH MISTRESS. Oh yea, already said that once. Still, out of 36 dice, he should have ~ 9 suxx, not 5. Sheeeeeeesh....

Will edit this post all nice an proper when we get further into it. See ya round.
-Slade, ST for Welcome to Seattle.

2010-01-13, 04:28 PM
My international Runners had to break over Christmas and New Years, and now we are waiting for everyone to get back and report in, to make sure everyone is present. Data in hand, the runners are now meeting Jetblack's old Drum Tech.

What a treat.

2010-08-06, 04:26 PM
Slade, if you see this, my computer broke and I lost Skype (and internet) for a while. Still can't find your info, so just letting you know I didn't skip town. =)