View Full Version : The Big Easy: A Shadowrun Campaign Journal

2016-01-26, 05:02 AM
Four people walked into the bar that night. The Voodoo Doll Lounge, it was called. The neon sign featuring a voodoo doll being repetitively stabbed by a buzzing needle of white neon tubes was decidedly unsubtle about it.

The four people in question were sat down in chairs across from the man who had summoned them, and surrounded by gangers who owed him their lives and loyalty.

The Man's name was Papa Legba. He was old, wrinkled, and thoroughly tattooed, with skin as dark as black coffee and a smile as crooked and yellow as a smoggy crescent moon. On his head sat a tophat as old as he was, and in his hands a cane that seemed many years older still.

"Well, aint it good to have everyone here together?" Papa Legba said with a wide smile, his cataracted left eye staring blankly, yet into their very souls. "You all owe me a debt, my friends. As many do. And I need helpers. So your debt will be paid by being helpful to my interests... and those of She Above Me. " Papa's smile seemed to grow.

"I know you all well. But why don't you introduce yourselves? Lets start with you there. The Ork."

The Ork looked up, his face weathered by a life of service in violent careers. Lone Star, Bouncing, Body guarding... until he hit rock bottom and needed cash. "Maxwell," the ork said with no hint of mirth, "I'm good with guns. Good with cars. Driving them, anyway. Used to work military with the CAS." The Ork was tall and well-muscled, and wore a wide-brim hat and long tan coat. Looked almost like a cowboy...almost.

Papa Legba didn't speak but turned his head towards the next individual. She seemed irritated to be there, the only one with such an expression.
"My name's Brooke," the elf woman said impatiently. "I'm a mage. An explosion-mancer, really. I damage things. That's about it." She straightened herself in her seat and diligently maintained her small frown.

"You can call me Rhys," said the next elf. He seemed surprisingly nonchalant. "I'm excited to be accepted into this clan, and I hope we can all gain lots of xp and loot together."

His comment provoked a look from everyone assembled except for Papa Legba, who just seemed amused. "Don't mind him. I've been working with him for some time. He's a technomancer. Has his setup a little backwards, but that's alright." Papa coughed for a moment, then pointed at the last of the assembled, sitting in the largest chair in the room and producing the most odor.

"Deez," Said the troll in pauper's rags, "...no, really. My name is Deez. Deez Dickerson. My parents didn't like me. I'm a Gator Shaman." This last comment seemed to explain the strange fatness the nearly emaciated troll had. While certainly not fat of body, this half-starved troll hobo-shaman was fat of soul. If given the chance, he would be obese and pleased about it. The way he already seemed halfway ready to take a nap in his chair was now easily explained. "I summon spirits. I cast spells. Healing. Support. And also I can turn people into goo. Which is cool." Deez smiled.

Brooke seemed concerned. "Not much, uh, stealth in this group."

Papa shrugged. "Sometimes you need a silent knife. Sometimes you need a jackhammer. Your group is the jackhammer. And besides, sometimes one must have subtlety beaten into them." His grin was cruel, "I have a job for you. You won't like it. I don't expect you to like it. In truth, I don't expect much of you at all. I just want to see what you do. See what kind of runners you become. Your taxi is waiting outside. It will take you to Riverside Estates. Be sure to wipe your feet."

-end part 1-