Thursday, February 14, 2019

Shadowrun - Campaign Journal - Session 01

Tonight we started the campaign with our custom characters. Session 0s were premades just to get the feel for the system, but these are our actual runners.

Our team consists of four regulars. We started with eight, but only four could put in the time commitment, and that's just fine.

Anna is playing the mage, War Dancer,
Eric is the physical adept, Selistra,
Jeff is the street samurai, Jacob Stone,
Me? I'm the decker, Pharaoh.

I'll get pics in as we finish drawing them.

The thing I like about Shadowrun is that it doesn't hold your hand. Johnson calls, says, "I got a job. There's an armored truck leaving Aztechnology at 10pm. I want what it's hauling. Get it for me," and you have to figure it out yourself.

This time the call came in to Selistra. In a few moments he comm'd us and we were on our way to the meet point, the parking lot of a Home Despot in Redmond, where he laid it out for us.

"Basically, we gotta stop the truck. Ideas," Selistra said.

"We could cause a wreck, some gridlock, that'll stop them," I said. They laughed. I shrugged.

"Rappel off the overpass, land on the top, start shooting until they pull over."

"Good idea. Go get a couple grapples and rope."

"You can shoot it with that big freaking sniper rifle."

"Good. Pharaoh, find me a place to shoot from."

Finally, back into the matrix. My datajack was starting to itch. I sit on the ground and jack in, scanning the maps of the I-5 for a suitable spot. In seconds I have one.

"Hey, is this a regular run or something new?"

I check that data. The geekers on the net say they run these things pretty regular, even find out there are three guards and a driver. I relay that.

When the equipment is bought, we hack a little jackrabbit and bounce, heading to Aztecha.

Stakeouts are boring, but thankfully the Johnson had the timing right, and these bakas are on point. The gates swing and out rolls the truck, we pick up tail. I don't spend a lot of time in meat space, but I seen enough spy trids to know how to not get spotted.

Pretty quick we are on the I-5, way out from the gunner nest I picked out, and the end point is comin' up quick.

"Pull along side," Selistra says, "Stone, get that grapple ready."

The big injun rolls down the window and drags a mile of rope out of his pack. He scans the truck for a place to attach it. There are shuttered gun ports on the back and side. There's no rail on the top. How the frakk is he gonna hook that?

"Sure we shouldn't just cause a wreck?" I ask.

They look at me. Guess they didn't hear the first time, or don't remember.

"That might work. What are you thinking?" Selistra asks.

"Let the spell flinger make some noise. What else she gonna do?"

War Dancer smiles. "Alright. I got this." She raises her right hand like she's holding a grapefruit, and a bright blue fire ball ignites in her grip. The window slides itself down as if to get out of the way, and she points the ball of blue plasma at a minivan directly in front of the armored truck. It streaks out, punching through the side window and into the head of the soccer mom driving.

"Oh, frakk," someone says. The minivan swerves, completely out of control, and rolls, tumbling across the lane in front of the truck, which slams directly into it, launching into the air, flipping twice, and landing heavily on its wheels. The axles break from the impact. "Oh, frakkin frakk!"

Cars begin swerving out of the way, three more pile into the back, caroming off, and I use all my meat-space muscles to avoid getting plowed by a sedan. I screech to a halt in front of the wreck to stay out of the path of the oncoming traffic, and the team launches into action.

Out of the car, we see the gun ports flip up, the muzzles poke out, menacingly. Selistra lines up his sniper rifle at the driver, "Live or die, chummer!"

The driver makes his choice and reaches for his gun. Selistra's rifle flash is blinding in the night's darkness. The bullet proof windshield is anything but against such a powerful piece of hardware, exploding inward and cutting the driver's face. "Live or die, chummer!" Selistra shouts again, "Think about it."

I walk up and just shoot him. It's too late for diplomacy. The guns out the side start barking their lead, spewing it into the traffic. Two more cars swerve and crash.

Jacob carefully selects an arrow and fires it against the side of the truck, just above the gun port, and the side of the truck explodes. The gun fire stops, and the back doors open, three choking guards tumble out. War Dancer lights up her hands and keeps the men cowed as Jacob and Selistra grab the crates from the truck.

We jump in the rabbit and burn off to the meet ahead of sirens and what sounds like a hover drone.

Cake run. Just how I like em.


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