It's been twelve long years since "The Year of the Comet" and Japan was forced to issue orders that would withdraw their troops from the surrounding regions of their Empire in order to help rebuild their devastated Homeland. Now, over a decade after the "Ring of Fire" incident later, the Land of the Rising Sun seeks to regain its former foothold in these lands long since abandoned by any serious forms of a military presence. Among the Corporations seeking to gain favor in their Emperor's eyes, Mitsuhama, Renraku, & Shiawase stand out as the three most prominent ones to do so. Having already slipped in favor in the past, Renraku Corporation has vowed to do so with fervency and once more reclaim their Number One position amongst the others. Enter our Players and Game.
House of the Rising Sun is a Shadowrun campaign set in the year 2073. Players assume the roles of a band of runners that is hired on under Renraku Retainer. Their goal, that of reestablishing and maintaining a proper foothold in their Employer''s formerly dominated territories outside Japan. Missions will include: Lots of Wetwork, Political Espionage, an occasional Milk Run or two, as well as Lots and Lots of Para-military Activity. After all, in an Imperial Empire filled with nothing but Blood-thirsty Corporate Cutthroats and Sneaky Underhanded Backstabbers, there can really only be one House that truly rises to the occasion and outshines the rest. Can you help Renraku become the House? Join the ranks of the House of the Rising Sun today!
Game run by Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto himself, Eanwulf.
Wednesday March 1st, 2073
Roughly 5:45 AM
Mitcham Suburbs
Melbourne, Australia
Nearing the 'Hole
The early morning wind blows wildly about Mitcham and contains a dreadful chill. The thunderous sounds of rock music blasts from inside the two-story structure known simply as "The 'Hole". Several hopped up bikers can be seen tussling about in the dirt outside the structure and quite a few more can be seen partying their asses off inside. Somewhat tame for this time of morning, the Rebels gang is apparently still going strong with activity and nothing to be trifled with in their present conditions. Your destination reached, you pause to give things a once over before pressing forwards.
During this time, you see other runners arrive outside.
Consider this Meet the Crew Time. As mentioned in CC, you've run together before off and on so seeing one another's face can only mean one thing. Business. Flavor posts as needed. Working on TetNak's toon. If able to finish up, he might be joining us
When Life Hands You Razorblades. You Make A Baseball Bat Covered In Razorblades!
Lyssa had her coat, expensive thing with all the protective layers installed, even though it looked like some relatively cheap retro-thing. She had her gloves on, packed a nice a punch those, and then the Predator. Maybe she should look into getting a Scorpion with matching license, she much preferred those, but less suspicion was attached to a handgun.
Other than that, she had the usual stuff, a few comlinks, the handy sack and all sorts of odds and ends.
She filtered out the annoying music and swallowed a caffeine pill.
Leviathan arrives on his bike, accompanied by Point. He is a tall man, especially for someone of Japanese descent. He is dressed in casual Japanese clothing of a somewhat traditional appearance, but he has an assault rifle slung over his back and those who know him know that there is a pistol up his sleeve and an armored vest on beneath the clothes.
Leviathan sighs as he hears the music blasting out the whole and sees the bikers partying. He has never cared for their sort--most of them are simply uncouth slobs, though he has met a few individual bikers who seemed decent people.
He nods a greeting at Lyssa and the other runners he knows. To Point, he says, "Well, come Elder Sister, let us see what Fatboy and Slim want. They obviously have work for us."
Arriving with her brother is Point on her racing bike. She's obviously less tall than her brother, even in combat boots. She's dressed in a wide, black coat and a bit overdressed in dark slacks and a matching dress shirt while her hair is midnight back tonight. The only obvious weapon is a heavy pistol in a thigh holster.
"At least they seem to keep their brawling outside," the Japanese woman comments as she scans the tussling bikers with her red-violet eyes and adds with a sigh. "If only Fatboy could watch his fuketsu mouth. Hai, lets see what they'll have in store for us," she adds and moves towards the entrance of The Hole.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."
The overpowering music fades in intensity, gradually subduing itself into a slower tempo-ed rhythm. It is about this time that the last of the runners show up. Now assembled, the group heads towards the bar.
"I didn't order Chinese..." one of the bikers outside the bar jibes leeringly at Leviathan's and Point's approach. "Oi!" another biker suddenly blurts out loudly, "I'm Chinese!" The two men quickly proceed to join their fellow packmates in a tussle amongst the dirt and muck. As the bikers fight and wrestle, the swinging doors to the bar slam open.
"Grrrrrrnnnngggghhhh!" a hulking behemoth of a troll snarls as he exits the bar and stomps outside. Nearly nine feet tall and covered in dark curled locks of braided brown hair, the biker-leather-clad monstrosity almost resembles a sasquatch. A quick once over of the troll and one can easily tell that this thing must be Dingo.
His face is much hairier and more bestial looking.
Skin tone is darker too, the prominent brow, nose, and jawline features identifying him as most likely being Aboriginal.
The overabundance of hair, especially on the palms and unibrow is quite unnerving. Dingo could very well be a shapeshifter.
Dingo continues to growl and grunt as he sniffs the air repeatedly, making his way outside and on to the porch of the bar. What appears to be the lifeless corpse of another biker is clutched in Dingo's right hand by the head and drug behind him as he walks. The colors worn on the limp individual quickly tags the body as being part of a rival biker gang - the Comancheros. Broken, bloodied, bruised, and abused, it is hard to tell whether or not the unfortunate soul is still alive or not. Regardless the verdict, Dingo continues to sniff the air and slowly turns his focus to the party's location.
"GRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGGGGHHHH!!!" growls Dingo as soon as he spots the group approaching, this time much louder than before.
Allowing the body held in his right hand to drop down atop the wooden steps beneath him, Dingo continues to growl out loud and proceeds to stomp his way towards the group!
Last edited by Eanwulf on Fri Feb 08, 2013 4:23 pm, edited 3 times in total.
When Life Hands You Razorblades. You Make A Baseball Bat Covered In Razorblades!
"Dingo, right?" Lyssa put the Australian accent linguasoft in play. The Empathy Software stopping her from making a not so nice commentary on that ugly freak, or maybe it was self-preservation. It may very well be an abomination that the world would be well rid of, but that wouldn't stop 400kg of pissed off fairly tale monster from tearing off a limb or two. "Fatboy invited us, said it was okay for us to be here"
Point doesn't seem fazed by the approaching hulk or react to the bikers incorrect assessment of the international composition of the small group of arrivals. The bigger they are, she thinks and lets Lyssa engage Dingo. And if it doesn't work... well, The Hole will have to look for another behemoth. The woman rolls her shoulders for a moment, ready to intervene if Dingo becomes physical.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."
As Leviathan gets off his bike, you can see that he is also wearing a katana at his side. Like Point, he lets Lyssa do the talking. If the troll makes trouble on the other hand ... well, Leviathan knows he is probably the best one to do the fighting.
For a time, things seem to get serious. Several of the bikers tussling about the dirt stand to their feet and join the others out in front of the bar's entrance. The show of hardware on Leviathan's part seems to draw their interest. Dingo however, merely snorts profusely and ceases his stomping just short of Lyssa's presence.
"DIN-GO!" the lumbering troll snarls and stutters down at the woman with pride, pounding his chest several times in acknowledgement and verification. "DIN-GO!"
Dingo then proceeds to sniff and snort all around Lyssa's body, as if searching for something. After a time, he simply lets out one last snort and comments.
"IN-SIDE..."
Several of the bikers chuckle heartedly as Dingo does his thing. They still hang out around the front of the bar, but seem to resume their normal flow of activities; two or three of them once more starting to tussle about the dirt.
The way inside looks to be clear.
When Life Hands You Razorblades. You Make A Baseball Bat Covered In Razorblades!
"Ee, that's what I thought," Point comments grinning and moves past the behemoth and inside. But for a moment she hesitats only a step away from Dingo. "If you ever get tired of cheap brews, give me a call and I'll get us a nice bottle of chilled nigori, eh, ÅkÄ« yatsu?" She says honestly.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."
