Run #5: Your Fifteen Minutes Of Pain

[Elliott]

Tyros makes a close examination of the distrubance in the astral plane, asensing as necessary.

[GM Nick]

Tyros senses that the disturbance is caused by a ball of mana energy, probably held in place by some ritual sorcery. The magic is very advanced. Any attempt to pass around the sphere would probably result in bodily harm.

[John]

Max searches his surroundings for something to throw at the center of the disturbance; when you approach a new fence for the first time you throw a stick at before you piss on it.

[Elliott]

Tyros shakes his head at Max, "this is a mana based magical field, it won't do anything to inanimate objects but will strike out at anything living that passes through. I don't think I can get rid of it, but perhaps I can counter its effects as we move past. No guarantees though. If anyone has a better idea of how to get around the field I'm open to it."

((I can use counterspelling on whatever attacks it makes against us right?))

[John]

Max responds apprehensively,

"If you say so, Blynken..."

Proceeding cautiously, the elf attempts to make his way past the magical disturbance.

[Drew Buddy]

Doc gingerly steps forward.

"Let us know the moment something doesn't feel right. I don't like the idea of that thing closing around us."

[GM Nick]

Tyros' shackles rise as he senses a build up of magical energy between the anomaly and Max. An arc of violet lightning licks out to fry the intrepid elf!

[Elliott]

Tyros' face breaks into an expression of fierce concentration as he waves his arms, trying to force the magic energy to flow around Max instead of through him ((counterspelling, should give Max +10 dice to resist)).

[GM Nick]

(( Counterspelling works by adding the dice to the defender's test. SR4 p. 185. ))

[ Max, WIL (4) + 4 (Counterspelling) = 3 ] **1P DAMAGE**

The lightning is deflected but still manages to graze Max's extremities.

[John]

Max leaps in surprise and bleats a high-pitched,

"Drek!"

Holding his singed left arm, Max looks somewhat nervously about the area. He is, however, past the point of running back to safety. Gingerly, the elf presses on.

[GM Nick]

Johnny Denim gesticulates to the thunderous cheering emanating from the studio audience.

"Too bad! Looks like barbecued elf is off the menu!"

[Drew Buddy]

Doc scowls at Johnny, and pushes further into the disturbance.

[GM Nick]

[ Doc, WIL (4) + 4 (Counterspelling) = 3 ] **1P DAMAGE**

Doc staggers as a stray bolt singes his arm.

[Drew Buddy]

"Frag! Tyros, keep those defenses up!"

Doc clutches his arm and walks forward.

[GM Nick]

Rawhide covers his head with his hands and dashes through, leaving a trail of highly offensive curse words in his wake.

[ Rawhide, WIL (4) + 4 (Counterspelling) = 1 ] **3P DAMAGE**

The dwarf collapses on the other side of the magical anomaly, his skin smoking in several places.

[Drew Buddy]

Past the anomaly, Doc kneels down to tend to Rawhide's wounds once again.

"This just isn't your day, is it?"

[Elliott]

((so I thought I got 10 dice for counterspelling, 4 from the skill and 6 from willpower...don't you add the skill and associated attribute together for skill rolls?))

Growling in frustration, Tyros walks quickly to the other side of the anomaly, arms waving wildly as he continues to battle he magical energies attacking him.

[GM Nick]

(( Only for you. Your comrades only get the skill added. ))

[ Tyros, WIL (4) + Counterspelling = 4 ]

Tyros manages to hold the violet energy at bay as he crosses the platform.

[GM Nick]

Johnny turns towards the runners.

"Congratulations on traversing the obstacle course! ¥5,000 will be awarded to each participant, as we had no fatalities or incapacitation! Now, our lovely assistants will escort you to the main stage, where you'll be allowed to select one weapon to use in the third and final round!"

The runners follow the twin bimbos down a long ramp and into a partition. There's a pile of munitions and various blunt instruments on a card table in the middle.

(( You can pick any weapon from the SR4 sourcebook under ¥600. ))

[Drew Buddy]

Doc sorts through the pile of old, beat up weapons, disappointed at the lack of a solid long rifle.

"No, no, nope, uh... no... Ah, here we go," he says, pulling an HK MP-5 TX from the bottom of the pile.

He unfolds the stock, and switches the laser on, testing the fit against his shoulder.

[John]

Max defiantly picks up a Remington 990 that looks like it has seen better days. Checking the action on the pump, he inspects the shotgun and stands at the ready with it in his hands. Wiping a drip of blood coming from his nose and snorting, Max petulantly asks,

"So are we gonna fraggin' do this or what?"

[Elliott]

Tyros sniffs in disgust as he picks up a worn, slightly dull two-handed sword. Testing its weight, he discovers an imperfection in its balance and makes a mental note to compensate for it in his swing. "Well, this is a pisspore substitute for Baidh No Bas, sword of my ancestors, but for this joke of a situation, I suppose it is more appropriate."

[John]

Getting antsy, Max cracks his neck and shuffles his feet.

"Come on, drekbag! I'm eager to shoot something and right now you're it!"

[GM Nick]

The doors in front of the team swing open and a shaft of blinding floodlight issues forth.

"Are. You. Reeeeaaaaady?!"

Advancing from the staging area, the runners find themselves in a large arena. In the center is a structure resembling a telephone pole, complete with alternating metal handholds. At its summit (a good 15m high) is a metal sphere.

The arena is encircled by the studio audience, perched on stadium seating high above the slick surrounding walls. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) a sheet of ballistic glass protects the roaring crowd.

"Welcome, ladies and germs, to round 3--THE ELIMINATOR! In this challenge, one member of our contenders must scale the glory pole and lay his hand on the victory orb. The contender that accomplishes this will end the game and be awarded ¥15,000!"

Johnny blasts the cameras with his glimmering veneers.

"But it just wouldn't be Blank Bucks if it was that easy!"

The host snaps his fingers and four baseball sized drones descend from above the stage, slowing to hover around the base of the pole.

"Say hi to our competition drones! Each drone is equipped with crowd-control countermeasures, including high voltage electricity. They'll do their darndest to keep you from achieving your goal. Oh, and did I mention that the number of drones increases every ten seconds? That should make things interesting!"

A set of doors on the opposite side of the arena swing open.

"As you know, it's our anniversary episode..."

The crowd hoots.

"As an added treat for our contenders, we thought we should give them some company!"

A pack of confused looking ghouls stumble into the light, rubbing their eyes and looking around. The doors promptly shut behind them.

"So there you have it, loyal viewers. All our contenders have to do is brave a daring climb, untold numbers of riot drones and a family of flesh-eating paracritters. Easy as cake! Now, it's time. Let... the game.... begin!"

[Drew Buddy]

Doc quickly opens up his internal commlink, and starts perceiving the signals around him, looking for the control node for the drones, while booting up the pocket hacker.

"Lets draw 'em all toward us, while one of us makes up the, um, glory pole and makes off with the sphere."

[GM Nick]

The drones rise up around the base of the pole and begin orbiting in perfect synchronicity. It's obvious from their movement that they're in a defensive pattern.

[John]

Max responds to the transmission from Doc,

<Is there any reason Tyros shouldn't just levitate up there in a flash and tag that ball and have this drek be done with?>

Bringing his shotgun to bear on the approaching ghouls, Max fires on the nearest one.

[Drew Buddy]

Doc continues to scan for the first drone he can access.

(( If I am incapable of finding that node and setting the pocket hacker after it, then do the following: ))

Pressing the MP5 against his shoulder and cheek, Doc sights down at the nearest ghoul and fires a narrow burst.

[GM Nick]

(( Combat, Round 1, Ini Pass 1 ))

[ Rawhide = 50 ]
[ Max = 40 ]
[ Ghoul 1 = 37 ]
[ Doc = 35 ]
[ Goul 2 = 34 ]
[ Ghoul 3 = 32 ]
[ Ghoul 4 = 24 ]
[ Tyros = 17 ]

Rawhide begins by firing a burst at the nearest ghoul.

(( Rawhide: [BF - Narrow] AGI 6 + automatics 6 +2 (specialization) + 1 [laser] = 5 -- 12P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 3 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] = 4 -- 8P ))

(( Rawhide: [BF - Narrow] AGI 6 + automatics 6 +2 (specialization) + 1 [laser] = 4 -- 11P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 0 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] = 8 -- 3P ))

The ghoul is riddled with bullets and bleeding profusely, but still gropes its way towards the group.

[GM Nick]

Max squeezes the trigger.

(( Max Overstreet: AGI 8 + longarms 6 +2 (specialization) = 5 -- 12P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 3 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] -1 [AP] = 5 -- 7P ))

(( Max Overstreet: AGI 8 + longarms 6 +2 (specialization) = 6 -- 13P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 1 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] -1 [AP] = 4 -- 9P ))

The ghoul slumps over as the shotgun blast liquifies its head.

[John]

Max issues forth a bloodthirsty battle cry. He wouldn't recognize it consciously, but the elf seems to have succumbed to the palpably Roman murderlust that permeates the air of the arena.

[GM Nick]

The injured ghoul latches itself on to Max and attempts to bite him.

(( Ghoul #1, Melee Combat + AGI = 1 ))
(( Max, Block, Melee Combat + AGI = 4 ))

Max uses his elbow to hold the ghoul's chin away from his face.

[Drew Buddy]

(( I'm assuming we're still standing more or less next to each other. If no progress on the drone front, then: ))

Doc presses the SMG against the ghoul's skull, careful to keep the line of fire away from Max. He pours a burst of fire through its head.

[GM Nick]

(( Doc Adams: AGI 7 + automatics 4 +2 (specialization) + 1 [laser] -2 [] = 4 -- 9P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 1 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] = 3 -- 6P - Glitch! ))

The ghoul's brains evacuate the large exit wound, drenching Max in gore.

(( Doc Adams: [BF - Narrow] AGI 7 + automatics 4 +2 (specialization) + 1 [laser] -2 [Multiple Targets] = 4 -- 11P ))
(( Ghoul: REA 6 = 2 ))
(( Ghoul: BOD 9 + 5 [Armor] = 5 -- 6P ))

Doc strafes a cluster of bullets across the next ghoul.

[John]

Max recoils from the shower of gibs, grimacing with pursed lips and his eye closest to the falling ghoul clamped shut beneath its sheen of gore. Drawing in a deep breath, he spits aggressively over and over again. Pissed off beyond all estimation, he shouts,

"Why the frag am I the one who always winds up with a mouthful of exploded guts???"