Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [G] Roger Remembers... and Recounts Message-ID: <1993Feb26.163021.3127@gacvx2.gac.edu> From: mcutter@gacvx2.gac.edu Date: 26 Feb 93 16:30:21 -0600 ADMIN: This is posted on behalf of Brian Shea, the Jolly Roger. Thanks Brian! -MCC Roger looks off into the distance, recalling the events that lead to his coming to Generica. With a slight shake of his head, he starts to relate his story, "Well, I guess the only place to start is in the beginning. 'Course, who knows when that really was..." "I grew up in the Boston Sprawl, back in what I thought was the only reality that existed. My dad was a bartender, and my mom was dead. I was lucky. I had a stable family, I didn't grow up on the streets. "I used to hang around in the bar as a kid. The bar was a pretty happenin' place, a lot of contracts were made in the dark places, a lot of noise was produced by the pseudo-acid thrash bands that usually played, and a lot of runners hung out, looking for the next big score. Runners would probably be considered your adventuring types, here in Generica. 'Cept is was illegal to be a runner. Only, runners are tolerated because most brass haven't got the balls to do their own dirty work. Course, there're them that do, but they're scary mo-fo's, way big league fish. "Anyway, I grew up in this bar, see, and got hooked on the flow. The flow of power, of money, of fame. I wanted in on that flow. I didn't know what my calling was, though, until the change. See, magic is rarer back home, it isn't all around like here. And all of it is organic based, none of this simple magic sword shit. Take my katana, it took tons of juice to bond, and only works for who's bonded to it. That'd be me. Ta any other joe, it might as well be a stick. "Well, the change hit around fourteen. Someone tried to put a fist through my brain, typical bar brawl, and I thought I was gonna die, when things... well, things slowed. The punch seemed to almost stop in the air, and float towards me. Well, I dodged it easily, and split the scene. I was wiz, I knew from talking to runners that this was what it was like to be cybered, to have boosted reflexes and 'make like the wind' as they used to say. 'Cept I hadn't gotten any wet-ware. See, wet-ware is like permanent magic, only it's like gnomish shit that works really, really well. But it fell into place over time, I was whatcha call a physical adept. A magician whose juice zaps his body, no spells or shit. "So I entered the flow. Started off with some small fish who needed a little muscle, and cheap muscle at that. So I took it, and started my education. I'm a fast learner, picked up what I could here and there, read some books, took some defense courses at the local college with some of the money, and saved most of it. I was a star on the rise. And I wasn't even eighteen yet. "About this time, I got my break. I was a decent runner, and got onto a pretty heavy contract as back-up. Things went to shit real fast, but I managed to keep my cool somehow and our escape team got us out of their. A few of the heavy hitters took notice of me, and offered me a steady. Up until now I had been freelance, taking what I got. But these guys were good, pretty big names at the time. So I jumped at the chance. From there things took off like a rocket. I sucked all those runners dry. I learned everything they had to offer. We did a few big contracts, and the money was rolling in. "I was twenty when I took a vacation. See, I had been saving almost all of my money up 'til then. Magics and tech don't mix well, and no magician would ever get much cyber. But I was an adept, and I knew that the cyber I needed would outweigh the effects. See, tech interferes with the magic. The tech drained some juice, but what it added more than made up for it. "This is when I got my handle. I got my cyber-spurs, which you've seen. A little bit more speed, which you have also seen. A smart-link, for 'increased precision and accuracy with any firearm so equipped.' Well, the description sure fit that bill. And I got my eyes, along with my new handle. These babies cost me a bundle. Enhanced my vision a little, along with a few other tricks. And the Jolly Roger as you know 'em was born. "During my 'vacation' to the body shop, my old group got pretty hosed. One of their contracts had been a setup, and they were on the run. Some of them ran so deep that I didn't think they were alive. Always was a little lucky. I ran for a few more years, found a steady team. Me, this mage, another cyber samurai, and a shit-hot decker. We were goin' stellar, about ready to retire for life at the ripe old age of twenty-four. But then we were silly enough to take a sabotage job against a heavy hittin' megacorp, what you would consider a guild on the order of the mage's guild. "Well, to make it short, they knew we were comin'. The contract was to shut down some heavy duty magic research that was years ahead of the competition. And shut it down hard. They had this rift set up. It looked like a doorway into nowhere. Just this rectangle in the middle of a room, a door into a blank gray world. Well, the muscle was coming down on us, and there was no way out. Wolvie, the samurai, was down, the mage was on the ground bleedin' from the ears, our decker had gone off-line what seemed an eternity ago, and all I could do was set the C-4 and pray that that door led to somewhere. Don' know what happened back there. The last I felt of home was the heat and pressure of the C-4 pushing me through that gray doorway. And now I'm here. "Could go home, I suppose, but why? Got all I need here. Plus I'm sure that if the megacorp got wind on my coming back, I'd be stone cold dead in under a week. Home holds no charm for me. Plus, now I've got a motive in this quest, and a buddy or two to boot. Brian Shea taz@athena.mit.edu aka The Jolly Roger