Sauron Resource Grab

The Ground Rules

1: All OOC communication will be on PR2 Channel or in pages to Samuel. No OOC chatter here not directly related to the plot at hand. Questions for clarification are fine.

2: This is semi-consent. I'm not out to hurt anyone, but damage can and may happen. You accept that by remaining.

3: 1-butt. Everyone has one but. I'm not a rules savant, I'm not an encyclopedia. If I make a bad rules call, you are allowed to object. Once. I will evaluate the objection then rule on it. We continue forward from there without further argument.

4: Story comes before rules. I don't particularly care if, in the end, you have the dice to try and bitch slap the dragon based on the rules presented in the SR-Companion, Dragons of the Sixth World , the dragon is probably not going to be phased much by it. Yes, you're a 19th grade initiate in the sacred art of whoo-paas. I get it. I also get that the world is a scale, and you are not going to get to the same scale as a 15,000 year old dragon in the scant 19 years your character has been offically alive.

5: We're here to have fun.

6: We're here to have -fun-.


The Warrens, two hours after the sun goes down, is no place to be. You see, the Son's have now run out of water. With the cordon around the warrens, supplies are getting tight. No society is more than 3 meals and 72 hours from barbarity, and the Warrens is always proof of that statement.

When the sun went down, the fires went up. The daylight seems to let the fire services, at least, aerial, batton down blazes, but they withdraw when the light. Now, those fires flare back up, providing a perverse sense of back light as it bounces off the low clouds. The smell of burning wood tinges, occasionally, with the smell of bodies.

Today has been, for those who live here, the first day of actual… death. One or two deaths here, turned in to nine or ten today. The ill are everywhere, with the non-infected trying desperately to get away. It's a bad, chaotic situation over all. And its here, at the corner of Smoky Hill and Himilaya, the cross roads of the deep sprawl, that you find yourself.

Steven is moving quietly through the sprawl, cowboy hat pulled down tight. He has a bandana tied around his face, looking for all the world like an old western bandit. But it is not for disguising his face today, but for meager defense against illness. Not precisely a surgical grade breath mask, but it gets the job done for right now. He is staying out of the way of the arson and the squabbles, keeping quietly to himself, and always watching.
test

In fairness, the Warrens are already predispositioned to barbarism. The current malaise only serves to exacerbate the situation. Making her way slowly through the streets of the urban decay, La Petit travels under the cloak of invisibility as she observes the folks around her - staying a good distance away from anyone. One finger moves up and nudges the glasses up the bridge of her nose as she purses her lips into a sort of frown.

A most interesting phone conversation. "No~ no you're not listening. Somethin's up down here." The most fashionable young man is currently bickering at his cell, every once in a while bringing the vidphone in front of his face to make a face at the screen. "No! I told you~ I came here to see if I could help at all. But now they're not letting anyone out." This small fellow actually does have a surgical mask on, along with a long coat to cover up his more bared areas. Parked almost on the sidewalk, he's sitting on a blue rapier with a duffle bag latched to the rear seat, a backpack on as he looks around the area while listening to whatever the other person on the other side of the screen is saying.

Not everyone can afford ruthenium. Potluck adjusts the cheap black poncho he has on over his armor, wishing he was in the haves instead of the havenots. He is on the roof of a one-story building that have been boarded shut, watching the crowd below. The building, if anything could be said to be unusual about it, has solid walls and all the ways in sealed tight. As for Potluck, he is trying to get a read on how bad the situation below is going to get.

Thistledown makes his way through the sprawl on foot heading north, the accessories that bedeck his outfit glow lit with a solid red cross on a white background. Now that darkness has driven most off the streets he's making better time, but he still stops frequently to talk with people who flag him down.

Squeak sighs as he continues his conversation, "Yes. No…. yes. Yes that's why I'm calling you." The young man looks at his watch for a moment, then sighs as he looks around the street he's on. "What do you /mean/ you can't get through the blockades? I thought that's what you're supposed to be good at?" He swings a leg off his bike, sitting sideways on the seat. The young man twirls a finger in his hair as he sits there watching people go by.

Steven heads out further into the street, peeking into sight a little more. He isn't brandishing his weapons, but is making no moves to conceal the heavy pistols slung in a gunbelt cocked at an angle across his hips. He looks up and down the street on both sides, watching the crowds moving through the street corner, eyes drawn to the young man on the bike for a second. Weathered and leathery brow narrows under his hat, taking in the sight with a bit of concern.

Darkness drives the fearful, but it brings out the desperate. And when the man many know as a doctor (You know, the ugly one, with the green hair?) walks by, you flag him down. There's no gentility, no seeking. THeres simple -demand-. Fathers demand attention for children, women for themselves, brothers for sisters. Some are ill, most are scared.

To the south, drums start pounding. The Sons of Sauron are all about the show. The idea that orks are something out of a novel is laughable, but it gives them identity.

Squeak reaches to dig around in his duffle bag when he spots a fellow watching him. It might look like he's going for a weapon, but instead, he surfaces with another one of those surgical facemasks which he wiggles in Steven's direction questioningly.

Thistledown's sigh is visible from a fair distance as the drums sound, he sends the group he's speaking with back into their homes and starts moving north again.

Selerik stands up on the roof abruptly, looking southward. "Shit, they're doing it." He scans the street below, rubbing at the side of his helmet, as if he could actually scratch his head through it. "C'mon people.. Get out the way and let the gangers handle it.."

To be fair, Ghostfist fricking hates the cold. That's probably the only reason that he's wrapped up in his great coat and his spiffy new Ruth Cloak right this moment. For right this second, the cloak is set to a preset pattern that disguises both it and his great coat as some sort of cheap poncho.
Frankie's moving as quickly as he can after Thistledown. Whether Thistle's aware of Ghostfist's protective presence or not is debateable, but keeping an eye on his friends in thick or thin is something Frankie's prone to doing. The sound of the drums over the urban rumble clicks in Frankie's head, mystically enhanced ears giving him a few moments warning… To what, he's not sure, but he's certain it's going to be important.

Steven considers the offer for a moment, before pushing his way through the crowd, working through and grabbing the surgical mask from Squeak. He takes off his bandana, replacing it with the straps and probably much more effective mesh of the mask before glancing south towards the drums. When he speaks, his voice is low and raspy, as if a life-long smoker, and his accent is pure Colorado country, "If I were you son, I'd take a listen to where those drums are coming from and head yourself the opposite direction."

Looking up and down the street from her veiled vantage, La Petit grumbles quietly to herself and complains. "Wonder if there's a way to sneak into the city proper without getting my ass shot off." Looking back and forth she scans the streets for likely suspects who might know such miraculous nodes of entry. She suspects, however, that there will be no luck here.

Thistledown crosses the street to bang on the door of the Aurora Dojo checking to see if it's open and inhabited at the moment. "Of all the dumb fragging things to do during a problem, why oh why do they always do the worst possible thing. If they're on fire they run around screaming, if they're bleeding they shake it, if they're can't see they run top speed, and if they're run out of water they burn stuff…un-fragging believable."
For now, the AASD is closed down and quiet. No one is inside.

Squeak isn't too happy with his conversation, though he does sigh again, "Allright whatever. I'll call you the next time I need to go to a coffee shop or something." He pokes his cell to end the call, and stows it in his longcoat. Handing over the mask to Steven, he gives a little shrug, "Meh. It'll take em a bit to get here anyhow. They're quite a bit off I think." He sticks a hand out to Steven, grinning, "Name's Squeak. What the heck're you doin without a mask?"

El Cajone humps his way down to the cordon, listening to the drums. "Natives are restless." he mutters to himself in Spanish. He wears a set of night camou painted security armor, a large sword pommel poking up above his right shoulder. Mariza, a well worn and maintained assault rifle is slung next to a backpack attached to his armor.

Getting the lay of the land, Cajone decides to take the high ground and starts to scale one of the buildings (Brick Warehouse) in the area to get up onto the roof to at least get some sort of cover.

Selerik disappears from the edge of the roof for a few moments. When he returns, he is uncoiling a length of rope. He looks around at the people below, obviously intending to get a few people up on the roof with him who refuse to move on.

Thistledown turns back to those asking him questions answering many. "Only drink bottled water, boil water for bathing, isolate the sick, transmitted by fluids or by being coughed on. Very common illness, very normal, very treatable, over and over the litany of reassurances and instructions. Yes it can be deadly, boiled water, keep them hydrated, they do need medicine. No I don't have any, I hope to bring in more. Stay calm, stay safe, prevent spread."

"Because I didn't have one." Steven answers calmly to Squeak's question, giving a faint grunt, "I would have thought that would be obvious." He then looks over to Thistledown, and then says one last thing to Squeak, "Your funeral." Then he's moving back towards the alley and darkness, calling out in a yell, projecting his voice, "Thistledown! Sons of Sauron coming!"

Rumors start flying through the crowd, such as it is. The sons are gonna march. They're gonna kill everyone. They need slaves to rebuild their water supply. No, it's not their water supply, they're looking for sacrifices! No, don't be silly, they want to drink your blood, cause your blood is sterile!

Squeak hums a bit as he watches Steven head for that Alley. The young man kicks his bike on, keeping the lights off as he slowly follows the cowboy with his bike, over towards that alley, killing his bike so he can coast on in without bringing too much attention to random pretty boy with a bike.
Thistledown calls back in response, "So I hear, I'm thinking North quickly. You?"
Frankie is not a survival expert or a medical expert, but he does remember some real basic biology from the Y back in Newark. Blood is not sterile, he laughs everytime he hears that rumor, and remarks that the only sterile liquid in the metahuman body is urine. Ghostfist promptly returns to following Thistledown from a safe distance, though he is constantly adjusting his grip on the large rifle he hides under his cloak.

Seeing a few people up on a roof, Cajone makes his way in that direction and once there begins to scale the side of the building. He calls up, "Friendly coming up." so they know not to cap his ass when the first see him.
Steven glances through the crowd slowly as he stops and watches Squeak bring the bike into the alley, squeezing into it. He nods his head, giving a faint grunt, not terribly pleased about having the man along, but seemingly willing to tolerate it. His response to Thistledown is a nod, "Yeah, this way." He begins to wave Thistle towards the alley that he and Squeak are curently hiding in, "Going to take the back alleys north."

Selerik slides a rope down to meet El Cajone, helping him up. "Pretty much everyone is a friendly right now, who isn't banging a drum."

Frankie ducks behind a downed fire escape in another alleyway while he tries to unstick his rifle from his long coat. Grumblegrumble.

Thistledown turns to the small group he's talking to, "Get inside and stay safe, tomorrow morning I'll be back, hopefully with the proper anti-biotics, in the meantime keep the sick resting and hydrated, and do not drink or wash in any water that isn't sterile." He starts moving northward toward the alley, one or two of the men and women who press for more are told, "Calm down, and go take shelter." with a tone of command that brooks no defiance.

El Cajone nods to Selerik. "What's the situation… I realize this might be naive question but… is anybody in charge?"

Squeak clicks his tongue a few times, as if considering something. He wheels his bike down towards the nearest dumpster hold, stashing his bike behind one in the dark. He pulls out a large canvas type cover, one side white camo, one side black. Pulling the cover on his bike so that the night side is up, he leaves his bike there hiding, hopefully effectively. He does some minor outfitting as he's putting away his bike, latching down the wheels and handlebars to keep people from messing with it while he straps various things onto himself from the bike's dufflebag. Pulling on his slim backpack he rejoins the fellow he followed, "Okay there, no more bike." He grins some at Thistledown, "You're a doc, yeah?"

Moving to take cover Cajone brings his assault rifle down off of his shoulder, his hands move almost lovingly over her housing. At the touch of his hand she powers up and cocks the hammer herself presumably by smartlink command.

Over head, helicopters are in the air, coming out more in force. One of them buzzes low, a Hughes W2 Stallion, a sort of blackhawk looking helo. It's painted white, with a gigantic Red Cross on the side of it, showing it as belonging to the North American Red Cross Society, a group that exists now as a charity and research corporation. The chopper flies low, sweeping the streets with its powerful flood lights. A side door opens as it flies.

Selerik looks down over the city below after Cajone is up, taking out a scanner. "Someone, a troll, was trying to rally the gangs to keep the Sons from causing too much damage. Anyplace you saw a 7 marked, someone was trying to get the guy's attention to talk to him or shoot at him. Don't know how successful he was though, and havn't heard of anyone else." Potluck walks the edge of the building, scanning the streets. "See anyone you recognize? They're more likely to move on if we've got some numbers here."

La Petit hears the rumors and the gossip in the street and scowls all the more. Pissed off orks and trolls are not going to be particular about who the smash and pummel, even if they are invisible. Elves would be almost as tasty as humans to most of them. She looks for a place to go and follows towards the rope she saw tossed down, "Ello, think I could come up too?" she calls to El Cajone and Selerik, allowing herself to become visible as she waves a hand below.

Thistledown nods, "Yes, though at the moment I'm thinking things are going to be a bit beyond doctoring." He heads into the alley looking around. "I'm thinking either we get on top of something tall, or we run like hell northward. Any preference?"

Squeak points out of the alley towards people scrambling up Selerik's rope, "Well there's a few up there with weapons, you know."

El Cajone looks over the wall at La Petit. "Long as you're not hostile, have at it."

Thistledown looks up at the rope, "You know, I've never actually made it to the top of one of those in gym class…though I've never been this thoroughly incensed to climb either."

Steven reaches into his pocket, and withdraws a sleek pair of sunglasses. Pulling them on his face he seems to strap them into place, tightening them and clicking a button. He glances around, seeming to see just fine even though it's at night behind sunglasses, the optics kicking in on the expensive piece of gear, bringing up his Smartlink and vision mode options, complete with slight magnification. Glancing in the direction of the rope, Steven nods, "I guess let's get up there." He lags behind though, gesturing for Thistle and Squeak to go first, apparently intent on guarding their rear.

La Petit climbs up the rope, laboriously and not of any noteworthy skill. Not precisely a specimen of prowess. At the top she huffs and whews to catch her breath a moment, "Hostility is not something I specialize in." she confesses in mumbling, French-accented voice.

Squeak pulls those goggles that were on his head for fashion, down onto his face, clicking them on with a little mechanical noise. Apparantly they're not just for show. "Yeah so we're goin for it." He sighs and peers back at his left-behind bike. "They better not find my baby." With that said, the goggled prettyboy heads out across the street towards the crew on the roof, taking his time and looking around casually as he goes.

El Cajone puts a hand out to Selerik. "Number Six by the way." he says. At Selerik's question he peers down onto the street, looking through lowlight and thermal. "What medical supplies do we have?"
Thistledown sighs as he grabs the rope, "Oh no, I says, Levitate I says, Why would I need to levitate." He tugs on the rope. "Clear to come up fellas?" he calls up to the rooftop.

The Red Cross helo slides across the sky, banking out over the city. A pair of rotodrones streak across the sky from ork town, followed by the sounds of engines powering up down the road. The drums get a slight bit louder as a gas station on the other side of town goes up in flames. No real explosion… just a very bright, very tall flame spout that does not seem to abate.

Selerik goes over, accepting El Cajone's hand. His armor makes it hard to see if he is pleased to be shaking it or not. "Potluck. The people inside have everything they need assuming no infected get in. I have a savior advanced on me, with some nanite refills." He looks La Petit over for a few momentarily. "I don't know how the infection is spreading though. Can't even recognize the symptoms, just know it hits the people who are already weak the hardest."

Steven pulls out both of his heavy pistols as he watches the street from the mouth of the alley. He glances up towards the roof for a moment and says simply, "We've got doctors!" That should encourage people to let them up. Mostly, he's letting Squeak and Thistle get ready to climb the rope, keeping a careful watch.

El Cajone grunts. "Pretty much every disease does that… pick off the weakest first… Don't suppose anyone's done any…" he pauses as the Red Cross helo and drones go overhead, tracking it with his visor. "Test yet on some of the infected to find out what it is…" he adds. "Yeah.. got savior in the pack. Bitch to get it out without help though."

Thistledown laughs as he starts working his way up the rope, "Great, I've been commoditized. Couldn't you just call out, I've got the best looking men in the city."

Squeak eventually wanders over to the rope, as he was busy handing out some more of those fancy facemasks. His own facemask has actually been stylized, a little drawing of a mouse with the eyes x-ed out on it. He oohs at Thistle's comment as he comes up behind Steven, grinning behind his mask, "Best looking indeed!" He holds the rope secure from the bottom for Thistle's ascent.

"Got a comm frequency, Potluck?" Cajone asks, looking down the street towards the drums. He shakes his head. "Who are these bozos with the drums anyway?"

Finally Ghostfist unsnags his rifle from his great coat. The troll peers out into the streets from the alley way for a moment or two before darting across the street toward the alley that Thistledown & Co. had ducked into earlier. Frankie moves along, heading for where Thistle is busily trying to climb.

Thistledown works his way over the edge of the roof, grinning at the folks atop the roof as if he'd just done something very clever. Clear to come up…errr…elf guy.

Squeak gets his turn to climb. The young man snags the rope and zips up the side of the building like he's done this before. Or maybe he's just skinny enough to haul himself up at an alarming rate.

Steven looks to Ghostfist with a quiet nod as he begins working his way across the street. He examines the troll for a long few seconds, including that assault rifle, and then he nods his head again, holstering his guns and turning towards the ropes, beginning to make his climb up, scurrying up the rope right on Squeak's tail. Steven apparently, isn't one for dawdling or taking things at a leisurely pace, climbing his way up onto the roof and looking around at the gathered group, "Big group." That's all he says, sardonically grunting

Selerik takes a moment to share the comm frequency he is using. A bum climbs up the rope after Squeak and Steven, seeing a safe haven, and Selerik helps him to the roof. "Welcome, enjoy the view and keep your head down." He starts pulling up the rope, not wanting to leave an open invitation. More people on the roof will only become a hazard.

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Number Six online.. reading?"

Commlink-Potluck> Selerik says, "I hear you six."

«OOC» Blindside says, "Okay. I'll take intelligence checks from everyone."
«Auto-Judge[]» El Cajone (#5318) rolls Intelligence (to Blindside):
1 1 1 2 2 4 5 5 7 9 9 9
«Auto-Judge[]» La Petit (#10072) rolls Intelligence:
1 1 1 3 4 4
«Auto-Judge[]» Selerik (#3004) rolls Intelligence for "Smart is as smart does":
1 1 1 2 3 4
«Auto-Judge[]» Steven (#10289) rolls Intelligence:
1 3 5 8
«Auto-Judge[]» Thistledown (#9317) rolls Intelligence:
1 2 3 3 4 11
Commlink-Gunslinger> Steven says, "Clear, Six. This is Gunslinger."
«Auto-Judge[]» Ghostfist (#3238) rolls Intelligence + 2 (Enhanced Perception) for "Natural Thermal, Improved Hearing, Improved Scent, Motion Sense, Magic Sense, & Electromagnetic Sense":
1 1 1 3 5 10 11
«Auto-Judge[]» Squeak (#9695) rolls Intelligence:
1 1 4 4 5 5 5 22

You paged (El Cajone, Thistledown, Ghostfist, squeak) with 'You both catch that the drones are now painting the red cross helo with laser designators.'.

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Shit… they're targeting the Red Cross choppers."

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Anybody got any anti air?"

Selerik looks around at the others on the roof. "If you arn't a combatant, stay near the center of the roof and stay low. If you have a gun, get as much cover as you can and hang tight. We don't want to shoot at them unless they're coming after us." He sits down, watching the conflict with a sigh. "Negative, six."

La Petit glances at the few folks around her and plants a hand on her hip before commenting in her mumbling manner, "What are you folks mumbling at each other? I can't hear a damn thing." she grouses, more pouting than annoyed.

Once the bum is up the rope and Selerik starts withdrawing the rope, Ghostfist nods once. The troll flips up the hood of his Ruth Cloak and flicks a switch that makes him fade into nothingness. He blinks as he notices reddish glare from above; Frankie's head shifts to peer upward at the drones and the Red Cross helo.
"Oh balls."

Steven doesn't bother speaking into his commlink, since yeah, as La Petit points out, they're all more or less within speaking distance of each other. He draws both of his guns again, settling down on his haunches, resting into the crouching position and watching the drones and the helo for a moment, "Are they?" He asks simply.

El Cajone says aloud for La Petit. "Those drones trailing the Red Cross chopper… they're targeting it..Probably going to shoot it down.." he shakes his head. "Good news is, that means medical supplies somewhere in the Warrens. Bad news is, they're shooting down a Red Cross chopper.. which means Aurora's probably going to be blamed somehow… and we got nothing that'll stop it."

Squeak does take a moment to set his commlink to the frequency that's getting thrown around, and then goes about making sure people have ample protection against whatever's going around in the air. "Yo!" He announces, standing up to hold up surgical masks, "Anyone need one of these?" Spotting Frankie coming over the ledge, he grins behind his mask and waves at him. He stands up to adjust his goggles to the chopper, and then addds a bit of his own perspective, "I dunno. They might be defending it, you know? Not really an attack pattern, it looks."

From the scanners people are using:

+Red Cross Prime+: This is Red Cross Prime, we are just now crossing himilaya. We have 2 unregistered contacts on scope, on an intercept vector. Please advise.

Buckly AFB: We do not show drones on scope. Please relay telemetry for verification.

+Red Cross Prime+: Affirmative, Buckly Tower. Relaying telemetry now.

Buckly AFB: Telemetry received. We cannot identify contacts. Proceed with drop.

"Unfortunately I came ready for a ground battle" Cajone says aloud. "I didn't bring any rockets…Hey Potluck, ain't no non-combatants during an invasion. If you have spare arms, pass 'em out. No point in dying without the chance to fight back. Rocks, pointy sticks.. anything."

El Cajone watches the Red Cross helo, trying to figure where it is landing.

Frankie starts to retreat from the alley, carefully shifting his rifle to start bringing the drones into his sights. And then something shoves Ghostfist. He actively pings the area around him with his magic trying to feel something moving that could have shoved him. Instead, he feels a twinge in his spine, hairs standing on end in a familiar way. "Magic?"
Ghostfist tilts his head upward toward the rooftop, one eyebrow arched. He waves an invisible hand since, if they can hit him, they must have some sort of line of sight on him.

"Well, they shoot them down no real guarantee of anything surviving the crash." La Petit says as she shakes her head slightly and sighs. "I just want outta this mess. Government ain't giving anyone a fair shake though." she sighs aloud and lowers her expression in annoyance. "Ain't a way for you folkst o radio the choppers and warn 'em?"

Selerik waves a hand off at El Cajone as his scanner starts spitting out chatter. Everyone on the roof can easily hear it. "Knew I got this thing for a reason.." He goes over to the edge, calling down. "Hey, I know you're still there. Listen, I can't let you on the roof because this structure might not hold it with everyone else. I'm not saying you're fat, I'm just saying you're fucking huge. Take our comm frequency, message me if you need assistance and I'll come to you." He lets a piece of paper fall above where Frankie's general location is.

"I can get us out of the Warrens through the tunnels. If it comes to that. I know ways." Steven observes, watching the ensuing drama with the Red cross drop and the drones, "From here, it don't look like there's much we can do to stop them."

Squeak peeks lazily over the edge, and then at Selerik, blinking, "Who in the heck're you talkin to?"

El Cajone continues tracking the chopper. "Looks like supply boxes in the chopper as far as I can tell… they're designed to be dropped into hostile areas… they'll survive." he pauses as La Petite talks about warning them. "Uhh.. actually there might be. Hold on."

One giant hand reaches up to snag the fluttering paper. The other hand is busy securing his taccomm's earpiece in his ear and keying the unit to the appropriate frequency once he has the paper. Ghostfist promptly exits the alley again, headed for another building just down and across the street.

Commlink-Ghostfist> Ghostfist says, "Understood."

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak says, "Woah hey that sounds like Frankie. Is that you?"

El Cajone waves a hand in the air, almost looks like's typing on an invisible keyboard. "Might be able to transmit on their frequency…"

Commlink-Potluck> Selerik says, "Sounds like it is.. Don't know if you can shoot him at a heli, but I'm glad to have him."

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak snerks.

Commlink-Ghostfist> Ghostfist says, "As far as we're concerned right here, right now, I'm Ghostfist. I might be able to put a hurting on those drones, but I need to get to a perch first."

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak says, "Okay hold up, lemme look around for a spot for ya."

The homeless man on the roof sits in the middle of the roof, huddling by himself and watching the situation with a frightened expression. He is human, unwashed, and may or may not have peed himself recently.

Squeak stands up for a moment to look around. The young man keeps his scan slow, and looks quite intent on finding something.

Commlink-Potluck> Selerik grabs the side of the roof, hanging off the edge and releasing. "Everyone sit tight. I'm going to tag with Ghostfist, have equipment that can get him onto a roof faster than he will alone."

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak says, "Okay Ghostfist. I see a way up. It looks plenty sturdy enough for a big guy like you. Three buildings down on the opposite side of the road you've got an alley with what looks like a piping control. They go right up the side of that building. I doubt you"

"Hold…on…" Cajone says, still making motions in the air. He shakes his head. "I think… I… have it…"

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak says, "I doubt you'll miss it."

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Red Cross Prime, Red Cross Prime, this is … uh.. Aurora Six. Do you read, over?"

Commlink-+Red Cross Prime+> Blindside says, "This is a secure frequency, civilian, please switch frequencies."

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Negative, Red Cross Prime. Confirm that you have two.. read that two, hostile tracking drones on your tail. They are painting you as targets. Do you copy?"

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone steps up, moving towards the direction of the chopper a few steps to keep it in view.

El Cajone steps up, moving towards the direction of the chopper a few steps to keep it in view.
The chopper continues its slow flight over the Warrens, looking for an opportune spot to drop its load. It's about a half mile away, hovering now over a small rise to the north west. As El Cajone transmits, the light of a missile launch comes from one of the drones.

Commlink-+Red Cross Prime+> Blindside says, "Frag frag frag! All hands brace! We've got incoming fire!"

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Red Cross One, bird in the air! Take immediate evasive action!"

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Buckey, if you're reading this, Red Cross One is coming under fire. We have no air to air to assist.. do you read, over?"

El Cajone grunts. "Mierda… fucking dronnes just fired!

Squeak stands up to watch the missiles fire, whistling, "Wow. Someone's not fecking around. So uh, we gonna head over that way?"

The Chopper banks hard, tilting to the side as the pilot tries to adjust his attitude to dodge the missile. He manages to get the body of the bird out of the way, but takes the missile in the rear rotor. The result is a small explosion, shrapnel going in to the turbines and the rear rotors ceasing to exist. The helo starts an immediate rotation in the direction of the engine torque, as it lurches from the sky, heading down.

Commlink-+Red Cross Prime+> Blindside says, "Mayday, mayday, this is RCP, we are going down."

Thats about all the pilot can get out before it disappears under the line of buildings and smoky haze, somewhere to the north west, maybe about a half mile out.

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Red Cross Prime, can you relay your position?"

Commlink-+Red Cross Prime+> Blindside says, "*Static*"

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Buckley this is Aurora Six… Have just lost sight of Red Cross Prime…."

Squeak squats down to start tying his boots tighter, grinning to himself a little as he stands back up and starts stretching like he's about to do some running.

Commlink-Buckly AFB> Blindside says, "This is buckly tower, confirm identity, transmitter."

Commlink-Squeak> Squeak says, "So what's the plan here? Those sons of whoever fellas are probably gonna be swarmin that thing, right?"

La Petit watches the display with a bit of confusion. "Well, that is a bad thing." she comments in a sure voice.

Commlink-Potluck> Selerik says, "Negative. Oaktown is in the opposite direction, they'll be swarming clear across the warrens towards the target first."

Frankie follows Squeak's directions, veering slightly toward the indicated building. The troll shoves his hands out of cloak and promptly starts scaling the side of the building by way of the piping controls and other protrusions. Ghostfist swings over the top and onto the roof just in time for the explosions. "Well drek."

"I don't know, are we?" Steven says, giving his own indication that he's rather neutral on the idea. Apparently you don't want to contact Steven for Bleeding Hearts Monthly, as his only response to watching the Red Cross helo go down is a slight wince. It's not that he's an unfeeling bastard, just practical. He whistles lowly, and then looks to Squeak and Selrik, "You guys are 10 feet apart, stop spamming the comm channel."

Selerik stands at the base of the roof, watching Frankie go up. "Damn, had no idea he could move like that." He turns, heading back towards the roof where the others are.

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Buckley, temporary designation Aurora Six. Civillian assisting defensive and relief efforts in your containment zone."

Buckly Tower is quiet for a long moment.

Squeak lets the rope back down for Selerik, at any rate.

Commlink-Buckly AFB> Blindside says, "This is Lucinda Troyer of the North American Red Cross Society. Can you assertain the disposition of our crew? Are they alive? Are they injured? Can you recover them?""

El Cajone shakes his head, peering into the distance.

La Petit glances at El Cajone, "I can go look at them, if you want." she advises; making wispy and poofy motions with her hands.

El Cajone looks in the direction of La Petit. "Pardon?" he asks.

"If you can't talk to them, I can go look. You know, in the astral." Petit advises once more, sighing aloud.

El Cajone nods. "Yes, if you can do it without getting killed. Go for it."

Squeak peers around at the rooftops surrounding theirs, pulling out some gloves from his backpack and pulling those on as well as he considers things.

Down the street, near Liverpool, the sound of a large engine can be heard as the Ork's battle bus, nicknamed 'Gate Crasher', can be heard as it powers up. The drums grow in intensity as the first orkish foot soldiers can be seen coming down the street. The Sons of Sauron are not really that numerous, but they do hold other gangs in thrall, and then there are the people who just go along with meyham when it comes.

Thistledown sits quietly watching the ongoing proceedings, glancing occasionally at the non-combatant in the center of the roof.

La Petit shrugs her slim, thin shoulders at this. "Ain't making any guarantees on that count." she says with a brief, lopsided grin before she sits herself down and sighs aloud before, for all visible intents, going to sleep.

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "Negative, Buckley. I have no LOS on the crash… We are sending recon. They appear to be a little over half a click from our position."

«Auto-Judge[]» Ghostfist (#3238) rolls Intelligence + 2 (Enhanced Perception) (to Blindside) for "Trying to Sight the Drones":
1 2 2 4 4 7 10

Selerik takes a little effort to get up the side of the building to the roof again, but manages it without assistance after a few failed jumps for the edge. Problem of being sneaky, is people not noticing you when you actually want them to. "Bugger all.. We were too slow."

Squeak helps Selerik up when he gets to the top, and sighs, "Well are we staying here or heading for that site? Cause if we're moving, I'd like to get there before the guys who shot it down do."

Commlink-Buckly AFB> Blindside says, "Aurora 6.. This is Troyer. If you or your agents can get to our people, we'll be grateful to have them returned to us. The disposition of the helicopter is unimportant. The people are critical."

"We're going to need whatever supplies they have." Cajone says, responding to whomever asked that (Squeak). "The chopper's likely unarmed and the crew only armed with personal sidearms.. they're going to get hosed if we don't."

In the distance, the sound of gunfire rips through the night. Other sounds of vehicles now become apparent, and not just those accompanying the Gate Crasher.

Thistledown sits still concentrating, those able to see astrally see small spirits appear then wing off towards the crash site, those without second site see a tired doctor hunched over watching those around him with a worried look.

«OOC» Blindside says, "Okay."
«OOC» Blindside says, "Time stop for a moment"
«OOC» Blindside says, "As of NOW; Anyone moving or engaging in HELICOPTER related RP, should move, with Kassandra, who will be GM'ing that adventure, to a room with -her-."
«OOC» Blindside says, "Follow silk's bouncing ass."

Commlink-Number Six> El Cajone says, "«NOT on the military frequency» I need a couple to go rescue the civvies.. Any takers?""

Commlink-Potluck> Selerik says, "I need this structure to have an eye on it. The people inside are noncombatants, and its on the beaten and bloody path. Someone staying, I'll go."

El Cajone looks back at Potluck. "How many civillians in the building below?"

Selerik says "Roughly two dozen. Non-combatants mostly, a few who could put up a fight in a pinch."

Selerik sighs. "No time for this.." He looks over at La Petit while digging under his cloak. "Listen, you know how to man a comm right? Got an easy job for you. Sit tight, scream at us over comm if you come under fire. And I want this thing back after."

Squeak hops around on one foot on the roof, as if limbering up. He grins as he wathes Selerik, "So where we headin?"

It should be noted, La Patit is currently astral

Selerik pokes at La Petit a few times. "Ello? …Fuck." He looks over at the homeless guy in the center of the roof, sighs, and sits down. "Bloody hell. You guys get going."

El Cajone says "You planning on comin' Potluck?"

«Everyone but Selerik Leaves»

Selerik sighs, shaking his head. He takes off the cloak he was wearing, putting it over El Petit's body as a blanket. "Mages.. Leaving their bodies at the drop of a hat, when we might have bug spirits or worse." He didn't want to tell the others, but having someone go astral in these circumstances worries him quite a bit. Time will tell if it is justified.

- End Scene -

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