Well, on one hand Isla’s heart absolutely melted at watching the little Pokémon with its absolutely wide eyes. The lil guy was just adorable, with his…well, the tail looked like a broom, sure, and the way the fox wolfed down the jerky just struck her the wrong way, but then again she’d seen some that’d looked weirder and far, far more hungry Pokémon in how they ate. Isla tried to listen out and away about the forest in general, everything around her, but she very well couldn’t just…turn her head out and about. There was a Pokémon right in front of her, and really looking away struck the young girl as a bad idea. Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, she watched the little fox get closer and closer.
Dancing, though, had grown well awake at the new smells and such. He regarded the one right before them for a moment, noting that they were getting the jerky too. Snorting, he made the decision that he’d want something a bit more next time if some random fox got it; there wasn’t much more to be said on that matter, so he got up while on her shoulder, patting feet around to let the great bushy tail smack Isla right in the back of the face as the Eevee looked about.
“Hey, what the-” she giggled, head coming low for a moment as it lightly smacked. Dancing had paused, though, locking eyes with the second one who had been stealthily padding up from behind. He stared, too, giving off something between a cough and a bark at the fox, throaty and roughshorn.
Well, that’s not a normal noise. Isla slowly rose back up just enough to swivel, swaying slight at the weight on her shoulder as she took a look at whatever it was Dancing had spotted, keeping in mind that she still had the one right in front of her to watch. He’d gotten close enough that, in all likelihood, it’d be just a few more steps before she could pet the guy; comfortable, aren’t they? Had others fed them? Was it a natural tendency? Then Isla spotted the other one. Ah. There had been a plan there. Smart little guys.
She tossed a piece of jerky to him as well, a good deal less careful now, turning her head just a little to consider the first. Taking a smaller piece from her bag, since honestly she’d started running out from this one, Isla leaned down, almost offering it to the fox.
Age: 39 Gender: Male Faction: Lungers / Maelstrom Appearance:
Standing at nearly 6’8”, Morris is a wide, well-built man with a strong hint of a gut to accompany his musculature. Bald, his face is almost traditionally Maelstrom, with optics and sensors replacing his eyes, while scarification cuts into sparse, light facial hair. Morris’s arms resemble hydraulic and construction equipment, armored with pieces of armored cars painted black, though his hands seem to be a pair of ripped MoorE Technologies models. His upper torso is a dull metal sheen, titanium and armor components in an almost industrial sense. Morris wears heavy set clothing to cover these things, jeans and loose shirts with thick black leather jackets in the Maelstrom style.
Cyberware:
Raven Microcyber Mk.3 Cyberdeck
Heavily modified Kiroshi "Clairvoyant" Optics
Heavy modified Gorilla Arms / Titanium Bones
Second Heart / Blood Pump / Independent Oxygen Supply
Subdermal Armor / Armor Plating (Upper Body)
Equipment:
Techtronika VST-37 Pozhar
Techtronika RT-46 Burya
Thorton Mackinaw Larimore / Zetatech Atlus
Biography:
Born in Heywood, Morris Ryan Malone would have a fairly normal childhood as far as childhoods could go. A netrunner-lite from a young age, he'd be among those proteges hacking various terminals here and there to make a quick eddy, all while dropping from the school system once they started with a local cyberware program to shove proprietary tech into their skulls. His parents wouldn't be much help after that though, with a dad in construction getting hooked on glitter by accident from one of his painkiller hookups and a mom trying to hold things together once everything started to fall apart. From a pretty young age, Morris found himself relying more on the Net for help.
One of his endeavors would change his life forever though, a little party up in Watson. He went, in part because Valentinos had started recruiting kids his age and Morris had already gotten a glimpse of their handiwork, in part because the organizers said they might have some work here and there. A little cryptographic puzzle, that's all it was, and some good little boosters to kick the party into high gear. It turns out that the puzzle was a daemon and the game was trapping it without actually ‘touching’ the thing, generally a bad idea since it fried the first person who accidentally delved too close. Morris would nearly get fried too, though a bit of luck and a split-second decision to pounce as it was breaking the ICE of another partygoer meant he survived. It turned out the organizers were Maelstromers and to one degree or another, they were impressed by the kid’s talent, said he had a real chance to shine here or there. The Net was a place they wanted to roam free, do what they wanted, cybernetics a tool to get there, an expression of themselves.
Morris, stupid and young as he was, jumped in. He started living up there with a group of them, getting his first cybernetics under a haze of boosters and painkillers duking it out, and soon coming under the tutelage of a codefreak there. Deep dives into the Net here and there happened, in some ways changing him, some ways keeping him the same. By the time Morris had turned twenty-four, he’d gained an understanding of the Net in the same way as you’d gain an understanding of your city block, gained an unusual competence with daemons, gained an unusual competence with logistics. Numbers just made sense to the guy, and he used it to the gang’s full advantage. Organizing interceptions of Militech gear and Kiroshi optics, Morris would rise in the ranks of the local groups. He’d err away from the drugs production, sure, found it to be too hot for his tastes with all the addicts and the cops, the solos especially, instead sticking to the clean crimes. Hacking corporations across their spheres of cash for a quick eddy, scrapping cars for whatever parts he could, selling off cybernetics they’d stolen away from the big names in their industries, that became his mode of operation.
When Brick and Royce both got killed in the middle of a Militech raid, Patricia stepped up to the plate as the overall leader of Maelstrom. Their operations grew in scale, whole harvesting operations at parties like they were Scavs, stringing-up NCPD who’d gotten too close like they were totems in Watson, grew in scale, grew in attention. He didn’t like that, mainly also because she was even less predictable than Royce had been, mainly because corpos had started sniffing around where they did business. When things went south in Totentanz and she got killed by a solo, a whole lot of the Maelstrom folks had been blown away and Morris seized on that opportunity. Some of them rallied around Clint, one of the more Brick-like gangers, some of them around Erika, but Morris led out his own band of Maelstromers, the folks he’d worked close with before on the Militech and Kiroshi operations, the folks he knew, the folks he trusted. Altogether, it wasn’t a great time for the gang, chaotic as it was.
Setting up shop in an abandoned warehouse in Watson along the north end of Offshore St, Morris soon went to work making his connections throughout the city’s Net. Soon enough, he had Militech shipments redirected to his people, as well as some others from Techtronika and Rostović, for dispersal throughout Night City. The basement sections grew to be his own little fortress, air filter systems replaced by gas pumps for carbon monoxide, doors and entrances replaced by airlocks and armored sections, and the monoxide spread out into many other little outlets to occasionally kill the unaware bum. For his own people, Morris became a slight antithesis to their usual vices, a constant moderator for keeping the violence for the times it was really needed and not being seen otherwise.
The attack on Arasaka would prove to be a massive benefit to Morris and his group, informally called the Lungers for their proclivity to gassing opponents before they even knew they were under attack. Seizing control of two Trauma Team Atlus AVs which had been pinned down in the crossfire, as well as ransacking numerous Arasaka warehouses when their security systems went haywire, the Maelstromers found themselves suddenly in control of unusually powerful systems. Morris was quick to secure his own position in this, performing full system wipes on all the captured equipment while also occupying the vacated Totentanz club. In the weeks after, as Arasaka pulled out what it could, he’d engage in an aggressive war against them, trying to claw out anything he could. Cyberattacks and daemons flew left and right with little regard for anyone caught in the middle.
Since then, he’s kept control of swathes of Watson for his own purpose, engaging in some dealings with Militech to keep them off his turf, keep him off theirs, though every now and again another shipment bearing the Militech logo finds its way into his warehouse.
Abandoned Warehouse, Northside, Offshore St, Watson The Lungers’ center of operations, this abandoned warehouse is where various shipments ‘lost’ at the docks become mysteriously ‘found’ with all their serial numbers burned off at a good, honest price. A number of monitoring systems disconnected from the Net and hard-wired are present, with no actual systems within the warehouse having a Net connection. Lighting is also kept to a minimum, primarily due to the Lungers’ optics removing the need for such. The basement level is cut-off even further, with airlocks at entrances and exits to help keep in the carbon monoxide atmosphere. The best sign of life in the whole facility is the constant Ritual FM radio station playing on full blast.
Totentanz, Northside, Pershing St, Watson Formerly run by Patricia, the Totentanz club continues to blast its signature blend of absolute noise and screamed lyrics at a breakneck pace. The Lungers rarely utilize the locale, instead using it as a meeting place where they can choose the stakes, they can choose the circumstances, and ultimately choose the direction. Despite a fairly hands-off attitude, whenever Lungers aren’t on the job, they can be found at Totentanz relaxing in that usual Maelstrom way.
Claimed Territory: Offshore St, Pershing St, Ross St, Muren St Notable Members:
Nathaniel One of Morris’s top lieutenants and his trusted man in acting through the numerous interceptions at the docks, it’d be hard to not consider Nathaniel to be somewhat of a ragged man. He’s mostly borg by this point, stuffed to the gills with ripped Arasaka and Militech technology, has to eat his meals through a tube, and generally is less than happy with any engagement that doesn’t let him eviscerate at least one person. It’s gotten to the point that Morris has been forced to send Nathaniel on jaunts into Japantown to teach the Tyger Claws what fear is, though it doesn’t just help remind his lieutenant what joy is.
Dietlinde Owner of Totentanz and formerly just the bartender, Dietlinde operates her establishment with the exact same amount of pomp and ceremony she served drinks with: Absolutely none. She’s by the books, a cold woman by the very definition of such, though has proven to be infinitely reliable to Morris. Under Dietlinde, the club has become a rocking house for the various idiots of Watson with the number of kidnappings and executions performed there taking a steep dive. These days, it’s just the ones who piss off Maelstrom who disappear at Totentanz.
Total Membership: 36 Main Income Source: Black Market Sales (Weapons, Cybernetics), XBD Recordings, Financial Crime (Cash skimming) Short History:
One of the split-off groups when Patricia flat-lined at Totentanz by an unknown solo, the Lungers have flourished with black market activity left and right. Selling off Militech, Kang Tao, Techtronika, and Rostović shipments to the bidders on the market after the boxes disappear at the docks, it has been through careful organization, planning, and solid execution that they have made so much cash. Despite this and their other activities drawing a fine line from the other Maelstrom gangs who manufacture Glitter and Black Lace, who rip out cyberware from victims to sell on the market or implant into their own members, and the Lungers who sell guns and cyberware out the box, sell XBD recordings, and skim cash from corps, the gang isn’t kinder by any means. Lungers often leave their victims hanging from several buildings along the street while those who betray the gang for others are sent to their loved ones one organ at a time, all while recording the process to sell on the streets in XBDs. The message they send is pretty clear: Cross the Lungers and you die when we say you die.
Wasn't too long ago that Arasaka got wiped across the board. Some gonk solo'ed a facility in the distance and suddenly you had corporats flatlining left and right, AVs falling out of the sky, suits getting fried right there with Ziggy. It was Christmas come early, really a beautiful time if ever there was one. That makes me feel alive, a real tear-jerker of a memory. Hell, even a bunch of their big-wigs got fried, kiddies of old Saburo, and Arasaka pulled right out from Night City within weeks.
Militech rolled in soon after, camouflaged boys who started recruiting 6th Street pukes like they were their very own, pulling the same sorta crap like Arasaka had except with cheaper suits and more chrome. The Tyger Claws that were left must've felt slighted that sugerdaddy 'Saka didn't stick to back em, or some gonk back in Japan pulled their strings, because they started a gang war across Kabuki and into Japantown. Kang Tao made good then, too, pushed themselves into the city center like a tick that just won't go away, though they steered clear of the chest thumping, kept to their own affairs. Lead flying left and right, it was real good time. Watson blew up too, amid all that, and Pacifica…well, it kept on being Pacifica. VBDs carving out an empire in secret and Animals in the gym, a tale as old as that hole. Dogtown shut its doors with everything once a Militech gunboat perched off of the coast, threatening to turn the place into real rubble if they tried fucking things up by getting involved. Rumor had it Hansen got zero'ed too, though who the hell knows with that place.
Yeah, it's a real good time for business. Solos, crews, corpos with an axe to grind, corporats with a conscience to ignore, gangers to make a mark on the city…whoever you are, there's always a way for you to make an eddy for yourself and steal one from your neighbor. So really, choom, there's just one question I've got for you.
Who the hell are you?
DESCRIPTION
Welcome to City In Flames, a Night City roleplay.
As a free roam, open game, ultimately you have the creative choice on where you start out and where you go. Between playing a solo, a small crew, a corpo, or a ganger, as well as being able to lead a small faction, options on how to change the face of Night City are wide and varied. Amid a new flare-up in the gang wars that have consumed the city streets, players will get their chance at stardom and maybe, just maybe, a new addition to that list of legends.
The game essentially is born from my own minor frustrations with Cyberpunk 2077 and a desire to do more there, to be in that sort of setting from even more angles. By and large, major narrative decisions and gigs will be more of a cooperative venture between proposing players and myself, in part because players have the best idea of what is fun to them, in part because I don't have the time or creativity to make every single gig in Night City.
A minimum of one post, two paragraphs, a month is expected. If real life situations prevent such, by all means that is alright, please just let myself and other members be aware.
Factions are limited to a maximum of thirty members. Factions will be treated as an extension of the character in regards to permissions for interactions and interactions between a player character and another’s faction members should be cooperative, with outcomes of such agreed upon by both parties. Faction members should individually be considered weaker than a player character unless specifically stated or within certain circumstances such as VBDs attacking a netrunner.
Joining the Discord is not mandatory, but is highly encouraged to facilitate good, quick communication between myself and to other players for cooperative interactions. If such interactions are agreed upon via on site PMs, either player should let me know in the OOC. If the other player disputes this in any way, they will be assumed right and the interaction will be considered godmodding.
Update for all and a bump for anyone who missed it! Opening post for this will be posted sometime in the next two days or so, just need to edit a few images for the OP and make my own character. For all interested, please join the Discord so we can talk through character ideas and potential lines of the story.
At but 5’ tall, perhaps even a bit less, Bensen seems to lack the strong frame of a Tully in most regards. Curling, black hair parts down to his shoulders, a halo for his long nose and softer jaw, though his fair skin and bright bluebonnet eyes do mark him in his ancestry. The young Tully’s hands are worn enough from honest work, dirt forever underneath his fingernails, and he almost makes it a point to keep it so. As far as clothing, Bensen prefers to wear blacks and reds, though in a muted color. In most ways, it would be easy to mistake him for a common peasant anywhere else than the Riverlands.
Description & Biography:
Born from Lord Tully’s brother, Karkan Tully, and a Blackwood noblewoman, Olira, Bensen grew up split between Riverrun and Raventree Hall. As the eldest son of the couple, he bore the black hair of his mother’s house, endearing many of her cousins and earning the suspicion of some at Riverrun. They spoke of mistakes, for Olira was married further into her years, of unfound maidenheads and stableboy lovers, though Karkan was headstrong against the whole of it and his elder brother forbade such hated talk. Bensen would grow to be a tolerable hunter from that young age, preferring to tend to hawks and hunting hounds about Raventree Hall, and took up fishing often at his young age. The boy tended to falter at his knowledge of houses though, near and far, the colors and names and words seeming to blend together often.
His mother would become laden some few years after his sixth name-day, when he had finally gotten his first puppy to raise into a hound, and it was explained just three times to him on what precisely it meant. Bensen had a younger brother or sister, and they were coming soon. Seven months later though, his father off to Riverrun for family business, a dam broke with blood too, and both her and child were lost despite the Maester’s best efforts. The burial was held soon after, in Blackwood fashion, buried under the dead weirwood tree, and Bensen was as numb as could be to all of it. One day she was there, as vibrant as could be, and the next…the Maester didn’t let him see her, as still as she was. He’d only heard the screams, calls for help, the rush of servants here and there. Bensen had hid away with his pup during it, he had no idea really what had been.
The death broke Karkan, though. He grew to drink heavily, confess sins to holy brothers and Maesters, never to Septons, take long walks along the river with a bundle of stones in a pack. He didn’t speak to Bensen, long gone were his smiles and laughter. Eventually, the man did speak to the Maester at Raventree Hall, having Bensen sent to live with his brother. Karkan traveled north, though, far north to the wall to take on the Black.
Bensen still didn’t understand, though Lord Tully took pains to explain it. He would soon be distracted by the careful machinations of that new protector, hunting dogs, hawks, fishing supplied alike. The young boy would be embraced by his older cousin, Abigael, as she in some ways adopted him while shielding him against the fool rumors that had begun to surround Bensen. Some of the worst repute in Riverrun called him an ill-omen, marked as he was by his black hair, one who had driven a proud Tully to run off and a Blackwood to die, though Bensen rarely noticed such as the talk notably died-down whenever he and Abigael were about. Worried as they were for the actions of her father against such, and for the actions of the Lord Tully’s daughter, such fools were loath to risk their necks.
Bensen meanwhile would grow to continue to be an even better hunter than before, a good enough hawker, and well-beloved by his hunting hounds, even taking up riding in more than a cursory fashion by virtue of long-running competitions with Abigael. Young, still incapable at the strangeness of court life, still incapable at the cruelty of court politics, he remains delightfully oblivious to many of those issues which are sure to trouble him in the future. His singular connection to the probable entrance of court life would be a strong bond with his cousin, Abigael, which continues still as the pair do at times read together.
Interest check for a Cyberpunk 2080 (or so) game set in Night City, free-roam form for a lot of it. Players could control Solos, form their small merc groups for jobs here and there (which I suppose would be a collaborative effort between the prospective players who want to do the thing and me, just so jobs aren't too wacky and I'm not making all the jobs myself), or be in one of the gangs of Night City from Maelstromers to VDBs. Would generally be looking at a minimum post a week, though that can always be stretched out.
If anyone's interested in this, have ideas on how to make it better, or questions to better refine the idea, feel free to let me know / ask here!