[Saturday September 14th, 2075; Ruins of Graham, Puyallup, Seattle]
@Morgan:
Once again entering the teepee-looking host, you are once again on the side of a green mountain. The scent of jasmine and honeysuckle are just as before, but now there are no personas readily visible. The sinuous eastern dragons that had been been winding their way across the sky on your last visit are now perched atop the fantastic structure at the mountain’s peak. One is nursing an injured foreleg. The aerial creatures that had been swarming around them are now in total disarray - some stopped mid-air and flickering, others flying far off into the distance, others clinging to the scales of the dragons.
Here to take advantage of the hosts defenses, you make for the protection of the castle. The front gates are wide open, but the moment you cross the threshold, you spot two personae waiting in ambush. The one with the better resolution quickly raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture, and you recognize him as one of the deckers attached to the convoy. The other persona, a huge mastiff, is clearly his IC backup.
“Asshole came in, made a real mess, took out my partner. Then he faded. I’ve overwritten every entrance but this one, and the zep’s offline. We’re ready for his next play, no sign of him for a while now.”
@Luz:
For a long few seconds, the damned minigun had chased Luz from one refuge to the next, tearing through anything she took cover behind. And with each dash, the gunner was clearly doing a better job of compensating for her amazing sprint speed.
Now, however, she’d found a spot atop the third car between what appeared to be two huge bundles of canvas, each the size of a light truck. Circus tents? Whatever, the gun couldn’t touch her here.
After a moment, the firing stopped. After what had felt like forever with her ears bombarded by wind and rain, the tortured whine of the convoy’s overtaxed engines, gunfire and screams all around, and the roar of the minigun on her heels, it was suddenly almost serene. The convoys were stopped, the outriders scattering, the small arms fire had died down. All she could hear was the voice of that annoying little man in her commlink telling her to protect the Seer, plus the oh-so-near thrusters of the LAV - clearly sound-baffled for smuggling - hovering just out of her reach.
And every few seconds, the bastard fired a burst into her canvas shelter, just to warn her not to show her head.