Gisk

City In Flames: A Night City Story

AAcademy - Collab between @Gisk and @Letter Bee

Ken Illustrious Ikari was of the same age as the students he had under his wing, although very few people knew that. The diplomas - Actual paper ones as well as digital copies - pinned on wooden frames behind his chair, on the wall of his office, showed that he had the intellect to manage an Academy of his own, however. Well, technically.

Facing Hally, the young man - Barely out of boyhood - spoke to the would-be Edgerunner, "I won't beat around the bush; I bought Arasaka Academy's name, changed it to AAcademy, and now Arasaka is sending the Tyger Claws to mess with me and my students. No one has died yet, no one has gotten injured yet, but it's only a matter of time unless someone scares them off. That's where you come in; I need you to chase the Claws roaming around AAcademy grounds, beat up a few, but make sure they are scared, not dead. Can you do that?"

Hally stood when he approached, and almost made to shake his hand out of habit. She aborted the motion, and instead ran a nervous hand up the zipper of her jacket.

"From what I've heard, you should be happy they didn't send lawyers. Guess the climate ain't right for them at present. This is a little out of Claw stomping grounds, isn't it?" The barest thread of anxiety, as if she might betray unforgivable ignorance.

Ken gave Hally a half-glare at the allegation as he said, "I changed the name enough to avoid a watertight copyright case for them. As for this not being the usual Tyger stomping grounds... You'd be surprised; as a last gesture of spite, 'Saka fed those pricks enough to expand once more and wreak havoc."

He then mused, "So we need some of those pricks beaten. Not dead, beaten. If we kill them, they might descend on this Academy and my students in droves, and I do not want that..."

So she was gonna rough up some punks that were bothering school children... Big league job, that. When Hally thought of her last conversation with Wakako, though, she started to feel a lot like a beggar trying to choose. Still, if she could distinguish herself, that was street cred in the pocket. Something, anyway.

She tapped a manicured nail against the pommel of the sword in her grasp, thinking as she re-applied herself to the task. "Okay. Do we know a specific gangoon that causes the trouble? A head we can cut off the snake?" That was a cool fucking line, right? Then she ruined it, "Uh, so to speak. No, y'know, cutting."

"Not yet, sadly, but the Claws have been stalking the main approaches to the AAcademy building and grounds, robbing students, mugging them, and otherwise giving them a hard time - It's only a matter of time before someone gets killed."

"They like to pick on students who are alone?" She asked, thinking back to her own time in school. It wasn't Tyger Claws back then, just some older, richer girls. But that was how bullying was done, wasn't it?

"You got a uniform in my size?"

Ken smiled and said, "We do, actually. My policy towards uniforms is to pay for ruined ones personally when the student actually wants to study here..."

An indication of his sincerity and more than a little naivete. The two walked to a supply room. They found a fitting uniform, and Hally was given an unused room as a base of operations, and left to it. She didn’t have much in the way of operations that needed basing, but she left the clothes and her sword there for a few hours while she ran out and bought a more discrete weapon.

She got back in plenty of time, and got dressed in the AAcademy uniform. Looking at herself in the mirror was odd, she’d worn a very similar uniform for years, and truthfully had never had much of an opinion of it. Now it made her think of an old action flick. Cheerleader Panic, where a school girl went berserk(fan theories even insisted cyberpsychosis) and carved up her whole class. Not one of Hally’s favorites, but she was warming up to the aesthetic.

Hally pulled her hair loose, and redid it more carefully. A pair of space buns, straight bangs with face framing. She sent a command to her Agent that changed the color to a bright purple right before her eyes. Another mental command gave her glittering eye shadow and glossy pink lips. Was that trendy? Chipping in and moving out had distracted her pretty thoroughly from fashion for a few months. She hoped she looked enough like a teenager, but there was only so much she could do on the fly with tech hair and chem skin.

The sword was too obvious, so she left it with her street clothes; and she had to wear her own sneakers, but that wasn’t too out of the ordinary for the student body. Hally gathered they were largely what her father would call “underprivileged,” and most others would simply call “broke.” What were the Claws even mugging off these poor kids?

Hally made a point to be the first student out and walking down the street, ostensibly going home. If she hung back, she might have a better chance of fooling them. But then the thugs might harass some of the students first, and that’s exactly what she was trying to avoid. Being paid to avoid, in fact.

Tyger Claws actually aren’t all that hard to find, if you wanted to for some gonk reason. Hally already got from Mr. Ikari the streets that they were most commonly hanging out on, and from there she looked for the one that people were noticeably avoiding. Sure enough, a bunch of prototypical Claws were loitering in a stairwell that let off onto the sidewalk. Hally deliberately didn’t look at them any more than she had to. She put her eyes to the ground, angled slightly away and…

They took the bait.

She nearly ran into one of those big studded clubs they liked as it was thrust into her path to block her. The surprised look on her face was more real than she would ever admit, but of course she knew this would happen. There were two others flanking him, and one that Hally could just about feel leering behind her back. It would be fine. She had her own surprises.

“Chips, pretty girl. No need to reach, Ai will get them.”

The one behind came in closer, and Hally realized they must be a pick-socket. She couldn’t let them get her skill chips off of her, or she’d be useless in a fight. So she let the fight-soft kick in; a hand came up lightning quick and grabbed the club. The gangoon had a lax grip, trying to swagger as he was, and lost control of the weapon as Hally slammed it into his face. Blood flowed, and she yanked it out of his hand, spinning and dropping in a fluid motion. She jabbed the end of the club behind her, striking the pick-socket(a girl in athletic wear and a high pony) in the belly. She went down like a sack of potatoes.

Hally was standing again, and raising the club in a pre-programmed motion straight from a sword manual somewhere. But she held back. The gangoons were already cowering. The first guy was squatting on his heels, holding his face and sobbing, one of his chooms was backing away slowly, hands up and wide eyed, and the other was already gone. The girl behind her was whining like… well like a teenage girl who had just been jabbed in the gut by a cybernetically enhanced mercenary. And that’s exactly what she was, now that Hally stopped to examine the remaining “gangoons.” They couldn’t be any older than the kids they were mugging. Not a lick of chrome between them, either.

Hally pointed the commandeered weapon at the one who was still standing. He had a wispy mustache, and the kind of cheap wraparound mirrorshades you can get in a vending machine. He was still holding a knife, just a metal slab with an edge really, but he didn’t seem to even know he had it.

“Drop it,” he did, “Just what are you gonk kids playing at?”

The boy stared at her for just a second, before realizing he was the only one available to answer, then he explained himself all in a rush, “They just said - We were just getting chips, cards and shards and stuff!”

“Who ‘just said’?” Hally took a menacing step forward, brandishing the club. She didn’t think she could really hit him now that she’d gotten a better look at him, but he didn’t need to know that.

The kid glanced to her right, and Hally turned around in time to see the blade coming down. Later on, Hally would look back on this moment and feel like a goddamned action hero. In the moment, however, she mostly felt the tanto slicing into her left shoulder. It had been meant for her throat, but her fight-soft had kicked in again, and the stolen greatclub had moved against her will to strike the man’s forearm. His slash went wide, and cut into first jacket, then shirt, then Hally. Blood flowed, but her arm still moved, and she used it to palm strike his chest, sending him stumbling back.

He wasn’t some kid. This man was a Tyger Claw of the type Hally was used to seeing around Japantown. The type she saw people cross the street to avoid. Floppy neon green hair, a plasticky face plate with subdermal LEDs. A silk shirt and slacks, which was actually worrying. That was something someone in charge wore.

“If it isn’t Papa Tyger,” Hally tried to sound cool while she could feel her heart rate skyrocketing.

“[You may call me Daddy, if you like],” he spoke in Japanese, but her Agent translated it automatically. He was moving back toward her, holding the knife in front of him in a much more natural stance than the one Hally had adopted.

“Ew,” was all Hally said as she pulled her brand new collapsible baton from her pocket with her free hand. In one motion, she drew it, extended it, and smashed his knife arm at the wrist. He was looking at her more obvious weapon, and Hally was glad she had this one in reserve. His hand bent at a weird angle, and the fingers twitched oddly, but he just looked at it in mild surprise. She had broken chrome, not bone. There was an ominous ripping sound as the left sleeve of his nice shirt tore open, revealing a mantis blade that was slowly, almost theatrically, unfolding from his arm. He looked at her with a curiosity that set alarm bells ringing in Hally’s head.

Before he could take another dramatic step toward her, Hally triggered her Sandevistan. The world around her slowed, and Hally moved through it like a knife cutting the air, shoving the end of the club into his torso. He was no gonk kid, and Hally put more into the move than she had last time. She didn't stick around to see the effect, though. While her neurons were still burning on overdrive from the speedware, she turned and sprinted up the nearby stairs, fleeing on an upper pedestrian walkway.

City In Flames: A Night City Story

@Letter Bee@Deide

The night before, Hallelujah had been at Riot. She’d told herself it was to get her face out there(there are better clubs for it, but not nice ones), that people would see her checking her steel at the door, and wonder who she was. Important people go to bars, if they know her face, that can help, right? Maybe she would get into a little scrap, ask the poor gonk if they wanna take it outside?

That hadn’t happened. She had danced, drank a little, chatted some folks up, and just generally went through the motions of a night at the club. She didn’t even really enjoy herself. Instead of having fun memories with friends afterward(what she imagined the goal of a night out was), she woke up just before noon feeling vaguely silly. Pushing away both silk covers and nagging doubts, Hally got up out of bed and looked around at her spare studio apartment. She told herself she would use daddy’s credit only for emergencies and necessities(like going to the club to get your name out) and the studio’s emptiness made her feel like she was accomplishing that, if nothing else.

Her mattress is a nice memory foam one, but it is also on the floor. There’s a small closet on the other side of the room, which she is paying separate rent for. If her rent falls behind, they’ll lock it remotely, automatically dump the contents into a shoot down to the laundry facility, and sell it at a consignment shop. If her repoed possessions fetch enough to cover her rent and all applicable late fees, she can apply again to lease the closet, provided her credit has not been too badly affected by the eviction now on her record. The closet could only fit half of her wardrobe, the rest were presently still in shopping bags, neatly arrayed to the left of the closet door.

The bathroom was a kind of pod. Big enough to stand in, with a little alcove that the toilet sat in. Toilet tissue could be dispensed from a vending machine that sold it to her by the sheet, tallied up and added to her rent. Moreover, the paper was always water damaged from the shower, so she had just bought a pack and kept it nearby. No sucker, Hallelujah Pritchard(or so she thought, until her rent came due two weeks later, and she discovered that they’d charged her for the water damage to the rolls of paper in the machine anyway).

She stood in the pod, in nothing but the loose shirt she slept in, and looked at herself in the mirror built into the sidewall, just below the shower faucet, and just above the sink faucet. She still had her faux-makeup on from last night, and with a quick mental command to her integrated Agent, her chem-skin cleared immediately to the artfully freckled default she had set. She was just starting to wonder what she was going to even bother getting dressed for today when her holo rang. She answered it with another little mental “flick,” and Wakako Okada appeared in her vision, just up and to the left of centered. On the other end, Hally knew an equally false version of herself would appear for Wakako, stylishly dressed and carefully curated.

“Miss Pritchard, I hope that I am not interrupting important business.”

Hally Grimaced, and hoped that nothing of it showed on the holo, or in her voice, “Just finished brunch,” she answered, as brightly as she could. “Free now, h-how can I help you?” A bit of a lame finish, but how do you talk to a fixer? Wakako is a powerful woman, and one who might actually offer work, of the kind Hally wanted. She wanted to sound willing and ready, but was afraid she had already been too eager when asking after a job before.

“Good, I am hoping there is something you can help with. If, that is, you are still serious about doing merc work…”

Hally almost just shouted “Yes!” but kept her cool a moment longer. Don’t seem too eager, remember. “Might be, what’s the gig?”

“The new management for Arasaka Academy is having trouble with some Tyger Claws.”

“I went there,” Hally bleated stupidly, and thumped her fist against the sink, frustrated at her own slip. It turned out not to matter, as Wakako continued.

“I know this. I might have chosen you for the job for that reason, except the client already gave you the nod. Strange, do you know this Ken Illustrious Ikari?”

“Never heard of him,” Hally answered honestly, and the bare bewilderment in her voice made Wakako believe her. “He knows me, how?”

“Information is valuable,” she almost sounded like she was scolding a child with his hand in the cookie jar, and Hally sure felt like it, “You have no credit with me. Not yet. If you are truly set on this path, you must earn it.”

“I will,” she said in a voice both small and somber.

“We will see. Coordinates incoming.” The call disconnected.

~~~

Despite staring in the mirror for the entire conversation, Hally forgot to set her makeup, and ended up leaving her apartment with her hair in a messy bun. She threw on a crop top, black syn-leather jeans, some high-top sneakers, and a magenta pozer-jacket. She had a 2068 Archer Quartz, bought quietly with her secret credit line. She also owned a much newer Mizutani Shion, but was worried her father could track it. The yellow paint on the older car was faded, but she actually thought it was kind of cute. It certainly got her from A to B, anyway, and did so today.

Arasaka Academy was… not how she remembered. Of course, it wasn’t really the same school she had attended. It was just kind of wearing its namesakes’ clothes. The uniforms were a different color, but otherwise identical. Which was good in Hally’s mind, as the red and black motif had been an eyesore. She had expected a cold corpo secretary of a type she was fairly familiar with, but was instead greeted at the desk by a pleasant woman not much older than herself.

Hally was directed to the big boss’s office, and sat in a chair in the waiting area just outside. She unbuckled her sword, and held it in both hands between her knees, her chin resting on the pommel and its sheathed tip on the floor.

City In Flames: A Night City Story

Hallelujah Pritchard

Hallelujah Pritchard

Shortened often to Hally. Pronounced with a short “O” sound. If you say it with any kind of “A” sound, she will hit you.

“You can be good. Or you can be dead. But the more you can add; the more you can bring that meat you were born with up to the next level, the better you can be. And that means less of a chance of ending up on the dead side of the equation.” - Damien, Tech (Deceased)

Age: 22
Gender: Female
Faction: None(as yet)
Appearance: A cherubic vision of innocence, it would take a well trained eye to recognize exactly how much Hally has been enhanced. Her usual look is pale and platinum blonde, with artfully flushed and freckled skin, thanks to a fully-body chemskin bodysculpt. She can make minor complexion changes, as well as alter her “makeup” simply by reprogramming the pigments in her skin. Techhair ensures the same is true of her hair. Who needs a cosmetologist when you have a good clinic? Her eyes have a yellow polychrome tint to the irises; retro but classy.
Cyberware is subtle, but extensive and quite pricey. Most visible by the seams, which are in the same ostentatious polychrome as her eyes.
She dresses in a bright and flashy Kitsch style. Her clothes expensive, but so deliberately tasteless that few would ever guess.

Cyberware:

• Kiroshi Optics(is that not default?)
• Chemskin and Techhair(barely counts…)
• Three Chipware Sockets. One has a robust Skill Chip for programmed combat moves; one is a memory chip, and the third contains her Pain Editor.
• Sandevistan. Speedware that provides short boosts of highly improved reaction time.
• Pain Editor. (What? You thought she was gonna let herself feel it when she gets shot?)
• Skinweave layered over subdermal armor. Two layers of protection against physical damage.
• Muscle and Bone Lace. Increase strength and durability to help keep up with her tuned reflexes and programmed skills.

Equipment:

• Her sword is a marvelous fusion of modern metallurgy and ancient tradition, wrapped in unforgivably gaudy bright yellow. Impossibly sharp, practically unbreakable, way too distinctive.
• She always has six knives secreted about her person at any given time. She has never once actually drawn one from its hidden location, and it’s doubtful she could do so gracefully if the need arises.

Biography:
Born in Sacramento in 2058, just in time to be quarantined for the first two years of her life to avoid two subsequent bird flu epidemics. This was thanks largely to her parents’ both working for Trauma Team. Her mother was a highly valued neurosurgeon, her father a Regional Director.
When she was nine, her life was uprooted very suddenly when her father was transferred to directorship of the Night City regional office. This conveniently led to his family moving out of NoCal just before the Unification War broke out. They weren’t saved from the conflict completely, but TT made a lot of money during the siege of Night City, and it was a prosperous time for families such as hers(officially Trauma Team posted a deficit during the conflict, and yet higher level employees received record bonuses….). Which was good, as Hally spent yet more of her formative years kept under lock and key for safety. She spent a lot of time viewing the world through television and movies, and had an unfortunate fondness for schlocky action flicks like the Bushido franchise.

Hally graduated from the Arasaka Academy(the original one) about four years ago. She would drift through school days in an aloof haze, daydreaming about this or that. Her marks were unremarkable. Her social life, unsocial. If she had a notable distinction, it was that she always showed up to watch any fight that broke out.

She spent the last four years maneuvering around her neurotically protective parents to slowly eek out higher levels of freedom. Nobody really saw much of her during this time, aside from domestic staff and the bare handful of her father’s business associates who rated an invitation to their home. She managed to finagle a “blank check” visit to a top shelf ripper-doc clinic for her twenty-second birthday. He assumed she was going down for some new bodysculpt trend or something, but she was chippin’ in. Hally knew daddy was about a week behind on reviewing expense reports, and by the time he saw what she had really bought, she pulled her vanishing act. With an unlabeled expense line she had carefully and secretly(she thought) tied to her own credchip, she got a small place in Japantown, looking across the bay to Kabuki.

She lives there now, trying to get a job with Danger Gal who, for some reason she can’t imagine, won’t give her the time of day.

(Director Lionell Pritchard is perfectly aware of where his daughter has moved, and how she paid for it. He believes she will get tired of this eventually, and assumes that in the worst case scenario, she will be rescued by her Platinum Trauma card, and learn her lesson that way. He is, however, oblivious to her motives and plans, which make that “worst case scenario” a good deal more likely than he thinks…)

City In Flames: A Night City Story

Hallelujah Pritchard

Hallelujah Pritchard

Shortened often to Hally. Pronounced with a short “O” sound. If you say it with any kind of “A” sound, she will hit you.

“You can be good. Or you can be dead. But the more you can add; the more you can bring that meat you were born with up to the next level, the better you can be. And that means less of a chance of ending up on the dead side of the equation.” - Damien, Tech (Deceased)

Age: 22
Gender: Female
Faction: None(as yet)
Appearance: A cherubic vision of innocence, it would take a well trained eye to recognize exactly how much Hally has been enhanced. Her usual look is pale and platinum blonde, with artfully flushed and freckled skin, thanks to a fully-body chemskin bodysculpt. She can make minor complexion changes, as well as alter her “makeup” simply by reprogramming the pigments in her skin. Techhair ensures the same is true of her hair. Who needs a cosmetologist when you have a good clinic? Her eyes have a yellow polychrome tint to the irises; retro but classy.
Cyberware is subtle, but extensive and quite pricey. Most visible by the seams, which are in the same ostentatious polychrome as her eyes.
She dresses in a bright and flashy Kitsch style. Her clothes expensive, but so deliberately tasteless that few would ever guess.

Cyberware:

• Kiroshi Optics(is that not default?)
• Chemskin and Techhair(barely counts…)
• Three Chipware Sockets. One has a robust Skill Chip for programmed combat moves; one is a memory chip, and the third contains her Pain Editor.
• Kerenzikov. “Always-on Speedware that provides consistently improved reaction time.”
• Pain Editor. (What? You thought she was gonna let herself feel it when she gets shot?)
• Skinweave layered over subdermal armor. Two layers of protection against physical damage.
• Muscle and Bone Lace. Increase strength and durability to help keep up with her tuned reflexes and programmed skills.

Equipment:

• Her sword is a marvelous fusion of modern metallurgy and ancient tradition, wrapped in unforgivably gaudy bright yellow. Impossibly sharp, practically unbreakable, way too distinctive.
• She always has six knives secreted about her person at any given time. She has never once actually drawn one from its hidden location, and it’s doubtful she could do so gracefully if the need arises.

Biography:
Born in Sacramento in 2058, just in time to be quarantined for the first two years of her life to avoid two subsequent bird flu epidemics. This was thanks largely to her parents’ both working for Trauma Team. Her mother was a highly valued neurosurgeon, her father a Regional Director.
When she was nine, her life was uprooted very suddenly when her father was transferred to directorship of the Night City regional office. This conveniently led to his family moving out of NoCal just before the Unification War broke out. They weren’t saved from the conflict completely, but TT made a lot of money during the siege of Night City, and it was a prosperous time for families such as hers(officially Trauma Team posted a deficit during the conflict, and yet higher level employees received record bonuses….). Which was good, as Hally spent yet more of her formative years kept under lock and key for safety. She spent a lot of time viewing the world through television and movies, and had an unfortunate fondness for schlocky action flicks like the Bushido franchise.

Hally graduated from the Arasaka Academy(the original one) about four years ago. She would drift through school days in an aloof haze, daydreaming about this or that. Her marks were unremarkable. Her social life, unsocial. If she had a notable distinction, it was that she always showed up to watch any fight that broke out.

She spent the last four years maneuvering around her neurotically protective parents to slowly eek out higher levels of freedom. Nobody really saw much of her during this time, aside from domestic staff and the bare handful of her father’s business associates who rated an invitation to their home. She managed to finagle a “blank check” visit to a top shelf ripper-doc clinic for her twenty-second birthday. He assumed she was going down for some new bodysculpt trend or something, but she was chippin’ in. Hally knew daddy was about a week behind on reviewing expense reports, and by the time he saw what she had really bought, she pulled her vanishing act. With an unlabeled expense line she had carefully and secretly(she thought) tied to her own credchip, she got a small place in Japantown, looking across the bay to Kabuki.

She lives there now, trying to get a job with Danger Gal who, for some reason she can’t imagine, won’t give her the time of day.

(Director Lionell Pritchard is perfectly aware of where his daughter has moved, and how she paid for it. He believes she will get tired of this eventually, and assumes that in the worst case scenario, she will be rescued by her Platinum Trauma card, and learn her lesson that way. He is, however, oblivious to her motives and plans, which make that “worst case scenario” a good deal more likely than he thinks…)

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

@Mistress Dizzy

What if they're related through marriage? In Fazra's backstory(as it currently stands, I can and will change it if necessary for our own story) her father married into a noble/royal family to make an alliance with a human kingdom. Maybe Kijani is a cousin, or even a step sibling(Fazra currently has a human step brother in her background already).

You certainly don't have to go with that, just something in throwing at the wall.

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

@Mistress Dizzy She could be really fun as a fantasy character. Maybe a princess or noble's daughter with a keen interest in scholarship.

I'm actually having a conversation with someone about a story with Fazra, if you're interested in a small group we can see if we can fit all three characters into something.

@Meleck the Grey

I'm sorry, but I'm more interested in a story with this character, so I'll have to call a rain check, as it were. If you're open to it in the future, maybe we can pick the idea back up.

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

Also, here's a cyberpunk concept I came up with that never saw use. Basically an anti-capitalist gang. I don't know how they fit in, but maybe they will.

Ronin

Transient street samurai, somewhat inspired by the Nomads in Cyberpunk 2077. They disdain both corporations and the rule of law, both of which they view as irredeemably corrupt. This obviously is not an uncommon attitude even amongst ordinary citizens. The Ronin set themselves apart with exactly how far they're willing to take their refusal to participate.

It is exceptionally rare for a Ronin to own land or property. More commonly they will squat in old buildings, or take up residence in out of the way places. They do not make use of banks for any reason whatsoever, to do so would be grounds for ostracization by any and all Ronin who still keep to their code. They sometimes carry cash out of necessity, but are known for being strangely careless with it; either they will lose it, or even just give it away when their need has ended.

They will only purchase anything from what they dub "Individuals," an ill defined term with nearly as many interpretations as there are Ronin. As a result, any corporate owned establishment(and many privately owned ones) will bar them from entry, under the assumption that they intend to steal. This is not an unfounded expectation.

Their survival depends on two abilities that corporations have discouraged in the general populace. The first is the knowledge of how to grow(and very occasionally hunt for) food. Ronin maintain secret gardens all over the world, and guard them jealously. Very few people outside of this group are even aware of the practice. And to this day not a single person has entered a Ronin garden and lived to tell about it.

The second ability is the repair and creation of their own equipment. Ronin can be spotted easily by their garb and gear. Everything they own is out of date, off-brand, or just plain homemade. They can be distinguished from your garden variety pauper by the cleanliness and good repair that they keep everything in. Gear is expertly repaired, their vehicles(though absurdly old in most cases) run like new, or even better sometimes. Their clothes are patched or darned artfully, often improving the look rather than detracting from it.
They also remove all brand logos or iconography from anything they own. It is not enough to cover or hide it, it must be cut away.

The Ronin have one of the few ongoing blade making traditions. Inspired of course by Japanese sword making, it is updated and improved with modern metallurgy. A Ronin sword looks much like a traditional katana(or wakazashi, tanto etc), though occasionally with some odd quirks in the color of the metal, or the construction of the hilt, owing to their penchant for using scavenged and recycled materials. Though their swords are unmarked(per the Ronin Code) most Ronin can spot one of their own swords by style, and may even recognize the smith who made it.

As far as more modern weapons are concerned, there are some gunsmiths among them, but it is more common for Ronin to carry antique fire arms(with logos and serial numbers filed off).

No single group, no matter how well organized(and the truth is that the Ronin are barely organized at all) can produce everything that they need. As mentioned, they will use money when necessary, but greatly prefer to barter in goods and services.

Goods and services

Any given Ronin only knows so much, and won't be able to offer everything, but if one is polite(and not already known to be an enemy) they will usually try to find someone who can offer what you need.

Rice wine, typically made from rice they cultivate in their hidden gardens. It is generally considered to be quite good.

Good, real vegetables. It is actually quite rare that they will offer this, as they rely heavily on it for survival(they generally refuse to eat food produced by corporations), but if a crop produces a particularly good surplus, or if the need is great enough, it does happen sometimes.

Repair of just about anything.

Medical services(either home remedies or stolen medications).

If you are a true friend to the Ronin, they might offer a sword, but this is a great honor and quite rare. Generally speaking they try very hard to keep their swords out of outsider hands.

There are many clans within the larger Ronin community, and some(including the FBI) liken them to an alliance of gangs. The truth is that a clan is much more akin to an extended family, and while most Ronin are at least technically a criminal of some sort, few of them do more than petty civil disobedience, or just being a general nuisance.

Ronin will accept those who shun the corporate lifestyle, and as a result there are some Ronin from all walks of life. However, most are born into their clan. A born Ronin and a convert can often be easily distinguished as those born to their clan will only receive cybernetics from a Ronin ripperdoc.

Ronin cybernetics are simple and sturdy. They don't interface with any other computers as they use a wholly unique operating system not seen outside of the clans.

Ronin's Code

[notes made in brackets are observations and interpretations by Ronin elder Jin Corso]

First, we must never engage in the buying and selling of money. Neither borrowing nor lending.
Second, we exchange currency for nothing, except from Individuals.[there are some who ignore the second clause and never utilize money, but this isn't feasible for most, and the exception exists for a reason]
Third, we must not wear or hold the marks of those who created the things we use. Nor should we mark those things that we make with our own hands. [no one should hold ownership over a thing except the one who keeps and maintains it]
Fourth, we must not take from the Individual. [an "Individual" is one who acts only for themselves(excepting to help family, friends, or community), and so the property of a corporation is free to take and use as one pleases, provided they follow The Third when doing so]
Fifth, we must endeavor to cause as little harm to Individuals as we can.

Slang terms for the Ronin include "sword bum" and "rino." The latter being a portmanteau of rice and wino, a reference to the rice wine they commonly sell.

There are some Ronin who are militant even to the point of terrorist action, but the vast majority are more akin to strange, orthodox monks.

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

@Meleck the Grey

I realized that Billy would actually work really well as a cyberpunk character. In the Cyberpunk TTRPG there's actually a class called the "Rockerboy" that's basically a sci-fi bard.

So here's the setup I have in mind, it kind of combines a handful of ideas. Andy and Billy knew each other in high school(we'll need to discuss what that entailed), but haven't kept in touch. Maybe it was a fancy private school.

Fast-forward some years, they've both lived their lives in a way, Billy ends up with some kind of crazy cybernetics tech in him(I'll need to think of how) and the company that owns it is after him. Andy is the only person he even remotely knows who has a medical background, and he seeks her out for help removing it(or else somehow disguising it so he can't be tracked). She can't help immediately for some reason or another, but Billy is wealthy, and once the Corp is off his tail, he can pay handsomely. Now they're stuck together until either the job is done, or they get killed.

How do you feel about a small group, though? I don't know how they'd fit in, necessarily, but if you(or anyone else reading this!) Has an idea, feel free to chime in.

EDIT: Actually, little pivot here. Artist sells out for fame and fortune, only to later regret it after finding out how much of his life has record label has control over.

It turns out some piece of cyberware that his label so kindly had installed is allowing them to track him. He doesn't know what it is or how it works. He does something desperate to blind the Corp, allowing him to get away, but it's only a matter of time before they're back on his tail. As with the previous idea, he goes to Andy, the only person he can think of.

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

Hate to "well actually," but the Cyberpunk ttrpg franchise actually predates Shadowrun by one year. Shadowrun first published in 89, Cyberpunk was in 88.

But the genre is older than both, and it's just a difference in slang. I just happen to be familiar with one and not the other.

Looking for partner(s) for a character driven story, for which I have characters in mind(and not much else).

Quick thanksgiving day response, there's a good chance I won't reply again today.

I'm trying to get back into RP. Your orcs sound awesome. I am also bad at plotting heavy duty story, but people have said my characters are fun. So that's something.

@Mistress Dizzy

Tell me what kind of character you would play in a game with Fazra! Don't worry about what story they might have, we can think of that later.

If you happen to have a sheet to post, even if it's from a completely unrelated roleplay, feel free. That's all I did in the opening post lol.

@Meleck the Grey

I can see a plot where a desperate, down on her luck ripper-doc finds E13, who is certainly valuable, but also sentient, bringing weird ethical dilemmas.

A quick note, I'm not familiar with Shadowrun, so some of your terminology is different from what I know from Cyberpunk 2077.