Date: Fri, 21 Jul 1995 10:09:57 -0700 Reply-To: Discussion of the Fantasy game ShadowRun Sender: Discussion of the Fantasy game ShadowRun From: Eve Forward Subject: Re: toiletpaperjutsu To: Multiple recipients of list SHADOWRN X-UIDL: 806348694.033 >>>>>Re the 'lethal toilet paper'. Does it have to be the industrial strength sandpaper my employer puts in the stalls or can it be the fluffy kind my wife buys for home use? Can it be dikoted? If the tube is made of orichalcum instead of cardboard can it be enchanted into a weapon focus? How many dots on the skill web separate toiletpaperdo from toiletpaperjutsu? Sheesh, you've opened a real can of worms vis-a-vis the game mechanics of lethal toilet paper.<<<<< He stalks down the alleyway, a lean figure in a black longcoat. Alone. Head down, musing. Alone... and vulnerable. As if from the shadows, figures step into view, five of them, surrounding. They do not speak. The set of their stance and the gleam of the leader's smirk, mirroring the flash of his pistol's steel, speak all that needs to be said about the situation. The lone man halts. The figures draw closer. In a move too fast to see, he whips something from beneath his longcoat. Something white. There is a faint, baby-fresh smell. Whiteness rips through the air with a sound like tearing sails. Two of the attackers scream as their legs are sheared off by the monofilament edge. The leader brings up his pistol, but the round roll darts out, imapacting into his chest with a flash of eldritch light. He gives an anguished wail and falls. Another punk slashes out with a knife, but again the whirring whiteness interceeds; the blade is wrapped in squeezable softness, and only thumps uselessly against the longcoated figure, who uses his attacker's forward momentum to slam him facefirst into the brick wall. The last man turns, tries to run. Whiteness flashes. In a whirring instant the binding sheets of his paper shroud enfold him, head to toe, around eyes and mouth and nose, python-tight. He struggles a long moment, then falls still. The lone figure tears off a few sheets, and dabs gently at a few spots of blood on his longcoat. Then, returning his weapon to its rack inside he coat, he spares a glance for the fallen. Such violence and death, so much a part of life here... but he must be philosophical about things. "When ya gotta go, ya gotta go," he mumbles under his breath, and resumes his walk... slow, musing. Alone. -Eve