TEXT: A SHADOWRUN SUPPLEMENT
  Writing 
  Russell Zimmerman
  Cover Art 
  Kathleen Hardy
  Illustrations 
  Phil Hilliker
  Development 
  Peter M. Andrew, Jr.
  Layout & Design 
  Matt Heerdt
  Art Director 
  Brent Evans
  Shadowrun Line Developer 
  Jason M. Hardy
  CREDITS
  © 2012 The Topps Company, Inc. All 
  Rights Reserved. Shadowrun and 
  Matrix are registered trademarks 
  and/or trademarks of The Topps 
  Company, Inc., in the United States 
  and/or other countries. Catalyst 
  Game Labs and the Catalyst 
  Game Labs logo are trademarks of 
  InMediaRes Productions, LLC.
  
  RERaku
  Damage
  aP
  Mode
  RC
  ammo
  avail
  Cost
  Izom aphrodite
  5P
  —
  BF/FA
  1 (2)
  40(c)
  8F
  1,600¥
  Genade Launcher
  GrenAde
  —
  SS
  —
  1(m)
  ultimax 68
  6P
  –1
  SA/BF/FA
  (1)
  35(c)
  9r
  1,100¥
  Izom SS-374
  7P
  –1
  SA
  1
  4(m)
  3r
  850¥
  Izom CSM-419
  7P
  –1
  SA
  —
  10(c)
  4r
  1,700¥
  Izom PHP-131
  5P
  –1
  SA
  —
  9(c)
  11F
  650¥
  Terracotta Pup
  4P
  —
  SS
  —
  5(c)
  4r/6F
  550/750¥
  Terracotta arms aM-47
  9P
  –3
  SA
  1 (3)
  18(c)
  14F
  8,250¥
  Terracotta arms Mordred
  5P
  —
  BF/FA
  –2
  20(c)
  7r
  950¥
  ultimax 83
  6P
  —
  FA
  —
  32(c)
  6r
  650¥
  ultimax 47
  7P
  –1
  SA/BF
  —
  20(c)
  6r
  3,350¥
  Izom PHP-49B
  5P
  –1
  SA
  -
  12(c)
  5r
  300¥
  Terracotta arms Caravan
  8P
  –1
  SA
  1
  10(c)
  7r
  950¥
  Izom RP-71
  4P
  —
  BF/FA
  –1
  25(c)
  7r
  600¥
  SHIawaSE
  Damage
  aP
  Mode
  RC
  ammo
  avail
  Cost
  Nemesis arms Praetorian
  5P
  –1
  SA
  1
  12(c)
  7r
  500¥
  melee
  (STr/2+1)P
  —
  Nemesis arms Spratley Stalwart
  5P
  —
  BF/FA
  1 (2)
  40(c)
  16F
  2,300¥
  Shiawase armaments Type k2072
  4P
  —
  SA
  3(m)
  3r
  475¥
  Shiawase arms Copernicus
  5P
  –1
  SA
  -
  14(c)
  5r
  700¥
  Carp Hunter
  7P
  –1
  SA
  1
  8(c)
  4r
  970¥
  Shiawase arms Tactical Model 73
  5P
  —
  SA/BF/FA
  3
  100(c)
  12F
  2,750¥
  Shiawase arms Riot Guard
  7P
  –1
  SA/BF
  (1)
  15(c)
  10r
  2,300¥
  Shiawase arms Tactical Model 69
  9P
  –3
  SA
  (2)
  10(m)
  18F
  14,500¥
  Shiawase arms Tactical Model 71
  5P
  —
  BF/FA
  1 (3)
  25(c)
  16F
  4,750¥
  Shiawase Police Response
  7P
  –3
  SA
  1
  20(c)
  12F
  6,100¥
  Shiawase arms Hearth Protector
  4P
  —
  SA
  —
  7(c)
  3r
  550¥
  Shiawase arms Light Tactical
  4P
  —
  SA
  1
  16(c)
  7r
  1,050¥
  Shiawase arms Heavy Tactical
  7P
  –2
  SA
  —
  12(c)
  17r
  2,800¥
  Shiawase arms Tsunami
  7P
  –1
  SA
  —
  7(m)
  4r
  500¥
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  “Immortals don’t have to beat you, just out wait you.”
  
  Layers
  To people with the eyes to see it that way, Portland is not a place, 
  it’s a thing. A living, breathing, eating, shitting creature. An animal. 
  Most tourists only see the outside, the shining fur, the bright eyes. They 
  appreciate Portland—or Cara’Sir, if they want to sound like the new 
  natives—for being beautiful, they keep a safe distance, and they think 
  it’s gorgeous and graceful. They’re like people watching a tiger at a zoo. 
  They don’t know it, really know it, like folks with a closer view. 
  Patrolman Craig Young knew better. He saw the lower layers, not 
  just the shiny veneer. He didn’t spend much time amidst the shining 
  spires of Downtown, the lights of the Telestrian Habitat, or his brother 
  Constabulary officers with their hokey horses and their paychecks triple 
  the size of his. The tourists, the academics, the high society mavens, the 
  good citizens—those were not his people, not the ones he dealt with day 
  in and day out. He didn’t simply admire the predatory grace of Cara’Sir 
  from a distance; he was immersed in it. He spent his nights tucked 
  soundly in the belly of the beast. As an elven officer with the wrong kind 
  of reputation, he got the worst beats to walk, the worst neighborhoods 
  to patrol, the worst parasites to deal with. Young saw the claws and 
  fangs firsthand, with no intervening iron bars or glass.
  Young liked to classify the neighborhoods by how much 
  augmented reality they indulged in; given his particular skill set 
  and outlook, he spent more time in AR than most, and it colored his 
  perceptions. The gaudy Downtown sights, the hotels of Elk Town, the 
  conference centers and eateries of Westmoreland? What wasn’t a 
  magical illusion was an AR overlay, as often as not. It was all painted 
  up, either with wonderful wizards or console cowboys, to dazzle and 
  distract and impress. Their dark reflection, the other side of the coin, 
  was Cara’Sir’s ugliest neighborhoods. Guilds Lake, the half-renewed 
  industrial park on Swan Island, the Meat Racks down by the port? 
  There the AR was more desperate, where it existed. Triple-X rated, 
  thick with syndicate-sponsored subliminals, illegal tracking cookies, 
  and occasional malware. The electronic overlay of Portland’s underbelly 
  was like top-notch tridscreens propped up in rotting, roach-infested, 
  BTL dens. It was there to hold your attention while someone took your 
  nuyen, your blood, your soul. Or all three. Only the places in between 
  showed their true colors. Tigard and Progress, Faloma and St John’s, 
  places where what you saw was what you got. The honest places. The 
  middle places.
  Part of Young liked avoiding those places in the middle. Even 
  riding solo in his patrol car—Pritchett had, surprise surprise, gotten 
  yet another last-minute assignment that kept him from having to 
  ride with a “round-ear lover” like Young—he preferred the thrill of 
  
  Portland’s worst corners. Here in the dark, a cop could get away with 
  things that were impossible in the city’s nicer districts. Especially a cop 
  with the right skills, magical aptitude, and headware.
  Young idled in his sedan, chewing on some betel gum and doing 
  what no one else in the Constabulary would or could. He’d spotted 
  another one; an AR underlay, a crafty way some seemingly legit 
  businesses advertised their less-than-clean secondary operations. This 
  one was a basic list of options and prices for a massage parlor, but 
  with the right password—or a powerful Spoof program, which was 
  what Young had—you could turn the special offers page into a list 
  of less-than-savory actions with less-than-legal partners. At least 
  the Shooters down at the Meat Racks ran clean parlors with willing 
  participants. Outfits like this, though? Here, the Peace Force couldn’t 
  just take a small cut and turn a blind eye. Or at least, Young couldn’t.
  His headware commlink spun to life, and he danced with it. 
  Dipping into full VR—seat laid back, windows tinted, sedan armored—
  he and his Fairlight slipped through menu option after menu option, 
  leapt and spun from node to node, sliced through their secure code 
  neatly and smoothly. In an eyeblink he had skipped past their clumsy 
  IC and in a heartbeat he was a full administrator. He downloaded their 
  lists of working girls, their clients, their employees, and sent instant 
  data relays to friends in the Constabulary. He found their money, and 
  the seventeen separate numbered accounts where it was kept.
  He smiled and edited the base code of their sign. 
  As Young straightened his seat and pulled his black-and-white 
  away, easing into light traffic to continue his patrol, bank accounts and 
  passwords scrolled serenely on the animated sign. He knew how the 
  animal of Cara’Sir worked. The bank accounts would be drained by the 
  greedy and selfish faster than the parlor itself would be raided by law 
  enforcement, and he didn’t mind a bit. It was a win. Some of the city’s 
  poor would have a little extra spending money, one less thing to worry 
  about with the Rite and the elections coming up. The pimps who rented 
  out little girls would still lose their cash. The cops who cared more about 
  glory than order would still get their busts, eventually. Young wouldn’t 
  get official credit for any of it, but he didn’t care. The work was getting 
  done, the girls would be freed, and this layer of Portland would be a little 
  better off. He’d done it before, and things had fallen into place just fine.
  He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, then, when he came 
  across the sloppiest burglary in Portland’s history a few blocks later. 
  Three ork youths—gangers from the Spans, judging by their black-
  on-gray colors—were clambering into the shattered front window of 
  a ¥-4-NERPS pawn shop. For a split-second he wondered how they’d 
  gotten the bars off, even as a mental command got his patrol car’s lights 
  flashing while the siren warbled twice. His question was answered by 
  one look at the shoulders of the burly teens, and the way the light dully 
  gleamed off the crowbars two of them carried.
  Car 34 to Dispatch. 459 in progress at my GPS. Backup 
  requested, he piped silently and invisibly as he clambered out of his car, 
  drawing in a lungful of air to bellow in his best command voice.
  “Peace Force! Put your hands up!” 
  The cinder block, hurled at him by the third ork ganger, almost 
  took his head off. Young was too quick, though, lunging sideways to 
  dodge it. Laying sidelong on the pavement, his Falcon pistol barked 
  twice and a pair of gel rounds slammed into the ork’s chest. The 
  targeting reticule of his smartlink broadcast to his department-issue 
  Oakleys centered on the ork’s head a split-second later. The Span wasn’t 
  bright enough to take the hint from the first two shots, and he raised 
  crowbar to attack. His head snapped back as Young squeezed the 
  trigger, and the ork spun to the ground. The opening exchange was 
  brutally one sided, but it kept Young from realizing he hadn’t received 
  confirmation from dispatch.
  He didn’t have time to think about it a heartbeat later, either, 
  when the two that were still awake came rushing at him. They were all 
  high on jazz or kamikaze or—Man, I hope it’s not K-10—something, 
  coming at him even as he emptied his magazine into the pair of them. 
  As a half dozen gel rounds raised welts and bruises or bounced off 
  armored street leathers, they bellowed about broken promises, ripping 
  the ears off Keeblers like him, and following orders. He let his sidearm 
  clatter to the pavement after the slide locked back, empty, and his right 
  hand darted to his duty belt for his baton while his left tried a stiff-
  arm to buy him the space he’d need to draw it. It was going to be ugly, 
  and it was going to be up close.
  A crowbar swipe almost broke his collarbone, a gut punch blasted 
  the wind from him, and a ham-sized fist snapped his head sideways. 
  Young gave as good as he got, though, keeping a cool head and lashing 
  out with the shock baton, battering with hilt strikes when they got 
  too close to properly engage the electrically charged end. A downward 
  smash of the crowbar cracked the densiplast forearm guards hidden 
  beneath his jacket, a hot gust of foul breath made his eyes water as 
  gleaming fang implants shone centimeters from his smartglasses, and a 
  full-shouldered shove sent him tumbling almost back to his squad car. 
  He came back with baton strikes to the head, a brutal elbow, a dirty 
  kick from a densiplast-enforced boot
  Young’s world exploded in static and bright light, then, and as he 
  clawed his shattered Oakleys off his face and let his eyes adjust, trying 
  to ignore the ringing in his head, he saw that one of his assailants was 
  down and groaning. The other had gotten in a cheap shot and used the 
  opening to run. An ork-sized blur of black and gray rounded a corner 
  into nearby alley. Young stooped to recover his sidearm as he went, 
  leaning down to trigger his stun baton one last time and jab hard at the 
  Span ganger lying on the pavement. Then he ran, and the chase was on.
  34 to Dispatch, 34 to Dispatch. Code Purple, 245 on an officer! 
  11-99! 10-73?
  By reflex, he and his Fairlight shot the data equivalent of 
  emergency flares, calling for Constabulary back-up as he sprinted down 
  winding alleys, dodging dumpsters and squatters. The ganger he was 
  chasing was probably fifteen years younger than him, with ork-strong 
  legs and ork-powerful lungs, high on some combat drug and riding 
  a wave of adrenaline. The ork went out of his way to bull through 
  anything in his path, knocking over garbage cans, sending piles of 
  crates tumbling, throwing everything he could in Young’s way. Young 
  was better, though. More experienced. He moved through the real world 
  as smoothly as he did the Matrix, avoiding what he couldn’t overcome. 
  There was a smoothness to his actions—vaulting over a rusty trash 
  can, taking three steps up a wall to grab a fire escape, swinging from it 
  to the top of a dumpster, sliding across the rain-slick lid and down, feet 
  under him, sprinting again—that the ork lacked, and where the young 
  ganger went through everything in his path, Young slipped past it, over 
  it, around it. Young found a hole, every time. He was gaining. Steadily 
  gaining. Almost on him. All he needed was a good straightaway to pop 
  in a fresh magazine and draw a bead, or one more little slip-up to let 
  him get within arm’s reach. Almost there.
  Another alley mouth opened up to a street that needed crossing, 
  and Young had the time he needed. He slapped a cold polymer magazine 
  
  into his Telestrian Falcon, the slide slapped forward to chamber a round, 
  and instead of continuing the chase he raised the pistol.
  “Peace Force!” The gun barked twice, Young’s aim purposefully low. 
  “Halt!”
  The Span ganger tumbled to the rain-slick pavement yowling in 
  pain and clutching at a bleeding leg. He tumbled and rolled, trying to 
  scramble backwards on all fours and pitifully raise his hands at the 
  same time. Officer Young advanced with his pistol held on the ork, left 
  hand dipping to his duty belt to grab some restraints.
  He spared a skyward glance as he piped another command to his 
  headware, Dispatch, this is 34. Come in, come in. 11-41 at my location, 
  I repeat, ambulance needed at my loca—The limousine barreled into 
  the ork fast enough to send him flying, and the custom Westwind 
  stretch-job was low enough to the ground that it kicked him up for 
  some real hang time. The low-slung machine stopped on a dime a 
  split-second afterward, and Young was sure the brake lights hadn’t 
  engaged until after the impact. The Span was a sprawled-out mess, 
  limp as a rag doll, head pulped. Young registered it all in an instant, 
  knowing he was dealing with a driver that was chromed enough to 
  hit the ork or not, and that he had chosen, consciously chosen, to 
  run him down.
  Young leveled his sidearm as a rear passenger window slid down. 
  Then, a second later, his vision was dazzled by flashing, stabbing lights. 
  A pair of squad cars and a trio of rotodrones had this block cordoned 
  off, and every one of them lit him up with their spotlights at once. With 
  his smartglasses broken, the light was a physically painful thing, 
  knocking him back half a step, but leaving the face he’d seen—the 
  passenger in the limo—etched all the more sharply into his mind.
  “I would holster that, Officer, before it gets you killed.”
  It was only after Young’s kydex holster clapped onto his sidearm 
  and he lamely lifted his hands in the air that the spotlights slid 
  away. They didn’t turn off, though. They all just swiveled, finding 
  other targets, dazzling and spearing at an apartment window here, a 
  storefront there, a couple on the street, a late-night food vendor at his 
  cart. Each of the civilians was pinned in place as surely as Young had 
  been; they all knew that a Peace Force spotlight came mounted on a 
  gun. They all knew what that attention meant.
  “Do climb in, please, and stop waving your arms around. You’re 
  embarrassing the Constabulary.”
  Still off-balance, Young stooped to enter the luxurious back seat of 
  the Eurocar. He blinked away the darkness of the interior, then did his 
  best not to gawk. Sitting across from him were Princes Conall Taylor 
  and Jonathon Gant, two of the most powerful men in the Tír.
  Taylor drawled at him again, with that famous amused edge to his 
  voice, while holding up a slender flute.
  “Champagne?”
  “I’m, um, on duty.” It was the first thing Young thought to say, 
  even as the limo pulled away and left his squad car behind.
  “Your shift expired at 21:15, actually. You were called back to the 
  station and formally reprimanded for an unwarranted search of a 
  privately owned node.” Gant’s deeper voice was almost robotic, clinical, 
  detached, matter-of-fact. Wholly uncaring. “No one is turning a blind 
  eye to your little game this time. You’re facing official legal sanction 
  for your tampering and will likely face compensation charges from the 
  businessmen you wronged.”
  Taylor lit up the back of the limo with a smile.
  “Or, rather, you will if we decide to have Johnny here hit send on a 
  few messages he’s got queued up. Perhaps you’d rather sit and talk for 
  a few minutes, Officer Young?”
  Young sat. 
  “As wise as you are athletic, Officer. A fine performance, by the 
  way. We already knew you were mentally sharp, but it was nice to see 
  you in action tonight. You didn’t do a bad job at all with those Spans. 
  No hesitation, solid shooting, and good stick-work.” He paused for a 
  cheery little toast and a sip of bubbly. “We already knew you were good 
  at chases, though. Jon?”
  “Young, Craig Joshua. Born October 2, 2040, Tír Tairngire Medical 
  Center, to Michael and Cindy—”
  “Oh, hold just a moment, Jon.” Taylor held up his flute of 
  champagne to interrupt, nodding toward one door as the Westwind 
  glided to a halt. “And scoot over just a bit, Officer. Who knows what 
  she’s wearing tonight?”
  As it turned out, she—Prince Amy Joubert—was dressed rather 
  conservatively, not wearing one of her splendidly formal, often magically 
  decorated gowns. She slipped into the back of the limousine gracefully, 
  as she did almost everything else. Taylor handed her the champagne 
  he’d offered to Young by way of greeting.
  “Miss Joubert, always a pleasure. We were just getting to the dirty 
  secrets part. Jon started a bit early in the timeline, though. Do skip on 
  to the interesting parts, you’re being dreadfully dull.”
  Jon Gant—head of the Information Secretariat, the shadowy 
  espionage center of the entire nation—shot Taylor a glare that would 
  have made an ordinary citizen fear for his life and the life of his family. 
  Nonetheless, he cleared his throat and continued. Young could only just 
  barely make out the telltale glimmer on Gant’s eyes, tiny slices of data 
  shining over his cyberoptics, giving away the fact that he was reading 
  off a list from deep within his headware.
  “Very well. Young, Craig Joshua. Formally joined the Rinelle 
  ke’Tesrae in 2059, serving primarily as Matrix enforcement. Made 
  a sysop of the Shay ke’Sallah, or ‘forest of silence,’ after less than a 
  year’s service as a data courier. Responsible for Matrix assaults on nine 
  Netwatch officers in that time, directly involved in four operations that 
  caused twenty-seven deaths and sixty-four injuries, handled data, 
  coordination, and planning for at least eight more.”
  Taylor tsk’ed loudly, and even Joubert frowned prettily. Gant didn’t 
  show that much emotion; he just kept ratting off sentence fragments 
  like he was cribbing notes instead of describing a string of violent 
  terrorist activities.
  “Left the Rinelle during the amnesty period offered following the 
  passage of the Zincan Act . Enlisted in the Peace Force, requesting a 
  position in NetWatch and citing ‘other’ as qualifications. Served well 
  from 2066 to 2072, with background records safely classified from 
  all but higher-ups. In 2072, formally requested reassignment to the 
  military branch, specifying the Ghosts as a desired position. Was 
  transferred to Constabulary instead and put on Patrol, formally 
  reprimanded for unnecessary paperwork and repeated requests. 
  Transfer requests continued.”
  Taylor made a grand show of producing a commlink from within 
  his jacket pocket, waving a finger to put it in speaker mode, and settling 
  it onto the seat between he and Gant.
  “And, with Prince Parris joining us …” As Taylor spoke, the 
  commlink broadcast an AR display of the perpetually scowling, dark-
  haired Prince. “… storytime is over, and I believe it’s time for a little 
  Q&A.”
  
  “Were you a Paladin of the Rinelle ke’Tesrae?” Prince Joubert’s 
  voice was softer than the rest. She lacked the perpetually bemused edge 
  of Taylor’s and the clinical disconnect of Gant’s. She was a Paladin, 
  herself, Young remembered.
  “I swore Oaths to bring about change, yes.”
  “As part of an Initiation?”
  Taylor’s question caught him off guard. They had to know he was 
  an adept, of course, but he wasn’t sure they’d known how advanced 
  he was.
  “Yes.”
  “And why turn your back on it, then? Why join the Peace Force?” 
  It was Prince Joubert again, managing to sound almost concerned. 
  Taylor was having fun with him, Gant was interrogating him. Joubert 
  seemed almost worried about him, empathetic to what he went 
  through, understanding. 
  “I didn’t turn my back on anything. I became the change I thought 
  the country needed, even after the Coup accomplished most of what we 
  were after. The people got their elections. They got their Rites and rights 
  back. I wanted things to keep getting better, but thought I could do 
  that from inside, not outside, the system.”
  “And since then?” The voice was tinny, a little cold. Sharper than 
  Gant’s, though. Parris. “Why continue badgering your commanding 
  officers with these demands to be transferred? They’ve made you a 
  pariah in your own precinct.”
  “Because this isn’t where I want to be.”
  “Why?” It was from Prince Parris again, piping from the 
  commlink. It was a demand, not a question.
  “Because I feel like I can do more good…”
  “Stop.” It was Gant, interrupting with those cold, dead, eyes of 
  his. “You should know I’m monitoring you in a dozen different ways to 
  test the honesty of your answers and I’m reporting my findings to my 
  peers real-time. Prince Joubert and her unique talents are also in play. 
  Tell us only the truth.”
  “Lying to a Prince is a capital crime.” Parris’s voice carried more 
  than the hint of a threat. “You were one of NetWatch’s best, now you’re 
  just a beat cop, hated by your peers. You want to be a Ghost, instead. 
  Why?”
  “I think I’d fit in better with the Ghosts than …”
  “We can have you shot, you know. Why?”
  “I feel the Constabulary isn’t fully utilizing my potential to bring 
  about greater…”
  “If he lies to us again, Prince Taylor, kindly snatch the life from him 
  with your bare hands.”
  “Because they killed her.” Young almost spat the words at them, 
  feeling the anger rise up in him like bile. “You already know it, but you 
  bastards want to make me say it? Fine. Because when the Rinelle got 
  their leg caught in a trap, it acted like an animal and gnawed it off. 
  With Horizon and the Peace Force coming in at them under the Zincan 
  Act, some of the Brat’mael decided to go out ‘purging’ Rinelle cells they 
  thought were weakening the movement.”
  “And so your wife was killed,” Amy Joubert spoke softly, as though 
  she’d lost a friend herself.
  “Danielle was too moderate for them, and she was a human. That 
  was enough for them to want her dead. I want them dead for it.” The 
  dam broke, and Young let the words pour from him angrily. “Fuck 
  NetWatch. Fuck the Constabulary. I want to be chasing them. I want 
  to be hunting down what’s left of the Black Sun and killing them. I 
  want to pay them back for what they did to me, and to her, and to my 
  life. And you all know the Ghosts is the only place to do that.”
  “Not the only place.” Taylor cut in again, this time without any 
  sarcasm. His upper-crust, foppish, veneer vanished, and there was a 
  formality and seriousness to his tone that was lacking before. “But we 
  recruit from the Ghosts, too, so at least you have been trying to step in 
  the right direction. We’re short on Matrix overwatch since the Boise job, 
  and Young fits what we need. I say aye. Those in favor?”
  “Aye,” Gant sounded bored, even as he agreed.
  “Aye,” Joubert said, sadness still touching her voice. “Though I fear 
  the hunt will bring you no peace, Craig.”
  “Aye,” Parris said, as though he’d been on Young’s side all along.
  “Very well. That gives us four direct votes. Joubert carries Foster’s 
  proxy, Telestrian and Demarco are formally listed as agreeing with the 
  rest of the Council in these matters, which gives us seven. Rex couldn’t 
  care less, Zincan and Van den Berg don’t know, and fuck Jaeger. We’ve 
  got our vote, the matter is settled.”
  “The … matter?” Young rather wished he’d accepted the 
  champagne now. Or any other drink, preferably harder.
  “You’re in. We’ll have your things moved to the training facility 
  shortly. Your brothers and sisters will take over for the formal initiatory 
  rites, but in the meantime the least we could do was give you a ride.”
  As the Westwind slowed, Young saw they were cruising to a stop 
  on Royal Hill, outside one of the luxurious manors that had been so 
  hastily vacated when the old Council was abolished. A fit-looking black 
  human with a clean-shaven head and a salt-and-pepper goatee stood 
  on the curb, hands on his hips. Prince Taylor nodded to him as their 
  driver unlocked the rear door for Young to climb out.
  “Marcus will take you from here. Welcome to the Moonlight 
  Thorns. And congratulations on your progression, Sir Young.”
  
  7
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  Has the tedium of the everyday got you feeling bored, grey, worn 
  down, exhausted … mundane? Are you tired of the glass and concrete 
  of [_insertlocale_]’s skyline, the gaudy, artificial, lights, the choking 
  pollution, the normality of it all? Do you need a break from the ordi-
  nary and a trip to the extraordinary? Do you crave the adventure of 
  a lifetime, where you can show your children supernatural wonders, 
  indulge in the finest dining and entertainment the Sixth World has 
  to offer, and marvel at paranormal creatures in their fantastic native 
  environments? Then it’s time for you to Experience the Magic. 
  Leave [_insertlocale_] behind! Walk in ancient woodlands 
  restored to their primeval glory, wrap yourself in the warm embrace 
  of the greenest cities in the world, experience fantastic shows only pos-
  sible with supernatural talent, romance your loved one in the City of 
  Roses, and bring the wonder back into your life. Experience the Magic 
  of Tír Tairngire! 
  > I think I’m getting diabetes just reading this crap.
  > Rigger X
  > Yes, Charisma Associates’ latest travel brochure is going to be a sickly-sweet pile 
  of garbage, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use it as a jumping off point to have 
  a real discussion. The Tír’s right in our back yard, for those of us working out of 
  Seattle, and it’s been a while since we really took a look at the place. Just keep 
  your image filters high to block out the photospam of the place, then go to it. 
  > Pistons
  > Welcome to the new Tír, just like the old Tír?
  > Pistons
  > Yes, about eight of the ten faces on the street will still be elven, but that sort of 
  thing changes slowly given metahuman lifespans. Dwarves are holding steady at 
  the number two spot, for much the same reason. Ork breeding rates show their 
  demographic climbing the most, but the human overall average has dropped 
  slightly in the wake of the regime changes. The Tír doesn’t self-advertise as 
  being only elf friendly any more, but it’s still sold as meta friendly. Humans are 
  fine as tourists, but not exactly encouraged to stick around.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > So, who were these Rinelle guys again? I was like five when they first showed up, and the 
  Tír datadumps are full of conflicting info on these dudes and dudettes.
  > /dev/grrl
  > Who they are—they’re still around—is a bunch of elven supremacist wankers. Or hippies who 
  wanted to oust the Princes and bring about social change for the poor, or bold urban gueril-
  las fighting for a better Tír, or gunrunning thugs just out to make a buck, or hard-working 
  citizens out to improve their lot in life, or zealous Tír patriots out to fix the world, or no-good 
  terrorists who murder babies. It all depends, lass, on who you ask.
  > Thorn
  > Uhh. Yeah. That’s not really helpful, grandpa.
  > /dev/grrl
  > Dammit. We normally disable crap like this before hosting this sort of tourist 
  file. Why aren’t the normal silence protocols working so that we can make this 
  irritating little bastard to stop chattering at me?
  > Black Mamba
  > Muwahaha!
  > Slamm-0!
  TÍR TaIRNGIRE BaSICS
  FACTS AT A GLANCE
  Population:  
  5,001,000
   
  Human: 
  3%
   
  elf: 
  78%
   
  dwarf: 
  8%
   
  Ork: 
  9%
   
  Troll: 
  1%
   
  Other:  
  1%
  Per Capita Income: 
  42,000¥
  Population Below Poverty Level:  
  20%
  Estimated SINless:  
  7%
  Education:
   
  Less Than Twelve Years:  
  2%
   
  High School equivalency:  
  52%
   
  college degrees:  
  35%
   
  Advanced degrees:  
  11%
  Hi there! I’m Grimmy the 
  Grimoire! I’m your familiar, 
  here to help you Experience 
  The Magic! If you have any 
  questions while perusing this 
  datafile, please feel free to 
  access my icon at any time. 
  I live to serve! I’ll gladly let 
  you access my arcane secrets 
  and tell you everything you 
  need to know about my sorcer-
  ous homeland, Tír Tairngire. 
  GRIMMY
  SAYS
  
  8
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Some of Zincan’s first actions as High Prince were to initiate heavy government 
  spending into advanced education protocols, and it’s just starting to pay off. 
  Students who were barely attending as they began high school amidst Rinelle 
  attacks are completing their basic degrees, strutting across the graduation 
  stages like they’re the kings of the world. The economic upswing is doing the job 
  they needed it to, their next trick is going to be keeping that economy propped 
  up with Tír citizens, not megacorp lackeys, and that means convincing people to 
  stick around in-house and continue their education (and indoctrination). A big 
  part of that education push was a branding campaign that began in the wake 
  of the old Princes being swept away (or thrown under a bus, depending on who 
  you ask). High Council: Higher Education infomercials tacked onto the end of 
  political advertisements during campaigns has really paid off. 
  > Winterhawk
  Cinanestial, Tír Tairngire’s own Skywing Airlines, would 
  love to have you as a suborbital or semiballistic passenger headed 
  into Morningstar Field in Cara’Sir, or on a shorter flight headed to 
  Serentaneyo, Malek’thas, or anywhere else in the Land of Promise! 
  Welcoming agents from Tír Tairngire Customs and Immigration will 
  cheerfully assist you throughout the boarding and baggage-loading 
  process, eager to help you Experience the Magic as quickly as possible! 
  Once you’ve been assigned your Visitor’s Authorization Visa (VAV), 
  your trip can really begin, and flying is the fastest way to get there! 
  > Annnnnd we’ll cut the drek a little early into this part. Plane, train, or auto-
  mobile, there are a few basic rules for getting into the happy, fuzzy, new elf 
  playground. Rule number one is still the same as it ever was, though: Don’t get 
  caught if you’re doing it the nasty way. With their security no longer as paranoid 
  as it used to be, most of us know how, or know someone who knows how, to 
  fake travel documents well enough to get in legally.
  > Bull
  > VAVs are marketed as tourist-friendly now, not just tourist-required. In addition 
  to serving as a temporary SIN (complete with facial recognition and retinal 
  scan tags) that the Peace Force can demand to see at a moment’s notice, VAVs 
  are actually helpful in providing shopping and hotel discounts, seasonal travel 
  vouchers for public transportation, and that sort of thing. They’re still absolutely 
  necessary to visit the country, but Charisma has done a fantastic job of making 
  them feel like perks, not burdens.
  > Frosty
  > They still make visitors stick out like a sore thumb, mind. You can get a hardcopy 
  of a VAV, which looks and functions just like a credstick, only it’s made of clear 
  polymers instead of the traditional black. Even if you opt for just an electronic 
  copy, having a valid VAV flags you as a tourist whenever you interact with AR in 
  any way. Sometimes it can get you hassled by the locals, but most of the time it 
  can be a real lifesaver. For example, even the most hardcore gangs tend to leave 
  tourists alone, because they know how hard the Peace Force will come down 
  on them if they do anything to scare away the rubes. There are neighborhoods 
  in Portland a native human couldn’t leave alive, but if he makes a big show 
  of paying with a VAV-stick or constantly checks local maps on a VAV-tagged 
  commlink, he’ll just get a few jeers and insults to hurry him on his way.
  > Traveler Jones
  > Beats catching a bullet.
  > Hard Exit
  > How hard are these VAVs to fake? I understand they’re easier to get now than 
  they used to be, but is spoofing this thing a viable option if we’ve got a team-
  mate out to save some nuyen?
  > Mihoshi Oni
  > There are those who’ll argue you can hack the whole world, but it really comes 
  down to whether the risk is worth the reward. There are expert forgers in the 
  Tír who can handle government forms, same as anywhere else, but generally 
  speaking it’s probably not worth the hassle for a VAV. Their Matrix security hasn’t 
  taken the hit their magical power did.
  > Bull
  > So … back to getting in?
  > Sticks
  > While Thorn’s having a bit of fun at your expense, and is likely playing some sort of 
  drinking game while perusing this particular document, his point is a fair one—and 
  it confirms what you’ve already seen in the Tír media, doesn’t it? The confusion 
  stems from the fact that, early on, the Rinelle ke’Tesrae was a political movement, 
  a popular revolution, and a terrorist group all at once. Different factions that only 
  agreed on one thing—the end of the Tír as it was in the late 2050s—all banded 
  together, or were, at least, all grouped together by the Peace Force and media. 
  There were those who wanted a modern republican government, those who wanted 
  the High Prince and similar nobility to have even more absolute power, those who 
  wanted Hestaby put to death, those who wanted an end to institutionalized meta-
  racism, and those who wanted the Tír to only welcome elves, all fighting side by 
  side to bring about change. It’s a miracle they accomplished what they did without 
  self-destructing.
  > Winterhawk
  > You’d be surprised.
  > Thorn
  > Their success with the 2064 coup was far from complete, in large part because no 
  two factions could agree on what would be considered a success. All but the most 
  extreme, the most vocal, have gone back to living their lives in the years since. 
  Those who remain, the worst of the lot, would not or could not. Malcontents and 
  rebels aplenty remain, despite harsh measures used by both Horizon and the Peace 
  Force.
  > Tarlan
  > So they’re terrorists and freedom fighters and common thugs. Huh. Sounds like 
  shadowrunners, doesn’t it?
  > /dev/grrl
  GETTING INTO TÍR TAIRNGIRE
  +RIDING THE WAVES
  +THE OPEN ROAD
  -SOARING ABOVE THE CLOUDS
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  9
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Nowadays? You do it basically like you would anywhere else. Border security 
  is still taken more seriously than is strictly practical, but they’re not nearly as 
  xenophobic as before. They can’t afford to be. You can either have a bunch of 
  shoot-first assholes standing around at every border checkpoint, all day every 
  day, or you can draw in tourism by looking friendly; it’s hard to do both. They 
  keep the heavy hitters out of the public eye now, and traditional methods of 
  getting through customs and immigration with a reasonable fake SIN are a lot 
  more likely to work.
  > Sounder
  > Which is to say they’ll actually take a bribe like everybody else, instead of having 
  you locked up, dosed with laés, or both, like in the bad old days.
  > Rigger X
  > Keep in mind you’ll still have other problems, though. The Tourism Board 
  requires a native guide be assigned to any foreign group, or else the vast 
  majority of the country will be off-limits to you. Even if you jump the border or 
  otherwise make it in illegally, there are hurdles to leap once you’ve arrived.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  Cara’Sir is a natural starting point on the journey of a lifetime. 
  As many visitors will arrive at Morningstar, it’s only natural to branch 
  out from there and enjoy the city that hosts it. Cara’Sir is also the seat 
  of political power in Tír Tairngire, and in many ways it is the beating 
  heart of the entire nation. “As Cara’Sir, so the country,” as the popular 
  saying goes! Cara’Sir is more accessible to visitors than ever before, and 
  many tourists to Tír Tairngire have spent their whole visit in just the 
  one city, and still not seen all it has to offer!
  Cara’Sir has a pedestrian-friendly and bustling Downtown city 
  center, with guided tours available to walkers as well as eco-friendly 
  trolley passengers. Shop in the multi-leveled public sections of the 
  Telestrian Habitat, watch the Marchers win a big game at the Civic 
  Stadium, or marvel at elven ingenuity at the Tír Tairngire Museum 
  of Science and Industry. The Tír Zoo provides the world’s finest 
  opportunity to witness paranormal creatures in their fully realized and 
  recreated natural habitats, while the Forest Park experience is famous 
  throughout the world. Sate your thirst at The Cave or Pat O’Grady’s, 
  try to catch Deirdre’s live show at The Edge or New Dawn, or experi-
  ence the finest in elven cuisine at Nelestrian or Jeremiah’s.
  For those with long distances to travel in a hurry, Cinanestial 
  offers their award-winning skycab services to get you right where you 
  need to be, anywhere in Cara’Sir, at any time of day or night! For guests 
  who prefer to keep their feet on the ground, the newly renovated 
  subway system can get you anywhere you need to go. Visitors to the 
  Tír can invest in the Eagle’s Wings or Dwarven Tunnels travel passes for 
  either system, and enjoy unlimited trips with either program, granting 
  almost unlimited access throughout the city!
  Out of respect to Tír cul-
  ture and language and as an 
  attempt to help guests swiftly 
  acclimate to it, throughout 
  this travel invitation you’ll 
  often see us using Sperethiel 
  terms. A full Sperethiel glos-
  sary is available in my regu-
  lar help menu prompts, but in 
  the meantime, here’s a handy 
  guide to help you prepare for 
  your visit!
  GRIMMY
  SAYS
  Cara’Sir: Portland, the capital city.
  Ele Arandur: The Council of Princes, Tír Tairngire’s ruling 
  body.
  Faskit: Tír Tairngire law.
  Goronar irenis od ni hengar Sperethiel, sallaharnagee: “I 
  am just a tourist, I do not speak Sperethiel.”
  KéValan: Corvallis, a city.
  Malek’thas: Salem, a city.
  Samrielar im ozidan tech: “I need to use the restroom.”
  Se’har Maera: The High Prince, the office currently held 
  by Larry Zincan.
  Se’ranshae Elenva: The Star Chamber, the Tír’s Chamber 
  of Representatives.
  Serathillar perest cetheral, amedaron: “I really need a 
  drink of cetheral.”
  Serentaneyo: Eugene, a city.
  Tolanestéa: Klamath Falls, a city
  > They really love this magical elven culture thing, don’t they?
  > Sticks
  > It’s a marketing ploy now, not just elitism and arrogance. The more they play it up, the more 
  people are willing to “ooh” and “aah” at how special they are.
  > Pistons
  > For a more practical, albeit less pleasant, lexicon addition, it’s worth pointing out there is 
  a vast array of Tír-specific metaracial slurs one might encounter. In most instances body 
  language will certainly give away the intent, should someone direct one of the following at 
  you, but just to keep would-be visitors from accidentally slipping one of the following into 
  a day-to-day conversation, I present the following list. Humans might get called toddler, 
  infant, ape, or round-ear. Orks are often referred to as grunges or hogs. Dwarves might be 
  groundhogs, grubbers, or pucks, and trolls are occasionally called rhinos. Keebler remains a 
  popular slur against elves, but in recent years the other metatypes have also taken to sar-
  castically calling them Princes, Dukes, Lords, and that sort of thing. “Nagit” is also popular 
  for an elven slur, as a corruption of a Sperethiel term (and, of course, for those with the 
  inclination to pick up Sperethiel, there are dozens more insults to learn).
  > Traveler Jones
  EXPLORING TÍR TAIRNGIRE
  +MOUNT HOOD
  +SERENTANEYO
  +CORVALIS
  +MALEK’THAS
  -CARA’SIR
  
  10
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Okay, who else is bored?
  > Sticks
  > Can’t blame you. Places in town that are actually likely to matter to your average 
  Jackpointer? For those desperate for a taste of home—if home is the Barrens—
  try Lloyd Center. It’s something like the Crime Mall, Tír-style. To most of the 
  public, after extensive renovation and reclamation projects by the Peace Force, 
  it’s a functional if aging mall during the day. After hours, though, the old crowd 
  moves in, and the place is a thriving black-market pipeline. The locals don’t 
  truck with the Rinelle splinter groups still causing trouble, just your everyday, 
  run-of-the-mill criminal types, so the PF hasn’t cracked down on them. They do 
  a half-hearted sweep every few months, make a lot of noise about arrests and 
  the like, but things are up and running again about a week later.
  > Turbo Bunny
  > Willamette Hospital and the Tír Tairngire Medical Center are two of the best in 
  the business for bullet wounds, stabbings, shrapnel, and the like … but then 
  they’d have to be. They’ve gotten a lot sharper in recent years when it comes 
  to the careful treatment of Awakened patients too, largely because necessity 
  demanded it. They’ve seen their fair share of trauma patients since the Rinelle 
  started to kick up a fuss. Sure and we all know how practice makes perfect.
  > Thorn
  > Guilty conscience?
  > Picador
  > Oh, shush.
  > Pistons
  > It’s just force of habit, now.
  > Picador
  > It’s worth pointing out that just because it’s Charisma Associate’s “Gateway to 
  Adventure,” Portland is not all as free, cheerful, and squeaky-clean as they like 
  to say. Making the city more open to tourism only meant the Peace Force had 
  to hide problems, not remove them. Roaches scatter when the lights turn on, 
  but they don’t vanish.
  > Hard Exit
  Of course there’s more to Tír Tairngire than shopping and stroll-
  ing in Cara’Sir! Perhaps you and your family would like to escape 
  [_insertlocale_] for some of Mount Hood’s fantastic skiing and hiking? 
  Or you’d prefer to visit the Tír Tairngire National Fairgrounds or wit-
  ness a Se’ranshae Elenva session in Malek’thas, enjoy a golf getaway to 
  Serentaneyo, or visit someplace even further south for a backpacking 
  or rafting tour? Not to worry, we’re here to help you Experience the 
  Magic, no matter where you decide to visit! The Prince’s Road travel 
  pass grants you all-hours access to the Meridian maglev service, or our 
  Extended Eagle’s Wings package can be used to upgrade your skycab 
  service to a full national skyhop service to reach any government air-
  port in the country! Let your Tír hosts do the driving – or flying – for 
  you. You just have to relax, and enjoy the view!
  > Each of the other mini-chapters ends the same way. Charisma is really big on 
  selling the total package. You read about Portland, they tell you about Salem 
  and Eugene (and sell you on getting there). You read about Salem, they tell you 
  about Portland and Eugene, and on and on. The Tír Princes don’t like sharing 
  money, but they realize Charisma Associates and their tourism line are the 
  bootstraps that the Tír can pull itself up by; CA gets a flat percentage of all 
  Cinanestial ticket sales, all automobile rentals and VAV-associated GridGuide 
  charges, hotel fees paid by VAV-flagged guests, you name it. They want you to 
  Experience the Magic so that they can Experience the Nuyen.
  > Pistons
  > If you’ve got a flexible schedule as to when you need to get into the Tír, you 
  could do worse than waiting for August. The National Fairgrounds are crawling 
  with tourists that time of year, so you can slip in and out of Salem, or anywhere 
  else, almost with impunity.
  > Frosty
  > Grimmy doesn’t mention it, but paper money’s still in use, as well. One hundred 
  percent organic stuff, all green, with pictures of flowers, trees, and Mount Hood 
  on them.
  > Frosty
  > Visitors should be aware that the coins are polymers coated in colorful alloys; they 
  are not genuinely crafted of the metals that are their namesakes. New ones have 
  been minted shortly after elections in recent years, with the faces of new Princes 
  decorating one side.
  > Tarlan
  Don’t worry, Tír Tairngire’s 
  official currency is still the 
  nuyen, stable and accepted 
  at major retailers worldwide! 
  Your regular credit accounts 
  should work just fine during 
  your visit. For those who 
  want to truly get away from 
  it all and experience tradi-
  tional funds changing hands, 
  however, the Tír offers a 
  hard-currency option. Coins 
  and compact ingots are avail-
  able, ranging from copper to 
  orichalcum denominations, let-
  ting you enjoy the heft of a 
  jingling coin purse tucked into 
  your belt!
  GRIMMY
  SAYS
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  11
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Skipping around a lot, aren’t we?
  > Slamm-0!
  > What, like you’re really interested in history and economics all of a sudden?
  > /dev/grrl
  > I think it was the “entertainment” tab he was more interested in. Hurling could 
  be an exciting new addiction for him, to contrast nicely with his exciting old 
  addictions.
  > Netcat
  > I’ve heard good things about the Eugene Lords this season, that’s all!
  > Slamm-0!
  > Don’t forget, the Tír’s new (relatively) open border policy means they finally 
  let in a civilized, firearm-wielding sport, not just their archaic game of wack-a-
  mole with wooden sticks. The North American Urban Brawl League was proud 
  to welcome the Portland Paladins franchise into the rankings last season. The 
  elves didn’t do half bad, either, all things considered.
  > Hard Exit
  > Lass, you understand if the wrong sort of die-hard, Tír native hurling fan hears 
  you refer to their beloved spectacle that way, even someone like you might be in 
  some serious danger? Trust me—the sport’s taken deadly serious. The inclusion 
  of adepts into play back in ‘68 really livened things up. On-field casualty rates 
  have doubled.
  > Thorn
  > If we’re skipping over things, it’s only because a travel brochure isn’t the place 
  to get the Tír’s actual history, because their economy is still balanced rather 
  precariously between exports and tourism, because Seattle can get most of the 
  Tír entertainment it’s interested in, and because we’re about to have fun picking 
  apart their tourist-sanctioned political lies.
  > Traveler Jones
  All of which brings us back to the present day. What exciting and 
  magical times these are! The people of the Tír are safer and more pros-
  perous than ever before and just as exciting; politics have never been 
  so transparent and inclusive. With the renewed Rites of Progression 
  proceeding as scheduled, and with public elections moving ahead 
  smoothly, Ele Alandur and Se’ranshae Elenva are working hand in 
  hand, side by side, to lead the Tír into a brighter tomorrow—today! 
  The Council and Chamber, despite being situated in two different 
  A UNIQUE NATION:
  +TÍR TAIRNGIRE HISTORY
  +TÍR TAIRNGIRE ENTERTAINMENT
  +TÍR TAIRNGIRE ECONOMY
  -TÍR TAIRNGIRE POLITICS
  
  12
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  cities, utilize cutting-edge technology and traditional Tír magic to stay 
  in touch with each other, and with the Tír people. 
  > When they say “public elections proceeding smoothly,” they basically mean 
  “more often than not, Rinelle holdouts don’t blow up the voting centers.” Elec-
  tion time, at least for the Princes (because no one cares about the Chamber), 
  is still a bloody affair. The 2065 elections were a mess because the hardliners 
  were resisting what everyone thought was a terrific Rinelle victory. The 2070 
  elections saw voters threatened and assaulted, and more than a few polling 
  places—particularly in non-elven neighborhoods—firebombed or assaulted by 
  spirits, all because the most die-hard Rinelle members hadn’t been satisfied the 
  first time around. 2075 promises to be even worse.
  > Thorn
  The Tír Tairngire political scene is as vibrant and alive as the 
  countryside itself. After the ugliness and misunderstanding of the early 
  sixties, the Tír people have rallied behind Se’har Maera Larry Zincan 
  and brought about wonderful changes to their home nation. With 
  his ten Princes behind him—and all their constituents supporting 
  them!—High Prince Zincan has been able to streamline the political 
  process, re-introduce the Tír people to a position of genuine power 
  within the world, oversee the 2070 Rite of Progression, and usher in a 
  new era of prosperity and hope for every Tír citizen.
  > Zincan’s done it all with one foot in the grave, too. He’s quite old, especially for 
  an ork, but for years no one’s actually expected him to die of natural causes.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Lead poisoning’s perfectly natural.
  > Riser
  > Considering how swiftly and surely he had to make the transition from being 
  Surehand’s token ork, and one half-banished to Seattle, no less, High Prince 
  Zincan has done a fantastic job of taking power, holding it, and using it. The 
  country still isn’t perfect by any stretch, but I shudder to imagine how much 
  worse things might have been if not for him and his early legislation.
  > Tarlan
  > I think he’ll finish the game. He’s got less than a year before his mandatory 
  term limit, and then the whole game will change. Heads aplenty will roll during 
  the 2075 elections, don’t get me wrong, but since they haven’t geeked him by 
  now, I don’t think old Larry’s going to be among the casualties. The payoff just 
  isn’t there, except maybe for the Brat’Mael types who really, really, want to 
  kill the orkish figurehead. It’s smarter for them to concentrate on the non-elf 
  candidates who will still be politically active in the future.
  > Thorn
  > In the wake of the Horizon controversies, Zincan’s made a point of not pushing 
  for any given candidate too openly. He knows that while much of the nation still 
  sees him as this beloved, good-natured, old orkish grandfather, a large portion 
  of his constituency was disgusted by the vivid details of the post-coup era. The 
  fallout from Horizon’s dirty laundry being aired is that Zincan has become toxic 
  to quite a few voters, and none of the would-be High Princes are openly courting 
  his support. Only time will tell what that lack of endorsement will mean; without 
  a clear successor marked, no one has any idea how the election will go or who’s 
  the front-runner.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  Currently assisting the Se’har Maera is a High Council of ten 
  elected Princes. No longer shadowy figures who mysteriously took 
  power, each of them has had their position handed to them by the 
  electors of this great nation. Let’s meet them! 
  > Let’s not. Instead of wasting data on their official, scrubbed-clean notations on 
  each Prince, let’s just take a look at them ourselves, hmm? Here are the basics 
  on each of them.
  Hestaby is off the list, but worth mentioning because it’s so recent. Her repu-
  tation with your average Tír citizen has never been stellar given the part she 
  played in a major military disaster of theirs, but in recent years that seemed to 
  be improving. She was, for a great dragon, quite willing to listen to the argu-
  ments of her fellow Princes, and she seemed to vote accordingly in the face of 
  particularly logical or eloquent debate. 
  Her recent disagreement with Lofwyr put an end to all that and caused 
  her political expulsion from the Tír. She was acting like a dragon instead of a 
  politician, and it’s probably best for everyone that she’s been pressured to step 
  down. Rumors are flying about exactly how that happened, if it was her idea or 
  Zincan’s, if they were succumbing to external pressure (and if said pressure was 
  political or corporate in nature), and that sort of thing, but what counts is that 
  she’s gone and there’s now a dragon-sized hole in the Council of Princes. Her 
  abrupt departure reminded quite a few Tír officials about their earliest relations 
  with her, and the body count she left behind the first time she meaningfully 
  interacted with the Peace Force. 
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > There have been major movements to reinforce Tír Tairngire’s southern border 
  in the wake of her removal from office, because no one is certain how friendly 
  she’s going to be. Border security has been concentrated in that direction, just 
  to play it safe, with the northern border mostly protected along major legal 
  crossings. 
  > Turbo Bunny
  > It’s not just manpower that’s getting shuffled around, it’s the spirits and drones 
  and everything else. If you have to get a shipment in, just avoid those north-
  south routes. Hit them from the sides instead. The lanes north of Boise are 
  red-hot right now. Sooner or later the Salish-Shidhe are gonna get their shit 
  together and start blocking ‘em, but right now it’s like a highway out there.
  > Sounder
  > Really, guys? Nothing about Hestaby’s freak-out, the assassination at Mount 
  Shasta—right there, inside the Tír—Lofwyr’s response, and everything else? 
  We’re just gonna chat about the border security?
  > Slamm-0!
  > I’ve got my own suspicions on who the “Shasta Shooter” may’ve been, lad, but 
  let’s save those discussions for the appropriate subforums. We wouldn’t want 
  to call down the wrath of FastJack, would we? Conspiracy theories go where 
  conspiracy theories go.
  > Thorn
  > Talondel, makkaherinit milessaratish ti’Ni’Fairra, li-ha?
  > Tarlan
  > Sielle.
  > Thorn
  > I would not put such a deed past him.
  > Tarlan
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
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  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Right, ‘cause anyone that wants to can’t just get a Sperethiel linguasoft for like 
  nothing. Ooh! What a secret conversation you’re having! You’re so mysterious!
  > /dev/grrl
  > Hestaby’s replacement was leveraged into position in an emergency election 
  just a few weeks ago, an elf by the name of Johan van den Berg. He basically 
  seems to have been a compromise candidate pulled into power by the existing 
  Council, receiving only a lukewarm welcome from actual Tír citizens. None of 
  his peers spoke out against his nomination very strongly, but his welcome to 
  the office was rather tame, as well, without any particular Prince endorsing 
  him overtly. “The Dutchman” is known to have strong business experience and 
  absurd wealth, which is likely how he got Hestaby’s recently opened position, 
  but that’s all anyone knows. So far the only Council sessions he’s actually taken 
  part in have handled fairly mundane matters, where he’s always voted with 
  the Prince that’s got the most experience in that matter; listening to Gant or 
  Taylor about matters of security, Foster and Joubert on social issues, Telestrian 
  or Demarco on economic issues, that sort of thing. He’s never swimming against 
  the tide when he can reasonably follow someone else’s experience.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > He’s bland as milk and squeaky clean, no matter how deeply you dig. Blond hair, 
  blue eyes, average height, average weight, a name that’s common as dirt in his 
  homeland, there’s frankly nothing remarkable about him except for his wealth. 
  Rumors are flying that he’s a plant from a former Prince, that he actually is 
  a former Prince, that he’s an invented persona clone-crafted to be politically 
  acceptable but otherwise forgettable, you name it. Only time will tell if he stays 
  a throwaway vote in the Council’s political machine or if he ever emerges as his 
  own person. 
  > Thorn
  > And of course there’s “Rex.” The sasquatch was the only other Tír Prince to 
  maintain his position during the great coup, but that’s no surprise to anyone 
  who was familiar with him and his niche in Tír society. There’s a decades-long 
  tradition in the Tír of treating Rex like the mascot of the High Council instead 
  of respecting him as a member of it, but recently that’s started to change. Rex 
  has been spending less time in the woods and more time in Portland, and no 
  one is really sure why. Rumors persist that Zincan may be grooming him to take 
  over once the old man steps down, and the more xenophobic elves are insisting 
  it’s the only way they could get a High Prince more bestial than an ork. At this 
  point it’s still a mystery why Rex is playing along. For the entirety of his political 
  career he was happy to smile, wave at the camera, and basically do nothing. All 
  of a sudden he’s acting like the major player he could have been all along.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > And he’s upsetting the balance of power across the whole council. Whenever 
  Rex was happiest communing with nature and doing nothing at all there was, 
  in practice, an odd number of Princes around to cast votes. Rex getting involved 
  means they’re back up to ten voices, which means it’s easy for them to wind 
  up in a deadlock. Zincan’s been given quite a bit of influence again, since he 
  functions as the tiebreaker. 
  > Frosty
  > Which may be why he’s gotten Rex to go back to work. If Zincan wanted to wield 
  real power in the waning months of his terms as High Prince, this is a great way 
  to do it.
  > Tarlan
  
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  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > Jonathon Gant is a long-time public-sector employee who worked his way up 
  the ranks of the Information Secretariat despite the “handicap” of being a dwarf 
  instead of an elf. He’s a dedicated man, a hard worker who logs more in-facility 
  hours than almost anyone else in his organization, but his main role on the 
  Council is to keep them and the secret police bound at the hip. Loyalty has been 
  a big issue since the 2065 shake-ups, and the other Princes know full well it’s 
  in their best interest to keep the InfoSec boys on a short leash, so there are 
  never real obstacles to Gant when he runs. Gant routinely sides with the more 
  conservative, traditionally elven, faction when the Council is split on something, 
  preferring to uphold the status quo.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Gant’s still a stone-cold son of a bitch with a head like a computer, but he 
  doesn’t seem to actively enjoy the dirty work like Reed used to. Better a socio-
  path than a psychopath, in this line of work.
  > Thorn
  > His easy elections aren’t just a matter of the other Princes pandering to him 
  to keep him close, either. There’s more money involved in it than that. He has 
  connections outside the country. Serious ones. Ones that might overlap with 
  Reed’s old circles.
  > Plan 9
  > Unlike Gant, Prince Jake Foster fights a real uphill battle. He’s the other ork on 
  the Council with Zincan, and in the opinion of quite a few Tír citizens, that’s two 
  orks too many. It took concerted campaigning among the Tír’s non-elven groups 
  to see Foster elected in 2070, and since then there have been four attempts on 
  his life, all attributed to the Brat’Mael, or “Black Sun,” splinter faction of the 
  Rinelle ke’Tesrae. He’s consistently an underdog in the Council itself, invariably 
  disagreeing with the majority on issues dealing with metahuman relations, 
  education, censorship in the Tír media, zoning, and funding. He worked his way 
  out of Portland’s orkish ghettoes the hard way, fought tooth and nail to get 
  into Willamette University, excelled academically once he got a chance, and has 
  spent his whole life jumping through the hoops the Tír has set up for non-elves. 
  Now that he’s a Prince, they’re just setting up new, more dangerous hoops.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Foster still has ties to those Portland ghettoes. Several of these “new blood” Princes 
  don’t live up on Royal Hill either, but Foster maintains property and lives down in 
  Maywood Park where he grew up. His loyalty to the neighborhood is a big part of why 
  he does so well in elections. There are poor elves in those neighborhoods, too, after 
  all, and he’s one of the most popular Princes across the low-income demographics.
  > Frosty
  > He’s not the only one that does that sort of thing. These Princes aren’t just self-
  declared and holding their power indefinitely any more—they’ve all got to get 
  elected. Foster rubs elbows with his constituents, but so do the other Princes 
  in one way or another. Given how compact and walkable Portland—excuse me, 
  Cara’Sir—is, it’s not uncommon to stumble across one of them and a discreet 
  Ghost detail out shopping, eating, making an appearance at a social event, or 
  having a public meeting. 
  > Thorn
  > Foster’s proof you don’t have to be an elf to have shadowy, profitable connec-
  tions. I hear the Cascade Orks have really stepped up smuggling runs in and 
  out of the Tír lately, and “an ork on the inside” has been letting them know 
  some patrol schedules. It might explain how he stays so popular within certain 
  demographics, and where his campaign money is coming from.
  > Turbo Bunny
  > Amy Joubert is almost exactly the mental image you get when someone says 
  “female elven Tír Prince hermetic mage,” except she seems to be a genuinely 
  decent person. Joubert took a Paladin’s oath as a member of the Huro ke’Envar, 
  or Society of Healers, right after she graduated from UTT with her degree in 
  Hermetic Science. She’s upper class and always has been, but she seems to 
  have spent most of her life feeling guilty about it and trying to make up for the 
  fact she’s wealthy and brilliant. She received some fame prior to the 2065 coup 
  by blogging about the inherent nobility of the Rinelle protestors, got herself 
  arrested alongside thousands of others during the Rite of Progression sit-ins, 
  and her tell-all, Rites of Stagnation, made her a media darling in the years that 
  followed. She’s gorgeous, gives to charities, fights for the environment, gener-
  ously invites constituents to major social events, and continues to speak up on 
  behalf of the poor and disenfranchised Tír citizens. The die-hards have already 
  branded her a race traitor, but most of the voting public adores her.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Just like she wants them to.
  > Frosty
  > Prince Joubert and Prince Foster agree on nearly every issue that comes before 
  the Council, and their working relationship has blossomed into something more. 
  The two tried to keep it a secret, but leaked evidence has recently made the 
  rounds in the tabloids, and the two subsequently went public.
  > Plan 9
  > Just like she wanted them to.
  > Frosty
  > What is it you think she’s up to, Frosty?
  > Tarlan
  > Political pandering, basically. She’s too perfect to be real. She’s got to be some-
  one’s catspaw; Surehand, Ehran, some other exiled Prince, who knows? But 
  there’s no way she’s as genuinely decent and caring and compassionate and 
  sugar-sweet as she acts.
  > Frosty
  > Laverty sincerely was, in his own way. 
  > Thorn
  > Next up is the only human sitting on the Council, Prince Michael Demarco. Given 
  the pro-meta sentiment so much of the country holds, and the always-slender 
  human population, one might consider it a minor miracle that he managed 
  to get elected. Demarco’s secret is owning other people’s secrets. He’s the 
  long-time president of Andalusian Light Industries (though he magnanimously 
  stepped down when he ran for Prince, everyone knows he still calls the shots 
  at ALI), which is a corporation long renowned for being a shell and laundering 
  house for all manner of Princely business, both in and outside the Tír. Dabbling 
  in the manufacture of everything from commlinks to cars, ALI has seen a lot of 
  nuyen come and go over the last few decades, and Demarco managed to lever-
  age it, and the information he skimmed along the way, into a title for himself. A 
  Duke for almost twenty years, he finally stepped up to fill the power void when 
  Surehand and the others were run out of town. Now that he’s on the top, he 
  acts like it. He’s well aware of his tenuous position and tends to go with the 
  elven bloc when it’s time to vote.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Long heralded as “the most powerful human in the Tír,” Demarco seems to 
  have indulged in leónization while biding his time for decades. Andalusian Light 
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  15
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  Industries is still a major player, which means he and Marie-Lousie tend to butt 
  heads a lot when economic issues come up. He and Gant are the two that have 
  the most dirt on their fellow Princes, even if they got that dirt in different ways.
  > Snopes
  > One major economic issue that Demarco and Telestrian certainly agree on is 
  keeping megacorporations out of the Tír as much as possible. They don’t allow 
  extraterritoriality, foreign corporations are required to hire a large number of Tír 
  citizens rather than wholly importing a work force, and other requirements of 
  that ilk, all of which benefits Tír-native businesses like TIC and ALI.
  > Winterhawk
  > Unlike the former yes-dwarves Stone and Ladner, the new dwarven Prince Kevin 
  Jaeger has made it clear from the start he’s willing to think and vote for himself. 
  Unfortunately for Jaeger, that means he’s not reliably on anyone’s good side. 
  Gant has some steady allies, but Jaeger seems to be going out of his way to 
  antagonize most of his Council peers. He’s got a knee-jerk tendency to vote 
  against the elven majority, but other than that none of the other Princes really 
  know where he stands or what his principles are. Or if they exist.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > The public eats it up though, in large part because a fair number of Council 
  sessions are available via (mildly censored) broadcast. His inappropriate attire, 
  “dwarven stubbornness” and thick German accent have made him a media hit, 
  with all manner of commlink ringtones, vid-cast shirts, and that sort of thing 
  selling like mad. His most notorious outburst recently came in the wake of 
  Hestaby’s resignation, where, in the midst of a frustrated all-night session he 
  called her “that orange bitch.” She’s got bigger problems than him right now, so 
  she hasn’t eaten him for it. Yet.
  > Tarlan
  > Jaeger’s tried the metaracial solidarity thing on Gant and been soundly rebuffed, 
  so he’s dubbed the other dwarf something of a race traitor. Gant hasn’t stooped 
  to similar levels of open, controversial disagreement with his fellow dwarf, but 
  I’d be very surprised if Jaeger didn’t have a growing file thanks to InfoSec’s 
  attention.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > So it sounds like Jaeger, Foster, and Joubert make up the progressive, anti-elven-
  supremacy faction of the Council, then?
  > Slamm-0!
  > Occasionally but unpredictably in Jaeger’s case. He flew off the handle early in 
  his term with some fairly racist comments aimed at Foster, and the two haven’t 
  been exactly friendly since. Jaeger appears more interested in stirring up con-
  troversy than reliably siding with anyone else. He seems to thrive on being the 
  wild card.
  > Frosty
  > Jaeger’s erratic voting record and radical behavior are a ruse, part of an elabo-
  rate character construct that allows him to be a former Prince’s mouthpiece 
  when genuinely important matters come up.
  > Plan 9
  > Which one?
  > Tarlan
  > Like 9er knows.
  > Sticks
  > Next up is Prince Evan Parris. Parris was a long-time follower of former Prince 
  Aithne Oakforest, and he somehow managed to hold onto most of his wealth 
  and clout after Oakforest’s resignation. He was a Count until very recently, when 
  he managed to catapult past the Ducal class of social rank in the wake of the 
  Pritchett controversy. Prince Garrett Pritchett stepped down by default, having 
  fled the country to escape Ghosts earlier this year when it surfaced that he’d 
  fed all manner of state secrets to the elves of Tír na nÓg. Count Parris, former 
  Black Dagger and international Tír man of mystery and mayhem, played an 
  instrumental role in bringing Pritchett’s discrepancies to light, and he used the 
  witch hunt to catapult himself into the vacant Council seat.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > The media loves a story about a villain’s fall, and Parris fed them one when 
  he infiltrated Pritchett’s circle of cronies. Most of them conveniently died—by 
  Evan’s own hand, I’m sure—when the Peace Force sprang their little trap, so 
  Parris was free to give his version of events and emerge a bloody hero. I imagine 
  there will be an exciting trid drama about it released any day now.
  > Thorn
  > I remember horror stories from my parents about an elven street samurai 
  named “Blackwing.” That’s Prince Parris. He tore through the Seattle streets 
  maybe twenty years ago, ripping the shadows up while he was running errands 
  for the Council. He was old school. Leather coat, katana, mirror shades; he was 
  like something out of a sim-flick, but he got the job done, no matter what. 
  Rumor is he went toe-to-claw with dragons more than once. I doubt that edge 
  and instinct have gone away just because he’s in a suit and tie all of the sudden.
  > Slamm-0!
  > His former patron, Pritchett, wasn’t exiled and shamed. He was betrayed and 
  murdered. He and Parris were in business with international elven supremacist 
  groups that funneled weapons and intelligence to “Black Sun” operatives and 
  similar fringe organizations. Parris killed him in order to take it over. Gaining 
  the media’s attention and Council seat were unintended consequences that he’s 
  canny enough to make the best of. Gant’s in on it, and someone outside the Tír 
  is helping keep it all organized and running smoothly. Everything Parris does 
  reeks of the Rinelle ke’Tesrae and other syndicates.
  > Plan 9
  > The current military darling is Prince Conall Taylor, an elf who gained his political 
  power the old-fashioned way: working up the ranks. He rose to prominence as 
  a colonel who was left with responsibility well above his pay grade, following 
  the many shake-ups of 2064-2065, and he hasn’t left the limelight since. Taylor 
  was one of few long-serving military men, and one of the even fewer Tír Special 
  Force “Ghost” operatives, to stay in the country following the coup. He has 
  turned that service and pull on the Board of Military Advisors into more overt 
  political power. He regularly attends Council sessions and social functions in his 
  Ghost dress blacks instead of more formal wear, lobbies for greater pay and 
  benefits for Tír soldiers and constables, and continues Varien’s tradition of rub-
  bing elbows with the enlisted men. When he’s surrounded by officers he flips a 
  switch and turns droll and foppish, but when he’s running a training course or in 
  a martial arts competition with the other work-a-day soldiers, he’s all business. 
  There have been some tangible successes against Rinelle cells lately, even after 
  Horizon stopped actively helping; invariably Taylor’s one of the first on-scene, 
  sometimes before the media, to oversee arrests and prisoner transfers. His 
  hands-on methods and approachable nature have kept him popular in polls.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Taylor helps the Council and the Peace Force stay on the same page, but this 
  level of loyalty has made a few other Princes nervous. High Prince Zincan is 
  
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  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  commander-in-chief on paper, but in practice the soldiers of the Peace Force 
  answer to Taylor. He panders for the military vote shamelessly, seemingly ignor-
  ing the metarace of the soldiers he encounters, and that doesn’t sit well with 
  some of the more traditional elves. Even more so than his cracking down on 
  the continued terrorist cells, his casual dismissal of elven superiority makes 
  Brat’mael and other such groups hate him. The fact he’s married to a human 
  doesn’t help anything.
  > Frosty
  > All of which he ignores. According to his records he’s got two decades of SpecOps 
  service, he’s dripping in at least beta-grade combat ‘ware, he’s documented as 
  having a magical aura despite the ware, and there’s not a trooper in the Peace 
  Force that wouldn’t back him in a scrap. I believe him when he says he doesn’t 
  care what the Brat’mael think of him.
  > Hard Exit
  > Taylor, Parris, and Gant are something of a Council trinity lately. The two elves 
  seem to have an antagonistic history that’s mellowed into a grudging respect, 
  with their shared pro-military stance often overcoming Parris’ openly pro-elven 
  politics. Gant’s apparently seen something in their classified files that’s made 
  him decide he’d rather be on their good sides than not, which makes sense 
  when you consider Taylor and Parris both have connections inside Gant’s own 
  agency.
  > Tarlan
  > Last but certainly not least, we have Prince Marie-Louise Telestrian, until 2065 
  of Telestrian Industries fame. When her big brother James got himself a Princely 
  seat just in time to be ran out of town, she stepped forward with a fairly impres-
  sive campaign based all about how she’d never felt him capable of ruling. She 
  took over Telestrian when James stepped down as CEO, and then she neatly slid 
  into his spot on the Council. After Stephen Telestrian’s death during the coup 
  fighting, she handed the reins of TIC over to her niece, Lynne, who’s largely 
  running the company in her name. As far as Council politics goes, Telestrian and 
  Michael Demarco can be counted on to vote against each other on anything that 
  might affect business in any way, making her something of a de facto clique 
  leader. She’s already begun spending on the 2075 campaign, obviously hoping 
  to make herself High Prince when Zincan’s term is finished.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > The Telestrians were the friends in high places that allowed the Rinelle such 
  success. First it was James, now Marie-Louise. It was a Telestrian that filled the 
  seat vacated by a Rinelle assassin, and it was a Telestrian who then took power 
  when the whole Council was shaken up by Rinelle attacks. Now it’s a Telestrian 
  company that has sole rights to grow and refine laes, which gives them a direct 
  link to the entire Laesa criminal syndicate that runs on that drug. The Laesa are 
  almost entirely former Rinelle terrorists. She’s still profiting from and aiding 
  them even today, or how else do they get the drug?
  > Plan 9
  > James was short-sighted and impetuous, but making that connection would 
  have been outright idiotic of him. He wouldn’t have wielded the Rinelle to 
  disrupt the status quo and gain power, only to let that disruption continue and 
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  17
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  get severe enough to oust him. And besides, his family abandoned him when 
  the former Princes were ousted, so why would they continue to work with the 
  Rinelle holdouts?
  > Tarlan
  > Rumors and complaints continue to swirl about Telestrian nepotism, but the 
  family tradition continues. Their clan was willing to throw James under the bus 
  in order to replace him and maintain their overall status (while so many of their 
  peers were being condemned), but other than that it seems to be business 
  as usual. Telestrian Industries Corporation continues to have Telestrians at the 
  helm, in both the parent corporation and all subsidiaries, and TIC continues to 
  dominate Tír national contracts. Keep an eye on Marie-Louise’s son and Paladin, 
  Sebastian, over the next year or two. Rumor is she’s grooming him to campaign 
  for a Prince position all his own. They want nothing less than to run the country.
  > Frosty
  > Her “Paladin?”
  > /dev/grrl
  > It’s been downplayed in recent media broadcasts because the fanaticism takes 
  away from the tourism appeal. But yes, the Paladins still exist. They are elves 
  who have sworn to serve a cause, an ideal, or a person exclusively, for the 
  remainder of their lives. You’ll sometimes see this sort of brochure mention 
  more positive and philanthropic groups, like the “Huro ke’Envar,” or the Healer 
  Society. Others aren’t so noble about what, or who, they swear their oaths to. 
  The top-ranking members of their hotshot SpecOps types, the Ghosts, were 
  also often Talented initiates who had sworn loyalty to Lugh Surehand. They 
  were Paladins of the High Prince, in other words. Even the mundanes that take 
  this type of oath take it very seriously. In fact, that’s my guess as to why there’s 
  still Rinelle violence raging, even almost a decade after their “victory.” Some of 
  them still aren’t satisfied with how things turned out. They swore to fight the 
  government until they died, and that’s all there is to it.
  > Frosty
  > So they’re like the Corp Scouts, but cranked all the way up? ‘Cause it’s not 
  like Magical Elfy-Land here has a monopoly on demanding loyal services from 
  people for their whole lives or punishing whole families for one member’s 
  screw up.
  > /dev/grrl
  > That’s not the worst comparison to make, actually. 
  > Frosty
  > Back to something Frosty touched on that bears repeating. The Tír military itself 
  is all tangled up in oaths, Paladins, and that sort of nonsense. Every Tír citizen 
  serves a two-year stint, and those folks are pretty casual about the whole thing, 
  aye. But anyone that stays in for longer? Particularly if they’re Talented, expect 
  them to have been inducted into the loyal service of someone in power, mucking 
  up the chain of command with sometimes-conflicting oaths (especially when 
  you bring initiatory groups into the mix). When the old Princes were ousted, 
  quite a few of the top Tír SpecOps left as well, either to serve them in exile or to 
  track and kill them. Some maintained that their oath was to High Prince Lugh 
  Surehand, for instance, while others felt their oaths were to the office and not 
  the man. The end result is that all but a handful of their very-top-tier operatives 
  are either dead, exiled, or hunting overseas. Most of their high muckety-muck 
  types split more or less down the middle, killing one another in the streets or 
  chasing Princes all over the world. The Ghosts are, in some ways, shadows of 
  what they used to be.
  > Thorn
  > Their top-tier killers being taken down a peg hasn’t slowed down the Peace 
  Force as a whole, though. The change in national identity has, for many Tír 
  citizens, brought about a different angle in their Peace Force service. They’ve 
  seen the system change because of what the everyday citizen fought for, so 
  there’s a good bit more pride involved in their mandatory service. Most citi-
  zens don’t see it as being drafted into enforcing a tyrannical regime, first and 
  foremost. The elves train and fight hard to prove they deserve to maintain their 
  officer positions, the non-elves train and fight hard to prove they love their 
  country. Charisma Associates and Prince Taylor worked together on the “Bleed 
  Black” series of advertisements, featuring all stripes of metahumanity decked 
  out in the sharp new Peace Force uniforms, and recruitment and re-enlistment 
  numbers are way up. Without the elite few at the top bloating the budget and 
  hogging more than their fair share of training and equipment, the average 
  soldier/constable on the street has certainly improved.
  > Picador
  > I’ve seen those commercials! Someone totally got the Zoé brand in on those 
  uniforms, I swear. Kilts! They’re so totally Tír!
  > /dev/grrl
  > Sadly, even if the official Ghosts are less mystical and more militant, many 
  Paladins with darker motives still exist. The Rinelle ke’Tesrae, in its current 
  incarnation, is swollen with such hateful souls. Many surviving former Ghosts 
  have gone rogue. The Mistish Farad, once Ehran’s hunters, still stalk the wild 
  lands and prey on invaders. With strong hands on their reins, such bloodthirsty 
  young Paladins showed something like discipline and loyalty. With their elders 
  having vanished and their country changing around them, though, they have 
  simply grown crueler.
  > Arete
  > Those guys take trophies, too. A year or two back, a smuggler I know got tagged 
  by these Great Hunt assholes. The elves removed all the rounded ears that so 
  offended their delicate sensibilities and made a big show of letting him live 
  and skipping the laés dose so he’d remember the lesson. He likes the upgraded 
  cyberaudio suite he bought, but that’s still pretty messed up.
  > Mika
  > That’s why it’s best to not get caught.
  > Black Mamba
  > The Mistish Farad does more than patrol the border, mind you. With the Tír’s 
  economy on the rebound and increased low-income programs helping out in the 
  ork ghettoes, there were a few years of major population growth among that 
  metaspecies in particular. Some of Ehran’s old loyalists took serious offense 
  at that. Once every couple months, the hunters took to the streets of the 
  ghettoes and started to initiate population modification. Bored Tír noblemen, 
  either augmented to the gills with the best combat gear money can buy or a 
  well-nurtured Talent and a penchant for Slaughter Ork spells, began to regularly 
  scour neighborhoods, killing everyone they saw while the Peace Force was under 
  strict orders to be busy elsewhere in whatever city they visited. These “cullings” 
  are still a semi-regular event, despite several Princes speaking out to condemn 
  them. Someone, somewhere, is still pulling strings, because Constabulary 
  response times remain abysmal, and the hunts keep happening. Portland one 
  month, Salem a few months later, Eugene ... every major population center with 
  a dedicated ork neighborhood has been targeted. 
  > Thorn
  > Black Sun’s started to get in on it, too. It’s only a matter of time before the 
  hunters become the hunted, though. Ork, and even mixed-metarace, gangs have 
  
  18
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  started to arm themselves heavily in the wake of these attacks, no doubt sup-
  plied by enterprising Cascade Ork smugglers. There have been more than a few 
  casualties among these rabid Paladins when a neighborhood has put up more 
  of a resistance than they expected. The Peace Force conveniently has trouble 
  identifying the bodies after the fact, blaming it on the “disfiguring injuries” 
  inflicted by the “mobs of disenfranchised orkish youths,” of course, but it’s only 
  a matter of time before this turns into a major issue. 
  > Frosty
  > Which means, sooner or later both sides will be interested in some extra muscle.
  > Riser
  > Speaking of gangs, what’s the situation like there?
  > Sticks
  > Same as anywhere else, really. The Peace Force tends to adopt almost a “boys 
  will be boys” attitude to most street-level crime, acknowledging they can never 
  really clean it all up, as long as the punks leave the tourists alone. The big 
  syndicates are still having a hard time getting more than a toe-hold, despite 
  the easier border security. If the Tír’s going to tolerate ethnic syndicates, they’re 
  going to be home-grown outfits like the Laesa, it seems.
  > Frosty
  > There are a handful of gangs that have been active long enough, and remain 
  popular enough, to merit specific mention. The Shooters (formerly the Hoot-
  ers, if you can believe) are an all-female outfit that’s tangled up in Portland’s 
  sex trade. It’s almost like the prostitutes unionized and armed themselves. 
  The gang’s been around for decades now, but they’ve always gotten by more 
  through profit than muscle. They like to dress and act high class, and work as a 
  sort of security team in most of the city’s red-light districts. Secondary chapters 
  have opened up in Salem and Eugene, too. Their biggest rivals are the Spans, 
  back in Portland, but it’s because their turf almost overlaps, not because they 
  travel in the same circles or pursue the same business interests. They’re mostly 
  an ork mob, standard street ganger fare, with no real sense of style. Some 
  newcomers to Portland are the Dog Soldiers, a gang with loose affiliations with 
  some NAN types, urban primitives who make a big deal about using tomahawks 
  and bows and stuff, sort of a “back to our Sinsearach roots” movement. They’re 
  currently threatening war with the Sons of Gimli, an all-dwarf gang that equally 
  panders to old, axe-wielding, stereotypes. The Souldrinkers are the Tír’s longest-
  running thrill-gang, full psychos like a couple outfits here in Seattle, but with 
  a zombie motif. They’ve sprouted up some copycats in nicer neighborhoods 
  and caused a real media ruckus when an upper-crust elf kid decided to off his 
  parents and blame it on her wiz-ganger captain. It’s only a matter of time before 
  the Peace Force cracks down on them, if that sort of thing happens again. And 
  then, of course, there are always the Ancients …
  > Riser
  > All this talk about the meat and the magic, what about the part that matters?
  > Slamm-0!
  > The Tír Matrix is as dangerous as ever—NetWatch hasn’t lost a step. Maybe even 
  more so, now that they’re back to running Rites of Progression on time and 
  have new government concerns with election security. If anything, their budget’s 
  gotten bigger in recent years as the Tír dependency on magic has waned a bit.
  > Thorn
  > Horizon has their fingers in that pie, but Mary-Louise has seen to it that 
  Telestrian Industries is involved. Willamette Compustat may have the primary 
  government contract for actual federal data processing, but Telestrian’s comput-
  ing subsidiary provides Matrix security. So expect layers of trouble between you 
  and anything worth hacking, but often with competing rather than coordinating 
  spiders and IC.
  > Pistons
  > Remember that every job Telestrian talks her fellow Princes into is nuyen in her 
  account, same as Demarco lining up lots of Andalusian Light Industry contracts. 
  Willamette Compustat is more than capable of handling their online security—if 
  anything, they’re better than Telestrian—in large part because so much of their 
  hardware is proprietary. You never quite know what to expect in their system. 
  > Bull
  THE PEaCE FORCE:  
  CONSTaBuLaRY DIVISION
  > The Tír cops don’t fool around, that much certainly hasn’t changed over the years. 
  It’s important to remember just how staffed the Tír military is, and to remember 
  that their police division is just one branch of that; so your average citizen has 
  some sort of military training, and yes, that means the average beat cop has that 
  same training and access to more hardware than Knight Errant or Lone Star would 
  give them. In an emergency, Peace Force Constabulary shooters can be every bit as 
  nasty as a SWAT or Fast Response Team, and equipped with full-on military gear.
  > Hard Exit
  > And that’s if they don’t just send actual Ghosts after you, instead of bothering with 
  the cops. Military and Constabulary divisions cross-train quite a bit, and their top-
  notch lads get a fair bit of trigger time in while wearing badges. More than a few of 
  their boys are fully qualified and trained for paracritter handling, too, which means 
  you might get some magical beasty and not just top-notch shooters. You never quite 
  know what the Peace Force, even their law enforcement side, will throw at you.
  > Thorn
  > But on average?
  > Riser
  > Cops walking the beat or their mounted patrols? Stylish armored jackets, shades with 
  all the goodies built-in, and a standard kit not terribly unlike a beat cop somewhere in 
  the UCAS: sturdy heavy pistol, taser, stick for beating on punks. They’re there for looks 
  as much as muscle, and it’s a common gig for the conscripted folks just doing their 
  time. Cop cars will have a pair of more serious guys in ‘em, often who have been in the 
  service long enough for some subtle combat augmentations. They’re normally wear-
  ing medium-to-heavy body armor, depending on the neighborhood they’re patrolling. 
  They’ll always have a scattergun, a good automatic, or both within arm’s reach. And 
  they always, always, have a combat-trained mage on standby. They’re more than 
  enough to handle most gang violence when they get called up in numbers.
  > Hard Exit
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  19
  THe LAnd OF PrOmISe
  > I think I know one reason for Willamette’s edge. Rumor is a certain white-
  haired friend has shown his head somewhere, both digitally and in realspace. 
  He’s working with Compustat, not Telestrian, for help in his never-ending 
  search. Jesus, Buddha, and Zeus only know what tricks he’s showing them in 
  exchange, who else he’s been consulting for these last few years, or what he’s 
  capable of now.
  > FastJack
  > White-haired and searching? Puck’s no friend of mine, Jack.
  > Bull
  > No, this one’s an elf. He’s also quite a bit older and infinitely more artful than 
  Puck …
  > FastJack
  > We talked about Council of Princes, but what about the … what’s it called … 
  “Se’Ranshae Elenva,” the Star Chamber? It’s still around, right?
  > Slamm-0!
  > Yes, but it’s still subservient to the whims of the Council. The Chamber still 
  carries 128 representatives, one from each of the Tír’s electoral districts, just 
  like it has since 2043. Chamber hours of operation have been expanded in 
  recent years, the Chamber is no longer excluded from disclosure where matters 
  of national security are concerned, and the Chamber now formally has a veto 
  power, just like the Council of Princes has, over the High Prince and his laws. The 
  problem is that the Chamber requires a two-thirds majority, just like a Council 
  veto, and the Chamber requires full attendance (not a mere quorum), just like 
  the Council does. It’s one thing for the Council of Princes to drag Rex out of the 
  woods every now and then or get Hestaby’s attention in order to get a veto; 
  imagine trying to get the same level of organization and agreement out of 128 
  political rivals instead of ten. The Chamber has some teeth to it now, but it’s not 
  terribly efficient at using them.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > So aside from the diehard Paladin wackjobs, how bad is the elf supremacy stuff 
  nowadays?
  > Sticks
  > As bad as ever, really. Don’t let the Council’s makeup fool you. You don’t make 
  something like racism go away through a military coup. It wasn’t the old Council 
  of Princes that gave the country its reputation, no matter how powerful or influ-
  ential they were; it was the actual people. Xenophobia doesn’t go away quickly. 
  Portland is the most metaracially tolerant city in the place, but the key word is 
  “tolerant.” They don’t like or respect non-elves any more than they did ten or 
  fifteen years ago, they’re just willing to put up with them to get their money.
  > Frosty
  > And don’t let the travel brochure fool you either—the Tír is still serious about 
  security and maintaining their cultural purity. Their adherence to ancient elven 
  traditions and embracing of magic isn’t just a matter of cultural pride any more, 
  it’s also their livelihood; if the Tír doesn’t stay magical and alien it will cease 
  to be special. So visitors can’t just go roaming wherever they want, looking 
  behind the curtain and ruining the show. State-appointed guides are required 
  for foreigners to travel almost anywhere in the country, the Peace Force still 
  gives extra scrutiny (from behind a smile, now) to non-elves, and all the old 
  attitudes are still there. They’re just more polite about it now.
  > Kay St. Irregular
  > Then if it’s not for work, why the heck would one of us want to visit the place?
  > Slamm-0!
  > Because your significant other wants to?
  > Netcat
  > All hokiness aside, to Experience the Magic. You two would have to watch out 
  for the Netwatch branch of the Peace Force if you make it a business trip; but I 
  wager you could pull it off. But only Portland has Portland’s night life. The view 
  of the city from the Greenbower atop the Executel is fantastic. Netcat would no 
  doubt adore you taking her out to Niléstien, you two would fit right in at The 
  Edge if it’s still open, and a dining experience in the Cave makes for the best 
  orkish cuisine outside Seattle’s Underground. Give it a shot sometime. 
  > Thorn
  Thank you for taking the time to read through this comprehensive 
  Charisma Associates brochure. Tír Tairngire is a land of magical 
  creatures, ancient traditions, beautiful languages, fine dining, high 
  culture, and vibrant music. Whether you desire to hit the slopes of 
  Mount Hood or take to Serentaneyo’s greens with your club in hand, 
  Tír Tairngire has the trip you deserve. So leave [_insertlocale_] behind, 
  and let us help you Experience the Magic!
  > Huh. I kind of forgot we were still running this in the background.
  > Slamm-0!
  > Yes, it’s really too bad. Without that little Grimmy fellow helping keep my 
  attention on this conversation and telling me how elven society really works, 
  I’m afraid I got distracted and stopped paying attention. There was something 
  important I planned to announce, but I suppose it’s too late to genuinely con-
  tribute to the conversation, now. Ah well. I’ve got more important things to do 
  at the moment, regardless. Perhaps next time.
  > Frosty
  > What?
  > Pistons
  > Dammit. That wasn’t me. Guess that’s the old man’s way of telling me to change 
  my password. Again. Better check my Dawn of Atlantis account, too.
  > Frosty
  +PRICING AND SCHEDULING YOUR VISIT
  +SPECIAL DEALS, GROUP DISCOUNTS, 
  AND “LIVE LIKE A PRINCE” PACKAGES
  +OTHER DESTINATIONS
  -CONCLUSION
  
  20
  GAme InFOrmATIOn
  GAme InFOrmATIOn
  PLOT HOOkS
  Gamemasters seeking fully complete adventures for use in the 
  Tír should look for Elven Blood, a series of five prepared adventures 
  that take player characters past the border of the Tír, into the shadows 
  of Portland, and beyond! Shadowrunners will interact with Princes, 
  gangers, paracritters, and everything in between while they explore the 
  Land of Promise in search of nuyen and a good rep.
  For those seeking more immediate inspiration, consider the fol-
  lowing plot hooks and how to best integrate them into your campaign:
  •	  The new leader of the Seattle Ancients go-gang, Belial, is pack-
  ing some serious magical firepower as several powerful new 
  combat mages join his gang. Why are they leaving the Tír to 
  reinforce this Seattle mob? Are they here to stay? Did a Prince 
  send them, and why?
  •	  The Spans, the Shooters, or some other non-elven Portland 
  gangs are trying to branch out and establish a chapter in 
  Seattle. Will your players provide guns and manpower to these 
  newcomers, or help Seattle’s existing gangs stomp out the 
  opposition before they can get a foothold?
  •	  The Laesa criminal syndicate is short on manpower after a 
  few bloody skirmishers with another Seattle crime family. 
  Will your players provide them with extra muscle if the price 
  is right, or are they scared to cross the organized criminals of 
  their home city?
  •	  The Tír drug, laes, is one of the most jealously guarded national 
  secrets this mysterious nation has. The Ancients and Laesa are 
  the only groups who can smuggle it out of the country. But 
  who is their supplier, and why do they let these gangs distribute 
  it? Is simple profit to blame, or is there something more sinister 
  going on?
  •	  An assortment of megacorporations are eager to use the Tír’s 
  more open borders to get a foothold in the nation, but with a few 
  exceptions the Princes continue to resist. When the players are 
  approached by Mr. Johnson to help disrupt Tír-owned companies 
  to make the competition look better, who are they working for, 
  and who might hunt them down due to their involvement?
  •	  The great dragons Lofwyr and Hestaby have both held seats 
  on the Council of Princes, but now neither of them has any 
  real power in the Tír—or do they? Dragons aren’t known for 
  letting influence slip through their talons, after all. As these the 
  dragons move closer to open draconic warfare, what will that 
  mean for the Land of Promise and any player characters who 
  might be their unwilling catspaws?
  •	  Tír Prince Conall Taylor has some pretty unorthodox training 
  regimens in place for the new generation of Ghosts trying to 
  make the cut in his reformed Peace Force, including training 
  exercises with unpredictable, dangerous shadowrunners, to get 
  them to learn just how varied their opposition might be. How 
  real will the war games get, if your players accept the job and 
  let the Border Patrol and the rest of the Tír’s finest hunt them 
  in the wilderness of this magical land?
  •	  The deposed Tír Princes aren’t happy about losing their home-
  land, and anything that makes this new batch of Princes look 
  bad might, over time, make agitators succeed in pressuring the 
  nation to take them back. Are your players willing to hijack the 
  well-intentioned social programs of Amy Joubert or Jake Foster 
  in the name of the nuyen? And if so, just who are they working 
  for? An exiled Prince, or just a current rival?
  •	 Prince Evan “Blackwing” Parris has been a dangerous shadowrun-
  ner working the streets of Seattle before. When an elven killer 
  with a pair of distinctive black cyberarms starts gunning down 
  trolls and orks in Puyallup, it increases metaracial tensions 
  between the various gangs of the Barrens. Is Blackwing really 
  behind it? If not, then who?
  •	  A group of adepts have started to operate in Seattle, carrying 
  out impressive assassinations and burglaries. They’re recruit-
  ing heavily from Downtown’s Elven District and Puyallup’s 
  Tarislar neighborhood, and it seems only elves are accepted. 
  Is this some splinter group from the Moonlight Thorns? 
  What are they doing in Seattle? Which Prince, if any, is 
  giving them their orders?
  •	  A local VR club has been visited by the icon of an ebon boy in 
  a cloak of swirling stars, scouring the hacking community for 
  the best of the best, trying to put together a crew for a run on 
  a major Renraku database. Is the Dodger really close to finding 
  and freeing some remnant of his lost lady love, or is it only 
  wishful thinking? 
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  21
  cHArAcTer TrOVe
  cHArAcTer TrOVe
  TÍR PEaCE FORCE (POLICE PaTROL)
  These basic officers are the people who other Peace Force troops 
  look down on. These citizens are in the force to serve their state-
  mandated term of civil service, they’re casual about security and 
  training, and they’re not given the best gear despite having had the 
  opportunity for a few combat augmentations. These are the everyday 
  beat cops of Portland, given stun weapons and a heavy pistol for casual 
  violence, and armor designed for comfort and appearance as much as 
  protection. They generally act like professional security would for a 
  megacorp. They’re not the top-of-the-line Tír butt-stomper brigade, 
  but they don’t have to be; they know back-up is available.
  Elven Beat Cops (Professional Rating 2)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  4
  4 (5) 3 (4) 3 (4)
  5
  4
  3
  4
  5.1
  7 (8) 1 (2) 8/6
  10
  Dice Pools: Close Combat skill group 7, Athletics skill group 8, Firearms 
  skill group 8, Infiltration 8, Influence skill group 7, Perception 7
  Augmentation: Muscle augmentation 1, muscle toner 1, synaptic 
  boosters 1
  Gear: Armor jacket, mirror shades [Rating 3, with flare compensation, 
  image link, smartlink]
  Weapons:
  Telestrian “Falcon”/Ares Predator IV [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, 
  SA, RC —, 15(c), 1 extra magazine regular ammo, smartlink]
  Telestrian “Broadsword”/Stun Baton [Club, Reach 1, DV 6S(e), 
  AP –half]
  Yamaha Pulsar [taser, DV 6S(e), –half AP, SA, RC —, 4(m)]
  TÍR PEaCE FORCE (CONSTaBuLaRY DIVISION)
  These shooters are the mundane elite of the Peace Force 
  Constables, not quite as good as Ghosts, but the best the law enforce-
  ment branch has to offer. Filling the same role as Fast Response Teams 
  or SWAT in a Lone Star town, they’re the big guns that can be brought 
  to bear when full-on Ghosts might not be available. 
  Elven Assault Trooper (Professional Rating 4)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  5
  6 (7) 5 (6) 4 (5) 5
  4
  3
  4
  5.1
  9 (10) 1 (2)
  12/10
  11
  Dice Pools: Athletics skill group 9, Close Combat skill group 10, 
  Firearms skill group 11, Heavy Weapons (Grenade Launcher) 9 (11), 
  Infiltration 8, Influence skill group 7, Perception 7
  Augmentation: Muscle augmentation 1, muscle toner 1, synaptic 
  boosters 1
  Gear: Full body armor with ruthenium polymer coating and helmet 
  [with flare compensation, image link, smartlink, thermographic 
  vision], commlink [Device Rating 4, Rating 4 Tacsoft among other 
  programs available]
  Weapons (sidearm and gloves, plus either shotgun or assault rifle 
  w/ launcher): 
  Telestrian “Falcon”/Ares Predator IV [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, 
  SA, RC —, 15(c), 1 extra magazine regular ammo, smartlink]
  Integral Shock Gloves [Unarmed, DV 5S(e), AP –half ]
  Andalusian Light Industries “Warhammer”/Franchi SPAS-22 
  [Shotgun, DV 7P, AP –1, SA/BF, RC 1, 10 (m), w/ 10 extra 
  slugs, smartlink]
  Andalusian Light Industries “Griffin”/HK SM30 [Assault Rifle, 
  DV 6P, AP –1, SA/BF/FA, RC 1, 30(c), w/ 2 extra magazines 
  regular ammo, smartlink]
  Underbarrel Grenade Launcher [DV 10P, AP –2 , Blast–2/M, SS, 6 
  (c), w/ 6 high explosive grenades, airburst link]
  PaLaDINS OF THE GREaT HuNT
  Formerly followers of xenophobic Ehran the Scribe, these Paladins 
  have been let loose on Tír Tairngire without restraint in recent years. 
  These individuals are bitter about the growing non-elven population, 
  the weaker border security, and a host of politicians from whom they 
  feel alienated. These statistics can represent a member of the Brat’Mael 
  (Black Sun), or any other host of pampered elven upper-class types 
  with a chip on their shoulder and a gun in their hand. Individual 
  members, particularly of higher social rank, may have quite a few more 
  augmentations than this, and even Quickened spells at their disposal.
  Elven Xenophobic Militiaman (professional rating 5)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  5
  6 (8) 5 (6) 4 (5)
  5
  4
  3
  3
  4.4
  9 (11) 1 (3) 12/10
  11
  Dice Pools: Athletics skill group 9, Close Combat skill group 12, 
  Firearms skill group 11, Heavy Weapons (Grenade Launcher) 9 
  (11), Infiltration 10, Influence skill group 6, Outdoors skill group 8, 
  Perception 7
  Augmentation: Muscle augmentation 1, muscle toner 2, synaptic 
  boosters 2
  Gear: Full body armor with ruthenium polymer coating and helmet 
  [with flare compensation, image link, smartlink, thermographic vision], 
  commlink (Device Rating 4, Rating 4 Tacsoft among other programs 
  available], 2 x slap patches of laés
  Weapons: 
  Telestrian “Falcon”/Ares Predator IV [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP 
  –1, SA, RC —, 15(c), w/ 1 extra magazine regular ammo, 
  smartlink]
  Integral Shock Gloves [Unarmed, DV 5S(e), AP –half ]
  Andalusian Light Industries “Griffin”/HK SM30 [Assault Rifle, 
  DV 6P, AP –1, SA/BF/FA, RC 1, 30(c), w/ 2 extra magazines 
  regular ammo, suppressor, smartlink]
  Cougar Fineblade (long) [Blade, Reach —, DV 5P, AP –1]
  COMBaT HERMETIC OF THE GREaT HuNT
  Likely first trained by the Peace Force or one of the Tír’s many 
  magically experienced universities, these combat mages make up the 
  sorcerous arm of various Paladin groups that keep the Tír a violently 
  pro-elven place. Higher-ranked members of the Tír nobility may be 
  
  22
  cHArAcTer TrOVe
  equipped with all manner of foci and fetish items, and a wide variety 
  of spells are available to them.
  Elven Mage (Professional Rating 5)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Mag
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  5
  4 (5)
  5 (6)
  3
  7
  5
  5 (6)
  5
  6
  5.08 10 (11)
  1(2)
  12/10
  11
  Dice Pools: Athletics skill group 8, Close Combat skill group 10, 
  Conjuring skill group 9, Firearms skill group 9, Influence skill group 7, 
  Infiltration 9, Outdoors skill group 7, Perception 7, Sorcery skill group 11
  Augmentation (all alphaware): Cerebral booster 1, muscle toner 1, syn-
  aptic booster 1, trauma damper
  Qualities: Focused Concentration (1), Magician
  Initiate Grade: 1
  Metamagics: Centering (Sperethiel Chants)
  Spells: Body Glove, Combat Sense, Heal, Manaball, Manabolt, One 
  Less Human, Slaughter Ork, Stunball, Turn to Goo
  Gear: Full body armor with ruthenium polymer coating and helmet 
  [with flare compensation, image link, smartlink, thermographic vision], 
  commlink (Device Rating 4, Rating 4 Tacsoft among other programs 
  available], 2 x slap patches of laesa
  Weapons: 
  Telestrian “Falcon”/Ares Predator IV [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP 
  –1, SA, RC —, 15(c), w/ 1 extra magazine regular ammo, 
  smartlink]
  Andalusian Light Industries “Griffin”/HK XM30 carbine [Assault 
  Rifle, DV 5P, AP —, SA/BF/FA, RC 1, 30(c), w/ 2 extra 
  magazines regular ammo, suppressor, smartlink]
  Integral Shock Gloves [Unarmed, DV 5S(e), AP –half ]
  Mage Blade (monofilament sword) [Blade, DV 5P, AP –1, Reach 
  1, Weapon Focus (1)]
  GENERIC SONS OF GIMLI GaNG MEMBER
  Gimli’s Sons are an up-and-coming gang in the ghettoes of 
  Portland, given to using fantasy-BTL abuse, faking thick Scottish 
  burrs, and swinging a wicked combat axe. More than a few decorate 
  their traditional gang vest with patches of chain mail or even clunky 
  metal plating, and their dermal augmentations tend to be heavily styl-
  ized in a similar vein.
  Dwarf Gangers (Professional Rating 3)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  5 (6) 4 (5)
  4
  6 (7)
  3
  3
  3
  3
  4.5
  7
  1
  6/4
  11
  Dice Pools: Blades (Axes) 8 (10), Dodge 8, Firearms skill group 8, 
  Influence skill group 4, Perception 5, Unarmed Combat 7
  Augmentation: Dermal plating 1, muscle replacement 1
  Gear: Armor vest
  Weapons (Colt and either axe or shotgun each, choose one): 
  Colt Manhunter [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, SA, RC —, 16(c), 
  w/ 1 spare clip of regular ammo, laser sight]
  Combat Axe [Blade, Reach 2, DV 8P, AP –1]
  Remington 990 [Shotgun, DV 7P, AP –1, SA, RC 1, 8(m), w/ 1d6 
  additional slugs]
  GENERIC DOG SOLDIERS GaNG MEMBER
  The Dog Soldiers are a neo-primitive group, given to a few 
  practical handguns (often looted after a fight), but trusting in older 
  weapons to do most of their killing. Fond of ambushes and squatting in 
  Portland’s many lush parks, they’re stealthier than your average swag-
  gering ganger but every bit as cocky and confident.
  Human Gangers (Professional Rating 3)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm CM
  4
  4 (6)
  4
  5 (7)
  3
  3
  3
  3
  4
  7
  1
  6/4
  11
  Dice Pools: Blades (Axes) 8(10), Dodge 8, Firearms skill group 8, 
  Influence skill group 4, Infiltration 8, Perception 5, Projectile Weapons 
  10, Throwing Weapons 9, Unarmed Combat 7
  Augmentation: Muscle replacement 2
  Gear: Armor vest, barbed arrows listed below [First Aid + Logic (2) 
  to remove, or target takes 1 box Physical damage, seep. 19, Arsenal for 
  full rules]
  Weapons (tomahawk plus pistol or bow, choose one): 
  Bow [Projectile Weapon, DV 9P, AP —, 6 barbed arrows apiece]
  Colt Manhunter [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, SA, RC —, 16(c), 1 
  spare clip of regular ammo, laser sight]
  Tomahawk [Blade, Reach 1, DV 4P, AP —]
  GENERIC SHOOTERS GaNG MEMBER
  The Shooters imagine themselves to be proper businesswomen, 
  and they dress accordingly. Given to slick, stylish, gear and more subtle 
  combat enhancements than their rivals, the Shooters work as neighbor-
  hood security, and in exchange they skim quite a bit off the top of 
  Portland’s sex trade profits. 
  Elf Gangers (Professional Rating 3)
  B 
  a 
  R 
  S 
  C 
  I 
  L 
  w 
  Ess 
  Init 
  IP 
  arm CM
  4 4 (5) 4 (5) 3 
  5 
  3 
  3 
  3 
  5.8 7 (8) 1 (2) 5/3 10
  Dice Pools: Blades (Knives) 8(10), Dodge 8, Firearms skill group 9, 
  Influence skill group 5, Perception 5, Throwing Weapons 7, Unarmed 
  Combat 7
  Augmentation: Muscle toner 1
  Gear: Actioneer Business Clothes, 1 dose of jazz (factored in above)
  Weapons: 
  Cougar Fineblade Short [Blade, Reach —, DV 3P, AP –1]
  HK MP-5 TX [Submachine Gun, DV 5P, AP —, RC 3, 20 (c), w/ 
  1 spare clip regular ammo, laser sight]
  Morrissey Alta [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, SA, 12(c), w/ 1 spare 
  clip of regular ammo, laser sight]
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
  23
  cHArAcTer TrOVe
  GENERIC SPaN GaNG MEMBER
  The Spans are your stereotypical gang of thugs, given to party-
  ing, robbery, a bit of smuggling, and muscling in on anyone who gets 
  too close to their turf. Recent seemingly government-sanctioned 
  violence against orks has swollen the ranks of metahuman-heavy 
  gangs like the Spans, pushing more and more ork youth into their 
  ranks and motivating them to arm themselves much more aggres-
  sively and openly.
  Ork Gangers (Professional Rating 3)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  CM
  6
  4 (5) 3 (4) 5 (6)
  3
  3
  2
  3
  5
  6 (7) 1 (2)
  6/4
  11
  Dice Pools: Blades (Knives) 7 (9), Dodge 8, Firearms skill group 
  9, Influence skill group 5, Intimidation 6, Perception 5, Throwing 
  Weapons 7, Unarmed 8
  Augmentation: Muscle replacement 1
  Gear: Armor vest, 1 dose each of jazz (factored in above)
  Weapons (knife and either pistol or rifle for each ganger, choose one): 
  AK 97 [Assault Rifle, DV 6P, AP –1, RC —, 38 (c), w/ 1 spare clip 
  regular ammo, laser sight]
  Colt Manhunter [Heavy Pistol, DV 5P, AP –1, SA, RC —, 16(c), 
  w/ 1 spare clip of regular ammo, laser sight]
  Survival Knife [Blade, Reach —, DV 4P, AP –1]
  GENERIC SOuLDRINkER GaNG MEMBER
  Thrill gangers are less focused on racing than go-gangers, less 
  focused on profit and protection than traditional gangers, and 
  more focused on getting their rocks off than just about anyone. 
  Unfortunately for Portland, the Souldrinkers’ idea of a good time is 
  generally murder, pillage, and scaring the crap out of random citizens 
  before sometimes, literally, tearing them limb from limb. They’re all 
  unnaturally gaunt and scarecrow-thin, given to wearing elaborate 
  physical (and AR) costumes and makeup that makes them appear as 
  a shambling horde of flesh-eating undead. They are deceptively quick 
  and strong when they want to be, however.
  Elven Thrill-Gangers (Professional Rating 3)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  3
  5 (6)
  5 (6) 3 (4)
  3
  5
  2
  3
  3.35 10 (11)
  1 (2)
  6/4
   
  Dice Pools: Blades (Cyber-Implant) 9 (11), Dodge 8, Unarmed 
  Combat (Grappling) 9 (11)
  Augmentations: Adrenal pump 2, digestive expansion, fang implants, 
  hand razors, muscle replacement 1
  Gear: Tattered longcoat, 1 dose of jazz (already factored in), (1d6 x 
  100¥) on a certified credstick
  Weapons: 
  Hand Razors [Blades, Reach —, DV 3P, AP —]
  Fang Implants [Blades, Reach —, DV 3P, AP —]
  aNCIENTS THuG
  These stats represent a top-tier Ancients member, not quite a 
  full lieutenant, but the elite praetorians of the gang, the ones who 
  personally follow the directions of Captains. Elven lifespans let them 
  live and fight for longer than most other gangs, and the Ancients’ 
  reputation and success lets them indulge in augmentation (investing 
  as much nuyen into themselves as other go-gangs might in their bikes). 
  A cut above the work-a-day members of this infamous gang, these stats 
  are for the real heavy hitters.
  Elven Go-Gangers (Professional Rating 4)
  B
  a
  R
  S
  C
  I
  L
  w
  Ess
  Init
  IP
  arm
  5 (6)
  4 (6)
  5 (6)
  3 (5)
  5
  4
  2
  4
  1.4
  9 (10)
  1 (2)
  5/9
   
  Dice Pools: Automatics 9, Clubs 10, Dodge 8, Gymnastics 8, Pilot 
  Ground Vehicle (Wheeled) 10 (12), Unarmed Combat 10
  Augmentations: Balance augmenter, muscle replacement 2, plastic 
  bone lacing, wired reflexes 1
  Gear: Bike racing armor and helmet (image link, smartlink, flare com-
  pensation), Suzuki Mirage [Bike, Handling +2, Accel 20/50, Speed 
  200, Pilot 1, Body 6, Armor 4, Sensors 1], 1 hit each of betameth or 
  novacoke (+2 reaction, +1 Intution, p. 74, Arsenal or +1 reaction, +1 
  charisma, +1 perception, High Pain Tolerance 1, p. 258, SR4A)
  Weapons: 
  Ingram Smartgun X [Submachine Gun, DV 5P, AP —, BF/FA, RC 
  2(3), 32 (c), w/ 1 spare magazine regular ammo]
  Stun Baton [Club, Reach 1, DV 6S(e), AP –half ]
  Unarmed Attack [Unarmed, Reach –, DV 3P, AP —]
  NEw SPELL
  Manipulation: Body Glove (Physical)
  Type
  Range
  Duration
  DV
  P
  LOS
  S
  (F/2) + 4
  This spell creates a field of protective energy much like the Armor 
  spell, but without the tell-tale glow. It protects from Physical damage, 
  providing Ballistic and Impact armor (cumulative with worn armor) 
  equal to the hits scored on the Spellcasting test.
  Rumors insist the Body Glove spell was first circulated among 
  the Peace Force’s elite, the so-called “Ghosts,” while others claim it has 
  been popular with Ehran’s Great Hunt, and yet more claim it to be a 
  relatively recent arrival, introduced as part of Prince Taylor’s military 
  overhauls. Like Increase Body, it offers protection similar to the tried 
  and tested Armor spell, but without giving away ambushes and stealth 
  operations, it remains popular with Tír spell casters who specialize in 
  Manipulation rather than Health spells.
  
  24
  cHArAcTer TrOVe
  MaGICaL SOCIETY
  The Moonlight Thorns
  The Moonlight Thorns are the bodyguards and assassins of 
  top-ranked Tír nobility, hereditary assets loyal to a member of the 
  Council of Princes. While they often operate in tandem with the 
  more mundane Peace Force assets a nobleman can call to service, they 
  frequently work alone or in pairs, far from the media attention the 
  military might claim. Under Princes Taylor and Gant’s military and 
  intelligence reforms, the Moonlight Thorns have opened their ranks to 
  non-elves and other types of adepts than purely the Physical. The group 
  is thriving under the looser membership restrictions and has grown 
  more versatile and idealistic recently. They operate both within the Tír 
  and outside its borders, as secret security and killers, spies and thieves, 
  information gatherers and spreaders of lies. 
  Rumors persist of a “true” Thorns group operating solely in the 
  shadows, sponsored or allied with the Brat’Mael or Mistish Farad, 
  functioning as an all-elven group that works for an exiled Prince.
  Members: 10
  Headquarters:Cara’Sir, Tír Tairngire (the former estate of an exiled 
  Prince)
  Membership Requirements: Adepts or Mystic Adepts only.
  Strictures: Exclusive Membership, Deed, Limited Membership, Oath, 
  Obedience, Secrecy
  Customs: Fraternity, Service
  Resources: Luxury
  Dues: None
  Patron: The Council of Princes
  Patron Spirit: None
  Membership Benefits: Access to near-unlimited mundane equip-
  ment in carrying out their duties for the nation. Access to their 
  luxurious estate, well supplied as both a dojo and armory. Access 
  to numerous boltholes both within Tír Tairngire and scattered 
  across the world.
  Roles for Mundanes: Logistical support, firepower and back-up, 
  Matrix support.
  Contact Benefits: Law enforcement/military support, political con-
  nection, clandestine service.
  Secrecy: 3 (The Princes having such adepts to call on is an open secret, 
  but the specifics and details are closely guarded by the state)
  Connection Rating: 3 (5 in the Tír)
  THE LAND OF PROMISE
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Shadowrun [multi]/4th Edition/Shadowrun 4e - The Land of Promise {CAT26S025}.pdf