Chapter 2 Lone Wanderers- Leaving Tabis

[welsh]

OOC- This is a continuation of a thread begun by Fang but which finally reached some closure. However, this is open to both new characters who missed out in the last thread or are interested continuing their characters from the old threat.

Like the earlier chapter, it builds on the same setting with only the some variation.

Rules are simple- as per Krunc's thread- Lookin for 5 who will stay with it. Sit idle for 5 days and you can and will be killed off by who ever posts first on the fifth day.

Ok, Fang's world-

"Tabis
This is our central town, Tabis relies on it’s agricultural success in the breeding of Brahman to it’s advantage, trading for knowledge and weapons which they (along with food) proceed to stockpile. It can be dangerous to travel to this town, and as such, some caravan companies refuse to travel here, leaving Tabis inhabitants forced to wander out themselves in search of trade. As such, their caravan companies are known for their bravery and success despite extreme odds against them. Both the Border Patrol Forces and the Laramie Caravan Company have set up outposts here. Travelers coming from Tabis are hardened, veteran warriors otherwise they would be out of business already, they are always brave and the vast majority can be described as heroic. The rest of the population finds itself working either as farmers or in the orchestrating of trade agreements. Some travelers who come here can afford to ‘buy’ protection on outgoing caravans.

Additional notes- Tabis has recently been blocaded by a Raider alliance with ties to the political establishment of Tabis. The resolution of this blocade was the subject matter of chapter 1. Currently Tabis is rebuilding. A number of its leaders have been killed but the town is mending. Caravans are again operating, but are currently cooperating to break through other blocades on towns throughout the area. In addition to the above, there is a sizeable group of ghouls that have lived and operated, as a sort of "untouchable" class withing Tabis.

Gray Cliffs
Set on the edge of the ocean, the Gray Cliffs is what remains of a pre-war town somewhat expanded after the war, though many of the buildings (except those sheltered in between the cliffs themselves) are somewhat in shambles. One can find haven in Gray Cliffs and its inhabitants have good, successful lives. Many people wander in on caravans and remain for long periods of time, settling down here. With Fraternity territory to the north which can be plagued by raiders who make their way as far south as this town, travel in that direction is not particularly safe. The closest town across west is Tabis, though the route there is perilous as well, this may be another reason why so many people choose to remain here. Inhabitants are particularly sheltered from the politics of the world around. When they do choose to leave, it is usually for a short period of time.

Red Water
The town of Red Water is the most communal center of merchants and traders. It depends almost entirely on trade with outsiders and much of it is dedicated to tourism. The center of the town is ruled by the Trappers, hunters who kill animals, skin them and sell off their remains. These can be for practical use, however in places are used as currency. These two factions are constantly at war, and in occasions this makes the town uninhabitable for visitors. The conflict does not look like it will end any time soon. Merchants can be found selling almost anything in the market’s of Red Water, legal or otherwise. Prices, and the personality of the traders varies heavily. In times when the trade in Red Water is not good, many Merchants venture out to set up shop in another town. Some of the traders own a small shop or house in another town which they can travel to and stay in during these times. Trappers live in Red Water because the animal population (especially Geckos) is heavy there. They may travel off elsewhere to sell their skins, but they usually remain where the source is heaviest. There is a strong sense of unity and community bonding around the Trapper Town especially because of the ‘war’ with the Merchants. Red Water has very little caravaning trade, though those that do exist are prosperous, often used by the Trappers to ship out Skins, Red Water usually relies on business coming to it, not the other way around.

Fraternity of the Blade
The Fraternity is perhaps the most unusual of factions in the Wasteland. Every operative of the organization wears a mask of some description upon his face which is never removed. Little is known about the Fraternity except that they are heroes. Their home territory is far east on the wasteland, eventually bordering the sea. This territory (or at least its borders) can be plagued by raiders. Even without these, it is forbidden to enter this sacred territory without the permission of the Fraternity. Outsiders are never allowed into central territory, and even then, can only visit the outside territory if they escorted by a patrol. Through their territory, there are many encampments. Patrols wander between these, picking up and depositing personnel as they go. Travelers forced to enter their territory can be ‘dropped off’ at these encampments until a patrol heading outward arrives. What the secrets of the Fraternity are, and the goal of the organization are kept very secret and operatives who leave the main territory will never speak of their overall goals, (though their immediate goals are usually obvious.) The Fraternity is widely acknowledged for its heroism, and because of that nature of the organization, nobody really cares about them being so secretive.

Carba
Carba is the window into the true desolation of the north, beyond this point, the wastes are truly terrible. Vicious sand storms wreak havoc, there is no civilization or immediate source of food or water, except that sometimes there can be violent thunder storms, also there are predatory animals ready to attack. Carba is the last safe town before this. It is here that one can buy all the equipment needed to even attempt traversing this terrain. Carba is relatively isolated from the politics of the south. Many people decide to leave Carba because of its independence, although others choose to remain in this would be haven.

Border Town
This town is on the Border of the Earthen Shores, it is perhaps the most dangerous of towns what with the threat of raider attacks from the west. Not to mention the scorching heat, only the tough can bear living in Border Town, and even then, few remain for long periods of time. The Border Patrol Forces base themselves here, as does the most successful caravaning company, Laramie Trucking Corp. There is a large metallic wall several layers thick that surrounds the town. The streets are close together and very cramped in an attempt to block the sun out above, many of the buildings are empty and are up for rent by passing merchants who wish to use them as warehouses or as shops. Frequent caravans comes to Border Town as the east of the town is relatively safe. Other than the Border Patrol, there are very few people who remain in the town for a lengthy period of time. Caravaners come and go very frequently on the inbound and outgoing caravans. Border Town can be subject to heavy raiders attacks from the west, though the current Chieftain is focusing the majority of the raider’s assets elsewhere and has not had time for large raids.

Additional notes- Political changes with the Chieftain and the participation of a resident businessman/politician "Kroeger the traitor" led to fall and capture of Bordertown to local raiders. It is unclear what has happened to the town since. While it is probably that the town was sacked, it is unlikely the town itself was put to the sword. Bordertown has had a violent history, recent events are par the course.

The Earthen Shores
This large basin is a massive dried up lake west of Border Town which is no a hive of raiders and slavers who live in shanty encampments. The scorching sun blazes from above, making the basin one large hellhole. Anything goes here, there are no laws or rules to adhere to. The ruler of the Earthen Shores is he who sits upon the Iron Throne, a literal throne made out of scrap iron and steel, built high at the head of the palace. The ruler is known as a Chieftain, and he rules until he dies, one way or another. The current ruler is going through many revisions to ‘policy’ and a lot is changing. Nobody knows much about the raiders and slavers here. Many seem to be nomadic, wandering between shanty encampments, always changing home, fighting and competing amongst themselves. Others nearer the central Palace and the throne (which can also be known as the Steel Throne) are less nomadic and remain longer in the central city, and if they do leave, often return as soon as possible.

Additional notes- There is substantial evidence that either within the Earthen shore or beyond it lies a substantial resource of military armament and supply. Such supplies were recently sold, in bulk, to various raiders in turn for their alliance and services. The location of this base is unknown.

The Ghouls Reactor
The Ghouls, to the south east of the Wastes, are operating a nuclear reactor. It is optimized to the point it is spitting out power tenfold the amount needed to sustain itself, and the excess is put into ‘batteries’ and sold to outsiders. The Ghouls never contact outsiders however, they go through a local tribe which believes that they are their spirits. The Ghouls have also seemingly discovered a technique to effectively make a pure-strain human into a ghoul (which the Tribes often go along with ‘being made into spirits.’) The reactor is frequently under the threat of invasion, but as yet nobody seems to have made an attack on it.

Additional notes- The ghouls have a substantial, if largely invisible, presence throughout the Wastes. Often working in less savory occupations, ghouls are the "low" class of inhabitants. However, the ghouls have also been collectors of artifacts and the keepers of science, philosophy and lost humanities, and thus are often the most cultured and sophisticated of Wastes inhabitants. They are prone to live in large caverns beneath the surface.

The Council
The Council of the All Knowing, or the Council of Knowledge, act out of an old pew-war Vault. The Vault has taken heavy damage and was practically dead when they came across it. But from one room of computer tied up to the library network, they learnt everything that was needed to know, both about the wastes, pre-war matters and many trivialities as well as information that could be potentially useful. For one thing, they now knew how to go about fixing parts of the vault in which they were able to turn the power on in. They also created many ‘hidden rooms’ or so the rumors say. The Council is divided into the Circle of Elders and Three Orders, the third Order works with the guards patrolling the town built above and around the Vault. The other two Orders purposes are unknown, although one is seemingly dedicated to espionage as they have spies, and in some cases saboteurs all over the Wastes. Little more is known, very few who go to the Council ever come back, and those who do always fumble denying knowledge or refusing to talk about their experience.

The Bringers of Fate
This faction acts out of a large pre-war shopping mall which has been converted to their base of operation. The building has now been converted into a Library dedicated to knowledge in the form of books or pip-boy data disks. Within the faction, there are a great many sub-factions who are given areas of the Library for their own usage. Although, some shops still exist, trading in any number of essential or non-essential commodities, a Caravaning organization has been set up to trade away their excess supplies and to acquire the resources they need. The head three of each of these families is known as a Master (Mistress) and the highest among them as a Lord (Lady.) The most powerful of the families have their Lord named as a Prince (Princess) and the most powerful of all is hailed as the Sovereign, the ultimate ruler of the Library. The current Sovereign is convinced that the last remaning shops should be closed down and converted into further Libraries, at least for now, as he has his eyes set on the Ghouls’ Reactor and is desperately seeking a way to claim it as his own. Although past Sovereigns have left the library open for others to browse through, and to make purchases from the Families, the current ruler has the Library closed to all Outsiders except those he expressly allows entry. (Who are given special robes to wear, like those of the Bringers themselves but a different color.) The Library is somewhere north of the Council’s Vault, close in part to the Earthen Shores, Border Town and Red Water. They rarely ever leave the Library except on caravans, although potential operatives are said to be spread throughout the wastes as spies.

The Slayers
This faction is probably the least-known of all the factions, though anyone can picture the heavily armored grunts (or Paladins as they like to call themselves) that they send around, the faction’s motives are unknown. Their base is to the far north east of the wastes, and no one ever dares go there. Their politics work months ahead of every one else’s, and via some sort of a communication net, they are always able to keep up to date with the latest news all over the wastes and be in contact with each other and their superiors at the same time. The exact number of Paladins or other staff or their exact strengths and motives are heavily shrouded in mystery, and everything established thus far is simply guesswork.

Creating a Character in this New Setting
Don’t rush yourselves into this, just because the RP is beginning now, doesn’t mean you have to get straight on in. Waiting a little while (maybe a day or so) for an entry opportunity to open up is a great idea (although somebody needs to be introduced now.) It heavily depends on what sort of character you want to have. The inn where the story begins is full of many travelers, so that could be a way to get in. It is a communal place where groups meet up the easiest. You’ll want to think about your characters motives straight away. The most likely thing is that they have arrived on a caravan, because there are so few here perhaps some of them know each other already. Perhaps the character has been waiting here for some time to meet a group of people willing to wander out with him (for protection.) Because many of the towns and environments are enclosed, that doesn’t leave much potential. Basically, the choices you would have are a guards, traders, trappers or heroes (general wanderers.) Don’t feel confined to this though, many characters have more extreme backgrounds, think about it, see what you can come up with, feel free to explore the setting as much as you can. "

WIth the exception of additional notes, that's Fang's created world, and thanks to Fang.

Anyone intereted in chapter 2?

 

[Gunslinger]

OOC- As always, I’m game. Hopefully, this chapter of our story will progress better than the last.

IC-

The first thing Caleb did was bury his dead.

For the past week, the Blade had traveled the wastelands surrounding Tabis. He was heading for a Blade encampment on the outskirts of Tabis with dire words of warning on his lips. An army of raiders was chasing behind him. Caleb had hoped to reach his brothers before any raiders did.

Unfortunately, the raiders got there before he could.

Leaving Tabis, the Blade was in no condition to be running in the desert, especially at his age of fifty years. He was still healing from numerous wounds and scratches and the extra cuts he had gotten as a goodbye present from Mandrake were deep. Not to mention that he was sorely unprepared for the deserts. He had the dried belly of a brahmin as a water gourd, a bowie knife, and a dusty serape he used as a blanket at night. Besides his two revolvers, Vindicator and Regulator, and the fifty or so remaining cartridges, the Blade traveled unencumbered. The guilt of leaving the ghoul encampment before a raider assault was already heavy enough.

He traveled cautiously across the desert. During the day, he slept under the shelter of a rock or whatever provided shade. During the night, when it was cooler, he walked and hunted with his knife for food. Each step was a meaningless battle between fatigue and haste. The bleak deserts seeped energy with each forced breath. The sun seemed to smile feverishly as Caleb baked in his clothes and sweat dripped down his grimy face. And, oh gods, the sand. Every single particle of biting sand seemed to gravitate towards Caleb and invade every crevice and nook. Never mind the fact that Caleb tucked his pants into his boots. The sand always found a way. Like a Blade.

Now, reeling in exhaustion and delirious from thirst, Caleb crested another infinitely familiar dune of sand to the top where he beheld the war torn scene he had traveled so many miles for.

Far below him, along the heat dazed horizon, laid the destroyed Blade encampment. Scorched bodies and charred batches of hardpan scattered throughout the camp. The rotten smell of sulfur lingered in the air along with the smell of disease and carrion. The warfires were still burning as the last of the embers greedily engulfed the dead bodies of the warrior Blades.

Caleb blinked twice at the sight and then fell promptly onto his side. He managed one anguished cry before he closed his eyes. The last of the water in Caleb’s body left him as his tears spilled out of his eyelids.

Five hours later, Caleb awoke and it was night. The old man had not remembered falling asleep but it was probably a blessing. He lay still on the top of the dune for a moment before standing up. The shattered and destroyed Blade encampment was still there as he looked downwards. Only now, the bodies of his brothers were neatly piled up on top of collapsed tents and a great pyre was burning as the flames turned the bodies into ash. The fires emitted a low halo of light in the night and the bodies and wood crackled loudly.

Caleb saw who had laid the bodies of his brothers to their final rest. It was Death. He saw the backside of the bastard looming in front of the funeral pyre, dressed in its dark, black robes. Death had come, but only after the fighting was done, like a carrion bird. Caleb could see a long metal object in Death’s hands and knew it must be its scythe.

Death had come to take his brothers, like it had come for so many others before them. That was okay. Death had already become a big part of Caleb’s life and he had a score to settle with the motherfucker.

Like a cougar, Caleb padded silently down the dune. He had gotten rid of his rusty spurs and had wrapped a length of cloth around his gunbelt. Now, he was as silent as Death. He tip-toed thoughtfully and cautiously with infinite patience. The looming back of Death in its black robes was a mouthwateringly tempting target but Caleb had to be sure. He would get the drop on death. He would see who would have the last laugh: Ha-ha-ha!

Caleb was finally within reaching distance of Death. The tall black figure of Death rose to the sky like a silent monolith and the hood seemed to droop over the skeletal thin frame like moss. Caleb could not believe he was so close. He looked behind and saw the trail of his footsteps imprinted on the sand. He must have taken a hundred steps without a sound.

Caleb must have looked like Death himself now. His lean face was now worn and haggard with starvation, almost skeletal. His dark black clothes hung in rags and a fine layer of dust coated them. He was only missing the scythe. But he had his own choice of weapon.

The gaunt, skeletal face of the old man broke into a hideous yet triumphant grin as Caleb’s hands fell to the handgrips of his revolvers in a practiced and memorized motion. He did not think of the absurdity of what he was doing—trying to kill Death—but he was just too damn tired to care. The Blade hauled both guns from their holsters in a blurring motion and jabbed them into Death’s back.

“I got you now, motherfucker!” he roared just before pulling both triggers.

Death pitched forward onto the ground comically as both barrels released their bullets. The tall and lanky form of Death reeled and pitched about on the floor and dark crimson began spreading from the wounds. Caleb did not stop firing, though. He fired the two revolvers relentlessly; each bullet causing Death to buck and flay like a fish out of water. He didn’t stop until both guns were making an empty clicking noise and the only sound was the cackle of the burning pyre.

Finally, breathing heavily, Caleb slipped both guns into their holsters and wiped away the drool from his lip with the back of his hand. He kicked the dead body of Death onto its side.

It turned out that Caleb had not killed Death at all. The dead body on the ground rolled onto its side and the hood fell off, revealing a stubbled chin and shaved head. The “scythe” Caleb had seen in its hands turned out to be a shotgun. The Blade had just killed another damn raider.

Caleb did not mind. He was too delirious to mind. Another dead raider at his feet wasn’t something new. Too bad it wasn’t Death, though. Caleb would have to settle that score latter.

The Blade pitched the dead body of the raider into the funeral pyre along with his brothers. The fires were all too happy to greedily engulf another corpse. In a semi-comatose state of mind, Caleb idly began stripping off bullets and ammunition from other bodies in the pile. He came away with a Winchester lever-action rifle, bullets, and four water canteens.

That night, Caleb slept next to the funeral pyre, systematically dumping bodies onto the fires. He fell into a deep slumber as the fires burned away the corpses of his brothers and their ashes drifted into the desert.

Caleb left the ruined camp early the next morning at the crack of dawn. He couldn’t be sure but the old man knew that he had lost his mind somewhere back in Tabis. It didn’t matter, though. It just meant he had a lighter load to carry with him.

The Blade trampled deeper into the deserts and revenge rode on his back.