"Ok, now that we have that out in the open, I really do not want a fight, nor did I want this to happen, all I am saying is that there is no way I will be going back to try and help the ghouls with something that looks like they brought on themselves, however, I will try not to push shit up hill, if that would help." And with that, Gruug safed his Kalashinikov and returned it to his back, puffed his chest out to let them shoot him if they wished.
IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers
- Thread starter Gunslinger
- Start date
- Status
welsh
Junkmaster
Talon nodded, satisfied. It was in no one's best interest to start a fight. "Alright Grug. You do as you think best. I was thinking we might learn a bit about what happened to the ghouls if you and maybe a few others went back. What ever happened to them could still happen to us. But I can't blame you for distrusting them."
the others of the caravan began to ease down, the tension now relaxed.
"Alright folks, let get this thing going. We're behind schedule as is and I think everyone wants to get paid."
Talon turned back and began moving among the carts, getting them going. Although he expected to rub up against Gruug again, he hoped they could avoid such confrontations. But if he were to take on the mantle of leadership, than perhaps this was something he would just have to get used to.
the others of the caravan began to ease down, the tension now relaxed.
"Alright folks, let get this thing going. We're behind schedule as is and I think everyone wants to get paid."
Talon turned back and began moving among the carts, getting them going. Although he expected to rub up against Gruug again, he hoped they could avoid such confrontations. But if he were to take on the mantle of leadership, than perhaps this was something he would just have to get used to.
welsh
Junkmaster
_____
In a bunker far away-
The officer came in, drinking a cup of hot tea. "What's our situation like?"
The noncom spoke without looking at the officer. His eyes were on the instrumentation in front of him. When asked the question, he looked down at a screen where he had typed his notes.
"Early confirmation indicates that both strikes were delivered on target with maximum damage. However, it does seem that the downing of the drone put those at the target on alert and they had begun to evacuate before the strike was landed."
"The site has been destroyed?"
"Heavily damaged and rendered in operable. Our agents indicate that the ghouls have been evacuating and that they are streaming away in different groups." Said the non-com, still not looking at the officer.
"What about the tracking device?" Asked the officer.
"We got the tracking device from the drone moving along a East, Northeast east route. But the signal is intermittent. Probably damage from the crash. Towards this town here." Said the non-com, pointing to the wall at a place called Grey Cliffs.
"Anything else?"
"Yes sir, we believe it's the caravan, but we are waiting for confirmation."
"Good, keep me posted. I am going to take this upstairs to command."
_____________
The caravan continued through the evening, the riders quiet now, listening to the creak of the carts and the sounds of the brahma.
There were fewer men now, so many being left buried in the makeshift graveyard at the University. These were the risks of the caravan trade and it wasn't unusual for a few men to die in transit. That so many had been lost, however, had damped the spirit.
It was cold, and those who were not taking their shifts as drivers tried to find comfort under blankets in the carts. Normally they would have sent out scouts, but Talon rested on those in front. McReady, the two things, and Grim. A few of the caravaneers walked along the cart for security, but usually they got on a cart and rested. It had been a long and difficult day.
The only ones still up and moving about where the mutants. They were patrolling to different sides of the caravan and providing basic security. Although their presence still left the others uneasy, the men on the caravan were too short staffed to complain.
At the back of the caravan, Ibis drove his cart while Rogue curled up near Cerberus. Ibis was glad the big dog had come back, but woudl have liked to have spoken with Grim. There would be time. He spared a look. Rogue was sleeping like a baby with a puppy in the back of the rickety cart.
Twitch was still getting used the cart and had hopped on Nat's cart, thinking about her earlier invitation. But she wasn't there. Just Jim. When Twitch noticed a bit of snoring, Jim merely said that it was Buffy catching some Z's.
At the front of the caravan Talon rode in the cart that had once been owned by Reed, and shortly, by Hook. Like the others it carried some of the precious cargo for Grey Cliffs, but also rest area for the Caravan Chief. Thus his inheritance.
He still didn't want the job, but at least the bedding was more comfortable.
He didn't notice Nat come walking up until she was next to him. "Hey Chief. Want some company. "
"Sure thing." Said Talon, welcoming the company.
"So you're the man with the money now."
"I also hear you got the softest beddings." Said Nat.
"I thought that was you?"
"Maybe we can try them both out."
"Depends how much it will cost. " Said Talon.
Nat smiled. "I had a debt with your former boss, so I reckon if we can cancel the debt than we can call it even."
Talon smiled. "Don't know nothing about a debt and considering your services with Ibis, I figured you more than paid your way. So there's no obligation on my part."
"Well then we can talk other business."
"You're talking to a poor borderman, now. If I had the money."
"Would you refuse a freebie, if only to test the merchandice? It is the privilege of the caravan master as I recall." Said Nat, suggestively.
Talon passed the reigns over to the guard nearby. Then he reached down and offered Nat a hand up. "Far be it for me to shirk my duties with someone so lovely."
Then he led her back into the cart where they both settled down on the beddings.
-----
The morning sun crept over the horizon illuminating the valley through which the caravan snaked. Grim stopped with McReady nearby. They were ahead of the caravan, plotting the way back on course to Grey Cliffs. Thing One and Thing Two were somewhere further ahead.
Below the tiny caravan crawled along an ancient road. Once one of the great highways perhaps, the road was mostly covered over now, occassionally creeping above the wasteland sands to bridge over another lost highway running through another desolate, ruined town.
Grim looked over the caravan, noticing how there were fewer carts left, and fewer men. Behind the caravan, a number of men were tending the brahma. Further behind Grim saw a dust trail. When he gazed in that direction, he could make out figures following the caravan from a distance. Probably coming from the University, following the caravan to Grey Cliffs.
Grim felt a bit of pitty for them. The University had been destroyed in what ever firestorm had come down upon it. Perhaps the same kind of storm that had destroyed the Blades, and that might one day be visited upon them. Now survivors were scattered to the winds. It was only natural that some would have decided to follow the caravan. Well, hell, they could use the added manpower.
McReady moved ahead and found something behind some stones. "Hey take a look at this."
Grim checked it out.
Prints, hoof prints. Like from the burro but different.
"Ain't never seen the like before until you brought that here beast into camp." Said McReady.
"Something came up from Mexico I bet." Said Grim.
Indeed, something else was out there, and hidden.
OCC-
Ok folks, Sander you still have a tracker with you. Twitch you have a chance to interact with Jim or Buffy or Ibis. Smar you have opportunities between you and the other Muties. Take the story where you want it to go.
In a bunker far away-
The officer came in, drinking a cup of hot tea. "What's our situation like?"
The noncom spoke without looking at the officer. His eyes were on the instrumentation in front of him. When asked the question, he looked down at a screen where he had typed his notes.
"Early confirmation indicates that both strikes were delivered on target with maximum damage. However, it does seem that the downing of the drone put those at the target on alert and they had begun to evacuate before the strike was landed."
"The site has been destroyed?"
"Heavily damaged and rendered in operable. Our agents indicate that the ghouls have been evacuating and that they are streaming away in different groups." Said the non-com, still not looking at the officer.
"What about the tracking device?" Asked the officer.
"We got the tracking device from the drone moving along a East, Northeast east route. But the signal is intermittent. Probably damage from the crash. Towards this town here." Said the non-com, pointing to the wall at a place called Grey Cliffs.
"Anything else?"
"Yes sir, we believe it's the caravan, but we are waiting for confirmation."
"Good, keep me posted. I am going to take this upstairs to command."
_____________
The caravan continued through the evening, the riders quiet now, listening to the creak of the carts and the sounds of the brahma.
There were fewer men now, so many being left buried in the makeshift graveyard at the University. These were the risks of the caravan trade and it wasn't unusual for a few men to die in transit. That so many had been lost, however, had damped the spirit.
It was cold, and those who were not taking their shifts as drivers tried to find comfort under blankets in the carts. Normally they would have sent out scouts, but Talon rested on those in front. McReady, the two things, and Grim. A few of the caravaneers walked along the cart for security, but usually they got on a cart and rested. It had been a long and difficult day.
The only ones still up and moving about where the mutants. They were patrolling to different sides of the caravan and providing basic security. Although their presence still left the others uneasy, the men on the caravan were too short staffed to complain.
At the back of the caravan, Ibis drove his cart while Rogue curled up near Cerberus. Ibis was glad the big dog had come back, but woudl have liked to have spoken with Grim. There would be time. He spared a look. Rogue was sleeping like a baby with a puppy in the back of the rickety cart.
Twitch was still getting used the cart and had hopped on Nat's cart, thinking about her earlier invitation. But she wasn't there. Just Jim. When Twitch noticed a bit of snoring, Jim merely said that it was Buffy catching some Z's.
At the front of the caravan Talon rode in the cart that had once been owned by Reed, and shortly, by Hook. Like the others it carried some of the precious cargo for Grey Cliffs, but also rest area for the Caravan Chief. Thus his inheritance.
He still didn't want the job, but at least the bedding was more comfortable.
He didn't notice Nat come walking up until she was next to him. "Hey Chief. Want some company. "
"Sure thing." Said Talon, welcoming the company.
"So you're the man with the money now."
"I also hear you got the softest beddings." Said Nat.
"I thought that was you?"
"Maybe we can try them both out."
"Depends how much it will cost. " Said Talon.
Nat smiled. "I had a debt with your former boss, so I reckon if we can cancel the debt than we can call it even."
Talon smiled. "Don't know nothing about a debt and considering your services with Ibis, I figured you more than paid your way. So there's no obligation on my part."
"Well then we can talk other business."
"You're talking to a poor borderman, now. If I had the money."
"Would you refuse a freebie, if only to test the merchandice? It is the privilege of the caravan master as I recall." Said Nat, suggestively.
Talon passed the reigns over to the guard nearby. Then he reached down and offered Nat a hand up. "Far be it for me to shirk my duties with someone so lovely."
Then he led her back into the cart where they both settled down on the beddings.
-----
The morning sun crept over the horizon illuminating the valley through which the caravan snaked. Grim stopped with McReady nearby. They were ahead of the caravan, plotting the way back on course to Grey Cliffs. Thing One and Thing Two were somewhere further ahead.
Below the tiny caravan crawled along an ancient road. Once one of the great highways perhaps, the road was mostly covered over now, occassionally creeping above the wasteland sands to bridge over another lost highway running through another desolate, ruined town.
Grim looked over the caravan, noticing how there were fewer carts left, and fewer men. Behind the caravan, a number of men were tending the brahma. Further behind Grim saw a dust trail. When he gazed in that direction, he could make out figures following the caravan from a distance. Probably coming from the University, following the caravan to Grey Cliffs.
Grim felt a bit of pitty for them. The University had been destroyed in what ever firestorm had come down upon it. Perhaps the same kind of storm that had destroyed the Blades, and that might one day be visited upon them. Now survivors were scattered to the winds. It was only natural that some would have decided to follow the caravan. Well, hell, they could use the added manpower.
McReady moved ahead and found something behind some stones. "Hey take a look at this."
Grim checked it out.
Prints, hoof prints. Like from the burro but different.
"Ain't never seen the like before until you brought that here beast into camp." Said McReady.
"Something came up from Mexico I bet." Said Grim.
Indeed, something else was out there, and hidden.
OCC-
Ok folks, Sander you still have a tracker with you. Twitch you have a chance to interact with Jim or Buffy or Ibis. Smar you have opportunities between you and the other Muties. Take the story where you want it to go.
welsh
Junkmaster
The caravan continued through the morning and into the noon hours. Talon let Nat sleep in the back of his cart as he got off and began walking among the carts, making spot checks and asking the others how they faired.
When he reached the back of the cart, he learned from Jim that the new comer Twitch was sleeping in the back keeping Buffy company.
"He went back to get some shut eye, ain't seen him since. But I think he woke up Buffy, or maybe she woke him up. Either way, well, you know how Buffy can be." Said Jim with a wink.
Talon smiled and nodded, privately thinking about his pleasures with Nat.
A female moan from the back indicated that they weren't exactly sleeping.
Nat went back to the last Cart where Rogue was now driving and Ibis was getting shut eye. Behind the cart Cerberus patrolled, often stopping to look at those that followed.
He wasn't alone. Gruug and his mutant squad were also back there.
Rogue smiled at Talon and said, "looks like we got company."
Talon took the scope from Rogue and looked back.
About 15 humans were behind them a way. Keeping up for now, but eventually they would fall behind as they tired.
"Looks like stragglers from the University." Said Talon.
Rogue nodded. "I hear that there were some humans looking to leave, and that some of them were responsible for killing that President. Apparently the President didn't want them to go."
"Could be them. Could be lots of folks. After what ever hit the University, they might be just survivors trying to find a better home." Said Talon.
"Still, I'd rather they were with us or away."
Said Rogue.
"We all share the same street. But I figure that it best we palaver." Said Talon. "I'll speak to Gruug and see if he wants to join me to speak with this crew."
"Be careful." Said Rogue, thinking about the recent confrontation.
"Yea, well, you got to trust someone sometime, I figure."
"Yea, sooner or later." agreed Rogue.
Talon nodded and went to speak to Gruug.
"Gruug want do we have behind us."
Gruug was watching the group and turned to face Talon. "Humies. I think about 15. Maybe a couple of ghouls too. They have been behind us most of the night. Maybe we should kill them."
"Or maybe they will join us."
_________
OCC- Ok folks, I will be out of town for a couple of days but will try to keep up. IN the meantime. Make with this encounter what you will. Don't count on my contributions until next week, so take the story as you will. Don't wait for someone else to post.
We have a couple of subplots going-
Sander, you are carrying the tracking device, even if you don't know it.
Twitch, you are getting some nukki from Buffy. Buffy is more an NPC than a PC so you can develop that as you want. Remember you still need to get weapons.
Gruug- you got the conversation with this group of followers. Probably they will want to join the caravan, and that would be an advantage. Play Talon for now.
Polock- this is a chance for you to join the story.
Good luck and see you in a week.
When he reached the back of the cart, he learned from Jim that the new comer Twitch was sleeping in the back keeping Buffy company.
"He went back to get some shut eye, ain't seen him since. But I think he woke up Buffy, or maybe she woke him up. Either way, well, you know how Buffy can be." Said Jim with a wink.
Talon smiled and nodded, privately thinking about his pleasures with Nat.
A female moan from the back indicated that they weren't exactly sleeping.
Nat went back to the last Cart where Rogue was now driving and Ibis was getting shut eye. Behind the cart Cerberus patrolled, often stopping to look at those that followed.
He wasn't alone. Gruug and his mutant squad were also back there.
Rogue smiled at Talon and said, "looks like we got company."
Talon took the scope from Rogue and looked back.
About 15 humans were behind them a way. Keeping up for now, but eventually they would fall behind as they tired.
"Looks like stragglers from the University." Said Talon.
Rogue nodded. "I hear that there were some humans looking to leave, and that some of them were responsible for killing that President. Apparently the President didn't want them to go."
"Could be them. Could be lots of folks. After what ever hit the University, they might be just survivors trying to find a better home." Said Talon.
"Still, I'd rather they were with us or away."
Said Rogue.
"We all share the same street. But I figure that it best we palaver." Said Talon. "I'll speak to Gruug and see if he wants to join me to speak with this crew."
"Be careful." Said Rogue, thinking about the recent confrontation.
"Yea, well, you got to trust someone sometime, I figure."
"Yea, sooner or later." agreed Rogue.
Talon nodded and went to speak to Gruug.
"Gruug want do we have behind us."
Gruug was watching the group and turned to face Talon. "Humies. I think about 15. Maybe a couple of ghouls too. They have been behind us most of the night. Maybe we should kill them."
"Or maybe they will join us."
_________
OCC- Ok folks, I will be out of town for a couple of days but will try to keep up. IN the meantime. Make with this encounter what you will. Don't count on my contributions until next week, so take the story as you will. Don't wait for someone else to post.
We have a couple of subplots going-
Sander, you are carrying the tracking device, even if you don't know it.
Twitch, you are getting some nukki from Buffy. Buffy is more an NPC than a PC so you can develop that as you want. Remember you still need to get weapons.
Gruug- you got the conversation with this group of followers. Probably they will want to join the caravan, and that would be an advantage. Play Talon for now.
Polock- this is a chance for you to join the story.
Good luck and see you in a week.
Gruug took another look back, turned to Talon, and shrugged. He then motioned for the others to come to him.
"Shut up and listen to what Talon has to say." Gruug ordered.
"Ok, all of you have probably noted the people following us, they might be friend or foe, but there is no way to know(ooc:yes that sounds poetic, but hmph*shrug*) unless we go talk to them. Now hopefully they will want to join, giving us some extra man power, which is just what we need. So don't attack them first off, but if they become too aggresive, well we don't need to loose anyone else, and I wont loose any sleep over it. So, let's just ask them who they are, what they want, if they want to join the caravan, ok?" Asked talon.
The mutants nodded and the little group set off, the mutants switching to their pistols.
"Shut up and listen to what Talon has to say." Gruug ordered.
"Ok, all of you have probably noted the people following us, they might be friend or foe, but there is no way to know(ooc:yes that sounds poetic, but hmph*shrug*) unless we go talk to them. Now hopefully they will want to join, giving us some extra man power, which is just what we need. So don't attack them first off, but if they become too aggresive, well we don't need to loose anyone else, and I wont loose any sleep over it. So, let's just ask them who they are, what they want, if they want to join the caravan, ok?" Asked talon.
The mutants nodded and the little group set off, the mutants switching to their pistols.
Syphon squatted down, level with the desert brush, holding up his rifle and using the scope as binoculars. He was a bit afar from the rest of the group, and he was quite tired and exhausted from daily work. His face was a bit dirty, and his hair messy going in all directions. He smelled semi-bad but bareable. He held a long face, obiviously disturbed by something.
He still felt terrible about all the dead innocent people who perishhed from the disease (...assuming there dead cus I missed quite a bit).
"...I'm gettin' too old for this shit!" Syphon said, lowering his rifle and attaching it to his pack. He then quietly lit up another cigarette, and blow out the addictive taste of nictotine into the gentle breeze, still squating. After finishing his cig, he stood up and quickly flicked the but into the sand. He wiped the sweat from the heat from his head with his forearm and headed for Talon and the rest of the group, who seemed to assemble in the distance.
He still felt terrible about all the dead innocent people who perishhed from the disease (...assuming there dead cus I missed quite a bit).
"...I'm gettin' too old for this shit!" Syphon said, lowering his rifle and attaching it to his pack. He then quietly lit up another cigarette, and blow out the addictive taste of nictotine into the gentle breeze, still squating. After finishing his cig, he stood up and quickly flicked the but into the sand. He wiped the sweat from the heat from his head with his forearm and headed for Talon and the rest of the group, who seemed to assemble in the distance.
Gunslinger
Mildly Dipped
Kino's Secret Heart
OOC- I’ve come.
IC-
The drums droned in the camp of the Blades, sending low reverberations into the ground. They were war drums, the kind that were meant to not only inspire troops but to incite doom in the ranks of the enemy. Forty Blade warriors in their prime rallied to their beatings.
Despite the general call to arms, Grey Cliffs looked tranquil. The amassed camp of warriors preparing for battle was a sharp contrast to the fishermen and farmers ready for bed. While Blades were donning armor and readying weapons, the townspeople were slipping into bedclothes and trimming candles. It was so strange to see two opposite ways of life coexisting together. The Blades were a very different people, nomads trained in warfare and taught to uphold justice. Occasionally, a Blade may wander into town, set everything right, and then wander off into the deserts again. But an entire camp settled in the outskirts of a town was a seldom seen sight.
Kino, nephew of Dante, pondered at the oddity of his predicament. As a child, he had been taught to trust townfolk with deceit in mind. At the same time, his tenants required him to protect this deceitful people. And the Blade had no qualms about doing duty. But preoccupation with defenseless people was not a way to win a war. In his secret heart, Kino yearned for battle.
Kino was a young man, but twenty years of age, yet he was considered almost as important as a senior. He was trained as primarily a scout, a role almost entirely looked down upon, yet he had exemplified his profession in his past exploits. Now, a new breed of scouts was developing: the guerrilla. No longer did a scout merely relay information but now he did all he was capable of to hinder the enemy. Che Guevara had called the guerrilla war the war of the flea. Now, Kino had made the guerrilla war the war of the vulture; ready to swoop down at any sign of weakness in its prey to rend and tear flesh.
He was not a warrior. He wanted to be a scholar. As a child, men had scoffed when he had chosen to study the Tomes of Bestiary or Agriculture rather than the Tome of War. The children ignored him; they cast his lot among the women. But Kino lived with the burden of being a pariah. He knew in his secret heart that a new age was to be brought about in the Blades if there was to be any hope for survival. A warrior society could only last so long before it turned on itself.
In many ways, Kino was a revolutionary. Some elders—his uncle included—were worried with some of his strange ideas. But at the same time, his words were taken with merit. As a scout, his exploits were crucial element in battle. As a scholar, his ideas had authority. But as a proven warrior, his words held authority.
Among the Blade elders, Caleb Rutgers was the man who codified the morals of the Blades. He was the shining example of what a Blade must be. The Blade riflemen may look up Jeremiah Trent, who had passed away years before, and the Blade scouts may look up to Kino but all Blades looked up to Caleb Rutgers.
And that was the inherent problem. Caleb was a good man, a warrior who Kino’s uncle looked up to, but he was also an outdated man. All he knew was how to kill. In a time in the past, killing may have been enough. But Kino knew in his secret heart that there was an alternative. In fact, there had to be an alternative, since now the Blades were so severely outclassed by this new world order.
So, tonight, as the war drums beat on and the warrior Blades rallied, Kino readied himself for what would hopefully be the last battle. He would save the Blade elders from his oppressors and try with all his heart to dissuade the Blades from their course of action; to give up the blood war that they had never initiated and return to the fertile Fatherland and perhaps build a new life.
Kino needed to not only to save his people from this new threat but to save his people from extinction. And if he could accomplish both, he would be happy in his secret heart.
OOC- I’ve come.
IC-
The drums droned in the camp of the Blades, sending low reverberations into the ground. They were war drums, the kind that were meant to not only inspire troops but to incite doom in the ranks of the enemy. Forty Blade warriors in their prime rallied to their beatings.
Despite the general call to arms, Grey Cliffs looked tranquil. The amassed camp of warriors preparing for battle was a sharp contrast to the fishermen and farmers ready for bed. While Blades were donning armor and readying weapons, the townspeople were slipping into bedclothes and trimming candles. It was so strange to see two opposite ways of life coexisting together. The Blades were a very different people, nomads trained in warfare and taught to uphold justice. Occasionally, a Blade may wander into town, set everything right, and then wander off into the deserts again. But an entire camp settled in the outskirts of a town was a seldom seen sight.
Kino, nephew of Dante, pondered at the oddity of his predicament. As a child, he had been taught to trust townfolk with deceit in mind. At the same time, his tenants required him to protect this deceitful people. And the Blade had no qualms about doing duty. But preoccupation with defenseless people was not a way to win a war. In his secret heart, Kino yearned for battle.
Kino was a young man, but twenty years of age, yet he was considered almost as important as a senior. He was trained as primarily a scout, a role almost entirely looked down upon, yet he had exemplified his profession in his past exploits. Now, a new breed of scouts was developing: the guerrilla. No longer did a scout merely relay information but now he did all he was capable of to hinder the enemy. Che Guevara had called the guerrilla war the war of the flea. Now, Kino had made the guerrilla war the war of the vulture; ready to swoop down at any sign of weakness in its prey to rend and tear flesh.
He was not a warrior. He wanted to be a scholar. As a child, men had scoffed when he had chosen to study the Tomes of Bestiary or Agriculture rather than the Tome of War. The children ignored him; they cast his lot among the women. But Kino lived with the burden of being a pariah. He knew in his secret heart that a new age was to be brought about in the Blades if there was to be any hope for survival. A warrior society could only last so long before it turned on itself.
In many ways, Kino was a revolutionary. Some elders—his uncle included—were worried with some of his strange ideas. But at the same time, his words were taken with merit. As a scout, his exploits were crucial element in battle. As a scholar, his ideas had authority. But as a proven warrior, his words held authority.
Among the Blade elders, Caleb Rutgers was the man who codified the morals of the Blades. He was the shining example of what a Blade must be. The Blade riflemen may look up Jeremiah Trent, who had passed away years before, and the Blade scouts may look up to Kino but all Blades looked up to Caleb Rutgers.
And that was the inherent problem. Caleb was a good man, a warrior who Kino’s uncle looked up to, but he was also an outdated man. All he knew was how to kill. In a time in the past, killing may have been enough. But Kino knew in his secret heart that there was an alternative. In fact, there had to be an alternative, since now the Blades were so severely outclassed by this new world order.
So, tonight, as the war drums beat on and the warrior Blades rallied, Kino readied himself for what would hopefully be the last battle. He would save the Blade elders from his oppressors and try with all his heart to dissuade the Blades from their course of action; to give up the blood war that they had never initiated and return to the fertile Fatherland and perhaps build a new life.
Kino needed to not only to save his people from this new threat but to save his people from extinction. And if he could accomplish both, he would be happy in his secret heart.
welsh
Junkmaster
Talon passed one glance back caravan, which had stopped some distance away. Many of the men had come down from their carts and were watching what was happening.
For a moment this worried Talon. A distraction by an opposing force could create an opportunity for exploitation. He made a mental note for more military drill in the caravan guards.
To his right Gruug walked close, his big kalashnikov ready. The other mutants followed. If the goal was intimidation, Talon could have hoped for no greater presence.
The mob that followed was comprised of about 15 men, women and children. Among there numbers were two ghouls. They looked tired, weary, dirty. Beaten. Leading them was a an older man of about 35, balding but bearded. He wore a trenchcoat over barely concealed combat armor. This one was a warrior.
The man and company walked up to about 20 paces from Talon before he stopped. Over his shoulder was slung a well used sniper's rifle, but in his hand he carried an SMG.
"Mornin'" Said the man.
"Mornin'" Replied Talon. "What reason do you have for following us."
"Not much else to do I figure, after that University got whacked. So I come looking for a job." Said the man.
"I'm Talon. I currently am caravan master and the borderman."
"Call me Polock. Like the jokes."
"What about these others?" Asked Talon. Polock seemed to have come through the long hike well, but the group behind him looked especially exhausted.
"Don't know much about them." Said Polock. Giving the group behind a quick look. THere were women and children there, and it was clear they could not go much further.
"We ain't what you would call a charitable organization." Said Talon.
"Nobody asking for charity as I see it."
"Were we're going, could get kind of hot." Said Talon.
"Been there, done that. So where is this place." Replied Polock.
"Yonder up the road."
"Ain't it always." Smiled the man.
"It is that." Talon agreed.
They grew quiet, each watching the other.
"You're short people. You could use the help."
"I can offer the basic rate for the men and the able bodies women. The kids, got no use for." Said Talon.
"Everyone's got to take care of their own these days." Said Polock.
"Reckon so." Relied Talon. Even so the caravan needed to rest. They had gone hard that night and the extra folks could help. "I reckon them young ones could keep the brahmin in line. We could give 'em a couple of days to learn the ropes. Good enough for grub and 1/4 rate."
"Make it 1/2. Half the rate for half the man. It's fair."
"Fair enough."
"Alright. Wait here before I tell my people what's what, then bring your crew in. We will be resting for breakfast, then make tracks till near dawn when we will settle camp."
"ANd where is it we are heading."
"Further along. We'll see if we get there."
OCC- Ok, Polock, if you are still with us, you are now in the story.
Folks, take the initiative to develop your characters and others. There are lots of NPCs out there that you can interact with. Remember this is your story too. Just keep at it. In addition to Polock we got maybe 14 other characters (including two ghouls). Try to interact with some of them and through that interaction develop your character.
The caravan will continue on today, camp out, and the next day there will be an encounter.
For a moment this worried Talon. A distraction by an opposing force could create an opportunity for exploitation. He made a mental note for more military drill in the caravan guards.
To his right Gruug walked close, his big kalashnikov ready. The other mutants followed. If the goal was intimidation, Talon could have hoped for no greater presence.
The mob that followed was comprised of about 15 men, women and children. Among there numbers were two ghouls. They looked tired, weary, dirty. Beaten. Leading them was a an older man of about 35, balding but bearded. He wore a trenchcoat over barely concealed combat armor. This one was a warrior.
The man and company walked up to about 20 paces from Talon before he stopped. Over his shoulder was slung a well used sniper's rifle, but in his hand he carried an SMG.
"Mornin'" Said the man.
"Mornin'" Replied Talon. "What reason do you have for following us."
"Not much else to do I figure, after that University got whacked. So I come looking for a job." Said the man.
"I'm Talon. I currently am caravan master and the borderman."
"Call me Polock. Like the jokes."
"What about these others?" Asked Talon. Polock seemed to have come through the long hike well, but the group behind him looked especially exhausted.
"Don't know much about them." Said Polock. Giving the group behind a quick look. THere were women and children there, and it was clear they could not go much further.
"We ain't what you would call a charitable organization." Said Talon.
"Nobody asking for charity as I see it."
"Were we're going, could get kind of hot." Said Talon.
"Been there, done that. So where is this place." Replied Polock.
"Yonder up the road."
"Ain't it always." Smiled the man.
"It is that." Talon agreed.
They grew quiet, each watching the other.
"You're short people. You could use the help."
"I can offer the basic rate for the men and the able bodies women. The kids, got no use for." Said Talon.
"Everyone's got to take care of their own these days." Said Polock.
"Reckon so." Relied Talon. Even so the caravan needed to rest. They had gone hard that night and the extra folks could help. "I reckon them young ones could keep the brahmin in line. We could give 'em a couple of days to learn the ropes. Good enough for grub and 1/4 rate."
"Make it 1/2. Half the rate for half the man. It's fair."
"Fair enough."
"Alright. Wait here before I tell my people what's what, then bring your crew in. We will be resting for breakfast, then make tracks till near dawn when we will settle camp."
"ANd where is it we are heading."
"Further along. We'll see if we get there."
OCC- Ok, Polock, if you are still with us, you are now in the story.
Folks, take the initiative to develop your characters and others. There are lots of NPCs out there that you can interact with. Remember this is your story too. Just keep at it. In addition to Polock we got maybe 14 other characters (including two ghouls). Try to interact with some of them and through that interaction develop your character.
The caravan will continue on today, camp out, and the next day there will be an encounter.
ICC-
Rogue watched as the small force from the caravan made their way out to meet with the stragglers. With three armed mutants walking along side Talon, they looked like a very influential force which few would want to tangle with.
The rest of the caravan had come to a slow halt. The rest of the men were making the most of the stop to rest and take note of what was happening with the encounter to the rear of the caravan.
"What do you think?" Asked Nat as she made her way up along side Rogue’s cart.
"Stragglers from the university I think. Guess they must have had their entire world turned upside down and obliterated over the last 24 hours."
"I heard that some of the humans there wanted to leave but couldn't get out. Was against the will of the ghouls in charge or something" Nat told her.
"Yea, but maybe their free now but they paid dearly for that freedom." Rogue responded.
The two women watched as Talon along with the towering mutants made contact with the small tattered group following them.
They were too far away from the group to hear exactly what was being said though.
"He makes a good leader don't you think?" Smiled Nat.
Rogue smiled back, "Yea, he does. Even if he doesn't believe in him self that he is a strong leader."
"Maybe if people would just look past the slaver tattoo printed on him they would be able to see the person that we see and saw earlier in stead of just anther piece of slaver scum." Nat exclaimed angrily. For some reason she had quite taken to Talon as a friend.
Rogue nodded in agreement, Talon was no longer a member of the slaver trade, all that was in the past. But people in this caravan didn’t seem to care to forget about those issues.
Is it not to the future that people should look instead of dwelling on the past for all their lives? A question she had tangled with for some time over the passed weeks.
The two watched as Talon and the mutant’s finished conversation, turned and headed back toward the caravan. They left the followers standing a small distance away from the rear of the caravan. Most looked exhausted and simply sat with what small possessions they had. Most had nothing.
Cerebus jogged out from where he was sat near Rogue to meet them. Licking Talon's hand as he reached up with the slaver, guess the three headed dog didn’t really know to care about Talon's past as a slaver and had really made a friend in the man. A friendship that seemed to be working both ways.
Mcready, Grim and some other key members of the caravan had made their way down from the front to Rogue's cart to hear what news Talon had to report from the encounter.
They stood patiantly waiting for the Talon, Gruug and the others to make their way back to where a small group had now formed.
"How did it go?" Rogue asked impatiantly!
"Ok." Talon told them as if speaking to everyone there.
"They are indeed survivors of the university. There are a few ghouls amongst their ranks but mostly men, women and children. Most are in a pretty bad shape.” He explained.
"Any able workers?" asked Mcready.
"A few strongn's but as I said, mostly women and children. I guess the women, with a little practice could learn to hold some reins and the kids could watch the heard when needed.
With the manpower we currently got, there are plenty jobs to go around for all of them." Talon laughed.
"As were already stopped, we'll anker down for breakfast here, bring em in, give em some scran and get them saddled up ready to move out." Talon instructed.
"Were gonna need some one to teach them how to drive these carts." exclaimed Talon, "You up for it?" He asked gesturing towards Rogue and Nat.
"Yea, we'll teach them how to ride." Rogue said confidently nudging Nat with her elbow.
"Ok Grim, Mcready, there are a few able fighter's that are capable of wielding weapons. I want these set up as guards where ever they may be needed." Talon instructed, "Were gonna need to find some weapons from somewhere and get them armed up."
Grim nodded, "We got some weapons and there a plenty of places for guards don't you worry about that." He said smiling.
OOC- Not sure where to get some weapons from. Welsh, didn't you say that Grim had some excess weapons that could be lent to the needing?
Rogue watched as the small force from the caravan made their way out to meet with the stragglers. With three armed mutants walking along side Talon, they looked like a very influential force which few would want to tangle with.
The rest of the caravan had come to a slow halt. The rest of the men were making the most of the stop to rest and take note of what was happening with the encounter to the rear of the caravan.
"What do you think?" Asked Nat as she made her way up along side Rogue’s cart.
"Stragglers from the university I think. Guess they must have had their entire world turned upside down and obliterated over the last 24 hours."
"I heard that some of the humans there wanted to leave but couldn't get out. Was against the will of the ghouls in charge or something" Nat told her.
"Yea, but maybe their free now but they paid dearly for that freedom." Rogue responded.
The two women watched as Talon along with the towering mutants made contact with the small tattered group following them.
They were too far away from the group to hear exactly what was being said though.
"He makes a good leader don't you think?" Smiled Nat.
Rogue smiled back, "Yea, he does. Even if he doesn't believe in him self that he is a strong leader."
"Maybe if people would just look past the slaver tattoo printed on him they would be able to see the person that we see and saw earlier in stead of just anther piece of slaver scum." Nat exclaimed angrily. For some reason she had quite taken to Talon as a friend.
Rogue nodded in agreement, Talon was no longer a member of the slaver trade, all that was in the past. But people in this caravan didn’t seem to care to forget about those issues.
Is it not to the future that people should look instead of dwelling on the past for all their lives? A question she had tangled with for some time over the passed weeks.
The two watched as Talon and the mutant’s finished conversation, turned and headed back toward the caravan. They left the followers standing a small distance away from the rear of the caravan. Most looked exhausted and simply sat with what small possessions they had. Most had nothing.
Cerebus jogged out from where he was sat near Rogue to meet them. Licking Talon's hand as he reached up with the slaver, guess the three headed dog didn’t really know to care about Talon's past as a slaver and had really made a friend in the man. A friendship that seemed to be working both ways.
Mcready, Grim and some other key members of the caravan had made their way down from the front to Rogue's cart to hear what news Talon had to report from the encounter.
They stood patiantly waiting for the Talon, Gruug and the others to make their way back to where a small group had now formed.
"How did it go?" Rogue asked impatiantly!
"Ok." Talon told them as if speaking to everyone there.
"They are indeed survivors of the university. There are a few ghouls amongst their ranks but mostly men, women and children. Most are in a pretty bad shape.” He explained.
"Any able workers?" asked Mcready.
"A few strongn's but as I said, mostly women and children. I guess the women, with a little practice could learn to hold some reins and the kids could watch the heard when needed.
With the manpower we currently got, there are plenty jobs to go around for all of them." Talon laughed.
"As were already stopped, we'll anker down for breakfast here, bring em in, give em some scran and get them saddled up ready to move out." Talon instructed.
"Were gonna need some one to teach them how to drive these carts." exclaimed Talon, "You up for it?" He asked gesturing towards Rogue and Nat.
"Yea, we'll teach them how to ride." Rogue said confidently nudging Nat with her elbow.
"Ok Grim, Mcready, there are a few able fighter's that are capable of wielding weapons. I want these set up as guards where ever they may be needed." Talon instructed, "Were gonna need to find some weapons from somewhere and get them armed up."
Grim nodded, "We got some weapons and there a plenty of places for guards don't you worry about that." He said smiling.
OOC- Not sure where to get some weapons from. Welsh, didn't you say that Grim had some excess weapons that could be lent to the needing?
welsh
Junkmaster
From a hill top, a few miles away-
The scouts watched the events transpire below them. Careful to keep the presence secret, they were to observe and report. Provide an early warning of danger or spot what opportunities were available.
"They are heading right for us." Said one of the scouts.
"Yes, but they also seem to be well provisioned and armed. This may be an opportunity."
The other nodded, and slowly they crawled away from their perch, found they mounts and headed to the East.
_____________
Donna Isabella de Silva watched her husband Don Pablo sleeping. He was exhausted and his breathing shallow and labored. They had removed the leg to stop the infection, but the surgery had been difficult. He had lost a lot of blood both before and after. When she asked the doctor for any hope, the doctor had merely shaken his head.
These were not the people she had been born with. The marriage had been, at first, a political arrangement, and only later a contract of passion. Since Don Pablo had gone south to distract their pursuers she had done the best she could to maintain the caravan, to keep its momentum. Had it been enough?
The few surviving riders had come out of desperation, to save their Don. For them it was a matter of pride. They would gladly die for the Don. ANd in their service, perhaps the riders had decided the fate of them all. They had gone out to shake the demons off their trail. Instead, the Oprezki, which had so doggedly pursued the riders, had perhaps been give a trail directly to the vulnerable De Silva caravan.
THey were exhausted. For so many months they had been on the trail heading north, constanly moving, never stopping for more than enough of a respite to catch their breath. Their supplies had been exhausted. They lived off what little they found or took. It was a matter of survival, of escape.
But would it ever stop. The Don had given up their lands, their homes, for freedom. They had survived for a short while, but Isabel knew the Oprezki would never give up their chase. The Oprezki had been given a simple directive, to find the De Silva's, to retreave the horses, and to destroy all of them. They would never stop until their mission was accomplished. It was their way. To do anything else would be dishonor.
So the De Silva's had run for their lives.
But perhaps the time for running was over. Like a wounded bear, it was time to face the wolves that chased them. To meet them claw to claw, tooth to tooth. To destroy them or rob them of their legs.
Isabella left the tent. Already the camp was being brought down as the De Silvas took to the road another day. She could see their faces. They were almost all without strength, without hope. And if the Don were to die, as he probably would, then how could they fight the Oprezki.
To fight now, would spend their doom. No, they would continue to run. Until they could find an opportunity to turn against them.
__________
Far to the South-
The Master rode his black mount to where the scout waited patiently. No words were passed.
They had come so close to catching them the last time. But somehow their prey had escaped, a few staying behind as rear guard to slow down the Oprezki. Brave but futile gesture. They had honored those they caught with crucifixation.
The prey had been careful to cover their tracks in the past, but now they were less cautious, and the trail was easier. And there was blood.
The scout pointed down. The mark was unmistakable.
A wagon track. The hoof of a brahma.
The De Silvas, the thieves.
The master smiled. He could almost smell the blood they would soon spill.
The scouts watched the events transpire below them. Careful to keep the presence secret, they were to observe and report. Provide an early warning of danger or spot what opportunities were available.
"They are heading right for us." Said one of the scouts.
"Yes, but they also seem to be well provisioned and armed. This may be an opportunity."
The other nodded, and slowly they crawled away from their perch, found they mounts and headed to the East.
_____________
Donna Isabella de Silva watched her husband Don Pablo sleeping. He was exhausted and his breathing shallow and labored. They had removed the leg to stop the infection, but the surgery had been difficult. He had lost a lot of blood both before and after. When she asked the doctor for any hope, the doctor had merely shaken his head.
These were not the people she had been born with. The marriage had been, at first, a political arrangement, and only later a contract of passion. Since Don Pablo had gone south to distract their pursuers she had done the best she could to maintain the caravan, to keep its momentum. Had it been enough?
The few surviving riders had come out of desperation, to save their Don. For them it was a matter of pride. They would gladly die for the Don. ANd in their service, perhaps the riders had decided the fate of them all. They had gone out to shake the demons off their trail. Instead, the Oprezki, which had so doggedly pursued the riders, had perhaps been give a trail directly to the vulnerable De Silva caravan.
THey were exhausted. For so many months they had been on the trail heading north, constanly moving, never stopping for more than enough of a respite to catch their breath. Their supplies had been exhausted. They lived off what little they found or took. It was a matter of survival, of escape.
But would it ever stop. The Don had given up their lands, their homes, for freedom. They had survived for a short while, but Isabel knew the Oprezki would never give up their chase. The Oprezki had been given a simple directive, to find the De Silva's, to retreave the horses, and to destroy all of them. They would never stop until their mission was accomplished. It was their way. To do anything else would be dishonor.
So the De Silva's had run for their lives.
But perhaps the time for running was over. Like a wounded bear, it was time to face the wolves that chased them. To meet them claw to claw, tooth to tooth. To destroy them or rob them of their legs.
Isabella left the tent. Already the camp was being brought down as the De Silvas took to the road another day. She could see their faces. They were almost all without strength, without hope. And if the Don were to die, as he probably would, then how could they fight the Oprezki.
To fight now, would spend their doom. No, they would continue to run. Until they could find an opportunity to turn against them.
__________
Far to the South-
The Master rode his black mount to where the scout waited patiently. No words were passed.
They had come so close to catching them the last time. But somehow their prey had escaped, a few staying behind as rear guard to slow down the Oprezki. Brave but futile gesture. They had honored those they caught with crucifixation.
The prey had been careful to cover their tracks in the past, but now they were less cautious, and the trail was easier. And there was blood.
The scout pointed down. The mark was unmistakable.
A wagon track. The hoof of a brahma.
The De Silvas, the thieves.
The master smiled. He could almost smell the blood they would soon spill.
welsh
Junkmaster
At the caravan-
Grim had chosen among the weapons he would keep. The others he would sell. With the burro he found he could carry more, but he tried to keep the animal lightly burdened.
The keeps- as usual his 6- shooter, the 10 mm. modified. Added to this was a small SMG and the AK47- carbine. The RPG and the few rockets he kept boxed on the burro. Finally, the new sniper's rifle, which he normally took with him on his tracks with McReady.
Other weapons- there were two more AK-47 rifles, an assortment of pistols, a sniper's rifle and an RPK. THese he could sell.
But he wasn't the only one with weapons to sell. They had lost nearly 25 men from plague and other causes since this trip had begun. Some of those weapons had been sold to the ghouls. But most of the sales had been from caravan stores. Reed and Hook had provided additional weapons and had their own stocks as well.
But the new comers had little to offer. Nearby, one of the new comers was asking for some clothes and some ammunition from a caravan man who demanded, in return, time with the man's wife. Some had books, but most had nothing to offer but services.
Those who were not trying to sell their wares were eagerly eating a breakfast of ancient pork and beans found in the shell of an ancient supermarket.
Talon was conferring with the new man, Polock, when Grim saw the other new comer, Twitch, come forward. He had heard that the man was looking for weapons as well.
"I hear you had some guns to spare." Said the man. "My name's Twitch."
Grim held out a hand, "My names Grim. What do you got to offer."
"Well not much."
"Well, I can give you a pistol if you will sign a letter saying I can consume your body if you die."
"YOu're kidding."
"Naturally." Said Grim, although deep inside his stomach had begun to growl.
Grim had chosen among the weapons he would keep. The others he would sell. With the burro he found he could carry more, but he tried to keep the animal lightly burdened.
The keeps- as usual his 6- shooter, the 10 mm. modified. Added to this was a small SMG and the AK47- carbine. The RPG and the few rockets he kept boxed on the burro. Finally, the new sniper's rifle, which he normally took with him on his tracks with McReady.
Other weapons- there were two more AK-47 rifles, an assortment of pistols, a sniper's rifle and an RPK. THese he could sell.
But he wasn't the only one with weapons to sell. They had lost nearly 25 men from plague and other causes since this trip had begun. Some of those weapons had been sold to the ghouls. But most of the sales had been from caravan stores. Reed and Hook had provided additional weapons and had their own stocks as well.
But the new comers had little to offer. Nearby, one of the new comers was asking for some clothes and some ammunition from a caravan man who demanded, in return, time with the man's wife. Some had books, but most had nothing to offer but services.
Those who were not trying to sell their wares were eagerly eating a breakfast of ancient pork and beans found in the shell of an ancient supermarket.
Talon was conferring with the new man, Polock, when Grim saw the other new comer, Twitch, come forward. He had heard that the man was looking for weapons as well.
"I hear you had some guns to spare." Said the man. "My name's Twitch."
Grim held out a hand, "My names Grim. What do you got to offer."
"Well not much."
"Well, I can give you a pistol if you will sign a letter saying I can consume your body if you die."
"YOu're kidding."
"Naturally." Said Grim, although deep inside his stomach had begun to growl.
Seeing all the people forming into a large group Syphon began to jog towards them. What was happening? They all seemed to be huddled around Talon and the other main character who play a role in the caravans success and failure.
But as he began to pant and get tiresome, Syphon bent over and breathed heavily, for quite some while. He was a good 50-yards from the caravan, when he heard something move in the brush behind him. As he turned his head to investigate, it stopped.
"Hm...Mus' be the wind" Syphon shrugged, thinking nothing of it. Then, he heard it again. This time, the brush behind him shook loudly. Feeling as though something was off, Syphon took out his sidearm, 9mm. Holding it by his side, he silently sneaked toward, unaware of what lay ahead.
(I'll continue this in a couple minutes.)
But as he began to pant and get tiresome, Syphon bent over and breathed heavily, for quite some while. He was a good 50-yards from the caravan, when he heard something move in the brush behind him. As he turned his head to investigate, it stopped.
"Hm...Mus' be the wind" Syphon shrugged, thinking nothing of it. Then, he heard it again. This time, the brush behind him shook loudly. Feeling as though something was off, Syphon took out his sidearm, 9mm. Holding it by his side, he silently sneaked toward, unaware of what lay ahead.
(I'll continue this in a couple minutes.)
Gruug, being taller than all of those gathered, saw Syphon sneaking toward a bush that seemed to be rustling. Odd, thought Gruug. Gruug then took out his targeter, pointed it at the bush.
.....LOCK. There was a human hiding in the bush. Alarm bells went off in Gruugs head, and he shouted at the top of his voice "GET TO COVER"....
OOC: Maybe this could make it more exciting? If not, meh, delete the post.
.....LOCK. There was a human hiding in the bush. Alarm bells went off in Gruugs head, and he shouted at the top of his voice "GET TO COVER"....
OOC: Maybe this could make it more exciting? If not, meh, delete the post.
(Welsh said that the guy was suppose to be a mile away, but lets make it happen, ok smar?)
Syphon began to see parts of a large, black man holding a large shotgun behind the brush. He was squatting and trying not to be seen. Syphon stopped moving, instead he tried to get a good look at him.
This man was far taller and built than Syphon. His hair was braided and he was moderately colored dark. He had a small goatee, and he was wearing ripped blue jeans and a dirty white shirt with old, torn tennis shoes.
Syphon raised his pistol, and the Black man could see this.
Suddenly, the man quickly jumped to his feet and fired off a round at Syphon. At point-blank range, it was impossible to miss with a spread-shot. Syphons incident was no exception. The bright blast was almost blinding, and the gun-shot was almost deafening. What a life-ending pair, huh?
The man had hit him in the right shoulder, severely. Blood and meat flew wildly off of Syphons right side, as he rotated clockwise from the impact and fell off balance, as his arms swung openly.
twisting and rotating as he fell, Syphon managed to land on his back. The man shocked by his piss-poor shot, now stood above Syphon screaming wildly, aimed his sawed-off shotgun at Syphon face. He towered over Syphon.
Fearing for his life, Syphon aimed his pistol in his left hand and fired the whole clip before the black man would finish him off. Only hearing the rounds ring as they hit the hard floor, and finally with the loud thud of the body smashing into the earth following. At least his enemy was dead, but now he had to survive the serious wound and possible infection...
Syphon let go of his gun and held his shoulder. A large chunk of his right side was totally missing! Blood was everywhere, both owning to the black man and Syphon. With his eyes closed, and moaning from the pain, Syphon waited until the others get there to help him.
Syphon began to see parts of a large, black man holding a large shotgun behind the brush. He was squatting and trying not to be seen. Syphon stopped moving, instead he tried to get a good look at him.
This man was far taller and built than Syphon. His hair was braided and he was moderately colored dark. He had a small goatee, and he was wearing ripped blue jeans and a dirty white shirt with old, torn tennis shoes.
Syphon raised his pistol, and the Black man could see this.
Suddenly, the man quickly jumped to his feet and fired off a round at Syphon. At point-blank range, it was impossible to miss with a spread-shot. Syphons incident was no exception. The bright blast was almost blinding, and the gun-shot was almost deafening. What a life-ending pair, huh?
The man had hit him in the right shoulder, severely. Blood and meat flew wildly off of Syphons right side, as he rotated clockwise from the impact and fell off balance, as his arms swung openly.
twisting and rotating as he fell, Syphon managed to land on his back. The man shocked by his piss-poor shot, now stood above Syphon screaming wildly, aimed his sawed-off shotgun at Syphon face. He towered over Syphon.
Fearing for his life, Syphon aimed his pistol in his left hand and fired the whole clip before the black man would finish him off. Only hearing the rounds ring as they hit the hard floor, and finally with the loud thud of the body smashing into the earth following. At least his enemy was dead, but now he had to survive the serious wound and possible infection...
Syphon let go of his gun and held his shoulder. A large chunk of his right side was totally missing! Blood was everywhere, both owning to the black man and Syphon. With his eyes closed, and moaning from the pain, Syphon waited until the others get there to help him.
Pip looked up from trying to pry open the damned thing making timed clicking and beeping noises. The noise had startled him, it sounded like a gun-shot, not far from where he was hiding in one of the many carts still surviving. Something must've happened.
As he peeked around the corner of the cart, he noticed a lot of commotion around a group of people, he saw a bit of blood on the floor around one of the men he had seen before, defending the camp. Or doing something against those beasties. He thought he'd seen him helping him getting him out of the box(damned rats!). But....it looked dangerous, like something could happen any minute now, someone...shooting or something. He wasn't going near there for his life....
And suddenly, he felt the buzz of the Pipboy around his wrist. A message...as he clicked open the Pipboy he noticed that the Slayers had sent another message towards here. A spy in the camp perhaps, but perhaps he was already dead. Hmmm....
The Slayers wanted to know what was going on, they'd heard about an explosion, and something of a power group to the east. Hrmph..... Pip wondered what that was all about.
EDIT:OOC: Whoops, Slayers, Blades, meh.
As he peeked around the corner of the cart, he noticed a lot of commotion around a group of people, he saw a bit of blood on the floor around one of the men he had seen before, defending the camp. Or doing something against those beasties. He thought he'd seen him helping him getting him out of the box(damned rats!). But....it looked dangerous, like something could happen any minute now, someone...shooting or something. He wasn't going near there for his life....
And suddenly, he felt the buzz of the Pipboy around his wrist. A message...as he clicked open the Pipboy he noticed that the Slayers had sent another message towards here. A spy in the camp perhaps, but perhaps he was already dead. Hmmm....
The Slayers wanted to know what was going on, they'd heard about an explosion, and something of a power group to the east. Hrmph..... Pip wondered what that was all about.
EDIT:OOC: Whoops, Slayers, Blades, meh.
welsh
Junkmaster
OCC- ok, there's a gunfight. Please make the bad guy a raider. ANd Sander, I thought you were getting Slayer messages, not Blade messages?
ICC-
Syphon was conscious long enough to realize that he had killed his attacker, and that he was badly wounded. Then his eyes grew heavy and all went dark.
Nat was already racing towards Syphon with a med kid. Ibis, slower due to age was following.
Pollock had seen the fight. "Shit, That's Buckwheat. Motherfucker was always a bit nutty. He thought you folks had caused the strike on the University and was out for revenge."
Talon looked at him hard. "You could have warned us."
"Maybe I could of. Had I known he was about."
Reaper, feeling the buzz on his wrist, looked down. A message coming in. Quietly he moved away from the camp site.
Rogue was the second to make it to Syphon. "Jeezus, look at his shoulder. Is there anyway we can save the arm."
Grim overhearing this suddenly thought about the decapitated arm, and felt his mouth beginning to water, tried to shake the thought. Besides, there was something else.
"Talon, I'll take care of the body." He said.
Talon nodded. "Fine just make sure the weapons get handed out to who ever needs em."
Talon looked to the others."Alright folks. This hear incident is a reminder that we got to be sharp, and I think that the old bosses weren't as keen on making us all as sharp as we needed to be. Had we been more vigilent, this piece of shit wouldn't have gotten close, and Syphon wouldn't be so damn fucked up. But now we might have lost us a sniper, maybe the man."
The others grew quiet, listening.
"We are going to hold here for a bit longer, but I aim to give us some training, so we fight like a team, that we are sharp. Because from what I seen, we got trouble up yonder that will finish us off unless we can give a good fight. So are we all in agreement."
The others weren't quite so pleased to hear this, but many nodded.
"Alright, Gruug, you got some pointers for combat you want to impart, the rest of you who got some skill, I want you to provide some drilling. Lets figure out how to go about it and share each other's skills. "Cause where we are going, expect to kick ass."
_______
OCC-
Ok, this is a bit off but what the hell. THe next chapter will contain a big battle so its wise if we do some drilling. This is a chance for the different characters to show their skills and ideas about combat. Do the best you can with what you got."
Also we got about 15 new NPCs to tinker with. If you want to create some new NPCs, by all means give it a try.
Maverick, if you want to come in, playing the Polock character or one of the others, let me know.
ICC-
Syphon was conscious long enough to realize that he had killed his attacker, and that he was badly wounded. Then his eyes grew heavy and all went dark.
Nat was already racing towards Syphon with a med kid. Ibis, slower due to age was following.
Pollock had seen the fight. "Shit, That's Buckwheat. Motherfucker was always a bit nutty. He thought you folks had caused the strike on the University and was out for revenge."
Talon looked at him hard. "You could have warned us."
"Maybe I could of. Had I known he was about."
Reaper, feeling the buzz on his wrist, looked down. A message coming in. Quietly he moved away from the camp site.
Rogue was the second to make it to Syphon. "Jeezus, look at his shoulder. Is there anyway we can save the arm."
Grim overhearing this suddenly thought about the decapitated arm, and felt his mouth beginning to water, tried to shake the thought. Besides, there was something else.
"Talon, I'll take care of the body." He said.
Talon nodded. "Fine just make sure the weapons get handed out to who ever needs em."
Talon looked to the others."Alright folks. This hear incident is a reminder that we got to be sharp, and I think that the old bosses weren't as keen on making us all as sharp as we needed to be. Had we been more vigilent, this piece of shit wouldn't have gotten close, and Syphon wouldn't be so damn fucked up. But now we might have lost us a sniper, maybe the man."
The others grew quiet, listening.
"We are going to hold here for a bit longer, but I aim to give us some training, so we fight like a team, that we are sharp. Because from what I seen, we got trouble up yonder that will finish us off unless we can give a good fight. So are we all in agreement."
The others weren't quite so pleased to hear this, but many nodded.
"Alright, Gruug, you got some pointers for combat you want to impart, the rest of you who got some skill, I want you to provide some drilling. Lets figure out how to go about it and share each other's skills. "Cause where we are going, expect to kick ass."
_______
OCC-
Ok, this is a bit off but what the hell. THe next chapter will contain a big battle so its wise if we do some drilling. This is a chance for the different characters to show their skills and ideas about combat. Do the best you can with what you got."
Also we got about 15 new NPCs to tinker with. If you want to create some new NPCs, by all means give it a try.
Maverick, if you want to come in, playing the Polock character or one of the others, let me know.
Gunslinger
Mildly Dipped
OOC- To keep the ball rolling…
IC-
The tribals waited outside the glowing ring of the campfire, spears in hand. They looked curiously at the prone creature reclined against a rock, a mixture of wonderment and horror mixing in their hearts.
The five of them were all tall, blond, and blue-eyed; the surviving Aryan race. They were all shirtless and their torsos gleamed with wiry muscles that would have bugled impressively if they had enough body fat. Red tassels hung around their spear shafts, a mark of just another defunct tribe.
Earlier that day, they had been hunting their elusive game of shrillers. They had followed their tribe’s totem, the hawk, in search of prey. The hawk had lead them and they had followed. They were their tribe’s hunters and warriors. They were nomads, always moving about. The temperamental weather forced them into a wandering lifestyle. The women, children, and elders stayed behind in a temporary camp comprised of tents made of brahmin hide. Their people waited patiently as their five warriors scavenged for food. Simply put, their five men with spears were their lifeline.
Now, the wide brimming wings of the hawk had cast its shadow over the Great Chasm where plentiful shrillers hid in their burrows. Put something was wrong. They had arrived at their destination at night, when the shrillers were active. And the bridge spanning across the chasm was gone, replaced by this mysterious creature lying against a rock.
The watched it wearily. The fire was low burning, not casting enough light to illuminate its face. It was dressed in towns people clothes but they were torn and ragged. A gaping wound, one that would have fallen any mortal man, bled profusely on his shoulder. The tribals tried to glimpse the creature’s face but they only saw shadows. A wide crown was on its head and a scarlet cloth hung around its neck.
The tribals communed together in their harsh guttural language that had spawned from new age colloquialism. They argued on their course of action. The creature had destroyed the bridge, the way towards the shrillers and food. Naturally, they would have to kill such a destructive best. Their totem had led them to it for a reason. But they did not know if they could kill it.
Their shaman would have known what to do. The elder could commune with spirits. He spoke to great beast that howled and spat steam from the hole in the ground. He gave it sacrifices to appease its burning spirit.
One of the tribals settled their course of action. Turning away from the others, he cocked his spear and flung it towards the fell creature. The spearhead missed its target, striking the rock above the creature’s head. Sparks flew as the flint connected with rock and the broken spear shaft fell into the creature’s lap.
The senior most tribal clicked his tongue angrily, rebuking his fellow warrior. The other tribals had raised their spears to follow suit but he stopped them with an angry wave of his hand. They lowered their spears when the creature started moving.
They stared apprehensively as it rose unsteadily to its feet. The spear fell off its lap and fell into the fire. The oil-wrapped wood burst into flames immediately, renewing the fire’s fervor. As the flames grew, the light was cast onto the creature’s face.
The tribals gave a collective sigh of relief. This was no creature but a man instead. Three of the tribals raised their spears again, ready to kill the outlander but the senior stopped them again. He saw that the unusually tall man was armed, a gun hanging low on his hip. The mask and wide brimmed hat seemed familiar from somewhere, something he had seen as a child.
The man got to his feet on shaky legs, balancing himself by placing a hand on the rock. The tall man stared at the tribals, his two hands far away from the massive gun.
The two remaining tribals with spears howled a war cry before flinging their weapons. The senior tribal tried to stop them but their missiles flew anyway. He watched, transfixed, as the old man burst into action. He moved leisurely, slowly, as he sidestepped to the right. The spears clattered into the rock behind the man. The movement was quick but the tall man made it look easy. As his legs were still moving, the man had dropped one hand onto his gun, drew it from his hip, and fired.
The single bullet bored through one of the tribals’ arm, swinging his torso back. The man clicked back the hammer on the gun and shot again, this time extending the gun from his hip. The massive barrel swept upwards and the bullet caught the tribal in the throat.
The senior tribal watched as this carnage happened. His other three comrades had drawn their clubs and were advancing. The old man swept his other hand and brushed the empty holster at his side. He looked at it momentarily in confusion before bringing his one gun up and fanning the hammer with his one hand. The gun roared three times and the three tribals fell.
The man looked at the senior, bereft of explanation, before firing his last bullet. The bullet caught the senior tribal in the gut. He careened to the ground and died slowly.
Caleb sat back down, leaning on the rock. He returned the warm revolver back into his holster and muttered, “Fucking tribals.”
IC-
The tribals waited outside the glowing ring of the campfire, spears in hand. They looked curiously at the prone creature reclined against a rock, a mixture of wonderment and horror mixing in their hearts.
The five of them were all tall, blond, and blue-eyed; the surviving Aryan race. They were all shirtless and their torsos gleamed with wiry muscles that would have bugled impressively if they had enough body fat. Red tassels hung around their spear shafts, a mark of just another defunct tribe.
Earlier that day, they had been hunting their elusive game of shrillers. They had followed their tribe’s totem, the hawk, in search of prey. The hawk had lead them and they had followed. They were their tribe’s hunters and warriors. They were nomads, always moving about. The temperamental weather forced them into a wandering lifestyle. The women, children, and elders stayed behind in a temporary camp comprised of tents made of brahmin hide. Their people waited patiently as their five warriors scavenged for food. Simply put, their five men with spears were their lifeline.
Now, the wide brimming wings of the hawk had cast its shadow over the Great Chasm where plentiful shrillers hid in their burrows. Put something was wrong. They had arrived at their destination at night, when the shrillers were active. And the bridge spanning across the chasm was gone, replaced by this mysterious creature lying against a rock.
The watched it wearily. The fire was low burning, not casting enough light to illuminate its face. It was dressed in towns people clothes but they were torn and ragged. A gaping wound, one that would have fallen any mortal man, bled profusely on his shoulder. The tribals tried to glimpse the creature’s face but they only saw shadows. A wide crown was on its head and a scarlet cloth hung around its neck.
The tribals communed together in their harsh guttural language that had spawned from new age colloquialism. They argued on their course of action. The creature had destroyed the bridge, the way towards the shrillers and food. Naturally, they would have to kill such a destructive best. Their totem had led them to it for a reason. But they did not know if they could kill it.
Their shaman would have known what to do. The elder could commune with spirits. He spoke to great beast that howled and spat steam from the hole in the ground. He gave it sacrifices to appease its burning spirit.
One of the tribals settled their course of action. Turning away from the others, he cocked his spear and flung it towards the fell creature. The spearhead missed its target, striking the rock above the creature’s head. Sparks flew as the flint connected with rock and the broken spear shaft fell into the creature’s lap.
The senior most tribal clicked his tongue angrily, rebuking his fellow warrior. The other tribals had raised their spears to follow suit but he stopped them with an angry wave of his hand. They lowered their spears when the creature started moving.
They stared apprehensively as it rose unsteadily to its feet. The spear fell off its lap and fell into the fire. The oil-wrapped wood burst into flames immediately, renewing the fire’s fervor. As the flames grew, the light was cast onto the creature’s face.
The tribals gave a collective sigh of relief. This was no creature but a man instead. Three of the tribals raised their spears again, ready to kill the outlander but the senior stopped them again. He saw that the unusually tall man was armed, a gun hanging low on his hip. The mask and wide brimmed hat seemed familiar from somewhere, something he had seen as a child.
The man got to his feet on shaky legs, balancing himself by placing a hand on the rock. The tall man stared at the tribals, his two hands far away from the massive gun.
The two remaining tribals with spears howled a war cry before flinging their weapons. The senior tribal tried to stop them but their missiles flew anyway. He watched, transfixed, as the old man burst into action. He moved leisurely, slowly, as he sidestepped to the right. The spears clattered into the rock behind the man. The movement was quick but the tall man made it look easy. As his legs were still moving, the man had dropped one hand onto his gun, drew it from his hip, and fired.
The single bullet bored through one of the tribals’ arm, swinging his torso back. The man clicked back the hammer on the gun and shot again, this time extending the gun from his hip. The massive barrel swept upwards and the bullet caught the tribal in the throat.
The senior tribal watched as this carnage happened. His other three comrades had drawn their clubs and were advancing. The old man swept his other hand and brushed the empty holster at his side. He looked at it momentarily in confusion before bringing his one gun up and fanning the hammer with his one hand. The gun roared three times and the three tribals fell.
The man looked at the senior, bereft of explanation, before firing his last bullet. The bullet caught the senior tribal in the gut. He careened to the ground and died slowly.
Caleb sat back down, leaning on the rock. He returned the warm revolver back into his holster and muttered, “Fucking tribals.”
Pip was confused by the message. Force to the east, and the slayers knew about it....at least in some way.
That force to the east, they must be with what they had had all these troubles. Or at least the.....explosion at the university. The destruction. If there was a real force out there, a force that wasn't friendly, then they were in grave danger. Any force with such power, any force, would be unstoppable. Uncontrollable. And....destructive. Destructive was the one right word he could think of.
While this thinking was going on, he heard the discussion about the shots outside. The speculation and the thoughts about who had done it. And the finding out of who had done it. Some crazy guy from the university. Someone that new guy knew, that Polock guy. And then they were talking about combat.
Wait, combat? Combat where they were going? Oh, brilliant. Pip knew nothign about combat. He just knew that hitting before he was seen was the only sure way of not dying. And even that was an incredibly difficult task. One stab could end a fight, but that one stab had to be placed, and Pip had neither the strength nor the skill to be good. All he had was the ability to hide. But that would only give him advantage over one man, in a large fight, he would have no chance. No chance at all.
He needed to find someone who could protect, or at least help him. Someone, somehow better at combat. Someone he might be able to rely on. And someone who would be willing to do that.
Pip's eyes started scanning the new people, trying to find someone with whom he could connect, or who could help, maybe by fixing something, or doing something else, just so he could have some form of protection.
OOC: Right-o, I'm going to try to involve one of the new NPCs here. If that isn't a problem, of course.
That force to the east, they must be with what they had had all these troubles. Or at least the.....explosion at the university. The destruction. If there was a real force out there, a force that wasn't friendly, then they were in grave danger. Any force with such power, any force, would be unstoppable. Uncontrollable. And....destructive. Destructive was the one right word he could think of.
While this thinking was going on, he heard the discussion about the shots outside. The speculation and the thoughts about who had done it. And the finding out of who had done it. Some crazy guy from the university. Someone that new guy knew, that Polock guy. And then they were talking about combat.
Wait, combat? Combat where they were going? Oh, brilliant. Pip knew nothign about combat. He just knew that hitting before he was seen was the only sure way of not dying. And even that was an incredibly difficult task. One stab could end a fight, but that one stab had to be placed, and Pip had neither the strength nor the skill to be good. All he had was the ability to hide. But that would only give him advantage over one man, in a large fight, he would have no chance. No chance at all.
He needed to find someone who could protect, or at least help him. Someone, somehow better at combat. Someone he might be able to rely on. And someone who would be willing to do that.
Pip's eyes started scanning the new people, trying to find someone with whom he could connect, or who could help, maybe by fixing something, or doing something else, just so he could have some form of protection.
OOC: Right-o, I'm going to try to involve one of the new NPCs here. If that isn't a problem, of course.
welsh
Junkmaster
For the rest of the day, they stopped and rested. Allowing the new comers to catch up, to rest, to eat.
The others in the camp set about working, moving in groups after Talon had figured out who would work as instructors.
Rogue helped train in marksmanship while Grim and McReady taught tracking. Virgil helped out with demolitions and tech stuff, while Gruug instructed on some of the more advanced weapons systems he knew of. Gabriel seemed especially pleased training new members on different methods of hand-to-hand combat.
When the sun was going down, Grim and Ibis took the body of the man that had been killed and carried him over the nearby hill for disposal. They missed out on dinner, but didn't seem to mind.
Talon watched over the camp like a protective father. The next day they would leave, and who knew what to expect.
___
OCC- ok I am leaving time for anyone to develop a story line or a character or a new relationship before the next day's activities. Tomorrow we meet up with the DeSilvas.
The others in the camp set about working, moving in groups after Talon had figured out who would work as instructors.
Rogue helped train in marksmanship while Grim and McReady taught tracking. Virgil helped out with demolitions and tech stuff, while Gruug instructed on some of the more advanced weapons systems he knew of. Gabriel seemed especially pleased training new members on different methods of hand-to-hand combat.
When the sun was going down, Grim and Ibis took the body of the man that had been killed and carried him over the nearby hill for disposal. They missed out on dinner, but didn't seem to mind.
Talon watched over the camp like a protective father. The next day they would leave, and who knew what to expect.
___
OCC- ok I am leaving time for anyone to develop a story line or a character or a new relationship before the next day's activities. Tomorrow we meet up with the DeSilvas.
PsychoSniper
So Old I'm Losing Radiation Signs
OCC, ok welsh, I suppose I'll take this time to get my characther to join.
ICC
As Talon stared into the fire, drifting off to sleep he heard a shout from someone around fifty yards out of the camp. "Can I approach". Talon jumped up, fully awake with the potentel danger. He had the guards take positions, just in case, then shouted back "slowly, no sudden moves"
A figure as large as a super mutant in a dark robe came foward "I'm just a wanderer, and the group I was formerly with reached its destination, I was looking to join Y'all for a little while, this country isn't as safe as it used to be." Talon looked this newcomer up and down, but the shadows in the robe were to deep to see any face, the figure moved slowley as if stiff, like he was almost unable to move. "Ok, for now" Talon said "but I have some questions to ask you"
OCC, Have Talon question my characther and hire him as a guard to bring him in, if I screwed up, fell free 2 delete it.
[edited to make the armour damage an issue right away]
ICC
As Talon stared into the fire, drifting off to sleep he heard a shout from someone around fifty yards out of the camp. "Can I approach". Talon jumped up, fully awake with the potentel danger. He had the guards take positions, just in case, then shouted back "slowly, no sudden moves"
A figure as large as a super mutant in a dark robe came foward "I'm just a wanderer, and the group I was formerly with reached its destination, I was looking to join Y'all for a little while, this country isn't as safe as it used to be." Talon looked this newcomer up and down, but the shadows in the robe were to deep to see any face, the figure moved slowley as if stiff, like he was almost unable to move. "Ok, for now" Talon said "but I have some questions to ask you"
OCC, Have Talon question my characther and hire him as a guard to bring him in, if I screwed up, fell free 2 delete it.
[edited to make the armour damage an issue right away]
- Status