IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

[welsh]

Grim after surgery

OOC- Yep, probably. Still I hate to see the OCC board get bigger than the ICC.
Ok, lets get this ball rolling again.

ICC-

Rogue slept until late in the day. It had been so long since she had a long rest that the body's systems seemed to resist any wakefulness. She woke slowly in a warm sweat, her skin warm from the afternoon sun. Through bleary eyes she could see Gabriel sleeping nearby. He had come in sometime and was sleeping on a floor in the corner. In his hands she saw the pistol and the panga. Hope he doesn't try to scratch himself.

Dizzy had disappeared. Probably back to see his uncle Connor to tell him that he had found the survivors of Wainright.

She heard whistling coming from inside, and when she went to investigate, found Ibis preparing something to eat. "Smells good."

"Yes, this is for your friend Lucas. He's going to have to make some dietary changes. Want to try a bite?"

"Thanks, actually I was thinking about a bit of porridge." She said. The meat didn't look like Brahma or even Gecko. "What is it anyway?"

"Oh something special I prepare. I'd tell ya but it's a secret family recipe. You sure you donh't want to try it?"

"Daddy always said only eat what you can identify. Maybe I'll try Deathclaw burgers latter."

The two shared a late meal, with Ibis preparing a porridge of local roots and grains, as well as some mutant fruit he had growing from a tree in his yard. During the meal he told her about his life in the town, how morbid some people thought the funeral business was and of the prejudices he had suffered. He told her about his children and how they had moved out, as well as how he had found Cerebus when the dog was just a puppy. Rogue had not seen Ibis so happy before, and when she asked him why he was feeling so well, he said, "Oh my brahma came home. They forgot the hearse but, well, I'm glad they came home and didn't end up on someone's dinner table."

Finally Rogue asked about Grimm.

"He's asleep and we're watching him, but I think he'll be ok." Ibis said.

"Can I see him?"

"Sure, but he's probably not conscious."

Indeed, Grimm was still sleeping soundly, with Wally sleeping in a chair by his patient. Preferring not to wake them, Rogue left. Maybe later.

Rogue spent the rest of the day in Tabis, acquiring supplies for the days ahead and selling what weapons she had picked up along the way and would no longer carry. Although she tried her best to barter with the local merchants she couldn't help but feel that they had gotten a better deal.

Later, when she had acquired both ammunition and provisions, she stopped in on to see Dizzy and speak to Conner at the Red Eye Trading. Conner struck her as an anxious man, stressed about delays and desperate for people. She negotiated her price, the same as with Laramie, and when Conner staled, Rogue threatened to leave. Conner then relented and settled on the price, offering her work as well as for any comrades you might venture.

As the day set, Rogue returned to Ibis's funeral parlor. Gabriel was still sleeping, but his hands hadn't moved. Lack of sleep catches even the most talented assassins.

Skik had returned from whereever he had gone, returning with a bundle of weapons he had retreaved in the sewers. Among the prizes was Grimm's modified 10 mm. Gabriel had awoken when Skik had loudly placed the weapons he had recovered on the table. Rogue noticed how he snapped awake, weapons ready. Like a startled snake ready to strike in the blink of an eye.

His muscles visibly eased when he saw he was among friends, and sprung to his feet and approached the table. Looking over the weapons he picked up a shotgun and inspected its condition.

"You can get a fair price for this." He said.

No 'hello', 'how are you'? No "what's there to eat around here?' or "I was out last night late.' A man used to being alone.

Together they continued to clean the weapons and discuss their next moves. Caleb had left them, and they had to decide whether to follow or not. Rogue mentioned she had gone into town but had not seen Sanchez, but couldn't help but feel he was watching them. Gabriel merely nodded, and Skik seemed to ignore the issue altogether. Gabriel seemed keen to join Conner's caravan to Grey Cliffs, but Skik didn't seem interested at all.

Wally came out, his jaw opening wide to emit a giant yawn. "Good catch?" He said, indicating the weapons.

"Yes, How's Grimm?" Asked Rogue.

"He seems to be healing very well. Another day and he should be up and able to travel." Said Wally.

"That's kind of remarkable, isn't it. He seemed near death yesterday and tomorrow he's back to his old self?" Said Gabriel, and Rogue could hear a hint of suspicion there.

"Well, your friend was a near thing. But yes, you see, he's going to have to make some changes in his life. We'll talk to him about it, but you should all be a bit, well, patient and understanding if anything appears especially abnormal."

"Can I speak to him." Asked Rogue.

"Yes, but don't expect much. He's still early in recovery and drifts in and out."

Grim could barely keep his eyes open when Rogue and Gabriel saw him, and often he would murmur incoherently, but it seemed Grim could recognize them both. They spoke for a short time until Ibis came in and said that Grim needed to rest.

"Just a second. This might be important." Said Rogue, who then leaned in close to Grim to make sure she was heard. "We met a man. His name is Sanchez. He says he has business with you."

Grim looked at her, and mumbled something. Then more clearly he said. "Sanchez…… kill him." Then he closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

 

[Stranger]

"You sure it wasn't your imagination?" Skik asked of Virgil as they skulked around the outside of Ibis's home. The rest of the party had gone to sleep with the setting sun, saving their strength for the long journey ahead.

"We've both been around long enough to tell the difference between real and imagined," Virgil knelt down to the dusty ground and squinted in the dark, barely making out footprints. He was no proffesional tracker, but when one lives as long as most ghouls, you pick up a bit of everything, "Someone's definately out-"

He was interupted by the collision of a body with Skik's back. The mystery man had doubled back around the house. They tussled on the ground for a moment, as Virgil tried to break them up. But it wasn't Skik he was after, the both realized, as the man scurried off of him, turned back to them and raised up Skik's pistol. Virgil quickly drew his .45.

Mexican standoff.

They both stood barrel-to-barrel, as Skik got back up and stood there, not know what to do.

"Do you know how you're going to die? huh? You know, amigo?! I do," the man stammered out in a spanish accent; one Virgil had not heard in years, as he shakily pointed the gun,

"Take it easy pal, we don't have to do this-"

"Don't tell me to take it easy!" the man shouted back at him, his voice horse. It was at this point that Virgil really noticed the man's poor condition. He was bleeding of cuts and scrapes, and covered with what looked suspiciously like plasma burns. The ghoul had not met another person with a plasma weapon in ten years, and was fairly certain he had not inflicted such injuries on anyone lately, save the two thugs in the bar.

"Do you have any idea, ANY IDEA?! Do you?!" the man coughed and spat blood, "No. Of course you don't. You wouldn't. You couldn't. She...it will have it's way."

"You're going to have to start making sense, buddy, if we are going to have a resolution to this little problem of ours anytime soon," Virgil nonchalantly brought up as he gestured at their weapons.

"HA!" the man laughed, almost amused, "It no longer matters. No. I didn't have the strength...the means before. But now I do. Now I have the wait out. And I'll go where she can't find me. Where I'll be free of it all!"

The spanish man shakily moved the pistol from Virgil, to the side of his head, smiling manically.

"Whoa!" Virgil shouted, "Hold on, you don't-"

But he was interupted yet again, this time by the discharge of a round from the gun. The man slumped over, dead.

"Dammit."

(ooc-not 100% sure where I'm going with this. So don't ask)

 

[Jacen]

After searching around Tabis and asking a few of the residents Jim found the small office of the Red eye trading company.

Jim took a look at the place and decided it looked all right, as far as all right would stretch in the wasteland. In pre war days this building would probably have been condemned and demolished a few decades ago.

He knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. After closing the door behind him he turned around and saw a tall, strong man sitting behind a desk with a rather big pile of paperwork around him.

“What do you want” Was the first thing the man asked.

“You Conner?” Jim asked

“That depends” was the cliché response.

“I saw the Help wanted sign in the Rusty Nail”

In that case I’m Conner” the man responded, “I thought you were one of my ex wife’s stooges”

“No, I’m not, I just arrived in Tabis and want to go to Grey cliffs for personal reasons.”
“The sign said that if I wanted more info I had to talk to you”

“That’s right,” Conner responded, “let’s talk”

After discussing the payment and the secondary working conditions, Jim had found out that Conner was in desperate need of guards, the two agreed to meet he next morning at 8 o’clock to set out to Grey cliffs.

“By the way,“ Jim said, “who else is coming with you?”

“You’ll see tomorrow, just be there.”

With that they parted. Jim went back to his room at the Rusty Nail to get a good night sleep, it promised to be a busy day tomorrow…

(OCC I’m not entirely happy with this. But it was all I could come up with at this time)

 

[Reaper]

"Kill Sanchez?" Gabriel asked but Grim was oblivious to them and their questions. "I should have had him."

"We didn't know he was a threat. Grim could be delerious. He might be wrong. We don't know. Let's wait for him to wake up properly and we can think about what to do about Sanchez."

The assassin nodded.

Gabriel was looking down at Grim, again feeling the mixed emotions of gratitude, comraderie and frustration. THe frustration stemmed from his belief that he didn't want or need the other two feelings.

He knew all the others thought the same about him as he did about himself.

He was a loner. Too used to his own company to operate well with others. Normally he didn't care. He had always been a loner. It had caused the odd trouble back when he was trooper and team-work was paramount. he had dealt with it and tolerated other people because he had to, but the freedom he had been given as a Nightblade had now left him unprepared for this situation. He relied on others for knowledge, support and backup in hte many bad situations he knew were coming. Gabriel could feel it in his bones. He would need these people's help.

This meant killing Caleb was going to be well nigh impossible. These allies with him now were smart people and if Caleb were to die soon after they met up with him, suspicion would eventually fall on Gabriel. THe assassin's professional mind was calculating odds and angles but he realised that there was another obstacle to this mission than numerous secondary targets who would turn on him.

He liked these people. They had accepted him despite his anti-social behavious, despite his suspiciously convenient arrival. He knew they had needed his martial skills when he had met them. The dire circumstances dictated the need to recruit every warrior they could. But they had not avoided him since and Gabriel found this connection...touching. He wasn't sure if that was right. He didn't understand what he was feeling or what was going on.

He felt on edge. They had all survived what had looked like certain death. Grim had suffered but he was going to make it, but they were all alive. Gabriel found it hard to believe and more surprising, he knew he was glad they were alive. Even Caleb. His target. THe cantankerous old warrior could be equally anti-social but he had presence. Strength and determination surrounded him like an aura. He made a pefect combat. He seemed eternal. Unbreakable. A weathered cliff. Erroded by time but still standing as strong as ever.

Gabriel respected Caleb. And that made his task even more difficult.

Could he do it? A question he had never asked himself before. There always seemed a good reason before. All his targets had deserved it. Why did the Slayers want him dead and why had his father warned him about danger in the organisation.

Maybe that was why he felt more attached to these wanderers. Without the Slayers as a reliable backup as they had always been, he needed support in some form. And comrades were all he had.

What was he going to do?

Everyone was jerked from their thoughts as the sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.

Gabriel reacted first, his natural reflexes giving him a slight edge. Rogue was half a second behind him, her youth and dexterity speeding her path to the door. Ibis and Wally watched them go, deciding to stay with the patient.

Rogue and Gabriel raced outside, both drawing pistols and they moved swiftly and stealthily towards the source of the noises.

 

[welsh]

Talon

OOC- That's fine Jacin. YOu can always edit later. Nice post Stranger.

Oh some minor edits here.

ICC-
For the first time in two days, Talon's head was numb with the painkillers the doctors had been giving him, and for the first time he could recognize the place.

Sitting next to him was Fury, whose chest was still wrapped in bandages, in a cot nearby, Knox was asleep. It was good to be around old friends.

Fury noticed Talons eyes were open and, for the first time, clear.
"Hey, back with us?"

"Yeah, what happened to you."

"Oh this? Nothing. An explosion threw me a little and knocked me about. They say I should be good as new soon."Fury said, her smile reassuring. Knox got himself a bit ripped up, but he'll be fine."

Fury's smile didn't fully conceal her concern. She could see the false skin on Talon's arms, where the synthetic skin had been placed. She could image the nerve damage, or the pain that Talon might be feeling.

But if Talon felt such pain he didn't feel it. During the operation, the doctors had done what they could to address nerve damage. Much of the sensation to the arm was lost, but not completely. Talon could feel tingles were the nerves were not lost, and his sensation in his hands were still quite good.

Talon noticed that Jeeva was not there. "Jeeva? Did he not..."

But Fury shook her head. "He got through alright, with hardly a scratch. As usual."

"So where...."

"Don't know. He disappeared. I figured it might be go get a little payback from that dark man they talked about back in the Fort. I haven't seen him in two days." Fury said. "But he did leave this."

Fury presented an old yellowed envelope, sealed. "Looks like it must have been something important for him to leave a message."

Talon took the envelope in both hands, very delicate. Most paper had faded to nothing but dust and would come apart when you touched it. But this was rare, heavy bond.

"Well?" Asked Fury. She had held the envelope for two days, just to make sure it wasn't stolen by one of the orderlies.

Talon found the knife he kept at his hip and slowly, careful, cut the envelope opened and removed the letter, opened it and read.

"Talon-
My friend. There would be no one else I would have follow me till the ends of the world than you. You have been my most trusted second and there is no better man to watch my back. But I fear I cannot wait for your recovery to finish and must leave you.

I have a life debt to pay, my friend, but it is mine alone to carry. I know Caleb is leaving and I must follow. I wish I could explain, but I doubt even Caleb understand what he does. But our honor is our life, and I must go where destiny wills.

As must you. My friend, our days of slavery are over, no longer can we be harvesters of meat. Perhaps it was an ill made choice, perhaps it is kharma that brings us to this time. For we have been deceived and betrayed by those that would lead us. I know not your destiny nor would force my will upon you. But I think we must put down the lash and make amends.

The Borderman have been generous. They paid both your and the borderman Ferris' treatment. Krieg, their captain has offered you a post should you wish it, without questions to your past. The Patrol has often been a refuge for rogues such as we. It is a generous offer and you would be foolish not to consider it well.

I go to follow Caleb, to whereever he takes me. I suggest you do not follow, for if this is a fool's folly, than it is fair only I should bear the costs. You have been and will always be, my friend. Live long Talon, and be prosperous.

Jeeva"

Talon put the note down, and looked at Fury. "Jeeva is gone, Fury. He has gone off to follow Caleb."

Fury shood her head. "Foolish Blade, it will get him killed. I will not go Talon, so don't think to ask. There is a future waiting for me here, and Knox too. Our clan has dissolved." Fury said. Then, thinking more generously, "And what of you?"

Talon looked at the note again.

OOC- Ok of the slavers, I think Talon is most likely to follow Jeeva, and perhaps to join the caravan to Grey Cliffs. On the otherhand he might join the borderpatrol. What do you think?

Also there is a pop culture reference here.

Oh, and I agree with Stranger. Most of the OCC's should stay in OCC post. However, small OOCs with long in story parts should be acceptable.

 

[Stranger]

Wally used an adapter to attach his formerly portable tape recorder to the extension cord, which in turn attached to the generator. Double A batteries were a rare commodity in the wastes, so he made due. Gabriel helped him lift the fresh corpse onto the table which so recently had held Grimm. Wally began to run the tape for record-keeping.

"Time 1:17am. Subject is a hispanic male, somewhere between the ages of 25 and 30, I'd guess. Subject died at approximately 11:45pm tonight of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the right temple," Wally walked around the table, "Initial observation shows the subject to have been in relatively poor health prior to his death. Body is is littered with abbrasions in a fashion that suggests a long, continous journey through the wasteland; the status of his clothes concurs with this. Some are post-mortem, most likely an effect of dragging the corpse inside."

"In several places there are what appear to be, as Virgil noted, some sort of energy discharge burns; probably from a plasma weapon. Most appear to be grazing shots on limbs, and more towards the rear side of him; suggesting to me that whomever inflicted them was trying to prevent his escape, not kill him. They all are, at most, a week old."

"Subject's left arm shows a number of intra-veinus track marks; probably a drug user. I will have to do a tox screening to determine what type."

"On both wrists, there are a number of horizontal, healed-over scar marks; possibly prior suicide attempts. I see no sign of sucher, but they are all thoroughly healed over."

"The back of his neck has a number of abrasions unique to the rest of them; they appear to be finger marks," Wally carefully tilted the body to the side, "Hmm. There is a small puncture wound centered on the back of his neck, maybe an eighth of an inch diamter, it looks as if-"

The tape recorded a lot of thrashing and clanging of instruments falling just then, as the corpse lurched at Wally, in a mindless frenzy.

"Dammit! What the hell is..Hold him down!" Wally shouted, supressed by gurgling sounds from the body's throat.

"I'm trying, he's...dammit!" Gabriel responded, just before the table flipped onto it's side, in turn, knocking the tape recorder off.

----

"Time is 1:32am," Wally spoke as he turned the recorder back on, "Subject became animated for just over a minute, some ten minutes ago. This is despite the fact that not only is the subject quite dead, but a large portion of his brain is missing. There are animals that are capable of post-mortem animation for brief periods of time...snakes, chickens...but generally speaking, in all my years of practicing medicine, I've never known this to be a human characteristic. Not only was the subject animated, but was rather strong in this as well; thank god for Gabriel's presence. Subject seemed to have no real mental capacity in it's movement; it merely thrashed around and tried to grab me. I am continuing with the autopsy, and am now compelled to examine what's left of this reluctant corpse's brain."

He tilted the head back and examined the head for a moment, "Hand me that saw, will you, Gabe?...no, no, the bigger one. Right."

"I am now proceeding to open the subject's skull," for several moments, Wally's voice was replaced by a disturbing sawing noise, "With the top-front of the skull removed, I can clearly see into the subject's head, and it is evident that much of the brain matter has been destroyed; enough to make such a motor response as previously witnessed, rather impossible. Other than that, it looks entirely...wait, I see something inside of it. It appears metallic."

Wally picked up a long set of tweezers and reached in for several moments, before successful pulling it out, "I have removed what appears to be a small electronic device, which was attached to his brain stem, with small leads going off to a number of different places in his brain. It's just over an eight of an inch in diamter, and about three fourths of an inch long...this could very well be what caused the puncture wound in the back of the neck. The real question is, what is it, and how did it get in him? Beats the hell out of me. Maybe the others are having more luck learning about our John Doe from his personal belonging."

"Final diagnosis...he's dead, Jim. Or at least I hope he is."

 

[Stranger]

"Well like I said, my knowledge of spanish is rather crude. It was a bit sketchy to begin with, and it was thirty years ago last time I used it," Virgil leaned back, legs propped up on a table, as he leafed through the journal they had found on the man's person, "Not to mention, his handwriting isn't fantastic."

"Anything you can tell us at all about him?" Rogue asked, breaking into a yawn as she layed tiredly across from him on an old couch.

"Hard to say. Most of it's just ramblings; as you can guess, he wasn't the most stable individual, after all, he did off himself."

"Ahem," Skik spoke up, sitting on a chair backwards, "Maybe a little respect for the dead?"

"What, is he going to be offended?" Virgil snapped back.

"Guys!" Rogue raised her voice, clearly two tired to deal with petty arguments. They both hushed up, "Virgil, is there anything?"

"There are a few reacurring things. Keeps bringing up someone he constantly refers to as 'SHE'. Always in all capitals; at first he's real respectful, almost reverent-like about her...then seems to get fearful. But he never seems to explain precisely who 'SHE' is. That, and he keeps talking about someone or something called 'Aprezki' or 'Oprezki'...his O's and A's are a similar," he clapped the book shut as a loud crash and the sounds of struggle came from the room from where Wally was performing the autopsy, "the hell was that?"

 

[Gunslinger]

OOC- School is over and the world looks dazzling.

IC-

Another day of marching and silence. It was another day, of little importance. Something about the stark bleakness of the deserts prohibited any recollection and sapped the imagination. There was simply nothing worth remembering. Caleb and Jeeva had entered the American eight-to-five workday in the cubicles.

But it was during the night that the world came alive. The sun dropped, along with its morbid heat. Consequently, the predators awakened to hunt and roam. It was of some irony that the two men traveled together when they were each other’s exact opposites, as different as night and day. But it was with some bitter irony that Jeeva, the “night” if you will, was completely exhausted during his domain while Caleb, the “day”, flourished in the darkness. Jeeva was a slaver who was used to regularized marches across the deserts and a grueling pace during the day and a heavy sleep during the night. But Caleb was a Blade, and a Blade had to be active all the time. He had to be ready to lunge and strike while his enemies slumbered.

But thankfully, Caleb’s sights on the East where dulled due to weariness. The body was a machine with the same foibles: no matter how well tuned it was, it would crash without a stop. And Caleb was wavering along this thin line. It was impressive, especially for a man his age, for him to have kept going thus far. Jeeva, who was probably half his age, was already depleted of any energy.

So it was with great relish when Caleb finally stopped. The Blade found a rock, sat down upon it, and simply announced, “I’m tired. Let’s take a break.” And Jeeva would’ve collapsed on the spot, lying on the dirty ground without complaint if he hadn’t added, “Get some firewood, Jeeva.”

So Jeeva did. Caleb had the guns, after all. He was perfectly aware of who wore the pants in this “partnership”. The slaver simply wandered around the clearing without a word, chancing radscorpions and splinters in search of wood. He found none, but he did find weeds and thistles. The dried-up desert debris caught fire easily enough when Caleb ran his knife against a piece of flint, sending a cascade of sparks into the fuel. A cheery fire blazed in the night, warming their backsides and warding off the light-sensitive deathclaws.

With his task done, Jeeva feel promptly asleep. His stomach growled mournfully but his aching feet and drooping eyelids overrode the desire of food. He would take what he could get and cherish it.

Caleb, however, did not fall asleep right away. Since he was in a deep slumber, Jeeva did not exactly volunteer to keep watch. The Blade kicked off his boots, letting his tired dogs to cool, and placed his rifle just an arm’s length away. He ate some dry jerky and washed it down with some water. After walking almost nonstop, the short meal was worthy of any Epicurean.

Normally, Caleb could have waited out the night. He would have to, too, in order to keep the fire burning and to keep watch as well. Under normal circumstances, he would have been able to done both and be ready to wrestle a deathclaw the next day with high glee. But this time, he fell asleep.

And he dreamt…

…he was fourteen again, a young age so long ago that he couldn’t remember what he looked like. Then, his internal self-image, the one that everyone carried in their own mind’s eyes, readjusted and caught up with its own time period. He was but a short boy, with particularly thin and lanky limbs that seemed out of place for his diminutive stature. And yet, he moved with a loping grace and rolling gait that was similar to a sailor who had spent too much time on a boat. His hair, no longer long and gray, was buzzed short and vibrantly auburn. His hands are remarkable smooth, devoid of any tough calluses that came with gun shooting. There is nothing to suggest that he will become the man he is today except for the exceptionally somber blue eyes.

In the dream, he is back in one of the camps in the Blade Fatherland. There was nothing to suggest where he was; the camp looked like every other Blade encampment and the deserts were eternal in all parts of the world. But Caleb could tell he was in the Fatherland somehow. It was just one of the indisputable givens in a dream.

He is standing before a tent and it is dark. The Elder has requested his presence and he feels very alone. The men ignore him, leaving a pocket of space around the boy because it is not their place to comfort and console. There are no women in the camp for they were not permitted to attend a war band. Caleb would not be able to retreat to the comforting embrace of his mother. He was about to become a man.

He was left to stand before the closed curtain of the tent for a long while. In a way, this was the beginning of the test. It was Caleb’s chance to turn away from the upcoming task. But he could not; doing so would mean that he would be but a boy forever. He would be exiled and shunned if he wavered.

Finally, the curtain is pushed aside by the Elder. In every child’s eyes, any adult was like a giant. But this Elder was truly a giant; he was so tall, in fact, he had to hunch under the seven-foot tall canopy just to move. The giant brusquely pushes aside the flap of cloth nonchalantly and extends an impossibly long arm. “Enter, Caleb,” he rumbles in a rich tenor. He moves to one side so the boy can walk in. Under the shadow of the canopy, the Elder looks like the Grim Reaper extending his hospitality to another victim.

Caleb girths himself and walks in. The Elder lets the curtain fall and follows behind him. To be allowed in the inner sanctums of an elder was a great honor. Traditionally, the tent is used to discuss and organize battle plans. But in this case, it is used for an equally important role: to determine the initiation of another Blade to the Fraternity.

The tent is surprisingly spacious to the young boy, though the gigantic Elder may not feel the same way. Tough brahmin hides cover the floor and adorn the poles holding the tent upright. A table, more like a gigantic slab of wood, occupies the center. Scattered on top of its scratched and carved surface are maps and elaborate plans. A bronze lamp, filled with dying embers, filled the room with dull light. The limited illumination is reflected off the gleaming surface of knives and guns in the corner.

Caleb stands in front of the wooden slab, the Elder’s throne in a sense, and waits for the Elder to seat himself. The giant does but the boy remains standing. Inwardly, the Elder smiles but he keeps his face stoic and impassive. He nods to Caleb and the boy seats himself opposite of the giant. He notes that Caleb’s spine is stiff and straight and that the boy’s gaze never leaves his own eyes nor does it blink. The Elder’s secret smile widens in approval.

He places his enormous arms on the table, leaning forward conspiratorially. There is a dead seriousness in his eyes, an earnestness that foreshadows the gravity of what he would say next. If anyone made light of his words, the Elder would surely kill them. Caleb would not disappoint.

“My son,” begins the Elder. “A great travesty has been committed against our people.” The Elder stares starkly into the boy’s eyes. “Retributions must be made.”

Caleb, sitting lowly before the towering figure, does not blink an eye but his lips are pursed tightly. “What has been done?” he asks in a voice that is not that of a boy’s but a man’s.

The Elder is forced to hide another smile. An unworthy initiate would immediately volunteer for anything with puppy-dog eagerness to prove himself. But Caleb showed initiative; he demonstrated that he had a brain by inquiring on the reason. He was concerned with keeping the honor of the Blades and not in self-glorification.

The Elder sits back on his haunches, folding his arms across his broad chest. “A Blade settlement has been plundered by raiders. They waited for the war band to leave, leaving only the women and children, and then struck like foxes in the night.” The Elder’s eyes blaze in high intensity. “The raiders slaughtered them to the last standing.”

“They shall be avenged,” Caleb notes quietly.

The Elder nods in agreement. “The have already been avenged. We cannot abide the wholesale slaughter of innocents. A Blade war band was ready to retaliate but a few hours later. The raiders were routed and dealt with.”

“But there is more,” says Caleb. It is a statement and not a question.

The Elder raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know if Caleb is being audacious but he decides to let it slide. “Yes, my son, there is more. Not all the raiders were killed. In fact, the chieftain of the raider party has escaped. That will not stand.

The Elder leans forward again, catching the boy’s cold blue eyes head on. “The Fraternity of the Blades is open to any worthy men and I believe you will especially flourish with us, Caleb. But you must prove your worth. The only way to enter the Blades is through baptism by fire. I need to test your mettle.”

“You want me to kill the raider chieftain?” asks Caleb with little emotion.

The Elder nods. “He can no longer live after the atrocities performed against us.” The Elder stands, walks over to the miniature armory to the side, and picks up a single-shot Sharps rifle.

The Elder hands the rifle to Caleb and the boy takes it. It is remarkably heavy in his hands but he does not show it. “Take this and kill him, my son,” commands the Elder. He gives the boy a finger-length bullet. “This should be enough.”

The boy breaks the chamber down and feeds the single shot into the hollow barrel. It fits snugly into the cavity. “I will not fail, Elder,” states Caleb.

The Elder watches Caleb leave the tent. “No, I don’t think you will, my son…”

…the dream shifts perception and now Caleb is in a copse of trees. It is a week later. The boy has tracked the last raider in a winding circle. The raider is obviously lost and Caleb has gotten the feel of his tracks. He has been following him relentlessly for days with little food or drink.

He is now perched on the highest branch of the highest tree. He lies belly-down, the rifle held in both hands close to his heart. He is naked except for a simple loincloth so as to not make noise. He has been in the same spot for the last two days and he is extremely hungry, as hungry as he has ever been in his life.

He waits because he knows the raider will inevitably pass this copse again, as he had before. Caleb can see that the raider is getting frustrated and it will soon be over. As he waits, turmoil of thoughts rolls in his head. His fears, his longing, his inner thoughts mingle in that single moment and time becomes excruciating.

And then, the raider stumbles blindly into the copse of tree, making a commotion of noise. It is impossible to miss. And yet, Caleb is startled by the sight and he is baffled with what to do. The raider begins to curse and starts to walk out of his line of sight. He was forever moving away like a tantalizing carrot tied to a stick.

But a chill artic coolness takes over Caleb. His stomach stops churning in hunger and worry and his head is dismissed of all nonessential thoughts. He raises the Sharp rifle to his shoulder, his pale blue bombardier’s eyes lining up with the sight of the gun for the first time. He stares at the raider’s retreating back and his inexperienced finger tightens on the trigger.

He pulls the trigger and the rifle cackles. Caleb simultaneously lets out deep cry, venting out all his rage and hope along with the bullet. It rides straight and true to the raider and slams through the raider’s vertebrate, past his heart, and exiting the sternum. The chieftain falls and is just a corpse.

Caleb lies still for a long moment, shuddering. He is but a boy, after all, and he has just killed a man in cold blood. He has to reassess his self-image, his priorities. Caleb cries. Finally, he slings the rifle, climbs down the trees, and picks up the raider’s dog tags…

…the dream shifts once again and now Caleb is back at the camp, inside the Elder’s tents. He throws the dog tags onto the wooden slab of a desk in front of the Elder. The giant man takes one look at the evidence of a kill, stands up, and silently hands Caleb a folded Blade mask.

The young boy, now a man, wraps the mask ceremoniously around his face. Outside, the other Blades are congregating over the new members and he can hear them whisper in approval.

Then, the Elder does something unexpected. The giant walks slowly to an oaken chest and dramatically throws back the iron latch. He pushes the top lid back and then raises a gun belt bearing two revolvers to the air. The crowd of Blades gasp at the sight: Vindicator and Regulator, the guns that have shed over a thousand’s blood. Silently, without a word, the Elder loops the belt around Caleb’s waist.

The guns are heavy yet strangely comforting. Caleb lays his hands on their wooden grips for their first time, not knowing that he will do so many times throughout his life. Now, he is a man…

Caleb woke up from the dream, feeling oddly refreshed. Jeeva was still sleeping and the old Blade let him.

The old gunslinger laid his hands on his revolvers, reminding him what he was fighting for.

 

[welsh]

Grim decides not to 'check out'

Ibis is talking to Grimm, protesting that he has to eat. Grim’s voice is raised, demanding Ibis to leave him alone. Rogue stops just outside the room to listen.

“I will not eat that crap, damn you.” Says the bounty hunter.

“It is not yet your time.” Protests Ibis. “You need this. It's sustenance. You need this to live.”

Grimm, nearly unconscious, nearly dead, now seems full of angry vigor. “Damn you, Ibis. What have you done to me? What right did you have to make those choices?”

“There was no other choice, Lucas. You must understand that. You would have died had Wally not…...” Ibis tries to explain.

“No, It’s you who doesn’t get it. I would never have accepted this. You’re a monster Ibis. You and Wally, to turn me….”

Rogue steps into the room, eager to break up this argument before it becomes irreconcilable.

The two men are caught surprised. Ibis pauses, and seems shocked. Unsure what to do he finally puts the plate of food on a table next to Grimm and leaves. He does not look at Rogue as he departs.

Rogue watches him leave and then looks back at Grimm, shaking her head. Grimm’s eyes are downcast.

“Lucas?” She asks.

A smile on his lips, Grim looks up. “It’s been a long time since anyone calls me Lucas.”

Sometimes, somehow, we all bury out identities, thinks Rogue. Perhaps it makes it easier to live in this world. Sometimes the survival technique rob the things most precious.

“You look better.” Rogue says.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Do you know what they did?” Asks Grimm.

“They saved your life.” She responds.

“My life, but at what costs? Do you know what they did? Do you know what they took away?” He asks.

But Rogue doesn’t know. The surgery, the treatments. No she doesn’t know the particulars, and doesn’t much care.

Rogue understands loss, is too familiar with it’s bitterness, and the hollow feeling inside. That as uncomfortable as that hollowness might be, she’s more afraid of not having it. For not to feel lose would be tantamount to losing her own sense of humanity.

And she's come close to losing this friend, who she has not known long enough and yet who risked his life for her and who has looked at her in ways she could only imagine a father might.

“I know that they gave you a second chance.” She says.

“A second chance? What for?” He asks.

She is quiet for a moment. “You were once a badge.” She finally offers.

“Yes, but the enforcer of whose law? What is a badge if he upholds a corrupt law? And don’t tell me that I did good as a head hunter. I think we have more than enough head hunters these days. I'm so tired of all of it.”

She waits a moment before continuing letting Grim speak.

"You know that I once had a farm. It wasn't much. A couple of acres, a couple head of cattle. It wasn't much. Just a place, but the ground was clean and the water was fresh."

"You had a family once." Rogue says, but whether to herself or to Grim, even she wouldn't know.

"Yes," Says Grim, "I had a family once. And once I came back from a job I found it all had been taken away."

A familiar story, thinks Rogue.

“Tell me about your daughter then.” She says, and its almost a whisper.

“My daughter wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I don’t even think I could bring myself to touch her.”

“Yes, I could see why.”

“Do you?”

“No. Honestly, Grim, I think you’re full of shit.” Rogue says. Her tone is matter-of-fact and certain. “You’ve been given a second chance to live, to find your daughter, to rebuild your life.”

Grim can see that she doesn’t understand but hesitates before speaking. "My old life is gone."

But Rogue is caught up in her own thoughts now. “Don’t you get it. I have spent the last years of my life trying to find my family, a family I know in my heart was killed. Do you see? You have a future, I just have a past.”

“Your life is what you make of it.” Says Grim.

“You might want to think about that.” Rogue says, then stops herself from continuing.

The two freinds don't speak for a long moment, until Rogue, finally says, “It’s good to see you alive again. Not sure if you know this, but Caleb has left us.”

Grim vaguely remembers not seeing Caleb at the hospital, and remembers him leaving, looking East. Caleb, the lone Blade. “He has his destiny to find.” Grim says.

“I am going after him. Probably Gabriel’s going too. There’s a caravan heading towards Grey Cliffs that’s looking for guards. ” Says Rogue. “I leave tomorrow. And you?”

Grim shrugs.

“I’ll check in on you later, ok?” Says Rogue.

Grim smiles and nods, then watches her as she leaves. Wally had told him that he should be fit by the evening, but fit for what. He thinks about what Ibis has told him, about how his life will stretch longer now, but of what he must do to sustain himself.

I have become a parasite.

Skik had stopped by earlier to leave him the modified 10 mm, which he has kept close to his side. He feels the rubber grip, how comfortable it is around his hand. How easy to use, to kill someone when one does it so often and often without really questioning why.

And now? To live one needs sustenance. Grim chuckles to himself at the dark humor of it. You are what you eat.

Maybe it's time to check out. One shot is all it takes.

He closes his eyes as he thinks about what’s next, even as he hand grips the pistol. So easy. Slowly sleep takes him.


“Lucas.” A familiar voice, one from long ago. The accent a bit spanish.

He opens his eyes, and realizes the gun is missing.

“We need to talk.” Says the man, who is sitting next to him, the 10 mm in his hands and trained in Grim’s direction. The man watches as Grim’s eyes focus on the weapon. “A nice gun. I like the modifications.”

“Sanchez.” Whispers Grim. His eyes focusing.

“It’s been a long time.” Says Sanchez. Indeed Sanchez had grown older. Less hair and a few streaks of grey where it had been jet black. The skin a bit old and warn, the eyes a bit dull. But what had changed most was the smile. He had not seen the smile before. It was somehow to broad, to pleasant.

“Not long enough. So you’ve come to kill me.”

“Not exactly.” The eyes now lighter, pleasant. The same happiness. Maybe drugs.

“Then why?”

“Why did I go over to the others you or why I came back?”

“Whatever. You got the gun.” Asked Grim.

“Ah yes, and through a gun power, yes? But what about the mind behind the gun? What about the idea in the mind that pulls that trigger? I doubt you ever thought about that when you were shooting someone.” The smile of one who has a secret that he wants to share.

Grim shrugged.

“I did not see what enslaved me. No, I doubt you have seen, have you? Because we did not think. We took the ideas for granted. That we were right? But what is right? No, we are only there, only now. We are of this time. And we need not be slaves.”

Not drugs, religion.

"The truth has been unveiled to me." Sanchez says.

Grim had first met Sanchez when he was tracking what he believed to be a group of raiders which had come from the North and were hitting isolated farms.

But these were not ordinary raiders. They struck fast and brutally, leaving no survivors, traveling distances that normally took a man a week to walk in a fraction of the time. Always going South. What was most puzzling where the tracks that were often found. Deep depressions in the soil that looked more like that of a brahmin than a man. They were riding some kind of beast, but nothing like Grimm had seen before.

Two homesteads burned. Retaliation was sanctioned. Reprisals were needed as a show of strength.

And Grim didn’t track alone. Over time other badges from other townships and communities had joined him. Some had even come from the Great White North from a tribe called Kanucks. All told the same story, raiders of brutality and speed. All had the same prey. Usually the raiders were going South. However, one of the badges, who had been on the trail longer than the rest, said that he had first tracked them far to the North and had nearly lost them in the deep snows. He said it had been a matter of luck to find the trail again, this time going South.

Before they crossed the river he had come across Sanchez, burying the bodies left behind from another isolated homestead, burned to the ground.

Over the Grand River into the Old Espaniole, where the language changed. They had gone South still, into the desert, into the mountains. It was in Old Espaniole that the group had split up to regroup in a village called Perro Sucio. That was the last Grim had seen of Sanchez until this moment. When Grim, Yacob and the others of his small group had reached Perro Sucio, they learned that the others, Sanchez and four others, had been slain by a local warlord and buried in the old cemetary.

Of the riders, the trail had again disappeared.

The locals would whisper of the dark riders, who they called the Oppressors, who came on giant black beasts and carried great swords. Lucas had seen the villages that had been razed, and the mounds of skulls left as grim monuments of the deed. He had heard the rumors of Those Who Are and their dark religion, and the whispers of why the local priests had begun to disappear. When they asked about the land further South they were told of the jungles, of the terrible illnesses that would kill all that journey there. Beyond that? Darkness.

And the small group of badges became aware that they were being watched, stalked, by unseen predators.

When Grim had returned home he had found his world painfully and irrevocably changed.

“You found them?”

“No they found me. Lucas, they showed me things, how I had been deluded for so long. Things began to make sense as they had never made sense before. I found the reason.”

“So why did they kill those people?”

“It is the way, Grim. The strong do what they will and the weak do what they can. It is the law, that the strong eat what is needed, and thus the weak, the old and the lame, are removed. That has always been the way. It is natural.”

“Even if they are your own people?”

“But they were never my people. Never really. I didn’t see that. We are all what we are.”

“They were the people, from your home.”

“There is no family, no people, no home, no nation, than what we imagine it to be. We create this and delude ourselves with what that means and our sense of obligations. But its all false. We are only what we are. The rest is illusion.”

Grim watched as Sanchez’s eyes lit up, a zealot, a believer. No better believer than the converted.

“They brainwashed you.” Grim asked.

“They taught me the way.”

“And the others?”

“Not every one can know the truth. Some people can’t handle the truth.”

This could get exasperating. Grim said. “So you’ve come to share this vision, and if I don’t dance to your tune, you’ll shoot me? Well if so, please, don’t waste the breath when a bullet is preferred.”

“No, my comrade. I come not to kill or convert you, although I hope one day you will see the wisdom of the way. I come to tell you something.”

“Please don’t keep me in suspense.”

“We are coming.” Sanchez said.

“We?” Asked Grim.

“You are not alone. You have dangerous enemies, Lucas. You and your friends. They are afraid. Of you, of us. They think that you will try to stop them, they think that you know them. They will try to stop you, to kill you.”

“They say the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Yes, perhaps we are friends?” Asked Sanchez.

“Are you suggesting that we might be allies?” Asked Grim.

“Of course.” Said Sanchez.

Grim saw the dark looks on the faces of Old Espaniole. Thought about the mound of skulls, of the vultures and the rats that fed on the dead, wherever the riders passed. Of the rumors, of the fear. And he looked at smile of Sanchez, the strange euphoria of a believer, of someone who has given himself, lost his sense of self to an idea purchased from others.

There's a lot of that going around these days, Grim thought.

So, what’s it to me? He thought. Weren’t you going to check out? The idea of eating the dead making you squeamish?

And what about Sarah? A daughter he hadn’t seen in so long he probably couldn’t recognize. The daughter of a wife, buried far away.

No, we cannot be allies, thought Grim.

Down the hallway, voices, footsteps.

But before Grim could speak, Sanchez lifted a finger to his lips and stood up. Then he whispered, “I’ve visited for too long and I think your friends are coming. Think about it. You are being watched. ”

Sanchez placed the 10 mm on the chair outside of Grim’s reach, and drew his .45. Then he backed himself to a window, opened it, and climbed out.

Then just before he vanished, he gave a nod and a wink. Just like old friends.

Grim didn’t move until Sanchez was gone. Then he lifted his legs out of bed and up. Reached over to the 10 mm and looked at it.

Check out? He chuckled to himself. Not a chance.

He reached over to the plate of food that Ibis had left behind, picked up a slice. In his stomach he couldn’t help but feel a pang of revulsion. Then he brought it to his nose, inhaled. Finally he took a bite, chewed.

Not bad. He'd had worse rat burger.

The door opened and Ibis came in, followed by Rogue. “Good to see you eating.”

Grim ignored him, not yet willing to be in a forgiving mood.

“Where are you going?” Asked Rogue.

“Grey Cliffs. I hear there is a caravan in need of guards and a Blade in need of friends.”

 

[welsh]

clan de silva

“Traske to Beejer, we got a movement here. Over” The Borderman had been watching the caravan for a half hour, waiting to get a better report before calling it in.

“Roger, Beejer here, what’s the situation. Over.”

“Ahh, I see maybe 25 – 30 Brahma carts moving but it’s no caravan. Coming up through the Valle del lagarto ardiente. Looks like mostly families. Kids, women. Over. ” Lots of families, but not a lot of men, by the look of it. That was strange. What happened to all the guys.

“Old Burning lizard pass, hunh? Well that would be the third group we’ve seen coming up in the past month. What’s their disposition? Over.”

“Peaceful by the look of it, but their packing. Lost of small arms, but they also have GPMG on a cart mount. Over.”

“Roger that Traske, probably a fly swatter for local Raiders. Even so, best to check ‘em out. Make sure they’re friendly. How’s your status, Over.”

“We’re enroute home, ETA about a week. Good with water and ammo, everyone is breathing and walkin’. But I got tell ya Beejer, if this gets hot, we’re fucked. Over.”

“Roger. Be cautious with ‘em. Over and Out.”

Traske put down the radio and looked over at his men. They were tired. It was a long patrol and the accumulated dirt left large blotches on their otherwise green combat armor. One of them swore under his breath. Yeah, I know, thought Traske, it’s a wonderful thing to be volunteered for a hazardous duty.

“Alright, lets go and make nice. Mauller, you watch our ass. Nobody ever said the border patrol was for pussies.”
______________

In the Valley-

Isabella was told of the green men by one of her guards.

“How many?” She asked.

“Four Senora, but they were some kind of armor. Shall we kill them?” Asked the guard.

“Can you do it cleanly?”

“I think so, Senora. But with their armor, it is unknown.” At least he was honest.

What would you do, Pablo? But Pablo was not there, and so the difficult choices fell on her shoulders.

He had come to her at night and told her his worry. The clan was moving too slowly. The brahma were no match for the Oprezki’s mounts, and they were very close. They would have to be delayed, distracted, and perhaps a bit hurt.

She smiled. Her husband often was brave to the point of recklessness. But it was that audacity that bested his enemies. It had been Pablo’s choice to evacuate rather than submit, it was his decision to steal the horses. These were the choices that had kept them alive, so far.

She had known things would be exciting when she married into a family of warriors. The youngest of six daughters and 4 boys, her marriage had been arranged. It was the way of the Dons, and alliances of marriage were necessary. Still, being the last of the daughters, she couldn’t help but think her parents had been eager to marry her off, and if to a family of ruffians, rogues and warriors, so be it. In this way, her father had hoped to build alliances and keep peace, even if that meant being allied to the de Silva’s.

She had expected to marry into a family of wildmen, and Isabella had not been disappointed. There was a family motto passed down from the soldiers before the great war. “Who Dares, Wins.”

Perhaps her father had been wise, sensing war was on the horizon. And now? How many of her sisters and brothers remained? Divided by wars, the Dons had been easy prey. Most of the Dons had fallen, her parents among them. Those who had not been crushed had been scattered, many chased down. The storm that had come from the South had swept away all before it.

The shelters had been opened. Weapons that had remained in the family since the civil wars, the terrible strife before the great cataclysm that had burned the northern lands, and which torn their world asunder.

Pablo Rodriguez de Silva, the Old Fox, had told his clan that they had to leave, and they, dutifully, had loaded the carts and had gone North.

But how many had they lost?

The day before, one of the carts had fallen behind the caravan, and Isabella had gone back to investigate the delay. It was the Alvarez family. The oldest son Marco had explained, the family matriarch had grown ill and could no longer travel. They wanted to stop the cart, delay until she recovered.

“Marco, we can not allow this.” Isabella had explained. “I understand you feelings, and you have my compassion.”

“Senora, I beg of you. She will be well tomorrow.” Marco had pleaded.

“Tomorrow may be to late. You know the others ride for our behalf. Even now they seek to delay the oppressors. But we have no news. They could be a day behind us.” Isabella said, hoping to reason with the man.

“Then let my family stay behind.” He had insisted.

“I cannot allow it. We need your family. Without you, we are weaker. And if they should catch you, they will force you to talk.”

“I would die first.”

“No doubt, you have always been brave and loyal, but perhaps the others. How long would they last?”

“You ask much of me Senora.” Marco had said.

“I ask you to live, my friend, and to think of your family and your clan. I know your love and loyalty. Give to God what is God’s” She had said. Marco had understood. It was a matter of honor, of loyalty. “We will keep a space for you tonight, but will not wait.”

She had heard the gun shot after she had left the Alvarez’s. She had heard the wailing of the daughter, and she had hardened her heart.

That had been a day ago.

She looked through her binoculars to where the guard indicated. Yes, four men, to the Northeast. They were also observing her.

“Where are our riders?” She asked. Don Pablo had taken 20 horse, leaving 30 for the caravan.

“To the South, my lady, on the other side of the river. Guarding the rear.” Said the guard.

“Then we will have to be careful that their presence is kept secret.” Discretion is the better part of valor, she thought. “No Ernesto, lets restrain ourselves from killing today and talk to these strangers. Perhaps we might learn something. Perhaps there are more of them than we know. Send a man forward with a flag, and inform them that I will palaver. The rest of the caravan is to continue Northward. And no one is to mention the enemy, understood. I will talk with them and then follow. ”

The guard nodded and left her, as she watched the green man approach. Then when her escort was ready and a truce had been established, she walked out across the sun-baked lands to speak to the Bordermen.

They talked for over an hour. The bordermen asking from where she came, and she explaining that she was moving her clan North, that a flood had destroyed their lands. She didn’t mention the riders, she didn’t mention horses. They traded minor goods. And then they left and Isabella and her escort continued North, where they reunited with the caravan, which had settled in for the evening.


Further to the South.

Don Pablo had followed the Hiaqui River further into the mountains crossing when they could, doing their best to throw off the trail. Julio was thrilled to be riding next to the old man, to serve as his messenger, a promotion. Juan and the other had been given care of the Vickers. But Julio knew the Old Fox was worried. 128 horses were not enough. They had seen less than half the pursuers. The rest were unaccounted for.

After three nights they had settled on the far side of the river, high on an embankment overlooking a narrow trail that led down to the narrow river. The rear guard had reported that they were being pursued.

Don Pablo had deployed his men carefully. Delay, Distract, Confuse and if possible, hurt their pursuers.

Julio settled into a position near the Old Fox and waited.

The sun was still high in the sky when the first of the Oprezki appeared.

Tall riders in dark leather garments, hats, their swords carried on their sides, rifles slung. Dark horses protected by coats of leather armor, studded with pieces of bone, a skull adorning the head of each.

They moved quickly, a first group, a dozen climbing down the trail carefully, their horses hesitating on the narrow pathway, in single file. Across another dozen riders waited, trying to observe movement from the other side of the river.

Julio watched from his position under brush. He could hear himself breathing, deep and strong and feared that the riders could also hear it. Of the Don he could hear no sound. The others were scattered along the embankment, hidden from view. They would wait for the signal before spring to action. The Don waited, watched, as they riders followed the narrow trail down. He glanced over to the other position, across the trail from him. The Vickers gun, trained on the river. The riders on the other bank, waiting in over-watch had not yet dismounted.

Julio waited, now his breath held, expecting the order. The first riders were now in the river, their horses splashing in the cold waters, trying to maintain their balance on the smooth slippery rocks.

He glanced at Juan, behind the trigger of the Vickers, frozen in anticipation.

The first of the horses climbed out of the river, and galloped up the slope, followed by a second. The riders on the far side, still mounted, watching.

The first rider now almost atop the front positions.

A loud crack near his head.

Sudden stillness. The crack echoes against the canyon walls.

The first rider slipping of the horse, falling.

The Vickers now firing, the river pelted with a rain of bullets. Riders falling into the river, their bodies carried away in the current. Others scramble to find cover behind rocks. A horse on the far bank is hit, red wounds on its belly and hip, it screams, falls off the path, down, carrying the rider with it, crushed under horse and rock.

Near the river, the Oprezki on the wrong side of the river try to move forward, to take cover. The men are waiting for them with shotguns.

The Vickers pours fire, on the river, on the trail, on the opposing bank.

Now the other clans men are firing. They are good shooters, all trained hunters capable of killing small game at great distances. The riders in the river or on the opposing bank are riddled with bullets, those who don’t fall seek cover and return fire.
“Back! Back!” Yells Don Pablo. The men below withdraw quickly, up the ascending trail to the lip of the embankment, to find cover. The riders are still scrambling to take cover allowing the clansmen a chance to escape. They take positions, prone, firing from cover, a stone wall, prepared positions.

On the Vickers, the other boy is now firing. Julio cannot see Juan.

Don Pablo also sees, “Miguel!

Miguel, the doctor’s son is their medic. He runs over to the gun position and checks on Julio.
Don Pablo grabs Julio’s shoulder. He has been talking to him, but Julio did not hear it.

“Wait for my signal, then we go. The gun pit.”

Julio nods.

The rifle fire is picking up. The gunner is trying to dismantle the machinegun, but its too difficult for the small boy.

“Now!”

First Don Pablo, then the boy. They dash across the path, heedless of the ricochet of bullets, until they get to the other side.

Juan is wounded, a bullet wound in his chest, a sucking wound. The bullet has pierced his lungs. Miguel shakes his head, “Nada,” he says, then runs back to the wall.

“The gun, lets move it back.” Quickly the three disassemble the gun.

Then, before they are about to leave, Don Pablo looks at Juan. Blood is on Juan's lips, his chest is heaving, the lungs filling with blood. Tenderly, the Old Fox, touches the boys face, and kisses his forehead. “Go with God my son.” He says, then removes a pistol and shoots Juan through the head.

No one to be left behind.

“Go, quickly!” He yells, urging the other two boys forward. Don Pablo is the last to leave, carrying the extra ammunition in his hands. Julio doesn’t see the Don stumble, or the redness on his pants.

The two sides exchange fire until after the sun sets. When the riders bring up their mortars up, Don Pablo calls his clan together and they retreat into the night.

OOC- Thanks Jacen for the editorial comments.

 

[Stranger]

"We decided it might be best not to alarm everyone about this," Wally spoke reluctantly as Virgil joined Gabriel and him in one of the back rooms of Ibis's home, "But as I understand - you used to work with computers and electronics, yes?"

Virgil yawned, shaking off the bit of sleep he'd managed to get that turbulent night, it would be dawn soon, "Yeah. I was a computer technician; worked with some relatively fancy stuff up near the war. What's the problem?"

"What do you make of this?" Wally asked, as he pulled the small device from his pocket. A tiny metal cylinder, with hair-thin leads coming out from it.

Virgil rubbed his eyes before taking it in his hand, and squinting. He began opening his mouth, but then closed it and scratched his chin, "I can say with certainty that I've never seen anything like it before. But someone put a lot of work into this," he examined the many miniscule leads, "getting a piece of metal this fine requires some rather hi-tech equipment. Real proffesional-type. Where'd you find this?

"It was in his brain," Gabriel said, as he motioned towards the room where the autopsy was done with his head, "Had he not...jumped at us like that, Wally never would have looked in there."

"Yes," Wally echoed Gabriel, "The cylinder was attached to the brain stem; the leads were going off to most of the rest of his brain. Somehow I don't think it's a coincidence that we found this after his little Lazarus act."

"Hmm," Virgil quietly pondered for a moment, "I usually worked more with the computer systems; but I do remember, back before the war, hearing rumors about biomech implant technology - mostly stuff they'd captured and adapted from the chinese, I think...but I always thought it was just that - rumors. Course I might be completely out of my league, and showing my age here. I never worked with anything quite that exotic," he slightly shrugged and handed it back to Wally, "Real question is - old chinese tech or not - who the hell's got the means to make stuff like this now? Cause you can be pretty damn sure that man wasn't wandering around since pre-war."

 

[welsh]

Up and away

Grim stretched his legs, feeling the stiffness and tightness of the muscles. They felt the same, weathered and worn out. Why couldn't they have given me new muscles while they were at it.

"How long have I been out?" He asked.

Rogue had come in to sit across from him. "You collapsed shortly after we got off the 'El. That was almost three days ago. Tomorrow I am supposed to head out. Not sure if Gabriel is coming with me, or the others. I don't think so."

"It would be a surprise if Gabriel didn't travel with you. I am assuming you are off to Grey Cliffs."

"Yeah, to see after Caleb. But I have personal business there to. And you?"

Grim let that slip by. He didn't know much about Rogue's personal life, not yet. But probably there would be time on the trail. "Count me in."

"You look like shit."

"Get to my age and see how you look."

"I am not sure its a good idea with the operation." Rogue said. Indeed, since the blood transfusion in Wainright, Grimm hadn't been good, and had become physically unreliable. It was not just concern for her friend that worried Rogue, but that he might be unreliable.

Ibis popped his head in. "Don't worry. He should be fine. Besides I'll be keeping an eye on him."

"Fuck off." Said Grim, his belligerence a growl.

Ignoring Grim, Rogue asked, "You're coming too? What about your business here?"

"Destiny is not always an easy trip. I go because I am supposed to." Said Ibis, and then he left. Apparently he had to busy himself in preparations.

Grim tried to get to his feet, hesitated, then finally managed the feet, standing unbalanced. "Good to get my legs back. So what have I missed?"

"You have a friend named Sanchez who was asking about you."
She said.

"Yeah, and remember what I told you. If you see him, shoot first. So who are we traveling with again?" Grim said.

"A man named Conner, who runs the Red Eye. He needs guards. They leave tomorrow. There was also a strange suicide. When Wally did the autopsy, he found this strange electronic thing in his head. Virgil says its old tech."

"Is Virgil traveling with us?"

"Not sure. I hope so."

"It would good to have someone with us who knows tech stuff. Alright then, I have to see Connor."

Rogue gave him the directions, and for most of the morning, Grim exercised his limbs, trying to get his strength back. By the afternoon, he was feeling his strength again.

When the group gathered for a mid day meal, Grimm excused himself after eating heartily. No one saw him go out back to vomit. On his way back he saw Ibis who asked how he was, and offered him a bite of something he had cooked up. Grim ignored the old man and left to town.

After spending a little time resupplying he met up with Nana, who gave him the few coins left of the treasure liberated from the now deceased Kroeger. They spoke for a time, and then Grim went to see Yacob. But the conversation was cut short, Yacob being busy with new duties and Grimm still needing to make arrangements with Conner.

At the office of the Red Eye Trading, Grim saw Gabriel was also there.

"So you're coming too?" Grim asked.

"Yeah, looks like all roads go to Grey Cliffs. I have my business there as well." Said Gabriel, his voice somewhat bitter.

"Caleb will be glad to see you."

"I doubt that." Said the young assassin. "We didn't part on the best terms."

"Caleb is a crotchity old pain in the ass who is probably too old now to be a Blade but too stubborn to let it rest. I wouldn't let him get to you. From what I know of Blades, their sense of righteousness often overwhelms good judgement."

Gabriel gave a weak smile. "He's a believer, and those ideals give him strength."

"Maybe, unless one becomes dogmatic and then those ideals can blind you. Gabe, let me tell ya. The world is full of people selling ideals. It's good business cause people will pay top dollar and they don't cost that much most of the time."

"You don't understand. That's alright. Caleb and I, we belong to something." Said the assassin.

"Fair enough. You got me there. I've always been on my own. Even when I was a blade, I preferred working on my own. Good friends yes, but always trust your own judgment. These are bad times, times you have to be suspicious."

"Our organizations require our loyalty. It is a matter of honor."

"You don't need to be a member of an organization to be honorable. And if its the ideals that make the man, and his action, than maybe that's were your loyalties should lie."

"One has to stand for what you believe in." Gabriel said.

"Yes, but what if your organization doesn't share your beliefs, or is willing to use your loyalties in ways that don't further those ideals. Worse, what if you see those ideals are corrupt?"

"Then you are alone. And weak." Gabriel said.

"Well, unless you have friends. Unlike family or clan, friends are one of the few things you get to choose in this world." Said Grim, trying to cheer up the boy.

But Gabriel remained solemn.

Grimm grew a little impatient, trying to find a way to talk to him."You know, I was a blade once. A law man. Runs in the family since Vault times. I did what they told me and it took me clear to the ends of the world. I saw things..... well, when I got back I found I had been betrayed. They burned my place. I buried my wife. Now I find my kin is still alive and out there somewhere. That was the price of my loyalty. You got to watch what you trust Gabriel."

Grim patted the young man on the shoulder. Together they walked back to Ibis's funeral parlor.

 

[Jacen]

It was still very early in the morning when Jim woke up in his room at the Rusty Nail.
It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining, but the temperature was still nice and cold. There was a small breeze and Jim could see the curtains move because of it.

It was normal for him to get up early, but not this early, something was wrong. Something had woken him from his slumber. Jim could feel the hair in his neck rise and he knew he was in trouble. Suddenly he heard the soft “squeak” of a wooden board protesting against the weight placed on it, in the corridor behind the door to his room.

It was as if someone was trying to get through the hallway without waking the guests. Then the sound stopped right before Jim’s door.

Using all possible stealth Jim slipped off the bed and went to the door. He took the best weapon within arms length, which happened to be a very heavy candleholder, and slid behind the door.

The door opened very slowly and Jim saw a shadow fall through the doorway.
Jim softly took a deep breath and jumped out behind the door while bringing down the candleholder… to suddenly stop in full motion.


He heard a terrifying scream from the woman standing in the doorway. It was Nana, the owner of the Rusty Nail.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you stupid idiot.” Nana said at a volume, which was close to screaming.

“Is this the thanks I get for getting up this early in the morning just to wake you up”, Nana asked. “Like you asked me to before you went to your room last night?”

Jim was stunned, he had totally forgotten about that.

“But why were you sneaking around like that?”

“Because I didn’t want to wake the other guest’s who sleep here.” Nana said.

The people in the other rooms who had heard Nana’s scream were now curiously coming out to see what was the matter.

“Is this man bothering you Nana?” a big man asked? “Want me to take care of him?”

“No need Bruno”, Nana said, “Just a small misunderstanding.”

The man nodded and went back to his room.

“I’m sorry for the trouble Nana,” Jim said, “I’d better head on over to the Red eye trading company…”

 

[Reaper]

Gabriel considered Grim's words. It made sense but in that unwanted, faith destroying way that no one ever like to hear. Loyalty had meant so much to him decade ago. When he was sixteen still on boot camp. He trained because he wanted to be part of the Slayer force, just like his father and his father before him. He had a fine military tradition to carry on. Traditions don't last long in the wastes, Gabriel had learned.

Fighting alongside his comrades in those early skirmishes. Before he was out of his teens, Gabriel was battling raiders and other wasteland scum. Protected by power-armour and the aid of his brothers in arms, he had been a part of something. He had a unit, a company, an army, a General. He was man among friends and he was safe, surrounded by some of the finest fighting men in the wastes.

Now he had almost forgotten what that camaraderie felt like. How it had been all those years ago. Edging closer to thirty now, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

Twenty-seven and he felt like an old man. He was as swift and deadly as ever, but in the last few days, he was beginning to see that was not all there was to existence, even out here in the harsh wasteland.

Gabriel wasn't sure Grim was right, but he was sure he himself was hiding from a truth. He hid from that fact that he had not really been part of anything since he became a Nightblade. He didn't belong anymore. He could return to base, resupply, rest, heal in sick bay if necessary, but he could not meet at the barracks and exchange war stories and play cards with his old friends. No one wants to hear the glorious tale of how he picked the bedroom door lock, crept into silently, placed the silence pistol close to the woman's head and pulled the trigger. No one wanted to imagine the blood on the pillows. No one wanted to hear about the kids that weren't supposed to be there. No wanted to hear their terrifed screams as they saw what the bad man had done to their mommy. No wanted see what he had to do to them.

Gabriel shook his head to clear his mind of the past. It was behind him and he had learned to live without regret. It was the only way. Now he realised even that was bullshit. He regretted some things. He just tried no to think about them, just like everyone else.

He was alone. The Slayers weren't his organisation anymore. They were just his best customer. They hadn't wanted the person anymore. They didn't want to know Gabriel Wolf. They wanted the human weapon, his father had created for them.

Generations of proud warriors. The mighty Slayers. Knights of the modern age. They didn't like assassins. Only his father's insistence on the need for specially trained operatives in the troubles times the Slayers knew were coming, comvinced the Elders to authorise the project.

They had turned young, bright-eyed, strong warriors into killers. Most cannot see the difference between a soldier and a killer. Soldiers kill in battle, that makes them killers, surely. Gabriel knew the difference. Soldiers lived for victory and the glorious heat of battle, killers lived for death. They did not stand tall and defend their lands or their masters. They merely ended lives, one after another. Implacable, unstoppable, true hunters of men. A man could hide from an army, he could seek refuge among friends, but no one was safe from an assassin.

Was Grim right? Did he need friends if not an organisation. The first problem was that should he even agree with the point about the Slayers and failed in his mission, it seemed so important and odd, that Gabriel anticipated other killers, maybe even other Nightblades, being dispatched to remove him, and then retire Caleb as well.

Being alone made an assassin strong. He could fight on his own terms. Mobility and anonymity were his greatest allies, and once could generally make up for the other being unavailable. With friends he was weighted down, carrying extra baggage. That would make him an easier mark and put his friends in danger. He was safer alone.

He had let his heart open up to these people more than he thought possible. To them he still seemed cold and aloof but his humanity was shining through compared to the Gabriel of old. A year ago, he might have killed the others for interfering in his task of retiring the old Blade. Now he found sanctury and support in their ranks but it felt so alien. So wrong. It was not his way anymore. Could he travel with these people and not lose sight of his true self. He would have to get to Grey Cliffs with them. There was no other way. But he would have to be careful among them now. He had to be on his guard.

Then he would be free of them, his old killer's brain told him. Then he would be the Wolf again.

He know realised the folly of the pretence of the last six years. How had he convinced himself that his strength came from the Slayers. They weren't there in the field with him. Out in the wasteland, they were only an idea and that meant nothing when life and death were on either side of the precarious razor blade upon which he walked.

His strength came from isolation, his loneliness. He cared about the kill and nothing else. He had no one to worry about, no one to rely on. No one could let him down.

Alone, he was not Gabriel. He was a hunting wolf. A predator without peer. The ultimate stalker of man. The prince of assassins.

A lion among jackals.

 

[Rogue Hex]

OOC- Apologies for my non-posting just reading absence!

IC-

Motionless, thinking so deeply into the past that Rogue barley even moved. The gentle breeze breaking through the air around her, refreshing in the harsh heat of midday.

It had dawned upon her, god only knows not for the first time in her life but something was different this time around. Before the feelings and thoughts had been suppressed, pushed back into the depths of a tangled mind and forgotten yet never really gone.

Maybe it was the fact the she admitted it for real for the first time, more to her self than to Grim but she had made the realisation non the less.

People had mentioned it before, many times in fact they had talked to her, told her that she should move on and except what has happened but her hopes and memory's were too blinding for Rogue to see the truth that was placed right before her.

So many years passed with out a trace, she had hoped for something for so long, she had hoped for the day to come when she would be reunited with them, each day gripping to false hopes and lost memory's even though really, she knew deep down that they were gone but was too stubborn to accept fate and what had become.

It was now that it downed on her for real. Maybe it was because she wasn't alone as before, surrounded by people that she had come to know, to trust, maybe to even call friends.
Maybe it was because for the first time since Rogue could possibly remember she was thinking about something else other than a lost obsession.

But if she were to accept what was to her the unacceptable, what would become of her life. To this day, her every minute, every effort, every thought had been channelled into an never-ending search. It was like a drug, a drug that Rogue needed to keep her going. Without it she would be lost.

Living in the past hadn’t exactly left much space for the future. She had little life apart from that in her memories. Those that had tried so hard previously to offer her some form of living had been bluntly rejected.

To accept this now would mean re-building a new life.

Snapping back to reality with a cold shudder. It was a pleasant day; the sun bore down upon the porches warming her face.
She brushed the wisps of hair from covering her face and peered around her surroundings.

Rogue was sat alone; the silence that filled the air was admirable and was a welcome break from the previous couple of days. Making the most of it was a good idea; the ride a head would leave little chance for peace and tranquillity.

Grim still gone to Tabis, Gabriel also away, she wondered where the assassin had gone now. Ibis was working quietly out back, preparing no doubt for the long journey, which awaited a head.

Rogue needed to do the same, she had some final preparations left to be ready for the trip to Grey Cliffs but that would wait. For now, she enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin and the peace for thought.

 

[Gunslinger]

OOC- You guys better get a move on; Caleb’s got a good length of distance between the group.

IC-

Jeeva had lost all sense of time. He knew it was still the first week but that was all. The rise and fall of night and day lost all meaning. His internal clock was on the splits without the divisions of breakfast in the morning, lunch at noon, or dinner at night. Brunch if you wake up late and teatime if you’re a Brit. Jeeva was lucky if he got anything to eat at all.

He was walking but it didn’t feel like he was walking. The slaver’s feet had lost all feeling and they’d probably be bloody when he took off his boots. But Jeeva was thankful for any small mercies. He was walking but it wasn’t getting easier.

A long time ago, when he was a kid, he had watched a movie. It was “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory”. And he remembered one scene when Wonka is leading his happy-go-lucky troupe of condemned down a trail that just seemed to go on and on. In fact, with each step, the trail seemed to stretch further away. Jeeva thought Wonka was a bastard, forcing those folks on a never-ending path, tantalizing them with chocolaty confections.

Jeeva looked over at Caleb who was a few feet ahead of him. The lanky cowboy walked easily, his hands swinging in fact. And Jeeva thought he heard him whistling a tune. The Blade walked with a straight back and sweat wasn’t dripping off him. The bastard. All the while, Jeeva struggled with each step and his empty stomach grumbled pitifully.

“Hey Wonka!” Jeeva called to Caleb. “Don’t you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Huh?”

Caleb calmly looked over his shoulder without stopping. “You’re delirious,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Shaddap and keep walking.” The Blade took his own advice and the distance between them grew.

Jeeva tried to chuckle but it came out as a dry wheeze. The old man would make a good psychiatrist. It took an insane doctor to deal with an equally insane patient. Jeeva held his stitched up side with one hand, used the other hand to cup around his mouth, and called, “You’re the one with the voices in your head, old man. I’m just hungry. You’re insane.”

Caleb actually stopped and turned around. He shrugged amiably. “Mebbe, Jeeva. Doesn’t bother me, though. I can handle it.” He turned his back and continued walking. “Now shaddap and walk.”

Jeeva sat down defiantly like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. He slowly folded his legs underneath him and crossed his arms. “Can’t,” he wheezed. “Too hungry.”

From far away, Jeeva could see the Blade sigh mightily, his shoulders rising and dropping. The cowboy took off his hat and swatted it against his leg. Caleb turned around, started walking back. Jeeva could see he was shaking his head and his lips were rolling out some naughty curses.

Caleb stopped in front of the slaver. He reached into his pack, took something out, and threw it at Jeeva. A piece of jerky landed on his lap. “Here,” he said. “Eat it and let’s go.”

Jeeva chuckled again. He caught Caleb’s sleeve and pointed a finger at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you Wonka?” he asked. His eyes were slit slyly and a superior smile was on his face. “Feed me a treat that’ll fuck me up like those little kids at the Chocolate Factory, right candy man? One bite and I’ll turn into a piece of jerky myself, right? Yeah, that’s rich. The Ompa Lumpas will laugh up a riot. Is that what you want, Wonka? HUH?!” Jeeva’s rant ended in an insane chuckle. He fell onto his back, holding his sides with laughter.

Caleb looked up to the sky pleadingly, invoking some god’s favor. There was a “why-me?” expression on his face. “Boy,” he said in that rich Southern patois. “You eat that meat and get walking. Now.”

Jeeva sat up, the sick smile still plastered to his face. “Yessum, masta,” he mocked. “You da boss-man.” He fell over laughing.

Caleb blinked, looking at the slaver in disbelief for a long moment. Then he sighed and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, we do this the hard way then.”

The Blade leapt, impossibly quick. He landed, one knee pinned down on Jeeva’s chest. With his quick-draw hands, he snatched up the piece of jerky. The slaver saw what he was doing and clamped his mouth shut and flailed his arms. Caleb ignored the weak punches Jeeva was throwing and caught the slaver’s throat. Jeeva gagged and open his mouth in instinct. Using the opportunity, Caleb shoved the jerky into his mouth.

Before Jeeva could spit it out, Caleb gripped his jaw and slammed it closed. With his free hand, he pinched the slaver’s nostrils. “Chew or choke, Jeeva,” he said huskily, still struggling with the tall man.

Jeeva started chewing and Caleb removed his hands. He still kept his knee on Jeeva’s chest. “Argh!” Jeeva grunted as he managed to chew and inhale large lungfuls of air at the same time. “You crazy bastard!”

Caleb grinned fiercely. “Yeah, crazy like a fox. You done yet?”

Jeeva clenched his eyes shut and swallowed, a large lump moving painfully down his throat. The tall man laid his head back, still struggling to breath. “Okay,” he breathed huskily. “I’m done.”

“Good.” And before the slaver could react, Caleb opened his canteen and spilled its contents down his mouth. Jeeva was too weak to even turn his head and the torrent of water half-dribbled down his throat and half-dribbled out of his mouth. He gagged and choked, almost drowning. When the canteen was empty, Caleb threw it aside and massaged Jeeva’s throat, forcing the water down. The slaver spurted up some of it, but most of the water trickled down his throat.

Caleb got off of the slaver, rubbing his hands in a dismissing way. “There!” he said cheerfully. “Don’t you feel better now?”

But Jeeva had passed out from the ordeal. The tall man lay comatose, his leg occasionally twitching.

Caleb sighed mightily and started making camp. He hoped earnestly that the rest of the trip would hold uneventful. But the Blade knew better and began collecting firewood.

 

[welsh]

caravan leaves

OCC- I am guessing Virgil is going on the caravan?

This will be a bit short.

ICC-

The small group gathered for breakfast, early that morning. Ibis had prepared some lizard stew, and had even mixed drinks made of Mutant Fruit and Clean Water. But there was little talking among them. Then they helped Ibis board up his place of business and residence. When they finished they gathered outside, where Ibis had prepared his wagon, the two younger bulls leading and the two others following behind. Cerebus waited patiently for everyone to leave.

Ibis gave his home a last departing look. He had spent most of his life here, had married and raised his family there, and doubted he would return.

Then he turned and caught up with the others.

Twenty wagons, 50 men, 100 Brahma. Not the largest caravan that the Red Eye would run, but not bad. In the carts were good ranging from antiquities to gecko pelts.

Connor was busy going over the last manifests with Reed, the caravan chief. Reed was the overall manager of this caravan. Connor would remain in Tabis, where he would run the office.

McReady, the head scout was playing a electronic chess game and was pissed off. Either he was losing or the micro-fusion batteries were dieing. Occassionally he would look up to see what was going on, would shake his head and return to the game. Probably didn't like what he was seeing there either.

Also in attendence were Krieg and Ferris and two other bordermen. Ferris had come to see off Rogue, and the two walked away to speak in private. Gabriel watched them a moment, then walked away, preferring to be alone.

Krieg was instructing the others. One the group recognized as Talon, now sporting the green armor of the bordertroopers. The other was a Borderman non-com named Hook.

Talon had talked to Krieg about the Borderpatrol the night before, but had refused to join until he knew what happened to Jeeva, and that meant going to Grey Cliffs. Krieg had at first resisted, and then they had struck on a bargain. When Talon's business with Jeeva were finished he would return, or return his gear. In the meantime, the Patrol were short handed in caravan security, and Talon would fill in for the Red Eye to Grey Cliffs. Talon would be under Hook, who would instruct him on Border Patrol skills and tracking.

"Now see here. I know you got business, but you two are supposed to make sure this Caravan makes it. With all the Raiders out and our shortage we can't spare men so you are going to have to be sharp." Krieg was saying, "Hook, you train this fellow. He's tougher than he looks."

Hook, a tall muscular man, looked down on Talon, not likeing what he saw and feeling insulted to be sharing a uniform with the man.
"Long as this Slaver piece of shit minds his manners we'll be fine."

Talon spat at Hook's feet, and then smiled at the big man. "Oh we'll be fine, sergeant."

The carts began to find their order as Conner went to each, checking through the manifests, speaking with the driver and the shotgun rider. Dizzy was seen moving about, trying to be helpful and not getting in the way.

Grim and a few of the others stopped into a small church, and gave a quick prayer for safety and guidance before returning. The assembly and departure of caravans were often a noisey, confusing affair, and there was little to do except not get in the way, and wait.

The sun had only climbed a little in the morning sky when the first carts began to leave.

OCC- Sorry this is short and not as colorful as I would have liked it to be. Time is short.

 

[Rogue Hex]

IC-

“How are you feeling? By the looks a lot better.” Asked Rogue

“Yea, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than some puny deathclaws to keep me down.” Ferris laughed, wincing slightly as he did so.”

Rogue smiled back, he was a tough kid and a good soldier.

“Rogue, I just wanted to thank you, back in the park. I don’t think I would be standing here today if you hadn’t been there.”

Rogue just smiled. She had done little and nothing more than any one else in the same situation but to hear thanks from Ferris was some what warming inside.

“Well, you better be going, wouldn’t want to keep you from your journey.” Ferris whispered pointing to the front of the caravan which was beginning to roll on out of the town.

“Oh wait.” Yelled Ferris grabbing rogue by the hand. “I wanted to give you this. From his pocket he produced a small leather necklace which looked of great age. At the end hung a small unknown symbol which shone clear and bright in the early morning sun.

“This was passed down through my family from mother to daughter. I was a lonely child so it was passed to me. I was told It brings you luck in times of need.” Ferris placed it within Rogues hands and closed them tightly.

“I figure you should have it, for luck where you are traveling.”

A feeling swept over Rogue, one she was unfamiliar with.

“I...I…thank you, its beautiful Ferris.
Rogue placed both arms around the young border patrol and hugged him tightly in thanks.

“You should get going, wouldn’t want to be late now.” Laughed Ferris hugging the girl back.

Rogue turned to part, taking a last look at the Border guard; we will meet again Ferris, someday.” Rogue smiled as she parted in the direction of her appointed position in the caravan.

Ferris laughed, really only to himself before parting in his own direction. He doubted Rogues last words but hell, maybe it might happen someday.

The sun shone down from above. It was a pleasant morning and the day promised to be good. The perfect time to be setting out on a journey such as this one.

Rogue was perched high atop of one in many caravan carts. From her position at the front which she had been appointed after explaining her usefull ness with a rifle could be seen the entire mass of land which stretched out before her.

Rogue had been assigned to scouting duty. Well, more a lookout than a scout but she was used to it from her previous caravan services.
Now anyway, she had something new to play with because placed along the top of her rifle was a scope. It wasn't anything special and fairly old but opperational non the less. It had been an expensive buy but a present considering their normal selling price.

Looking through the dusted sights Rogue could see the wastes, a desolate and unforgiving place that stretched out for as far as the eye could see.

Behind the leaving carts laid still in a morning slumber the town of Tabis. That town had seen much over the previous 2 weeks. More than any town should suffer but now the future looked bright for all races, humans and ghouls alike. Rogue was certain it was in good hands.

Rogue basked in the sun light. Besides her were her stores rolled up neatly in a small dusty bag made from Brahmin hide. One of the other pleasures which she had managed to acquire from Tabis’s market streets.

She placed the rifle down besides her, it had been some time since the old hunting weapon had been stripped and cleaned.
In a practiced order, Rogue stripped the weapon part by part till the rifle was dissembled and laid out before her on a tattered cloth. Each piece at a time, she cleaned them thoroughly until they two gleamed like the symbol which hung from around her neck.

Yes, it would be a good day.

 

[welsh]

OOC- Ok, in response to Gunslinger telling us to catch up.
Oh and I am introducing a new critter here too.

Jacin, not sure how you want to get your character into this so I am going to leave this open for you to insert.
Stranger, not sure what you want to do with Virgil either.

I guess I am a little shy about playing your characters.
__________

ICC- The longer a caravan, the less distance it covers each day. But this was a small caravan, only 20 carts. Of these, five were for the caravan use. They carried feed for the bulls and men, ammunition, supplies, water. Especially water. Each cart also carried with it a few barrels for water. They would need it. The land was parched dry, with few good water holes.

Even so the caravans made better time than would a man walking alone. Those who were tired could rest on the carts, and the supplies would keep everyone fresh and alert.

Grim enjoyed this, getting out. Tabis had been too confining. He thought about Caleb, at least four days ahead. Not for long Caleb. We'll be catching you up to you pretty soon.

As they left the town, the ruined buildings stood like ancient sentinels, towering over the small carts, shading them from the rising sun. But soon the buildings fell away towards smaller structures, many little more than reduced walls were houses once stood. Over an ancient concrete bridge that crossed a dead river, and then out into the plains.

Ahead of the caravan, McReady moved quickly. Grim had elected to join the scout, perhaps to learn more about the man.

But McReady said little to Grim or the two others. The two were tribals, identical twins, who did not speak. They wore little in the way of clothing but they moved incrediably fast on the trail, never ceasing to run except when conferring with the head scout. McReady referred to them as 'Thing 2 and Thing 1" although Grim could not tell the difference between them.

The tribals would move around and then say something to McReady in a language Grim didn't understand. Then McReady would give a loud whistle and the small pack of dogs he kept would come back from whereever it was they had gotten into.

"What they say?" Asked Grim, after the two tribals had come in.

"Nothin important." Said McReady, who knelt down and touched the earth. There were small paw prints, like from a small dog, but with more claws.

"Looks fresh." Said Grim.

"Yep" Said McReady, and nothing else.

This went on throughout the day.

Near evening, McReady finally got tired. "Look, I hear from Reed that Conner hired you for extra protection. I hear from Diz that you were over there in that fight over in Wainright. Normally I keep my mind to myself. But I tell ya, I think it a damn fool thing for a man to walk into a nest of deathclaw. So I think I can't be trusting this fellow's judgment, and that you following me all day is a bit worrisome. "

Grim said nothing, surprised that the man would speak so much in one breath.

McReady continued. "But I think it says something that you got yourself out of there, almost on your own. Ain't nothing looking eye to eye at a Deathclaw that's plum pissed off that you're farting around in its nest. So alright, you got balls. That's good. But don't think you being a badge is going to impress me that I can trust you neither. I know lots of badges, most ain't worth the tin they made of. Comprende amigo?"

Grim nodded.

"Alright then. Now I hear from Yacob that you can track and that you're alright. Alright then. You can stick with me, just don't be so damn yappy. Tired my mind to listen so much talking all the time. I can't hear what I got to hear if you're always yappin'. Got me."

Grim nodded again.

"Fine, we understand each other. Now we got some road to pass before we can settle this here wagon train. So lets cut this fucking around and get our ass in gear."

McReady offered him a hand. Grim took it.

Together they continued forward until McReady chose a spot in what appeared to be an old drive-in theatre. At least the water pump still worked.
____________________

Ibis moved his cart easy, offering rides to whoever might need it. There was space extra in the cart, and he rented it out for a fair coin. Cerebus often trotted next to the cart, but on occassion would sniff the air and would scoot off to find some bitch. There were a lot of dogs on the caravan, and they were fucking like crazy.

With the dips and rises of the trail he could see further ahead, to where Rogue was standing point. He smiled at this. Hadn't seen much of Gabriel, but he was around.

Ibis wasn't used to this kind of travel, and most people his age would have refused, but there were higher powers than he at work. He thought he would be missing his home, but suprisingly found the road exciting, and himself young again.

The others didn't seem to mind Ibis much. That was a welcome change from the dirty or frightful looks he often got in Tabis. People didn't know him out here, or what he did to live.

Ibis noted that Virgil walked quietly and alone. Like most ghouls he was sensitive to light. He wore gloves and a cloak which masked his visage from the others. That was probably wise. Normally it took a while to get used to the way the average Ghoul looked. The other caravaners kept away from him, and when he neared them, would move elsewhere. Old prejudices.

When Virgil neared the cart, Ibis offered a kind word. "Don't worry son. It ain't personal."

"It sure as hell ain't friendly." Said the ghoul

"People make up their minds 'bout somethin', it's hard to change. But they'll probably ease up after awhile."

"That or they'll kill me." Said Virgil.

Yes, well that was part of human nature too, the tragicwillingness to be the agent of destruction, even self-destruction.

Which almost makes my life possible. Thought Ibis.

Back in the cart, in crate he had prepared, Ibis had enough food for the next few weeks. But he doubted it would last. No matters, that would probably take care of itself.

_____________________

Rogue watched Hook and Talon, walking ahead of her cart. Often they would confer, and then Hook would send Talon back to check on any stragglers.

The two didn't like each other, but not without good reason. Borderpatrol and Slavers had fought more than a few battles in their time. Truth was that the Borderpatrol would often sell captives to Slavers. There was not much else to do with prisoners and it was better, perhaps more humane, than to kill them. The Patrol had been primarily responsible for extending the western perimeter, as well as safeguarding the South. That often meant moving tribals or other unwilling persons. The money for slaves, like the money received for caravan security, would help support Border Patrol operations

Hook lifted up his radio to get a noonday report. "Tabis Central, this Hook with the Red Eye, Over."

A bit of static, and then "Tabis Central, we got you loud and clear, over."

"Roger that. We're moving at a pretty good clip. No distrubances. McReady says we're do at the Drive-in waterhole. Any news? Over."

"That's a 10-4. No news is good news, Red Eye. Reports from Traske squad a few days to the Southeast of your 20 says to expect to cross some nomads coming up from the South, over."

"Roger, Nomads coming north, got it. Sounds familiar. Over." Hook said. Nomads often traveled up across the old border, the Grand River. It was nothing especially unnatural. Hook was familiar with this. But the reports from Krieg had indicated that these were larger than normal nomads.

"Ah Roger that, Red Eye, just that according to Beejar, there are a lot more and they are traveling in unusual numbers. Over." The radioman wasn't saying something.

Like most radiomen they were often the best informed, relaying messages and gossip from town to town. Where to find the best chow, the best whores, the local scoop on Patrol politics. Ask the radio jockies. It made Hook impatient.

"Tabis, let's hear it. Over." He said, letting the impatience into his voice.

"Well, Red Eye, these are large groups, and they are all heading North. Lots of women and children, but not as many men. And they're armed. More like they're running from something than moving. Over." Said the radioman.

"YOu mean refugees? Over."

"Yep, well maybe, Over."

Hook let that pause. Wars to the South weren't unheard of. Maybe they were just seeing some of the folks on the loosing end. Five of the wagons were for the caravan, plus Ibis. Another five were left for roadside trade. The rest were cargo for Grey Cliffs. Maybe the chief could make a coin on some desperate refugees.

"Alright, I'll let the caravan chief know. Maybe its good for some local trade. Keep us updated. We'll be out of radio range in about two days. Over."

"Roger, You betcha, Over."

"Over and Out."

Hook placed the radio back in his pack and went to find Reed.

________________________


Gabriel followed within the trail, further back. The caravan was, in its own way threatening and thrilling. So many people so close and for so long meant that each person stood out, each would be noticeable, and for the duration, they would have to count on each other.

For a loner like Gabriel, it would not be an easy adjustment.

But at the same time, he found it thrilling. The wagons, the voices, the noises, and the goods. There were people from all over the wastes and even the idea of such an shared enterprise was something Gabriel missed from his days as a Slayer trooper. He tried to be inconspicuous, listening to others tell stories and jokes. But on a caravan everyone stood out against the moving sky. Even Gabriel noticed that he had captured the eye of a young female caravan guard, maybe thinking about a bit of companionship for the trail. Rumor was there were plenty of such caravan romances among the guards. Another perk of the job.

One of the wagon drivers told his shotgun, a man named Jim, to get off and let Gabriel up, "it's his turn and you smell bad." Said the driver, jokingly. The driver was a bald man with almost albino eyes.

Gabriel got up, thanked the driver and relaxed his body.

"So what happened?" Said the driver.

"Excuse me?" Said Gabriel in surprise.

The man smiled, and Gabriel could see a gold tooth. Then he reached over and opened a pouch. Inside was a pipboy, just like Gabriel's.

"You're Gabriel, a nightblade. The assassination unit of the Slayers." Said the man.

"You're out of your mind." Said Gabriel. The thought of being recognized and identified as an agent ran against protocol, unless...

"Right. Protocol is not to recognize agents, but I've been sent here for you." Said the man.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Continuing to play the part.

"Control needs to know why your target was not properly retired when you were in place." Said the man. "My mission is to check on you, make sure you weren't compromised. You haven't been compromised have you, Gabriel?"

"You're talking foolishness."

"Control thinks that this being your first mission beyond the normal military parameters, that you might be having some normal difficulties. My orders are to assist if necessary, but to assure that the operation is completed."

"Who the hell are you?" Asked Gabriel.

"My name is not important. Only the mission is important. But of course you know that, don't you?"

"I think I can walk thanks."

"Suit yourself, we can talk later. Best check all this out before."

Gabriel watched the cart move forward, and icy chill in his heart now. He had become an uncertain asset, one that control could no longer trust.

Gabriel found the man Jim, who didn't stink. "You know him?"

"Nope, I don't know nobody on this train, brother."

"Well, maybe you ain't missing much."

The two men fell intogether and started up a conversation.
_____________________

That night they settled in at the old drive in, making use of the water from the pump. It tasted foul and gritty, a metalic taint to the water. The big old screen was still up, now blackened with accumulated dirt and dust. Under the dirt you could see someone had spray painted in big letters "FUCK THE DRAFT."

The men made a makeshift pen to keep the Brahma after the carts had been placed in a tight circle. The men found local debries to burn and they set up for night chow. McReady kept to himself, his two tribal scouts sitting apart from the others. His dogs were off somewhere.

"Lots of dogs." Said Gabriel.

"They're for protection" Said Rogue. "And they serve a special purpose."

"Yeah?"

"You'll know it soon enough." Said Grim, thinking about the tracks he had seen. He was hungry. Water had filled his belly but he had refused Ibis' offer of food, again. Still he could feel his stomach tingle and watching Ibis chew on some dried meat didn't help.

Virgil had spent the day quietly, thinking about the others on the caravan, wondering if he belonged here or not. Humie prejudices. Damn Skik, why did you talk me into this?

But in familiar company he began to talk about the old days, Alaska, the War, the trip south. Not everything. Somethings one never shares.

Virgil was a bit surprised about how much history had been lost.

"So who the hell were these Chinese?" Asked Grim

"Well they were like a giant tribe across a vast ocean. And they had men and guns like you never seen." Virgil said, recollecting those terrible years.

"I'd like to see an ocean, never seen a water body that big before." Said Rogue.

"To bad you can't drink it." Said Virgil.

"So it was these Chinese that started the war."

Not exactly, thought Virgil, but he didn't want to tell the young man that we had did it to ourselves. 'Shit I guess it was destiny. Before the Chinese it was the russkies."

"What the hell are the Russkies?" Asked Grim. Like most folks, the knowledge of the past had not been passed down. It didn't seem important to most people, and the stories of the war were almost like folkstories.

"Russkies were the first people we thought we'd go nuclear with. A long time before the war, we had a race with them to see who could build the most missiles and nukes." Said Virgil, " In the end they said we could all destroy the world 6 times over."

"Seems like a lot of wasted effort, if ya ask me." Said Ibis.

They continued to eat, talking about different things. Sharing their impressions. Gabriel even shared a joke he had overheard, and was delighted to hear the others laugh. But often he would look out of the circle, as if waiting for someone else.

From out in the dark came a shrill, long call. The call was part mournful, part terrified scream. It stopped suddently, and then began again.

"What the hell?" Said Gabriel.

"Shrillers" Said Grim. Rogue nodded.

There was a good reason not to travel the wastes alone.

Now the call was answered by another, and then another, and then there were many. And they were moving it seemed, around the camp site.

"Try not to listen to them. It's bad for the digestion if you do." Said Grim.

The dogs, all the dogs, had gotten up, and were sniffing the air. Cerebus hair was rising on its back, the tail down, and the dogs lips revealing its long teeth.

Ibis reached out to the dog.

"Don't!" cautioned Rogue. She had been on the caravans before, and had encountered Shrillers before.

Ibis looked at her questioningly.

"Shrillers," Rogue explained, "are small little critters, like a jackle-hare, but very fast. They're call is both for hunting and for mating. Their call drives their prey insane, and then they attack in force. Usually the person is so nuts that they can't really fight back."

Suddently Cerebus darted out from campsight, past the carts and out into the dark. One by one the other dogs did likewise.

"Normally," said Virgil, "the thing to do is meditate, to focus your thoughts and get ready. Eventually they will come in, figuring that you've gone nuts. If you've got your wits, you can fight em. "

He had come across Shrillers a few times on the way South from Alaska, but had thought he'd be free of them by now.

'Can't you shoot 'em?" Asked Gabriel.

"No, they are too far out. They hunt at night, and they move too far out of range. Too fast, but not fast enough." Rogue continued to eat, trying to ignore the shriller's calls

From out in the dark they could hear growling, and then one of the mournful calls, because a terrified scream, which was almost as quickly silenced.

One by one, the mourning calls were cut off. Caravan dogs began returning, dropping the bodies of the dead Shrillers on the floor near the fires, before going back into the dark. Cerebus came back, and dropped three of the small creatures. The shrillers looked like a cross between a rat, a screw and a rabbit.

"But the dogs love 'em. For some reason shrillers don't bother dogs much." Said Rogue, removing a knife. "And they're good eatin'"

After she cleaned the animals the small group ate well, a generous portion give to Cerebus who came in repeatedly through the night, each time with a shriller. Eventually the shrillers gave up, there were too many dogs. The night grew quiet and the caraveners turned in to sleep, waking only to fulfill their guard duties.

In the morning, the caravan had plenty of fresh meat.
______________________

OCC- Minor edits here. Sorry this is one long damn post.

 

[welsh]

morning, day two

OCC-
Ok moving on. Reaper you might want to post before this. If so do it anyway.

ICC-

Lieing prone atop a nearby mountain, Marcus watched Caleb and Jeeva from a distance.

He had seen that someone was following him for three days, but the Blade was a suprised. Gabriel was supposed to have taken cared of that problem.

Never leave a boy to do a man's job. He would have to report this.

He watched. The blade seemed to be taking care of the other man. Who was.....

Jeeva. So the slaver had switched sides in the end. Probably hoping for blood as well.

Apparently revenge was a big past-time for ex-slavers. You'd have thought they were too much businessmen to engage in petty vanity.

But first, time to make distance

Quietly, he gathered his few belongings and went down the opposite side. Careful to cover up his steps, but then he had been careful and still the Blade had followed him.

To bad Mandrake wasn't here. He would enjoy this.

His mission was simple. Proceed to Grey Cliffs for instructions. That would probably mean it best to leave his pursuers behind.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

Quickly Marcus moved through the dark. Confident his pursuers were behind him he turned northward. A competent scout he knew that the caravan route was up ahead, and chances were he could negotiate a cart from the next way-station.

But first, to shake the Blade.

Confident that the Blade was behind him, Marcus moved quickly, and in speed, made a mistake.

He was right, he was being pursued, but he was also being watched.

He traveled throughout the night, but by the morning, he was caught.

___________________

Morning awoke with McReady kicking at Grim's feet.

Through bleary eyes he could see the man, dark glasses on even in the morning twilight.

"Well ya goin' sleep all freaking day or get some work done, dammit." The he turned away.

Behind him, Grim could see Thing 2 and Thing 1 already up and moving.

He got up as fast as he could, bones creaking as he stood up.

Other men were already up, skinning the shrillers brought in from the night before, a few folks eating or boiling up pots of tea.

He looked down and could see the others still sleeping, except Gabriel, who was probably up already. No Ibis wasn't there either.

Grim cracked his neck, looked for McReady, then grabbed his bag and followed.