ICC- Lone Wanders Chapter 2

IC-

Moving slowly to avoid detection, Rogue made her way following the sound of the slavers footsteps not so far ahead down the tunnel.
The slavers trace stoppen and fell silent. Leaving Rogue in the darkness, Un sure how far ahead they actually were. Could they know that they were being followed, and were laying in wait?
Not sure on what course to take, she stood, listening to the air for any sigh of what was happening in the tunnel up front.

“Fuck.” She cursed to her self, to die by the hand of slavers now would be the last straw after the past couple of day’s events.
She unhooked her rifle and took a breath as she moved step by step further up the tunnel, un aware of what was about to un fold.

As she rounded the corner of the tunnel she was met by something that she least expected.
The sound of an explosion echoed through the tunnel and the water at her knees rocked knocking her of balance down into the wastes, pulling her self to her knees, she heard the noise of more explosions banging through the pipes up ahead. “What the hell, some trap!” She thought to her self.

The shits hit the fan she thought Scrambling to her feet, she levelled her rifle and jogged forward, whilst keeping her head down.

Up ahead she could see rubbish a light from the previous explosion and the sound of gun fire rang through the air of the sewers.

As Rogue creped the final way, slowly moving forward, she could hear the voices of the slavers that had passed her previously. Un able to make out all the words, she strained to listen to the argument.

“Fuck this; I’m getting out of here!”

“You’re not going anywhere, we came here to do something...”

“But the head hunter is with the ghoul, our surprise, the trap failed...”
“I’m not risking my life to capture these fucks, when we can just kill them...”. Hissed the slaver to the other.
“We have our orders; we are to take them alive...”

Grim... Rogue smiled to her self. At least he is still alive she thought, and still fighting hard!

Creeping forwardly towards the two slavers in front of her. She raised her rifle and took aim. “Capture this, dirt.” She spat as she squeezed the trigger gently, the rifle sang as the round left the barrel striking the raider dead before he had chance to react to the noise of the gunfire.
The other slaver turned, stunned by the sudden shot, and levelled his gun only to be met by the second of Rogues rounds. The shot tore though the raider’s stomach knocking him to the ground.

Rogue moved towards her downed target, sliding her rifle over her side, she pulled out a small knife that she always kept concealed. She knelt down by the slaver who was on the verge of losing consciousness.

“What the hell are you doing down here, who sent you?” Rogue pushed the knife into the gun wound of the slaver. “Who the hell sent you after the head hunter and the ghoul?"
The slaver opened his eyes and looked into Rogues, “Bitch.” He hissed at her.

Rogue silenced his abuse with a thrust of her hand into the side of the raider and twisted the blade with unusual pleasure.
She looked up to see an intersection in the tunnel ahead. No doubt where the trap was set to take place.

She un slung her rifle from around her waste and crouched down on the rubbish. Grim was some where up ahead, but slavers traps where carried out with numbers rather than precision or tactic, this wasn’t over yet. At that she heard a burst of fire up a head and the sound of another explosion. The fight raged on yet...

Up, now and moving down the tunnel, it was time to rid some more slaver dirt from this world.
 
IC-

The minute Caleb walked into town, the sky lit up in a flurry of conflagration and debris. Caleb stepped back involuntarily, shocked as dust and trash rained down from the air.

The explosion had originated from far off. A pillar of fire was rising into the sky like a rocket, at its base a decimated store. Already, the fire was spreading with little sign of any fire department rushing to contain it. Many lives would be lost tonight.

The Blade stood in place for a minute, Vendetta held in the crook of his arm but forgotten. Caleb wasn’t a religious man, though the Fraternity was thought to be a sect. He knew that many of the supernatural occurrences could be explained by science or coincidence. But, nevertheless, Caleb understood the omen. He had just stepped into town and already half the town was burning. Coincidence or the truth?

The door of the house Caleb was standing in front of popped open. A scrawny old man dressed in bedclothes shuffled out into the road and exclaimed, “Fuck me Freddy! Holy gee! That’s one pur-dee fucking fire!” The enfeebled man didn’t seem to notice the armed cowboy at his door. He hobbled up the road to get an even better look at the raging inferno a few blocks from him.

Then he turned to Caleb and pointed at the fire. “That’s one pur-dee fucking fire!” he repeated. “Ain’t that so, youngster?” He turned back to the fire. “Pur-dee fire!”

Caleb scowled. He was hardly a youngster. He was probably the same age as the old fart. But the Blade was grateful that his wits were still with him, even at his age.

The Blade tapped the old man on the shoulder. He did not turn around. Speaking to his back instead, Caleb asked, “How’d this happen?”

The old man seemed to be transfixed by the fire. Drool dribbled freely from his mouth. Then he turned around slowly, one eye still kept on the fire, and said distractedly, “Huh? How the fuck should I know? All’s I knows is it’s a damn pur-dee fire!”

“Just asking, hombre. I’m new in town.”

The old man nodded, not paying attention. “Ayuh,” he said. “That’s nice.” Then, he turned around to face Caleb and actually took in the guns and Blade mask on Caleb’s face. He stepped back in shock.

“Is there a problem?” asked Caleb.

“Holy gee! You’re the one who blasted McKinner, ain’t ya? That fucking Blade running around and shooting up the town. A whole lot of people are looking for you.”

Caleb grimaced. “Tell me about it. And listen, I wasn’t the one who sent McKinner on a dirtnap. You’re thinking of the wrong guy.” Hell, Caleb didn’t even know McKinner had been blasted. He had spent the last two weeks in the desert.

The old man snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry bout it. There’s an entire new head honcho in Tabis. The head of police is dead, too. Had to replace just about everybody. Anyways, all of the cops have forgotten about you.”

“Good to know,” replied Caleb. It would be easier now that the militia wasn’t gunning for him, also. He’d have fewer bullets to waste.

“Yeah, you’re just about old news, now. But, the fire, now that’s interesting stuff. Pur-dee interesting stuff!” The old man returned to the blazing beacon of fire in the sky. Caleb thought he looked like a sun-worshipping tribal.

The Blade was just about to leave when the old man muttered something underneath his breath. His curiosity piqued, Caleb turned to the old man and asked, “You say something, hombre?”

Still facing the fire, the old man responded, “I said the fire looks like its coming from Gary Jones’ place. Nice guy, that Gary Jones. Hope he’s okay. I haven’t had a hit in weeks.” The old man rubbed his arm, which was covered with thick veins, probably due to drug injections.

Caleb didn’t care about this Gary Jones fellow. But the fire was important. It wasn’t everyday half the town spontaneously combusted. The Blade felt the influence of his old enemies in the air.

“Where’s Gary’s place?” asked Caleb.

The old man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do you want to know, Blade? Thinking of looting the place for his shit? Cause that sounds like a good idea!” The old man’s eyes lit up in delight and rubbed his junkie’s arm again.

“Naw, nothing like that, hombre. I’m thinking of maybe getting that fire stopped or something,” Caleb lied. He wasn’t good at lying, a skill he hadn’t developed while riding and shooting, but the old junkie was already whacked out of his gourd.

“Oh. Well, in that case, Jonesy’s place is in the slums quarter. There’s a water treatment facility right next to it.”

Caleb knew the place. He had fought his way through the water treatment facility, along with Patch and Wally, on his mad dash to the desert. The raiders had commandeered the facility, thinking of rationing out the precious resource for money. Caleb had reserved a bullet for every one of the raiders.

Setting a fire was a serious offense in most civilized parts of the world. That’s why arsonists weren’t necessarily welcomed in towns. Whoever had set the fire would be looking for a way to escape. And the most logical choice would be the water treatment facility.

It had to be the water treatment facility because, Caleb knew, there was a manhole that led to the sewers below. And there were only two types of people who felt welcomed in the sewers. One type were the ghouls, who had made a base in the running pipes of sewage. And the other type was an assassin, who felt welcome in all dark and dank places in the world.

Caleb fished into his pocket and pulled out a few gold pieces. He threw the cash towards the old man. The coins fell on the ground and the junkie didn’t make a move to collect them. He only stared into the fire.

“Thanks for the information,” Caleb said. The old junkie didn’t reply.

Caleb turned away from the entrance to Tabis. This was his homecoming. No throngs of well wishers awaited him. Instead, only a raging fire and the fleeting tracks of the assassin greeted him in Tabis.

The town wasn’t giving out any welcoming presents. But that was okay. Caleb was generous and he brought plenty of his own gifts for his old enemies. The Blade only hoped that their faces would light up in surprise with his .45 caliber presents.
 
OOC- This introduces two new characters- Ibis and Cerebus. Incidently, we are having a temporal problem. Caleb is about 1 1/2 week ahead of the rest of the characters. I suggest that most of the players fight out the battle of the sewars and spend the next week in recovery so that the we might all be on the same page.

IC- Ibis sat in his rocking chair, rocking gentle. Thinking about bad mojo comin'.

The sounds of Tabis filtering out past the town walls and through the ruins until the murmurred gently to him, saying that things were returning back to normal in Tabis.

That was just fine, just as long as they left him alone.

People always seemed to prefer his kind out past where they couldn't see 'em.

Living in the outskirts had offerred its share of troubles. A deathclaw had once gotten into his barn and killed his Brahman and his favorite dog. But the local thieves left him alone, afraid old Ibis might put a hex on them. Some bad varments too, but nothing he couldn't take care. Well, it made life more interesting, at least.

City life had never suited him. He made his living decently and of late had been kept busy. Ibis took care of the graveyard, ran the local funeral parlor and buried the dead. Well, most days at least. When there weren't dead to ferry, Ibis would often handle his cart for the local folks. No lifting anymore, getting to old for that. On some days one of the old folks to inquire about their particular fortune.

It had made for a modest living that had kept his wife and children well enough for many good years. And they lived out past all the noice and inconsistency of city life.

But the wife had died (Ibis thought it was from a bad spring they'd found far to the South in a place called Wormwood) and the children had moved on (Grey Cliffs and Red Waters- neither had wanted to stick around Tabis).

The kids had talent. But no one had wanted to maintain the business.

They said it was bad mojo. Yep. Somedays it sure was.

But Ibis stayed, with only Cerebus for company. It was enough.

The sounds began to blur and Ibis let his mind wander out into the wastes, and closed his eyes, rocking steady but otherwise lost in a memory. He didn't see his dog sniff the air, or the half wolf/half shepherd bitch strutting through the ruined srtipmall nearby. She strutted through the ruins as if she were something to hot to touch but looking for a good fuckin' just the same.

Dogs never had much humility.

Cerebus caught the scent, and lifted his muzzle to take in the musk of the bitch. Initially the curiousity had more to do with a territorial incursion, but aggression gave to something more basic. Cerebus, a strange cross between a Mastiff and Rottweiler, was keenly aware that the bitch was in heat, just as he knew that the bitch knew he was aware of it.

Interested now, the big dog's second head opened an eye as it too became aware of the attraction. Only the dog's third head, the sleepier of the three, took more than a bit of jarring to awaken.

The bitch, playing hard to get, trotted away towards the overpass and disappeared behind an old gas station, but not before pissing on a forgotten mailbox. This was too much of an invitation for Cerebus to pass up.

Ibis, lost in his thoughts, didn't hear the dog get to its feet or trott off to investigate.

Ibis was elsewhere.

And he heard the voice say
"The fourth angel poured out his bowl on the sun, and the sun was given power to scorch people with fire"

And Ibis sought a great fire sweep the land, a molten wave that consumed all before it. And the world was made barren and lifeless.

The sun had bled all the moisture from the earth and had even sought to steal the sand. The sky was hidden as the air turned a blood red and the wind kicked up the sand.

The Brahmin snorted nervously as Ibis gently urged them on. They were old and needed just a bit of prodding, like Ibis himself. The younger ones would run wild if they only could, but the old Brahma knew their place and were patient with their destiny.

Ibis prodding the Brahmin further, his bearing lost in the wind, didn't see the bodies until he was almost atop them.

They lay there dead, so many, bodies bleed into the sand, and the only sound was the whisper of locusts. Locust, flying everywhere, their buzz and the sounds.

Then Ibis saw the speaker, a skeletal figure, his skin and bones lost, reaching over the dead, sweeping them under his gaze.

They were Blades, many, hundreds, sprawled about. Their colors and masks distinctive against the sad, they bodies broken and cast about like ragdolls.

So many dead in one place, Ibis never seen such carnage.

And the Skeleton spoke to Ibis, "See you that the work of the horsemen has come to pass, and there work is not yet done. The cross the wastes bringing death and destruction to all they pass."

Ibis gazed about, eyes wide, the destruction too much for even such a one as he, who had spent his life in touch with the dead.

"My God, they are all gone." He stutterred, "Raiders...."

"Vermin gnawing those made dead."

"The Horseman?" Ibis asked.

"Across the burning river, you must take the living to the dead."

"But how?"

But the Skeleton was gone. And then Ibis heard the roar.

Loud and angry, the sound of a dragon's fury, a gust of heat like a new sun born, roasting his skin. The ground rolling, an earthquake shaking him.

Shaking him awake and free of the vision.

"Ibis! Wake up!" It was Yacob, shaking the old man. "Are you ok."

"What! What's wrong?" Ibis stuttered.

"You were murmuring something. Something about Blades, A Dragon. Horsemen?" Yacob looked at his old friend with concern.

It was just dream, a vision.

"Yes, I had a dream. Terrible. I dreamed that there were many dead Blades." Said Ibis.

"You have heard about the encampment?"

"What encampment?"

"A few days ride from here was a Blade encampment. About the time of the explosions the camp was attacked and the Blades were wiped out. It must have been some fight. They say about 400 Blades were slain."

"400 Blades? My god who could do such a thing? If they could kill so many blades Tabis would not stand a chance." Said Ibis.

"They say it was the raiders." Said Yacob.

"Raiders! Ha! Don't be foolish. Raiders lack the discipline and skill to slay 400 trained Blades. It would take at least 4 times that number of Raiders, with armor and weapons, to kill so many Blades." Said Ibis.

No, impossible. The discipline and ability of the Blades matched against the recklessness and disorganization of the Raiders would be an uneven match. Only a vastly superior force could have such success, that or something with a technology yet unseen.

"Aye, I agree. But they found Raiders nearby who sold some Blades to the local slavers."

"You should not keep such riff-raff in your establishment Yacob. What would your father say?"

"He'd be glad they pay their tabs! I warrant you its a foul business, but so many are." Yacob retorted. "Speaking of which, I come here to offer some business. There's a fellow I know who needs your wagon to look for a lost Blade."

"And I am to provide the service. Well its just as well. Besides, I saw this comin' " Ibis heard the old bones cracking as he lifted himself up. "Now where is Cerebus?"

"I thought I heard him growling back some alley, with a wolf bitch."

"Well least he still can" muttered Ibis.

Ibis took one step off his porch, when he heard a whip crack. Then through the darkness, a large shape came rattling violently, then the creak of a familiar wagon, then the snorting of Brahma.

Yacob reached out and pulled the old man back, for certainly he would have been run over in the next instant by the phantom carriage.

A wagon, colored in black lacquer rushed towards them in a furry of motion, kicking up rock and dust as it went past. Atop it, a giant man in black whipping at the Brahma furiously, calling out, "Ha!!!!" in a near maniacial laugh. The wagon, a large black cart with a roof and gated in the back, a hearse.

And the dark man was not alone. From the back Ibis and Yacob saw what seemed to be a woman, her fingerless hands reaching from behind the back bars, screaming incomprehensibly. Whether the scream was in fear, or hate, or pain, neither man could tell. Later Ibis would that that she were a young woman with blondish hair and an otherwise fine figure, but would remember that her hands had no fingers. Yacob would never admit it, but for many nights to come he would remember the forks that dug into her eyes.

The vision lasted only a minute, and then it too was lost in the dark with only the echoeing sounds of the laugh and the shrill woman's scream left behind. The rattling and creaks of the carriage were lost in the nigh.

Yacob gasped. "Ibis... That was the hearse... your wagon!"

Ibis nodded slowly, "No worries, I have the old one. Now where did that damn dog get off too. I'll be there in a bit, but I reckon your friends won't be fit to travel. Just as well. The Blade won't be in town for a week or so. "

Yacob never thought to ask how Ibis could know such things. The older folks in Tabis whispered that the gravedigger was gifted with sight, and Yacob had known Ibis too long to have much doubt.
 
OOC- OK I am going to get to the turning point in the battle, but will leave it open so that Rogue and Skik can keep fighting. However, I suggest that after this we get some rest, maybe until Caleb gets back to town. Also Rogue will probably have to tell the story of what happened in Chapter 1 and what happened to the Slayers.

ICC-

The slavers had adjusted faster than Grim might have guessed. Both he and Skik were in a hole, dank sewar water up to their ankles now mixed with the blood of the men they had killed.

Grim saw one of the Slavers above Skik lift a sledge hammer. Before the hammer was fully over the slavers head, Grim had fired letting go five bullets into his torso, dropping the man. Then he turned around, to see another emerge over the debries. He fired twice more, dropping the man. Then they came in numbers.

Back-to-back, Skik turned to face those behind him and Grim could here the ghoul unleash a burst from the combat shotgun. Then another burst. A grenade fell next to them, but Skik quickly dropped down to pick it up and then tossed it back. Not quite fast enough, the small bomb exploded in midair, send sharpnel in every direction. Grim felt a burning punch to his shoulder knocking him down and Skik bellowed in pain.

Grim struggled to get up, Firing his 10mm into the rushing slavers. Skik's shot blindly into the unrush. Torches had falled and shadows danced on the walls of the sewar like shadowy demons locked in a macabre dance. Skik clubbing one slaver with the butt of his shotgun, then connecting with a second until two carried him down.

Cries of pain and the smell of cordite and gunpowder mixed with that of putrid wastes. Empty, Grim grabbed for his six-shooter and fired at whoever stood before him with his right hand, while slashing at whatever he might see with his left.

The shifting lights making it difficult to see anything. Grim felt his knife sink deep into a man's chest. Then he his left arm was slashed. He let the knife go and shot blindly at the assailant. Then a stab to the chest and Grim felt the pierce of a spear against his side.

How embarrassing to be killed by Slavers, he thought.

He collapsed. His knife now useless. Skik, on his feet again, drove the shotgun but up under the spear and against the slaver's neck, a sickening crunch of a broken neck. Grim fired the last of his six rounds as he tried, vainly, to get up.

Feeling himself bleed out, feeling himself get blurry.

Skik, wounded as well, swinging the shotgun about like a club, knocking slavers too and fro. Screaming, laughing, like a blood crazed maniac.

Then another sound. Some one else was shooting and a new voice, screaming her lungs out.

The slavers, shaken by this new presence, already surprised at the ferocity of the battle they had found, broke. Many, who had come half-hearted, had enough, and they retreated.

Skik lowered, unsatisfied yet, dashed over the wall, "Get back here you pussies! I'm not done having fun yet!" and disappeared over the garbage.

Groggy, sleepy, Grim looked up to see who the new participant was. A girl, young but dirty from too much time in the sewars, splashed down into the hole and looked down on him.

"Rogue?" He murmered.

"Yes, Grim, are you ok?"

"No, I think I'm bleeding to death. But you..... Glad I found you... But you know, you look like shit!... And you smell... Damn girl, you could use a bath...."

And then Grim lost consciousness.
 
IC-

“You don’t look to good you self.” replied Rogue unable to control the smile slowly growing on her face.
“I don’t feel too good either.”
She dropped to her knees besides Grim. “Let me take a look at that.” Grim moved his hand from where the spear had made contact to reveal a deep tear wound. “Its deeps, too deep, this is going to need stitches and we can’t stop the bleeding down here.”

Grim, dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Damn it hurts.”

Rogue looked up at the ghoul stood in front of her. “Are you ok friend?”
“I’m ok, we ghouls don’t hurt easy!” replied Skik.

“We have to get out of here and get Grim to somewhere where we can tend to these wounds, slavers don’t give up that easy; they will be back and in greater numbers.”

Rogue tore a peace of her long coat off and tied it round Grims arm in a tight knot where he had been slashed by the knife to stop any more bleeding.

Skik, walked forward to where Grim lay and knelt down, “Help me, help me get him up.” said Skik. “We most move fast before the skin merchant’s return.”
With one hand on his shot gun for support, Skik took Grim's arm and hooked it over his shoulder, Rogue took the other side in the same way and they lifted the tall man to his feet.

“Damn it you normies way so damn much.” choked Skik as the pair struggled to lift Grim.

Grim, barley in a state on consciousness, rested on the support of his two comrades, “You call this bed side manner.” he joked as he tried to support him self the best he could.

“I know these sewers better than any skin merchant.” laughed Skik as he led the trio down into the darkness. “Oh! The names Skik friend.” Pulling a face that Rogue took as a smile. “Rogue.” She replied returning the smile.

“Well Skik, lets get the hell out of this place.”

OOC- Ok Skik, you know the sewers, get us the hell outta here!
 
OOC- There seems to be some confusion. My fault actually. Caleb is currently in real time, meaning in the actual time as the events are happening to the other characters. I guess when I had Caleb wandering in the desert for two weeks while only a few days passed caused the confusion. So, clarifying once more, everything that is happening during your character’s time period is happening during Caleb’s. He’s a team player and will bear the burden equally. No special treatment here : D.

IC-

Caleb ran to the water treatment facility as the town burned around him. With so many citizens in bedclothes running about, a fully armed Blade didn’t seem so out of the ordinary. Nobody barred his path.

The citizens of Tabis, instead of dragging their belongings away from the fire, carried buckets full of water, vainly combating the consuming flames. In a rustic and tightly knit community, everyone cared for each other. It was either work together to get the fire in control or fall on your knees and pray to God. The people of Tabis were too practical to let the world burn around them.

Caleb wished he could help. But unless bullets could also stop fires, the Blade could do nothing. The fire was burning harshly but it wasn’t spreading. The buildings the fire originated from may burn down but the town would still stand. Or at least that was what Caleb and the townspeople hoped.

But now, the Blade had personal business to attend to. Mainly dumping a bullet in the assassin’s head. It may sound selfish but it would save lives. Mainly, Caleb’s own life. Sometimes, the only reasonable defense was an all out offense.

Caleb made it to the water treatment facility. Many of the citizens had already tapped its reserves and were pulling hoses to the fire. The Blade pushed past the crowd of rag tag firefighters, pushing on to an even greater threat.

The water treatment facility was a literal maze of pipes, tanks, and valves. The last time Caleb had been here, the raiders had plenty of cover to hide behind. The Blade brought up the Winchester in both hands, slipping a cartridge into its breech. The assassin may have not fled to the sewers just yet and Caleb would be prepared.

“Aw, Patch,” whispered Caleb. “I wish you were watching my back right now.” But Patch was dead now, killed by the same assassin Caleb was chasing after. A ghoul machine gunner would have been useful right now but Caleb had to finish this himself. He had to avenge both Patch and his brothers.

Following his own memory and instincts, Caleb immersed himself deeper into the man made maze. The Blade stumbled through the throng of pipes and came upon a nondescript, discreet looking manhole. The large jutting manhole, amidst a jungle of similar pipes, looked no different. But somehow, Caleb knew it was the one.

The Blade stopped before the manhole, resting his gun across its mouth. Stopping, Caleb felt his heart thundering in his chest. The adrenaline was flowing freely in his veins. He had not noticed it until now, but the Blade was hyping himself for action.

But then the feeling of haste left the Blade. Caleb, who had been sure he was following close behind the path of the assassin, could no longer feel the assassin. Somewhere along the way, the assassin had run off. The assassin was probably out of town by now. Caleb could feel it. It was foolish to follow the assassin on an instinct but it would be even more foolish to disregard it now. Sometimes, Caleb had learned, you just have to believe.

There was some motivating factor that had led him to the manhole. Something awaited him below in the mess of human waste. It was either Fate or a crock of bullshit. Quite literally.

Caleb looked at the rusted over manhole. The Blade had fought his way out of the sewers and through this very same manhole just to find the corpses of his brothers. Now he would be returning to the manhole, returning to the fight.

Was it Babel, the gate of heaven? Hardly. More like Sheol, the land of the dead.

Caleb pulled back the cover of the manhole. A gust of overwhelming stench immediately assaulted his nose. The Blade grimaced and gagged. Looking at the exposed darkness with misgivings, Caleb cursed aloud. He took another deep breath of fresh air before swinging his legs over the opening and descending the ladder.

Caleb dropped to the floor of the sewers with a resounding squish. Goddamn, he thought, I’ve done ruined my boots.

The darkness was stark and overwhelming. Caleb fought back the rising panic. The feelings of distortion, claustrophobia, and the overall fear of not knowing what waited forced the animal instincts up. Caleb did not strike a match. Any light would blind him momentarily but the brief moments would be crucial. Instead, the Blade would allow his eyes to readjust.

Besides the running sewage, only silence resounded. As Caleb sludged forward, he could hear his steps echoing into the darkness, alerting what was lurking there. The Blade felt vulnerable and resisted the urge to climb back to the surface.

The Blade marched onwards, with little more purpose than moving ever forward. Caleb could not rely on his internal compass to guide him; all coherence of setting was lost to him the minute he climbed down. He would have to rely on Fate to guide his path, instead. The old gunfighter was, in all aspects, blindly following along.

The concept of time became lost to him. It felt like Caleb had been here for eons when it was actually ten minutes. The Blade could almost feel his sanity dripping away.

Then, the sounds of gunfire and the sharp rings of ricochets. Caleb came alive. The prospect of fighting brought him back to reality. The Blade shouldered the Winchester, slinging it across his back. Rifles and the sort would be too cumbersome in the closed quarters. Instead, Caleb drew one Peacemaker and unsheathed his bowie knife.

Now, Caleb could hear footsteps rushing towards his direction. The frantic splashes were followed by an even larger crowd of splashes. Someone was being corralled towards him.

Caleb held his ground, stopping in place. He could hardly see but he was trained to shoot by instinct, even blindly. He would strike like a bat. The Blade turned around, making sure that no one was behind him. Then he pointed his revolver at about throat level, making a clean kill shot.

The footsteps were coming closer now. Caleb thumbed back the hammer on his gun.

Click! He would be ready.
 
OOC: Hi y'all. A little ahead of schedule, I have arrived.

IC:

The cowboy dropped down the manhole into the stygian blackness. He had been easy to shadow, the man was so wrapped up in following his own quarry. Once inside the treatment facility it had been harder given its maze like architecture and lack of people but even that had presented no real difficulty.

The shadow had no desire to follow the cowboy into the stinking sewers so he quickly retraced his steps and emerged back on to the streets, again taking in the conflagoration surrounding him.

A Pyromaniac's paradise, he thought. Tabis was a tinderbox ready to burn like Rome had done two millenia ago. All it had taken was one fire in one building that was not stopped in time and the whole city was now in danger.

The shadow began making his way through the rushing crowds, noting with a little twinge of rising sympathy as he saw how many of the inhabitants were working tirelessly to extinguish the flames. There were strong men and women stopping to help the old and less able, people carrying children with whom they seemed to have no connection, away from the inferno. Humaninty drawing together to face a common enemy. He rarely saw humans acting so humane.

Moving unnoticed through the confusion, the shadow also noticed the dregs. No place on earth exists without them. Scum who think morals are a type of seafood. He saw the scurrying figures rushing from house to house, grabbing what they could and disappearing into alleys only to reappear and trying again with another building.

One scuttling man in rags passed by a few feet from the shadow and the little man suddenly felt an iron hand seize his throat.

"Ahh!" the bundle of rags tries to screech but he couldn't find enough breath. "Let go." he huffed, "What the fuck, put me down...I ain't done nothing." his rancid breath was enough to make a brahmin wretch.

"Leave. Now. If I see you and your friends looting again I will ruin every joint in your body and leave you a cripple. I doubt anyone will care enough to look after you." whispered the cold deep voice. He let the scum go and it scurried away down a dank alleyway.

He was saddened, his brief moment of faith in humanity lifting his spirits, only to see it scuppered by human detritus. Sometimes he wished his old Brothers would don their power-armour and, like an army of human tanks, purge the wastes of all the filth. Let nature have a chance to heal, without so many ignorant humans fucking up everything and everyone.

Looking again at the noble townsfolk, he reconsidered. There were people who deserved a better life and didn't always try to take it from others. These people deserved help.

"Fuck it." he whispered to himself, a rare smile flashing across his hard features. The shadow stepped into the morass of busy firefighters and grabbed a disgarded bucket, "Where's the water?" he bellowed at a burly, grey-haired man directing the rag-tag group.
 
IC-

Struggling at an agonisingly slow pace, the trio made there way through the darkness guided by Skiks clever knowledge of the sewer system. Grim barley able to keep him self steady was reluctant to put his wait on the two. “Damn these sewers and there darkness.” He said angrily.

Skik stopped to readjust his hold of Grim. The weight of the tall man was, contrary to what the ghoul had thought, very deceiving, making the journey through the waste in the sewers an even slower process than usual.

“Where are we going?” Rogue asked, at this point un able to see more than a couple of meters in front of her.

“There’s an exit up to the roads above not far ahead, it leads up and out in an ally way. No slavers be waiting there.” Skik answered finally getting as comfortable as one could while supporting a man of Grims size.

“I know of an old house above with no normies living there, we should be safe for little time.”

At the present pace, it seemed they would never get any where Rogue though to her self, Grim was still barley conscious and just to say able to walk as blood continued to spill from the tall mans side.
The cloth that was being pressed to his wound was stained with blood and in desperate need of being changed.

“Shhh...” Skik whispered, insisting that they stop.
The ghoul turned to the direction they had come from, listening...looking.
“What is it?” Rogue feeling her heart miss a beat as she held her breath.. “Noise, back from where we were...footsteps...running.” Skik answered.

“Slavers?”

Skik turned to face the girl, her face dropped and eyes wide open, Skik could see the fear running through her.
“We gotta move, maybe we can make it to the exit or lose them some how.” Skik replied, already turning and tightening his grip over Grim.

They turned to run, trying to move as fast as they could why being hindered some what by the near knee deep watery waste they were trying to plough through.

Without looking back, Rogue could now hear the footsteps, they were many and the voices loud enough to hear from some distance a way, they sounded frustrated, they were looking, searching, they sounded pissed off!

The sound of shots drummed in the distance behind them and echoed of the tunnel walls. They were shooting into the darkness, trying to scare them, to flush them out like rats.

“How much further?” Rogue demanded, hoping for a *were nearly there* answer from the ghoul.

“We aint gonna make it.” Replied Skik, “ Its too far, were gonna have to take a different exit, the water treatment facility, its closer.” Replied Skik hoping to hell he was making the right decision and not playing straight into the slavers trap.

The slavers were gaining on them, closer and closer they could be heard like death claws hunting week pray.

Unable to keep her balance as she tried to run, Rogue yelled as she stumbled to her knees into the waste waters, Grim, unable to be supported by Skik alone fell to the ground beside her. Skik dropped and pulled Grim up out of the murkey water.

“The exit to the water treatment facility is not but maybe 30 meters down this tunnel, we have to keep going, come on get up." Skik screamed trying to sound as positive as he could.

Rogue looked at the ghoul with despair, unable to talk, she turned to look at Grim who was now unconscious. If they didn’t get him to someone who could help soon...Rogue stopped, trying not to think about it and to concentrate on the current situation.
With the help of Skik, she lifted Grim to his feet and took his arm around her. The wheight of Grim, now unable to support him self was over whelming and Rogue struggled to keep up right.

She turned back to the ghoul who was loading what ammunition he had left into the shot gun he was wielding. “Don’t worry, were gonna make it, and if we don’t, well I still have this." He pulled out the large explosive from earlier and tucked it under one arm “Just in case.” He grinned. He took Grims arm and pulled him up, trying to take as much of the wheight as he could.

They started forward, every step felt like she had walked for miles. Holding Grim the best she could, she tried to continue forward, the tunnel seemed darker than before and as though it went for an eternity.
The sounds of the slavers were close now, skik peered backwards only to see there torches illuminating the tunnels behind them.
30 meters he thought, “at this pace they will be upon us with in 15.”

Exhausted, Rogue could carry Grims weight no longer and fell to her knees. She had gone not but 10 meters. Rogue cursed to her self for not being stronger. She couldn’t carry Grim any further. Skik lowered him down onto some debris and took his shot gun in hand.

“If we make a stance....well...we might have a chance.” He cocked the weapon and turned to take his position in what seemed like the only course left.

Rogue turned to look at the head hunter. Fighting back tears, she thumped down on Grims chest, “Grim...Grim you have to get up, we cant do this alone!” she yelled with despair as her voice rang through the tunnels echoing of the walls, but all in vain. Grim didn’t register, his body drained of all sign of life, and except for his faint breathing he could have been dead.

She un slung her rifle and turned to the now quickly approaching sounds of slavers.
Rogue could now see the lights from there torches and the yelling cries could be heard as they raced down the sewers.
She looked over to Skik who was in behind some fallen rubble, his sniper rifle ready. He was chanting something now, slowly and quietly as though he was alone, “boom...boom...boom...” were his whispers. He turned to meet Rogues look, “Don’t worry, they won’t take us alive.” He said calmly as he tapped the explosive device next to him.

At least she wasn’t alone in this Rogue thought to her self.
She readied her rifle, and taking one last look at Grim, took aim.

OOC- I hope this hasnt put the three into too hard a situation. I have got an alternative to this and i can edit it if you like.
 
--- IN THE SEWARS----

Grim had been in and out of consciousness as Skik and Rogue had been carrying through the sewars. On occassion he had felt the cold, gritty water against his face, in his throat and nose, when the two had dropped him.

This would stir him to a short wakefulness and he thought, this can't be good for the wounds. Infection. He needed a doctor to clean these wounds or they would get infected and he would die.

Rogue and Skik were doing the best they could, which embarrassed Grim who felt so helpless. His arms felt weighted down and his legs were numb and tingled. He could feel this shallow breath and it was difficult to just breath.

Too much effort, too much....

You are not going to die in a pile of shit are you? said an inner voice.

Yeah, like I have much choice?

Vision blurry. He could feel the tapping on his chest.

He peered up and could see Skik, and was disappointed. Wally would be more helpful right now. Skik would probably just manage to get them blown up. A ghoul and his toys.

Rogue..... nice to see her again....

a moment of consciousness, and he whispered. "Stimsssss... " and then faded back into darkness.

---WHILE UP ABOVE---

The the hearse and the Brahma gone, Yacob had helped Ibis harnass the other Brahma to the wagon.

What had started out as a fire far away was now illuminating the night sky with red brilliance. "That's slumville." Said Yacob to Ibis.

Ibis, using his cane, "Yep, we best be getting to town. Chances are they could use help putting it out."

A slightly embarrassed Cerebus crept up through the darkness to sit, quietly next to Ibis. Two of its head looked to the ground but the third, a boxer, looked up at the old man. Ibis looked at his old campanion and said, scornfully, "Fat lot of good you are. Going after some bitch while some Shaetan steals my hearse!"

Now the Boxer bent his head down, embarrassed and guilty. "Well, don't get all droppy about it now, too late. Best you come along." He said to the dog as he climbed up to take the reins. The three headed dog followed the two men, trotting besides.

About three years before Ibis had found an old technical book about ancient fire engines. Being one of the few who could read, he had worked with one of the local blacksmiths and together they had fashioned a hand pump for such emergencies. But most of the men who knew how to use it had either left or were probably drunk, so Ibis figured it was still in the barn near the police station.

Sure enough it was, and with Yacob's help he gathered a group of men and gave simple instructions. Horus, who had closed up the Inn to direct the men trying to put out the fire, provided discipline with a swift kick and was the muscle behind the hose, while Yacob urged the men to pump. Others tried to fill the pump's reservoir with water.

Jonesy's establish was already collapsed and the fire had spread to other hovels, but the police chief had made a fire wall around the fire and had it contained. Now it was a matter just to extinguish it before sparks blew into other nearby buildings, sparking a larger conflagration. And the wind was picking up from out in the Wastes.

Ibis, too old to do much in the way of help, stood on the sidelines with his dog. Until he saw the shadowy man in black which reminded him of his visions.

The man turned from emptying a bucket into the fire, and turned, almost directly into Ibis long skinny nose. He was about to speak but the fire and awareness in Ibis otherwise sunken eyes, stopped him.

"You'll find the Blade, sure enough. He's under but not yet gone." Said Ibis.

The shadow said nothing.

"When you do tell him this. Tell him to go looking for the one called Grandpa Death, but who the adults call Gravedigger."

Ibis nodded, and spoke slowly.

"Tell him that now, in the thousand years of blight, after the sun has torched the earth, and the land is poisoned in barren, tell him the Four Horseman cross the land and will take all that stand in their way. Tell him that the Horsemen and the Darkman serve the same master, and this master is hungry for blood. "

"Tell him that while the Dark man has stole Mr. Death's chariot, that Grandpa Death waits for the Blade with open arms and will take the Blade and his companions, and will ferry them across the dry river to find his lost comrades."

Ibis, tall and gaunt, skinny as a rail, his eyes hollowed with age but burning with energy, his skeletal hand holding the top of his cane unsteady. To the cowboy he seemed a ghost.

"Don't worry son, you'll find 'em down below among the ghouls."

ANd then Ibis winked and walked away, to watch the fire burn itself out.

OOC- Ok that last part was for Reaper. hope that helps.
 
Not every day that a man who looked dead already came up to you and started talking about the Four Horsemen. Most of the time people didn't even register Gabriel's presence, unless he wanted to, and then when they became aware of him they were generally either doomed or fearful of being doomed.

How had he known about the Blade? Even Gabriel hadn't expected to find him in Tabis again. Just a chance sighting that had arousd his curiosity bu not enough to make him go traipsing round the bowels of the town. He had just wanted to find out why the aging gunfighter had returned.

Looking around at the dying flames, Gabriel decided he had done enough to help these strangers. He wasn't quite sure why he had grabbed the bucket in the first place. He hadn't been trained to help people. He was a living weapon, not a social worker. Conscience, so easily lost in bootcamp came back to haunt you when innocent people's lives were on the line.

His fire-fighting episode over, Gabriel looked around at the busy townsfolk before melting back into the shadows. Finding a conveniently unignited alley, he squatted down out of sight and pulled out a gunmetal grey finished box about the size and shape of a book. Flicking switch on the side, a screen appeared and began to glow with a a faint illumination, the display reflecting in Gabriel's cold blue eyes. He checked through his files, looking up occasionally to make sure no-one was about to surprise him.

He scanned the reports the for information on the Blade and all the weird stuff the skeletal man had told him. Sighing in exasperation, Gabriel turned off the Pipboy and replaced it inside his coat.

Nothing. He ran through Ibis' comment in his mind.
'He's under but not gone.' Gabriel assumed he meant that he would be returning to the surface, that he was not attempting to escape via the sewers. 'Down among the ghouls', obviously underground but did that mean he was staying there? The strange man had wanted him to tell Caleb about the Horsemen and the Darkman and all of that crazy stuff. Maybe he should wait around for the Blade to come topside.

"Not gone" he whispered to himself. "Damn", not gone as in not dead yet? Could be. Unecessary losses, was what Gabriel called losing a Blade hero in the stinking sewers.

He rose from his hiding place and made his way back through the town towards the water treatment facility. Arriving quickly, he stopped before following Caleb down, checking his suede coat. The sewer was not an ideal environment for the material. Given the limited likelyhood of anyone happening past here before he returned, Gabriel decided to leave his coat up here and retrieve it later. Stuffing it in the driest, most concealed spot he could find, Gabriel checked his equipment and dropped down into the fetid, underbelly of Tabis.

The darkness seemed palpable at first, then his excellent night vision began to penetrate it and he could see. The rats visible some thirty feet way sniffed at the air and moved cautiously in his direction. Scanning the disgusting floor and the walls Gabriel looked for a trail. The sludge coating the sewer floor was disturbed and the track led down the tunnel to his left. His vision improving by the second, Gabriel was thankful for his dark talents and set off stealthily through the filth.

Following Caleb's trail, Gabriel was thankful he had shed his coat above ground. The freedom of movement helped him circumnavigate hinderances like piles of trash and refuse. His stealthy movement slowed his advance but he thought he was gaining on the Blade. As he gained, however, faint sounds floated through the tunnels. He couldn't quite decipher them yet but he continued on until he realised the sounds were of hurrying footsteps of several people splashing through the waste.

Whatever was about to happen was going to happen soon.
 
--- If you want to hunt humans you should remember we travel in packs --- (Some guy from some sci-fi movie)

Ghouls are a calm and logical, not war-like species, but they are capable of defending themselves when nesscary. And being calm and logical they try make sure that if they do have to fight it's they who end up on top. And being the most technologicaly advanced race they usally manage to succed.

After the "incident" with mandrake the Ghouls realized how woefully inadiquite their defences were. So the Ghouls pooled what resources they had, went to the brotherhood, and made some "purchases".

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the three struggled down the corrdor skik's eyes scanned the corrdor wall. "Where is it? Where is it..... THERE." Skik reached down under the black water and pulled out a gun. Built more like a work of art then a weapon the gun was all smooth lines and flowing curves. Even the barrel had no hole at the end, only a smooth half-sphere.
Yelling for Rouge to get Grim to the surface Skik dropped to prone position and took aim. So even if this dosn't work we still win. Always wondered what it would be like to go out in a blaze of glory.

OOC: Skik is holding a microwave gun. A microwave gun heats the target rapidly (up to about the melting point of steel). The gun is not widely used because it's engery wastefull but in this case the gun has a side benifit. As the first slaver melts with any luck the sewer gas (we are closer to the town) will explode takeing out the rest. The explosing will probally kill Skik too, but that is what "blaze of glory" means.

OOC: I hope Skik dosn't die.
 
IC-

Caleb had four pounds of pressure on the five-pound pull of the trigger of the revolver. It would take just the barest twitch to set off the gun. No taking chances this time, he thought.

He had heard footsteps coming closer, closer, and ever closer to him. Now they had stopped. Caleb judged that they were just a few yards away from him. They had sensed him and were now waiting. That was okay.

The Blade could play the waiting game. Like the time when he had bunkered down in a tree for three weeks with just a hunting rifle in hand. It was his rite of initiation. A raider had dishonored the Blade fatherland. Of course, the raider would have to pay. It was only an added bonus that it presented an opportunity for Caleb to prove himself.

So Caleb had gone ahead of the raider’s tracks. Caleb had only brought one bullet with him. He would not need any more. He had known exactly where the scum was heading for. It was just a matter of waiting. It was simply the issue of limbering on top of the tree branch, perfectly still so that you would not give away your position. It was just the minute detail of staying in the same damned place for three weeks, fighting off fatigue. It was only the laughable difficulty of surviving on tree bark just to stave off hunger.

And Caleb had waited. The Blade still remembered the shout of elation and triumphant he had given out as the raider stumbled into his sights and he pulled the trigger.

But Caleb was stronger now. His hands had been washed in the blood of hundreds. His entire will had been sharpened and honed by the deserts. He was a Blade, now, and he would not have to await his prey. He would come for it.

Caleb ran through the sewers pipes at a dead charge. His revolver was fully loaded and his bowie knife was sharp and ready. More, Caleb was ready for fighting.

Water splashed upwards as his footsteps pounded forward, giving away his position. More footsteps were racing towards him now. There would be little surprise in what would come next.

It was intuition that told him not to immediately pull the trigger as he rounded the pipe corner that separated him from his enemies. Instead Caleb rounded to a halt before three shadowy figures.

“Not so fast!” shouted one of the silhouettes. It lifted up a tubular device that faintly resembled a gun. “This think will flash fry you in a second!” The two other figures, one leaning on the other, lifted up their own weapons.

Caleb stared at the foreign device, not knowing it was a microwave gun. The Blade didn’t think the figure was bluffing, though.

“Easy there, hombre,” he said. “I ain’t gonna shoot yah.” Hoping that his instincts were correct, Caleb twirled his gun and set it into his holster. He waited for them to shoot him.

Then, one of the figures lowered their weapons and stood up, leaning in closer to him. “Caleb?” asked a feminine and very familiar voice.

“Rogue?” One of the figures lit up a match, illuminating the dim sewers, and Caleb saw that it was indeed Rogue along with Grim and another unfamiliar ghoul.

The Blade shook his head at the sorry sight. Rogue’s black, nondescript clothes were tattered with millions of cuts in them. The worn hunting rifle was in her hands and it looked recently used judging by the blood splotches covering its stock. Grim looked exactly like Caleb had last seen him: beaten up and on the verge of death. He was currently unconscious. As for the ghoul, well, he looked like every other ghoul. Only this ghoul had an energy weapon in his hands.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” whispered Caleb urgently, a paternal tone slipping in his voice.

Rogue only smiled weakly. “Good to see you too, Caleb. Right now, I’m currently dragging Grim away from a bunch of slavers before we get killed. But enough about me. How are you?”

Caleb scoffed. “Reign in that tongue, girl. How’d this happen?”

“We’ll fill you in with the current news later. Right now, how about we haul ass before the slavers get us?”

“Sounds dandy,” Caleb replied. Then he turned around and cast a quizzical look at the ghoul. “Who the hell are you?”

The ghoul smiled, revealing a row of rotted teeth. “I’m Skik, cowboy. Puh-leezed tah meet yah.” He held out a rotting hand and, when Caleb refused to shake it, the ghoul merely cackled insanely.

“Lets get going,” ushered Rogue. “The slavers will be here any minute.” She readied her rifle, taking point as she prepared to get out of the sewers.

But she spoke too soon. A dozen footfalls against water and steel came from behind the group, followed by howling warcries. The slavers would be here any minute.

The group fanned out, Skik, Caleb, and Rogue surrounding the unconscious form of Grim. The footsteps came closer.

“Ah shit!” cursed Caleb as he hauled out both revolvers and prepared for a bloodbath.
 
Blue sky spotted with clouds. Grim looking up at the sky. The sun warm on his skin. Tranquil, without pain. Above him, a barren tree on its single branch, a black raven.

Far now from the violence, the fear, the pain. The sky is liquid blue and its soothing.

He blinks, and thinks, "I wonder if they found that stimpack in my pack."

He bends up and looks at the raven.

"I'm dead?"

But the Raven shakes its head no.

"But I am dieing"

The Raven nodds its head vigorously.

He touches his side where the spear had penetrated him, but there is no blood. He feel whole but empty.

He sits up and looks. Before him, in the distance he sees a long black fence, and behind that towers, buildings, massive structures of brick and stone, all dead.

He stands up. Blinks. The ground is littered by thousands of bones, and above them, bodies. Skulls of animals, bones of men, bleaching in the sun. Beneath them, dust made of bones.

He looks to the Raven, "What is this place?"

But the Raven offers no answer.

He turns and looks in every direction. Bones, everywhere, the dead. The history of the world is built on a pile of bone.

He looks back at the gate and vaguelly he can see a figure, so he walks in that direction.

As he nears he sees the figure is a woman he once knew. Her long curly hair, the wrinkles around her eyes, the warmth of her skin: memories of things past.

Long ago. Long before the gun, before the violence.

She smiles at him, sadly, and in the smile Grim feels the distance of years past. The sadness of forgetting. The terrible loneliness of his life.

As he reaches for the gate he can hear a fluttering of wings, and the Raven perches itself upon the gate, and squaks a warning.

Grim tries to pull the gate, but as he does so he becomes aware of the growls of a large dog, each of its three heads spitting venom, on the other side of the gate. The animal stands its grounds, barking and snarling, a guardian.

"Let me in" Grim whispers. "It has been so long."

But the dog is resolute.

"Please, it has been so long." He pleads.

Still the dog will not give.

He looks at the bird, and the bird looks at him with its soulless black eyes, and then out, behind him. Grim turns, and there, far away in the distance, there is another figure. He squints to see and shades his eyes from the abuse of the sun.

The figure is a child, a girl, with long curly hair

And the Raven speaks. "Your time has not yet come."

And Grim blinks again, and this time he feels the strange sensation of salt water in his eyes.

"Why?" He asks.

But before the bird might answer...

Grim feels a sudden pain in his ass,
the world is suddently full of burning pain. His side is aching and he can feel himself wet,
smell the stink around him.

ANd when he opens his eyes, he sees first only darkness. He squints. It's painful.

ANd sees Rogue, holding up a used Stimpack which she tosses away.

"Guess I should have checked your bags hunh?" She smiles. "That should keep you till we can find you a doctor."

Alive, but weak from loss of blood, Grim manages a feeble smile, "Ah fuck," then he manages a soft laugh, then falls to unconsciousness again.

Rogue looks to Skik and Caleb. "The stimpack will hold him for a while, but he's lost a lot of blood. If we don't get him to a doctor soon, the Stimpacks aren't going to help."
 
IC-

No sooner had Rogue injected the stimpack, both healing Grim and knocking him out, than the slavers came. And, oh, how they came.

Caleb did not consider himself to be a fighter. What he did was on such a higher level than mere fighting. No, he preferred to be known as a performer of the dance. For it took all the poise, grace, and balance of a seasoned dancer to do what Caleb did.

“Hold your ground,” whispered Caleb to Rogue and Skik. “We stay to fight.” Grim, still hurting from his wounds but no longer dying from them, was collapsed in the middle of the pipes. They were in an intersection, three pipes leading towards them. They could not turn around and head for the fourth pipe behind them, not with Grim down and out. Each of the trio covered their own pipe entrance, Grim protected in the middle.

“What if we don’t make it?” asked Rogue in a soft voice. She was breathing heavily and her rifle was pointed in front of her, ready to fire off a shot into the gloom. The girl looked ready to unload on the next advancing shadow.

“Then we die,” responded Caleb. The Blade had both revolvers out. Two revolvers at hand, six bullets each, all for a grand total of twelve bullets. His rounds were hollow-pointed, ready to blow heaping chunks through any motherfucker. Caleb’s heart was pure.

“But we die well,” added Skik. The ghoul had his microwave pistol in hand, his fascinated eyes reflecting the weapon’s metallic sheen. There was a high pitch whirring noise as the energy weapon’s power cells charged up. Capable of doing a lot of damage in a small package, just like all the ghouls.

The quartet, with one man down, was ready. They were in the valley of darkness, beset on all sides by evil, but they knew that the righteous man would prevail.

Then the slavers came.

Three ragtag slavers with shaved heads and tattoos came to Caleb first. They .38 revolvers, “crippling” guns that would damage the merchandise but not quite kill it. Obviously, the quartet was to be taken alive for whatever fate awaiting them.

Caleb dealt with the first three. He fired both revolvers from his hip, tilting his aim upwards so that the bullets tore into the two slavers’ throats. They took the bullets simultaneously, falling onto the sewers at the same time. As the third slaver jumped over his comrades and leveled his own revolver, Caleb clicked back his guns to fresh rounds and unloaded both barrels. The slaver screamed in agony as his right shoulder and kneecap exploded into a shower of meat and bone. He fell, squirming and screaming.

Then, Caleb heard a commotion to his right where Skik was guarding. Another small group of slavers, four of them, were making a kamikaze death rush towards the ghoul. They carried spiked knuckles and switchblades, weapons that could do mean damage if they got into range.

Skik never game them the chance. The ghoul fired his energy weapon, sending a skull sized blaze of crackling purple energy at the slavers. The gun emitted a loud shriek and the sewers were filled with a blinding light at its discharge. The bolt of pure energy cut the first slaver in half, gruesomely severing his torso and legs. Then, still traveling, the bolt passed too close to another slaver, whose dry clothes caught on fire at the energy’s close proximity. He immediately combusted in flame, a shrieking phoenix about to extinguish himself. The other two slavers were obliterated into ash and char as the bolt collided into them. The air was filled with a stale and burning order, like after a lightning storm.

As this happened, an entire stream of slavers came at Rogue. They did not wait until they got in range; instead they unloaded their pieces blindly. Bullets whizzed by, coming perilously close. Rogue merely dropped to a knee and placed the butt of her rifle against her shoulder. She lined up her iron sights, wanting for the slavers to come. And as each slaver jumped out of the shadows, the girl fired. Every shot was surgical, blowing through vital organs, so that each shot was the last shot needed. Rogue fired with what Caleb could only describe as a calm efficiency, the greatest compliment the Blade could give. She fell into a beat: firing a shot, throwing back the bolt, and aligning her next shot. The slavers fell like tenpins, each neatly falling in the near exact place as his predecessor.

They came again to Caleb, all bearing handguns and knives, never “serious” weapons. The Blade unloaded with Regulator, making each shot count. Two raiders collapsed to the ground, all missing hunks of flesh. Caleb did not bother reloading his empty gun; he returned it quickly to its holster and then ran the heel of his free hand across the hammer, unloading Vindicator’s chamber. Then, with both revolvers empty, Caleb took out his Winchester carbine.

This is our Alamo, thought Caleb. Santa Anna and his troops, the slavers, kept coming. He was Davy Crockett, the senior most man in their last stand. Grim was James Bowie, a capable man but dead sick and incapable of fighting. Caleb compared his fight with the Alamo, knowing full well how that battle ended up.

Caleb quickly unloaded with his Winchester, hauling down on the hand stirrup to chamber in a new shot. And at each interval, the Blade’s other hand reached for a cartridge to slip into the chamber’s breech until all of the sixty bullets on his belt were empty. And still yet, did the slavers come.

“Stand steady!” shouted Caleb as he prepared to use the rifle as a club if necessary. He drew his bowie knife just in case.

“Ah shit!” cried out Rogue, standing up from her shooting position. She turned her head as she backed up. “I’m all out! I’m all out!” A knife materialized into her hands, also.

Skik, the ghoul, had long drained his energy weapon. He faced Caleb and Rogue, shrugging apologetically. “Looks like this might be it. Good thing I have this.” The ghoul brought up his last-resort, homemade explosive. “We’re going down with a boom.”

The trio leaned back to back, Grim in their center. And the slavers just kept on coming.

“Be ready,” whispered Caleb.

“For what?” asked Rogue. “Death? No one’s more ready to die than this girl, old man.”

“No, said Caleb huskily. “We ain’t dying just yet. Just be ready.”

But be ready for what, indeed?
 
As the three of them pulled back to back, weapons in hand awaiting the final shit to be blown there way, the sound died out.
From Caleb’s side of the tunnel a slaver emerged, crouched close to the ground as though ready to duck from a cloud of rounds. Stopping and looking up, the slaver stood straight and tall, a long sword like blade emerged in his hand as the slaver broke into a low deep laugh.
He turned to look behind him and made some blight comment, at that 3 more slavers appeared wielding hand to hand weapons from knifes to metal poles. Too more come in from Skiks side and 3 from Rogues appeared from within the darkness.
They were surrounded and out numbered nearly three to one.

“Well aint this a pretty site.” One of the slavers called out. “We come for one rat yet we find four, what a catch.”

“You might as well just give up Blade; you couldn’t save your camp just as you can’t save these.” Yelled another. This was a tall slaver, much larger than the others.

Caleb stood firm, anger running through his veins, revenge for his brothers had come and would start with the head of this slaver.

“You know, there wasn’t anything better than cutting through those blades, especially the look on there faces as I gave them a dirt nap.” The slavers around him gave a roar of laughter.

“No, you wont die here today Blade, your heading somewhere much better, some where were you’ll get to see the blood of many more of those pathetic people you call brothers spilled.” The slaver said suppressing another deep laugh.

The slavers moved on the there positions, Caleb at this point unable to control his fury, rage boileing in his blood. “Time to die you slaver fucks.” Caleb grimaced to himself.

The slavers approached from all sides, skik set his explosive to the ground, flipped the energy weapon, these bastards weren’t going to take him alive.
The first slaver came upon Caleb, he lunged with his knife, Caleb dogged to one side taking the slavers hand and using his momentum against him, slammed the slaver face first into the wall, a quick snap and crack could be heard as the slaver let out a dog like yelp and fell to the ground. Caleb turned to face the next incoming slaver.

Rogue stood her position as the 3 raiders approached, two came up first as the other was slacking, she ducked sideways to miss the fatal swings of a metal pole, each time looking for a way to use her knife, but only to have to duck again or risk being pummelled by the slavers attacks. Using the distraction created, the other slaver using his weight, slammed forward onto Rogue knocking her to the wall. The force of impact knocked the wind out of her and she gasped for air. Rogue then felt a strong sting as the iron bar was wrapped round her legs knocking the girl to the floor. Her vision blackened as she felt the cold steel hit the back of her neck. Rogue collapsed face first into the waste and lost consciousness.

Skik on the other side swung his weapon widely at the two slavers, feeling his gun meet ones face as he got to close, the ghoul let out a wild cry, the slaver fell to the ground, blood streaming from his temple. Skik squared up to the other slaver and raised his gun to the large man. “Fucking ghoul.” The slaver hissed, pulling out a second knife. But a smile crossed his face, to skiks surprise he felt pressure around his waist as he was tackled to the ground from behind.
Rogue no longer a threat to the slavers, they concentrated on the other two fighters. Skik fought back trying desperately to remove the mans grip from around him.
The large slaver grinned down on the ghoul, revealing what could only be described as a disgusting sight. “Its payback time gho....” He didn’t get chance to finish the sentence as a knife was inserted into his back.
Skik pushed the slaver from on top of him to reveal a pale white grim holding a knife, he smiled and dropped to his knees unable to stay upright any longer. Skik returned the gesture, picked up a knife from the raiders belt and turned to face the last slaver on his side.

Caleb renched his knife from a second slavers neck, this one had attacked with brass knuckles, clumsy and over confident the slaver had met his end fast. Caleb turned to face the final two, they approached him together, slight grins could be seen on there faces as one pulled out what looked like a cattle prod, charged and ready, the electricity could be seen flowing at the end, ready to burn who ever came in contact with it first.
He turned to look behind him only to see two more slavers closing in and Rogue face first in the shit. Skik was still up, fighting hard against the slaver facing him off.

Surrounded, and slightly out of breath, Caleb turned to face what was awaiting.

“You fight hard Blade, but it’s no use, just as it was for you brothers before they died.” The large man said stiffly.

00C- this might be a wiered place to stop but some one else can decide whats happens next. This could also be a good way for Reaper to come in as he is in the sewers. The slavers are trying to take us alive, so there is no problem with anyone dieing.
 
OOC: I tried to post hours ago but I couldn't access the server. I wrote a post in Word and was going to transfer it to the site when I could get in but Rogue psoted while I was locked out. I will have to change my post slightly or at least extend it.

I would appreciate no one posting IC for a few hours while I get my act together becuase this does seem like an ideal chance to involve my character.

Thanks guys.
 
No problem, it will still work if yu just accept a slight time lag in my post. The beginning includes the first slaver assault, which was a gun battle.

I'll just add an ending that picks the story up from where you left it.

Just a warning, the post will be pretty long but considering it is the actiony intro for my character I hope people will be okay with it.
 
The roar of gunfire echoed through the tunnels, hurting Gabriel’s sensitive hearing. Unprepared, he clapped his hands to his head, trying to block the amplified sound waves.
“Goddamnit!” he bellowed, the sound of his voice lost in the tumult of noise. As his eyes functioned better in the dark at the cost of his day vision, so did his superior hearing leave him vulnerable to unexpected loud noises.
Shaking his head, to clear the ringing, Gabriel rose from his defensive crouch and hurried forward, knowing he was needed up ahead.

He ran round a corner and beheld the carnage unfolding before him. Three figures were locked in combat. Gabriel recognised Caleb’s trademark hat. A hat only a true modern cowboy would wear, even underground. However, as he watched there was a lull in the fighting and the warriors slumped against the walls, obviously trying to catch their breath. The battle looked like it was going in favour of the good guy, so far, but from the way the weary fighters were preparing themselves, Gabriel deduced that they expected more company. At first he didn’t understand why they held their ground and didn’t fallback up the tunnel toward the water treatment facility and escape. Then his sharp eyes spotted the downed man, lying unmoving in the sewage. They weren’t going to leave without him, he realised.

Glancing around, Gabriel searched for a better way to help them than wading in and merely adding another warrior to their poor defensive position.
The tunnel crossroads Caleb and his friends were defending left him open to attack from three sides, if only there was a way to cut some of them off, it would allow the defenders to combine their forces.
His unnatural night-vision allowed him to catch sight of the access panel. The others had missed it, lacking his eyesight, and passed it by. Gabriel raced forward, ripped the metal hatch open and climbed into the small shaft.

Worming his way through darkness so black, even his eyes couldn’t penetrate the gloom, Gabriel heard the angry whispers of unfamiliar voices,
“We can’t rush them again. That crazy ghoul fried our boys with his fucking ray-gun.” There was some mumbled assent from two others.
“The cowboy…”
“…blasted before they got anywhere close.”
“Yeah, never had a chance.”
Another, sterner voice silenced the fearful comments,
“Shut the fuck up! We got our orders. Alive. That’s how these bastards are coming with us. Is that clear?” Again there was mumbled assent but even less enthusiastic.
Gabriel searched the narrow shaft for an exit, finding a vent grill ten feet further down the tunnel, behind the arguing slavers.

Perfect. An evil smile played across the black-clad stalker’s face as he crawled forward.

The grill splashed into the murky liquid covering the sewer floor as Gabriel rolled from cover, reaching the concealment of a pile of refuse before the single electric torch could be swung to face the open shaft. The beam of light flicked between the shaft entrance and the grill, resting in the water.
“What was that?”
“Fuck, it’s one of them huge rats.” Cursed a burly slaver as retreated further into the shadows, choosing not to remember that rats could see in the dark.
Gabriel left the filth-covered floor silently as he leapt up, easily catching hold of a pipe running the length of the tunnel.
He could see the slavers looking at the surrounding gloom, their guns flicking out like the tongue of a snake tasting the air, all of them desperate to see in the darkness. These men, in their natural environment could be dangerous, down here though, compared to the assassin hanging above them, they were blind, helpless beasts, simply awaiting slaughter.

Hooking his legs around the pipe and drawing his 18” Panga from its oiled sheath, Gabriel swung his body down, slicing the honed blade through the neck of the slaver holding the torch. The man gurgled a scream as his blood fountained across the tunnel, covering his comrades and only adding to their panic. As the torch dropped into the water the light flickered and died, taking away the tiny hope the slavers had.

Plunged into pitch darkness the slavers screamed in fear. Gabriel dropped to the floor with a splash but before any of the slavers reacted he swung the deadly panga, decapitating the nearest man. The blade continued its singing arc, connecting with the penultimate slaver’s arm just as he was bringing up his revolver, severing his gun hand above the wrist.

The man screamed in pain for a second, before Gabriel chopped the blade of his hand across his throat, destroying his voice box, silencing the man and crushing his windpipe, condemning him to die of asphyxiation.

The last man got off one wild shot, which missed his killer by several yards. All it achieved was to illuminate the last thing he would ever see. The vision of a young face with eyes of blue ice staring back into his own, burned into the slaver’s mind as the heavy cleaver opened him up from groin to throat.

As the last man’s death rattle echoed in the dark tunnel, Gabriel wiped his blade clean on the body before re-sheathing it on his left hip.

It should buy the others a little time to prepare themselves for the coming assault and four less assailants would make some difference to Caleb and his comrades.

Taking the route the slavers would have used to attack, he crept stealthily forward, towards his new allies, knowing his skills would keep him safe from them mistakenly firing on him. They must have been good to fight off a slaver attack in the sewers but no one detected Gabriel Wolf unless he wanted them to.

Continuing towards the others Gabriel thought he caught sight of more men but the shadowy figures rounded a corner and disappeared from his field of view.

Hell, I was too late. I should have just charged in to help. It must be too much training for stealth and surprise. I’ve lost the old Slayer frontal-assault mentality.
Running to catch up with the slavers the sounds of hand-to-hand combat reached him and he cursed himself again. If there was one place Gabriel new he was useful, it was in the thick of melee. With a blade in his hand he was near unstoppable.

Reaching the corner he saw the damage his circuitous tactics had done. Another defender was down at the mouth of his own tunnel, a ghoul was wrestling with a heavily muscled slaver across the intersection and Caleb was squaring up to two big men with glowing rods, cattle-prods, Gabriel realised. Two more were coming up behind the Blade, moving away from the body of the downed defender nearest the approaching assassin. Damn it, thought Gabriel. He knew these men were those he had spotted a few seconds ago. At least one was down already.

Despite his momentary misgivings about his stealthy approach, Gabriel knew how useful the element of surprise would be now. The slavers were not expecting another killer to emerge from a tunnel, especially not one they had come through moments before.

Stealth and surprise parted company as Gabriel stood and charged, bellowing a merciless battle cry. It achieved the desired effect. The two men advancing behind Caleb turned to look down the dark passage. A second later a leaf-bladed throwing knife lodged itself in the eye-socket of one slaver and another slammed into the throat of his companion.

The defenders didn’t waste the opportunity Gabriel had given them.

Caleb whirled back to his adversaries and lunged forward, grabbing the wrist of the nearest attacker and pulling him toward him. The other slaver swung his weapon at the surprisingly quick Blade. Holding the cattle prod away from him, Caleb dragged his prisoner into his comrade’s attack arc and let go just before the electrical current sent the poor slaver body shield into spasm. A look of shock appeared on the vertical slaver before Caleb’s fist smashed his face to pulp.

The ghoul had more trouble at first but the slaver’s lapse in concentration gave him the chance to ram his elbow into his opponent’s ribs and push the slaver off him. Rolling to the side, the ghoul made good his escape and turned to face the angry slaver but a black-gloved hand snaked round from behind the advancing slaver and yanked his head back, exposing the throat. A long bowie knife flashed across the man’s neck and blood sprayed up to the tunnel ceiling as his carotid artery was opened.

The hand let go and the body slumped into the waste, revealing the assassin standing behind the fallen corpse.

“You two help her.” Gabriel pointed at the woman lying against he wall. “I’ll take him.” He crouched and hoisted Grim onto his broad shoulders, grunting with the effort. The man was heavier than he looked. “We have to move, now.” Gabriel commanded, knowing it wasn’t really his place but not caring about anything apart from getting out of this godforsaken sewer with Caleb alive.
 
OOC- Here’s a new NPC introduction. Don’t get to interested, though. I don’t think this boy will be living long.

IC-

Sergeant Neil Andrasta pulled his tweed coat through his bulky forearms and tugged on a cord tie around his bull neck as he left his humble apartments. It was still dark out and the fire, though partly quelled, was still raging. Tabis was an unwelcome sight for sore eyes.

It was the middle of the night and Neil looked absolutely exhausted. His modest tweed suit was wrinkled and disheveled, thrown on at the last minute. Heavy bags hung underneath Neil’s eyes and coarse stubble lined his chin and cheeks. It looked like the giant man hadn’t rested in days, which was almost true.

The heavyset sergeant made his way to the police station in the district quarters of Tabis. Throngs of local residents, dressed in bedclothes, were still hauling buckets of water to the fire. Neil would have stopped to help them, honestly he would. But his first and primary duty was as a cop, not a fire fighter. Besides, the people had it under control.

Something buzzed underneath Neil’s coat and he brought out a radio from the folds of his pocket. The radio was an ugly looking thing, painted a dark green around its bulky frame with an ugly mesh of grating over the mouthpiece. But it was military surplus, what could you expect?

Still on the move, the cop depressed the radio’s TALK button with revulsion. “This is Andrasta,” he barked, yelling over the roaring fires in the background.

“Ah, Blue Boy One, this is Base,” buzzed an officious voice from the radio’s speaker. “Please acknowledge, over.”

Neil pushed through a group of bucket-bearing citizens, partly spilling some of the contents. The water splashed over his already dingy loafers and the citizens shouted in protest. Closing his eyes, Neil pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back a roaring migraine.

“Fuck it, Paul!” he roared back into the radio. “Just cause half the town’s burning down, doesn’t mean you have to wake me up at this hour. Christ, when’s this town gunna get a fucking fire department? Feels like we’re living in the fucking stone age!” A few of the town’s younger residents gaped at Neil’s obscenities but he only glared back and moved on.

“Ah, Blue Boy One, please respond with protocol when under radio communications. Base, over,” added the voice of Paul after a few moments. Neil could just imagine a smile budding on Paul’s face.

“Cut that bullshit, Paul. It’s too goddamn late for all that bureaucracy. Hell, I don’t even understand half that lingo.” Neil entered the district quarters where most of the homes were still sleeping comfortably. The streets were empty and there weren’t any residents rushing around. The fires in the slums seemed far away in the district quarters.

“Alright, alright,” came Paul’s voice, now sounding more human and less droning. “Cutting the bureaucracy bullshit lingo, Neil. As of right now, this station is unofficially under free radio. Viva la revolucion! Accione a la gente!”

“Ha-ha-ha,” spat Neil humorlessly. “You’re a regular DJ, Paul. Maybe you could turn tables when you’re not so busy thinking up of crappy cop terms. Why the hell am I ‘Blue Boy One’? Whose the genius that thought that up?”

“I am. And you’re ‘Blue Boy’ cause you’re a cop and because of the blue uniform.”

Neil felt the migraine budding. He shook his head in a why-me gesture. “But we don’t have uniforms, genius. That’s gotta be the dumbest explanation I’ve heard.”

“Hey!” came Paul’s mildly offended voice. “It’s the principal that counts, man.”

“Oh, yeah? So what does the ‘One’ stand for, genius?” Neil grinned, waiting for the reply.

“That? Why, that’s because you’re number one in this department.”

Neil clicked his tongue skeptically. “Uh-huh. You know, I already filled out your promotion recommendation form so how about you quit the brown nosing and tell me the real reason?”

“Oh you did? In that case, you got the ‘One’ because that’s the number that showed up when I rolled the dice. Congratulations.”

Neil laughed. “Thanks. I’d like to thank the Academy and all my peers for this admirable award. Without them, I wouldn’t be an aging cop dying of ulcers.”

“Hell,” chided Paul, “you should really thank Lady Luck for making that dice roll up on the one.”

“Ah, Lady Luck’s a cheap two-cent whore. I’m thanking the dice instead.”

“Amen, brother,” said Paul, laughing in the background.

Neil was huffing now. The police station was just a few blocks away from his home but, goddammit, he wasn’t getting younger. The migraine wasn’t helping a bit, either.

Still catching his breath, Neil huffed into the radio, “So was there a reason for waking me up this late, Paul? Because if this is just another way to annoy me, I’m gunna be really pissed.”

“Yeah, I have a reason,” buzzed Paul. “Being annoying was just an added bonus. The chief says he’s got an important job for you.”

Neil could see the fluorescent lights of the police station just ahead. “Could you be a bit more specific? Important as in a drug bust or important as making today’s coffee?”

“Sorry, Blue Boy One, the chief didn’t elaborate. All he said was to get your butt over here. So how about you haul some ass and mosey on down here?”

Neil gasped as he reached the footsteps of the station. “I’m here,” he wheezed into the radio.

“You are?” came Paul’s surprised voice. “Than why the hell have you been blabbing away on this damned thing? Christ, waste me time…” Paul’s voice trailed on before the radio was filled with static, the transmission shutting off on his end.

Neil returned the radio into the folds of his coat. He caught his breath before entering the station. Then, he walked in with a little dignity befit his age and station.

The station was filled with familiar smells of coffee and ink. A dozen “blue boys” were still in their desks, working the graveyard shift. Neil walked into the bullpen where all the desks were. On top of his desk waited a big heaping serving of paper work. Neil pushed aside the portfolios of paper and was just about to sit down when a shadow fell on top of him. He looked up, a grimace on his face.

“Adrasta!” shouted Chief Wachowski. “Where the hell have you been?” The balding, older man set his pudgy fists on his hips.

Neil stood up, towering over the shorter man. “Sorry chief. I overslept,” he said weakly. “My fault, really.”

“Damn right it’s your fault! We needed you hours ago!” The chief grabbed Neil by the arm and started guiding him to the lower tier of the station.

“What’s up, chief?” Neil asked as Chief Wachowski led him, still tugging on his arm, to the holding cells of the station. A few of his fellow “blue boys” exchanged knowing glances with Neil as they passed by. Neil only shrugged helplessly.

The chief stopped in front of a maximum-security safe room. A bulletproof glass window and a reinforced steel door allowed any possible entrance. This was where the police of Tabis kept the more unruly offenders.

Wachowski placed his hands on Neil’s shoulder. The police chief looked from the holding cell back to his top cop. Neil could see the haggard and worn out expression on his boss’s face.

“We got a problem,” said Wachowski, leaning in close to Neil to show the gravity of the situation. “Some bad shit has been happening around Tabis, lately. You, of all people, should know that.”

Neil, who had worked countless hours scouring the town for raiders and a mysterious Blade, only nodded. Yes, the last few weeks had really been hell.

“Well, it seems like we’re not out of the woods just yet. Hell, I think I’m in way over my head.” Wachowski shook his head, frantically pacing back and forth in front of the door. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. They should have made you chief instead of me, Neil.”

“Aw, Frank,” said Neil. “You’re the right man for this job. I belong on the streets, breaking a few bones, not here pushing around paper work. Besides, you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid, but I wish I had your faith. Tabis is gunna go down just like the Titanic, Neil, unless we can alter the course. That’s your job, Neil. I’m trusting you to bail our heads out of this mess cause you’re the only man who can. As for me, well, I’m here to make sure there are enough lifeboats just in case this ship does sink. You following me?”

Neil nodded. He had always been the muscle of the department. Frank Wachowski, on the other hand, was more of a diplomat, saving lives his own way. The two made an excellent team.

“So what’s the problem?” asked Neil.

Wachowski sighed. He gestured towards the viewing window of the room and said, “That’s our problem, Neil.”

Neil looked in the room and saw that Frank was pointing to a poorly dressed man sitting on a chair in the center of the room, the only piece of furniture.

Neil laughed, surprised beyond measure. “You’re telling me that this piece of meat is all of Tabis’ trouble?”

“Not him, exactly, but what he stands for. He’s just one of an entire infestation.”

“I don’t follow you, Frank,” said Neil, furrowing his brows.

Chief Wachowski sighed. “Neil, he’s a slaver. We got an entire fucking army of slavers in our town.”

Shit! thought Neil. The cop turned back to the window and stared at the listless slaver in the room, fully understanding the problems he would cause for Tabis.

“Shit!” cursed Neil out loud.

Wachowski nodded. “I know what you mean.”

Neil sighed, taking another look at the slaver who represented a great evil to his town. The raiders were bad enough but the slavers were worse. At least with the raiders, you were dealing with at least some form of humanity. These slavers were just scum. For you could never trust men who regarded you as a piece of merchandise. An entire army of slavers in town could only mean one thing: filling up the slave pens with the townspeople of Tabis.

Neil rolled up the sleeves of his faded tweed jacket, revealing massive forearms. He turned to Frank Wachowski, his brother in arms. “We gotta get some information. So let’s crack this nut.”

The tired cop opened the door of the holding cell, ready to get some facts. Through any means necessary.

OOC- I don't know exactly what I have here but Neil Andrasta will be an interesting piece of sideline plot, possibly helping the main group in fighting off the slavers.
 
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