Welcome Guest
[Log In]
[Register]
| Welcome to The Wastes. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Dragged Away Cold; Hagan's Solo Adventure (SOLO RP) | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 22 2009, 02:02 AM (279 Views) | |
| Munk | Aug 22 2009, 02:02 AM Post #1 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
(OOC:This occurs before the caravan topic.) The sun burned fiercely over the wasteland, baking the landscape. The air was hot and dry and it sent dust and dirt skittering through the old ruins and empty fields. It was high-noon and Hagan had set himself behind a stand of rocks, watching over the area with a pair of binoculars. One lens was broke but that didn’t matter much, they still worked and in the wasteland that’s what mattered. It was times like this he wished he was human again. At least humans had sweat glands, ghoul’s sweat glands shrivel and die when they change, so the body has no way to dissipate the heat from the skin, besides panting like a damn dog. Even with his ball cap covering his head it felt like an oven out here. Hagan didn’t want to move too much, afraid of spooking any animals that might be around. He made one more search of the area and decided he was alone, so he took off his light leather jacket and lay it down on an old TV that was lying on it’s side beside him. The heat was tolerable now and after taking a swig of Vodka from his flask he watched the area with a renewed vigor. He had it all set up, four landmark at four different distances. He had walked to each landmark and counted the steps A large rock at 13 paces, a rusty mailbox at 26 paces, the rotting Brahmin corpse, 33 paces and the skeleton of the owner of the rotting Brahmin at 45 Paces. Hagan drew up the formula in his head. His standard Buckshot would shoot accurate till about 20 paces so he’d have wait until the target got between the mailbox and rock to fire. And his last Slug round would shoot for about 40 paces so wait for the skeleton and Brahmin corpse. Two long hours passed and Hagan was losing focus. He had tossed his jacket on the ground and was now sitting on the TV, hoping to God it wouldn’t break and fill his ass with glass shards. He was bored and was prepared to pack up shop and head home, when he heard at faint chewing noise. He peeked his head over the rocks and saw that a scrawny dog was feeding on the Brahmin corpse. Even Yao-Guai wouldn’t eat rotten Brahmin meat so this dog must have been plenty desperate. A dog like that wouldn’t move easy. It had food now, horrible food but still food. Maybe an easier fresher meal, like another dog would attract it. Hagan put his hand to his mouth and did his best impression of a dog giving birth. Not easy with a ghouls voice-box. Nonetheless, the dog turned its head and perked his ears, Hagan made the sound again and the dog started moving closer. His choice of call may have seemed odd to some people, but to him it made perfect sense, a dog giving birth is in a severely weakened state, so these sick and old dogs would often seek out these female dogs and eat the puppies right out of the mother’s stomach while the mother was too weak to defend herself. Hagan’s seen it twice before. Now that the dog had past the mailbox Hagan readied his shotgun. He put the dog’s head in the bead sights and set his finger on the trigger. The dog approached the rock and Hagan began to pull back on the trigger, he readied himself for the heavy kick of his shotgun. He pulled the trigger a little more and braced his arm. A pain erupted in the back of his head, and he fell forward busting his mouth on the rocks. His ears were ringing and the world seemed fuzzy. He could barely make out any sounds, a yelping noise, the sound of feet and a large bell ringing in his head. His brain swam and he heard brief fragments of speech, one voice heavily accented. “He dead?” one asked “Idiots!” “Boss said alive!” Said the accented one “Wait.” another voice called “Just knocked out.” spoke the first voice again That was the last thing Hagan heard before the world around him swirled into darkness. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 22 2009, 03:37 PM Post #2 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
(OOC: Second post. Might be a long story) When Hagan came to, he was wedged uncomfortably into a moving wheelbarrow. His arms were tied behind his back and his legs were fastened at the knees and ankles. He looked around. Two guards walked beside the barrow, one on each side, both heavily armed. He couldn’t see who was pushing the wheelbarrow but they had to be strong. He tried to speak to them his mouth was bound as well. The clouds drifted overhead and the shaking of the barrow had become monotonous, his legs were asleep again. For the past half- hour Hagan had been working to free his arms from the ropes. He was almost finished, when wheel barrow suddenly dropped and gunfire sparked the air. One of the guards shouted, “Fuck, kill that thing!” The other one let out a yell of pain and Hagan saw him fall to the ground in convulsions, close to the wheel barrow. Seeing an opportunity Hagan rocked side to side until he had tipped the wheelbarrow over. He used a sharp rock to cut the rope from his hands, and crawled with his legs still tied to the guard who was still convulsing. He drew close and saw what had killed the man, a large gaping wound near his shoulder which was spewing white foam. He’d seen that wound before. Gunfire still busting behind him he reached over and took the Chinese pistol from the guards cold dead fingers. He noticed something shimmering in the dead man's boot and he took that too, a glass shard made into small shank. He put the shank behind his back in his belt and turned fast. His suspicions were right, he saw a radscorpion was chasing the two others around while they emptied their clips into it’s back. Hagan fired one shot toward the scorpion and it charged him. He shot four times into the area right between the beast’s massive claws. It worked. The scorpion stopped and fell limply to the ground, four bullets to the face would kill pretty much anything. A radscorpion’s back was almost bullet-proof but their faces were still soft and squishy. Make one hell of an armor, Hagan thought briefly. “Put the gun down!” A voice called to him “Fuck you!” He replied and fired two bullets and the guards who had taken shelter behind the wheelbarrow. “We can still kill you, bastard!” The voice shouted from safety. Hagan responded with three shots toward the barrow. He pulled the trigger again. “CLICK” “Shit!” Hagan thought. He tried to fire again. No chance, he was out of ammo. The two men behind the wheelbarrow chuckled and stood up. They calmly walked toward Hagan. “No good without ammo.” Said the accented one now clearly Russian. “I can still find use for it.” Hagan quipped, and chucked the pistol full-force at the Russian’s head. The Russian staggered back clutching his face. He cursed and gave Hagan a wicked uppercut. Hagan laughed as the world once again faded away from him. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 22 2009, 06:06 PM Post #3 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
This time he woke up in a large pen. It was chain-link fence about ten feet high with barbed wire threaded through the links and rolled at the top. Hagan was glad to see his legs were un-tied so he stood up and spit out two teeth. That Russian hit like a girl, a huge girl on buffout who lifted Brahmin for a warm-ups. but still a girl. He started to take in his surroundings. The pen was rather very large and there was a scrap metal shack built in one corner. An armed guard stood outside sitting at an old picnic table, sipping whiskey from a coffee mug and smoking a cigarette. It was only now that Hagan realized a crowd of 8 people were gathered against the north wall. He approached them. “Hello, where are we?” He asked a women nonchalantly. She ignored him so he asked the thin man next to her. The man was rather abrupt with his answer, “Get away from us, Zombie.” And he lightly shoved Hagan. Hagan came back swinging, and landed a left hook on the skinny man’s cheek. Skinny stumbled and kicked forward into Hagan’s gut. Skinny tackled Hagan and the fight went to the ground. Skinny was on top first, then Hagan rolled onto him. Hagan rained down punches like lightning strikes, and skinny’s face was quickly becoming nothing more than a bloody lump of flesh and teeth. A single gunshot broke the music of fist and flesh, and the guard was pounding the butt of his rifle against the chain link fence. “Knock it off!”, he shouted, “You’re no good to us dead!” Hagan hit the man again, as a little gift goodbye. Knowing he wouldn’t get a clear answer from the bigots, but smart enough to see things for what they were Hagan guessed he had been taken by slavers, He sat down on a bench near the fire pit and watched the guard closely seeing if he had a certain patrol or schedule. At night-fall the guards switched off and exhaustion finally hit Hagan. He’d have to sleep soon, being unconscious wasn’t very relaxing. He noticed the bigots had headed inside the scrap metal shack, and assumed it must have been the sleep quarters. He walked towards the crappy shack and was angered when he got there. A handwritten cardboard sign had been nailed to the door. It read “NO ZOMBIES ALLOWED” in big black letters. “Or what?” He asked out loud. A deep voice replied from inside the house, “Or we’ll beat you to death, Shuffler.” Hagan kicked the door, and was surprised when it wouldn’t give. The cowards must have barred it from inside. He banged on it more but stopped when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned quickly ready to fight again, fists raised, and body loose. The young black-haired girl flinched back, afraid of being hit. Hagan relaxed and told the girl not to worry. She straightened her stance and introduced her self as Lakota. She was probably 19-20 years old and wore a long burlap sack as a dress. Her entire left arm was covered in dirty bandages. “What? You got something to say?” Hagan asked annoyed, expecting an insult. “No, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve got a spare mattress around back. You could sleep there.” “Thanks anyway , but I don’t need your pity.” and he waved her off, still expecting some kind of trick. “Then at least take the mattress, you don’t have to sleep near me.” “ I said go away.” “Fine!” She huffed and stomped off. The moon was high and Hagan began to nod off. The guard was alert which probably meant this place had a permanent night staff, whom slept during the day. That would make escape troublesome. He almost fell off the bench from exhaustion and tried the door to the shack again. Wouldn’t budge. Feeling drowsy and desperate he trudged around the back of the shack. Lakota was asleep, thank god, the last thing he needed now was an “I told you so“. Hagan laid on the other mattress and drifted to sleep under a shimmering moon. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 22 2009, 08:38 PM Post #4 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Morning rose over the slaver camp and Hagan received a rude awakening. A slaver had dumped a bucket off water on him. “Get up! Time for work!” Hagan shuffled in a single file line with the others. They were under the guards constant watch. Hagan’s job was to help build an additional wall to the outer camp. He pretended to work hard but realized every extra wall will make his escape harder. He worked alone, until Lakota stepped beside him. She was holding a tray which had three glasses of dingy yellow water on it. She offered him one. “This is what they make you do?” he asked her “Yeah, I’m not strong enough to build the wall. They think you are though. Mr. Big Man” Hagan took a sip of water and spit it out. “What is this stuff?” “Water.” Lakota seemed used to answering this question. “Its just dirty. That’s all.” “Well it looks like piss and tastes even worse.” She giggled. “You’ve tasted piss?” A slaver stopped the conversation before Hagan could respond. “Move it you two!” He shoved Lakota forward, spilling the water glasses on her burlap dress. “Hey! Don’t shove her, you cowardly bastard!” Hagan angrily yelled and got into the slaver’s face. The slaver shoved Hagan back. It was too much. Hagan grabbed the claw hammer he was building the wall with and swung it at the slaver. The slaver caught it on the nose. His nose snapped and bent sideways. Hagan spun the hammer in his hand to the claw end. He buried the claw into the slavers neck and yanked it out, taking a large chunk of flesh with it. The slaver grasped his neck. Hagan ripped one of the slaver’s hand away and placed it on a flat chunk of metal. Hagan raised the hammer again and brought it down with a resounding bang, breaking the slavers hand and fingers. The slaver gasped and looked at his fingers before his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground with a thump. Three slavers jumped onto Hagan. He struggled but being hit twice in the head will make anyone weak. They put a bag over his head and beat him within an inch of his life. It was only now that he heard Lakota screaming. A slaver stomped his head and he was deaf again. He could speak in only curse words, taunting the slavers making them beat him harder. The beating abruptly stopped and Hagan’s ears recovered long enough to hear The Russian speaking again. He was still blind from the bag. “Who is that!?” The Russian demanded “The zombie from yesterday. The hunter.” another voice said sounding terrified. “And he killed Marlo?” “Yeah, with his building hammer.” “You idiots! This is your fault! Giving a new slave a hammer! One brief gunshot and another thump. “See what you made me do? Now there are two dead bodies! Twice the work! Idiots!” The Russian shouted. Hagan wondered who the Russian had shot. Lakota? Maybe. He didn’t hear her anymore. He didn’t want her to die. She was nice, too young and too pretty to die right now. The Russian spoke again, “You two! Take this brain-eating bastard back to the pen!” A new voice added more tension, “You’re not going to kill him?” “No“, the Russian chuckled, “Bertha’s been looking mighty hungry lately.” The other slavers laughed and Hagan was shoved back toward the pen with the heavy cloth bag still covering his head. He felt like he was walking to his own funeral. Hell, maybe he was. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 23 2009, 12:53 AM Post #5 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Night fell again and the bigots were back. Hagan had started a fire using some scrap wood and sat silently watching the guards again. He still didn’t see Lakota and was sure his assumption was correct. That Russian bastard had shot her. No time for grieving, he still had to escape. Even so Hagan still- “Missed me?” Hagan bounded up to hug Lakota, who was now standing in front of him. Then decided against it. He composed himself and sat back down. She sat beside him. They were silent for many awkward minutes, before Lakota broke the tense air. “I heard what happened. You gotta face Bertha tomorrow, huh?” “Who is that anyway?” Hagan asked “Bertha? She’s not so much a who, but more of a what. She’s this huge dog. The boss found her when she was a puppy. Raised her to be vicious, and goddamn, she is big. Easily over a hundred pounds. They feed her old slaves and new slaves who cause trouble. I guess you’re the former.” Lakota said, then she looked at the ground. Apparently realizing her comment had helped Hagan’s stress “I think I could take her. I’ve killed dogs before.” Hagan replied with no small amount of confidence. “None like Bertha, I guarantee. She tough as nails and twice as mean. Besides you wont do much good after they cook you.” “Cook me?” “Yeah, Bertha likes her meat cooked, so they strip you naked and tie you to a metal chair. Then they build a fire underneath it. They wait for the chair to heat up and when you’re nice and crispy they throw you to Bertha. You’re still alive when she starts to eat you of course.” Had Hagan heard that from someone else he would have dismissed as mere scare tactics. But he saw no lies in Lakota’s face. She was serious and he had to escape tonight. Maybe Lakota would come with him. He’d have to make sure she wouldn’t rat him out to the guards. “Can I ask a question, Lakota? Hagan asked. “Anything.” she answered “Why are you so nice to me? And why do you sleep outside the shack?” Lakota sighed heavily , “I knew you’d ask eventually.” She sighed again and started to remove the bandages from her left arm. When she finished removing them she said quietly and despairingly, “I’m like you. See?” She removed her arm from the shadows and into the light of the fire. It was green-blue and decrepit. The skin was flaking off and her ulna bone was visible. Her left arm was ghouliefied and soon her whole body would be. Sad, he thought. She is going to lose all that pretty hair. “My own family won’t even associate with me anymore.” She ended. “Then come with me. I’m escaping tonight.” “How?” Hope sparkled in Lakota’s eyes. “Every night, the late-shift guard takes a piss around 2 am. When he does I’ll climb the fence and murder him. I’ll take his key and weapon and let you out, then we’ll sneak out of camp together. I may be able to remember my way through the camp, even though I was blindfolded most of the time.” Hagan explained. Lakota sat silent for a minute before asking “Two questions. One: how you gonna climb the fence? It’s covered in barbed wire. And two: how will you kill that guard. You’ve got no weapons.” Hagan explained a little further. “To climb the fence I’m going to tear two strips of thick denim from my jeans, wrap them around my hands and climb as fast as I can. As for the weapon look over, there on the other side of the fence.” Lakota looked and spied a thick piece of rebar about seven inches long. “I figure that’ll make a decent club for now. Then I’ll have a real weapon and the key.” Hagan finished. “But what about the others? They’ll still be here.” “They’re bigots. They want us gone so we’ll leave.” Hagan grinned. Lakota seemed to ponder this and was troubled with leaving the others behind. She mulled it over many times in her head. Hagan was getting impatient. “Well?” he asked annoyed “Okay, I’m in.” She lit up with hope and confidence and smiled real big. “When do we break out.” Hagan looked toward the guards position and saw he was gone. “Now.” He half-whispered and started his escape. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 23 2009, 03:19 AM Post #6 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Tearing the denim was no problem, and he quickly scaled the fence. Dropping onto the other side he landed on something. The lid to a metal box, and his weight landing on it caused it to bend and make a noise as if it were calling for mercy. “What the fuck was that?” a man said from around the corner. The slaver had heard Hagan land on the box lid and was coming to investigate. Hagan quickly grabbed the rebar and hid in the dense shadows. The slaver was a large man, bald headed with a nicely trimmed goatee. He walked with his gun out and ready, searching carefully. Lakota looked toward the shadow where Hagan was hiding and acted on instinct. “It was me.” she shouted toward the slaver, risking her own skin. “I stepped on something. Clumsy me.” Lakota shrugged her shoulders and giggled nervously. Goatee man tossed Lakota a dirty look and called her a dumb bitch. Hagan would make sure he paid for that. The slaver turned his back and Hagan made his move. Moving silently Hagan closed in on Goatee and bashed the slaver’s right hand from behind. He dropped the gun and let out a yelp of pain. Hagan fixed that by stepping in front of him and bashing his mouth twice. In pain and now on his knees, Goatee looked up in time to see Hagan bring the rebar down onto his head. It split the skull with a horrible cracking noise and blood leaked from the slaver’s eyes, ears and nose. Sure now that the slaver was dead, Hagan looted her body. A key and ten shells were the only things in the slaver's pocket. He turned his attenion to the gun he had dropped from the slaver’s hand earlier.” It couldn’t be..” He said out loud. It was. The gun the slaver had been carrying was Hagan’s shotgun, he could tell the rusted texture and dusty wood stock anyway. He pondered the coincidence for a second before Lakota snapped him back to reality. “Hello? Let me out now, please.” He asked sweetly from inside the pen. Hagan took the key and obliged her. After Lakota had gotten through the gate, he shut and locked the pen again. “No mercy for bigots.” he thought. The camp was dark and filled with corners. Hagan was sure he knew way out if he could remember it. Shit! “Okay, it was left, right, right, straight, left.” He told Lakota. “Are you sure?” she asked “No.” They both stood for a minute exchanging unsure looks. “Wait I got an idea.” she exclaimed. “What?” “Well, you said you were blindfolded right? A bag over your head?” “Hagan nodded “What if we blindfolded you again?!” She was too happy about this plan. “I don’t kn-” Hagan didn’t finish before Lakota turned him around and put a piece of cloth over his eyes. He was going to object before he realized that Lakota’s plan was working. The path was clear to him again and he could find his way back to the front gate. “Okay this is crazy , but let’s try it. If you see a slaver push me and yourself into some shadows and wait ‘till they move.” “Gotcha.” she responded and they started walking, Hagan giving instructions to Lakota on which way to lead him. “Left, right, straight,” Lakota didn’t push him as much as shove Hagan into the shadows. She whispered something in his ear about a slaver and Hagan stayed quiet. Many tense moments passed before she took him back out of the darkness. Hagan gave her more instructions and soon she announced they were at the front gate. Hagan took of the blindfold and looked around. Two guards stood outside guarding the entrance way. “How do we get past them?” Lakota queried. “Good question.” Hagan responded. Couldn’t shoot them, too much noise. Couldn’t take them on hand to hand, he was still a little woozy. Had to distract them somehow. He took view of his surrounding and not seeing anything else, threw a bent tin can over the seven foot high slave built wall. The guards looked at each other and headed off to see what the noise was. “Now. Go.” Hagan told Lakota grabbing her hand and dragging her out the gate and in the opposite direction of the guards. They were putting themselves at a distance between the slaver camp, and the sun was starting to rise. They stopped long enough to rest. Hagan didn’t like the idea but he felt sorry for Lakota. She talked and he listened and they had a grand old time. She had just pulled out a bag of potato crisps, she had stashed earlier during the escape when an unexpected thing happened. Lakota’s head exploded. A shower of blood and brain and bone covered Hagan. He heard the shot and sat wide eyed as Lakota’s body fell over into the dirt. He was too shocked to move and saw a silohette on the horision. Small because it was so far away, but Hagan knew who it was. The Russian, the bane of Hagan’s existence, and he was holding a sniper rifle. Hagan expected another shot and prepared for death, but to his surprise the silohette appeared to turn and walk away. Confused, Hagan stood up. He wondered why the Russian had left him alive. Looking at Lakota’s headless corpse the answer become obvious. He wanted Hagan to suffer. He didn’t want Hagan at the camp killing his men and raising trouble. But he couldn’t let him go completely free, either. So he hunted Hagan down and made sure that he lost something too. But Hagan couldn’t chase the Russian down, not with a break-open shotgun. Too sad to stay here, he picked up the bag of crisps, got his bearings and headed toward Bucket Town. Maybe he’d pass his old hunting spot on the way, see if that scrawny dog was still there. Putting the slaver camp and Lakota to his back, he hit the trails again. God, he needed a drink. |
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Munk | Aug 23 2009, 03:22 AM Post #7 |
![]()
One-Man Conga Line
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
((OOC: That was the last post. This RP is over and i'm ready for my grade. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ))
|
|
Andrew Hagan, Level 6, BTR: +40 Weapons:Switchblade (Concealed) Hunting Rifle (GC), 10mm Pistol (PC), Hunting Knife, Homemade Flamer (GC) Armor: Reinforced Leather Vest, Repaired Blue Jeans Currency: 2x Normal Hides, 1x Large Hides Tack Morgan, Level 3, BTR: -50 Weapons: "The Neurolizer" (Teir Two - Laser Rifle) Armor: Arena Denim (Teir One - GC) Currency: 0
| |
![]() |
|
| Zilabus | Aug 23 2009, 09:23 PM Post #8 |
|
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Very well done man. I especially liked the scene you painted with your first post. Really well done.
That was just enough for a level. Very good work. |
|
Eli "Slim" Ambrose SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7 Level: 5 Bucket town reputation: -175 Equipment Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes. Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket Inventory Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka 4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars Appearance Caucasian Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit. Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · In the Wastes · Next Topic » |
| Theme: Zeta Original | Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
4:59 PM Jul 10
|





![]](http://z1.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)


))
4:59 PM Jul 10