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| Caught in the Hunt; PM to join | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 27 2009, 07:52 AM (585 Views) | |
| Run4 | Aug 27 2009, 07:52 AM Post #1 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb walked slowly out of Bucket Town's ramshackle gates, wincing as his whole body was left tight and throbbing after the brawl with the gangsters. He'd never taken a beating like that in his life. Of course, he'd never beaten that many people into submission at once in his life before. Maybe he'd get better at it. He drew his new pistol, checking it over again, spinning it in his hand to check the weapon's balance. He re-holstered it and lumbered along on his way, wincing again as he stepped awkwardly on his injured leg. He shrugged it off and headed towards the nearest hunting ground he knew. Firstly, he was hungry, and didn't have any hides left to trade for grub in Bucket Town, and secondly, it got him the hell out of that town in case the Signbacks really had followed the caravan all the way from their home ground. It was a given that someone of Caleb's physical strength and fitness would be taken alive if at all possible. And being sold into slavery in these parts was comparable to dying a thousand times. As he walked and walked, Caleb began contemplating heading back to Bucket Town, giving a hand with the defences if the Signbacks showed their ugly faces. His stomach grumbled a little protest at that thought. Before long, Caleb heard the characteristic squeaks and screeches of Molerats killing and eating something smaller than them. Or bigger than them, if it was a particularly large pack of the overgrown vermin. Caleb crouched and half-crawled over the next dune. There, surrounding and tearing at the body of what Caleb assumed was once a human being, were a good half-dozen Molerats. Caleb fought off the urge to vomit at the sight of the beasts chowing down on some poor drifter this close to Bucket Town and salvation. He drew his 10mm Pistol and flicked off the safety. This would be the perfect time to test the new hardware. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Radiation King | Aug 27 2009, 08:53 AM Post #2 |
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
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Darrel stretched as he walked out of the abandoned flat he had been using since he arrived in town, working out the wrinkles of his "new" clothes. The first disguise he had stolen from that raider den- the one with the duty cap and jeans- turned out to be a lot lighter and more comfortable for more arid climates than his heavy duster and almost-all black clothes. He tied the jacket to the ensemble around his waste, adjusted the duty cap on his head and checked his carbine again. It occurred to him that he'd never actually fired tis particular rifle before. It wasn't that he had never fired a rifle in general, just that he wasn't a very good shot with almost any form of ranged weapon at all, at anything less than point blank range (see: Divergent Paths, No Junkies in Gerade's Town) and decided that he needed some practice. Chances were he was probably going to end up getting wrecked within the first few tries, run out of bullets and end up raiding another apartment complex or walled building where more nasties would await him. Hell, he had forgtotten about the grenade boquets wired to the tripwire in his hasty escape from the last raid and nearly brought the entire foyer down on his head, instead resolving to destabilize the first floor to the point where he could pull up the floorboards and jump down to the basement (not that he wanted to go back there). So he scratched his head, adjusted his new duty cap and looked at his haul from the last adventure while he headed for the gates. Dandy Boy Apples and Salisbury Steak; if he rationed the food he could make it last one, maybe two days. He had the same twenty-five .32 rounds he had earlier, plus his switchblade, lockpicking kit and his hand-to-hand combat skills. He figured he could more than handle- Thud. Darrel walked into what felt like a mountain, except mountains didn't smell like sweat and dried blood. Looking up, he noted a massive tribal, who stood two inches taller than him and seemed to be built a lot heavier. He recognized the guy from somewhere, if he thought back really hard- oh, right. He was from the auction, he'd bought a 10mm pistol. "You going out there?" Darrel's simple query was left open-ended, he decided to play it cool with the big tribal. He looked hurt, and angry about something. |
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Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3) Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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| Run4 | Aug 27 2009, 10:11 AM Post #3 |
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Iron Crow
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"Only one way to test a gun, far as I'm concerned, go out and shoot something with it. There're some Molerats over that rise there, just saw 'em chow down on some drifter. You plannin on testin that rifle any time soon? Could do with another gun out there. There's about six, maybe seven of the fuzzy pricks," Caleb said to this newcomer as he hefted him to his feet. Caleb spun the weapon around his hand again to emphasize that he was going out to shoot some vermin. Caleb checked over his other weapons as an afterthought as he walked back towards the pack of Molerats. For once, the bolt on his M60 worked smoothly. Sadly, moments like that were the exception, rather than the rule with the ancient weapon. And Caleb still couldn't fathom why there was a Semi-Automatic firing mode on it. He slung the weapon over his back again and pulled his club from its sling and turned it over in his hand. As he reminisced over the weapon, he almost wondered why he tried to barter it off. To get some better armour. That immediately quashed thoughts of not trading his old club away for an extended life expectancy. He snapped out of his thoughts as he realised he was leaving the other man in the dust. "Shit, sorry, my name's Caleb. Caleb Wolff. Hunter of the Kurgan Tribe," Caleb said, extending his hand to the stranger, stopping, wiping it in his jacket and then re-extending it to him. Caleb shook the man's hand and turned back towards the area where those Molerats were devouring the carcass. Caleb signalled for the other man to crouch as they crested the last dune before they reached the slavering pack, which was degenerating into a melee between the rats for the last morsels of meat on the bones. The drifter's effects were scattered around by the rats. From here, Caleb wasn't entirely sure what he'd been carrying, but then, it was covered in blood and strips of what had once been the man, or woman's clothing. Or skin. Caleb hoped it was the former. He looked back to the stranger, who seemed to be fairly intent on testing his new rifle on the Molerats. Caleb was wondering if the man knew how to use a carbine at first, but he seemed fairly competent. At least he wasn't checking for jams by staring down the barrel. Caleb picked out a Molerat from the crowd and took a careful aim at it's neck. Squeezing the trigger gradually, he let off a single hollow point shot, blasting out it's throat. It wheezed, no longer able to screech as it keeled over. Caleb smiled. These jacketless hollow points weren't great against armour, but God damn if they didn't work a charm against squishier targets. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Radiation King | Aug 27 2009, 02:30 PM Post #4 |
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
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"I'm Darrel Cohen, of the Cohen clan, the Pike." Darrel said in return to the big tribal's greeting. He didn't get to say much after that, because the Tribal had started firing with one of his numerous weapons. Darrel took a knee next to Caleb, like he had seen in the US Army Field Training Manuals he had stored at his safe-house, and looked down the barrel. He blinked, realizing that the sights actually weren't too different from the ones on his mini-revolver, and his aim was a bit steadier, despite the fact that he had removed the stock for better maneuverability indoors. Of course the skeleton stock originally installed on the weapon was laying on the table of the safe house, right next to the Field Training manuals. Oh well, no time to think about past mistakes. He pulled the charging hammer on the carbine, took careful aim at a mole-rat within range, and pulled the trigger. A few times, actually. In less than twelve seconds he had fired seven of the ten bullets in his magazine, missing four of the seven shots and the other three splatting into the mole rat, actually managing to kill it. Darrel fistpumped, taking aim at the next rat and firing a single, carefully-aimed shot right down its throat. It burst out the back of its head, breaking the rat's spine and causing it to flail spastically on the ground for a second before dying. |
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Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3) Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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| Twentyfists | Aug 27 2009, 02:47 PM Post #5 |
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Five Fingers of Fury
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A gentle wind was blowing as Caleb and Darrel engaged the mole rats in combat. Two of the mole rats, which before had been milling in confusion and alarm at the sound of gunfire, suddenly stuck their noses up and began sniffing the air. They smelled the smell of food. Far away, oblivious to the danger he was in, Judas Sanford walked amongst the dunes as he scavenged for hides and food. He didn't realize that his scent was being carried downwind and that mole rats were now trying to kill and eat him. Judas realized this in short order, however, when he crested the top of a dune and saw the furry slobbering creatures charging across the sand towards him. Judas swore and fumbled behind him. He cursed himself for his stupidity and beginner's mistake as he grasped his rifle. Judas made sure the weapon was loaded, then worked the lever on it and opened fire. His first shot was wide of the first mole rat, but grazed the second. Judas frantically worked the action and fired again, this time hitting the mole rat in the eye with a .32 caliber round. He would have cheered, but he still was in danger. He worked the action again, hoping he'd have enough time to take out this second mole rat before it closed distance with him and forced him to attack with his knife. |
![]() Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide. Current Condition--Normal. 4 kills. Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket. Current Condition--Just fine. 3 kills | |
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| Run4 | Aug 28 2009, 03:29 AM Post #6 |
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Iron Crow
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Unlike Darrel and Judas, Caleb was now having a spot of bother with one of his furry assailants. Whatever people said about these things being stupid, they had an animal cunning not to be underestimated. It had scurried off as if fleeing and then come charging up the flank just as Caleb moved to see what another two of the mutated rodents had gone after. And the damn Molerat had managed to get the drop on him. Embarassing for a hunter, to say the least. Swearing in between the grunts and snarls as he tried to keep the Molerat's slavering jaws away from his head and throat, Caleb reached for his gun, lying in the sand just beyond arm's length. Swearing again, Caleb kept a hold of the Molerat's snout with one hand and grabbed it's neck with the other. The Molerat bucked as Caleb's hand clamped onto it's throat with a vice-like grip. It almost freed itself, but Caleb rolled it off him and kicked it away. It had recovered and lunged back at him before he could get to his gun, so Caleb was forced to fight the enraged Molerat bare-handed again. Fending off the critter's claws with his now-bleeding arms, Caleb kicked at the Molerat's chest every time it went for a bite, keeping it's teeth at bay. Caleb shifted his weight left as the Molerat went right, and he landed a vicious kick to the side of its head. Before it could recover, Caleb had scrambled onto it's back, his powerful arms wrapped around it's neck. Using his momentum from diving on the critter, Caleb rolled it so that it was utterly helpless, it's claws limbs thrashing at empty space as Caleb crushed the life out of it. It hissed and gargled as Caleb tightened his grip, wrapping his legs around it's body to stop it from thrashing out of his chokehold. Eventually, the thrashing stopped. Caleb rolled the Molerat off himself and stood up slowly. His arms ached from holding the thing as it thrashed and heaved. They were numb, in spite of the myriad cuts and gashes all over his forearms from the Molerat's claws. His light leather bracers were little more than strips of tattered rawhide hanging from his wrists, so he tore them off. He could feel the knife-wound in his back ((O'Boyle on a Mission)) bleeding again, but not heavily. He could feel another cut on his chest where the Molerat had managed to sneak a claw past his guard, probably from when it jumped him. His left shoulder had suffered it's violent attentions too, Caleb noticed, as it was now bleeding. Ignoring his injuries for a second, Caleb picked up his 10mm pistol, noting that it would need a good clean after laying in the desert with a fight tossing up sand all over it. He cleared the breach and slide as best he could for now and holstered his pistol, unslinging his club from it's spot in the small of his back. He walked over to the still form of his erstwhile Molerat foe. He turned his club over in his grip and raised it. After muttering some vaguely insulting term, he brought the spike on the outer curve of the club down on the Molerat's head, splitting it's skull. He had to be sure. Caleb then crested a dune to see the stranger who had bought the rifle and asked about the traders firing said weapon at two Molerats, nailing one in the eyes. Caleb crouched, pulling his M60 from his back and flicking the safet off and setting the fire selector down to burst fire. Still couldn't fathom why anyone would put a semi-automatic firing mode on a GPMG. He sprayed a short burst towards the surviving Molerat, catching it's left foreleg and sending it tumbling head over ass down the dune, and out of Caleb's sight. He stood up, slinging his M60 and pulling his club out again, striding towards where the Molerat had fallen. Then he stopped for a second and looked around for where the hell he'd left Darrel. Realizing he had all but abandoned the man, Caleb gave short wave in the rifle-weilding stranger's direction before heading back to Darrel's last known location. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Radiation King | Aug 28 2009, 06:39 AM Post #7 |
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
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Darrel had just finished clearing a jam from his assault rifle as Caleb cleared off the last mole rat and had become kind of engrossed in the activity. When he finally popped the .32 round out of the chamber and the next one loaded just right, Darrel restrained a yelp of excitement, merely looked up at where the big tribal was gesturing. Gesturing and bleeding all over the place, painting the wasteland sand beneath his feet a nice bright red in color. The thief straightened his hat and set out up the dune after Caleb, reaching his position after a few mis-steps, stumbles and backwards falls- odd behavior for the "King of Catburglars", falling all over himself. He realized, at one point while climbing the dune, that this might have been considered an illegal activity two hundred something years ago. He realized at another that he didn't really give a damn; he was a thief anyways. He also realized, at some point, he had passed Caleb on the way up, stopped and allowed the tribal to catch up wish him. When he finally hit the top of the hill and saw what Caleb was looking at, he nodded. "That's Judas Sanford, if I'm looking at him right," the thief observed, "I worked with him for a bit while I was helping Gerade's campaign back in town." |
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Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3) Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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| Twentyfists | Aug 28 2009, 09:06 AM Post #8 |
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Five Fingers of Fury
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Judas was lucky. Very lucky. He'd been busy trying to get the action on his new rifle to work. He'd had that feeling that he was about to become rat food, because he still couldn't get the rifle to work properly, when a sudden three-shot burst off to his left punched into the mole rat and sent it tumbling down the dunes. Judas worked the action on his rifle, which click. Judas swore to himself. Yeah, NOW it works, he thought. Judas checked where the shot had come from, then grinned as he saw that tribal from earlier and what looked to be Darrel from the priest's office. Judas waved towards them and began closing the distance towards the two men, loosely cradling his now-functional rifle in his arms. |
![]() Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide. Current Condition--Normal. 4 kills. Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket. Current Condition--Just fine. 3 kills | |
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| Run4 | Aug 28 2009, 03:48 PM Post #9 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb looked up from the carcass of the drifter the Molerats had been eating, noting the stranger with the rifle from the auction running haphazardly over the last dune separating him from Darrel and Caleb. Without a word, Caleb grabbed the nearest Molerat and extended it's foreleg. He reconsidered trying to snap those bones for use as a makeshift knife and instead smashed it's overgrown teeth out of it's head and started hacking away at the carcass with them. Messy work, and those teeth, no matter how sharp, just didn't do the job as well as a knife. That messy work finally done, Caleb nodded to the rifleman as he approached himself and Darrel a little more slowly as he finished his near head-over-heals charge down the last dune. Caleb then went back to cutting the better cuts of meat off the Molerat's carcass. It reeked, but then, all Molerat meat did. His gory task accomplished, Caleb stood up slowly, ignoring the popping of his back from the chaos and violence of the past days and wiped his hand on his jerkin. Having done the best he could to get the blood off his hand, Caleb extended it to the stranger. "Caleb Wolff. Tribe Kurgan. And you might be?" Caleb queried of the stranger. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Twentyfists | Aug 28 2009, 04:02 PM Post #10 |
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Five Fingers of Fury
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"Caleb Wolff, Tribe Kurgan. And you might be?" The large tribal asked. Judas wasn't surprised that the large tribal didn't remember his name. Judas didn't expect him to. If the situations were reversed, Judas probably wouldn't either. Judas grabbed the tribals massive, bloody hand in a firm handshake and said, "Judas Sanford. We met at the auction? Fancy seeing you out here." Judas saw that the tribal was hacking away at one of the mole rat carcasses, although he was making a bloody mess of it due to the makeshift nature of the tool he was using. Judas drew his own knife, which would make a far better implement for skinning and hacking up the mole rats. "Mind if I help you with that?" he asked. Without waiting for a response, Judas bent down and began skillfully cutting the choice cuts of smelly meat out of the mole rat's grisly body. |
![]() Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide. Current Condition--Normal. 4 kills. Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket. Current Condition--Just fine. 3 kills | |
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| Radiation King | Aug 28 2009, 04:08 PM Post #11 |
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
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Darrel looked over at the slaughter that was now being enacted with Caleb and Judas. The thief had never butchered a mole-rat before, either stealing or buying his rations, so he figured he could pick up a valuable skill from these guys. Walking over to Judas, he watched the outdoorsman make his first few cuts, memorizing the patterns and motions required before extending his switchblade and picking a more intact mole-rat to butcher. Carefully slipping his knife into the portion Judas had slipped his knife into on the other rat, the thief found the gutting, butchering and skinning easier going than he would have thought it to be. So he decided to talk and work at the same time. "So, Caleb," he said off-handedly, "you said you were from Tribe Kurgan. I haven't heard of them around these parts, where're they from originally?" |
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Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3) Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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| Run4 | Aug 29 2009, 04:34 AM Post #12 |
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Iron Crow
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((OOC: Right, gents, Post Order. It was Me, RadKing, then Twenty, then it went arseways. We're going back to post order now, ok?)) "Out Northeast. A fair ways away. We're not like other tribes who turned to Shamanism when the technology failed. Hell, we're hoarders of technology. But other than that, we're still just as shamanic and traditionalist as other tribes are. Originally, the tribe was made up of God knows how many religions, and that caused conflict until someone decided to blend them all into one. From that grew our current society," Caleb said, giving a brief run-through of his tribe's history and why he was carrying an M60 when other tribals considered Pipe Rifles to be advanced technology. Caleb went back to cutting chunks of meat from the Mole Rat, again doing a terrible job, given that he was using the Rat's teeth instead of a knife, but he thought it a little rude to ask either of the other two to borrow their knives while they were skinning, gutting and cutting their Molerats. Then he realized he'd already been a little rude. Probably because he spent so much time on long-ranging hunts all over the place. Largely devoid of human contact. "And you Darrel, you don't sound like a local. Where'd you blow in from?" Caleb asked, as polite a tone in his voice as he could manage. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Radiation King | Aug 29 2009, 08:37 AM Post #13 |
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"We can't stop here! This is bat country!"
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"So like the Brotherhood of Steel crossed over with a Wiccan cult?" Darrel said, cutting away a large, gristly-looking chunk of mole rat meat from the belly of the beast. He plugged his nose; the smell was horrible. No wonder he didn't butcher these things himself; it was a talent to keep from puking! He sorted the rat meat away on the hide he had luckily managed to salvage in one or two large pieces before answering the tribal's own question. "Out on the east coast," the thief said cooly, "in some place called the Pike Republic. Bigass settlement in the middle of this ancient highway, outside some bigass city." (I mean the Jersey Turnpike; I don't know what it looks like though.) Darrel coughed, turning away from the mole rat for a second and taking his leave from cutting to cover his mouth with a rag from his pocket and look at the ursine man standing around him. "The folks were businessmen, then business started going bad, they turned to thieving. Not raiding, thieving implies some sense of honor." He sighed. "They were killed, and left little Darrel all alone in the world to fend for himself with nothing but a switchblade and a notebook full of tips and tricks of the trade. "So I made my own destiny; started stealing shit from up and down the east coast until it didn't suit me anymore. I started moving west, pitching in for caps where help was needed and pilfering what I needed to keep going from the well-to-do. Eventually I just drifted out into the desert and ended up here." The thief finished cutting away all the salvageable meat on the mole rat he'd been working at, kicked the corpse over and dragged another rat over to himself. |
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Darrel Cohen, the smooth-talking "Gentleman Thief" (Level 3) Evan Laramie, the down-home gunslinger (Level 1)
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| Twentyfists | Aug 29 2009, 09:38 AM Post #14 |
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Five Fingers of Fury
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Judas finished skinning and cutting out from the mole rat and moved over to another. There were few left by now, and he was sure to have a nice haul of hides and meat. Anyone can get some goods in the Wastes when they put their mind to it. "Since we're all talking history now, I guess I'll tell mine. I was born in a little village hidden aways east of here. Little hidden bumfuck town, wouldn't know it was there unless you looked. Anyway, I decided that a life of fishing and farming there didn't exactly suit my talents, so I signed on with the next caravan outta there as a guard, musket in hand. Spent some time working caravans for a while, but eventually I discovered that a more woodsy, scouting kind of life suited me better. So I left my current caravan and picked up work as a trapper, hunter, outdoorsman, and scavenger." Judas added as a slightly ashamed afterthought, "Ordinarily I perform better out here than today. Usually, mole rats don't get the drop on me like that." |
![]() Marcus Castor Williams Level 2 Mercenary. Dark skin, close cut hair, long face, constant scowl. Rudimentary Revolver, Baseball, Hatchet x2, Tribal Food Pouch, Holiday Can of Amarillo Cola, Tribal Linens with Tribal Battle Helmet, 1 Large Hide. Current Condition--Normal. 4 kills. Nash Rhodes Level 2 Raider Bruiser. Long greasy hair, black beard, tall, broad, muscles. Rusted Mounted Machine Gun, Rock Knuckles (GC), Modified Tattered Leather Jacket. Current Condition--Just fine. 3 kills | |
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| Run4 | Aug 29 2009, 12:36 PM Post #15 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb raised his torn forearms from his little brawl with the Molerat to show Judas that everyone had bad days. More fighting scars for the trophy rack. Caleb then took to wondering why these Molerats had got the drop on a hunter like Judas, and a Tribal Ranger like himself. Out of odd curiotisy, Caleb signalled for the other two to cover their mouths and noses. Spinning the large, dagger-like Molrat tooth in his hand, Caleb crouched, and then slashed open the Molerat's stomach. Its last meal spilled out onto the sand, accompannied by a smell that had Caleb fighting the urge to vomit. There, among the filth and derision the Molerat's gut had spewed forth, was a severely corroded switchblade, worn down beyond all use by the Molerat's stomach acid. And what appreared to be part of a coin pouch, complete with drawstrings, again badly corroded by the Molerat's stomach acid. There was also a single bullet in there, a .32 ball unless Caleb was mistaken. "Looks like this pack have been jumping drifters and hunters for some time now. I knew they were smarter than the average vermin, but this is borderline dog-like intelligence here. Never woulda thought Molerats could learn, much less come up with any sort of hunt plan. I didn't even think they could feel fear," Caleb thought aloud, in part giving a little reassurance that these 'Rats were no ordinary vermin, but a calculated menace (as much as Molerats could be) that got the drop on Caleb and Judas. Oddly enough, it was Darrel, the least apparently combative of the three, who was the least perturbed by the whole situation. Then something Darrel had said clicked in Caleb's mind. "What the hell is a Wiccan?" |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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