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| Aftermath | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 12 2010, 09:23 PM (365 Views) | |
| Zilabus | Aug 12 2010, 09:23 PM Post #1 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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Doc Nance's has burned to the ground, and taken a good chunk of town with it. The ashes of hovels and tents that once where still smoulder opressively, and other simply slump down into wreckage and disrepair. Shell casing still roll about when someone passes from one building to another, and many small huts now show through with small circles of outside light. One small figure loads so much onto his own back that he is dwarfed, and his balance shakey. A single companion simmilarly strapped a large pack on his back, speaking in a hushed tone. "-no, it'll be fine, dear. We'll find somebody to look at it when we get out of here. Nance is nowhere to be seen, anyways-" they shuffle out of the way when a large man trudges through, heading for the outskirts of town, and beyond that, the open wasteland. He is powerfully built, and has the look of a fighter, one who has abused buffout in his life. Over each shoulder a limp body is slung, and his face is almost jovial. He laughs and yells back to two companions, carrying a single corpse between the two of them. "Pick up the pace, ladies! If you wanna' finally get some power behind those punches like me, this is how you gotta do it! 'Sides, you don't want to be catching the plague, right?" News of the attack found it's way to many of the hunters and trappers, and for tonight at least, not many returned. Those that did had no trouble or question with the turbulant changes in town, mainly content to piss away hides on some liquor in Bobos. Trapper is believed to be asleep in some room in his shop, recovering from wounds, while his son, Hunter, now runs the shop, temporarily. He's been keeping the shop afloat by selling out supplies to help reconstruct houses, although orders are slow. It's rumored that one of the men involved in the raids has been hanging around the Trek a lot recently, discussing things with Hunter, but rumors are false as often as true. As the large man and his two trainees trudge out of town, another aproaches the biggest of the three. His tone is polite, friendly, even. "Hey, you're Roy, right? I remember you from the raid, man. Names Ali Bin Ali." Roy, the large man, nodded, and gestured for the other two to keep on moving. Mutters of a business deal are lost in the quite desolation of the town, and many prepare to leave town altogether. Outside of town, a group of raiders and helpful town folk dig a row of small plots. Grave after grave, they move, methodically digging and lowering frail forms. Finn himself oversees the project, checking to see if the dead's equipment is useful or salvagable. Their work will take a long time to complete, and many are prepared to keep trudging through into the night. A dark female figure wanders crowded walkways between houses, many of which are taking on less flamable materials, although a large number of huts, tents, and homes are still in shambles. For the first time in a very, very long time, the skys have darkened. It rains over Bucket Town. |
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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 | |
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| Run4 | Aug 12 2010, 10:08 PM Post #2 |
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Iron Crow
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((OOC: RPing as Jackal. Musical Accompaniment)) He could hardly call himself the cleanest-handed of men. He knew that. Jackal sat on his haunches, a cigarette protruding from his mouth as the sky darkened above. He lit up, staring at the charred remains of a man whose name he learned was Reginald Shepherd. He blew out a smoke ring, scratching his head and distantly contemplating the martyr's final sacrifice so the lives of his men would be spared. Jackal glanced up as a pair of feet stopped beside him. Jackal waved the young man on. The youngster apparently didn't get the message. He reached for the blackened-but-still-good watch on Shepherd's arm. Jackal emitted a low grown, like an Alligator's territorial bellow. The young man took pause, then looked at Jackal, his eyes asking "did you claim him then?" Jackal shook his head. Apparently, the youth took this as the all clear and that Jackal had made no claim on the carcass. "Nobody touches him," Jackal stated flatly. "What?" "Nobody touches him. Take your trophies and loot from another unclaimed body. Nobody touches him," Jackal replied, considering that suitable elaboration. The young man stood up for a second, placing his hands on his hips. He nodded at Jackal to stand. Jackal rose to his feet and removed his cigarette from his mouth. "You gonna stop me, shambler?" the Youngster asked. Jackal could understand his confidence. He was young, athletic, and a good head taller than Jackal, if not more. "This isn't the time to push a madman," Jackal grunted to the youth and returned to his musings on just how the hell he was going to move the body to a grave without it collapsing apart. The young man went for the watch again. With a speed he'd forgotten he had, Jackal's hand clamped onto the youngster's wrist as his thumb dug into the back of the rat's hand. He twisted that wrist and stood up, twisting the runt's arm further. The young man was forced to his knees by the lock as Jackal took his turn to stand head and shoulders above his quarry. "Head up kid," Jackal snapped as people either stopped to see what was happening, or lowered their heads and walked by even faster. The youth looked up at him. "Higher," Jackal ordered. The prick complied, wincing as his movement put more pressure on his trapped arm. Jackal lashed out, catching the youngster in the nose with a near-perfect haymaker punch. The youth scrambled away, blood pumping out of his nose. "No one touches him," Jackal snarled at the crowd, pointing at Shepherd's body. The crowd dispersed as Jackal crouched again, ignoring the rain that began to fall. He rose and walked over to a house, where a makeshift stretcher stood against one of the walls. He dragged the equipment over to Shepherd's body and rolled the charred bones and meat onto the stretcher before the rain washed away everything holding the body together. Jackal looked up to see one of the town guards who had held the square with Shepherd approaching. Jackal nodded to the man as he folded his arms. "You didn't fight for our side," the Guard half-asked. "I can respect a sacrifice like that, my side or not," Jackal answered, waving the guard to one end of the stretcher while he lifted the other. The pair carried Shepherd's body through the shambolic town at shoulder-height, a small procession of those who had defended the town and hadn't left yet forming behind them. They stopped at Finn's growing grave site, Jackal and the defender taking a shovel each and digging a grave further from the town than the others. When they had finished the grave, they lay Shepherd to rest. Jackal saluted the body and began shovelling dry, dusty earth down onto the charred remains. Someone approached with a shroud a few shovelfulls in. "No," Jackal grunted, "He gets buried in the soil he fought for." |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Golgotha | Aug 13 2010, 04:34 AM Post #3 |
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I could live in a hole
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Frank sighed, why surrender? What had he done, he had enough men to push out and perhaps take most of those bastards down with him. Well, it was in the past now, he looked, dry eyed and cold at the ruins of the quaint little town. The rain felt cool and it pushed through his cloak and onto his skin. He accepted it. Silent punishment, he hated water. He turned and walked to the gates, the graves where still being dug and it looked like a man was trying to wrench some kids arm off. Frank smiled. He helped dig one of the holes but, soon a few of the new town owners began to trickle in and he decided it was time to leave. He knew he had to get Jesse's hide but it sickened him that he hadn't shown for the battle. Frank left the ruins of Bucket-Town, he would go out west, towards Austin ruins or Otriad, then, he would spend his time looking for his vault, and maybe, take a look at Bucket-Town another time. |
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Lidie Rider: Level 3 Raider Age: 25-28 SPECIAL: 6.9.7.4.6.6.3 Condition: [x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x][x] Weapons: Post War Musket (tier 1) Tribal Sword (tier 2) Flash bang x1 snub-nosed revolver x1 Clothing: Basic Raider Armour (tier 2) Equipment: large hide x2 medium hide x1 psycho x3 gnarled root x1 mapulator 300, secret holotape, pre-war photo, hair gel, x1 bobby pin Kills 12 Companion: Ghilian Kheroseen. | |
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| Ronto | Aug 13 2010, 10:27 AM Post #4 |
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Capt. Procrastinate
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((Rp'ing as George to finish my part in this.)) George set down the old LMG, it had served him well in the last few hours but now was highly damaged and dangerous to handle. He looked at it one last time and turned around to his fellow soldiers. All of them, including George had been shocked at the bravery of the martyr that had set himself ablaze outside the shack they were in. He looked around at the men, they were around the same age as him, bruised, bloody, yet each one ever so confident in the future of this town. George sighed, he unwrapped the keffiyeh from around his head and put it around his neck, it was black, oily, bloody and was a reminder of what George had done. He looked at the men and nodded,"It was a pleasure servin' with you boys. See 'round some time." He turned around and stepped out of the shack, the air was black from smoke, but strangely it was quiet, very quiet compared to what had occurred just minutes before this, the flaming man had set an example, it was over for good. George took out a cigarette and lit it, he began to walk around the square just watching the Aftermath. The town was in shambles, people now homeless, corpses littered the nooks and crannies of every street, people had begun to rebuild. George went to the charred corpse and looked at it, he was stunned, purely stunned. There was a ghoul sitting in the proximity of the body, looking at George with a face exclaiming,'Don't fuckin touch him!'. He had seen the ghoul before, he was one of the men who had cleared the front gate of guards, he was good. George nodded to the man and walked away. George noticed there were men dragging bodies to the outskirts of town, there Finn had set up a makeshift cemetery. George looked at one of the corpses on the ground, a man only a few years older than George, his hand clutching his gut where a laser round had opened up his stomach. George patted the man down for any trinkets he had and picked him up. He decided that he might as well be useful now that the battle was over. He slowly began walking with the man towards the cemetery when a raider stopped him. "Here buddy, I got this one, there's another poor bastard down that alley, go get 'im could ya. There's a spot in the cemetery for 'im and a shovel waiting for ya." George slowly walked over to the alley. He took one last drag form his cigarette and threw it onto the ground, stomping it out with his heavy combat boot. He walked over to his 'assigned' body and examined it. A man his age, skinny and lean. He was wearing a pinkish shirt with suspenders dyed dark red by the bullet hole in his neck. The man had been stripped clean of all his possessions and left to rot in the street. George sighed as he picked the body up. Blood dripped into his shoulders as he carried the man to his grave. A short walk later. George set the man down onto the brown soil and picked up the shovel. He took off his jacket and lit another smoke. He stared at the setting sun as he began to dig the grave, no words were needed. He dug the shallow grave in the silhouette of the setting sun. Musical Finish To George's involvement. |
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[align=center]Joe Pera 7,9,7,4,5,5,3 Level: 1 [/align] | |
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| HenchmenF | Aug 14 2010, 01:26 PM Post #5 |
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Wasteland leader
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Francis walked slowly into town. There seemed to had some sort of violent battle just hours before. Possibly that's why the cannibals were so close to this 'Buckettown'. They felt that they could operate closer to a settlement for the time being. It was just bad luck that they picked Francis's group to feast upon. Still, he did gain some things from it. Adjusting his single strap backpack for a moment, Francis surveyed the scene. Bullet casings were everywhere, and most of the buildings had bullet-holes in them. It would take a while to rebuild this town, but, he was sure that he could help them. He wasn't expecting to begin helping people so soon, but, what could you do? "Um....is anybody in need of medical attention?" Francis called out. A few people turned there heads, cocking them slightly to the side. Francis guessed that they weren't expecting a doctor. "Listen, we got some wounded over there." A person in the crowd said, pointing towards a small collection of tents nearby. Francis nodded and walked over there. A few people were nearby, attempting to tend to the wounded. One women looked up at him after tending a man who took an arrow to one of the arms. Francis studied the wounds for a moment, unaware the women who looking at him. "You don't look wounded. You here to bury the dead or sumthing?" The women asked. "Hm? No. I heard you needed a doctor. Francis Van-" Francis began to say before the women cut him off. "Don't care. Listen, get to work on some of these people, 'Doctor'. Our on town doctor is missing and were all a bit on edge." The women said, tending to the man with the arrow lodged in his arm. Francis didn't say anything. Instead, he removed his backpack and set it near him as he looked over on wounded person that wasn't being attended to. The person seemed to had taken a bullet to the thigh. Taking out the barbers razor, Francis cut open the pant leg and looked the wound. It was a light wound from what he could tell, not hitting anything important like bone or an artery. Taking out the vodka, Francis poured some over his blade and gave some to the wound victim. Placing the vodka back into the back, he went to work. Using his fingers, Francis opened the wound a little in order to see into it. Seeing the bullet, Francis dug the barbers razor into it and began fishing it out. It took a bit, but, finally, Francis was able to place the bullet in his hand. Handing it to the victim as a little trinket on the operation, Francis placed some honey on the wound. Waiting a few moments, Francis grabbed the fishing line and needle and sewed the wound shut. Moving onto the next victim, Francis made a mental note. It was going to be a long night. |
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Jimmy Ronan Karmichael Sandoval - HC - Karmichael's current inventory ----------------------------------------------------- The Wastes TV Tropes page. Open edit Plat: If Hench is the monarch I'd willingly accept a life of serfdom. CP: homie you a rauccous college student why you need a bed time LMG: Hench is the real enemy of Democracy | |
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| Cewebwalz | Aug 15 2010, 11:21 PM Post #6 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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(Roleplaying as NPC John Coleman) John dropped the shovels he was clutching, and turned to face the rest of the town guards under his command. Finished. The most bodies he'd seen put into the ground in a long, long time. The confederates had a similar policy while digging mass graves. He had been involved in a bit too many, it was why he left in the first place. He wasn't supposed to be dealing with the shit that put him in this position in the first fucking place. He signaled to his men, and the small group of (former) town guards headed to the church. They where leaving. Heading off to some other hell hole, unaware of what would happen to the town. All John knew was that they attacked the town to profit off of the drug market in the area. Taken over by a bunch of would-be-fucking merchants. Probably wouldn't even keep the old name or some shit. As they entered the church, the group glanced around. Same amount of civies as last time. Been packed for the last hour. Everyone else was staying, or had too much shit to pack to leave now. Too much of a connection to the town. He hoped that the few who remained, not dead, wounded, or even preffering the new regime, would at least keep the town running. Gerade or no Gerade, Bucketown would live. It had to. Unity would fall with it if fell. Brick wouldn't survive the night, it bordered raider clans for gods sake. It was a miracle it hadn't been destroyed at an earlier date! Coleman stood up on the alter, waving his hands. The church's attention was soon directed at him. The several ghouls from earlier walked into the church, they had appearently saw the group of defenders enter. "Listen here folks!" Colemen dropped his shotgun onto the floor next to the altar. "We're heading out to Unity now! The ghouls from there are willing to help us get there in one peice, besides, it's nice to have a native lead you back. Maybe we'll get a faster path, or something." He jumped off of the altar, and the mob moved to the front door. "Let's roll. We're losing sun-light." As him and the large group left the town and it's boundaries, bucketown soon transformed into a blip on the horizon. Nothing more then a speck of dust, as the group moved forward. John's eyes glanced all around. The tribals had been active. No animals or raiders where in sight. One of the group members from behind started to speak. "We should rest." It was Joseph. Some kid with a shotgun who wanted to come along. John nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Once we reach that sand dune we're gonna rest. Don't worry about it for now, ain't like we're gonna need to be downing water just yet." The group soon stopped moving. John climbed to the top of the sand dune, looking over the area. He clutched his ten millimeter in his hand, his eyes surverying the area with hawk like precision. The Ten was good enough for him. He had it since his days in the confederacy, and strip cleans every few days made it in impecable condition. He soon spotted some sort of bird flying over head, circling the area. He'd shoot it down right as the group left, any animals in the vicinity would go to the bird rather then the group. The group had waited long enough. As they walked over te sand dune, Coleman aimed down the sites of Ten. He popped the low flying bird in it's wing, the bullet going through the main part of it's before it landed on the floor. It was a waste of good food. Least some animal would survive a day longer, another day to mate. Another day to raise the population around bucketown, at least the amount of animals would go up again. Damn tribals out hunting anyone else in the immediate vicinity of their village. As he turned around, he noticed something in the far distance. People? Yeah, people Big fucking mob of em too. As they got closer, he realized they where ghouls. Hordes of em, stumbling off towards Bucketown. John emptied a pistol shell into the air, grabbing the attention of anyone near him. Most people didn't have his eye sight, wouldn't know they where ghouls. Hell, some didn't even see the mob yet. "Hey. Ghouls up ahead, I think they're from Unity." He made eye contact with the ghoul would be reinforcements from earlier. "You do the talking." As the group collided, the ghouls made conversation with their comrades from the town. The humans had finally taken Unity. Fucking finally, been too long since those ghouls forced their asses out of the area. The sun was starting to set, so John and his group of humans said good bye. The zombies where STILL arguing over what to do, it was ridiculous. As they headed off, John was thinking. He'd have to do something. Unity was toast, a blood bath was soon going to happen. "Fuck Unity." John tightened the grip on the pistol, glancing at the horizon. "Only one option left. We're heading to Brick." (TO BE CONTINUED???) |
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Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist 8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC- Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator 5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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| MerchantofDeath | Aug 17 2010, 08:20 AM Post #7 |
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Greaser
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Nancy stood looking at what was left of Bucket Town; hatred still pasted to her face. She had just gotten back from the slaugther of the ghouls, and now she was greeted with this shit. Everything was either almost destroyed or totally destroyed. People were burying bodies outside of the ground. Men, women, and children helped bury the dead. The victors were too busy bathing in their victor to care about any of the Town's People. Then, something snapped in her head. All the violence she had seen had really pissed her off with Humanity. She hated people even more now, she thought that her hatred of people was almost like an Atomic Bomb Blast. If she couldn't help people, she wasn't going to help them. Nancy felt liberated with this thought, and threw her hands into the air. Then, she started to walk into Bucket Town, with a smile on her face. |
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"I AM THE LAW!!!!" John Marks Nancy Walters | |
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| Solbur | Aug 18 2010, 10:10 AM Post #8 |
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Creepy Old Lurker
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Slow, tired and heavy steps which had become a routine came to a sudden halt, and nobody's favourite haggard old ghoul, Jonas "Sheck" Sheckley, paused in the desert not far from Bucket Town. Or what was left of it, his inner snarker quickly annotated for him. He pushed up his goggles and pulled down his mask and he just stared and stared with a look of awe in his blank eyes for a good, long while. It had been a long, looonnng time since he'd seen the Bucket, since he left with O'Boyle's crew after the ghoul's failed election bid. He'd ducked out of Unity, the place that had become his only static home in years, the moment things had begun to heat up. Cast to the winds for a few weeks, Sheck eventually decided it was high time to visit the old town he'd tried and failed to put a fellow Ghoul in as leader, to see how it was fairing under Gerade. He quickly decided that, based on what he'd seen, it hadn't been fairing well. He'd heard rumours about a little trouble stirring up in the Bucket, but this... "Oh, Jesus," he muttered. That was the best way to describe it. "Mm-hmm! Looks like it's seen better times, huh, Shecky-boy?" "You ain't kiddin' nobody, Larry," he told the ventriloquist's dummy in his hands before he stuffed it back in his pack and continued towards the town. As he grew closer, the extent of the destruction became clearer and clearer to him. A nagging, cowardly part of his mind encouraged him not to bother, but he had to get a better look. He had to see what had happened to this town. He doubted there'd be too many familiar faces around, friendly ones even scarcer, but he felt compelled to see how people were doing, how bad it really was. Distant acquaintances reared their ugly heads in his mind once again for the first time in ages, and with them came questions - where was Caleb? What about Josef? Had they been a part of this? Did even remember him? Were they even still alive, having died in some unrelated incident? Sad man who puts such value on people he worked with so briefly, he thought. Despite the short time he'd spent in it and the long time he hadn't, he had a fair few memories in this town. That was precisely what troubled him now. It was hard to tell where the Wastes stopped and the town began as he entered, so many fixtures he'd once taken for granted as a part of the Bucket having simply disappeared. He stood amidst a crowd outside what he thought used to be the old clinic, listening to the hushed chatter, the crying, the sounds of solemn work and activity. He stood there listening for longer than he should have, and some of the sounds he simply tried to block out. As rational and easy an action it seemed to old Joe Sheckley, as much as he wanted to, he knew at that moment that he couldn't bring himself to leave the town in such a state. Might be I'll get some nice loot off some of the bodies, few skins, ammo, maybe a bit of dinner, he justified his actions internally, but in reality, he was much more concerned at the moment with finding a shovel than he was a few hides. |
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Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm. Jonas "Sheck" Sheckley Ghoul - Level 1 - 5-7-9-1-7-7-4 Traits: Night Person, Skilled Equipment: Hatchet, Rudimentary Revolver, Wastelander Clothes Inventory: Hides (1), dog meat (1), a strange ventriloquist's dummy (1) Lanky, gruff old Ghoul scavenger wearing patchy waster gloves that cover almost every inch of him, opaque welder's goggles, padded rubber gloves and an odd choice of travelling companion. Say hi. | |
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