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Far From Home; Solo RP
Topic Started: Dec 9 2010, 04:25 PM (190 Views)
ZuZu
Psychotic Biker
[ *  *  * ]
"Ty daleko ot doma, Sergei." Dervish told himself as the sun sank below the horizon. It had been forty-two days, sixteen hours, and thrity-six minutes since the last time he had seen a city. But he was't complaining. Sucking in a lungful of chilled, refreshing night air, Sergei "Dervish" Kalsyski continued his aimless march through the desolat wastes of former North America.

"Tak zhe, kak rodinu." Dervish said to himself, constantly reminded of his childhood home in the ruins of Grove City, Ohio. His parents were second generation Russian Migrants, and their parents had came all the way to the American Wastes from Siberia in search of a better life. All that greeted them was death, famine, and unimaginable hardships. "It really is just like the motherland." Dervish mumbled, his tird old frame begging to rest. Dervish kept walking, determined to find some form of shelter for the night.

It was stupid to make your camp in the open, where you were vulnerable to Raiders, coyotes, mutant wildlife, and worse. Dervish shivered from the chill air of the night, a stark diffrence from the blistering heat of the day. "Fignya, there has to be a fucking house around here somewhere." Dervish said, his voice a hoarse whipser. Two low howls filled the air, causing the hair on the back of his nck to stand up. "Better hurry, Sergei." He told himself, not wanting to waste ammo on any wildlife tonight.

Two more hours of marching and Dervish finally got his wish. A house has appared on the horizon and warrantd investigation. After exterminating the vermin withi, Dervish barricaded himself inside and curled up in the bedroom, satisfied with the brief accomadations he had acquired. "Spat spokoino, Sergei." he said as his eyes slid shut, the beginnings of a deep sleep upon him.
"We go forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth. With vigor in our hearts and one goal in sight: We. Will. Kill him."
-John Price, TF 141

Michael A. Cross
SPECIAL: 6.7.5.5.7.4.6
Traits: Fast Metabolism, Revolving Killer, Finesse
Level: 2
Bucket-Town Reputation: -10
Equipment
Weaponry:Pre-War Muzzleloader, Gunslinger's Tragedy, Sharon Eversharp (Good Condition), Cherry Bombs x4
Armor: Motorcycle Jacket worn over Packrat's Clothing
Inventory
x2 Crispy Chips, x1 Water Canteen
Looks
tall, around 6'5", and has an slim, semi-athletic build. His eyes are a hazel-green color. His hair is shaggy in length and reddish-brown in color, with Mutton Chop style sideburns.
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ZuZu
Psychotic Biker
[ *  *  * ]
Dervish's deep rest was disturbed by the one sound he loved hearing in the morning. Gunfire. "Chasy pustoshi signalizatsii. It never fails." Dervish grumbled, funbling for his machine gun. It was time to show these idiot raiders how a real wastehound handled himself. Kicking down part of his makeshift barricade, Dervish fired a warning burst to scatter the raiders. "Poluchitʹ yebut prochʹ!" Dervish yelled, garnering confused looks from the attackers. He did a quick sweep of his surroundings. Two groups north firing on a caravan. "Well, is my lucky day." Dervish said quietly, taking aim at the closest group of raiders.

"What the hell does this clown-AAGH!" one of the raiders yelled as a burst from Dervish's gun tore through his chest. He fell to the ground, shaking as blood filled the remnants of his lungs.

"RUN!" the farthest raider from Dervish yelled, dropping his weapons and sprinting for the nearest building. Two more bursts of LMG rounds flew threw the air, part of the last group catching the fleeing radier in the back. He fell to the ground, bleeding and paralyzed.

Dervish smiled. The raiders had been scattered, now it was time for the spoils. He turned to the caravan, smiling. The two surviving members laid down their guns and moved toward Dervish to thank him. "You have no idea how..." the lead caravaners voice was drowned out by the gunfire emitted by Dervish's weapon. The man before him fell to the ground, holier than the pope. The surviving guard reached for his gun, only to get a facefull of Dervish's bullets. Smiling, Dervish gunned down their pack brahmin before taking the keys to the locked caontainers from the dead caravaner.

"Davaĭte posmotrim, chto othody prinesli mne." Dervish said as he began searching the pack brahmin's saddlebags.
"We go forward like a breath exhaled from the Earth. With vigor in our hearts and one goal in sight: We. Will. Kill him."
-John Price, TF 141

Michael A. Cross
SPECIAL: 6.7.5.5.7.4.6
Traits: Fast Metabolism, Revolving Killer, Finesse
Level: 2
Bucket-Town Reputation: -10
Equipment
Weaponry:Pre-War Muzzleloader, Gunslinger's Tragedy, Sharon Eversharp (Good Condition), Cherry Bombs x4
Armor: Motorcycle Jacket worn over Packrat's Clothing
Inventory
x2 Crispy Chips, x1 Water Canteen
Looks
tall, around 6'5", and has an slim, semi-athletic build. His eyes are a hazel-green color. His hair is shaggy in length and reddish-brown in color, with Mutton Chop style sideburns.
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Zilabus
Member Avatar
Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
It all just felt. A little too "easy". Although it made for easy reading, it seemed out of place and slicked over.

Quote:
 

Well, food merchants tend to pack down their Brahmin with food.

Rat jerky x2

Sincerely sweet tea x1

Bag o' rice x1
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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