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So this... this is buckettown...; my first little journey quest or whatver
Topic Started: Dec 18 2010, 10:33 PM (147 Views)
Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]
"Bucket town, so this... this is bucket town”. Looks like just another dump in this glorious wasteland"

Or so he thought.

Frankly this didn’t really seem like the kind of place that he would plan to settle down at. It was the largest settlement he had seen a while, but it was just another assortment, of shacks and shanties to him.

For the past few days he had been wandering around this area. When he arrived he had enough food to hold him off, until he got comfortable with the place. After about a week or so he would split, and hopefully wander into some place where he could settle, or at the least into some type of trouble.

Nonetheless he gave the place the benefit of the doubt, and decided that he’d give it a shot. The place had a few interesting characters lingering around. The few shop owners seem like a little more than what he usually encountered. Throw in some interesting wanderers from time to time and you have you a place that’s a step above the rest. Even the currency was a little bit different. He was used to generally bartering whatever he had looted off some dead body, or scavenged from some junk pile or vacant house. He isn’t the best at bartering, but he has a general idea of what he wants and what he's willing to trade.

The thing about this place however, was that it had a general currency. Hides, Animals hides of all kinds. This seemed right up his alley. He's not the best hunter by any means. But at least he's had his share of experience.

He woke up early in the morning. Rolling up his worn blanket, He gathered his supplies. The first thing he did was take inventory. He checks his Shotgun, Holstered in a snug compartment of his belt loop once used for holding a hammer. Next he checked his ammo. He had roughly 25 or so rounds give or take. Around 19 buck shots and a few slugs as well. After he had finished with this he then reached in a small pocket inside his jumpsuit, Pulling out his crude trench knife wrapped in used bandages. It was not the prettiest sight, Worn and beaten from years of use. It had been weathered down from him using and re-sharpening time and time and time again. The hand guard also required maintenance, but despite this it was still reliable, and he still could wield it well. All of his combat gear was in order; so next he checked his water supply.

His half-gallon canteen was filled up about 3 quarters with dirty water. It wasn’t the best at anything, but it'll do in a pickle. After he was content with all his gear, he laced up his boots and set out. Heading eastward towards the rising sun, it was now his time earn his meal.
Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]

Under the just barely tolerable heat of the early Texas sun, Dre wandered eastward. He had walked for what had to be at least a good 45 minutes in a path that vaguely resembled a line, and as of yet had no luck in finding any prey. “Guess the early bird doesn’t ALWAYS get the worm,” He said to himself as he scanned the wasteland for movement. “Maybe I’m just getting rusty” he thought doubtfully.

Come to think of it, Dre hadn’t engaged in any actual hunting in quite some time. For maybe a month or so he had survived solely off scavenging and random caravan guard jobs he picked up. The first time he’d truly been on his on in a while was not too long before he landed in bucket town. A few miles northeast of the aforementioned settlement, he parted ways with a scavenger caravan he’d been with since he touched down in another settlement further up north. From there he had strayed into the less-than welcoming gates of Bucket town.

So there he was, alone and unpolished out in the wastes. This didn’t faze him though as he was confident the moment he ran into a potential adversary he would, without a doubt, be ready to engage. The only problem was that he first needed to find a hostile entity.

After an hour or so had passed he decided to take a small break and gather his thoughts. He took up a spot next to large rock and promptly reached for his canteen. Before he opened it, he shook it around in circular motion to get an idea of how much was left. As he felt the water swish around inside the container he came to the conclusion that a little more than half was left inside it. He decided that if he had reached a certain point with still no luck, he would turn back while he still had water left in the canteen. After popping off the cap, Dre took a relatively large swig from it. The water was hot and irradiated, far from a refreshing drink on a hot summer day. He swallowed hard, the taste invoked a reaction of him scrunching his face, and then darting out his tongue like a cobra. This is the sort of reaction you would expect from a shot of hard liquor, however the drink, even though he was used to it, was still horrible nonetheless, and this reaction served as something less severe than a gag reflex. Capping up the canteen, he again shook it to check its contents. It was about 40% full now. This would suffice for another half our or so of aimless wandering he seemed to be doing.
Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]
With his thirst just barely quenched and his head cleared he again set out. While walking he did a quick check of his weapons. He drew his homemade shotgun from its crude holster and checked it. It was loaded with a low-grade slug in a green plastic casing. He almost always kept a slug loaded instead of a buck shot as a it was a good general purpose round and could still hit a target from a worthy distance. After finishing with the gun, he re-holstered it and drew his blade. He usually kept it in an inside pocket and wrapped up in crude bandages. Wrapping his hand around the grip, he executing a few mock swings and stabs, measuring the sturdiness of the blade as he wielded it. It was in relatively good condition, as it hadn’t seen combat in quite some time. In the past few weeks it’d merely been used for cutting up cooked meat and whatnot, but not combat. The blade would surely serve him well in his next encounter. He wrapped it up and continued on.


After wandering for a few more minutes he caught sight of two distinct groupings of animal tracks. After a closer examination he deducted that they were Brahmin tracks, and still relatively fresh. The first grouping, moving steadily in one direction was a small Brahmin herd of maybe 3 or four. The second grouping was much different though. The tracks were in an irregular pattern as if the Brahmin was staggering off. It was clear that these tracks were of a weaker Brahmin who strayed from the group. “Maybe I’ll get the worm after all,” Dre thought as he began following the tracks. He had kept a steady pace following the tracks for what could have only been a couple hundred yards. Half-running/Half Jogging He stumbled into a small depression. Off in the distance, he spotted his prey, however he was not the only predator stalking the unfortunate creature.
Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]
About 30 yards away from the Brahmin, a pack of 3 wild dogs were closing in on the beast. In moments they descended on it. The Brahmin put up a valiant but futile effort in defending itself, and with in minutes the vicious canines had brought it to the ground.

Dre, after seeing this, decided he would take his time. He grabbed his rifle and then began to casually make his way to the where the dogs were. “Why not let the mutts get their fill before I kill ‘em” he said to himself almost laughing “Itsa terrible thing to die on an empty stomach”. In minutes he had come with in around 10 yards of the spot where the dogs had slain the Brahmin. They, still trying to enjoy their meal, didn’t attack immediately. Dre took this time to examine the creatures. All three were small and clearly emaciated; this had been the first meal they had in some time. They were so small and bony that it had been hard for Dre to tell who the alpha was. It then became clear though, after a few small conflicts between the dogs. The top dog had a quite a few scars and Dre could tell he’d been through some shit. He had an overall meaner demeanor about him than the other creatures. At first Dre contemplated killing the leader first, but then he decided he wanted to make the fight a little more interesting.

He then drew up his shotgun and put a bullet through one of the weaker looking dogs. The sickly creature went down easy. This put the other to on alert. Again at first they didn’t attack but merely growled, showed their teeth and set their boundaries. They were clearly not afraid to hold their ground. As Dre moved closer however, casually loading buckshot, the alpha lunged. The small creature quickly closed the distance between he and Dre, throwing Dre slightly off his guard. Before he had time to reload the Dog was within reach. He quickly closed the break-open weapon and butted the dog in the nose, following a swift blow to the side of the face, clutching the weapon by the muzzle and using it as club. By this time the third dog had appeared from the right, Dre then quickly drew his blade and took a defensive stance. The dog lunged a leg, Dre responded with a quick blow to the side of the neck. He then planted the animal to ground, and used his force to crush the dog’s neck. Unbeknownst to him though the other dog had regained his composure, and suddenly Dre felt himself being toppled by the creature. He rolled and tussled with the dog, for a moment, before gain the upper hand and plunging his blade in the creature’s side. The dog promptly responded by snapping drakes right arm (which he used to stab the creature) and tearing open a small gash. Dre then tossed the dog aside and got back to his feet. The creature again swiftly responded, lunging at Dre’s neck with enough force to again knock him off his feet. He rolled with the force and used his prowess to gain the upper hand. As he prepared to end it, the courageous beast made one last attempt take Dre’s life. The Dog snapped at his face and just barely missed him, leaving him with a small knick. Dre the grabbed the dog by it’s neck and plunged his knife into his heart. Then he squeezed the remaining breathe out of the alpha through his neck, while simultaneously grinding and turning the knife around inside its heart. The beast at last stopped fighting and drifted into eternal slumber.

Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]
Dre, relatively tired from his first encounter in a while, rolled off the dog and lay there for a few minutes. “I really need to get back in tune” he thought to himself as he realized that it had taken him much long to slay the creature than it would have had he still been a fine tuned ranger. He then got to his feet and began to collect his bounty, and he went up to the alpha and began the process of skinning him. Beginning with one long incision down its belly he then began to cut the skin off the rest of the body and repeated the process with the other two dogs.

After he’d finish skinning he moved over to where the Brahmin had been slaved. His knife was not in good enough condition to conduct a proper skinning so he just merely cut away a decent size piece of hide and left it at that. With the other 3 hides from the dogs, he rolled all of them up and stuffed them in his small bag with his makeshift sleeping bag/bedroll. He then went back to the Brahmin and cut off a few hunks of meat for few. “These should last for a while” he said aloud “just hoping it won’t take as long to stumble across something like this next time”. A put a few hunks of meat in his bag, and grabbed decent size one for cooking.

A few yards from where the Brahmin had died was a small, shriveled, irradiated tree. He sat under it, and gathered a few stray pieces of wood for fire. He then found a few rocks and fashioned a small campfire. He grabbed a match from a pack he had in his pocket and started up the fire, as he didn’t feel like doing the “old fashioned” way. He tossed a piece of the meat of the fire and allowed it scorch and burn from the direct exposure to the flame. He crudely hacked it into smaller “steak-size” pieces and gradually at them over the course of 15-20 twenty minutes. All while gradually taking swigs from his canteen.

With his belly full and thirst quenched he set out back to Bucket town. Before he did anything though, he made sure to load his shotgun. This time inserted buckshot that had 7 pellets in it. This buckshot was a dark red and yellow variation, with a gold-colored brass casing around the primer. It was a decent grade of buckshot. The reason he loaded buckshot and not a slug, was primarily because he had a bit of a “surplus” of shells and he did not want to deplete his slug supply.

After an hour or so he arrived back in Bucket town. It was around high noon when he passed through the boundaries. He was contempt with his little sojourn, and had a bit of food to hold him over, and a few hides to trade.
Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Gimmy Doffa
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Wastland Guerilla
[ *  *  *  * ]
Oy ready for grading.
Deandre "Dre Guns" Scott - Level 2, American-African drifter

Seven aka "Diesel" - Level 1, Black, Man-child slave turned slaver/raider
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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Fairly solid introduction. Grounded plot, and decent pacing, although simple and a tad clunky. A few clerical errors, but that's nothing big. (Shotguns fire shells, not bullets, ect.)

Quote:
 

2 hides
Hides are hides are hides. And now you've got hides.

Brahmin strip
You can't eat a whole brahmin at once! Believe me, I've tried. You managed to find a decent looking scrap of raw meat to keep, luckily.
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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