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| Just another Errand Boy; Trip to the Red Skull Tribe | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 20 2010, 11:51 PM (251 Views) | |
| Gimmy Doffa | Dec 20 2010, 11:51 PM Post #1 |
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Wastland Guerilla
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Dre left the store content with both the transaction he just made, and the solid piece of equipment he'd recieved for this "Holiday sale". He didn't really care too much for holiday's, and wasn't even sure what, if any, holiday it was. All he knew was that it just landed a new toy, and a solid deal, and so long as the gift kept giving he would surely keep taking. He made his way over to the well in town, feeling that his canteen had but a drops left in it. He would surely need the water for his trip, despite having 4 "fresh" bottles of water in his napsack, the texas sun is a huge factor in Dehydration. When he reach the well there were a few murky looking individuals gathered around the pump. "Just a few Coppertown locals, nothing to be worried about" he said to himself assuringly in a low tone. He mistakenly brushed by one of them as he approached the pump. Shortly afterwards he felt a battering heat press up against the back right side of his neck, followed by a drawn out inaudible murmur. As he couldn't make out what the man said, and had no desire to find out, he continued to extract water from the pump. When his canteen was almost full, he took a long swig before topping off the rest of it. The water, though still irradiated, was cool and easily flowed down his parched throat. He then carefully capped the top and turned around. Upon doing so he was greeted with a somewhat vicious attack of the dental kind. Soon following it were a grouping of drawn out words "aaye BOY!, Yu' Aint relized yah' bumpd' pas me? don' luk lik' yuh got eny mannars atall, reckon ah might haf' tah teech yuh sum. These last few words were followed by a flury of spit drops, most landing directly on Dre. His faced scrunch in digust as he heard the other 2 men laugh. Taking his left hand he pressed it hard against his top left forhead. Then, he slowly executed a dragging motion from his top right forhead to his bottom left cheek and chin. Upon finishing this motion he flicked his hand off the top the side as to rid it of the saliva. He then took a good look at the would-be-hostiles near him. The man in front of him more or less leveled off with him. he was maybe few hairs shorter, with some vary gruff features. Physically he was around the same size and build as Dre, save for a few more pounds in the belly department. He wore a tattered red-checkered button up, a pair of faded blue jeans and some worn workman's boots. for a weapon he had a rusty lead pipe, sloppily jammed into his belt loop. It was a crude and just barely in one piece, but for all practicality purposes it was functional and he hadnt planned on getting wacked with it anytime soon. Behind him were two smaller individuals, one about 6'3", but weighing in at no more than 150 lbs, and the other was maybe 5'7 and 165. The taller one sported tattered overalls with a basic baseball cap, and for a weapon he had rusty derringer pistol. The short one sport a T-shirt and Jean combo, with a confederate bandana and had an old hunting knife jammed into a makeshift holster. "Buncha fuckin' lowlifes" he thought to himself. After viewing the 3 individuals before him, he made quick evaluation. "This first guy's nothing. A quick gun butt to the gut, followed by a knife plunged straight into his chest, and he's a history". "As for the tall guy, i could hug this guy long enough to draw my gun, then shove his friend in his direction and put one in 'eem" "Then there's that little pint sized slasher. If he even thinks he's gettin' anywhere near me with that poor excuse for a blade, he'll be seeing things a bit more "refracted" after im done with him" |
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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 | Dec 21 2010, 05:26 PM Post #2 |
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Wastland Guerilla
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A grin forced it's way across Dre's furry face, as he found himself back in reality. "Watchu laffin' et bouy?" the taller one said. Dre ignored him. Sure he'd like to think he could execute that plan with as much ease as he had thought it out, but the likelihood of that was slim. One slight miscalculation, and he might find himself in an unnmarked grave. And even assuming he did execute it, he'd sure be catching alot of heat and flack and from the town guard, more so physically than verbally. Realizing the sheer amount of hyperbole present in his first plan, he decided to use his words to seek a more civil solution. He took a small step back and cleared his throat. "Gentlemen.... Do we really want this? It's unfortunate if i wronged you in anyway, but violence would only make the situation worse." "Alls we' tryn ta do is teech yuh a litel sumthin' bout respec!" said the shorter one. Dre smirked at this comment. He thought to himself "Hmph! One on one i'd woop your ass from here to D.C. But i suppose you feel a little brave with your little friends" "In all honesty, i think you're looking for a fight but i aint going give you one" Dre said boldly. "yu' 'on gotta giv us nuthin' Bouy! 'Cuz we're gu-" He managed to get out before he was interupted. "What the fuck is this shit? You can't fucking crowd the water pump" Said a man with a very assertive voice. Dre examined him, he was about 5'11'' 180ish lbs. His skin was pale but lightly blanketed in dirt and grime, making him appear darker than he actually was, He wore basic leather armor, a pair of aviator sunglasses and a green camoflauge-pattern bandana around his head. His hands were maintaining a firm grip on his Sturdy over-under shotgun, with his finger hovering over the trigger, signifying that he was anxious to use it. Dre made out that he made have been a former raider, based off a violent looking left shoulder plate and and a graphic tatoo covering a portion of his face. Behind him was a slightly younger man. His skin was pale still, but much cleaner than the older man. He dawned a pair of faded overalls with a dingy white t-shirt, and sported a dirty orange baseball cap. He appeared to be bit a bit timid, so he didnt desire to say anything. He merely stood there with his Colt model 1911 pistol, which was in suprisingly good condition. The barrel of the weapon was aimed towards the dirt, his hands loosely gripping the handgaurd. It was clear he didnt share the desire of his associate, he would prefer not to have to kill anybody. "Weer jus' tryin' to handle a problum' we got sir. This hur fella' bumpd into to my pal here ya see. an' he didn even hav't-" Again his was cut off by the older guard. "He bump int-.. Wha - What the fuck is this?" Said the man almost stammering over his, he was clearly angry. The man in front of Dre made an effort to say something be he was quickly cut-off. "Listen up idiots. I havent killed a man in over 2 god-damn weeks, and im feeling real fucking trigger happy right now. So let me give you fuckers a word of advice. Drag your Sorry asses outta here, before i have someone do it for you!." At this remark the 3 men looked at eachother, then grimly to Dre, and back to the officer. With obvious anger, they staggered off, tails between their legs, each muttering something angrily under their breaths. Dre allowed for a satisfying grin to drift across his face. He then approached the guard and extended his hand whilst thanking him. "Good looking out, chief. I truly didn't want to have to fight them. Leave a bad impression ya know?" Dre said half laughing. The guard looked at his hand for a few moments and then back to him. "Get da fuck outta here... im just looking for a reason to plug somebody today... don't give me one" He said coldly. Dre walked away, throwing up a small waving gesture to the other guard. He made his way to the towns western boundaries, taking care to avoid the 3 men whom he had encountered. |
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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 | Dec 21 2010, 08:53 PM Post #3 |
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Wastland Guerilla
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So once again, almost as soon as he had returned, Deandre set out into the wastes, this time, making his way west. "Left... Left... Left, Right, Left....Left... Left, Right, Left...Yo Left... Yo Left.... Yo Left, Right, Left" These words were repeated by Dre in a deep, singing tone as he half marched, half walked at a steady pace. This simple chant was done solely to pass the time, if he didnt have something occupy himself, he'd probably lose his desire for this errand extremely quick. So he chanted and chanted and chanted, all the way from the town. At some point during his journey, while he was doing his routine scan of his immediate area, he noticed he had lost sight of the town. This prompted him to breifly the check the time the best way he knew how. Pulling his goggles over his face he took a good look at the positioning of the sun. It was around 2 'O Clock, he figured, which mean he had been traveling for roughly and hour and a half. By this time the tempature had risen considerably, and it was beginnng to take it's toll. The sun's rays were beating down on him, and unlike during the morning, when it was tolerable, the conditions had start to become unbareable. The surrounding landscape was skorched, and he was sweltering. His clothes, partially soaked from perspiration, began to weigh him down. Even his gear, Comprised of items that couldn't have weighed any more than 25 pounds collectively, felt heavy and overbearing. The sun down here was more intense than he had ever imagined. Compared to the weather in his Hometown in southeast Michigan, this was hell, and even the Missouri weather, which could sometimes be extremely intense, was nothing like this. This weather was brutal, Yet still he trekked on. The potential rewards for this outweighed the suffering he had to endure. He merely took a swig from his canteen periodically on kept at it. A few hours later as the sun began to set, Dre decided to look for some for of suitable shelter, at least to hold him over for a few hours. The heat that was just hours earlier so intense, had begun die down. Now the air was warm and much more forgiving, and the breeze that periodically drifted through was fairly rewarding. Off in the distance, Dre caught sight of a Small cluster of rocks and set out. "It aint much" He said to himself "But it'll have to do". When he reached the cluster he briefly examined the are for a suitable place to rest. Eyeing a cozy looking crevice between a large rock standing at about 6 feet, and cluster of smaller ones. As he approached the rocks, he halted to a distinct hissing sound. With a bit a hesitation he peer upwards, spotting a dark yellowish-tan mutated gecko atop the large rock. Out of the corner of his left eye, he was vaguely able to distinguish a pair of smaller geckos, accompanied by the distinct sound they gave off. Upon noticing them he began to slowly back up while simaltaneously reaching for his shotgun. Before he was able to unholster it, the first the gecko lunged, covering the distance of 6 or so feet with considerable ease. The creature latched on to Dre, it's claws shredding his clothes, just piercing the surface of his skin. The claws stung, so much so that they invoked an involuntary jerking action. He immediately gripped it's tail and yanked, throwing it violently to the ground. As he reached for his gun it leaped again, but he responded with a stiff strike across a Face with the barrel of his gun. Once more it tried to leap, but it was met a with a buckshot that ensured it wouldnt be getting back up. As Dre unloaded his shotgun and popped in another shell. The gecko's that had accompanied the first one were closing in. However behind them was another gecko about the same size as the one he had just slain. As he loaded a shell, he took careful aim at the larger one, ignoring the two small ones. He waited until it was close enough to lunge. As it leaped forward, he squeezed the trigger, propelling it almost twice as far in the opposite direction. The other two were all that was left. One jumped at his foot, the other at his left arm. He shook the first one under his boot, crushing it's neck under the weight of his body. The second one met a similar fate. Vicously jerking it to the ground, Dre proceeded to the bludgeon it with his shotgun. Apparently a critical bone was broken, as it writhed and squirmed in pain, but still living nonetheless. Holstering his shotgun, he then reached for his newly aquired. Gripping it by the top of it's head he plunged the knife in its throated and twisted. It was over. He then proceeded to scan the immediate area for any other threats. Once he had concluded it was safe he set up his sleeping arrangments. Realizing his canteen was nearly empty he reached for a bottle of water instead out his bag. This he drank in small sips while eating a chunk of brahmin meat he had cooked earlier. After around 10 minutes he layed down and prepared for tommorow. It was around 6:30 and he hoped to wake up at around 4 or 5 before the unfriendly sun appeared yet again. |
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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 | Dec 22 2010, 10:33 PM Post #4 |
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Wastland Guerilla
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Around 4:30am Dre awoke abruptly, scanning his immediate area for threats. It wasn’t just time that woke him up, but a nearby disturbance broke his sleep. He stood up and peered over a rock into the direction the noise. Off in the distance a 2 small patrols of tribals were engaged in a violent skirmish. On one side were the red skulls, which were easily distinguished by their features. There were 5 of them by his count, all clad in brightly colored and decorated battle armor. There was a large male leader, whose decoration stood out amongst the others. He wielded a large and intimidating Fire-Axe firmly attached to a sledgehammer head, which matched his equally massive frame, and intimidating demeanor. His armor was of the highest grade out of all of his patrol, with him being at the forefront of battle. Although the red-skulls were mostly lightly armor, his was still of considerable grade with large band of reinforced leather and rubber. In addition to his imposing armor, he also wore a large headdress, comprised of fur for comfort, leather for protection, and hanging feathers mainly for rank identification. His patrol consisted of 3 other lower ranked melee units, each wielding mid-sized machete like blades, or daggers. Each of them dawned basic tribal garb, with light rubber and leather plating. The final member, at back of the group was an archer, equipped with a crude bow, who also appeared to have medical supplies. She was the only female in the group, clad in a dress like garb that reach just above her knees, she also had legging style cloth covering her legs. Slung across her back was a large quiver attached to a bag that probably held her medical supplies. Hanging from various points along her clothing were feathers, along with colorful wristbands and tattoos. These more or less signified her spiritual or shamanistic importance, further affirming her position as the medic or healer of the group. The other group was slightly larger, but less imposing. They were apparently the Khurgans (or “Big Uglies as Hunter put it) whom the Red skulls were at war with. There were around 7 or so of them all mainly in tattered military-esque outfits with light rubber plates and helmets. In contrast to the red-skulls primarily melee-based band, the Khurgans we’re mainly ranged fighters, with 2 combat knife wielding melee units. The ranged units were either equipped with decent level hunting rifles, or semi auto rifles. The leader was distinguishable by a cap with 5 five-pointed starts on the front, and he wielded relatively well-maintained repeater. Another testament to difference in the tribes was the fact that the leader of the Khurgan group, was at the very rear, even behind the medic, while Red Skull leader charged in ahead of all his inferior units. From one side of another a cluster the Red skulls weaved in an out of cover, under fire from the Khurgans, in an attempt to gain the upper hand. They were slightly outnumbered and outgunned, but their level of skill, determination, and overall fight prowess further exceeded the rudimentary Khurgan patrol. Grabbing his weapon Dre endeavored to provide the Red skulls with some assistance. He moved down to a cluster of rocks, flanking the current positions of Khurgans. He loaded a slug instead of the buckshot and took careful aim at one of the grunts that appeared to be the squad medic. Lining him up in the crude sights of his weapon, he let a round fly. It went whirling towards his center of mass, though it landed a bit higher than what Dre had aimed for, thanks to the unaligned sights of his weapon. Still it was deadly, landing just below the neck, it entered and exited, almost throwing him down in the process. He then reloaded and inserted a buckshot The leader of the squad had notice the death of the medic, however by this point his enemies were upon. The leader of the red skulls charged the ranks. He struck one of the melee men with enough force to knock his body a few back, shattering and gouging his rib cage simultaneously with the force from the weighted axe head. The second Melee unit met a slightly more forgiving fate. The smallest red skull in the pack by far, plunged his two daggers directly into his chest and throat, directly after and had arrow landed square in his shoulder blade. The man with hammer tactfully advances toward the majority of the group, now outnumbered by one man, and the rest of his pack followed suit. They weaved in and out, left and right in a cunningly intricate pattern, confusing their opponents. This also served to avoid direct fire, though even if they had been hit they probably wouldn’t have felt much, as they’d surely been sooped up on the “Voodoo” they were infamous for. Soon they had overwhelmed the few remaining ones, but the leader had managed to land a good shot square in the chest of one of the Skulls. Unholstering both his knives Dre followed the Skull’s example and charged from the blind side. He collided with a man wielding a hunting rifle at the same time as one the grunts, plunging his knives directly in the back the Khurgans neck, while a Skull Carved a path from the same Khurgans stomach to his upper back, using his machete. Directly after this the man with the hammer charged the other leader, knocking him square of his feet. The man on the ground the scrambled to retrieve his rifle, but was struck with a hammer blow directly to his head, almost reducing his skull nothing. The man with the hammer then followed with blow to the neck with the axe head, ensuring his death. |
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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 | Dec 23 2010, 12:00 AM Post #5 |
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Wastland Guerilla
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Lifting his weapon of the dead man’s neck, the leader took a good curious look at Dre and grunted. Dre, not wanting to come excite any form of hostility, quickly holstered both of knives and raised his hands. The pack began to curiously examine him, before the large one gruffly asked “Who you? And what you doin’ here?” His voice was low but assertive, and he spoke with a heavy accent, almost forcing each word. Dre Hastily responded, “My names Deandre, heard your tribe was at war and I was sent to check on you.” The man looked him for a few seconds and then groaned. “Who sent you?” “Man named hunter from bucket town” “Hunter? I know hunter” said one of the smaller men “Who usually send guys to trade and whatnot around this time. Guess he’s the new fucking errand boy” he said snickering. He seemed a bit wire and hyper, no doubt from the voodoo he was under. “You know hunter eh?” “Of course I know him, he sold me this very machete in my hand” “I just need to talk to whoever handles your trades, and then I’ll be on my way” Dre said. “Would you mind taking me to your town?” The large man looked him for a minute and grunted “Wait fo us to loot dese bodies, den we lead you inta town an’ let you handle whatever biz you got. After dat we lead you back out” “That’s fine by me” Dre said contempt “would you happen to have any spare water?” “Maybe we can spare a little” He suggested “Let’s go” “Sulik…. Who’s gonna carry Sharp-toof?” said the female “He’s beat up real bad” “I’ll carry him, strap im on my bak, you 2 grab da loot” said the large man, who’s name was apparently sulik. They then set out towards town. Sometime during their trip the smaller one’s, whom Dre had helped kill one of the Khurgans, tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey man, thanks for the help back there, Im Swift” He said sincerely “The girl’s Liya, That other guy’s MowBlade, and of course you know Sulik and Sharp. “No problem, it was a mutual thing, you’re helping me, I figure why not help you” “Yea… and don’t min sulik, he doesn’t necessarily like outsiders, but he aint so bad.” “It’s cool guy” When they had reached the village he was directed towards the Chieftain, who had a large metal shack towards the back center of the village. The town layout consisted of a serious of tents that comprised the barracks along with the armory and training grounds at the north. Adjacent to that was the voodoo tent, which contained around 12 bedrolls monitored by 3 or four full time priests. Then towards the center of town was a large campfire, with a few large poles jutting out of the ground, each with an interesting design pattern. Towards the southernmost point were the common areas mainly filled with women and children monitored by a moderate detail of high-level guards. Then towards the west, which would considered the back of the town was the elders’ quarters, overshadowed 2 large archer towers and protected by a full detail of highly skilled warriors. Dre entered the shack that contained the elders’ council, carefully monitored by Sulik who followed right behind him. The elders’ Shack consisted off around 15 older tribal mainly men gathered in a circle around a center totem. By the door there two guards both wielding high quality duel sword-like weapons, and throughout the room there were other high level guards. The elders were all clad in high quality robes, each with an intricate design patterned just as unique as the last. The chieftain sat at the very back and center of the room accompanied by two fierce warriors both wielding duel machines and sporting bright red leather armor. The chieftain himself wore a mixture of a fine robe and fierce armor. With a large metal plate cover his right shoulder and breast that had a small spike jutting from the top. From his chin hug a long thick bear, with read beads braided into it. His headdress and face point was more detail than anyone else’s, it had large white fur cap line by a string a feathers with a large red leather angled plate at the very center. Hanging from the bottom were multiple strings of leather with feathers draped from them, almost cover his ears and face. Sulik introduced him “Chieftain, we have a guest who say he’s from buckettown, he wishes to speak wid you.” The chieftain took a good look at Dre and smiled. “Buckettown? Hmm…. I am Chief Mhu’nik… this is my domain, what have you to say” The chieftain spoke with an old but powerful voice, with a speech pattern similar to Sulik’s. His words resonated well down to Dre’s core. Dre took a deep breath…. “Greetings Chief” He said trying to sound as respectful as possible “I here you’re at war, and I bring word from buckettown” “What word do you bring? Yes we are war, and our trade with that town can prove to benefit us as the war grows” “Hunter asks of the arrangements, so you’re willing to trade?” Dre inquired. “We are ready and more willing to trade than ever, send word to him… now what is he rewarding you for you journey” He asked with a curious tone. “He didn’t say, but I’ll have to work that out when I return” The man now partially stroking his beard “Surely you went through a lot of trouble to get here, so we’ll to see that you’re rewarded… but if there is nothing is, then you are dismissed” Dre thanked him and gave him and did a slight bowing gesture before leaving. On his way out of the village Sulik tapped him on his shoulder. “We help you get to where you need to go… follow us” Thank you for the escort “No thanks, I said I would lead you out, and das what im goin; to do. Let’s go” Dre grinned slightly “Sure thing, chief” |
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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 | Dec 23 2010, 12:39 AM Post #6 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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Mainly, I would say you probably need to work a little more on fine-tuning and refining. That sounds odd, but it's really a good sign. You've just about hit the technical level where it becomes mainly about content. Time to start refining your craft and working on different types of writing. My suggestions? Try to make combat of this type seem more energetic. Learning to pace better is key to interesting combat. Try to make dialogue and character interaction feel more organic, which basically boils down to developing better 'voices' for NPC's and keeping an eye on how the conversation comes out sounding and feeling.
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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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