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| Fires on the Hill | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 23 2016, 10:23 AM (151 Views) | |
| FallenSanity | Sep 23 2016, 10:23 AM Post #1 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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The road was the same way the Madsnake remembered it, as he passed by a rusted old sign shaped like a fat, crowned shield, the blue and red paint fading away on its surface, with the remnants of the white paint outlining precisely where he was, strolling calmly down the I-35. The highway was in shockingly good condition. The desert winds had done their damage, as had the waves and explosions of the war. Texas had been a major target, though the Madsnake didn’t know this, and it had caused incredible amounts of damage on everything between San Antonio, Dallas, and Houston. A lovely little triangle of terror. The damage was immense, but it was better than the deserts that had engulfed the west, and it meant that the ruins and the broken roads provided safety and cover, as well as enough chances for crime and punishment. Urban warfare was too common for the Madsnake’s liking. He preferred the quiet, calm nature of war, not the sort of thing you got in the ruins. The long, winding highway was, for the most part, intact. There were more cracks than there were people alive, and large chunks had been removed or destroyed both before and after the Great War, but there was still a clear path, a passage that could be taken. Judging by the makeshift fences that popped up, made from cobble, mesh, rundown cars, and what looked liked bones in some rare cases, it was possibly also a major trade route, fixed to defend the caravans that came through. It made the Madsnake ponder on just how many problems he could face, on this long and tiring route. Most of the road was covered in sand and shrubbery, though it was easy to see where people travelled as tracks and empty spots littered the highway. There were enough cars along the highway to fund a small army in scrap metal, and the same went for the streetlights, most of which had managed to remain standing even some two-hundred years after the bombs fell. The few that hadn’t held their ground were busted up, with chunks removed and most of them just hard to tell apart from the rubble of the road. The same went for what looked like houses up on the elevated sides of the highway, a bit far back - barely recognisable if you weren’t trying to see them, and the Madsnake wasn’t. The Madsnake kept on his way, clambering over a seven car pile-up and being careful to avoid hitting anything major on the cars. He’d learnt the hard way how volatile these old vehicles could be, recalling a violent gunfight he’d been involved in near Abilene wherein a group of bandits and a group of militiamen crossed fire on the highway, ending in a catastrophic chain of explosions that had seen more than half of the fighters blown well and truly off of the overpass, and likely done more damage than it seemed to the integrity of the structure. If something like that happened now, the Madsnake would likely suffer at least a little bit of a problem. He walked past an overturned Nuka-Cola truck, noticing that there was less than nothing in the back compartment aside from some empty bottles, and moved on as quickly as he could. Just down the road, he could see a pair of large, electronic traffic signs, one on the left hand side of the road hanging over the highway, it’s metal rusted and its glass busted, and the other on the right lying tilted on an old, broken down bus, with a dent in it the size of a car, likely caused by the car less than a few feet away. That sign, just like the first, had its glass broken and its metal rusted, though unlike the other it was in a much worse state, with most of it seemingly exploded outwards by unknown means. As the Madsnake closed in, he could see skeletons hanging out of windows, their clothes torn apart in most places, and in the hand of one of them, lying just by the side of the bus, a bashed up old pistol. The pre-war world must have been quite fun, he thought, as he made his way into the shadow of the sign above him. The Madsnake craned his head up, looking behind him at the sign that remained aloft. On it was painted a set of words and a large arrow, with what looked like red paint. Though clearly painted many times over, the most recent coat was old, and fading in most spots. It read ‘Waco 24 Miles’ on the top, and just under it in what appeared to be much newer paint, ‘Otriad 55 Miles.’ The Madsnake felt like he’d heard of Waco before, but it could just be he’d heard the word wacko and was getting the two mixed up. Things were weird like that. The Madsnake kept walking. He’d been walking for possibly four hours now, maybe five, and it was still a dead, cold night. On occasion he would look out and see a flicker of light in a ruined house, or perhaps on a hill or in a forest. People trying to make it by, perhaps fighting off an animal, or worse, other people. At one point, near a collapsed overpass, the Madsnake could see a town to his left, in the east. A few pockets of light were visible, and from one of them he could see a large mass moving back to where he’d come from. A trade caravan, setting out bright and early, probably headed to Bucket Town. Lately, few other places were surviving. It was really the only option left. Once the lights of the small settlement faded behind him, the Madsnake could see the long empty road ahead of him. As voices slowly flickered back to life in his head, he trudged onwards, into the darkness and the debris, his mind set on nothing true anymore other than going, and going, and going. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 24 2016, 04:52 AM Post #2 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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It’s strange, isn’t it Daniel? One of those voices again. The Madsnake hadn’t fended them off in some time, and now he welcomed them like old friends. He could always hear them, buzzing in the background of his mind, but it was a great comfort when they came to him like this, in a place where no others were seeping in. It was him and a voice, one-on-one, not like the days of old. The days before he had surrendered himself and given in to them even more than before. His addictions nearly killed him, and whenever he was on those foul drugs he silenced the voice. Now, he lets them roam, free and clear, through the valleys of his mind. This world used to thrive. The hulks of steel and rubber, machinations of humankind, once darted across prairies and beyond and further still, and the roads carved out of nature's anguish dictated so much, and now do so little. This is what is left of the world's grandest and most revered of empires. That all sounded so true. This world, all that existed in it at the time of the Madsnake, was old. The new things made were only new because the world had forgotten about them. These great beasts of metal, once upon a time surely had a purpose. It made the Madsnake wonder what this road, this highway that he walked on, was like before the bombs had fallen. Was it busy? How many people had made this same journey he had made before the war, and how few had made it since? It was so strange to think that so much could have come to such a cataclysmic end. War, though, was the greatest innovation of humanity. That was why it succeeded all things. Everything, with the right amount of strength of intelligence, could be used as a weapon, and any reason could be used to justify a war. That was something that the Madsnake had learned very early in his journeys. Humanity always found a way, a reason, to fight. Look at that which falls under your feet, and witness hundreds of years of war and death and dystopia. The knowledge of so many, and so much, has become rubble and waste under heel. This dust is all that is left. The Madsnake looked around at the ruins of the road, and the ruins not far off in the distance. Houses, vehicles, so much that must have meant something once. Each a single person owned a vehicle, and a single person owned a home, that still meant that the Madsnake had wandered, in his life, past countless symbols of a departed soul. It was so unique, the sort of thing that would most likely never occur again in all of the history of the world or humanity. This was the raw power of human hatred, and it was the perfect reflection of the new world, a world bred for people just like him, the Madsnake, a world conditioned to embrace hatred and welcome it, with no intent to ever put it to its end. The meek were never designed to inherit the earth. The earth was left to nature and its vices, the power of growth that overcome death, and the life-bearing genesis of this, the new world order. This is all that shall ever be again, Daniel. ‘Daniel.’ The voice kept calling him Daniel. It was his name, so it made sense, but he forgot the last time he’d had to use it. Most of his encounters these days revolved around less than hospitable circumstances, and it meant he rarely had time to introduce himself or get acquainted with others. He wasn’t expecting himself to have to remember the details like his name anymore, all that mattered was how he presented himself. He wasn’t doing a fine job of his presentation anymore, with rags hanging off of his form and long, scraggy, dirty hair running down his shoulders and even forming a thick beard over his jaw, but his attitude was what tended to shift people, sharp words and a silver tongue easily undoing centuries of work, and decades of hard living. Did the roads of your turmoil all guide you to this moment? Or was this a destiny you could not outdo, one that would hunt and chase you until your omega came, and you joined the rest of this species of warmongers? His mind raced, as the voice spoke to him words that meant far more than that sounded. It was a fair enough question, and the evidence of the world all pointed to it being hard to say no to. Humanity, in its very finite wisdom, had made the final choice when the Great War began and ended. Billions died because of it, both immediately and in the bloody, horrific aftermath. Surely, at the time, many had to question if the war could have been avoided, but a brief look at what came next proved that in some time, whether in a week or in a hundred years, the bombs would have fallen. Humanity rose out of its own ashes, built cities, then built states, then built armies, and then tore any that opposed them down. War was the way of the world, and the same went for the Madsnake. He was a symbol of the darkest side of humanity, that side that never faded, never lingered too far from the minds of all people. That hunger for survival, that need to quench personal desires, he was a victim of them all to the umpteenth degree, and a poster boy for what humanity will become, if war should swallow it again. This town used to welcome three-thousand people into it’s realm, it was a hivemind before a hive, a boiling point that sung of the world around it - depraved and neglectful, caring for its own whims over any other. A town that would ruin a thousand others for a selfish cause. The Madsnake was hurled back to reality when he realised what was being spoken of. This town was another ruin, which was no surprise, but what was it? The Madsnake sought out, in the dimly lit morning, a distant and rusted sign that he was sure would tell him what he needed to know. This stretch of road was worse than before, though it was the same highway. The cars were piled together, a mess of debris and a memorial to death, with a rusted red billboard set to the right of the crash, a bus rolled over against it. The writing was old, but not as old as it had been the last time he saw it. In faded red paint, crusting around the edges, read ‘Waco 10 miles’ drawn over the picture of some pre-war car. The Madsnake had walked so much further than he thought. He looked at the dawning light, his face crusted with sweat and blood, and hung his head as he wandered further into his own unknown. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 26 2016, 03:53 AM Post #3 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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The walk from now on would be roughly three hours. The Madsnake had barely stopped in his stride so far, knowing full well the benefits of a rest. Whatever Waco was, it would have shelter and food, and that would get him by until the next day. Something told him that Waco wasn’t his last stop, and whatever it was, he had to believe it. What else was there to go on if not gut instinct, and the probing voices that came to his mind, speaking words both soft and harsh, caring and cruel, misguided and destined? He looked to his left, noticing a burnt out old Red Rocket filling station. From where he was, it looked as if the stop had only recently been used as a resting place for travellers, judging by the single, torn up sleeping bag that had been dragged quite a few feet from the side door, a skeleton left lying in its open wake, with some murky brown stains visible all around. As with most locations in this Texan savannah, there was a layer of dirt and sand all around the place, but there was less than you’d think tracked around the gas station. Was it still being used? Fucking die! The Madsnake followed the splintered road for some while, past old buildings and, before long, rusted and dusty foundations; whatever had once been around here, on the edge of the town, was long gone. For some distance after that, there was nothing but dead grassland and forest to the left, but to the right there was a long, shallow wall not far from the highway, and only some time after noticing it could the Madsnake make out the faded black writing on it, clearly painted by hand and set not far from a couple of front doors. Whatever ‘Leo’s Truck Parts’ was before the war, now it was a ruin, and little else. Worthless failure! The Madsnake looked up ahead, seeing the incline and obeying the laws of it, climbing up the cracked and ruptured road, seeing that the rains and colds of the past had left much of the road to slide down itself. If not for the small parts left on the top of the road, it would actually be difficult to tell just where the road had once gone. Looking over, he could see that in the right lane, stones and cobble had been laid down, and even an old billboard and some doors, to form a replacement road. Whoever had built it was clearly using the thing, they’d used all sorts of things in attempt to keep it in place. From the top of the small hill, the Madsnake could see for a great distance. Many roads split around the hill, and he could see dozens of old caravans rusted out and left to waste, but beyond that there was very little. He did catch something weird, and he was forced to adjust to it, noticing that the left lane of the road was broken and torn apart, while the right was repaired, kept safe, and modified to be safer for travellers. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t complain, and so he crossed over, feeling the traction of the fresh, well kept road beneath his feet. The area was increasingly safer and more welcoming, with most structures repaired and kept up by the locals, whoever they were. The Madsnake wondered if, perhaps, he was finding his way to Waco. Looking up he could see the sun had shifted greatly, but before he could properly commit to his time telling, he was caught off by the rumbling of an engine and explosions. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, and saw pillars of smoke trailing towards him. Gearheads. They weren’t common, but that’s because they weren’t much more than pissed off raiders with wheels under them, and it made them arguably more threatening than even the mightiest beasts. The Madsnake didn’t want to mess with them, not on their own turf at least. He moved off of the road, into the bushes that had grown up and around the way. He lay low, and waited. The roar grew louder and louder, until finally, the raiders flew past him. They went by in motorcycle’s, some buggy’s and even a couple of quad’s, the sort of thing used further out into the desert. To the Madsnake’s wonder, the hum of engines hadn’t fully passed him, as a Highwayman drove past, and then, just behind it, a massive, roaring semi, ten wheels in all, rolling up and then down the hill. As the Madsnake peered out, to the convoy that had blown past him, he watched as they turned into ‘Leo’s Truck Parts’ and immediately began walking again, back down the road he had been travelling. It was a long walk. His legs ached, and he could feel the sweat running down his body as he passed by ruins, residences, and likely worse. The sun had passed well beyond it’s peak now, and the twelfth hour of this arduous trek was well behind him. The Madsnake held it in his heart that each hill would roll down into a city, but instead they all led into longer stretches of road, and though he was slowly able to see the remnants of small villages, it wasn’t the same. He needed to see the fires burning, the light of humanity. It would tell him he was on the right track. He was being reminded of the lost times he’d spent in dust storms and deserts, and his gut twisted around itself over and over. The further he went, though, the busier things felt; more cars ruined and gutted, more houses, it was shaping up to be near that city. He was closer than he’d ever been. Dick wipe! Failed again! When the Madsnake came to a collapsed overpass, with a shoddily built wooden bridge in its place, he knew he was near some form of civilisation. He had to be at this point - why else would raiders establish themselves here? This kept him going, it fuelled him, and the Madsnake kept working on and on, before finally climbing up a long, rolling overpass, looking out across the horizon, and seeing, just to the distance, a single standing tower. That would have to be it - Waco, Texas. The former city came into full view as the Madsnake grew closer, and it was rather gutting to see. After getting off of the messy overpass, which had more rubble and ruin around it than made sense to him, he could really see what had once been quite a bustling locale. Large carparks with rusted skeletons filling them to the brim, collapsed cable towers, and small townships and houses that were falling apart on themselves. Strangest of all, though, were the trails of smoke dwindling in the evening sky, and the occasional fires he could hear, burning inside former homes. So much of it, the destruction, felt recent. It wasn’t right. Cry bitch! Break down! Give up! He kept on with his journey, rest assured that he was going the right way, and that soon, he’d be able to rest. That feeling had kept him going, it had been a driving force once hunger and tire set in around him, and as his mind slowly turned its back on him. That very same feeling was lingering now on the edge of the abyss, and it almost tipped when he came to a stone sign, that read in big proud letter, ‘Waco,’ and had five bodies scattered around it, their hands and feet bound, on their knees, with splatterings of blood all across it. A lineup, and an execution. He was here. This was Waco. He looked down the road, through the impromptu gate made of the rubble and concrete of a busted road bridge, to see charred corpses, busted open bodies, and a symbol of the destruction that the Wasteland brought with it. As he waded through the abysmal surround, he had to think back to the gearheads, those raiders on wheels who knew nothing but slaughter and lunacy. He thought of them, and the thought of this place, and pieced together what had happened. The Madsnake kept on walking, as the voices in his head grew louder and louder. Fucked up! Missed chance! Turn back! Lie down! Just die! |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 26 2016, 07:38 AM Post #4 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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Waco wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. To have its name painted on signs, distant signs at that, one would have to expect something truly worth the trip. Instead, the city was in shambles. The Madsnake crossed over a train track that ran under what had once been a bridging highway, the rubble around him moved around and likely used to build up the surrounding structures. The Madsnake wondered how much of the damage to these roads had come before the war, and how much was recent. The other side of the dip gave wake to a surprising view, showing off what looked like an old stadium on one side of the highway, and what looked to be a motel on the other. In another time, he’d be delighted to see them. However, a few things made it clear they’d been undone. As the Madsnake walked up the road and past the motel, he could see nothing but ruin. Pillars and roof tiles were thrown all around, cars were flipped and broken, and all around the motel, corpses were scattered. Some hung from the windows, bloodied and broken, while many others were scattered around, their guns left a few feet from them. These people had fought to their last breath. From the sign of the motel, a man and woman were hung by the neck, and though he couldn’t see it they were beyond dead, with gaping wounds left in their chests and skulls. The motel was, not long ago, quite a nice stop. Now it was a reminder of human brutality. Still, it did nothing to compare to what existed to the left of the highway, in the former stadium. All around the base of the stadium, wood and felt and other fabrics were spread around. From his position, the Madsnake could see fruit and meat scattered about, as well as guns, armour, clothing, and other miscellaneous goods - all broken. There had once been a market there, but judging by the gore, it had been blown apart along with its inhabitants. That was all one thing in its own right, but there was worse. Gazing at the stadium, the Madsnake could see one massive, gaping wound of crumpling steel and concrete, still falling apart. The raiders had blown a hole in what must have been a final line of defence, and through it, one could see a large pile of blackened corpses, the smoke fresh on their bodies. The Madsnake felt a shiver run up his spine, as he moved on, wanting to get away from all of this. Oh look at you, scared of something like this? Really? You’ve done worse, you’ve seen worse. You’ve tasted worse than some burnt old fools in the dust. Things did not get better fast, much to the chagrin of the Madsnake. A river came up ahead, and over it four great bridges, and none of them left undamaged. Massive chunks were missing, having been blown into the waters below and left there to be washed away, and on what little bits of the highway had managed to hold themselves together, there were husks of steel and bone, cars left from before the end of civilisation and corpses left from after humanity failed to change its ways. He walked carefully, stepping lightly and only where he was sure he could, but still the Madsnake hated this. It was so common to see, a place of safety wiped out by such cruelty. It did little more than defeat him even more. What, you’re going to act like you’re above those people? Raiders aren’t above you, you aren’t above them. You’re both horrible and sick minded. The difference is they were busted by chems, by fumes and shit like that. You? Yeah sure, the addiction never helped, but you don’t try to change yourself much do ya, Daniel? The Madsnake looked at his feet as he stepped over another ruined corpse, troubled to see that its size gave away its age. The small body was as burnt as the rest, and as the Madsnake came to a failed roadblock, seemingly made up by an old cityliner that was now separated into two pieces by a gaping hole, he could see the city up ahead, which was a true ruin of the pre-war world. The buildings were almost skeletons, with their glass blown away and their buildings collapsing in on themselves. As the road went on he could see more and more ruins, craters from decades upon decades ago, and still, this endless train of ruined vehicles. It didn’t change for some time. Further into the city, along the highway he had been walking across for longer than he could really remember, the Madsnake came into a sweeping overstanding interchange, collapsed just like everything else. He could just barely walk through what was left of the underpass, seeing bodies buried under the sediment around him, remnants of the apocalypse that had come and gone so swiftly. There was something safe about the surrounding nature of the stone structure that made the bodies even more disturbing, and the Madsnake had this strange feeling of ease as he stepped out into the open again. Oh, feel all cramped when you’re surrounded huh? Funny, think any of your victims felt that way? Or could you not think about how they felt, you sick fuck, while you play with your food for hours on end? You’re just some tweaking creep, don’t act like you’re humane. The Madsnake froze in his tracks. He looked back, down the long straight road, and saw the small moving blips closing in on him. Only three of them, but that was all that was needed to put Orton in the ground. He held his ground, turning to face the trio that came in on him fast, a pair of quads and a motorbike that came up to surround him, four men in total on them. The Madsnake looked around, his eyes darting to each man around him. Goggles on two of them, sunglasses strapped to another, and then a pair of deep, dark, brown eyes on the fourth. The Madsnake held onto the knife tucked into his belt, and waited. He had to hear them talk. Fuck that, you’re not some swishy little bitch are you? You can take them on, come on you stupid bastard, just attack. Go on. Kill these cunts, bite their faces off, plug out their eyes. Maybe not in that order? |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 26 2016, 09:48 AM Post #5 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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The Madsnake buried his knife into the raiders neck, pulling the leather-coated junkie off of his quad bike and down onto the tarmac below, choking and spluttering on the kitchen knife plunged deep into his esophagus. The other three gearheads were caught off-guard by the speed, but that didn’t mean they were totally thrown off. A 10mm pistil, a homemade shotgun, and what looked like a submachine gun were all pulled on the Madsnake, and he was barely quick enough to avoid the hail of bullets that peppered his previous location, busting open the corpse of the raider on the ground. The trio clambered off of their vehicles, and things started to get really heated. The first thing that happened was the tallest raider, who carried his own handmade shotgun, having the weapon blow up in his face. He pulled the trigger, and much to his misfortune the barrel was too worn out and the slug exploded, turning a once simple instrument of war into a shotty grenade, blowing off most of the raiders face, right arm, and jaw. As the raiders body fell onto the ground, his partner freaking out next to him, the Madsnake moved quick to the man with dark brown eyes, the kind that seem to linger even after their gaze has shifted. The Madsnake was eager to put down what looked like the most threatening member of the entire group, and if he could it well, it would convince the last of them to flee. That man has seen more tears and heard more cries than the same person that signalled the end of the world. He has chosen to kill each individual with blade and bullet, and now he is given the swift passing, something his victims never suffered, and something he doesn’t deserve, all to aid in your own survival. The gearhead dropped his gun, and caught onto the Madsnakes wrists, holding him in place for a moment. As the power struggle burst into action, it was over almost as soon as it began, with the Madsnake slashing as the raiders chest and cutting him open. The furious wasteland scavenger recoiled, almost falling to his knees before the Madsnake spun around, hurling his knife over to the fourth and final member of the attacking raider group. The knife wasn’t the sharpest, but it did the job, plunging deep into the attackers abdomen. The Madsnake reached around and in a flurry, pulled out his baseball bat, ready to crack open skulls. Do it! Devour them! One swing connected with the google-eyed raider, the knife still stuck in his gut, as he was bowled to the ground, a gaping wound now opened on the side of his head. In a moment of dizzy aggression he raised his arm and pulled the trigger, spraying random rounds into the air, attempting to hit his attacker but to no avail. The Madsnake swung again, this time in a downward arc, cracking open the gearheads skull. The third strike hit the same spot, and by the fourth, the raider was, at the best, out cold. The Madsnake pulled the knife out, and quickly stabbed back down, burying it in the head of his enemy. Dead or not before, he sure was now. The Madsnake turned a second later than was to his benefit, as the leader of the quartet bowled into him, with the Madsnakes split-second reaction all that kept him from a full on attack. As the two were sent to the floor, the Madsnake reached out to grab the bat that had been knocked from his grasp. He grabbed the top of it, but before he could pull it close he felt a boot collide with his gut. You’re gonna just lie down and take it, aren’t you? You’re so pathetic sometimes, couldn’t handle the meds, couldn’t handle some bitch girl in some backwards town, can’t handle some random junkie raiders. Might as well just hand over your shit, huh? The raider captain was up to his feet, but that kick alone had done some damage. Both hands clutched at the open gash on his chest, as he stumbled away. The Madsnake had cut deeper than anticipated, and it gave him all the opportunity he needed. Standing up, grabbing his bat tight, he rounded on the final raider and began to unleash everything he had. His first swing aimed for the raiders left knee, busting it. The second swing went for the ribcage, cracking four of them. The third swing went for the right shoulder, dislocating it on impac. The fifth swing missed as the raider fell back onto the ground, clutching his body as best he could. The sixth went for the right foot, completely shattering it, and the seventh swing knocked out nearly all of the raiders teeth. The eighth and ninth swing both went for the raiders right knee, collapsing it before the final swing, which shattered the raiders left foot. The gearhead gargled blood and teeth, spitting them out as best he could before the Madsnake kicked him in the back of the head. He looked up at the sky, seeing his enemy looming overhead, a pulsating wave of pain the only thing he could really feel. The Madsnake paced for a moment, before grabbing the nearby motorbike, wheeling it over, and then knocking it over onto the raider, who wailed in pain as the weight was slammed onto him. He flailed about, reaching for the nearby submachine gun, before the Madsnake intercepted. The submachine gun wasn’t much, and so it had its magazine pulled out and tossed away, while the gun itself was thrown into the air before being smashed to bits with one clean swing of the baseball bat. The pistol, however, was different. The Madsnake pulled the gun up into his hand, pulled out its magazine, and emptied all but one bullet into the side of the road. Then, he tossed the gun down next to the raider, and the magazine a few feet away, before kicking at the bullets, letting some bounce away out of view. The Madsnake looked at the raider on the floor, tears and blood and sweat all mangled together on his busted face, his once brown eyes now bloodshot. There was a feeling that washed over the Madsnake, a feeling he knew well and he embraced, as the voices tore into his mind. He smiled slowly, panting, and looming like a devil over the creature at his feet, before silently walking on, down the long road and away, out of earshot and out of mind of the broken raider. By the time the Madsnakes mind started to clear, he could see something not far into the distance, and it filled him with memories of just how hungry, tired, and in pain he was. The warm hum of light in the distance meant fire, and the moving shadows meant life. Judging by the area around him, which was decreasing in corpses and increasing in overturned cars forming makeshift barricades, it was easy to assume these were some survivors. The Madsnake was little more than a traveller, here to rest his head and move on not long after. He glided into the interchange, silent and shady, not looking anyone over as he found a small spot not far from a small lit barrel, laid himself down, and finally, after a much longer trip than he would have wanted, closed his eyes. He needed to rest. After all, he was only human. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 27 2016, 08:32 AM Post #6 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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The rays of sun that pierced the overhanging clouds were warm, and their embrace kept the Madsnakes comforts intact while he was roused from his rest, the sound of yelling and engines revving echoing in the underpass of the interchange. As he stirred and entered the woken world, he could see quads and bikes storming past him and through the underpass, as residents threw themselves out of the way, opening fire on the gearheads as they sped away. He walked over into the middle of the street, adjusting his pack over his shoulder as he carefully watched the situation unfold. He moved towards what resembled a dining area, grabbing a hunk of brahmin meat impaled on an iron rod and left over a fire, slowly eating it as the problems before him degenerated. The survivors that lived under the interchange were in a state of disarray. Men and women lay all over the place, some missing limbs and others simply writing in some unforeseen agony. The few who were left standing were behind road blocks and rubble, firing off into the ever shrinking shapes of the raider gearheads. By the time they had stopped, it was clear there had been a raid, and a violently unsuccessful one. Of the nineteen survivors of the destruction of the Waco settlement, only seven remained unharmed, with the rest laying on the ground, most rolling around in pain while they were tended to. The few bodies left unattended were motionless, scarred and dirty. Raiders, their rides left a few meters away from them, and their lives cut swiftly short. The Madsnake could see a picture painted in the bodies and the debris, a picture of carnage and war. The raiders had rode in, by the looks of things only recently, but they hadn’t caught the survivalists by surprise as they must’ve been hoping. A pair of crashed quads could be seen well before the interchange, one overturned onto its driver and the other slammed into a mound of debris, sending the gearhead on top skidding along the pavement. Others had come through, and judging by burns and the general smell of the area, they’d been using explosives. Then, they drove off, once the enemy was fighting hard enough. A simple failure, as it were. The Madsnake didn’t bother to piece it together himself, instead eating and filling up his gut, as the wounded were cared for with what little the townies had left. The Madsnake garnered a few stares, as did other wasters who were avoiding the remnant of the conflict, but for the most part he was left unbothered. There was no point causing a scene now, as most of the fighting had been done and gone. The only issue he could see was that he needed to go, and soon - Waco had been a bust, and with a group like those gearheads rounding up the last of the survivors, it wasn’t hard to tell that this place didn’t have much left in it. Quads and motorbikes had caused chaos, what would a few cars do? Not to mention that truck. There was nothing else for it, and as the Madsnake took another leg of what he assumed was brahmin, he started to pick himself back up and head on his way. Further down the road, away from the salvaged interchange, he could see two raiders set on the side of the highway, their quads stopped not far away, smoking. By the time either of them noticed him he was already marching over, baseball bat out in his hand, and swinging for the fences. The pair of them were ill-equipped and caught off guard, and a few well placed shots put them down without too much hassle. A pair of empty guns don’t mean much in the Wasteland. The Madsnake turned his attention to the quads, noticing busted tires and exposed internals. They worked though, and that was something. He hopped onto one, revving it for a moment, trying to figure out how a vehicle like this worked. By the time he had done, he decided he’d make use of whatever he could get. He attempted to swap out old tires for new, but by the time he realised he didn’t know what he was doing, he decided it might be best to just stop. He hung his head, let out a soft sigh, and the Madsnake went back on his way, walking tirelessly down this endless highway, his feet sore, his mind aching, and his body worn out. He didn’t know why he wanted to keep walking. But he couldn’t bring it upon himself to stop. For now, perhaps, it was best not to. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 27 2016, 08:46 AM Post #7 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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[align=center]FINISHED[/align] |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| Triminac | Sep 29 2016, 08:57 PM Post #8 |
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Private Dick
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Me again, you're friendl neighborhood Junior Mod! From the first post to the second, you jumped a little bit, and it caught me off guard. You were already upon that raider, though you hadn’t stated which one or that he had resolved not to let them speak, contradicting your last post. Second thing, probably most important. Find some way to signify that the thoughts are separate from the narrative. Italics are good, perhaps apostrophes, but at least something. A few times I was unsure if it was the voices in his head or just the narrator speaking. The raiders are fun for a gool ol’ fashioned fight scene, but ya gotta at least give ‘em some depth, man. If they’re just cannon fodder, did they really add anything to the story? I mean, we’ve all done this, so don’t feel bad. Next time though, make them a group of people are terrifying to see, that might have bring some actual consequences if you had lost to them. Reminder, at level one, fighting four raiders is still going to be a bit of a bitch. One kick in the gut might be a few too many hits. So this story was pretty short, and you didn’t really do much, but you did well with what Orton did manage to do. I think you have an excellent grasp of the pacing and chaos of fight scenes, so in the future I think it could only be beneficial for you practice other aspects of the story. Your flow was fine except for that first thing. Keep up the good work.
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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