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It will do for now (solo); Crafting a tier 1 shield
Topic Started: Nov 29 2016, 08:28 PM (69 Views)
TonyTheFish
Wastelander
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The phrase "walk in like you own the place" has been thrown around a lot, especially before the war. It was used as a term of confidence, of charisma and surety to get into somewhere you would not normally be allowed by pretending that you belonged there. And it often worked, even still, walk in somewhere like you are one of them, bored face, relaxed form like you have been there a hundred times before and the sight of it is nothing new. The trick is to look around and nod at random people, its a psychological thing you see, people will just nod back without questioning it if you pretend you know them. Especially raiders, most of them are so hooked on drugs that they would not recognise one of their own men if he was stabbing a trader in the head. The people that walk through a raider base come in all shapes and sizes as well, wear all kinds of clothes and pack all kinds of weapons. But even with all of this under consideration, it was nothing short of a miracle that the large man with muscles the size of a truck in a vibrant blue duster, rocks tied to his knuckles and a long soot covered pipe with a capped end slung over his shoulder. He walked with a heavy slouch, a vacant expression on his face as he looked around, a bag slung over the other shoulder that jangled as he walked. The silence and tension that followed him was practically palpable, the doors had open to admit him not because he looked like he owned the place, but because he had walked up to the front doors and knocked. They assumed it was balls that caused him to do this, it was stupidity. He simply had not realised who owned the place and was oblivious to the potential thread surrounding him, he could see the guns and all, but in this land everyone had guns, this could just be another trading town.

It was bright in the day, he had heard the town before he had seen it, having been camped in a nearby building. The clatter of weapons, the varied booms of gun testing and the general jostling of a camp preparing for the survival of a new day. Even he could figure out that they would not need to survive the day if they did not make so much noise every morning. No wonder the building he was in was deserted, these guys were probably drawing every ghoul in a mile radius to their camp. It was surrounded by a wall they had set up with gunners around it, various different guns. Guns made things harder, he could not handle such delicate instruments, always breaking and running out of ammo. His hand cannon was all he needed, takes down the bigger guys, the little ones could be crushed under foot, but things with armour needed more...persuasion.

At night they would put the fires out and went inside, closing the doors and from the echoes he heard, locked from the other side. Which meant he would go down at day, he did not want to scare them by knocking on their door at night, from his size they might think he was a super mutant or something. But he was here for the glow. The glow he had seen through the lights in the shutters, you see they did not speak at night, too many ghouls, it took a lot less effort to barricade themselves in and use what he knew to be a forge. The tell tone ring of the hammer, the shriek of the grindstone, these were things he knew from his childhood and would never leave him. From the look of the men around him as he walked through their camp towards the main building, they were crafting blades and rough armour. The blades were chipped though, even those that looked fresh, they were shoddy work, brittle probably and no good for more than five or so hits. He may have been stupid but he knew metal, god knows he handled enough of it. He wanted that forge, he needed that warmth, the sparks flying as the metal would be forged, the hiss of the steam as the weapon is cooled, these were things that comforted him despite the treatment that came with them. The cobbled stone beneath him felt awkward under his boots, slightly slippery even which intensified his clumsiness to the point he knew people were glaring at him. And too late he realised the lair he had stumbled into. Raiders.

A thin man over by the door was looking at his reflection in the blade of his knife, probably the best knife he had seen here so far and it was actually shiny so probably not forged here. He looked up and let out a shriek far too loud for a man to make, then scuttled inside, yelling ensued and banging about, a small wheel rolled out of the door. The man coughed nervously, "Um, hello? I am Dom'ic, I was wond'rin' if I could use your forge please?" this was met by shushs and silence inside. Dom looked worried now, he knew who these people were, he hated what they did but he was surrounded by them now and to let them realise he knew who they were would probably make them attack. So drawing together the vestiges of his brain he decided to stay there until told otherwise. "Hello? I'm sorry, can I come in please?" whispering started inside, then the thin man stumbled out, as if pushed by someone a lot larger than he. He looked terrified. Mumbling to himself then drawing his back up and staring at Dom he stuttered "Get out. Get out now and get your own damn forge." these lines had obviously been forced on him but Dom was not to know that and met his words with an angry frown. The man shrieked again and darted back in, the door slamming behind him. Dom growled, the men behind him reaching for their guns, he could hear blades being slowly drawn, a nudge of his head behind him made them pause. He breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out. Then after a moment, just long enough to make them doubt he was going to move, he dashed forwards against the door.

Luckily the lock on the inside had not been applied because the wooden frame buckled under his strength, allowing him to burst through to the forge. The men outside started yelling to eachother with words he did not understand, the command to hold fire was given. That, and the portly man in front of him with by far the shiniest and fanciest clothing gave him the assumption that this was their leader, and they were not firing because they did not want to hit him. He was proud of this deduction and resisted the urge to smile, but he had dealt with raiders before, they found him scary and he had to keep the frown. What he ended up with was more of a grimace or a snarl depending what angle you saw him from. The leader in front of him, saw it as a snarl, and promptly pissed himself. "I said..." Dom thundered, walking forwards towards him, the forge to his left with metal sizzling gave him confidence. The leader dropping the blacksmiths hammer he had, Dom kicked it out of the way and prodded him in the chest. "...I would like to use your forge...please." the leader nodding his head so hard Dom wondered if his teeth would fall out, this response pleased Dom, and so his snarl became a grin in an astoundingly short measure of time. "Ta very much". And turned around, an immediately scraping noise made him abort the turn and raise his arm just in time to catch the shotgun levelled at his face. "That's just rude." pulling it from the slim mans it seems permanently horrified face. He took it in both hands, his muscles on both arms bulging, veins popping out and face turning read, the long barrel slowly bent until it was very nearly in a U shape. Then handed it back to the man and going over to the forge.

He was here for something he wanted to make, recent events in other locations and adventures showing him that he could not in fact catch bullets, nor could he tense against them. A lesson multiple scars on his body could attest to, and so the proper equipment was called for. By the luck of the world and the will of the wastes, he had happened upon such an item that could aid his bulletproofness in the form of a shield. It had been wielded by someone in greater need than he and so he had let the man keep it, but it had allowed the man to approach a gunman, while being shot at, but not being shot himself. Genius. However this man was rather smaller than himself, and so the proper materials and quantity would be required. Metal of course, the forge here was fairly weak so it would be of poor quality, and the ingots were scarce and badly forged, so he would have to find another source. He peered around the room, then at the raider leader who was standing there wondering what to do next. He seemed to be regaining his posture, and the men at the windows with guns pointed at Dom seemed only too glad for the order to pull the trigger. What a predicament. "Ok." he hummed to himself, then walked over to the leader, looking down into his snub face. "Hello, I would like your permission to melt parts of the vehicles outside please" referring to the vacant cars he had glimpsed on the way in around the area. They were rusty things and would make poor protection but he did not want to stay here longer than he needed to get the job done. The leader sniffed indifferently "I don't see why we should fucking cater to you. Get the hell out of my camp."

Dom was not an eloquent man, he was strong, large, intimidating when he wanted to be and kind in general to those who were kind to him. Swearing he could abide, but swearing at people? That was just bad manners. "Look here little man, I came here to make something, and I will make it with or without your permission." this was of course, a bluff, if the man really said no then Dom would have no choice to leave. He could not fight all of the guns pointed at him no matter how angry he got or how many glares he shot back at them. Then turning his head, he looked back at the man "Your technick is bad, your metal is too bumpy." the man looked very confused now. Dom had gone from intimidating the man to just insulting his work, he was unsure of how this man had become in charge, he thought it was the best who became chief. "I will make my thing and you watch, then you learn." giving his best false smiling and failing, just looking tired instead. He stepped back to give the man a second. "I will wait outside for your answer, if you think no, I leave and don't come back." strolling outside confident in how he had handled the situation. He plodded himself down on one of the said broken cars, guns still pointed at him, he did not even look at them. It was strange to see them so organised but in a camp this size he supposed it would not do for revolt to break out, especially in such a dangerous area. The leader walked out a few minutes later, leaning against the car Dom sat on top of and looked at the ground for a second before craning his neck and stating "Fine, you make your thing, these stupid cars just get in the way anyway." but there was a tone of longing in his voice to be taught by a true master. Or at least, that's what Dom imagined it was.

He slipped off, grabbing the hood of the car and ripping it off, then the door next to it, hefting them both up and walking back to the forge to the awe filled stares of all men present. He nodded at one on the way in "Could I have the hoods and doors of as many cars as you can find please." leaving them to find him what he needed. The metal was all rusty, terrible quality and it would not last for very long, but it would last long enough to get him to BuckTown where he could maybe find a real forge with real metal and make a finer design. And so he set to work, breaking out the pieces that could be smelted and those that could not, he set the leader to work creating two thin rectangles, like those you would find on a large metal door. And the man went immediately to work creating the moulds out of the metal he had been melting before. Dom kept an eye on him throughout, making sure the correct method was used, the steel was folded enough and as many imperfections were dealt with as possible. However the tutorial style that he had to use here slowed down the progress greatly, and before Dom knew it, he had the rest of the camp sitting behind him talking, joking and drinking as the night drew in. The place the door had been was boarded up, he had offered no apology for it and they were sure one was not coming. Eventually the two handles were done, one slightly wider than the other but both the right size. And now he could work on the main body. While he had been talking the leader through his work, Dom himself had been heating the metals needed for his own part, now a large sheet of metal would be needed, more than they had here which was going to be tricky, but with overlaying plates he knew it could be done. He had used a similar trick with a mans chestplate when he was younger, by slotting it in four ways and securing the sides with leather for comfort the armour worked well and could be replaced easier if a part broke. Now leather would not be needed for this one as the handles would hold the pieces together, and the slots would do the rest, the bottom two pieces holding the top two by a ridge. The sheet was in total a meter and a bit tall and the same wide which would be heavy, but he was confident he could bare the weight if it could save his life.

The first sheet was done as day broke, Dom was tired and hungry but could not stop, he ate what he could from the leftovers the raiders had forgotten about and by the following night the other three were done. There was a fight that day between the raiders and someone, he had heard returning gunfire which meant traders or scavengers, people just trying to survive basically, and after today Dom would have provided them with the means to do it more effectively. He hide one of the sheets from the leader behind the furnace, fully aware that when he had fulfilled his end of the bargain, the leader would kill him. He was stupid, not stupid. Or stupid, not ignorant...or the other way around. Basically he knew what was going to happen, his senses were keen. And so that night he kept the hammering going as the men went to bed, the leader clapped him on the back and headed off as well, the final sheet done and the last pail of steel folded. He slotted them together as quickly as he could, hoping the grating of metal on metal would sound like forging for long enough to get it done. The whole piece together, he lightly spread the last of the steel over the top of the slates, which would form the front of the shield, this way the front was a solid mass and not four which could be pryed apart. And finally the handles were fixed to the back a forearm apart with a mixture of four bolts and a solid melting from a poker, allowing Dom to slot his arm through up to the elbow and grip the other with his hand. The hand one was rounded on the widest side to stop the metal from cutting his fingers however the back one was rough on his arm. Thinking quickly, he slid it off, tore a strip from a thick piece of clothing nearby and wrapped it around the first handle, giving his arm a cushion from the steel.

He lifted it, it was very heavy, but manageable, probably not with one hand for very long, but both ends were the same and so he could flip the shield and bear it with the other arm when his left grew too tired. Taking up his hand cannon and a handful of food, he slipped out, prying the wooden boards off as quietly as he could, which was not quiet quietly enough. However by the time the alarms had been raised and the search had started, he was only far enough away to hear the leader scream in frustration.
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SirGamer101
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Dancer of the Boreal Valley
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Jr. Mod SirGamer reporting!
So you made a crafting run? The name is fitting for its one post nature, but that's not necessary to talk about. The actual length of the post itself seems just right, not too short not to long. I liked how this wasn't just a "built this, put this here and voila" sort of thing, but had a quirky little story behind it.
Now most of your errors were grammatical, such as capitalization errors and such but something a mod told me once was "formatting is everything." Graders really appreciate your work to be well organized and easy to read (plus it makes it look longer than it actually is, always a bonus.) So your formatting was fine, but what I want to focus on was the dialogue. This should go for all future rps you do too. Make sure to double space a new paragraph out whenever you have dialogue, because when it is all smashed together in another larger paragraph it becomes a pain to read. Food for thought. If you have more questions about it, just shoot me a pm or Chatango message.

Now, rewards are clearly obvious, so you can make off like a bandit for BT whenever mate!

Car Door Shield (Teir 1, Fair Condition)- This improvised heavy metal shield is well worth the time going into it, protecting vital parts of the body from whatever random projectiles come your way. Unfortunately, automatic weapons are probably going to punch through this eventually.
Jon Creaver (Lvl 3)
5/8/6/3/7/7/4
Ghoul, 16, 5'4", Hoodie usually covers most of his features
Creep, One-Hander (Righty), Small Frame
Weapon: The Red Herring (Phazer, Custom Red-White Paint)
Harpoon gun (Rusted)
Attire: Blue hoodie covering Teir 1: Desert Clothes
Rep: +50 BT

"It is a foolish soldier who sees things as he wants them to be. One day reality hits, and his illusions fail him, and he dies stupidly. What honor is there in that?"
-The Arbiter, Halo 3
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