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Your Mama Don't Dance; MR Event (Finale)
Topic Started: Jun 16 2017, 11:07 PM (802 Views)
TonyTheFish
Wastelander
[ *  *  *  * ]
On a scale of one to ten, one being very well and ten being not very well at all, this day was somewhere higher than he could count. His ship? Gone, the burning wreckage sinking with its final wisps of smoke. His crew? Fish food, not that he had any emotional connections to them, but they were still his crew. His pride? Intact, but in dire need of repair.
 
On one hand, he had followed his job to the letter, resolutely sacrificing not only his command, but the payment for the job to complete the job. It was a frustrating loop, but not one he would dwell on. On the other hand, he had lost the payment, therefore was left with the question of, if he didn't actually have the money, was he still being paid to do this? It was less of a practicality and more the principle of the matter, as the money was, in fact, gone- and not coming back.
 
Conclusion? One broken pride, plus one pissed off dwarf, plus three violent Blockadiers, equaled three dead Blockadiers and a restored pride. This was math that Stewart liked. Not that tipped the circumstances in his favour. Arrogance and stubbornness were amongst his strong points, but strength and agility were not. All he had was a one shot junk flinger and a wet beard, so whatever he did next would need to be good. That was common sense- his lack thereof had other ideas…
 
Stewart charged all three men, his feet keeping steady pace on the wet deck, the heavy rain giving him a slight element of surprise. The man with the twisted ankle stumbled backwards, then, trying to retain his composure, pretended he had meant that all along and dashed up the stairs back to the wheel. Meanwhile, Stewart collided with the front man, his machete slicing down Stewarts back and cutting a long gash. Blood immediately poured forth, drenching his linen shirt, however; the hit was not hard enough to stop his charge, and the man was sent flying backwards towards the railing. A flash of light out of the corner of Stewarts eye alerted him to the second mans attack, and the slippery deck finally took his feet out from under him. Stewart fell hard, narrowly avoiding the man's knife, but losing his junk flinger in the process. It clattered to the bow of the ship and lodged itself in the base of the mounted gun there. His other hand plunged down, forcing Stewart into a sideways roll to avoid it, the steel embedding itself where his face had just been.
 
The ship lurched to the side, the man at the wheel turning the device quickly for reasons Stewart could not see or fathom. But it worked in his favour- using his wooden leg to press against the railing post to stop himself falling overboard, his head swerved toward the edge. As the ship settled onto a more even kilter, he skidded back onto the deck. However, the man Stewart had charged was not so lucky. The lurch of the ship, matched with his sub-par sea legs, had taken him over the side, and his grasping fingers were all Stewart could see. The man’s friend swore, abandoning his knife and bolting to the rescue. While they were distracted with avoiding imminent death, Stewart bought himself some space. Still snarling furiously, he turned to see their destination. A wall of fog met him, looming over them and swallowing the ship whole. Through the weather, a few ships were illuminated with flashes of gunfire.
 
Gunfire...the brain cells that had not just been smashed out of his head clicked together, and a vague plan formed that would either end in his, or his adversaries, deaths. His favourite kind.
 
Numbed by adrenaline, his back still bleeding freely, his head felt lighter by the second as his blood rage dimmed steadily, its’ source becoming a valuable commodity. He stumbled up the stairs towards the mounted gun and his junk flinger, wrenching the weapon from where it had stuck. He turned, laughing, to the blockadiers who were finding their feet and grasping towards him in the fog. His eyes could see what they could not, their shapes in the blurry air could be made out easily despite their homefield advantage. If they were having trouble seeing now, how would they feel after being hit with a stun grenade? Only one way to find out.
 
As it happened, not such a good idea.
 
A chorus of cries and screaming followed the flash of light. Stewart had raised his arm to shield himself from it, but the driver stumbled, blinking furiously as he fought to restore his vision, and the men on deck had actually started crying. One of them, the man with the knives, had immediately fell to his knees and was repeating demanding “Why me, god” in a perplexing mixture of repetition and variation. The other was stumbling, to Stewarts amusement, around so much that he hit the barrier once more; with a crunch a less psychotic mind would describe as sickening, he was sent sprawling across the deck. The white flash of bone could be seen even through the fog, and the spray of blood made what Stewart could only describe as an unnecessary amount of mess that he was certainly not cleaning up.
 
The driver regained his balance and hung himself over the wheel, shaking the spots from his vision and steeling himself for what Stewart could not see. Due to the front of the ship being raised for the gun, he couldn’t look at what the driver could from this position without moving, and from the look of the driver's face, moving would be a very bad idea.
 
A profound sense of happiness can come from many places. From a child smiling, to a rainbow on a miserable day. Or, in the rarer( but still equally delightful) cases, a man lunging at you with a knife just as the ship you are on wrenches suddenly to the side, causing said man to not only fly backwards, but into his friend and knocking him off the boat. The little joys like these should be savoured. The smile that touched Stewart’s lips should have danced for hours as he recalled that glorious scene.
 
But alas, no, it was almost immediately smashed from his face as he collided from one side of the bow to the other like a human pinball.
 
His arms were wrapped around the base of the machine gun, holding on for dear life as the driver navigated a minefield of jutting rocks that Stewart could not even see. The machete wielding blockadier flailed one last time before being lost to the fog and the harsh waters, however- the one wielding the knife had grown wise. Stewart hated wise people, they had an annoying habit of doing clever things like Mr Stupid McCleverson here. He was using his knives like a maniacal climber, stabbing them into the clefts between the metal decking to gain ground one Stewart. With every lurch of the ship he braced himself, and with every smash to Stewarts face, the blockadier grew closer.
 
But Mama Stewart didn’t raise no idiot.
 
He waited.
Smash.
The Blockadier grew closer.
He waited.
Smash.
The Blockadier drew nearer still.
He waited…
 
No smash. A lull in the violent waves, his eyes flicking upwards to the driver, whose muscles visibly relaxed as he wiped the stress-sweat from his forehead. Stewart pushed himself up, the wound on his back split with pain, his body arching in agony, and grabbing the gun for support. The knife wielding Blockadier took his chance. Having reached the base of the raised platform, he lunged with confidence at the precise moment, he saw his opening and took it instantly.
 
Stewart could not deny the man was smart. Smarter than him? Probably. Faster than him? Definitely. Luckier than him?
 
Certainly not.
 
The world, in all its infinite wisdom, had granted this man dominion in battle, but had kept the one sliver of knowledge from him that could have very well given him victory in that moment.
 
Fate was Stewart’s bitch.
 
The ship tipped violently to the side, the hull grating on a slanted rock that sent the Blockadier, driver, and Stewart to the port-side. Being a dwarf had its perks; they came in ironic shapes and sizes, and more often than not, an exceedingly suspicious combat advantage. Where the knife Blockadier gripped the railing, and the driver gripped the wheel, Stewart had the debatable luck to grab a mounted, rotating turret. As the ship turned, he flew further than he could reach the floor, causing him to fly over the side, around the bow, and plant his feet there. Well...foot. His wooden leg slipped on the wet metal, his other leg buckling under the sudden weight. With a deep, throaty growl from Stewart, the large metal ship hit home between his legs. The world exploded in pain, the large gash in his back no longer meant squat, there were spots in his vision now that quickly turned to red mist.
 
Stewart gripped the mounted machine gun with two hands, finding a loop in the base of the railing to wedge his wooden leg into and, gritting his teeth, lifted himself to a horizontal position. The man with the knife recovered from his fall and lunged one last time-
 
But bullet beats knife.
 
The gun lit up, the whole thing rattling as death poured out of it’s barrel and turned the knife wielding blockadier into swiss cheese. Stewart laughed away his pain, the man falling to the deck and lying still, but Stewart only lowered his guard when a few extra bullets pulverized the corpse’s skull.
 
His hands loosened a little, just enough to no longer handle the recoil of the gun now that the firing had stopped. Just enough to edge his way up the bow. Just enough to see the driver scream and dive off the ship. Just enough to stop himself being crushed by a rock.
 
The metal hull crumpled underneath him, the base of the gun wrenching free with it’s support suddenly and violently absent, and sent Stewart flying backwards with the force of the crash. The wind whistled in his ears, the pain in his testicles was still throbbing, but his back felt the worst of the impact. The adrenaline of battle was nearly gone, and the salty spray from the sea below him only added insult to injury.
 
In this case, both insult and injury were a metric fuckton of pain.
 
The screams of battle were still loud in his ears as his descent dipped. Gunshots, flashes of light, and screams rent the air until he realised there was an actual battle surrounding him. He saw shapes in the fog, the pain flared again, and his eyelids grew heavy. He could feel consciousness slipping from his grasp. The machine gun was embedded in the deck next to him, inches from his remaining leg, but the blood required to form the ‘phew” was lost to him, literally. The darkness started to descend as more blood seeped out onto the floor beneath him...wait a minute. He looked down and murmured a curse, he was on the deck of a ship, and there was an actual battle going on around him. This was not ideal.
 
Shapes swirled around him and the fog closed in. The strength to pull the machine gun trigger abandoned him. Stewart slumped sideways, falling away from the machine gun and landing with a thud on the hard deck. His bloody fingers slipped over his radio until he managed a croaky “Stewart here. I am down, but their reinforcements are pulp. Send the rest of these bastards to hell after me so I can kick their ass when they get there.”
 
Then the world went dark.
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Funkifan
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The Cobras' Leader
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Edgar heard Claw as he finished placing the stitches on Rory's chest and shoulder, glancing a few times towards her direction, nodding as he tried to make sense about what she had told him. "I-It was nothing... it is just my j-job... you know? Helping p-people get better."

Once he made the final knot to the suture, the redhead retrieved the surgical needle, cleaning it with some of the alcohol, before standing up, dropping what was left of the surgical thread and the needle on his medical box and closing it. "N-Now... s-sir... I r-recommend you t-that you a-abstain yourself from p-participating on f-fights or s-strenous a-activity f-for at l-least 7 days. M-Make sure to keep y-your s-stitches as d-dry a-as possible, d-don't swim. W-Wash your w-wounds a-at least t-twice with s-soap and mild w-water at least t-twice a day to keep t-them clean, o-okay?"

"Alright... you said y-you had injured your arm, r-right?" He asked Claw for confirmation, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Now... p-place your injured arm on an h-horizontal position, p-please, I'll... I'll m-make you a splint. W-With your healthy h-hand... place it under y-your injured arm, o-okay? Just hold it there."

Grabbing his blade, he moved towards the wall of muscle that laid dead close to where the group was, figuring that the shirt he was wearing once would be enough to make a proper sling for Claw. When he was looming over the deceased pirate, he couldn't help but feel bad for the man. Squatting next to him, he closed the man's eyes, and extended a hand towards him, before closing it and pulling it back to his heart.

Taking a deep breath, he began to cut the shirt, just like he had with "Slippery" Pete. Ubenknownst to him, the latter had woken up some time ago, feeling groggy, and confused, as to what had happened. He felt his limbs slowly coming back to life, yet, he decided to stay on the deck, until he could assess what was going on.

Quote:
 
x1 Square of Clothe 


Meanwhile, the redhead obtain a square of clothe, and the pirate's belt, returning back to the woman shortly after, placing his blade on the side as he first began to make the sling, folding the square diagonally in half, forming a triangle, before proceeding to drape the triangle, so that its base ran up and down the chest opposite the injured side, with the top corner dangling over and behind the shoulder on the uninjured side, in order to place the corner opposite to the base, in order for it to wrap part way around the waist, setting it to lay between the torso and the limp arm.

"O-Okay... now... c-can you hold your arm like t-that... f-for a a moment? On y-your torso?" He asked Claw, before lifting up the bottom corner so that the sling could hold the injured arm. Edgar made sure to allow her hand to extend just past the base of the triangle, and that the sling was supportng the elbow by the corner opposite from the base.

He moved behind her, tying the two corners that are behind either shoulder so that they looped behind the neck, adjusting the knot so that the elbow was at the right angle, not too high and not too low. Then, to further immobilized the arm, the redhead placed the belt above the woman's arm, on her torso, to immovilize her arm further, trying to keep the belt tight, yet loose enough so that she could breathe properly.

He examined his head for a moment, failing to notice any kind of bump or visible wound on her head that could be the cause of the slurring and the general tiredness that she was experiencing, however, he decided to bandage the big cut on her face, wraping the gauze on the circumference of her face, in order to keep it in place, cutting it with his blade.

"T-There... you should be good..." He said, as he began to pack up his things, grabbing his medical suitcase and placing his blade back into the tattered umbrella. "N-Now... you must remember, y-you need to rest for now, a-and avoid strenous a-activities... general p-physical exertion and any v-vigorous movements, a-and limit a-activities that require a-a lot of mental concentration, l-like thinking plans, reading, s-schoolwork, and w-watching TV." The redhead blinked, as he quickly added. "... If t-those existed still... Oh! A-And avoid a-alcohol a-and drug consumption..."

"Umm... t-try to avoid things like aspirin, a-and instead use t-tylenol for the pain... umm..."

He opened his case again, uncorking the lid of a glass contained, and handling her a bloatfly larvae sack, with a stinger still attached. "T-This is n-numbing poison... b-be careful when y-you use it, and d-don't squeeze it too hard. B-Believe me, it will n-numb your hand for quite a-a long time if y-you aren't c-careful." With this, he placed the lid back on and returned the item back into his case.

Quote:
 
Tribal Painkiller x1 (Numbing poison): This numbing poison secreted by the bloatfly larva stinger as its shot by the bloatfly at its victim allows it to go relatively unnoticed, hopefully the mother keeps the victim distracted long enough for the maggot to work its way inside and feed on the tender innards. You ruptured one of these venom sacks while removing the first stinger and discovered this effect when your fingers went numb. After sterilizing the stingers as best you can in the field and using some prewar junk from the gas station you have cobbled together some temporary housing so the glands wont rupture or dry out at least for a few days. With a proper crafting rp you can make some proper painkiller syringes that'll keep.


"Can you help t-them!?" He cried out to the large man which had called out for him, then gesturing towards both Claw and Rory.

"G-Good luck and..." Edgar stood silent for a moment, before going in for a hug, gently embracing the small woman for a short moment, whispering. "T-Thank you... f-for g-guiding me back there. I-I... I t-think y-you're quite a-amazing... a-and I hope that w-we see each other s-soon."

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and picked up his items, a hunch telling him to keep searching for wounded sailors, and help them. As he was engulfed by the mist, 'Slippery' Pete stood up, taking a knife from his boot, heading after Edgar, ignoring the other attackers, wanting to make ends meet against this redhead boy.

Pete vanished, just like the medic, a short, audible 'cling' being heard afterwards, as he cussed out loud, his knife having slipped out of his hands.

Making sure to remain unnoticed, sneaking his way through the deck, using the mist to his advantage, he moved towards the opposite side of the ship, following his heart towards where it told him to go, finding several dead bodies sprawled on the deck, both of sailors and pirates.

He spent some time checking on their pulse, each person he checked, his or her soul having departed a while ago. That was, until he found a small, diminutive man on the deck. Noticing the wide gash he had on his back, the redhead retrieved his medical equipment, and, just as before, cleaned the wound with the alcohol, then, he began to sew.

"Can y-you hear me... s-sir?" He asked the pirate on the deck, hoping that he could get some words out of him.
Edgar Algae -HC-

SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4

Level: 4

Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper.

He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls)


+120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation
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azstarael
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"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Getting the sling put on wasn't pleasant. Once it was secured, though, the pain lessened by a good degree. The bandage across her face was less than ideal as well. Still, cloth over her eye was better than blood in it. Her depth perception was fucked, but it wasn’t like she was in any shape to fight either way.

Half the poison sac went into her shoulder, which almost immediately turned totally numb, the feeling spreading about halfway down her arm and across her chest. Normally, this would be a problem.

This time, it was a moot point.

“Rory,” she slurred groggily. “Talk to me, damn it. Gon’ give ya somethin’, help w’the pain, we gotta go, gotta hide-”

No luck. Rory was out cold. All the better for him, that was an awful lot of stitches. Not so great for her.

One thing at a time.

The rest of the anesthetic venom was injected in small doses and intervals all down the gash. He could thank her later. Just keep them alive, get to safety, focus, breathe, don’t scream-

Edgar had said something that took her a ridiculously long time to process. Follow-up care. She’d probably remember it later, if it wasn’t information she already knew. That, or it would be lost to the pounding in her head, the fog shrouding her brain as heavily as it pressed on her skin, didn’t matter, focus, stay alive, safety, hide hide-

And then, she was wrapped in a gentle hug, and the rest of her frazzled composure dissolved entirely. Claw dropped her forehead to his shoulder and threw her good arm around the other.

“Thank you,” she sobbed. Most of his sentiment didn’t make any sense, but there was gratitude in his voice, even more in her own. “Yer good kid. Be safe. Don’ die.”

As Claw detached herself, Edgar was back on his feet and taking off, probably looking for more survivors in need of assistance. Scrubbing rain and tears from her eye, Claw took a deep, steadying breath, and tried to figure out what she was going to do now.

Rory was small and skinny enough that even she wouldn’t have had an overly large problem supporting his weight, if he were awake to cling on. If she had both arms available, she could have gotten his arms over her shoulders and moved him that way.

As it was, she had no idea what the hell she was going to do.

Rope harness? Had no idea where to find it in the first place, even if she’d been able to manage trussing him up one-handed. Put him on a tarp and drag him that way?

Same problem. There was also the issue that her best option was getting below decks. The fighting all seemed to be up here, and they needed to be as far away from it as possible. Rolling the unconscious kid down the stairs was probably not a good idea.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Think, y’cn’do this, Emily, figgur it out, don’ panic, y’got this-”

She had nothing. They were going to die, weren’t they?
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
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Midnight Rider
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The Super Cereal
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Captain Gordon sat and smoked a cigar as he watched the carnage unfold. Content that his decisive leadership had won the day. Now it was just a matter of sailing into port and collecting his rich bounty. He almost regretted having to give it all up. At first he had bristled with the idea of leadership but now it was comfortable to him like old leather. His seat on the bridge was a tattered and cramped little thing but felt right to sit there and give orders. His thoughts of victory were interrupted by the cabin boy bringing in the cup of tea. Gordon took a sip of the tea before immediately spitting it back into Kiff's face.

"Dammit I said Earl Grey tea hot, not lukewarm," Captain Gordon bellowed.

"ummm ehhhggg sir I tried but ehhhh the battle is still going on," Kiff tried to explain. "I couldn't stay out there and let the kettle run on full."

"Nonsense we've won I can feel it," Gordon replied. "Thanks to decisive leadership the enemy is broken. I've taken out the Lightshow."

"That was our boat," Kiff retorted forcefully. "You drove them to ram the enemy in desperation over a situation you created. They're fighting for their lives on deck."

"Kiff don't bring that attitude in here," the Captain ordered. "Your faulty information is to blame and I will flog you for it. Clearly you're wrong about this battle being over, our friends are fighting for their lives. Tell the men to man the guns and fire. Start blasting holes in the enemy ship to throw the crew in disarray and give out men the edge."

"ooohhhh but whhaaaaatt, uuuhhhmmm waiiitttt, but i just..." the cabin boy exasperated, relenting he simply replied. "That would endanger our own crew just as much, its a mad house of confusion up there."

"Acceptable losses," Captain Gordon replied. "We will send wave after wave of men up there until the enemy is vanquished. Fire the rounds, I want the cannons blasting holes in the bottom decks and exploding shrapnel to clear top side. Aim for where the enemy is still concentrated and we'll minimize losses to our own side."

"but there really isn't...." he tried before giving up, "Aye sir."

Damn it felt good to be Captain. Drinking the lukewarm tea Gordon started listening to the sounds of his ship's guns as Kiff carried out the command. This called for a victory brandy, all was well on his ship.
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Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC
Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC

THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY

The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation.

Lmgthev: MBP is handsome
LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire.
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vexedBubble
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Ghoul
[ *  *  *  * ]
Alida followed Spike quickly as he ran for the rigging, jumping into a piggyback as she gripped his shoulders. Oh God this was not going to be fun. Almost as soon as she got secure, he began to climb. She knew she was light but with his injuries, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Too late now they were halfway up. She could barely hear him over the waves and wind, but saw him gesture to a loose rope. Grab on? This is easy.

Suddenly a loud crash echoed up towards the two. Alida was thrown backwards, arms around Spike’s neck as she held on for dear life. She let out a yelp, almost slipping out of her grip and dropping to the deck below. Spike had reached out and clutched the rigging again, stopping them from falling. Alida tightened her grip, wrapping her legs around his waist for extra hold.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” She shouted, realising that she was probably choking him.

Quote:
 
“Grab on, now! We gotta fuckin’ go!”


She clambered over to the ropes, watching as he scuttled down to prepare them for the swing.

Quote:
 
“You don’t die either, keep out of the water. It sucks.”


And he was gone. She was breathing hard, keeping an eye on him as he disappeared over the side of the other ship. She couldn’t hear a wail of despair so assumed he had landed safely. God he better not bleed out before we’re done with this. Alida gripped the rope with her bandaged hands. Just before she jumped the ships collided again. Her swing was thrown off as she flew in the air towards the other ship, unable to aim her landing.

As she let go of the rope, her legs fumbled and hit the railing of the ship. She flipped, her shoulder hitting the deck hard, and continued to roll. Shrieking in pain, she knocked into a pile of crates, with ropes and bags falling on top of her prone body. She was still, taking in what just happened, and trying to figure out what to do next. Damn that hurt. With a deep breath, Alida lifted her arm to push herself up, only to falter in the pain from her shoulder. She tried her other arm, which seemed fine, and pulled herself out to get a look at the situation.

CRACK

A beam of wood collided with her face, blood splattering as she could feel her nose shatter. Alida fell backwards into the pile of supplies she had crawled from. Her vision blurred, flashing in and out of a blinding white, pitch black, and a good guess at what her attacker looked like. It was a struggle to move.
| Alida Brandy | Lvl 1 | "a mix of zooey deschanel and the entirety of ww1" - Fom
| S:3(-1) P:8(+1) E:7 C:8 I:4 A:6(-1) L:3 | Hungry like the Wolf! - stat adjustments for 2 solos/tags
| +75 N'awlins |
| Pipe Rifle | Switchblade | Flintlock |
| Denizen of the Dark | Sex Appeal | Fast Learner |

| Mór-Ríoghain | Lvl 1 |
| S:4 P:8 E:8 C:4 I:5 A:3 L:8 |
| Hatchet | Handmade Bow (with arrows) |
| Hunter | Creep |
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The horror of naval warfare was fully on display, terrible weaponry, men leaping overboard to extinguish flames from their bodies, blood and water mixing so thickly together that the deck was painted red. Really slow hunks of floating metal that were too armored to sink were a really awful place to stage a battle, yet here we were. The brave sailors of both sides, fighting wildly in the blinding, pounding rain. Deafened by gunshots and cannon fire, suddenly pelted indiscriminately by long range firepower from sea. The smoke seemed to rise forever, endless, fighting back hard against the rain. Chemical fires didn't extinguish that easy, and the world seemed to be without hope.

But on the HMS Lightshow two cowards mused life. Jesse and Luis sat crouched, close together, behind two crates worth of cover and eying the fighting with applause, next to hiding from gunshots and retaliatory fire. They seemed to be the only people left on the damn boat, and clearly one of them needed to take guard of the situation.

Thus the conundrum, the details of the matter, all needed to be worked out with great prejudice. To make a tactical error in this deep, the war would be over, and they'd get their throats slit and the pirate blockaders would sail their crippled fleet as far as they could before they sank. The lightshow still floating was a small miracle, and Jesse was trying to stay afloat as well.

"Luis." Jesse in his rags were soaked, wrinkling his clothing and giving him a deep, soaked orange. Luis's mustache was dripping in the rain, slick with wetness (something he no doubt experienced on the regular :D ) and Jesse's hair felt heavy on his skull. He shook out some moisture, a pointless gesture, and rained on Luis's and the deck.

"Zut, Jesse."

"Sorry."

The two eyed each other hesitantly, eager for an explanation at why they'd be more suited to cover the rear of the fleet. Or perhaps, the crushing presence of death hanging over them was the real reason they lacked the courage and gaul to attempt leaving. That was more of a gamble, it was almost definitely because they were trying to see who would guard the ship, anyone who said otherwise was a fool and would receive fisticuffs. Yep.

Jesse shrugged, rolling his muscles and putting on his best "I Have No Idea What I'm Fucking Doing" expression. Very easy, art imitates life after all. The rains overhead had Jesse put into a stupor, just as he finished wiping the water out of his eyes Luis raised his arm with zest towards the enemy. Two men sought to escape the chaos on the rival flagship, and bounded onto the gangplanks to try and board the lightshow.

Jesse ducked, wondering how he would get the drop on a couple of armed thugs. The idea wasn't very pleasant, and he was scared to die for once. Luis looked back at him, his eyes wondering how Jesse couldn't see the obvious.

The C'est noble took two great strides towards the gangplank as the enemy reached half way, and with a great heft of his arms, his boots slipped on the deck as he sent the gangplank careening into the ocean along with the two intruders.

Problem solved?

"Good work!" Jesse got up and walked over out from cover, and a bullet pinged off the wall. He ducked down, eager to avoid his brains making the way of the dodo. His eyes raised to a cloudy night sky, and the flash of a muzzle lit up the upper deck. A sniper in the rafters? He hadn't noticed, the confusion must have been a goldmine for the marksman. Jesse would've run out of ammo by now if he was him.

Luis just crouched into cover readily, sighing. Jesse eyed the weapons at his belt, and the fancy clothes he was adorned in. A guy like this? Must have had terrible luck to ever get into this type of situation, and it would've been a shame for his luck to grow worse. Winters figured that if anything, his best bet was a coin flip.

No coins around.

"Hey," Jesse rolled into speaking range, he had to shout over the gunfire anyway. "Rock paper scissors, winner stays here."

Luis nodded affirmatively. Well shit, Jesse was starting to have regrets already. Each of them raised hands, slamming their fist into their palm three times before drawing. Jesse's paper was cut up, and scissors won the day.

Winters rocked back in shock, and was tempted to find a way out of the deal. Luis almost looked sorry for Winters, but "Honhonhon'd" in victory regardless. Jesse's respect for himself dropped as he stood to his feet, slipping on the deck immediately, before he caught himself next to a nearby gangplank. "Cover me! If you want to come over, I'll be right next to the damn thing probably guarding it." He shouted out heroically, before he stumbled over on top of the wood. Very slippery, Jesse was a deadman.

Boxing footwork took over, he was fighting the elements and a slick piece of draftwood. The world was never quite on his side, and it seemed the whole ship went silent to him as he quick-footed onto the enemy ship.

He dropped into the middle of a warzone unarmed and swallowed his spit. Bad idea.
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[align=center]CAPTAINS UPDATE [/align]

They found each other like star-crossed lovers, fate wasn't quite the right word for it. Nina carving through his cabin boy, Cecil gripping half an arm of one of her most loyal sailors with his chain, blood an afterthought for the both of them. Just as a limp body crumpled to the floor, the chainlinks lost contact with the appendage, and they both made eye contact from across the carnage.

Recognition was a funny thing, Nina so angry she could barely move coherently, Cecil wondering where he'd seen a one eyed woman before. He glanced down at his sword hand, and memories flashed of past battles. Faint recognition of a grown woman who went limp as a vegetable as his sword slid into her ocular, and her body gently rolling off the ship.

Cecil in all his glory started laughing. Before Nina could even reach him he had managed to decode the entire situation, and wondered if he really had any regret for his violent past. He had always been a good captain, high pay low causalities. Today seemed to be the inverse, months of grueling work and intense efforts to increase morale. All to be shattered by a surprise attack from their rear, and a chance storm rupturing any chance of this ending well.

Cecil supposed it was a good day to die, One-Eye was approaching at a reasonable speed anyway. He wondered if she was in hearing distance.

"You were supposed to be fish food, girl!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NINA gutted another one of Cecil's goons, none of them half the fighter he was. It was a little disappointing and a lot of relief, she figured she'd have been a dead woman by now if not for them. The ship was swelling with corpses, the finest boat she had ever had the pleasure of seizing was a blood bath. All the better. Cecil's words echo'd out to her, clear as day. She side-stepped an incoming pirate, a swift hand to the back of his collarbone sending him spiraling onto the deck. She was good at maneuvering in these conditions, and it was a blessing everyone else seemed to be clueless.

She took a step forward and charged, leaping towards her target. Each step was a bounding stride, both of her cutting instruments ready. Cecil's chain leapt out of thin air, she could barely see the white of his eyes and it was already cutting towards her knees. Nina's knife intercepted it, the metal clinking as it wrapped around the blade. Cecil pulled heavily, swinging Nina in closer, and her stiletto making hasty contact with his own sword. The two swiveled around each other, their footwork resembling tango more than a death match.

Nina struggled to her feet, the damn chain keeping one of her killing tools hostage. Cecil was angling to make a move, she could feel it just from the vibrations in the chain, all reverberating into her off-hand knife.

Nina's eye sparkled with rain drops and hatred. "Die." All she wanted was revenge.

She jumped forward and blades clashed resoundingly again, each of them lost in the moment. Fighting raged all around them, but they seemed more intent on killing each other.
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
Quote:
 
Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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"What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan
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Midnight Rider
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The Super Cereal
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Gordon sat back in his chair watching the carnage unfold on the decks of the ship... for awhile. Then he got bored and starting rooting around in the Captain's belongings for an old gentleman's magazine or something to pass the time. The weapons shot rhythmic booms and twackks as the cannons went off and the catapults launched. Under Gordon's leadership the once proud vessel of the enemy had been reduced to a mere burning wreckage. It was time for Gordon to take command because for some reason the former captain didn't have anything fun lying around for Gordon to mess with. That would all change once they were back in port.

"Sir the battle on the ship is becoming quite bleak for both sides," Kiff stated without permission.

"Kiff, when I'm in charge every mission is a suicide mission," Gordon sternly replied. "Speak out of turn again and I'll fling you up on there."

Looking up at the flagship Gordon could see she was in bad shape. The waters were turning black with leaking diesel fuel, or whatever it used. A single spark could set the whole thing off and that gave Gordon an idea so brilliant that it might explode the brain of a lesser man. All he needed to do was light the oil and the whole ship would go up. Pointing the sludge out to his cabinboy, the brave captain started putting his plan in motion.

"If we hit that bullseye," Gordon firmly stated, "The rest of the dominoes will fall like a house of cards. Checkmate."

"That seems a bit overkill sir," Kiff protested. "Plus it would needlessly kill our own side. Perhaps we should simply force a surrender."

"I command like I make love," Gordon sternly argued. "Hard and fast. Go drop my cigar in there like a good lad so the ship catches on fire."

Striding out onto the deck the cabinboy meekly held the cigar out, unsure what to do. While his captain was in command and had the benefit of naval experience, Kiff was frankly torn. He needed to take initiative and save his friends. Firing an old flare gun in the air to draw attention to himself, the meek crewman held the smoldering cigar out for all to see. There was no misunderstanding what he meant, but he spoke anyway.

"Excuse me," he began. "But if you... don't stop immediately, I'll... drop it, I will."
Posted Image
Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC
Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC

THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY

The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation.

Lmgthev: MBP is handsome
LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire.
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Mixtli
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Resident Canadian
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Slater rolled his eyes. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He caught the attention of the inebriated sniped up on the other ship. "KEEP OUR CAPTAIN SAFE. I WANT TO BE PAID FOR THIS!" The other man leaned heavily on the railing and gave Slater a thumbs up with a lopsided grin before getting back to peering through his scope. He only had a handful of shots left since he’d traded most of his ammo for booze, but the beat-up guy didn’t have to know that did he?

At the bottom of the stairs, Slater stood over the small woman and beanpole of a man. “Punks can’t even take a few hits,” he muttered to himself. He pointed at the two sailors that were still with him. One had a sturdy knife and the other a short club, since they had apparently used the last of their ammunition and had discarded their empty firearms. One of you stay in front of me, and the other stay behind me. I’m taking these two inside to hide them somewhere, and then we’re helping our captain win this fucking fight.” He could smell a payday, and the only thing in his way was a few pirates that didn’t have the decency to kill themselves and save him the trouble of doing it for them.

The small woman was still moving around weakly. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was impressed with how much punishment she’d endured. And he’d have to get on the good side of whoever had patched her and the skinny one up. He knelt down and lifted her over his shoulder as carefully as he could, and then he heaved the little guy over his other shoulder with hardly a thought. “That door looks like it leads below deck, so that’s probably the best place to hide these two. Either we win the fight and pick them up later, or we lose the fight and they’re dead anyway.” The sailor with the blade stepped in front, and Slater followed him into the ship.

The man walked cautiously, with the blade held out in front of him in case someone rushed at the group from around a corner. There was the sound of distant footsteps but it sounded like most, if not all, of the pirates were heading outside to join the melee. A few corners later, and Slater found himself in what looked like the kitchen for the whole ship.

One man was standing inside the room. He had an elaborately curled mustache, and wore a rather impressive white hat with a clean “KISS THE COOK” apron. He held a cleaver in one hand, and a large chef’s knife in the other. “AHA! I knew zat you would be coming into my domain. Ze captain may rule ze ship, but in zese walls Francois is king!”

John rolled his eyes and dumped the two people he was carrying on an empty table. “Anything good to eat in here?” he asked as he took a revolver out of the skinny one’s belt and tucked it into his own. His two companions sidled up beside him as he turned to face the chef, but he was surprised to see that the wiry man had already started to approach the trio with murder in his eyes. Slater slapped the two sailors on the back. “Distract him while I get behind!”

They ran at the man with their weapons raised, but he was far quicker than any pot-stirrer had a right to be. He hacked off the hand of the club-wielding man, and the sailor with the knife barely managed to evade the other counterattack. Slater kept circling as the remaining sailor continued to fight the cook. The wounded man dropped to his knees and scrabbled to pick his removed appendage with his remaining hand. He held it up to Slater. “Boss, what am I supposed to-” but he was rudely interrupted when the chef gave him a three-quarter decapitation with the cleaver. The blade stuck, so the furious man let go of it and spun back to the remaining sailor after the terrified man landed a glancing blow with his club.

John finally got into position, but in the moment that he dropped his axe and had to look down to draw his newly acquired revolver, the chef managed to get a grip on the sailor and was now holding onto him from behind with the razor sharp knife held to the man’s throat.

The chef was panting. He might be quick, but it looked like he didn’t have much in the way of endurance. “Zis is quite ze stalemate. Let me leave in one piece, or I will fillet your friend here.”

Slater sighed. He cocked the hammer and aimed down the sights. “Or, I shoot you and he and I pick this place over for anything valuable.” The chef’s face went red with anger, but as he opened his mouth to scream an oath at Slater, the revolver went off with a bang. A stunned moment passed, and then the sailor dropped to his knees with his hands pressed to his chest. Blood leaked from between his fingers, and all he could manage to say was a weak “Why?” before he slumped over.

Slater took advantage of the chef’s momentary shock to cock the hammer and fire again. The click of the hammer drawing back brought the chef into the present, and he lunged forward when the trigger was pulled. The round grazed the chef’s left shoulder, although unfortunately he carried his knife in his right hand. He hissed in pain, but continued his approach towards Slater.

John rolled his eyes, and threw the revolver at the chef before bending over and grabbing the ankles of the unfortunate sailor that had tried to stop a cleaver with his neck. He straightened up and spun in a circle as the chef started to swipe with his knife. The blade couldn’t cut deeply because of Slater’s spinning movement, but that didn’t stop it from tracing a line of fire on his back that made his eyes narrow in pain and anger.

He felt better when he finished the spin and slammed the corpse into the chef as hard as he could. The other man was thrown off of his feet, and his head connected with the wooden seat of a chair as he fell to the floor. Slater took advantage of the chef’s dazed state and picked up the chair by its back. He hefted it for a moment before bringing it down on the man’s head once, twice, and finally a third time before he was satisfied that the man wouldn’t ever get up again. He looked at the apron worn by the fresh corpse, and then at his pink life preserver. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

After he finished tying the apron strings around his waist, he looked around the room for something to eat. Killing always made him hungry, especially when it took a bit of work to get the job done properly. He stepped on the sailor he had shot as he made his way to a table where a platter of steaks sat. Maybe his captain had interrupted some sort of celebration, or maybe this place just had more of everything than the shithole he’d left behind? He held the steak in his bad hand and gnawed on it as he pushed the kitchen door open with his boarding axe.

The snack was quickly consumed as he made his way down the twisting halls towards the sound of fighting outside. As he finally found a door to the outside, the sound began to die down. Did we win already? He shielded his eyes from the light as he stepped outside and saw that everyone was paying attention to someone that seemed to be holding a burning cigar above a bunch of leaking fuel on the water. God damn. With fights like this it was always out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Thomas Grey, level 5, Ranger Rep +10, BT Rep +118, Brick Rep +15
SPECIAL: 6, 7, 7, 4, 7, 6, 3
Equipment
Weaponry: Colt Army revolver, pocket revolver, 1x smoke/stun/baseball grenades.
Armor: Pack rat clothing, leather greaves, reinforced chaps.
Appearance: Caucasian. Tall, strong build, short thick curly brown hair. Dark eyes, a frown, and a cleanshaven face. Grey shirt with 3/4 sleeves and leather bracers. Jeans with reinforced leather chaps, and a tool belt.
Companion: Elizabeth Sharpe - 4, 8, 4, 3, 5, 10, 6 - Small stature, but makes up for it with knives, a crossbow, and attitude. Level 5. +5 BT Rep.
John Slater: SPECIAL 8(+1).4.10.5.5.4.5.
One bad hombre
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azstarael
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"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Well, Claw wasn’t dead. She was decidedly less than happy, however, as she was scooped up like a child and thrown over someone’s shoulder.

“Pu’me down,” Claw slurred, “who’th’fuck, whatcha think yer-” She took a swing at his back, missed, and then she was done. She was just too tired. Claw breathed out a long sigh, her unbandaged eye slid shut, and she went limp across a very wide, sturdy shoulder.

Don’t pass out not yet stay with it breathe keep him safe please be okay moron.

God, she was tired.

There was a long period, or had it been seconds? That the woman wasn’t sure if she’d passed out after all and was dreaming. A thick accent that sounded vaguely familiar. A collision with something hard, Rory out cold by her side, a fight?

Definitely a fight. The gunshots snapped her back to partial lucidity, and as men fell and blood flowed, she dug up her last reserve of strength and grabbed Rory’s belt with her functional hand.

“Sorry, kid,” she muttered, “thiz migh’ hurt.” She didn’t so much climb down as fall off the table, bringing his limp body down on top of her own

thank God he’s light

before shoving the kid off and yanking open one of the large cupboards beneath the prep counter. A mess of pots and pans spilled onto the floor as she swept them out, then grabbed Rory again, shoved him inside, and climbed in herself.

“Buncha bullshit,” Claw muttered as she pulled the door shut. “Fuckin’ lunatics and imbeciles. No’gettin’ paid ‘nuff.”

It was dark, and a good deal quieter in the cramped space. Claw fought for a moment to move Rory into a more comfortable position, decided ‘good enough’, and slumped over against the wall. Her last thought before she finally allowed the darkness to swallow her consciousness was

Stupid fucking kids.
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
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azstarael
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"Got a light?"
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Spike didn’t even have to look. Someone started shooting at him immediately. The bullet winged his side, and he took off just as quickly, flying across the deck in an erratic serpentine. The sailor, chambering another round, didn’t seem to have expected his target to run forward instead of away, and there was a look of mild surprise on his face before it was sliced wide open. The man screamed in shock and agony, blind, clutching at four long, deep gashes. He cut off with a wet choking noise as the blades impaled his torso. Spike spun hard, yanking the gauntlet all the way through his lower belly, and caught a glimpse of shredded organs before he was off again.

Slash rip stab kill kill kill.

The cold, the pain, the fear, all gone. Nothing left but fire and rage and blood. Spike heard himself laughing hysterically as he leapt for another man, this one a good deal bigger, and wielding a wicked-looking sword.

Well, this ought to be fun.

He ducked under a swing aimed for his neck, bolting around the man’s back. He was quicker than he looked, and had spun around just before Spike could stick the gauntlet through a kidney. A screech of metal and a few sparks as their blades skimmed each other, knocking Spike back a step, giving the sailor a chance to take another swing at his chest. Spike fell back onto one hand, launched himself back up as the other man regained his balance, and used the opportunity to make another swipe at him.

Still really fucking quick. What an asshole.

Oh, you are one to talk.

Spike had no thoughts or time to spare for Slade, too focused on his adversary, who’d taken a half-step back, a livid expression on his scarred face. Okay, so the guy had experience and speed.

Spike had drugs.

With a wordless scream, he bolted forward, ducked under another swing that should have, by all rights, taken off half his face. He skidded on the slippery wood, caught his balance, and was forced to duck into a somersault as the sword came for his stomach. As he launched himself back up, he took a vicious swing and caught the man hard across the back of his knee. The sailor collapsed immediately, screaming and clutching at his ruined tendons, the sword clattering across the deck. Panting for breath, Spike kicked him as hard as he could in the face, bone and cartilage shattered, while the scream turned into a garbled shriek of agony. He fell back, and that was cut off in short order when his vocal chords and windpipe were slashed halfway through his neck. Blood sprayed from the arteries, there was one last weak gurgle, barely audible over the fighting and the storm.

Next victim, please.

Phillipe!” A woman’s voice screamed, equal parts despair and fury. “Fils d'une prostituée malade! Je te tuerai!”

Oh. There it was.

Spike was on her in a flash. She had a pistol in hand, fired wildly, but he was already rolling again. Splinters flew, his ears were ringing, but the gauntlet came up just as he did, all four blades embedded deeply just below her ribs. She made a soft, quiet noise of pain, her eyes not on him, but the man whose throat he’d just slit. She slumped, and Spike managed a hard twist to her innards before yanking the blades back out. The woman sunk to the ground, and started crawling toward the body, even as blood poured out of her own and trickled from her mouth. “J'arrive...Phillipe,” she choked out, collapsing on the prone form as Spike took off again.

Sucked to be them.

Something was wrong with his leg. Had he twisted it weird? Didn’t matter. Slash stab rip kill.

Commotion on the upper level. That’s where the real fun was, he was quite sure of it. Spike bolted for the stairs, and nearly fell on the first one, barely catching himself and scrambling up on all fours. Seriously, what fuckery was this, had he sprained an ankle? Knocked his knee?

Worry about it later. Sorry, Future Spike.

There was definitely something going down up here. A man and a woman were facing off, trading blows with incredible speed, rivaling even his own usual agility. A few onlookers were staring, slack-jawed, and he was almost within striking distance when one noticed him.

“One of the pirates!” the man yelled. Spike bared both rows of sharp teeth in a feral grin.

“Hola, amigos. Gracias por el cumplido.”

His sudden entrance gained him the element of surprise, enough that he’d slit another throat before the rest turned on him. Now it was five on one, but that was fine. A good way to see what he could really do with this thing.

And Claw thought it was stupid. What a wet rag.

Duck under a swipe at his face. Dodge a club aimed for the back of his head. Slip between a pair trying to gun him down, laugh hysterically as they ended up shooting each other in the chest. Roll under a swipe from a long machete. Rip open their Achilles tendon as he did. Keep laughing as they fell, screaming, remove most of their face with a vicious downswing before bolting away from the club again.

Four down. Two to go.

Club-man was starting to look worried. He took half a step back, and had it not been for his brief glance over Spike’s shoulder, there would have been a short sword through his spine. Instead, Spike whipped around, gauntlet up, and took a nasty knock that made pins and needles shoot through the entire arm.

“Pendejo!” he screamed, had to roll again to dodge the club-

You’re gonna have some impressive bruises.

“Shut up, Slade!” he shouted back. “You ain’t fucking helping!

The outburst had made both men pause briefly. Well, shit.

Oh, really?

Motherfucker. Even dead, still rubbing it in at every opportunity.

Spike was starting to feel strange. Off-balance. Light-headed. Something was wrong, his leg didn’t want to work, he could still force it into motion but his speed was suffering; an opening.

Another belly full of knives. Twist hard. Catch himself on one hand as his leg gave out entirely. Yank brutally, another scream of agony, an intestine hit his arm as Spike rolled away, what the fuck…?

Oh.

He’d been shot again.

Probably not great.

Even less so, the Psycho was starting to wear off. A come-down was never pleasant, and suddenly feeling every wound, bruise, and shot with perfect clarity? Decidedly not great.

The last enemy sailor, however, had seen enough. Yelling something that was probably a virulent curse, they bolted away, leaving no one but the two captains, who were both still in a fast paced stalemate.

Spike had just enough sense left to drag himself away from the fray, crawl behind a stack of crates, and prop his back against them before he collapsed. Bleeding bleeding fuck coming down bleeding ow it hurt fucking fuck Claw was going to kill him. He managed to rip off a length of his shirt and bind the second bullet wound tightly, it wasn’t much but it was better than…

Oh, goddamn it. He was about to pass out.
Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode)
S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5
Perks
Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant
Equipment:
Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet
Armor:
Duster coat (Poor Condition)
Reputation
Bucket Town (-30)
Claw (Companion)
S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2
Perks
Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman
Equipment
Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition)
Armor
Desert Clothing (Poor Condition)
Nicholas Stahley, level 1
S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7
Perks
Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner
Equipment
Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun
Armor
Dirty Pre-war Clothes
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Funkifan
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The Cobras' Leader
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Receiving no response from the unconscious man, the redhead continued to sew his wounds, pouring alcohol to clean them, alongside stopping the blood flow, keeping pressure with the man's shirt, which he had torn apart to use as a makeshift rag.

He was sure to move from the walkway, taking cover behind some boxes of supplies on the prow that the pirates apparently had left lying around, perhaps due to the sudden attack and the heavy rain which had struck both sides.

When he finished, he made sure to tie a knot on the thread to keep the stitches on Stewart secure, before cutting the leftover with his blade.

As he returned his medical equipment to the box, he managed to hear a muffled crash nearby, of wood being broken with force. Looking to his right, his attention drawn towards the sound, he saw an outline in the mist, as lightning illuminated the general vicinity. The redhead figured out that the figure couldn't be more than ten feet away from him. Another bolt of lightning, the figure suddenly fell again, something to its side being visible for a moment.

He didn't know why, but he just felt that the situation was off, somehow. He quickly grabbed ahold of his medical equipment, and returned them to his medical box before moving forward to investigate what was happening next to him. He made himself sure that the man he had just saved was hidden, and made a mental note to return back to him when the battle had subsided.

The redhead began to sneak across the deck, using the rain and the thunder to muffle his steps and to conceal himself, until he reached the scene, finding a man standing over a darkened figure, a heavy board in his hands.

“Well… missus, this is the end of the line for yous.” The man spoke, as the redhead moved behind him. Due to the rain, it was difficult to see how the man looked, a brown, soaked vest, and blue pants, alongside a mane of dirty blond hair.

As Edgar was about to draw his pistol, he realized that perhaps the rain could potentially make his weapon malfunction or short-circuit, something that he did not want to happen. He had to act fast, however, as dwelling on what he could do for too long would certainly mean that the figure would be maimed, if not outright killed. Then, the idea hit him, as another loud crash of thunder filled the sky.

“C’est la vie, mon cherie!” The pirate began to move the wood plank up, before he felt something suddenly tugging on his vest. The man turned around, as Edgar rose, the canister of pepper spray on his hand, which was fired into the face of the thug, who screamed in pain as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

He swung the board, the redhead managing to jump back; however, he slipped, crashing on the deck. The man furiously tried to rub his eyes, dropping the board and moving to the side, where he was met with the metal railing, tripping over it, and plummeting down with curses.

Edgar sat, rubbing his back as he reached for his helmet, which had protected the nape of his head when he had fell. Still, it hurt quite badly. Still hearing muffled expletives, he peeked through the railing, where he noticed the pirate grasping a chain close to the water.

“Didn’t you see… the sign? Wet floor…” The Hispanic whispered, using the railing to stand up, his attention focused on the figure that had landed on the boxes. Closing in, he soon noticed that the victim was a young, pale girl, who had received quite the beating.

“Miss? Miss can you hear me?” He asked her, squatting to her side, and slowly helping her to sit. “Where else does it hurt? Besides… your nose?” Taking a rag, he placed it under her bleeding nose, a worried look on his face. “Don’t worry… I’m a medic… I’ll help.”

He then proceeded to take another piece of rag, soaking it with alcohol, beginning to clean the small wounds and scrapes that Alida had, especially on her hands, marvelling as began to feel a certain strange beating to his heart, the lady’s beauty and the strange, yet interesting aura she possessed drawing him in.

Some squishy, wet sounds came from the side, the mist at first concealing the form of Greasy Pete approaching Edgar and Alida, a boot knife in his hand. When he was noticed, the doctor reached for his weapon, in case the pirate attempted to lunge at them.

Instead, he lowered the blade, a doubtful and confused look on his visage as he lowered himself, staring at the redhead for a moment, before speaking up.

“Why… why didn’t you… you know… kill me?”

Edgar returned the weapon to his pocket, observing the pirate, trying to determine his intentions. “I’m… well, I’m a pacifist. I’m not seeking a fight… j-just wanted to help people if they become wounded…”

The Hispanic was still on edge, yet decided to give Pete the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. He went back at cleaning Alida’s wounds, glancing at the pirate every few seconds. Pete then spoke again.

“What… what did you shoot me with? Why did I felt like jelly?”

The redhead attempted to explain to the pirate what had happened. “My weapon is modified… to momentarily stun. I… I wanted to be able to defend myself… but not at the expense of someone else, uh… Pete? Is that your… real name?” The boy asked, nervous, yet curious.

The pirate was dubitative as to the change on the topic of the conversation, but soon enough, he relinquished to the information that he was witholding. “My nom est Petronila.” He nodded once, and looked away. “Touts say that its a femmes name, so I nowadays use Pete.”

“I see.” The doctor replied, somewhat caught on helping Alida. He was so concentrated, that he did not placed much thought on the name, even though he appreciated the honesty of the pirate, the lack of knowledge concerning his intentions was worrysome. Going back to Alida, he was quick to discover that something seemed to be wrong with her shoulder. “Miss? Does your shoulder hurt?” He asked, lightly touching her shoulder to determine what was wrong.

“Uh… you don’t think that my name is… funny?” The pirate spoke again, his voice wavering slightly when nothing more was said concerning him.

Edgar glanced at him for an instant, then moved his head from side to side. “No… not at all. Petronila sounds… tough? I think?”

Pete became pensive, his eyes going wide. “I.. I didn’t… I didn’t know that… I had no idea…” He answered, looking at the ground, a small smile unconsciously forming on his face.
Meanwhile, the doctor, thinking that perhaps what was wrong with Alida’s shoulder was the fact that her arm had been dislocated, deciding to try and set it back in place. He positioned himself in front the woman, closing his eyes for a moment to remember the exact process of how to set an arm to its original position, as he had read in his book of tribal medicine, the Kocher’s method of relocating a dislocated shoulder.

“This… this may hurt a little, miss. I’m… I’m sorry.” Taking a deep breath, the medic placed both of his hands on the girl’s shoulder, before moving them down, and grasping her injured arm. He began to bend her elbow, to slowly place her arm on a neutral position, externally rotating the humerus, and shifting from position himself so that the extremity would face him.

“Don’t move… I know it hurts a bit… but please, don’t move. I won’t hurt you… I promise.” His words were calm, and patient.

He then carefully began to direct her arm to the right, until he could feel resistance on her muscles. He gently grasped her upper arm, before pushing it forward, then, taking her wrist, he internally rotated her arm towards her stomach, a soft ‘pop’ being heard afterwards.

“There we go…” A reassuring nod was given to Alida, as he went back to face Pete, whom had taken a seat on the deck.

“I’m still nothin’ but a stinky, sweaty cloachard. None would bat an eye for me… ever.” The man said, his voice becoming slightly shaky.

Edgar observed him, concerned. “Did the other pirates tell you that?” The pirate just stared at him for a moment.

“Do you enjoy being here? Your life as a pirate? Because… I am feeling that your fellow crewmembers don’t treat you well, do they?”

“No… I get treated like merde most times…” The pirate replied, his knife drawing a line on the deck. “I’ve always wanted to see la mer, that’s why I joined them... so that I had a shipe on where to gaze at the blu and vert water-“

Suddenly, a loud boom and a bright light appeared from the side, and mellow voice called out from the mist, a threat that came from an apparent ethereal beyond. Pete jumped up like a spring, and moved closer towards the railing, the condensed particles of water and the rain fading slightly for him to see that a hand held a cigar over the water, then the word oil struck him, and he realized what was happening as he looked down to see the water.

The sea was blackened, a form climbing up the deck. What was happening then stuck him. Running back with Edgar, he was quick to inform him of the situation, moving the hair from his face, which made the redhead freeze.

“Then… we are in big… big trouble. We need to stop this.” The pirate nodded, before the two seemed to realize something, their attention going up to the upper decks, where gunfire and screams could still be heard.

“We need to head up, and stop this… before we all end up being engulfed by the explosion…” Edgar said, as he stood up, offering a hand for Alida, hoping that she would follow.

Not wanting to die either, Pete spoke up. “Right. I… I’ll come with you then. I know this ship like the palm of my hand… I’ll lead you up.”

“DONT’ BLOW US UP! I’LL PUT AN END TO THIS!” Edgar screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping that whoever had made the threat could hear him.

The pirate moved to the closest door, and opened it, making some gestures for the two to head inside with him. “We’ll go upstairs, then through the decks!” The redhead ran after him, picking a sailor’s cap from the deck, and placed it on Pete’s head.

“Sorry, don’t want you to get shot or anything.” Wary, he followed the pirate inside, intent on finishing the battle, once and for all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panting, Edgar moved up the last couple stairs up, his heart clenching and his mind racing as he saw the carnage which had unfolded. His greens then focused on the interlocking swords and the rage that could be felt emanating from the two captains.

They were intent on killing each other, that was for sure. He didn’t knew if he would be able to stop them, but he had to try, at least. He grabbed a pistol of a fallen sailor, and raised it up in the air, firing a couple shots in the air to grab their attention.

[CHARISMA 8 CHECK]

“Look, I’m not sure why you two are fighting with such rage against each other, with such hatred. I understand that each other did horrible things to the other... but right now, getting revenge should be a secondary concern to you,” Edgar began, passion on his voice, yet attempting to be emphatic with both Cecil and Nina, as he pointed towards the ocean.

“Someone in the mist threatened us to drop a cigar on the pool of oil which has been spilled from the ships during the battle, and to my understanding, there won’t be a way to get out in time if it is dropped. We will perish, and the wreck of the ships will become one with our skeletons.”

He paused for a moment, to get a good feel on what he should say next. “Do you really want to give your lives away to kill each other? Won’t you consider that there could be more than just becoming engulfed in a funeral pyre?”

“And what about your crew?” He glanced at Pete, who was standing at the side of Edgar. “These are all men and women who believe in you, who have been fighting for you, dying for someone whom they look up to. Are you willing to abandon them? To sacrifice them for a couple seconds of satisfaction?”

“I also assume that this is your flagship, isn’t it?” The redhead said, looking at Cecil. “Are you willing to allow it to sink? Doesn’t the ship mean something to you? To allow it to sink would mean that everything you worked for would be resting on the sea floor… never to be seen again.”

He walked a few steps towards the two fighters. “Perhaps, we all have lost in a way. But that doesn’t mean this has to be the end of the line. You can still live and attempt to make a living afterwards. I figure that your reputation precedes you, sir?” He motioned at Cecil, then looked at Nina. “And you managed to create a fleet with what little you had and battled another that was three times the size, at least. Just imagine what you could do, madame.”

“Now… I’m not sure what either of you lost… family, loved ones, maybe. Something that really mattered to you,” He observed the two of them. “But… are you sure that this is what they would really want? I can’t speak for them, of course, but… I feel that your loved ones would want you to move on, to… recover if you need.”

He bit his lip before continuing. “And… if you still want to get revenge upon each other… then do it. But don’t doom your entire crews for that. I would recommend a stalemate for now, before a proper honor duel ensues. No dirty tricks, no more killing each other’s people. Just you, and your skill with swords.”

“What do you say?”

Ubenknownst to Edgar, one of the pirates wasn’t dead. Maybe, bleeding out, but still quite capable of firing one last shot with his submachine gun. He aimed at Edgar, a laser pointer finding its way on his chest, the woman fiddling weakly with the trigger.
Edgar Algae -HC-

SPECIAL: 3-5-7-8-6-7-4

Level: 4

Edgar is a tall, attractive man, with red bright hair, green eyes, and tan skin, due to his Hispanic heritage. He currently wears a yellow t-shirt, with cargo shorts, a Leather Jacket (Tier 2, Good CON, plus on intimidation checks). Attached to his left wrist, he possesses an Automedical Assistant. On his back, he carries an XL Rucksack, that contains several items of his', like a Medical armored Suitcase, filled with all sorts of medical equipment. His weapon of choice is the Study Group Special, a modified mini-zapper.

He is Good Natured, Spongey, and has Sex Appeal (For the girls)


+120 BT Reputation; +90 Nawlins Reputation
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Ghoul
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“Well...missus, this is the end of the line for yous.”

Alida blinked out her confusion, staring up at the man above her. She attempted to kick out and away from him, but barely slid across the deck even in the rain. She swore under her breath, this had really been a terrible idea.

“C’est la vie, mon cherie!” suddenly there was another figure above her and the first man reeled in pain, holding his face and struggling with the newcomer, dropping the board, tumbling over the railing. It all happened so fast Alida barely understood what had happened. She let out a soft whimper as her entire body shuddered in pain, finally giving in to her injuries. God, she felt like she was going to throw up. Through the rain, a shadow fell upon her, and she tensed up.

“Miss? Miss can you hear me?” oh, the boy who saved her. She nodded slowly in response, breathing heavily. He gently helped her sit up straight as she flicked her hair out of her face. He asked her about her injuries and she flinched away from him. Who the hell was this guy? “Don’t worry...I’m a medic...I’ll help.” Ah.
“Thanks…” She whispered nasally, raising her good arm to hold the rag under her nose. She looked up to him, unsure of this stranger that only wanted to help. He began cleaning the wounds on her hands, her breath sharp as the alcohol stung. At least it’ll be clean. The sting was nothing compared to the pulsing of her face. Edgar had started talking to someone, she barely listened, moving the rag off her nose to see exactly how much blood had been split, and immediately put it back.

“I’m not seeking a fight...j-just wanted to help people if they became wounded…” she looked over to the boy and studied his face. He was being honest. Poor kid. No, he was about her age. Not really a kid at all. She frowned. Spike had been young too. She sighed, her face softening from confusion and pain to concern for them all. Edgar and the pirate continued talking some more, at least he wasn’t going to kill them, and Alida was soon lost in thought, staring blankly at her hands.

“Miss? Does your shoulder hurt?”

“Hm--” she let out a sharp cry as he poked her shoulder. Though he probably only touched it gently. “Yes.” she hissed. “I landed badly…” she had been concentrating so much on the pain from her nose that she had forgot her shoulder was hurting too. “God I really fucked up.” she chuckled at herself softly. Edgar had moved in front of her, and she watched him quizzically. He closed his eyes, then reached out for her arm.

“This...this may hurt a little miss. I’m...I’m sorry.” She gasped as he began to maneuver her arm, and she shook her head.

“No no, please don’t…” Alida began to pull away, but he stopped her, repositioning again. “No. No.” she continued to whisper, but did stop trying to get away. If he really knew what he was talking about, she supposed she didn’t have much of a choice but to trust him. “No no no-!”

pop

An abrupt scream escaped her throat as her shoulder was forced back into the socket. She felt her eyes water and bit her lip as she whimpered again. She glared up at Edgar, but she smiled meekly in thanks as he nodded at her. FInally she zoned into the conversation he was having with the pirate. He had talked him into an emotional submission. She was impressed.

A loud boom ricocheted over the water, the boat rocking. The pirate had run off and run back so quickly she barely realised he had gone. She could hear the clatter of yelling from off the side of the ship and across the deck, it was all such a mess she couldn’t make sense of what was going on. Wait-- explosion!? The red haired boy had extended his hand towards her and she looked up at him and nodded, gripping her good hand in his and pulling herself up. She flinched as he yelled, but was finally able to put the pieces together, realising what was happening. Alida let go of his hand and followed.

~~~

BANG BANG

The two shots rang out over the deck, heads turning toward Edgar. Alida was standing next to him as he began to speak. Her eyes scanned the deck, watching the bodies on the floor, glancing up at the captains, at Edgar and...Pete was it? Pete. She revisited a previous thought, he was good with words. She knew that she didn’t have it in her for more fighting, finally being able to take a breather and she needed to rest her wounded body, and he was practically begging for this all to stop, or they’d go up in flames. Her heart was still racing.

Her breath halted and her eyes flicked to a once lifeless body, raising a gun. A woman on the ground was aiming at the trio as Edgar stepped forward. Alida looked to him and saw a red dot on his chest.

“Watch it!” she grabbed his sleeve and pulled as the shot echoed over the rain. Her pull was awkward, heaving the man who was easily a foot taller than her, with her one good arm, out of the way just in time. She stumbled as she made way for Edgar, almost tripping backwards, but the hold on his arm kept her standing. “Asshat!” Alida spat, glaring at the attacker. She bent down and picked up anything she could get her hand on, throwing it at her. “Stay the FUCK down!” She ran towards her, swinging her foot into her head which bounced off the ground. Her boot came crunching down on the poor persons face. “Stay. Down.
| Alida Brandy | Lvl 1 | "a mix of zooey deschanel and the entirety of ww1" - Fom
| S:3(-1) P:8(+1) E:7 C:8 I:4 A:6(-1) L:3 | Hungry like the Wolf! - stat adjustments for 2 solos/tags
| +75 N'awlins |
| Pipe Rifle | Switchblade | Flintlock |
| Denizen of the Dark | Sex Appeal | Fast Learner |

| Mór-Ríoghain | Lvl 1 |
| S:4 P:8 E:8 C:4 I:5 A:3 L:8 |
| Hatchet | Handmade Bow (with arrows) |
| Hunter | Creep |
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Cewebwalz
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Henshin a go-go baby
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Energy weapon fire zinged off into the sky, the bright glow catching the attention of Nina and Cecil. Both stepped back cautiously, Cecil keeping one eye on both Nina and Edgar, and Nina dividing her intention solely on her nemesis.

Cecil’s first instinct was to wonder who the hell Edgar was, but soon began to realize much of what he said was true. The fact he had not just finished Cecil from behind had showed how desperate the situation was, and his life was more valuable than any grudge.

The world seemed to slow down when a laser beam began to trace its way across the tall man’s chest. A pity, he was a wonderful orator, and now it looked like Cecil wouldn’t even be getting off this boat. A deafening crash ensued, and rather than a righteous entry wound appearing in Edgar’s chest, a man Cecil didn’t even recognize as one of his crew members was being beaten to death over the head with a piece of wood by someone barely strong enough to swing it.

The battle sure seemed over.

Much to everyone’s startlement except for Cecil, he dropped his blade and chain to the floor. They rattled and slid onto the deck, and the pirate captain passively raised his hands. He thought he really had a leg up in this fight too, they would have to save their rematch for another time. Shouting loudly, hoping his voice would carry across the ship in this storm, the sounds of the battle symphony only seemed to reach him as the words left his mouth. “I surrender!” Whatever left of his crew seemed to listen, or they were all dead already.

A yellow belly with a white flag, Cecil Moon had better plans for the evening.

Nina didn’t seem to take surrenders seriously.

Her stiletto darted from her hand and into Cecil’s eye. He crumpled to the floor in an instant, the blade sliding out as he fell and leaving a gash across what remained of his eyelid. An eye for an eye, the battle didn’t seem to notice. Everyone was slowing down severely, hands in the air, or bleeding out on the ground.

Bodies from both sides began to rise from the ocean floor as their intestinal gas’s propelled them to the surface, and as the battle lulls to a halt the defenders and attacker’s share a moment of silence. It is soon interrupted, a dozen small rafts and fishing boats have rowed over from Crescent Top to investigate.

The citizens of the city have come to see your spectacle. Slowly a member of their group boards Cecil’s former flagship via rope, climbing aboard to hail you all. She lets you know you’ve participated in the biggest spectacle anyone in the city can remember, and her praises are only now beginning.

The wounded are taken to the hospital, those that seem more lost cause and unnecessary medical expense than hero are mercifully euthanized. Nina’s ship is boarded by a special batch of city sailors, the celebrations will begin as soon as these party supplies hit Crescent Top.

Soon enough, the only ones brave enough to be aboard any of the ships are city residents. The cities hired guns barely make it to shallow water before they are accosted with revelry and celebration. Edgar is escorted out first and foremost, hoisted off by a crowd, and loudly exclaimed to be the savior of the entire city.

A dozen important people who you yet to recognize congratulate the lot of you. It seems the cities gratefulness is going to extend itself.

Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday. Today is the belated start to the biggest party you’ve ever seen. Crescent Top is free, and everyone’s already drinking to it.

Rewards:

Quote:
 

EVERYONE RECEIVES

Crescent Top Citizenship - This allows you free entrance into the city, and free use of the hospital. It’s a “passport”, a strong, sturdy paper booklet that is hard to either fold or tear, it has “French Quarter” on the front and an ID number as well as name on the inside panel. The rest of the book is blank space for union and guild stamps, be careful not to lose this.

+75 N’awlins Reputation - Your heroics have extended past the settlement into the entire city itself, and anywhere else that might’ve been in eye sight of the battle. People appreciate your sacrifice, but fame fades fast here.

Héros Drink Free - Mercenaires, be careful. Not a single bar or club owner in New Orleans is going to except your money until the celebrations end. Better to drown in alcohol than the cities murky bay like your comrades.

Gator Trade Slip - Paper currency? Is this some kind of joke? This trade slip is verified with two Grator stamps on the front, and like every other one in the city, is backed by a carton of cigarettes somewhere. This design uses an old world five dollar bill, with a large crocodile drawn in ink on the back. On the front, Abraham Lincoln’s head has been scribbled on hastily.

Doubloon - Pirate gold. Bite it if you don’t believe me, depending who your talking to this is worth a small fortune or nothing.



Quote:
 


Gordon
Dhow - This watercraft has Egyptian origins, yet is commanded by a distinctly American captain. Zap Brannigan the waves, my friend.
Automatic Weapon Conversion Kit - Any weapon that doesn’t fire automatically can have this installed in it, and it will work the trigger fast as it possibly can.
Pirate Flag - Sail this bihh high, it’s a testimony to the time you killed other pirates and also some neat narrative dissonance.

Stewart
Big Bopper (Tier 2, GC) - This is just one of those high caliber revolvers that make your shoulder hurt if you fire it wrong. Have fun.
Moonshoes - Bounce on these fools.
Bandana - Pretty neat.
Mysterious Drug Vial - What’s this?

Edgar
Rebreather - Fit this over anyone’s mouth and it’ll allow them to inhale oxygen in areas without it. The only problem is that it sometimes seems to last a dozen minutes, and other times about two. It recharges by just being in open air, somehow.
Caribbean Cigars - Grown on an island, rolled on the sea, and stolen by a land shark. Typical. These come in a fancy wooden box, and theres enough for a weeks worth of tobacco induced contemplation
Kraken Eye - Whatever sea creature this came from, it’s detached and somehow still blinks every now and again. Store in salt water.
Hero's Medal - +15 reputation when donning this in Crescent Top, most people won't forget Edgar's face if this is on his chest.

Gilbert
Pet Monstrosity - It’s a baby that Cecil scooped out of the waves, roughly the size of a puppy or small dog. It seems to be able to survive on land and sea, it’s just that no one knows what the hell it is. It’s attached to Gilbert for whatever reason.
Canvas Backpack - Ex-military by the look of it, it’s really good at storing items.
Swim Trunks - Surfs up with these on.

Spike
Seersucker Suit (Tier 2, GC) - The most comfortable thing Spike has ever worn, this fashion and humidity conscious suit is one of the finer in the city.
Flash Camera - How’s this work? Who cares. Point camera, take pictures, shake it up, and just make sure to never run out of film.
Life Jacket - If Spike ever really wanted to float slowly in bodies of water, here’s his opportunity.

Claw
Harpoon Gun (Tier 2, GC) - This’ll our a hole through a SOB and his momma, then drag them both back to you. Ammo is practically infinite, as your current Harpoon makes you realize how easy it is to craft projectiles.
NOPD Uniform (Tier 1, GC) - This New Orleans Police Department Uniform is just comfortable, breathes easy, and comes with nice footwear.
NOPD Helmet (Tier 2, PC) - The aforementioned helmet of the uniform above. Sturdy metal, it's scratched to hell and the you can make out the word "POLICE" in block letters faintly on the front.
Tiki Mask - Almost as spooky as Claw’s real face.

John
Bec De Corbin (Tier 2, GC) - A C’est sailor congratulates you on your find, “the crows beak” is one of the greatest weapons ever made according to this gentlemen.
Drunken Sniper - What do you do with a drunken sniper? Wake him in the morning!
Monmouth Cap - This’ll keep you warm and stylish.

Smelly Jesse
Gator Scale Armor (Tier 2, GC) - Gator scales or not, this’ll protect you from all sorts of danger based on its apparent sturdiness. It’s been designed to not inhibit movement in the water while offering armor, which is about as niche as it gets in the wasteland.
Oil Grenades (Tier 1) - This oil inside erupts once tossed, making it a messy, wet ball of a bomb. Only two left.
Musketoon (Tier 1) - A musket! How easy to carry and quick to reload! Six lead balls make for an okay ammo reserve.

Alida
Catamaran - This is one of those indigenous village, hastily made with okay materials Catamaran’s. Not one of those yacht club, vacation home in the south of France Catamaran’s.
Water Mines (Tier 2, GC) - These handsized devices explode when tripped in the water, but you can leave them on solid ground too. Use them to guard your boat, just be careful not to sink it. If they’re unimploded you can fish them out. Comes with 3.
Flintlock (Tier 1) - Clumsy to use compared to modern weaponry, and slow to reload. This black powder weaponry will really improve your heroine chic, smoky eyes for literally DAYS. 8 rounds of ammo, including everything you need to shoot this thing.

Rory
Cutlass (Tier 2, GC) - Contrary to the name, this allows you to cut more.
Pirate Outfit (Tier 1, GC) - Blouse? Check. Hat? Check. Parrot? A work in progress, but the rest of the outfits trimmings are there.
Treasure Chest Key - One of the chests in one of Cecil’s ships that sunk is opened by this key. Good luck!

Jay
Energy Shotty (Tier 2, GC) - This weapon used to be terrible before it malfunctioned even further, and now it just dispenses energy buckshot with a fury. Jay isn't a hardcore character so I don't need to include ammo.
Divers Wetsuit - Yeah, it’s a wetsuit.
Ornate Braids and Fabrics - Wrap these around yourself and it’s like it’s Mardis Gras 24/7. They’re useful in arts and crafts and trade as well.

Luis
Captain’s Outfit (Tier 2, GC) - Not quite Cecil Moon swagger yet, but this uniform includes a wool coat and it’s quite nifty. (Describe at will)
Blunderbuss (Tier 1, GC) - Fill this up with whatever bullshit you can find and it’ll turn it into a close range shotgun blast. Seriously.
Postwar Gulf Cost Map - This includes tons of tiny details no longer found in old war maps, like New Orleans being flooded.
Edited by Cewebwalz, Feb 14 2018, 12:18 PM.
Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist
8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC-

Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator
5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
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Lmgthev:� Like tbh I agree CP is not the golden boy at all
Lmgthev:� You're like John Candy from Cool Runnings
Lmgthev:� Washed up has been who teaches the newcomers the trade� :D

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