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Sunset The Battlebabe | Cool+3 | Hard=0 | Hot+1 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 4 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 The best way to describe Sunset is, well, bemused. Not like this is the first time she's seen one of the darts get launched, though admittedly this is the first time she's been this close to the business end of the landing. Fuckin' sucks for Dross, though. Just about got got by a junkie, then did get got by Three. 'Course, this one wasn't her fault or really anything that'd get Cope thinkin' twice about continuing their business relationship, so who gives a poo poo. Dross should've been looking out for himself. It's a fuckin' rough one out there, ready to jump if you give it an inch. That's why she doesn't fuckin' sleep anymore. Just smart. When Cope buzzes in, Sunset calls out to the intercom, "Ey, Cope, here about that job. Dross got leveled by one of Skid's darts just now, looks like he'll need an angel in a bad way. Leg's all wibbly in the ways it shouldn't be, y'know?" A beat. "Good distance on the shot, though. Cleared the flats."
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Jan 20, 2021 21:32
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 11:38 |
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Edison As you crouch to get a closer look at this hole at the bottom of the recess, you notice a few sets of smaller holes drilled into the concrete on two sides of it. Blast marks outline square shapes surrounding them, which might indicate where something was bolted down over the hole. Looking into the hole itself you see a metal ladder that starts about a foot from the top, leading down. It continues down for about another two or three feet before plunging into darkness. It’s safe to assume you might see more if you had a light of some kind. You smell the faintest hint of something like motor oil. With your mechanical knowledge, you would know that it is not the scent of gasoline. Crying Wolf responds in a solemn tone, “If you feel that we have betrayed your trust, then you have my apology – the fault is mine. I instructed my brothers to be vague. To protect sensitive information. A week ago, we had a fuel pump in this place, but it was not the pump itself that caused the destruction of this facility. We had moved it since, trying to access the hatch. Our efforts continued until last night. It was then that we triggered an explosion. It was then that…” He pauses for a moment and you hear him draw a slow, deep breath before continuing. “Our Hyenas seem savage to your people, but we live and die by our tenets. We display the skulls of our enemies not to taunt, but to ward against further conflict. We do not seek to conquer. We keep to our own lands. If you are honest and respect our ways, then you will not be harmed. We have reason to be cautious. Were the Blue Hound to learn of this place he would sink his fangs and shut his iron jaw. It would lead to bloodshed. A fighting pack must always mind its flank. As we lick our wounds, we must not let other foes learn our scent.” He is quiet for several seconds, possibly mulling your response. Then the silence is broken by the chirp of a two-way radio behind you. When did he get behind you? “Apologies, my Reina, but our exchange has become Ka’. The anagalyski will help, but insists on knowing all.” Another brief silence follows, then the radio chirps to life again. A woman’s voice crackles through the receiver, sounding rough-edged and bored. “I see. Come.” The muscular Hyena tucks the radio back into the pocket of his exceptional pants and starts walking purposefully towards the entrance of the ruined building. He calls back to you, “This way, Edison. Your answers await.” When you reach the crowd of bikers again, Crying Wolf stops you a few feet from front of the souped-up jeep. “Wait for my signal”, he instructs, before popping open a rear door and sticking his head inside. The darkened windows make it impossible to see what he's doing. Around you the horde of bikers have resumed their talking and japery amongst each other, and most pay you little attention. You notice Straw Dog sitting on his bike with a woman straddled around his waist, facing him and sharing a smoke in between kisses. He see you and gives you a wink. Then you hear two thumps against the jeep's door and Crying Wolf is waving you over. He walks around the back of the jeep before climbing in the driver’s seat on the opposite side, leaving the rear passenger side door open. When you reach the rear door you see a woman sitting inside behind Crying Wolf. She looks to be in her late twenties, and maybe taller than her bare-chested associate (but its hard to tell because she’s sitting). She is impressively well-built and fit-looking, despite the half-smoked cigarette that rests between her lips. She’s wearing what looks like a fine chain-mesh top beneath a studded, black leather jacket that’s cropped right where her rib cage would start. Below a metallic skull buckle are dark crimson pants that also appear to be leather, with reinforced pads at the knees. The cuffs are shoved inside her boots, which are steel-toed, each sporting a three-inch spike that juts out from the tip. She turns her head slightly in your direction. The diamond-shaped tattoos around her eyes seem to make them look bigger. Her neck is covered by a tattoo of broken teeth (and something else you can’t quite make out). A bloodstained yellow bandana is folded and tied around her forehead, and above it a bright red mohawk leans slightly over the fabric and slumps off to the left. “…Well? You gonna stare all day? Climb in and hit me with those burning questions.” What do you do?
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Jan 22, 2021 00:06
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Sunset It’s a few moments before the intercom crackles to life again. ”Cope (from the junkyard’s intercom)” posted:“…no poo poo? The whole field? Well… That’s impressive.” “What the gently caress, Cope?!” Dross’s voice is wavering on that fine line between raging and sobbing. “I’m probably loving bleeding internally or some poo poo! My leg is on-loving-backwards, and gently caress THIS HURTS!! I gotta… I gotta get to Doc Boo!” ”Cope (from the junkyard’s intercom)” posted:“Alright, alright. Help’s on the way. Don’t get bent outta shape. (heh.)” In a less than a minute you hear the begrudging whine of the tired old mechanism that opens the massive steel gate to the junk yard. It takes about another full minute before the gate is halfway open, and at that point Cope walks out. As always, she’s got on her khaki coveralls, tan work boots, and that giant, deep pocket toolbelt that’s supported by suspenders. Her long, grey hair has been masterfully preserved in dreadlocks, and is held back by her ever-present tinted goggles that often hide the ever-present circles around her light brown eyes. When she approaches you notice her lower lip is tucked under the upper in that expression she makes when fighting to hold back a laugh. When she opens her mouth to speak, her lips bend into a betraying smirk. “Hey, Sunny.” Her pet name for you, though she’s the only one here who ever dares to use it. Maybe she thinks she has old lady privileges. “Care to help me lift my foreman up onto the truck?” Three is off to the side, in the midst of performing what looks like an interpretive dance of his flight, much to the delight of the stoner crowd across the flats. But when Cope goes to lift the moaning Dross, he jaunts back over. “No, wait, don’t move him! We have to mark where…” *WHAP!* Cope’s sucker punch catches the Sky Dart off guard, and in the next instant he’s back on the ground again. “Skid (from across the field)” posted:“DAAAMMNN!! HAHA!” “Mark that, rear end in a top hat”, she says plainly, before pulling off her work gloves and stowing them in a toolbelt pocket. “And tell your idiot captain to build a loving net at this edge of the flats or I'll start a collection of stakes all over our front yard. Could use some ornaments out here, and your dumb spikey heads would do nicely.” She pauses before adding, “Oh, and congratulations.” An old red pickup truck belches out fumes as it pulls out of the junkyard. Its driver parks it next to where Cope is standing. She bends down and grabs Dross’s arm, waiting for your assist. “So you just work alone, or you ever take a partner with you?” She asks you. You can tell she’s trying to make small talk, which isn’t like her. Could be she’s putting up a front while other people are around. What do you do? Want to tell us a bit about the junkyard? What was your first job for Cope like? suicide4sexbots fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Jan 22, 2021 |
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Jan 22, 2021 06:36
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Vulture The Maestro D' | Cool=0| Hard+1 | Hot+2 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 0/5 | Barter: 2 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 As I followed my host I found my eyes drawn to her tattoos (what I could see of them, anyway). That kind of thing was never for me - fighters around here liked to aim for their opponent's tattoos in the ring and there aren't many angels that care enough to stitch you back together so the ink lines up. Anyway, the tattoos were better to focus on then the mad surroundings we were passing. There was clear artistry on display here but I didn't like it. I was seeing smokey shapes in an eye that hadn't worked in years; silhouettes of half remembered dreams and colors I didn't trust. Better to focus on what I knew was here and real and alive. So it was with some relief that we entered a fairly spartan office and my right eye went back to being a blind spot. Taking the seat I fell into a relaxed posture, cracking my neck and stretching my legs out. As I took the Queen's offer, I mimed a toast with my cup and took a sip. Generous lady. Ashfell wasn't quite on emergency rationing, but sharing a cup of water was still more than I'd do for a drop in. "Cheers for that. Let me get right to the point. Business has been going pretty well for me. I've got my ups and downs; investments that fall through. Fighters that pull in a bigger crowd then expected. I'm not making a killing but I'm not losing jingle either." I finished off the cup of water and leaned over, setting it down with a Plonk! on the desk. "With that in mind I'm interested in upgrading my security. I've never owned a dog myself, but I get on well enough with the mutts you see skulking around. Not interested in a mutt, though. I want a hound that is big, loyal, and mean when I need it to be." "I won't pretend to know your business but I'd guess you have a waiting list or something? That's what I'm looking to arrange right now." A thought came to me. "Oh, yeah. I want to be clear: I may run a fighting ring but I'm only interested in the human aspect of blood sports. I promise you, if we reach an arrangement your animals are not going to used as part of the show. I'll eat a dog if I'm hungry but I'm not the kind of rear end in a top hat who'd enjoy torturing one."
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Jan 22, 2021 09:02
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Cervinae The Hocus | Cool=0 | Hard+1 | Hot-1 | Sharp+1 | Weird+2 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 6 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 "Of course." I nod, "You wouldn't be here if you were." The insinuation hangs in the air ever so briefly, before I move on to the pleasant conversation of two proprietors speaking of their venture's success. "The last few seasons have been kind. We don't speak of our clients, but the sentiment that brought you here has become widely shared among the more organized groups within Ashfell. Every year has brought with it more vermin, as well, and that has brought even freelancers to our door." I open a drawer on the underside of the table and take out a hand-sized, string-bound booklet. "Our litters are bought out for over a month--" there was a good candidate only two weeks from graduation, but Verity had already been sold before her death, and I expect I'll need to fill the ordering gap "-- but we have several hounds currently in training for guard duty. We work on a selection system. You pick the dog now and it's raised to your needs. No dog is another dog, after all." I give Vulture a brief review of our litters, and in the end I point out two specific hounds as being best suited to the Meat Grinder's specific needs.  "Juul stems from a long, tested line, but the breed has a jealous nature. His father currently serves near the faded line, I believe." With the Blue Dawgs specifically, "Isalina's mother was a guard breed, but her father was a wild hound we caught in Castabout's. Without new blood, the breeds rot from the inside. She's loyal, but slower to train than many of her cousins. Her mother was sold to a freelancer -- they went to the wastes and haven't returned." Almost certainly dead; don't waste a good dog by dragging it to die in the sands. "If you're interested, I can show them to you now. The kennels aren't far..."
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Jan 24, 2021 20:08
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Vulture The Maestro D' | Cool=0| Hard+1 | Hot+2 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 0/5 | Barter: 2 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 I nodded and listened politely, arms crossed as Cervinae gave me the sales pitch. A doberman certainly sent a message but Isalina sounded like she would be a better investment if I could be patient. I made appreciative comments on both but kept my voice mild. This was likely to cost a pretty penny; no reason to tip my hand or suggest a preference and see the price jacked up even further. At the suggestion of a visit to kennels I nodded and began to rise. "Certainly." The pair of animals she'd shown me were certainly promising, but perhaps there was the perfect kind of beast I wanted prowling around in the kennels but discounted.
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Jan 25, 2021 03:26
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NULL posted:suicide4sexbots
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Jan 25, 2021 23:09
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Edison The Savvyhead | Cool=0| Hard-1 | Hot-1 | Sharp+2 | Weird+3 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 7 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 After negotiations had concluded, Edison was already feeling rather drained. The prospect of driving back into town on that pile of garbage pretending to be a vehicle was somehow less pleasing than the idea of getting killed by mortar fire, so he elected to take some time to get a preliminary idea of what he was actually dealing with. Carefully making his way back into the largely destroyed warehouse, Edison takes out a flashlight from his kit and crouches back down next to the gaping hole in the ground, shining the beam inside. Entirely unsure of what he was dealing with, the savvyhead elected to not step into the hole itself until he could rig up some better safety measures. Losing his legs in an explosion was not in his agenda. He also took the time to ponder at the suspiciously relevant bit of tech he had been effectively bribed with. Was it just a coincidence, or...? Maybe some extra locks were in order for the back room. Just in case.
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Jan 25, 2021 23:14
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Sunset The Battlebabe | Cool+3 | Hard=0 | Hot+1 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 4 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 Sunset's bemused smile goes flat and thin at the nickname, but that's just the way of the world. When you depend on someone, even a little bit, they think they can walk over you and do whatever they want. The fact that Cope can, at least for now, just makes it rankle all that much more. Still, a job's a job's a job, and it ain't like she's in any particular rush to see what happens when you go cold turkey from the good poo poo. She obligingly grabs Dross from the other angle, if not particularly gently, and helps lever him up into the truck bed. Sunset shakes her head, "Nah, it's bad juju having too many people out there. Dangerous enough if you know what you're doing, and more feet just means more chances to step into the real poo poo." A beat. "Or draw somethin's eyestalks." Her eyes are on a swivel, as always, and they rapidly take in the bits and pieces of the junkyard that you can see from the gates. It's about what you might have figured, given the name, but the strange thing to most people is that for every junked out truck or old world cube of whatever... there's about three half-built or otherwise abandoned experiments. Cope'll talk your ear off about work if she likes you, that's no trouble, the trouble usually ends up around escaping once she gets started. Goddamn old bat loves a captive audience. 'Course, the jingle is always a janglin' in a place like that, so the part that people don't often see -- or at least don't often walk away from -- is when they trip one of the wires and get lit up by the defenses. She loves talkin' about her work for sure, not so much when people try to get handsy with it. Sunset could think of a fair few times when that'd been made most evident -- though maybe none more than her first gig for Cope. It didn't start as one for her, mind, but jobs have a way of changing from time to time. Just the way of it. She'd been hired on to snag some project or other from Cope's workshop by... eh, gently caress, who could even say? They were long dead at this point, anyhow, and bodies all blur together. Long story shorter, she hopped the fence, navigated a bunch of traps, and got the thing. 'Course, Cope was there and wanting to know what she'd get out of it besides a little bit of jingle. Sunset had shrugged, said something about it being something to do, and Cope gave her such a look. The promise of double whatever the other guy was paying for delivering the thing that she was already supposed to be stealing? Oooh, baby, Cope may be old but she still knows how to make an enticing offer. So, without any particular loyalty to the other dude, Sunset did just that. Got paid both ways, of course, and apparently a building blew loving sky high the next day. poo poo happens, right? One thing led to another, led to scavving out in the wastes, and hell. The rest is basically what you already know.
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Jan 26, 2021 20:07
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Cervinae & Vulture No sooner does Vulture begin to rise from his chair than the sound of a scream cuts through your conversation. It seemed to have come from outside the main compound building you're both currently in. A moment later, further indiscernible shouting follows, suggesting the occurrence of a commotion outside. Cervinae: The voices are muffled by the walls surrounding you, but you recognize that one of them belongs to Uriscide. Both: What do you do?
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Jan 26, 2021 21:54
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Cervinae & Vulture As you both exit the room and enter the hallway that leads back to the main entrance area, you hear Uriscide’s voice more clearly as it bounces off the bare walls. “Sister! Do not do this! Empty your thoughts – free yourself from this madness!” Exiting the hall, you pass again through the quiet resplendence of the murals that have filled the once-empty entryway. Just above your heads, feathers flutter over crisscrossed strands of dyed string, caught by a warm draft. You approach the door, feeling the same stirring breeze as it traces over your cheeks and rushes past your ears. The sensation fades quickly against the smothering heat that swaddles your body as you step over the threshold and back out into the afternoon sun. You hear puppies yapping not far away. The smell of something sour and musky lingers in the air. Then you see the full body of the Court, spread out in a circle just a few paces from the door. Nulk and ’Brunny’ are closest to the building, the one-legged man leaning on the sturdy-looking woman for support. They see you both and immediately move to the side, clearing a path through the crowd for the Doe Queen. Their faces are beset with emotion and terror. Through the gap they make, you see the source of all this commotion. “Empty your thoughts!”, the man pleads again. “Remember the way – remember your blessing! Surrender your sister, and let us help you…” He is kneeling, his single arm outstretched towards the two figures about ten feet away from him. Cervinae Lotta is standing in the midst of the circle, surrounded by what looks like all of your Court. Her raving eyes look as wide as the hollowed sockets of your mask, and her face just as blanched. She’s covered in her own sick from the neck down, her dress soaked through with a dark, slimy sheen. The spare muscles of her bare arms twitch spastically with strain, as if she were possessed by seizure. She has one arm hooked under the armpits of Blozzel, clutching her tightly, while the other presses what looks like one of the compound’s carving knives against her captive’s throat. After a second you realize she’s already looking at you. Perhaps she had been before you even arrived. “…You…”, her voice is strained and hoarse, forced through teeth clenched so tightly you can see the cords of muscle tissue through the stained flesh of her throat. Uriscide turns his torso to look behind him and sees you, “Cervinae!” His face shines with a layer of sweat and his expression is grim, but in the moment his eyes meet yours you notice a tinge of relief relaxes some of the tension there. “The malady has taken her mind. Please help her!” ”…You…”, Lotta continues, staring at you as if oblivious to anyone else. “…Bearer of providence…Queen of emptiness…Your gift…Not complete…Not enough…” Blozzel gasps and staggers slightly, then screams as Lotta jerks her upright. A thin stripe of bright, red blood slowly slides down her neck from where the blade’s edge meets her flushed skin. Her green eyes, normally lively and wild with infectious energy, are stricken with fear and confusion as tears stream down. She looks at you but also through you, in that timeless, panic-stricken haze; that vintage curtain coming down over the film-like flash of life. “You’re ill, Lotta.” Uriscide again extends his hand to her. It looks like he might have also furtively used the motion to inch closer. “You need care and rest.” “WE are the illness…", she hisses before coughing. She turns her head slightly to look in the direction of the city. The horizon is dominated by the towering rise of the Shell. Lotta’s breathing quickens as she stares at it, becoming rapid and shallow – like the panting of a dog. ”…the malady… the unending blight… that feeds it…” Behind Lotta you see Tremat, his natural slouch partially hiding him behind Alag and Marinant. You see the tip of the muzzle of his shotgun, held just above his waist. He’s giving you an anxious look, as if poised on the edge of action. All around the scene your Court stand frozen in place, as if arranged in tableau vivant. You feel all their eyes fixed upon you. And something else… a strange sense of familiarity, like déjà vu. What do you do? suicide4sexbots fucked around with this message at 00:23 on Jan 31, 2021 |
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Jan 30, 2021 23:00
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Vulture The Maestro D' | Cool=0| Hard+1 | Hot+2 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 0/5 | Barter: 2 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 So that's where the vomit smell was coming from. I crossed my arms, morbidly fascinated by the scene unfolding in front of me. I wasn't too concerned for myself - this woman was clearly out of her fuckin' head but I reckoned I could break her in half before she planted that shiv into any of my favorite internal organs. More to the point, for her to do that would require her to register my existence and right now the two of us weren't even on the same planet. My feet were planted on Terra Firma. She was off in some sort of conceptual space you had to be balls deep into this mad loving cult to even envision. As she spoke, my head started to ache, like I was inhaling fumes you absolutely did not want to be inhaling, and the strange feeling of disconnection I had felt in the hall was coming on again. This time I chose not to fight it. Open Your Brain: 2d6-1 3 Vulture is opening his brain in the hopes of understanding what is going on with this Lotta.
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Feb 1, 2021 04:40
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Sunset Cope chuckles, “Yeah, I thought as much. Never seen you with a sidekick, so I didn’t figure you were the ‘buddy system’ type. Just curious.” She flips the tailgate up and pats Dross on the shoulder, “You’ll be alright, D. Remember the time you got nailed to that belt on level 2? This’ll be nothing.” She produces a dent-riddled hip flask from one of the large pockets on her belt, taking a quick swig before handing it to him. “Here, this should get you through the ride to Doc’s. Just tell her to put your leg on our tab. If she gives you any crap just remind her of our deal – 'half a limb means half off', so we should still have enough credit on the books after Dongle’s last visit.” Dross’s expression somehow twists into a look of even deeper discomfort, but before he can respond Cope pounds on the side of the truck and gives the driver a thumbs up. The vehicle’s engine bangs into gear and grumbles loudly as its spinning tires kick up dirt, pushing it away down the road you just came from. By the time it swings around the corner Cope has already started walking back to the big junkyard gates, “C’mon up to my office, if you will. We’ll talk there.” The “office” in question you know to be located on the third floor of the ancient-looking factory that sits on the west side of the big lot that lies just beyond the gates. Visiting customers can simply walk straight across the yard to get there, once they’ve cleared the imposing stacks of mounted turrets lined up on either side of the entrance. The barrels that protrude out of the rusted, patchwork metal plating look almost as long as you are tall. You’ve never seen them in action, but its possible that a couple of them might be operational. The south side of the lot is littered with half-finished husks of various types of vehicles, heavy machinery and random odd projects. Among this month’s crackpot exhibitions are a bulldozer with two giant circular saw blades on the back, a couch that's been inexplicably fixed atop a tank tread, and a human-sized cage ball with what looks like a belted bucket seat suspended within. Through another large fence at the north end of the entrance yard, you can see the main road that leads into the sprawling, wreckage-packed heart of Trashland Heights. Its comprised mostly of a system of labyrinth-like paths and litter-lined corridors running through what must be acres upon acres of towering junk mountains. It would be easy to get lost in there if you were alone, not to mention the constant threat of collapsing piles and who knows what else. You’ve occasionally heard members of Cope’s crew griping about coming across live explosive ordinance, or stumbling upon forgotten boobytrap riggings left by previous owners. There’s also rumors of strange species of waste beasts that have taken over some of the more remote parts, making some sort of junk-jungle habitat. However, despite all the danger there are still characters of questionable judgment who have taken to living amidst the hazardous heaps of the Heights. Mostly hermits and hobos, but also a couple full blown communities, from what you've heard. You follow Cope through the front entrance of the factory, passing under the stenciled wording over the double doors:  The customer-facing front area is sparse, consisting of a few wooden chairs placed near the door, and a sort of counter at the opposite side of the room, which looks to be just a couple uneven tables pushed together. Sitting behind them is a bored-looking man wearing a pair of filthy blight-blue coveralls. He’s lazily propping his cheek up with one hand, while the other scribbles something into a notebook. In front of him are two people who seem to be caught up in a heated argument. “If you had just listened when I asked you to remove the dense covering around the motor, or replace these heavy handle bars with aluminum ones…”, he complains in a droning tone, pointing to a bent and busted up device on the table in front of him: two metal bars jut out over a small motor, then downwards at right angles. Hand grips are at the end of either bar, and at the top is what looks like half of a broken propeller blade. The man himself wears a small skull cap with a miniature plastic propeller on top. He continues, “...If you imbecilic grease monkeys had bothered to pay attention to detail for once in your heathen lives, we wouldn't have lost another Glory Glider to the treacherous tinkering of your misbegotten machinations!” “Ya got no one to blame but yourself, ya drat windbag”, the shorter, wider woman next to him chides. Her voice is muffled by the bulky copper helmet she’s wearing. Upon speaking she seems to realize this fact, and opens the circular port hatch in front of her face. “Ya never listen to reason, Everest. Ya flap yer gums like ya flap yer arms. Never gettin’ nowhere!” Everest folds his arms and bend slightly forward, putting his face in front of the open hatch. “Ah, a bit of useless low-brow commentary from a useless, lowdown heretic. One who could never quite lift themselves out of their own funk, much less to the great heights that beckon the Prophets of the Shining Peak. So predictable. The only thing that surprises me about you, Mariana, is that you haven’t already sunken deep into the earth under the weight of that ridiculous helmet.” “Yer the one makin’ dents in the dirt, tryin’ to fly off that busted crane”, she retorts, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Ya’ll never gonna get to the top of that trash pile. No one has, and no one will. That crane was meant for liftin’, not leapin’. It was meant to bring up our Holy Divers from the depths of the Glistenin’ Deep. That’s where we’ll find the Sacred Key.” “Blasphemy! Heresy!!”, Everest screams at her. The tiny propeller on his cap his spins slightly. “Everyone knows the Key was borne aloft by the Great Ones of the Golden Age, and set atop the Shining Peak so that only those with soaring hearts might find it. Out here in the middle of all this greed and sloth…”, he waves a hand exasperatedly at the seemingly oblivious guy behind the counter, “… its obviously a divine test, meant to challenge and inspire the faithful. The Prophets will take this leap of faith, again and again, until we grasp the means to deliver this land from turmoil!” Mariana laughs, “Yall readin the map upside down. Why do you think there’s a big ole pile in the first place? B’cause they were diggin’ down. The Key was buried in the pits next to the Peak, not up on top of it.” While this spat continues, Cope walks with a certain non-nonchalant swagger across the room to the doors at the end. The guy at the counter looks up briefly, waves, then looks back down at his notebook. Unfortunately, the slight motion alerts Everest to her presence, and he calls out after her. “Madam Cope! Please, I beseech you! Will you not review the new schematics your ...underling has been working on?” The disdain is dripping from every syllable as he waves again at the counter, as if asking her to mop up a puddle of piss. “Surely you must have at least a fraction of concern for the quality of work that leaves your shop?” Cope stops just before the doors, then turns around gracefully, offering him a serviceable smile, “Sure.” She curls a finger at the man behind the makeshift counter. “Wanna show me what you’ve got, Loosey?” Loosey shrugs, “Based on my calculations, this is just the most likely model”. He tosses her the beat up notebook. She catches it and flips through to the last page, holding it up surreptitiously so that you can see it too:  Cope waits a few practiced beats, then nods solemnly, “Yes, I’d say that’s pretty accurate. Carry on.” She tosses back the notebook, and gives the two customers a jovial wave, “And thanks for your business.” Following Cope through the doors takes you onto the first level factory floor. The space inside is pretty huge, about 50 yards to the back and twice as wide. All the way to the rear you can see huge sliding doors that open up at the back of the factory, leading into the main junkyard. There’s also a massive lift that can be lowered down from the second level. You hear all sorts of equipment around you whirring and squealing, and plenty of rank, gassy smells. All around the factory floor, dozens of workers amble about, banging, pulling and tugging on things – Cope’s small army of gear heads. A couple of them might even be working on something. She takes you on a familiar route around most of the heavy machinery, over some mats covered in thick globs of gooey grease, past a couple stacks of crates and barrels shoved into a corner. Its not too long before you reach the freight elevator you know will pull you up to third floor, where there’s a lounge and kitchen for the crew, as well as Cope’s office and living quarters. As far as you know, second level is just another factory floor essentially. There's also a fourth button on the bottom of the panel, but its unmarked and covered with a cap that has a keyhole next to it. When you reach the third floor Cope heads straight through the crew’s break area and into her office. One of the walls of Cope’s office is composed entirely of dingy glass, allowing a wide view of most of the first and second floors. The other walls are hidden by many different cabinets and bookshelves all crammed together. Blueprints, schematics and random piles of notes lie haphazardly all over the place. Its impossible not to step on something, and in fact Cope herself tramps across the binding of some ledger before cursing, and stooping to pick it up. She frowns and looks through a few pages, then snorts, “Oh right, he’s dead”, before tossing it back over her shoulder. In the center of the mess, underneath a single, hanging bulb, lies a large (messy) desk with two old but comfy looking leather chairs sitting opposite each other. She motions you to the one in front before slumping into the other with a groan of relief. “Ah, there now. Always a circus out there, sorry about that. Let’s get down to business, shall we? First, the obvious: I need you to go back out to our secret place. But this time, instead of just doing some free-wheeling scavvy, I need you to find something particular for me.” She slides a drawer open from her side of the desk, then pulls out a weird-looking object and sets it in front of you. Set within a bent, metallic casing is the jagged point of what appears to be some kind of crystal. Based on the chipped and broken edges, you might guess that it was once part of a larger whole. The material of the casing looks iridescent and colorful under the light. Kind of similar to the sheen of a piece of Ashfell jingle. “That crystal there, it glows when it stays in the sun for a while. Some luxe effect, for sure. I happen to know that it also glows when close to another of its kind. Supposedly it was found a long time ago by some crazy rear end explorers, way out past the Shards. They went deep into the Bleak, somewhere down inside one of the cave networks. They left a couple notes about it, but damned if I haven’t lost ‘em.” She sighs, looking at the cluttered disaster around her. “Anyways, I reckon that if you take it with you you'll be able to use it to find another one. Could probably make a killing just selling it, but why settle for just one when there could be a whole subterranean swimming pool filled to the brim with 'em. And more than that, I reckon they're supposed to do more than just look pretty. So that’s item number 1. Ready for number 2?” She leans in a bit closer, her voice softening to a conspiratorial tone, “Just between us, I don’t think our secret spot is so secret anymore. I’ve reason to believe there’s someone else going out there these days, and I'm thinking they're looking for these funny little buggers as well. I need you to find out who and take care of them.” What do you do? suicide4sexbots fucked around with this message at 09:07 on Feb 2, 2021 |
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Feb 2, 2021 09:04
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Edison Upon closer inspection, and with the assistance of your flashlight, you notice that a steel rung ladder starts about three or four feet down. The top portions of the outer vertical rails have been sheared off from the blast, their jagged edges twisting downwards into the dark. However, you see that the rest of the ladder appears undamaged, continuing downwards towards a concrete floor below. Additionally, a thick pipe runs parallel to the ladder down the adjacent wall of the cylinder-shaped hatch hole. In the glare of the flashlight, you notice that the surface of the pipe gives off the same purple-ish sheen as the material that was encasing Juck’s strange object (and that of Ashfell’s currency). The top part of it has also been sheared off, but not as far down as the ladder, and it is notably not as bent. It seems to end near where the ladder does, before bending and disappearing into the wall of the space below. Directly beneath you, at the bottom of the hole you see a closed hatch in the center of what looks like another hexagonal platform. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but you think it might be made of the same material as the pipe. Do you descend? What do you do?
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Feb 6, 2021 23:19
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Cervinae The Hocus | Cool=0 | Hard+1 | Hot-1 | Sharp+1 | Weird+2 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 6 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 I raise my right hand to the gathering crowd, “Be calm. Please.” My eyes meet with Tremat’s for just a moment, before sweeping to Uriside. I try to show my appreciation, their urge to take action is noble, but I also make a request. My court, please, relinquish this moment to your queen. I step forward. I look directly at Lotta now. Her eyes shimmer like burning copper, her soul shudders under the rays of the black star. “Lotta.” I speak her name softly. “I will not refute you.” I take another step forward, keeping our gazes locked. Behind my eyes is a vast cavern; I drink Lotta’s fire in. A step closer, “  is impossible. This is the pain of this world. I was born of that pain, and I have assumed a crown to lead you forward. Yet if you have fallen astray – then it is only because I have failed to guard the path.”Another two steps forward. We are close, now. I see Lotta’s arms, already strained, tense to the point of breaking. “You have bared your fangs and I will bare my neck.” Finally, I let my eyes flicker to Blozzel. Just a moment, capturing her fear-stricken face, before returning to Lotta, “Let your sister go. Your blame seeks my blood. I am here, you have your audience.” Manipulating with Weird! 2d6+2 = 9! Scrree fucked around with this message at 01:59 on Feb 9, 2021 |
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Feb 7, 2021 12:54
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Sunset The Battlebabe | Cool+3 | Hard=0 | Hot+1 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 1/5 | Barter: 4 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 What's there to say about the grand tour? Sunset pays enough attention to stop anyone or thing from getting the drop on her, but the initial categorization of Everest and Mariana quickly gives way from 'potential meal ticket' to 'likely corpse' when the squiggled chart catches her eye. poo poo happens, you know? Maybe they chase their bliss and find it, more likely the ground finds them first. The half-absorbed ramble of ups and downs leaves her about as soon as they hit the office. That's when it's time for business. She listens carefully, not too plussed about the prospect of violence, though the thought that whoever it is out there is... well, out there and not dead does make it a bit more of a project than it'd otherwise be. Never a dull moment once you hit the wastes. Sunset looks Cope up and down, "Well, the nature of the work is what it is. You know I'm good for it." A beat, the natural follow-up almost unspoken. Almost. "How open are your pockets on this one? Might be bringing home enough of them shinies to make your eyes swim, not to mention dealing with our... mutual acquaintance. Whoever that ends up being. That'd cover quite a bit of luxe living, you ask me." That's the way of things, ain't it? Cope may call her cozy names and the like, but this ain't a free ride. Skills cost, after all, and it ain't like monster killer rounds are somethin' you can scrounge out of the gutter. The price ain't right, then maybe she gets what she pays for. Maybe she doesn't.
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Feb 10, 2021 07:03
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Vulture What's On Tap pre:You are temporarily unable to act, but may instead respond to the following:
[Take 1 Ψ harm] Cervinae As you speak, you notice Lotta’s hand beginning to tremble beneath Blozzel’s throat. When you utter the sacred term she visibly flinches, reeling a half step away. Then, for a moment, she seems to consider your offer. The blade quivers, caught between this drawn out tension and the terrible potential held by a single twitch of muscle fiber. In that moment, she looks into your eyes and it’s then that you finally see her. For the first time since she’s been with the court, you glimpse past the unseen veil that held her from you.  Wait, were there colors? What was that? Lotta screams and drops the knife, reeling backwards again. This time her legs betray her balance, and she tumbles backwards in the ruddy dirt. What did you….? Blozzel falls to the ground in front of her, collapsing limply. At first it seems as if she’s fainted, but then she seems to find her feet and flings herself across the few feet between you. Her arms find your waist and cling there, cinched tighter than a choke collar. She weeps, crying against your hip with hot, gasping breaths. Lotta stares up at you with a look of naked wonder, as if something epiphanous has dawned on her. Then, a second after, climbs to her feet with a bolt. “You’re the one?”, she forces the words out breathily. Her eyes suddenly grow wide with horror, and she casts them down towards the knife on the ground. She shakes her head, then looks back up at you. Shakes it again. “You… You can’t be here! No… The door!!” She spins and lunges through the crowd. In the peripheral corner of your vision you see Tremat reflexively jerk the gun upwards, but she’s already gone. Through the broken circle of your court, you glimpse her form as it slips beneath the edge of the hilltop, off the side facing the Shards. Her red dress ripples softly, caught by a precipitous draft of wind. Then she is gone. You hear the sounds of shale and loose rocks as they scatter below. A silence holds everyone still atop the plateau for a moment, save for the quiet sobs of Blozzel at your side. Uriscide remains kneeling on the ground, his eyes fixed on the point where she leapt. Slowly, his outstretched arms fall to his sides. Sunset Cope grins across the desk at you, “A fair question! A woman not worth her price won’t ask for it up front, I say. After all, what are we all sitting in this dump for in the first place?” She leans to the side as she shoves a hand into the pockets trapped under her bulky belt. Her hand reappears with two coins pinched between her fingers, which she slides across the desk towards you. They’re so grubby with grease that the “Ω” symbol is barely visible, but somehow the surface still catches the dim light of the bulb overhead, casting a faint purple glint onto her fingertips. “Two more if you bring back an intact crystal bugger. One more if you figure out who’s trying to butt in on our little pit of wonders, and two more if you bury them in it. Just bring back a couple fingers or something. All I know is they left big old boot prints all across that bridge I put over the gap for you last time. Twice as big as yours.” She gives you that weird half smile again, the one where you can’t tell if she’s taking the piss out of you, or the poor fucker she’s lined up for you. Then she scoots back in her chair again before pulling open another drawer to retrieve her dusty old box of hand-rolled cigars. She lights up and leans backwards, giving you a wistful smile. “You know, you remind me a lot of my younger self. Did I ever tell you that?” Only every time you see the old bat. “You bring me back one of these babies, right now, Sunny? I know you’re good for it. I think our lives are about to get a lot more interesting.” [Take (2) barter] Edison [Let’s just say you went down the dang hole already, yeah? Here’s what you find…]  A breathtakingly gorgeous .jpg
You can narrate your own thoughts here if you wish. Or how you go about getting back home, if you don’t take the Hyenas up on their ride back (understandable). 
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Feb 14, 2021 06:07
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| # ? Apr 25, 2024 11:38 |
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Vulture The Maestro D' | Cool=0| Hard+1 | Hot+2 | Sharp+1 | Weird-1 XP: 0/5 | Barter: 2 | Armor: 1 | Harm: 0:00 How did you lose your eye? The locker room was never comfortable. Either a chill that tensed the muscles of their own accord, or a muggy heat so loving oppressive you couldn't do anything but meditate on your misery. It smelled like mildew and skin rashes, with just a hint of ammonia to ensure you could never quite grow inured to it. The battered remnants of old lockers lay toppled against one another along the side walls. Only one still had a door attached - barely - and it wouldn't be long before somebody took that one as well. The only light were the narrow yellow windows that permitted a feeble sort of illumination. They never managed to do anything but cast the interior in a dismal gloom but it was was better then nothing. A thick cord and light socket hung in the center of the room, with a bare bulb that hadn't worked in all the days I'd spent preparing for my fights. The thin light washed over the long bench in the middle of the room and there I sat, watching a couple cockroaches gently caress on top of a towel. I was fighting off a case of the nerves and barely succeeding. Our combined savings were being dumped on me winning this fight. I only had to drop The Starlight Express to the mat and Cisne and Vulture were out of here for good. The jingle we were set to win wouldn't have us living the high live in lux eternal, no, but it meant I could stop getting busted up for a living and that was a welcome thought. I could thrash a person, sure - I was even decent at it. The thing is, it fuckin' hurts to get punched in the face all the time. "This bird of prey wants his meat! Welcome to the ring, Vuuuuuuuuuulture!" Vasiliy, Millions' number two, calling me out. I stood and left the cockroaches to their orgy and walked out into the main room of the Meat grinder and up to The Pit. I gave a wave to the drunks and the fight addicts, a devil may care grin plastered on for their benefit. I nodded to Vasiliy as I passed by him and mounted the steps. "Now, we here at the Meat Grinder know you want blood...and blood is what you will get!" On the second step I saw what was waiting for me and whipped my head towards Vasiliy. "Sorry man. You remember Lupo Aguirre?" Yeah, I remembered loving Lupo Aguirre. One of the Blue Dawgs. Big swinging dick and wanted to prove it. Looks like my advertising his glass jaw for all the world to see was coming back to bite me. "These are his guys, and he paid a lot of money to put you in the Pit with them. Don't worry - Millions made them promise not to cripple or kill you." Vasiliy shrugged. The preamble blurred past me as I struggled to control myself. Five rough bastards on the other side of the ring sizing me up and nothing I could do about it. I could forfeit the match, but the money would be just as gone and these pricks would be waiting for me in the street anyway. And under no promise to not try to kill me. I scanned the crowd for Cisne but I didn't see her. Probably she'd already discovered what was going on and didn't want to watch. Can't say I liked the idea of her seeing it very much myself. I flexed my hands and focused on the biggest of my opponents. I'd go for him first, take him out as quickly as I could. Evade the others and let them tire out. I could... I woke up laying on the bench in the locker room. Millions stood over me with a big old poo poo eating grin on his face, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slightly-too-small powder blue suit. "No hard feelings, right V? Just business. You pissed off a guy with connections. He wanted to get even, he paid money to get even, so he got even." Millions shrugged. "Sorry 'bout the eye. I told 'em not to maim ya." Everything about me hurt. I felt a grinding in my chest when I breathed and sure enough, the right half of my vision was just a dark blur. A dull distant throb of pain hammered away deep down in my head, waiting for my other aches and pains to subside enough for it to take the forefront. "Like i said. Just business. And hey, you're still getting your usual cut. Think of it as a...vacation or sumfin." He grinned at me again. I glanced passed Millions at the bulb above him. I thought about how all that jingle we'd pooled together was gone. How I wasn't going to be bringing in any money for months. How it was very likely we were going to starve or die of dehydration. "Sure. Just business."
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Feb 24, 2021 07:34
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