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Because of all your abominations I will do with you what I have never yet done, and the like of which I will never do again. Therefore fathers shall eat their sons in your midst, and sons shall eat their fathers. And I will execute judgments on you, and any of you who survive I will scatter to all the winds. My eye will not spare, and I will have no pity. - God  Inside a rusted ammo case there's a withered photograph - not the cliche "before-the-fall" picture, but something just a bit later. A dust-bowl photo, a family that has lost everything but their hope and determination and honor. A family unwilling to compromise and slip into the rampant hedonism and end-times criminality that has run over this place like so much blood on the beach. A family so convinced that God and the Government are going to come to their rescue - just tomorrow, they say. Just keep praying. Just keep sowing.  The dog is long-dead, of course. She outlasted Pa (who died a few days after the storm) and stayed when Ma left and never came back. The little boy, Vlad, grew up to be a strong, skillful man in the years after the fall - until an animal in the shape of a man, his body covered in blood and metal, tore into their house and painted the floor with Vlad's blood. The baby, he's old now, older than even he can remember. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin is burnished shiny from the storms he walked through to reach the church.  This place is holy. Sacred. A sanctum from the terrible world. The baby inside, that part of the man that lasted, wanted to find a place where the past lived. Some part that hadn't been and corrupted by this evil worked its way into the bones of the Earth until all they would spit out was black poison. He holds the old book close to his chest. He rocks back and forth, eyes closed, a child's smile on his face. There are more photos in the box, but he doesn't need them any more. He's safe from the ravagers and the dogs and the hell of existence. Bang. Red Rorschach on the wall. Forever. - Welcome to the game, assholes. You all have great imaginations, so use them. Name poo poo. Tell me about it. Puke your vision of the Wastes all over the damned page. Nothing is too weird, or too ridiculous. Reality is mutable. Post all the damned time. Call me on my poo poo. Live hard, go big, keep it gonzo as gently caress. - Play this. A broken road runs to nowhere in both directions. In the middle of its infinite length sits Station 76 - no one knows where stations 1 through 75 are, but this is definitely Station 76. It says so on the giant sign. Below the sign are numerical codes and a yellowed, busted-up plastic sign that simply says "DOGS." You wonder: what dogs? Did they keep dogs here? Did waystations need protection, even before the fall? Inside the station, past the broken checkstand and under an upturned rack of Twinnies, there's a huge, savage, touched man with road-sign armor and a cone over his head. We don't care about him right now, though. Later, sure, but not right now. What we care about is the loving mess that's about to happen outside. Out of the rising sun ride three ancient trucks loaded to the wheels with a gang of leather-clad ravagers. They're spun up on something. If you didn't know it from the insane babbling hollering they were putting up in the waste, you'd know it because they were headed west - and the only thing west of here is the Kiln. gently caress that noise. Keymaker saw them coming klicks away. From his vantage point on a dune-rise just south of the station, he saw the dust cloud and then the trucks ahead of it. The yelling would be a bit disturbing, but not to a man like Keymaker. He's used to this, out in the wastes - it drives people mad. It certainly drove him mad. Keymaker: What does your cult need right now? How do you feel about strangers at this moment? Roadside: Why are you so tired this morning? What did you find in the station that others had missed? The sun is barely up when Drift raises A-Town on the horizon. Her engine is running high and fine as the Destroyer speeds down an ancient, broken highway. The speedometer is pushing sixty, jumping to eighty in the places where the road is mostly together. Whatever was following Drift in the night, she's lost it, and she's not about to give it a chance to catch up. A-Town is as safe as you can find in the wastes. Just as she thinks that, the Destroyer's engine skips. One, runnnnn, two runnn, three four ssssputter. The needle has reached E and seems to be setting up camp there. A quarter mile is all the Destroyer has left in her. She rolls to a stop. A mile, maybe two left to go and the fucker couldn't manage. At least she's in sight of civilization. Drift pops the ignition module out of the engine and slams the hood shut. Just two miles. Drift: When was the last time someone tried to steal the Destroyer? How did that go for them? The Knots had camped just outside of A-Town. Some ancient-history gang poo poo had the guards pissed off and they couldn't buy entry last night for coin or trade. Mask hopes they'll have better luck with the sun up and the guards less paranoid about ravagers sacking the city. These assholes are sleeping in, of course. It's their first real rest after three days of hard riding, so I guess that makes sense. Still, you'd think the fuckers would be more excited about gassing up and getting on the road again. No one here wants to stay in A-Town for too long. Too many people. Too many enemies. Mask shades her eyes from the sun. Is that a...person walking out of the desert? Just one person? Elvis Presley! Mask: What do the Knots have to trade? Who is Mask looking to ask about this High-Octane poo poo? How is she going to greet Drift? A-Town wakes up with the usual din: merchants hawking their wares as drunks and spinheads are being shoved into the streets after a long night of pushing their sins down their throat. They don't know it, but Grim and Gatito are sleeping in adjacent quonsets. Well, they were sleeping. Everything was fine and dandy until a Gatito flew six feet in the air and twenty feet through Grim's wall. A bomb will do that. All that's left in Gatito's old hut is some blackened spaghetti. In Grim's hut, they're all a little pissed that someone dropped a piece of armor into their sleeping area. Right on top of Henry, too. He was such a nice guy. Gatito: Have you been set up, or did the Captain make an enemy with a person who loves TNT? Grim: Who are you pointing your gun at, and why? Rising out of the desert like giant, shiny cock is the town of Mercy. The balls are a wide swatch of reflective mirrors, focusing the sunlight up to the half-sphere head. From there, the sunlight goes back down to heat some poo poo that does other poo poo and produces a fuckload of electricity. Mercy keeps lights on from Wal-Ar to A-Town and beyond. Because of that, it's a highly valuable resource. Apparently, electricity wasn't nearly as important to the people Before, because no one thought to build even a perfunctory wall around the place. Real nice of them, to leave it open like that. The town itself is mostly tents, with a few improvised buildings. When the wind blows the wrong way here, the fumes from the battery bank wash over the town and drive everyone inside. When it blows the right way, dust and dirt cover everything. The mirrors, though, they are magic. Dust won't stick to them, and dirt slides right off. That's good; it would be a pain in the rear end to clean them. The sun is just now beginning to heat the machine, and Mercy is rising from its slumber to meet the day. And what a day! Lin: Mercy is waking up. Tell me about that. What's the news of the day?
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May 29, 2015 05:28
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 Post your completed sheet in the Recruitment Thread and link it in this thread! Cast: Grim the Gunlugger The Keymaster, Hocus Mask the Chopper Gatito the Juggernaut Roadside the Faceless ft. Jersey Drift the Driver Colonel Lin, Hardholder The People Keymaster Freeway (#2 man) Shine and Xerox (fighters) Knots Mask Dex Pinner Mercy Colonel Lin Barbecue Jackson (batman) A-Town The Parson (king poo poo) Spindle (contact) Bad Blood Lathe (Mask) The Captain (Gatito) Bagheera (Mask) Other Red Macha People, Places, and Things So Far A-Town is the big poo poo place around here. I've decided it's ruled over by The Parson. Duke works for The Parson. A-Town has a bar called Tinner's. Way to the south is Wal-Ar which is run by Duke Ripsaw. There are a bunch of nasty sewers nearby. Wal-Ar and A-Town have an ongoing cold war, each one funding gangs in the fight for the Hi-Octane that's located near the Old Mountains in the East. Gangs like the Jacks, Hi-Tops, Stones, and occasionally the Knots. The latest casualty of that war is Derrick of Derrick. There's a casino in Wal-Ar called Pip's Southwest of Wal-Ar there's a hosed up place called Hecate. Everything that gives you nightmares lives there. As if that weren't enough, a group of cannibal monsters called the Misers roam around nearby. gently caress that place. Even further south is the Demon Road to the Ivory Tower. Northwest of A-Town are the Saltcaps which are run by the Tarots, but the Saltriggers have been encroaching on their territory of late after getting kicked out of the flats by the Noonriders. Far to the west is the Kiln, a great expanse of wasteland. No one comes out of the Kiln. On the edge of the Kiln is an old, abandoned gas station. In the run between Wal-Ar and A-Town, there's Kon-Peki and Freehold. U-Store is run by The Manager and has been having food riots. Hud Trench is a shithole. Colonel Lin runs the tent-town Mercy. The Hi-Tops usually stay in their territory between the Republic of Dave and Reek Town. The whole place is run over with Dire Coyotes (Di-Yotes). Of course there are a bunch of other gangs: Meat Machines (a bunch of total psychos), Wardolls, Barnard's Boys, the 88's and the dumbass Burning Cult. Zurui fucked around with this message at 01:15 on Jun 3, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 06:03
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 0/5 | 2-barter  The wind across the dunes makes the keys on my belt ring like little bells. It's a nice sound. Brother Freeway wishes I'd take them off, he says they give away my position, but he doesn't see that I am protected, that the Key guides and protects me. He's a good man, a good friend, but sometimes he just doesn't understand. He's with me now atop the dune, along with Sister Shine and Brother Xerox, our best fighters. Their weapons are neither particularly advanced nor are they particularly powerful, but you work with what you've got, yeah? The People have been getting restless. The debates and arguments have grown heated since we ditched U-Store after the food riot a couple of weeks ago - some of the more militant among us argue that we should have stayed and fought alongside the rioters, others that we should have taken the opportunity to 'expropriate' our fair share of food, others that hauling rear end out of there was the best course of action and we're on the right path right now, one or two suggesting that we should have just torched the whole hold and rode off into the sunset. About the only consensus the People of the Key have reached is anger - anger, and a little paranoia. U-Store's boss-man, the Manager, is out for blood after putting down the uprising, and he blames the People. We didn't start that particular riot, I swear on the Open Door itself, but somehow I doubt he's going to believe that. In any case, we're a little wary around strangers right now. The People need a victory. They need guidance. They need judgement. The petty rulers of the Wastes live the luxe life while their subjects subsist on scraps, and the bandit-gangs and desert tribes are even worse, denying people even that as they hoard what little remains for themselves. After our recent setbacks, the anger that burns inside the Brothers and Sisters can only be satisfied with the blood of the deserving, who deny the wisdom of the Key and seal wealth and truth and power behind their gates and their gun-lines. This presents a problem for me, as the People are certainly no warrior-tribe or badass gang. They are passionate, but passion doesn't stop bullets, and we'll need more than that if we want to achieve anything. That's what finds the four of us arrayed on this dune, while the rest of the People conceal themselves in the surrounding sand and scrub - rumor has gone around of a safe in Station 76, pristine, unopened, locked tight. We know, as most people know, that the contents of the safe will likely be stacks of utterly-worthless paper, which is probably why it hasn't been scavenged yet - but the contents don't matter. What matters is the safe itself, and the act of Opening it. It will serve as a minor sacrament, a way to recommit to the higher cause and focus our wills on serving the Key. We will Open the safe, and we will circle round and dance the dance of the Inner Door, opening our minds and souls to the music of the keys, and from there obtaining guidance for the struggles ahead. Er...at least, that was the plan. Freeway spots the dust-butt and the trucks at the same time as I do. "Trouble, boss," he calls out, looking at them down his rifle-sights. He still refuses to call me by my title, but has at least settled on 'Boss' as a concession to the more...devoted among us. With a whistle and a motion of my hand, I signal the People to keep their eyes peeled while I peer at the westbound vehicles. I watch them for several minutes as they approach. The closer they come, the louder the noise; the riders' shouts mingle with the ringing of the keys as I watch and listen, and to my ears it sounds like music. Read a Sitch (+sharp) 2d6+1 11 +XP  Who's in control here? Which enemy is the biggest threat? What should I be on the lookout for? Fortunes: 2d6+1 8 Your followers have surplus, but choose 1 Want. (I gain 1-barter, bringing me up to 3, and I have augury and insight; however, my followers are also in a violent mood and demand judgment.) Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 00:04 on May 30, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 06:58
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Grim 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 The sound of the inside of my head. quote:Grim: Who are you pointing your gun at, and why? Look, I don't know Gatito all that well, his whisper's a scream in my head, and he feels like death. I don't judge, but I'm not exactly looking for reasons to spend more time with the guy. Long years of living on the bleeding loving edge means I'm on my feet, rifle racked, and drawing down before I'm fully awake. I'm searching for targets, swinging my rifle around. Yeah, I'm not aiming at Gatito, but I'm not not aiming at him either. My breathing speeds up as adrenaline dumps into my system. My mind reaches out almost of it's own, it's like the lights are turned down, but the minds around me are bright like lights in the gloom. I quickly scan across surface thoughts, looking for signs of impending violence. Several 'mindlights' turn turbulent and my -Two steps left, lean against wall, lean through door, turn left, up-second floor, second window to right...- finger tightens on the trigger. Open your Brain 13 +XP Scanning for enemies or other trouble 
Error 404 fucked around with this message at 07:41 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 07:15
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 Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ○○○○○» | 0-Barter gently caress these sleeping assholes. The Knots camp was small, barely fifteen all-told. A few of the newbies had small tents set up, but mostly her Knots slept on poo poo bedrolls and soft sand. The only remarkable feature, really, was the tarp they had set up that managed to barely cover their collection of bikes. Say what you will, the Knots took care of their poo poo. You had to, if you didn't want loving scorpions running scared when you kicked your four-cylinder over. Coal and ash covered Mask's hands, and once more her face, as she sat by the fire-pit and touched up the horrorshow warpaint she wore. Squinting into the sun and seeing the walker, she shouted, "Pinner, get the gently caress up and start loving breakfast. If you do not, I'm going to drink your loving beers and then what are you going to do when you need to get pissed tonight?" The patch on Pinner's kutte read "Clash" in embroided letters, and that meant he was in charge of keeping the troops in arms for conflict, which had somehow been extended to mean he fed the fuckers, too. And right now, he was slacking on the job with his hangover and goddamnit if Mask wasn't going to have a fire and loving coffee by the time---holy gently caress, by the time Drift got within smelling range. "Come on, get that coffee going or I'm going to make Jayce do it and give him your patch for his troubles. The rest of you shitheads get up, too. Make sure the stash of tabs are loving intact, because that's how we are getting Spindle to find us a lead on this octane . And throw one in the gallon of piss we picked up from the desert." By now Pinner was up and moving, and Jayce was following his lead. Mask lounged as the two pulled the water from the aqua-slyph[1] into a gallon jug alongside a chalky-white tablet that fizzed and simmered on contact. The clean water made clean coffee, and clean coffee meant that there was a steaming cup of it waiting for Drift in the cool desert morning. Mask lazed, leaning against Bagheera, drinking the black stuff and holding a spare cup, when Drift arrived. "Would you look at this loving wash-up right here. What is up, road warrior? 'Yeah, road warrior?' 'gently caress you starin' at?' Interested in a cup?" She offered the other woman the hot metal cup full of black tar. "So someone finally take the loving ride off of you, then? drat shame, you sure knew how to flex that loving muscle. And I hear there is some real high-octane poo poo out this way, came to get some myself. It would do a ride like yours proper good. Or maybe you are here hunting a fucker who took your car, here for the fuel their own self. I mean, why the gently caress else would you come to a poo poo-hole like A-Town?" After another beat, she asks,"And can you get them to let us into the loving gate?" 1. A hi-tech device that unfurls sort of like a sail, but is used to extract water from the air. It's mounted on the back one of of their bikes, and is used to provide water. It's part of what makes the Knots mobile. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 11:27 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 11:19
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Gatito, the Juggernaut 0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter This morning's gonna hurt Well that's a fuckin' way to wake up. A roar goes out over my loudspeaker though it really isn't clear whether it's me bellowing or the suit. Back to my feet. Can't keep me down so easy. "There anyone behind me?" Growling at Grim. Most people wouldn't do that. I'm not most. "Then stop pointing your poo poo in my direction." I think I landed on someone. That sucks for them. No way to clean the squash off now, might as well wear it as a flag. A war flag. "Captain of the most recent convoy did this," I explain. "You want revenge for your boy?" It's just a question, no invitation, no suggestion. "I'm going to the bunker." If you're going to try to blow me up, one: bring a hell of a lot more boom. Two: don't let me know where you're based out of. Time to bust some walls. Going to the concrete house where visiting rich folk stay. Walk through Walls: 2d6+1 10 Hello, Captain. Get hosed. Captain Foo fucked around with this message at 23:20 on May 30, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 14:03
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 0/5 | 1-barter  I shift under the empty racks of sugar and meat. A stray package in the corner was a gift from Jersey; small sustenance for his chosen instrument. Jersey never lets me get complacent. Last night, I walked a slow circle around Station 76, patrolling for danger. There was a bad feeling in the air, like sour sweat running down your back, and I could not rest easy. It was some hours before I was satisfied with my shelter, and even then, the tension was unbearable. I do not like the Kiln, and it does not like me. I will not sleep tonight. I have passed by Station 76 more than once. It is an unassuming place, fit only for a night's rest before traveling on to better lands. It is in the Kiln, so all lands are better. This is why I am so surprised when I look over from my bed, and find...it. Under the countertop, masked by trash and decay - a book. I reach out for it gently - Jersey tells me it is brittle - and read its cover. The World of Birdwatching. Inside are pictures of things I have never seen before. They are birds, but with such color that my mind reels and my heart skips a beat. It is a gift, and I will keep it close to my heart, so that I may know its comfort is never far.
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May 29, 2015 14:19
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Drift the Driver Running out of fuel. Drift tucks the ignition module into her jacket, picks up the jerry, and starts walking towards A-Town. She'd slid the Destroyer off the road as it rolled to a halt, in a flat spot the big war rigs used to turn around. She wasn't worried about it being there when she got back. The killswitch sequence was one she'd never told anyone, and without the ignition, it'd take a savvyhead to get around both. And of course, the seat on the driver's side had a trick to it. Once, few years back, some wigged out Jesus Freak had gotten into the Destroyer while she'd had it being worked on, hood off and engine running, somehow. Roared off out of the shop. Hit the breaks to take the first turn - and the seat had slid right off the rails and sent him sprawling on the floor. Lost control of course, rolled and catapulted him out the windshield. The Destroyer was not soft on those who wanted to run her. She'd told the savvyhead that if he replaced her windshield and fixed the dents, she'd pay him half and forget that she should kill him for letting the Freak get into her machine. That had seemed reasonable to the savvyhead. Or at least preferable to losing his head. Drift doesn't pause when she comes over the small rise in the smoother blacktop A-Town keeps up near its gates and catches site of the Knots' camp. Her sword's already in reach and her lupara in its holster. So she just walks into the camp, not like she owns the place, but like she doesn't care who does. Like it's just a natural thing for her to saunter up to the fire and accept that cup of coffee without a word, take a sip of it, then put it aside and set down that jerry. Fish out a pack of pre-fall cancer sticks, light one with a shiny zippo and take a long drag. Then hold one out to Mask, like we're all old friends here. Only then, finally, does she say, "Here for gas." She looks around at the camp, seeming to notice it for the first time, then nods to the gate. "I'll see what I can do." Comrade Gorbash fucked around with this message at 22:13 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 16:04
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Grim 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 I glance back at the suit, shrug, and roll my eyes. There's always a stench of violence coming from Gat, but his mind-light shows me clearly it ain't aimed my direction. probably going to follow Gat, but waiting for my Open your Brain roll to resolve. and my fiction to make sense for it.
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May 29, 2015 17:05
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 A tune, if you like. Outside Station 76 Keymaster eyes the gang as they pull around the store, surrounding it nicely. Freeway counts twenty-five; anyone can clearly see that they are armed with vicious weapons: torn shards of rusted iron, pipe guns (handheld cannon, really. one of those fuckers can cut a man in half), and whatever the hell that big hook is, the one with the chains on it. Keymaster picks out their sign on the side of the trucks: a big yellow M that's curved at the top instead of straight, like the world's biggest set of torpedo tits. gently caress. It's the Meat Machines. There are psychos and then there are psychos and these assholes are the second kind. The Meat Machine himself is near three hundred pounds of blood-soaked sadistic speed freak, and that's not counting the fact that his armor is literally made from the fallen bones of his enemies. He carries a chain large enough to lift a rig in one hand and a loving cannon in the other. Meat Machine doesn't give orders; he just jumps off the back of his truck and busts his way into the station. "Well, Master?" says Shine. "We gonna run like skinny bitches like last time? Or we gonna go get that lock?" How do the People get around, anyways? Inside Station 76 ROADSIDE hears Meat Machine knock down what remains of the station's doors. Two of his goons follow in behind him, their faces twisted, eyes wide from the poo poo they huff all the loving time. Before ROADSIDE can react, the rack he's under is thrown aside. "Well, look at that," spits a mouth filled with brown gums and browner teeth. Meat Machine could have raised the cannon, leveled it at Jersey, and that would be the end of both of them. Instead, he raises the chain. Not out honor, no, he just likes it better when people die slow. ROADSIDE will Act Under Fire for any action he takes here. Quonset Hut Gat sets out get your rear end out of here you idiot to the street, clearly on a if they can set one bomb they can set two mission. The carnage here is only the watch for snipers on the way out beginning. Gatito knows that, Grim knows that, and one can loving hope that these assholes who blew up the hut know that. Act Under Fire when you leave. loving snipers. Captain's Bunker "I'll tell you, life is so much better," says the Captain, "when you don't have to pay your troops." He takes a swig off his bottle and tosses a few pieces of tin into the center of the table. "I'll call you, and raise-" BOOM Backlit by the rising sun, chunks of concrete fall on and around Gatito. The Captain and his lackeys are struck with exactly the look you'd expect from people whose morning boozing was interrupted by an eight-foot-tall battlesuit smashing through a solid concrete wall. They're all battle-hardened veterans, though; despite the fear that lingers on their faces, they pull whatever gun is handy and start unloading their magazines, the hard way. Small-caliber rounds, they just bounce off Gatito's armor like so much dry hail. Oh, this is going to be fun. Carry one forward for whatever the hell you'd like to do to our fine Captain and his buddies. Knots Camp The sun loving comes, and the Knots are rising too. You can't quite know if the coffee or the burning sun gets them moving, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Bedrolls are strapped to bikes and supplies are checked. Things like food and gas are a little low - not so much that Mask is worried, but enough that they're happy to be near a town. There's a lot of grumbling; it's not great for morale when the gang has to sleep on the sand when there are fine, soft beds to be had inside the walls. Dex walks up next to Mask, her eyes fixed on Drift. "Tabs are all there," says Dex, "and everyone's ready to ride, more or less. Who the hell is this?" It's an accusation. Act Under Fire of Dex's suspicion.
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May 29, 2015 21:51
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●○○○○» | 2-barter Drift takes a drag on her cigarette, and turns her head just enough to see Dex, then looks her up an down. Apparently unimpressed, Drift turns her attention back to Mask. "You want inside the walls? Or do you want to tangle out here?" Act Under Fire (+sharp): 2d6+2 9 Drift is basically stalling here.
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May 29, 2015 22:18
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Grim 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 Blood pumping like a rifle cycling rounds, the metal man and the warrior woman face the odds... I nod, mostly to myself. Gat's thoughts whisper through my mind as clear as anything spoken. My finger tightens, firing a quick three rounds up at the window. I pivot, unleashing another several bursts at other windows, corners of buildings, anywhere I can see a mindlight boiling with hostility. I'm pretty sure I'm not hitting anything, but Gat's got the armor, and if I can provide some cover he can clear the way and draw other fire. Help Gatito 10 Gat's got +1 to AUF, or whatever Foo chooses to do. Got you covered bro. BTW I love the MC graphic Zurui!
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May 29, 2015 22:23
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Knots Camp Drift looks Dex up and down, and then turns away. She misses the look of recognition on Dex's face, and the petulant anger that follows. "Hey, Boss," Dex says. "You remember the time in the Saltcaps that bitch stonewalled us out of that caravan's loot? I was right up against the car before we rode off. That bitch is this bitch." Dex raises her giant fuckoff revolver and lays it on Drift's head. "I say we roast her right here and go find that machine she was driving. It can't be too far." With their keenly-refined sense of poo poo Is About To Go Down, the Knots are quickly drawing all of their attention to the raised gun and tense words happening in the center of camp. This isn't a good situation; if Mask stands up for someone who hosed the Knots over, they might turn and kill Drift - or both of them. Mask can use Pack Alpha or Go Aggro on Dex (which might have consequences with the Knots). Drift has the option to continue Acting Under Fire, Go Aggro and potentially make it a standoff, or Seize the gun By Force. Zurui fucked around with this message at 01:08 on May 30, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 23:01
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 0/5 | 1-barter Meat Machine. A poor name. Imprecise. ROADSIDE looks up at the animal from the ground, and laughs. "I knew there was trouble coming. I knew it. Jersey warned me, but I was too hasty in my watch. Animals do not follow the time of Men." ROADSIDE drags himself to a crouching position as best he can, preparing to spring if need be. He knows that Meat Machine is as unpredictable as a rabid animal. He probably is a rabid animal. Stalling/freaking the MM's out. No idea why I wrote my first post in first-person. I think this is more comfortable. Tell me if I'm doing this roll wrong. Act Under Fire: 2d6+1 7
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May 29, 2015 23:06
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Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●○○○» | 0-Barter Smoking the gifted cigarette, Mask comes up with a small smirk as she looked between Drift and Dex. The woman was threatening violence, but she wasn't about to follow through "Yeah, Dex, this the no-good, do-good gently caress-off burned us on that sick food payday. But she is also maybe the only thing getting us in this loving gate. So you want a piece of her, you do it with your loving mitts so I can watch her put your loving face in the sand. Or you make sure those jackasses with tents got all their poo poo together, and we go find us some of that high-octane." Pack Alpha: 2d6+2 5 Even though she was her usual cold self, the demeanor apparently didn't carry its weight this morning. Not against someone who had ripped the gang off already, someone who by all rights deserved the bullet that Dex threatened. And it got the revolver pointed at Mask for her troubled, along with a nice "gently caress you, traitorous bitch. You shouldn't be running this loving crew, acting like that. Maybe it's high time someone else does this poo poo right." That's when Mask threw the rest of the cigarette away while her right hand grabbed the smg on its sling, posting the small weapon at her hip with the barrel at Dex's center-mass. "Sure, motherfucker. You think you can end me before you farm enough lead to solve that problem of you being able to breathe, you can have the loving Knots. But you think you can point a gun without paying for it, you are stupid wrong. You know the rule: put that poo poo away and fight this warrior with your fists like I loving said, or leave your bike and get loving walking." Go Aggre: 2d6+2 11 As the rest of the gang leered at the oncoming violence, the vengeance-that-wasn't, Mask finished her coffee. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 23:36 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 23:06
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Knots Camp There is a moment where it could have gone either way. The gang stands on the edge of a breath, ready to jump at the chance to do violence. Dex considers, for a second, whether she can get the drop on Mask before Mask puts her in the sand. Mask knows it before Dex does: he's too much of a coward to take that chance. Dex lowers her gun and spits at Drift's feet. "If she wants to loving box," Dex says, "then let's go. You want I should take my gloves off, you drifter bitch?" Looks like the fight is on. You can Seize victory By Force, or Go Aggro and make her back down. Or, you know, whatever you want. Station 76 ROADSIDE puts himself into a crouch, but one of the sign-plates on his leg gets in his way. He stumbles over, putting one hand to the ground before raising himself up. Meat Machine sees the opening and takes it, swinging his huge chain up, over, and down onto ROADSIDE's shoulder. The chain wraps itself around ROADSIDE's neck. Meat Machine yells something that might have been "YEESSSS" in a world less terrible and pulls ROADSIDE to his feet. You're doing fine! The next action you take is at a -1 due to the fact that you are a bit chained up at the moment. Zurui fucked around with this message at 23:45 on May 29, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 23:40
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 1/5 | 3-barter  poo poo. Shitshitshit. We've run into these assholes before. I wasn't Keymaster then, just another one of the People. We...well, we didn't win, but we drove them off, with three dead Brothers to show for it and half our supplies stolen. And one mortally-wounded Keymaster. Killed a few of them too, of course, but still...not one of our finer moments. We can't run away from this, not now, not when things are as tense among us as they are now. We need the sacrament, the calm and familiarity of the old rituals - and we need the confidence of a victory, even if it means we have to risk everything to get it. The old thief's instincts are telling me to run away, and we could, we could make it out right now - from our vantage-point we could slip behind the dune and be out of sight in a second, and the rest of our Brothers and Sisters are expertly concealed nearby; sticking to the troughs and trenches, and moving slowly, we could make it to the depression a mile southeast of here easily. Down there we've got a pair of mules, by far our most valuable possessions, laden with what jingle and supplies we have; guarding them are Sisters Ganja and Shorty, with one of our two shotguns (Xerox has the other) and a sharpened leaf-spring that makes a fairly adequate machete. We can lay low there until dark, when it's relatively safe, and from there make our way on foot to one of the less-hostile holdings, like Freehold or A-Town - or even Mercy; the Colonel is no fan of the People, but he's less of an immediate threat than the Meat Machines, and we have one or two sympathizers in the hold who would probably help us lay low for a night or so. That said, if we do that...there will be a reckoning, and I will deserve that reckoning. I have been elevated to serve a higher purpose, and sometimes...well, sometimes, that means doing stupid poo poo. We are nearly equal to the Meat Machines in terms of numbers, and while they have superior weapons, we have the advantages of position and surprise, and we know this land far better than they do - they may think they know this desert, but there are some things you can only understand if you look at the world through the Open Door. "Sister," I say to Shine, resting my hand lightly on her shoulder and forcing myself to put on my best impression of a beatific smile, "be strong, feel the light of the Open Door inside you, and be ready to move on my command, and I promise you, by the spirit of every Keymaster who has come before me, that we will have that lock by the time the sun sets." No turning back now. I guess I should probably figure out how the gently caress I'm going to do that - but luckily for me, the Key and the Open Door are real. You just have to follow the music - and that's exactly what I do, as I let my hand drop to my side, close my eyes, and listen to the quiet clinking of the keys around my waist until they fill my consciousness. The thread of sound leads me as if through a pitch-black room, until I feel my mind brushing against the door - the handle turning - the latch releasing - and suddenly I see. Manipulating Sister Shine (+weird, thanks to Charismatic) 2d6+2 11 +XP Open Your Brain (+weird) 2d6+2 14 +XP  Going to try find a good way to ambush the Meat Machines and grok any weaknesses they might have.
Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 00:26 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 29, 2015 23:45
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 2-barter Drift's answer is to smash an elbow into Dex's face. Dex staggers back a step, then takes a couple of big swings at Drift, who leans back of the way of them. Then the road warrior charges in, absorbing a couple of badly aimed punches on her arms, knees Dex in the gut. While the other woman is still reeling, Drift slams her shoulder into the gang member, sending Dex sprawling. Dex tries to scramble up, but Drift kicks her a few times in the ribs to put a stop to that. Once Dex curls up and stops fighting back, Drift lays off. She steps over the prone biker and picks up her jerry, nodding to Mask. "Thanks for the coffee." Then she continues to her walk up towards A-Town, no faster than she was moving when she first showed up. Seize by Force (+hard): 2d6+1 7 Going to go with • you take definite hold of it • you suffer little harm
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May 29, 2015 23:58
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 0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter Bullets ping, Grim made the right choice, didn't she. I look around. The Captain and his crew. Sheff, I think I remember one of them being called. Tong, too. Who cares. "Captain! I'm going to say this not really for your benefit, but for anyone that might survive." I swat away someone who tried to swing a crowbar at my head. "Crossing your muscle is really bad for business." And then there's the whooshing of excess heat from the furnace that powers my suit, and I can only imagine the glow that Grim must see from the ruined wall of the bunker. I can imagine it pretty well, though, seen it many times. For almost everyone here, it's the last thing they'll ever see. Ooh, but that's warm. Sorry about your building, Parson (not really). Seize By Force: 2d6+4 8 Flamethrower (3-harm close area fire) -you take little harm -you impress, dismay or frighten your enemy
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May 30, 2015 00:09
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE grasps the chain, and pulls himself closer to Meat Machine. "You're stuck on this chain too. Bloody and fresh. I'll grind you down and make food for the vultures." He tries to loop the chain around Meat Machine's neck to force his hand, but it seems the psycho is too fast. The links crunch sickeningly against ROADSIDE's armor as Meat Machine hauls away. Go Aggro: 2d6+3-1 4 If you're going to fail, fail big. XP for Hard. Corrected XP Green Intern fucked around with this message at 03:44 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 00:29
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Outside Station 76 The Keymaster's eyes focus on the doors of the station. Meat Machine broke them down. Doors not just open, not just unlocked, but gone; there is some good in this, after all. His eyes cannot see much through the doors, but his mind can peer through all portals. There is trouble inside, a fight not for them, but something to keep Meat Machine busy - by the Open Lock, a blessing for them. And it is true, all is a lock, and Keymaster has every key, if only he can find them. These trucks, these men, just locks covering the open door. Not a locked to be forced open, of course; too much might be damaged. No, this was a lock that could be tricked with the right touch, the correct movements of metal and flesh, so that it might pop open of its own volition and then close right after - but too late, as the door would be open and the bolt would never be reunited with its hole. These Meat Machines are animals in that they are savage, yes, but also in that they are stupid. If one could find a way to distract them, to draw the lock out of its place, they would jump at it. Any distraction really, anything that would appeal to a bunch of bloodthirsty ravagers. The trucks would depart, maybe even all three, and the People could take their place. They could hold the Station against an advance - and that, that could be a fight that the People could win. Through that open door, the Machines could only come two at a time. Hacking and slashing and dumb as hell. Probably. Captain's Bunker Gatito turns the inside of the bunker into the surface of the sun. All is fire and screams. Gatito can't smell the charred flesh, but Grim can. The door on the other end slams shut; one of the fuckers got out. When the flames (mostly) die down, Gatito kicks over corpses until he find the charred remains of the Captain, unrecognizable except for that dumb loving medal he always wore, burnt into the sickly combination of flesh and cloth. The screams have attracted attention, though. People are gathering to see the inferno, their eyes fixed on the giant hole in the bunker and then on Grim. They're pressing in, the idiots, trying to determine what happened here. Two explosions in the same morning? Uncanny. Grim knows that the Bullys will be on their way, and the Bullys are more than happy to dispense justice on those who disturb the peace. And here, the peace has definitely been disturbed.
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May 30, 2015 00:47
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 Colonel Lin Hardholder Wealth Hard+2: 2d6+2 12 Surplus: +2 Barter. Hard: XP+1 Basic ReadSitch Sharp+1: 2d6+1 6 A perfect song for a perfect morning. It was the best time of day, in the cool just before the sun dawns, when the air is still and the hold was quiet. For a moment, all was in balance. Lin watched the steam wafting from the cup hot piñón wafted make lazy patterns against the sky. For an instant, the wasteland held its breath. A truly peaceful moment. And then the sun rose. The wind picked up, carrying the burning stench of acid, the sky split with the burning glare of the Tower, and the stillness of the cup was broken by ripples as the very air buzzed with the power surging into the hold. Workers rushed to their stations as the power surged in, the guards changed shifts, and Colonel Lin pulled on her hat and waved to the bodyguards, ushering in the staff. "Spector?" Hardholder Wealth Hard+2: 2d6+2 12 "Jars still have juice. I think we're good, Colonel." said the savvyhead rep. "Domino? Hammer?" The second and third most powerful people in the hold glared at each other before answering. Basic ReadSitch Sharp+1: 2d6+1 6 "Nothing to report, Colonel." Rockopolis fucked around with this message at 04:27 on May 30, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 00:59
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Grim 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 The air is buzzing with potential. This ain't over yet. I charge out the doorway, covering angles as I crouch-run toward the burned out bunker, and Gat. But it's over when I get there. I jerk my head in the direction the Bullys are likely to come from. "Bullys" I grunt. knowing my meaning will be taken. I check my mag, reload, and rack a round. My gaze is locked on the horizon as I hold my rifle at the ready. Either they believe us, or more people die. I was heading out anyway.
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May 30, 2015 01:28
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Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●○○○» | 0-Barter As the roar warrior stalks off into the sand, closing the last bit before A-Town, Mask kicks her bike over and pulls away after her. Catching up, she slows to Drift's walking speed and calls over the bike, "Hey, what the gently caress. I just saved your loving life. Now you make good on your end of poo poo, get us into this town. We are both after fuel, right? Might be easier together." By the time they reach the huge, towering steel gate of the town, the rest of the Knots are with them. Mask stays on her bike, waiting for Drift to do her thing. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 02:43 on May 30, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 02:30
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Inside Station 76 Meat Machine lifts ROADSIDE up by the chain. ROADSIDE's neck turns a peculiar shade of blue; once Meat Machine seems satisfied with the color, he slams ROADSIDE into the wall, busting through some sort of metal water dispenser and a S PEE machine into the store's drywall. Dust and debris fall over ROADSIDE as he slides down to the floor, surprisingly unharmed for a man who just did some impromptu drywall wrecking. get up says Jersey get up Get Up GET UP GET UP these are not men, they are animals. they must be put down. ROADSIDE takes 3 harm - 2 armor = 1 harm. Harm Move: 2d6+1 6. Lucky ROADSIDE! Mercy Spector gives Lin a full tour of the facility. They walk around the mirrors with his bodyguard, Jackson. Spector explains how the supertech glass stays perfectly clean, even in the worst storm. He points out the collector dish, and talks about how many EmDubbles it reflects down to the reactor below. They walk under the reflectors to an ancient steel door that reads REACTOR ACCESS. Barbecue and Spector manage to pry and shove the door open. At the bottom of three flights of narrow stairs are dozens of screens that haven't worked since the Fall, and a number of gauges that Spector explains only began functioning after he discovered their tricks. "We don't usually bring people down here," Spector says. "In fact, we don't even come down here unless something is wrong." Spector smiles like a coyote. "Or to show very important men around, of course. It's important that you understand where the wealth of your Hold comes from, isn't it? Here, come see the reactor." It's at this point that Lin will look back and realize that he should have known. Dignitaries don't just go for walks in subterranean shitholes for a "tour." He especially should have seen this coming when Spector asked if he wanted to see anything that could be labeled as a 'reactor.' Maybe it was Spector's smile, or the newness of it all, or maybe he just woke up on the dumb side of the bed that morning, but Lin walks through the second door and onto the rusted-out catwalk. There isn't much to see. It's incredibly hot and very loud. Spector explains (yelling) that the meter-wide conduit channels the sunlight down to the boiling reactor below, which produces steam to drive the six turbines. Two of them are out of service and will need special parts to run again. "IT'S FIFTY FEET DOWN TO THE REACTOR ITSELF," says Spector, "AND THE SURFACE IS A THOUSAND DEGREES. TEN TIMES THE HOTTEST DAY ON THE FLATS." Lin nods. "WHAT THAT MEANS IS: IF THE FALL DOESN'T KILL YOU, YOU'LL BURN ALIVE IN A FEW SECONDS." Lin nods again, then stops short. Spector gives him a hard shove, but he had underestimated the fortitude of the railing. It bends, cracks, and bits fall off, but it doesn't break. Lin stands there, shocked, arms flailing, as Barbecue takes action and snaps Spector's neck clean. The body drops to the floor as Barbecue pulls Lin back onto the catwalk by his shirt. "LET'S GET OUT OF HERE, COLONEL!" says Barbecue Jackson. When the door to the surface opens, Lin has never been more happy to see the sun.
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May 30, 2015 07:51
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 3/5 | 3-barter The music fades, and for the first time this morning I feel some measure of confidence. This we can do. Hell, I've done this before, more than once - been doing it since I was a kid, really. If the market stall has some real quality goods, but there's a big burly dude guarding them, you don't actually have to beat the burly dude into a pulp to get the goods - you just need a second person, for him to chase around while you roll in and snag the poo poo. This isn't exactly the same situation, but the principle is the same. They're on trucks and we're on foot, but we know this desert, and we can disappear into it if we have to, for a short while anyway. Sure, it's a risk, but what isn't these days? Plan B is rushing them with our spears and clubs and hatchets and exactly four guns between us, which isn't a winning proposition, even with the element of surprise. I turn to Brother Freeway. "Hey, Freeway, remember that time in the Republic with the fat gently caress and the sack full of AA batteries, about ten years back?" He laughs a little. "Dumb gently caress left 'em right on the table while I led him in circles for a few minutes," he replies, then gives me an odd look. "You don't think...?" I nod. Freeway's been with me since before I even joined the People, and he's also our best shot by far, but he moves through the desert better than any other among us, and if anyone can pull this off it's him. "Get their attention, get them following you, then slip away," I say. "Once they're off chasing your shadow, circle 'round and come back here. Come back clean and I'll dip into the jingle-stash to buy you a nice cold brew next time we stop by a place with a bar, yeah?" He snorts but doesn't say anything. "Get rolling, we'll move in once you have their attention," I add. I tap Xerox on the shoulder. "Spread the word down the line, but be discreet about it. Tell everyone to be ready to move on the station as soon as those fuckers clear out. They will clear out," I add sharply, cutting off a question as it forms on his lips. "Tell them to move fast, and be ready for a fight on the inside. Something's going down in there." Convincing Freeway (+weird) 2d6+2 12 +XP Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 00:26 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 10:53
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 2/5 | 1-barter Jersey speaks, but ROADSIDE can't move. The animal's jaws are clamped around his neck, and the air is squeezing out and then *CRASH* a wall is dust, and ROADSIDE is through it. The animal didn't follow. It was stupid, throwing its prey away like that when it had it ready for the kill. He stands, covered in drywall dust, and looking all the more like a specter of death for it. "Jersey says that rabid animals need to be put down. Jersey knows what's right! Come over here and I'll show you what your own insides look like!" Jersey charges, grabbing Yield on the way and aiming it like a spear right at Meat Machine's bloated guts. Go Aggro: 2d6+3-1 6 Uprooted Yield Sign 3-harm, hand, messy - Is this a Harm move, or is that Seize by Force? I mostly just want to clear MM out. I think this should be a 7, actually. I misread that it was only my next action that had the -1. 1 more XP from Hard. I won't be able to post much until this evening. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 03:44 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 12:14
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The Harm move is only for when you suffer harm.
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May 30, 2015 16:52
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0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter I'll take that medal; shiny. With that and a bunch of lives I figure the contract is paid. Grim tips me off to the Bullys. Parson's enforcers. Just doing their job. "So when they run us out of A-Town, got anywhere in mind?" Maybe it's a joke. Maybe it's not. It all depends on the Bullys, doesn't it?
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May 30, 2015 17:51
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 Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 A calm before the storm I lean up against the wall, keeping my eyes on the horizon as I respond to Gat. He doesn't say it out loud, but I "get the feeling" he's not thrilled about the prospect of taking down law, even if it is just some chickenshit semi-legit local gang. "I ain't picky, and I ain't planning poo poo. We work well together, figure I'll tag with you for a bit once all this is sorted out." I'm focused on my breathing, the crowd of bystanders just milling about is damaging my calm. Fear, envy, and anger trying to drown everything else out.
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May 30, 2015 21:00
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 4/5 | 3-barter Freeway takes hold of his rifle and slips off into the desert as Xerox passes the word down to the People. Legs tense up all down the line and hands tighten on weapons; a few of our more militant members begin to creep forward, eager to get things moving. All is quiet for a minute or so as we wait for the fireworks to start - and then, in the desert on the opposite side of the road, we see him. Brother Freeway pops up from behind a shrub, standing straight up, clearly visible, and fires off a pair of quick shots from his rifle, the sound echoing across the dunes. The bullets ping harmlessly off one of the trucks, and he ducks down, only to pop up from behind another shrub slightly further away, and squeeze off two more, the rounds pock-ing off the pitted asphalt. Once the Meat Machines move off to chase Freeway, he's going to try to lose them in the dunes, while the rest of the People, along with the Keymaster make a quick run to secure the Station and clear it of anything still in a fighty mood. Seize by Force on Station 76 (+hard) 2d6+1 9 You take definite hold of it. You suffer little harm. Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 00:25 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 30, 2015 23:16
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Sort of Inside Station 76 Meat Machine is more than happy to take ROADSIDE up on his offer. The behemoth storms through the debris that used to be a wall and raises his hand-cannon. ROADSIDE sets, brandishing the Yield sign, read for the charge. Yield swoops down, perfectly aimed, straight for Meat Machine's neck. Meat Machine raises the cannon to ROADSIDE's chest. Time slows down to cherish this one perfect moment: Yield hits the neck as the finger pulls the trigger. There is an explosion of blood as there is an explosion of smoke and noise. Freeze right there. And then Yield is on the ground, right next to Meat Machine's head. The rest of the Machine is on the ground, right next to ROADSIDE, who was pulled down when the body fell against the broken wall and onto the chain around his neck. ROADSIDE struggles against the chain, but it won't budge. Around their beautiful, bloody mess, the two lackeys stand with sharpened propeller blades. They sure as gently caress aren't afraid of this guy; he's on the ground and his weapon is over there. Boom. ROADSIDE will Act Under Fire to either stand up and grab Yield or fight from the ground. Outside Station 76 Oh man, the Meat Machines are hungry. The gang jumps on as the trucks peel out up the dune like so many dogs chasing a squirrel. They scream and holler incoherently, their blood-crazed glossolalia loud enough to echo off the dunes. As Keymaster and the People (I don't care what you say, they're a band now) run across to the Station, they find it...completely undefended. Keymaster busts into the station. It's missing most of a wall. Through that wall, he can see the two remaining Meat Machines looming over a decapitated bloody giant and a giant YIELD sign. Next to the giant there's another, more lively giant with a road cone for a head struggling against the chain around his neck. And that might be the weirdest thing Keymaster has seen today. Outside the Captain's Bunker The Bullys are late, but what they lack in punctuality they made up for in firepower. Six of them come rolling up in a dilapidated old red truck that, for some reason, has a ladder on it. There's a sniper in a bucket on the top of the ladder. The other five jump out and take cover, brandishing luxe weapons. One of them even has an honest-to-Elvis LMG with a chain of bullets. gently caress. "Drop the guns and put your loving hands up, assholes!" screams the Sergeant. On one hand, they have a ton of firepower and Grim knows that the Sergeant sure as gently caress isn't going to ask again. On the other, there's plenty of cover in the bunker, just three steps back, and they'd have to come through one at a time. Your call, kids. What do you do?
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May 30, 2015 23:57
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 2-barter  Drift walks up to the gate of A-Town. When they fail to open, she looks up to the guard station. Drift bangs on the jerry she's been carrying. "Heard you had hi-octane. Looking to trade for some." After a moment, she hooks a thumb back at the Knots. "Or they sitting out here cause your wells gone dry?"
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May 31, 2015 00:10
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Colonel Lin "Thanks." said Lin, as his heartbeat slowed. The reflexes of a veteran soldier took over. Lin squatted and quickly rifled through Spector's pockets. "Just like old times, eh? Give me a hand with this." he asked, as he shoved the corpse over the side of the catwalk. "Replacing him is gonna be a pain in the rear end." he spat experimentally, watching the spittle flash into steam. "Keep it under your hat." he said, as they walked out the door and into the roar of the town. "Let 'em wonder if I know." Rockopolis fucked around with this message at 14:29 on May 31, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 01:48
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 2/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE gurgles as the chain wrenches again under Meat Machine's dead weight, but he manages to get to his feet. "loving vermin. Scavengers. Carrion-worms in men's skins. Scatter." ROADSIDE hauls off on the chain again; this time his strength is with him. The links slip free from underneath the decapitated Meat Machine. He swings the chain out in a wide arc, lashing at the two remaining raiders. Act Under Fire: 2d6+1 11 Man, gently caress these guys Green Intern fucked around with this message at 03:45 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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May 31, 2015 03:50
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 4/5 | 3-barter Well. That is indeed the strangest thing I've seen today. It's still morning, though, so we'll see how the rest of the day shakes out. Everyone's keeping a respectable distance from the giant mass of muscle and road-signs swinging a chain around. No one wants to get caught in that arc, or mistaken for a Meat Machine, and the risk of friendly fire - is he friendly? the People wonder - is too great for any of our three remaining guns to want to risk shooting into that melee just yet. Over the sounds of the struggle, I shout, 'It's fine, I've run into him before, he's got this poo poo in hand. Shine, Xerox, cover the road cone guy, you get a clear shot on those Meat Machines and you loving take it. Mouse, Danger, take up positions on the front windows, keep an eye out for anyone circling back. Everyone else, spread out, find that safe." Not sure how much time Freeway bought us, we'll have to move fast. Sticking my head through the hole in the wall, flanked by two armed members of the People of the Key, I yell cheerfully, "Hey Roadside, mind if we lend a hand?" I've got Hx+2 with Roadside, so I'm playing it as though I've encountered him a few times on the road before, although if that's not the way Green Intern wants to play it I can rewrite this. Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 02:37 on Jun 1, 2015 |
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Jun 1, 2015 02:32
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Gates of A-Town A-Town was one of the first towns to sprout up after the fall. It grew around some kind of flying army base, and they'd built the walls out of the armored skin of the huge machines that were left there. The main doors are two wings, each five times as tall as a man and hanging from their hinges. And they say that these were the smaller wings. Jesus. What you wouldn't give for that kind of metal to play with nowadays. There's a makeshift tower on each side; they only have two guards station there at the moment. The larger of the guards looks down at Drift and Mask. "What we got is ours to got," he says. Obviously a man of some intelligence and education. "You just here to take, or you got somethin' to give? How I know you's not just ravagers lookin' to steal from honest men?" What do you do? Station 76 ROADSIDE hauls the chain up and out from under the late Meat Machine. He swings the chain around a full spin, then most of another before it slams straight in to one of the goons - we'll call him Charlie. His name probably wasn't Charlie, but it doesn't matter because right now he's laying on the broken concrete with six or seven broken ribs and a lung that's racing to fill his chest cavity with air before his heart gives out from the blood pouring out of his side. Charlie's face is stuck in a silent scream, unable to even make a sound in his final moments on this hellish earth. The other minion (let's call him Harry. I always like the name Harry) lowers his sharpened propeller blade, gives a hair-raising shriek, and charges ROADSIDE like a cowboy. Or was it a knight? I dunno. They were probably the same thing. The propeller hits the tire tread filling the gaps in the proper signage and just sticks there. Confused, Harry looks up at ROADSIDE, who takes this opportunity to introduce Harry's head to the dirt. He might be dead, he might not; it doesn't matter right now. On the other side of the station, Keymaster hears shouts, gunshots, and the revving of engines. A few moments later, a lone figure stumbles over the top of the dune. Keymaster knows it's Freeway; one of the People rushes out to help him back. Freeway is barely conscious; he's been shot at least three times. "I did it, boss," he says. "They're stuck in the slide-sand on the other side. The door was open, just like you said." Mercy Lin and Barbecue make their way out into the bright sun again. After Lin's encounter, he might have expected a violent scene - but there's no such event up here. Mercy is fully alive now - batteries being serviced, water being traded, the last of the morning's meal being put in tubs to feed to the hogs. There's no sign of a traitor and that almost makes it worse. It could be anyone. It could be everyone. It's not a question of why someone wants Lin dead. It's a question of who, in this instance, had enough balls to try it. And of course, the question of how Lin is going pay them back in kind.
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Jun 1, 2015 02:52
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0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter Turn the volume up - "I can't drop anything," I explain. It's true, the flamer's built into the wrist and the powerfist is as integral as the gauntlets. However, I don't think they give a flying gently caress. So I put my hands up, but surrender? Not really. "I'm only talking to Parson or Duke," the #1 and #2 around here. "And you come any closer it's gonna be a bigger drat mess than it already is." They shoot or advance, I bolt for the bunker. What's a morning without a little war to spice it up?
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Jun 1, 2015 13:19
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Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●●○○» | 0-Barter "Listen, shithead, if I wanted your city ravaged, my boys would be pouring the good poo poo at your towers right now, torches in hand, to ravage. But there are less than twenty of us, all told. A fine set of guards like you would have us done quick, right? We want fuel, not a fight. I give you my loving word we will be peaceful if the city lets us. Now let us in, we got business to see to." Mask glared up at the man, waiting for him to comply with her demand. And the worst part was that he clearly didn't believe her, even though she was telling the truth. Manipulate: 2d6+1 6 Well this is getting nowhere fast. Can the Knots make it to another fuel-stop if they won't let us in?
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Jun 1, 2015 14:04
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| # ? Apr 27, 2024 05:47 |
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Gates of A-Town "We got all the high-octane you could want in here," says the Short Guard, "but it ain't for you. The Parson is done with trading, I hear, until something new opens up. You want some guzzoline, well, here comes the Kon-Peki truck. Total slag, but desert trash can't be choosers." Just as the jackass says, a small tanker - barely larger than the Destroyer - rolls up out of the desert. It's escorted by a single motorcycle; however well-armed the guard is, it's a miracle that they got across the wastes alive. The driver, an old and tired man named Greeg (you think, dude can barely talk) offers you the entire rig, gas and all, for your tabs and a steel horse. Drift samples the goods; the guzz is dirty and old and almost turned, but it's guzz and that's better than no guzz. So you make the deal, because what the hell else are you going to do? Half the tanker is enough to fill every tank and gas can they have - even the Destroyer and her reserve, if Mask likes. Stalling for a bit to see if G&G Explosions, Inc. decides to leave, in which case there might be CHARACTER INTERACTION. Is Mask going to give some of the "precious" guzzoline to Drift? How does Drift feel about this? Captain's Bunker Sounds like you're trying to Go Aggro: 2d6+2 8. The Sergeant will get out of your way. The Sergeant steps forward. Every weapon in the place is trained on Gatito; you'd imagine Grim would be mildly offended by their lack of concern for her firepower. "Listen," says the Sergeant, "you don't understand how this goes. You get the gently caress out of my town, no questions asked, and never come back." He motions toward his troops. "Or we fuckin' light you up as an example to every hard-hitting rear end in a top hat who thinks they can cause trouble here. What'll it be?"
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Jun 1, 2015 17:52
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