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 Station 76 When they are finished cleaning all of the spent shell casings, broken car parts, and just outright garbage out of the backs of the Jersey Boys' trucks, it turns out there's quite a bit of room. Against all reason, they manage to fit both the gang and the People in the trucks - but only if ROADSIDE himself rides on top of the cab of the lead truck. All is as it should be, really. Just two-dozen ravagers and four-score crazy cultists riding in three huge monster trucks across a lifeless desert wasteland. More freaks for this hosed-up world. Freeway, he's as hosed-up as they come. For most of the way, he's screaming and bleeding like Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs. It's unsettling, really, and then you feel guilty because come on, how do you think he feels, man? The whole thing is hosed. He must have gone quiet twenty times in the three hours it takes to raise Mercy on the horizon. Every time, you'd think: is this it? Is he really dead? And then he'd start and go on screaming and bleeding all over the bed of the truck. Mercy is a (literal) shining beacon in the wasteland. Hope shines off that mirrored tower. Maybe today will be a good day. Maybe one more person won't die. They ride in and- Well, what the gently caress is this poo poo? Mercy Lin is occupied by his normal duties for the rest of the morning. He has a meeting with the Watermaster to discuss rations for the next week. A few run-of-the-mill decrees must be signed and then there's the news from Parson and A-Town. More riots at U-Store. Some amateurs down there, thinks Lin. Parson thinks they could move in gently, get on the side of the rioters. A thief has been waiting in the jails; Lin sees hunger in the man's eyes more than deviousness and gives him the minimum sentence under Parson Law: the loss of one finger. I mean, how much does a man need his pinkie? From inside his office, Lin can hear the chop and the screams that follow it. Soon after, Hammer throws open the door. "Colonel!" he yells, and then realizes that Lin is right there in front of him. "There's-We've-You'd better just come see." Lin is especially suspicious of this sort of thing after his encounter this morning, but he follows along - slowly, and looking behind every corner and in every dark place. Hammer leads him to the second floor of the guardhouse - the only two-story building in the entirety of Mercy - and points. No fewer than four gangs are flying colors, surrounding Mercy in a half-moon of sorts. "Eighty-Eights," calls out Hammer, pointing. "Saltriggers, Tarots, and I think that's the Hud Trench boys." On the horizon, Lin sees a trio of big-wheeled rigs bristling with what he assumes are more soldiers. "I know what you're thinking: why aren't they raiding us?" Domino reaches the top of the stairs. "Well," she said, "it appears they all want to speak to a man named Spector."
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Jun 6, 2015 08:02
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter  ROADSIDE watches from the lead truck, perched like a gargoyle above the cab. Mercy shines ahead in the distance, but its glow is tinged with something else. Smoke and sand. The signs of trouble. As the convoy comes into the final approach, he pounds on the roof of the cab. "SLOW DOWN." Yield shades his eyes as he stares off into the distance. "Jersey grant me sight. Jersey grant me wisdom." Read a Sitch: 2d6 10 Boom. • which enemy is the biggest threat? • what’s my enemy’s true position? • who’s in control here?
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Jun 7, 2015 02:46
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Colonel Lin Lin whistled in surprise upon seeing the forces arrayed around the city. "Well, so would I, but Spector ain't here." grumbled Lin. "More to that man than meets the eye, that's for sure. I think this the first time I've ever seen Saltriggers and Tarots together and not fighting each other." "Assemble the soldiers, ready to move." he ordered, hustling down the stairs. "We're keeping them away from our loving tower. I'll join you in a moment." he said, as Jackson passed him a megaphone. "Thanks." Turning to face the gangs, he announced "Alright, that's far enough!" as Jackson started buckling his armor for him. He leaned over the side of the guardhouse and ordered a nearby soldier "Pass the word to the civilians; don't panic, find some cover, they should all be fine.". Raising the megaphone again, he continued "Spector's missing. What's your business here?" as the fearsomely armed soldiers of the Power Company marched into position.
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Jun 7, 2015 05:11
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 Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○»  [Pending] | 0-BarterSeize By Force: The Convoy: 2d6+2 9 The scene went from a prayer to the V8 to a hardened negotiation spot double-quick for the Knots. They had a high-tech juggernaut spouting gouts of flame into the sky, and close enough to cause real problems with the leaking guzz. They had a hot-poo poo gunlugger with more fury than sense. And they had an honest-to-gats Road Warrior on their side, barreling down at this stupid woman who thought she had enough time to negotiate for her life against the Knits before that Destroyer got to her. Mask grinned her spooky grin again and laughed, brandishing her automatic sidearm and using it to indicate the fallen on her side. "Are you bat-poo poo stupid, or you just want to loving die today? Look at half your gang, laid and shreds and ripped hard. Look at mine , a single man laid out by a single chain for all of the loss you and yours have taken. And that loving road warrior out there doesn't give a poo poo which way this goes for me, she gonna rip your heads off just for getting in her loving way. Now get the gently caress out off of that rig, take the long walk before that Destroyer gets close, and maybe we leave some water behind when we go." Go Aggro: 2d6+2 9 smg (2-harm close area loud)
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Jun 7, 2015 06:23
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 2/5 | 3-barter  If I could make these trucks go faster I would. Freeway's running out of time, and even if he were perfectly fine, being out riding the wastes in daytime is not something the People of the Key have ever been particularly fond of doing. The night's...well, not exactly safer, but dangerous in ways we've become quite adept at avoiding over the years. The voices that whisper in the wind and the strange lights on the horizon and the things that you sometimes think you see out the corner of your eye, the ones that disappear if you try to focus on them - those are normal, we can deal with that poo poo easy. It's just a matter of finding the key to fit the lock, and a safe path is opened to us. It's the mobs of assholes with guns and war-rigs we have trouble with. Speak of the loving devil. Today is just not going well, is it? We really do not have time for this. As the convoy slows down, I lean over to get a better view and peer at the situation. The Brothers and Sisters hold their weapons at the ready - they have the whole ride, really; everyone's still a bit nervous about this whole arrangement. Me, I'll stick with my keyring. It's done me a lot more good than any gat would have. Someone tried to argue that point with me once, before I was Keymaster, when I was just one more young fanatic. He told me his gun was stronger than any Key could ever be. He might have been right, too, except that the night previously I had jimmied the lock on his truck and stolen all of his bullets. A gun with no ammo is just an elaborate stick. Something tells me the small army arrayed outside Mercy does have ammo, though. This demands a more creative solution. When we have time, and space, we perform our rituals and ceremonies and dance our stomp-dances to seek guidance from the other side of the Door. Together, we can open it wider than one person alone, and keep it open longer. We don't have time, or space, or a ritual-fire or anything else we would normally use. But we do have a lock, in the form of the grimy old safe sitting next to me, and we have all the People together. Time to improvise. I begin slowly turning the dial on the combination-lock with my free hand; the numbers on it are long-faded but it doesn't really matter. As I do, I bang the side of the truck with the keyring in a slow, regular rhythm. The Brothers and Sisters see, and hear, and one by one they pick up the rhythm with feet, fists, weapons. The keys they wear clink. Freeway stops screaming for a moment, and even stomps his feet weakly against the side of the truck-bed a couple of times, before letting out another sharp scream and stopping. The safe's dial turns in my fingers. The rhythm is sounded out, and while we can't do our dance in these trucks, it's certainly not for lack of musical accompaniment. It isn't long before I can feel the power on the other side of the Door, and I throw my head back and laugh as the safe lets out a loud click and swings open beneath my hand. As that door opens, the other one opens too. The rituals and the dances may be the key to the Door, but sometimes you don't need a key to open a lock, just a decent set of lockpicks. Now, let's see what we can see. Rolling Augury (+weird) 2d6+2 13 +XP  Opening a window into the world's psychic maelstrom. It reaches deep into the world's psychic maelstrom. It reaches broadly throughout the world's psychic maelstrom.
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Jun 7, 2015 08:33
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Inside Mercy It's not a siege yet, but it's drat close to one. Lin can watch the standoff develop: his men against the gangs: outnumbered, and with few defensive fortifications, but ready to commit some murder all the same. Lin quickly grows tired of the din. On Shine's suggestion agrees to meet with the leaders of the gangs. It's a simple arrangement: one leader and one guard each. The Eighty-Eights decline; Lin plays host to the other three gangs in the thin no-man's-land of Mercy's "main gate" - really just an overbuilt arch. The Hud Trench gang sends a small, conniving man named Ratch. Apparently, the gang is no longer defending Hud Trench; Lin considers (for a moment) what could convince a local gang to leave their home. Could be a mission; could be they've gone rogue. It's not immediately obvious which of the Saltriggers is the "negotiator;" neither seems to speak overly much. The large one is named Misterhat and the even larger one is Misterbook. A man with ebony skin won't give his name, but he wears Tarot colors and has brought the biggest, baddest bitch that Lin has seen outside of a fighting pit. From their constant arguing, Lin has derived three things: 1. Spector was double-dealing on the location of something of great value - probably water or guzzoline or maybe slaves. It's definitely something that can be owned and transported. They just keep calling it "the prize." Wal-Ar is definitely in on it. 2. No-one knows where it is. Spector does. (Did.) 3. Not a single one of them believe that Spector is dead. They seem to be oscillating between "Lin is hiding him" and "Lin is too dumb to know what he has on his hands." Well, this is fun. Outside Mercy As the People beat their way into a frenzy, calling out to their Keygod, ROADSIDE slams his foot to the beat. Jersey knows everything. Jersey knows that this is a proper clusterfuck just ready to explode like atom bombs. It's four bullies (with baseball bats) in a room all around a nerd carrying a shotgun (that only has two shells). Everyone wants to kill everyone and the nerd is sitting on a box of cash and nobody wants to die today. For now, they're talking. That won't last long. If you walk into the room, what's going to happen? You probably aren't gonna get shot. Two bullets for five is a lot better than one bullet for four. The Jersey Boys don't need cash and the People don't need a fight. Can ROADSIDE make this better? Probably not. But that's not going to stop him from trying. One of these gangs must have a doctor. The Maelstrom The Maelstrom has always been here, will always be here, as long as there are thinking beings on this Earth. For millennia untold, it stayed as a noise, the background radiation of the psychic universe. People were born, people died, but there was a balance maintained: more people were born than died. The living, calm, dark half of the Maelstrom was interspersed with the dead, turbulent lights of the dead. It was growing in power, but the world's population grew with it. Then, half a century ago, billions of people died in one glorious day. Every one of their spirits walked through the door of Death and into the Maelstrom. And it loving exploded. Those who lived were touched by it, driven onto the edge of madness, of desperation, of their very lives. Those born after are not whole, not in the way that those who lived before the Fall. There is an inherent madness in their being. They are born into chaos and die without reason. As in the material world, everyone is burnt by the light of the Maelstrom. More people die each day than are born. One day, our minds will be burnt just like the world. Life, death, anger, love, all of these move through this deeper world like clouds and currents of air. One can sense their movements, if you put your ear to a lock and listen very closely. The Keymaster, with the help of his People, can read the weather like a sea captain of old. He can see which ways are fair sailing and which points lead to a storm. What the Keymaster sees is that there is a loving typhoon ahead. Not ahead as in the future, ahead as in right in loving front of them. The storm is rotating, expanding, affecting everything of the world that Keymaster or anyone else knows. They're just on the edge now; violence is about to erupt as the psychic wind picks up and drives this little pocket of humanity to the brink once again. This is just a piece of the impending hurricane and the Keymaster can read it like a book. Here, the storm. There, the eye, the center, that about which everything rotates. There's nothing in the eye - it's blank, black, empty. Anyone knows that. The Keymaster can see where it is. Up there, by the mountains, further north than A-Town and further east than anything. This storm means goddamned war. People are gonna be dying all over the loving wasteland for that single point. Most of them won't even know it. But the Keymaster, he's got the weather, and he knows how to ride out a storm. The Long Road It seems the Judas Priests don't want to die today. Their leader waves her arms and the Judas Priests lower their weapons. Engines rev up and the gang starts laughing their loss off...and then the Destroyer rolls in. Drift breaks the rear wheels loose and turns the wheel, but the desert is giving way more than she thought it would and all of the sudden there's a rail turning into their track. This time it's not chicken, it's just a collision: the Destroyer rams corner-wise into the rail. Drift and Grim slam against the dashboard as the Destroyer digs in. The rail spins over end, coming to rest upside down. Everyone who was inside is now at least twenty feet away and not breathing. It was one of the Priests that shot first, but no one can really tell. Five seconds of flying bullets, screams, and explosions, and then it's all over. Save a few injured people and one fucker running away in a three-person buggy, the Priests are dead. A few of the Knots are screaming in pain and one of them won't scream ever again. That's as good an outcome as any, I suppose. Whoosh, goes the gasoline, and it's burning hot.
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Jun 8, 2015 08:42
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter It's clear that Jersey wanted it to be this way. Jersey is wise, and mysterious in his ways. Never a map, always by signs. Landmarks towards the goal. Keeps you watchful and honest. ROADSIDE pokes the birdwatching guide back into his armor - it had slipped out amid all the jostling of the truck. "Vultures ahead, Jersey. Circling, but talking? Men in Vultures' clothes." ROADSIDE leans down from the top of the truck. His upside down face slides down beside Keymaster, pulling the other man out of his reverie. He should be paying attention to what's in front of him, not a safe. The safe will still be there in an hour. His friend will not. "If you've got the courage, Jersey promises there is a sawbones ahead. Mercy or the vultures, they all bleed. They all need stitches sewn from time to time."
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Jun 9, 2015 00:32
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Colonel Lin Basic SeduceManipulate Hot+1: 2d6+1 8 +xp Basic SeduceManipulate Hot+1: 2d6+1 6 +xp Basic SeduceManipulate Hot+1: 2d6+1 8 +xp +3xp, Improvement! "Well, this is fun. Consider me interested." laughed Lin, seemingly unconcerned. "Seems like our boy Spector had one hell of a scheme going, but he decided to skip town when it came time to pay up." "I suspect Wal-Ar." he continued, his voice dropping, manner suddenly serious. "It fits, you already suspect it, and I know Spector was in deep with them; he traveled there, he left behind a loving pile of Wal-Ar barter, and..." He leaned in closer, said conspiratorially. "Well, what the hell are the 88s up to? They're from the South, aren't they?" "I think all are leads to the Prize are in Duke Ripsaw's hands. If we want it, we're going to have to gently caress him up until he gives it up, and that's gonna be a hell of a lot easier if we work together on this. I can offer you Mercy's support as a base to raid Wal-Ar's territory, and when the time comes, the mighty Power Company at your side in battle."
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Jun 9, 2015 03:37
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 Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-1 <loving bitch! I'mma track you down and make you---> I catch an errant thought from the rear end in a top hat escaping in the buggy. I step out of Drift's car, raising my rifle up to my eye, pointing where the whispers tell me, and pull the trigger. I watch with satisfaction as the forward wheel of the buggy explodes. The vehicle flips, and tumbles, throwing the remaining Priest several dozen feet where he crashes into an unmoving heap. I take a moment to smirk at the sudden lessening of mental volume around me, as I turn back to the rest of the group. "Now what?" I ask.
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Jun 9, 2015 04:11
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[quote="Mister Bates" post="446256404"] The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 2/5 | 3-barter Fight-or-flight mode. The old thief's instincts tell me to run away for the second time today. And yet...there isn't time to go somewhere else to find a doctor. On top of that, there's something...else. Some of the older members of the People, they say being chosen as Keymaster changes a person, that you aren't really yourself anymore. You belong to the Key and to its Cause. You exist to open doors and tear down barriers. The thing about storms is, they tend to tear down a lot of barriers, and part of me is...excited by the prospect. Another part of me is ashamed to feel that way; we're supposed to help people, to bring prosperity to those who lack, and that's the kind of tempest people die in. But this is everywhere, it's going to kick off whether we're here or not, and if we navigate this storm well, we can be in a position to shelter some people from it, weather it, and help what remains of humanity reap the benefits of a world set free. It's...what I'm for. I think. Hell, it's not like there's anywhere to run. Not from something like that. Yeah. We can do this. I'm smiling when ROADSIDE breaks the trance and pulls me back into the meat-world. All at once, the People's drumming stops - they know when the Door has closed. I let the silence linger in the air for a moment, before a fresh scream from Freeway snaps me out of my grandiose visions. "Let's go," I say to the giant upside-down man. "Fast as we can. We're with you. And be careful. There's a storm coming." I let out a short laugh. "Big one! Big storm coming. Right up there. Right where we're headed. " I lost my father in a storm. I push the thought out of my mind. "Oh, and everywhere else, too. Rolling in from the northeast like a fuckin' stampede. It's...terrible. Beautiful. Wish you could see it. Get the feeling you will soon, you and everyone else." Back to business. "Anyway. Can deal with that later. For now, just...drive. Let's get our man patched up." Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 08:59 on Jun 9, 2015 |
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Jun 9, 2015 08:57
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 0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter Everyone's collecting themselves, except I'm collecting loot. Anything shiny, anything shooty, anything sharp. And I bring it to Drift and Mask. "Take your pick. I have little use for these weapons." I want something from these women. "I don't know what your plans are, but everyone's got to have a purpose, right? I've said what I plan to do. A-Town can starve to death for its poor choices." I look at Grim. She was there. She knows. "Supply convoys have just that - supplies for many. We can live off the poo poo coming in for a while, until nobody does business with A-Town at all." There's an obvious hole in this plan. "Endgame? Once our raids run dry? We re-evaluate. Everything changes."
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Jun 9, 2015 14:02
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter  Drift shuts down the Destroyer carefully, makes sure her kill switches are on, then clambers out of the window on her side. She looks around at the devastation, and smiles. Briefly. Then she's lighting a new cancer stick and walking around her war coupe, considering its condition. No real damage she can see, but it needs digging out. She ignores Grim and Gatito for a moment, digging through the supplies strapped to the back of the machine. When she comes up, she tosses a shovel at Grim. "Now, dig out. After that, drive." She walks over to Gatito's pile of gats and picks through it, picking out a double handful of ten gauge shells. Considering them, she pulls her lupara free from its holster, cracks it open, and puts two in, pocketing the rest. To the armor suited man, she shrugs. "All for loving A-Town. But we hit their 'voys, they're gonna come out to gently caress us." The smile comes back for a brief visit. "Sounds fun."
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Jun 9, 2015 16:46
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE snorts at Keymaster's talk, and swings himself back up to the top of the cab. Jersey would tell him the weather when he was ready. "Full speed ahead! Towards the Vultures and Mercy. Plug the potholes in Freeway, and turn Animals into People." It was a good day, he decides. Lots of work to do - new work, too. Jersey knows how dull life can be, and that is why he is in charge. ROADSIDE stands up on the cab, one hand on the trailer; The other holds out Yield, as a warning to everyone in their way.
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Jun 9, 2015 18:14
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Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» [Pending] | 0-BarterSeize By Force: The Convoy: 2d6+2 9 Rampant and Lawnmower had eaten bad wounds, and they weren't breathing. She looked at their bodies, then barked, "Dig those loving graves out, and get them in the ground. gently caress the other bodies, though. Robo-man, you want us to stay here and kill like this, my men are going to need some loving thing to do other than clean guns. You find liquor, find food, maybe we stay put for a jack move or two. But I owe my men a chance to recruit, a chance to leave. I say we go forward with this embargo, we do it outside of Kon-Peki. Maybe just for a supply run, then back here. Other than that, we in."
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Jun 10, 2015 18:13
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Inside Mercy The Saltriggers and the Tarots agree to the deal, on the condition of some seed money up front. Ratch scoffs at Lin, turns on his heel, and leaves. Lin has a very bad feeling about this. Maybe things will work out, maybe it'll all be hosed up again. We'll see. Outside Mercy The Jersey Boys roll up and meet the 88's like they did centuries before the Fall: two lines facing each other. Mutually assured destruction. From behind the 88's line come three people. They walk up and glare at ROADSIDE, Jersey, and Yield. "I am Little Apple Sun," says the old man. He points to the young woman: "This is Kendra," and to a young boy: "and he is Sungsam." They all bow. "We will destroy you if you do make a move. Understand? We are many and we are about to be very busy. What do you need?" The 88's are willing to do their best to heal Freeway in exchange for 1-barter. The Long Road Our "heroes" walk away from the burning truck and don't even turn around because they're that awesome. Mucking through the poo poo the Priests left behind comes up with a windfall of supplies - enough to keep the Knots in water and food for another week at the least. There's also a 3-person buggy (which could be useful to carry supplies) and a one-man rail. One of the wrecked buggies has an intact chaingun, but most of the ammo inside is spent or has cooked off. The chaingun is good for +1 harm for one move. If you want to sell the stuff, it's worth about 3-barter in the wasteland. With the dead buried and the Knots & Friends on the move, the sun reaches its zenith. The Long Road lies ahead... All right, everyone feel free to narrate your character out for the session. Treat it like the last part of an HBO episode: wrap up the events and then hang us on what's to come. Then, Session End. For reference: At the end of every session, choose a character who knows you better than they used to. If there’s more than one, choose one at your whim. Tell that player to add +1 to their Hx with you on their sheet. If this brings them to Hx+4, they reset to Hx+1 (and therefore mark experience).
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Jun 10, 2015 21:45
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Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-1 I remain primarily silent, the whispers of the others keeping me company as I first, work to dig out Drift's ride, and then peruse the modest pile of loot. I stock up on ammo for my guns, and keep an eye out for anything else useful, maybe a good knife or machete, maybe something explosive...mmmm A big boom might be a good thing to have around if we're gonna do this whole nomad raider thing. End of Session Gatito and I have fought side by side, we make an effective team. He takes +1 on me.
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Jun 10, 2015 22:32
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0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter We'll try to sell the stuff we don't need to anyone leaving the damned city or anyone passing through the Zone. It could probably use a fancy name, but Zone it is for now. I'm not going to tell Mask how to run her people, as long as we maintain enough of a presence to be intimidating and effective, I'm happy. And despite Mask and Drift providing the wheels for this Interdict, it's Grim who trusted my judgment to begin with. She and I are effective at best, coldly friendly at best. Do either of us know how to be any different? Grim should take Hx+1.
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Jun 11, 2015 01:48
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE stands stock still as the 88s give their little speech. It makes no difference. They're not part of the equation here. Jersey said his boys were here for a better purpose, and it must be for something greater than fighting some scrabbling scavengers like this. Once the vultures pass by, it was on into Mercy, maybe. Or beyond. Supplies and a roof, and teaching the Boys what it was to live like People. Was that was Jersey wanted? It was worth trying. If they didn't take to it, then they would be ground down on the stones under ROADSIDE's heel. Roadkill. In any case, Keymaster and his group found their sawbones, so that's one of Jersey's orders finished. It's not any of ROADSIDE's business whether they're willing to pony up the scratch to pay for the 88's help. No free rides. Jersey never gives things for free without asking for something back later. --- End of Session I think it's safe to say that Keymaster knows ROADSIDE a bit better. Hx+1 for you, fella.
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Jun 11, 2015 02:27
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 2/5 | 2-barter "We've got us a hurt man here, needs patched up real bad. We can pay, of course. Plenty of jingle to go around. Ganja, show 'em the stuff!" A thin, lanky woman with hair done up in dreadlocks brings forward an old cooler, setting it on the ground; she opens it to reveal pristine, pre-apocalypse nonperishable food, still sealed in the original packaging. Lifting a package of Stay Puft Marshmallows, I say, "You got a doctor, we've got goods for you." There's a bit of haggling, of course, but once the deal is finally made and Brother Freeway has been wheeled away, I gather the rest of the People around me. "Today has been a good day," I say. "We have sought guidance and received it. As we speak this world is being swept up in a great conflagration. The old order will be upended, the gates of the great holds will be smashed in, and a great change will come over the wasteland, the likes of which have not been seen in a generation. There will be many hardships, and the path we take will be difficult, but if we keep the faith, and stay true to our Cause, there is a better world waiting on the other side of this storm. Brothers, Sisters...this is a wonderful time to be alive!" -1 barter for medical services. End of Session ROADSIDE has seen quite a bit of the Keys, including a glimpse at one of their rituals, and has heard a few speeches over the course of the day. He takes Hx+1 on Keymaster.
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Jun 11, 2015 21:13
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Colonel Lin -2 Barter "Acceptable." he said firmly, squelching his doubts about the wisdom of this deal. "Let's get to work." A devil's bargain, for sure; but who is the devil? he wondered, as he walked back to Mercy. I hope it's me. "The Saltriggers and the Tarots have hired on, kinda, the Huddies have run for it, and who knows what the fuckin' 88s are up to." he briefed his soldiers. Stay sharp. I don't trust any of them farther than I can toss 'em." He looked at the crowded expanse of tents that was his hold and shook his head. "Going to have a lot of work to keep this scheme going." he shook his head. "Get my board, I need to change my plans." And put off the other projects I'd rather do. This loving apocalypse world... End of Session "Lookin' good, kid." he grinned, before turning out the light. Hx+1 with, uh, me, I guess. Mask, you've geard a rumour that there's a rich, mean hardholder hiring choppers for dangerous and lucrative work. Mask+1 Rockopolis fucked around with this message at 14:06 on Jun 12, 2015 |
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Jun 12, 2015 01:35
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Once the Destroyer is free of its earthly embrace, Drift pops the hood, hooks up a work light, and does some maintenance. Or makes a show of it. Mostly she watches the others. So full of plans and ideas. Of hopes. Hope is for the weak. The waste will swallow it up and burn it to ash, same as it does everything else. Gatito's scheme is destined to end in fire and blood. Good. Drift likes fire and blood. As she slams the hood closed and clambers up on it to watch the sun set, she catches sight of the Knots' leader looking her way. Drift salutes the other woman mockingly with her cigarette. Mask knows. Knows that this is a forlorn hope, like all the others. Knows that Drift embraces the chaos. That she's here for the oncoming disaster, and doesn't much care who it swallows up. And knows that having Drift here, on their side, means its more likely that someone else gets devoured that day. A smart woman. Drift almost likes her. Hx+1 for Mask.
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Jun 12, 2015 03:26
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Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» [Pending] | 0-BarterI left that road so far behind. The bikes growl across the long road, but a few of them are empty, hitched up to the back of other riders. Dried blood cakes the handlebars of several of the steel horses, especially the empty ones. But the bloodshed was also paid for in spoils: full magazines, a few new automatics and deto-bricks, and some of the weirder poo poo that savvyheads had rigged into the ruined buggies now fill the saddlebags and holsters of Mask's gang. She throws her glance over the newcomers, not Knots in their own right but certainly viable warriors one and all. Grim was absent, lost somewhere in her own head. Gatito is preoccupied with war and warfare, more of a machine than a man it seems. But Drift returns her gaze, piercing eyes that almost seem to see through the blood-stained soot-and-ash warpaint on Mask's face. They had all seen death today. But unlike the other warriors, the roar warrior and the chopper saw it for what it was: the tax of the storm. And it wasn't even raining yet. The small gravestones they had erected for the fallen Knots disappear over the horizon. ------- +1 Hx for Drift. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 05:01 on Jun 13, 2015 |
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Jun 13, 2015 04:45
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Music is Mandatory  Like all important men, there are a lot of stories about the Parson. He always wears those sunglasses and hat. The story goes that, several years ago, he was hunting a grizzled wastebear when he slipped and fell off a cliff. He fell five hundred feet to the desert below, breaking several bones, tearing a huge scar down the side of his face and knocking an eyeball into the sand. Bleeding, crippled, and alone, he walked ten miles to the nearest hold and shot the local leader when she refused to help him. Motherfucker is hard. Usually, the Parson is ruling his ramshackle empire of shanty-towns and border-holds from A-Town, trying to keep those in his pocket in line and attempting to grift his way into a few more. Today, though, today he's on a steel horse riding south on the Long Road. Behind him are his Rough Riders, six motherfuckers insane enough to follow a bloodthirsty one-eyed cripple into battle. Behind them are a motley array of vans, trucks, and trailers carrying just about every bloody-minded adult in A-Town. For about a month, the tensions between A-Town and Wal-Ar have been escalating. Convoys to A-Town have gone missing, and Wal-Ar claims to not know a damned thing about it. That's because Wal-Ar doesn't know a god drat thing about it, but of course that doesn't matter to a man like The Parson. Today he's riding to start a motherfucking war. He and his army are going to descend on Freehold like a pack of hyenas on a lion. When they do, the Wasteland is going to explode in fire and blood and bullets.  The Crossroads The smells of burning tires and flesh and metal all mix in the hot wind. This particular convoy is the twelfth that the Knots have intercepted. At least that number have got away; Mask isn't stupid enough to risk her entire gang on a fool's mission. As the convoys gained firepower, the Knots got better at destroying them. Their latest achievement was capturing one inside this ruined town, where the chase cars could not maneuver and the trucks couldn't just blow through. A damned good trap, that one. For the last month, the Knots have travelled from hold to hold, never staying at one except to fuel up and gain a few new members. They've gained quite the reputation as crazy assholes and you can bet that rep has not avoided the ears of the Parson and Duke Ripsaw. The trouble is loving with these convoys usually means burning them. Drift and Grim will cut them off and set them up so that the Knots can knock 'em down. Gatito is really good at taking out the main trucks; his talents, however, are less useful as a negotiating tactic. Today is another burnt-out hulk of a rig, another ten or so wrecked cars, and barely enough salvage to keep them on the road for another hit. It's not much, but it's work. A few shots, a few cuts, a few screams, a few moments of silence. The Knots are finished here, worn weary of the wasteland. What's next? You get salvage equally 2-barter or 1-barter if you fill your cans and load your ammo cases. Lin's Office The mood in Mercy is hot. War-parties come and go, leaving tin but taking men. Everyone knows there's a point where this wave must break and all they can do is pray that it doesn't drag them under. Lin receives accolades from the Parson, but the common people don't feel those benefits. Every day is another to toil in the battery farms or struggle to maintain the power lines or load the cargo that comes and goes so regularly. Still, times are better - if you're going to be miserable, it's better to be miserable with a few coins in your pocket. Above all this, there's the crazy new fucker who brought religion to Mercy. He tells of the locks that the people bear every day, preaches that there are keys to unlock these shackles and bring them out of their servitude. All they must do is believe and the Keys will come. The People have always been free. Does the Keymaster intend to lead a rebellion? Is he preaching empty words? Only the Keymaster knows. Lin wants to know. That's why the Keymaster waits for the Colonel in the company office.  Freehold Market ROADSIDE is tired. It has been a long ride. He and the Jersey Boys left Mercy only a week ago, but there were animals to kill on the way. People who act like animals, and animals who act like people. They all wished to do violence to ROADSIDE, and Jersey knew. Jersey guided him, and he had never gone wrong. Now, the Machines and their leader descend on Freehold. It's a blown-out shopping center (that serves as the best market this side of Wal-Ar) and a field of trailer homes. Some of them still move, but most don't. A thousand people might live here. It might be ten thousand. They live free, which means a lot of them live short. Freehold swears no allegiance, pays no taxes, and gets away with it because everyone needs a hub for trade. Wielding a weapon inside Freehold is punishable by death. At least, it will be for today. Tomorrow, Freehold is hosed. What does ROADSIDE want? How does he plan to get it? Only ROADSIDE knows. Zurui fucked around with this message at 16:22 on Jun 19, 2015 |
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Jun 15, 2015 20:03
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Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-2 does this mean everyone raiding gets 1 or 2 barter? Or just Mask? E:answered This last raid went well. I stand beside Gat, we've become something close to friendly this last month. For an armored death machine, the whisper of his mind is oddly peaceful, it doesn't hurt to be near him too long like it is with other people, and he shows respect. I check my pack absent mindedly, I'm doing ok for food and ammo but I'll need to get more soon. Revenge is fun and all, but a girl's got to get paid. That means finding work. That means settling poo poo with A-town and moving on. Error 404 fucked around with this message at 22:34 on Jun 15, 2015 |
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Jun 15, 2015 20:17
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0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter I cinch the packs closed. Water, food. Ammo I thankfully don't need, as long as the 235 holds out. I grunt thanks to Mask and Drift, some of Mask's Knots in particular. Sammii and Rhome backed me up good on one of the less successful raids. Still, we've done well out here, but the Knots are no more for this Interdict. That's fine, I say to nobody in particular or maybe not even out loud. We can see Parson's revenge convoy heading out, but not to us. It is time. In the last of the broken salvage, there's a still-running jacked-up, just as we started. I look to the only woman, the only person who knows my fury. I point to the revenge convoy, the jacked-up, and the shell of the city in the distance. "Shall we bring A-Town its deliverance, Grim?" Captain Foo fucked around with this message at 22:04 on Jun 15, 2015 |
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Jun 15, 2015 20:32
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Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-2 I nod agreement to Gat, no need for words. I move up on the vehicle, chucking my pack behind a seat, and hopping in.
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Jun 15, 2015 21:14
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Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | 1-Barter Bagheera slid to a stop. He was running harder lately, but Drift had helped strip and refinish the cylinders last week in the shop the Wardolls had rented them for a few wheels and a little scratch. Before them was another haul, and by now they had become rich enough that this wasn't good sport any more. There was enough fuel and bullets to keep the engines and the barrels hot for the time being, and enough jingle left to settle down somewhere nice if it came to that. Which some of them had. Mask's wings had grown almost wealthy the last month from this line of work. So wealthy that some faces left, like when Jayce and Pinner shacked up together in U-Store, and new faces came to replace them, like Optimator to replace Pinner, and would-be stompers like West Ashley, who came from the Kiln, and All-Day and Wee Mac and some fucker who insisted on being called Smoke & Dagger. Dex still wore the VP patch, though, still kept the shitbags in line. Mostly, though, this wasn't worth it any more. Just bad sport. Why bother, if it was just strong-armed robbery? Mask was a chopper, not a highwayman. They were close enough to Mercy to gently caress off from the gig, though, and it looked like Grim and Gat had had enough themselves. Mask snorted at the proposal to hit A-Town. "I agree that this is getting loving played. Enjoy your war with The Parson. We are going to ride to Mercy with these bags laden, where we will look for something to do with our gently caress-off wealth and our gently caress-off legend. Maybe I see you again. Maybe The Parson kills you. What about you, Drift? Going to go to suicide with these fuckers, or look for something else to fill the time?" QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 01:34 on Jun 16, 2015 |
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Jun 15, 2015 22:29
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Drift has enjoyed this little interlude, smashing up the same kind of convoys that usually hire her to protect them, living up to the Destroyer's name. Her mount is running better than ever, since she was able to replace her spark plugs with less-worn ones from a dead escort car. Right now, she's sitting on the hood of the beast and watching the conversation, in the middle of things but still managing to stand apart, as usual. Drift's sword is across her knees, as she's ostensibly sharpening it, and the blunt end of a Republic cigar from a case she's been working on for half a week is dangling from the corner of her mouth. With Mask's question, she finally seems to take notice. Taking the stogie out of her mouth and tapping some ash off into the sand, Drift seems to consider the question for a long moment. Not her answer, but whether it deserves an answer. Finally, she decides she's made her point - that she's a loving rear end in a top hat - and looks up. "Said they'd end up wishing they let me in the first time I asked. This time around, don't plan on asking." Drift nods to Gatito and Grim. She's in, never mind that they're already in hell and the high water doesn't seem in the offing.
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Jun 16, 2015 00:48
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE and the Jersey Boys sit around the trucks, the latter looking edgier by the minute. Long days on the road with only ROADSIDE's urging pushing them forward didn't make for the best of motivators. Smiler sits in a circle with a few other Boys, throwing knives at a wall, and occasionally at each other's hands. Jangle's winning. Turns out that he usually does at these sorts of games. Hideous Mitch is laughing his rear end off at a joke ROADSIDE can't hear. It had been an eventful couple of days, to be fair. The Jersey Boys had crashed into some isolated bands of raiders, both on purpose and as part of an unlucky holdup. Unlucky for the raiders. The world would never know the names of the Snakebites, the Crankheads, or the Fire Eaters. The Jersey Boys may not have liked ROADSIDE's rules, but they could still fight like devils when they wanted to; they didn't take much convincing to spill blood. ROADSIDE stares forward unflinchingly. Jersey wanted him to take the Meat Machines, so he did. Jersey wanted him to help the Keys, so he did. Now what? The Boys weren't learning how to be People, only Animals on a leash. They needed incentive. ROADSIDE needed to think, and walk. ROADSIDE lifts himself up, and pounds a palm against the hood of a truck. "Get off the dirt and follow me. We're going into Market." Not exactly sure what I'm going for right now, but showing the Jersey Boys how civilized People act seems alright. Something will happen in town, I'm sure. Knocked my minor harm off. Let me know if that was wrong.
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Jun 16, 2015 03:20
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Freehold Market The Boys descend on the Market. Freehold is used to barbaric, vile-smelling bandits. The guards wear red-striped sashes with white stars on blue on the shoulders. They carry baseball bats and eye everyone with equally generous amounts of suspicion. loving with the guards is an incredibly poor idea. Which is why, of course, the Jersey Boys have to do it. Jersey's gang prefer to sail past the payment and head straight to the possession portion of the transaction. In the wasteland they call that "raiding" but in civilized areas it's "theft" and is "punishable" under the "laws." They get three solid minutes inside the place before guards are calling for reinforcement because Bag o' Bricks is holding a knife at a shopkeeper and threatening to chop his cock off and make the shopkeeper eat it. Presumably, there was a disagreement about a price, or perhaps the quality of the item. Across the way, ROADSIDE can see that Jangle is playing some sort of knuckle-smashing game to determine who gets to steal the booze. Things are not going as they should. Pack Alpha would be your best bet to bring them in line, but it's up to you! The Crossroads The sun crosses its zenith as the insane fuckers going to Mercy bid farewell to the crazier fuckers headed to lay siege to A-Town. Gatito rides the Destroyer like a metal bronco, Grim's arm hanging out the passenger window. Mask watches until their sand cloud falls to the northern horizon. The Knots kick their bikes and roar off to the east and Mercy. Feel free to narrate your journey and arrival.
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Jun 17, 2015 07:20
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0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies You never know just how you look through other people's eyes Doesn't take a genius to know that the Destroyer is a better ride than any whacked-out jacked-up, and that Drift is a better driver than the best skills of a roadhorde all combined. We ride for A-Town. Some will die in hot pursuit in fiery auto crashes Some will die in hot pursuit while sifting through my ashes Some will fall in love with life and drink it from a fountain That is pouring like an avalanche comin' down the mountain Three souls. Bent on destroying the biggest settlement this part of the wastes has ever seen. This part of the wastes might as well be the world, as far as anyone living in it can tell. Is it fair to those that live there, what's coming? No, of course not. Is life fair? No, of course not. We ride for A-Town. I will catch a bullet, it will only hit my leg Well, it should have been a better shot, and got me in the head We are all in love with dyin', we are drinkin' from a fountain That is pourin' like an avalanche comin' down the mountain The sun continues to rise on the wastes, as it always does, and always will, long after we burn ourselves out, turn to bone and after. We may live. We may die. I do not think past what is coming, because planning a future is futile out here. Today brings war. We ride for A-Town. I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies You never know just how you look through other people's eyes
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Jun 17, 2015 22:27
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 2/5 | 1-barter Music ROADSIDE stands and stares at the Boys. loving animals. ANIMALS. Didn't they understand what was at stake here? This was a test from Jersey, and they were failing! And that meant ROADSIDE was failing! He runs forward, and grabs Bricks by the neck. "You're coming with me, rat." Dragging the struggling man away, he shoots a look at the shopkeeper as if to say Don't loving move. Don't loving talk. Bricks is heaved at the feet of Jangle and the others. "I didn't bring you here so you could smell your own poo poo, you pack of rabid dogs. Fall in line, learn to be a drat PERSON, or I'll grind your skulls into the curb. You're LUCKY that Jersey chose you! LUCKY." There's no argument, as the Jersey Boys look at the ground, or stand stock still. There's still the matter of the guards though. ROADSIDE bellows to the oncoming guards, his face twitching with rage at the conduct of his 'followers.' "Stand back or die! These animals are my loving burden. I'll teach them respect. I'll teach them how to be People." He could smash them, knock them to the ground, push them out of the way and walk out of here as a free man. But that wouldn't be a good example. Blood and guts and gore. There was a time and a place. "And if you need proof, I'll chain these mongrels together right here and now." Control. Control. Animals in cages. People walking free. Pack Alpha: 2d6+3 12 XP for Hard also rolling Manipulate on these guards Manipulate: 2d6-1 7 Green Intern fucked around with this message at 14:48 on Jun 20, 2015 |
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Jun 18, 2015 01:54
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Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Drift puts the hammer down on the way back to A-Town. The road and the desert stretch out before them, the broken sky pressing down from above. No music but the roar of the twelve cylinders firing in front, and the wind howling through the open windows. Doesn't matter what they'll find at the end of this road. Death, most likely. Fire and blood and all the good things for bad girls who haul killers and fools through the waste. As the light fades, she lights a cigarette and leans back. One hand out the window, one holding the cigarette to her lips. Foot pressed to the floor. Just let go... and drift. Drift is pretty crazy on her own, but she sometimes she likes to let the world in and get a little crazier. Open Your Brain (+weird): 2d6-1 8
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Jun 18, 2015 02:26
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Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●○○○○» | 1-Barter loving Mercy. loving. Mercy. Of all the places to land, it certainly wasn't the one with the most enemies. And it had some guys who pressed bullets, so ammo wouldn't be a problem if it came to that. But it also wasn't the one with a real selection of liquor. Or a savvy-headed motherfucker that Mask might actually trust Bagheera with. Which meant she was going to have to tear apart the air intake herself after that dust storm, and try to find enough water to actually clean it out. But the road had been uneventful. Mercy, on the other hand, looked like a huge cluster-gently caress of activity as they pulled up to Museu, the only read bar in the loving place.
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Jun 18, 2015 22:04
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Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-2 I keep silent through the journey, the whispers of Drift's mind tell of death and fire and a beast made of fear and steel. Gat's whispers, they make me smile to myself, he's practically singing that song in his head. I like the melody so much that... "I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows I can taste you-" With a start I realize I was singing out loud. I cover my embarrassment by looking out the window really, really, hard. Fuckin-A we ride for A-Town.
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Jun 19, 2015 04:46
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The Maelstrom The sun weakens on the horizon, shimmering as the last of its burning light falls across the Wastes. Drift stares into the sun and sees the road ahead. This world wants blood and hate. It's lost and the only language of nature now is destruction. A hundred years from now, a hot wind blows over the ruins of A-Town. It blows over the ruins of every loving thing. We're all hosed on the way down, of course. Some other people are more imminently hosed by the trio's intentions. That sun will rise red; there's no doubt about that. Museu To call Museu a bar is overstating the case a bit. It's two-thirds of a blown-out shack with a sign and a man behind a tall table who serves something more akin to guzz than alcohol. Museu is the sort of place where you go when McCarthy's won't take you any more because you've got too much dust on your boots and not enough loft to your nose. Right now, it's loving packed; the drunkards have overflowed into an adjacent fenced-off section that once belonged to an iron horse salesman. The few bikes half-buried in sand add a certain something to the ambiance of hard, scarred men falling over each other and fighting on the way down. The nice thing about Mercy is that they let anyone in. The lovely thing about Mercy is that they let everyone in. Mask spots at least two rival colors and no friendlies; before she has the good sense to maybe turn around, a man in a poncho steps in front of Mask. "What the gently caress do you think you're doing here?" he asks. "I'm thinking maybe you turn yourself around, gently caress off, and die. Take your poo poo-rear end Ties with you, I think." Who is the man, and what's the beef his gang has with the Knots? A-Town Gates Who are these fuckers? They're just three people. They're not a damned army or anything. You can't lay siege to a walled town with a driver, a gun hand, and a walking tank. Jesus. Death waits for us all, but do they have to beckon it closer? A-Town has an army, you idiots. You think you can take on an army? poo poo. Good loving luck. "It's sundown," croaks the guard from atop the giant wing-gate, "and we don't let folks in past light. What's your business here?" That rear end in a top hat is old enough to remember the Fall. Freehold Market The Jersey Boys cow before ROADSIDE's wrath. They aren't happy about it; the legacy of the Meat Machines is dying a hard, occasionally bloody death. Some day they might be humans. Today, they're just going to act like humans. Mostly. Animals can pretend. The guards, they are people. They see that ROADSIDE is in control here. They know that ROADSIDE won't let them ruin Freehold. With a few more lessons - much less drastic, of course - the Boys make good on ROADSIDE's promise. With the sun over the horizon now, there's a new issue. The Boys usually sleep in and under their trucks in the wastes. In Mercy, they'd just set up camp outside the town. However, here in Freehold, ROADSIDE and Jersey have an opportunity to show them how people live. A man names Jack Lantern rents trailers with running water, soap, soft beds, the works. If they can treat it well, it might be a breakthrough. It's a risk. ROADSIDE won't have to do any convincing to make them camp in the desert. Plus, it'll cost some serious coin - about as much coin as ROADSIDE has. ROADSIDE can put the Jersey Boys up for 1-barter.
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Jun 19, 2015 17:29
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Mask 0:00 | 0:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-Barter loving. Mercy. And here was ol' Eastwood himself, poncho and all, looking like a hard motherfucker in front of his boys. Didn't even have proper bikes, or more than a few poo poo buggies, but that didn't stop Eastwood from making his group all wear the same stupid hats and old-world ponchos. And it didn't stop him from getting taken for almost a hundred gallons of Hi-Octane almost six months back. The Knots had lifted it right off of his truck while he wasn't looking, and he had chased them from Hud Trench to the Saltcaps trying to get it back. In the end, he ran out of gas out on the salt flats, and the last Mask had seen of his little crew they were disappearing over the horizon as the Knots burned hard in their escape. All told, that meant Eastwood wanted exactly one thing: to murder Mask outright. But he knew he couldn't pull a gun in a place like Museu without getting himself shot, so he was trying to get her out onto the wastes where he could find her to go at it. And this stupid little poo poo was ordering her around. Ordering Mask, the loving, gang-banging, A-town-interdicting, skeleton-faced pack alpha of the loving Knots. But Museu was Museu, and she couldn't shove her smg into his belly in this place. So Mask opted for the next best option: she turned on her boot-heel and tried to shatter Eastwood's jaw with her fist while yelling, "gently caress you, too!" Seize By Force: Eastwood's Consciousness: 2d6+2 7 I seize definite control of it (?) and I inflict terrible harm. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 18:40 on Jun 24, 2015 |
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Jun 19, 2015 18:04
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The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 2/5 | 3-barter The People of the Key have been in Mercy before. We 'stole' from some of their storehouses, resources they said they were 'rationing' but actually had in abundance. We expected hostility, but so far have had a relatively warm welcome. The local big-wigs must have bigger fish to fry. Normally, we'd have laid low for a few weeks, tending to our wounded, quietly recruiting and building a support base - but not here, not now. Not with that loving storm circling overhead. Urgency is called for. There is a time for skulking in the desert, and there is a time for preaching in the village-squares. The People have been making themselves known and spreading our truth throughout the community. Just yesterday I preached a sermon and led a stomp-dance with a dozen people I've never seen before in my life. However, much as the People might dislike it, we are still guests here, guests of a man who has proven surprisingly merciful for a Wasteland tyrant. Many of the local holders would have already turned us out, or worse, for what we have done - many have, in the past. The fact that he hasn't intrigues me, and the fact that this community seems to be playing a major role in the tempest brewing in the maelstrom intrigues me even more. Normally, we would have taken the new followers we gathered and left in the night. We would have done as we have done many times over the years, liberating some supplies of value in the process and escaping once more to the desert, the desert with no locks or doors, where we are truly free. Instead, when I was called to meet with the Colonel, I chose to answer. Here I am in his office, in fact, even while the People continue to welcome our new brothers and sisters and argue and debate amongst themselves - and even while I feel the energy crackling on the other side of the Door. Here I am, in his office, waiting. I have been waiting for quite a while now. This is worrying. I pass the time by picking an ancient lock we found not long ago; the faded lettering on it still reads 'Master'. It's a stubborn one, but I get it eventually. I hope he arrives soon, for his own sake. I may be a leader, but I'm not a ruler, and there's only so much I can do to hold the People back from the more...aggressive actions they may take in service to our Cause. Rolling Fortunes since this is my first post of the session. 2d6+1 7 My followers have surplus (1-barter +insight +augury +growth +violence), but also have want:judgement. Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 09:04 on Jun 20, 2015 |
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Jun 20, 2015 08:58
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ROADSIDE, the Faceless 0:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 2/5 | 0-barter Jack Lantern runs a tight ship, no argument, no haggling. Keeping the man happy when ROADSIDE is trying to push a pack of savages through the door is no small feat. Money makes the world go round, though, even after the world's ended. Of course, it's not money anymore. Not the same. But other things serve just as well, and with more meaning. ROADSIDE slaps a bulging bag down onto Jack's table. Nuts, bolts, screws, and fasteners of all shape and size; a homemaker's dream. "This sack of shine represents more than payment, Lantern-man. You're promising you can put a person back together. Jersey be our witness - we have a deal." The Jersey Boys descend upon their new temporary homes, for good or for ill, swarming like locusts. Will the vermin become Men? ROADSIDE follows his pack of dogs and sits outside their trailers, both to watch, and to rest. He fishes out the birdwatcher's guide, and flips through. The pictures are soothing. "Jersey...why couldn't they be finches, instead of vultures. I think I like finches." Spend that Jingle! Correcting my XP from the last Pack Alpha.
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Jun 20, 2015 14:47
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 Colonel Lin Hardhholder Wealth Hard+2: 2d6+2 10 Huh. Even with all the poo poo that's going on, things are going well. And now this rear end in a top hat shows up again. Lin wiped the sweat from his brow, straightened his hat, and let himself into his tent. Wordlessly, he sat at his desk and stared at Keymaster, studying him intently. After a long, long stare, he broke the silence with "I've never had time for philosophy or religion. Always been too busy. So I want to ask you something that's been on my mind. I'm sure you've thought about it too." "Why haven't I killed you yet?"
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Jun 21, 2015 00:04
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