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Swampdog - Where the gently caress am I? I'll be linking my character sheet like this. Thanks again to Axe Man for sharing his cool spreadsheet! Also I'll note that at the moment, Swamp is not wearing a mask so you can see him in all his hideous freak glory. The Union speedboat struggled, being tossed willynilly by the mysterious storm. At some point, Swampdog's seatbelt came undone and he was thrown from the boat. If his thoughts weren't already some variation on "poo poo!" or "gently caress!", they would've been, "Figures those assholes gave me the one seat with the broken seatbelt." Swamp had long been able to work around his strangely dense frame in the water, but the turbulence caused by the storm was too much. He sank like a rock into that dark depths of the Gulf of Mexico. Swampdog felt a brief tingle as the darkness of the storm abruptly vanished, the water no longer churning. The raider forced himself up to the surface, sputtering, "GODDAMN CLAVO BULLSHIT! Meyers, you rear end in a top hat, help me out here! Meyers?" No response. Swamp looked around, no boat or Meyers in sight. Shore in the distance. Swamp realized there was something off (by his warped standards) going on here; he was nowhere near land when the storm hit. Swampdog began the swim to shore, passing by a couple of people he could only assume also got caught up in the clavostorm. When he made it to dry land, he fished a packet of cigarettes out of his coat, tossing it and the rest of his soaked, heavy items on the ground. Swampdog opened the box of cigarettes, to find them all completely soaked and worthless. With a groan of frustration, he tossed the smokes aside. Fuckin' clavo poo poo. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 03:14 on Aug 19, 2016 |
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Aug 19, 2016 02:55
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Swampdog - The Keys or Further South? Swampdog strolled along the beach, both looking for bits of flammable material as well as taking the opportunity to size up some of the other people who had washed up with him. All normies, for one. Interesting, but not too weird. Two of them were dressed (and armed, for that matter) all old timey like. Either survivalists or maybe those weirdos that were supposed to live up North. Another was dressed like a soldier, but in the tan colors reserved for desert combat. And then there was the lady with the cool ink. Swampdog strolled over to see what they were talking about, hoping they weren't fundie racists or Arco fucks. "Sup, name's Swampdog. Or just Swamp if you like.", Swamp said in his gravelly smoker's drawl, "Sounds like ya'll get caught up in some clavo poo poo too." Swampdog was dubious of the 'another world' theory, but maybe there was something to it. Swamp had a gut feeling that something was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He scratched at an odd grey scaly patch on his bloated, malformed face and continued "You seem to know more about the clavo shitstorm what got us here in the first place. Anythin' you left out? And who the hell is Gulliver?" Swampdog continued to comb the beach for flammables. He wanted to get dry as soon as possible and no doubt these strangers would appreciate it as well. Rolling Scrounging 13 to gather enough stuff to start a small fire to dry myself with. Also have a (rough) reference image for Swamp's level of ugliness! 
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Aug 19, 2016 07:24
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Swampdog - The Ocean Swampdog knew that look. That was the look of someone who had been in the shelters too long and didn't know poo poo about the Outside. At one time, he might've been hurt or insulted by such a look, but nowadays it was more amusing than anything else. Swampdog briefly considered trotting out the ol' "I played too close to a thresher" story, but eh. Enough weird poo poo was going on without a hideous stranger trying to feed everyone a line of bullshit. Instead, Swampdog smirked and said, "What's the matter, normie? Never seen a mutant before?" Definitely not one of those crazy fundie types, at least. They would've been opening fire and screaming, "Demon!", or some poo poo already. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 08:32 on Aug 19, 2016 |
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Aug 19, 2016 08:23
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Swampdog - The Ocean? The words 'Proteus Syndrome' sounded vaguely familiar to Swamp. Maybe Nik or some other Brain mentioned it at some point? He shrugged, "I dunno what that is." Hmm, 'syndrome'. "Is it, like, something you catch or get born with? It started with me cuz I was stuck in a shelter with one of those lovely leaky generators." Swamp turned to meet the new arrival, "Naw, we all got caught up in some clavo poo poo. I ain't even been that far west. How hosed up is it?" paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 18:55 on Aug 19, 2016 |
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Aug 19, 2016 18:52
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Swampdog - Non-Apocalyptic Beach Party Once the fire was going strong, Swampdog walked down back the beach to where he dumped his coat, police vest and various gun holsters and carried them back to the fire to dry. There, he emptied out the pockets of his duster, revealing (among other things) a wickedly sharp machete and a small pygmy skull made of a single piece of flawless black crystal with a chain going through the eyeholes. He set down and began to take apart his shotgun for cleaning, chatting as he did so. He gave Sasha a funny look before rasping, "Man, I was thinkin' you were fulla poo poo with the whole another world thing but now I'm not so sure! I'm talkin' about a fallout shelter. Where the hell you from? And yeah it was definitely the generator. I didn't think it at the time, but after enough time walkin' around outside I figured it was the only thing that coulda caused me to get muted up in the first place." paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 20:30 on Aug 19, 2016 |
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Aug 19, 2016 20:22
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Swampdog - Non-Apocalyptic Beach Party Swampdog watched Vojtech clean his rifle intently. His gun looked a lot like an AK-47. A goddamn Commie weapon. Not that Swampdog had any problem with that; he was a bit more forgiving of the Russians than most. After all, the ruskies were probably just as hosed as everyone else, and it's not like none of that poo poo before the bombs really mattered any more. "Hey, man.", Swamp croaked, motioning at the other man's gun cleaning kit, "Can I borrow your kit when you're done with it? I didn't think I'd be goin' for a swim and I left mine back at the compound."
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Aug 19, 2016 21:22
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Swampdog - Non-Apocalyptic Beach Party "poo poo, thanks man. I woulda been pissed if I lost this baby to some clavo bullshit.", Swampdog said, taking the gun cleaning kit. It wasn't quite right for his shotgun, but it would do the job good enough. "That's a sweet piece you got there. Is it a civvie model or military? Do ya'll even have that? I dunno how Russia works." After wiping down his M4 and applying some gun oil, he reassembled it and moved onto his Glock. When Abner rolled out the barrel of tobacco, Swamp was pleasantly surprised, "Goddamn! My fuckin' hero over here! I got some rolling papers if ya'll want some, just don't use em' all." Swampdog got up, tossed Vojtech his bag of blunt wraps and walked over to the barrel to open it. On the way over, he responded to Sasha, "Hah, you sound like one of those Brains at the University. They gave up tryin' to figure out why rads do it after the bombs dropped when it 'parently didn't do it before. All I know is that you walk around for too long in the wrong places without a suit or drugs, you're gettin' muted up."
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Aug 19, 2016 22:02
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Swampdog - Non-Apocalyptic Beach Party Swampdog rolled himself a cigarette and lit it up. Ah, just what he needed. He felt like he always needed a smoke when clavo poo poo was involved. "Uh, once again, my name is Swampdog. Just Swampdog. And I think the year from where I am is, like, 2030-something.", he turned towards Vojtech, "And I don't remember the commies ever falling, but then again I was a kid at th-hold on a sec." Out of the corner of his eye, Swampdog spotted a cherry red fragment of fiberglass washing up on the shore. poo poo. He waded out into the water to look for any traces of Meyers or the Union guys. Maybe if he was lucky he could find some useful stuff too! The Union boys brought along a decent amount of spare parts and tools, as well as a big cooler full of food. Perception to find any trace of Meyers or his little pals: Success! (12 vs 12) Searching for speedboat loot: Success! (13 vs 13) But I gotta swim for it! Swamp thought he could see something in the distance. He took off his shirt and motioned in the direction of the object, "I see somethin' out that way. Gonna go check it out." Swimmin': Success! (5 vs 12) Despite being denser than a normal human, Swamp has no problem makin' the swim. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 02:37 on Aug 20, 2016 |
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Aug 20, 2016 01:17
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Swampdog - The Beach ZiegeDame posted:"If you do not know the meaning on this mark, then you come from a kinder America than mine." In the distance, Swampdog could be heard shouting, "I loving DOUBT IT!" (  )
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Aug 20, 2016 01:55
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Swampdog - The Beach No sign of the 606 guys he was supposed to guard. poo poo, their boss was gonna be pissed. Still, not much that can be done when clavo stuff is involved. Swampdog has just finished tying the cooler chest to himself when he noticed the shadow swimming below him. Ever since the bombs dropped, Swampdog had a (perfectly justified) wariness of the ocean; he had seen the carcasses that washed up on the beaches, horrifying things with too many eyes, legs, fins, or claws. The raider was pretty sure that freaky underwater mutants were the reason that nobody who went too far out to sea ever came back. So he booked it back to the surface, the cooler floating to the surface with him. He kept up the pace all the way back to shore, not wanting to take any chances with the local fauna. I'll put a swimming roll here just in case I need one: Possible Success! (10 vs 12) A triumphant Swampdog waded back onto the shore, "Haha, jackpot! There's an outboard motor out there too. if Abner here'll let me borrow his canoe, I could go get it! But let's crack this thing open first." He opened the chest sized cooler to discover a bevy of tasty post apocalyptic treats floating in the mostly melted ice: some choice cuts of gator, a few pieces of homemade cornbread, some strange looking oranges, a small jug of water, and (best of all, in Swampdog's opinion) a bottle of what he assumed to be homebrewed hootch labelled 'IBrEW 606' After doing a mental count of all the stuff in the cooler, Swamp spoke up, "Lessee, there's enough here for four, maybe five of us I'd say?"
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Aug 20, 2016 23:27
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Swampdog - The Beach Swampdog helped Abner push his canoe into the water, "Like you, I was in a boat when the clavo shitstorm hit but mine didn't make it out like yours did. Lucky for us, the motor still looks like it's good so we're gonna go get that." An awkward pause. "Oh, right. You're, like, from George Washington times and poo poo.", Swampdog sighed, "I'm uh, not sure how to explain it, but you pretty much put fuel in it, start it up, and it makes a bit spin that moves your boat. Let's just say it beats rowing any day." Swampdog walked back over to the fire where he had dumped his stuff and grabbed his multitool, as well as his machete. "Alright, I didn't see what kinda bolts was holdin' it on, so we might wanna just drag what's left of the boat to shore. You up for it?"
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Aug 21, 2016 01:43
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Swampdog - The Beach Swampdog noticed Sasha eyeballing the paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 18:34 on Aug 21, 2016 |
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Aug 21, 2016 18:13
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Swampdog - The Beach Swampdog briefly considered mounting the outboard onto Abner's canoe, giving it an experimental kick. No, no way it could support the outboard. Plus, it was the wrong shape; too pointy. There was also the small detail of Swamp not having the proper tools to mount it on there safely in the first place. Still, if nothing else, the motor's fuel tank still had a decent amount of gas in it. "Heh, sorry, Abbie. You're gonna have to wait to see this bad boy in action. Canoe like this, I'd haveta drill some extra holes at least and I dunno much about boats but I don't think it could handle it anyway." Seems like Sasha and Abner wanted to go on a little adventure; sounded good to Swampdog! He yelled, "Hey, I wanna come with you guys! Hold up!" Swampdog stopped by the tobacco barrel to get himself a fresh smoke. He gathered up all his loose things, putting them back in his duster's various loops, pockets and holsters. He put his duster on with a flourish, slung his shotgun over his shoulder, grabbed an 'orange' from the cooler, and headed over to the others. "Man, ya'll missin' out.", Swampdog drawled, carefully peeling the thorny orange, "Them's some good eats."
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Aug 22, 2016 19:27
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Swampdog - The Beach "Heh, I'm about to show ya'll how it's done in the wetlands.", Swampdog said as he followed the rest of the group into the jungle. Relevant Swump skillz for this little adventure: Pistol 14, Shotgun 13, Hiking 11, Stealth 12, Survival (Woodlands) 12. Also he has a machete for cutting brush. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 06:54 on Aug 23, 2016 |
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Aug 23, 2016 06:50
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Swampdog - The Jungle Trail Swampdog took a drag from his stoag as he examined the footprint; it kinda reminded him of a gator print, even if it was nothing like one. For one, it wasn't big enough to be a gator print. And it had the wrong number of toes as well. The radiation of Swamp's world had done a number on the alligator, moving it several rungs up the food chain. They were at least as big as a bear, stronger than most of the more buff mutants, capable of walking on two legs, well armored, constantly hungry, and (worst of all) pissed. Their increased metabolisms no longer allowed them to laze about and wait for the food to come to them like their unmutated counterparts, so they roamed the swamps, forests, and sometimes even ruins trying to kill and eat anything in their path that looked even remotely edible. Swamp hoped that there was nothing like those around; gators had no fear, not of heavily armed groups of trained raiders, not even of abombs. Upon hearing the rustling in the bushes near them, Swampdog slowly and quietly reached for his M4, drawing it out of his scabbard.
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Aug 24, 2016 03:28
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Swampdog - The Jungle Trail Swampdog gave Sasha a "what the gently caress is this guy/gal doing look" as she gobbled at the bush, but otherwise said nothing. As the giant 'pede jumped out of the bushes, an alarmed Swampdog leapt backwards. After getting a good look at the thing that came out of the bush, he felt a little sheepish. Just a giant bug; there were all sorts where he came from, though this particular variety was unfamiliar to him. He drawled, "Hoo-ee, that's a biggun!", leveled his shotgun at the millipede and fired. Making an all-out attack (determined) with my shotgun: Success! (10 vs 13 + 1 (determined) + 2 (9-12 projectiles) - 1 (range)) My margin of success is 5, so 5 pellets hit the 'pede for 5d+10 pi damage. After talkin' with Doc, this is more than enough to kill it outright. The giant centipede splattered messily under the impact of the lead pellets, spraying hemolymph over the nearby foliage. After it stopped twitching, Swampdog walked over to it and gave it a good kick just to make sure it was dead. He mumbled, "Ain't ever seen one like this before." paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 06:56 on Aug 25, 2016 |
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Aug 25, 2016 05:50
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Swampdog - The Jungle Trail Swampdog shook his head at Sasha, "Naw, it's a crawler. I dunno about this one but a lot of em' got poison. Hear they taste like poo poo too."
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Aug 25, 2016 17:25
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog smirked at the Roman, "What do ya think it is? It's a big ol' centipede!" Oh, right. Not everyone else lived in a world with giant bugs, "Uh, this is prolly bigger than you're used to, huh?" Swampdog helped Sasha and Abner set it down in a place where it could be easily examined. He was thankful that he had a cooler full of food that the normies didn't seem to have any interest in. He once talked with a survivalist from down south who claimed to be able to eat even the most toxic of things and he compared the taste of crawlers to clams that had been left outside all day. Still, better than finding nothing. And it WAS pretty fun to shoot.
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Aug 26, 2016 03:19
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere "Shiiiit, Abner, I'd kill for lobster, but it'd prolly kill me first.", Swampdog said as he drew the jug of water from his cooler, "We didn't find any water, but this should be clean enough. 606ers are real picky about this sorta thing." As Sasha cooked the giant millipede, Swampdog's wariness of it faded. He wasn't sure if it was because Sasha was a good cook or because this particular crawler was the one exception to the 'tastes like poo poo' rule, but gently caress it smelled good. He took the baggie of weed out of his coat and began breaking up a nug with his fingers. Stuck on another world (apparently) with a bunch of normies because of clavo poo poo. About to eat a giant centipede. It was as good a time as any. As he began rolling a blunt, he drawled, "Hey, ya'll smoke?"
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Aug 27, 2016 04:25
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog took the blunt back from Ignatius, took two puffs from it, and passed it along. And here he was thinkin' these old timey types would all be squares. "Hey.", Swampdog croaked, holding a bunch of skunky smoke in, "Check this poo poo out." He exhaled, forming a perfect white smoke ring. After making the sound of someone trying to cough up a particularly large chunk of phlegm, he blew a a tendril of thick, oily black smoke through the dissipating smoke ring. He took a bite of centipede and turned towards Ignatius, "poo poo, man. Your eyes are as red as the devil's dick. Did they, like, even have dope back in Roman times? Pirates would be cool, do you think they'd be like the peg leg and parrot types? We could kill em' and steal their poo poo easy."
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Aug 30, 2016 19:17
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog squinted out into the darkness, seeing no trace of the two who walked up the beach. "poo poo, this ain't a good place to be wandering around at night. I guaran-loving-tee you that the crawler here ain't the biggest or worst critter around here."
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Aug 31, 2016 04:33
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere "Hey, hey! There they are!", Swampdog cried, offering the two men a hit from the blunt. "poo poo, man, you think it's dinosaurs? I just assumed it was muties. Either way, it ain't the only thing this place has." He pointed at whatever remained of the crawler, "Eat up, it's better than it looks."
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Sep 2, 2016 03:11
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere In Sasha's question, Swampdog heard a hint of confusion, uncertainty. Did she not know what dinosaurs were? His eyes lit up and he decided to explain, "Did ya'll not, like, figure out dinosaurs in eighteen-whatever? Alright, so they were this big lizards that existed loooooooong ago, prolly before there were any of us around. There were all sorts, too!" Swamp began rattling off all the dinosaurs he remembered reading about as a kid, "There were raptors, which were like this tall." He held his hand somewhere between 3 and 4 feet off the ground, "They liked to hunt in packs and they could take down stuff bigger'n them. Lesse, there were the ones with really long necks, bigger than a house, that ate like leaves and poo poo. There was one that had these cool plates going its back and tail spikes. Dumb as poo poo though. The most dangerous one was Tyrannosaurus Rex, think like a giant head on legs with teeth longer than your finger." He paused, "There's a lot of others but these are the ones I remember." His mind drifted to the subject of he would do if attacked by a dinosaur. He imagined it to be a lot like fighting a gator, only much bigger. By his reckoning, only him and Woj had guns big enough to take on a gator. (And even then, Swamp figured he would be better off with slugs instead of buckshot.) He took another puff from his blunt as he considered this.
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Sep 4, 2016 21:09
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Upon hearing his name said, Swampdog looked around for who said it. Nobody he could see. He quietly hissed, "Did ya'll fuckin' hear that?", and began to reach into his coat. He pulled out his flashlight, switched it on, and shined it towards the water. PE 12 to look for it.
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Sep 6, 2016 04:15
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere After thinking about it, the voice did sound familiar. Not Meyers, though. One of his flunkies. "Hey!", Swampdog called, "You 606?"
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Sep 6, 2016 05:42
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swamp shouted, "Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'. Hold yer fuckin' horses." He was just beginning to rise from the log he was sitting on when a thought struck him. What was this Union guy doing in the hours between the Banestorm and now? He whispered to the group at large, "S'far I could tell Sash, none of 'em had gills. They coulda been coverin' up though." He lowered his voice even further, "Could be clavo poo poo. I'm gonna take a look. Ya'll had better be ready if things get weird." He got up from where he was sitting, brushing the sand off himself. He approached the source of the voice, one hand holding his flashlight, the other resting on his holstered Glock. Might not be clavo, could be the clavo poo poo storm moved things differently. After all, when Swamp first resurfaced, the 606 speedboat was nowhere in sight, but was visible after he got to shore. Still, an awful long time to be treading water in the middle of the Gulf during a storm. "poo poo, I looked all over for you guys. Figgured ya'll were dead. Seen your buddies anywhere?"
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Sep 6, 2016 22:16
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog continued to speak with the downed 606er, "Hang in there, bud. Found a doctor to patch ya up." He looked around, seeing nothing too out of the ordinary. Didn't seem like anything clavo was going on, but one could never be too sure when it came to that subject. He almost involuntarily winced as Sasha touched the man to examine him. Rule #1 of dealing with clavo stuff: Never be the first one to touch clavo poo poo.
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Sep 9, 2016 06:21
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog managed to get a good look at the former 606er as he effortlessly dodged the creature/man's clumsy blow, yelling a few choice expletives as he did so. The guy looked nothing like this earlier. Swampdog figured he either somehow managed to mutate several times and go rad crazy in the span of a few hours (unlikely) or there was clavo poo poo involved. Swamp had never seen it, but he had heard about this kinda thing happening. Sometimes when people died in places like O-Town, well, nobody had any explanation for it other than they didn't die right. The lucky ones never left their bodies, forced to become shambling, decaying shadows of themselves. They were still themselves, at least until everything rotted away and they stopped moving. The unlucky ones became ghosts, who roamed around the deepest, darkest parts of the damned city, mindlessly attacking anyone and anything they feel didn't belong. The Union guy didn't appear to be either, but close enough. Swampdog barked, "CLAVO! SHOOT THE poo poo OUT OF IT!" and reached for his pistol. Rolling Fast Draw to ready my pistol instantly. My skill is 14 + 2 from my fast draw rig, for a total of 16. Success! (11 vs 16) He whipped his Glock of out his belt holster, took a second to carefully aim, and fired off three shots. He wasn't sure if this was the type of clavo poo poo that died when you shot it, but he certainly hoped. Taking a second to aim and firing 3 shots. Effective skill is: 14 (base) + 2 (acc) = 16 pre:ST 12; DX 12; IQ 11; HT 12; Per 12; Will 11 HP 13/13; FP 12/12; BS 6; BM 6; Dodge: 9 Fit, Damage Resistance (1, crushing) Damage Acc Range RoF Shots ST Bulk Rcl Glock 22 2d+2pi+ 2 160/1,800 3 15+1 8 -2 2 DR 3(cut, impale)/1 (Torso, arms, legs); DR 2 (Feet); Swampdog is not currently wearing his concealable vest. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 20:02 on Sep 11, 2016 |
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Sep 11, 2016 19:12
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere The deader was down. Good. Hopefully he wouldn't get back up. Swampdog whipped around to see what was going on at the campsite, ignoring the pain coming from the spot on his face where the dead man had scratched him. The things attacking Ignatius and Jake weren't tiny gators or some other mutant, but full fledged dinosaurs! Swampdog would have almost been delighted if it wasn't for the fact that they seemed to have overwhelmed one of the two men at the camp. He took a deep breath and squeezed off a couple of shots at the nearest dino. His buddies back home would never believe this. Second 3: Aim + brace, with a step towards the camp. Second 4: All-out Attack (Determined), firing 2 shots, for an effective skill of 14+2(acc)+1(brace)+1(determined) = 18. Moving towards the camp with a half move after. pre:ST 12; DX 12; IQ 11; HT 12; Per 12; Will 11 HP 12/13; FP 12/12; BS 6; BM 6; Dodge: 9 Fit, Damage Resistance (1, crushing) Damage Acc Range RoF Shots ST Bulk Rcl Glock 22 2d+2pi+ 2 160/1,800 3 15+1 8 -2 2 DR 3(cut, impale)/1 (Torso, arms, legs); DR 2 (Feet); Swampdog is not currently wearing his concealable vest.
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Sep 13, 2016 19:07
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog strolled back to the camp, deciding to let someone deal with the fleeing dino. Missing an arm, probably gonna die of blood loss anyway. Not worth the ammo. He couldn't help but whistle at Ignatius's handiwork, "Daaaamn, Ignatius. Remind me not to gently caress with you. Least not in arm's reach, anyway." He walked over to where he had stashed his M4 and picked it up, holstering his pistol. He began mentally running through the list of pending issues. Jake looked all sorts of hosed up, but Swampdog was fairly confident Sasha could handle that. There could've been more dinosaurs lurking about, but there was something else... Oh, right. The deader. Swampdog cleared his throat, "Aight, it's prolly safe to assume we're all on the buddy system now, so I need a buddy." He pointed over to the beach, "While the deader over there ain't movin', there's always the chance it could get back up. So, uh, I dunno how else to say this, but we gotta make a mess of it. And trust me, that's not somethin' we wanna do near here." Swampdog absentmindedly ran a hand over the rough scaly patch on his face, "Oh, Sash. When he's all taken care of, mind takin' a look at this scratch? The dead motherfucker got me and I don't know what poo poo its hands have been in, clavo or otherwise." Swampdog was thankful that at very least bein' a zombie wasn't contagious. (As far as he knew.) pre:ST 12; DX 12; IQ 11; HT 12; Per 12; Will 11 HP 12/13; FP 12/12; BS 6; BM 6; Dodge: 9 Fit, Damage Resistance (1, crushing) Damage Acc Range RoF Shots ST Bulk Rcl Glock 22 2d+2pi+ 2 160/1,800 3 15+1 8 -2 2 DR 3(cut, impale)/1 (Torso, arms, legs); DR 2 (Feet); Swampdog is not currently wearing his concealable vest. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 06:44 on Sep 14, 2016 |
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Sep 14, 2016 06:40
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Swampdog - Camp Clavo As Sasha patched Jake back up, Swampdog took the time to roll himself another cigarette. Clavo poo poo was one thing, but loving dinos? He walked over to the nearest dino carcass, his curiosity overtaking him. Swamp kneeled down and pulled the creature's mouth open. Serrated teeth! That had to fuckin' hurt. Good thing the doc (apparently) knew what she was doing. There was something more interesting to Swamp, however. "What kinda dino has fuckin' feathers?", he mumbled to himself. He pulled out his multitool and pried out a tooth as a souvenir. This critter DID have pretty cool lookin' teeth. Once the snowboarder was bandaged up, Swampdog decided to broach the subject of deader removal again, "If that guy got back up in the first place, there's nothin' stoppin' him from doin' it again. And there's no tellin' what'll come to pick the body." While Swampdog had never had to kill (re-kill?) a zombie, he had heard of the methods. Either complete dismemberment or a fire hot enough to burn the flesh off. The second was out of the question; gasoline was too limited and too important and he'd be damned if he was going to give up what was possibly the only bottle of liquor for miles. "I know how to deal with these types, but I need to do it a way's away from here, cuz it's gonna be messy. Normally I'd do it myself but I need someone to come with me, for, uh, obvious reasons. Woj, Ignatius? Either of you up for this?." While Swampdog was confident in his ability to deal with dinos, there was Clavo poo poo about and there were rules for dealing with such. One of the big ones (other than 'Don't touch weird poo poo', of course) was 'Don't go anywhere without someone watching your back.'
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Sep 19, 2016 06:56
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Swampdog - Camp Clavo Swampdog scratched the back of his head, "Ya didn't see it? One of the guys I was with when the storm hit didn't die *right* and decided to try and gently caress me up. We handled him, but there's always the chance he'll get back up." Swampdog put his shotgun into its scabbard and slung it over his shoulder, "I'll be ready whenever you are." Swamp reasoned that the Roman guy would be a decent escort. Guy obviously could take care of himself, what with fighting off the dinos with only a sword and shield. Would leave the old Czech guy and his nice assault rifle to guard the camp, too. However, he decided against giving Ignatius a gun. Good way to get shot in the back, that. When Ignatius was ready, Swampdog lead him down to the beach where they had (re)killed the 606 guy. Hopefully the guy wasn't up and about already. paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 00:56 on Sep 20, 2016 |
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Sep 20, 2016 00:51
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Swampdog - Camp Clavo Swampdog wiped his machete off on the dead man's jumpsuit and took a step back to check out his handiwork. It certainly wasn't moving any more. Swamp had heard of deaders getting back up after their heads had been removed, but they were no longer a threat; without eyes or ears, most of them just stumbled around ineffectually at very best. He kneeled down to say a few words to the dead man, "Hey, man. I don't know your name and we're in different crews and all, but...well, I'm sorry. Nobody deserves to go out to clavo poo poo. I'm just glad I could end it for ya. If I see your pals and they're as hosed up as you ended up, I'll do the same for them." Among the denizens of Inferno-1, it was almost universally agreed upon that it was better to take a bullet from your fellow man than die (or worse) to anomalous things. At least you know what you were getting with the bullet. Swampdog reached out and ripped a patch from the dead man's jumpsuit. It was the insignia of The Union: an alligator (a normal one, before poo poo got all hosed up!) with lightning shooting out of its open mouth. Apparently this was their logo before everything went bad, but Swampdog had a hard time believing it. He stashed the patch in his coat to give to Meyers or The Union's boss later, if there was a later. Swamp returned to a standing position and turned to address Ignatius, "Alright, this one's more or less dealt with. Let's get him away from the camp. Don't need him stinkin' up the place and luring who-knows-what to us. Oh, and be careful. I hear some zombies can still move after you take out the head." He grabbed the headless body by the arms, allowing Ignatius to take the legs. Moving the dead body a safe distance away from the camp, preferably sticking to the beach. Swampdog's lifting skill is 11, if that matters.
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Sep 21, 2016 02:30
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog walked back to camp, wiping his hands off on his pants. "Ya'll wanna know what that was?", he drawled, "Lotta folk call em' zombies, but I think it gives people the wrong idea. I prefer 'deader'. The guy on the beach was pretty much a walking dead body. They happen when, well..." Swampdog took a drag from his cigarette and continued on, thinking of how best to explain this, "Where I'm from, there are these, uh, bad places. And sometimes when people get killed in em', they, uh, don't die right, I guess?" "It's weird, though. They usually don't grow claws. Or go bugfuck crazy so soon, for that matter."
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Sep 26, 2016 19:15
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere "I'm still feelin' pretty wired, but if ya'll wanna go first, be my guest. I'll take whatever shift's left."
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Oct 3, 2016 07:47
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere "Yeah, I noticed. Good move.", Swampdog replied. He motioned over at Jake, "You sure you should be on watch, man? You lost a lotta blood. Don't you need, like, rest and poo poo?"
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Oct 3, 2016 20:44
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere The night was an uneventful one. During his shift, Swampdog sat on a log and sipped from the bottle of IBrEW 606 he recovered earlier. It was worse than he thought; even the swish made by his pals back at the Bloodsuckers' compound tasted better. And he thought he was joking when he said it could degrease engines. Somewhere past the halfway point of his shift, Swampdog pulled out his radio and began flipping through the frequencies, purposefully avoiding the one he and the 606 guys were going to use. Sure, radios weren't even invented yet in dinosaur times, but you never know! Swampdog's gonna scan his radio and see if he gets anything other than static. Swamp has a 10 in Elec Op (Comms)/TL8, if that matters. He'll check the 606 frequency last, and only if he doesn't find anything else. - - - Swampdog woke up slightly later than everyone else. He got off the ground, brushed the sand off his back, and put his duster (which he had been using as a blanket) back on it. After taking a moment to crack his back, he drawled, "Alright boys and girls, we got a busy day ahead of us. What's on the agenda?"
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Oct 6, 2016 21:09
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Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog reached into his jacket and removed his package of blunt wraps, noting with some dissatisfaction that he only had a handful left. Still, this was a matter of Smokes, and there were rules to be followed. "Sure, man.", Swamp said as he passed the Czech the plastic bag, "Water got mine too so you'll have to roll your own." He pointed at Abner's barrel of tobacco, "Good thing Abner here is willin' to share." After taking a moment to roll a smoke for himself, Swampdog agreed with the others, "Yeah, that sounds about right. poo poo, I didn't know ya'll were good at buildin' poo poo. That'll make things much easier here." There was one thing that was bothering Swamp, though. He turned towards Sasha, "You seem like the expert here, is there a way to, uh, un-Banestorm-ify yourself or whatever it's called?" The prospect of living out the rest of his life on Dinosaur Island(...?) was unappealing at best to the raider. He had a crew and responsibilities, drat it.
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Oct 7, 2016 02:41
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 Swampdog - Camp Nowhere Swampdog sighed, "Well, we can't stay here. I was fuckin' around with my radio last night, tryin' to see if there was anybody else around and, uh..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, "I heard someone get killed. And not in a good way. Could just be more dinos, but I dunno. After the dead guy, it could be goddamned anything." Shortly after he said that, Swampdog came to a realization about Sasha. Something was off about her. She claimed to come from 18-something and had a cowboy gun, but unlike the other past people, she seemed to know things she shouldn't. She had done it yesterday, too. Swamp was pretty sure people in cowboy times didn't even have power, yet she knew what a generator was. On top of that, Swamp caught a glimpse of her medical tools when she patched up Jake. Most of the doctors in 20-fuckin'-32 were using worse. Swampdog decided to let the issue slide for now; in situations like this, the last person you wanna piss off is the doctor. Swampdog slung his shotgun scabbard over his shoulder with a flourish and replied to Jake, "Yeah. Let's roll. Just try to take it easy, though. I didn't the first time I got shot and the drat hole ended openin' back up. That poo poo'll ruin your day like nothin' else." paper bag with a face fucked around with this message at 20:09 on Oct 11, 2016 |
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Oct 11, 2016 05:51
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| # ¿ Apr 19, 2024 13:42 |
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Swampdog - Walkin' up the beach Swampdog involuntarily groaned at Vojtech's joke and followed him up the beach. "Yeah, I'll watch your back. This bad boy shouldn't have any problem splatting any dinos 'cept for maybe T-Rexes and poo poo. Wish I brought slugs or something. Where is this water you were talkin' about anyway?"
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Oct 13, 2016 23:55
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