RPG
Introduction
Accepting characters for a Kingdom of Salut subplot. PM Broski1984 for more information.
A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
...Or, how there are no more batteries for my Geiger counter.
>New Game
>Loading Scenario
>Scenario Loaded
The year is 2334, and by traditional standards, the apocalypse has happened. In fact, it happened some two-hundred years ago. Really, it's come and gone, and what caused it and how it happened doesn't really matter to you. At least, not right now.
What matters, is how it changed the world. The world you now live in.
On Fire-Day, life changed. The Government as it had been ceased to exist; the luckiest officials got to bunkers, cut off from society. Once the radiation and disease, brought by the bombs, began to clear, mankind began to rebuild - without the leaders they knew, and (somewhat) trusted.
Life continued, and within a few years, even the Government was rebuilt. In fact, it was rebuilt several times over, breaking the once enormous country of the United States into dozens of smaller, less-organized countries, most run by charismatic former business men, or trust-worthy pre-war police officers, or, occasionally, violent raiders.
When the Old Government returned, they were surprised to learn they no longer owned the land they walked upon, at least beyond what their papers said - sure, by old standards, it was theirs. By modern ones, it was not. Still better organized than most, they managed to reclaim a swath of land, less than a third of the size of the country they previously controlled. This became the New United States of America, or, as it is more commonly called in your time, The Old States.
Within a few decades, most of the smaller countries had vanished, either reclaimed by the Old States or by larger, more powerful, "new" countries. Even today, the names, sizes, and leaders of the countries continue to change. When you last checked, there were twelve.
This is what matters to you, what effects your actions in the here-and-now, the matters most pressing. The lingering radiation, spontaneous weather, mutated monsters, genetically altered religious-nuts, damaged robots and cave-dwelling beast-men are things you grew up around, things that will probably not go away, and cannot be changed. You may get attacked by a three-headed bear tomorrow, or you might not; it may start raining acid, but it probably won't.
What will happen is a war. There are already several wars going on right now, and the one that is most pressing is the "Southern War", the war between The Old States and the Confederacy. If you were more up on your pre-war history, you'd be over come with Dejavu.
You are currently in Blacksburg, Virginia, a city that has been around since before the war; it stands dangerously close to the border between the Old States and the Confederacy, and a battle here is imminent. Cities south of here have been looted and claimed for the South already, and this will likely be no different. Even if it remains in the Old States, it will still be a blood bath.
That is why you must leave, and leave now. Perhaps, it is even why you came here. For you are either a Mercenary, profiting from war and the work it brings you, or a Civilian, seeking to evacuate.
If you are the first, you are likely hired by D&M Personal Protection, the largest guns-for-hire company on the East Coast, sent to escort civilians wealthy enough to pay your fees out of Blacksburg, and possibly Old States itself.
If you are the latter, you likely live in Blacksburg, or fled to it after your own city was challenged. Your best bet for safety lies in the greasy, jittery hands of the guns for hire previously mentioned, for without them, traveling far from the major cities - or, worse, out of the Old States - would be suicide.
Select a class now; build a character, and enter the world of New America. Hopefully, you packed enough batteries for your Geiger counter.
~~~
Note: You do NOT have to read all of this, just skim it or come to it as you need it!
Manual
Thank you for purchasing A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States, the newest game brought to you by Little Angel Games, Inc.! We are sure you will enjoy this fine sci-fi adventure, and the soon to be released expansion packs!
Before that, though, you should really read the Manual from cover to cover, to help prevent any confusion.
Countries in SoMC&SS
A large portion of the game is based on the countries you will find in it, and how they interact with each other. As previously mentioned, there are twelve of them, as can be seen in this beautifully crafted map.
The United States of America / The Old US
The Old US is one of the oldest, and largest of the countries in New America. It is run by President Landon Lincoln, and is one of the most "organized" countries.
Although re-tamed after the war, the North-Eastern corner of the country is still highly irradiated, and within its borders is the Prefect Colony, a secured region that could best be described as its own miniature nation.
It is not well-liked by the other countries, largely due to its constant attempts to "reclaim" what was once its own. It has a shaky alliance with both California and New England, and is currently at war with the Confederacy and The People's Republic.
This game will start in the Old US.
The Confederacy / The Old South
The Confederacy is another old country, having sprouted up shortly after Fire Day. It is run by General Jedediah Scranton, and while its inner-core (old Georgia and South Carolina) are well-organized and controlled, the majority of it is disorganized and incredibly dangerous.
The Confederacy wasn't hit nearly as hard by nuclear bombs as most parts of the continent, but instead suffered largely from dirty bombs, carrying diseases from anthrax to mutated strains of the flu. This eradicated much of the pre-war population, while doing minimal damage to the flora and fauna of the region.
Because of this, the country has few mutated animals, but one hell of a bramble problem. Entire swaths of the country, especially in Florida, are nearly blocked off by the quickly re-growing forests and swamps. These have become the homes of raiders, highwaymen and other sorts of low-lives; the local government and forces have had little luck chasing them out.
The Confederacy has few allies, but equally few enemies. It has an alliance with Texas, and is at war with the Old US.
New England
New England is one of the smallest, and arguably the most organized country in New America. It is also probably the oldest. It is run by President Stephen Coolidge.
New England was not hit hard directly, but did get much of New York's airborne radiation, and has suffered from even worse weather than usual since Fire Day. When it is not snowing in New England, it is probably raining, and when it isn't regular rain or snow, it's yellow irradiated rain and snow. Supposedly, however, it has very mild - if not very short - summers. Which are fairly rainy.
Because of this, it has a severe problem with radiated animals; fortunately, not many animals, radiated or not, can survive the weather. Unfortunately, not many people can, either, and the country has a severe problem with under-population.
What few citizens it has are generally friendly, if not a bit "off" mentally. The Old US, California, and The Kingdom of Salut are New England's allies; it has no serious enemies.
Texas
No one was surprised when Texas not only became its own country, but grew after Fire Day. It is the third largest, and third oldest country, and is run by Gov. Rev. Don Duke Walker.
Texas was hit hard by both radiation and dirty bombs, although this did little but anger its population and wildlife. Many Texans survived in community built bunkers, and most wildlife survived by doing what it had done for thousands of years; endure the heat, humidity, and poor air-quality. Although most places in New America no longer need fear radiation (aside, possibly, from standing water), Texas is one place you will want batteries for your Geiger counter when traveling through, as ground-levels of radiation remain high.
Unlike New England, Texas enjoys the opposite end of bad weather with near constant droughts. Because of this, most of it is typical wasteland, aside from the still-thriving Big Thicket.
Texas has many enemies, including the Cherokee Nation, The People's Republic, and the Rio Grande Republic. It has allies in the Confederacy, and to a lesser extent, Arabia.
Cherokee Nation
It was once promised, Cherokee Nation will return, and it sure did, although not with the force it once had. The Cherokee Nation is lead by Chief John Wildbird, although it has little organization, and is mostly broken into smaller, self-controlling villages.
The Cherokee Nation was not particularly hard hit, although it contained several military bunkers, that may or may not of released horrible beast-men. Like the big foot of Pre-war America, these cryptozoological creatures have become legends, and sightings of them are common.
The Cherokee Nation has enemies in Texas and the Fjord, and an ally in California.
The Fjord's Army / The Fjord's Land
The Fjord's Army is the newest player to the game of post-apocalyptic countries, and so far, plays the game pretty well. It is lead by the mysterious and ancient Fjord, and is a highly aggressive - but highly organized - country.
The Fjord, a Prefect exile, amassed an army some-fifty years ago, and soon began to claim land for himself. The result is the purple blotch you see before you. Although the land is dangerous, it is organized by a powerful, cult-like military force. Raiders in the established lands are nearly unheard of, and any mutated animals or rampaging robots were long ago dealt with.
The Fjord has many enemies, including the People's Republic, Salut, Arabia, California and Cherokee. It has no allies, and doesn't need them if you ask it.
The People's Republic of America
The People's Republic is another new country, lead by the young and mentally-challenged Comrade Eric Queensen. It is highly unorganized, and unlikely to survive much longer.
The Republic was founded on the values of Old America's enemy, Communism. Like most Communist countries, it soon began to look a bit like a dystopian novel, but without the level of organization those generally enjoyed. Like Rome, it has a hard time keeping a leader, largely due to assassinations and suicides, and almost all of its leaders have been very young, and very insane. That is likely why it is such an Orwellian fuckup.
Due to the highly unorganized army, it has a low population - most people that could flee, did. It has a high mutant population, and more robots than one would think normal.
It has enemies in Texas, the Old US, The Fjord and California. It has no allies that are willing to mention it in public.
Arabia
Arabia is one of the more organized Western countries, and likely (and unfortunately) the most rational. It is a well-populated, relatively happy country, and is lead by Tisroc Azul.
Although Arabia was founded only recently, it is an old idea, sprouting up not long after Fire Day. The name was likely given to the region due to the now-desert like terrain, and a raider group that used to inhabit the area, which went by the name of the Arabian Knights.
When it was founded formally, it was given the name it had always gone by, and possibly for humor's sake, was given a "middle eastern" theme. Tisrocs are elected, like presidents, and the country's use of camels is likely just for practicality.
One of the most well-known features of Arabia is the Junkyard, a robot-only city. Much like the prefects, it is an independent "miniature" nation. Unlike the Prefects, they are peace-loving and harmless.
It is well liked, with allies in Texas, California and Salut, and enemies in the Fjord and Rio Grande.
The Kingdom of Salut
The Kingdom of Salut is like your uncle Henry; middle-aged, untamed, less than rational, and obsessed with knights. It is lead by the proud King Phineus Wolfgang III, and is the only hierarchy in New America.
Salut is a wild and untamed land, with lush forests and long winters. It is in this land of almost mythic charm that the Brotherhood of The Eagle was founded, a band of knights determined to eradicate the raiders, mutated mountain lions, and very much not mythological beast-men. Although this started just after the Fire Day, it was only later that this Brotherhood set up roots, built a castle, and became a nation.
No, there really is a castle. That's literal.
Unfortunately, they were never very good at eradicating raiders or mountain lions or wolf-men, and all these problems still plague the country. They were also never very good at increasing their population, or forming a true army, and are often picked on by more hostile countries.
They have extremely tolerant allies in Arabia and New England, and an enemy in the Fjord.
California
Just as no one was surprised when Texas became independent and grew, no one was surprised when California did the same. It is lead by President George Balaban, and is an organized, respectable country.
California has possibly the highest population, per a square mile, of any country in New America. It also has one of the largest armies, and is one of the more well set-up countries. Unfortunately, it is also pushy, working its way into every discussion it can, and it can be very controlling to its citizens. Because of this, the other countries try and avoid it, while still keeping an eye on it.
It is plagued by natural disasters, which have only gotten worse with time, and horribly mutated people and insects. The hills have eyes and claws in California.
It has allies in Arabia, The Old US, New England and the Cherokee Nation. It has enemies in the Fjord, the People's Republic, and The Rio Grande Republic.
The Rio Grande Republic
The Rio Grande Republic is a small, hostile nation, that has only not been eradicated because of how small it is, and how well dug-in it is. It is lead by Tulio Rammerez.
The Rio Grande Republic is a lot like a small, under-socialized dog; loud, nippy, and a royal pain in the ass, but too small to do any real damage or worry about. Although very aggressive with its neighbors, conducting small raids along their borders, it has never done any real damage. Most of the unpleasantries happen when one is forced to go through the Rio Grande. Although many a lost caravan has gone into the Rio, few ever came back out.
According to the scarce reports from people who escape the Rio, it has a booming slave industry, a mutated scorpion problem, and several undetonated nuclear missiles at its disposal. No official reports exist.
It has no allies, but many enemies, including Texas, Arabia, and California.
The Neutral Region
The Neutral Region technically isn't a country, although it is counted towards the total; instead, it is an unclaimed region at the tip of what was once Florida.
It has been unclaimed for many reasons, including the reports of "swamp men", the incredibly high raider population, the mutated alligators and the supposedly giant snakes. Most travelers avoid it entirely, finding the legends of Pirate's Gold not worth investigating with such high risks.
It technically has no enemies or allies, and could be considered part of the Confederacy.
Races
There are several playable "races" in SoMC&SS; these have been described in brief below. Again, all races are playable, but they may not be available at the start of the game, and they all have their own drawbacks. An underlined name indicates a class that is not yet playable. Keep checking back to see if it is now, or contact customer support to see if an exception can be made.
Humans
The most common, and arguably, most boring race in the game are regular humans. These are the lucky chaps who have gotten through life organic, unmutated and ungenetically altered, and thanks to that, have avoided most cultural scorn. In 2334, racism and sexism are considered outdated; it's all about hating on muties now, kids!
Regular humans have no special skills or abilities, although, again, they are not particularly hated.
With the exception of the Fjord's Army, the Prefect Colony and the Junkyard, all major countries and cities are lead by "vanilla" humans.
Robots and Androids
Another common "race", most robots and androids (or, "mechanical men", as they are often refereed to) were made before the war, surviving thanks to their practical immortality. Unfortunately, 200+ years is a long time without a tune-up, and most pre-war 'bots are suffering from some form of damage or disability. Exposed parts (in androids), rust, damaged electronics (most often the eyes), missing limbs and what can best be described as mental deficiencies are all common.
Androids, especially ones who still look fairly human, are generally treated with some degree of respect (and, nostalgia for better times), at least in the more "civilized" locales. Robots (and visibly damaged androids) usually fare worse, being treated like second-class citizens at best, and beasts of burden at worst.
To avoid predujust (and hopefully get repaired), the mechanical men have formed a thriving city in Arabia, known simply as the Junkyard (a name given to it by unoriginal human visitors). The Junkyard is often considered the most technological place left in New America, if not the world, and rarely is challenged because of this.
Some androids and robots have been made post-war, mostly in the Junkyard to help boost the population. These "newer" models are usually less well built than pre-war robots, but have less damage.
Prefects & Exiles
Possibly even before Old America was founded, the Prefects lived in what had once been rural Pennsylvania, and all efforts to eradicate, move or commune with them have been ineffective at best.
The Prefects are the most well-known example of pre-war science gone bad, and are the descendants of genetically altered super soldiers. It is most commonly believed that they had been stored in a bunker shortly before the war, and emerged not long after Fire Day to attempt to rebuild society. Although records indicate they were once peaceful (if not a bit anti-social), they have become a violent thorn in Old America's side since then.
The main problem with Prefects lies in their religion; a twisted form of extremely conservative Christianity, mixed with Spartan ideals. The Prefects strive for perfection amongst themselves, going as far as to slaughter imperfect infants. Because of this ideal, they are constantly trying their society, forcing it to become better or die. Likely, they did not emerge this way, and these ideals became part of their society over time.
Parties stupid enough to go near the colony or, worse, interfere with Prefects, are usually attacked and quickly subdued. Fortunately, much like a hive of bees, the Prefects only become dangerous when disturbed, and have yet to make an attack against Old America or any other country, for that matter.
The threat lies in their exiles, the members of Prefect society deemed too insane or dangerous to remain within the colony. These men and women are marked with the sign of the Lord, and sent into the wastes to live as Pariahs. Most wander aimlessly, attacking anything they deem a threat (and most things look like threats to them); others settle down and become hermits, living off the land; a few attempt to integrate into society, with mixed results.
It is not hard to pick a Prefect out of a crowd, especially when in amongst most "wastelanders". Prefects are tall, visibly muscular (even in women), and appear generally better "cared for" than most; many possess almost super-human strength, speed and agility; almost all of them are far more educated than most "normies", especially in the subject of pre-war history; mental disease is common, likely due to inbreeding and poor upbringing, with schizophrenia being the most wide-spread.
Beast-Men
The rarest of all races, Beast-men are another example of botched science; unlike Prefects, who are entirely human, they are genetically spliced with animals. Because of this, they have a clearly in-human appearance, with most looking like bad horror movie monsters.
Although hideous, they generally have intelligence on-par with full-humans, and tend to be fairly stable individuals. Unfortunately, most wasteland societies do not wait long enough to see this before they begin shooting, and thus beast-men usually hide if at all possible.
As most of them are sterile, they are an incredibly rare race. How they have survived this long at all is a mystery.
Mutants & Mutant Animals
Mutants are another (unfortunately) common race; thanks to the high levels of radiation, other toxins, and in some cases, the limited genetic pool, there are plenty of genetic mutants around New America, with them being especially common in Texas, New England and California.
Generally, mutants suffer from unfortunate birth defects, ranging from cleft lips to missing limbs to parasitic twins; in more rare cases, they have more "beneficial" birth defects, such as psychic powers, super strength or immunity to radiation. Again, these cases are incredibly rare, and usually paired with more visible and harmful defects.
In most areas, mutants are treated with pity or, at worse, minor disgust; in a few areas, including the Fjord, they are eradicated on sight, to help clean the genetic pool.
A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
...Or, how there are no more batteries for my Geiger counter.
>New Game
>Loading Scenario
>Scenario Loaded
The year is 2334, and by traditional standards, the apocalypse has happened. In fact, it happened some two-hundred years ago. Really, it's come and gone, and what caused it and how it happened doesn't really matter to you. At least, not right now.
What matters, is how it changed the world. The world you now live in.
On Fire-Day, life changed. The Government as it had been ceased to exist; the luckiest officials got to bunkers, cut off from society. Once the radiation and disease, brought by the bombs, began to clear, mankind began to rebuild - without the leaders they knew, and (somewhat) trusted.
Life continued, and within a few years, even the Government was rebuilt. In fact, it was rebuilt several times over, breaking the once enormous country of the United States into dozens of smaller, less-organized countries, most run by charismatic former business men, or trust-worthy pre-war police officers, or, occasionally, violent raiders.
When the Old Government returned, they were surprised to learn they no longer owned the land they walked upon, at least beyond what their papers said - sure, by old standards, it was theirs. By modern ones, it was not. Still better organized than most, they managed to reclaim a swath of land, less than a third of the size of the country they previously controlled. This became the New United States of America, or, as it is more commonly called in your time, The Old States.
Within a few decades, most of the smaller countries had vanished, either reclaimed by the Old States or by larger, more powerful, "new" countries. Even today, the names, sizes, and leaders of the countries continue to change. When you last checked, there were twelve.
This is what matters to you, what effects your actions in the here-and-now, the matters most pressing. The lingering radiation, spontaneous weather, mutated monsters, genetically altered religious-nuts, damaged robots and cave-dwelling beast-men are things you grew up around, things that will probably not go away, and cannot be changed. You may get attacked by a three-headed bear tomorrow, or you might not; it may start raining acid, but it probably won't.
What will happen is a war. There are already several wars going on right now, and the one that is most pressing is the "Southern War", the war between The Old States and the Confederacy. If you were more up on your pre-war history, you'd be over come with Dejavu.
You are currently in Blacksburg, Virginia, a city that has been around since before the war; it stands dangerously close to the border between the Old States and the Confederacy, and a battle here is imminent. Cities south of here have been looted and claimed for the South already, and this will likely be no different. Even if it remains in the Old States, it will still be a blood bath.
That is why you must leave, and leave now. Perhaps, it is even why you came here. For you are either a Mercenary, profiting from war and the work it brings you, or a Civilian, seeking to evacuate.
If you are the first, you are likely hired by D&M Personal Protection, the largest guns-for-hire company on the East Coast, sent to escort civilians wealthy enough to pay your fees out of Blacksburg, and possibly Old States itself.
If you are the latter, you likely live in Blacksburg, or fled to it after your own city was challenged. Your best bet for safety lies in the greasy, jittery hands of the guns for hire previously mentioned, for without them, traveling far from the major cities - or, worse, out of the Old States - would be suicide.
Select a class now; build a character, and enter the world of New America. Hopefully, you packed enough batteries for your Geiger counter.
~~~
Note: You do NOT have to read all of this, just skim it or come to it as you need it!
Manual
Thank you for purchasing A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States, the newest game brought to you by Little Angel Games, Inc.! We are sure you will enjoy this fine sci-fi adventure, and the soon to be released expansion packs!
Before that, though, you should really read the Manual from cover to cover, to help prevent any confusion.
Countries in SoMC&SS
A large portion of the game is based on the countries you will find in it, and how they interact with each other. As previously mentioned, there are twelve of them, as can be seen in this beautifully crafted map.
The United States of America / The Old US
The Old US is one of the oldest, and largest of the countries in New America. It is run by President Landon Lincoln, and is one of the most "organized" countries.
Although re-tamed after the war, the North-Eastern corner of the country is still highly irradiated, and within its borders is the Prefect Colony, a secured region that could best be described as its own miniature nation.
It is not well-liked by the other countries, largely due to its constant attempts to "reclaim" what was once its own. It has a shaky alliance with both California and New England, and is currently at war with the Confederacy and The People's Republic.
This game will start in the Old US.
The Confederacy / The Old South
The Confederacy is another old country, having sprouted up shortly after Fire Day. It is run by General Jedediah Scranton, and while its inner-core (old Georgia and South Carolina) are well-organized and controlled, the majority of it is disorganized and incredibly dangerous.
The Confederacy wasn't hit nearly as hard by nuclear bombs as most parts of the continent, but instead suffered largely from dirty bombs, carrying diseases from anthrax to mutated strains of the flu. This eradicated much of the pre-war population, while doing minimal damage to the flora and fauna of the region.
Because of this, the country has few mutated animals, but one hell of a bramble problem. Entire swaths of the country, especially in Florida, are nearly blocked off by the quickly re-growing forests and swamps. These have become the homes of raiders, highwaymen and other sorts of low-lives; the local government and forces have had little luck chasing them out.
The Confederacy has few allies, but equally few enemies. It has an alliance with Texas, and is at war with the Old US.
New England
New England is one of the smallest, and arguably the most organized country in New America. It is also probably the oldest. It is run by President Stephen Coolidge.
New England was not hit hard directly, but did get much of New York's airborne radiation, and has suffered from even worse weather than usual since Fire Day. When it is not snowing in New England, it is probably raining, and when it isn't regular rain or snow, it's yellow irradiated rain and snow. Supposedly, however, it has very mild - if not very short - summers. Which are fairly rainy.
Because of this, it has a severe problem with radiated animals; fortunately, not many animals, radiated or not, can survive the weather. Unfortunately, not many people can, either, and the country has a severe problem with under-population.
What few citizens it has are generally friendly, if not a bit "off" mentally. The Old US, California, and The Kingdom of Salut are New England's allies; it has no serious enemies.
Texas
No one was surprised when Texas not only became its own country, but grew after Fire Day. It is the third largest, and third oldest country, and is run by Gov. Rev. Don Duke Walker.
Texas was hit hard by both radiation and dirty bombs, although this did little but anger its population and wildlife. Many Texans survived in community built bunkers, and most wildlife survived by doing what it had done for thousands of years; endure the heat, humidity, and poor air-quality. Although most places in New America no longer need fear radiation (aside, possibly, from standing water), Texas is one place you will want batteries for your Geiger counter when traveling through, as ground-levels of radiation remain high.
Unlike New England, Texas enjoys the opposite end of bad weather with near constant droughts. Because of this, most of it is typical wasteland, aside from the still-thriving Big Thicket.
Texas has many enemies, including the Cherokee Nation, The People's Republic, and the Rio Grande Republic. It has allies in the Confederacy, and to a lesser extent, Arabia.
Cherokee Nation
It was once promised, Cherokee Nation will return, and it sure did, although not with the force it once had. The Cherokee Nation is lead by Chief John Wildbird, although it has little organization, and is mostly broken into smaller, self-controlling villages.
The Cherokee Nation was not particularly hard hit, although it contained several military bunkers, that may or may not of released horrible beast-men. Like the big foot of Pre-war America, these cryptozoological creatures have become legends, and sightings of them are common.
The Cherokee Nation has enemies in Texas and the Fjord, and an ally in California.
The Fjord's Army / The Fjord's Land
The Fjord's Army is the newest player to the game of post-apocalyptic countries, and so far, plays the game pretty well. It is lead by the mysterious and ancient Fjord, and is a highly aggressive - but highly organized - country.
The Fjord, a Prefect exile, amassed an army some-fifty years ago, and soon began to claim land for himself. The result is the purple blotch you see before you. Although the land is dangerous, it is organized by a powerful, cult-like military force. Raiders in the established lands are nearly unheard of, and any mutated animals or rampaging robots were long ago dealt with.
The Fjord has many enemies, including the People's Republic, Salut, Arabia, California and Cherokee. It has no allies, and doesn't need them if you ask it.
The People's Republic of America
The People's Republic is another new country, lead by the young and mentally-challenged Comrade Eric Queensen. It is highly unorganized, and unlikely to survive much longer.
The Republic was founded on the values of Old America's enemy, Communism. Like most Communist countries, it soon began to look a bit like a dystopian novel, but without the level of organization those generally enjoyed. Like Rome, it has a hard time keeping a leader, largely due to assassinations and suicides, and almost all of its leaders have been very young, and very insane. That is likely why it is such an Orwellian fuckup.
Due to the highly unorganized army, it has a low population - most people that could flee, did. It has a high mutant population, and more robots than one would think normal.
It has enemies in Texas, the Old US, The Fjord and California. It has no allies that are willing to mention it in public.
Arabia
Arabia is one of the more organized Western countries, and likely (and unfortunately) the most rational. It is a well-populated, relatively happy country, and is lead by Tisroc Azul.
Although Arabia was founded only recently, it is an old idea, sprouting up not long after Fire Day. The name was likely given to the region due to the now-desert like terrain, and a raider group that used to inhabit the area, which went by the name of the Arabian Knights.
When it was founded formally, it was given the name it had always gone by, and possibly for humor's sake, was given a "middle eastern" theme. Tisrocs are elected, like presidents, and the country's use of camels is likely just for practicality.
One of the most well-known features of Arabia is the Junkyard, a robot-only city. Much like the prefects, it is an independent "miniature" nation. Unlike the Prefects, they are peace-loving and harmless.
It is well liked, with allies in Texas, California and Salut, and enemies in the Fjord and Rio Grande.
The Kingdom of Salut
The Kingdom of Salut is like your uncle Henry; middle-aged, untamed, less than rational, and obsessed with knights. It is lead by the proud King Phineus Wolfgang III, and is the only hierarchy in New America.
Salut is a wild and untamed land, with lush forests and long winters. It is in this land of almost mythic charm that the Brotherhood of The Eagle was founded, a band of knights determined to eradicate the raiders, mutated mountain lions, and very much not mythological beast-men. Although this started just after the Fire Day, it was only later that this Brotherhood set up roots, built a castle, and became a nation.
No, there really is a castle. That's literal.
Unfortunately, they were never very good at eradicating raiders or mountain lions or wolf-men, and all these problems still plague the country. They were also never very good at increasing their population, or forming a true army, and are often picked on by more hostile countries.
They have extremely tolerant allies in Arabia and New England, and an enemy in the Fjord.
California
Just as no one was surprised when Texas became independent and grew, no one was surprised when California did the same. It is lead by President George Balaban, and is an organized, respectable country.
California has possibly the highest population, per a square mile, of any country in New America. It also has one of the largest armies, and is one of the more well set-up countries. Unfortunately, it is also pushy, working its way into every discussion it can, and it can be very controlling to its citizens. Because of this, the other countries try and avoid it, while still keeping an eye on it.
It is plagued by natural disasters, which have only gotten worse with time, and horribly mutated people and insects. The hills have eyes and claws in California.
It has allies in Arabia, The Old US, New England and the Cherokee Nation. It has enemies in the Fjord, the People's Republic, and The Rio Grande Republic.
The Rio Grande Republic
The Rio Grande Republic is a small, hostile nation, that has only not been eradicated because of how small it is, and how well dug-in it is. It is lead by Tulio Rammerez.
The Rio Grande Republic is a lot like a small, under-socialized dog; loud, nippy, and a royal pain in the ass, but too small to do any real damage or worry about. Although very aggressive with its neighbors, conducting small raids along their borders, it has never done any real damage. Most of the unpleasantries happen when one is forced to go through the Rio Grande. Although many a lost caravan has gone into the Rio, few ever came back out.
According to the scarce reports from people who escape the Rio, it has a booming slave industry, a mutated scorpion problem, and several undetonated nuclear missiles at its disposal. No official reports exist.
It has no allies, but many enemies, including Texas, Arabia, and California.
The Neutral Region
The Neutral Region technically isn't a country, although it is counted towards the total; instead, it is an unclaimed region at the tip of what was once Florida.
It has been unclaimed for many reasons, including the reports of "swamp men", the incredibly high raider population, the mutated alligators and the supposedly giant snakes. Most travelers avoid it entirely, finding the legends of Pirate's Gold not worth investigating with such high risks.
It technically has no enemies or allies, and could be considered part of the Confederacy.
Races
There are several playable "races" in SoMC&SS; these have been described in brief below. Again, all races are playable, but they may not be available at the start of the game, and they all have their own drawbacks. An underlined name indicates a class that is not yet playable. Keep checking back to see if it is now, or contact customer support to see if an exception can be made.
Humans
The most common, and arguably, most boring race in the game are regular humans. These are the lucky chaps who have gotten through life organic, unmutated and ungenetically altered, and thanks to that, have avoided most cultural scorn. In 2334, racism and sexism are considered outdated; it's all about hating on muties now, kids!
Regular humans have no special skills or abilities, although, again, they are not particularly hated.
With the exception of the Fjord's Army, the Prefect Colony and the Junkyard, all major countries and cities are lead by "vanilla" humans.
Robots and Androids
Another common "race", most robots and androids (or, "mechanical men", as they are often refereed to) were made before the war, surviving thanks to their practical immortality. Unfortunately, 200+ years is a long time without a tune-up, and most pre-war 'bots are suffering from some form of damage or disability. Exposed parts (in androids), rust, damaged electronics (most often the eyes), missing limbs and what can best be described as mental deficiencies are all common.
Androids, especially ones who still look fairly human, are generally treated with some degree of respect (and, nostalgia for better times), at least in the more "civilized" locales. Robots (and visibly damaged androids) usually fare worse, being treated like second-class citizens at best, and beasts of burden at worst.
To avoid predujust (and hopefully get repaired), the mechanical men have formed a thriving city in Arabia, known simply as the Junkyard (a name given to it by unoriginal human visitors). The Junkyard is often considered the most technological place left in New America, if not the world, and rarely is challenged because of this.
Some androids and robots have been made post-war, mostly in the Junkyard to help boost the population. These "newer" models are usually less well built than pre-war robots, but have less damage.
Prefects & Exiles
Possibly even before Old America was founded, the Prefects lived in what had once been rural Pennsylvania, and all efforts to eradicate, move or commune with them have been ineffective at best.
The Prefects are the most well-known example of pre-war science gone bad, and are the descendants of genetically altered super soldiers. It is most commonly believed that they had been stored in a bunker shortly before the war, and emerged not long after Fire Day to attempt to rebuild society. Although records indicate they were once peaceful (if not a bit anti-social), they have become a violent thorn in Old America's side since then.
The main problem with Prefects lies in their religion; a twisted form of extremely conservative Christianity, mixed with Spartan ideals. The Prefects strive for perfection amongst themselves, going as far as to slaughter imperfect infants. Because of this ideal, they are constantly trying their society, forcing it to become better or die. Likely, they did not emerge this way, and these ideals became part of their society over time.
Parties stupid enough to go near the colony or, worse, interfere with Prefects, are usually attacked and quickly subdued. Fortunately, much like a hive of bees, the Prefects only become dangerous when disturbed, and have yet to make an attack against Old America or any other country, for that matter.
The threat lies in their exiles, the members of Prefect society deemed too insane or dangerous to remain within the colony. These men and women are marked with the sign of the Lord, and sent into the wastes to live as Pariahs. Most wander aimlessly, attacking anything they deem a threat (and most things look like threats to them); others settle down and become hermits, living off the land; a few attempt to integrate into society, with mixed results.
It is not hard to pick a Prefect out of a crowd, especially when in amongst most "wastelanders". Prefects are tall, visibly muscular (even in women), and appear generally better "cared for" than most; many possess almost super-human strength, speed and agility; almost all of them are far more educated than most "normies", especially in the subject of pre-war history; mental disease is common, likely due to inbreeding and poor upbringing, with schizophrenia being the most wide-spread.
Beast-Men
The rarest of all races, Beast-men are another example of botched science; unlike Prefects, who are entirely human, they are genetically spliced with animals. Because of this, they have a clearly in-human appearance, with most looking like bad horror movie monsters.
Although hideous, they generally have intelligence on-par with full-humans, and tend to be fairly stable individuals. Unfortunately, most wasteland societies do not wait long enough to see this before they begin shooting, and thus beast-men usually hide if at all possible.
As most of them are sterile, they are an incredibly rare race. How they have survived this long at all is a mystery.
Mutants & Mutant Animals
Mutants are another (unfortunately) common race; thanks to the high levels of radiation, other toxins, and in some cases, the limited genetic pool, there are plenty of genetic mutants around New America, with them being especially common in Texas, New England and California.
Generally, mutants suffer from unfortunate birth defects, ranging from cleft lips to missing limbs to parasitic twins; in more rare cases, they have more "beneficial" birth defects, such as psychic powers, super strength or immunity to radiation. Again, these cases are incredibly rare, and usually paired with more visible and harmful defects.
In most areas, mutants are treated with pity or, at worse, minor disgust; in a few areas, including the Fjord, they are eradicated on sight, to help clean the genetic pool.
Rules
Rules of SoMC&SS
When playing SoMC&SS on multiplayer servers (kindly hosted by RPGateway), please follow the rules listed below. A handy character profile has also been included, to make creating your wasteland wanderer easier!
1. Please follow RPGateway's rules at all times.
2. Use your common sense; do not God-Mod, power-play, etc.
3. Please try to post regularly, at least once or twice a week. If you cannot post this regularly for whatever reason, please tell us ahead of time. Things come up, and we understand, but try and give us some warning. Similarly, if you want to leave the RP, please tell us so we can do something with your character(s).
4. Write well. Give us a couple meaty paragraphs at least, check your spelling and grammar, and generally give your posts some effort. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone gets writer's block, but in general, aim for quality.
5. Make sure your characters are well-written, too. Don't make blatant self-inserts or Mary-sues, and make sure your character will work in this world.
6. You may have as many characters as you can control; you can make them whenever, too. Meaning, you can make four characters at the start, but only use one for a while and introduce the others later.
7. At the start of the role play, only humans, exiles, androids/robots and muties will be playable, and most characters will either be mercs, or merchants/civilians with something to barter with so they can get mercenary protection. Once we get out of Blacksburg, there will be more opportunities for less "classy" civilians, raiders, etc., so don't despair. Beast-men and prefects will be introduced eventually.
8. You do not need to use the character profile provided, and if you do use it, you may alter it. It's just here to help.
9. Have fun, obviously, and don't be afraid to message me (Broski1984) if you need any help!
Character Profile
Remember, you don't have to use this; it's simply here to help.
When playing SoMC&SS on multiplayer servers (kindly hosted by RPGateway), please follow the rules listed below. A handy character profile has also been included, to make creating your wasteland wanderer easier!
1. Please follow RPGateway's rules at all times.
2. Use your common sense; do not God-Mod, power-play, etc.
3. Please try to post regularly, at least once or twice a week. If you cannot post this regularly for whatever reason, please tell us ahead of time. Things come up, and we understand, but try and give us some warning. Similarly, if you want to leave the RP, please tell us so we can do something with your character(s).
4. Write well. Give us a couple meaty paragraphs at least, check your spelling and grammar, and generally give your posts some effort. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone gets writer's block, but in general, aim for quality.
5. Make sure your characters are well-written, too. Don't make blatant self-inserts or Mary-sues, and make sure your character will work in this world.
6. You may have as many characters as you can control; you can make them whenever, too. Meaning, you can make four characters at the start, but only use one for a while and introduce the others later.
7. At the start of the role play, only humans, exiles, androids/robots and muties will be playable, and most characters will either be mercs, or merchants/civilians with something to barter with so they can get mercenary protection. Once we get out of Blacksburg, there will be more opportunities for less "classy" civilians, raiders, etc., so don't despair. Beast-men and prefects will be introduced eventually.
8. You do not need to use the character profile provided, and if you do use it, you may alter it. It's just here to help.
9. Have fun, obviously, and don't be afraid to message me (Broski1984) if you need any help!
Character Profile
Remember, you don't have to use this; it's simply here to help.
- Code: Select all
[b]General[/b] (Put this in Description)
[u]Name[/u] -
[u]Aliases / Nick-Names[/u] -
[u]Race[/u] -
[u]Age[/u] -
[u]Height[/u] -
[u]Weight[/u] -
[b]Appearance[/b] (Also in Description)
(Pictures are fine, but text is preffered!)
[u]Build[/u] -
[u]Face[/u] -
[u]Eye Color[/u] -
[u]Hair[/u] - (Facial hair, if applicable, goes here)
[u]Mutations, Damage, Beast-Man Attributes[/u] - (If applicable)
Obviously, you will need to do something for personality and history; this is only to help with appearance.
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View All »Characters
Karen Ophelia Simms played by Fammikins
"At night I look to the stars, that's when I heard a voice speak to me; you are never alone."
Lucas R. King played by Soki
"Let's finish this, just me and you....and my gun; yes can't forget my gun.."
"I see many things with these weary eyes, but they pale in comparison to that which we see with the mind's eye."
Rupert Prackett played by Broski1984
"Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start."
Sir Aidan McKinsey played by Broski1984
"We laughed, my friends and I. We swore we'd be together until the day we died."
Seamus Roland played by Irishtoaster
A man who likes to hunt animals or anyone who crosses him. He gets most satisfaction from the latter
Maria-Eugenia Chavez played by aspartame
Judge me if you want. We're all going to die someday. I intend to deserve it.
Marcus Torrez played by Broski1984
"And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old. Well, I don't know, but I hope so."
Sebastian Andersson played by arock1214
"Wars teach us not to love our enemies, but to hate our allies."
Visit »The Orphanage
These poor, unfortunate souls were once a part of this great world, but have been abandoned. Why don't you consider viewing their profiles and making a decision on whether or not you can roleplay them accurately?
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Places in A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
37 postsThe New United States
"And, rise like a Phoenix from the ashes we shall, for we are Americans, and Americans do not ever give up." - Landon Lincoln's inaugural speech.
0 postsThe Prefect Colony
"See, the day of the LORD is coming, a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land desolate and destroy the sinners within it." Isaiah 13:9
0 postsThe Confederacy
"We shall not lose this war twice, men. Our ancestors fought, and they lost, but we will avenge them, and take what is rightfully ours." - General Jebediah's speech to the Fifth Infantry at Lexington.
0 postsNew England
"New England has a harsh climate, a barren soil, a rough and stormy coast, and yet we love it, even with a love passing that of dwellers in more favored regions." - Henry Cabot Lodge
0 postsTexas
"Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word." - John Steinbeck
0 postsCherokee Nation
"Cherokee people, Cherokee tribe, So proud to live, so proud to die, But someday when they learn, Cherokee Nation will return, Will return." - Cherokee Nation by Paul Revere & The Raiders
7 postsThe Fjord's Land
"Cattle die, kinsmen die; the self must also die. I know one thing which never dies: the reputation of each dead man." - Nordic Proverb
0 postsThe People's Republic of America
"Communists should be the first to be concerned about other people and country and the last to enjoy themselves." - Zhao Ziyang
0 postsArabia
"Arabia has a long history, and it is a bloody one. And, while we may of lost our blood lust over the generations, and become a truly noble people, we still can remember how to fight. Do not forget that." - Tisroc Azul
0 postsThe Junkyard
"The little computer knew then that computers would always grow wiser and more powerful until someday... someday... someday..." - Someday, by Isaac Asimov
0 postsThe Kingdom of Salut
"We knights are blessed in that we do not run from death. We seek it, grasp it by the throat and demand honor in our passing." - Tristan, from Arthurian legends
0 postsCalifornia
"Everything is just better in California - the wine, the food, fruits and vegetables, the comforts of living. Even the instrumentalists are generous and curious. Everything is wonderful." - Beth Anderson
0 postsThe Rio Grande Republic
"I would rather die standing than live on my knees!" - Emiliano Zapata
0 postsThe Neutral Region
"Those who say my country is wild and untamed, have clearly never been to the Neutral Zone, and felt a thousand blood thirsty eyes upon their back." - King Phineus Wolfgang III
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Activity
- 44 posts here • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
OOC Notes
((Man, I am so fucking sorry; my internet died last night, and it just now (at 2PM) came back on. Sorry for the long delays and tomfoolery!
Also, you should know that this is the first thing I've written - like actually written since the start of the year, and the first role play I've been in since Past The Mountains of Madness, so this may not be my most beautiful work.))
~~~
May 9th, 2334 - Blacksburg, Virginia
It is hot, unbearably so, even though it is late-spring by technical standards; summer starts earlier here now, and ends later. A long-running side-effect of the nuclear radiation and thinned ozone layer. It is the worst in the mid-afternoon sun, when the shadows cast by the small caravan's covered wagons are nearly gone.
The caravan arrived late yesterday morning, and set up hastily along the over-grown side of one of Blackburg's north-western roads. Judging by the unpaved dirt track, and the saplings and polksalad growing along the sides, it is not normally a road well-traveled. Today, it is - today, it is a good place to set up this kind of shop. Today, it is an escape-route from the pre-war city, and the track is crowded with aristocracy and peasants a-like, fleeing anywhere that isn't here.
The caravan, as previously said, is small, with only three wagons and a handful of guards, and it is not alone. Other caravans, some run by professional, competing companies, some hastily cobbled together by locals, line the road, waiting to be hired by enough people to warrant the long trips west or northward.
Although small, it is raking in enough business to warrant the measure, most of it gained thanks to the caravan's esteemed name; Delacroix & Montgomery Guns For Hire. Certainly, it isn't because of its appearance, or the appearance of its guards. They were the best in the area at the time, and if this battle hadn't shifted so damned suddenly, a better band of mercenaries would of been sent in their place.
The band's leader, Dean Hogan knows this. It was only because of luck that he was put in charge of leading this half-assed show, and he knows that, too, because if anyone else with a pair of legs, semi-functional senses and a trigger finger had been in the area, it would be them in front of the main wagon, shouting out price-quotes and promises into the crowd instead.
The fact is, he's getting too old for this, too old and too damned blind and his employers know it. It wasn't like he ever had any standing with them, anyway, especially after that fiasco with Montgomery a few long years back. Long, hard years, but ones that didn't put enough distance between now and then, or block out that horrible memory.
But there is no time for Hogan to dwell on these things (in fact, he probably isn't at the moment, anyway), when there are costumers to lure in. And so he continues to prance back and forth on his horse, from one end of his caravan's claimed territory to the other, the bay beast below him panting slightly in this God-awful heat, that almost makes one wish for a nuclear fucking winter.
"Going as far west as California, through Cherokee and Arabia! Professional company, with years of experience! Well-trained guards, eight-hour rests, generous rations!" He barks out into the crowd again, his voice more gravely and husky than usual from the constant shouting.
There is really nothing to do other than wait. Wait, and lure people in, and hope there is enough time to get out of here by nightfall. Party 23's leader notices some of the other gun-for-hire parties leaving now, and it isn't a bad idea. But the quota isn't full, and death by inbred hillbilly soldier, he decides, is far better than dealing with his employers angry.
And so he wipes the sweat from his brow, cries out once more, spewing out a quote for a family of four, and just hopes the damned slots will fill fast.
((Welp, shit post is shit, but hopefully this will be enough to start everyone off! It's Dummy/Blue/KO/Landon's turn to shine now, so I'm going to step off and I'm sure he'll have no trouble followin' my half-assed act.
Any questions should be directed to the OOC thread, where I will promptly answer them because I have no fucking life.))
Also, you should know that this is the first thing I've written - like actually written since the start of the year, and the first role play I've been in since Past The Mountains of Madness, so this may not be my most beautiful work.))
~~~
May 9th, 2334 - Blacksburg, Virginia
It is hot, unbearably so, even though it is late-spring by technical standards; summer starts earlier here now, and ends later. A long-running side-effect of the nuclear radiation and thinned ozone layer. It is the worst in the mid-afternoon sun, when the shadows cast by the small caravan's covered wagons are nearly gone.
The caravan arrived late yesterday morning, and set up hastily along the over-grown side of one of Blackburg's north-western roads. Judging by the unpaved dirt track, and the saplings and polksalad growing along the sides, it is not normally a road well-traveled. Today, it is - today, it is a good place to set up this kind of shop. Today, it is an escape-route from the pre-war city, and the track is crowded with aristocracy and peasants a-like, fleeing anywhere that isn't here.
The caravan, as previously said, is small, with only three wagons and a handful of guards, and it is not alone. Other caravans, some run by professional, competing companies, some hastily cobbled together by locals, line the road, waiting to be hired by enough people to warrant the long trips west or northward.
Although small, it is raking in enough business to warrant the measure, most of it gained thanks to the caravan's esteemed name; Delacroix & Montgomery Guns For Hire. Certainly, it isn't because of its appearance, or the appearance of its guards. They were the best in the area at the time, and if this battle hadn't shifted so damned suddenly, a better band of mercenaries would of been sent in their place.
The band's leader, Dean Hogan knows this. It was only because of luck that he was put in charge of leading this half-assed show, and he knows that, too, because if anyone else with a pair of legs, semi-functional senses and a trigger finger had been in the area, it would be them in front of the main wagon, shouting out price-quotes and promises into the crowd instead.
The fact is, he's getting too old for this, too old and too damned blind and his employers know it. It wasn't like he ever had any standing with them, anyway, especially after that fiasco with Montgomery a few long years back. Long, hard years, but ones that didn't put enough distance between now and then, or block out that horrible memory.
But there is no time for Hogan to dwell on these things (in fact, he probably isn't at the moment, anyway), when there are costumers to lure in. And so he continues to prance back and forth on his horse, from one end of his caravan's claimed territory to the other, the bay beast below him panting slightly in this God-awful heat, that almost makes one wish for a nuclear fucking winter.
"Going as far west as California, through Cherokee and Arabia! Professional company, with years of experience! Well-trained guards, eight-hour rests, generous rations!" He barks out into the crowd again, his voice more gravely and husky than usual from the constant shouting.
There is really nothing to do other than wait. Wait, and lure people in, and hope there is enough time to get out of here by nightfall. Party 23's leader notices some of the other gun-for-hire parties leaving now, and it isn't a bad idea. But the quota isn't full, and death by inbred hillbilly soldier, he decides, is far better than dealing with his employers angry.
And so he wipes the sweat from his brow, cries out once more, spewing out a quote for a family of four, and just hopes the damned slots will fill fast.
((Welp, shit post is shit, but hopefully this will be enough to start everyone off! It's Dummy/Blue/KO/Landon's turn to shine now, so I'm going to step off and I'm sure he'll have no trouble followin' my half-assed act.
Any questions should be directed to the OOC thread, where I will promptly answer them because I have no fucking life.))
OOC Notes
[It's no problem, worth the wait! You'll get back into the hang of things soon enough. I'm here to stay at any rate. *stubborn* If there's anything contradicting in my post, such as the food being mentioned, let me know.]
A hazy sun was glaring over the wastelands once again. The unclean stench of the wastes, like fetid meat, rose with the heat as those who dwelled in the day time awoke. Karen lay in bed as she observed the sooty calender salvaged from trash pinned to her studio apartment wall. The landlord had been kind enough to let her rent at least a half year here in Blacksburg. Although he himself wasn't all that kind. He thought he could cow Karen with threats but she saw through that charade. The woman is small but she is by no means one to be forced to yield to someone undeserving of respect. Rumors have always whispered of how the landlord would force some of his tenants to work at the local saloon. Fat chance that Karen had ever let that happen to herself. At least she was allowed to work in the town's tinkering garage, fixing up all things mechanical and technology related.
Her lease ends today and she's already packed to head out, move on to the next place. She's saved up a decent amount of money from her honest work. It was so nice to be nestled in the garage. There she was covered in the shade and surrounded by gears, tools, oil, things of that ilk that have always been ambrosial for one so eccentric with man crafted ware. Having bathed last night she pulls on her clothes quickly, knowing there are more pressing reasons to leave this place. A worn pair of jeans stitched with leather after being ripped, a dingy white tank top with her sleeveless long hoodie pulled over it, and a leather vest worn over that with numerous pockets. Nimble hands deftly wrap an aviator scarf around her hips to accessorize; an unfortunate genetic female impulse that has clung to her. It's too hot out to wear around her neck at any rate. Karen seizes her small pack with all of her few items and swings it on her back, also settling Shep over it. On her hips she tightens the holsters of Silas and Mordecai.
Perhaps it's odd to name her weapons but she's oddly attached to them. There isn't anything else out here to get attached to. Making friends is a dangerous move in an unknown town. Karen could be cordial when need be but overall she sees interaction as a beau geste; people are rarely sincere anymore. They either want your money, your body or your weapons out in the wastelands. It just isn't safe. Although there is always that rare one percent she can find out there at times. Such as whoever owns the beast producing such a strong musk. Animals are a surefire indication that one is most likely a decent person.
Karen's boots shuffle lazily in the sand as the sun's rays bathe her swarthy body. She's never had to fear wild animals as they've never bothered her and she doesn't see or hear any grotesque bugs. And as far as she knew beast-men didn't stay in this city as society limits them to the wilderness. Where they belong. Beasts are just fine near her but never beast-men. They're to be less trusted than raiders. She pauses outside of the crumbled apartment building, pulling her hood up to shield the sun from her jaded eyes and to shield her face from a majority of the citizens. Karen takes this time to sling her pack around, thin arm digging around until she clasps a baggy of the dried fruit usually sold in the town's entrepot after being imported from places with richer soil for crops and the like.
Bouncing it in her palm out of habit she shoulders her light pack again before respectfully approaching the man astride the weary looking equine. Anyone would be getting hot in this heat. The stifling air plumes around her but after living in it for a few months she is less apt to succumb to it. And it is still early in the day for herself. Karen has heard of this group but has never traveled with them. Chances are she'll have just enough to join the caravan. It'll be safer this way. When she left home she made the mistake of going it alone and allowing unprofessional strangers to wander with her. With the bag of dried apples in one hand she stares up at the older man. "How much would it be for one?" hopefully she'll have just enough.
She's been saving up for months and is quite frugal. As an afterthought she glances at the horse with a gesture and shows the bag of dried apples to the man, "Mind if I give him some, sir?" it's only polite to ask. She personally hates whenever a stranger would just walk up to one of her animals back home and began to mess with them in any fashion. Although Karen is more concerned about being allowed to interact with the horse than getting onto the caravan escort.
A hazy sun was glaring over the wastelands once again. The unclean stench of the wastes, like fetid meat, rose with the heat as those who dwelled in the day time awoke. Karen lay in bed as she observed the sooty calender salvaged from trash pinned to her studio apartment wall. The landlord had been kind enough to let her rent at least a half year here in Blacksburg. Although he himself wasn't all that kind. He thought he could cow Karen with threats but she saw through that charade. The woman is small but she is by no means one to be forced to yield to someone undeserving of respect. Rumors have always whispered of how the landlord would force some of his tenants to work at the local saloon. Fat chance that Karen had ever let that happen to herself. At least she was allowed to work in the town's tinkering garage, fixing up all things mechanical and technology related.
Her lease ends today and she's already packed to head out, move on to the next place. She's saved up a decent amount of money from her honest work. It was so nice to be nestled in the garage. There she was covered in the shade and surrounded by gears, tools, oil, things of that ilk that have always been ambrosial for one so eccentric with man crafted ware. Having bathed last night she pulls on her clothes quickly, knowing there are more pressing reasons to leave this place. A worn pair of jeans stitched with leather after being ripped, a dingy white tank top with her sleeveless long hoodie pulled over it, and a leather vest worn over that with numerous pockets. Nimble hands deftly wrap an aviator scarf around her hips to accessorize; an unfortunate genetic female impulse that has clung to her. It's too hot out to wear around her neck at any rate. Karen seizes her small pack with all of her few items and swings it on her back, also settling Shep over it. On her hips she tightens the holsters of Silas and Mordecai.
Perhaps it's odd to name her weapons but she's oddly attached to them. There isn't anything else out here to get attached to. Making friends is a dangerous move in an unknown town. Karen could be cordial when need be but overall she sees interaction as a beau geste; people are rarely sincere anymore. They either want your money, your body or your weapons out in the wastelands. It just isn't safe. Although there is always that rare one percent she can find out there at times. Such as whoever owns the beast producing such a strong musk. Animals are a surefire indication that one is most likely a decent person.
Karen's boots shuffle lazily in the sand as the sun's rays bathe her swarthy body. She's never had to fear wild animals as they've never bothered her and she doesn't see or hear any grotesque bugs. And as far as she knew beast-men didn't stay in this city as society limits them to the wilderness. Where they belong. Beasts are just fine near her but never beast-men. They're to be less trusted than raiders. She pauses outside of the crumbled apartment building, pulling her hood up to shield the sun from her jaded eyes and to shield her face from a majority of the citizens. Karen takes this time to sling her pack around, thin arm digging around until she clasps a baggy of the dried fruit usually sold in the town's entrepot after being imported from places with richer soil for crops and the like.
Bouncing it in her palm out of habit she shoulders her light pack again before respectfully approaching the man astride the weary looking equine. Anyone would be getting hot in this heat. The stifling air plumes around her but after living in it for a few months she is less apt to succumb to it. And it is still early in the day for herself. Karen has heard of this group but has never traveled with them. Chances are she'll have just enough to join the caravan. It'll be safer this way. When she left home she made the mistake of going it alone and allowing unprofessional strangers to wander with her. With the bag of dried apples in one hand she stares up at the older man. "How much would it be for one?" hopefully she'll have just enough.
She's been saving up for months and is quite frugal. As an afterthought she glances at the horse with a gesture and shows the bag of dried apples to the man, "Mind if I give him some, sir?" it's only polite to ask. She personally hates whenever a stranger would just walk up to one of her animals back home and began to mess with them in any fashion. Although Karen is more concerned about being allowed to interact with the horse than getting onto the caravan escort.
OOC Notes
Luke had settled nicely in with the mercs amongst the little caravan, in truth he'd not been apart of it for long; recently hired for this 'campaign' or so he liked to think of it as. He had personally met the caravan on it's way to Blacksburg. He had found his way into their camp at night, and well history is history. They had made it to the city Luke finding the place not to his liking, even with the suit being like a second skin he was still sweating heavily, he also surmised that wearing a crudely fashioned leather vest as well as leather pauldrons with knives sheathed to it and patched Denim jeans over the suit wouldn't help the situation. Oh he hated this more so because he could be camped out somewhere in the shade; but no, he was here watching as the leader of the caravan was throwing his voice to the crowd like a salesman, but in this case for lives. He gripped his L96A1 tightly as he glanced through the scope a few times the helmet of his suit sitting beside him as he watched as random people came closer, until he could no longer focus clearly on the scope. It was quite obvious the giant of a merc was very bored.
Then the sight of a girl caught his eye, she was quite fit; and by no means ugly at least to his eye. He smiled at her questioning, and as well about the horse. This would be overly intriguing if she was allowed to travel with them. He pushed himself away from one of the wagons and closed in on the boss and the girl. "Have a thing for animals do ya?" He asked with a rather broad smile, his face hidden by the sweat drenched bangs. He looked up at the man on the horse, wondering how much it did cost. He slipped his hands into his pocket the strap of the rifle pulled tightly against his chest as it hung at his hip. "Now with the look of the firepower your carrying, why would you need us, I mean personally If i wasn't being paid I'd rather travel alone" He said this with a slight shrug, it was the honest truth. Luke did far better on his own, the fact he carried only a few weapons just made it easier to throw off heavily armed enemies. He waited for a reply to the questions from the girl, as well as just wanting to listen in to the conversation between the big boss man and their possible new addition. Though it wasn't to hard to notice he was beginning to lose concentration during the wait as he began to space out and watch the distance as some of the caravans were already moving on; a sure sign of some mental disability, or maybe just a large amount of boredom, it was left up to the people that paid attention to his actions.
Then the sight of a girl caught his eye, she was quite fit; and by no means ugly at least to his eye. He smiled at her questioning, and as well about the horse. This would be overly intriguing if she was allowed to travel with them. He pushed himself away from one of the wagons and closed in on the boss and the girl. "Have a thing for animals do ya?" He asked with a rather broad smile, his face hidden by the sweat drenched bangs. He looked up at the man on the horse, wondering how much it did cost. He slipped his hands into his pocket the strap of the rifle pulled tightly against his chest as it hung at his hip. "Now with the look of the firepower your carrying, why would you need us, I mean personally If i wasn't being paid I'd rather travel alone" He said this with a slight shrug, it was the honest truth. Luke did far better on his own, the fact he carried only a few weapons just made it easier to throw off heavily armed enemies. He waited for a reply to the questions from the girl, as well as just wanting to listen in to the conversation between the big boss man and their possible new addition. Though it wasn't to hard to notice he was beginning to lose concentration during the wait as he began to space out and watch the distance as some of the caravans were already moving on; a sure sign of some mental disability, or maybe just a large amount of boredom, it was left up to the people that paid attention to his actions.
OOC Notes
"Argh! Don't touch me there you imbecile," John would have beaten the man with his stick if it wasn't thanks to their dreadful situation.
"Boss, we need to move quickly. You weren't shot, so just endure," the armed man said as he supported John in their would-be run, "There is a town up ahead, I think it's called-" the man didn't get further before he had to spit half a mouthful of blood out.
"Don't you dare to get that on my clothes! These clothes costs more than what you would earn in a thousand years!" John was enraged. He felt humiliated, betrayed and worst of all...Common. He had to walk, he didn't have any proper bodyguards left and now he was about to get his clothes dirtied by the one of the more dirtier men he has ever bothered to hired.
"Enough, enough!" John pulled himself out of the man's supportive grip and pushed him down on the ground; the man moaned in pain though it was far from the end for him. John limped over to the man and began to go through his pockets, "Wha- what are you doing?"
"Same thing you would have done to me. I didn't pay you to die slowly, so I'm taking my money back."
"You can't do-"
"Like you'll ever need them where you're going!" Finding the few hundred dollars that John had originally hired him with, he stuffed the money into his pocket. "No!" a bloody hand sprung out to stop John, but it was in vain. John was in a less wounded form, a few bruisers here and there and in general, sore and tired from all the running.
John almost howled when he saw the hand touching him. His purely white shirt was now stained with dirt and blood; if matters didn't become worse, the dying bodyguard suddenly experienced a form of 'death spasm' and he smeared the unclean colors even wider and deeper into John's shirt.
"You...lowlife, good-for-nothing!" John said and stood up, lifted his light brown leather show above the man's face and brought it down hard. With all his weight and strength, he stomped and kicked the man in the head while cursing and spitting at the corpse.
"I need a drink for this." Exhausted and loosing motivation quickly, John reached for his pocket where he normally stored a bottle of good whiskey, Oh wait...That's right. Was broken when it happened. John thought and then he crouched down to take what he needed next. The bodyguard was armed with an automatic rifle, a few grenades and a pistol. John had never tried a rifle and didn't know how to use it, grenades were like alien weapons to him, strange and seemingly useless, yet the pistol appeased more to him...After all, everyone knew how to pick up a gun and fire it. Take the pistol, he placed it in his suitcase where there were, perhaps, almost three thousand dollars worth of money, and then a few other pieces of paper that were stored away from plain sight.
Walking down the road, John entered Blacksburg. A rather pathetic city by John's metropolis standards, however if John had to, he would. So, continuing his journey through the town, leaning on his stick every time he had to use his left foot while his southern cowboy hat provided John with some form of shade as the sun burned down upon them.
Where the hell do will I get food, water and some new clothes here...Not to forget, how in the damned names of the nine hells, will I ever come away from these accursed frontiers?! Had John been in the pubic, he would have shouted this out and loud, but being a man of 'his standards' he didn't.
Wait...Is that? The Lord be praised, I'm saved! John thought with high enthusiasm, because, although it was a far stretched idea, he thought he could see a caravan and what would appear to be armed soldiers. Perfect for him, he could always bribe his way into getting what he wanted and based on what he could see around here, people could always use money. "Hey...You there!" John called as he got closer, and more eager, to the caravan, "Hey you, wait, wait damn it!" he continued to call as he got closer to caravan.
"I need to get away from the frontier, so let me come along. I'll pay half now," John said desperately, almost ripping his wallet out and started to count money, [b]"Where are you going? How quickly can we get there and how much do I have to pay now? Oh...And do you have whiskey?"[b]
John looked up, perhaps for the first time, as he looked at the more older man that was a part of the caravan. He looked like he was in good shape, despite having some harsh years behind him. He was partially bald, and he appeared to have a thin mustache-goatee combo. Well...At least he tries to appear professional, John thought as he eyed the man while keeping his suitcase on the ground, between his legs so no one would easily steal it.
"Boss, we need to move quickly. You weren't shot, so just endure," the armed man said as he supported John in their would-be run, "There is a town up ahead, I think it's called-" the man didn't get further before he had to spit half a mouthful of blood out.
"Don't you dare to get that on my clothes! These clothes costs more than what you would earn in a thousand years!" John was enraged. He felt humiliated, betrayed and worst of all...Common. He had to walk, he didn't have any proper bodyguards left and now he was about to get his clothes dirtied by the one of the more dirtier men he has ever bothered to hired.
"Enough, enough!" John pulled himself out of the man's supportive grip and pushed him down on the ground; the man moaned in pain though it was far from the end for him. John limped over to the man and began to go through his pockets, "Wha- what are you doing?"
"Same thing you would have done to me. I didn't pay you to die slowly, so I'm taking my money back."
"You can't do-"
"Like you'll ever need them where you're going!" Finding the few hundred dollars that John had originally hired him with, he stuffed the money into his pocket. "No!" a bloody hand sprung out to stop John, but it was in vain. John was in a less wounded form, a few bruisers here and there and in general, sore and tired from all the running.
John almost howled when he saw the hand touching him. His purely white shirt was now stained with dirt and blood; if matters didn't become worse, the dying bodyguard suddenly experienced a form of 'death spasm' and he smeared the unclean colors even wider and deeper into John's shirt.
"You...lowlife, good-for-nothing!" John said and stood up, lifted his light brown leather show above the man's face and brought it down hard. With all his weight and strength, he stomped and kicked the man in the head while cursing and spitting at the corpse.
"I need a drink for this." Exhausted and loosing motivation quickly, John reached for his pocket where he normally stored a bottle of good whiskey, Oh wait...That's right. Was broken when it happened. John thought and then he crouched down to take what he needed next. The bodyguard was armed with an automatic rifle, a few grenades and a pistol. John had never tried a rifle and didn't know how to use it, grenades were like alien weapons to him, strange and seemingly useless, yet the pistol appeased more to him...After all, everyone knew how to pick up a gun and fire it. Take the pistol, he placed it in his suitcase where there were, perhaps, almost three thousand dollars worth of money, and then a few other pieces of paper that were stored away from plain sight.
Walking down the road, John entered Blacksburg. A rather pathetic city by John's metropolis standards, however if John had to, he would. So, continuing his journey through the town, leaning on his stick every time he had to use his left foot while his southern cowboy hat provided John with some form of shade as the sun burned down upon them.
Where the hell do will I get food, water and some new clothes here...Not to forget, how in the damned names of the nine hells, will I ever come away from these accursed frontiers?! Had John been in the pubic, he would have shouted this out and loud, but being a man of 'his standards' he didn't.
Wait...Is that? The Lord be praised, I'm saved! John thought with high enthusiasm, because, although it was a far stretched idea, he thought he could see a caravan and what would appear to be armed soldiers. Perfect for him, he could always bribe his way into getting what he wanted and based on what he could see around here, people could always use money. "Hey...You there!" John called as he got closer, and more eager, to the caravan, "Hey you, wait, wait damn it!" he continued to call as he got closer to caravan.
"I need to get away from the frontier, so let me come along. I'll pay half now," John said desperately, almost ripping his wallet out and started to count money, [b]"Where are you going? How quickly can we get there and how much do I have to pay now? Oh...And do you have whiskey?"[b]
John looked up, perhaps for the first time, as he looked at the more older man that was a part of the caravan. He looked like he was in good shape, despite having some harsh years behind him. He was partially bald, and he appeared to have a thin mustache-goatee combo. Well...At least he tries to appear professional, John thought as he eyed the man while keeping his suitcase on the ground, between his legs so no one would easily steal it.
OOC Notes
((The cold medicine will not help my writing skills, but once I am not drugged, it should begin to improve; also forgot to bold text in my first post, whoops))
As the 'customers' begin to approach him, Hogan stops his horse, the beast beginning to dig into the ground impatiently with its hoof almost immediately. He sighs, slightly embarrassed by his animal's behavior, adjusts his glasses, and addresses the young woman before him.
"It varies, depending on how far you are going, and what amenities you want. A basic trip to California - two meals a day, bedroll at night, water when you want it - will cost you $500 or equal in trade. Half up front, half when you get there." He mutters dryly to the girl, his expression showing only his tiredness and... perhaps a little surprise.
His colleague didn't need to point out how well armed she is, armed with better weapons than most mercs, and certainly more well trained in their use. He agrees that if he were her, he wouldn't hire mercs, but saying that out loud will only chase off business. He gives the Prefect boy a glance, a silent message to be quiet while daddy is talking before continuing.
"Of course, the less you travel, the less it costs; you may also supply your own rations, and cut costs there." He continues, something in him wondering if she can afford even the cut rate, for despite how armed she is, she does not look wealthy.
"And, yes, Ma'am, you may give the old beast a treat." He smiles slightly, and pats the neck of the sweaty horse gently, more in an effort to sell the caravan slot with his actions, than actual compassion for the animal. Before D&M teaches you how to work a compass, they teach you how to sell with your eyes.
Before he can break out the full song and dance, however, he's interrupted; some middle-aged, blood-soaked goon pushing his way through the crowd, calling to any caravan leader that'll look him in the eye. Well, who is Hogan to turn down a well-dressed, desperate man?
"I assure you, we aren't going anywhere." He tells the man kindly, his semi-fake smile growing just ever so slightly. "That will be $300 up front, $300 when you get there. Whiskey will be extra, but we do have it."
The scale slides a little with D&M, and he glances at the girl again, giving a slight wink to indicate this. A $100 break certainly won't hurt the deal with her.
As the 'customers' begin to approach him, Hogan stops his horse, the beast beginning to dig into the ground impatiently with its hoof almost immediately. He sighs, slightly embarrassed by his animal's behavior, adjusts his glasses, and addresses the young woman before him.
"It varies, depending on how far you are going, and what amenities you want. A basic trip to California - two meals a day, bedroll at night, water when you want it - will cost you $500 or equal in trade. Half up front, half when you get there." He mutters dryly to the girl, his expression showing only his tiredness and... perhaps a little surprise.
His colleague didn't need to point out how well armed she is, armed with better weapons than most mercs, and certainly more well trained in their use. He agrees that if he were her, he wouldn't hire mercs, but saying that out loud will only chase off business. He gives the Prefect boy a glance, a silent message to be quiet while daddy is talking before continuing.
"Of course, the less you travel, the less it costs; you may also supply your own rations, and cut costs there." He continues, something in him wondering if she can afford even the cut rate, for despite how armed she is, she does not look wealthy.
"And, yes, Ma'am, you may give the old beast a treat." He smiles slightly, and pats the neck of the sweaty horse gently, more in an effort to sell the caravan slot with his actions, than actual compassion for the animal. Before D&M teaches you how to work a compass, they teach you how to sell with your eyes.
Before he can break out the full song and dance, however, he's interrupted; some middle-aged, blood-soaked goon pushing his way through the crowd, calling to any caravan leader that'll look him in the eye. Well, who is Hogan to turn down a well-dressed, desperate man?
"I assure you, we aren't going anywhere." He tells the man kindly, his semi-fake smile growing just ever so slightly. "That will be $300 up front, $300 when you get there. Whiskey will be extra, but we do have it."
The scale slides a little with D&M, and he glances at the girl again, giving a slight wink to indicate this. A $100 break certainly won't hurt the deal with her.
OOC Notes
Karen had yet to notice the Exile nearby, perhaps for good reason. If you saw a cumbersome man glancing through his weapon's scope periodically along the crowd, you'd be pertubed too. This isn't the case as the young woman is enthralled with the worn out horse before her as well as being attentive to listen to its rider. Or at least she would be until the Exile's shadow spilled out over her. Jaded eyes blinking inside of her dark hood Karen glances up with slightly elevated eyebrows. This man is...beyond tall. He doesn't scare her, too many people are taller than she is and it's something she's grown accustomed to. Although his remarks force her wrapped arms to cross over her chest. "I find that animals are very comforting." and that itself is a luxury. There is little to no comfort out in the wasteland or even in these world-weary towns.
She couldn't tell if the giant meant to turn her away from the merc caravan or was giving her a compliment. Then again he seemed to let his eyes wander. She rolls up the bag of dried apples and tucks it into her coat pocket, shouldering her pack. Karen stepped sideways to be right in front of him, holding that focus politely as she looks up to answer him. "With all due respect sir, I can't safely make it all the way out to where I need to go alone and I know it. I run out of ammo and I'm dead." she may have said more but the sudden intrusion of a big (in every sense of the word) man startled her. His frenzied shouts ignited a chain reaction in Karen's body.
Swinging a strong leg across the ground the scarf wound around her supple waist and her hoodie's long tail flared out as she crouched somewhat, taking a defensive stance as a pistol is produced in either hand. As soon as it becomes clear the sweaty man is just looking for protection (and hastily) Karen stands upright before she holsters Silas and Mordecai. She reaches into her hood to scratch at her nape sheepishly, leaning her weight onto one leg as her hip rests sideways. Either this posh although putrid looking gentleman interrupted because he's...just that way, or he is obviously fleeing from someone or something. Either way Karen doesn't want to know and decides to pointedly ignore the bloodstains on him. No business of hers to poke her nose where it doesn't belong.
The man astride the bay draft horse states the initial price and Karen does her best not to wince. She barely has half of that kind of money. Her landlord made sure to wring her dry on her last month's payment when she refused him a personal favor, instead pistol-whipping him in the alley and running to her room. Karen's eyes glance down to the rich man's boot, momentarily distracted. It's bloody, worse than its twin. He either slipped through something nasty or...or hurt someone. Again she reminds herself to just drop it and fog up her skills of observation. She had nearly forgotten she was given permission to feed the horse. Mr. Moneybags distracted her from it.
Karen takes out the small bag again and approaches the horse while holding her breath. It's been nearly a year since she's seen a horse let alone be up and close with one. A year is too long for her. She shakes some of the clumped fruit into her hand and holds it out to the equine's soft mouth, making a soft kissing sound with her mouth out of habit. "Easy..." she coos at the horse before glancing up at its rider. He seems to be giving her a good deal and despite the fact that he knows all the strings to make this puppet dance, she'd like to think of him as a decent person just out to make ends' meet. "Count me in, sir. I can supply my own rations and I only need to get as far as Arabia." they don't know how much money she has but whatever she'll need she can scrape up by scavenging along the way, maybe do some extra work for them. Do mercs need extra work done? Karen decides not to worry about that right then and simply basked near the horse.
She couldn't tell if the giant meant to turn her away from the merc caravan or was giving her a compliment. Then again he seemed to let his eyes wander. She rolls up the bag of dried apples and tucks it into her coat pocket, shouldering her pack. Karen stepped sideways to be right in front of him, holding that focus politely as she looks up to answer him. "With all due respect sir, I can't safely make it all the way out to where I need to go alone and I know it. I run out of ammo and I'm dead." she may have said more but the sudden intrusion of a big (in every sense of the word) man startled her. His frenzied shouts ignited a chain reaction in Karen's body.
Swinging a strong leg across the ground the scarf wound around her supple waist and her hoodie's long tail flared out as she crouched somewhat, taking a defensive stance as a pistol is produced in either hand. As soon as it becomes clear the sweaty man is just looking for protection (and hastily) Karen stands upright before she holsters Silas and Mordecai. She reaches into her hood to scratch at her nape sheepishly, leaning her weight onto one leg as her hip rests sideways. Either this posh although putrid looking gentleman interrupted because he's...just that way, or he is obviously fleeing from someone or something. Either way Karen doesn't want to know and decides to pointedly ignore the bloodstains on him. No business of hers to poke her nose where it doesn't belong.
The man astride the bay draft horse states the initial price and Karen does her best not to wince. She barely has half of that kind of money. Her landlord made sure to wring her dry on her last month's payment when she refused him a personal favor, instead pistol-whipping him in the alley and running to her room. Karen's eyes glance down to the rich man's boot, momentarily distracted. It's bloody, worse than its twin. He either slipped through something nasty or...or hurt someone. Again she reminds herself to just drop it and fog up her skills of observation. She had nearly forgotten she was given permission to feed the horse. Mr. Moneybags distracted her from it.
Karen takes out the small bag again and approaches the horse while holding her breath. It's been nearly a year since she's seen a horse let alone be up and close with one. A year is too long for her. She shakes some of the clumped fruit into her hand and holds it out to the equine's soft mouth, making a soft kissing sound with her mouth out of habit. "Easy..." she coos at the horse before glancing up at its rider. He seems to be giving her a good deal and despite the fact that he knows all the strings to make this puppet dance, she'd like to think of him as a decent person just out to make ends' meet. "Count me in, sir. I can supply my own rations and I only need to get as far as Arabia." they don't know how much money she has but whatever she'll need she can scrape up by scavenging along the way, maybe do some extra work for them. Do mercs need extra work done? Karen decides not to worry about that right then and simply basked near the horse.
OOC Notes
The Exile noticed the look he got and scoffed at it. The old man did all the talking but sometimes He wondered, letting it go for now as the girl replied. He smiled at the first answer, being comforted by animals. That's normal He, himself found the honest traveling companion of a four legged creatures was always better then cut-throats. Though the second answer surprised him more then anything he had heard so far. He figured someone like her, she'd know how to handle her ammo and the fact that she's small and probably quick which means she shouldn't have the problem of sneaking around. He was about to reply but when another person came running up, this one looked like many of the rest, someone who thought himself super important and needed a safe-way to cross the waste. Luke nearly gagged this type of people made him sick, but business was business. He gave the girl one final glance before he retreated back to the caravan picking up his helmet it and sliding it on his head and locking it into place, as well as tapping the top left corner of the visor so it darkened and hid his face from prying eyes, hell if he wanted to he could also use it to distort his voice. (but then that would seem like a cliche cut out of a movie, and lord knows no one wants that)
He settled back into his place perched on the edge of one of the wagons rifle returned to his hands as he returned to scoping the crowd. A good thing that it wasn't loaded, his finger pulling the trigger on few heads that he followed, the click giving him comfort knowing that in his imagination, the head he was following was now nothing but goo. Oh how easily it was for him to entertain himself ADD ADHD, or so said the books back in the colony. He had no reason to change it either, both of them had kept him alive, the fact that he had to learn how to multi-task because of the ADD, kept him from focusing to much on the sniping, cause everyone knows when in a gun fight you get to comfortable someone's right around the corner with a knife to slit your throat. He let the rifle fall to his side as he returned his gaze to the boss man and the two people that would probably be their traveling companions for awhile, waiting for the indication and movement to show they were aboard.
He settled back into his place perched on the edge of one of the wagons rifle returned to his hands as he returned to scoping the crowd. A good thing that it wasn't loaded, his finger pulling the trigger on few heads that he followed, the click giving him comfort knowing that in his imagination, the head he was following was now nothing but goo. Oh how easily it was for him to entertain himself ADD ADHD, or so said the books back in the colony. He had no reason to change it either, both of them had kept him alive, the fact that he had to learn how to multi-task because of the ADD, kept him from focusing to much on the sniping, cause everyone knows when in a gun fight you get to comfortable someone's right around the corner with a knife to slit your throat. He let the rifle fall to his side as he returned his gaze to the boss man and the two people that would probably be their traveling companions for awhile, waiting for the indication and movement to show they were aboard.
OOC Notes
(Here goes an entry, I guess.)
300 meters. was the number that appeared in front of his eyes. He took aim.
250 meters. the object in motion was closing fast. He racked a bullet.
200 meters. BANG. He fired off only a single bullet, striking straight through a critical nerve on the creature, disabling it, causing it to crash down on the ground, hard. Dyardin put his rifle over his back, and proceeded on like nothing had happened. This was rather typical procedure for him, since things tended to attack him out in the wasteland. Dyardin checked his ammunition, and realized he was dangerously low. He would need to get to town quickly.
Dyardin was heading for a town, in particular, one named Blacksburg, which was the nearest town for a very long ways. He decided to stop for a moment there before moving on, as he had already set a course for somewhere else. While there, he might stock up on ammo and other supplies, maybe even find a travelling companion, since it got very lonely out in the wasteland. Being an android didn't help his cause.
Dyardin had tried already at several towns to find someone to travel with him, but, for some reason, nobody wanted to go with him. He decided it was due to him being an android, since that was not something you would see commonly walking down the streets. He hoped that he would have better luck at the town of Blacksburg.
Dyardin walked into the town and glanced around, noticing a small shop that apparently sold ammunition. He walked inside and grabbed a few boxes of rounds for his rifle, walked up to the clerk, and pulled a small pouch from a pocket. He pulled out a couple of platinum coins (which valued a couple hundred dollars), which brought surprise to the clerk's face. Dyardin waited until he got his change and stored the pouch back in the pocket he produced it from, and walked out of the shop with the few medium-sized boxes he had purchased.
Dyardin then began looking around the town, examining everyone and seeing if they were compatible traveling companions. He noticed a caravan, and noticed the caravan was well-armed. He walked up to the caravan and heard a man shouting, and analyzed the voice. Just from the tone of the voice, Dyardin could tell this man was something to be dealt with. He walked over to the man and spoke, "Pardon my asking, but might I be able to accompany your caravan? I can pay in advance if it is required." Dyardin's voice was metallic, and if the suit wasn't enough of a give-away, this would surely give away that he was an android.
300 meters. was the number that appeared in front of his eyes. He took aim.
250 meters. the object in motion was closing fast. He racked a bullet.
200 meters. BANG. He fired off only a single bullet, striking straight through a critical nerve on the creature, disabling it, causing it to crash down on the ground, hard. Dyardin put his rifle over his back, and proceeded on like nothing had happened. This was rather typical procedure for him, since things tended to attack him out in the wasteland. Dyardin checked his ammunition, and realized he was dangerously low. He would need to get to town quickly.
Dyardin was heading for a town, in particular, one named Blacksburg, which was the nearest town for a very long ways. He decided to stop for a moment there before moving on, as he had already set a course for somewhere else. While there, he might stock up on ammo and other supplies, maybe even find a travelling companion, since it got very lonely out in the wasteland. Being an android didn't help his cause.
Dyardin had tried already at several towns to find someone to travel with him, but, for some reason, nobody wanted to go with him. He decided it was due to him being an android, since that was not something you would see commonly walking down the streets. He hoped that he would have better luck at the town of Blacksburg.
Dyardin walked into the town and glanced around, noticing a small shop that apparently sold ammunition. He walked inside and grabbed a few boxes of rounds for his rifle, walked up to the clerk, and pulled a small pouch from a pocket. He pulled out a couple of platinum coins (which valued a couple hundred dollars), which brought surprise to the clerk's face. Dyardin waited until he got his change and stored the pouch back in the pocket he produced it from, and walked out of the shop with the few medium-sized boxes he had purchased.
Dyardin then began looking around the town, examining everyone and seeing if they were compatible traveling companions. He noticed a caravan, and noticed the caravan was well-armed. He walked up to the caravan and heard a man shouting, and analyzed the voice. Just from the tone of the voice, Dyardin could tell this man was something to be dealt with. He walked over to the man and spoke, "Pardon my asking, but might I be able to accompany your caravan? I can pay in advance if it is required." Dyardin's voice was metallic, and if the suit wasn't enough of a give-away, this would surely give away that he was an android.
OOC Notes
"Estimated travalling time to settlement: 2-1000 minutes." A flat metal voice sounded, to no one in particular.
Model-TK39 or "Bob" walked foot by foot, as unaturally human as possible -a foot raised vertically upwards, moved horizontally forward and dropped vertically on the ground- while keeping it's very primary focus to resemble one of a human.
This went on for some time until he shortly reached a large crowd, which was fairly silent, eyes that had been casted on him and on something else.
"What are you, you, you, you looking at, Foos?" He said robotically putting empahsis on each syllable, walking past the crowd as his face whirred into a scowl. "Unlikely hostile." He commented, till he was at the front of the caravan and turned his head 90 degrees to the person, No, android that was standing there as well. "What up, brother?" He said, his arm being raised upwards in an attempt to say hello. Before whirring his head to the front of his body and having his face turn back to it's original expression.
"Is this ride going to the nearest settlement or area and do you have extra batteries that I may aqcuire from you with this useless 'Money?' I shall pay for the trip for me and my buddy here."
Model-TK39 or "Bob" walked foot by foot, as unaturally human as possible -a foot raised vertically upwards, moved horizontally forward and dropped vertically on the ground- while keeping it's very primary focus to resemble one of a human.
This went on for some time until he shortly reached a large crowd, which was fairly silent, eyes that had been casted on him and on something else.
"What are you, you, you, you looking at, Foos?" He said robotically putting empahsis on each syllable, walking past the crowd as his face whirred into a scowl. "Unlikely hostile." He commented, till he was at the front of the caravan and turned his head 90 degrees to the person, No, android that was standing there as well. "What up, brother?" He said, his arm being raised upwards in an attempt to say hello. Before whirring his head to the front of his body and having his face turn back to it's original expression.
"Is this ride going to the nearest settlement or area and do you have extra batteries that I may aqcuire from you with this useless 'Money?' I shall pay for the trip for me and my buddy here."
OOC Notes
300 dollars for this? Is this man insane or just bloody desperate for money? John thought angrily, and he could feel a slight frown form on his face, however he knew that with his own situation being rather dire he would have to give in. Getting out his wallet and cleaning his hands on his otherwise beloved white shirt, he handed the $300 to the mercenary, and then added an additional $100, “That is for the Whiskey, for the whole journey. I can probably get whiskey from much higher branded companies for one hundred dollars than what you lot get.”
With that fixed, John picked up his suit case and added, “This suit case is of high value…I hope, for the sake of your payment, that it will not be lost during this…Trip.”
John then turned around and almost jumped by the mere sight of the androids that appeared. What is this? The circus? By everything that is holy and has a value, John thought, half cursing, as he took a step to get out of their way. John had never been particularly fond of androids, well, save for the few that he had hired to do some labor for him. He tried to avoid the emotionally detached things. They were useful, yes, however if they weren’t given a reason to work for you, then they could be both annoying and dangerous.
I think it would be best to…Avoid anything unneeded here, John said and then pulled out fifty dollars to the mercenary leader and said, in a low whisper, “I’d like to not be too close to these two…Cans.” John tried to keep his voice just audible between the two, though if it did occur that the two robots had heard him, well…Improvise.
With that fixed, John picked up his suit case and added, “This suit case is of high value…I hope, for the sake of your payment, that it will not be lost during this…Trip.”
John then turned around and almost jumped by the mere sight of the androids that appeared. What is this? The circus? By everything that is holy and has a value, John thought, half cursing, as he took a step to get out of their way. John had never been particularly fond of androids, well, save for the few that he had hired to do some labor for him. He tried to avoid the emotionally detached things. They were useful, yes, however if they weren’t given a reason to work for you, then they could be both annoying and dangerous.
I think it would be best to…Avoid anything unneeded here, John said and then pulled out fifty dollars to the mercenary leader and said, in a low whisper, “I’d like to not be too close to these two…Cans.” John tried to keep his voice just audible between the two, though if it did occur that the two robots had heard him, well…Improvise.
OOC Notes
Dyardin turned at the clanking of metal, only to see a robot walk up. He observed the robot carefully, recalling data about it from his memory banks, recognizing it as a Model-TK39. The robot raised a hand and talked to him, so Dyardin responded, "I am afraid you are mistaken, Model-TK39. I am afraid we are not brothers. In fact, we are not related in any way aside from being made of machinery." Dyardin briefly wondered why the Model-TK39 raised its hand, and quickly figured it was part of some form of greeting.
Dyardin heard the Model-TK39 saying he would pay for himself and Dyardin, so he said, "I was going to pay for my own travel, but if you are willing to pay for me, I accept your kind offer. If you are in need of batteries, I have some spare batteries and a solar recharger. If you require usage of the charger, simply ask me, and I shall give it to you." Dyardin then turned back to the man that he and the Model-TK39 were originally talking to, when he heard the snide comment that John made.
Dyardin turned to John and, in an almost angry-sounding tone, asked, "What are you implying when you say 'cans?' For your sake, you had better not be referring to me and this Model-TK39. We are not cans." Standing up for someone was something Dyardin rarely did unless he knew them well, but Bob, the Model-TK39, had offered to pay for his trip, so Dyardin felt a need to stand up for Bob. Dyardin was ready to draw his rifle at any given moment, just in case things got bad.
Dyardin heard the Model-TK39 saying he would pay for himself and Dyardin, so he said, "I was going to pay for my own travel, but if you are willing to pay for me, I accept your kind offer. If you are in need of batteries, I have some spare batteries and a solar recharger. If you require usage of the charger, simply ask me, and I shall give it to you." Dyardin then turned back to the man that he and the Model-TK39 were originally talking to, when he heard the snide comment that John made.
Dyardin turned to John and, in an almost angry-sounding tone, asked, "What are you implying when you say 'cans?' For your sake, you had better not be referring to me and this Model-TK39. We are not cans." Standing up for someone was something Dyardin rarely did unless he knew them well, but Bob, the Model-TK39, had offered to pay for his trip, so Dyardin felt a need to stand up for Bob. Dyardin was ready to draw his rifle at any given moment, just in case things got bad.
OOC Notes
Model TK-39 looked back at the strange robot whose body more emulated human then he did, talk back. Bob on the other hand talked back in the same mono type voice. "But because we are related by machinery, because I have seen very few robots and because you're body structure, type, and manufacturer is not on track with my database that I have called you 'brother.' instead of an actual name."
The blue robot listened to more of the android's speech. "Thank you for your kindness, I shall ask for your charger when we are on this premature taxi."
As he turned back to the man who was supposedly in charge he heard the comment that John had made and the red siren that was atop his head went off for one second with the lights and sound.
He violently turned his head to the fat man who said those words and said back in a higher decibal level but in the same monotone voice. "At least me and my friend are not built like a condom filled with walnuts, you pathetic excuse for a female human being and a laughable tiresome excuse for a male human being."
The blue robot listened to more of the android's speech. "Thank you for your kindness, I shall ask for your charger when we are on this premature taxi."
As he turned back to the man who was supposedly in charge he heard the comment that John had made and the red siren that was atop his head went off for one second with the lights and sound.
He violently turned his head to the fat man who said those words and said back in a higher decibal level but in the same monotone voice. "At least me and my friend are not built like a condom filled with walnuts, you pathetic excuse for a female human being and a laughable tiresome excuse for a male human being."
OOC Notes
Hearing the girl will be coming along - that he's managed to pull another customer in, despite his less-than-well-supplied caravan, only makes Hogan's smile a bit wider, and this time, genuine. Perhaps, if he can pull off this trip, he'll get a few more years out of this job, despite Montgomery's warnings.
Blind or not, he can still sell a slot in a caravan.
"With you supplying your own rations, and leaving at Arabia, the cost goes down to about $325, depending on which stop you get off at." He tells her, cutting the price down just a bit more than he should, this time out of more genuine kindness - and because this new man seems like a financial gold mine.
...If not a pain in the ass.
Fortunately, before the fat bastard can complain about the cost, another customer strides up - this one a wee bit south of human.
"There are still spots open... sir." He begins, as the masked android approaches. Admittedly, he isn't ever sure what androids like to be called, or if sir was even appropriate. How much of a gender could a robot have, really? Regardless, Hogan begins to calculate out a quote - barely getting finished with it, before the second robot approaches, sending his already misbehaving horse into fresh hysterics. The fact is, this robot looks like an old tin toy, grown to immense proportions.
But this one wants an escort as well, and who is he to turn down the fellow, even if a walking slot machine really doesn't need protection?
"For you, sir," he begins again, addressing the less-human of the two robots, seeing as he apparently wants to pay both their ways, "the fare will be $60, if you want off at the first stop. That will be Cincinnati, Ohio. No rations, you figure out your own electrical needs; we do not stock batteries. If your friend wants to go to California, it will cost him $350. Less distance is less money."
And then the fatass begins to spew, the dams that are his lips bursting. He isn't surprised the cost is an issue (it always is with these wealthy types), or that the quality of their whiskey would be questioned.
"That will pay for a case of our finest whiskey. I hope that will be enough, sir." Hogan mutters, his voice notably absent and uncaring, before continuing, "I assure you, your suit case will get to California in pristine shape. I'll have my colleague here tend to it personally." With that, he gestures to the exile - who he hopes is paying at least some attention to the ordeal.
Really, it was probably a mistake to hire the kid.
And then he is being bribed, in front of other customers. He isn't a man of outstanding morals, nor is he exactly fond of mechanical men himself, but this is outrageous.
"Sir, are you attempting to bribe me? In front of other clients, no less? Have you no manners?" He asks, his voice loud enough for the entire party to hear.
((I will get this thing movin' along after this post. I gots ideas 'n' shit. I'm also dead fucking tired and sick, so I'm going to go back to sleep and may not be available for the rest of the day. Also I think I changed POV at least once but I am too close to puking to give a shit oh well))
Blind or not, he can still sell a slot in a caravan.
"With you supplying your own rations, and leaving at Arabia, the cost goes down to about $325, depending on which stop you get off at." He tells her, cutting the price down just a bit more than he should, this time out of more genuine kindness - and because this new man seems like a financial gold mine.
...If not a pain in the ass.
Fortunately, before the fat bastard can complain about the cost, another customer strides up - this one a wee bit south of human.
"There are still spots open... sir." He begins, as the masked android approaches. Admittedly, he isn't ever sure what androids like to be called, or if sir was even appropriate. How much of a gender could a robot have, really? Regardless, Hogan begins to calculate out a quote - barely getting finished with it, before the second robot approaches, sending his already misbehaving horse into fresh hysterics. The fact is, this robot looks like an old tin toy, grown to immense proportions.
But this one wants an escort as well, and who is he to turn down the fellow, even if a walking slot machine really doesn't need protection?
"For you, sir," he begins again, addressing the less-human of the two robots, seeing as he apparently wants to pay both their ways, "the fare will be $60, if you want off at the first stop. That will be Cincinnati, Ohio. No rations, you figure out your own electrical needs; we do not stock batteries. If your friend wants to go to California, it will cost him $350. Less distance is less money."
And then the fatass begins to spew, the dams that are his lips bursting. He isn't surprised the cost is an issue (it always is with these wealthy types), or that the quality of their whiskey would be questioned.
"That will pay for a case of our finest whiskey. I hope that will be enough, sir." Hogan mutters, his voice notably absent and uncaring, before continuing, "I assure you, your suit case will get to California in pristine shape. I'll have my colleague here tend to it personally." With that, he gestures to the exile - who he hopes is paying at least some attention to the ordeal.
Really, it was probably a mistake to hire the kid.
And then he is being bribed, in front of other customers. He isn't a man of outstanding morals, nor is he exactly fond of mechanical men himself, but this is outrageous.
"Sir, are you attempting to bribe me? In front of other clients, no less? Have you no manners?" He asks, his voice loud enough for the entire party to hear.
((I will get this thing movin' along after this post. I gots ideas 'n' shit. I'm also dead fucking tired and sick, so I'm going to go back to sleep and may not be available for the rest of the day. Also I think I changed POV at least once but I am too close to puking to give a shit oh well))
OOC Notes
Oh the exile had been paying close attention, and he scoffed quite loudly at the indication that he'd be on suitcase watch. "I don't remember signing up watching luggage get one of your other less battle trained mercs to do it. I signed up to kill anything in are way and deal with people that don't wanna pay, not to babysit the cargo.." He grumbled, though in all he'd probably do it anyways. He shifted his feet as he focused on the group that had assembled in front of Hogan, Two bots, the bot-hater and the girl. Though his mind returned to the android, a smirk carving his face behind the visor of his helm. "Dyardin! you old bucket of bolts!" He called marching forward and slapping a heavy hand upon the androids shoulder. "What the hell brings you this far south, I thought You went off west?" He questioned, the male had known the Android from a previous engagement with another merc company; that one just alittle more secretive then this one. "Oh and did you ever get the stealth generator fixed, You did get the hand-me-down suit." He joked; oh the memories of when they had first met; then again the only real memories that entered his head were all occupied of gunfire explosions and the odd body-part flying into sight.
He turned back towards the Caravan, he began to think that he had sunk pretty low to be working like this, back then it was all gun fights and large explosions. The good ol'days to put it simply, days where things were simple, all you needed was enough ammo to get through the day, and enough sense to watch were you stepped. He slowly regained awareness of the situation. He however crossed his arms, hearing about the bribe he only chuckled quietly. What merc didn't take bribes? He didn't think it really mattered to the rest of the people here; except Dyardin and the walking slot machine. He waited for this mess to blow over so, they could hopefully get on with the traveling, he was already bored waiting here for people to join their caravan, then again he got bored just walking too.
He turned back towards the Caravan, he began to think that he had sunk pretty low to be working like this, back then it was all gun fights and large explosions. The good ol'days to put it simply, days where things were simple, all you needed was enough ammo to get through the day, and enough sense to watch were you stepped. He slowly regained awareness of the situation. He however crossed his arms, hearing about the bribe he only chuckled quietly. What merc didn't take bribes? He didn't think it really mattered to the rest of the people here; except Dyardin and the walking slot machine. He waited for this mess to blow over so, they could hopefully get on with the traveling, he was already bored waiting here for people to join their caravan, then again he got bored just walking too.
OOC Notes
Dyardin turned at a familiar voice, and instanty recognized who it was. "Lucas! (that's his name, right?) It has been a long time since I have seen you last. How have you been?" Dyardin said, giving his old partner a pat on the back. "Whatever brought me down here must have been fate, since we have been reunited. I have been really busy doing a lot of nothing, but I did manage to fix the generator. If you do not believe me, then you should take a look for yourself!" Dyardin stood there for a moment, before the stealth generator in his suit kicked in, and he faded from sight. He then disabled it and reappeared, saying, "It is surprising what one can do with a few small pieces of machinery. On another note, I am glad that I have found you. It gets very lonely in the wasteland, even though I am an android. It will be fun to travel together again." Dyardin then remembered the man from before mentioning a price, so Dyardin reached into a pocket and produced $400 dollars. He handed the money to Lucas and said, "That is $50 more than the cost for me to travel with your caravan. You may keep the additional $50."
Dyardin paused, then said, "So, how did you end up out in this town? Did things go bad with..." Dyardin would have continued, but he didn't want to reveal the organization, so he covered for it. "..what you were doing up north?" He hoped Lucas still knew the code that their organization came up with, which used common words in place of other ones to decieve those listening.
(Just make up the code if you want.)
Dyardin paused, then said, "So, how did you end up out in this town? Did things go bad with..." Dyardin would have continued, but he didn't want to reveal the organization, so he covered for it. "..what you were doing up north?" He hoped Lucas still knew the code that their organization came up with, which used common words in place of other ones to decieve those listening.
(Just make up the code if you want.)
OOC Notes
Bob looked over to the man that just jumped from the Carav to the Android calling him "Dyardin." The android himself seems to be informal in this man's presence calling him "Lucas". Analyzing name to face recongnition to database. They seemed to be talking about some sort of stealth generator, whatever such a device deems to be. Error, Error. Model TK-39 thought as the android was nowhere to be seen. "Dyardin is dead." He let out in a sorrowfull voice, before correcting himself as Dyardin reappeared again. "Dyardin is alive." Bob said again, mentally thinking to himself the cause of this phenomenon.
He can see the 'droid going up to the man and paying him money.
"Hey, I was suppose to pay..." Bob let out sulking with his monotone voice.
Still the robot walked over to the same man and quickly analyzed his face. Flabby cheeks, facial hair reminiscent of a giant upside down U, the production of wrinkles in the facial skin. This man is 50-60 years old, or suffers from serious symptoms of stress resulting in advanced aging. The two slots of Model TK-39 started turning and turning, causing music made by a man named Aram Khachaturian and a piece of rhythm called the Sabre Dance. to play.
After an excruciating minute of Ooos and ahhs from the crowd, even the horse that was galloping in place now glanced at the robot with wonder. Music was obviously not a big thing now. One of the slots stopped in place a picture of a three cherry's. The second slot slowing down going to bell, seven sign, theeen cherry. A light alarm sounded for Bob's head as ten gold coins poured out of bob through a slot onto the ground.
"I will be going as far as I can. I am undecided which stop I shall departure at so this so my options will be open..." A pause was in the air as the Model TK-39 reilized what was also wrong now. "I am unable to pick up the change for I don't have any hands." He raised up his blue arms, a whirring sound followed as he did this to point out he has no hands.
Of course he hasn't forgotten about the fat he-she (In his eyes), Bob was simply ignoring his... no her...its existence.
He can see the 'droid going up to the man and paying him money.
"Hey, I was suppose to pay..." Bob let out sulking with his monotone voice.
Still the robot walked over to the same man and quickly analyzed his face. Flabby cheeks, facial hair reminiscent of a giant upside down U, the production of wrinkles in the facial skin. This man is 50-60 years old, or suffers from serious symptoms of stress resulting in advanced aging. The two slots of Model TK-39 started turning and turning, causing music made by a man named Aram Khachaturian and a piece of rhythm called the Sabre Dance. to play.
After an excruciating minute of Ooos and ahhs from the crowd, even the horse that was galloping in place now glanced at the robot with wonder. Music was obviously not a big thing now. One of the slots stopped in place a picture of a three cherry's. The second slot slowing down going to bell, seven sign, theeen cherry. A light alarm sounded for Bob's head as ten gold coins poured out of bob through a slot onto the ground.
"I will be going as far as I can. I am undecided which stop I shall departure at so this so my options will be open..." A pause was in the air as the Model TK-39 reilized what was also wrong now. "I am unable to pick up the change for I don't have any hands." He raised up his blue arms, a whirring sound followed as he did this to point out he has no hands.
Of course he hasn't forgotten about the fat he-she (In his eyes), Bob was simply ignoring his... no her...its existence.
OOC Notes
Karen was in awe when the android and the charming wee robot came into the scene. If there's something she loves more than horses, it's AI and programmed entities. She resists the urge to ask them how they're running or if they'd be willing to let her look at their inside clockwork. The trained female can already peg the robot as a TK39 "Bob"; obviously one of the slightly older gambling machines. However its companion is difficult to discern model wise since androids vary at a high rate. Karen keeps her eccentric blathering to herself, eying the robot's angles and wondering if a gambling machine could be modified into a self-protecting weapon. Then again Bob could very well be a weapon at the same time. Security usually runs high with casinos.
Rubbing the horse's muzzle as she fed him the snack Karen pats the animal's neck before stepping away. Although still being near to the horse she caught the bribe and visibly frowned her disapproval at the pig after the caravan leader told her the price for Arabia with cut ration. At least he called the man out on the bribe. Perhaps the older man atop the horse has some sense of morality. There's still time to figure that out. She reached into her bag and fished out a drawstring wallet, pulling out the coiled bills needed for her down payment for the trip. Karen kept a dull ear in the direction of the Exile and the android out of a mixture of fascination and paranoia. That Exile doesn't seem all there in the head.
When a song begins to play the woman's pale eyes widen in surprise. That wasn't something she had been expecting; music is fairly rare in the wasteland. Usually it's just dust skittering across the wind or gunshots being sounded off. Fistful of cash in one hand she observes the distressed (and adorable; at least to a tech-junkie) slot machine robot spill out a few coins. Did it mean to use those as payment for the caravan? She isn't certain if they would take casino coins, but either way the little guy could literally use a hand. Karen approaches Bob and kneels to pluck up the coins in one caramel hand with a brief smile to the robot, if it could so detect them. Her facial scar pulls one corner of her mouth much higher up than the other before she stands up, straightening. "Were you going to use this as payment for the caravan?" she hesitantly inquires, not wanting to assume anything on the robot's behalf.
Rubbing the horse's muzzle as she fed him the snack Karen pats the animal's neck before stepping away. Although still being near to the horse she caught the bribe and visibly frowned her disapproval at the pig after the caravan leader told her the price for Arabia with cut ration. At least he called the man out on the bribe. Perhaps the older man atop the horse has some sense of morality. There's still time to figure that out. She reached into her bag and fished out a drawstring wallet, pulling out the coiled bills needed for her down payment for the trip. Karen kept a dull ear in the direction of the Exile and the android out of a mixture of fascination and paranoia. That Exile doesn't seem all there in the head.
When a song begins to play the woman's pale eyes widen in surprise. That wasn't something she had been expecting; music is fairly rare in the wasteland. Usually it's just dust skittering across the wind or gunshots being sounded off. Fistful of cash in one hand she observes the distressed (and adorable; at least to a tech-junkie) slot machine robot spill out a few coins. Did it mean to use those as payment for the caravan? She isn't certain if they would take casino coins, but either way the little guy could literally use a hand. Karen approaches Bob and kneels to pluck up the coins in one caramel hand with a brief smile to the robot, if it could so detect them. Her facial scar pulls one corner of her mouth much higher up than the other before she stands up, straightening. "Were you going to use this as payment for the caravan?" she hesitantly inquires, not wanting to assume anything on the robot's behalf.
OOC Notes
Critical Analyzation of surroundings : Twelve organics, One android, everyone armed. As always.
As Bob was going to proceed to walk into the caravan, a woman started to walk towards him and picked up the coins up from the ground. Of course the walking slot machine was confused for primarily two reasons.
One was why she was picking up the coins when it was for the older male to take.
The second was that Model TK-39 could not see the person primarily of the height difference least until he tiltled his box head downwards till it hit his larger boxed torso.
The female appeared to be african-american, about 5'6 or 5'3. She appears to be small but healthy, something that the observations of Bob for the last 160 years failed to find in most humans. She had smiled at Bob, the walking slot machine observing as the scar ran up her cheek from her upper lip to the bridge of her nose, to her forehead creating what seems to be a perfect divide. This mark was either intentional or by accident which is unlikely.
Bob looked at her as she stood up, still needing to have his head looked down as she asked her question. "Caravan? Of course. Why else would I suddenly distribute such an item?" Bob responded back not seeing the reason for this. "It is made of 30% Gold, 60% Nickel, 5% Titanium, 2.5% Aluminum, 1.75% Iridium, and 1.75% Radium." Bob took a step forward and then back, seemingly for no reason. "I am Model TK-39 or 'Bob'. Is this value of currency still acceptable?" Model TK-39 asked, though his voice shown no sign of worry, his processes did. The search for finding satisfaction in tasks had not proved itself nor shown it's face to Bob, since the bombs have hit.
As Bob was going to proceed to walk into the caravan, a woman started to walk towards him and picked up the coins up from the ground. Of course the walking slot machine was confused for primarily two reasons.
One was why she was picking up the coins when it was for the older male to take.
The second was that Model TK-39 could not see the person primarily of the height difference least until he tiltled his box head downwards till it hit his larger boxed torso.
The female appeared to be african-american, about 5'6 or 5'3. She appears to be small but healthy, something that the observations of Bob for the last 160 years failed to find in most humans. She had smiled at Bob, the walking slot machine observing as the scar ran up her cheek from her upper lip to the bridge of her nose, to her forehead creating what seems to be a perfect divide. This mark was either intentional or by accident which is unlikely.
Bob looked at her as she stood up, still needing to have his head looked down as she asked her question. "Caravan? Of course. Why else would I suddenly distribute such an item?" Bob responded back not seeing the reason for this. "It is made of 30% Gold, 60% Nickel, 5% Titanium, 2.5% Aluminum, 1.75% Iridium, and 1.75% Radium." Bob took a step forward and then back, seemingly for no reason. "I am Model TK-39 or 'Bob'. Is this value of currency still acceptable?" Model TK-39 asked, though his voice shown no sign of worry, his processes did. The search for finding satisfaction in tasks had not proved itself nor shown it's face to Bob, since the bombs have hit.
OOC Notes
John turned and looked at the two robots as they spoke to him and then returned his attention back to the mercenary leader. “Bribe, oh please. Bribery is ment for political gain, I am just ensuring myself first class seat,” John said and then quickly handed one of the other mercenaries his suit case. He left the money in front of there mercenary leader, thus if he didn’t wish to have the money, then certainly another mercenary would step in and be a meat shield between John and the two robots. Either way, John smirked to himself at his own cleverness.
Ah yes. Twelve years of prober education does make me stand out amongst these…commoners, John thought, very pleased with himself.
“Well, I surely do look forward to get this…Caravan rollin’,” John said to no one in particular, attempting to sound enthusiastic, though he most likely failed to do so. Sparing a brief glance at the robot and the human talking, John sniffed the air and then focused on finding himself a comfortable seat in the caravan.
Ah yes. Twelve years of prober education does make me stand out amongst these…commoners, John thought, very pleased with himself.
“Well, I surely do look forward to get this…Caravan rollin’,” John said to no one in particular, attempting to sound enthusiastic, though he most likely failed to do so. Sparing a brief glance at the robot and the human talking, John sniffed the air and then focused on finding himself a comfortable seat in the caravan.
OOC Notes
Hiring the boy had certainly been a mistake, Hogan decided, even if options were extremely limited at the time. Exiles were always hard to work with, especially the younger ones. The older merc was about to scold his employee, tell him loudly and publicly that it was his job to do what he was told; unfortunately, the boy recognized the android, and conversation ensued before he could get a word in. Figures he'd have friends in military-model androids, and from the few words he was catching of the conversation (admittedly, his hearing wasn't what it once was, either), he and the robot had secrets. Even less surprising.
He hadn't realized he was frowning, until he had to put his fake-smile back on as he received payment, tucking the money that both John and Karen had given him into his breast pocket for now. Later, of course, he'd sort it into the caravan's safe, but for now, it was better there anyway.
"Yes, that will still do for currency, and should be enough to take you anywhere." He tells the slot-machine robot, as politely as possible, considering the situation. D&M will probably dock his pay by whatever it costs to convert the coins to paper money, but it's better than nothing. "Simply get off when you want, and you will be reimbursed for the distance you didn't travel." He continues.
He's a bit surprised the pudgy man hasn't given it up, and a bit more surprised when the money is sat in his lap regardless. It's not a bad amount of money, he admits, enough that he could have a nice night out, if he were that sort, but right now, considering the context in which he is being given it, it seems almost dirty to take it, with all these people no doubt watching him. Not even really acknowledging where it came from, or how it got in his lap, he hands it to the first person who will take it. No sense in polluting his image over it, especially not with the questionable company that's joined the caravan.
"We will be leaving in two hours," He begins, clearing his throat and sounding a bit flustered over the whole ordeal that the last few minutes were, "Please, make yourselves comfortable, and deposit whatever belongings you do not want to carry on you, at wagon two." He gestures to the wagon nearest him, which has a large, blue 2 painted on the side.
He's about to continue, tell them when dinner time is, when they rest, the exact route they will be taking, when there's an explosion in the town. It's big, and not all that far off, and its enough to send his horse into fresh hysterics, the beast turning its head to the noise, eyes-wide. A pillar of smoke is already coming up, and wafting towards the outskirts where the caravan is parked. Before anyone can comment on the first explosion, there is a second one, this one bigger and a bit closer, and from here they can see what is blowing up; this time, it's a still-active air hanger at the edge of town, going up in one big fire ball.
There doesn't need to be a third explosion for Hogan, or apparently most of the mercenaries, as his previously idle men are already throwing things onto the back of wagons, and hastily harnessing mules.
"It looks like we'll be leaving sooner than expected," he says, as calmly as he can, which isn't all that calm, "I need all D&M employees to mount up now, and all clients to pick a seat on Wagon 3." He points to another wagon, this one labeled 3, just as there is a third explosion - this one more distant, but still loud.
Normally, discovering the enemy arrived early wouldn't be all that terrible. The Confederacy might be a bit backwoods, but they have laws in place when it comes to caravans, and his company would be in little danger, assuming the man in charge of this army is kind - however, something isn't right. The war that the Old States has had with the Confederacy has been almost a game, with the two swapping cities with minimal bloodshed (which is still a lot) and almost no damage to the cities, especially the larger ones. They're worth more intact for the Confederacy.
That's why this seems so out of place, so wrong. A few minutes later, his suspicion that maybe the reports were wrong, that maybe this army isn't clad in gray, are confirmed when he sees troops taking the smoldering remains of the hangar. It's distant, and blurry, and extra blurry because of all the smoke that's for some reason not rising, and instead crawling towards his party like a damned snake, but he sees them. They're wearing bright red and purple uniforms, and one of them is waving an outlandishly huge flag in the same colors, an image of Sleipnir the eight-legged horse crushing a man in the center.
It isn't the Confederacy.
It's the Fjord. How they got down here, how no reports got to D&M, he doesn't know. But the Fjord isn't going to show any mercy to a caravan, and he knows it, and he also knows that the limited Old State forces in Blacksburg aren't going to hold off the army long.
It's with renewed, barely hidden terror, that he shouts, "It's the Fjord, by fucking God, it's the Fjord!" To his party, in an attempt to get them to speed up. The fact is, they probably won't get out in time, and he knows it. It sure was nice knowing this party.
>New objective!
>Purple Flame
>Mission Details:
>Abscond from this no-good city, with haste!
He hadn't realized he was frowning, until he had to put his fake-smile back on as he received payment, tucking the money that both John and Karen had given him into his breast pocket for now. Later, of course, he'd sort it into the caravan's safe, but for now, it was better there anyway.
"Yes, that will still do for currency, and should be enough to take you anywhere." He tells the slot-machine robot, as politely as possible, considering the situation. D&M will probably dock his pay by whatever it costs to convert the coins to paper money, but it's better than nothing. "Simply get off when you want, and you will be reimbursed for the distance you didn't travel." He continues.
He's a bit surprised the pudgy man hasn't given it up, and a bit more surprised when the money is sat in his lap regardless. It's not a bad amount of money, he admits, enough that he could have a nice night out, if he were that sort, but right now, considering the context in which he is being given it, it seems almost dirty to take it, with all these people no doubt watching him. Not even really acknowledging where it came from, or how it got in his lap, he hands it to the first person who will take it. No sense in polluting his image over it, especially not with the questionable company that's joined the caravan.
"We will be leaving in two hours," He begins, clearing his throat and sounding a bit flustered over the whole ordeal that the last few minutes were, "Please, make yourselves comfortable, and deposit whatever belongings you do not want to carry on you, at wagon two." He gestures to the wagon nearest him, which has a large, blue 2 painted on the side.
He's about to continue, tell them when dinner time is, when they rest, the exact route they will be taking, when there's an explosion in the town. It's big, and not all that far off, and its enough to send his horse into fresh hysterics, the beast turning its head to the noise, eyes-wide. A pillar of smoke is already coming up, and wafting towards the outskirts where the caravan is parked. Before anyone can comment on the first explosion, there is a second one, this one bigger and a bit closer, and from here they can see what is blowing up; this time, it's a still-active air hanger at the edge of town, going up in one big fire ball.
There doesn't need to be a third explosion for Hogan, or apparently most of the mercenaries, as his previously idle men are already throwing things onto the back of wagons, and hastily harnessing mules.
"It looks like we'll be leaving sooner than expected," he says, as calmly as he can, which isn't all that calm, "I need all D&M employees to mount up now, and all clients to pick a seat on Wagon 3." He points to another wagon, this one labeled 3, just as there is a third explosion - this one more distant, but still loud.
Normally, discovering the enemy arrived early wouldn't be all that terrible. The Confederacy might be a bit backwoods, but they have laws in place when it comes to caravans, and his company would be in little danger, assuming the man in charge of this army is kind - however, something isn't right. The war that the Old States has had with the Confederacy has been almost a game, with the two swapping cities with minimal bloodshed (which is still a lot) and almost no damage to the cities, especially the larger ones. They're worth more intact for the Confederacy.
That's why this seems so out of place, so wrong. A few minutes later, his suspicion that maybe the reports were wrong, that maybe this army isn't clad in gray, are confirmed when he sees troops taking the smoldering remains of the hangar. It's distant, and blurry, and extra blurry because of all the smoke that's for some reason not rising, and instead crawling towards his party like a damned snake, but he sees them. They're wearing bright red and purple uniforms, and one of them is waving an outlandishly huge flag in the same colors, an image of Sleipnir the eight-legged horse crushing a man in the center.
It isn't the Confederacy.
It's the Fjord. How they got down here, how no reports got to D&M, he doesn't know. But the Fjord isn't going to show any mercy to a caravan, and he knows it, and he also knows that the limited Old State forces in Blacksburg aren't going to hold off the army long.
It's with renewed, barely hidden terror, that he shouts, "It's the Fjord, by fucking God, it's the Fjord!" To his party, in an attempt to get them to speed up. The fact is, they probably won't get out in time, and he knows it. It sure was nice knowing this party.
>New objective!
>Purple Flame
>Mission Details:
>Abscond from this no-good city, with haste!
OOC Notes
Dyardin stopped conversing with Lucas the moment he heard an explosion go off. He looked up at the pillar of smoke, and instinctively drew his rifle, then made sure it was fully loaded. He didn't drop off anything in the cart marked 2, since everything he was carrying was something he needed on-hand at all times. He took aim in the direction of the smoke, and then, another building went up in fire. By then, he could tell who it was, since an Android's vision is better than that of an average human. It was confirmed by Hogan, who decided to get his caravan moving right then. A wise choice. Dyardin quickly took his seat in Cart 3 as the third explosion went off, and he was ready to start firing the moment any of the Fjord came into sight.
Dyardin saw how quickly the caravan was getting places, which wasn't quick at all. He knew they wouldn't make it, leaving the entire caravan in the direct line of fire of the full force of the Fjord. He thought quickly, then remembered he was a well-armored Android with plenty of ammo to spare. He jumped off the caravan and shouted to Hogan, "Get the Caravan out of here! I'll hold off the Fjord as long as possible, and catch up to you later. Now get moving!" Dyardin didn't wait for a response, and just instantly charged off at the red-and-purple clad soldiers, firing away. They fired back, but their bullets had no effect, mostly just bouncing off or impacting with no penetration.
He managed to pop a few heads before a massive number of troops headed his way. He knew this wouldn't end well, but he stayed and tried to fight them off to give the Caravan time to escape.
Dyardin saw how quickly the caravan was getting places, which wasn't quick at all. He knew they wouldn't make it, leaving the entire caravan in the direct line of fire of the full force of the Fjord. He thought quickly, then remembered he was a well-armored Android with plenty of ammo to spare. He jumped off the caravan and shouted to Hogan, "Get the Caravan out of here! I'll hold off the Fjord as long as possible, and catch up to you later. Now get moving!" Dyardin didn't wait for a response, and just instantly charged off at the red-and-purple clad soldiers, firing away. They fired back, but their bullets had no effect, mostly just bouncing off or impacting with no penetration.
He managed to pop a few heads before a massive number of troops headed his way. He knew this wouldn't end well, but he stayed and tried to fight them off to give the Caravan time to escape.
OOC Notes
"Nice to meet you Bob, my name is Karen. Impressive for a model of your age to be in the condition you are." she wore a sheepish expression when the robot failed to voice the same concerns with the coin as Karen had been pondering. Then again robots don't have much to worry about since they aren't programmed with anxiety. Still she's grateful that the caravan leader doesn't balk at the coin. Approaching him again she hands him the coin, pets the horse's shoulder, then backs away as the man began sounding off instructions. Karen keeps all of her possessions on her, they all fit comfortably and she can't comfortably part with what little she has.
The explosions rock the road, Karen's sturdy legs remaining stable as order is torn asunder. She obeys the command and situates herself in Wagon 3 after the portly man made it sag beneath his girth. The Fjord are not welcome anywhere outside their own turf and for good reason. Karen sidles to the back and hugs a corner, readying her sniper. She peeks it just out the back and focuses on headshotting the wild bastards or at least crippling their knees with each shot fired. Obviously she takes care not to hit any innocents nearby or the android plunging into the wave. While Karen is with this caravan for protection she hired them as a means of safe travel, not babysitting her. And if she lets them have all the fun she'll never forgive herself for it.
The explosions rock the road, Karen's sturdy legs remaining stable as order is torn asunder. She obeys the command and situates herself in Wagon 3 after the portly man made it sag beneath his girth. The Fjord are not welcome anywhere outside their own turf and for good reason. Karen sidles to the back and hugs a corner, readying her sniper. She peeks it just out the back and focuses on headshotting the wild bastards or at least crippling their knees with each shot fired. Obviously she takes care not to hit any innocents nearby or the android plunging into the wave. While Karen is with this caravan for protection she hired them as a means of safe travel, not babysitting her. And if she lets them have all the fun she'll never forgive herself for it.
OOC Notes
Human facial recongnition: Karen. Compliment had been said.
"Why thank you Karen." Bob responded back, hearing the caravan's instruction he decided to walk over to wagon three, mainly because he doesn't have any extra supplies. The first explosion did not go unoticed by the Model TK-39 as he spun his head a full 180 degrees to the city, watching the smoke come up from the ground.
Then the second and the third explosion sounded. Bob scanned the area with his yellow eyes, spotting the organized force, with their red and some purple uniforms, definitly armed.
"It's the Fjord, by fucking God, it's the Fjord!" The robot could hear from behind him as the middle aged man talked again. Model TK-39 looked at the army that was advancing, taking notice of Dyardin's disappearence through the light smoke to fight them. He has heard rumours about the Fjord, about their lack of humanity and cult like organization. He scanned the wavering flag that showed an eight legged horse stomping a naked man.
Illogical. Horses do not have eight legs. They have four. Possible symbolism for pillaging and senseless violence. Fjords added to database.
Odds of survival - 50%
"HOSTILE SPOT, SPOT, SPOT, SPOT, SPOTTED." Bob let out as he stepped a little bit backwards before a loud audible *beep* had sounded.
Battery at 1%. One hour before imminent shut down.
Dyardin. He had mentioned having batteries and a solar charger. The odds of leaving right now and finding another town an hour's length away.
Odds of survival 0%. Find and assist Dyardin.
Model TK-39 walked his strange robot walk but at an obviously faster pace, having bullets richochet off his body or just stop when it struck at him. His left robotic arm was straightened out in front of him, having a small part of his blue arm raised upwards, revealing the barrel that was stuck on the side of it. Bob observed the firefight as he walked, targeting enemies that were standing in the barage of the mercs, Dyardin and Karen providing support with her sniper rifle. "Targets acquired." He said flatly, shooting the poorly red dressed soldiers that were coming at Dyardin with a sound similar to rapid fire.
Bob walked right up next to Dyardin, still shooting rapidly from his left blue arm at the soldier's who were advancing, stepping on a unlucky Fjord soldier who had to deal with 700 pounds of weight on his stomach.
"Dyardin, I require the assistance of your batteries in order to maintain my processes from shutting down, also requiring you to still be functional for I can not execute the process of installation and-" Interupted as a Fjord officer had brought his sword down on his right arm, the fine sword defintly made contact, but not enough to critically damage control, as the fancy purple uniformed officer was struggling to take the sword out. Bob turned his head to the officer. "How rude, don't interupt me again asshole." Swong his arm like a windmill, every spin going faster and faster having the poor officer flung in the air and dropped 5 stories to the ground in front of him, leaving the sword still stuck in the robot's right arm. A rocket launcher shot out a missile from deep within the city that flew above their heads, only to have it climb the air and explode.
"Likely odds of survival - 20%. Either we hold off this 'Fjord' army in the caravan or live to expire now."
50 9mm rounds left.
Bob raised his right arm to Dyardin and asked. "Do you need a sword?" refering to the curved sabre stuck in his arm, which did seem like a ridiculous question to ask, but sooner or later he was going to run out of ammo.
"Why thank you Karen." Bob responded back, hearing the caravan's instruction he decided to walk over to wagon three, mainly because he doesn't have any extra supplies. The first explosion did not go unoticed by the Model TK-39 as he spun his head a full 180 degrees to the city, watching the smoke come up from the ground.
Then the second and the third explosion sounded. Bob scanned the area with his yellow eyes, spotting the organized force, with their red and some purple uniforms, definitly armed.
"It's the Fjord, by fucking God, it's the Fjord!" The robot could hear from behind him as the middle aged man talked again. Model TK-39 looked at the army that was advancing, taking notice of Dyardin's disappearence through the light smoke to fight them. He has heard rumours about the Fjord, about their lack of humanity and cult like organization. He scanned the wavering flag that showed an eight legged horse stomping a naked man.
Illogical. Horses do not have eight legs. They have four. Possible symbolism for pillaging and senseless violence. Fjords added to database.
Odds of survival - 50%
"HOSTILE SPOT, SPOT, SPOT, SPOT, SPOTTED." Bob let out as he stepped a little bit backwards before a loud audible *beep* had sounded.
Battery at 1%. One hour before imminent shut down.
Dyardin. He had mentioned having batteries and a solar charger. The odds of leaving right now and finding another town an hour's length away.
Odds of survival 0%. Find and assist Dyardin.
Model TK-39 walked his strange robot walk but at an obviously faster pace, having bullets richochet off his body or just stop when it struck at him. His left robotic arm was straightened out in front of him, having a small part of his blue arm raised upwards, revealing the barrel that was stuck on the side of it. Bob observed the firefight as he walked, targeting enemies that were standing in the barage of the mercs, Dyardin and Karen providing support with her sniper rifle. "Targets acquired." He said flatly, shooting the poorly red dressed soldiers that were coming at Dyardin with a sound similar to rapid fire.
Bob walked right up next to Dyardin, still shooting rapidly from his left blue arm at the soldier's who were advancing, stepping on a unlucky Fjord soldier who had to deal with 700 pounds of weight on his stomach.
"Dyardin, I require the assistance of your batteries in order to maintain my processes from shutting down, also requiring you to still be functional for I can not execute the process of installation and-" Interupted as a Fjord officer had brought his sword down on his right arm, the fine sword defintly made contact, but not enough to critically damage control, as the fancy purple uniformed officer was struggling to take the sword out. Bob turned his head to the officer. "How rude, don't interupt me again asshole." Swong his arm like a windmill, every spin going faster and faster having the poor officer flung in the air and dropped 5 stories to the ground in front of him, leaving the sword still stuck in the robot's right arm. A rocket launcher shot out a missile from deep within the city that flew above their heads, only to have it climb the air and explode.
"Likely odds of survival - 20%. Either we hold off this 'Fjord' army in the caravan or live to expire now."
50 9mm rounds left.
Bob raised his right arm to Dyardin and asked. "Do you need a sword?" refering to the curved sabre stuck in his arm, which did seem like a ridiculous question to ask, but sooner or later he was going to run out of ammo.
OOC Notes
John sat in wagon 3 already. Tapping his wrist impatiently. Why are they so slow? Is it more money they need before they will get medieval piece of shit going? John thought, feeling thankful that no one could read minds, for else John would have a serious problem as the worst of his attitude would always be within his own mind.
Turning his head he looked at the robots again and snorted. John thought such machines to be only usable for manual labor, and that was what he had placed those androids that worked for him in. Manual labor within factories, and storages. Hell if he- John fell down from the wagon when the explosion occurred. Sheer surprise had made him fall, and land hard on the ground, his hat had rolled a little way away from him and his head had been (thankfully) placed near some form of animal waste...Possibly a horse's leavings.
Getting up on his feet and placing his hat back on his head he heard what the mercenary leader said. The Fjord? Here! Gold and trinkets, I gotta get out of here! John thought and then looked as the two robots ran off to fend away the Fjord. "I've heard of brave sacrifices, however that is the borderline insanity," John commented when and then looked at the mercenary leader, "C'mon lets get out of here while they distract the Fjord soldiers."
John had little regard for the other people around him. He saw an opportunity to escape and he would seize it, "I'm no soldier, but even I know that fighting the Fjord is a stupid thing, so lets get out of here while we still can!"
Quite honestly, John didn't actually know much about warfare, and thus he didn't even know if they could escape or of they would only run into further enemies. Either way, he acted on his primal instincts when it came to survival...Bribe and Run. B&R. Has always worked for John.
Turning his head he looked at the robots again and snorted. John thought such machines to be only usable for manual labor, and that was what he had placed those androids that worked for him in. Manual labor within factories, and storages. Hell if he- John fell down from the wagon when the explosion occurred. Sheer surprise had made him fall, and land hard on the ground, his hat had rolled a little way away from him and his head had been (thankfully) placed near some form of animal waste...Possibly a horse's leavings.
Getting up on his feet and placing his hat back on his head he heard what the mercenary leader said. The Fjord? Here! Gold and trinkets, I gotta get out of here! John thought and then looked as the two robots ran off to fend away the Fjord. "I've heard of brave sacrifices, however that is the borderline insanity," John commented when and then looked at the mercenary leader, "C'mon lets get out of here while they distract the Fjord soldiers."
John had little regard for the other people around him. He saw an opportunity to escape and he would seize it, "I'm no soldier, but even I know that fighting the Fjord is a stupid thing, so lets get out of here while we still can!"
Quite honestly, John didn't actually know much about warfare, and thus he didn't even know if they could escape or of they would only run into further enemies. Either way, he acted on his primal instincts when it came to survival...Bribe and Run. B&R. Has always worked for John.
OOC Notes
Dyardin quickly turned at the sound of Bob's voice, and noticed Bob needed the spare batteries that Dyardin had. "Sure. Just a second." He said, quickly pulling out the charged spare batteries. He opened Bob's battery compartment carefully and said, "You're gonna feel a slight Jolt here." He exchanged the batteries at such a rapid pace that he doubted that Bob could have shut down before he finished. He then took a step back and closed and sealed Bob's battery compartment again, then turning around and firing at a few more soldiers.
When Bob asked Dyardin if he needed a sword, Dyardin just then noticed the sword that was lodged in Bob. He pulled the sword out quickly, and got an idea. "Bob, take my gun. This sword's all I need." He put his rifle on Bob's unoccupied arm, and bound it there with some spare adhesive he had. Thank goodness I splurged at that shop back there. He thought to himself. He then fiddled a bit with Bob's arm and rerouted his hand control to the gun directly, then sealed up anything he had opened. "Bob, flex your 'hand' to fire. I rerouted your hand control to the gun that I attached to you. Give me covering fire as you make your way back to the Caravan, and I'll catch up. Now go!" Dyardin said, then charging directly at a group of Fjord, yelling like a maniac, hoping to psyche them out.
He hacked and slashed at any Fjord in his way, taking his fair share of hacking and slashing right back. He hoped that Bob would make it back to the Caravan alive, since he decided he wouldn't be coming back. Even if he did have his gun, he wouldn't be able to hold the Fjord off long enough to get the Caravan out of the way, so with Bob on covering fire and him directly in the battle, they stood a good chance of getting the Caravan out of there. He also knew that playing hero was a stupid idea and would most likely get himself killed, but for the sake of so many other lives, he thought it to be worth it.
When Bob asked Dyardin if he needed a sword, Dyardin just then noticed the sword that was lodged in Bob. He pulled the sword out quickly, and got an idea. "Bob, take my gun. This sword's all I need." He put his rifle on Bob's unoccupied arm, and bound it there with some spare adhesive he had. Thank goodness I splurged at that shop back there. He thought to himself. He then fiddled a bit with Bob's arm and rerouted his hand control to the gun directly, then sealed up anything he had opened. "Bob, flex your 'hand' to fire. I rerouted your hand control to the gun that I attached to you. Give me covering fire as you make your way back to the Caravan, and I'll catch up. Now go!" Dyardin said, then charging directly at a group of Fjord, yelling like a maniac, hoping to psyche them out.
He hacked and slashed at any Fjord in his way, taking his fair share of hacking and slashing right back. He hoped that Bob would make it back to the Caravan alive, since he decided he wouldn't be coming back. Even if he did have his gun, he wouldn't be able to hold the Fjord off long enough to get the Caravan out of the way, so with Bob on covering fire and him directly in the battle, they stood a good chance of getting the Caravan out of there. He also knew that playing hero was a stupid idea and would most likely get himself killed, but for the sake of so many other lives, he thought it to be worth it.
- 44 posts here • Page 1 of 2 • 1, 2
A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States: Out Of Character (OOC)
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Saga of Mushroom Clouds General Discussion
by Broski1984 on Sun Apr 10, 2011 4:55 pm
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on Wed May 11, 2011 11:00 pm
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Saga of Mushroom Clouds General Discussion
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A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
1 ... 7, 8, 9by Broski1984 on Mon Mar 21, 2011 7:53 pm
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on Sat May 14, 2011 7:36 pm
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A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Most recent OOC posts in A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Re: [OOC] Saga of Mushroom Clouds General Discussion
Hello there,
I apologize for possibly intruding. But I did have a question: at what point will Beast-Men be allowed? I wish to join your RP, but the only character that I can think of--and have submitted--is a Beast-Man. I was wondering, if I was allowed to do this, where I might enter and how; or, if not, when I might be able to.
Thank you kindly!
I apologize for possibly intruding. But I did have a question: at what point will Beast-Men be allowed? I wish to join your RP, but the only character that I can think of--and have submitted--is a Beast-Man. I was wondering, if I was allowed to do this, where I might enter and how; or, if not, when I might be able to.
Thank you kindly!
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Due to real-life problems, the role play will be delayed until future notice. I apologize for any problems this will cause.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
I will not be able to post until Saturday, maybe Sunday. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Sorry about that myself; I was out of it when I wrote that, and uh... sort of forgot your guy. :X
As for Therunner, I... sort of wish I knew what he was doing. I will try and figure that out. :/ Try and ignore that for right this second.
I'll post this evening sometime, by the way.
As for Therunner, I... sort of wish I knew what he was doing. I will try and figure that out. :/ Try and ignore that for right this second.
I'll post this evening sometime, by the way.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Haha sorry about that. I'll be posting here in a few.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Lol and Jax is just on the side saying, "whaat." >A>
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
That was my plan from the beginning lol. Maria is bilingual so the two of them could communicate in Spanish to avoid the guards knowing what they're talking about. ;)
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Most likely.
I'm not, so if it becomes a "thing", I'll use Google Translator, and thus, it may not make sense at all.
I'm not, so if it becomes a "thing", I'll use Google Translator, and thus, it may not make sense at all.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
I approved some guy's character, who was going to be part of the caravan, BUT, for some reason, I can't find your character now!
If you are approved, go ahead and join in over there. If you aren't, re-send the character.
If you are approved, go ahead and join in over there. If you aren't, re-send the character.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
There is an asterisk in my post and I forget why it's there so just pretend I said something great at the end.
P.S.
I will post in the other area in a little bit. I won't lie, I've been playing Minecraft and will go back to that.
P.S.
I will post in the other area in a little bit. I won't lie, I've been playing Minecraft and will go back to that.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Aspartame: There is one fellow who plans on joining in eventually over there, but that won't be for a while. More people may join the role play between now and then, though.
To be honest, most things over there, I am making up as I go along. I have a vague idea of how they will do it, especially once we get out of our cells. I'll talk about it a bit more this evening. One thing I am sure of is, Jaakan will work his way into this, some how.
Because, welp, I've got to run errands most of this afternoon. I'll be back tonight, and I will post at least in the Fjord and main areas. There may be a hold up with Salut, as it seems that it is just myself and one more person over there, and I'd like to let someone else in, if possible. If anyone wants to be a knight, go on a head.
We also should probably have some direct heir to the throne (a prince or princess, most likely) in the bunch over there, so if someone wants to do that, PM me with any questions. If not, welp, what is one more character for me at this point?
To be honest, most things over there, I am making up as I go along. I have a vague idea of how they will do it, especially once we get out of our cells. I'll talk about it a bit more this evening. One thing I am sure of is, Jaakan will work his way into this, some how.
Because, welp, I've got to run errands most of this afternoon. I'll be back tonight, and I will post at least in the Fjord and main areas. There may be a hold up with Salut, as it seems that it is just myself and one more person over there, and I'd like to let someone else in, if possible. If anyone wants to be a knight, go on a head.
We also should probably have some direct heir to the throne (a prince or princess, most likely) in the bunch over there, so if someone wants to do that, PM me with any questions. If not, welp, what is one more character for me at this point?
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
I'm wondering where the Fjord prison escape is going to go. I have a few vague ideas on how we could potentially escape, but I'm curious as what you guys were thinking. And if anyone else plans on joining the prison.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Hells: No problem. Just thought I'd remind you/check on you. I may do that whenever goes a while without posting, but it is NOT in an effort to speed you up. It's just checking in, to make sure you're alright and still interested.
OnYourMark: Thank you, thank you.
Aspartame: No problem. Come on when you can.
I will post tonight or tommorow. These baby goats are suckin' up all my time mang.
OnYourMark: Thank you, thank you.
Aspartame: No problem. Come on when you can.
I will post tonight or tommorow. These baby goats are suckin' up all my time mang.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
:0
I'm not typically a huge fan of goats. But those teensy weensy goatlings are sdfksaPRECIOUS.
I'm not typically a huge fan of goats. But those teensy weensy goatlings are sdfksaPRECIOUS.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
First off...*GASP* Baby goats!
"Bob wishes for a baby goat.
This is not a request.
This is an order.
It is vague interrogation.
Grr."
Sorry I couldn't post earlier...Had some stuff at school I had to complete :S
"Bob wishes for a baby goat.
This is not a request.
This is an order.
It is vague interrogation.
Grr."
Sorry I couldn't post earlier...Had some stuff at school I had to complete :S
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Just a headsup, my laptop's motherboard just got fried. I'll be able to get to a computer for the next three days, but then I'm going home for the summer and I probably won't be able to get on more than once or twice a day until I get a new laptop.
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
Henrik is the cuter and bigger of the two, and I am not afraid to admit it! Herbert has blue eyes, though, so it evens out.
I have like a dozen friends with birthdays in the next three months. And then... I'm pretty sure I only have three birthdays in the other nine months.
Thank you, HS, for teaching me the zodiac and helping me finally remember birthdays!
I have like a dozen friends with birthdays in the next three months. And then... I'm pretty sure I only have three birthdays in the other nine months.
Thank you, HS, for teaching me the zodiac and helping me finally remember birthdays!
Re: [OOC] A Saga of Mushroom Clouds & Sad States
I think I will specifically kidnap Henrik. His pattern is really cute. And at least the delivery was safe, poor mama goat!
Woohoo birthday weather. @__@ Most of my friends were born in July so I have that to look forward to.
Although I think I'll just offer everyone a free hot stone massage or something.
Woohoo birthday weather. @__@ Most of my friends were born in July so I have that to look forward to.
Although I think I'll just offer everyone a free hot stone massage or something.
