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Snippet #2421647

located in Nevada Wasteland, a part of Fallout: Nevada, one of the many universes on RPG.

Nevada Wasteland

The loveliest territory in all the land.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Conner O'Marck Character Portrait: John Kenit Character Portrait: Tammy "Tam" Marston Character Portrait: Edgar the Drifter
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The world had changed, yet remained. Darker with more meaning, yet brighter and more veiled. The sky blurred together in both the glare of the sun and glow of the moon, day and night strobed together in a ephemeral twilight as the clouds raced across the sky like a time-lapse film. This dreamscape stretched on with sands of burnt grey to the ocean waters of gleaming silver. The bodies of every lost soul consumed by the bombs of old lay scattered upon the blackened Earth or hung on crucifix, lining the hills in the distance. Jutting out of the waters, towering monsters of steel on thin legs, belching fire like dragons into a broken sky. Edgar was taken aback by the mystique of it all, finding in the gloom a story to be written. He could not explain how he got here, only that this place held all the meaning in the world, a muse to the soul of the wandering.

"And as I stand upon dying land and burning sky,
I wonder if I'm here only to ask why?
Taken by insanity, by power, and by greed,
Was this future so blind to us? Could we truly not see?
Our kingdoms we ruled, only to shatter,
Our peoples we united, only to scatter.
We forsook our dreams, and thrown our hopes on the pyre.
We abolished our reason, and lit the whole world on fire.
Havoc cried we, and let loose the dog!
And now our fruits are only atomic fog.
The children of Earth, of madness, are we,
Slaying our siblings, despite our mother's plea.
And now she lay dead, her blood stains our hand,
But we see only victory, such is the curse of man."


As the last word left his toothy mouth, upon the shadowy silhouette of a dead tree fluttered down a bird of black plume. A raven, crowing his presence and speaking only one word. "Nevermore!" Slightly startled Edgar looked upon this bird, eyes narrowing. "You? How did you get here?" The bird paid him no never mind, cleaning it's feathers and cawing once more. "Didn't I eat you?" The gaze of the raven snapped to Edgar, a soul-piercing glare that unnerved the deathclaw. "Your poetry sucks...." it hissed. Before Ed had time to even think about it talking, the bird let loose a hideous caw, morphing into a monstrous form as it did so. It grew so large, it completely crushed the tree it was perched on, it's eyes burned with black fire, and it's beak became serrated ebony blades. All this in an instant, as it lurched forward to devour the deathclaw.....

Edgar's eyes shot wide open as he let out a reverberating howl/yelp of fear. Flailing at the air with his claws, he was taken off-balance by the load he carried on his back. Still in the throws of his day-mare, he rolled back onto his pack, his feet, tail, and arms thrashing about in a rather shameful display. Finally it dawned upon him, only a dream. Alas, it seemed that realization was too late, as he could hear several things in his pack crunching under his weight. With a bit of a struggle, he managed to roll back onto his feet and compose himself, scanning around to see if he'd "exposed himself" to anything other than the bloat flies. Thankfully, there wasn't a soul in miles. That's when the smell hit him, a lingering reminder of the battle not long ago. Scavengers of all kinds gathered in the carrion pit, picking clean the dead. Looking up near the sun, Edgar had barely slept a few hours, as it was only now nearing noon. Still, all the bodies was likely to attract more than just some dogs before long, best to soldier on.

It wasn't long at all before the talons of Edgar's feet clacked upon the asphalt of the old I-15, the heat slightly sizzling the pads underneath. Still, a road was exactly what he wanted right now, a safe route used by most caravans. The winds were starting to pick up a little, but nothing too damning. No, right now the real impediment was Edgar's stomach, griping over how long it's been since he last ate. Thankfully, bountiful pickings were not that far off, likely heading towards the battlefield Ed had just left. The sound of an almost-skipping waddle crunched in his ear, the wind carrying it's scent right up to Edgar. Geckos. Excuse me, Waiter? Yes, I believe I'll have the buffet.... What little lips Edgar had curled into a grin as he scuffled around a few crashed cars. One of which was propped up by two others, making a neat little hidey-hole for his things. Removing his backpack, Edgar leveraged one of the cars up with his shoulder and slid the pack underneath. After diligently lowering the vehicle back down, making sure nothing was crunching, Ed shimmied out of his robes and stretched. Walking around squat all day and all night left more kinks in his back than there were notches on Frank Sinatra's bed post.

God did it feel good to stand upright, but there wasn't any time to waste. Edgar couldn't risk somebody seeing him. Stalking his way over the dunes, drawing nearer to his quarry, he actually started to drool a little bit as he went in. There was no chase, no epic struggle of predator and prey, no glorious tale to regale any listener over. It was a freaking gecko, the dumb little bastard didn't even realize the deathclaw was there till it's face was practically in Ed's mouth. It was a strange orchestra of textures to be sure. Chewy hide, tangy meat, juicy insides, and lot's of crunchy bones. The latter of which kept getting stuck in Edgar's teeth. Three servings of lizard later, Edgar was feeling quite satisfied and very slothful. Though the winds were getting pretty strong now, carrying a lot of dust, and Ed began to worry that they might be brewing a storm before long. Being right next to the damn Dry Lake meant visibility would be nil. He had to get off the roads, all the patrols in the desert would be walking them now and Ed sure as hell didn't want to meet any Legion. Struggling to lift off with his gecko-filled gut, he lurched back to reclaim his things, all the while fidgeting with his teeth. Damn bones. Even though Edgar was armed with a set of 12-inch toothpicks on each hand, trying to use them was like trying to play "Operation" after first taping the tweezers to the end of a pool cue. There was a certain level of added difficulty that wasn't needed.

Ed decided it might be a good idea to try and go through the Ivanpah Dry Lakes now before the winds got really bad. Not a bright idea. The very second he was more than ten feet from the black stretch, the brewing dust storm completely enveloped him. Now he couldn't get back if he wanted to. Worse yet, all he could taste the entire time was gecko from all the bits still stuck in his teeth. Good lord, his breath was going to smell like a compost heap before too long. Of all the things to survive the apocalypse, why couldn't one of them have been mints? Ed wasn't quite sure how long he'd been going in circles, lost in the dust, but the sun was starting to sink behind the horizen. Great, cause darkness makes everything better. A gust of powerful wind hit right in his face, shooting off his hood. "Oh, come on now! Can't I catch one break?! This whole day has just been a big, steaming pile..... of......."Edgar droned off as he finally saw something, a dark silhouette against the bland brown backdrop. A.... cross? The winds began to untimely settle, revealing the morbid and soul-damning scene before him. Like his dream before, they were scattered all over, each still carrying the carcass of some tormented soul. He'd wandered his way to Nipton. Edgar had heard the stories but.... he never envisioned something like this. What could they have done to deserve this? Some of them..... Dear God, some of them were families.

He was taken aback, so much so he didn't even think about his hood. How could a God, any God, allow this? To stand witness to something so horrid? Surely, he can't be watching us anymore. Finally fixing his hood, Edgar bowed his head and did something he had never done before. He prayed. Prayed that the golden gates he'd been told of still stayed open, if only for the poor souls such as these. He prayed that there was indeed Balm in Gilead, that heaven was everything we thought it to be. An eternity of paradise and peace. Though deeply Edgar wondered if anything, even heaven, could make up for this. From down the hill tumbled an NCR helmet, stopping at Edgar's feet. With careful clawed digits he lifted it, walking it back to it's owner. The soldier had been there, hung on those wood planks for quite a while. As Ed gently shoved the helm back into the dirt at the cross's base, making sure the wind wouldn't dislodge it again, an old poem sprang to mind.

"And when he gets to heaven,
To St. Peter he will tell,
Another soldier reporting, sir -
I've served my time in hell."


He didn't want to linger here, but the winds weren't letting up and getting lost in the lake bed again wasn't very appealing. Looking around, Edgar was entering from the back of the town, not that far from what looked to be the town hall. The only damn building here not about to get blown away. He hoped. Trying to be as stealthy as he could manage, Ed crept up to a large window, peering through into the darkness. Anything could have taken up refuge in there, so it was a very wise idea to try and scope it out first. Still, he had to leave his pack somewhere, so after jimmying the window open and taking a quick look-around, he gently plopped his cargo down by the sill. Not two steps away from the window, a loud gunshot rang through the air. Edgar traveled with enough Gun Runners caravans to know that was a magnum. Couldn't tell what caliber, but it didn't matter. He just didn't want to meet it's owner. Deciding that it was better to be in the darkness of the building where he could see, as opposed to outside in the dust where he couldn't, Ed dragged his large form inside. The winds gave an eerie feeling, like the building was rocking gently. It was hell on the equilibrium. Edgar skulked around on all fours, as low to the ground as he could manage. With one claw, he flicked the lip of his hood up till it rested perched on the tips of his horns. That greatly helped him see, no longer hindering his field of vision, and it was luckily dark enough that Ed would likely see others before they saw him.

He could hear movement, voices. It actually sounded like a scuffle was about to break out. Still, leering around a corner, the only thing Edgar saw was...... Oh, that's not good. "Umm, nice doggy? Good boy?" A weathered old mutt with missing patches of fur was busy chowing down on a dead rat before perking it's ears up at Edgar's presence. It let out a territorial snarl before it's brain registered exactly what Ed was. It's attitude pulled a 180, cowering in fear with it's tail between it's legs and urinating on the floor. It looked like it was about to bolt any second, likely to make a lot of racket as it did. "Shhh! Shhh! It's okay! It's okay, boy.... I'm not gonna hur-*belch!*" The dog mistook sudden outburst of sound for a growl, and just as predicted began whimpering, yelping, and howling as it took off through a hole in the wall. Damn You, Gecko! Deep beyond what Ed could see, he could make out that the residence of this house took notice. They were likely going to investigate, which made Edgar panic a bit. Before he could move, an old tic which he thought gone made it's way back. ("Nevermore!") Ed's hand clamped down over his muzzle, backing away towards the window. Now? Of all times, that one comes back now?!

Man, today just wasn't his day.....