|
 0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter I turn my back on them before bothering to respond. I slowly walk towards the main gates. Loudspeakers up all the way. "I'm leaving, but hey. You might see me again anyway." A small pebble turns to dust under my boot, a nail in a board flattens. "That water convoy never makes it here without me, and I'd assume you idiots like to drink." Loudspeakers down, I'm fuckin' done talking to them, but not to the guy manning the gates. "Open up," I order. "Their orders," I gesture back towards the Bullys with a short gout of flame.
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 18:00
|
|
|
|
| # ? Jun 10, 2024 03:08 |
|
|
 Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 I relax fractionally as Gat manages to talk them down. I don't mind they don't notice me, it's nice actually. I safe my rifle, slinging it back but within reach as I follow Gat to the gates.
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 18:50
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 2-barter  Drift takes another puff on her cigarette, then holds up one hand, middle finger extended as she looks at the gate guards. She keeps it raised as she backs up from the gate, and walks back over the small rise to the Kon-Peki truck. "No wonder you made it safe," she says to Greeg after checking the guzzoline. "Not worth the trouble to rob you of this poo poo." She takes her share just the same, her glare daring Mask to say otherwise. After fixing her with that gaze for a bit, she takes a long pull on her cancer stick, burning it down to a nub that she drops to the ground and grinds out under her heel. Drift purses her lips, then nods, some internal argument resolved. "Going to be getting in that town. Need the right kind of fuel to do it. The red kind and the black kind both." "Gonna make a run down to War-El. Talk to Ripsaw." There's the barest hint of a smile for a moment, and then it's gone. "Might be they'll wish they let me in today."
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 19:26
|
|
|
ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 2/5 | 1-barter  ROADSIDE uncoils the chain, letting it fall roughly to the ground. He exhales sharply, and the tension in his stance disappears. "What's there to help? My work is done. You aren't an animal, are you?" ROADSIDE gives Meat Machine's head a rough kick, and it sails off outside. "Need to keep my promise." He loops the chain under the corpse's arms, and hauls the bloated raider out into the sun. "There. All better."
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 19:34
|
|
|
Gates of A-Town The Knots grumble quite a bit about the deal - their engines are spitting a lot of black smoke with this gas. They are gonna need new plugs eventually, but for now the Knots are on the move again. The nearest decent-size town is a weird tent city called Mercy. At least it doesn't have goddamned walls. The whole gang jumps a bit as the doors of A-Town rumble open just wide enough to let a huge powersuit and a jacked gun freak through, then slam shut right behind them. Gatito and Grim see a chopper gang firing up to leave. The rig is this but fifty years older and with a hundred-gallon drum strapped awkwardly in the bed: 
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 20:34
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 2-barter Drift waves at the two exiting the town, the kind of wave beckoning them over. Those two have plenty of firepower but no wheels. Might be they need a ride. Might be Drift needs some of that firepower.
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 20:37
|
|
|
The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 4/5 | 3-barter  poo poo. "Only because you opened it," I say to Freeway, managing to force a smile for a moment. "Ice, get over here." Brother Ice is the closest thing the group has to a medic; he's so named because of how often his 'treatment' boils down to telling the patient to 'put some ice on it'. None of us have even seen ice in years. I remember crunching on a piece when I was a little kid, one of the restaurants in town still had a working freezer. It was good. Anyway...he's no doctor, but he's the best we have. Might be able to buy us some time. I clear out as much of the trash and debris as I can from a small section of floor. "Lay him down here." As the Sister helping Freeway along lays him gingerly on the floor of the station, I kneel next to him. "Hey, you did good, man, I knew you could pull it off. Just like old times, yeah?" This isn't the first time he's been shot running interference for me, but...never this bad. It occurs to me that, if he dies, there will be no one left alive who knows my birth name. "Stay with us, okay? Job's not done yet." I leave Brother Ice to do what he can, as a few of the People continue to stand guard around the windows and formerly-a-doorway and the rest search for the safe. Clambering through the hole in the wall, I make my way over to where ROADSIDE has deposited Meat Machine's headless body, and give it a good solid kick. "Fucker killed a lot of us over the years," I say to ROADSIDE, not taking my eyes off the body. I feel like I should have something more eloquent to say but it's just...not there. "Including my predecessor, which I guess means technically I owe my job to this guy." I mull over that for a moment, then kick the corpse a few more times. "rear end in a top hat." Time to get back to work. Back through the hole in the wall, take a moment to collect myself, and..."Okay, Brothers, Sisters, listen up! The Meat Machine is dead! Those who have come before us are smiling from the other side of the Open Door today. But this fight isn't over yet. We've got to find that safe, get it to somewhere quiet where we can prepare the ritual, and we've got a badly-wounded Brother who needs treatment. Freeway's sacrifice bought us some time and we couldn't have made it this far without him, but those bastards are still out there, and if we stick around here too long they'll come back and try to slam the door on us again. I'm looking for options here. We've all seen different things while walking the paths that led us to the People, each of us has wisdom to contribute - and I'm asking you all to call on it now. I want to be gone from here in a few minutes, and when we leave, I want to be going somewhere. Priority 1 right now is a doctor - I can find us a ritual-site. Everyone search your memories - where is the closest town with a doctor that will treat us?" I turn to Ice, and lower my voice. "Will he make it long enough to reach a doctor?" I didn't particularly want the dance to be a funeral-dance, but if worst comes to worst...well, we're prepared for that too. Invoking the Insight move.
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 21:15
|
|
|
0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter What kind of fuckin' excellent luck is this? Both the Knots and Drift are here. "I know you. You're going somewhere, and you need some tough as gently caress arms." It doesn't really matter who replies. "Tough as gently caress arms here, needing to go somewhere." I'll speak for me, and speak simply. It doesn't really matter where we're going or whichever of them replies first. "A-Town's a home for rip-offs right now," loud enough for the guards to hear. "Don't waste your time."
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 21:28
|
|
|
ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 4/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE spends some time appreciating Meat Machine's corpse while Keymaster babbles on with his people. He had passed by the group once before. They steered clear mostly. Some curious ones peeking out from behind the beds of trucks and rocks. The Keymaster had spouted some crap about ROADSIDE serving the Key. ROADSIDE did not grind him down that day; Jersey was in a good mood, and they had just finished taking some animals off of the road. But now, they were talking about safes and towns and moving. What was he to do? There was never any path, except when Jersey directed it. It was time for direction. ROADSIDE sits on the ground, cross-legged, and if you could see his eyes, you'd know they had glassed over. He begins to talk. "Jersey, I need you. Jersey, are you there? I have killed the Animals' leader. I have ripped his guts out and fed him to the vermin as you asked of me. Are you happy?. Tell Me, tell me, tell me what I should do with these Keys. They want to dig up the Station, they want to leave the Kiln - what should I do? Are they animals? They do not stink as the Meat Machines. Are they people? They follow a Master who breaks chains. Jersey Please, show me the road I must travel." Jersey: 2d6+1 11 XP for Both 10+ on Norman, and highlighted Weird. Following Jersey's advice means getting +1 (for however long that applies)
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 21:51
|
|
|
 Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●●○○» | 0-Barter Mask watches as her gang works to get the gas poured, secured, and set up, then barks at Rampant and Tank-7 to see to the tanker, make sure it'll still ride. Rampant seemed mad about trading his bike for fuel, but sometimes being the rookie has its own price. "Listen, fuckers, neither of you have bikes, so you might as well get in that piece and drive it back to Kon-Peki. If they say no, we sell it for the scrap up in War-Al." They were still trying to clean out the front grill when the two others came out the front, and Mask gave them polite nods. "poo poo, you right we loving do. Not like they are letting us into this SHITHOLE anyway," she explained, then nodded to the tanker and continued. "We are taking this piece of poo poo back up to Kon-Peki, trying to get a buck out of it before the radiator cracks. Got room for a ride or two in the cab if you want, and while we some killers, risking bodies on the road is a stupid way to loving live. What you think, robo-man, fancy a load off? poo poo, Drift, you can have a ride and enough guzz to get your cage to civilization, too, you agree to make it with us." Her gang didn't seem happy about another hard ride without rest, but her stone-cold face mixed with the previous rejection of entry spelled out a pretty clear counter-offer: they stay here, outside the walls, and the bikes go with Mask. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 18:05 on Jun 10, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 21:56
|
|
|
Colonel Lin "Right. Time to toss Spector's squat." muttered Lin. Luckily, it was close, in Savvy Squat, the collection of tents that doubled as living space and workplace for the townies working in and around the tower. During the day, it was loud and smelly, and Spector's tent was one of the few not opened for ventilation. Lin gave a friendly wave to a neighboring townie bent over some arcane task, as Barbeque checked the inside. "We're just making the rounds." he said to himself nonchalantly, as Jackson gave the all clear and stood watch at the door. "Nothing too out of the ordinary." Lin whistled at the tent's contents. "Our boy Spector lived nicer than I do." he commented, lifting a few choice, but seemingly irrelevant bits of jingle. Old habits died hard. "Shame to leave it all for the vultures." he said, as he continued searching the tent.
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 22:35
|
|
|
0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter "Do I look like I fit in a cab," I reply, accepting the offer. "I'll climb in the bed of that jacked-up once you finish with the tank." If the shocks don't hold up, well, I know Drift's ride will carry me. If she comes. "Expecting any trouble, skullface?" Mask knows my name, and I hers. But no need for those pleasantries when you can keep up an appearence, I suppose. "I mean, any worse than usual?"
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 22:41
|
|
|
Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●○○○○» | Barter-1 "I'm with the big guy here, let's gee tee eff oh."
|
|
#
?
Jun 1, 2015 22:49
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 2-barter "Can roll with you for a bit," Drift says. "Not gonna drive that piece of poo poo." She nods at the rig. "I was you, I'd strip it for parts right here and sell them off piecemeal. Save the guzzoline and sweat to keep it running." She shrugs, indicating she doesn't really give a poo poo what Mask decides to do, having said her piece. Drift turns her attention to Grim and Gatito. "Either of you want to ride shotgun, you're welcome to."
|
|
#
?
Jun 2, 2015 00:00
|
|
|
Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●●○○» | 0-Barter With a grunt at the warrior's suggestion, she looks down the long, hard trail of broken road out to Kon-Peki. "gently caress it, I have poo poo else to do the next few days. Might as well have some fun loving around with this piece of poo poo in the waste. You all good? Gatito, get on that tanker. You are on watch, got it? Cant, give that lady your bike and get in the loving truck, too. And shut the gently caress up about it, we are burning this sunlight. Good, everyone together? Let us loving ride!" Everyone loaded up, Mask guns her bike and starts streaking across the waste, Bagheera grumbling and growling and leaping at the opportunity to really open up. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 17:37 on Jun 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 2, 2015 00:52
|
|
|
0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter "Bang bang bang bang," I confirm, tapping on the roof of the jacked-up. "Vamanos vamanos."
|
|
#
?
Jun 2, 2015 13:12
|
|
|
 The Open Flat You're always lost in the open sea. There are roads, sure; but most of them lead nowhere. Compasses are useless, the sun only shows you one direction and what stars remain in the sky are no help. Finding your way from one town to another is not a skill, it's a talent, something of an art. If you get lost, you might ride forever and find nothing. No one would know, no one would search for you, and certainly no one would miss you. The dunes ate whole cities once; what chance do a few people have? Some choose to stay lost. They think themselves predators, but it would be better to call them parasites. The best aid to navigation are the burnt-out, sandblasted husks of convoys that fell prey to raiders and ravagers. The drifter-gangs eek out an existence in the places between life and death, sleeping next to their hideous vehicles before rising to make hell for another day. Most folks stay at home. Some ride with the armed convoys, the big-poo poo town-funded assholes who keep the smaller gangs in check. It takes some tough fuckers to ride alone, without heavy cavalry or artillery, just some bikes, a brass-balled car, and one lovely fuel truck. The good news: you are those tough fuckers. Mask rides Bagheera with Dex and Pinner in the vanguard. Destroyer and the junker truck ride behind, surrounded by wings of Knots. They make sixty miles-per-hour in the smooth parts, sending the dunes and hollows behind them at the best possible speed. If they don't run into any trouble it's seven, maybe eight hours to Wal-Ar. Of course, no one can be that lucky. Almost two hours on the road and the ever-so-familiar cloud of dust rises from the direction of the rising sun. 'Oh, it might just be a convoy' you'd say, but let's consider just how likely it is that a convoy would be making just right to cut you off on the road. Mask knows all about crossing tea; she's a smart fucker, and whoever leads these assholes is clever too. gently caress them. In the flats, there's one rule: speed is life. Stop and you're dead. Station 76 Ice's efforts have stopped most of the bleeding, but it's clear that Freeway is still in agony. His face is as white as the moon, and he moans in pain with every breath. "The good news," says Ice, "is that his guts are tearing themselves apart slowly. He'll last a day or two like this, if everything holds." Xerox twists his face in disgust. "Might be a mercy just to kill him outright. Better that than to die screaming on the dunes." "If we had wheels," says Shine, "we could get him to Freehold or Mercy in a few hours." "And where are we gonna get wheels?" asks Slim Jim. "Those Machines had some mighty nice trucks," Shine says. "Now that their boss is dead, we could probably catch one of the groups unawares. Wouldn't be able to carry all of us, but it could get Freeway to a doc sooner." "He's gonna need a hell of a doctor to sew him back together," Ice adds. "I still say we do him," says Xerox, "and get the hell out of here." Xerox clears his throat. "No offense, Freeway." They all look at Keymaster. What will he do? You'll carry +1 forward to capture a truck, or you can bug out right now. Spector's Shack Spector does have some good stuff: a shotgun with a full box of shells, a proper set of tools, and a luxe chair that vibrates and massages your back. rear end in a top hat, keeping this all to himself. The big find, however, comes with Barbecue tosses his toolbox. In the bottom of one of the bins is a loving stack of Wal-Ar Gifcards. Strange thing to keep, this far from Wal-Ar in Parson's territory. Could be his own personal hoard...but given today, Lin doesn't think that's very loving likely. The cards are worth 2-barter, but only in a place where they accept Wal-Ar currency. The tools count as a Savvyhead kit. Zurui fucked around with this message at 04:43 on Jun 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 01:20
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Drift has been cruising with the armor on the passenger window down, for the breeze and so she can trade insults and info with the Knots cruising nearby. Mostly she's been bored, not really stressing the big engine in front of her. By the mid morning she's leaned well back in her seat, driving with one hand and smoking with the other. A white piece of hightech pulled out from her jacket supplies some tunes. When she spies the dust cloud, she pulls herself into a full sitting position and peers at it for a moment. Then Drift flicks her cigarette out the window (right into a Knot who falls back out of formation screaming abuse at her), turns down the music, and pulls up the side armor. Then she reaches up and hits the horn. When it was new made in the before times, the designers of the Destroyer blessed it with a horn. A horn that countless hours of agonizing had spawned, one that didn't sound cute or soft, but wasn't too rough, that projected the right kind of image for their flagship product without seeming crass. gently caress that noise. When Drift had come into position of the war machine that was part of her soul, she had ripped that piece of poo poo out and implanted her beast with new vocal cords. Ones pulled from a dead mega-rig, ones that made thunder jealous, that could crack the sky. So she pulls that string and lets loose the roar of the loving dead, once, twice. A free hand flicks out and cranks the volume. She revs the engine and presses forward. The road warrior wants point. Whoever wants to cut them off best be ready, because Drift is coming through. Gatito was on the truck. Did Grim climb on there or would she rather ride shotgun with Drift? e: Realized I led into a move and never rolled it. Go Aggro (+power): 2d6+2 11 Comrade Gorbash fucked around with this message at 21:11 on Jun 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 01:41
|
|
|
0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter There's an advantage to loudspeakers and it means that you can be heard in a much larger area than just a chump yelling. "Get me on their main rig and I'll dismantle it piece by loving piece!" Flame towards the sky. War's on. This could be a lovely day, or it could end much like I met up with the Knots in the first place...nah. It's beautiful. Helping Mask: 2d6+3 5 
Captain Foo fucked around with this message at 02:38 on Jun 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 02:19
|
|
|
Mask 0:00 | Armor 2 | XP ●●●●○» | 0-Barter The leading smoke, the cross-section of road, the entire scene indicated one thing: these fuckers meant to commit some murder today. And while she might force Dex to back down from killing an old... gently caress it, an old bitch she knew, no way that Mask was about to let some fuckers in dune-buggies front that hard and not pay for it. She watched those fuckers cross the T and smiled to herself, an eerie look with the teeth-on-double-teeth on her facepaint. They hadn't read 'Naval Tactics, 1650 - 1850'. See, while dumb motherfuckers might try to cross a T to sink ships of the line, she didn't have a line. Mask had wings. And the thing about wings was, well: they spread out. When you're spread, shots at you are hard. And what's easy? Shooting at the whole loving line in your purview. As the 1800-watt speaker system picked up, the carbines and stripped-down automatics opened up on the dumb shits trying to jack the Knots. Seize By Force: 2d6+2 8 (Seizing by force: The Convoy) I suffer little harm, and I frighten my enemy. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 02:46 on Jun 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 02:40
|
|
|
Colonel Lin "loving Wal-Ar." Lin said to himself, sitting back in the chair staring at the stack of cards. "I'm not surprised...that this might be an amazing opportunity, if we played our cards" he continued, standing up suddenly as inspiration struck. "Heh. Cards." Lin tossed the cards into his valise and said "We need to send someone around to secure the rest. Because...this is now an investigation. Into the suspicious disappearance of our chief technician Spector. I suspect foul play by agents of Duke Ripsaw, yes, and if I can find a bit more proof that's all I need to shake a few more resources out of that cheapskate Parson." Frowning as he stepped out of the tent, he waved over a nearby soldier. "Spector's missing. I don't think it's by choice. Get a team to secure his tent. I'm going to interview the neighbors." he ordered, walking off to the next tent over, hazy in the heat rising from a furnace. The tent was sweltering and half blinding, the sun shining off of examples of the crafter's glassware, everything from jewelry to labware. "Hey, you! Uh, Lemieux, right?" he greeted the neighbor. "Glassblower, eh? Thirsty work." he said, tossing her his canteen. "Take a break." "You see anything weird going on with Spector lately?"
|
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 04:37
|
|
|
Jersey the jingly man is a friendListen, ROADSIDEthey're out there and lostthere's a plango make them not animalsfor youthe keyless will break bondsyet the reins of madness are yoursLISTEN go get those trucksto save the friend and the menyou killed their leaderin them will follownow go Carry 1 forward to go recruit the Meat Machines to your side.
|
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 09:56
|
|
|
ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 4/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE stands, shuddering slightly. Tame the Meat Machines? Jersey had never been so merciful before. There must be a greater purpose. This was a test; redemption for Animals, and service for ROADSIDE. It was always more service. The big man lets out a sharp and gravely laugh. "Wise Jersey. I hear you and accept your challenge." ROADSIDE walks back towards the station, where the Keys are milling around. On the way he picks up Meat Machine's head, gripping it roughly by the hair. "Keymaster. The Meat Machines will soon be reborn. Jersey says you are friends. If you have faith in him, follow me and witness the taming of the Animals." ROADSIDE lifts Yield from where it fell, and then turns and marches out into the dunes to claim his flock of wolves. They would submit to the rule of ROADSIDE, or die. Phone posting. Might add more/post again once I get to an actual computer.
|
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 13:58
|
|
|
Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-1 Yeah, Grim would've taken shotgun with Drift. Up until now the ride has been silent, I've enjoyed the music while watching the landscape roll past. I notice the incoming at the same time Drift does, a tickle on the edges of my awareness, I drop the armor from my side and lean out, searching for targets with eyes and mind. Open your Brain 12 +XP At first I feel the impressions of the knots and those around me, the need and the filth, but I extend it, I fly further out into the cloud, my mind perceiving what's too far for my eyes to make out. I dimly hear Gatito shout something. Without blinking or taking my eyes from the enemy I speak my first words in hours. "Drive well, give me good angles." Error 404 fucked around with this message at 21:01 on Jun 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 20:58
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Drift just makes a tsk sound at Grim's request. As if anything else would happen, could happen, with her behind the wheel.
|
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 21:17
|
|
|
The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 4/5 | 3-barter "We're not giving up on him that easily," I say to Xerox, shooting him a sharp look. "But if it comes down to it...I'll take care of it myself. Ice, Slim Jim, stay with him. Shine, keep tossing the place until you find that safe. Everyone else, follow me. We're going to go catch a ride." That's around when Roadside shows up, and says his piece. I mull it over for a moment. "Okay, new plan, follow the huge dude." I'm not quite sure what he, or Jersey, has in mind, but I've seen what this guy can do. I stand in the destroyed doorway and turn to face the People of the Key. "Stay low and quiet, let him lead in. Wait for my signal." I point at the severed head ROADSIDE carries in one hand. "Look at what this day has brought us already. The one who bound so many in chains - who killed so many of us over the years - that's what's left of him. He's gone and that barrier will never contain us again. This is the start of a new chapter in our history. For the longest time we've been running, hiding, skulking around the desert at night. Skipping town in the middle of the night to avoid the local big-wig's gun thugs, leaving precious resources behind to be hoarded by the desert warlords because we didn't want to confront them, spending days or weeks being hidden in basements and back rooms by sympathizers. Stealing little petty trinkets here and there, playing like we're in that old Robbie-in-the-Hood folktale while the loving vultures circle just outside the walls. Aren't you all sick of it?" It's kinda funny, Freeway himself has never approved of any of this idealistic bullshit - or at least I thought he didn't. You don't voluntarily take three bullets for something you don't believe in. I pause for a moment, then, pointing again at the head in ROADSIDE's grasp, I say, "Look, this isn't just about saving one brother. It isn't even about the ritual, the Opening. It's about that. It's about not being afraid anymore. We're here for a purpose. We serve a cause. We're bound together because we believe in something greater than ourselves, greater than you or me or anyone else here. And that makes us strong - but only when we're together, and only when we're willing to fight for it. We do not leave people, and we do not leave a job unfinished, not if there is any other reasonable alternative. Now let's roll." I turn and follow Roadside. As I do, something just outside of my hearing asks me if I'd be bothering with this if it were any other member of the People bleeding out on the ground. I think I would, I'm almost sure I would, but...the question is there nonetheless. Convincing the people to come along with Roadside 2d6+3(+2 weird, +1 insight) 7 +XP phew, close one That brings me up to 5 XP and earns an Advancement. Banking that Advancement for now, will decide what to spend it on soon.
|
|
#
?
Jun 3, 2015 22:57
|
|
|
The Long Road Drift gets the first eyes on the gang: maybe a dozen dune rails, most of them two-person deals with a driver and a gunner. They're escorting a huge loving war rig: two big rig trucks strapped in tandem pulling a double-wide trailer. On the trailer is an ancient piece of construction equipment. On one end is the cab and the counterweight, all armored to hell and flanked with two gunner positions. On the other is a long arm with a huge, circular iron plate welded to one end. The rest of the bed is taken up by stationary engines and some wicked-looking batteries. Must turn like a turtle. Whatever devilry this is, it sure as gently caress doesn't look good. The Destroyer is pushing eighty now, raging down the road as Drift brings her in close to the rig to avoid fire from the flanking gunners. She's about to cross the line of fire when Grim screams "TURN NOW!" and something about her tone tells Drift that it isn't a choice if they want to live. Drift jukes hard as the iron plate floats to the left of them. The Destroyer picks up some air and falls to the ground a little off-kilter, but fine all the same. Close, though. The Knots spread out, charging like the cavalry of old into melee with these dumb fuckers. They exchange fire, the Knots' autos matching bullet for bullet with the enemy's. The Knots mostly make it through unharmed (save a biker cut down by a chain carried between two rails. Seems like he'll be all right ,though). They leave a couple rails in the sand, and a trail of blood or three. Mark herself pairs up with a three-person rail, dodging the automatic fire from the gunner slot and passing on the right. Bang. One bullet in the driver's face. Perfect shot, and the rail skids to a stop on its side. Two dead men , if the Knots swing back around. In what used to be a Beetle before they armored it up, put a V8 in it, and strapped a chaingun to the top, there's a driver and he's fixed his eyes on Drift. There's a protocol to this, almost, a system of honor. No words, just the knowledge that each driver is betting everything on the other turning their wheel first. Two agonizing seconds; Grim doesn't have enough time to even think about her regret at choosing such a crazy fucker for a driver, and then it's happening. Drift dynamites the brakes, shoving the Destroyer's nose into the sand. The Warbug guns it at the last second, like Drift knew he would, and it jumps off the Destroyer like a ramp - thirty loving feet into the air. Drift never looks back, but Grim sees the explosion behind them. Another mark for the side of the Destroyer. Having missed the Destroyer, the Magrail swings its arm around to the other side and catches the junker on the move, carrying the truck up twenty feet straight up to meet the iron. Gatito follows along, slamming into the plate as if he'd fallen upward. The operator continues the movement, spooling up speed for a full turn before cutting the voltage to the magnet and flinging Gatito and the truck fifty yards sideways. The truck doesn't survive the trip, breaking apart as it hits the dunes. Gatito's suit is much better equipped for this sort of thing. The falling, that is. The being hosed up by a gently caress-all magnetic field, well, the suit's internal computer isn't doing so well with that. Okay, so the Knots take 1-harm (3-harm minus SBF minus 1-armor) as a gang and deal 2-harm (3-harm minus 1-armor) to these assholes. Gatito takes s-harm as his suit reboots. Ask questions in the OOC thread/on IRC if you have any! Zurui fucked around with this message at 03:47 on Jun 4, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 4, 2015 02:53
|
|
|
Station 76 ROADSIDE walks over the dune. Down in the slip-sand below, the Meat Machines have pushed two of their three trucks into the clear. They stop shoving the third and look up at the giant with a traffic cone on his head. In one hand, the giant holds the head of their ex-leader. In the other, he holds a sign the size of a small car. ROADSIDE raises the head high, then raises the sign. No words are needed. You keep what you kill. "Yield!" says one of the ravagers. "Yield!" comes the second chant, and by the third every one of those who used to be the Meat Machines raises their weapon and yells with a bloody rage: "YIELD! YIELD! YIELD! YIELD! YIELD!" Go Aggro vs. Meat Machines: 2d6+4 11 Mercy Lin doesn't know the names of the trio that responds to protect Spector's shack. So many names here, so little time. He hopes they'll stay on for at least the day. Meanwhile, Lin canvasses the neighborhood. Everyone seems awfully nervous talking to him, but that could just be nerves. Lin doesn't know a lot of the specific of the rule that came before his, but one thing is abundantly clear: it was pretty cruel. The citizens are definitely uncertain about his presence. Certainly no one seems to miss Spector, or even be concerned about his disappearance. Lumieux lets slip that Spector had been gone for almost ten days last moon. She doesn't know where, but two houses down a battery-tender named Pole directs Lin to a convoy-apprentice: Rocket. Rocket initially seems to give Lin the hard line, but an implication of impending violence leads him to gain his memory back. Spector was along for the last return from Kon-Peki. He mentioned being in Wal-Ar several times, and seemed quite pleased with himself.
|
|
#
?
Jun 4, 2015 03:47
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter Drift pounds her fist twice on the dash in honor of the driver burning on his funeral pyre behind her. A true road warrior goes out only one way - strapped into their death machine, in flames and screaming their war cries as they catapult through the gates of god's tomb. Then she forgets about the dead man. Drift's move had worked to perfection, but there was a cost. Her speed was way down, the Destroyer's nose in danger of digging deep into the sand. She works the shifter frenetically, hauling the wheel to the side as the massive engine forces power through the shaky contacts her wheels make with the ground. The Destroyer slews sideways, barely under control. As it begins to gather speed again, she spots the wreck of the tanker, and the armored figure starting to stir next to it. She lets her turn continue, the back end flying out, going more sideways than forward. The Destroyer slides by Gatito at a speed where it isn't obviously suicidal for him to grab on the back. But he only gets one shot - even as it comes in reach, Drift snaps the back end straight and floors it. Giving Gatito a lift, so +1 to his roll. Help (+power): 2d6+2 10
|
|
#
?
Jun 4, 2015 04:18
|
|
|
ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 0/5 | 1-barter ROADSIDE stands, soaking in the cries. But it is not right, not yet. He smacks the severed head against Yield with a *CLANG*, calling for silence. "You were ruled as animals by the one called Meat Machine. He only obeyed the law of Animals. Now you obey a harsher and higher law. The Law of Jersey!" He jabs a meaty finger at his head. "I am his chosen instrument, ROADSIDE. You are now newborn children, raised from the dirt to serve his will. Meat Machine thought he could kill me." ROADSIDE hurls the severed head at the feet of his new followers. "HE. WAS. WRONG. AND HE DIED LIKE THE ANIMAL HE WAS. Follow Jersey, follow me, and you will never be wrong again." He points to the Keys. "Children of Jersey! We help the Keys reach their destination." I see you went and made the roll for me, in which case I hit 5xp from Hard. I'll take the Gang advance, as is only fitting. I will update my sheet when I get a chance. If I need to make the roll for Pack Alpha, I'll do that, or you can if you want to move things along. I'll choose "they do what you want" if I get a 7-9.
|
|
#
?
Jun 4, 2015 04:59
|
|
|
0:00 | 3-armor | 1/5 XP | 2-barter It's an odd feeling, flying through the air, not being able to move, feeling dead outside. Paralysis from the outside in. My muscles and bone and nerves still work, but skin does not. There's time to contemplate all this. I know the landing won't hurt, much, and it doesn't. Sure there's a crunch of metal as the jacked-up disintegrates, spilling what's left of its fuel and oil into the sand; oh and the blood of the driver, sorry Knot. You did well until you did not. That is how it goes out here in the wastes, for those lucky enough to do well in the first place. There's no need to panic. I can't do anything at all until the suit unfucks itself. Drift is coming, that's fortuitous. Try to reach for the bumper. Arm doesn't go. Try to reach for the bumper. Arm doesn't go. Try to reach for the bumper... Act Under Fire, with help: 2d6+2 11 And the arm fires up and and the fingers clamp down and I hear the engine strain pulling me through the sand until I clamber to the trunk. I see Grim through the rear window. This is the most dangerous rig in the whole fuckin World right now. I guarantee it. I shoot another blast of flame to the sky. Can't kill me so easily, fuckers.
|
|
#
?
Jun 4, 2015 14:36
|
|
|
Colonel Lin Basic SeduceManipulate Hot+1: 2d6+1 9 -1 Barter (Wal-Ar) +1 XP "Evidence, and now testimony. Good job, Rocket." said Lin, flipping the kid a bit of jingle. "Fuckin' Wal-Ar." he cursed under his breath. Clearing his throat, he said in a low voice, "Rocket, I need a sharp man like yourself to keep an eye open on the next trip to Wal-Ar. Oh, it's nothing serious. I just need someone reliable telling me what's going on in the area. Something that can give me an idea of what Duke Ripsaw's strengths and weaknesses are, what's he's scheming. Unusual events. That kind of thing." Basic SeduceManipulate Hot+1: 2d6+1 9 At Rocket's doubtful stare, Lin continued. "As it so happens, I have a small cache of Wal-Ar gifcards, and I'm willing to tap it to help ease your passage.", slipping him a handful of the gifcards. "I know I can leave it up to you how to spend it." Suddenly Rocket was all smiles. "Yes, sir!" Lin grinned and clapped him on the should. "Good man. I look forward to hearing from you."
|
|
#
?
Jun 5, 2015 04:42
|
|
|
ROADSIDE, the Faceless 3:00 | 2-armor (Proper Signage)| XP 1/5 | 1-barter The Meat Machines stand and stare sullenly at ROADSIDE's order. The Keys are their prey, their playthings. Some habits die hard. Murmurs of discontent ripple through the group. "gently caress THAT" shouts one brave soul. His face is covered in a bloody palmprint, and he's brandishing two ragged knives. "Meat Machine would kill them slow! And we're the MEAT MACHINES!" He punches at the dirt, working himself into a frenzy. "JERSEY CAN GO gently caress HIMSELF IN HELL. I'LL SEND HIM THERE." Palm charges up the dune, with most of the Meat Machines behind him. ROADSIDE doesn't move. Palm is a full two lengths ahead of the other psychos. He's licking his knives as he sprints. ROADSIDE doesn't move. Palm is four lengths ahead of the pack. He's screaming in a singsong "Kill your face, eat your guts! When I'm done I'll stomp your nuts!" ROADSIDE doesn't move. Palm reaches the peak of the dune. He lunges into the air, with both knives above him. "WHEN I KILL YOU, THEN I'LL BE THE NEW MEAT MACH-*crunch*. ROADSIDE has him by the windpipe. He drags the man in close, and whispers to him. "Jersey gave you a chance. You wasted it." *SNAP* ROADSIDE twists Palm's head sideways, cracking it like a ratchet. The big man lifts the corpse up, and heaves it back down the dune, bowling over the rest of the Meat Machines advancing up the slope. ROADSIDE dashes down the hill, screaming. He levels the men in his path with fists and feet. "YOU HAD ONE CHANCE. ONE." *THUMP* A psycho faceplants into the sand. "JERSEY TOLD ME TO TURN YOU RABID DOGS INTO MEN, SO HE'S GIVEN YOU ANOTHER CHANCE." *WHUMP* *CRUNCH* Some teeth litter the ground. "NOW GET THE gently caress INTO YOUR TRUCKS, AND LOAD THESE KEYS BEFORE YOU WASTE THIS ONE TOO." It isn't long before the gang lies battered on the dirt. Slowly, they rise up, crawling to the trucks. One of them, a bald man with a wicked scar from ear to ear, risks talking. "We're yours. We're yours. loving hell we're yours." Pack Alpha: 2d6+3 8 XP from Hard. I choose "they do what you want." Scarboy there is named Smiler Green Intern fucked around with this message at 12:31 on Jun 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 5, 2015 04:59
|
|
|
Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-1 My mind explodes into noise and fire. Screams and gunfire and the cough and roar of rough engines barely registers. In the chaos I'm aiming by mind more than eye as I unleash ap rounds as fast as I can pull the trigger. Aim there. take a breath, pull trigger. shift aim, fire, shift right. fire. fire again. aim behind, slightly up. fire. breath, fire fire. The whispers are deafening as I seize the initiative, killing as many exposed enemies as I can and trying to keep their heads down while the others take their shots. Seize by Force 10 ACR (4-harm AP Close Autofire Silenced Hi-tech) *you suffer little harm *you inflict terrible harm *you impress, dismay or frighten your enemy I calmly slap a fresh mag into my rifle, my mind whispers of more targets. More blood.
|
|
#
?
Jun 5, 2015 06:50
|
|
|
The Keymaster 0:00 | 1-armor (Divine Protection)| XP 1/5 | 3-barter You'd think the People of the Key would be pretty weirded out or even disturbed by what just happened, but, well...for a lot of the gangs out here, this is just how succession works. Some of them even change names and livery with each new leader. You get used to it. There's no formal ritual to select a new leader, like we've got - it's just whoever is the biggest and baddest rear end in the group. Right now that's this guy, and his...god? Guide? Employer? Whatever you want to call him. Anyway. I prefer our way. A lot more formal. Clearing my throat, and then: "Alright then, anyone want to help our new...friends...get that last truck un-stuck? Let's make it quick if we can, we're on borrowed time here and we've still got a wounded Brother and a safe to get loaded up. Shine, go fetch Ganja and the mules, bring them back here as fast as you can." As the People get to work, and cautiously, reluctantly - very reluctantly - intermingle with the people who used to kill us not long ago, I allow myself, for the first time this morning, to relax a little. We've survived a little longer, and while we haven't exactly bought ourselves a moment of respite, I at last have a moment to listen to the music again. I stand atop a nearby dune and let the harsh wind wash over me, pulling a keyring from my pocket and holding it high in the air. It's an old keyring, covered in old keys; the legend is that the first Keymaster used one of the keys on it, on the night the world ended, to unlock the door to a shelter whose owner had thought to keep it all to himself. In doing so, he had saved dozens of people, and it is said they became the first People of the Key. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but there's something about these keys. There is real power here, in my hands. Every key has power, of course. Sometimes it's positive power - the power to free the imprisoned, to open the way to safety, to access the food-stockpile or the hidden cache of knowledge. Sometimes it's negative power - the power to bypass the enemy's defenses, to lay their secrets bare, to make off with all of their precious things. Get enough of that power together in one place, and you can open any door - even the ones in your head. As I hold the ring in my hand, the wind sets the keys clinking and jangling, and I close my eyes and let the sound wash over me. As before - as nearly every time before - the music leads me to the Door, and the Key unlocks it cleanly. On the other side, there is the world. I'm opening my brain to the Maelstrom and attempting to learn if any obstacles or dangers await us on the road. The People will be attempting to get that last truck ready to go and loading up our wounded man, as well as the safe if we found it. Opening my brain (+weird) 2d6+2 10 +XP Also, spending my Advancement to take a new option for my cult, and picking the option Your followers are eager, enthusiastic, and successful recruiters. Surplus +growth. The People talk, our message spreads, and for some reason, ever since that riot, more folks are listening to us. I've given up on telling people we didn't start it. Mister Bates fucked around with this message at 07:23 on Jun 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 5, 2015 07:21
|
|
|
Mask 0:00 | 3:00gang | Armor 2 | XP ●●●●●»  | 0-BarterSeize By Force: The Convoy: 2d6+2 9 Mask flies wide to the right, then cuts back, Bagheera roaring parallel to the convoy line, her smg2-harm close area loud in her close hand. She deals with some of their small-arms fire from the warboys as she runs down the line of buggies, firing into the drivers down the line. She dodges most of the small arms fire, trying to take a little as possible. By then her Knots turn into savages, causing chaos and dissent while she works, and she takes her time to empty plenty of the magazine into the driver-side door of the war rig itself. By the end the result is almost impressive: enough of the drivers had eaten rounds from her gun that the convoy is coming to a stop. She roars a sound of victory, swinging the bike around and coming back up to try to get her gang back into line. Seize By Force: The Convoy: 2d6+2 9 I suffer littler harm, and I take definite hold of it. QuantumNinja fucked around with this message at 18:30 on Jun 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 5, 2015 18:25
|
|
|
One life; I'm gonna live it up. The Long Road Drift swings the Destroyer around to pick up Gatito, Grim opens up on the scattered buggies. One rail tries to cut them off from Drift's side - hoping to escape fire - but Grim pushes herself out onto the window ledge and brings her weapon to bear. Grim sweeps it with her ACR and the driver and gunner fall out. They leave long smears of blood on the dunes. A single-man rail keeps pace on Grim's side; hanging out the window, she aims with one hand and pulls the trigger. In slow motion, each bullet (the size of a thumb) tears into the driver's guts from left to right: splish, splash, sploosh all over the seat and steering wheel until there's no more flesh and the rounds are sparking off the rail's frame. The rail launches off a dune and the top half of what used to be the driver ends over and falls onto Grim, skewering itself on the end of her rifle. Grim shakes the half-body loose, guts and blood and poo poo smearing down her face and across her armor and then it's gone. Damned inconvenience, that. Grim keeps shooting, drat near losing her seat when Gatito jumps on. Now, Drift smiles. This motherfuckin' rig is about to wreck some poo poo. They can see the Knots circled around the war rig, and the other bastards are moving in to encircle them. The Knots rally to Mask and circle the rig as it screeches to a stop. Mask pops off a shot at the sole survivor in the second rig, and the rear end in a top hat slumps down over the door. That's the good news - the bad news is that now that they're not moving, the bleeding, smoking remnants of the other gang have set themselves up around the flatbed. They circle the buggies and stop, training a half-dozen mounted automatics on the Knots. Their leader, all scarred and nearly naked, calls out from a rig that's half-truck, half-Chrysler: "I'm feeling merciful today!" She laughs, and the Judas Priests laugh with her. "You leave the rig and ride on all peace-like and I won't light up your entire gang right here and now." They could break out, sure; but it would mean losing a couple Knots as they picked up speed. Mask's bike is running hot from the bad gas; she's hot, tired, and there might be a bullet lodged in her chest armor. Engines idle; it's as close to silence as the desert makes during the day. Out in the distance, the Destroyer revs and skids through the sand. And then Mask hears it: that steady running sound - guzz or water, and it smells like guzz. One of the tanks in the rig is busted open. Mask hopes that the others can't see it - a single bullet could set it off. Right now, I'd bet she's praying; if she isn't, she loving should be. Update for Mercy and Station 76 coming in a few hours.
|
|
#
?
Jun 6, 2015 01:45
|
|
|
Drift 0:00 | XP ●●○○○» | 1-barter The Destroyer strains for a moment as Gatito's weight comes down on it full, then finds traction and roars back to full speed. Working the shift like its an extension of her, Drift slides the nose towards open desert for a moment. Then, she rolls her shoulders, and turns towards the cluster of vehicles around the rig. Drift reaches up and lets off three blasts of the horn as the Destroyer barrels towards another confrontation, a snarling metal spear hurtling towards disaster. Not so hot. Might be good to get some Help on this. Go Aggro (+power): 2d6+2 6
|
|
#
?
Jun 6, 2015 02:56
|
|
|
Gatito Drift guns the engine. I step off. Looks like guzz on the ground, seeping. Gushing. It's a problem for almost everyone. It is not a problem for me. Their leader, whoever she thinks she is, is making threats. However, I've already made my decision about the fate of this area. "My name is Gatito. You are guilty of carrying supplies in the vicinity of A-Town; a city under interdict by my order." I put the flamethrower to the sky. "Surrender or burn." He is the one, Armageddon, walking through fire, Metal Messiah going aggro. Phone posting, sorry for the bad formatting Captain Foo fucked around with this message at 04:07 on Jun 6, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jun 6, 2015 03:31
|
|
|
|
| # ? Jun 10, 2024 03:08 |
|
|
Grim 0:00 | 2 Armor | XP ●●○○○» | Barter-1 Drift guns it and turns us around for another pass. She fishtails a bit, and I do what I can to keep her on track. I let loose several blasts of rifle fire, not aiming at anyone particular, just keeping heads down so these fuckers can't get a clear shot. Aid Another 9 Drift gets her +1
|
|
#
?
Jun 6, 2015 05:38
|
|