IC- Chapter Three: Lone Wanderers

[Gunslinger]

OOC- Sorry if this post is too soon for some of you but I've had a lot of time on my hands and I've made good use of it.

IC-

It’s funny how a natural disaster has the unlikely ability to unite people together. There once were these folks called the Amish and if someone in the community had their barn blown away, well, the rest of the Amish would be waiting at his doorstep with hammer and nails at hand. And there once was a place called Kansas that had a helluva lot of tornadoes. And once one of those bad boys came reeling in, the entire town would bunch up together in the nearest cellar. It didn’t matter if you were cooped up with Aunt Sally, who had slept with your husband, or with Pastor Dave, who regularly filched money from the tithes. It didn’t matter because you were in it together.

That was the enduring sentiment of a recovering Tabis. Having survived both a raider and then a slaver occupation, the feeling of brotherly love emanated in the air along with residual gunpowder. The Border Patrol left the remaining slavers alone, the cops turned their eyes away from the seedier establishments in town, and children were passing out daisies to everyone. It was an endearing sight, really.

But not to Caleb, the lone Blade. Sure, they would be united for now. It would last for maybe a week or two. But loyalties are easily forgotten and the people of Tabis were fickle folks. The townspeople were false people; they fell prey to easily to their emotions. Soon, the period of recovery would be over and they would be lunging for each other’s throats. Right now, the strain and stress of almost being conquered and actually surviving gave them a sunny outlook. Almost everyone had a smile on. Caleb thought it was sickening. Instead of clapping each other on the back, they should be preparing for a fight. What made them think they were safe even now?

Tabis was so impractical with their self-indulging congratulations. After all, they were not the ones who had won the battles. They were not the ones who picked up guns and brought the fight to the enemy. Sure, there were good men and women who had lent a helping hand in the battle. But not the rest of the town who were getting drunk in celebration and regaling each other in false accounts of the battle they were never in.

Caleb would let them revel in their gluttony and festivity. He was done with this town; it sickened him. A dark moon was lingering in the sky that night, its face cracked and tarnished like the broken earth. It was a doomsayer moon and, though he was not a religious man, Caleb knew how to interpret an omen. Tabis was free of the slavers for now, but they were still fettered by their own ignorance. They could not see the dark powers amassing against them.

Caleb had to leave. The feeling of haste and dread was imbedded deep into his bones. The magnetic pull of the East drew him, alluring him with its siren song. The guilt of leaving his brothers in shackles while fighting someone else’s war ripped his soul. Staying in Tabis was chancing his fragile sanity.

The old Blade had originally returned to Tabis to recruit his old allies–Grim the bounty hunter, the girl Rogue, and the Slayer known as Fang. But instead, he found himself further embroiled in the defense of Tabis. He was further drowning in the conspiracy. Even though it wasn’t his fight, Caleb had an obligation to at least ensure the safety of his allies and the ghouls–all the people that had helped him earlier. But then more people came flooding in, complicating the matter. Ibis, the damning obscure prophet, who believed he was a Messiah. Gabriel, the dangerous and enigmatic young assassin, whose loyalties and agendas were still hidden. Jeeva, a slaver who believed he owed a life debt to the old Blade. There were too many people depending on him; he felt like Atlas, holding the burden of the world on his shoulders.

When there were too many intricacies and politics going on, Caleb usually left. It hurt to admit it but it was the truth. The Blades are a simplistic people at heart, usually minding their own business. They’ll help out the downtrodden but they won’t go out on a limb. Caleb had done enough for Tabis and it was time to head East.

The town was in good hands and stable enough. Without corrupt chiefs, the police force in Tabis could now concentrate on protecting and serving. The position of chief of police had been presented to Yacob and Caleb could not think of a better man for the job. Krieg and his Border Patrol were lingering in Tabis, helping to protect the town and accepting new recruits.

And what of Caleb’s allies, his friends? The last he had seen of Grim, Rogue, and Gabriel, they had been carted over to a factory-converted hospital along with the rest of the wounded. Rogue was fine but she came along to keep Ferris, a Border Patrol guard, company. Gabriel had taken stimpacks for some quick healing but it didn’t beat a doctor’s care. Only Grim, who had been beaten up pretty thoroughly and now carried a few pints of ghoul blood, was in seriously bad conditions. Wally, a ghoul doctor, had done what patching up he could at the Fortress but a stay at a fully stocked hospital would do Grim good. With all the wounded and commotion going on, no one noticed Caleb had left.

Caleb had been looking for allies but he could not burden his personal quest with his friends in their current condition. Besides, a large group usually attracted unwanted attention. The situation at the Fortress had been evidence enough. Discretion was the key. His brothers were to be made an example at Grey Cliffs and if he came in force, they would surely be killed. Once again, he would become the lone wanderer.

It was night and the fight had been over for some time now. Now that he was no longer a fugitive, slipping in and out of town would b easier. Some of the stores in the open market were still open, the vendors hoping to sell their wares during this time. Back at the fortress, Caleb had picked up enough ammo to kill all that stood in his path. At the market, he bought simple essentials–jerky and other nonperishable foodstuffs along with five canteens. He bought as much as he could carry in his knapsack.

He mingled easily into the crowd, as inconspicuously as a cowboy Blade could. No one stopped him, even though all the townspeople knew who he was. The revolvers and the rifle were enough to dissuade any wayfarers.

Strangely enough, other folks were also heading out of the town. These were the smart ones. While the rest partied, they gathered their belongings and were ready to leave. Tabis had been spoiled for them and was no longer a dependable sanctuary. They would normally fight for their homes but not against such overwhelming odds. Caleb wished them luck.

There was nobody guarding the gates outside of town. With most of the population celebrating in all the bars, the police had enough on their hands. Hordes of migratory exiles poured out of the wide gates of Tabis.

It wasn’t until Caleb had gotten to the gates that he felt someone following behind him. Weary with the battle he had just fought, Caleb levered a round into the Winchester in his hands and turned around.

It was Gabriel who stood before him.

With a wry grin, Caleb waved at the young assassin with his rifle. “Howdy, hombre.”

Gabriel did not return his grin. His upper torso was covered in bandages and a haunted expression was in his eyes. Though it was completely dark, Caleb saw the glint of steel reflecting in Gabriel’s right hand. What looked like a punch dagger, also known as a katar, was hidden in his hand.

“Where’re you going, Caleb?” Gabriel asked in a husky voice. He sighed wistfully as he closed the distance between them. Caleb noted that Gabriel’s breath was tinged with whiskey and his eyes stared forward, unfocused.

“Go back to the hospital,” Caleb said. “You’re hurt.”

Gabriel shook his head and took a step closer. “Where are you going?” he repeated. His right hand, the one carrying the punch dagger, flexed.

Something was wrong and Caleb felt his life was in danger. At this distance, the assassin could cut his throat before Caleb could fire a shot. The old Blade was a good judge of people. Gabriel’s arrival had seemed too coincidental and he had felt something…wrong…about the assassin. And now, the young man had been recently acting strangely. As if he had opened a message that told him to kill a friend.

Caleb decided to be upfront with Gabriel. “I’m leaving for Grey Cliffs, Gabriel. I’ve wasted enough time on this town and I’ve got my own affairs to attend to. My brothers need me.”

The assassin breathed huskily, as if he was chugging on a cigar. He stared blandly beyond Caleb, not really looking into his eyes. “And you’re going alone?” he asked dispassionately.

Caleb nodded. “Ayuh. It’s going to be a hard trail but I’ll make it.” Caleb shouldered his rifle and turned his back on Gabriel. We walked towards the gates, his back feeling like a vulnerable target. Then, with his foot just out of the gates, he turned back and said, “Don’t try to follow me, Gabe. You’ll just slow me down.”

The assassin was silent, staring at his boots. Then he lifted his head and shouted back, “You know, Caleb, this isn’t just your fight! We were with you in this!”

Caleb shrugged. “Maybe, for a time, you really did have my back. But I think now your modus operandi has changed, Gabriel.” He looked meaningfully at the weapon concealed in Gabriel’s hands.

Though he was far away and it was dark, Caleb could tell Gabriel’s face had flushed a deep scarlet. The assassin had enough good grace to sheath his katar.

“Don’t try to follow me, Gabe,” Caleb repeated. Then he turned around and went East.

Gabriel stared a long time at Caleb’s retreating back, his loyalty to his organization and to his friend in conflict with each other. Finally, he flung the punch dagger angrily to the ground and turned away.

And so, the old gunslinger and the young assassin turned their backs on each other.

No one noticed the slaver Jeeva, who owed a life debt to Caleb, trailing cautiously behind the Blade.

 

[welsh]

At the fort

"Tia's dead too? Valentia is joining the Blades? Crooked Christ, don't thes folks understand that a contract is a contract? Don't they fucking understand that when you sign a paper and make a commitment, you're stuck with it?" Cursed Conner.

This was unacceptable.

With all the shit that had gone down these past couple of weeks, further delay could not be tolerated.

Business is business, especially with Blades.

Simple delivery of supplies to the Blade compound in Grey Cliffs, a few sealed packages that, the Blade had said, had to get through. Paid and delivered.

And Conner knew better than to break a contract with a Blade.

Fucking Christ! Shit! But only a fool would send a caravan out without escort. Slavers, Raiders, Jeezus they had been outside the freaking city walls.

Conner's gaze feel on his foolish, slow witted nephew Roger, but who everyone referred to as Dizzy.

Dizzy was watching Conner pacing, blank eyed and empty-headed. Surely the creature of years of in-breeding. Conner had never liked his brother, and he found that Dizzy only increased this animosity.

"What?" Said Conner, demanding something, anything from the dim wit.

"Well" Said Dizzy slowly, always speaking slowly, " I reckon you'll need to find new guards, Uncle."

Idiot!

This was no way to run a caravan company.

 

[Stranger]

Virgil Black was trying his damnedest to relax. He hadn't been in touch with civilization...or at least what past for civilization these days, in weeks. Finally he stumbled upon the town of Tabis, and decided it was as good a place as any to set down for a bit.

As he sat there at the round card table, taking puffs from his cigar - which had been horribly overpriced for the quality of the tobacco - he couldn't help but wonder precisely what the whole town was so excited about. That was in addition to his wondering if the man sitting across the table from him was cheating (Virgil was almost positive that he was).

He'd managed to find one of the quieter of the inns in town, though it was still becoming more boisterous as time went on. From overhearing conversations, it seemed clear that the entire town was in celebration of some kind. Virgil wasn't sure what they were celebrating, nor did he particularly care; as far as the ghoul was concerned, it was all a big steaming pile of 'not-my-problem'. Though it seemed the concensus of the town that they would make it as such, with their increasing rowdiness.

The excitement around town was beggining to spill out into the streets, and Virgil could only guess precisely how long it would be until the drunken and over-jubilant groups of Tabisites broke out into a full scale riot.

But at the precise moment, he was more concerned with the fabulous hand that he had. Not that he necessarily needed one most times - it's easy to keep a good poker face when no one particularly wants to look at you.

"Right. I'll see your seven, and raise you-" Virgil began, but was stopped by mounting iritation, "Dammit, kid, are you gonna say something or just keep staring at me all night?!"

From the nearby bar, a young man who had been studying the ghoul looked as if he were a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"N-no sir," he jumped to his feet, frightened-looking, "I-I've just never seen a ghoul before. That's all."

"Well now you-you have," Virgil mocked him, "So if you've got any idiotic questions to ask, just get 'em out of your system so-" he was interupted by the sound of glas shattering from a shop across the street. Looks like that riot of his was heating up. He turned back to the young man, "So we can both get on with our lives. Okay?"

Virgil looked back again at the situation escalating in the streets as he heard the sound of someone screaming. He didn't want to have to get involved in anyone's business, anymore than anyone wanted some ghoul drifter in their business.

"No?" Virgil asked after a moment of stunned silence from the young man, "Then get back to minding your own business," he shyly turned away, and Virgil went back to his game, keeping an eye on the street through the window.

 

[Reaper]

So long without drink had dulled Gabriel’s previous resistance. The old days as a young hotshot infantryman when he could drink anyone under the table seemed so far away.

He had stood there face to face with the mark and he couldn’t do it. The small-punch dagger drawing Caleb’s attention could have stabbed into the Blade’s throat. Caleb had known that but he hadn’t reacted. The stiletto hidden in Gabriel’s left hand would have been the real killing weapon. The drink had not made him forget his original plan, rough as it was. A target as tough and aware as Caleb required a sneakier play than usual. Speed might have succeeded without the misdirection, but the young assassin was taking no chances.

He wandered back toward the centre but turned to look out at the retreating Blade. Caleb was a single, lone wanderer on the morning desert. Turning back, Gabriel thought he saw the slaver leader, Jeeva. But the assassin dismissed the idea. No slaver would risk his neck going after a Blade. He would have no chance killing Caleb and Gabriel thought that was low, even for a slaver. No way was it Jeeva.

Gabriel continued his painful walk back towards the hustle and bustle of the returning heroes. A few rowdy fights appeared to be breaking out here and there. Probably a few accusations of cowardice spreading around. ‘Why didn’t you got to save them?’. Everyone who didn’t go to Wainwright was probably being asked that question by someone.

Damn his ribs hurt. After the hard fighting on the El he wasn’t surprised. After tangling with more deathclaw hand to hand he only hoped he hadn’t done permanent damage. The infirmary back at base would set him right but he couldn’t go back. Not yet, maybe not ever. Caleb or the Slayers. Would he have to choose? There shouldn’t have been a choice. The Blade was just another target. He should have been just another walking dead man, as soon as Gabriel received the termination message that should have been all Caleb was. A walking corpse.

But Control had never been so round about. He’d never had an impromptu hit. He’d always left base with a target in mind with a termination order already issued. Control had never screwed around with him like this before. Still it was his first mission as an intelligence gatherer instead of just acting as a human weapon. He was supposed to observe and report back. It was test. He was a rising star in the Nightblades. He was the only star. He had proved the Nightblades worked. After his father set up the project, it was Gabriel’s test run that proved the viability of the Nightblades to the top brass. They wouldn’t sign off on the extensive training until they thought top-grade, stone-cold silent killers would benefit the Slayers. Gabriel thought it was obvious but then violence and death was in his blood. Third generation Slayer warrior, the genes were bound to have a taste for killing by now.

It didn’t make sense. Why would the Slayers want Caleb dead. The old Blade was hero and Gabriel didn’t think the Slayers were petty enough to kill Caleb because he made the Blades more popular than them. That was ridiculous. It had to be something more important, something Gabriel had not ‘needed to know’. He damn well needed to know now but it was too late.

If only he could contact his father without Control monitoring his transmissions. Damn it. Still running to daddy.

Bullshit. He was a man now. A fine soldier, a healthy human being, a superb killer in his own right. For a second, Gabriel wondered if those last two points were mutually exclusive but he shrugged the thought away. This was not the time to ponder the deep moral question of killing. He hoped he still believed his reasoning from his younger days. We shouldn’t have to fight and kill each other but we do because there are some people in this world who don’t respect others and the defenceless need killers and fighter of their own to protect them. That would still have to do. But Gabriel feared that routine and simple familiarity were the reasons he still fought and still killed. He was good at it. One of the best. So he kept on fighting. He kept on killing.

Enough. He needed another drink, the pain in his side was starting to really bother him and the morass of unwanted thoughts was making his head feel too small. So Gabriel searched for the nearest bar. Soon he pushed through the doors of a quiet place with few people in it. An old wooden sign hung above the bar declaring, ‘Better beer here!’ Nice, the parched assassin thought. It was a haven from the ruckus outside as glass was smashed and drunks staggered into each other, setting off more good-natured, if brutal violence.

Inside the bar were a couple of folks who stared out at the rowdy street, somehow believing the thin walls would protect them from all dangers, namely more drunks in the street who didn’t take kindly to being stared at.

A young man, barely more than a boy was sitting at the bar trying to look like he was not staring at the black-clad traveller playing cards. Gabriel noticed with surprise, that the dusty card-player was a ghoul. That clinched the fact that he wasn’t from around here because Ghouls didn’t come above ground in Tabis much. Gabriel never really understood why. Normal folk would just have to accept them if they did walk around topside and the odd altercation notwithstanding, the assassin speculated with a perhaps alcohol induced optimism that surely they would all learn to get along.

“Whiskey.” Gabriel demanded. The barman replied without looking,

“Seen the sign yet? Why burn your throat with whiskey when we got the best beer in town?” he put down the glass he was cleaning and looked at Gabriel’s narrowing eyes. “Err…whiskey it is.” He declared, the false cheer ringing in his frightened voice.

“Thanks.” Gabriel dropped a small stack of coins on the bar and took the bottle from under the bar counter. “This should do.”

The boy nearby was now staring at the assassin, whose coat had fallen open, again revealing the frightening array of weapons.

“You been to Wainwright today?” he asked, hopeful for a tale of bravery and battle.

“There and back too many times. The sewers in this town are disgusting. You don’t want to go down there.” Gabriel took a long pull on the bottle.

“What?” the kid looked incredulous but also very excited and eager.

“Long story, filled with mayhem, death, blood, gore, entrails, more killing and a bit more death.” The assassin could feel his tongue running away with him. “And you don’t want to hear a word of it.” He stood and walked steadily, and with great effort, over to a dark corner of the bar where he could relax and finally take his dark glasses off.

Dropping the black shades onto the table and taking another drink, Gabriel Wolf relaxed for the first time in days.

 

[Stranger]

Virgil hadn't quite had his finger on who was going to start trouble in that particular establishment until a trio of particularly dirty and inhebriated men stood up and went to the bar. Ghouls live a long time, and after a certain amount of time, laying eyes on who is trouble becomes second nature in the wasteland.

He couldn't hear what they were saying as they stood at the bar, downing whiskeys. But one in particular kept looking at a man in the corner, then speaking with his comrades, looking back, and becoming more agitated. Virgil decided to ignore it and went back to his game. This hand wasn't quite so good.

Finally the three of them walked over to the man slouched in the corner.

"I can spot one of you bastards a mile away," the angriest of the three shouted at the man in the corner, drawing his attention, "Even without your pissass fancy armor!"

"And just who exactly is it that you think I am?" the man in the corner responded quietly, sitting up a bit.

Not my problem... Virgil said to himself.

"You're one of those fucks who killed my brother!" the irate man swung his foot and kicked over the table, "I can see those fancy damn guns under your coat, but you left your armor at home, and you ain't so tough without it. Getup!" he slurred, "You an me - right now!"

This was definately trouble, "I fold," Virgil said.

The man in the corner slowly got up, looking more annoyed than anything. Obviously a proffesional of some sort. Looked like he could normally handle himself - but tonight, luck wasn't with him. The angry drunk swung before he could reach his guns, and collided a fist with his side. He obviously hit some sort of weak spot, because the man doubled over, clutching his side. The drunk then proceeded to remove a long combat knife from his boot.

Shit. Virgil thought, I'm going to regret this later.

The ghoul got up nonchalantly and withdrew the plasma pistol from his side, and with a single fluidic motion, brought it up and fired a quick blast into the drunken beligerent's lower back. In a mere moment, the entire tavern became incredibly quiet.

Letting out a howl of anger, one of the beligerent's friends pulled a rusty revolver from his coat and pointed it to Virgil. It probably would have blown up in his hand from being so dirty, but Virgil wasn't about to take a chance. He discharged another round into the second man's chest. The third one turned white and ran out the door.

No sooner had Virgil holstered his weapon than the sound of a shotgun chambering to his right sounded. The bartender had a twelve gauge pointed to his head.

"Ain't you read the 'No fighting sign'? Get out of my bar, freak, and take your goddamn laser gun with you!"

It didn't matter that Virgil hadn't started it. The barman had been clearly looking for a reason to throw him out since he walked in. Such is the life of a ghoul.

"Fine," Virgil said in a gravelly, almost scratchy voice, as he picked up his napsack and slung it over his shoulder, "I can drink anywhere. Beer here tastes like brahmin piss anyhow."

That really got the goat of the barman, who prized his beer so much. As soon as he shouldered the shotgun, Virgil took his cigar but and flipped it through the air, landing in the alcohol soaked floor behind the bar. The bartender gasped, and hastily put down the shotgun to stamp it out.

It wasn't until Virgil was safely outside that any commotion returned to the bar.

(OOC- I hope that wasn't too cheesy or anything. I couldn't think of a good way to bring my character in, and I wanted to do it relatively early on).

 

[welsh]

Grim gets sick

OOC- No quite nicely done. One thing that your character will have to deal with it the general prejudice that ghouls face in Tabis and most of the towns/cities of this area. This is generally not true of the mian characters, but that might be because the main characters have developed a good relationship with the ghouls.

ICC-

Grim had first Caleb was missing when he saw Gabriel move. Gabriel had been acting strangely. Something troubled the young man. Grim had noticed that Gabriel had been sharing drinks with some of the heavy infantrymen.

Probably just blowing off steam, and few could blame him.

Grim got up to follow, but then decided against it. His legs felt sore and tight. I must be getting old.

He looked over for the others, and felt strangely alone. Everyone else was busy. Jeeva, who had been sitting between Talon and Knox was gone. Strange behavior for the slaver leader, but maybe he was getting some drinks for his wounded men.

Fury and Nana were speaking with Yacob, whose chest was newly bandaged. Yacob seemed excited telling his story. Dobbins had conferred with Yacob and seemed to be adminstering things. Horus came in and spoke to Yacob, Yacob had looked over at Skik, the only ghoul in the room, his face suddenly very serious. Then he smiled, nodded and said something that Grim couldn't hear to Horus.

Bear and Skik were laughing in a corner. These two obviously done business before. Ghoul -Human interactions were unusual. Rarely did either overcome their individual prejudices. However, on the borders of each's society the two sometimes found business.

Krieg had left earlier with his new recruits. Most of the HAIs who were still able bodied had also gone to their duties.

Over in a corner, Rogue was watching over Ferris. Despite the weariness and the dirt of the days fight, the girl's hair was still fair, her look strong, proud and in a way harder than her years, beautiful. Despite himself, Grim couldn't help feel protective towards her, almost paternal. Gabriel, well he traveled under a dark cloud, a poor choice of careers. Ferris, wounded as he was and naive as he might be, would make a better man.

But Rogue was too young for such choices and besides, Rogue had her own paths to travel.

Ibis was taking care of his brahma, brought in to the factory to get out of the rain. There were things Grim wanted to say to the old prophet. But damned if his legs didn't feel tight.

Age.

The world was changing as it would, and Grim couldn't help it was passing him by.

Time to get up.

Grim sat up, and could feel the tightness. Then he got to his feet and began walking over to Ibis. The first step should have told him something was wrong. The second step was hard. The third was too much.

Suddenly his legs felt powerless and stiff, and a tightness swept through his chest. His arms felt hard and difficult to move. Tottering like a unbalanced statute, Grim fell hard. On the way down he reached out, grasped a tray that was laying on top of a table and pulled it down. The glasses shattered around him, and Grim could smell spilled alcohol, even as his senses began to blur.

He looked up and wondered if this was death finally closing in.

A bullet would have been better. Even a deathclaw. This was embarrassing.

A warmth in his hand.

"Grim? Grim?" It was Rogue.

"Rogue, what the hell is happening." Grim responded.

"MEDIC! DOCTOR!" Rogue yelled. "IBIS!!! Grim fell. Grim can you hear me?"

In fact, his hearing had become painful, but yes he could hear. He opened his mouth to speak, and felt pain in his voice.

"Yes, yes. " And he didn't speak, trying to find something to say. Something important. "Rogue." A whisper.

"Yes, Grim? Damn you are so cold. Where's that medic?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" It seemed important.

"I was looking for my family." Rogue said, and although Grim couldn't hear it, there was a sadness there.

Despite himself, Grim gave a painful laugh.

"My family tragedy is humorous?" Said Rogue, not with a bit of disappointment.

A doctor had finally gotten there, Ibis in the background. The doctor was taking a pulse, then listening to the chest.

"No, no." Grim said, trying to wave his hand as if to make the matter clearer. "I had a daughter. No, I have a daughter. "

The doctor stabbed a thermometer into Grim's mouth.

"I didn't know." Said Rogue.

The doctor waited, then removed the thermometer. He shook his head.

"Neither did I." Said Grim. "She's almost your age."

"Ah." Said the doctor. “Hmmmm…”

"What is it?" asked Ibis.

"Well according to this thermometer, he's very cold."

"So?" Asked Rogue. "What is it?"

"Well" said the doctor, "according to these readings, he's dead."

"You mean he's dieing." Corrected Rogue.

"No, he's beyond hope. It seems his body is dead but his mind has not yet figured it out." The doctor shook his head. "I've never seen this. Usually when the body is dead, so is the brains. But I have heard that a doctor in Red Waters had a similar case. No worries, we can deal with it."

"How?" croaked out Grim.

"Usually by electricity." Said the doctor, "But it will have to wait. We have more pressing cases."

"If you can save him..." protested Rogue.

"But I can't. The remedy is to balance the head and body. The body is dead, so we need to apply enough electricity to kill the brain. Sorry, I mean, I feel bad for your tragedy, but your friend is dead even if he doesn't quite realize it yet. It's either electricity or a lobotomy. Either way, we have living people with problems, the dead can wait."

"Can I take care of him?" Asked Ibis. "I'm the funeral director and the body handler."

"I have no complaints. If you don't mind the dead talking."

Ibis smiled. "I'm used to it."

The doctor smiled, and nodded. "Well good, then please excuse me. I have to go attend to the living."

Both Rogue and Ibis watched the doctor leave. Then Ibis said, "Let's get him out of here before that fool comes back."

Rogue called over Horus and together they carried Grim to Ibis's cart. Within minutes, Ibis and Rogue were taking Grim to Ibis's funeral parlor.

 

[Gunslinger]

The Desert

IC-

It used to be, before the war, there were only seven true deserts in the world. Now, after the nuclear aftermath had torched the soil, the entire world was desert. And if the world was just a desert, then humans were just walking cacti. And Caleb was one prickly tough cactus.

The Blade had walked all night leaving Tabis, making good time and distance. Oddly enough, Caleb felt refreshed. Not being boxed in town and the feel of the open air around him changed his entire outlook. He journeyed with a cheerful whistle, defiant of the vultures hovering above him. This time around, each step hadn’t seemed so meaningless. He felt so good, in fact, that he could have walked all day.

And then Mr. Sunshine woke up.

One thing you had to learn about the deserts: it had two faces. The night was as cold as Mount Everest and the day was as hot as Mount Vesuvius. And somehow, the path to the East seemed longer.

The sun rose quickly in the sky, God’s torch. The orb of incendiary fire set a haze of distortion along the horizon, emanating mirages for Caleb’s demise. As if on queue, the wind came blowing violently in from the east, plowing up great waves of dunes.

Gasping, Caleb trudged forward, his eyes furrowed in a grimace. With the rise in temperature, he had to strip off the serape and bundle it into his knapsack. A thick wind was blowing fiery jags of sand in his direction and he had wrapped his bandanna over his face for protection. The wide-brimmed hat over his head cast some shade but not enough to stop the sweat dripping from his face.

Every inhalation was like breathing in steam. So Caleb simply stopped breathing. Or at least he tried to. The two stitches in his side were not cheering him on. Bastards.

Caleb had thought he would have been used to it by now. He had spent most of his life in the deserts. He had, in fact, just traveled this same route just a few days ago. But that didn’t stop the harsh reminder of his age creeping up on him. He was over age’s hill, but not over the desert’s dunes. Ha-ha-ha.

He chuckled despondently.

He walked bent over, his shoulders grinding up and down like a plow. His shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, was drenched in sweat. The soles in his boot had turned into flaps, coming loose at the most inconvenient time. Before, he had worn rusted over spurs on his booths but he had long abandoned them. He didn’t even know what they fucking did.

In the end, this would do the old Blade good. He was steel, powerful yet malleable. The desert was the forge that would rebuild him, making him tougher. A lot of men flourished in the desert. Erwin Rommel, Hitler’s go-to man, was not called the Desert Fox for no reason. Sure, he had eventually been forced to commit suicide but he had been a man. John the Baptist had been the voice crying out in the wilderness of the desert, a fanatic living like a wild man. Sure, he was eventually beheaded but he had been a man.

He chuckled despondently.

Though he was being baked alive, despite the exhaustive walking, regardless of the distance, Caleb took another step. For each step was another step towards East and to the liberation of his brothers. That motivation was burning so passionately in Caleb’s heart that it dwarfed the sun’s ferocity.

He would have made a romantic sight; a lone man walking in the desert. If an intrepid artist had seen Caleb, he would have felt compelled to paint a small man amidst a cracked and lined desert with an over exaggerated shadow. Maybe even put in some clocks melting off trees for flavor.

“Damn,” he muttered out loud. “Just ten miles in the run and I’m already delirious. Why else would I be talking to myself? Answer me that!”

He chuckled despondently.

His sanity had bailed on him along the trip but he still walked on, inching ever closer to the East.

Jeeva followed at a safe distance, fearing him.

 

[welsh]

In Tabis

Skik, still laughing with Bear, had seen Grim fall to the ground, and had watched as Rogue and Horus had carried Grim to Ibis's cart. The laughter disappeared, as did the smile. The ghoul thief had played his part for his community, had manipulated the humies and had tricked them. He had done as he was told and it was for the best, he knew. But that didn't mean that betrayal didn't have a sting, or immunize him from the panges of guilt.

Bear, quiet now, followed Skik's gaze. "Isn't that your friend whose got the ghoul blood?"

Skik nodded, "Bear, we'll work it out later, but I got to see Wally about this."

Bear looked hard at Skik, "You know, for everything, I don't trust you Skik, even if you got balls."

Skik merely smiled. "That's what makes our kind of business so exciting."

Bear laughed as Skik walked away, leaving the factory behind until he found a manhole cover which he quickly removed. Down the ladder and the cover replaced, Skik had once again disappeared below.

When Ibis and Rogue got to the funeral parlor, Wally was already waiting for them.

___________

One beat. A terribly long pause, and then nothing. The eyes flickered beneath the lids. It was all that indicated the bounty hunter was still alive.

"His heart is still ticking but damn he's cold." Said Rogue. She had grabbed a couple of blankets and was doing what she could to warm the bounty hunter. The man's skin had taken a ghastly pallor.

"It's the blood I venture." Said Ibis, at the reigns.

"But I thought that was done." Said Rogue.

"Probably his body is still reacting to the blood. The part that's human isn't giving up yet to the part that's ghoul." Ibis, having been around the dead enough, knew that the bounty hunter looked more dead than alive.

"That's why the skin is so pale, the body so cold?"

"Yes, its shutting down. The major organs are going dormant. It's like the hibernation that ghouls often go through. What did he say before he went under."

"Nothing about his condition, but it seemed his limbs were getting all stiff. ANd when we carried him out, it was like his limbs were made of wood." She said.

"Rigormortis. A dead body often hardens up after death. Quite natural. Except with Grim, he's not dead yet, no matter what that Quak thinks." Said Ibis, pushing his brahma onward. It would be good to get home. "Still better to talk to the experts"

"That doctor would kill him."

"Most doctors don't know much about ghouls. The common belief is that ghouls are dead people who don't know it yet. It's more a religious belief than a scientific one. People often confuse the two these days."

"He said he had a daughter, that she was about my age." Rogue said.

The two were quiet for awhile. Next to Ibis, Cerebus trotted comfortably, staying close to Ibis. The big three headed dog growling at any of the drunken passerbys that might have slowed the cart. Guardian of the gates of Hades, Ibis would have asked the dog, What side was Grim belonged? But if Cerebus could speak, he kept his secrets to himself.

"No Grim has a daughter that's about your age. He thought she was dead, but she's not." Said Ibis finally. "And he's just found out."

"You told him?" Asked Rogue. Ibis had recently revealed things to her that she had kept secret for so long, and had shown her things she could have only guessed.

"I've barely talked to him." Ibis shook his head. "But I think that when he was near death he had a vision. Well that's a guess really. But it's not uncommon for those near death to see things."

"But you know." Said Rogue.

Ibis nodded. "Lucas Grimm was once a badge in a town far to the north of here. Like Yacob and Horus, he had inherited the position from his forefathers, the original badges to come from the Vaults. Those were noble lawmen, men of integrity and honor. They believed in justice and peace through law, and that law should mean more than the opinion of the men with guns. And they passed the traditions down to their sons."

Rouge nodded but didn't speak. The vaults were a long time ago, from a different age.

"Well, these days, those values don't mean much. Those sentiments are old fashioned maybe, except for a few, like Yacob and Horus perhaps. Maybe that's why there is so much trouble and blood letting, no one can trust anyone. We're all so damn insecure and afraid."

Indeed around them, farmers were desperately leaving Tabis, grabbing what brahma they could, eager to protect their homesteads. Outside there was no law, and people could only hope in the peace and good nature of neighbors. With the slavers and raiders gone, now they needed to get back, least someone occupy their farms and take what they had poured their hardwork into.

"This is not my story Laura, not to tell anyway. Maybe Lucas will give you the details, but that's for him." Ibis said. "But I'm guessing he wanted you to know he had a daughter, and that if he didn't survive he would want you to find her. Maybe, or perhaps because you remind her of something he once had and lost."

Both fell quiet and soon they had passed the gates of Tabis and were back into the ruins of the old city, that surrounded Tabis the way the bark of a dieing tree surrounds, protects, and nourishes a new branch.

Watching them leave, a mid sized dark skinned man, with an easy smile and small eyes. Sanchez had been there on the El, and knew Grimm was still alive. He had chased after the cart from a distance, knowing where they were going. He turned and went to a nearby inn. There was no rush to conclude the business that tied the two together.

______________

Dizzy was still didling with some rusted hunk of metal when Conner returned to the office. He was still in a foul mood, and Dizzy's lazy minded ways only infuriated him further.

"Damn it Dizzy! Will you do something."

"Like Wha't?" Dizzy's voice was often slow and slurred. It could take him forever to work through multi-syllables so he rarely tried.

"Find me some Fucking Brahmin? Or some Fucking men?" Conner said. He was pacing about the room in a nervous fury. "Did you know that every freaking bull and cow is spoken for?"

""Cause all the farmers are going home." Said Dizzy.

"Dizzy, your astute observations of the obvious always seem to impress me." Conner said sarcasticlly. "Of course every farmer is going home, and those brahma that aren't carting back supplies have left already."

Dizzy smiled, although he wasn't sure his uncle had complimented him. Conner avoided looking at Dizzy as the smile only infuriated him.

"Duncan tells me it will be at least three days, THREE days, before he has enough Brahma for our caravan. I have to wait three fucking more days!" Conner stormed.

"Three more days? So, we already delayed three weeks? I'm sure the Blades wouldn't mind another three days." Said Dizzy.

"Blades? Ever do business with Blades? They don't negotiate, they don't deal, they don't compromise, and they don't show any understanding when things get FUCKED UP. There are no other people on the whole freaking planet that have such a stick up their ass as the FUCKING Blades."

"So why did you do business with them?" Asked Dizzy.

It was a good question, but Conner refused to answer. Because they paid in the best gold, and always paid premium.

"Look you freaking in-bred. I don't think you want to be here when a Blade comes through, asking what happened to his cargo and then the guns start blazing."

No, thought Dizzy, I'd rather not be here when that happened, although it would be cool to see.

"Well, I hear theres a Blade in town. Maybe you could talk to him." Said Dizzy.

"What?"

"Yes, that fight over at Wainright. There's a Blade come over this morning. Right before the acid shower. And he come with friends."

A Blade. Conner's first instinct was aprehension. A Blade might be coming to see what the delay was. But that wasn't Conners fault. Every caravan had been held up. It was just his bad luck that he had gotten the ok to leave last, and by then half his men were gone fighting around Wainright. Rescuing the Blade.

Ah, maybe. And the Blade had friends?

"Friends?" asked Conner.

"Yep, a bunch of 'em shot the hell out of the deathclaw, stayed out there two nights too."

Such friends would make effective caravan guards.

Conner's mind was racing. Three days for the Brahman. Not his fault. That was official paperwork. Force Majeure, etc. The Blades would understand, would have to understand. This would give him time to recruit men for guards.

Three days, for Brahmin, meant four before leaving. Four days. Yes, it was enough.

"Ok, yes, Where this Blade is?" Asked Conner, finally stopping.

Dizzy could see that his uncle's mind was working hard. "I reckon he's still at the factory, but maybe he's moved. Like everyone else, having a drink."

"Find him, bring him here. Soon as you can. I'm going to speak to Krieg and Dobbins about guards, but I will be here tonight. Bring the Blade and his friends. Got it?"

To finally meet a Blade and talk to one? Gosh! "You betcha uncle!" And Dizzy left the room.

Conner looked around for a moment. Yes, maybe this would work out. Then he left the office to speak to Krieg and Dobbins.

 

[Reaper]

Goddamnit that hurt like a sunovabitch. Gabriel couldn't remember the last time he'd been so embarrassed. Knocked down by a fucking drunk. Even his mind was literally cursing at the idea. Him, Gabriel Wolf. Master of blade and fist was defeated by the mighty warrior skill of a fucking barfly.

It made him want to wretch. That, and the pain and the alcohol.

Gabriel suddenly realised that he was still slumped in the corner of the bar and that all eyes were on him. His ghoulish rescuer was gone but the stench of sizzled meat his weapon had left behind still lingered in the air. It was an improvement over the smell of stale beer and sweat.

Time to kiss the hole goodbye.

Gabriel struggled to his feet, glanced at the two bodies lying on the floor, carefully stepped over them and made his way to the door.

"Hey!" called the barman, "Who's going to pay for the damage?" he indicated the broken table and the scorch marks on the wall where the ghoul's bolts of super-heated plasma had gone right through the two men.

"Them." Gabriel nodded at the corpses. "They started it." then he walked out into the street. The sound of a shotgun round be shucked into the chamber and the the tinkling noise as the still loaded cartridge was ejected from the breech and bounced on the wooden floor.

"That's looting. It ain't nice. I'd rather living folk paid my bills."

"I'm not paying for their stupidity." Gabriel turned round to face the barman, a pistol materialising in his hand. "Death or loss of revenue. Your choice." Life saving adrenaline overpowering the alcohol in the assassin's blood and his hand was steady as he aimed the Beretta at the surprised man's head.

"But..." the barman could not make sense of the fact that a moment ago, he had been the one holding someone at gunpoint. The fact that he still was seemed lost on him. All his mind could register was the muzzle of Gabriel's gun, and those blue chips of ice. Those chilling eyes boring into him like frosted needles.

"I thought so." Gabriel lowered his weapon and walked out. The barman's gun followed him all the way, but Gabriel had read his eyes. The man thought he was tough. He probably could pull the trigger. But not on him. Not on the tall assassin. Gabriel had that effect on people. He was too cold, too calm. He didn't react to threats, only real danger. His lack of emotion terrified the human subconcsious.

Walking out onto the street, his head clearing faster now in the open air and with the burst of adrenaline from the fight which never happened in the bar still coursing through his veins, Gabriel felt human again.

He went looking for the others and he hoped he might meet the ghoul who had helped him. The deceased looking pariahs no longer made him think of decriptude and his inevitable old age. Now they made him think of brave allies.

It felt good.

 

[Stranger]

Virgil idly whistled as he stood in the alley behind the old buildings. It hadn't occured to him until after he had made it a point to make a stand, and then to shine on the proprieter in his exit of the bar that he probably should have used the bathroom first. But no point in worrying over the past. It seemed like it would be a waste of energy to bother looking for another establishment full of unfriendly drunkards just to use the facilities. So he was in the alley.

When he finished his business, he zipped the fly of his pants and turned around. Well, almost turned around. He only got about a quarter of a turn before it hit him. Nothing as sharp or poignant as a disturbing thought, no, this felt more like a whiskey bottle to the back of the head.

"SONOFABITCH!" Virgil exclaimed as he dizzly stumbled to the ground, his head ringing and covered with bits of glass.

"You killed them you no good freak piece of shit!" an angry but frightened voice shouted at him, before kicking him square in the side of the ribs.

In his present, weakened condition, it took a few moments longer than it usually would have for Virgil to deduce that he was being assaulted by the third member of the trio from the bar.

Dammit. How the hell did I forget about him?

Virgil tried to get to his feet, but only got another boot in the side, sending him sprawling again.

----

"-no good freak piece of shit!" Gabriel throught he heard someone shouting in the alley behind a pair of buildings, half a block from 'The Mushroom Cloud' - the bar he'd just exited.

It was more sheer curiousity than anything else that peaked his interest as he stepped closer and laid a hand on one of his weapons.

"Who's there?"

 

[Gunslinger]

IC-

Atop a point in the Grey Cliffs, Dante surveyed the small encampment of his twenty Blade warriors below him, watching them move hastily about the camp in preparation of war. The Elder watched in approval as his sturdy warriors worked with quick proficiency, a model of the past Romans. Armed with shovels, they unearthed a series of trenches and used the dirt and clay to make long stretches of breastwork. Crates and nails were converted into ramparts and caltrops that were scattered before the trenches, further inhibiting the path towards Grey Cliffs. All around the hills surrounding Grey Cliffs, foxholes and pillboxes were manned with machineguns.

Behind him stood Grey Cliffs itself, a modest array of staccato and brick buildings built into the cliff face, similar to Navajo dwellings. A convoy of citizens traveled down the cliffs to bring supplies in defense of their town. They worked alongside of the Blades in preparation. They were reasonable people, not like the people of Tabis.

Standing at the peak of the cliffs with his fur cape flapping behind him, Dante painted a romantic image. His gray cropped hair and mustache added a feeling of refinement to the Elder along with the tooled breastplate of leather on his chest. He was the leader of twenty good men but it was a far cry from the forty he usually commanded. And twenty strong men might not be enough for the ensuring battle.

“Varus, oh Varus, bring me my legions,” he whispered softly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, making Augustus’ quote into a pray.

Behind him, Dante heard the tell tale scrape of boots against gravel and he whirled about. A serrated knife slipped from its bracer sheath and into his sure hands.

Hidden in the shadows with but his boots showing, a grave voice announced, “Greetings, Elder.” A tall man dressed in a trench coat and wearing goggles stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand, palm forward.

The Elder relaxed, seeing that it was one of his Blade scouts, and sheathed his knife. Dante stepped forward and pressed his palm against the Blade’s in standard greeting. Then he embraced him. “Welcome back, Kino, my sister’s son.” He held his nephew at arm’s length. “What is the word?”

Kino stepped out of his uncle’s embrace and lifted the dusted over goggles to his forehead. The outline of contrasting dirt showed amidst the grizzled skin around his eyes. A scout, Kino had traveled hard around the area of Grey Cliffs, reconnoitering the land. A fine layer of dust always coated his black hair and trench coat.

Now, Kino bent his head in respect. “The word is grim indeed, Elder. The supplies from Tabis have been delayed.”

Dante slammed his palm into his hand. “Blast. I should have known better than to trust that bastard Conner.” He spat onto the ground in disgust. Grey Cliffs could only keep them stocked for so long. They needed those supplies.

But Kino shook his head. “It is through no fault of the caravaner, though he is indeed a bastard. No, I fear it is grave circumstances that have prevented the arrival of our supplies.”

Dante felt despair grow in the pit of his stomach. He had a budding intuition that this matter would somehow relate to the spike in slaver raids. “What is it then?” he asked, bracing himself for the answer.

Kino lowered his head again. “Raiders and slavers have occupied Tabis.”

The Blade Elder blinked in shock His legs gave away from underneath him and Kino rushed to brace his uncle. Shaking his head in dismay, Dante frantically clutched Kino’s arms and brought him close to himself. “How could this have happened?” he wailed. “How could they have gotten past our brothers?”

Kino lowered his uncle into a sitting position, preparing the old man for what would come next. The Blade scout lowered his head even further, almost touching his chest. Softly, Kino whispered to his uncle, “I am afraid the Blade encampment near Tabis has been destroyed.”

“Oh God, no!” cried out Dante. He clutched his chest and reached out for his nephew’s hand. Kino took it. “Please tell otherwise, nephew, for my heart may not be able to bear the strain.”

Kino shook his head. “I am sorry uncle.”

Dante’s hand dropped numbly into his lap. He stared upwards in supplication, a cry of horror framed in his mouth. “Four hundred Blades dead?” he asked in disbelief.

Kino felt sympathy for his uncle but at the same time, he was unnerved. Dante was not only his uncle but also his commander and that carried with it an amount of respect. To see his uncle like this was unacceptable. The loss of four hundred Blades was astonishing, an event that would live in infamy.

Gingerly, Kino bent over next to Dante and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But there is still a beacon of hope in this travesty, Elder. A group of tribals claim that forty Blade elders have survived, now prisoners to slavers.”

Dante looked at his nephew in pain. In a hoarse voice, he cried, “How can there be hope when I can do nothing to save them? They are as good as dead, nephew.” His voice broke and he coughed. “The slavers will just butcher them like dogs.” The Elder clenched his eyes shut, closing off the tears.

“But there is more, Elder. I’ve received word that Tabis has been liberated by a group of freedom fighters. There are rumors that Caleb Rutgers leads them.”

The effect was astonishing. Dante’s eyes flew open, widening into white saucers. His mouth hung open, slack. With a startling ferocity, the Elder’s hand shot out, grabbing onto a handful of Kino’s trench coat and drawing him close until their faces were just centimeters apart. Carefully, Dante said, “Did you say Caleb, nephew? Caleb Rutgers?”

Kino tried not to squirm in his uncle’s grip and nodded. “Yes, uncle. A mass of citizens moving out of Tabis recount of a Blade warrior fighting in town. They said he carried two revolvers.” Kino shrugged uncertainly. “But it could just be a rumor.”

Dante, still gripping onto his nephew, scrambled to his feet. There was a brilliance in his eyes, as if he had witnessed a revelation. “Don’t you see, my boy? There is only one Blade who can fight off hordes of slavers and raiders. And his name is Caleb Rutgers, the man I would call ‘brother’.” He released his nephew and turned back to the sight of the camp below him.

Softly, Kino said, “He could be dead by now, Elder.”

Dante looked over his shoulder, staring at his nephew. “No,” he said in great conviction. “Caleb would not die now, not with his brothers imprisoned.” The Blade Elder gestured to his nephew and began walking down the cliffs. “Come, Kino.”

Kino caught up to his uncle. “Where are we going?”

“We prepare for the battle for Caleb is alive and the fight goes on.”

 

[Jacen]

If somebody had been out in the desert that day he/she would have been able to see a strange site, a person wandering the wastes. Although seeing someone there wasn’t the strange part, the mans outfit was. He was wearing al large hooded cloche and there seemed to be a very fade red shimmer or glow coming from underneath it. It was as if the sun reflected on something underneath the man cloche.

The man had been walking for days on end, and had met many perils in the wastes, sandstorms, the occasional rad scorpion pack and a raider here or there. But it was the draught that was getting him though.

It had been many days since he had encountered that last raider, this one was clever, and had attacked him from behind. Luckily the wanderers figure had been obscured by the cloche and the bullet flew through the cloche and past him without causing any injury. The wanderer had disposed of the raider with ease. He shrugged and continued his journey westward.

As the dawn came he stopped at a small cavern to get some rest and wait for the night to come. It was only then that the wanderer noticed that the bullet, although it had passed him, might be the death of him yet. The bullet had flow straight through the wanders water flask and all the water had run out of it. Needless to say, this can be lethal in the wastes. He had continued his journey through the desert during the day to make his stay in it as short as possible.

Now he was still walking, if you could call it that, craving for a drop of water, but still determined to stay alive and to reach his destination. While walking there was an old cliché in his mind, it circled around in his head.

“You’ve been in worse situations than this,” the voice said, and the wanderer thought: “I have been in a lot of situations, but none worse than this one.” And he continued his trip.

Sometime later the wanderer spotted something on the road ahead, he couldn’t make out what it was, because it was the hottest part of the day and the air was twisted by the heat, but something seemed to be slowly coming his way...

The wanderer, although weary and dehydrated, still had the will power to get of the road and get out off sight, just in case. The roads here were dangerous and carelessness could get you killed easily. He watched as the “something” approached the position at which he had been standing a few moments ago.

It was a traveler, a cowboy with a mask of some sort covering his face and a sombrero on his head. He didn’t look hostile, and although it looked like the man was very tired the man gave the impression that he would be able to get everywhere he wanted.

“Normally I would never take this chance,” the wanderer thought, as he stumbled out of cover and headed towards the traveler, “But if I stay here I’ll die for sure.”

The man with the Sombrero noticed him and the wanderer could see the man’s hand slide slowly to the gun on his left side.

“This is it, this is the end,” was the last thing passing through the wanderers head, before everything went black before his eyes and he fell to the ground…

(OCC- I"ll post a character discription in the other thread when I've got some more time)

 

[Rogue Hex]

IC-

A daughter, Rogue slumped in thought over the words spoken by Ibis.

It was funny, but for a brief second, Rogue saw Grim in a whole new light. No longer the head hunter that she had come to know, but the respected true badge he once was with family and a home.
The way in which he looked out for her, something Rogue had begun to notice over the past days made some sense now. He was a father with a lost daughter near to her age, an empty void that by Rogue’s presence was for a brief moment filled.

No one new better what it felt like to lose a loved one, especially fammily than Rogue did. She had poured every ounce of strength she could muster, every minute she had and every coin she could find into searching for them. The fact that she knew not if they were alive or dead just made the pain worst.

There could never be anyone that could replace her family, but there were people that Rogue considered as close, if not as family in her life, for one there was the caravan from which she travelled in with. She considered them as her family as they were the only people she knew and trusted. She considered thier boss as a father figure for many years. Well, afterall the man had practically raised her after she was found in the desert.
They could never fill the emptiness left from her missing family but they helped relieve the lonely feeling.
Maybe this was the same for Grim?

So many questions she wanted to ask him, about his daughter, his previous life, why she disappeared? The questions went on...

I thought I was getting to know you Grim, but is this just a disguise? Rogue said to herself as she looked over the pale visage that lay before her.

Rogue stood silent and watched Ibis and Wally as they exchanged their thoughts. The two didn’t seem too worried about Grim’s state and chatted contently about medical things; she didn’t understand much of the conversation but then again she wasn’t particularly paying much attention.

“Sweet mother he looks like shit.” Came a voice from behind them.

The three turned only to be met by a worried gaze from Skik.

“I saw him fall in the factory and came as quick as possible, is he gonna be ol'right?” asked the ghoul.

“Well, we’ll have to wait and see what happens over the next couple of hours.” replied Wally. “The process seems to be moving fast so changes will be regular.”

“I take it it’s the ghoul blood that’s caused this?”

“Yes, seems our friend Grim here has had extreme reactions from the blood. From all readings he’s technically dead. His body has completely shut down, showing all the signs and features of a dead corpse.” “Except the fact that he is still with us.” added Ibis

“Isn’t that the exact characteristics of ghouls?”

“What? Does that mean that he’s now a ghoul?” Queried Rogue taking interest in the conversation.

“That my dear, we will have to wait and see.” Replied Wally checking Grim’s pulse again.

Skik looked around the room. Medical supplies were set out across old and battered shelves. “Do we have all the supplies we need? I need to make some quick calls back in Tabis, proberly get you some things if needed.

“Well, there are a few things that I could do with, just for precautions ofcourse.” Replied Wally moving to inspect his shelves closer.
After a few minutes of going over his current stock and consulting Ibis for a third time, Wally finally produced a small tattered list of items and handed it to Skik. The ghoul’s mouth dropped as he read through the different items.

“Jesus, where do you expect me to get all this from?” asked Skik in astonishment.

“I don’t know, you’re the one with the contacts, just get what you can.”

Skik mumbled something under his breath before disappearing as quickly as he came.

“Wait, I’m of no use here, let me help.” Shouted Rogue after the departing ghoul.

“We’ll be back in small time.” Yelled Skik, the words echoing as the two disappeared leaving Ibis and Wally attending to Grim.

 

[Reaper]

Gabriel could not believe his ears. He had actually warned the people in the alley of his approach. All his training as a silent killer and he was acting like a guard watching a whiskey still. He had sampled the merchandise of such a place this night so Gabriel forgave himself, a little anyway.

Moving to the alley mouth but keeping out of sight, Gabriel listened to the sounds of an altercation continuing as these things tend to. When neither combatant is an expert, or if the victim is taken by surprise, the first blow is crucial and often decides the fight. Only masters of hand to hand combat, in Gabriel’s experience, had the skill and resilience to come back from a bad hit at the beginning.

“Motherfucking, no good outlander ghoul piece of back-shooting radshit!” Gabriel was impressed by the wide-ranging level of abuse. The moment of inappropriate humour did not stop his brain making all the right connections. Risking a glance down the alley, he saw exactly what he expected to see. The dusty traveller who had been playing cards in the bar before saving his ass was down. The big guy was kicking him and sounded very angry. Gabriel’s visual memory of the last hour or so was a little hazy but the assassin thought his accusations placed him squarely in the shoes of the cowardly third member of the belligerent trio who had assaulted back at the ‘Mushroom Cloud’. This also meant he was standing in the shoes of a dead man. He just didn’t know it yet.

“They had it coming. They – hmph” The ghoul with the gravely voice was cut off as big man booted him again.

Gabriel moved into the alley, slinked up behind the ghoul’s assailant and punched him in the kidney. The man dropped to his knees and a high-pitched breathing noise escaped his clamped shut mouth.

“What the fu-” he was silenced by a kick to the back from Gabriel. The assassin let the man sprawl forward and stood back while he scrabbled to his feet. The ghoul had crawled over to the alley wall and was pushing himself to his feet. He was eyeing the tall youth who had beaten his attacker.

Virgil could see burning anger in Gabriel’s normally cold blue eyes. The black-clad assassin advanced on his prey who backed away fearfully.

“It was easy when he wasn’t looking. When he was down, wasn’t it?” Gabriel’s voice was cold and only hinted at the uncharacteristic fury bubbling inside him. He was sick of this town. He was sick of these people. He was sick of human weakness. Human cruelty and all the human pettiness he saw everywhere.

“Fuck you, punk. Your lot killed Josiah’s brother.” The scared but angry man spat at Gabriel’s feet. The pasting the assassin had just given him just wasn’t quite warning enough of the painful end he was facing. The big man lashed out, stabbing with the broken whiskey bottle. Gabriel swayed to the side; grabbing the man’s arm with both hands he snapped it with a sharp twist. The man screamed in agony and Gabriel let him stagger back.

“You were ‘Billy badass’. With the bottle, with your victim.” Gabriel’s quiet, remorseless voice continued, “Now look at you.” He lunged forward and slammed his flat palm into the agonised man’s solar plexus. He flew back into the dirt and convulsed for a moment as his nervous system went haywire. When he was still, the assassin advanced again, now holding a blade. “You want to die bowels in or bowels out? Hmm?”

“Help me!” screamed Gabriel’s victim. “Come on you fucking deader,” he continued, shouting at Virgil. “You gonna let this psycho gut me.” Virgil returned his desperate stare with dispassionate distance. ‘Not my problem’ was written all over the tough looking ghoul’s expression. “Oh fuck. Help!!!” he screamed.

Gabriel grabbed the man’s shirt and dragged him, one handed, to his feet.

“No one’s coming. It’s just you, me, him and this blade. Do you have an answer yet? No, well let me decide for you.” The assassin raised the knife and the terrified man watched it glint in the narrow shaft of sunlight filtering down into the alley. Gabriel slashed the man’s belly and pushed him onto his back, watching as the man tried to hold his innards inside. Unsuccessfully.

“AARGGHHHHH!!!” he screamed and screamed.

“You made a mistake.” Gabriel wiped his blade on the man’s trousers, “Life’s a one shot deal. And you fucked up.” As he turned way, Gabriel caught the look in the man’s eyes. He saw pain and disbelief, but more than that he saw pleading. Not pleading with him, just the unmistakeable desire for it all to stop. Gabriel drew his SiG and put a bullet through the man’s brain. It was all the mercy he deserved and it was all the mercy Gabriel was going to give.

The assassin turned away from the corpse and looked into the ghoul’s eyes. “We’re even now.”

“You didn’t owe me anything.” Virgil replied.

 

[Stranger]

"I only did what seemed like the right thing to do at the time," Virgil continued, before turning his head to the side and spitting blood from his mouth, "But thank you, nontheless. It's been awhile since I've been to a town I litterally could not piss in without getting jumped," he dusted himself off and cracked his neck.

"Virgil Black," the ghoul said, offering out a gloved hands.

"Gabriel Wolf," the assassin responded, accepting the hand, "Glad I ran into you again, though the circumstances weren't the best; there aren't that many people out here these days that have enough of a sense of decency to stick up for a perfect stranger. Nice to meet you Virgil."

"Likewise. Learned a long time ago that pretending to be anything but precisely who you are doesn't do you any good," he winced and rubbed the back of his head, "Besides, most people hate ghouls anyways, so I'm not particularly concerned with popular opinion of me."

"You alright?" Gabriel said, gesturing at where Virgil grabbed his head.

"Yeah; yeah I'll be fine. Though if there's one thing I miss about pre-war times right about now, it's the abundance of aspirin there was," Virgil chuckled to himself, before pulling a cigar out of his coat and lighting it up.

"I think things are only going to go from bad to worse around here, by the looks of it. These people are getting rowdier," Gabriel said, looking out into the street, "I'm personally getting the hell out of this pit. You should probably do the same."

"Amen to that. The events of the past twenty minutes or so pretty much solidified my view of this town. I'm thoroughly done with this place."

 

[welsh]

Conner and Yacob? / Fury meets Dizzy

OOC- Ok this is a bit different. I figure most of these characters will be left behind before too long, so I figured a few last scenes with them were about right.

Other prospective characters might use the bulletin boards and the help wanted signs to sign of for Conner's caravan to Grey Cliffs.

ICC-

"Get this corner secured, and keep these drunks contained." Said Yacob.

he would have preferred to have the day off, and officially his duties didn't begin till sun-up, but Dobbins had asked for his help. As the new incoming CO of the Tabis police, it would be unbecoming to ignore the situation, nor let it get out of control.

Dobbins nodded and instructed two patrol men to take the corner. Tabis, like many towns, had different quarters. Slumville, the old factory corner, the main markets, residential areas and the Nighttown, where the bars and the casinos worked till the late hours.

Yacob could understand the men throwing a party, even making a mess of the place. The bars and casinos would profit from it, and it was only right they should pay for it. But damn if he was going to let this spill over to the other parts of town. There were plenty of hard working, peaceful folks that didn't need to put up with this disorder.

First contain a fire, then extinguish it.

"Alright Dobbins, keep the corners guarded and we got this. Let 'em drink, let 'em whore and let 'em fight. But send in the goon squad and if any fights get out of hand, bring 'em in. Get the residents out of the jail tonight. We're going to need the space."

Dobbins nodded. Better to let this party run its course. It would be impossible to otherwise stop it, and in the morning, they could clean up and do it again the next night. People came to Tabis for excitment, and with the regular drifters and carvaners coming through, it would be impossible to stop it.

But Yacob had his own ideas. Too much damn blood on the streets. He would demand a new order from the Council. No more guns on the streets. All guns coming in would have to be put away or confiscated until the party left town. Too long Tabis had been run without law, without order, and this chaos had only caused more of the people to feel insecure. Drink, Whore'n, gamblin? Hell, there was nothing Yacob would do against those vices. But he was tired of all the killin'.

""Xcuse me, Mr Dobbins?" Said a voice.

The man was a tall, strong man who Yacob recognized as Conner, local rep of Red Eye Trading, a smaller but reputable caravaner.

“Conner, we’re pretty busy.”

“Yes, I can see that. Bit crazy out tonight.” Conner agreed, “Anyway, I was hoping I could ask you a question as you are the chief cop around here.”

“That’s not me but Yacob here. Well he takes over in the mornin’”
“Well than Mr. Yacob, then. I was wondering if you could help me out. I’m supposed to be running a caravan out to Grey Cliffs but we’ve lost a good share of our guards.” Conner said, hoping to explain the situation.

“Well, Mr. Conner, I can’t see as there’s much I can do.” Said Yacob, paying the man only half attention. Dobbins had already begun to move into Nighttown with the good squad. There would be some head breaking for sure. “We’re short of officers with all the excitement of the past couple of weeks and will be recruiting for our own needs. We probably won’t be able to spare any. You might want to talk to Captain Krieg with the Border Patrol.”

Conner struggled to keep up. “Well yes, I did talk to him. He’s also recruiting. Now he’s down to two squads and training new people, hoping to get some more this week.”

Indeed, thought Yacob, Krieg probably would have more than a few after that last fight. Men were drawn to acts of heroism and tales of heroism tend to get embellished with each telling. Chances were, given a few weeks, the battle would have been all about the Border Patrol’s heroics, and the others will be conveniently forgotten. Which was fine for Yacob. The best thing for a man who was good with a gun was a low profile. Otherwise, every little dick would want to draw out on a pissing contest. Let Krieg get his men. The Border Patrol could use new blood after the route from Bordertown. They would need every man when they decided to go back.

“Well, he would be the man to ask. You might be able to convince him to take out the recruits as some kind of training mission.” Said Yacob, over his shoulder.

But Conner had tried that, and Krieg had turned him down flat. Border Patrol training was tough as it was. He remembered Krieg’s booming voice. “What? These Plebes? First they need three Months just for indoctrination. Then a month survival! And if they survive another three months on skills!”

Frankly Conner doubted whether he could put up with Krieg for more than two nights. By the time they got to Grey Cliffs, either the guards would have been recruited or they would have to kill the borderman.

“Can’t do it. He needs to train them first. But I hear there were some new folks.”

Yacob turned to face Conner. “You mean the people that came in from Wainright this morning?”

“Yes, I hear they fought damn hard.”

“You heard right. But most of them are pretty badly shot up.” Yacob first thought about Horus, but his brother had too much to do. But the others? “You might want to talk to the Blade, a man called Caleb. But I figure he’s got his own issues these days. There was a young man, dressed dark, cold blue eyes, but I didn’t get his name. A ghoul named Skik. Bear was there too, but you couldn’t offer him enough money and if you did, chances are he’d rob your caravan from under you. Some of the others, a woman named Fury and a big fellow named Knox, were wounded. A big man with a plasma rifle, Jeeva. A young woman, good with a rifle. And there’s an old badge, I known for a long time. Lucas Grimm. But he’s been sickly. Still, they might be interested in the work.”

Yacob decided not to mention that some of them were slavers, or ex-slavers. Such things were best kept private.

“You know where I could find them?”

“I’d reckon a good place would be the old factory where they set up the hospital. That or old Ibis’s place outside the walls.” Chances were that Conner wouldn’t venture past the gates at night. Few did. It was just too dangerous. “But you know, chances are you come down to the jail tomorrow, you could probably hire out a caravan crew.”

In the morning the jail and prison would be full of recovering drunks, their heads hung over and their purses empty. Krieg would try to recruit the best of them, paying off their fines for a period of service. Others would get recruited by the PO and others by caravans. It was the easiest way to recruit.

Conner expressed his thanks and then left, in the direction of his office. But first he would post his help wanted signs at what bars he could, and on the bulletin boards and recruitment walls. Yacob watched him go. Conner’s reputation was that of a reputable and honest caravan chief, even if he did have a short fuse and tended to fuss a bit much.

Yacob would have a few hours left here and then could head home. But first he would have to check in on his friend, and maybe share a word with Wally.
_______________


In another part of town,

Fury lay back down. Her chest was still full of pain and the doctors had picked out pieces of metal from her back and her ass for better part of an hour. Sharpnel from before. When she closed her eyes she would see Tia, the caravan guard, being picked up and carried away by a deathclaw. Here the agonized scream that was so sharply cut off.

Sometimes she would think of Ox, and Ozby, and Finn and the others, all dead. Knox all stitched up, but weak from loss of blood had come over after surgery. The big black man had taken her hand, firmly. But they had said nothing. He had later found a bottle of some home made hootch, and now the big man was snoring like a wounded shaddie.

Talon was having synthetic skin grafted onto his arm where it had burnt off, they had already begun therapy to heal the nerves. He would be awake tomorrow and then he would open the letter left for him by Jeeva.

The surgery was paid for by the Border Patrol, and the irony wasn’t lost. The Patrol spared no expense for its men, one of the few perks of being a member. The work on Ferris had been more extensive and when it was over Krieg had ordered his man back to base where the borderpatrol’s medics could look after him.

Talon would be up tomorrow, and in a couple of days would be ready to go. Ferris would take a much longer time.

And there was the psychological damage. The nightmares.

Fury had seen a lot in her years. Born into slavery, raised a soldier, and she had taken her share of blood until she had earned her freedom. Slavery had seemed to least of sins. But even she believed in kharma, and knew she had her debts to pay.

Close your eyes and dream of horrors, or look up at Horus.

Horus, why you bothering with me? Don’t you know what I am. She wanted to ask these questions but she was afraid of what the answer would be.

So she kept the question to herself and found comfort in the hand that held hers.

In years to come, Fury would wake up at night when she couldn’t sleep, when the phantoms came for the debts she owed, and she would ask Horus why. Why her? Why of all the people, of all the good people, the more deserving people, why her?

And the big man, whose hands were so strong they could crush bone, would touch her in a soft way, with a tenderness she would never really understand, and he would whisper something, the same thing. And the phantoms would go away.

But for now, the touch was enough.

Horus had told her about his narrow escape. And even why she felt the loss of Ozby, she quietly rejoiced that Horus had survived, and in her heart she begged him never more to risk himself, just as she knew he would go, despite her protests. Horus had told her about the ghouls, and about the deathclaws. About Yacob and Kowalski, and the new business to come.

She listened without speaking, not believing that he was offering her a place in this dream. Not believing that someone, virtually a stranger, was offering her a new life.

And she quietly asked herself, “What kind of fool would you be to not take a chance and start your life over again.”

She had told Horus, and Knox too, that her slaving days were through. She had told each man only once. Knox had laughed and laughed, explaining that Yacob had already offered him a part. Horus had only smiled and told her to hush, and not be so damn silly. “Better days are coming.” He had promised.

So Fury, on the cot, her chest bandaged and her ass stinging from a dozen metal projectiles, smiled at the sleeping Horus, who sat next to her, eyes closed, and mouth open like a big damn baby.

“Pardon me miss.” Said a voice, very quietly, as if reluctant to wake her. She turned to see a boy, not more than 16, a little dim in the eyes as if a little slow in the head.

“Yes?”

“You were one of them that came over the El this morning?” Asked the boy.

Fury nodded.

“Well, my Uncle Conner, he’s looking for people and was wondering if you wanted to work for him.”

Fury glanced over at Horus, who was still sleeping deeply. Then she looked back at the boy. “No. thank your uncle, but I’m not planning to leave for awhile.”

The boy looked up at Horus, “Well, what about….”

“No. He’s not going either. “ Her voice full of finality.

“I see. Well I had to ask. Do you think that anyone else might be interested?”

Knox would be making the pen for deathclaw over the next couple of weeks, along with Horus. Talon would have to decide for himself what he wanted to do. An offer from Krieg was open. And there was Jeeva, missing since the afternoon.

“That fellow there, “ meaning Knox, “Has a prior commitment. Not sure where the others are. I think a couple of them went over with that old man Ibis, do you know him?” Said Fury.

“Ah yup. That’s Grandpa Death. I know him.” Nodded the boy. Yes, a few cards missing in that deck.

“Yes Mr. Ibis. There is also the Blade and Gabriel. But I haven’t seen either of them for awhile. I’d venture they’d come back here to find their friends. You might try that fellow there.” Meaning Talon. “He might be interested in a bit of work.”

“So you think they’ll be back.” The boys face full of worry.

“I reckon so.”
“So I better stay here.” Said the boy.

“Might as well.”

The boy was silent for awhile, and Fury smiled at herself. A little short of a full deck, but damn full of wonder. He was dieing to ask her, but didn’t know how.

“You mind if I ask you….” He started to say.

“About the big fight?” Fury offered.

“Ah yup!” He said, a big smile on his face.

“Well..” Fury began, keeping her voice down so as not to wake the others. "It was like this...." and began to tell the story.
____________________

 

[Gunslinger]

IC-

It was the second day. Caleb was tired but he kept walking. An impressive path of footsteps trailed behind his boots with hardly a break in pace. The sun was up and he was down to his last canteen; it was halfway filled.

As for the Blade himself, well, he had seen better days. So had his clothes. His boots, not the most comfortable apparel, had already worn away into scraps of leather. His feet were blistered and bleed. The serape had faded into a dry mahogany from the dust until he was indistinguishable from the sand.

Caleb gasped with each footstep because he was dying. It was by sheer mental power that kept his body from literally giving up the ghost. Chickens with their heads cut off still ran about because they were too stupid to realize they were dead. Caleb was simply stubborn.

From far away, Jeeva the slaver followed. He was in better condition because he was younger and he was used to living in the deserts. The slaver kept his distance; he did not trust Caleb. Before, he had stayed away because he knew that the stubborn old man would not accept his help. Now, he kept his distance because he feared Caleb had gone mad.

Things would have been easier if Caleb had just kept with the group. But he was the worst sort of antisocial: the sort of man who felt he could do everything by himself. In a way, his sojourn in the desert was therapeutic, a cleansing of the soul. Here, he would eventually realize his flaws but it may be too late. The deserts would beat its lesson into Caleb. He would be crushed for his audacity.

Gasping, sweating heavily, Caleb trudged forward. The sand gave away with every step, loosely pushing him back as they brought him in like waves of the ocean. Things would have been easier if the elements were not against him.

And things would have certainly been better if he was not insane. But anything gained easily was not truly fitting for Caleb’s epic.

He could hear voices. It did not bother him much.

“Do you like the Ramones, son?” inquired a raspy voice inside his head. “‘Ay-oh, let’s go! Ay-oh let’s go!” it sang jubilantly.

Caleb ignored it. He swatted his ear as if it was a fly and kept walking.

Sullen silence. Then, the voice: “Must’ve been before your time, son. You wouldn’t have appreciated Joey Ramone anyway.”

Caleb stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes towards East like a devout Muslim. “Fuck off,” he muttered.

“How about Zack De La Roche?” chided the voice, renewed. “You like the Rage Against The Machine, son? Ever heard of them?”

Despite himself, Caleb shook his head and took another step.

The voice in his head ceased, as if it was thinking. Then, in full stereo, it roared, “Calm like a bomb! Calm like a…BOMB!”

The last word was enough to make Caleb wince and drop to his feet. Jeeva saw this from far off and rushed to the old man’s aid.

“Getting to you yet, son?” asked the voice in his head. Caleb writhed on the ground, grinding his teeth. “Do you hear where I’m coming from, now!”

Caleb grunted and got back to his feet. He shook his head wearily, clearing out the excess garbage, and resumed walking. Jeeva, seeing this, backed off.

Thankfully, the voice was silent. Caleb walked for five more miles. The landscape had changed; instead of the pristine white sand, the ground had turned into blasted hardpan amidst buck weed and thistles. Just deeper into the dustbowl.

Caleb took a ginger sip from his canteen, the water flowing past his parched lips and running slowly down his throat. It was far from satisfying, it was tantalizing. He reluctantly capped the canteen.

The Blade warrior trudged on the unyielding hardpan, his feet swaying crazily like a tightrope walker loosing control. He kept his head down, blocking out the sun and watching his feet move with detached concentration. He walked like this for two more miles.

Then he look up and saw he had entered rock country. Not just hardpan anymore, but now dusty red rock. What a nice change in pace. As he walked, he scanned the area, immediately dismissing what he saw.

Then his narrowed eyes caught a glimmer from a far. Just off to his right, what looked like a crumpled sack with a red ribbon. The Blade, knowing it may be a mirage, went off to investigate.

The sack with a red ribbon was sandwiched between two rocks and Caleb stopped next to them and leaned in close. On closer inspection, he saw that the sack was a dead man and the red ribbon was a red cloak.

The man, dwindling on the verge of death, extended his hand and groaned, “Help me.”

Caleb jumped back in horror. “Whafuck?” The fucker was alive after all.

“Help me,” the man repeated.

“Whafuck?” repeated Caleb.

Then the voice in Caleb’s head whispered, “Kill him, son. He’s the enemy.”

Caleb winced, furrowing his eyes in concentration. “The enemy?” he asked helplessly like a babe calling out to its mother. The man stared up at Caleb in confusion.

In Caleb’s head, he saw the voice nod vehemently. “Yeah, the enemy, Caleb. The ones who rob the poor, pillage the weak, rape the world. You know what we do with the enemy, son. We kill them.”

Caleb could not argue in his state. He drew his revolver, Vindicator, and clicked back the hammer. The dying man on the ground looked up and weakly shook his head. “No…please.” He feebly waved his arm.

Caleb tightened his finger on the trigger. The voice chanted, cheering him on. “Yes kill him Caleb you have to kill him he would do the same to you just like all his kind they are all the same they are the enemy so kill him you must kill—”

Then, another voice screamed, “NO!” startling close to Caleb’s head. Shocked, the Blade dropped his gun and turned around in time to see a blur of color rushing at him. He grunted as the thing leapt and tackled him.

Caleb was knocked off his feet as his unknown assailant grabbed around his midsection. With the voice in his head replaced with dull anger, he reached for his other gun, Regulator, but the assailant knocked it out of his hand. Caleb grunted as his attacker placed a restraining knee on both arms and sat on his chest.

Looking up, Caleb could only see the outline of his attacker framed in the sun. Then his assailant leaned in closer and the grim face of the slaver Jeeva revealed itself.

“Oh, you bastard-” began Caleb with indignation and uncontrolled rage. But Jeeva slapped him hard across the face and Caleb’s head reeled to the side. The Blade began to struggle but Jeeva vehemently began shaking him.

“Caleb!” he shouted. “Listen to me, Caleb!” The Blade writhed and snapped but Jeeva kept his grip. “LISTEN!” he roared. Finally, Caleb relented and feel back.

Panting, Jeeva leaned in closer until he was face to face with Caleb. “You’re delirious, Caleb. Do you hear me? You were about to kill that man.”

Caleb blinked his eyes slowly. He turned to the side and faced the man in the red cloak lying beside him, his eyes wide in fear. “I-I’m sorry…I didn’t know…”

Jeeva got off of Caleb and helped the old man to his feet. “You stubborn mule,” he muttered. “You should’ve waited for us, we could have helped you Caleb.”

The Blade ignored Jeeva. He walked over to the prone man in the red cloak. The stranger cringed back in fear but Caleb leaned in closer. He stripped off his canteen and handed it to the man. “Drink,” he commanded.

Then he turned around to Jeeva. He pointed an accusing finger at the slaver. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he shouted.

Jeeva shrugged. “I’m here because you’re here.”

Caleb stamped his foot. “Dammit, Jeeva, get it through your thick skull! I-DON’T-NEED-YOU!”

The slaver shook his head. “Well, you’re wrong. It doesn’t matter what you need because you’ve got me. A life debt is not something you decide on. It’s my decision. And I’m sticking to it.”

Caleb clutched his head as if it would split. He slowly exhaled and looked back at Jeeva. “Fuck it, you’re not going to leave me alone.”

“No, I’m not. Get used to it.”

Caleb shook his head and waved his hand dismissingly. “Fine, whatever. Do what you want but don’t get in my way.”

Jeeva turned back to the man in the red cloak. “We need to get him to some shelter, Caleb. There’s an outcropping—”

“No,” Caleb interrupted. “We’ve done enough.”

Jeeva furrowed his brows. “What?” he asked incredulously. “You’d just leave him to die? You almost killed him!”

“But I didn’t and that’s what counts. He’s on his own.” The Blade turned his back and began walking East again.

Jeeva knelt beside the dying man in the red cloak. The canteen Caleb had given him was almost empty so the slaver gave the man his own full one. “I’m sorry,” Jeeva apologized, giving the canteen to him.

The man in the red cloak could only stare back blandly.

Jeeva sighed heavily, got up, and followed after Caleb.

They left the man in the red cloak to die.

(OOC- Sorry about this Jacen, but this journey only concerns Caleb and Jeeva. I recommend you unite with the second group heading for Grey Cliffs.)

 

[Jacen]

OCC That’s ok, I’ll work something out…
(BTW I didn’t mean a red cloche, but a normal one with something red underneath it, maybe I should have been more clear on that)

ICC-
When I woke up the next morning I had a canteen full of water in my hands. Yet I wasn’t sure were it had come from, the last couple of hours were a blur in my mind. I remembered a gun pointed at me and then a voice commanding me to drink. All I remembered after that was someone apologizing, at least I think he was.

I took a mouthful from the canteen, and found the strength to get up. I still couldn’t remember where or how I got the canteen but decided to let that rest till I arrived in the next town. While closing the lid off the canteen I noticed something written on the side.
It said: “Je..a” The letters in the middle had faded beyond recognition. I put the canteen away and went back up to the road to continue my trip.

My mouth was as dry as parchment, so I decided to take a sip from the canteen, I couldn’t drink too much, because I had to preserve the water for the rest of the journey that lay ahead. So I only circled the water in my mouth and then spit it back in the canteen. I still had a long way to go, and the nearest town would probably be Tabis.

If I only knew the exact location of the damn place… My knowledge was pretty good about most towns, I had visited many of them on my journeys, but I had never been in Tabis before. I knew it lay to the west, but I didn’t know how far exactly.

After a little less then two days I saw the outskirts of a city, Tabis. As I entered there was something which was odd, there were drunks everywhere and there was a lot of blood on the ground. I decided not to think about it too much and entered the first bar that looked at least a bit decent. The “Rusty Nail” it was called.

He hired a room and went upstairs to lie down. “What name should I use?” the woman behind the bar had asked while he was paying for the room. “My name is Jim” he said and he used the opportunity to ask what had happened in Tabis, because of the celebrations and all. The woman told him about the raiders and later slavers who had been in Tabis. They caused a lot of trouble, but most of them had been kicked out now or had been shot. He also heard the story about the men who went down the EL and got back, despite the enormous horde of deathclaws residing there.

After getting some sleep the wanderer walked back down while pondering about the encounter that had saved his live in the desert. He came to the conclusion that the “people” he’d encountered must have been headed for Grey Cliffs, it was the only town in that direction, there was nothing else there.

I have to go back to that place, whether I like it or not… The wanderer thought, “I have to find the man who saved my life, and repay the deed.”
“But how will I get there, I’m not recovered enough to go out on my one…”

That’s when the wanderer saw the help wanted sign on the bulletin board in the corner. He walked up to it and it read: HELP WANTED, guards needed for trip to Grey Cliffs, ask for Conner at the Red eye trading company for more info.

So the wanderer decided to go search for Conner…

 

[welsh]

OOC

OOC- OK this really belongs on the OOC post but I figured it important enough to bring to our attention.

There is a temporal lag problem, an issue of time.

This has happened before in both prior chapters. It shouldn't make that much of a difference as the caravan to Grey Cliffs still leaves four days after Chapter 2 ends.

There is still quite a bit to unfold. How the group comes together again, new characters etc. But the caravan will still leave an the 4th day.

But using a count down with caravan being day . it seems - Grim, Rogue, Gabriel,Virgil, are in the evening of Day 0-4 (four days away from leaving)
However, Jim (figure about two days in the desert plus the day of arrival) is 0-1 (one day away from departure).
Caleb and Jeeva, in Caleb's post seems to be 0-1 when he runs across Jim and then, using Jacen -2.

Does this make a difference? yes and no.

No, in the end we will be able to pull this together and can skip over some of these time hurdles by blurring this on the plot. For instance, we can spend a couple days doing mundane, resting, reequipping, kinds of things without any real story happening.

But yes, it does. Gabriel and Virgil's story needs to be straightened out, Rogue and Skik's story need to be finished. Any other new characters who begin at Tabis need to come in.

At the same time Jim can't go back in time and save Gabriel and Virgil in the next gunfight if that fight happened a day before Jim shows up in Tabis.

This is nit-picky bullshit stuff. But the trade off is realism and consistency.

My suggestions is that unless you have a really interesting subplot to unfold over the next few game days, lets get through this quick. Grim is catatonic (for now) while Jim is either dieing in the desert or bored in his hotel room at the Rusty Nail.

OK, enough with the OOC.
___________________

 

[Rogue Hex]

IC-

It was a simple short trip back to Tabis. The two had barely left Ibis's home before they were stood outside the city gates that granted access to within the town.

There were no guards posted to the gates which was understandable considering the party that was just kicking off in town.
The atmosphere was electric in the streets. People piled in and out of the local bars, there was signing and dancing not to mention the strong smell of alcohol in the air. Celebrations were breaking out all over to which every one was invited.

The sound of glass smashing from the interior of a packed out bar rang out in the street, two road worn men came bouncing through the doors, one fell face first down the old wooden steps, the other staggered unsteadily after, obviously the alcohol was a little two much for the light weights.

“Get out and stay out ya hears me, damn drunken jar heads.” Growled a slightly over weight guy from the bar doors. He stood tall wielding a shotgun which was pointed in there direction.

Skik gave a wave in the fat mans direction. The large man saluted back, he looked pretty pissed from where they were standing.

“You know him?” asked Rogue.

“Aye an old friend, looks like he’s got his work cut out for him tonight.” laughed Skik, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Skik made his way through the crowds over to the owner of the bar.
After what seemed like for ages, the ghoul returned with a small spread across his partially rotten face.

“Were in luck, he’s got some of the stuff that we need. Come on.”

“What, you mean in there.” Replied Rogue.

“Yea, he gets medical supplies of a couple of caravan guards.”

The bar was absolutely booming with people. Laughter emitted from all corners and there was a general merry feeling in the large room.
Skik and Rogue followed closely to what Rogue presumed was the owner of the establishment. The way that people moved to allow him to pass was impressive.

They were greeted by some stares from people and the odd chant and whistle from the back. Rogue was sure someone had tried to feel her ass but she ignored it and just picked up the pace.

“Come, let’s step into my office, Nosh, cover the bar, this el only take a couple of mins.” shouted the man raising his voice in order to be heard over that of the crowds.

As the three moved through the small hallway, they passed the bloodied bodies of two men.

“Trouble?” asked Skik.

“Aye, some god damn ghoul blasted these two guys with one of those laser guns when they slugged some freaky nut.”

“Freaky?” Rogue responded.
“Yea, should have seen his eyes, a stare that could cut right through ye. Strange bastard he was, pulled a gun on me before I had time to even blink.”

“You remember what he looked like.” Asked Skik becoming slightly interested. After everything they had been through these last couple of days, strange men with cold stares and guns usually brought trouble.

The bar man stopped in front of Skik and stared at the ghoul, “You awfully curios aren’t ye.” Pausing for a second to wait a reaction from Skik but he just shrugged. “Suit ye self, he was about 6’2” or maybe 6’3”, blond hair about so long, blue eyes and I’m taking cold blue eyes here and one hell of a nice suede coat.” Said the fat man, waving his hands about as he described the stranger before continuing down the corridor.

Skik turned to Rogue and smiled, she nodded back, “Gabriel!”

“Now, wont ye step in to my office.”

The three entered a small damp and musty room. The place was a real shit hole, wall paper hanging off the walls, a half burnt out desk placed in the middle and 2 dented lockers stood along the back wall. Rogue had seen better rooms in the fort back at the park than this.

The bar owner produced a chain from around his neck, on the end hung a small silver key. He slipped the key into one of the lockers and popped open the door with a rusty screech. From inside he produced a small tanned cooler box with a medical symbol plastered on all sides and dropped it on the desk with a thud.

“Well, most of the stuff you asked for is there, fuck knows where you gonna get rest of the stuff around here, I ain’t even heard of half of it.”

Skik held out a slim hand holding a small black bag, the two of the shook hands and exchanged money, “Pleasure doing business with you.” Said Skik collecting the cooler and making his way to the door.

As they moved back through the horde of barfly’s, Rogue couldn’t help but notice the caravan poster demanding guards for a caravan trip to Grey Cliffs. It was there that she had intended to go when she had very first arrived in Tabis but had been stopped due to the slaver blocks. It seemed so long ago, as if she had been stuck in this town for years.

The two left the bar and headed back out into the mass of crazed and drunken people who filled the streets.

“Were to now?” asked Rogue.

“Back to the hospital, they might have some of the supplies we need.”