private Into the Wasteland

[Standard User 2,127]

OOC Thread

 

---

 

The Equestrian Wasteland. There really is nothing else like it, is there?

 

As evening approaches and the caravan grinds to a halt, you take a moment to examine the world around you. Great rolling swaths of grey clouds obscure the sky, while crumbling pockets of decaying grass dot the land below. As you come over another line of low hills, you look west and catch your first glimpse into the lowlands of the Trottingham Valley. In the distance, the city of Trottingham stands large against the horizon, thin trails of smoke and dust winding up from the ruins. From your position in the hills, you can see for miles around: sparse forests, winding rivers, the ocassional settlement.

 

"Hold up!" The caravan master hollers, and the string of wagons and ponies grinds to a halt. The master doesn't need to say anything more; the members of the train know that their work is done for the day. Some ponies begin unloading makeshit tents and bedding while others begin to prepare supper. A few ponies, clothed in leather barding and wielding intimidating weapons, try their best to look imposing. 

 

You hop off the wagon you had been riding on, sore from a long day's ride. Whether it has been a few days or a few weeks, you can already tell that life on a caravan train isn't for you. But still, safety in numbers...right?

 

Despite the lack of a visible sun, you can tell that it is setting. The world is once again slipping into night. And then you will wake up, and travel some more, and sleep, and wake up, and travel some more, and sleep...

 

Being on a caravan sucks, don't it?

 

---

 

It is late into the evening. The mercenaries are debating over who gets the first night watch, while most of the traders and caraveeners have gone to bed. But something keeps you up. A story that was told earlier, by the caravan master.

 

The caravan master was excellent at storytelling. But when he told you the story of Haven, the Light in the Dark...well, it was difficult to discern where the truth ended and his exaggerations began. It seemed impossible: a whole city, untouched by the horrors of the Great War, ripe for the picking. It was a foal's story, designed to instill hope in those who had none.

 

And what hope was there on a caravan train heading nowhere?

 

You stare intently into the fire, numb to the world around you. You roll the caravan master's story around in your head, fiddling with the idea and toying with the possibility that there was some truth in his words. It is a crackle of flame, a gentle snore from behind you, that helps to make up your mind: this train is not your future. The search for Haven is.

 

Somepony in the distance moans in their sleep. The sound draws your attention back up, and you find yourself in the prescence of company: five other ponies have been sitting around the fire, each lost in their own thoughts.

 

Perhaps they are thinking of Haven as well? Perhaps of their past, or their future?

 

It couldn't hurt to ask. After all, if you're going to find Haven, you're going to need a team.

 

 

[About time this got started, eh? Rather than throw you right into the action, I'm giving you guys the evening to interact and roleplay a bit. Once everypony heads to bed, I'll move on to the next day, so you decide how long the night lasts.]

[MyLittleCell 106]

As Royal sighed out the cigarette smoke, he quickly looked over and sized up the other ponies still up. He didn't used to smoke, but he eventually decided that any death he would get from them would be better than whatever other fate he would receive in the desert.

Royal realized the ponies he looked over were no bad group. At least he knew he would die fighting.

"Haven, eh?" He said, drawing out the words slowly, laying back as much as he could, letting his head fall back, looking into the sky. "Every fillies dream. The land of easy food and great freedom. The untouched land."

He chuckled, letting another small cloud of smoke out.

"Beautiful."

[Senor Citizen 516]

@@MyLittleCell, "Scare a pony enough, and they'll believe anything better than what they have currently." Standoff spat out a sunflower seed and continued. "Course, I'm not saying it's not true. Well, yeah, I guess I am. I'm saying that it's not likely that the stars have aligned in the way that we all seem to hope."

[Shame 23]

Alistar sat before the fire in a ball, eyes fixed on the twisting and winding licks of flame that creep into the night sky. The idea sat in his mind like a stagnant puddle in a rainforest, he was not sure what to think of it. His ear twitched subtly as the wood popped, tossing a few cinders out and towards him. He curls up tighter. 'A safe haven could be nice...' A massive striped paw stamps into the water suddenly, a striking thought hitting him and lingering. 'What if it isn't safe though... What if it's TOO safe...' He looks up to the flames, gentle yet powerful, wise yet silent. He searches through the light and heat for an answer that doesn't seem to come. A soft sigh is all he has to offer to the ponies around the fire before retrieving a massive book from his saddlebags and opening it to a bookmark, attempting to drown out the thoughts.

 

(I never seem to have anything to offer early in RPs )

[Standard User 2,127]

"Uh, excuse me..." a meek stallion's voice calls from the edge of your ring of companions. "I, uh, I have a map for you...Mister Alltrades wants as many ponies-- oh, my, and griffons, I'm sorry-- to have a map of the Trottingham Valley. He says it is...*gulp* really quite dangerous..."

 

He inspects everypony (sorry, everyone) in your group before widening his eyes in shock. "Oh my...it looks like none of you have a PipBuck. Well, we do have a small electronic map that someone can carry. This copy of the map is pretty bare, though, as it had to be drawn by hoof. But it should still update with new locations like a normal PipBuck.

"Mister Alltrades said that, in the morning, we will be descending southwest from the camp towards the next major settlement. Thank you for your time," he whimpers before receding into the darkness, leaving behind a flat rectangular box. It appears to have several knobs and empty ports along the edges, much like a PipBuck. The screen is even the stereotypical Stable-Tec luminescent green. Inspecting the casing closer, you find a company name and tagline -- "BibPuck: We're Just As Good!!!"

[MyLittleCell 106]

 

 

"BibPuck: We're Just As Good!!!"

 

Royal reached over to pick up the box, looking over the map. He took quick mental note of the locations, noticing the few towns around.

He thought about the town they were heading to, deciding that if he was going anywhere, that'd be the best place to get supplies.

He looked up at the pony who had been silent for now, and over at the one who had.

"Any of you good with maps? I'll take it if none else, but..."

[HigurSan 195]

@@MyLittleCell, @, @, @@Shame,

Rusty Wrench, while certainly being present the whole time, seemed to fade back into existence at the presence of the Bib-buck device. Currently he was dressed in a rough cloak, one meant to make him less visible when he lay down. Essentially it was cheap but effective camoflauge. If any of the ponies present had seen him in the day hours before now, they would likely know that he was an odd one. He had a myriad of bags and packs strapped to his back and flanks while the caravan trotted along. Each was small and seemed to have specific types of items contained within. Most of it was scrap, but a couple of notable exceptions were what appeared to be home made tools. The oddest thing he possesed was a strange device attached to his horn. It looked to be electrical in nature, occasionally giving off a spark or two. It also smelled of oil and pampering uncommon in the Equestrian Wasteland. Usually he was timid and stayed as far as possible away from everypony if at all possible.

 

"Give it here, now," Rusty hissed as he seemed to catapault out of the darkess, snatching to Bib-buck out of the other stallion's hooves. After he had gained possession of the device, he plopped down into the dirt with a menagerie of bits and pieces being spread from his belongings. "I haven't seen one of these in two... maybe three years. Shoddy knock offs, don't care what the bucking tagline says." A screwdriver was lifted with a small bit of magic, sending more sparks off of whatever was covering his horn. In less than a minute it had tightened all of the loose screws so that the device fit more snugly on whomever wore it and the screen didn't fizzle and pop as much.

 

He finally looked up at present company with an eye that was meant to say 'make a move and I kill you', but it was more along the lines of 'move towards me and I'm gone like last tuesday, device in tow'. "I fix things." He apparently felt it wasn't neccesary to expand upon that qualification, deeming it to be all that he needed to be in control of the Bib-buck. As rust and dirt fell off of it while he scrubbed it with a fine hair brush and application of oil, it was probably safe to assume he wasn't over-estimating himself. Finally, the turned the knobs to check the functionality before setting it gingerly on an open piece of tarp to keep it off the ground. "My name is Rusty Wrench. There's a couple of locations I could add, but I'm going to need a Stable-Tec terminal to do it. Doesn't need to be working. So long as the wiring and such are intact it'll be easy." He fiddled with the device a bit more. "Uh... pleasent to... eh who am I foaling. You've met me, nothing nice about it."

[MyLittleCell 106]

@,

 

Royal rolled his eyes.

"I'll say." He said huffily, flopping back into his laid back position he was in before, taking another huff out of his cigarette. "I'm royal, since you didn't ask." He said after a second of silence, finishing off his cigarette, throwing it into the fire. He lost himself in thought, staring into the flames and pondering on the story again. He sighed, turning his head to look up into the sky.

[Shift 4,272]

Wildfire was the toughest griffon in the gang. In fact, she was the toughest guy in the gang, period. So why the heck was she on a caravan? Wildfire should be out there kicking butt like the Stable Dweller! But, of course, this caravan needed a guard, and Gawd NEEDED to assign her here.

 

She lazily grabbed a beer that was sitting in the merchandise and started drinking it lazily. When he heard that they're going to Haven, she groaned. 

 

"Ugh. Haven doesn't even exist. Can't we go to like Paradise Falls and let me kick the slavers butt? Can't we go to a place where we actually do something?" Wildfire asked before sitting down on a random rock, finishing her beer. "We haven't ran into anything in like a month."

Edited July 29, 2013 by Shift

[Senor Citizen 516]

@@Shift, "Wah, wah, wah. My hormones won't let me go more than a couple seconds without killing something. Listen to yourself. Be glad that we haven't run into anything. I mean, killing things is my job, but it isn't my life. Do you have any other hobbies than acting tough and whining?"

[Shift 4,272]

@,

 

"Actually, yes." Wildfire said before pulling out her Star Blaster and aiming it right at Standoff, her face a mask of rage. "I do have a hobby of something called killing things. And you are a thing. So if you don't shut up, I will see you in heaven, or hell...whichever comes first."

[Senor Citizen 516]

@@Shift, Standoff chuckled, then stood. "That's cute. How old are you, kiddie? 15? 16? I don't think you could kill me. You could try, but..." Standoff racked his shotgun. "I can as good as guarantee you'd come too. Now, I don't know how good you are. I don't even know how good your gun is. But I do know that this is a specially modified 9-gauge shotgun, can blow the middle right out of a Radroach. So I guess the question is... Are you SURE you're better than me?"

[MyLittleCell 106]

@, @@Shift,

 

 

Royal sighed and looked over at the two. 

"Are you two done tooting your horns? We have better things to do then let some testosterone junkies fight over who is better at pointing a thing at another thing and pulling a piece of metal." He said, rolling his eyes as he looked back up at the sky. 

[HigurSan 195]

@@MyLittleCell, @, @@Shift, @,

((OOC- Shift: Dat Avatar!))

 

Rusty had attempted to vanish from sight when the guns were drawn. Two hot-heads with guns was a sure route to violence. After acquiring a rather valuable device, he wouldn't dare risk it being hit in the conflict. Of course, even without it he would have been long gone. He would have been disappearing into the distance by now, but there were a couple of things holding him still for the moment, well... other than fear of course. A couple of the caravan ponies had been semi-decent company. That was pretty rare in the Wasteland. Though isolationist and quicker to jump than nervous cricket, he was loath to relinquish that not often found commodity in ponies. The other factor to consider was Haven. If he made a runner with a piece of tech like this, they were sure to come after him. Since he wasn't going to get rid of it, that painted a target inbetween his eyes. Not to mention that the Wasteland was especially dangerous at night. Radscorpion would spear you in the hoof, you'd think it was a sharp rock, and you'd be dead by morning.

 

With this in mind, he was merely (trying) to hide behind in a dark space behind two containers that had been taken off the wagon. (Sneak check here.) Still plently of open space for him to make a get-away. The light contrast from the campfire -should- make it hard for them to see him. He usually kept one eye closed so he would retain some night vision. Perhaps he could help defuse the situation? It was worth a shot. "The Star Blaster while short out after the second shot," he hissed, just loud enough for them to hear him. "The magical focusing chamber has gotten dirt in it. The first shot will solidify it into a chunk and the second will bounce off the chunk, rupturing the chamber and cause the gun to overheat, possibly explode. The shotgun on the other hoof... its not loaded. You'd need to reload first and the ammo your using is sub-grade. Just as likely as to blow up in your face as... 'blow a hole in a rad-roach'. Unless you're using solid slugs. Then it could lodge in the barrel, causing the metal to fuse and render it unfirable." (And there's the Int check. I decided to use it over Perception.)

 

((Agility/Sneak Roll: 27, Intelligence/Memory Roll: 24 I do this right?))

[Senor Citizen 516]

@, "Sub-grade? If what you're saying is true, there's a Trottingham trader gonna get his hooves riveted together. And the shotgun IS loaded, but, hell, we're in the ass-end of the desert and where would I go from here?" Standoff sat back down and looked at Rusty. "But I've got more than a shotgun, and you can't outrun a bullet, little guy."

[Shift 4,272]

@,

 

[Enter Int check he- we all know Wild's going to fail so i'm not gonna bother] "Er...uh..." Wild was at a loss for words, trying to think of something witty to say to that voice. "Er...well...you...UGH!" Wild stormed off, then taking the dirt out of her Star Blaster, grumbling stuff like 'Stupid ponies', 'Why did I have to be assigned here' and 'this gun was perfectly fine'. 

Edited August 1, 2013 by Shift

[MyLittleCell 106]

@, 

 

Royal hummed at the diffusion of the situation. He leaned back a bit, the top of his head almost resting on the ground, looking towards the area the voice was from. 

"Thank you on that, my friend. I don't suppose i could interest you in a drink or something?" He said, leaning back up to stretch his back, which was feeling a bit tense for a moment. He closed his eyes hard as he rubbed his shoulder, stretching it as far as it didn't hurt, but he tried to stretch farther to not attract attention.

[HigurSan 195]

@, @@MyLittleCell, @@Shift,

Rusty wasn't really one for trading slurs with thugs, so he didn't say anything for a moment. You'd think that people would -appreciate- being warned of impending disaster, but ponies like Standoff always seemed to take it the wrong way. Rusty knew that the number of times someone had tried to kill him for doing as such was somewhere near thirty. There had been that -one- time where he'd mentioned to a gang leader that his marefriend was cheating on him. Really should have stayed away from that situation. But the caps had been good, fixing up the Raider's gear. The moral implications of giving violent psychos better weapons was something that was lost on Rusty. He was more concerned with whether they'd shoot him with those same weapons or not.

 

For the moment, the situation had calmed down. So he slunk out of the darkness back to the fire, one eye for before mentioned reasons. The Bib-buck was cradled under one hoof, though the screen was turned off to prevent it from glowing and giving away his position. "I... don't drinks... or food. Too many opportunities for something to be slipped in. In another case... alcohol dulls the senses. Makes reaction times longer and hooves less sure." He settled back to where he'd been sitting before, picking up the various things he had left lying about and packing them away. His eyes were constantly switching between the various members of the group. The contraption on his horn gave off a spark or two. "Best go to sleep." Without bothering to explain further, he shifted until he was comfortable and laid down. Apparently he slept with everything packed and one eye open, so to speak.

[MyLittleCell 106]

@,

 

"Well, you certinley don't drink it for the taste." He said sighing, as rusty laid down.

"I've drunk so long i dont know if it does much any more..." He said, mostly talking to himself now that rusty feel 'asleep'. He laid back himself, looking up into the stars. Deep down in his memories, there were vauge recollections of his mother singing about the constallations, and while the song itself would belong gone, royal still remembered the stars formations.

"Leo.... Aries.... The belt..." He said faintly.

[Standard User 2,127]

The Next Morning

 

If there is one general mood you can assign to the other members of the caravan, it is "vaguely pissed off." A good portion of the ponies have deep bags under their eyes and go about their morning business like they are moving through molasses. Apparently nopony got any good sleep last night.

The caravan master hollers out something incomprehensible. Everypony immediately drops whatever they are doing and gathers around the food cart, eager for some meager soup or bread -- maybe both, if they're lucky. What is generally a tense affair (the "line" to the food cart is more of a pushing, shoving mob) slowly grows more hostile as sleep-deprived ponies jostle for positions towards the front of the pack. Next to you, two ponies begin conversing.

 

"Tired much?" Asks the first, a bright-yellow earth pony asks the second.

 

"Shut up. Just...just shut up." The second, a beige unicorn, growls. "One of those stupid griffons kept me up all night. I think a couple of ponies were gonna get into a gunfight, too...stupid mercs. You know how much I like this caravan?"

 

"How much?"

 

"Not at all. I hate everything about this stupid caravan, and stupid Alltrades, and stupid Trottingham..."

 

The earth pony makes a disgusted face. "Stupid is a mean word, y'know."

 

"Maybe if the stupid featherbrain didn't keep me up all night with his infernal squawking, I'd be in a not-so-stupid mood!"

 

Oh, the food sucked that morning, as usual.

 

---

 

Breakfast used to be simple.

 

The six of you were just sitting there, minding your own business and eating your own food. No commotion, no action...just a simple morning meal. Until the same cowering pony who gave you the BibPuck last night approached your group yet again with a message from the caravan master.

 

So it was that you found yourself standing before the caravan master himself: Alltrades. An earth pony advanced in his years, he still maintains the youthful energy attributed to a pony half his age. He also possess the mustache of a great action hero, or an adventurer, or a stallion whose family has a history of growing fine facial hair.

 

"So," he grumbles, picking at his teeth with a combat knife. "There's been murmuring around the camp that you were the ones causing a ruckus last night. Is that true? Don't answer that. I know it's true.

 

"Normally, I'd kick your asses out of my caravan. But I've watched you six for a while and have heard enough rumors to know that you aren't completely inept, so you may still be of use to the Alltrades Caravan Company either as guns or as bullet sponges."

 

He beckons for the BibPuck, then punches a couple of buttons and turns a couple of knobs. Upon receiving the device back, you notice a new location on the map: Dry Creek.

 

"Our next major stop is the town of Dry Creek. They've always been great customers, but they can be fiscal and stingy and generally smart with their money. Regardless, we need a small group to scout ahead for any major dangers, and the usual scouting team needs a few extra hours of sleep." Here, he shoots each of you an accusing glare. "Stay on the road, reach the town, and come back with info about what is up ahead. Oh, and if you don't come back in, say...three days, we'll just assume you're dead. There's caps in it for ya' if you survive. Bonus points if you do it in a timely manner: we have stuff that spoils."
 

[Your first quest! *sniff* Ah, this is always such an auspicious moment...anyway, I'll edit the map with Dry Creek and put it in the OOC. That is where I'll keep the map updated, for simplicity's sake. Anyway, just start walkin'. Once everyone makes a post or two, I'll give a "here's what is up ahead" post.]

[HigurSan 195]

@,

((OOC: 2AM in the morning definitely counts as tomorrow XD))

As one could probably imagine by now, Rusty was rather reluctant to let the Bib-buck out of his reach for even a second. However, Mr Alltrades wouldn't put up with that business, so he'd reluctantly given it over. Their destination, Dry Creek, was a place he hadn't been before. The possibilities were running through his head, crowding out the irritation he perceived from Mr Alltrade. Rusty Wrench knew that the argument hadn't been his fault. Buck, he'd been the one to solve it. But if Mr Alltrade wanted to be a mule about it and punish the entire group, well buck him. Rusty didn't care. He had to hide a grin at that thought. He'd been carefully watching the Caravan as it had gone along, selecting out different pieces with his eyes. If Mr Alltrade chose to fire him, either with words or a gun, he'd soon find that a number of rather valuable items were missing from his inventory. He'd likely never see these or Rusty again.

 

There'd be time for that later. Right now he had to make sure that his kit was in order. Rusty tended to travel in a fashion that reminded some ponies of an all terrain tank. This was because he moved at a steady put slower than normal pace. However, he could walk farther than most any other pony. Which was odd because of the next bit. When moving Rusty tended to make a lot of noise. You'd be able to hear him coming a full minute and a half before you ever saw him. This was due to the wide menagerie of things he carried with him. Other than his own attire, a number of tough hide bags containing the soft and smaller items covered his neck, torso, and thighs. On top of these were hooked the larger, heavier, and metallic items. They ranged from lanterns to two pieces of thick lead plate which he had for some reason or another. He was pretty sure it had to do with radiation or something along those lines. In effect, there was him, then a soft cushion of bags, on top of which hung ad-hoc armor/junk. A frag grenade had lodged in the plating one time and had detonated. It left a couple of scorch marks on the metal and bits of shrapnel stuck in the bag cushion, but otherwise to no effect.

 

This all sat on the ground near where Rusty had been sleeping. It was held together by a frame that he could easily slide in and out of, distributing the weight. Other than providing effective mobile bullet shielding/ cover, it could also be ditched in less than a minute for a quick get-away. Of course, these were just unintended side-effect of Rusty's past experiences and the gradual build up of objects he had acquired traveling the wasteland. One merchant had mentioned that he ought to start building frames of a similar design for other ponies, make a business of it. But that had somewhat flopped, as next to nobody was willing (or able) to carry the thing. After a minute or two tightening straps and so forth, he was ready to go. A last minute adjustment was to hang the Bib-buck off a protruding Hook with a small net cradle, allowing it to hand to the side of Rusty's head for easy access. As well, he didn't have to carry it in one hoof.

[Shame 23]

Alistar was struck by the order, having been grouped together with the ponies and Gryphon who he had shared little but a campfire with. Alistar was just a colt, there was no way they'd send him on a mission! He opened his mouth to speak, but instead he shrank, intimidated as the order seemed to be fairly stern. He couldn't afford to be evicted from the caravan, he had a mission, he would have to go with the group to this new town. He hangs his head and shifts a bit to reset his saddle bags, ready for the given mission.

[MyLittleCell 106]

Royal rolled his eyes through the caravan masters speech before he sighed, walking off to where he had his bag.

He figured there was no point in waiting it out, and that heading out would be the best first thing to do. He grabbed his rifle, quickly swinging it onto his back without a second thought. His rifle would be one of many, had it not been for the etchings and marks on it. Yet it wasn't the typical mark for a kill that others did, it was a spade and diamond that graced either side of the stock, marking it enough to be immediately recognizable. Royals gun, despite its usefulness and the danger of the wasteland, was not overly used. Royal prided himself on not needing to fire a shot, rather than the boasting of good shots that other ponies had. Royal finished wrapping everything up before he trotted up beside rusty, as he was already to go.

 

@,

 

 

"You're a smart fellow. How much you bet these ponies'll be here when we get back?" He said, quiet enough not to arouse attention from others in the caravan.

[Senor Citizen 516]

Standoff prided himself on being hard to kill. He wasn't particularly fast. He was just very quiet. Quiet and smart. Way to be. Digging out the jewel of his armory, his shield, he checked that everything was still screwed in right. Spotlight? Check. Spring-action glass barrier protector? Check. Surprise? Check. "Let's go, ladies, we're on the clock! Time to go to work!"