Blood & Dust - A Post-Apocalyptic Pseudo-Western Character RP
391 replies, posted
When a world war breaks out, between larges groups and alliances of nations, it can get out of hand quite quickly. Escalations, all the way up to the use of nuclear weapons. Billions can lose their lives, entire swaths of land can be burned and irradiated. Cities can be obliterated, leaving only burning wreckages. Ecosystems change. Nations fall. The world burns. In 2145, exactly that happened. Four grand coalitions sought to destroy one another, and it resulted in a nuclear armageddon which even affected our own Moon. The world was forever changed.
Global society, having been built up for hundreds of years, collapsed in the span of months following the catastrophe.
Three hundred years have past, and the world is still broken. Hostile. But the remaining slivers of humanity have begun to rebuild. Finally, civilization (or a form of it) was starting to return. In the American Wastes, a handful of factions have sprouted from the ashes. In the northeast, a union strives to spread out and recreate the former United States using any means necessary. In the southern midwest, a republic has sprouted from the wastes, adopting the name of the state that preceeded it. Texas. In the ruins of the Motor City, a band of hellions carves out their own kingdom, spreading southward. A confederation grows nearby to the west, and from the heart of Sin City comes a band of mutants. Building a future for themselves. Life even springs from the small town of Roswell, though it seems to be more focused on the sky above than the world around it.
But for now, this story focuses on a man inside the Republic of Texas. It is the year 2445, and the man has been given a mission. A relic from the history of the Republic has been taken, and needs to be retrieved. This man, a Marshal named John Masterson, must gather together a special group of individuals to assist him on this journey. A journey into a world of blood and dust.
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Blood & Dust is a character RP set in a post apocalyptic pseudo-western world. It is the year 2445, three hundred years after World War 3 and the nuclear destruction of the world. Society is starting to rebuild in this new world, building on the ashes of the old. You play as up to two characters in this world, recruited by a Republic Marshal by the name of John Masterson.
Character Creation Template
Special Skills or Attributes:
Characters can be crafted from one of six races, each with their own abilities and traits.
Human - (Willpower - Start with 100 HP instead of 50, immune to enemy CH crit rolls.)
Genetically Engineered Human (GEH) - (Genetic Perfection - DEF tech base value is at 8 instead of 5. x2 Damage in melee combat.)
Mutant - (Mutated - Health regenerates 10 points per turn. Immune to Radiation.)
Cyborg - (Enhanced - Starts with 75 HP instead of 50. Criticial hits do double damage.)
Synth - (Assassin - Twice as likely to get a Critical Hit, surprise attacks deal double DMG.)
Robot - (Cold Steel - DEF Tech base value 10 instead of 5. Enemy CH rolls do half damage.)
Combat is based off a system like that of Starpath. For instance, if you take an action that may have a chance to not work, it requires a simple coin flip to see if its successful. Attacks against enemies and players are determined by a D10 roll + modifications based off stats and traits. Run out of HP, you're knocked out. Enemy runs out of HP, they die unless the situation specifically calls for them to be knocked out. Player characters may be revived after battles, or during if there is someone present with medical skills. You get two traits. One is determined by your race (as listed above), and one you may create yourself (which I have to approve to make sure its not OP.)
After every chapter, you may upgrade your character's stats. Your stats are divided into three groups. HP, ATK, and DEF. HP is obviously your character's health. ATK is a base multiplier which determines how much damage you do with a roll. DEF is a base multiplier to determine how much damage you can negate from an enemy's attack with a roll. Every chapter, you get three points to spend on your stats. Try and tailor your stats to suit your characters.
Be cool with one another. Nobody likes giant, out of character arguments.
You aren’t a demigod, so if you want something to happen, roll for it.
PVP is fine, but both parties have to agree to it.
Be active. If you don’t post in a while, your character will become an NPC.
If you post out of character, use double parentheses ((like this.))
Please don't submit characters which are references to existing media.
Current Active Players:
Infab (Eliza Cohen, Jasper Clarke)
Name: Eliza Cohen
Birthdate: July 13th, 2416 (29)
Profession: Gunslinger, Outlaw. Formerly a Raider.
Eliza was born to a pair of farmers just east of Cement City in Michigan. Life was hard growing up, and it would only get harder. Shortly after turning eight years old, a band of raiders from the ruins of Detroit known as the Motor City Reavers shot and killed both of her parents when they raided their farm for food. Deciding that she'd make for new blood in the raider group, they dragged her kicking and screaming back with them to Motor City.
Here, she would grow up to be one of the most rowdy and brutal of the crew as she joined in their pillaging and killing throughout the northern American Wastes. She also often instigated fights with other factions, or amongst her fellow raiders, by running her mouth just a bit too much. Thus earning her the nickname 'The Mouth of Motor City' from the group's leader.
Eventually, around the age of 27, she started to grow dissatisfied with her current life. Nothing seemed to satisfy her anymore. This was also added on to by the Reaver's leader was starting to be a bit pushy with his 'needs'. One night, he snuck into her quarters and attempted to have his way with her. It really didn't end well for him, as he left without either of his testicles. Figuring that the other Reavers would be out for blood for what she did to their boss, she left that same night.
Out in the Wastes, as she made her way into the midwest, she became an outlaw. Always finding ways to get into trouble with the local law enforcement. Usually through drunken fights or robbing people. What helped her through those tough times came in the form of a revolver she had managed to steal from the Reavers when she left. She became proficient in its use, and soon enough was one of the fastest gunfighters to ever grace the post-apocalyptic midwest. Earning her the nickname 'Fast Hands' Cohen.
She drifted further southward, eventually into the Republic of Texas. It would be here where her notoriety would grow even more, with every gunfight, robbery, and escape from prison.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Willpower - Start with 100 HP instead of 50, immune to enemy CH crit rolls.
Gunslinger - Can attack an enemy six times in one turn. Can only be used once per battle.
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Name: Jasper Clarke
Birthdate: January 2nd, 2388 (57)
Jasper was 'born' in the Union GEH Manufacturing Plant in Philly, as part of a line of GEHs specifically crafted to serve as Scouts. He grew up in typical GEH fashion, given a standard education and trained to the duties he would perform later when he was older. Proven to be the top of his group, he was placed in the 2nd Scout Regiment on the edge of the Union's territory in Kentucky.
Here, he would assist Union occupation forces track and kill mutants, hunt Raiders, locate fugitives from the law, and eliminate damaged robots or scout out new locations for Union outposts. He would serve the Union dutifully for several years, before becoming the center of an incident involving a group of GEHs from his Regiment that wished to leave the Union. These GEHs believed that the Union was treating them as simple tools, and didn't care if any of them lived or died. They believed that they were entitled to a life just like any other human. After weeks of dwelling on these ideas, and looking at his own life, Jasper agreed with them. When ordered to kill these GEHs, Jasper refused and instead helped them flee the Union.
Venturing to Memphis then deep into the wastes beyond, they eventually found their way to the Republic of Texas where they would start a new life free from the Union's oppression. Jasper, however, wasn't content with a simple life and decided to continue his work as a scout for the Republic. He would assist the Texas Rangers in hunting hostile mutants and raiders, before broadening his options to helping the Republic Marshals track fugitives and escaped convicts.
Now, in 2445, he continues his work for the Rangers and Marshals, serving the Republic faithfully.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Genetic Perfection - DEF tech base value is at 8 instead of 5. x2 Damage in melee combat.
Scout Instincts - Surprise Attacks are always stealthy, and do x2 Damage.
Name: Yellow Eagle
210cm. Hardened titanium-alloy frame.
Profession: Bounty Hunter (formerly NATO Robotic Rapid Assault Infantry)
Built and assembled in 2130, Yellow Eagle was originally one out of hundreds of thousands combat robots built to serve the various national armed forces around the globe.
When World War 3 broke out Eagle was repurposed into a marksman and transferred to a rapid assault unit fighting for NATO.
Delivering swift death during countless mission Eagle would eventually run out of luck as he and the rest of his robotic bretheren were killed during a intense battke against PAA special forces. Laying dormant for months, he was eventually found by a group of scavengers following the trail of destruction left by the PAA.
Thinking that Eagle could help protect them against bandits the scavengers repaired and reactivated him while also granting him the ability to form his own thoughts and, eventually, his very own personality.
Today Eagle is known as a witty yet skilled bounty hunter and marksman. He is primarily contracted by the United Nordic Coalition to seek out high-value targets or locate other means which can help the UNC secure a future amidst the chaos on Earth.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Killswitch - Y-E broadcasts a massive databurst, temporarily disabling a single robotic enemy for one turn. Can be used once per battle.
Eagle Eye - Y-E marks all nearby hostiles, increasing damage against them untill an enemy damages him. Can be used once per battle.
Name: Mariuz Wanjiku
Birthdate: Spring, 2420
He was born on on the outskirts of Milwaukee to poor, immigrant parents. He was brought up moving around settlements begging for food, and helping his parents scourge through wrecks for anything salvageable to sell. He learned very quickly how to fend for himself, and work with his hands. Being a cute little kid also helped his parents play the pity angle for housing or food during really bad times. Unfortunately, tragedy was a common sight throughout his upbringing, seeing those even less fortunate than him die of starvation and disease.
Tragedy struck his own family when he was around 16. Coming back from a salvage run at a nearby abandoned military vehicle depot, he discovered the squatter town that he and his family were staying at the time, torched to the ground. Raiders rolled through the past evening, killing anyone in sight and looting all possessions. Mariuz didn't sleep and eat for two days, just sitting and waiting while the fires around him went out, turning to blackened ash. On the third day, he finally wept, and then collapsed from exhaustion.
A changed man, he began making his way south in search of supplies. For years he wondered the wasteland, frequently stopping by trade hubs and settlements to replenish his goods and see what kinds of skills or knowledge he could pick up from the locals. He become very familiar with mechanical workings of past technology, being able to restore most of things he finds. He also became proficient in gunsmithing, forging better and better weapons to kill any raiders or injustice he comes across, the memory of his parents never far from his thoughts.
In 2445, he found himself in Texas, soaking up the hot sun. He could feel a chapter was about to begin for him but he didn't know what. He was growing tired and weary of bottom feeding from the scraps and started to feel a fire within him light; an ambitious flame.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Willpower: Start with 100 HP instead of 50, immune to enemy CH crit rolls.
Salvager: Increased chance at successful item repairs/creation.
Name: Wesley Donner
6' 1" (185cm). Average build.
Birthdate: September 16th, 2406 (39)
Bio: Wesley was born on the road, and someday, he'll die on the road. He doesn't remember his mother's face, but that doesn't bother him much. Things come and go all the time in the world without anyone noticing, and Wesley knows that, in the end, he'll be forgotten as well. The only way to make peace with the human condition is to expect nothing and plan for even less. As a young man, he fell in and out with bandits and posses, breaking and enforcing the local so-called laws in whichever way would bring his next meal to the table. Over time, it got easier. Sleeping with a gun wasn't just a necessity, it was a warning: "Come at me, you chickenshit little punks. Try to take me in my sleep, and I'll just kill you angrier." He kept few possessions, trading up whenever the opportunity arose. The rifle on his back was mainly for hunting; his revolvers are his first and only love. Somewhere along the line, he wandered into Texas.
Willpower - Start with 100 HP instead of 50, immune to enemy CH crit rolls.
Deadeye - Fastest hands in the new west. If his attack kills an enemy, it preempts any actions or damage that enemy may have dealt that turn.
((Don't know where else to post this, but can I get permissions to the Discord? I joined it but I can't see or type anything))
Bio: Slade didn't always look like something that was pulled straight out of a pre-war horror movie. A while ago he was just a normal human like any other. He was a bit of an idealist. Believing that the only way to bring back what was lost from before the war was to bring in the law to the places that were devoid of it. Sounds simple enough. Not easy, but far from complicated.
He was the self appointed lawman of his local community down in Louisiana when one day life took a turn. A group of traders were passing by and one of them was carrying an old pre-war container. Now he would tell you that his memory of what happened was a blur and one thing let to another, but the container burst open. Whatever was swilling in there was clearly not meant for the benefit of mankind as Slade fell to the ground coughing his lungs out before he blacked out.
He woke up to discover a sleuth of new changes. His skin was darkened and dried, his eyes going from their brown color to a menacing orange and his bone density was through the roof. He looked like a ghoul if we are to be blunt. He wasn't the only one who suffered from the mutation. The townsfolk had been affected as well and so has anything else that could breath in the contents of the container. Key difference is that most of them had lost their minds in the process. Along with three other survivors, he put the rest out of their misery. After burying the last one, the four men settled on a deal. They would each ride in a different direction and find what the root cause of their trouble is and if it still breathed, put it down. What happens after that was in God's hands. They just had one name to go by. Fontaine Inc.
It's been nearly fifty years, and he's still searching. He doesn't know if he's still alive because of the mutations or that he's just too stubborn to die. But his latest lead has led him all the way back to Texas.
Mutated - Health regenerates 10 points per turn. Immune to Radiation
Sticks and stones-Slade has found that his new mutations have made him harder to beat up, (reducing melee damage taken by 50%), but also that he can dish it out more, (increase to his melee damage by 50%)
Name: Oswald "Ozzie" Bakerworth
192 cm (6'4"), slim build
Birthdate: April 16th 2401 / 32
Race: Mutant (Swamper)
Profession: Outlaw / Smuggler
Snakelike, slimy and unsavory. This and many other words have been used to describe Oswald Clovis Bakerworth. A certifiably disreputable man from the Bayou country, him and his clan have committed a lengthy list of crimes. Like others who reside in the clannish enclaves where Oswald grew up, he learned the most important life lesson early in life; If you are not capable of cruelty, then you are absolutely a victim of anyone who is. Along with the Bakerworth gang and similar bands of brigands in Bayou country, ordinary folk came to know Oswald as a milder type. Oswald preferred to act the sophisticated highwayman instead of a clean cut bandit. He would rob, but also gained a reputation for toying with his victims by assigning them deals so that they'd get to live.
After many a years with the Bayou under his thumb, Oswald finally met his match. While away on a gambling trip to Orleans, another swamper clan by the name of McGill had started a feud with the Bakerworth family. After hearing the news that his family had been effectively wiped out, he knew that the law would have no trouble apprehending him. Swindling them delta boys he had made a pretty penny. On the run from the McGills, the law and vengeful gamblers, Oswald headed west, and eventually made it to Houston. He has since worked as a smuggler, managing transports for illicit goods within the Republic of Texas.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Mutated - Health regenerates 10 points per turn. Immune to Radiation
Ace in the sleeve - if sufficiently in cover, Ozzie can take his time to make a well placed shot. (if Ozzie can aim for two consecutive turns, his attack will gain a 4x critical multiplier.)
Birthdate: August 16, 2145.
Profession: Street Artist / Wanderer.
Bio: A prototype for a more advanced line of synths, Boombox entered this world with the intention of being the model for a new wave of synthetic assassins and soldiers to be used during World War 3. Unfortunately, he was never activated nor completed due to the war going nuclear and nearly destroying the entire world. His personality programming was left unfinished and was stuck hanging from several wires in the synth production plant until centuries later, where he and the rest of the plant mysteriously activated. Now awake, he took it upon himself to finish his personality programming himself by sorting through the belongings of the long dead employees, trying to find anything that could help him understand how humans act and behave. Several weeks later, he filled in all the holes and gaps in his programming by watching and listening to quite a few hip hop music videos and tracks one plant employee had copious amounts of, as well as dressing in their jacket and shoes along with the combat fatigues he was going to be issued.
Now completed, he set out into the American wasteland, finally being able to experience the world.
Special Skills or Attributes:
- Assassin: Twice as likely to get a Critical Hit, surprise attacks deal double DMG.
- Ballistic Breakdance: Boombox starts breakdancing while spitting fire and spraying lead, allowing him to hit multiple targets at once.
Name: Billy 'Roadrash' Blake Jr.
Birthdate: October 2, 2414.
Bio: Hailing from the sleaze pit that was once Las Vegas is the prince of the mutant Sin City Firewheels biker gang. Firstborn son of their leader and descendant of the gang's original founders, Roadrash faithfully serves the gang in their slow but steady conquest of the American Southwest. Groomed since birth to be a leader, he leads his men ruthlessly across the Mojave, taking whatever resources they can find and killing any feral mutants they come across in order to make the land safe for their expansion. Though iron-fisted and brutal as he is, deep down he's rather insecure of his position. He doesn't think the rest of the gang takes him serious enough, and he hopes one day he'll have a chance to impress his peers, showing them that he's actually worthy of leading them. Hearing of civilizations and tensions rising in the east, maybe he'll find his golden opportunity there.
Special Skills or Attributes:
- Mutated: Health regenerates 10 points per turn. Immune to Radiation.
- Diamond Dermis: Roadrash's mutation caused his muscles to swell and his body to harden, making him highly resistant to more antiquated forms of weaponry. Damage done by ballistic and melee weapons are halved.
Name: Jonah Ark
Birthdate: June 16 2410/ 35 Years
Bio: Jonah has spent most of his life with his family, they too like him were mutants. Things were peaceful in his little settlement, too peaceful. The world was destroyed but he was sure he could find something maybe not safer but more... interesting. So when Jonah turned 18. He packed his bags and said good bye to his parents. They begged and pleaded for him to stay and let them keep him safe but he had made up his mind nearly 8 years ago.
It's been 17 years since then and he's been on the road since, searching for something to satisfy his craving for excitement. Many would describe him as a glutton for punishment, any many more are surprised he still alive. Jonah attributes his success to persistence and luck. The many years of being alone in the wilderness might help too, and any skills that came with that.
Special Skills or Attributes:
(Mutated - Health regenerates 10 points per turn. Immune to Radiation.)
(Thick Skin- Gains 5 more health whenever health is upgraded.)
July 7th, 2445
Houston, Republic of Texas
The grand Republic of Texas. A bastion of civilization amongst the American Wastes, populated with various types of people. Farmers, Traders, Scavengers...soldiers and bandits. Hostile mutants. Still, a better place than most if you wanted to live out a mostly free life. No GEHs and Robots lording over you like in the Union, or raiders choosing whether you live or die up near Motor City. The people here were mostly happy. Well, as happy as you could be in a world three hundred years after nuclear armageddon.
The blistering heat of the sun beat down on the dry streets of Houston, its citizens seeking shade when they could while trying to go about their daily lives. There were a few, however, whom had the unfortunate task of clean up. The bustling city had just had it the anniversary of its founding the day before, and of course things had to return to normal. Debris had to be removed from the streets and walkways...as did a few drunk vagrants. That was a job overseen by the local sheriff and his deputies, though. Those a bit higher up the chain had other matters to attend to.
There had been a commotion outside the Republic Museum, near the back. Apparently something had been stolen during the night. One of the many relics of the Republic's past, even stretching back to before its founding. All the way back to before the war that turned the world to ruin. Why someone would steal one of these ancient items, nobody knew. Most regarded it all as useless junk that was nice to look at.
"So...how the hell do thieves steal and move something that size in the first place? Doesn't that fucker weigh a few thousand pounds?"
"About one thousand pounds, give or take a few hundred."
"Yeah. So how did they take it?"
"We think that they took it during the Founder's Day celebration, and used one of the cranes from the junkyard to lift it."
"Right...the gunfire and fireworks probably masked the noise. Loaded it onto the back of a flatbed, and just scooted off. Who knows where the hell they went..."
Jasper Clarke shifted nearby, folding his arms. "Dallas." he said, simply. Both of the men that were talking looked over, a bit surprised by Jasper's sudden appearance and interjection. The tall, imposing man was one of few words. When he did speak, though, people paid attention.
"Dallas?...Makes sense. All the railroads run through there. If they want to get it out of the Republic, it'd be best to get it on a train...otherwise, it'd be a hell of a long drive by truck." said Marshal John Masterson. A grizzled man, bearing various cybernetic augmentations to his body. His damaged left eye, though, hadn't been replaced. He couldn't afford that one just yet. Tan lines surrounded both eyes, where he had been wearing a pair of goggles which now hung losely around his neck. He adjusted his dark, almost mud brown hat, before spitting the toothpick he was chewing on into the dirt. Well shit. They'd obviously had to go after them, but at the moment all the other Marshals were deployed to other parts of the Republic to assist the Rangers. Summer was always a bad time, as the mutant activity would rise. As did raider activity.
The other man standing with them, Samuel Thatch, was apparently thinking the same thing. He was currently the head of the Republic Council, and effectively the leader of the Republic itself. He stood out quite a bit amongst the others walking about, wearing a nice blue suit which looked almost pristine in this dusty environment. His face bore the marks of age, as did his hair which was now turning light grey and thinning. "It has to be retrieved. You and I both know how important it is, and what it can really do. Understand? I know all the other Marshals are currently busy, so I give you permission to seek out some deputies to help. Citizens, wanderers...hell, you can even use convicts. I'm not afraid to issue pardons to those that cooperate. Get it done."
"Understood." responded Masterson, before looking to Jasper. "Head over to the jail. There will probably be some dumbass there willing to dodge the noose. I'll poke around town a bit, and see if I can find anyone willing to join up. We'll meet back up at the Lady Luck and do a final check there before we head out."
"Got it." said Jasper, with a nod. With a tip of their hats, they both departed, leaving Thatch to look over the damage to the museum once more. He faintly muttered a string of curses to himself, as he gazed at the gaping hole in the side of the buildng.
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The journey to the jailhouse didn't take long really. Jasper was greeted along the way by various people, simply replying with a hat tip or a quiet "Howdy." He was well known in Houston, and throughout most of the Republic. A former Union soldier turned Republic scout, he had helped the Texas Rangers as well as the Republic Marshals several times over the years. He was used often to track targets, usually powerful mutants out in the wastes or criminals. Just the this morning, he had captured brought in a rather infamous criminal whom had been on the run for quite a while.
The moment he stepped through the door, he was greeted by one of the local deputies. "Jasper! Back again? Did y'all catch 'nother one or somethin'?" the scrawny man behind the desk asked, popping up. Jasper shook his head. "Need to see the one I brought in this morning." he said, motioning to the cells in the back. "Ah, right. Go on in. She's been singin' most of the mornin'. Still drunk, 'pparently." said the deputy, sitting back down at the desk. Jasper nodded, before heading across the room and into the the hallway.
"...IIIII'm a loooot like yoooou, so please...Hello, I'm here, I'm waaaaitinnnn'...IIII think IIIIII'd be goooood for you, and you'd be gooood for meeee!"
Eliza Cohen. Also known as 'Fast Hands Cohen' or 'The Mouth of Motor City'. She was the former right hand of 'Rabid' Jack Dixon, leader of the Motor City Reavers. The most powerful raider band in the country. Now, she was just a simple outlaw. He had arrested her this morning, after she shot up a bar in a drunken stupor. That was after robbing a bank two towns over and killing the sheriff and three of his deputies. She was also wanted for a string of other robberies and murders elsewhere in the Republic and beyond. And now here she sat in a jail cell, singing to herself as she awaited her death sentence. Hanging by the neck until dead.
She must have heard Jasper coming, because her singing stopped. "Heeeey deputy! That offer still stands! I-I'll do things to ya that even God himself would blush at! Just lemme fuckin' go!" she shouted from her cell. Jasper strolled over and peered in. She was sitting across from the door on the floor, back pressed against the wall. Almost where he had left her earlier. "Oh...its you." she muttered, shaking her head and looking away.
"Yeah. It's me. Got a proposition for you." said Jasper, folding his arms. She looked miserable, but that's what bottles of whiskey and a six-by-six jail cell will do to you. Her long black hair was matted with sweat, her clothes bearing signs of intense wear. A lot different compared to how she had looked at the bar.
Eliza chuckled for a moment, before glaring at him. "What, you want the same deal I gave the deputy? Heard you GEHs were pretty well off downstairs, so...might be fun." she said, a grin appearing on her face afterwards.
Jasper grunted, before responding with a blunt "No." He then motioned over his shoulder. "The Marshal here and I need some help tracking down some thieves. You help, you get pardoned. You don't, you get hung."
Eliza raised an eyebrow. "You... need help? With thieves? What, were they raiders or somethin'?...shit, why am I even questioning this. Just let me out of here. I'll do whatever the fuck you guys want. I just want out of this fucking town." she replied, rolling her eyes and standing.
"Good answer. Deputy! Let her out. And loan me a pair of your cuffs." said Jasper, stepping back from the cell door. The deputy came around the corner of the hall's entrance a moment later, keys and cuffs in hand.
"Never thought I'd be releasin' Fast Hands Cohen..." muttered the deputy, before unlocking the door. He handed the cuffs to Jasper and pulled the door open a moment later, Eliza strolling over and holding her arms out. Jasper slapped the cuffs on her rather quickly, before tugging her along via the chain dangling from it.
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The markets of Houston were probably the best place to search for those willing to tag along. There were always mercenaries or wanderers strolling about, restocking on food and water or ammunition for their weapons. Some local deputies were always stationed here as well, to make sure nobody got robbed or shot. Both of which happened quite often, really. Masterson strolled about, eyeing some of the patrons to the stalls and stores. A few of them looked like potential candidates, really. But who to choose...
Ozzie looked at the the other players from beneath his hat. "And in that little house lived a mommy, a daddy and three little rascals."
The other players bit their lips or sighed, and then Ozzie laid it down, his full house. He had drawn out with the reveal simply to gloat and because he knew that nobody at the table had anything to play against him.
With a chuckle he scooped over the chips, "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure making a deposit from your pockets."
He signaled one of the waitresses to come over with a cigarette. With a suggestive strut she walked over and handed him a cigarette and offered him a light, "Cleaning house again I see:" she said.
Ozzie lit the cigarette and threw a few chips onto her trey, "I'm afraid I might put ya out of business if I keep this up, but yer charm is simply irresistible." he said as he stood up, slapping Daisy gently on her rear. She looked over and winked at him, "Your welcome as long as ya got gifts for me."
After exchanging the chips for money, Ozzie exited the Madam Rouge. He frequented this place rather than Lady Luck to avoid drawing unwanted attention to himself.
When he came out unto the market place he started heading towards the bank.
On his way, he noticed Masterson overlooking the market.
Like a sly fox he grinned with his cut lip and tipped his hat, "Afternoon, Marshall" he said as he passed by.
A pair of metal feet carefully stepped out from the rusty bus and onto the blistering sands of Houston. A mix of common folk, miners, traders and oddballs quickly made their way past and scattered into the crowds outside.
Eagle grabbed his hat and pulled it down slightly, covering his eyes. He placed his other hand on his belt. "Houston. As dirty as always." He thought to himself.
The robot chuckled to himself. "It's good to be back."
Hoisting his backpack Eagle started to walk alongside the streets. Using neither map nor GPS he navigated the streets with ease. He passed a beggar and, as per usual, flinged a coin with expert precision into the metal cup infront of him. The man looked up and smiled. "Good to see ya' Eagle."
Eagle nodded. "Likewise Dom."
Contunuing his stroll through the city Eagle eventually found himself standing infront of Lady Luck. He sighed deeply before stepping in through the door.
Inside neon lights, garbled music as well as a smell of alcohol and sin greeted him. Granted, Eagle could not actually smell. He did however have very detailed descriptions from some of his former companions saved onto his datacore. Eagle walked up to the bar at the center of the establishment and dropped his bag ontop of the desk.
On the other side a woman clad in a very revealing outfit and with long black hair running down her back suddenly stopped cleaning one of many glasses infront of her. She turned around and eyed Eagle with suspicion.
"We don't serve rustbuckets." She said. Eagle shrugged. "I could just be here to get it on, ma'am." The woman stared at Eagle and Eagle stared back. Suddenly her face turned into a smile as she began laughing. "Eagle you glorified toaster! Welcome back, how have you been?" Eagle removed his hat and place it atop of his bag. He let out a deep robotic laughter. "I'm fine Lilith, just fine. You?"
Lilith Dawn, the owner of Lady Luck, shrugged. "It's alright. Business ain't exactly booming. No new girls, no new clients." She shrugged. "It is what it is."
Eagle nodded. "One of these days you'll get a boom Lilith, I just know it." Lilith frowned and shook her head. "Yeah and the Republic got spaceships."
"If only you knew", replied Eagle with a chuckle. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a stack of, mostly US dollar, bills. "Here." He gestured at the stack.
"Should keep you up and running for six more months."
Lilith carefully grabbed the money and placed them on the interior counter. "This is alot of money. You've been doing more work for the UNC, haven't you?" Eagle nodded.
"Pay is good. A little too good." Lilith grunted while placing the money inside a counter safe. "You need to be careful. I heard from one of them airship pilots that NEO is getting more aggressive. One of these days they'll try to shoot you out of the sky as well."
"They can try", replied Eagle.
Standing not far from Samuel Thatch was Malin Lejonsköld, UNC envoy and currently the Republic-UNC liason. Next to her were a pair of low-ranking deputies. They were there more for show than anything else really.
Malin waited for Masterson and Jasper to leave before approaching Samuel. "Excuse me Mr. Thatch. I am Malin Lejonsköld, UNC Envoy. We met during the Founder's Day celebration." She paused and nodded towards the Republic Museum. "I am terribly sorry for the loss of your relic. However, I think I can help."
Masterson glanced over. "Afternoon, Ozzie. Let me guess, cleaned out the Madam Rouge again? Should at least give the other guys a chance every once in a while." he asked, folding his arms. Masterson had been watching Ozzie for a while now, after he blew in from out towards Orleans. Slick gambler type, and he knew that he was probably wanted or something back home. Still, he hadn't broken any laws here, so there was no need to arrest him. Still...he might prove useful. "Got a proposition for you, if you care to listen. Might even make some cash off it." he finally said.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Thatch looked over as Malin introduced herself for a second time, the first being the day before. "Oh, yes! Mrs. Lejonsköld. I trust that you had a wonderful time last night." he responded. She then spoke of the relic. "You wish to help? I've already tasked a Marshal in seeking out the thieves and retrieving the artifact. I'd rather not risk UNC lives out in the harsh wasteland. That wouldn't bode too well with your homeland."
Malin chuckled. "The Nordic Council thinks too much and act far too rarely. In fact, I believe that this is a great opportunity for the both of us. I want to help the Republic and the Republic wants allies. What better than a report from one of their leading diplomatic figures describing the struggles you face here and the solutions that could fix it." Malin paused once more. "I know for a fact that Minister Svärd is also looking for allies. We may have an ocean between us but we share alot in common."
She smiled. "Please Mr. Thatch, allow the UNC to help your people."
A stroke of green on the wall, another stripe of yellow there.
The spraying noise continued. This time, an outline of black.
A few more brushes, and done! A mural featuring Boombox was now painted on the wall of a cell not too far from where Eliza was. He put his spray cans back inside his secret torso compartment as he stepped back and admired his own artistic talent.
Ozzie was already walking away when Masterson offered a proposition. Finally, a chance to get in good with the Marshall. The cover will be airtight after this.
He turned around and raised his eyebrows, "Well well, Marshall. Can't say I'm exactly hurtin for coins." he replied as he shook his coin purse to a audible jingle. "But I reckon you could sway me with some details."
Thatch thought for a moment, his eyes gazing off into space, before finally sighing. "...Alright, Mrs. Lejonsköld. If you wish to help us, please seek out Marshal Masterson. He should be over towards the market district, I think. Speak to him, and tell him that I've given authority for you to join him in this endeavor. Please follow his instructions to the letter...he's a good man, and do his absolute best to keep you alive." he said, motioning down the street.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Jasper paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He smelled spraypaint. "Deputy, is someone doing renovations?" he asked, looking to the scrawny deputy. Instead of him answering, Eliza did.
"There's a synth down the hall. Doin' arts and crafts or some shit." she said, tilting her head in the direction of the noises. Jasper tugged her along, walking back to the door of the synth's cell.
The deputy spoke up as they walked. "Threw that one in two days ago fer vandalism. Paintin' shit on the wall of the courthouse." Jasper glanced to him, before peering into the cell.
Ozzie rubbed his chin, "Hmm... a tracking job?" he questions rhetorically.
"Well I guess, I can lend my help for a some cash. And I must say Deputy Bakersworth does have a mighty fine ring to it" he replies with his scarred smile.
Boombox slowly turned around as he felt Jasper's stare all over the back of his head. He bowed lightly before speaking.
"Marvelous, is it not?" he asked.
"Come one man, you can't do to this to me again! This is degradin!" The man shouted from the back of the horse, thrashing around in attempts to get off and flee, but the ropes wouldn't let him.
"Shut up, Johny!" The rider said, voice sounding as smooth as asphalt grinding on concrete "This is the tenth time I come to Houston and about the fifth I have to drag your sorry ass with me. Be happy now! I'm in a hurry and let you ride on my horse rather than drag you like I did last time." How they haven't hung this poor idiot, Slade could never understand. But at this point he had a feeling it was tradition for him to come into town and go get Johny pencil neck from some new hideout he, has before someone gets hurt. Usually that someone was Johny.
He suspected that Johny had to have some ties with someone important to keep going. Or maybe he was just kept around because his antics were amusing to someone. Either case, he could see his old 'friend' Cleetus (or as Slade had come to call him, the hick who thought he was slick). The only person who would approach the ghoul, either out of bravery or out of the fact that he could barely muster up the braincells to talk.
"Heeeeyyyy Slade!" The idiot started waving as soon as he saw the rider enter the marketplace. Slade spurred his horse so it would pick up the pace a bit. Last thing he needed was someone gawking at them while he did business.
"Hi Cletus. Be a good boy and take this moron off my hands and give me my pay. I don't do this town's public service for free."
"Here ya go!" Cleetus tossed him a small bag while pulling Johny down. "A few hundred dollars, revolver rounds and shotgun slugs, just what you need!" He then looked at Johny "Your brotha was mighty pissed this time!"
"Tell him to shove it!'
"Cleet!" Slade was holding the bag and he looked angry. Well, angrier than usual. "This is less than what we agreed on, you trying to pull a fast one on me, retard?"
"Uma um aaaa... No?" Cleetus began to shake as he blubbered out something else "Enough for two nights at Muttie's saloon and for a few round of cards. It's what the boss gave me, I swear!"
"Fucking..." Slade sighed "Well I'll need ta find some work won't I? Anyone hiring?"
"Oh, yeah. Word around town is that the marshall is lookin for someone fer a job or somethin. He's around the market, could be worthwhile?"
Marshall eh? Pay should be good in that case. Slade pocketed the bag before turning his back on his business partner and set off to look for his next payday.
"I knew you'd like that. Anyway, stock up on food, water, ammunition, whatever you need. Then head over to the Lady Luck. Tell Lilith that I sent you. She'll get the idea, and give you a table and some drinks while you wait. I'll be there shortly with any others that might be up for joining us." said Masterson, nodding in the direction of the market stalls. He then noticed a horse approaching, and upon it was a not-so-pale rider. The mutant lawman named Slade. He had heard of him from some of the other Marshals, but had never had the actual pleasure of meeting him. Now he'd be an excellent choice for this, even if he was a mutant.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Jasper and Eliza both gazed in at the mural that the synth had painted on the wall. Impressive attention to detail! "Well shit, I should have met you sooner. You could have detailed my bike before these fucks impounded it." said Eliza, looking over the painting.
Jasper cut her a glance, before looking back to the synth. "Got a name?" he asked.
Slade stopped as soon as he got within a few feet away from Masterson. The ghoul didn't know much about the man other that he was in charge of the whole show. Couldn't be an easy job.
"Marshall." With a tip of the hat, he introduced himself "The name's Slade. Freelance lawman and bounty hunter. Heard you were hiring."
"Marshal John Masterson, and yeah. You heard right. Gathering a group to help me hunt down some thieves. They stole an artifact from the Museum last night, and I intend to get it back. You'd be deputized, and paid full compensation for everything. Interested?" said Masterson, lifting his hat back a little to look up at Slade.
Slade didn't take long to weigh in the options he had
"When and where?"
"I am called Boombox, good sir. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mister...?"
"Stock up on supplies, and head over to the Lady Luck. Talk to Lilith, and tell her I sent you. She'll understand. I'll be there shortly so we can go over the finer details." said Masterson.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
"Jasper. Jasper Clarke. I work with the Marshals and the Rangers." said Jasper, introducing himself. "...Can you handle a weapon as well as you can spraypaint?"
Name: DIPLO|776 - (Dip)
Profession: Former Diplomat turned Wanderer
Shortly after being activated the early 2132's Britain, Diplo was thrust off into the American Midwest in an attempt to mitigate rising civil unrest. Here he was captured by a rebel tinkerer and unchained from his central AI, giving him true sentience. As a sign of gratitude Diplo then worked closely with the rebels to further destabilize the British government through a fervent disinformation campaign. In 2140 a raid on an American rebel stronghold revealed Diplo's betrayal and he was forced to flee Britain aboard a refugee ship bound for Florida where he then met up once again with the rebels who had given him a real life. From there Diplo's capabilities were further utilized in the rebel base in Houston where he successfully led a number of disinformation campaigns and hack attacks on various global powers. In 2145 Diplo finally realized that he was merely a tool for the rebels and was not truly valued within the cause. This happened to coincide with the first bombs being dropped, feeling immense guilt for his actions Diplo had decided that the rebels would not have a chance the survive the nuclear hellfire and sealed himself, alone, in their underground bunker in Houston. He would not allow such a toxic mindset to prevail in the new world nor did he believe he deserved to. He would hibernate, he decided. Hibernate, contemplate and decide his own fate.
Special Skills or Attributes:
Charisma - ( Increased ability to lie and convince others. )
Uplink - ( Ability to interface with compatible machinery. )
((@Diago21, I think you need to rework your guy's bio a bit. I'm doing some real head scratching reading over it. Like why Brits would be worried about American civil unrest, why he'd have to fleet England if he's already in the US, and why rebels would be using him to launch disinformation campaigns and hacks against a world that was already in the middle of a world war. Plus, you make it sound as though the rebels caused the nukes to be dropped when that's not the case. Also, you need to have only one custom trait, since the other is your racial trait. So in your guy's case, he'd have the Assassin trait and one of those two that you made.))
((Hey sorry! Haven't done one of these before, is that better?))
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