Chapter 1 - Lone Wanderers

Fang · Nov 29, 2002

[font size=1" color="#FF0000]LAST EDITED ON Nov-29-02 AT 08:21AM (GMT)[p]OOC - This is the new thread, ready for you all to join, the OOC information and discussion thread is somewhere here too. The name represents the coming together of a small group of wanderers who, while alone at first gradually become friends. Of course it'll get changed if that doesn't happen, but I expect at some point (eventually) it will. Have fun.

IC -

Chapter 1 - Lone Wanderers

The room was dark, poorly illuminated by electric lights in uniform shades, directing the light at the tables beneath. Thin cloth curtains kept the light of the blazing sun out, but it could not hold back the heat of the day. They called it an inn, the most prosperous in Tabis, but the only apparent sign to indicate this was the board of hanging keys on the rear wall behind the bar.

The chatter was low, those people with lives were out living, those without were here; drowning their sorrows in what was another of many slow days. From the far corner of the room, a heavily armored figure was sat. The bulk of the armor was matched only by toughness, though it was showing heavy signs of wear. A matching helmet sat next to the figure, staring out into the bar.

He was what they called a Slayer. There were very few of them, instantly distinguishable by their power armor, which had become almost a lost relic in recent times. Nobody questioned their goals or motives, so it had always been. Almost like the operatives of the Fraternity, only that Slayers were more normal seemingly.

He called himself Fang. That was all he would ever divulge, and for all anyone knew, it might as well have been his real given name. If he had a secret goal in mind, then he did not show it. It was something nobody could guess, Slayers would always be up to something, though always there to play hero if need be. Who knows what complicated politics go on in the Slayer’s home base, some sort of secret bunker, or so the rumors say, situated in the far northeast.

Another empty bottle joined the cluttering of bottles before it as the Paladin opened up yet another. He squinted his eyes as the doors bust open and a group of half a dozen figures burst through, allowing in the light of the outside. Fang blinked again, and turned towards his pip boy.

Slayers always had access to a mass of information via their pip boys. Nobody knew exactly how they kept up to date on current news on the other side of the wastes far ahead of everyone else. This communication network served as one of their greatest assets, and surprisingly, nobody showed much interest in it.

Fang opened up an inbox, flicking through his new messages, he opened what appeared to be the most important of them. Flashing across the bulk of the message, he noted down in his mind the important details. Then closed the application entirely and put the device away. They spoke of massive troop movements, invasions, shifts of power. The Slayer’s politics always worked months ahead of those of the real world, but were for the most part correct. Fang had received his next assignment, he would ready himself and soon as possible, and be gone before the next morning.

He picked up his last beer and opened it. “Here goes.”

OOC - No invitations needed, just come straight on in.

"If we cannot live proudly, we die so!"
-Eladamri, Lord of Leaves

Gunslinger · Nov 30, 2002

The inn was dark, just the way Caleb preferred it to be. The dim florescent bulbs barely cast enough light to illuminate the rooms and it left the corners shrouded in shadows. Just the way Caleb liked it. Even better, there were few people occupying the inn, meaning less people to fight if a possible brawl occured.

But numbers hardly counted when one of the persons in the room was a Slayer.

Caleb sat in the shadowed corner closest to the bar, his back leaning against the wooden walls. He was dressed in discreet derelict clothes that no one would take a second look at: black jeans, gray collared shirt, and a tanned leather vest. A wide-brimmmed sombrero topped his head and a bandana was wrapped around his face, covering his stubbled cheeks and chin. Only a few stray locks of glossy white hair and his icy pale blue eyes showed from the shadows protecting his identity. He wasn't a tall man but the cowboy boots and spurs raised him up to six feet and three inches. But what was most remarkable about him were the ancient, massive monstrosities of steel occupying the tooled leather holsters sagging on his thighs. They were revolvers of the most dangerous build: Colt Peacemakers. At least sixty brass cartridges lined his belt, many of them seeming handcrafted. Stuck jauntily into his left boot was a ferocious looking knife.

Caleb kept to the shadows mostly because it was the only place he was comfortable in. Most passing people would assume that he was a highwayman or robber trying to hide from the law but they were sorely mistaken. They need merely take a closer look at his bandana masking his face and see the dual crimson crescents branded on the design to understand that he was a member of some high rank in the Fraternity of the Blade. Most people would wonder why a Blade was wandering so far from his homeland but they would naturally assume that he was part of a larger encampment. Besides, most people would be gladdened with the sight of a heroic Blade among their ranks anyway.

Caleb leaned easily against the corner walls, his untouched drink resting on the bar. His arms were folded across his chests but a perceptive eye would not that his elbows were laxed, ever ready to drop his hands to the handgrips of his revolvers. Looking about, he didn't see much that interested him. Only the massive Slayer sitting in the other corner besides him. With his helm off, the Slayer seemed a bit more human, not just an inapproachable knight of steel. Caleb frowned slightly in disapproval at the number of drinks scattered about the armored giant and worried if he might get rowdy. If so, Caleb's guns, Vindicator and Regulator, would act before his mind would.

But the Slayer was merely minding his own business and looked docile enough, for a Slayer that is. No, what worried Caleb the most was the rowdy group of a half dozen people who had just burst through the double doors of the inn.

They clambered inside with a drunken stupor and it was obvious that a bar had already turned them out and they were merely looking for a new watering-hole. The fresh dust from the open road still clung to their clothes and Caleb concluded that they were new arrivals. But his inquisitive eyes searched further beyond the first facade. He saw that they were packing more than the average amount of firing irons with them, which wasn't that odd since Tabis' gun laws decreed that wayfarers may wear their guns as long as they remained sheathed. But what gave Caleb cause to be concerned was the fact that the drunkards walked, or rather stumbled, in a memorized formation that was drilled deep into their minds. And there was no doubt in Caleb's mind that these men were raiders.

The raiders planted themselves in the center of the room and were ordering their drinks in an overly boisterous manner. Caleb knew their was going to be trouble with these men, even before he heard the bar wench scream.

The elder Blade's hands flew to the worn wooden handgrips of his revolvers the minute he heard a femine screech. His eyes whipped to the center of the room where the raiders sat and saw that a huge burly raider with a red beard was becoming more than a bit affectionate with the bar wrench who was supposed to take their orders. The raider, who Caleb assumed was the leader, hand his massive forearms wrapped around the bar wrench and was groping all over. The wench cried out again, even louder this time, and struggled all the more harder. The other occupants in the bar only looked abashedly into their drinks, ignoring the cries of the wench because they didn't wish to become entangled with the affairs with armed men. Caleb regarded the onlookers with disgust and it was then that he knew his duty.

He pushed off from the corner walls and unfolded his arms. The Blade took even, measured strides heading towards the table. As he moved, the rusty spurs on his boots and the rattling brass cartridges jingled, a heralder of death. Caleb took an extra effort to stand rigidly upright, not wishing to give away any sign of his elder age of fifty years. The laughing group of raiders stopped their merriment on seeing Caleb and their hands settled against their weapons.

Caleb stopped in front of the group of raiders. The bar had become morbidly silent and not a single voice was raised. The giant raider had stopped fondling the bar wench and was now holding her in front of him like a human shield. From underneath the Blade's mask, Caleb grinned a feral smile.

"Let the girl go," he whispered quietly in coarse, gravelly voice. His eyes shone fiercely and he knotted his eyebrows into a V, the corded face muscles bunched together. The raider was lucky because Caleb made a considerable effort not to go for his guns.

"Mind yer own business, ol' man," came the raider's dismissive reply. He nodded to his fellow raiders and their weapons all clicked as they readied them. "This ain't any of yer affair."

"Then I'll have to make it my affair, by the Righteous Blade," cried Caleb, invoking the sacred emblem of his fraternity. He noted with some satisfaction that the raiders suddenly paled when they realized that they had angered a Blade. He thrust a blunt, condeming finger at leader of the raiders and commanded, "Let the wench go or feel the cold edge of my Blade!"

In blind fear and fury, the raider threw the bar wench roughly to the side where she landed on the floor and roared, "Kill 'im!" The raiders sat up suddenly and leveled shotguns and semi-automatic handguns at the Blade.

The barkeep groaned in dismay and took cover behind his bar. A few of the barflies fled the inn immediately but the rest merely took cover behind their tables, eager to see the show. From the corner of Caleb's eyes, he could see the Slayer opening another beer and toying around with a flashing screen in his hands. The Blade idly took a careful look at the electronic screen and saw the emblazoned yellow words "Pip Boy 2000" on its side before his attention was redirected to the armed and angry raiders.

Caleb sighed deeply at the thought of the upcoming bloodshed. Faster than the eye could follow, the two revolvers materialized into his hands. A deep, mirthful chuckle emanted from Caleb's throat and a few of the raiders looked uncertainly at each other. The elder Blade normally laughed in battle, though he seldom realized it, and many of his fellow Blades noted that it unnerved many opponents they faced. The laughter came slow and deep as Caleb's callused thumbs clicked backk the hammers of his revolvers to ready position.

And then the bullets flew.

"Credo Ut Intelligam"- I believe so that I may understand.

welsh · Nov 30, 2002

In a corner, watching events unfold, sits a man in a long trenchcoat, jeans and boots. In his boot strap is a dagger, and around his waste he wears a gunbelt, with a revolver and an automatic, in the pocket of a coat is a garrote. Next to his chair is pack and a bag. He doesn't let anyone touch the bag.

He has been waiting for a week. Playing cards, winning at poker, healing, waiting for the meet.

His sunburned skin is peeling to reveal tanned newer skin beneath. Ever once and awhile his hand shakes, the residual of rad scorpion stings. The doctor said it would go away with more water. "Dehydration, severe sunburn, scorpion stings. Lucky to be alive."

A passing caravan had found him lost in the desert, with few possessions except the rusting badge, without water, unable to speak. Left for dead.

It was the caravan's rule, kindness to strangers, charity to others on the wastes, least one day you may be in need of charity, of a stranger's kindness.

At least his hands are steady when he touches his guns. That's enough.

He was a bounty hunter, a head collector, and for the past three months he had been hunting down a group of raiders that had been pillaging villages to the West, near the Earthen Shores. But he had been betrayed out in the desert, left for dead.

He had tracked down his traitors, and found one in brothel in Bordertown. Using a corded rope he had strangled the traitor but not before giving the location of this bar in Tabis. He had been here for a week.

Grim's hand touches his pistols, watching the events unfold at the table. He is not sure if these are his targets, and the affair is not his to get involved. Raiders roughhousing in a bar, fondling the barmaid, this is the wasteland and life is never easy. He does not recognize the older raider. But perhaps they are part of the meet.

His hand on the pistol is calm.

Guest · Dec 1, 2002

[font size=1" color="#FF0000]LAST EDITED ON Dec-01-02 AT 11:25AM (GMT)[p]OOC- Ok I am not sure how good this is and if it is done right, if it is wrong then i will edit it but i will need to know the main problems with it

IC-

There was no escaping the post apocalyptic sun and as the day reached its peak, every thing exposed to its unbearable heat was shown little pity. Rogue was experiencing first hand although not for the first time. She had travelled the wastes before but had never got used to its many hostilities.

Rogue marched on in single file with the rest of the caravan which she was protecting, her rifle slung neatly over her back but ready to use at a moments notice, her .223 hidden discretely under her leather armour and her long thin overcoat that she rarly took off swayed behind her legs as she slowly walked on, although Rogue was no expert in arms or combat she knew all to well how to protect her self.

Her destination, a town called Tabis. Rogue had been waiting for some time to travel to Tabis but the route is perilous when travelled alone and only the great wanderers would even try to challenge the wastes that lay between Grey Cliffs and Tabis. Rogue Knew this only to well and had there fore waited for the first group of travellers or caravans that she could travel with but these are sldom and the wait was long.

The caravan was nearing its destination and had encountered very little trouble along the way, which was to Rogues amazement very peculiar given the reputaion of this journey.
The caravan was now appraching the town, which Rogue had not visited for a long time, she was eager to see the changes that the town had undergone with time. On entry to the town she observed the ghost like streets and was engaged in a wide stare of the town that lay before her. The stare was broken by the voice of man, the head of the caravan,"Were here, you will all get your pay later tonight in the inn." Satisfied with the success of the journey the caravan disbanded and each headed in there own direction.

Rogues direction was the inn, she was hot, tired and dying for a drink of anysort. She made her way towards it remembering its location in the town perfectly. As she entered the large doors, she was greeted by the sent of gun shots still present in the air, and the bar was largly empty, a fight had gone on here. Rogue entered the bar anyway. Allowing a few seconds for her eyes to become a custom to the dim shade of the light, she quickly scanned the room as she headed for the bar.
A number of things caught her eye, mainly the situation that was going on in the middle of the room, or that had more like finished, a man in cowboy style clothing was stood alone, guns unsheathed, and barrels slightly smoking. On the floor, Rogue identifyed what looked like raiders which were obviously on the receiving end of the two guns. She also noticed the markings of the fraternity, a man not to be messed with.

As Rogue took a seat at the bar she gazed at the large man in power armour, Rogue was still young and had little knowledge of the different factions in the wastes but she knew engough to recognise him as a slayer. Her gaze was broken by the slayer him self as he returned the stare from the dark corner he was sitting in. She turned away and moved her concentration to the bar, an angry looking mad stood up from crouching and moved towards her,"What can i get you" the bar keeper asked in more than an angry way. "Just a beer" Rogue replyed in an equally angry voice, not to happy at the service she was recieving.
She took her beer and took a long drink, it had been a long day and she was looking forward to a simple night.

OOC- sorry if this isnt very excitingbut i coudnt think of any other way to introduce Rogue to the rp.

This is not an auvoir but a bonjour to an ever lasting dream with out wakening....

Gunslinger · Dec 1, 2002

OOC- Great, we've got diversity in our group now: a half-dead bounty hunter, a female rogue, a old cowboy, and a steel knight in Power Armor.

IC-

The number one and only rule in a gunfight is to forget the crap your learned from watching movies. This was no western John Wayne spaghetti shooter where you unload your gun to the right and ten Indians fall down or a Steven Segal flick where you take on an entire army without taking a scratch. This is real life, in the wastelands.

In a situation like this, it wasn't how good you could shoot or dodge bullets. The differance between life and death depends on who can shoot first.

The six raiders Caleb faced where heavily armed, but raiders were cowards, prefering to attack from ambush. They were backshooters who hadn't faced a single gunfight in their lives. The odds were very grim for the raiders.

The leader of the raiders hunkered behind his five cronies and Caleb knew he would not fire a shot in the upcoming fight. Two of the younger raiders were still sitting down before the table, their guns resting on the table's edge, and two more flanked them with confident grins. The last raider was the closest to Caleb and had a shotgun leveled at him.

The elder Blade kept his two guns trained on the entire group. He had two six-shooters, twelve bullets altogether, and two shots for each raider. Caleb didn't plan on missing.

The half-dozen raiders stood at a standstill, looking uncertainly at their leader. They were indeed all cowards and they none of them would step up to fire the first shot.

As they stared at each other in a stalemate, the door creaked open to allow entrance to a new arrival. Caleb looked out from the corner of his eyes to a young lady dressed in thin clothes. He looked hopefully at the rifle strapped to her back and wondered if she would lend a helping hand. But the women merely glided lithely to a table and ordered a drink.

The rest of the onlookers had taken cover behind tables except for the Paladin, the young lady, and another man who sat by himself to a corner. His skin was pockmarked and badly sunburned, almost like a ghoul, and half-dazed look gleamed in his eyes. The Blade noted that the man had his hand rested on a gun and he was looking intently at the leader of the raiders.

Caleb turned his eyes back to the raiders and chose his first target. The shotgunner was closest to him and Caleb couldn't risk having the man unload his dangerous weapon into the crowd of innocents.

Before the raiders could realize what he was doing, Caleb snapped his wrist to the right and fired his right hand revolver. The long and gaping barrel of the ancient gun roared and spat out the bullet, catching the shotgunner in the throat. He fell to the ground with a gasping gurgle as blood escaped his throat and the shotgun fell out of his hands.

The rest of the raiders were too stunned to react. Caleb didn't give them a chance to recover. With his boot, he kicked over the raider's table, toppling it over on top of the two younger raiders. Unconcsciouly, his right hand thumbed back his revolver's hammer and rotated the chamber to a fresh bullet. Blindly, he fired both guns into the chests of the young raiders trapped underneath the table.

The other two raiders flanking the table had snapped out of their daze now and were unloading their semi-automatics at Caleb. They were at point blank range and Caleb knew that the chances of missing were slim. He threw himself backwards onto his back and slid across the inn's floor as the air above him was filled with incoming bullets. The barflies shrieked as bullets came whizzing by and they hunkered closer behind their cover. The two raiders were so excited in shedding blood that they unloaded their entire clips into the empty air. The sounds of the semi-automatics clicking greeted Caleb's ears. Still on the floor, he propped himself up with an elbow and saw the two raiders frantically fumbling into their pockets for a fresh clip. The Blade stood up and clicked back his firing hammers into ready position. The two raiders looked up suddenly, their hadns still in their pockets, and stared into the gaping, gigantic bores of the revolver barrels.

The raider to Caleb's right cursed and grappled even more frantically for more bullets, hoping to reload his gun in time. Caleb fired a surgical shot into the raider's hand holding the semi-automatic. The raider shrieked in pain, dropping his gun to the floor. As he bent over to panickly pick up his firearm, Caleb shot him in his head, blasting away the entire skull. Goblets of blood and brain matter splattered all over the walls.

While this was going on, the other raider had holstered his gun and was creeping up behind Caleb with a knife out. Caleb pivoted on his boot heel to face the raider and fired a shot into his leg. The raider collapsed on the spot as his knee cap was shattered and shot through. He whimpered in pain and Caleb put him out of his misery by unloading another shot into his chest. The raider reeled back as the brass cartridge tore through his sternum and into his heart.

Now, there was only the leader of the raiders left. The giant man with the red beared stared in awe at the crumpled bodies of his companion. He looked dumbly at his own gun in his hand and debated whether to use it or not. Tears streamed from his eyes as Caleb approached.

The Blade marched slowly forward, stepping over the dead bodies of the raiders. His spurs and brass cartridges jingled morbidly, announcing upcoming death. The leader sobbed greatly and threw down his gun to the floor. He raised his two hands into the air in surrender. "Please, no!" He looked frantically around the room to see if anyone would come to his aid but was met with only eager, blood thirsty eyes. In blind panic, he fell to his knees and clasped his hands together in a pleading position. "Have mercy on me, O Honorable Blade!"

Caleb stopped in front of the submissive giant raider. He could tell just from the weight of his guns that he only had one single shot left in his right revolver. With a great scowl on his face, Caleb whispered, "It's not my job to grant mercy, scum. That's God's job. I'm only here to arrange the meeting." And with that, he pressed his right revolver, Vindicator, against the raider's temple and blasted his brains out. The headless corpse of the raider slumped backwards to the floor.

The inn was silent once again, and not single person dared to breath. Caleb calmly blew off the smoke rising from his guns and settled his revolvers back into their holsters. He quickly looted the bodies of the raiders, a gruesome but necessary task in surival of the wastelands. He came away with a good deal of gold coins, the accepted currency tender in most parts of the wastelands, and decided to keep the raider's shotgun and a dozen shells. Finally, he came to the lead raider's pockets and discovered a burlap bag. Inside it were a dozen severed ears of the leader's victims and a folded up piece of paper. Caleb threw the bag onto the raider's body in disgust. The leader had probably been a bounty hunter and the ears were proof of his kills.

The elder Blade stood up and looked about the room. He saw the barflies staring doe-eyed back at him in horror and he smirked in satisfaction. Reaching into his purse, he withdrew a bent piece of gold and flung it onto the counter of the bar. "Some money for your troubles, good barkeep," he told the barkeeper hiding behind the counter.

With the smell of sulfur hanging in the air and a half-dozen corpses littering the floor, Caleb walked out of the inn.

"Credo Ut Intelligam"- I believe so that I may understand.

welsh · Dec 2, 2002

OOC- nicely put together Gunslinger. Lovely choreography. Especially on the attitudes of the raiders.

I hope this is ok, but I hope to be adding something to Fang's world by the notion of a raider war conflict between two rival factions as well as a possible plot development. Don't know if this is useful.

IC- Grim watches the Slayer leave. Good timing. This kind of action, if common place in the wasteland, would still draw attention by the local authorities- be they the local form of government or those of Tabis' seedier and criminal underbelly.

The raiders would have friends and associates. This was an affront to the raider clan, and such affronts, if taken, would mean a lose of face. Revenge would come in the dark, from a darkened window, from a knife in the back.

Walk soft but carry a big stick.

Grim watched the reaction of the other Slayer, still sitting behind the table, surrounded by bottles.

He also watched the others in the bar. One, an older man with only one arm, had waited for the Slayer to leave and then got up to follow the Slayer out. Grim watched carefully. Scavengers look for the bodies of the dead, not the living, to survive. Too old, too crippled to be a raider, probably a snitch, paid is alcohol. But for which gang.

One didn't challenge Slayers easily. A war with the Slayers was something that the raiders could ill afford. There were probably few Slayers in town. If slain, these Slayers would disappear and the raiders might be able to escape untouched.

Unless this little gunfight involved more than just a bar wench. Maybe this was just the opening volley of a war, that the Slayers had initiated for purposes of their own.

Around the dead bodies the other barflies had left their hiding places and were scurrying over the bodies, looking for last tokens. In minutes the bodies would be stripped bare of even clothing (even trousers were a commodity in the wastes) and the bartender would likely take the bodies outback for buriel. Part of the business perhaps. In the end the bartender would have all the goods anyway in exchange for a few drops of watered down rotgut.

One of the barflies reached into the bag of ears and pulled out a pair of ears hanging from a piece of Brahman cord. When the drunk barfly looked at his new prize he shrieked and tossed them away to the floor, dropping the bag.

Grim noticed the ears. Each ear was pierced with a metal loop. The Buckaneers - a rival raider clan. Raider wars were not uncommon in the wastes, gangs came and went through war and attrition. But the Bucks had begun to settle down to farm or selling their services to local towns, becoming mercenaries rather than raiders. Of late the Bucks had not been doing well in their ongoing wars.

Grim was curious enough. He quietly got up from his seat and moved through the scavenging barflies and looked in the bag.
It was full of ears, all pierced with the metal hoops. He removed the piece of paper, and quietly placed it in his pocket.

He looked at what was left the the leader's head. the bullet had torn a large hole through the temple, the bullet shattering causing massive damage. Hollow point probably. The face was fairly distinguishable, but Grim didnt' recognize it. It wasnt' one he had a bounty for so he let it drop. But on examination of the body he found something else. A long brahman cord wiht a tooth, probably that of a Deathclaw, that was stained in red, signififying blood.

The mark of the Red Fangs.

Interesting. Among the various clans, Red Fangs were among the more 'urban'. profitting from various illicit or immoral pursuits, making money on protection taxes, loan sharking, prostitution, gambling. Even extorting from local caravans.

Grim didnt' know Tabis well enough, but it wouldn't be a surprise if the Red Fangs were a power in the town.

Grim dropped a coin on the table to the barkeep and nodded. Then he left the Inn. Better to read the note where it was more private, before the local law showed up. Besides, for the next few hours the bar would not due for a clandestine meet in any regards. Too much attention, too much gossip, too much activity.

Down the street he saw the Slayer moving through the crowd and Grim decided to follow. A couple of dozen paces behind the snitch.

As he passed a number of local lawmen rushed towards the bar, as usual a bit too late, yet another form of scavengers.

Fang · Dec 2, 2002

[font size=1" color="#FF0000]LAST EDITED ON Dec-02-02 AT 07:31AM (GMT)[p]The Paladin was in the shadows before anyone knew it, it was evening, and the streets were slowly filling up. The law force of Tabis wore blue uniforms, and those who wore armor were forced to pay for it themselves. It was a rather inefficient troupe that approached the inn, but in most instances, they did get the job done. Not this time, Fang thought as he continued to put distance between himself and the scene of the fight.

He wanted to leave as quickly as possible. This changed nothing. His orders still stood, and he would still follow them. That meant finding a caravan leaving westwards as soon as possible, his superiors would not tolerate excuses, and he had no mind to give any.

The first Caravan he would try, was the largest in the area. They called themselves ‘Laramie’, although no one knew where the name came from. The most obvious thing would be the name of the owner and founder, but he at least was well known by another name. Nonetheless, Laramie shipped to almost every town in the Wasteland, and were the undisputed masters of Caravaning. Where other companies had one or two outposts in remote towns, Laramie’s influence spread almost everywhere. No doubt he could find a Caravan here.

It was only about twenty minutes before he had found the Laramie headquarters, although he had sidetracked to avoid attention. The company would most likely be pleased to have a Slayer travelling in their midst, they were perhaps the best of fighters in the wastes when there was need of it.

He pushed open the doors, and entered. The room before him looked too much like a bar, there was a man behind a counter, shifting between what appeared to be several log books, making notes, speaking to passing people, and greeting visitors. Around him, there were about a half a dozen tables with caravan guards sat between them. Fang counted about fifty bottles of beer sitting empty on the tables, or currently being drunk.

How could these men possibly go about guarding a caravan like this? The Slayer asked himself immediately upon entering. He coughed, removed his helmet, and approached the man behind the counter.

“What can I do for you Sir?” The man asked, halting what he was doing, giving his sole attention to the heavily armed man before him as if he were royalty.

“I would like to know when the next Caravan to Border Town is, and sign up my name as a guard.” Fang declared bluntly.

“Sorry, no can do, my good sir. Caravans don’t ship that way any more, or most ways in fact. Just got orders in a few days ago, raiders got a lock down on us, spread right around the outside of the town they are, or will be in a few days.”

“And this stops the great Laramie?” Fang questioned, almost angrily. “You can’t brave a few raiders?”

“We are hardly talking about a few Raiders, Sir. These men are well trained and heavily armed, and intent on stopping anything coming in and out of the town. You can try to brave it on your own, but even for a man carrying such firepower as yourself, I would not recommend it.”

“I’ve known for weeks that the Raiders were mounting for something, and for days that they had set up here, but an entire lock down, that seems just a little unbelievable. For one, the raiders would never be able to spare that many men from things elsewhere. Beyond that, I don’t see any gain, if they are stopping caravans coming out, what is there to loot?”

With those last words, he replaced his helmet, drew his pip boy, and exited the caravan house turned bar. Quickly, he typed a message into his handheld device, sending off a signal both to the home base and to the other Slayers in the town, perhaps he would have to call a meeting, see what they all knew. He would like to ask them to escort him where he needed to go, certainly with all of them together, they could easily plow their way through whatever the raiders had in store. But they had their own missions and their own orders that likely did not relate to his own.

Confident that the aftermath of the conflict had subsided, he retook the streets.

OOC – This should open up a few questions, like how Rogue managed to get into the town so easily. Plots beginning to unfold I think. Great work so far guys, I’m definitely enjoying this.

Guest · Dec 2, 2002

OOC- Sorry it to so long for this..

IC-

Rogue sat at her table motionless, the bar had started to return to its normal status after the fight and the bodies of the riaders were being disposed of. The local law had arrived shortly after the action, and had questionned every one in the bar about the incident, Rogue simply told them that she was a caravan guard waititng for the next trip out of town, this had been enough to quench their curiosity.

The fight had not bothered Rogue too much, she had witnessed many shoot outs before and participated in a lot of them, but the young lady had other things on her mind she had made it to Tabis with relative ease, but this was just the start, how would she go about the next part of her journey? The wastes were no place for the inexperianced, and would be suicide to attemp them alone. To wait for a caravan going her way as long as she had at Grey Cliffs would be more costly to her plans then ever but at this point in time it seemed like the only way and the most possible one.

Atleast traveling as a caravan guard you are un noticed and pass of as one of the group she thught to her self allowing a small smile to cross her face, her entrance to Tabis had not been questionned and and the local law had bothered her no more when she said she was a simple guard and had just arrived.

She took her drink and downed it, stood up and headed for the door, the heat of the day had fallen and nightfall would be here shortly.

IC- Ok.. i know that i have made you wait for this...and its pretty pethetic...but i am not sure what Rogue is playing in this yet...i mean her overall purpose. I have started the next post so you wont have to wait as long and i think i have a purpose for the little lady...

This is not an auvoir but a bonjour to an ever lasting dream with out wakening....

welsh · Dec 2, 2002

Grim watchesthe snitch, carefully, quietly moving behind the Slayer, just a face in the crowd. Just one of the assorted riff raff.

The Slayer stops at a local merchant, appraising his wares. He picks through the assorted debries and picks a number of metal casing, lead shot, bags of some materia. Healing powders perhaps, more likely gunpowder. Judging from the damage done by the bullets, the Slayer makes his own.

Taking advantage of the delay he reaches into his pocket and unfolds the paper.

"Ask for McKinner at the Slaughtered Calf, after sunset. Bring the booty for payment. Expect further instructions."

McKinner- Grim didn't know many of the locals in Tabis, but he did know the officials, and he had heard McKinner's name spoken amongst the badges, something to do with taxes on local caravans. Another badge, a sheriff, a councelmember, maybe a member of the merchant guild. Grim didn't know the make of local politics. Like towns everywhere, politicians were susceptible to corruption. But for an official to meet with raiders was strange.

The Slaughtered Lamb was a local bar, casino and Inn, but was owned by one of the caravans that went by the initials UPS.

Across the street from the Slayer, the snitch is chewing on something, looks like an iquana-on-a-stick. Definitely not a raider, but perhaps more than a snitch. His ability to follow the Slayer might be due to the Slayer's inattention. But it might also because the Snitch was slippery. A member of the local thieves guild? or perhaps an assassin?

Grim thought about alerting the Slayer of his tail, but that might make the snitch suspicious of Grim. And he need to know for who the snitch was working.

With his eyes on the Slayer, the snitch doesn't notice Grim approach from his side, doesn't notice Grim slip the garrote under his sleave. The trick will be to take the snitch quickly and quietly, and leave no trace.

Guest · Dec 2, 2002

OOC-Right the last one came late so this one is coming early if a post can be early that is!
I havnt really got Rogues plan perfectionised but i have a general idea...could be crap so if it doesnt work with the rp in whole please let me know.

IC-

The night was heading in fast and Rogue new that she could do nothing till morning but she still wanted to see for caravans heading her way. She firstly wanted to ask the caravan she headed in on if they would be going in her direction and if that failed then maybe the local caravans would have a shipment going in her direction.

She made her way through the streets, a small breeze blowing through her hair as she went. She walked quickly towards the Laramie building as it is there that she knew she could find Marco, the head of the caravan she had come in on. She approached the building, stepped up to the doors and slung them open revealing a real mess, there was beers on the tables, beers on the floor and the stinch of beer in the air, drunken caravan guards stumbled around and the atmosphere was horrific. How can they comport them selves like this she thaught to her self.

She looked around the room insearch of Marco and found him sat in a far corner of the room. the whole caravan was seated at one big table with Marco sat at the center. The table was covered in empty beer bottles with a fare amount of new ones.
Rogue walked over to the table where they were seated and was met by a large uproar of shouts and hoots, they had obviosly had there fill of beer, and Rogue being the only women in the room at that point in time proberly wasnt the best place for her to be.

"Ahhh Rogue glad to see that you have decided to join us." Shouted the man central to the table on the far most side, Marco was staring directly at Rogue with a smerk on his face. Rogue made her way round to where he was sitting watching every body closly as she walked past.

Taking a seat that had been liberated especially for her she turned to face him, his breath was foul from all the alcohol he had consummed and she tryed to talk without breathing in.

"I have somthing to ask you." Rogue asked trying to keep her voice as low as she could to keep her beings from being known around the room.

"I want to know...well...If you would be travelling near the coucil of knowledge on your ways." Rogues voice sort of sounding as though she was asking a favor rather than some general information.

Marco looked at her strangely, why would anyone want to go to the council of Knowledge he thought to him self. Its just a vault with some knowledge of the old world, plus people who go there have the tendency not to come back.

"Why in Gods name would you want to go there? Those are wiered people they are." Asked Marco given Rogue a puzzled yet disapproving look.

"I need to go there Marco, I need some information and i have been told they have it stored in an archieve there, i have verry little time to get this information so can you help me." Rogue said trying to make her voice sound as innocent as she possibly could.

"I dont even know if any caravans go to the council of Knowledge, I know that i certainly dont and no caravan i have heard of does, but i will try to find out what i can for tommorow, I know some of the Laramie people here and i will quiz them on it, you should also try in the bar for people who have been there of late, you never know you might get lucky." Marco trying to sound as helpfull and caring as he could.

"Marco, thank you for your help, i will not forget this. Iam going back to the inn, see if there are any people who have travelled to the council before." Replyed rogue as she pushed her chair backwards and stood up.

"Wait aren't you going to stay and have a drink before you go Rogue, you have only just got here." Asked Marco looking up at the young lady.

"No, i have to get a room at the inn for the night before they are all took up, you wouldnt happen to have my pay would you, it's just i am a little short on cash." She looked down on Marco with a hmmmmmpityfull stare.

"Ok, i will give you yours now and err here's a little extra just incase you need it in the inn." Marco handed the money discreetly over to Rogue so no one could see the exsessive amount of money he gave her.

"Thanxs Marco, i wont forget all of this and somday i will repay the favor." Rogue replyed looking into Marco's eyes, he just laughed and grinned turning an even brighter shade of red.

Rogue walked to the door quickly with out to many people noticing her absence.

She headed back to the inn, nightfall was coming in fast, she smiled to her self, loving the way she had Marco, men allways fell for her, and although she didnt allways act on it, it was still somtimes away to get what she wanted.

She grinned happily to her self maybe things wern't as bad as they seemed.

OOC- Ok, i think that i have a little plot, now i will concentrate on making it coinside with the other characters.

This is not an auvoir but a bonjour to an ever lasting dream with out wakening....

welsh · Dec 2, 2002

IC- In the market, Grim considers his strike. A quick garrote around the neck and pulling the snitch into a dark corner, where he can be interrogated in peace.

But there is no corner, and the market is too crowded. Such a strike would be hard to do unobserved.

Better to wait, to play shadow to the snitch's own shadow.

He backs up and continues to observe the Slayer haggle over prices.

"You're mad to be charging so much for cartridges!" He hear's the Slayer.

"you be lucky to find a better deal. No caravans been running."

"None you say?" The Slayer asks.

"Not a one. They are all in it seems. It's the raiders that's outside the gate." Responds the Merchant.

"Surely the caravans could gather and force a way out, to confront the raiders, or perhaps the local law could force a confrontation." The Slayer says.

"You'd be more likely to find cooperation among a pack of hungry wolves over a leg of Brahma. They will probably each wait the others out, let them bring the raiders down a bit of a time. The hungrier caravans going first. ANd the army, well... They don't got the balls, nor the manpower."

"What raiders are out there?" The Slayer asks.

"Which? Don't know. But the rumors say it's just one group by several."

"Raiders working together?"

"Ai, an alliance. ANd there's worse news. It ain't just here in Tabis, but elsewhere as well. The raiders been starting to cause trouble in all the border towns. They say their cooperating."

If the caravans were to stop running it would mean the end of commerce. The end of commerce would mean that the towns would begin to weaken. Internal dissent, demands for action. Perhaps a coup in some of the towns, a new order emerging.

But if it were true, and that this wasn't just an isolated than there was more to this than met the eye. And if all caravans stopped moving at the same time? That required organization, and a central plan.

Gunslinger · Dec 2, 2002

[font size=1" color="#FF0000]LAST EDITED ON Dec-03-02 AT 00:31AM (GMT)[p]OOC- I'm trying to make the plot coincide between Grim and Caleb so that they meet, but subtly. BTW, Caleb is a member of the Fraternity of the Blade, not a Slayer.

IC-

Caleb was dirt tired. A gunfight often had that effect on someone and he was fifty years old, besides. Adrenaline doesn't pump as easily through your veins and Caleb had exerted every muscle in trying to dodge and shoot through the raiders. It wasn't easy being a lone Blade.

The first thing he wanted to do was unload a bit of the gold he picked off the corpses. It was a rare commodity for a Blade to have his own money since the Fraternity usually pooled their wealth together. Plus, Caleb felt offset without any bullets for his revolvers. He had sixty other homemade cartridges lining his belt but he didn't trust the handcrafted bullets because they had a fickle tendency to misfire. And a few more shotguns shells would be nice also.

He left the inn and just in time it seemed. The local militia, in their midnight blue uniform, had marched right into the abandonned warzone and was questioning all the barflies. Caleb felt confident that none of the barflies wouldn't rat him out. Besides, not many people would accuse a Blade for rough housing. But just in case, Caleb unbuckled his gunbelt and holster, wrapped them into a bundle, and slid them into his knapsack tied to his back. He held the shotgun openly in his hands to through off suspicions because it was hollow pointed bullets that killed the raiders.

With a heavier heart and purse, Caleb lost himself into the crowd. It was late, way past midday, yet many of the merchant shops were still open. The street he travelled along was built in an old Western fort style with shops lining either side of the road. On the sidewalk, many enterprising vendors had erected a few stalls to sell their wares. Caleb walked over to the vendors because they would sell cheaper and because the more professional shops were closed.

As he shouldered his way through the mingling crowd, he felt the odd sensation of being followed. This feeling had been nagging him since he left the bar. The tagger who was falling him was so sly and stealthy that Caleb couldn't even catch a glimpse of him. He turned his head to the side casually behind him but saw no one. All he knew was that he was being followed.

With caution in his steps, Caleb walked casually to the stall closest to him so that the tagger would not grow suspcious. The stall was painted a violent red and the fat vendor inside it was equally red in face from the heat.

Caleb leaned in close so that his head was inside the opening of the stall and placed his purse onto the stall's counter. He idly flipped opened the pouch to show the color of his gold. The vendor's eyes widened in appreciation and his fat lips parted into a smile. "What can I do for you, my friend?" he inquired, eyeing the gold enviously.

Caleb's eyes glanced past the bulk of the vendor and saw a wide assortment of goods behind him. He ticked off the things he would need on a mental list. "I'm going to need some medicinal herbs, ten pounds of tackback or jerky, a wool blanket, a good length of rope, and some shotgun shells."

The vendor exclaimed, "Easily done, my new, old friend! I have those and many more supplies behind me, if you are interested!" He spread his pudgy hands wide and gestured to the assortment of goods behind him.

Caleb sighed, exasperated, and muttered, "Just get me what I ordered, vendor." He picked up a slim handful of gold coins, much more than what the goods would cost, and planted them into the vendor's hands. The fat, little man scurried off into the confines of his stall and brought back what Caleb wanted. The elder Blade placed the rough jerky, blanket, and rope inside his knapsack. The shotgun shells he placed into his jean pockets for close reach and he tied the bag of medical herbs to his belt.

With his goods secured, Caleb looked back into his purse and saw maybe thirty or so pieces of gold left. He looked around to the side of the stall before leaning in closer to the vendor. He whispered discreetly, "Have you any .45 caliber cartridges, good merchant?"

The merchant beamed in delight but his eyes glinted at the prospect of more money. He took on a woeful appearance as he wailed, "Aye, I do, good sir, but I have attained them at such a horrible price. My three--nay, six-- daughters have just acquired a grievious bout of the flu and medicine is in such a steep price these days. But I'll get them, if you wish for them." He poked his head back into his stall and came back with a matchbox laden with revolver cartridges. Caleb eagerly reached for them but the vendor slapped his hand away and asked, "That will be fifty gold."

Caleb snorted his nostrils, incensed. "Fifty gold? Are you daft, merchant? That's highway robbery!" Caleb unconsciously scratched his chin, a habit he did whenever he was angry. "I'll give you fifteen coins."

The fat merchant gripped his heart and wailed woefully. "Fifteen coins? Are YOU the one who is daft, good sir?" He sniffed deeply and wiped away a false tear. "I can hardly part with these precious cartridges for less then twenty coins. For my sick daughters, of course."

"Of course," muttered Caleb. The elder Blade had little patience for haggling and threw some of his remaining coins onto the counter of the stall and picked up his bullets. He stalked away before the vendor, just another stealing raider in Caleb's eyes, could change his mind.

The Blade felt direly tired and he rubbed his forehead in frustration. His bones ached wearily and Caleb thought that he at least deserved some rest. He checked inside his purse and figured that he would have enough cash for one of the more respectable inns in town.

He made his way to the Slaughtered Calf.

The inn was a grand place, three stories high with many things to do. If Caleb was a younger man, he would have spent the night drinking away at the bar downstars or gambled at the craps table or perhaps hire a lady of the evening from the Slaughtered Calf's brothel. But he was far from a young man and all he yearned for was sleep.

The inn was halfway full, which meant at least sixty people all spread out on the three floors, and was still booming for business this late in the night. The richety music from the jukebox gritted on Caleb's nerves and it was far too loud for his liking. With a deep sigh showing his age, he walked over to the innkeeper and paid for a room for the night with the rest of his cash.

Wearily, he trudged up the stairs to the third, top floor where the rooms awaited. He briefly noted that hardly any of the other rooms were filled except for one single room at the end of the hallway which had lamplight slipping from his creaks. Caleb wondered what was going on in the room when so many people were downstairs but he was so damn tired.

He keyed open the door to his modest room, kicked off his boots to the side, threw off his knapsack, shoved a revolver underneath his pillow for just in case, and feel into a deep sleep the minute his head connected with the pillow.

Yes, indeed, the Slaughtered Calf was the place to be.

As he drifted into a fatigue sleep, Caleb didn't hear the pitter-patter of footsteps drifting towards his door.

"Credo Ut Intelligam"- I believe so that I may understand.

welsh · Dec 3, 2002

OOC- OOps sorry about the mistake. I red Slayer with Fang and figured you two were part of the same outfit.

Also I have added a few elements to the story so far. If these postings are too much of a plot move, let me know, and I'll tone down.

IC- Grim watches the Blade continue to haggle, the gunbelt disappearing into the backpack, the shotgun ready. A glimpse at the snitch spies him sliding a dagger under his tunic. Instinctively Grim puts a reassuring hand on the butt of his pistol. Daggers, often poisoned, had been used to settle many disputes quietly in the Waste. Grim had heard about another guild, of assassins, working their way among the towns of the wasteland.

To blend in Grim chats with a vendor over the goods, but also as an opportunity for info. At the crossroads of wasteland commerce, the vendor's are amongst the best sources of intelligence and gossip.

The vendor's few weapons are rusted instruments, more useful than parts. "Ya got nothing better than this."

"You should have been here yesterday. I swear the garrison bought most of the best I got."

"Really?" Grim asks, watching the snitch's movement out of the corner of his eye."Why the worry."

"Ya haven't noticed? Then you must be new here. I seen more raiders this past 7 days then in the past three months. It's like the meetin here for business or somethin?"

"Raiders in town and Raiders out, eh?"

"Yes, a lot good they do. They come in, drinkin and whorein, then they raid the caravans. Don't know why the local law don't put a stop to it." The vendor spits to the ground. "I spit on the louses and the rents they charge."

"A coin is hard to make these days, I know. But why the local constables don't put a stop to this? That would be the question to ask, wouldn't it? You don't know the clans do you?"

"Well they got the Red Fangs for sure, but they always been here. But they always kept the other out, fearin it be messin with the business in town. But now I see the others too. Sand Dragons, Bezerkers, Crimson Wolves. Not a lot of 'em, but they making their presence known. Now the Red Fangs too, I hear, but they're knew around here."

Out of the corner of his eye, Grim sees the snitch move. "Beggin your pardon, and thanks for the news. I'll be seein ya more once I collect my pay." Grim tells the vendor and moves off.

Shadow follows shadow to the Slaughtered Calf. First the Blade goes in, then quietly the Snitch. Grim waits a moment to appraise the structure. He walks about the building, notes the various access points, then enters.

The Blade has disappeared from the ground floor, but he notes the snitch going up the stairs. Grim approaches the Innkeeper.

"A friend of mine, a big oldish fellow, just came in, perhaps he ordered a room."

"Yep. Third Floor landing. What of it. YOu be wanted to stay ya gotta pay too."

"No, not for me, I reckon I'll partake of your entertainment, but I'd like to leave him a note."

"Parchment will cost ya?"

Grim leaves a coin. Then he places a light near his skin, to the Innkeeper can see the peeling sunburnt skin, the residual of the radiation poisoning. "You'd remember this face?"

"Like my mother's"

"But not for the wrong people, right?"

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the right, coin paying folk, from the riff-raff."

Grim leaves another coin and says, "Good to know who the paying customers are. You would be able to tell me who comes askin, right."

"Ya get what ya pay for."

"Right. Oh and I be looking for Mr. McKinner too."

"Oh well Mr. McKinner keeps a room constant on the Third Floor for his lady friend. But he hasn't come in yet. I guess it's the business with the caravans keeping him busy. You heard they cancelled all outgoing trains, have ya, on account of the raiders?"

"Heard something about it."

"Well he be here later, probably in the casino with his lady friend, doing his business in the lounge."

Taking the parchment he scribbles a note. "Beware friend, you are watched. The Red Fangs know where you are and will likely come for you in the night. But you are not without friends. Ask the Innkeeper and he'll tell you my look. I'll be either here or at the Inn of the fallen six."

Grim finishes his note and folds it close, giving the innkeeper back his feather and ink. "You know, I figure he might be sleepin till tomorrow. I think I'll slide it under his door. what room you say?"

The Innkeeper gives him the room number.

Causually Grim goes up the stairs to the second landing and then around to the third, changing the weight of his step, moving slowly like a cat. He carefully steps to avoid the spots where the boards might be weak, where a creak might reveal his presence." As he reaches the third floor and can see down it, he notes the one room with the light on. McKinner, and then down further the shape of the snitch, on his knees, barely a whisper of sound, picking at the lock.

The snitch leans back, and puts his tools in his pockets. Then slowly removes the dagger he has kept hidden.

Sure the snitch will check both directions before entering, and knowing the distance is too far to risk, Grim makes his presence known, reaching for the post and falling stumbling to his feet. Feigning the drunk. Carefully he lifts himself up, now on both feet, takes two steps and reaches for the wall, "Whoa big fella." he slurs, his voice the sound of a drunks. Stumbling across the floor he tries to keep his hat down, to hide his face from the snitch, slowly getting closer.

His move revealed the snitch gets up from the floor and touches the door, as if about to enter, replacing the knife within the folds of his tunic. He reaches forward and turns the knob so quietly. Patiently letting the drunk stranger pass before entering.

As Grim passes behind the Snitch his moves take on a fluid motion. Reaching under the sleeve he grabs the garrote and brings it around the snitches head, and kicks the snitches legs out with a kick behind the leg. Using his weight he pulls the snitch down to the ground so the snitches face is in the wood of the floor, and Grim is above him, his hands on the garrote. Tight now.Cutting off the oxygen. His knee on the snitches back, he puts both cords into his hand. WHen the thief tries to struggle, Grim cuffs him in the head hard.

The snitch reaches for his dagger, but Grim sees it coming and punches the wrist hard. A crack. The scream of pain is muffled without the oxygen of the lungs. The dagger is dropped.

He leans over the snitch and whispers.

"now, now my little calf, what business brings you to this den if impurities?" He whispers into the snitches ear. Eases up on the garrote so the snitch can speak.

"LEave me be you Fuck, Who the fuck are you. I'm a patron."

Grim smacks him again.

"Oh so its to the wrong room you wish to visit, and with a dagger in your hand too. I don't you think so you lieing shit of a cochroach. I think it best I stamp you out now."
And tightens up.

"No No I'll speak."

"Little cockroach. Tell no lies. I have broken your one good arm and I can work through the rest of you as well."

"No. NO. I was sent to watch for the Red Fangs. I work for McKinner. He wanted to know the movements of the Fangs. When the Blade put them down, I figured McKinner would want to know where the Blade went, so I followed. You see you fuck, I work for an official."

"What does McKinner want with the Fangs?"

"How the fuck do I know."

Grim tightens up.

"Ok OK," the snitch gasps. McKinner's organizing a meeting. Him an the other guy. Kroeger the official from Bordertown. They both here. The Fangs were supposed to meet Kroeger at the bar but it went to shit with the shoot out. "

Kroeger. The traitor. Grim smiles, tasting vengence.

"And where is Kroeger?"

"Don't know. somewhere in town I guess. He'll be here tonight."

"You lieing fuck."

"No, no I don't know. seriously."

"So who is coming to this meeting?"

"What do I look like, a man privy to such knowledge."

Grim looks at him. "no, you're just a weasel. ANd why don't I just snuff you out now?"

"No, you don't get it, I could work for you."

"Then you will not tell Mckinner, Kroeger or the Red Fangs that our friend behind this door is here right." the snitch grunts affirmative. "And you will not tell that all the Fangs were dropped, rather you will tell that a Red fang remains, checked in at the Inn down past the vendors right, and that he waits for him."

Again the grunt of affirmation.

'Then I will let you live, little cockroach. You will walk down this corridor, and you will not look back. If you look back you die. Then you will leave this place and go on your rounds. And you will be mindful of our agreement. You work for me, now. And rememeber, I have you at a disadvantaged, for I know what you look like, but you don't know me. And I suggest you see a doctor for that arm."

Using the garrotte and his free arm, Grim pulls the snitch to his feet and then kicks him down the corridor.

When he is comfortable the snitch has disappeared, Grim slides the note under the door to the Blade. He quietly moves to the second landing before exiting through a window, dropping through a back window to the ground beneath. Then he walks around the and reenters.

When he finds a respectable looking whore, he tells her to go up to the Blade, knock on the door and make sure that the Blade sees the note. As the girl disappears up the landing he exits back into the night and makes his way back to the Inn.

OOC- I hope that moves the story about a bit and makes the connection between Caleb and Grim easier, as well as helps the plot along. Not sure how to get Rogue into the story, or Caleb.

Sorry I wrote too much, but I figured it would help with the plotting.

Fang · Dec 3, 2002

The town of Tabis has many inns, practically every establishment, casino, bar, brothel; has some from of inn attached to it. Tabis depends heavily on the outside and this is one great symbol of that fact. That was what made the Raider lock down so bad. Without the outside, all Tabis was capable of producing was food. A fine commodity in the wastes, but nothing if you don’t have someone to trade it with.

The Slayer choose one of these inns, any would do, although he kept far away from the scene of the fight earlier that day. He had contacted his brethren in town, and at their convenience, he would meet with them. Many of the Slayers preferred stealth, something hard to achieve with so rare a symbol as their armor upon them at every moment. And, even in the importance of this meeting, it was still required that they kept their cover, for their own missions were no doubt just as important as his.

He would expect to be contacted again the next day by his superiors with his new instructions, everything would be decided then. Until then, he could only get some sleep. As he pushed back the door to the inn, he acknowledged the innkeeper, pushing several coins over the counter, he collected his room keys and made his way towards it.

"If we cannot live proudly, we die so!"
-Eladamri, Lord of Leaves

welsh · Dec 3, 2002

On the streets the vendors keep at their business going till late in the evening as around them casinos, whore houses and inns do their business. There is much talk on the street, and growing concern.

If the raiders keep their blocade how will the town do business?
Why doesn't the law do something about this?
What about hiring mercenaries (but the local mercenaries- the Bucks- have been taking a beating).
How will prices increase? Maybe they should have a meeting and protest?

But it is only the first day, and there is also the hope that this alliance among the raiders outside will be uneasy. Raiders often spend as much time warring with each other as against caravans and communitites. Perhaps this alliance will be short-lived.

Grim listens quietly to the rumors, feeling the pulse of the community. The local would put up, for now. But soon, perhaps very soon, they would demand action and if nothing were done, would support change.

Like many towns in the waste, the commercial interests played a large roll in local politics. Because the caravans were in competition, they had local politicans represent them. The uneasy relationship among caravans and other interests often led to counsels in which consensus might be reached among the differing interests, articulated through representives of the local economic interests.

In addition there would often be an executive who would be entrusted to carry out the law but who often spoke through his control of law enforcement and hired guns. Soon the counsel would meet to discuss, to argue, to bicker. It could breed instability.

But times of trouble were, for hired guns, also times for profit. Was there a wake to make a honest coin out of all of this?

Grim had been virtually stripped bare of belongings, and left for dead in the wastes. All that he now had were the product of his hands, literally, around the neck of a traitor. And he had an interest in making up for lost time.

Grim moves through the crowd and back to the Inn. He thinks about the other guns for hire, the woman and the Slayer. Might they be interested in this? How might they consider these changed circumstances?

He notes the crowd. AMong the traders, citizens, whores and drunks, he sees raiders, watching. Watching the law, the law watching them- like two dogs marking territory, weighing each other, waiting for the first move, the first agression before clashing in claw and tooth, and then leaving in blood.

Grim returns to the Inn where the gunfight had occurred earlier. Again the bar is doing brisk business, the gunfight forgotten, the spoils of battle gone to drink.

The slayer and the woman are gone. A pity, but than Grim has his own business with Kroeger, a personal score to settle.

From a barfly he gambles and wins a Red Fang on a brahman string. The innkeeper tells him the bodies have been burned out back, but that he has kept the bag of ears, figuring that someone would come to collect. When Grim offers to take the ears of his hands, the innkeeper gratefully takes the offer, glad to be rid of the grisly prize.

Then Grim settle back into his corner booth, disappearing into a shadowy corner, orders a cup of tea to stay awake and sharp (doctor's orders) and then waits for Kroeger or the Blade to show.

Guest · Dec 3, 2002

IC-

Rogue headed swiftly through the streets heading for the inn, a thought had enetered her mind during the conversation with Marco, "Try asking somone in the bar." He had said to her, she had remembered her entrance to the inn earlier that day. She could picture it in her mind, two different men from organizations that were known through out the wasstes. A Blade and a Slayer, shurly they would be able to get to the council of knowledge, after all they were widly known through out the wastes and someone of their status would atleast know of some caravan if any going that way she thought to her self.

But a problem, she had watched the 2 men leave shortly after the shoot out, maybe they would come back, maybe somone in the inn would know were to find them.

She walked even faster and soon approached the inn, she went straight in; the place was crammed full with people. "God i hope there are some rooms left." She muttered to her self.

She moved to the bar pushing people out of the way as she went and shouted one of the people working on the booze over.

"I would like a room for the night" Asked Rogue.

"Certainly, i will just see if there are any left." The man scurried out of a door and Rogue could here some voices and words being said.

"Ok lady, the house is full, except for some of our best rooms and they don't come cheap."

"How much do they cost, i only want to stay for one night." Answered Rogue pulling out the money that Marco had given her.

"That will be 20 gold lady and the price isn't open to negotiating." Luckily Marco had given her an excessive amount of money and she had ample to pay for the room. She handed the guy the money and recieved a key to her room.

Her room was situated on the second floor, the door was big and showed signs of great age. She unlocked the door and entered. By the look of the room it wasn't worth half the money she had paid but that didnt matter, she needed to find those two men and and a way to get to the council of knowledge as fast as she could, if a blade or a slayer couldnt get her to the council then there would be little that could. She quickly looked over the room and then headed to the door, not daring to leave her posessions in a place like this she took every thing with her.

Rogue headed down the stairs at great speed, to fast, she didnt notice the man climbing the stairs on the other side and he didnt notice her, she saw him at the last moment, a sly looking man, holding his right hand and muttering under his breath. Rogue slammed into him knocking the man to the ground, he let out a cry, clenching that right hand even more. He looked up at Rogue, startled and nervous, without saying anything he got up and headed up the stairs.

"Sorry." shouted Rogue after the trailing man but there was no answer.

She allowed her self a glimpse back up the stairs to were the man had gone, he enterd one of the sweets, larger than hers but only a few doors down from her own room. Not the sought of man to have a room like that but then again she imagined how she looked at this very moment and shuddered coldly.

Finding someone in this lot isn't going to be easy she thought to her self, she started to push around the room, glimpsing at every one as she went. The two men would be easy to spot, one being in cowboy style cloths and the other being in metal armour and all. She looked around the room again but still no sign of them. Not noticing behind the crowds, the third man from the inn that she had thought curios, sat in a corner of the room, grim was waiting.

"Damn." She cursed getting a few odd looks from people who heard her. She returned to the bar and pulled up the barkeeper.

"Did you notice the two men that were in here earlier? One was in cowboy cloths and the other in steel armor, a Slayer." She asked trying to keep her voice down once again.

"Err..Yea i remember them, one was the one who burnt those raiders. Haven't seen them since the shoot out."

Rogue cursed to herself again, Why hadnt she thought of this earlier. She felt a hand come acros her shoulder and turned to face Marco.

"Bad news i'm afraid Rogue, isn't no caravans leaving here, damn raiders got this place covered and by the sounds of things this isn't the only town that they got locked down. Doubt many caravans be running through the wastes much. Some sort a raider alliance."

"What, cant the local law get rid of them, i cant wait here for ever for them to move." Rogue feeling a temper coming on.

"Sorry Rogue that is all i've got for you. No body really knows what is going on or what is gonna happen."

"Ok Marco, thank you anyway, tell me if you hear anything new." Replyed Rogue.

Marco acknowledged and left allmost immediately, looks like for now the only thing that i have to go on is the two strangers.

God let them still be here somwhere.

This is not an auvoir but a bonjour to an ever lasting dream with out wakening....

welsh · Dec 3, 2002

Grim patiently waits, playing a game of solitaire in the corner so as not to draw attention, but watchful of those coming and goind. The Inn is full. With so many caravans recently arrived and none leaving, many of the caravan hands have money to burn. Anxious they gamble hoping to increase their keep, or look for whores to give them a moment of company before heading back out to the camp.

Two familiar faces wander into the bar, taking Grim's attention. The first is the woman from before, who walked in about the time of the gunfight. She's young, attractive, but she carries herself like a traveler and a gun. The kind of woman who could both draw the eye of a man, but who one would approach with some caution. She speaks to the Innkeeper, money is passed, a key given and she goes upstairs. There is much urgency in her stride.

Grim considers following and making an introduction. But then, for reasons surprising, he feels suddently self-conscious. The last time he looked in the mirror he looked more ghoul than human. The effects of sunburn and rad poisoning would pass, thankfully, but for now his scars were more repealing than they should, and on one so young? Well prejudice comes easy in the waste.

How to make this introduction?

He watches her run up the stairs probably to her room, and considers following, but then the Cockroach, the snitch, comes in. He is nursing his wounded arm.

The weasel also catches a glimpse of the young woman, waits until she has climbed the stairs. He speaks to the Innkeeper, but the Innkeeper makes a motion for the Snitch to get lost. The weasel offers money and the Innkeeper points up and says something. A few more moments before the slowly following.

Could the Cockroach be following her as well? If so, why the interest? Or perhaps there is someone else at the Inn worth getting to know.

Kroeger, the traitor? Could he be here?

The curiousity is almost irresistable. Grim decides to investigate and begins to get up to ask the Innkeeper, but then he hears a commotion on the stairs, and the Cockroach cries out now on his knees on the steps. Apparently the woman ran into the him, doing more damage to the arm. Cockroach really should of had that arm looked too. The woman continues down the stairs, the Cockroach gets up, cursing to himself.

He watches her speak to the Innkeeper, the signs of frustration on her face.

Grim calls over to the serving girl, and gives her a coin. "Girl, offer that lady there a drink on me, and ask if she'd mind a palaver, to share a drink and a talk,with an ugly bastard like me."

She nods, and turns to speak to Rogue. "The fella there at the both playing cards and drinking tea, ya see him?"

"The one by himself?" ask Rogue.

"Ya, the ugly one, well he's buying ya a drink and asks you to join him for a talk." She says.

"What is he a ghoul?" The man from before with the terrible scars.

"Ya'd think but no, that's Grim. He's just ugly because he's had a bit too much sun and poison, but he's not a bad sort."
She laughs.

"It's good to know he wasn't born that way."

"That I couldn't tell ya. Evil and the good often are born to the same mother's." She offers the advice. "But he hasn't made no unseemly advances and I doubt he'd try to surprise you with a poke, if you know my meaning. ANd he's been here well over a week I reckon."

A reminder to Rogue why a woman was best left to mind for her own protection.

"Why so long?" Rogue asks.

"In this business one best mind one's own business, love. You be new so I offer ya this bit of wisdom. You be careful with strangers about here. Most around he just as soon kill and rob a girl than screw her. But Grim, o're there, well I read him as a straight shooter, and I read 'em pretty good."

"Now what you be havin?"

Rogue requests a drink and then approaches Grim, a bit cautiously.

Before she can thanks for the drink he speaks, his voice hoarse and edgy like the sharp edge of steel, but not without it's humor.

"Don't worry, I ain't the bitin' type, and I'm just temporarily ugly but not a ghoul. Would you sit with me a spell and maybe palaver? A bit of talking between two people might be a good thing between strangers."

Rogue smiles to herself and cautiously sits. "I appreciate the drink. My name's Rogue, just traveled in today." She offers a hand.

"Grim. Nice to make your acquintance." He takes her hand, surprised at the strenght of her handshake and the coarseness of her hand. She grimaces at the burnt skin near the wrists and forearms, but the skin of the hand is fairly new and slightly pink.

Grim notices her grimace and lets go quickly, puts his hands down by his side. Grim feels very awkward suddenly and somewhat embarrassed.

"Glad to hear it's a temporary condition, cause you're damn ugliest thing I seen in a long time." Rogue jokes. 'Please tell it's not contagious."

Her laughter is disarming.

Grim smiles. "Not unless you call sunburn, scorpion sting and rad poison contagious. What brings you to town?"

"Came in on a caravan, and was looking to go out but it seems everything is locked down. Apparently the raiders are busy. I was looking for them two warriors from before, the Slayer and the Blade."

"Raiders busy all about, but it seems there's more to it than meets the eye. Seems to be something of an alliance, and have you noticed that there are so many raiders in town?"

"Yes, more than I would think for this kind of town."

Grim nods. "Why the interest in the two warriors?"

"I've got business elsewhere and figured if anyone knew how to get out, they probably would."

"You don't mind that the Blade is probably marked? That shoot out earlier is bound to make a few enemies of the local criminal sort." Grim is watching her. She looks like a hired gun, but maybe its a disguise.

"Hadn't really figured on that. But then the Blades should be able to handle themselves well enough. In any event, they would know better how to get out."

"Probably would, but I'm thinkin business in town might be more interesting. In any event, I hope to be seeing the Blade soon. As for the Slayer, I'd figure he's probably bedding down or having some fun. But I expect that a man like that isn't too hard to find."

"Really, well that's good news. Are you two friends?"

"Hopefully future business partners. Maybe I can make an introduction for you. But let me ask you, that fellow you bumped into, you didn't see where he was heading did you."

"The one with hurt arm? Yes, he's a few rooms down from mine." Rogue gives the number of the room. "Why you ask."

"The poor little wretch. I fear he mixes in bad company. He might be shadowing you?"

"Why would he bother? I'm just passing through."

Grim tries to size up Rogue, to figure if he can trust her or not. Bitter recent experience weighs for caution. Not sure yet but he feels he has to make a decision. "He's a pair of eyes and probably a courier. ANd it seems that there's an interest in you as well. Probably because you were here earlier, when all that shooting happened."

"I had not part of that." Rogue protests.

"Yeah, I figured. I was here and I saw it. But I'm thinking that what is about to blow through here... well, I doubt anyone is likely to be excused on account of unwillingness to participate. Worse still, you were here meaning that someone things you might be involved, even if you aren't."

"Things are going to get bad?" She asks.

"That's what I figure. What is your take on the caravan situation and these raiders," he asks.

OOC-
Ok that's enough from me. Rogue you can take it from here. I figure Grim will probably tell Rogue all he knows about the situation, and that they'll figure that Fang is probably also being watched. A Blade and a Slayer sitting at the same table at a time like this would probably raise some concerns among the local criminal elements. Fang, based on how this plot is going, if Rogue is being shadowed, than you probably are too. Caleb, I hope the girl has knocked on your door.

Here is how I am seeing it- the raiders are serving another interest, and this interest has permeated most of the towns. That all the caravans are being shut down could be because of the raiders, but it also could be that the town officials have all decided its not safe which is too much coincidence. All towns cut off means no communication between them. This also means that towns could be taken one at a time without anyone knowing about it. It could also allow a conspiracy to seize control of most of the towns at the same time. There could be some other purpose at work as well, but I am not sure. And if the real badguy is good, probably neither the officials nor the raiders know who really is pulling the strings.

On the other hand, if this plot isn't working for you, we can dump it and move on. If the conspiracy were to fail in Tabis, than probably the other towns would fail as well. What do you think?

Gunslinger · Dec 4, 2002

OOC- Srry about the late reply.

IC-

Caleb's eyes fluttered opened when he heard a jingling of metal scraping across the metal of his doorknob to his room. He groaned and groggily flipped over to his side. He didn't know how long he had been sleeping but if felt roughly like five minutes, which it actually was. The Blade was just about to sit up and tell whoever was at the door, probably room service, to go away when he heard a sharp gasp of breath outside his room and a brief struggle ensuring.

The old cowboy's eyes snapped open wide in fear and he snaked his arm underneath his pillow to his revolver. Outside, he could hear muffled conversation going on and wondered who the visitors were and what they were talking about. Considering that he had just sent half a dozen raiders to their dirtnaps, Caleb concluded that they must be more raiders.

He considered going for the double barrel shotgun resting on the bedpost but thought better of it. The roaring discharge of the weapon would likely awake all the patrons and probably the miltia men stationed around the city. Instead, he sneaked over to the entrance of door, crouching and waiting.

Outside, he heard the interrogation proceeding but couldn't make out what the voices were saying. But Caleb did understand that the whalloping noises was probably the sound of a few punches being thrown.

He waited before the door with his breath held in. With his revolver in hand, he waited for the raiders to undoubtedly rush in and start firing. He waited, with the revolver hammer clicked back and six bullets waiting to find their marks.

But the rush of raiders never came. After a few minutes, he heard the visitors scurrying away one at a time and Caleb blew a sigh of relief. He dropped the hammer down and threw it back underneath the pillow. He was so relieved that he didn't see the piece of paper sliding underneath the door.

Caleb had just gotten back into his bed and was about to drift back to sleep when a light knock on his door awakened him. This time, Caleb did not groan. He would not take chances. A Blade who took chances wasn't a Blade for long. Instead, he immediately picked up his gun again, marched to the door, and threw open the portal with the gun pointed at head level.

A timid but shapely young woman framed the doorway. As she stared into the wide barrel of the revolver pointed at her head, she yelped in panic and looked like she was about to bolt if not for her legs frozen in fright. Caleb cursed loudly, taking a look around to see if anyone heard, and clamped a wrinkled hand over the girl's mouth. Quickly and roughly, he shoved her into the room and closed the door.

The girl landed unceremoniously onto the bed as Caleb locked the door and waited to see if any raiders would come. Though it was hardly cold in the room, the girl shivered mightily and her face was pale as snow. She wrapped her arms timidly about herself and whimpered.

Caleb waited behind the door and waited again for the raiders to come. He wondered if the girl was merely a rouse, a diversion, for the main force. He stood there before the door for a good three minutes before stepping back and holstering the revolver. He heard the girl break into tears on his bed and whipped the revolver into his hand instantly, pointing it at the young woman's head.

The girl stopped crying and merely looked at the gun in shook. In a hoarse voice, Caleb whispered, "Who the hell sent you here, woman?" The girl stammered for a replay and Caleb shouted, "Speak quickly lest my firing finger drops!"

"A m-man paid me for the evening and sent me up here, sirrah!" The girl wrung her hands into her simple yellow dress and cried. "Please," she whined, "please, don't shoot!"

Caleb grunted. The girl was a sweet looking lass, as pure and innocent as a doe. She was dressed in simple clothes, not the kind you would expect a courtesan to wear. But the seasoned Blade knew that looks could be decieving.

He walked over to the girl and grabbed her roughly by her arm, evoking a scared and indignant scream. He tugged her up to her feet and leaned in close to her face so that his mask brushed against her face. "Tell, girl, who was this man that paid for you? What did he look like?" The moonlight was dim in his room but enough illumination showed the dangerous glint in his eyes.

The girl responded quickly. "A pockmarked fellow, sirrah." She gasped in pain and looked pleadingly at her arm. Caleb slightly reduced the pressure in his vice grip but held it firm still.

"A pockmarked fellow?" Caleb wonderd aloud. He mused in his head, trying to figure a face in his memory. The only man that matched this description was the lone figure in the bar. His eyes narrowed, Caleb whispered, "Speak truthfully know, girl, and know that my fraternity can divine truth from lies. Did this man have a scared and battered face?"

The girl nodded quickly in agreement. "Oh, he was such an ugly one, sirrah!" She shivered at the memory. "I wouldn't have approached him if I hadn't neeeded the money so badly."

But Caleb was still suspicious. He didn't know if the pockmarked fellow was a raider or not and he didn't even know if this young woman was a courtesan like she proclaimed. Caleb threw her to one side and kept the gun trained on her. "Strip of your clothes."

The girl, though she was supposedly a hooker, was balked at this demand. "W-what do you mean, sir?"

But Caleb only shook his head. "Do it. Now."

The girl took another look at the gun in Caleb's hand and decided to comply. She walked over to the window and Caleb could see that her face burned crimson in shame. Shyly, she unbuttoned her dress and let it slip off her and onto the floor.

Caleb's eyes scanned up and down her body, inspecting for weapons. As he did this, he found that the girl was indeed a pretty thing and must have cost the pockmarked man a bit of coin to pay for her. When he saw that she bore no armaments, Caleb holstered his gun and ordered, "That's a good girl. No put on your clothes."

The young lady hastily donned her simply dress and stood uncertainly on spot. Caleb sat down on the bed with a tired grunt and patted the mattress next to him, gesturing that the girl should sit down. She hesitated momentarily but then sat down beside him. Caleb noted that she sat rigidly and had her eyes squinted shut.

"I'm not going to do anything with you, if that's what you are worried about," soothed Caleb, though he truly longed for her.

The girl turned a quizzical eye at Caleb and said, "But I've been paid." She lowered her eyes in shamed. "Paid to spend an evening with you."

Caleb shook his head and cupped a wrinkled hand underneath the girl's chin, tilting her head up so that she looked into her eyes. "Then you've already earned your money. The knowledge of this pockmarked man is worth more than enough." The girl batted tears of gratitude from her eyes. "Tell me, lass, have you been in this business long?"

She shook her head firmly. "No, this would have been my first...job. I haven't any other family besides my mother and our mercantile business has gone bankrupt ever since the trouble with the raiders started. So to earn money, it was either to earn...favors, or steal."

Caleb sighed. It was a sad, but altogether familiar tale. He reached into his purse and dumped the rest of the coins into the girl's hand. It was probably enough to give the girl and her mother a chance to start over a simple life. "Take these coins, they're all I have left and leave, quickly, for I am a wanted man. Try to get out of town with a caravan or even travel on foot. Do anything, just make sure you get out of Tabis. I have a feeling that things might get hot around here."

The girl cried tears in gratitude. She got on her feet and was about to leave but she lingered at doorway. "You live up to the name of a Blade, sirrah," she said before running out.

As she ran out, Caleb finally noticed the note on the floor. He picked it up curiously and read the contents quickly.

It was a note from the pockmarked man, telling him that he had angered a clan of raiders. Nothing new for a Blade. Caleb read on and found instructions of a meeting place in the inn.

Indecision froze his heart. Caleb didn't know this mysterious pockmarked man and didn't know if he should trust him, even though the stranger did help him a bit. With the miltia men running about looking for him, a supposed murder who violated Tabis' gunlaws, and a group of vengeful raiders on his tail, Caleb didn't know what to do.

He decided that he would seek out the pockmarked man. Caleb quickly gathered his belongings together and rushed out of the room, a room he had paid for and had only spent maybe an hour in. He rushed down the stairs to the innkeeper and asked him about where he could find the pockmarked man, giving the innkeeper the stranger's description. The innkeeper must have been paid into silence by the pockmarked man but he gave Caleb the directions to a nearby bar where he would find the meeting place.

The Blade walked discreetly into the empty streets at night. The miltia men where loafing about but Caleb couldn't risk them finding him. He dared not wear his revolvers in the open and opted instead for the shotgun once more. While moving to the bar, he snapped open the chamber of the double-barrel shotgun and loaded in two shells. A Blade always entered unfamiliar territory armed.

Caleb journeyed unmolested by the miltiamen and other raiders. He came into view of the bar, a seedy looking place with rowdy music, and sighed in relief. Here, he would meet his helpful shadow.

The elder Blade was about to step into the double doors of the bar when a heavy blunt object collided into the back of his head, sending sparks of pain down his spine and filling his vision with red. Caleb tilted around to face his adversary but then blacked out when another attack hit him square in between the eyes.

Unconcscious, with his goal so close in sight, Caleb stumbled to the floor and darkness claimed him.

OOC- It's going to take forever if Caleb just chases around Grim from place to place so I think you, welsh, should see how this next event goes. Hopefully, my unconscious gunslinger will find a savior. Fang, the rest of the group has practically tied the plot together but I think its safe if we still follow your lead.

"Credo Ut Intelligam"- I believe so that I may understand.

Fang · Dec 4, 2002

OOC - You're all doing fine with the setting and with the plot. Keep it up, we have an interesting plot beginning to develop.

IC -

The sheets of this particular inn were more soft that could be expected for a place so small and run down, but Fang did not notice them. It was a somewhat tradition that he still wore his armor, even while he slept, helmet and all. This was about the best protection from an assassin, after all, head and torso met so smoothly there was no place to slide a knife, and any bullet save from one aimed right over his head, would most likely hit causing little pain and alert the Slayer of someone’s presence. Perhaps not an entire defense, but it was better than nothing.

Fortunately, this night, there was no assassin waiting for him. He presumed that he had remained hidden in this small establishment, from the outside, it looked more like an abandoned building than an inn. Nonetheless, as he woke the next morning, he was cautious. He reached for the SMG he carried as his side arm, taking a glance out of the window at the ground beneath, and on the landing outside the room. Empty, not a single soul in sight.

He put the gun down on the table, pulling up a chair, he drew out his pip boy and turned the small device on. He pulled up an inbox folder, where all of his new messages would be stored. With the device offering a slight bleep and then a click to acknowledge him, he read hurriedly through them.

His goal had not changed much, whatever was happening with the raiders, raider country was the Earthen Shores, and whoever pulled the strings would likely be there, or close. Perhaps, he would only be a pawn in some other greater plot, but he would most definitely be the first stepping stone to that plot.

How could they ask him to go there alone? He had been there once before, when he was very young. It was the last trial of an initiate born to the Slayers before he could call himself a Paladin, it was to venture into this death zone, and return alive. Simple, for something so deadly, he had barely made it out with his life. That journey had taken him very little beyond the launching camps and first outposts, to do what he needed do now would mean barging straight past dozens of outposts to the very heart of the territory.

Before any of this would happen though, he would meet with his counterparts, that meeting was scheduled for early this morning. He looked worriedly out of the window once more, thinking he had seen a troupe of raiders pass by him, he dismissed it soon after. He checked the time on his pip boy. It was almost time for the meeting. He decided he had better go early, that was in Slayer spirit after all.

He exited on the landing, checking in both directions to make sure he was safe, then made his way down the rickety stairs. He was not sure, but he would have said that there were only about three or four other people staying at the inn that night, rather poor considering that there were at least a dozen free rooms.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he handed the innkeeper some coins, saying that he may be back to use his room before the day was done, though he doubted he would need it for another night.

The morning was still early, the scorching heat would come later in the day, but for now, the air was cool and moist. The sun was already rising over the horizon, and the town of Tabis was brightening up for its second day under the blockade.

The meeting site was close, and it took him only ten minutes to walk there. Hidden in the meeting of four tall abandoned buildings, the site was in shadow and as dark as night. As he stepped there, he saw another figure waiting against the edge of one of the buildings. She acknowledged him as he stepped there, his large armor the symbol that he was the man she was waiting for.

She on the other hand, was dressed all in black, wearing a leather trench coat, carrying to pistols in holsters on her waist. She was a thin, attractive figure, hiding stealthily in the shadows where one not looking for her would never find her. Her skin was an unusual pale white for a person in so warm a place as Tabis, and she had long black hair flowing down past her face, covering her eyes, and in part shading her face itself.

“You are the one who goes by the name Razor?” Fang asked.

“Yes. And you are Fang. Come quickly, I have little time for this. My mission is demanding.”

“But nonetheless, you cannot say mine is unimportant. Raiders have this entire town locked down, and it has been entrusted in me to find whoever is controlling this out in the Earthen Shores and put a stop to it.”

“But that place is far from here, it is to us it has been entrusted to combat the raiders and loosen the lock, or at least otherwise undermine their plans. Our superiors speak of going public, if certain facts were known, we could act as a communication network all across the wastes, and keep the now divided cities together.”

“If what you tell me is what I need to know, perhaps it will not come to that. Perhaps I can put a stop to it before then.”

“Perhaps we should wait for the other now.”

As that was said, another Paladin stepped into the square. “Hail Brother, and it is good to see you well again Razor. I apologize for my lateness, I’m sure you understand. I take it Razor has told you somewhat of our situation, but there is much more to be said.”

"If we cannot live proudly, we die so!"
-Eladamri, Lord of Leaves

Fang · Dec 4, 2002

The new figure was tall, and bold, but shadowy. He kept his head down, almost masking his own voice, allowing the darkness to soak up his face. His footsteps were unusually silent for the metal boots the paladins wore. His helmet was visible hanging from his side, and, Fang asked himself, if he was so determined to hide himself, why he did not wear it.

He looked over his shoulder every few minutes, making sure that the passageway behind him, between the two warehouses was completely empty before looking back and beginning to speak.

“Are you aware of a man named Kroeger?” He asked immediately, most people knew of him, or at least had heard the name spoken. But one could not be sure, some Slayers were kept working in remote areas where rumors did not spread so fast.

“You mean the traitor? Yes, I have heard much of him.” Fang responded, recalling on his knowledge of the man the Slayer spoke of.

“Good, then I can begin here: our intelligence indicates he is here, in this very town, perhaps in the inn you stayed in only two nights ago. It is said that he is here to meet McKinner, an official of these parts. What is it you know of him?”

“He organizes much of the caravaning trade, does he not?” Fang responded, again well learned in the politics of the town. “Making sure taxes are right and fair, taking his own share no doubt. Despite the fact he is the only reason the local council does place tax on the caravans, he seems well loved, as if without him the caravans could not run as smoothly as they have done.”

“Indeed, you appear well versed in local politics.” The Slayer commended. “Then this will come as little surprise; the two are here to meet, or have already met. That is left for Razor for she has been tasked with finding out what is going on between them. Until then, we only know that for an official turned raider and a council member and merchant in Tabis to be in contact, something unusual must go on. While I doubt that the entire ordeal has been orchestrated just to give the two a way to meet, I think it obvious that there is someone working over the head of the Raider Chieftain who appears to be in charge at the moment, perhaps someone that Kroeger is taking instructions from.”

“There are other towns which are under lockdown as well, the Grey Cliffs are safe, but with no one to trade with, they are just as locked as the rest of us. In Carba, the raiders are building what appears to be a large wall out of town which is blocking them off also. Red Water is locked down in much the same way as we are, only the majority are taken prisoner while a group of escaped Trappers are banding together and causing havoc on their captors.”

Chapter 1 - Lone Wanderers

Fang

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Gunslinger

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welsh

Junkmaster

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Gunslinger

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welsh

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Fang

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welsh

Junkmaster

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welsh

Junkmaster

Gunslinger

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welsh

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Fang

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welsh

Junkmaster

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welsh

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Gunslinger

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Fang

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Fang

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