Scorched Earth: Watch The World Burn

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Dr.Forrest, Sep 13, 2014.

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  1. Scorched Earth: Watch The World Burn
    Well, it's been three weeks. You're all pretty sure you're dead by now, though if the Rask horde camping outside the makeshift scrap walls of your village, Brine, has anything to say about it, they're not gonna be quick deaths. And would most likely involve spit roasting, knives, and consumption.......well, unless something is done. Which is exactly why you've all been called up to the meeting yurt.....summoned by the chief, Sept. Most of you weren't even born here, like half of the forty or so people in the settlement, but apparently, getting summoned is no small deal.

    Your lightly armed escort stops outside of the yurt. It's a tall building, sewn up from various skins of rather dangerous desert critters....enteledonts, flesh wolves....hell, you think you spot a mi-go hide stuck on near the top. Chief must've been one helluva hunter back in the day. The escort, a tall mutant with slender, insectile features, slowly gestures to the thin metal door with his free hand, the other clutching a crude flintlock pistol. "Sept is expecting you. Please show your utmost respect, this is.....important, as you may guess.
    It would be best to obey; you're not held in the highest regards of this community. The insect mutant peels back the scrap door, gesturing once again. Inside, a small fire is burning on a few planks of witch-wood. An older mutant with obvious rodent features sits cross-legged across the fire, a large, four-part mouth dominating his entire face. He opens his eyes slowly, revealing them to be a brilliant gold, with no actual pupils or white, just glowing orbs. "Ah! Come in, come in!" He says calmly, in a voice much more pleasant than you'd expect, given his appearance and the situation.

    (Bit of a short opener, I apologize, it's rather late where I am and just wanted to start things up. Updates shall be lengthier later and in non-combat situations)
  2. Rico's feet shuffle along the dirt as he enters the room, his hands in his pockets as he keeps his makeshift flail-microphone hanging from his left shoulder. He blinks twice as he looks into the golden eyes of the rat-mutated human. He had seen much worse mutations, so he calmly decides to try being... respectful? Not really one of his things, but he tried it anyway.
    "Uh... Good day." Rico says a little awkwardly, his stance cocky and upfront as he tones the deliberate raising of shoulders down a little and nods his head. He moves up to the fire, seemingly making himself at home as he gets straight to seating by the fire, his legs spread out casually.
    "Well then. Heard you want us for something, hmm? Should be an easy job..." Rico says, his cocky tone coming out near the end of his sentence as he bites some of the nails from his six fingers.
  3. Timothy ducks as he walks in, but his visor still bumps against the top of the door frame. He takes it off with his left hand and stashes it in his pants pocket while rubbing the sore spot with his right hand. He squints a bit coming in, the bright fire irritating his SPECIAL EYES mutated pupils. He quietly takes a seat to the right of the door and near the back, sitting cross legged in the dirt.
    He gives a small wave to the vaguely humanoid looking blob sitting next to the awfully bright flame and turns his attention to the patchwork hides above his head, taking in the various patterns and colors that compose the leathers and his face visibly softens.
    He turns back to the fire as Rico starts talking but doesn't make any comment on his part. He'd much rather prefer to be out with the animals or climbing through some more ruins, but the people of the village seemed to think very highly of the person-blob by the fire. To disappoint him would be rather detrimental to the relationship he had with the people around here and, nowadays, people were a valuable resource.
  4. Silex steps in next, his fingers interlaced tightly in front of him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. This is the first time he's met the elder, and he's heard stories of Sept's supreme hunting skills in this wasteland. He tries to put on a brave face, however, insistent on at least appearing calm in all situations. At the very least, Sept's appearance doesn't faze him in the slightest. Throughout his many years carving out the best life he can, he's seen so many different mutations, some of them hardly noticeable (like the six-fingered chap that sat near the fire) while others made one want to gag in revilement at the mere sight of them. Unusual mouth-parts and almost metallic looking eyes weren't all that unusual, in the grand scheme of things.

    "I, too, would like to know the purpose behind this summons," Silex says, using the needlessly complicated diction he's employed since he was young. He enjoys the reactions is draws out of people and the feeling of superiority it gives him. "Might we assist you in any way?"
  5. Duncan would rather be anywhere but here, stuck in a small villiage surrounded by a horde of Rask. He knew what would happen when they broke in, when they would torch the buildings and every living thing. As he leaned down, making sure the musket on his back didn't hit the frame yet again. As he entered the the dimly lit room, he raised his hand in greeting and said, "Greetings, I am Duncan. I have been requested."
  6. (God, I have been SO busy this week; sorry, updates tomorrow)
  7. Edward walks inside, idly playing with his fingers as he looks around. "Nice looking place, I guess." He thinks, bouncing up and down slightly. "Could do with a bit less... Um... Makeshift-ness?" He pauses for a moment, trying to think of a better word. Failing to do so, he continued walking inside, sitting down quite far away from the fire.

    "I would ask what we're here for, but then I'd be repeating what two people have already said." Edward's voice seems slightly... off, in some way. Unless completely monotonous is the normal way of speaking, that is.
  8. Sept nods to the two who talk, sighing. He slowly pulls an old witch-wood pipe from a larger pocket in his robe, stuffing a few dried leaves of some type inside. He turns back to the group, idly placing the end of the pipe to light it as he speaks. "Well, as you know, for the past few days, we've been surrounded by those horrid little Rask. And to think back in my day, we'd have enough firepower to blow them back into their little caves......anyways, that's not important now." He mumbles, taking a small puff from the pipe. "What is important, however, is that....I'm gonna cut to the chase...we have exactly seventeen locals who can fight. And over forty....wait, it was fifty, Rasks in the horde outside. Now, there's no hope we're gonna beat these things. I know there were all those legends about people beating back hordes of mi-gos, and yuggs, and all that, outnumbered two to one, but I'm not gonna lie to you. We don't do something, it'll be utter butchery. Literally, cause then they'll eat us. But, uh, we have a bit of hope left.....if you're up for it..." Sept's eyes shift around nervously, but relax as he takes another puff. "So....we can't spare anymore men from the village. They have firearms, and know how to use them....and you visitors sure seem real helpful...." Sept coughs, sending smoke flying into your faces. "I have a proposition. If it works, you'll escape alive, and then hopefully you can save all the people we can't move out with you."
  9. "Heh! So you want us to go kill a bunch of Rasks? Sounds easy enough to me, if these people around me are able to fight, I'll do the job with distinction!" Rico says with a cocky slur of the final word, his legs still spread out. It would be noticeable that the tone of his voice is much lower pitched - a deliberate ploy by his mutated voicebox in an attempt to make himself sound more threatening and assuring to get the job done. With his extra fingers, he nimbly twiddled with the cord attached to his spiked microphone-flail, 'The Solo Album.' This little makeshift weapon wasn't the best of weapons, but nowadays a microphone like this was somewhat a relic - and Rico thought it looked cool anyway, with the many sharp spikes of scrap attached to it and all.
    "But hold on. Let's say we save your lil' place around here - anything in it for us? I won't be dying today - in fact, I'm pumped! Haven't had a good fight since that drunken bovine mutant that came after me. Bitch tasted good."
  10. Sept looks confused for a second, breathing in a bit more of the smoke and relaxing. "Kill them? All of them? Heh, you remind me of younger me. More so than younger me, actually, cause I would've known that that's suicide. Son, you'd get torn into pieces three seconds outside the gate. Now Rask, they're small, and they're lean little reptiles, but they're as mean as they come. So.....that's not what I want ya to do. Ya see, we have some......allies, up in the foothills. Mutual friends from a looooong time ago. Now, I would send real, trained hunters....but you can guess who's keeping them at bay near the gates. can probably see where I'm getting at...we need a group to alert our allies of the horde. Trust me, they're much better equipped for this than you, or us. Before you accept or decline, just remember.....I'm ready to die any day, and the moment we send you out one of the back entrances, you could just fuck off and leave for all you care. But please, think of the others in this camp, it'd be a great shame for some good mutants to go down to fucking Rask....." He trails off, his golden eyes gleaming as he shakes some bad memories from his head.
  11. "Hmph. I know what Rasks are, mister. And they make a good stew. But you're probably right, even I couldn't take on fifty of them... although if it were one or two, may as well be a cake walk." Rico says, losing the deep tone in his voice and going back to his normal, slightly high-pitched tone as he knew even himself that taking on fifty Rasks would result in him being turned into ribbons. Even with the group around him. He listens to what Sept had to say next, and it seemed he just needed to alert a bunch of people to help out with these pesky Rasks. As for the fact of just 'fucking off' and leaving, he didn't want to do that. As much as he didn't really care hugely for the mutants of these town, he wasn't arrogant or selfish enough to just leave them to their death. Rico sighs - for him this was a drag, but he had to get it done. Even if there was no reward in it for him, saving lives was, he supposed, a reward within itself. "Fine. Just give me some clear directions, and I'll go get yer' little buddies. This just better not all be some bullshit hoax..." Rico mutters to himself, and he blows a strand of black hair from his face as he waits for a response.
    #11 Jakers, Sep 22, 2014
    Last edited: Sep 22, 2014
  12. Silex takes a seat at the fire as well as Sept tells the story of the village's troubles. He isn't bothered by the smoke in the slightest; in fact he almost finds himself breathing it in on purpose. Back when tobacco hadn't been nearly so scarce, he'd dabbled quite a bit as a means of calming his nerves. Silex needed to keep a level head during his studies of the mutants; some of his experiments back then were...less than moral. Not that he's truly broken either habit -- smoking or deadly experiments.

    Rask, though, those were a different story. Silex had never gotten his hands on one; they were just too dangerous to take on alone, and he no longer had any decent means of restraining one. Perhaps this quest would end in an opportunity to do just that? And besides, it had been a long time since Silex had gone travelling. "I would be happy to help," he says, smiling in a way that he hopes is warm and comforting. "I believe that the safety of the group is more important than that of the individual."
  13. Timothy straightens up and opens his mouth, speaking rather quietly. "I'll be happy to do whatever I can." He didn't know much about this village or its inhabitants, but if not helping meant the possibility of then being killed and eaten (not to mention himself), then he would just have to help with what he could. Hopefully the Rask weren't that smart, or perceptive. Tim had never really fought before, and the only time he'd ever used a weapon was to butcher animals. He was pretty good with a knife, and he bargained he could do some damage with one. The thought of killing with his hands, though, it made him uneasy. It was different from slaughtering cattle. It was wrong, somehow. Even if it was a rather widespread habit in the wastes.
  14. Sept nods again. "Hm, I didn't expect it to seem like such an easy choice, but thank you! Our gratitude couldn't possibly be expressed! Now, if this is done.....right, there should be no bloodshed whatsoever. Well, up until the point that the Caimen get to them. Because.....well, if you've heard of them, you've probably heard of what they've done to their enemies.....or, enemies of their friends, in this case. Just be glad they're on our side. But, enough with the formalities! I know this is quick, but it's been a few days, so, I think it's about high time we fucking did something!" Sept declares, placing his pipe on a small table as he stands, cracking his neck. He's easily six feet tall, and his legs are like that of a rat. His segmented mouth clacks impatiently, wicked barbs sticking from the flaps. The old leader strides outside of his door, waving the insect over. "Kyas, you'll be escorting the negotiation party, understood?" You see obvious protest in the (now that you think about it, he's more of a worm) worm mutant's eyes, but he obviously won't question Sept. "Of course, Sept. I'll do as you wish. The Caimen haven't received word of our arrival, however. You remember what happened the last time we surprised them..." Sept grimaces, a hint of anger in his eyes.
  15. Rico briefly glances around him for a while, and closes his eyes as puts his hands in a pocket with a sigh.
    "Good grief..." He mumbles, pulling out a toothpick from his cloak and slowly chewing it in the corner of his mouth. It was a habit of his when he was feeling stressed - although mutations weren't rare, he hasn't seen them as wild as the people around him, such as the cyan goo which he had less than a clue about.
    "What are we waiting for? Let's get this over and done with... if only I still had my old crossbow..." Rico mutters, flicking back his hair vainly. He could remember his old home made crossbow and how useful it was - until some bastard mutant came and ate it.
  16. ((Ugh, I'm so sorry, I haven't been getting alerts about tons of threads. I'm really getting sick of this.))

    "Perhaps we could send an emissary to let them know that an entire group will be following?" Silex suggests. "Surely we'll be needing food and shelter before our return, and I would hate to impose." Silex hasn't heard of these Caimen, but from the way Sept's assistant talks, it sounds like they're dangerous. It hardly seems wise to surprise them again if they're already grumpy for whatever reason and risk losing any more manpower.
  17. Kyas sighs at the impatience of Rico, his worm-like, wrinkled complexion piquing in interest at Silex's idea. "Sir, I'd think it wise to send such a messenger. Perhaps Aarock? His flight could very well help." Sept thinks on the proposal, quickly nodding. "Perfect. This one is obviously the thinker of the group.....Aarock shall easily outpace them, the message will reach first." He turns to address you all, his eyes glinting a bit more than usual. "Now, let's see you all from here, shall we?" He asks, gesturing you over. From his small hill that the chief's tent is built on, you can see the other skin-shacks set up, around thirty in total, within the small valley, surrounded on all sides by red clay mesas. Sept strolls down the hill, near the back of the village. "The Rask....they had scouts, camped out back here. Kyas and I took care of them before you were even considered for this mission. As far as we know, you should pass through here unmolested, but keep your wits about you..." He says, pointing down towards the small, ten-foot tall walls of scrap that mark the edge of the village, nestled in between two of the mesas. A portcullis of ancient corrugated metal stands in the middle of the wall, with an old lever system near it, the chain being raised up look up to see a bird-morph, tall and colorful, pulling the chain from atop the wall. Aarock, most likely. Sept herds you over to the exit, rubbing his hands together in the cold of the night. "I bid you all our most sincere farewell....make haste, please, the sentries at the front are growing weary, the Rask never stop....." He finishes, before reaching into the pocket of his robe, and procuring a small, double barreled pipe pistol. "Now, I'm off to join the defense, Kyas shall lead you from here..."
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