Vasuki 

Vasuki had just finished setting up shop in a tin shack at the local marketplace, a term he would use loosely. He had his 

various wares sprawled out on a rummaged hexagonal poker table inside his shack, with sofa chairs and a couch inside so 

that customers could relax while he bartered with them. Above the entrance hung a large wooden sign with text crudely 

written in marker saying "Vasuki's Maps and General Store (Will accept any form of currency)". Vasuki was not picky when 

it came to trading and bartering, anything can potentially be valuable in the wastes, and he knew this well. Much of his 

wares consisted of whatever he could get his hands on, guns, silverware, cigerettes, pots and pans, etc. However, the star 

attraction of his shop and his real source of income were his hand-made charts and maps. Vasuki was an artist, and his 

maps were his art, each one pain-stakingly made, covering much of the land he himself walked on foot across his life-long 

trek through the wastes. Each one detailed important watering holes, notable terrain, popular caravan and trading routes, 

even formations of the stars themselves. In the ash, knowing where you are a going is a fundamental step in maintaining 

one's survival, and knowing where those scarce resources are a godsend to wanderers, and would pay a pretty penny to 

attain that information. 

Vasuki sits in a bright red chair behind the poker table which greatly contrasts with the muted colors of his 

surroundings, eagerly awaiting his customers to enter. He is draped from head to toe in light sand colored desert robes 

and sporting a bright sky blue poncho with gold color pattern, brown boots which little known to most others were steel-

toed, thick desert camo gloves, goggles for sunlight and sand protection obscuring his eyes, and a black cowboy hat with a 

Ace of Spades deck card binded on his left side. The only skin visible on his body is his nose and adjacent cheeks with 

small slivers of his dirty blonde hair sticking out from beneath his hat. Vasuki rarely stayed in any one place for too 

long, thus did not care much for opening up to others, metaphorically or litteraly save a few occassions. The only thing 

people needed to know about him is if there was a demand, he was the supply. Draped around his neck like some form of 

living ornament is his beloved 6 foot black with white stripes pet ball python Arcamedis. Most people would not know just 

by looking at him, but Arcamedis is as loving as a puppy, assuming he is well fed of course, which his owner is very 

generous with doing so. Behind them sat a very large travelling pack, which carries everything Vasuki owns on this earth 

inside. Next to the bag and in plain view were his hunting rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun, a clear warning to any would be 

robbers that he will not take kindly to someone taking off with his merchandise without being properly compensated. Of 

course, he always had an ace or two up his sleave for dealing with thugs, two long barreled six-shooters hidden beneath 

his coat, and daggers and throwing knives of all shapes and sizes hidden everywhere a person could hide them save their 

buttocks.        

Vasuki had not been in the village long, having only arrived a few hours prior, greatly relieved to find some form of 

civilization and human contact after days of exhaustive treking through the wastes. Now, well rested, well fed and well 

stocked, he proudly opens his shop for buisness. His target demographic were other travelers, and he knew they would start 

lining up to buy his maps out of neccessity. It is a service he is proud to do, so many others have perished under the 

scorching sun and the unforgiving wilds, a fate he has nearly avoided on several occassions, and not an experience he 

wanted others to feel. Of course, nothing ever truly comes free in this world, an opinion he is very eager to express. 

Everything was now set up, all Vasuki had to do now was wait. Vasuki had the supplies he needed to enter the wastes once 

more, but before that he seeks to reap the fruits of his own labor. Money is a beautiful thing, few other things make him 

smile more brightly then a sac full of gold, the music of coins rubbing against eachother producing that melodious 

jingling, and the satisfaction of a well done deal. Vasuki sat steady in his chair, eager to to make the sale, Arcamedis 

reclining on his shoulders, relaxed and at ease.