@Flynn I generally reserve concern for if someone's been gone for more than five-six days, two or three could just be an unexpected something happening, and she may well pop up and say she can't continue or apologize and write something up.
Antediluvixen
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Most Recent Posts
the tiefling's skills and her willingness to follow orders.
Not to tell you what to write, but uh... She's got a bit of a rebellious/independent streak, following orders (when there's no room for creative interpretation) is something she'll avoid if at all feasible within reason (not doing something stupid just because it's what she was told not to do for example). After all, they are scavenging in the ruins of a city from her time, she'd be more of an independent factor, going off on her own at times, etc.
@Flynn Sonya personally is going to insist on seeing the quartermaster and badgering him for ammunition for her pistols. If the opportunity arises she will then proceed to regale the others with tales of delicious fish.
@deadpixel101 Fair enough.
I'm hoping someone will say, "Oh, did you get the speech too?" or something to that effect. It'd be amusing, methinks.
I'm hoping someone will say, "Oh, did you get the speech too?" or something to that effect. It'd be amusing, methinks.
@deadpixel101 Yes! Always go with the advice of one person! Nothing will go wrong! (But seriously go ahead and post I doubt anyone will mind.)
@deadpixel101 Should be fine, otherwise things might stall and slow down and that's bad.
@Arcanaut
Eh, not my thing, sorry...
Now, this is my kind of thing:
(And yes, the wolf has miniguns coming out of its eye sockets.)
Eh, not my thing, sorry...
Now, this is my kind of thing:
(And yes, the wolf has miniguns coming out of its eye sockets.)
In case anybody was wondering, Sonya will give that little speech thing to any new person.
"Fish..."
Sonya's mouth watered even as she said the word. It'd been over a century since she'd had fish, and only now did she realize just how much she missed it. "Oh... I think I'm going to have to find that cookbook..." The gnome's book forgotten, she walked from the tent mumbling about fish, cookbooks, and ammunition. If she wanted fish she would have to survive, and that was much harder to do without ammunition. She had plenty of arrows -they were more or less reusable after all- but her stock of ammunition for her guns was running low. She didn't know the exact number of shots remaining, but figured it couldn't hurt to check before starting out, and visit the quartermaster, at the very least.
It was then that she remembered the dwarf sitting in her tent.
She rushed back over to it, apologizing for her absence, and then explaining where she would be going for potentially the next few weeks. She paused for a moment, before posing a question, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to watch my tent? I usually have to take it on faith that nobody tampers with anything."
The dwarf shrugged nonchalantly, "If you can bring back more food so we don't starve, I'm more than happy to."
Well, there's that, then. So she could leave the tent without worrying -or at least she hoped- about the tribals messing with her things. Nodding gratefully to the dwarf, she set about collecting her things. Canteen, another canteen, another canteen, two water skins, and a large airtight bag to fill with any clean water she found. Her pistols slid into their holsters as smoothly as butter, their weight on her sides comforting. The large composite bow was unstrung and placed in a carrying sheath-bag-thing she had made several years prior, it was durable and held the weapon securely. Arrows in their quiver went onto her belt at 8 o'clock, and wrench slipped into its loop at 4 o'clock. She hefted a backpack that contained flints and scrap steel, kindling, a compass and several magnets stored as far away from each other as possible, various books detailing edible plants and which fauna were of the unfriendly persuasion, food, and empty flasks for storing whale oil.
One could never be too prepared, she had learned. The hard way.
Pushing her way through the tent flap and thanking the dwarf once more on her way out, she paused for a moment to orient herself. The quartermaster would be... that way. She set out in the direction of the quartermaster's tent, sticking to shade and shadow whenever possible so as to avoid the searing heat.
Up ahead she saw somebody she didn't recognize, and her eyebrow shot up as she glimpsed the antennae poking up from his head. Guess that's our insect man. She thought to herself, analyzing him, his posture, how he acted, and everything else she could as she walked up to him. Clearing her throat, she addressed him, "So, you're the insect-man Blim mentioned? Going frolicking with us in the dead cities of the old world? Pick the bones of a deceased civilization and walk in the footprints of a million souls lost to time and the sand. Stand in what was the shadow of a colossus, a living, breathing testament to the power of civilization but is now little more than a dried husk, picked over by two legged vultures, and not truly comprehend what was? Search their homes, businesses, and the the traces of their lives they unwittingly left in death for us to scavenge and barter? Scour their skeletons for anything useful to prolong our pitiful existence here on this mortal coil as we shuffle from place to place, ignorant of what was and what we have truly lost and know not to weep for?" She paused, but continued before he could reply, "For the record, if you ever find yourself transported back in time, go to Dune, ask for Brenda, and enjoy the best amberjack glazed in pepper sauce with a side of mashed potatoes this world ever had or will have to offer. But avoid the nachos."
Sonya's mouth watered even as she said the word. It'd been over a century since she'd had fish, and only now did she realize just how much she missed it. "Oh... I think I'm going to have to find that cookbook..." The gnome's book forgotten, she walked from the tent mumbling about fish, cookbooks, and ammunition. If she wanted fish she would have to survive, and that was much harder to do without ammunition. She had plenty of arrows -they were more or less reusable after all- but her stock of ammunition for her guns was running low. She didn't know the exact number of shots remaining, but figured it couldn't hurt to check before starting out, and visit the quartermaster, at the very least.
It was then that she remembered the dwarf sitting in her tent.
She rushed back over to it, apologizing for her absence, and then explaining where she would be going for potentially the next few weeks. She paused for a moment, before posing a question, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to watch my tent? I usually have to take it on faith that nobody tampers with anything."
The dwarf shrugged nonchalantly, "If you can bring back more food so we don't starve, I'm more than happy to."
Well, there's that, then. So she could leave the tent without worrying -or at least she hoped- about the tribals messing with her things. Nodding gratefully to the dwarf, she set about collecting her things. Canteen, another canteen, another canteen, two water skins, and a large airtight bag to fill with any clean water she found. Her pistols slid into their holsters as smoothly as butter, their weight on her sides comforting. The large composite bow was unstrung and placed in a carrying sheath-bag-thing she had made several years prior, it was durable and held the weapon securely. Arrows in their quiver went onto her belt at 8 o'clock, and wrench slipped into its loop at 4 o'clock. She hefted a backpack that contained flints and scrap steel, kindling, a compass and several magnets stored as far away from each other as possible, various books detailing edible plants and which fauna were of the unfriendly persuasion, food, and empty flasks for storing whale oil.
One could never be too prepared, she had learned. The hard way.
Pushing her way through the tent flap and thanking the dwarf once more on her way out, she paused for a moment to orient herself. The quartermaster would be... that way. She set out in the direction of the quartermaster's tent, sticking to shade and shadow whenever possible so as to avoid the searing heat.
Up ahead she saw somebody she didn't recognize, and her eyebrow shot up as she glimpsed the antennae poking up from his head. Guess that's our insect man. She thought to herself, analyzing him, his posture, how he acted, and everything else she could as she walked up to him. Clearing her throat, she addressed him, "So, you're the insect-man Blim mentioned? Going frolicking with us in the dead cities of the old world? Pick the bones of a deceased civilization and walk in the footprints of a million souls lost to time and the sand. Stand in what was the shadow of a colossus, a living, breathing testament to the power of civilization but is now little more than a dried husk, picked over by two legged vultures, and not truly comprehend what was? Search their homes, businesses, and the the traces of their lives they unwittingly left in death for us to scavenge and barter? Scour their skeletons for anything useful to prolong our pitiful existence here on this mortal coil as we shuffle from place to place, ignorant of what was and what we have truly lost and know not to weep for?" She paused, but continued before he could reply, "For the record, if you ever find yourself transported back in time, go to Dune, ask for Brenda, and enjoy the best amberjack glazed in pepper sauce with a side of mashed potatoes this world ever had or will have to offer. But avoid the nachos."
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