Bork

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

Sawbones frowned as he slammed the door of the one of the dozens of cars he had searched closed. The driver’s head had been smashed through the wind-shield, his exhaust punctured with shards of glass and a permanent dying scream on his face. All of the full-lives that he had discovered in the wreckage so far were unable to be salvaged properly. It was a right bleeding shame, as far as he was concerned. Their bodies had the potential to be ample forges for his own creations and they had been desecrated by those infidels. Most of their blood had dried up into paste and their organs had become quarry for maggots. The most that they could be used for right now was just blood. Sawbones scoffed as he drained the last viable corpse of all of its blood, removing the dripping needle from the vein. None of them were universal donors.

As far as he was concerned, trying to survive in this graveyard would be useless without the help of a Blackfinger. The Great Hippo was a great patron in many respects but he wouldn’t dare intrude in the territory of the Angel Combustion. All that he had managed to scrounge up in his pitiful attempts at scavenging was two jerry cans worth of guzzoline, several cans of grease-laden pet food of various types and enough water for a day’s journey at best. It was everything of use to a Wretched and yet, nothing of use for an Organic Mechanic. Sawbones lazily stabbed open a can with his scapel, scraping out the contents with his fingers and licking it, taking mind not to gag at the horrid taste. He stared at his plunder in disappointment.

“ Oh, Great Hippo, why do you forsake me now?”

He wasn’t going to survive for more than a day or two, a week at best. Perhaps, he should have considered going towards the settlement…….
Suddenly, a hoarse voice cried out towards him. Sawbones thought it was an illusion at first. The shimmering waves of heat blurred the dark figure that was walking towards him until he came within a few yards away from him. There was no mistake. It was another survivor. Tossing the can over his shoulder, Sawbones walked towards the survivor in a frantic pace.

“Amazing. How did you manage to survive? I thought I was the only one. How?”

Sawbones examined him closely as if he was an art collection, admiring every detail on him, his figure, his sand-soaked apparel and his injuries. Without warning or hesitation, Sawbones swiped at his forehead, a lick of dried blood on his thumb, and sniffed at it, murmuring to himself.

“Of course. Why didn’t I notice sooner? You’re a full life. Yet, there’s something more. There’s asphalt in that blood of yours, and yet, there’s a hint of chrome in there. It’s no wonder you survived. A warrior of the roads with the strength of a war-boy. Interesting….”

The man standing in front of him was a prime species indeed. A very interesting study. In this blighted world, you could rarely encounter a full-life much less a half-life that was near an empty tank. This must have been a gift from the Great Hippo. Sawbones turned back towards the warrior, the mask of rags disguising the grin on his face as he spoke with an enlightened tone.

“The Great Hippo has blessed us both, road warrior! My name is Sawbones. I am sorry but I appeared to have forgotten your na-”

There was a sudden crunch of metal and a bout of furious swearing that interrupted his sentence. He’d turned around, only to notice a man standing behind him, his knees bent and shook like all of them were from the crash. What he was more concerned about however was the rapidly approaching maelstrom of dust behind them. It was a giant behemoth of scything wind and blistering desert sand, frothing at the mouth and swallowing the horizon whole. Sawbones quickly scrounged up all of the supplies he had managed to discover into a hastily knitted leather ruck-sack, a slight stammer in his voice as he pointed behind Zer.

“ I suggest we make haste and run away immedietely. I doubt even the Great Hippo can save us a second time unless the two of you want to test his strength today.”

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

Good lord, Genni, you are a cruel mistress indeed.....

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

Hot. Possible fever. He needed a thermometer. Hydrate himself with lots of water. A good bed rest. Numbness in limbs. Suffering from possible dehydration. He needed to sleep. He needed to rest. It was over already for him. It was the cycle of blood as foretold by his mentors in the Abattoir. Just as the blood of the Maiden of Night and the Holy Flamingo had given rise to his great knowledge, it was his turn already. His own blood would seep back into the sands, sowing the land with red, to give life to knowledge, beautiful knowledge that would burgeon into a wholesome full-life. He laid content with his fate, grinning teeth full-bare, knowing that the Great Hippo would bless a heathen to happen upon his corpse, to discover the fruits of his works, the Panacea lying alongside him. He frowned. It should have been lying with him.

Wait, where was the Panacea?

His panic sharpened his dulled senses, blood-shot eyes spilling open as his body was suffused with manic energy. Rustling around weakly in the deceivingly heavy sand, his hands dipped through the rough land into his pockets, his shirt, his chest, for any signs of the sacred text. The cure to ignorance itself. Aeons of the blood, sweat, tears and the lives of Organic Mechanics would not be wasted and the efforts of experimentation would not be all for nothing.

Sawbones had already lost track of how long he laid under the baleful bask of the blisteringly hot sun but he knew that his weakness had already cost him precious time. His already sun-torched skin seemed to crackle and hiss from the intensity of the light. He was lodged underneath an ocean of dusty sand that carpeted his entire lower body. He could taste the grinding of sand grains between his molars as he greedily sucked the stale air. With each aching movement, he slowly rose out of the sand, stumbling onto his feet as he walked onto the loose but coarse land. He needed to find the chariot that the Great Hippo had bestowed upon him. He moved through the smoking battlefield with a purpose, seething anger in his clenched fists as he thought back to the ambush.

It was quick. Unexpected. Merciless. It’d all happened so quickly. Thunder and flame alike had been exchanged between the two sides. He had remembered slicing open the belly of a raider before the right wheel of the Hippo’s Chariot had burst apart. The last thing that he saw before he was knocked out was the relentless tossing and turning, watching in horror as the pages of the Panacea were torn from their binding. He couldn’t afford this loss. He refused to believe the fate of the Panacea.

The surrounding landscape was a graveyard of junk and rot. Wrecks of bikes, speeders, buggies and trucks were beached on the coast of sand dunes, pitiful wafts of grey rising from their crumpled corpses and the acrid, pungent odour of guzzoline was oozing out of every vehicle. Bodies of half-life scum and full-life material were bobbing up and down in the waves of sand, drowned in the storm that had razed the entire armada. The entire convoy had been gutted, pilfered of its riches and left to decay, like carcasses.

There! Sawbones spirit lifted as soon as he saw one of his prized possessions. His foot-steps had quickened the moment he saw his buried vehicle. The Hippo’s Chariot was in a sorry state, indeed. The frame had been badly buckled and would require the touch of a Blackfinger in order to restore it. That was, of course, if there were any other survivors of the attack along with him. He sifted through the sand that had filled the driver’s seat, trying to extract whatever supplies were left. His expression continued to grow sour as he rummaged through the contents of the vehicle. There were just scraps. A few enamel scapels. A scratched jerry-can that was a quarter full of guzzoline. He’d began guzzling down on the canteen of water in greedy gulps before slowing down to shameful sips. He continued to search through whatever was remaining in the Hippo’s Chariot before his fingers grazed something familiar.

He couldn’t believe it.

Pulling it out of the mound of sand and dusting it off, he flipped open the pages of The Panacea and balked at severity of the damage. A good half of the pages were ripped straight out of the book by the gales of winds. Organ-planting. The recipes of his lord’s blessings. All of the rudiments were still there but the storm took everything away from him. Everything that he had accrued in his journey. One question was burning in his mind as he slowly read through the Panacea, trying to account for all that was still there.

Had he failed his lord?

No. He hadn’t. In all consideration, he should have been torn in the dust storm but by some miracle, he’d managed to survive. His faith in The Great Hippo had not fallen on deaf ears after all. If he had failed his lord, the dust storm would be punishment enough for his mistake. It was a sign for him that his journey, his quest was to continue unabated. The path to redeeming himself in the eyes of the Great Hippo was clear now. To reclaim the knowledge that he had lost and to continue on his quest no matter the cost. He kneeled upon the desert sand and clapped his hands together, muttering a short prayer in reverence of his saviour.

“I thank you, oh Great Hippo, for my blessed survival per my membership of this great covenant. Oh Great Hippo, May your blessing allow me to further do know the wonders of harm itself. Onward, mechanics of the Great Hippo, continue to repair, for blessed are we in our eternal union with the Great Hippo.Oh Great Hippo, Allow me to continue to act as an emissary of your will in this world. Oh, Great Hippo, I hear you not but feel your power growing within me every second. I, your emissary, await your orders, oh Great Hippo.”

With fresh vigour, Sawbones stood up, the Panacea cradled in his right arm, and eyed the horizon. He spotted the signs of a settlement, a faint column of smoke in the distance. He only knew what that meant. Guzzoline. And lots of it. He then reminded himself that it would mean nothing without a working vehicle. The more he thought about going to the settlement, the more it seemed foolish. It could have been very well the home base of the raiders that attacked them.

He needed supplies. He needed material. He needed experiments. He needed protection if he was to continue on this journey. Signing in frustration, Sawbones began to tread towards the smoking wrecks of the convoy, scavenging as much usable equipment and trinkets that he could manage from the vehicles.

The ways of the Great Hippo were mysterious at times.

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

Summary of the Mad Max Series

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

SawBones

Sawbones

" And thus, The Great Hippo did verily decree to all Organic Mechanics the sacred vow: Do Know Harm"

Appearance
Most wasters that encounter Sawbones assume that his clothes are in fact his skin. Sawbones typically wears a brown patch-work laboratory coat over a set of linen slacks, outfitted with leather hoops, belts and pockets to keep his vast collection of 'medical' knick-knacks on his person for easier accessibility during his work. His face is covered with a series of rags and a set of swimming goggles to keep him protected from the sun-light.

No one never knows what Sawbones true face looks like. Is it a bald man? Is it a woman pretending to be a man? Is it secretly a handsome warlord?

Role/Skills

Role: Blood-Boy (Organic Mechanic/War-Boy)

Path

Blue Path with a tiny sliver of Green when it's beneficial for him.

Equipment

The Panacea

The Panacea is a rudimentary ring journal made out of stained brown paper that contains anatomical diagrams and medical notes accumulated during Sawbones journey through the wastes. Each note and diagram is painstakingly scrawled with a mixture of what's avaliable on-hand for Sawbones include plant pigments, ink, pencil lead and blood in order to conserve the small amount of paper that Sawbones has access to.

The Hippo's Chariot

The Hippo's Chariot is a bastardised dune buggy scavenged from the remnants of a golf cart and the frame of an ambulance. It is outfitted with a small V6 Engine and its wheels had been modified for efficient travel across desert terrain. It is mainly used as a storage vessel for the vast amount of human body parts that Sawbones uses for his personal experiments.

Scapels

In close quarters combat, Sawbones uses his vast array of jury-rigged scapels of sharpened scrap metal, human bone and petrified wood for both medical examination and disembowelment of the enemy.

Syringes

Notwithstanding the issue of tetanus or rickets, syringes are an Organic Mechanic's best friend. Used to deliver a highly toxic chemical payload to his enemies or a highly questionable beneficial chemical payload to his allies.

Personality
If a real doctor from before the Fall were to analyze Sawbones, several phrases would be used to describe him. "Medical malpractice", "quack" and "Human Rights Violation" are just the surface. Sawbones is a highly ardent believer and follower in the ways of the Great Hippo, a legendary god-like figure amongst all Organic Mechanics who believe the Great Hippo to be the patron saint of all Organic Mechanics in all of their 'medical' endeavors. Sawbones has a single-minded obsession with a badly butchered historical phrase from the questionable book compiled by various Organic Mechanics with the help of a History Man known as " The Hippo's Oath". This phrase is known as "Do Know Harm" which Sawbones believes to be divine permission from the Great Hippo as a means of expanding his 'medical knowledge' no matter the cost. Sawbones goes from enclave to enclave in the wastes, offering his services to war-lords for a period of time in exchange for a safe shelter with an access to a large supply of 'patients' to expand his glory in the name of the Great Hippo. Sawbones also regularly participates in war raids and parties for the purpose of testing his new experimental drugs as a means of worshipping the Great Hippo and to restock up on 'material'.

History
Sawbones was once an ordinary nameless test subject born as part of an 'medical' experiment in pregnancy by a rovering group of Organic Mechanics known as " The Abattoir". The purpose of the experiment was to form a reliable method of pregnancy in the wastes in order to increase the survival rate of children in enclaves. An Organic Mechanic took pity on Sawbones and raised him in the ways of the Great Hippo. With nothing else to turn to, Sawbones earned his nick-name from his very apparent enthusiasm in the operating room with surgery.

When Sawbones accidentally injected himself with an unknown chemical composition one day, he claimed to have received an hallucinogenic vision of the Great Hippo, who had blessed him as his emissary and to go spread the good word of the Great Hippo to all other wasteland settlements. Sawbones immediately packed up whatever belongings he had and much to the complaints of the other Organic Mechanics, dissapeared without a trace.

Sawbones now wanders around the wastes to spread the good word of the Hippo to all heathens and unbelievers.

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Tackett Farmstead

Date: 09/23/24

Location: Stables/Coloured Barn

Stumps briefly ran the dried pads of his fingers through the thin, trickling stream of water that dripped out from the pump into the pail, sighing in relaxation as the liquid cooled his fading blisters. He stopped the pump, the level of water in the bucket near the edge of the brim. He ran his damp hand through his sun-singed hair, eyeing his blurry brown reflection on the water’s surface before grabbing the thin handle of the bucket, a brief grunt as he pulled it upwards. He found himself missing the benefit of having two hands as he struggled to lift the pail by its handle, his muscles taut and tense and his knees almost buckling at the sheer weight. The pail became heavy as a sack of bricks, yet, he could still take it. As he walked back to the inside of the stable, the glowering sun was in the middle of its long journey westwards, the long shadows of the building stretching further by the all-seeing light that the sun casted overhead.

His right hand was aching hard once he’d made it back to the horses, the steeds not paying him any notice whatsoever. MJ Tackett was waiting for him to fufill her request, a nasty expression on her sun-tanned face as she regarded him with contempt. The scars on his back began to throb again as he noticed her fingers slowly inching towards her personal riding crop. Well, that was an improvement if he ever saw one. The old man’s daughter was usually more foul-mouthed with negroes like him. He placed the heavy pail of water down besides MJ, ignoring the withering gaze she sent his way. He’d given up on hoping for a simple thank you from people like her already.
“ You’re welcome,” grunted Stumps before he retired himself to the relative sanctity of his bunk.

He continued to walk into the inside of the dilapidated barn, rags of cobwebs hanging in the rafters of the wooden ceiling. It was more sparse than usual. Most of the other Negro farmhands were outside behind the coloured barn, the aromatic scent of spice and shrimp the only clue to the nature of what they were exactly doing. It was designed to be efficiently crammed as possible, the bedframes placed next to each other in an orderly fashion. The walls had seen better days, flakes of white-wash beginning to peel off like a scab, revealing the moth-eaten wood behind. Sunlight sneaked through the slits between the walls, small pinpricks of dappled yellow visible in the gloom of the barn. His own bed was at the bottom of the bunk bed. The blankets were folded haphazardly on top of the linen sheet with a canvas bag filled with sand poking out from underneath the bed frame and a small box-shelf to the right of his mattress. The rickety wooden supports creaked dangerously underneath his weight as he considered what to do next. It was a lazy Sunday. There was no barley-bucking, cotton-picking or work that needed to be done out in the fields today. He sat silent for a while on his bunk before leaning down under to the bottom of his bed and procuring a roll of white gauze, tossing it up and down in his single hand.

He needed to relieve a little stress anyway.

Stumps bit on the end of the gauze wrap with his teeth as he began to wind it around his right palm in an awkward motion that was practiced after months of fervent frustration. The band looped around the palm of his hand several times before he began working tightening each knuckle. He then lightly tapped the back of his right hand against the stilted frame of his bed before dragging out the canvas bag from underneath his bed. He hoisted it up on his shoulders along with a coil of rope as he climbed up onto the top bunk. The door to the colored barnhouse creaked open as Stumps was hooking the canvas bag onto one of the many wooden support beams that criss-crossed across the ceiling with the help of a hemp rope. Stumps squinted his eyes to see who it was, the gloomy darkness of the bunkhouse making it hard to discern the appearance of whoever entered.

It was Alice Hallark. She was a recent arrival onto the barn, relative to Stump’s time spent working in the Tackett farmstead. He didn’t know much about her except that she worked with the doctors and that she didn’t say nigger every time she saw a black skinned person. Stumps absentmindedly answered her question as he managed to secure one of the ropes around the beam, leaving the canvas bag aimlessly swaying a few feet above the ground.

“Last I heard, most of the guys in here were cooking sumthin’ good outside at the back for grub. Can’t say about the rest though. ”

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<Snipped quote by Stitches>
Was Stumps the farmhand who just helped MJ in the stable? She didn't bother to ask his name.

@Genni

I'm okay with Stumps being the farmhand who interacted with MJ.

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@DeadbeatWalking

Is it confirmed that my character sheet has been accepted?

The Book Club

Book Recommendations

The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea - By Yukio Mishima
This is a very enrapturing novel that you will simultaneously detest and adore at the same time for the ideologies represented in the novel and the almost poetic writing. Sailor is an exploration of multiple themes that are all situated around the duality between old and modern Japanese Culture after WW2. The ending, in particular, is one of my favourite endings to a book ever because it's very subdued in how it occurs and the foreshadowing and imagery presented by Mishima during the end is appropriate for the big twist.

Dark. Twisted. Most detractors of the novel state that it's a disgusting piece of shit that purports a reprehensible ideology that seems oddly alien to mainstream culture but if you know the context behind the novel and read it with patience, Sailor will question you and do what a work of good literature is meant to do.

61 Hours - By Lee Child
Jack Reacher is ultimately a thriller novel but I solidly recommend 61 hours for anyone starting new in Jack Reacher. I think it's honestly one of his best entries in the series and there are several reasons for this. First of all, the environment portrayed in the novel is just unique compared to most of the enviroments that have been explored in the other Reacher novels. The snowy blizzards create this odd desolate cold atmosphere that is just chilling throughout the novel.

Second of all, no sex scenes. Jack Reacher is like James Bond in the fact that nearly every woman that Reacher encounters requires to be shagged but there is no shagging in this novel.

Third of all, great action for a thriller. There's a way that Lee Child just grabs you by the throat. The prose is written in such a clean and methodical manner, almost clinical, which is a idiosyncracy of Lee Child. Every word is used to its fullest potential and the description of the action scenes reflect Reacher's mindset.

Anyway, that's enough from me.

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Joseph Chester
- If you were wondering why you don't see many centered sheets, it's because they're hard to read.
- Consistently getting the farm's name wrong in the second half of your sheet and the too-many traits makes me a sad panda.
- Stumps is not one of the only colored men working on the farm. There is an entire barn for the colored workers, which probably outnumber the white ones.
- The first half of his history doesn't make a lot of sense applied to the real-world scale of segregation, but I can forgive that for someone unfamiliar with US history.
- Unless he's contracted the world's slowest-moving gangrene, his arm isn't scabby/gauze-y anymore, it's a fleshy stump. He's more likely to experience phantom pains than he is to still be treating an injury, even of that scale, after two years.

@DeadbeatWalking

Thanks for the feedback. I took account of your criticisms and your suggestions in the revision of the character sheet and also updated Stump's history so that it makes just a little more sense. The revised character sheet of Stumps is in the characters tab.

Anyway, no need for the apologies. I'd rather have a GM who's willing to take time to make quality posts rather than a GM who rushes posts. It's rare to find a GM like you these days who's willing to reject character sheets and give valid reasoning for that rejection.