Kingfisher

Let's travel the galaxy together and explore new worlds! (original sci-fi setting)

A man is interested.

Fallout: The Ferryman's Tale

Interested

@Minato Namikaze

With an army this size nothing will stand in my way!

Fallout: The Outer Banks (Always Open)

The Highwayman

The watch tower was a tiered construction of rusted metal platforms and concrete pillars. Its paint was peeling away, exposing cracked reddish steel, and the glass spotlights at its peek had been smashed centuries ago. Nevertheless, it gave the Guardsmen occupying it a decent level of high-ground, and had been paramount in halting the progress of the OBR through this section of the marshlands, as snipers picked off their scouting parties from on-high.

It also just so happened to be home to Chief Genlin; the Highwayman's target.

Its approach had been planned meticulously, so that the steel-clad figure could make its way towards the tower under the cover of night. Its dull metal body trugged steadily through the marshland, a speck lost in the sea of darkness, as the Highwayman drew closer and closer to the tower.

Once it was nearing the base of the tower, the Highwayman ducked down behind the carcass of a fallen tree, its mechanical eyes fixing on the Guardsmen patrolling at ground level.

*

"Oh Jeeze! Oh Fuck! Please, help me!" a curvy blonde girl came scampering out of the night, bare-footed, with her tattered clothes hanging off of her full body in grubby rags, and trails of glistening tears streaming down her tanned cheeks.

"Hold it right -fuckin'- there, girlie!" Barked one of the Guardsmen, sliding to one knee and slinging his assault rifle off of his back.

"For God's sake, Gomez, she's just a child!" Snapped one of his comrades, giving Gomez a sharp shove as he came striding out to meet her.

"P-please, h-help..." sobbed the girl, running straight into the soldier's arms, and pressing herself tightly against his chest.

"Easy, girl," The soldier soothed in his most comforting voice "You're safe here. These are good people you're amongst. Can you tell us what's happened?"

"Oh God," The girl was choking on her words "Lurkers came o-out of the swamp...attacked our caravan," her lower lip wobbled as she spoke "they...oh god, they got my big brother!"

"Official orders are to shoot unidentified hostiles on sight." grumbled Gomez, as he pulled himself up off of the ground.

"Yeah, the crying teenaged girl is really fucking hostile," the other guardsman scowled at him "Shithead." He turned his attention back to the girl "Come on, missy. I'll take you to see the Chief."

Borderlands (1x1x1) - Applications in INT-CHK thread

Will start work on my CS asap.

Fallout: The Ferryman's Tale

Just in case any of my regulars/ people I run into a lot are interested @DJAtomika @JulienJaden @Jbcool @Sep @Dead Cruiser

Fallout: The Ferryman's Tale

Let me tell you a story...

War might never change, but being a Ferryman fuckin’ well does. The Mongaya and Dion Boat Service has been around for a good few centuries now, and it was a damn lot simpler back when there weren't Mirelurks coming out of the water and trying to rip you in two.

Still, life goes on.

We need money just as much now as we did back before the world got an atomic makeover; even if we are using plastic and tin instead of paper. We don’t take sides. We don’t pick fights. We just ferry anyone who can pay back and forth, from one wasteland to the next.

At least, that’s how things used to be.

In the days before the war, Chicago was all sparkling glass and gleaming metal towers, scraping away at clear blue skies and fluffy white clouds. But the suits and ties pissed all that away with nuclear fire, and now you’ve got some shitty bombed out ruins and a great big sea of grey.

We had no idea if there was any life left in that old pile of rubble, but it sure as shit didn’t look like there was.

We were wrong.

The Brotherhood of Steel came sailing through on an airship back in the day, and got into some kind of firefight with the Enclave outposts running around the outside of the Windy City. But these weren't just a few remnants with some fancy pre-war tech, no sir. These guys and gals were the survivors of that shitstorm in the oil rig, back in 42.

I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue what went down in Chicago, but by the time the dust cleared, there was no Brotherhood or Enclave. There was only the Sovereign Empire of the Great Midwest. A bunch of wacko imperialists with some hyper-advanced space age gizmos, and rage like you ain’t ever seen.

So what should’ve been a nice little boat trip down the Chicago River became a real fuckin’ shit show, real fuckin’ quickly.

Our best damn ship, the Mississippi Dreamer, got brought down by some asshat with a rocket launcher, and we ran aground at a little place called Bloomtop, which just so happened to be one of the last damn free settlements left in Illinois.

So here we are; outmatched and outgunned, in the middle of a fuckin’ warzone.

Being a ferryman? You can bet your ass it's changed.

OOC

The Ferryman’s tale is a Fallout-based game, taking place in the ruins of of Post- Great War Chicago. Players have the option of taking on the role of one of the passengers who were aboard the Mississippi Dreamer (which can have come from any of the other wastelands seen thus far in Fallout, or an original creation of your own design), or to play an occupant of the Illinois Wasteland. Players can control individual characters, small warbands, or entire factions. The Sovereign Empire of the Great Midwest is set in stone as the greatest Chicago-based power, but beyond that players have free roam to shape the wasteland as they wish.

Waddaya say?

Fallout: The Outer Banks (Always Open)

The Highwayman

A road of cracked asphalt and fire blasted earth stretched out before the Highwayman, crunching beneath each steel-clad footfall. Concrete and soil had become one beneath the nuclear devastation of Chinese Warheads, and the land had been left a sickly mess of cracked grey and greenish brown.

It was on the right path.

The armor-clad juggernaut strided onwards, its joints whirring and hissing, Scooped Machine-Gun clutched in its metallic hands.

It wasn’t long before the first few raiders came slipping out of the marshland.

The Highwayman’s power armor was far more sleek than the bulky get-up worn by wastelanders, so the Guardsmen didn’t think twice about rushing the featureless wanderer.

“You’re trespassing upon the kingdom of the Watch.” A grizzly figure in an old-world military uniform sneered, as him and his buddies came wandering up to the Highwayman “Hand over your valuables, and the just and noble Guardsmen will allow you to walk away unscathed, outlander.”

“The ORB are paying good caps for dead Guardsmen.” a steely voice rasped from beneath the Highwayman’s cold metal helmet “How about you hand over all your valuables, or I bring them back some souvenirs?”

The grizzled one shot his comrades a look of confusion.

“Let's waste this asshole!”

Their rifles barked, letting out a crackle of bullets, which pinged harmlessly off of the Highwayman’s hard metal body.

The Highwayman squeezed the trigger if its machine gun, sweeping through the Guardsmen with a feral bellow of roaring gunfire. A few strained coughs, and bubbles of dark red blood, and then the road was littered with the bullet-ridden corpses of four Guardsmen.

“No second chances.”

The steely figure pressed on up the road, its destination within its grasp.

Deleted

Once he’d ceased his shouting and screaming, Harlwarn dropped to the floor of the tent, his fur-clad body cold and umoving.

“Feed him to the dogs,” Khalaevna croaked drowsily to her pages as she pulled herself up into a sitting position, her eyes still hazy with sleep “Discretely. I don’t want an incident.”

Two well-built servants dragged the Frost-treader’s haggard corpse out into the snow, his wolf pelt cloak draping limply behind him as he vanished through the tent flaps.

“Harlwarn might have been witless, but he wasn’t delusional,” the Over-Tyrant mutter, as she heaved her massive bulk out of bed, her pale flesh shuddering and wobbling as her feet hit the ground “Summon the chieftain's.” She commanded one of her pages “Whilst the rest of you help me wash and dress.”

A huge wooden tub was filled with steaming water from the nearby hot springs, whilst cleaning salts from the Soap-makers guilds of old Thalzamaria were prepared. The Over-Tyrant plopped her huge form into the tub, causing a wave of sizzling water to spill over one side, as a handful of pages set about washing and scrubbing her naked body.

The hierarchy of the Kingdoms of Mourslev was a delicate thing, built to entertain the many wants and desires of its gluttonous people. Technically, each chief was given free rule over their own “kingdom”, and was allowed to enforce whatever rules and customs they wished; just so long as they fell in line with Khalaevna’s own ambitions. Anyone not adhering the the Trade Queen’s laws was branded as a traitor, and an enemy of everything the people of Mourslev stood for. The Over-Tyrant didn’t care what religions her people practiced, but it seemed that the faith of Mortaroth seemed to be sweeping through the clans, something which she’d no doubt have to address soon.

Once Khalaevna was dressed she emerged, dripping with warm water, from the tub, and was quickly dried off by a cluster of pages with thick sheets of cloth. She was dressed in a plain white tunic, which failed to cover the bulge of her gargantuan stomach, worn beneath a flowing coat of crimson silk, inlaid with gold. They squeezed her into a pair of dark black trousers and boots, with a sturdy leather belt with a fist-sized gold clasp slung around her broad waist. The piercings and jewelry were piled on, whilst makeup made from crushed black powder was painted beneath her eyes.

By the time the Chieftains arrived, Khalaevna was seated on the tent floor, with a stream of rich foods spread out in front of her.

“Greetings, my lords and ladies,” she gave the new arrivals a quick grin, whilst licking chicken grease off of her hands “Please, take whatever you want!”

All of the Chieftains understood that if they touched anything within Khalaevna’s immediate area then there’d be hell to pay, and were careful to pick at the dishes a good few feet away from her.

“It's always an honour to join you, my queen,” said Aureus Icelake, a slender figure, with silvery blonde hair and handsome yet narrow features “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Aye. ‘Owe might we be of service?” grunted Jormut Beastbreaker, a giant man with broad shoulders and a scraggly white beard, as he scratched at his solid arm muscles.

“The late Harlwarn Frost-Treader informed me of demon’s in the mountain ridges beyond, shortly before his passing,” Khalaevna spoke in a slow, clear voice, making sure that each word was sharp and well-pronounced “and it would be near-impossible to reach Borea undetected, without passing through them.”

“Gah! Bloody ‘owlers,” Jormut scrunched up his face “they’re a right pain in the arse.”

“The horrors have been known to clear out entire camps of our fiercest warriors.” Gorah Darktounge nodded in agreement. She was a well-built woman, with hard, masculine features, and a closely-shaven head of ginger stubble.

“Wasting our clansmen's lives on the demons would be folly.” Khalaevna nodded solemnly, causing her double chin to quiver “Bring me barrels of oil, and wine, and pitch. We’ll light them up from on high, and send them screaming down the mountainside to meet the demons below.”

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Got something in the works with @Drinky

Supervillainy 101

Mortella slithered calmly behind the plague doctor, her long tail rubbing against the floor as she hung back in the shadows.

She cocked her head slightly when he made a remark about her appearance.

“You’re right. If only I could be as inconspicuous as the Mexican wrestler, the sith lord, and the man in the bandanna.”

The gorgon’s year on earth had given her time to develope a great understand of its different languages and culture, to the extent that it seemed as though she’d always lived here.

The Plague Doctor demonstrated quite an impressive skill set, as he dispatched one of the bouncers with nothing but a scalpel, eliciting a sly grin of approval from Mortella.

It was when another guardsman emerged that the serpent decided to strike.

Her eyes dilated, rippling with what looked like a thin layer of grey tears, as she fixed the attacker with her gaze. His body went stiff and hard, freezing on the spot, his fingers inches away from his holstered weapon.

Mortella’s hand shot forwards, her clawed hand ripping through the man’s neck in a burst of dark red blood. She tore out his throat, letting it drop softly to the floor, before giving his corpse a light push, sending it tumbling down behind it.

“Hella rad.”