|
Post by Διμι on Nov 1, 2010 20:55:56 GMT -5
"Don't try to be a hero, dammit" Russische shouted, pulling up next to the speeding ZAZ "Those rounds won't do squat to it, and if we pull it off-road, there's an even bigger chance it'll catch up to us with wheels and an engine like that."
Both cars accelerated even faster, pulling up next to the VAZ and Pontiac as the machine rumbled behind them. Russische grabbed a pair of binoculars and leaned out of the UAZ cabin, eying the horizon. A thick, reinforced concrete wall nearly twenty meters high rose in the distance ahead, a set of closed steel gates clearly visible in the road ahead. It was some sort of city. Russische pulled a flare gun from the passenger compartment, held it in the air and fired, sending a bright trail of burning phosphorus through the sky. Several seconds later, the enourmous, two-meter thick gates began to open a notch, just enough to accomodate the widest car of the lot.
"Get in line formation!" Russische yelled over the wind whistling by his head. "They won't open those gates any further for fear of that thing getting in." the three cars obliged, and the column shot past the metal doorway before screeching to a halt inside. The massive portals closed just as the huge attractor began to brake.
The asphalt was torn from the road as the giant wheels locked and began to shred the earth beneath them. The monstous machine skidded down the road, turning it into a mangled mess before finally grinding to a halt, mere meters away from the door.
The Attractor appeared to be uncertain, attempting to decide whether testing its luck trying to cut through the massive steel entry would be worth it. Finally, it rumbled back to life and turned around. Flattening and re-packing the asphalt that it had uprooted back into the road behind it, the giant machine sped away in the direction it had come from.
|
|
|
Post by blackpapermoon on Nov 10, 2010 9:02:33 GMT -5
Character name: Redding Vehicle: Rusted, heavy modified Harley Davidson with Armored plates
“How long before that thing decides to cut through the gates and flatten us all,” complained a copper haired woman dress as a tribal on her back she carried an old Dragunov sniper rifle, “We need to kill that thing where it stands.”
“Easy now Redding,” said the compound’s leader,” we need to think this out carefully, Iron Gate is not like a war tribe.”
“Think?!,” cried out the reformed tribal, “We had enough time to do that, it time we did something.”
And with that she stormed off the leader of Iron Gate then turned to the newcomers and said,
“Welcome to Iron Gate, travelers. Please forgive Redding, she recently had her village destroyed by that vehicle that had been chasing you...Now is there anything we can do for you?"
|
|
|
Post by Karcentric on Nov 12, 2010 11:49:35 GMT -5
Climbing out of his trusty Trans Am, Chain took a hearty swig from the bottle he'd gotten from the Tourist offering it around to the group as they climbed out of their respective vehicles.
A rather ugly man approached speaking in a welcoming tone, "Welcome to Iron Gate travelers. Please forgive Redding, she recently had her village destroyed by that vehicle that had been chasing you...Now is there anything we can do for you?" He said.
"Who?" Chain asked looking around trying to figure out who the man was talking about, "Now look old man, that thing out already destroyed one of the best pubs in these parts and a whole tanker of fuel, and now it's outside your gates." He paused to take a swig of the booze.
"As for what you can do for us, you tell someone to get their sorry arse in to the kitchen and make us some mutha-fucken sandwiches. Pronto!" He snapped before taking another swig from the bottle and passing it to one of the other drivers he'd arrived with.
|
|
|
Post by Basil on Nov 12, 2010 12:49:23 GMT -5
"Errr", said the Tourist, who had the strange impression that he had only just awoken from some drunken or drug-induced stupor. "Yeah, whatever Chain says...I guess."
The Tourist looked around for something or someone to designate as the new sandwich maker before setting his eyes on Redding.
"Yeah, you there, go make us some frakking sandwiches."
The Tourist readjusted his dusty old sun hat and his dirty sunglasses before putting an old cigarette holder in his mouth, putting a scrunched up cigarette in it and lighting it with sluggish relish.
"Oh, there's a whopping big truck outside too...wait, we said that already."
|
|
|
Post by Διμι on Nov 13, 2010 14:37:17 GMT -5
Bottle in hand, Russische stumbled drunkenly from the interior of the UAZ. "Doubt there's anything you c'n do 'bout that one," he slurred "I work as a freelance destroyer of pretty much anything I set my eyes on, and I've got the biggest cache of guns on this hemisphere stuffed into that little car, and none of them can even dent the goddamn thing. Grenades, rockets, mines, gas tankers, you name it - that thing takes it all like a ShamWow." he paused "judging by the the tracks it leaves in the ground, I'd say it's got a solid metal hull and wheels, or at least a coat of armor a couple meters thick."
"Looks like it decided to save testing its saw on your little door, though, so we should be safe in here for the time being." he let out a little drunken giggle. "Now, 'bout those sammiches, I heard something something a woman in the kitchen?"
The Russian took another long swig "I could sure use a pickle or two to go with this too." he added "Anyone got a pickle 'round these parts?" he asked tentatively.
The ugly spokesperson fidgeted. "Well, you see..." he began "It's been a while since we've had anything of the sort, sandwiches too, in fact." he looked around nervously as Russische's eyes seemed to bore into him "You see, Redding is the only woman left in Iron Gate, as the rest were all taken one night by marauding rapists. We haven't seen them since, and we've no one left to even go into the kitchens."
"I see." Russische answered curtly "That must be a damned shame." saying nothing more, he climbed back into his car and started up the engine. Backing up the the gate, he quickly turned the vehicle around, its rear window now facing the town within the walls. Determined, Russische climbed into the back and swept the cover off of the Maxim M1910 machine gun inside and pushed it, its barrel now protruding from the rear window.
"Pretty shitty town this must be, if a Russian can't even get a pickle to go with his vodka." Russische muttered before taking another swig.
The townsman's face only had time to twist itself into a stupefied grimace of shock as Russische slotted a massive ammunition belt into the gun and began to fire. A second later, the man was completely eviscerated.
Unlike it's water-based counterparts of the revolutionary war, Russische's deadly weapon was in fact cooled by nothing less than liquid nitrogen, and knew no rest. A squall of bullets shredded the surrounding structures as their residents came out to investigate the commotion, only to have their entrails splatter against the walls. A single stray bullet hit a propane tank, and the massive explosion flattened the few dwellings next to it in the ground, and sprayed flaming matter all over the city. The buildings, most of which, Russische noted, were wood, quickly caught fire.
The city had descended into chaos. Flames and smoke billowed across the street, blanketing the corpses of the victims of the Russian's weapon. Several armored cars and a tank were slowly making their way through the carnage. Russische laughed at the Iron Gate inhabitants' pathetic attempts to stop him.
Swaying slightly, he grabbed the FLASH rocket launcher he had fired earlier, three of its barrels still filled with deadly payload. He fired thrice, putting the tank and two of the cars' progress to a grinding halt and blocking the road into the city completely. Several more explosions resonated from within the city limits. Evidently, more fuel sources had caught aflame.
Sated, Russische put down the launcher and grabbed a massive sledgehammer. As quickly as the hefty weapon would allow him, he ran over to the tank, the crew of which were desperately trying to vacate the burning vehicle. Laughing maniacally, Russische brought the 10kg head down, pounding their heads flatinto the steel frame and kicking the last man down the hatch along with a grenade befor ehe closed it. A dull blast came from within.
The Russian ran over to the bewildered gate crewman, who was cowering in fear behind the instrument panel "Open the damn gate." he ordered, shaking the massive sledge "if we can't get rid of that tractor, we might as well give it something to occupy itself with - your pitiful little pickle-less city."
The crewman shook his head valiantly. A second later, it was less than a centimeter thick and spread evenly over the floor.
The doors ground open, revealing the attractor, which had evidently returned to investigate the commotion. As the Tourist's, Chain's and Bruce's cars scattered, the giant machine barged into the city, narrowly missing Russische's own UAZ.
"Let's move!" Russische yelled "It'll take the thing a couple hours to flatten this place down, so we'll buy ourselves some time."
He ran over to his own car and flung the sledge into the passenger seat. A second later, he started his motor, and the UAZ flew out of Iron Gate as the Niva, ZAZ, and Pontiac followed suit.
"What a piece of shit of a city," Russische muttered to the Tourist, who was driving alongside him as he glanced at the burning town in the rear view mirror "No women, no vodka, no pickles. I don't feel an ounce of regret. Not to mention we got that damn tractor off our asses again. Now, if I remember correctly, the man said something about some marauding rapists?"
The four cars sped off into the distance.
|
|
|
Post by Basil on Nov 13, 2010 19:45:55 GMT -5
As soon as chaos descended on the the town, the Tourist's fuzzy perception of the world sharpened.
"On va fout' la merde!", he yelled in his native language before shooting a guard in the crotch with his harpoon gun. As Russische engaged in the gratuitous slaughter of innocent and more than slightly inbred townsfolk, the Tourist killed a nearby sheep and chained it to the side of his Niva. After the killing of said animal, the Tourist stole a large plastic sculpture of a grotesquely leering clown which he stuffed into the back of his car.
The fun came to an end when the Attractor bulldozed its way into the burning settlement, forcing the quatuor of thieving, destructive bastards to take French leave.
"What a piece of shit of a city", declared Russische as they left the area. "No women, no vodka, no pickles. I don't feel an ounce of regret. Not to mention we got that damn tractor off our asses again. Now, if I remember correctly, the man said something about some marauding rapists?"
"-Yeah", said the Tourist as he clumsily cracked open a tin of spam while holding the wheel with his other hand. "I say we go shoot 'em all, steal their shoes and take their female prisoners."
|
|
|
Post by blackpapermoon on Nov 15, 2010 11:57:14 GMT -5
Redding watched the four men, and thought about if she wanted to take to the task of making sandwiches. Whenever she was unsure of choices she would consult Granny Bone (the finger bone of her long dead grandmother that she wore as an earring). Granny bone was all knowing and was never wrong. The bone told her to climb to the highest point in Iron Gate and watch the four divers, and so not to enrage her ancestor Redding did what she was told.
Going against Granny Bone’s word had gotten her in trouble in the small-enclosed community that was Iron Gate, the bone had warned her not to drink, but Redding did anyway and she had raked up a very large tab with many zeros at the end of the number.
The homeless tribal soon began to laugh as the four men began to raid and cause general chaos in the town. Her fun was soon ended when the attractor started flatting the residents of Iron Gate. She then ran into the bar and filled a old burlap sack with as many bottles of Beer and Vodka as it could hold before jumping on her Harley Davidson and rode off in the southwest of the direction that the four men had gone.
Two miles down the road Redding suddenly stopped; Granny Bone was trying to tell her something. The Bone told her that she had to follow the four men; she had to save them from the dastardly Hill Vixens. A kind of invisible hill dwelling demon like creature that took men away form the village.
Redding turned around and headed in the same direction as the four divers.
|
|
|
Post by Karcentric on Nov 16, 2010 3:46:29 GMT -5
Looking back at the smoking ruin of Iron Gate chain smirked, as he admired the new paint job he'd gained from plowing into a crowd trying to block the exit, several limbs were still stuck between the spikes welded to the front of his car, throwing the empty bottle at a man dressed in a suit who was sitting on a suit case looking around blankly, missing him narrowly, "You fucker!" Chain exclaimed, looking back to the town to his surprise a trail of dust was gradually catching up to their group. Some angry local we missed looking for revenge. He though hazily.
Speeding up and shouting to smaller car with the large machine gun and shouted over the sound of the wind, "There's something catching us up and it ain't that fucken tractor, have a look and see what is. We may need to do some shooten too."
|
|
|
Post by Zeno, Lord Camelith on Nov 17, 2010 0:10:43 GMT -5
"Y'know" Bruce shouted at Chain, "Daryll and I have always employed a 'shoot first, ask questions later' policy."
Just as Daryll was about to swing the massive machine gun around, he spotted several silhouettes on a ridge just a ways up the road. "What do ya reckon those are?" He shouted at the others.
Soon,they were close enough to make out the features of the silhouettes. Each one of them was a majestic female figure, all scantily clad with their long hair flowing freely behind them in the wasteland air.
"Holy shit." Bruce and Daryll said simultaneously. "I'ma get me a piece of that!" Daryll shouted, "YEEEEEHHAAWWWW!"
The Zaparozhets broke off from the rest of the group and sped off towards the plateau.
|
|
|
Post by Διμι on Nov 17, 2010 2:25:36 GMT -5
Russische watched in confusion as Daryll and Bruce sped off towards the four abominable hags situated on top of the ridge ahead. Perhaps the creatures' deceptive abilities had managed to enthrall the the two, but the Russian was so mind-numbingly drunk at this stage, that whatever disguise the Vixens employed had been stripped away completely before his all-seeing intoxicated gaze.
"Oh you'll get a piece of it, all right." he growled, putting his UAZ to a stop and loading several fresh hi-payload rockets into the M202. He stepped out of the car uneasily, aimed, and with his frame teetering, fired. The rocket spiraled hardly several inches over Daryll's head, setting his hair on fire before slamming into the ridge where the Vixens stood.
A massive mushroom cloud rose from the remains of the earthen formation as flaming bits of dirt and body parts rained down over the four cars and their passengers. The head of one of the hags with the remains of a torso still attached plopped down next to Russische. Without a moment's hesitation, he walked over and teabagged it several times.
"Whew!" he announced "That one was over before it even began. Sorry 'bout that" he tossed aside to Daryll, who was still trying to put out his flaming hair.
|
|
|
Post by blackpapermoon on Dec 16, 2010 10:33:46 GMT -5
“Y-you killed…the Hill Vixens,” said Redding her eyes wide in disbelief, as she dismounted her ride. The tall hunter had blown them into bits, and was currently teabagging one of the more intact remains.
“You -giggle killed -hehe them,” said the tribal before bursting out into loud laughter and roll around on the ground, “you killed them …you killed them…you killed them!”
She continued to do so for five minuets before she regained her composer, getting up off the ground and brushed the dust off herself. Once again in control of herself she continued.
“No man has ever seen through the Hill Vixens tricks,” she said to Russische, “now I understand why Granny Bone told me to follow you…yes… It was not to save…but join.”
Running back to her Harley she got the sack that was full of Beer and Vodka that by some miracle where unbroken and presented it to the man before her.
“Oh grate hunter,” said Redding, “please take these bottles as a token and allow me to join you in your grand raids across the wastelands.”
|
|
|
Post by Διμι on Dec 17, 2010 14:36:10 GMT -5
As gracefully as it were possible for a man drunken halfway into oblivion, Russische accepted the gift from the mysterious tribal. He popped the cap off of the topmost bottle and was about to take a swig when he noticed something very wrong.
"Smells just like camel piss," he said in astonishment "I'll say, I hope you didn't rack up a very big tab in that city drinking the stuff - it can't be very good for your complexion."
He tossed the woman a bottle from his pack. "Thieving bastards," he muttered, still swaying slightly "selling camel piss in beer bottles to unsuspecting locals."
He slowly ambled back to his car "We don't have an integrated kitchen in any of our rides, but I reckon we'll find a use for you anyway, wommon." he belched loudly "come along if you wish!"
|
|
|
Post by Karcentric on Feb 4, 2011 12:18:57 GMT -5
Chain sat on the hood of his car sharpening a machete and taking regular swigs at an old bottle of whiskey. Looking around at the surrounding hills before looking back to the group and snickering at Daryll's new 'hair cut'. "Nice hair you got there chief." He said with a smile revealing bloodstained teeth.
A distant battle cry carried over the wasteland from one of the larger hills in the distance. Sweeping the area through a pair of binoculars he spotted several grubby people in worn leather armor with patches of plate metal attached to their armor.
"Oi sunshine, looks like we got some company." He said to Russische, tossing the binoculars to him and pointing in the direction, "You reckon it be them raiders that ugly pig fucker from that town was talken bout?" Chain asked, Without waiting for an answer he walked to the boot of his car and pulled out a Fusil Automatique Modele 1917 rifle with a grubby scope attached to it. sitting back on the hood he lined up one of the raiders and fired, the loud crack of the shot echoed followed by one of the raiders falling from his perch screaming as he fell before landing with small cloud of dust raising.
Jumping up doing a damce on the roof of his car he lined up another firing, hitting his target in the head creating a bloody mess and a second body to fall from the cliffs.
"Take that you fuckers!" Chained shouted at the raiders. Tossing the empty bottle of whiskey on the ground he saw the bag the woman had offered before. Digging through it he discovered an unopened of vodka.
"Sweet mother of mercy!" He cried staggering back to his car and placed the bottle carefully in a sealed compartment of his car.
"I will guard this holy relic." He muttered.
|
|
|
Post by blackpapermoon on Apr 25, 2011 6:37:11 GMT -5
“They be,” Redding said with distaste, “however they have bad taste in wenches, the she folk of Iron Gate made warthogs look attractive.”
Despite this the tribal was bound by her tribe’s honored tradition of pillaging, looting, maiming and scalping any foes who dared to challenged them. Revving the engine of her bike she sped off towards the on coming marauding rapists, passing one she lassoed him and dragged him behind her motorcycle. Due to the speed at which she as traveling the man’s armor and skin was shed off of him like a molting cat.
Redding let lose her tribe’s war cry before running another of the foes over.
|
|
|
Post by Karcentric on May 16, 2011 10:08:24 GMT -5
Watching as the woman howled and rode off attacking a group of oncoming bastards, they were planning on stealing his vodka and he knew it. Those fuckers, the thought of them even looking at his relic. He'd fight them all, he'd fight them to the death, and he'd win. This was going through Chain's thoughts.
"OH YES MY DARLINGS I'LL WIN! WIN, YER HEAR!" He wailed at the top of his lungs grabbing the bolt action laying on the passenger seat, and sung it like a club, snapping the neck of a man as he rode past.
"Come on! COME ON!" He yelled, a wild look of near insanity had passed over the the driver digging through the bag of camel piss and lobbing it at another man who was approaching, the bottle missed smashing harmless on the hard ground behind, "STOP MOVING!" He shouted chucking another bottle, hitting the man in the knee cap making him stumble and trip, where upon he was ran over by one of his own, who also was sent flying from the unexpected deviation on the road.
Deciding that there wasn't much more they could do, Chain jumped through the open drivers window, turned the engine over and gunned it leaving a thick trail of smoke in his wake.
|
|