The Golden Reach

[DeletedUser]

Once, there was a time when life was abundant on Earth. Humans were the most advanced creatures in existance, and animals feared them, fled from them, and were taken as tools for life by them. Humans used advanced technologies and their massive population to ovewhelm mother nature and build their lifestyle all across the world, they built devices capable of destroying the world ten times over, though eventually they realised that was a bad idea, so they tried to stop it... But to no avail. For more than 5 years the world was shrouded in Nuclear radiation and genetic acceleration hormones that sped up the genetic development of the wildlife and non-sheltered humans to make them all beasts to be reckoned with, but the radiation killed those too weak or overexposed. Clocks stopped, and the calenders remained on 2032. Nobody knew how long exactly the radiation had lasted, the only thing that people knew, was that there was a new world, and it would start in the year 2032. There had been two generations of families born in the bunkers in the real time it took for the radiation to clear, but when it did, they arose from their shelter, ready for whatever they might face, but they were in no way at all prepared for the truth. In reality, the year was 2078, but nobody knew that. The Calendars hadn't been switched since 2032, and so, the day the radiation was completely gone, and not one click from the detection devices was heard, humans left their bunkers and shelters, and ventured into the brazen new world that awaited them. Little did they know, that the new world was far more dangerous than they had previously imagined.​

People traveled south, a soul surviving road lead them to new lands. A nice patch of even ground was found, and so sprouted the town of Mist Terrace. Secular ways were used to form the civilization, and the years of the new-world ticked by. In 2048, Mist Terrace split, half of its population going on to make Cold Cape, which was founded in NC. 2050. Shortly thereafter, the Outcasted lands, made up of native survivors who sheltered in caves and were positively affected by the Genetic acceleration, and Exiles from Cold Cape began to form the Outcasted lands. And with everything begining to pull together, those who didn't get the life of luxury to the north, and those sick of good people in the towns, turned to enslaving humans for fun and profit. ​

The Cold Capers, Mist Terracers, Outcasted, and Slavers were now the four major factions.​

The year, is NC. 2076, Golden Reach seems to be the last heavilly populated bastion of Humanity.
Slavery is at an all time high, and feudes between cities, villages, and even individuals are growing. The only thing keeping life sustained is self-preservation, and military caravans that travel to Mist Terrace to sell arms, food, ammo and other supplies.​

More importantly, the goal is to survive.​

Utilize your resources to information and knowledge, there are six different links to different vital types of information useful in choosing your character. IF you don't use the information in the links, you will be entirely lost and and the role play wouldn't be as fun without you knowing what's going on. Help yourself to the six sections of information. It is more than invaluable that you do.​

Golden Reach Faction- Mist Terrace​

Golden Reach Faction- Cold Cape​

Golden Reach Faction- Outcasted​

Golden Reach Faction- Slavers​

Golden Reach Firearms and Wildlife​

And most importantly,​

Golden Reach Locations​

The Golden Rules of Golden Reach​

1. Set your type-format to match your Class and Faction required lettering by clicking "Go advanced" when you are preparing to post.​

2. Do not god mod other players (Making them get killed, do something important, or do something to another player), you can have them answer a call of some sort, or reply in speech, but it must be changed if the actual player of the character disagrees with the advance.​

3. Do not violate the Campfire rules, or if easier said, keep it clean, fair, and balanced.​

4. Read each of the linked information areas, as they contain important information for the Roleplay.​

5. Utilize multiple characters. Because of the font system and class system balance in place, it is now easier to destinguish who exactly you are playing as.​

6. Try to even out who is what. We can't all be slavers with AK-47's, and we can't all be Outcasts with lead pipes and rifles, beating everything over the head.​

7. Use weapons and clothing based on your factions avalible weapons, and your own class's abilities. Everyone can use melee, but some classes are better than others with it.

EDIT: Please, carry only three weapons, hell, start with only three weapons. You can craft/buy more later on, but still carry only three weapons at a time. John J. Rambo isn't a featured star here...​

8. Keep your posts descriptive. Nobody likes one-liners, try to make an effort to post beyond 6 sentences, or 3 lines, of words.​

9. Follow the rules​

With that said, I'd like to introduce you to the character sheet. As you know, OCC is going to be size 3 verdana font. Time to practice with the creation of character sheet.​

Most of it is self-descriptive, your name, age, physical description, personality, and then faction and class.​

Type Test is something new. As this Role play has differing font requirements, please fill in Type description with whatever you want to say before you get started, and have it oriented to your Font requirement, explained in the many links that you were required to view before you started.​

As you should know,
Mist Terrace speaks with Georgia
Cold Cape speaks with Book antiqua
Outcasts speak with Trebuchet MS
and Slavers speak with Microsoft Sans Serif​

Each class has its own individual relativity to Factions, and different colors as well, and weapons avalible to them. If there is a problem in your character sheet, I will politely contact you and suggest a way to change it for the better. Enjoy your experience in Golden Reach.​

P.S. Mounts are acquired in roleplay.​

Name:
Age:
Physical Description:
Personality:
Faction:
Weapons: (Up to 3 of choice, 1 must be Melee, only 1 may be primary, 1 or 2 may be secondary.)
Class:
Class/Faction Type format test: (Please type anything you wish with your Faction font and Class color, thank you.)​

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Name: Alsoomse Mosi

Age: 23

Physical Description: Mosi is 5' 7, with long glossy black hair, the bronzed skin of outcasts, and dark almond shaped eyes. She is an obvious pure born. She presents as the epitome of athleticism with a petite build, and with firm well formed and proportionate musculature. When she moves, it's with the grace and poise of her namesake, the cat, which she most likely has the matching reflexes and balance of. She wears a mix-match of leathers and fur, which allows for the ease of lethal movement she appears quite capable of. She wears no armor, but covers her head and eyes with the bare skull of the cougar.

Personality: Mosi is very traditional, and well known amongst her people. She is a leader, and well thought of always. She is fair in her dealings, and fierce when crossed. She is known to be one who will freely give her life to protect the ways.

Faction: Outcasts

Weapons: Her primary weapon is a pair of tomahawks, which she's comfortable with using in melee, or as throwing weapons. She also carries an ancient weapon known as an Atlatl and a quiver of short javelins, which she can throw with tremendous force, due to her natural enhanced strength.

Class: Ambusher

Class/Faction Type format test: Mosi is a proven Ambusher, meaning she passed the rituals of adulthood and has entered the ranks of the more feared of the Outcasts. She often accompanies Raiders on the hunt, to hone her long range abilities, and to learn different strategies to better serve her people.
​

 

[DeletedUser13682]

Name: Roland Eld
Age: 39
Physical Description: Tall, slightly skinny, blue eyes, greying hair, wears a calf length black duster, black shirt, black jeans, and black fedora
Personality: stone cold to nearly everything, cool, calculating, bringer of justice, genearlly travels around outside of Cold Cape area.
Faction: Cold Cape militia
Weapons: primary weapon: Ruger Redhawk in .44 magnum for right hand. Secondary weapon: Ruger Redhalk in .44 magnum for left hand. Melee weapon: M1942 bayonet
Class: militia
Class/Faction Type format test: Testing, testing, one, two, three. This is the first test run of 102.7 the Troop, microphone working nominally, output heard for upwards of 20 miles in current conditions, consider upping power for 50 mile coverage.

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Brad Jones
Age: 28
Physical Description: Tough, semi-long hair
Personality: Doesn't talk unless, Slient
Faction: Slaver
Weapons: Machete, Ak-47, Ruger P90
Class: Raider
Class/Faction Type format test: Brad is a dead eye with a Ak-47 he doesn't need the semi auto to be accurate, but he preferes the gun for its ability to withstand alot of punish. He has had lots of practice with the P90 and is just as deadly with the machete. And no David he is not a Hippe on Sterioids​

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Kolar Afersan
Age: 29
Physical Description: 6'3" tall and weighing 190 pounds, he is a man truly born to be a Slaver. He is almost always seen wearing his heavy, full-body steel-reinforced armor when outside of the Islands of Peril. Under his helmet, his hair is charred black, with a fashionable petit goatee hanging from his chin. Who said a predator can't be stylish?
Personality: He is very cautious inland, because he knows that his race's reputation precedes him. He only removes his armor for bathing and sleeping, in both cases he keeps a weapon within arm's reach and tries his best to construct makeshift alarms in the room. He does not need weapons to be lethal, but he likes to keep heavily-armed, in case he faces a foe that he cannot kill with brute force. He hates no race more than the Mist Terracers, since they do no work for their extravagant lifestyle, and do nothing to earn or deserve it. He is not very religious, but will pray to God if his life is threatened. He enjoys both capturing slaves and striking a bargain, as well as eliminating the middle man.
Faction: Slaver
Weapons: Machete, Glock 17, AK-47
Class: Raider/Stockman
Class/Faction Type format test: Don't tell me how to make my living, I don't try to boss you around.

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Frankie Mayes
Age: 23
Physical Description: Frankie is a thin and tall young man, he has deep brown eyes, and his hair short and slicked forward, as the style matches his face best. He is six feet and one inch tall, and he weighs 170 pounds, which suspends many in disbelief as he is rather thin.
Personality: He is a clever man, knowing exactly how to get what he wants from any one, he is very confident, and very direct in his approach. Nobody around him seems anywhere near as social.
Faction: Mist Terrace
Weapons: Am 8 inch Market Bowie knife, a Mossberg 500, and a CZ-75 for his right hip holster.
Class: Con Man
Class/Faction Type format test: Well, you might just want to give me that extra bullet, you never know when I might just save your life with it.

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Dylan Dark
Age: 18
Physical Description: A well muscled man of about 5' 10. Weighing in at 120 lbs and with a dark brown pony tail like many men of his faction have. Fast and silent, trained to kill. Obviously pure born and with the darkly tanned skin of his culture.
Personality: A very loyal member of his faction who would die to protect their secrets. But is very care free about everything else. He sometimes changes his mind quickly but is also a thinker.
Faction: Outcasts (Pure-born)
Weapons:
Primary: Ball headed war club with blade. (Trying to find a good picture.)
Secondary: Remington 700 and a sturdy well made katana.
Class: Hunter
Class/Faction type format test: Testing...Primed and Pumped. Ready when you are.

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Eldar'o Conodor
Age: 23
Physical Description: Eldar'o Conodor stands 5'11 inches tall. His rusty red hair hands down to his shoulders, when free of it's ponytail. While he is working, it is covered with a dark black cloth. He has a wiry frame, but his muscles are as strong as whipcords and can withstand almost any attack upon his person.
Personality: To those of the people, he is honest and upright, a staunch protector of all things Outcast, but to all others, he is less then friendly, almost hostile. He believes that he must protect the Outcast way of life, seeing the good that they have brought about wth their actions.
Faction: Outcast
Weapons: Attached to his back is a short sword, about two and a half feet long. Unnoticeable to all, but Eldar'o, there is a small mechanism set into the hilt of the sword that makes it split into two parts. Carried cross body is a bow, with a quiver of glass tipped arrows.
Class: Ambusher
Class/Faction Type format test: We must keep our sacred wyas of life, all else will only seek to exploit us.

__________________________

There was a cool breeze blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves and causing Elder'o Conodor's rusty red hair to flow freely around his head. The day had been hot, stifling as a matter of fact, barely any work was done, except by those that were enemies. Eldar'o Conodor focused all of his life's energy on the single reason why he was out here. Slavers. The word sent a jolt of white hot anger, almost enough for him to lose all of his progress toward entering the meditative state that allowed Eldar'o to do his most silent and deadly work. He allowed all anger to flow from him, let it run from his body and out into the earth, to be pulled away from him, allowing him to do the job at hand.

With his mind fully clensed of corrupting influences, Eldar'o stood and retreived his sword from the ground beside him, rolling it around in his fist so he could sheath it behind his back. Taking his bow from where he had laid it, beside him, he put it over his back also. He ponytailed his rusty hair and then wrapped it atop his head, finally securing it in place with a black cloth that had seen much use. He then took from his pack a pair of moccasins, which he put on with great haste, there was no telling what was happening to his people, the slavers were known to take pleasure at hurting their less then perfect captives.

That morning, the slavers had attacked a small fishing hamlet of two houses and carried away those that lived through a short, but one sided fight. Two children had been playing on a hill close to the hamlet and had witnessed the injustices done upon the inhabitants. Knowing that they would be ran down, if they ran, the children laid underneath a thorny bush, until the Slavers had finished with their games and left with the children, young women and men. All told, five of the people had been murdered by the Slavers, three old men, a child and a teenage girl.

With his mission the only thing in his mind, Eldar'o began to work his way through the forest. He disturbed not a creature, coming within touching distance of two pairs of deer, before he made it to the treeline. The forest was perched atop a small incline and down below him, Eldar'o could see the glow of the Slaver's fires and could see the tied up prisoners. Eldar'o reached up and pulled lightly on the corners of his eyes, to sharpen his vision, it didn't look to him as though the captives had ben bloodied too bad, but there was no telling the kind of emotional scars they would carry upon their souls.

With great care, the Outcast began to pick his way closer to the campsite of the hated Slavers. Of course, Slavers were just nominally worse then the other inhabitants of this part of the world. The others, Eldar'o knew, seeked to enslave the people, just as the Slavers did, just with rules and territory boundaries, instead of chains and whips. Eldar'o harbored a great prejudice for the other inhabtants of The Golden Reach, one that ate away at him, like a slow cancer, one day, Eldar'o feared, he would go mad. But that wasn't today, today was a day for killing, today was a good day.

Like a wraith, Eldar'o picked his way to within ten feet of a guard, before he stopped and pulled his bow from his back. With string made from the gut of a deer, Eldar'o strung his bow, before placing one of the wicked glas tipped arrows into it and pulling back with all of his might. The arrow flew through the night with less then a whisper's sound and impacted so hard with the Slaver guard that it drove through the back of his body, punching a good portion of the Salver's backbone from his body. The guard dropped to the ground without so much as a sound. There was only one guard left, before Eldar'o would venture into the camp itself.

The guard wasn't where ELdar'o had planned and Eldar'o was momentarilly startled that he ahd been discovered, before he heard the sound of a zipper, coming from a nearby stand of trees. Standing, Eldar'o ran to the copse of trees and bellied down in the shadows made by a large boulder protruding from the earth. He waited, until the Slaver finally came out.

This Slaver was different, however. Instead of the mix and match rags the first one wore, this one had on a shiny set of blood red armor. On his head, he wore what looked like a samurai's helmet, a savage look to the faceguard. Eldar'o was stunned, this was something he had never seen before and he had no ieda how to bring about the end of it's life. Every exposed inch of the Slaver's body was covered in some form of armor and the only opening he could see was the eye openings and the mouth in the faceguard.

Eldar'o had a sudden feeling that he should put away his bow, which he did, before withdrawing his sword. The blade glinted in the firelight, until Eldar'o drove it into the earth, to get it dirty, then it was brown to black and was completely unoticeable from any distance greater then a yard.

Standing, Eldar'o threw himself forward, towards the guard. He wrapped his right arm around the neck of the Slaver and clampped down with all of his strength, trying to shut off the airflow to the guard. The guard was startled for a moment, but regained his composure nearly instantly and threw himself backwards, onto the ground. The impact of two hundred and fifty pounds of bone, muscle and armor drive the wind from Eldar'o Conodor's lungs, but he tenasciously hung on to the neck of the Slaver.

Agony ran through Eldar'o's body, as the Slaver drove an armored elbow into his ribs so hard that one of them cracked with the strain. Eldar'o suddenly knew he had bitten off more then he could chew. He prayed to God that he would send Eldar'o an angel of the people, someone to help him.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Mosi too had heard of the merciless attack on the homesteads. The message was in the form of a runner, a small boy whom she recalled as Jovin, who happened upon her as she was preparing to leave her home. The breathless boy, paused and leaned over to rest his hands on his knees as he took deep, relaxing breaths as he was being trained to do. Mosi stood, regarding him quietly, until he straightened. Jovin quickly explained the attack and its location, and told her the elders were seeking Ambushers to rescue the hostages, and send a message to the Slavers.

She nodded after listening to the entirety of the message, so no mistakes could be made as to its purpose. "I will join the hunting party. Go down the way and continue spreading the message. I'll strike out now." The boy smiled and nodded, before running off down the lane. Mosi, hastily entered her home and tugged her hand-crafted gilly suit of draping swaths of cloth, leaves, and twigs over her clothing. She grabbed her Atlatl and quiver of javelins as she rushed out the door and began running towards the location of the attack.

Years of intensive training served its purpose as she traversed several miles at a near dead run in scantly an hour. It was simple for her to do so. She had no fear of Slavers being in the area as rarely was there more than one hunting party. For that reason, she did not take normal precautions while running, and stuck to the beaten path. Upon arrival at dusk, she saw others of the People familiar to her had gathered. They saw her as she ran towards them and both she and they rose their empty hands towards each other, in the form of ritual greeting, as she closed the distance between them. She stopped a short distance from them, dropped her hands, and bowed her head formally as she observed Chua Cheveyo, a well respected elder, was among them. Cheveyo did not smile, though usually he would have, because of the gravity of the situation, but instead simple addressed her.

"Alsoomse Mosi. Slavers have attacked this sorry place. Some of the People are lost to us, but others were taken. The Slavers have started their trek back to their lands with these People. I task you with returning the People to us, and sending a message to all Slavers, by feeding their blood to the world's floor."

She kept her head bowed respectfully while listening, and then nodded slightly as he finished speaking to show she had heard. She responded ritualistically, and as the occasion called for when an elder gave a task, "It will be as you say, lest I am lost trying." She straightened her head, observing the smiling eyes of Cheveyo, which filled her with great pride, though she did not show it to the People. She raised the hood of her gilly suit over her head and raised the built in scarf over her features, so only her dark eyes were visible in the mass of leaves. She saw the tracks her quarry had left for her to follow, and proceeded after them at a slow trot. She heard Cheveyo call out, "Mosi! Be aware the person Eldar'o has traveled before you."

She did not acknowledge Cheveyo, as her attention was now where it should be, but it did give her reason to pick up her pace. She felt better that Eldar'o was on the hunt as well. He was her best friend, and a solid man. They had grown up together; playing as children, had struggled and supported each other through arduous training, and bled together in battle. He was the one who would never fail her, just as she would never fail him. She picked the path easily, even as darkness descended. Eldar'o had laid path markers for any following People to see, and it helped tremendously with fast travel.

She stopped running and dropped silently as she heard the distinctive twang she recognized as Eldar'o's bow. She lifted her head slowly and began searching the area for him. She inwardly smiled knowing the likelihood of actually spotting an Ambusher who does not want to be seen was a futile task, but it was in her instinct to try. She of course failed to see him, so began a slow creeping crawl forward. She descried the ambient glow of firelight in the near distance, and was going to travel in that direction, before she heard a tremendous crash of metal and flesh not far from her.

She chanced a look in that direction and saw the red-armored Slaver and Eldar'o struggling on the ground. She took a practiced second to observe her enemy, and saw the immediate effective attack that would free Eldar'o. She hopped soundlessly to her feet, drew her two tomahawks out from underneath her gilly suit and rushed at the Slaver. She dropped her shoulder as she came within striking distance, having noticed the man's intimidating head gear provided for blinding his peripheral vision, and bowled bodily into the armored figure from his side. The two rolled together off of Eldar'o, and Mosi used the advantage of being without armor of her own to quickly disengage herself from the man and roll onto her feet ready to defend herself from him.

She faced her enemy with a tomahawk in each hand, and ready for anything he may be foolish enough to choose to do. Her senses were hyper alert as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, and allowed her ample time to react to another player entering the game. It came in the form of an alerted Slaver from the camp, who came running at her from behind with a battle cry and raised club. She turned to face the rushing attacker, while trusting Eldar'o had her back. She watched her attacker rush her, and lifted her foot and slammed it into the Slaver's chest as he got within striking distance. It stopped his forward momentum completely, but did not knock him over. He swung his club at her head, and she easily pulled her face back from the blow. She stooped down, hooked his ankle with one of her tomahawks, and jerked his leg upwards as she stood. Her strength and his momentum lifted him bodily off the ground. She delivered a viscious downward blow to the man's chest with her other tomahawk even before he began to fall from her lift. He slammed into the ground, as much due to gravity as her savage blow, and laid motionless and gasping as the gaping wound in his chest began to gush blood out.

She was going to return her attention to the red armored Slaver, when she caught movement of another Slaver rushing in to attack. He ran at her, while driving a spear towards her torso. She lifted her arms, dodging to the right as the spear sank into her gilly suit. She snapped her arm down on the spear, trapping it, and spun in place, using the Slaver's spear shaft to push him off balance. He released the spear and tried to regain his balance as he stumbled a few feet away from her. She lifted her left hand, and with a mastered toss, flung the tomahawk at the man. It whistled as it spun through the air, before embedding itself between his shoulder blades and severing his spinal column. She did not bother to watch him sink to the ground, trying unsuccessfully to claw the tomahawk from his back

She turned to face Eldar'o and the red armored Slaver. She shifted her remaining tomahawk to her left hand, lifted her right arm slightly, and caught the captured spear with her right hand as it became unpinned. She spun the shaft around in her hand so the blade of the spear was pointed towards the man.

 

[DeletedUser]

Name: Holly Prescott

Age: 20

Physical Description: Very fair skin with a spatter of freckles generously across her cheeks, nose, and shoulders with very long very light brown hair that is usually held up in a braid. Though she grew up in a family of farmers, and is technically one herself, she’s more of a harvester if anything, and thus only stands at 5’4” and weighs in only at 115. She has very pale blue eyes, and is sometimes even mistaken for someone that is blind when any sort of light hits them in a certain way.

Personality: Though her appearance can be so faded that it is often mistaken for sickly, Holly is anything but tame and unexciting. She is generally very hyper and is actually quite adventurous for someone who has a hard time lifting a heavy basket full of freshly picked corn and is always doing something some where. She often feels like she should be out experiencing the world to some sort of extent, but has no real means to do so.

Faction: Cold Cape

Weapons: Just one GP100, which she has only shot five times when her father showed her how to use it in case of an emergency.

Class: Farmer

Class/Faction Type format test: Hope has no doubts that there is more to the world other than what she experiences daily.



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was only about an hour into her work that Holly found her self swatting stray baby hairs, that were not long enough yet to fit in her already massive braid, away from her fore head, which had adopted a thin sheen of sweat already. This was average along with exertion the girl was already feeling when she was in the field, but refused to acknowledge it, knowing that in doing so, it would only make it worse. Her eyes wandered to her older sister, Rosy, who was probably only an inch or so taller then her, but filled out a lot nicer with hard muscles that Holly could only dream about having one day. The girl noticed her sisters gaze after a moment and gave a knowing nod (having seen Holly in this dreamy state before) before saying, "You'll grow into it one day Holls, and even if you don't, you always have me and Matt to take care of you!" over in the direction of Mathew, her older brother that towered over her at six feet even.

With a sigh, which was dramatic enough to earn an eye roll from Rosy, Holly said, "That's no fair on you guys though, I'm just a burden in already burdening times!" picking the last piece of corn that would fit in her basket. It was actually perfect timing that she had to get up and make her way back to where they stored the harvested food with her basket full, so the conversation couldn't continue. Her only really physical talent was that she was a little quicker than others, though not enough to be special any where else but with her family, so she made her way quickly enough, that is she walked at a leisurely pace back, she wouldn't get in trouble. This was the same routine, day in and day out, Monday through Friday, like it had been since she was fifteen, and even still her sister could pick three whole baskets in the time that it took her to pick one.

No one could really understand what was wrong, but they didn't really mind, finding Holly's weakness a novelty in a bunch farmers who made a living by strong. Holly was the only one that minded, and unfortunately for he sister and brother that was the only person it mattered if they cared. When her parents had been alive, her mother used to tell her stories of how she ran away from her family in Mist Terrace to live with her father here out in Cape Cold, and not regretting a moment of leaving behind the lavish life. Her mother had been just as small and weak, but after a while of working to make a home with her husband, Holly's father, she grew tougher and looked more like Rosy did now by the time the boar had attacked and killed them. She shook the sad thought away, and went back to where she had left off harvesting starting the cycle back up again.




[{-Physically aching, knowing that I can't use C.Gothic as a font in the role play- lmao, two days later. Any way, do you think Slavers would be able to get people from the farms of Cold Cape, or are they to protected.}]

 

[DeletedUser]

Kolar walked on the path that, if his memory was correct, would take him to his destination. He had parted from the camp of Slavers that had landed on the mainland early that day. The party, instead of going for the high-value targets inland, had attacked a small fishing village. They had taken some prisoners, but their loot did not satisfy him.

Hearing commotion behind him, he looked back, and by the distant light of the campfires, could make out two figures engaging in melee combat. "Looks like an Outcast picked a fight with the wrong guy", he thought, when he noticed the distinctive red armor of Gerlan, an elite raider. Just as it seemed that the Outcast had met his fate, a female Outcast joined him, and wounded two of his fellow Slavers. Surely, he couldn't let his brotherhood take priority over a simple business tactic.

He sprinted back to the camp as fast as his armor would allow him, and he entered the fray with his AK-47 blazing. When his clip was emptied, he did not bother to reload, and decided, instead slinging it over his shoulder and drawing his machete in one hand and his Glock 17 in the other. He slashed furiously at the female with his machete, tearing her fur-and-hide garments and hopefully drawing blood, while firing on the male with his Glock. When he was done with his initial attack, he adopted a defensive stance. Indeed, the Outcasts were the only race he had any respect for, and only intended to kill them if they left him no choice. He felt secure in his stance, knowing that his armor could deflect virtually any non-firearm weapon, to some degree.

 

[DeletedUser]

Frankie looked at his right fist, as the shopkeepers daughter stood next to him, explaining how to effectively use a home-meat grinder. He couldn't hear a word she was saying, he was paying too much attention to the loose skin on his fist, the fight the other night had taken it out of him. He didn't expect himself to be such an angry drunk, but the night before, he had taken a fight to the alley with an overprivileged rich boy, giving him a shiner and runing through his wallet for some cash, but he had skinned his fist on the mans tooth in the process. He was worried about contracting a disease or something, but everyone knew rich people could afford health care, so he was in the clear. Besides, he himself had a bit of wealth amassed from swindiling, so he was pretty well off.

The young daughter of the shopkeeper turned to him, she looked 19, but he wasn't sure. "And when you turn this lever, the meat will be threaded through the holes, and then it will go out and into your plate, and stuff." She said, obviously new to the job. She had a pretty face, but obviously didn't know all that much about how to operate the things around the shop. She anticipated his next words in awe, her pretty silvery eyes starstruck as she deep inside prayed that she wasn't making any mistakes at her work. The meat grinder was a hunk of junk, but he needed something to grind his meat with, and although the thing was worth 6 golden coins, he wanted to negotiate.

"Tell you what, you're a pretty young girl, let's make it 5, and I'll throw one in just for you." He said, winking, as he advanced his hand to stroke back her long locks of hair. His advance was unwanted. She slapped at his hand and backed a foot away.

"No mister my father has someone arranged for me to marry. I can't." She said, looking down and away. "Just pay 5 coins, I don't care."

"I didn't say I wanted to marry you." Frankie chuckled, staring her deeply in the eyes, giving the most sincere look that he could muster. "I just wanted a discount, for future reference for you, if you know what I mean." He smiled, jerking an eyebrow as he did so.

"I... I guess I get what you mean." She said, her voice shy and fogiving. "I can do 4 coins, if you can help me, get a differnet job. I don't like working for my father, he is mean and cruel, I just want to leave Truss, explore the world, maybe go to Elsa..." She said, her voice soft and sincere.

Frankie nodded, and began to talk quietly, "Good, good, yeah, Truss isn't a good place to be, I mean, I could take you back to Main, get you a nice house..."

The young girl interupted, "No, no, I'm not interested in that. I just want to make a good living." Frankie simply smiled, and he looked at the machine. It was an utterly useless device in his opinion, a hand-crank used to grind up and spit out the meat, barbaric enough to be something used by the Outcasts, but Truss was cheap.

"Yeah, I'll buy it." He said, pulling four golden coins from his pocket and raising up her hand to gently lay them each individually. She simply smiled, and released the Meat grinder into his grip.

"Take care." He smiled, as he turned for the door, the girl just stood silently, watching him leave. For a minute, he walked with little to no expression except for a dull smile, barely showing. After he felt he was a good distance away from the shop, he let himself into a deep grin, and he chuckled, looking at the machine. It was at least 12 pounds, but at least he had gotten a good deal on it.

 

[DeletedUser]

As Eldar'o's vision began to blur from the tremendous weight pressing down onto his cracked rib and the air being drove from his lungs, God answered his prayer in the form of Alsoomse Mosi, his dearest friend. She came form the side, using the Slaver's invoncible armor as a weakness, threw her full weight into the Red armored Slaver, causing him to fall over. She rolled her lithe body out of his grasp immediatly and Eldar'o couldn't help but notice the grace in which she moved.

Struggling to his feet, Eldar'o reached down and pulled his sword from where it had fallen from his grasp. Using the hilt like a hammer, Eldar'o smashed it into his cracked rib, his vision momentarily clouded, but when he blinked his eyes, they were clear and he was numb to the pain in his rib.

His friend turned and struck down a pair of oncoming Slavers, putting her back to the Red Armored enemy, who reached down to his belt for a hatchet. Knowing that Mosi would die in just under 30 seconds, if he didn't do something, Eldar'o threw himself at the slaver once again only this time, he went in loud. He hacked down at the Slaver's knee from behind. The force of the blow caused the Red Armored Slaver's knee to give backwards and cause him to fall backwards, sprawling out onto the ground. It was sheer instinct that made Eldar'o step backwards, as the Slaver's hatchet zipped past his face, close enough to cut a loose lock of Eldar'o's rusty hair.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Eldar'o flipped the tiny Mechanism that split his blade in two. The pommel was cut vertically in half, as was the blade, and soared upwards, rolling smoothly in the air, until Eldar'o reached up and snatched it. A stab towards the Slaver was easily turned away, by an armored gauntlet, as was the blow with his second sword. The slaver then countered, by pushing all his weight backwards, knocking into Eldar'o and forcing him back to the ground. Eldar'o used his backwards momentum to carry him through the fall and back to his feet, however his adversary used the same tactic and they were now facing each other.

Eldar'o's numbness would fade away soon, he knew, it was merely a trick to be played on your body when it didn't want to work, not a cure. He had heard of the warriors of the Outcast sustaining fve cracked ribs or more, gunshot wounds and stab wounds before going down, but that was not Eldar'o.

Eldar'o could see his friend, his dearest friend, maybe after their service was not needed, even more, she dispatched a second slaver and turned toward him, her captured spear held in her right hand, one of her war hawks held in her left. Then there was the distinct crack of a fully automatic rifle being used and bullets began to sing past his ears. He was stunned silent, as a second armored Slaver entered the fight, dropping his rifle to the dirt and pulling a machete from a scabbard at his hip. He slashed at Mosi, it caught in her Ghillie suit, but Eldar'o saw the crimson of blood on the blade.

"Mosi! No!" Eldar'o was enraged down to his very soul at that moment, she was about to die, his partner, his best friend, was going to take the last ride and he could only think of one thing to do.

Eldar'o kicked out, putting all of his anger, frustration and fear into the blow. The kick was delivered with such force and finality that the armored Slaver was thrown backwards off his feet. Reversing his second sword in his fist, he threw it with all of his strength, at the second Armored Slaver. He prayed she was alright, he prayed for her.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

Mosi observed the red armored Slaver and Eldar'o engaged in mortal combat. The red armored Slaver, had let his guard down in regard to her, and his back was exposed towards her. She was about to advance on him, when she heard yet another Slaver approaching from the camp. This one was shouting and raised some manner of firearm at her. Like a cat, she sprung forward, thrusting the spear with all her might into the back of the Slaver facing Eldar'o as she heard him cry out for help from her. A combination of her strength and the sturdy make of the spear tip, allowed her to rend through the armored plate and pierce the man's back. She held tightly onto the spear as the Slaver squealed like a stuck boar. The Slaver with the firearm closed in, and opened up with the weapon. Mosi, ran around the stuck Slaver, maintaining her grasp on the spear's shaft, and twisting him bodily to face the oncoming Slaver who pumped his friend full of rifle rounds.


She shoved the limp body toward Kolar attempting to buy time. The man responded by drawing a machete and swinging the blade at her. She tucked her waist back away from the swipe, and felt the blade tear through more of her ghillie suit, clothing, and honoring her abdomen with a horizontal skin-slicing kiss with its tip. She saw the Slaver raise another firearm at Eldar'o and fire several rounds at him, before he turned at an angle to defend himself from both of them. She ran at him, watched as he raised his firearm to fire and judged the draw of the trigger to occur as she dropped into a slide tackle towards his feet. At the same moment, she slid feet first at him she scooped a large amount of debris from the forest floor and hurled it up into the air. As the dirt, sticks and debris created a cloud of obscuring muck, the slam he expected to feel into his legs never came.

As the debris settled enough to see, Mosi was no longer where he had last seen her.

 

[DeletedUser]

As I walked down the unexplored, creature made path through the woods I heard a rustle. I ducked behind a bush and pulled out my war club. As I peeked through an opening in the the bush I saw something that amazed me. It was an escaped baby hog from a Cape Town farm. I had never ridden one myself before but all the best all and only the best warriors of the outcasts had them. It was a sign of being great a great warrior because you either had to steal one or hunt one down and tame it. I pulled out the balled headed part of my war club and went in for the KO. As I approached it, it tried to run but with a swift move I hit it on it's head and blocked it's path. At this point it became dazed, confused, and most of all angry. I took a quick step back before running as fast as I could at it's side. It being a baby I figured my speed, weight, and muscle combined would knock it over. I was half right. I managed to knock it over but as soon as it fell so did I be aide he managed to swing his feet out at me and trip me up. I went sprawling about 5 yards away. As he got up he approached me in a threatening manner. So I jumped up and climbed a tree. This maneuver confused him because I jumped over to the next tree before he had a chance to look up. When he thought I'd run off he started to walk into some underbrush to search for food. I jumped out of the tree and landed on it's back. It bucked and kicked but couldn't shake me. I started to direct him slowly towards camp the way he was acting I knew he'd need some serious training but I would make it work. Every time he tried to make a run for it in the wrong direction he got I hard hit to the head with the ball on my club. I knew everyone would be amazed when I rode into the village on this thing.

 

[DeletedUser13682]

"Now, I know that this is a dull assignment for somebody of your qualifications, but I'm stretched thin, right now. I need you to go, Eld." The militia captain, wearing what Americans pre-war would recognise as a Civil War pattern Union Army officer uniform, handed Roland the orders of the day. On the paper was a description of the job, a routine capture of a baby pig from a farm. Suspects included various Outcasts, who liked to steal the pigs and use them as mounts, and a few hunters who got too hungry for their own good. "Don't worry your little heart out sir," Roland said to his captain. "I'll wrangle up the pig and the thief." They exchanged salutes, and Roland walked out into the bright sun, donning his hat, and getting up on his deer. Through hard years of work, Roland was able to get this deer, a great mount, and able to defend itself better than a horse, and rode out toward the farms area. There, he got some information, not much though, but enough to get a lead.

After a little while of riding, Roland heard squealing, banging, and yelling. Suspecting this to be the stolen pig, Roland tied his deer to a nearby tree, and calmly walked over while tying his duster over his belts and bayonet, invisible to all but metal detectors, not that there were any in working condition. Roland slowly and calmly approached the area of the commotion, and saw a young outcast riding a baby pig, hitting its head with a club. "Hail stranger!" Roland yelled in the man's direction. "How'd you get that there pig? I'm curious, possibly looking for a pig myself. You can't ride nothing all the time."

 

[DeletedUser]

Half of Eldar'o's blade flew for the armored skull of the next Slaver, it bounced against his head, serving little more then to put the Slaver off balance. Far enough off balance for the injured Eldar'o to rush in with all of his weight and throw himself full force into him. They both fell to the ground, like a couple of bags of potatoes.

As she sought shelter, Eldar'o distracted the Slaver. His right hand still had the second half of his sword and he began to smash it into the helmeted head of the Slaver. For the first time in his life, Eldar'o let the anger wash over himself, only, unlike most whose anger vents, Eldar'o's merely grew with each smash into the Slaver's helmet. Eldar'o wrapped his left hand around the Slaver's neck and held it on the ground. It was not long until his voice was involved, he yelled obsenities at the top of his lungs at the Slaver, almost like a battlecry, for each smash only hit harder then the last.

This man violated his people, attacked a peaceful hamlet or human beings, merely trying to feed their families, and left many of them to rot, their bodies and souls scarred with outrageous torment. Some of the dead were so unrecognizeable it was impossible to distinguish their gender, there had been babies thrown against walls, young women raped.

Eldar'o hated this man, hated him with every inch of his being. He wanted to see the man's brains spread across the dirt of the forest floor.

 

[DeletedUser]

After lugging the large meat grinder for about 70 yards, Frankie came upon the door to his house, he simply stared at it, as if waiting for it to automatically open. When it didn't, he shook himself, and then gripped the knob and pushed open the door, the dim sunny lighting of the house pierced the empty space, revealing the floating debris and dust that streamed through the air, as he slammed the door shut behind him, he let out a deep sigh, and he lugged the meat grinding device over to his kitchen counter as he clapped it down on the table, wheezing from the hot air inside. His neighbor constantly burned a wood stove, keeping the housing block swealtering hot in the day, and he was getting fed up with it more and more as time passed. He walked over to the sink, turning on the faucet which began to run water across his hands, the slightly lime colored water producing a foul stench that could only mean one thing, someone had defecated in the purification plant once again, and the chemical despersants were doing their job poorly, again. He quickly fumbled his hands around on an old towel, tossing it to the floor as he took a pan from the cabinet, muttering obscenities as he slammed it down hard on his wood stove and began shoveling wood with his hands into the burning chamber, lighting a match and tossing it in as he slammed it shut, hard. He waited for several minutes as the wood inside slowly set into a slow blaze, and he ran his hand along the top of the stove, feeling the surface warming to the fire. Soon, the water began to bubble, and steam poured from the liquid in the pan. He turned around, looking at the front door, it was slightly opened.

 

[DeletedUser]

"Such anger", thought Kolar, after the remaining Outcast had pinned him to the ground, spouting profanity. "Does he not understand that if I wanted to kill him, I would have by now?"

Another Slaver, who heard the brawl, dashed onto the scene gave the Outcast a single, quick punch in the temple, almost knocking him out. With the time he bought, Kalor wrestled the Outcast off, and got to his feet. "Go warn the others!", he barked at his savior. "I'll hold him off." The other Slaver hurried off to comply. Picking his machete back up, Kalor took a few good slashes at the Outcast before going on the defensive again. It was then that he noticed that the female Outcast had vanished. He decided to focus on the task at hand, and defended himself from the Outcast's fury with his machete. "I've wounded him enough, but he still fights. If he continues this way, it will be the last mistake he ever makes", he thought.

 

[DeletedUser25825]

After Mosi had flung the debris into the air, she backed away and disappeared into the surrounding foliage through a combination of skill and her ghille suit. She turned, having no time to worry for Eldar'o. He was in a one on one fight, and should be more than capable at handling the foe. She moved hastily towards the Slaver camp. She saw another Slaver climbing from a dilapidated tent and look around for the source of the problem. She grabbed a coiled rope as the Slaver saw the fray, and began running towards it. She remained crouched in the shadow of another tent, pulling some of the rope loose, and looping it together in her hands. As the oblivious Slaver hurried passed, she tossed the loop out around his head, and jerked it taught as it settled around his throat. The Slaver gagged as he was stopped and struggled with the rope wrapped around his windpipe. Mosi stepped out, twisted around and slammed her back against him while pulling the rope more tautly against his throat. She jerked him over her shoulder while bending forward and used the rope as her only point of pulling leverage. A resounding crack as his neck broke let her know he would no longer be an issue.

She released the rope and tightened her grip on her tomahawk as she moved through the camp on stealthy feet. She lifted the covering of each tent as she moved passed them, and towards a quickly erected pen containing her People. She found no more Slavers as she advanced, and stopped at the gate. She nodded to the People and cut the bindings on the gate to the pen with one swipe of her tomahawk.

"Eldar'o needs our help. Grab whatever you can and follow." So saying, she turned and headed off towards Eldar'o and the remaining Slaver. She knew the People would listen to her. They might not be Raiders or Ambushers, but they were still The People. All People knew how to fight in some manner. She saw the Slaver and Eldar'o still standing and called out. When the Slaver was able to maneuver defensively to see her, he also saw that not only did he face two obvious Ambushers, they were now joined by six armed Outcasts.

Mosi lowered her center of gravity as she slunk forward like a cat towards the man. She spat out, "Leave this place now Slaver, and trouble the People no more. Tell the other scum you belong with what happens when you enter our territory."