Chapter 1: The Beginning

Once, long ago humanity ruled the world. We were content in our dominance and stood mighty and sure in our power without a worry, sure that our power would never wane.

Things changed. Some say that it was nature's vengeance on an arrogant mankind. Others say it was the product of humanity's own hubris in playing god. What is known is that it was a plague, and that it was the beginning of the end of the world

The plague was widespread and extremely lethal. A many of the infected died quickly, in such great numbers that the disease was called the worst pandemic in human history. This alone would have brought society to the brink, but what truly delivered the killing blow was that the dead did not remain silent. Instead they mutated into beings not living but not dead, shambling corpses directed to seek out the living. Countless beyond number, every one killed by one of the dead joined their ranks, made worse as seemingly healthy individuals gave in to The Plague.

But this was not the most insidious factor of the disease. Many who were infected were left changed as it caused rampant mutations among the population. Most died screaming, riddled with cancerous growth only to reawaken as undead abominations that could barely be recognized as ever being human. The lucky, if they could be considered as such, survived... whole but changed beings no longer entirely human.

The Leaders of the world, driven by madness and fear turned their weapons first on the infected and then on each other. The world burned in nuclear fire while the dead walked the streets. It was Apocalypse. Society failed, culture broke down, and the World of Man gave way to the World of the Dead.

Humanity is reliant though. The hoards of the dead receded as decay and the effort of plague resistant survivors took their toll. Most of those left are found in the dark places, in states of tupor, waiting for the unwitting to disturb their restless slumber. The mutations have stabilized for the most part, giving birth of freakish new races and species unlike any during the Age of Man.

Tribes and villages, republic and counties have risen from the blasted ruins of what was once human society, living as mocking shadows, holding onto blasted glories of a dead civilization.

You are in one such place, a settlement on the outskirts of the County of Somerset. It is ruled by the Grandson of a National Guard Captain James Carlisle. After the collapse he was the highest ranking officer in the county, and once it became clear that there was no authority left to answer to, he declared himself monarch.

In practicality, he's little different than a raider, but the locals submit due both to historical inertia and the fact that there far are worse things out there then Lord Carlisle and his "Knights".

But at the moment, this doesn't matter to you. After many hard days of traveling, for whatever reason is your own, you have reached what passes for civilization and you have business to be done, whatever that might be...

Cid ambled into town with the midmorning dust, his desire for a cold drink, warm bath and a meal that isn't trail lizard only trumped by wanting to offload his take from the most recent trip through a nearby boneyard. While the results weren't phenomenally lucrative, the packs secured to the back of his mule - affectionately dubbed Eyesore - were still far from empty and he could certainly unload them for a pretty penny.

Actually, he thought remembering some of the particulars, he could likely marry business to pleasure in at least one case. He should be able to negotiate a decent price for at least one of the pre-war cookbooks and certainly the toaster oven - dinged up but in fine working order nonetheless - would go over more than well at any inn or tavern worthy of the name.

... still, first he'd have to find one. Maybe the gate guards would know? Didn't they usually get commission for sending customers to appropriate local businesses?

Trader Joe grunted as he smoked his cig, the haze of calm smoke and mild stimulants kept him awake as he led his horse up to the town gates. He vaguely tried to suss out the quirks of the place, as he mildly raked his brain for whatever rumors he heard of the place. It wasn't too big of a deal probably, or would it be?

"Salutations my man, where's the nearest place where one can purchase large amounts of libations and freely partake in games of chance?" Trader Joe asked to any gate guards.

Richard irritatedly scratched his shaved head as he walked into the settlement, while inclining it so that the sun would be blocked by his hood. The heat, any heat, brought out an annoying itching sensation upon his skin, but it was his head that suffered the most, especially if it sported even a small amount of hair. That's why he usually shaved it often and as close to the skin as possible.

Shaking himself out of his irritation, Richard began looking around, searching for the bazar or whatever trading space that was in this settlement. First things first, he wanted to buy some ammo for his handgun. Having just six shots, did not sit well with him. He had to have at least one full reload.

After that, he'd look for an relatively cheap inn where he could book a room for the night, and spend the rest of the day going through the town asking around about his biological parents, though he doubted he'd get anything on them. Still, Dwight managed to get a few scraps without leaving his home, so Richard held some optimism that he would be able to find something out.

'Okay, I have to find out what is the name of this place is. I can't just keep thinking of it as a nameless "settlement" and such.' Richard thought to himself.

Robert Svensson rode into town, his black beard beginning to itch as he scratched at his thick neck with fingers as thick around as old world cigars. He knew he should shave but a lack of pressing need and personal desire kept the razor and shears from his face for the time being.

He was riding into town in an ox-drawn cart to sell off the wheels of cheese his family's farm had produced after paying Lord Carlise's dues along with a pair of steers that the ranch didn't need. He was also feeling slightly apprehensive as well as his mother had been telling him it was about high-time he found himself a girl to bring home to the ranch, and as the farm only had his extended family members, his best bet was in town, though to be honest he didn't have a clue where to start, he knew cattle not women. For the moment though he guided the oxen to the market to meet with his family's contact for selling off their extra goods, maybe the contact could give him an idea as were to start.

Rieverre wrote:Cid ambled into town with the midmorning dust, his desire for a cold drink, warm bath and a meal that isn't trail lizard only trumped by wanting to offload his take from the most recent trip through a nearby boneyard. While the results weren't phenomenally lucrative, the packs secured to the back of his mule - affectionately dubbed Eyesore - were still far from empty and he could certainly unload them for a pretty penny.

Actually, he thought remembering some of the particulars, he could likely marry business to pleasure in at least one case. He should be able to negotiate a decent price for at least one of the pre-war cookbooks and certainly the toaster oven - dinged up but in fine working order nonetheless - would go over more than well at any inn or tavern worthy of the name.

... still, first he'd have to find one. Maybe the gate guards would know? Didn't they usually get commission for sending customers to appropriate local businesses?

The wall of the town was a wooden palisade, maybe 12 feet in height, roughly reenforced with the shattered remains of prewar buildings, with broken cinder blocks and crumbling bricks roughtly slathered in low quality mortar.

The gates were heavy and rough, made of heavy timbers covered in plate steel. They were currently open, and by their side sat a small covered stand occupied by a pair of men in roughly made uniforms, a crude insignia of a yellow star on a green background identifying them as the men at arms of the local "Lord".

"Alright then..." he looked up. "Unless you got papers, that'll be a one coin entry toll for you and your animal... you got any goods ta declare?"

Passerby wrote:Trader Joe grunted as he smoked his cig, the haze of calm smoke and mild stimulants kept him awake as he led his horse up to the town gates. He vaguely tried to suss out the quirks of the place, as he mildly raked his brain for whatever rumors he heard of the place. It wasn't too big of a deal probably, or would it be?

"Salutations my man, where's the nearest place where one can purchase large amounts of libations and freely partake in games of chance?" Trader Joe asked to any gate guards.

The wall of the town was a wooden palisade, maybe 12 feet in height, roughly reenforced with the shattered remains of prewar buildings, with broken cinder blocks and crumbling bricks roughtly slathered in low quality mortar.

The gates were heavy and rough, made of heavy timbers covered in plate steel. They were currently open, and by their side sat a small covered stand occupied by a pair of men in roughly made uniforms, a crude insignia of a yellow star on a green background identifying them as the men at arms of the local "Lord".

Before you you see one of the guards chatting with another man, while another looks over to you. "Depends on the kind of inn you're lookin' for, friend..." he laughs, "Alright. Show me your papers or it'll be a one silver toll for you and the beast. Anything to declare?"

RTM wrote:Richard irritatedly scratched his shaved head as he walked into the settlement, while inclining it so that the sun would be blocked by his hood. The heat, any heat, brought out an annoying itching sensation upon his skin, but it was his head that suffered the most, especially if it sported even a small amount of hair. That's why he usually shaved it often and as close to the skin as possible.

Shaking himself out of his irritation, Richard began looking around, searching for the bazar or whatever trading space that was in this settlement. First things first, he wanted to buy some ammo for his handgun. Having just six shots, did not sit well with him. He had to have at least one full reload.

After that, he'd look for an relatively cheap inn where he could book a room for the night, and spend the rest of the day going through the town asking around about his biological parents, though he doubted he'd get anything on them. Still, Dwight managed to get a few scraps without leaving his home, so Richard held some optimism that he would be able to find something out.

'Okay, I have to find out what is the name of this place is. I can't just keep thinking of it as a nameless "settlement" and such.' Richard thought to himself.

OOC Heh. I see what you did there.

Alright, make a savvy check.

And thankfully your toll was paid for by the Caravan boss.

Brian Boru wrote:Robert Svensson rode into town, his black beard beginning to itch as he scratched at his thick neck with fingers as thick around as old world cigars.  He knew he should shave but a lack of pressing need and personal desire kept the razor and shears from his face for the time being.

He was riding into town in an ox-drawn cart to sell off the wheels of cheese his family's farm had produced after paying Lord Carlise's dues along with a pair of steers that the ranch didn't need.  He was also feeling slightly apprehensive as well as his mother had been telling him it was about high-time he found himself a girl to bring home to the ranch, and as the farm only had his extended family members, his best bet was in town, though to be honest he didn't have a clue where to start, he knew cattle not women.  For the moment though he guided the oxen to the market to meet with his family's contact for selling off their extra goods, maybe the contact could give him an idea as were to start.

"Hold on there!"

Robert heard a cry from on high. While the two toll guards were busy with others, the tower guard was still keeping watch.

"Present yourself properly!"

Note: Please add "Travel Papers" to your inventory.

Psyckosama wrote:Alright, make a savvy check.

Here you go.

EDITH: Appeal is 2, Savvy is 3.

The member 'RTM' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'd6' : 5, 4

Psyckosama wrote:"Hold on there!"

Robert heard a cry from on high. While the two toll guards were busy with others, the tower guard was still keeping watch.

"Present yourself properly!"

Note: Please add "Travel Papers" to your inventory.

Blushing in embaressment I pull on the reigns and bring the oxen to a stop. "Sorry 'bout that. Don't go t' town all that of'en. Robert Svensson of Svensson ranch here to sell cheese wheels and a pair of steers. Here's m' papers."

I then pull out the papers to show them. Or at least I hope they're papers, can't really read so might be just meaningless scribbles.

Psyckosama wrote:"Alright then..." he looked up. "Unless you got papers, that'll be a one coin entry toll for you and your animal... you got any goods ta declare?"

Cid started to say something, but the world would never know what shining pearl of wit and wisdom he would have offered. Instead, it would bear witness to a prodigious yawn.

"Ugh," the scavenger grunted, blearily. "Apologies my good man. I've been on the road for a little bit."

He plucked a travel coin from somewhere inside his coat and flicked the silver disk at the guardsman, or whatever it was they called themselves here.

"I've a number of things with me. I've passed though a boneyard recently and then heard this would be a good place to go if'n you wanted to sell some items of interest. You're free to inspect them of course."

He probably could have made something up, but he'd really been on the road for a while and wasn't really in the right mood for playing pretend. That aside, contacts and a decent first impression were sometimes as important as the quality of your wares, or so he'd heard at one juncture or another.

"I'd be most obliged if you could direct me to an inn. I'd love to knock some of this dust off before seeing about doing business."

RTM wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:Alright, make a savvy check.

Here you go.

EDITH: Appeal is 2, Savvy is 3.

You're quickly pointed towards a shop owned called "Big Brass Bill's"

It's a small, old store front.

Inside you see a reloading machine, bins of empty brass, bins of loaded brass, several molds, and other tools of the re-loader's trade.

A bell rings as the door opens and a middle aged man with a pronounced gut stands up from the reloading bench and walks to the front. "Can I help you?"

Brian Boru wrote:Blushing in embaressment I pull on the reigns and bring the oxen to a stop. "Sorry 'bout that. Don't go t' town all that of'en. Robert Svensson of Svensson ranch here to sell cheese wheels and a pair of steers. Here's m' papers."

I then pull out the papers to show them. Or at least I hope they're papers, can't really read so might be just meaningless scribbles.

He takes them, looks over them for a moment, then nods and you're waved through.

Rieverre wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:"Alright then..." he looked up. "Unless you got papers, that'll be a one coin entry toll for you and your animal... you got any goods ta declare?"

Cid started to say something, but the world would never know what shining pearl of wit and wisdom he would have offered. Instead, it would bear witness to a prodigious yawn.

"Ugh," the scavenger grunted, blearily. "Apologies my good man. I've been on the road for a little bit."

He plucked a travel coin from somewhere inside his coat and flicked the silver disk at the guardsman, or whatever it was they called themselves here.

"I've a number of things with me. I've passed though a boneyard recently and then heard this would be a good place to go if'n you wanted to sell some items of interest. You're free to inspect them of course."

He probably could have made something up, but he'd really been on the road for a while and wasn't really in the right mood for playing pretend. That aside, contacts and a decent first impression were sometimes as important as the quality of your wares, or so he'd heard at one juncture or another.

"I'd be most obliged if you could direct me to an inn. I'd love to knock some of this dust off before seeing about doing business."

He looks over it for a long moment and then nods, takes your coin, and pulls out a piece of paper.

"Right then, I need your name..."

Psyckosama wrote:He looks over it for a long moment and then nods, takes your coin, and pulls out a piece of paper.

"Right then, I need your name..."

"Cid Raglan's the name. Purveyor of lost treasures ... for a given value of lost and treasure."

Psyckosama wrote:You're quickly pointed towards a shop owned called "Big Brass Bill's"

It's a small, old store front.

Inside you see a reloading machine, bins of empty brass, bins of loaded brass, several molds, and other tools of the re-loader's trade.

A bell rings as the door opens and a middle aged man with a pronounced gut stands up from the reloading bench and walks to the front. "Can I help you?"

As Richard walks into the store and out of the sun, he flips off the hood so he could talk to the shopkeeper face to face and not from under the hood, that and it would cool him down too. "I'm looking for ammo for a revolver-" Richard rattles of the caliber of the rounds his handgun. And after that, would come bargaining, or not if Bill (assuming this was Bill) had a fixed price for his products and such.

Rieverre wrote:
"Cid Raglan's the name. Purveyor of lost treasures ... for a given value of lost and treasure."

He lazly writes it down before jotting it into a log book along with the time and date, then fills out the form and hands it to you.

It's a mimeographed form noting down that you're paid for access for the week.

It also notes that the punishment for counter fitting this form is death by decapitation.

Taxes are a serious thing.

RTM wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:You're quickly pointed towards a shop owned called "Big Brass Bill's"

It's a small, old store front.

Inside you see a reloading machine, bins of empty brass, bins of loaded brass, several molds, and other tools of the re-loader's trade.

A bell rings as the door opens and a middle aged man with a pronounced gut stands up from the reloading bench and walks to the front. "Can I help you?"

As Richard walks into the store and out of the sun, he flips off the hood so he could talk to the shopkeeper face to face and not from under the hood, that and it would cool him down too. "I'm looking for ammo for a revolver-" Richard rattles of the caliber of the rounds his handgun. And after that, would come bargaining, or not if Bill (assuming this was Bill) had a fixed price for his products and such.

"How many rounds you looking for?"

And... Persuade + Appeal!

Psyckosama wrote:"How many rounds you looking for?"

"At least one or two full reloads, six-twelve rounds."

Psyckosama wrote:And... Persuade + Appeal!

Rolling. Persuade is 2, Appeal is 2.

The member 'RTM' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'd6' : 1, 4

Psyckosama wrote:He lazly writes it down before jotting it into a log book along with the time and date, then fills out the form and hands it to you.

It's a mimeographed form noting down that you're paid for access for the week.

It also notes that the punishment for counter fitting this form is death by decapitation.

Taxes are a serious thing.

That they are. In any case, can he direct me to an inn? Preferably one that might actually be in a position to purchase some of my wares.

Psyckosama wrote:The wall of the town was a wooden palisade, maybe 12 feet in height, roughly reenforced with the shattered remains of prewar buildings, with broken cinder blocks and crumbling bricks roughtly slathered in low quality mortar.

The gates were heavy and rough, made of heavy timbers covered in plate steel. They were currently open, and by their side sat a small covered stand occupied by a pair of men in roughly made uniforms, a crude insignia of a yellow star on a green background identifying them as the men at arms of the local "Lord".

Before you you see one of the guards chatting with another man, while another looks over to you. "Depends on the kind of inn you're lookin' for, friend..." he laughs, "Alright. Show me your papers or it'll be a one silver toll for you and the beast. Anything to declare?"

"Got my magnum, got Bob here, got my tools. Besides that and some ganja from up north somewhere, I got nothing. On my last smoke too. Got to find work, restock the wares my good man." Trader Joe slurred some what understandably as he chomped on a cigarette holder. He flipped the guard a coin.

"Now about those libations, and possibly those games of chance...where do you go? What's your favorite place in this nice place you got here? Been a while since I had a good whiskey. Whiskey happens around here, yeah? Been places where there's still whiskey." Trader Joe wavered for a moment, the noodle like scrawny guy in his Hawaiian shirt and hat smiled, his teeth somewhat straight and white.

"Rolling to make a good impression"
Appeal 3
Persuade 4

Rieverre wrote:That they are. In any case, can he direct me to an inn? Preferably one that might actually be in a position to purchase some of my wares.

You didn't ask.

Passerby wrote:"Got my magnum, got Bob here, got my tools. Besides that and some ganja from up north somewhere, I got nothing. On my last smoke too. Got to find work, restock the wares my good man." Trader Joe slurred some what understandably as he chomped on a cigarette holder. He flipped the guard a coin.

The guard looks profoundly annoyed at being flipped the coin. "Show some respect or you'll be taught some."

"Now about those libations, and possibly those games of chance...where do you go? What's your favorite place in this nice place you got here? Been a while since I had a good whiskey. Whiskey happens around here, yeah? Been places where there's still whiskey." Trader Joe wavered for a moment, the noodle like scrawny guy in his Hawaiian shirt and hat smiled, his teeth somewhat straight and white.

"Depends, what do you want with your whiskey?"

OOC Whiskey and various booze are still very common.

[quote]"Rolling to make a good impression"
Appeal 3
Persuade 4

You don't have to worry about that roll, you already failed to make one... and for christ sake man, choose a color that doesn't blend into a black background!

Psyckosama wrote:You didn't ask.

Um. No. I _did_.

https://giantstompyrobots.forumotion.com/t90-chapter-1-the-beginning#5376

"I'd be most obliged if you could direct me to an inn. I'd love to knock some of this dust off before seeing about doing business."

Rieverre wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:You didn't ask.

Um. No. I _did_.

https://giantstompyrobots.forumotion.com/t90-chapter-1-the-beginning#5376

"I'd be most obliged if you could direct me to an inn. I'd love to knock some of this dust off before seeing about doing business."

Sometimes people glaze over parts of what you say. When that happens, ask again.

RTM wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:"How many rounds you looking for?"

"At least one or two full reloads, six-twelve rounds."

"Hm. And what you offering to trade then?"

Psyckosama wrote:"Hm. And what you offering to trade then?"

"Trade Coins." Richard replied succinctly, making sure not to show his irritation at this short back and forth, that would have been rude of him and it could insult the shopkeeper. An offended shopkeeper could simply refuse to sell or drive up the price, which he really did not want to happen.

"Apologies, apologies, meant nothing by it good man. Just looking for good times, good times is all. Filled with games and company." Trader Joe mumbled as he hastily nodded to the guard. He took a long drag off his cig.

RTM wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:"Hm. And what you offering to trade then?"

"Trade Coins." Richard replied succinctly, making sure not to show his irritation at this short back and forth, that would have been rude of him and it could insult the shopkeeper. An offended shopkeeper could simply refuse to sell or drive up the price, which he really did not want to happen.

He grunts and nods. "Got any spent brass?"

Psyckosama wrote:Sometimes people glaze over parts of what you say. When that happens, ask again.

"So, about that inn ..." Cid asks as he reads over what papers he's been issued. "Preferably one with a bath and decent grub?"

Passerby wrote:"Apologies, apologies, meant nothing by it good man. Just looking for good times, good times is all. Filled with games and company." Trader Joe mumbled as he hastily nodded to the guard. He took a long drag off his cig.

"Company, eh? That'll be Shaundi's..." he gives you some directions.

Rieverre wrote:

Psyckosama wrote:Sometimes people glaze over parts of what you say. When that happens, ask again.

"So, about that inn ..." Cid asks as he reads over what papers he's been issued. "Preferably one with a bath and decent grub?"

He chuckles at the mention of "Bath"

"Shaundi's... it's right by trader's square too."