Coffinstuffer
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 26, 2009 22:43:52 GMT -5
eeh... f**k it.
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 26, 2009 22:32:17 GMT -5
Hastings lay on the ground, grappling with the arrow lodged in his throat.
Blood cascaded from the wound in a sickening, arterial geyser.
He cursed once, then was still.
With his dying breath, he began to mutter a song.
'Calling out from Scatland... calling out from Scatman's World..'
As he expired, he exploded in a burst of flame, showering the commune with burnt and mutilated flesh.
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 23:34:11 GMT -5
DOUBLE POSTAN IN MY OWN THREAD
I've given Abbatoirs permission via IM to move the thread forward to morning (it was night previously; in hindsight, I should have made that more clear.)
A merchant caravan will be approaching - I'll make mention of what exactly is in store with them when next I post (or the time subsequent to that) but needless to say, ammo and weaponry will be among the items offered.
All I'm going to say is.. they might come in handy.
Also, I've decided to run with Crisp's brief mention of the 'Man with the Mulberry Scar' as a plot point, just because it sounds Poe-esque.
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Coffinstuffer
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 22:53:11 GMT -5
James watched the exchange between the sentries and the bearded newcomer in abject awe. This was the first and only time he had seen those guards speak in a pleasant tone in all retrievable memory. Ever since he'd tried to make the connection 'ME ENGLISH. ANGLIO. IN WORLD WAR TWO WE HELPED YOU POLISH BASTARDS. POLSKI? YEAH YOU, POLSKI, YOU'D HAVE BEEN ON STALIN AND HITLER'S DINNER PLATES IF IT WEREN'T FOR CHURCHILL'... well, they'd been nothing but sour towards; always leering, sizing him up, following him back to his shack.. the gall of some people. So ungrateful.
Towards the end of their ongoing discussion, he saw them motion rudely towards him - to which he waved and smiled warmly before addressing the bearded man with the deer.
'Hullo there, china' he began, extending a hand in greeting, 'Couldn't help but notice that you're able to communicate with these brusque Pollack ...peasant types. Do you happen to speak English? Maybe you could be my interpreter for a moment.'
He paused momentarily, shifting the musket from his shoulder to a more relaxed position across his chest, cradled and crossed between his arms before going on.
'The guards seem to like you - and they don't much like anyone, least of all me - so I'll take that as an endorsement of some distinction. Think you could get them to take a little better care of that pretty bird?'
He gestured with his head towards the woman.
'I think it might be prudent to see what she knows, where she's from, and maybe if there are any ulterior motives behind her little visit here.'
The Englishman smiled and waited, wishing for a moment that he hadn't decocked his musket - in the event that the guards had misread the man, well.. they might get him, but probably not before he had dealt with the most immediate armed threat - namely him.
Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard a harmonica blow softly.
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Coffinstuffer
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Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 15:14:21 GMT -5
James hesitantly removed his finger from the trigger guard as the pair in the dark departed.
'Well, if she's alright with Andrei,' he muttered to no one in particular, 'Then I guess she probably isn't a threat of any grave measure.'
After slowly returning the flintlock hammer to the 'safe' position and decocking the trigger, James swung his musketoon up and across his shoulders, letting it rest on the back of his neck. He turned to address Acton at last, preparing himself for an earful.
'Sorry about the misunderstanding there, chum - now what was it that you're looking all cross about?'
Before Acton could answer, a pair of young sentries - an emaciated and unconscious woman dragged between them - came clamouring towards him, yelling for help in some Slavic dialect.
Grimacing at he way they were manhandling the lass, he tried to calm them, speaking soothingly and slowly.
'Boys, boys - sorry, Acton, looks like it's going to have to wait again - Boys, please, c a l m d o w n. Quit dragging her feet like that, that's hardly any way to treat a lady...'
He broke off, realizing they were still gibbering over him in Hungarian or Polish or something,
'What we've got here,' he mused to himself, 'is a failure... to communicate.'
He motioned for them to drop her off in the expedient 'hospital' tent. He'd have to deal with her later.
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 13:42:43 GMT -5
Approved! Not at all what I expected, lul.
RP's getting packed now, thanks for joining.
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 13:15:52 GMT -5
If it's both larger (with a radius 2455 km greater than that of Earth) and presumably denser than Earth, (weighing 1.904x the Earth's mass), then why does it have only .76 of the earth's gravity?
I'd like to hear more about the sentient (and nonsentient) species though - fauna as well as flora if you've come that far along in it
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 20, 2009 2:02:54 GMT -5
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 19, 2009 15:20:04 GMT -5
Six quality posts in three hours.. not a bad start, guys By the way, in my latest post, the pair in the dark would be Kesh and Andrei - just thought I'd make that clear.
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Coffinstuffer
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 19, 2009 15:11:51 GMT -5
Heavy, booted footfalls resounded through the night, breaking the treeline and making towards the camp.
'Hello?'
There was no answer.
James' veins coursed with animalistic dread. This wasn't just his imagination, someone had actually penetrated the camp's perimiter. Where were the sentries!? He scrambled on all fours through the dirt and ash towards his musketoon, clutching it like a drowning man would grip a rescue ladder. In the flickering glow of the fire, he snapped back the weapon's flintlock with his thumb. The familliar, metallic 'clack' cooled his nerves and restored his confidence.
Another swig of Bulgarian brandy helped as well.
'Is someone there?' He called after gathering his composure.
Wild-eyed, James cupped an ear with one hand, trying to scry the darkness for further sounds of intrusion. After a moment of some heated inner deliberation, he opted to leave the safety of the fire, musket first, inching into the darkness at a low crouch.
A stirring from the rear drew his attention - in a heartbeat, James pivotted and trained his musket on the figure there - he hesitated for a moment, finger wrapped around the trigger, before recognizing the man as Acton, the Manxman. He didn't look happy, but it could probably wait.
There were others he'd rather have seen, but such as it was, he breathed a sigh of relief and motioned for Acton to follow him as he rounded the corner, aiming the muzzle of his weapon down the lane at a pair of forms in the dark.
'Who's there!? Identify yourselves!'
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 19, 2009 12:44:45 GMT -5
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
It can only be attributable to human error.
Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 19, 2009 12:30:52 GMT -5
OOC: No out-of-character discussion is to be made in this thread; you can find the character profiles/discussion thread HERE'Mr. Hastings, say us when bombs hit again, please.'James crossed his arms tight against his sides for warmth and took another sip of the local brew. 'Shoumensko Rakia', they called it; supposedly a light honey-brandy of some kind.. it was far too sweet for his liking, but it stuck to your insides and the Bulgarians at least had the decency to serve it to him hot, like a proper cup of English ale. He set the cup aside, cleared his throat and tucked his bony, calloused hands into the folds of the sweater he was wearing. Even now, the stupid woolen thing was unbearably itchy to wear - but it kept him warm, so it wasn't his place to complain. 'Tell us, you mean.' Undaunted, they corrected themselves and tried again. They must have heard this story a thousand times. 'Mr. Hastings, tell us when bombs hit again, please'He smiled wryly at the half-dozen children sitting at the fire opposite him. He had been teaching them English with the help of a bilingual Serbian guitarist for a number of months now. To their credit, they were determined, ambitious pupils studying a difficult subject under an unprofessional - They were learning quickly, and he was proud. He began, motioning for the Serb to strum along - a slow, sad and traditional tune on his balalaika - the closest eastern-european equivelant to the guitar. He almost felt an accordian wash should accompany the piece, but such as things were, it couldn't be helped. 'The skyline was beautiful on fire; all twisted metal stretching upwards, everything washed in a pale orange haze.
The streets were filled with the sounds of wounded steel; lurching and wrenching, the buildings tumbled in on themselves in agony.
The sewers were swamped with mud and tar, bubbling and cooking off of the pavement, oozing and smouldering downhill - and in the sky hung a most brilliant light, so blindingly, scaldinglybright that it seared your skin and eyes and you could not bear to be beneath it.
Airplanes fell from the clouds and crashed helpless to the countryside, and all the music and cars stopped at once.'He paused for effect. He'd have been genuinely surprised if they understood even a third of the words he had just used, but as always, they seemed to enjoy just hearing him speak so fluently and impassioned. The music and hand gestures probably added to it as well. 'My legs became weak with the shaking of the earth, and there I fell, right there in the street, onto something soft and moving.
The road was flowing like a river - with rats. Up from the gutters and out into the sunlight. I fell into them and they rushed over me like a waterfall, chittering and shrieking as they fled the burning sky.
And then they were gone, and I was left alone.
I squinted up through my fingers into the burning light that still consumed the sky, and out onto the horizon, where several titanic columns of smoke unfolded like gigantic flowers in deadly bloom.
And finally, a terrible shattering swept the landscape out... and left me in darkness.'The children stared at him in mortified silence, and he snorted to stop from laughing at their expense. In truth, if he had been close enough to witness such events as the ones he just described, he'd have been cooked from the inside by radiation long ago - but kids are kids, and all kids love a good horror story before bed. 'Gotta get my kicks somewhere...' he remarked quietly to the Serb as he ushered them back to their parents. He returned to the fireside and fixed himself another warm cup of shoumensko. A shadow, cast against the wall of a corrugated shanty hut, flickered past him. He tensed for a moment, eyes scanning the darkness, and reached blindly for his musketoon.
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Coffinstuffer
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Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 17, 2009 18:31:04 GMT -5
Name: Tyler Rosendale Age: 48 Height: 5'9'' Weight: 150lbs Occupation pre-apocalypse: Private Military Contractor (PMC) Current Weapons: Tyler is armed with a Springfield Armories M-1A, chambered for and loaded with .308 'Federal Premium' jacketed hollowpoint ammunition. Fitted in a JAE-100 ultralightweight close-quarter-battle stock with a no-zoom 35mm antiglare red dot sight and a rail-mounted tactical light, (as is standard for contractors in the employ of Ravenwood Tactical Solutions,) allowing him and his cohorts to 'just follow orders' anywhere from room-to-room fighting to engagements out to 400 meters. This heavy-caliber semiautomatic rifle is loaded with box-style 20-round magazines, of which Tyler carries 9, for a total of 180 rounds. Springfield XDm .357SIG Tom Brown 'Tracker' knife Skills: Tyler is and always has been a grunt - a tough, mean Missouri boy with a service record touching on every conflict the United States military has been in (and a few they haven't, officially), stretching back to the invasion of Panama. His only real skills are, first; his hard-nosed tenacity for staying alive, and second; his uncanny penchant for seeing to it that others are unable to say the same. These two traits are the ones that netted him a well-deserved position as the tip of the joint Federal Emergency Measures Agency(F.E.M.A.)/Center for Disease Control (C.D.C.) spear in the drive to contain the deadly and as-of-yet unexplained outbreak. Appearance: Tyler is a thickly bearded, short-haired man - a little on the stout side. As a member of Ravenwood Tactical Solutions, the private military firm called in by the C.D.C. and F.E.M.A. to neutralize the presence of infected hosts in the southern states, Tyler is clad in the latest and most modular, high-speed, low-drag combat gear available. Reflective amber lensed shooting glasses, Coyote-drab M.O.L.L.E. webbing vest and a level-II ceramic/kevlar ballistic plate are all he needs to get the job done. Personality: Tyler is cutthroat, tight-lipped, unlettered and cruel, a true 'soldier of fortune'. His only loyalty is to cash - and only insofar as it gets him a few more thrills till the next time around.
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Coffinstuffer
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 17, 2009 18:07:06 GMT -5
That was well worth the wait, thanks for joining.
Approved.
The RP will start on 09/19/09
Anyone who still wants to join after that can just let it be known here.
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Coffinstuffer
Novice
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Posts: 45
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Post by Coffinstuffer on Sept 17, 2009 12:25:03 GMT -5
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