TCM - Madeline
You lunge towards the driver, who only reacts quickly enough to look confused and stumble away, preventing you from getting behind him. You still manage to snag a wrist however and twist it until he cries out, allowing you to force him to his knees easily. You then press your pistol against the back of his head and look at the unfortunate guardsman, who has unjammed his shotgun by dropping it on the ground. He picks it up before you can take advantage of the opening however, and you simply continue threatening the driver in the hopes that the bungling bandit won't be willing to shoot you. The gamble works and the sentry stands rooted to the spot, terrified, the gun in his hands shaking as he does his best to keep it trained on you. He apparently didn't notice that your own weapon isn't functioning, and his eyes betray how truly inexperienced he is. P-p-please..l-let him go….he's n-n-not such a bad guy..n-n-not like the others.. He glances away momentarily before pulling his attention back to you, his arms still trembling and they struggle to keep the heavy shotgun pointed at you.
Caellath - Theodore
Don't play games with me Kitten! Come, defend yourself! He throws you his second bolo and lunges, unleashing a flurry of blows with his blade. You catch the sword and jump to your feet, deflecting each strike in turn with deft precision as you calmly retreat. You can feel his anger rising at his ineffective assault and he throws a particularly wild overhand blow at your right shoulder, which you stop cold by placing your off-hand on the flat of your blade and blocking. Your curved knives lock and he takes the opportunity to pull you in close and deliver a vicious head butt that sends you stumbling backwards. He follows up by falling into another relentless string of slashes that keeps you on your heels.
OREOSOME - Anna
You panic and, unable to think of anything else to say, deliver a hasty protest and beg them not to kill you. They all stop at once and you visibly sigh with relief, your horrible death having been delayed for a few moments. One of the men in front of you lowers his gun slightly, though he still keeps it in aimed in your direction, and speaks up. Yeah? Why? Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn't blow you away right this second. They all watch you carefully, and the man to your right adjusts his grip on the pistol nervously.
mesor - Jamos
You turn from the cliff and start walking. You should reach the bandit held town of Tor Lito within a few days. Luckily you've got enough water for the journey, but your food is running dangerously low. You'll be nearly starving by the time you reach the outskirts. IF you reach the outskirts.
Firelordsky - Hirt
You rush towards the still spewing bandit as he pulls the trigger over and over until he finally runs dry and lets the magazine drop to the ground, reaching blindly into his puke stained duster for a replacement. The few shots that actually come near you simply glance off your heavy chest armour, but still manage to throw you off balance and send you stumbling clumsily to the ground once more. You pull your head out of the sand just in time to see the driver slam a second clip home and yank the slide back on his pistol before levelling it towards you once more.
CrimsonEon - Yureig
You decide to take a walk until you can sober up. The streets are practically bursting with people and you need to shrug and squeeze your way through some of the tighter alleyways. Its nothing like your typical scrap-filled slum and the amount of life teeming from within its walls is actually quite jarring to those who are so used to the permeating stench and darkness of most 'cities'. The bright thoroughfare is bustling with farmers, doctors, nomads, craftsmen, merchants, and soldiers alike, all mingling and laughing and arguing and drinking and haggling. People from all walks of life flock to Voliton just to be a part of the night life, and you can't say you've been disappointed the last few days you've been here. Thoughts of the Swastian remove any semblance of enjoyment you might have been able to have while watching the countless performances and contests taking place around every corner, any chance you would have had to relax and simply disappear into the crowd. The attempts of the passing pedestrians to cheer you up only make it worse, and at one point you snap and send a well-meaning body artist hurtling into a young boy's stall, smashing it and the flowers it displayed to pieces and leaving the child sobbing over the clearly hand made affair. You shove your way angrily through the gawking crowd and find one of the quieter streets where the more serious merchants are busy persuading outsiders to purchase their goods. Only a few look up from their meetings as you noisily yank a small empty crate over to a short wall, sending a larger stack toppling to the ground, and plant yourself upon it. You sit quietly for a moment and pull the hood from your head, running a callous hand through your short-cropped hair. The Crimson Walker. Most have only heard rumours. You've seen it for yourself. A massive moving fortress that follows the rising sun. Its walls littered with the bodies of those it kills. Some are still screaming, all are mutilated beyond belief, their entrails strung across the metal and bolted into place. The terrible images flash through your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut, as if that will somehow prevent the rushing tide of remembrance and forgotten horror. You open your mouth and choke on air, trying not to scream. You gasp, taking a few deep breaths as the feeling subsides and place your head in your hands. You can't go back. You can't face it again.
Jatha - Makos
As you pull the clip from the receiver the rifle slips from your hand and falls. You wince as the weapon bounces noisily against an empty waste bin and clatters to the ground. The old man's hearing obviously isn't what it used to be and he only pauses to glance back at the workbench he was previously seated upon rather than running towards the door or searching around for the offending object or intruder. You clamber over to the wall covered in cargo netting while the geezer is distracted and clamber down noisily, kicking the sheet metal wall several times as you clumsily make your way down behind the man, who somehow STILL doesn't manage to figure out where the racket was coming from and doesn't even think to turn around. You finally reach the ground and duck behind a machine thats been partially covered with a tarpaulin and use the cover to observe the old man as he scratches his hairless scalp while holding a small can and staring up at the rafters.
Yoink - Tapras
You approach the merchants and look at the wares from over your fellows as they take turns haggling with the grizzled old traders over anything from silk armbands inlaid with fine crystals and shining gems to small, roughly hewn pouches containing powder that they claim to possess the ability to heal any wound or illness. The only knives you can spy are either too small to be useful or simply too expensive to be traded for reasonably. You ask one of younger men if they had heard any news of the Bandit Lord. Normally merchants are all too eager to spread word of the Bandit Lord's doings, but apparently this particular group hasn't seen any evidence of his raids lately. Rather curious in your opinion, but the man only expresses relief and gratitude at knowing that he might be busy elsewhere in the countryside. You walk back over and curiously watch several of your friends argue with a trader over the price of a tiny glass wisdom cube that reflects light in different patterns depending upon the beholder. They are said to predict the future, and although most people don't put stock in precognition, its still a commonly held belief that one who possesses such a cube will always be extraordinarily lucky in times of desperation.
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Topic: Wanderers: The Bandit Lord - Dead Game (Revival?) (Read 14660 times)