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[Slothman400]

Chapter 1:

You slowly come-to. You feel your strange constraint and try to move. Agonizing pain shoots through you and you feel your bones scrape against eachother. As you wriggle, sand falls into your mouth. You struggle to rid your mouth of it and open your eyes. The light blinds you, but you can hear them.

"Gabe, storm's comin'."

"I know. Go get in the truck if you're scared."

Gabriel waits for Lod to get in the truck, before speaking directly to you.

"Why'd you do it? Don't answer that. I don't want to know. I just...I'm sorry, but this is what I do. This is how I feed my family. I don't enjoy this."

As your eyes adjust, you recognize your old friend's boots directly in front of your face. At this point you realize you're buried neck-deep in the sand-wastes, and every bone in your body has been broken.

1. What was your crime?

A. Possession of banned books.
B. Trading with an outsider.
C. Dueling within city-limits.

2. What is your next move?

A. Try to convince Gabe to let you go free.
B. Try to convince Gabe to give you a quick death.
C. Defiantly stare at Gabe.

[mastahcheese]

C
C

Challenge him to a duel.

[Cheesecake]

C
C

Challenge him to a duel.

+1

[Slothman400]

You did not agree with the policy on dueling. Your strict sense of honor would not let you take your grievances out into the wastes, as though they were something to be ashamed of. When you fought, you fought in the street. You were arrested quickly, but not before winning the duel.

You stare directly into his eyes, defiant. He tries to avoid returning your gaze as he gets in the truck.

"Come back here and fight me! I'll fight you with broken bones! I don't care!"

The men either don't hear you, or choose to ignore you. They begin to drive away. You notice dark shapes circling lower in the sky.

A vulture the size of a dog lands near you. He is joined by a few others. Their strange metallic cawing begins, and you struggle to be free of the sand again. They nibble at your hair and ears, backing away when you shake your head violently. One finally finds the courage to take a bite. Then another. And another.

Their sudden absence is a sweet release, until you hear the howl. It's not the howl of a coyote or dog. It continues whistling, lungless, mechanical. It's a sandstorm, coming to bury you.

What do you do?

A. Scream for help.
B. Scream profanities at God/the universe/fate.
C. Silently accept death.

[mastahcheese]

Don't be a sissy!

C, Stare Defiantly at the Sandstorm

[scapheap]

Don't be a sissy!

C, Stare Defiantly at the Sandstorm

Challenge it to a duel

[Slothman400]

You silently consider philosophical questions. Is there really a god? If so, why is so much injustice allowed to go on? If not, where did the universe come from? You don't get very deep into these questions before the storm is upon you. As the wind picks up sand around you, you consider death. You decide you have only one regret; the Elders will go unpunished for this slight. Your revulsion at this thought fuels your crippled body. You struggle with redoubled effort, as the sand begins to shift.

You get a shoulder free, then a whole arm. You try to drag yourself out with strangely contorted limbs. Finally, your legs slide out of the grave. You begin your crawl in pain and darkness.

After the storm lets up, you decide to pick a direction to crawl in.

Where are you going?

A. West, chasing the setting sun.
B. East, back toward your home.

(Northward lies only a poisonous sea. To the South, the wastes continue forever.)

[mastahcheese]

A, challenging the Sun to fight like a man.

[Harbingerjm]

A, challenging the Sun to fight like a man.

+1

[Slothman400]

You begin your crawl across the sand-wastes. The sun sluggishly flees. A small black dot appears out of the sun and slowly grows into a truck. Soon the truck eclipses the sun, and parks near you. Two men get out.

"The fuck is that?"

"Looks like a corpse. Fucking Canaanites throwing corpses all over the desert."

"Oh god, he's still alive!"

"What did they do to him?"

The duo look like Gabe and Lod, but their language is the filthy dialect of the outsiders. The large one also uses the outsider word for The Chosen. You wonder what you are now. An outsider? Ex-chosen? For now, you don't get the opportunity to introduce yourself. Your dry, cracking throat and pained moans aren't entirely conducive to speaking. The men lift you into the bed of the truck and keep driving. As the sun sets, you pass out.

You awake in a large tent. You're surrounded by the strange apparati of outsider-medicine. A bag overhead drips clear liquid directly into your arm. You try to get up, but you're tethered in place. Waking up in a strange location, unable to move, facing almost certain death, you find yourself back at square one. Well, dang.

A young woman comes into the room. She begins cleaning and attending the odd machines. She looks quite frightened. She might also know where you are...

What do you say?

A. "Where am I?"
B. "What's wrong?"
C. Nothing.

[Harbingerjm]

Enquire as to how we may go about challenging the truck to a duel.

[mastahcheese]

Enquire as to how we may go about challenging the truck to a duel.

We're already in a hospital.

Challenge the nurse to a duel.

[Parsely]

Challenge the nurse to a duel.