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Post by mamajumbo on Feb 3, 2014 12:26:49 GMT -5
Chapter 1: Baal's knights
Arthur looked at his cards with excitement, his eyes wide open were luring his prey to defeat "Let me guess" says Miguel with a light smile revealing the tip of his yellow teeth. "You have a very good hand and you wonder if I didn't catch the little spark coming from your eye, sorry but you should improve your pokerface. I 'm folding.
Miguel flips his cards over to show a 2 and a 7. This time Arthur looked at his friend in the eyes showing a very neutral facial expression. For a few seconds Miguel wondered why such transformation hapened on his opponent, as he observed the four cards on the steel board used as a table, he mentally combined what he got with them, two pairs, the remaining ones were a three and a king he then understood. "There was no danger for me right?" Arthur nodded while he turned his cards face up, it was a red king with a black queen "Putain de merde!" he yelled "Not this week again! I can't do let that happen again!" Arthur responded in a soft voice "You have 200 chips left, maybe you will get more luck next turn?" "Damn you, with your so called luck you are just lengthening my agony you twat!" "HALT DIE FRESSE! Shut the hell up we want to sleep back here!" the shout came from the room next to them, it was Reto. "Just empty the crap bucket whispers Arthur, putting an end to the game, don't wake the Alemannics again, now go." "Fiiiiiine"
Arthur followed his friend to the bathroom, dipping his hand in the dark room to find the button which turns the lights on. Above his head one of the three remaining neons flickers and illuminates a small bathroom with a sink that reflects the shadows of his visitors because of his importance, it is the only access to filtered tap water for the little outpost which is under Saint Theresa church. It is shining like a pearl since the small group started taking care of their precious fountain. From the mirror, Miguel can see the porcelain throne has been left in disgrace, the toilet is covered with stains of rust and unknown dirt, in a matter of priority, the small group was forced to save what they could drink by removing it and replace it with a big smelly and disgusting bucket. The only good thing that comes out of it is a cheap fertilizer used for the small crops on the furtest room. “Do you mind having the curtesy to bring my belongings?” Asks the unlucky player. “It will be my pleasure to be your squire for this quest my Lord” replies the winner in a sarcastic way. Arthur then handed him a gas mask and a flashlight. The condition of both these materials were questionable whether they would work in dire situations or not.
As the two friends approached the heavy concrete door leading to the outside world, a small but muscular man with a three day beard covering his face came to them with headphones around his neck, it was Dominic. “You're going outside?” He said with a light german accent, showing his urge to warn them “Don't hang out there too long, the army scouts reported some angels wandering in the bank in the corner of our street during their latest patrols. I seriously recommend you to stay at home tonight, drop that manure out there and come back at once, remember, you're nerds not soldiers.” the duo nodded, remembering the good old times of teenagehood, when the bunker was a basement for gaming, with a bookshelf offering role playing books, from Dungeons&Dragons to Polaris, friends would gather around to drive homemade adventures, separating themselves from their boring reality. But it all changed when the cold war's aftermath hit the good old nutritive crust that was this planet, now the abominations which they were fighting with dice rolls, rule their homes and feed of the survivors proud enough to crawl out of their bunkers.
“I guess we can stay inside for a couple more hours before emptying the trash, I have a bad feeling about this, it is very rare that the mutants cross this close to the settlements.” pointed Arthur. Willing to cheer his scared buddy, Miguel pats him on the shoulder “Dude, that's just a few meters, we toss the shit and go back without a single shot fired.” He then proceeds to grab Reto's Fass 90 leaning against the wall of the first door where Dom's quarters are, this chamber is surrounded by a large square of hanged documents, when Miguel took the rifle with his right hand, he followed the last text line from one of the papers with his left one, the black letters were recent imprints of a typewriter that Dominic uses to save the informations of the swiss army. “You're right Dom, we shouldn't start doing anything else outside, come on dude, let's not waste any more time, maybe there will be more of these disgusting mutants tomorrow.” Arthur took Miguel's advice, as his friend handed him the rifle, he put his mask on. “That's the spirit” replied Arthur's coach “Open the door, thank you again for the prevention, we will come back in five minutes, check behind the door, the code will be two knocks, pause and then three more.”
The bald soldier opened the big blast proof door and then quickly closed it as the two militians turned left to begin their duty by walking one of the last reliable stairs of the country. The small party continued to walk, the unarmed one behind as Arthur covers the small passage until they meet three horizontal rays of light coming from the air vent of the last rusted door protecting their eyes from the sight that makes them want to cry for what they've lost. After releasing the safety of the Swiss german's gun, Arthur scanned what he could see from the small window of view the door could give. The rays hurted is cornea and could only see a blurry dark place for a moment. After a few seconds he raises a thumb up, showing his confirmation that it is safe. He then clenches his fist on the rusted knob, illuminating the stairway. Behind them, a red peeiling painted messages says in french “Bienvenue au Baal masqué” Welcome to the masked Baal.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 4, 2014 4:42:18 GMT -5
Some spelling and grammar mistakes, a few moments with awkward phrasing and the syntax needs improving. Otherwise the story is quite good! I definitely like the setting. Is the story taking place in a civilian shelter of some sort? I read that every household in Switzerland has to have a fallout shelter beneath their home.
I loved the play on words with "Bienvenue au Baal Masqué".
All in all, please continue. I want to see the next chapter!
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Post by mamajumbo on Feb 4, 2014 12:47:53 GMT -5
I apologise, I hope to improve my syntax, my guess about that problem is my lack of dexterity in writing such long stories in english, I haven't used english grammar for a while, it's funny though, because my english teachers always told me I was so fluent they thought I had english speaking relatives xD! Maybe in a few months I will be able to create better posts, for now I will read Games of Thrones in the original version or something else. And yes indeed it takes place in a civilian shelter underneath a church, that building is based on a true story, I used to play games there, it belongs to the club, their name is funny if you speak french . You read right, In switzerland, probably because of the fear of the cold war, wanted to provide every citizen with an anti atomic shelter under each building but it's basically a basement with a big thick concrete door. I personally doubt they work because in case of a bombing run, the house would just fall into rubbles blocking the only way out, turning our safepoint into a tomb. Anyway I'm glad you like my story.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Feb 4, 2014 14:09:34 GMT -5
So it's also based on your personal experience? Damn, now I want to read more!
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Post by mamajumbo on Apr 23, 2014 4:09:34 GMT -5
Chapter 2: The Dawn of a New Threat
Cold, it was the first thought they had once outside of their home, the new planet covered in snow offers a white blanket to every stalker who didn't pay attention to the eldritch and bestial growls of mutated animals. The wind is now the only companion of mankind, as it is the only humanly call that surrounds the desolated city of Fribourg, its neverending whispers pierce the ears of the not so young conscripts, like screams of families echoing 20 years, with the same word “whyyy?”, what were the odds that a neutral country could turn into a no man's land, destroyed by the aftermath of two giants that killed each other with their nuclear darts. Why couldn't we let more people inside the bunkers? Why the children, why us?
Arthur shook his head while his friend takes him by the arm, a muffled voice came out of the mask “Wake up, don't listen to the voices, let's throw that there.” After blinking for several seconds, he could see Miguel carrying the bucket to the remains of a burnt tree ten steps in front of their den, leaving footprints. Conscious of the danger they may encounter later, Miguel opens his backpack to take a small broom,as he is carefully following his tracks backwards, his hand is waving the brush on the ground, destroying the clues “it will disappear in a few minutes now” said Arthur. When they both reach the door, a deep howl breaks the silence, somewhere, not far from here, a Byakhee found something, something that responded with the burst of an automatic rifle. Then, the howling of the wounded creature calls for his tribe to save him and then enjoy a feast.
The tempation was great for the two adventure rookies, but military orders are far more important than reckless heroism, they both step back to their vault, shutting the rusted door and head towards the great but dirty door. They both knock on the door in unison. As they stepped inside the vault, they were greeted by Reto, the oldest man in the gang, who sat next to Dominic. He raised his mug of tea near his lips “It's gonna be one of those days isn't it?” the 50 year old soldier started drinking his beverage. As an early bird, he prefers listening to the informations given by the guards a few minutes before they are done with their shift instead of reading the reports left on the desk for him. Having an oral conversation gives more texture to the stories of the day. It was a rethorical question that didn't need an answer, but Arthur didn't mind to hurt the poor man's feelings, he likes to piss that conservative prick off. “ Yeah, right now we are technically besieged and days off are currently forbidden, you know the security procedures. It's a damn shame you might not be able to visit the University, I heard the nights are wild with the local girls.” The old swiss german raised one eye in the direction of the ignorant boy he was about to frighten. “It will soon be a legend, soldiers, while you two weaklings were doing what you could do best in this god forsaken guard tower, shots were fired at the university, you probably heard them, there's radio silence in the station so we have no idea what the fuck is happening. The Council is debating whether or not our unit can access the building even if there are angels nearby, for now, there is no schedule, everyone here must be awake and ready to go.” The transmission officer wasn't kidding, by the time the two friends took out the trash, the old man got up,slipped a reglementary tank top on and fastened his camo pants and shoes, ready for action, almost, his gun is missing. “Now if you can stop standing in front of me like idiots and pack your gear, I might forget the fact that you brought my rifle without my consent, thus avoiding me to throw your ass in court martial. Miguel looked down yet smiled, he wished to never participate in a rescue mission, these attempts at following the “no one is left behind” rule meant death for the rescuers as they come too late for the evacuation then get surrounded and left to die. However, seeing the arrogance of Arthur being crushed by his officer was kind of funny, learning to enjoy the little shenanigans inside the outpost is a matter of sanity. The son, whose parents were probably Portuguese steps inside his dormitory to do his combat outfit up. He was ready. When he came back to the group sitting around the table next to the radio, he couldn't resist to gaze at a mirror, he saw someone that could be his father, a strong figure with proeminent cheeks and a thick chin, his torso wasn't that strong, his face is more soldier looking than the rest of his body which is more of a lightweight silhouette. He kept staring at his reflection like in a state of trance until the radio started making a screeching sound. He dashes toward the transmission that is about to start.
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Post by Lawnmower Joe on Apr 23, 2014 14:52:54 GMT -5
Yeeessssssss, more Röstigraben.
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Post by Opal on Jul 24, 2014 19:33:57 GMT -5
Hmmm I'd like to see where this goes!
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Post by mamajumbo on Jul 26, 2014 10:53:44 GMT -5
Chapter 3: The mist
The squad gathered around the radio, their eyes peering the speakers where a low voice fights a screeching background, leaving a few audible words, the ears of the group must now interpret these shady sentences into a clear command, thus they are staring at the only way to communicate like a surreal painting and quickly give an answer to the officer. Leaning his back, the squad officer Reto, approaches his lips towards the microphone, so close he could kiss the man sending him and his collegues to a mission that could easily be their last.
“Befehl wurde verstanden, roger that we wait for the next shift to replace us” Despite the majority of the Baal dwellers speaking french, orders are always carried out in german, fortunately for them, their oldest brother speaks both of them fluently. He then begins to produce a summary “Basically, we wait for another group to replace us, I suggest you to not forget anything of value behind you because we just ruined their week end, then we head toward the base to replenish our unit with assault gear, our recon stuff won't be of use so materials like infrared and thermal goggles are given to the guests, we are allowed to rest there for a while if the storm outside is still too misty that we can't see our own feet. He pulls out a silver flask from a drawer, takes a sip to refresh his dry throat where a layer of radioactive cigarette smoke settled in. Because of the damages done to his lungs, which are vital for a soldier so he can shout, run and overall be more athletic, because of the scarce of clean tobacco, Reto Koch lit his last death stick over 8 years ago and saved enough sane bronchus to keep his job and be efficient, but the feeling of dust itching the throat remained. However it wasn't his health that concerned the man, but his wallet, a good pack, Roentgen-free was worth an eighth of his weekly salary. You don't change a smoker's life with “smoking kills” spams. “Once we are ready to move out again, we will make a detour through the Gates, from what was used to be the roundabout to the University we will take to the left.” The orator pauses to take a look at his squad's reaction.
As the word “left” enters the listeners' ears, eyebrows and eyes created an expression of surprise, the path was unexpected to them, the right road was the shortest, a small avenue between the library of the Canton and other facilities for the government of Fribourg. Taking left towards the Cathedral was an odd choice. Inside the holy building breathes an innumerable swarm of giant, wood colored skin, blind bats. These abominations, demons of the nuclear winter, are creatures, with many other horrors crawling, jumping, flying, running on this desecrated earth, that evolutionists from the past century couldn't imagine to exist. The reason humans fear those things is that they feed on them, when a man or something bigger encounters one of them outside of their habitat, the vile animal opens his mouth filled with rotten, yellow canine teeth and dashes forward it's opponent with two strong furry legs in the snow, because of their webbed paws, these beasts hunt on the ground, but they can also fly, however they use their wings only to travel and reach high grounds. Then the creature obviously faster than the prey hacks it to pieces, if not hungry, larvae come out of the teeth and infiltrate the circulatory system. The parasites then swims to the brain where it takes control of the subject, mostly at night. The victim who is in a zombie state will limp to an area where these bats live and will be eaten alive. Scientists amazed by the strategy used by this strange specimen decided to call it with a sense of black humor “Strigoi”, vampires of the Cathedral. If these monsters aren't enough for restless stalkers. There is also the Tomb Raiders problem, when the final days happened, many families hid inside the shelters built in every basement and cellars of every house in the country, the law forced construction workers to always add a place where inhabitants could go to protect themselves from bombs. However, the blows of many explosives, from simple TNT to the atomic power damaged the structures of many homes, especially apartment buildings and other high rised houses until they collapsed, trapping women and children under tons of rubble, with food and other supplies necessary to the living. In a final attempt to keep the population civilised, officers and what remained of the two chambers of the parliament agreed to establish a council that is still up today to write adequate acts against grave diggers. Patrolling the area in a clean army issued outfit points you as a potential victim of racketeering by thugs.
Reto Koch explained the second part in a lowered, deeper voice, unconsciously showing the dramatic turn of event this adventure has taken. When he looked at his comrades and saw the glimpse of fear in their eyes, but he has to go on with his briefing. “I am as shocked as you my friends, but this is it, you know the dangers we might encounter and that means you are already better than most of the guards in the base. The approach asked by the H.Q is a blind response to the attack in the Uni, if the boys from the slums of the lower city, we have a gang problem, they will probably use the funicular to resupply the attackers with ammo, our mission is to take the detour to prevent the delivery to happen. If that's not a human problem, it's a mutant one, then our goal is to find what happened and why, if he menace is still around, we are sent to kill it. Now we wait for our friends then we go for the longest day of probably our entire existence.”
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Post by mamajumbo on Oct 2, 2014 14:41:23 GMT -5
Chapter 4: The tower in the desert
A motorised roar breaks the lull in the corner of the street, followed by a ray of light that slowly shines the entrance of the church, the jeep slows down as the passengers sees a team of four men carrying green military bags and wearing masks, lined up as if they are waiting for a bus leading on a vacation to Venice, far away from the frozen hell. The two shining stars become brighter and reveals the hood of a very unique jeep, a combination of car parts kept under daily maintenance, for it is hard to find more replacement parts to scavenge. The doors opened and three faceless men and a faceless woman got out. One of the newcommers steps out, two keys change hands between Reto and the man in charge of the replacement, then the squad leaders split. The first one unlocks the rusty door to the bunker, then keeps it open for his mates to descend before him. The second group already packed their gears inside the trunk of the vehicle to quickly take their seats in the jeep. “Arthur, you drive”said a voice that came from a gas mask. It was a short road, but for the young soldier, driving is a privilege and he would treasure every move he could do behind the wheel. Of course the war brought a shortage of cars and fuel, what was a great mean of transport became soon after a luxury. He remembers, at the age of fifteen during a week end of october, he took his dad's car keys and drove to meet his friends at a party near a forest, it was a night to remember, after having a couple of beer and vodka, the young rebel, who was definitely underaged for that much beverage felt weak, yet comfortable and serene on a couch talking to a few girls. It could have been a perfect night if one of his friend didn't steal his wallet and use the car keys he found inside to take a ride inside the forest and kiss a tree with the front of the Toyota. The next day his father came to what was left of the party with his mother. Back then, from his point of view, he felt like he was going to get slaughtered and not be able to drive for years to come. First, his dad asked about the health of his friend, after he heard that he was not injured. Then he approached his son, asked him to go home with them. The atmosphere of tension inside the small vehicle was so strong, the young Arthur thought he was about to cry, crushed by the angry looks of both her mother and father. Finally, somewhere between the party and home, his dad breaks the silence: “I'm happy your so called buddy wrecked that old car. That way you couldn't drive it later piss ass drunk and have a bigger accident and die. However it was supposed to be yours once you have your driving licence.” It never happened, the bombs destroyed roads, annihilated vehicles, killed many mechanics, engineers and licensed drivers. The army, which was an obligation to every man able to bear arms at the age of eighteen, took the initative to adopt orphans and gave them short practical courses that will be used for their assignated functions. Arthur was a driver. Because it wasn't a job that could get him killed, after a few weeks, he was up to drive a small car and transported merchants and soldiers to their destinations. His map of the city became smaller and smaller. Mutated abominations began to spread and commercial traffic stopped, checkpoints were built and outposts were created from the vaults that survived the artillery. When looking around in his jeep, the brave orphan sighs, the beautiful grass and trees that embraced the concrete of the streets, that protected the children in the playground from the sun with its great shadows, were now gone. “Why are we still fighting? there is nothing left for us in this universe...”, said the driver, a tear rolled up his left chin, hidden behind the mask.
It was hot in the underground office, where secrets were never meant to be told to anyone but ministers of the transiting government. Associate in the Health department, Daniel Edelstein is sitting on his chair, looking at secret documents scattered on his desk. The secrecy of these operations is there to prevent a massive riot from not only soldiers, but from the wildlings outside the walls of the city. The orders written in both languages spoken in Fribourg show little compassion and ethics from the hand that redacted it. But what's the difference between this and the others strategies used through twenty years of economical and food crises? The answer is in the secrecy. No one except him and a few others know about the next slaughter of innocents to save ressources. His bald head shines underneath the lamp hung on the white ceiling. Despite his old age, his eyes are still as blue as the sky imagined by the youngest generation. He is checking his watch, what he sees gives him a sad compensation only a few hours and I can put my mind to rest with all this shit. He has to check the theories of scientists with some statistics he gathers from news reports, then, under pressure by both the government and the smothering heat of the bunker, he writes down clear datas and hits the papers sent by the ones above him with an “Approved” or “Denial” stamp. Each decision changes history, paperwork has never been so powerful. When the common man thought the post apocalyptic future was meant to be played with strenght and terror, now the common man doesn't exist anymore, and Edelstein feels lucky that a tainted country can still use white collared individuals to lead the strong and armed soldiers into secret shenanigans in order to protect their assets and the population lucky enough to hide in their vaults inside the controlled territory. It's a matter of politics, one does not win when he fights for minorities, the favored majority must be with us. This is the motto he always thinks about when deciding whether or not the life of Outsiders must be taken. One last piece must be controlled with his cold sight. The names of the soldiers that will come to play, on the picture attached to it, he sees a swiss german officer in the middle of the photo, surrounded by two boys that were probably sixteen years old when the nuclear warfare bit the earth and another german, with a worn out gaze of someone who lost more than others that infamous day.
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Post by mamajumbo on Oct 2, 2014 14:43:17 GMT -5
Sorry for the delay, to be honest I find it hard to write a story with that many characters and plot, in a regular rp you focus on one character and observe the others.
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Post by mamajumbo on Feb 8, 2015 13:57:23 GMT -5
Chapter 5: Home
There it was, a shining jewel in a white and grey desert, Poya. From the outside, the military base looks like another intact yet quiet building, but below it's walls and houses live more than five thousand people, working and constantly moving like bees in a concrete hive. Arthur and his comrades stood in front of a camera, built from spare parts found around shopping centres and gas stations since they break down from time to time. From left to right, the small electronic eye controlled by a security guard was controlling every face when the door below it started buzzing, meaning the electric lock was being opened from the other side to let the visitors enter the big complex. The air was warm, the hallways are always heated with radiators under constant maintenance, it is, for the soldiers, a big up for their morale to drink a cup of tea near these after a long night patrolling outside.The green walls around officer Reto and his team indicated the building to belong to the army.The square red flag of Switzerland that had been hung on a wall under a clock since the beginning of all this shined like a ruby inside a green cave. This sight always disappointed Dominic, who believed to be the only one who was aware of the depressing symbolism behind it. The hallways and entrances checked and scrubbed of any mud left from soldiers's boots and the national flag near the timer are for him signs of reckless optimism, as if life would suddenly turn back to normal, thus the army has to show proper leadership and seriousness by keeping the swiss quality hygiene. A pointless act for an event that would never come according to Dom. Arthur and Miguel didn't have to peek at the clock to realise it is time for dinner. As they stepped through empty rooms, the odor was more and more inviting. It caressed their nostrils, making them walk faster unconsciously. They suddenly got grabbed by their military green collars by Reto. The officer told them they had to register first for their meals. “However we need you to reserve a table, Dom and me will talk to our contact for further instructions.” Arthur replied “ I understand, if we didn't manage to take seats in the mess hall we might be in the civilian quarters. Come on Mig'.”
“Hi Werner, how are your wife and kids” Reto asked a soldier behind a computer, his uniform was untidy and seemed to be not willing to work today as he had one hand busy with a cigarette and the other held a cup containing a homebrewed beer. Werner lost a leg after an intense combat against creatures living in abandoned vaults it was tough during the early scavenging days when harvesting food became impossible in rough winters, like this season. Losing limbs to save others from starvation is an honorable act and deserve respect in the army, but drinking under service is still a small rebellious act and is frowned upon fresh officers that are following the rules as if they can't live without it. “Oh hey, Koch, yes they are fine thanks for asking. what brings you here? You're not supposed to be eating at the moment?” The man puts the cigarette on an ashtray and starts exploring the computer screen. “aaah yes, I see you have an appointment with one of our administrators.” “Indeed” added Reto, “Two members of my units are hungry, but I've already eaten, my squad got called while I was sleeping, I did my watch under Ste Thérèse church when they suddenly displaced us.” “That's weird, but who am I to command? I'm just the guy behind the computer.” Werner paused for a moment, consulting the datas and programs of the day. “You know what, your contact will see you after dinner.” He grabbed a can from under his desk. “Drink with me my friend, it's not under surveillance around here and we get bored fast, let me see if I can find a deck of cards.”
The mess was well lit, with neon from the entrance to the kitchen, it was noisy with stories and jokes in german and french. There were trades of casseroles between neighboring tables, everybody enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere. The oncoming winter that complicates the farming of vegetables in non isolated soils normally brings hunger in the city for an entire season, however, because of the recent expansions, the military forces managed to create more of these farming vaults, allowing them to collect more food. The young duo who were guarding one hour ago the outpost under the church received their meal: Sausage and röstis, under a large brown blanket of onion gravy. Even after nuclear fire, cooks can perform miracles behind their stoves. For Miguel and his friend, it smelled and tasted like home.
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