|
Post by Lawnmower Joe on Jan 26, 2016 9:39:18 GMT -5
A small two-headed lizard scuttled over the warm rocks, its deformed body casting a fleeting shadow as the sun set over the Mojave. Flicking its two tongues into the dry air, it clambered onto a rock and froze, unaware of the other shadow that had been following it. The mutated lizard blinked once before a pale hand swiped it off the rock and propelled it into the maw of its predator. Blood leaked onto the rocks, and the lizard twitched in the hand of its killer in a final parody of life.
"Mmm" spoke the predator through a mouthful of warm lizard meat and bones, "Skink good."
The predator, humanoid in appearance, crunched on a few bones before swallowing. An abnormally long tongue shot out and licked away the blood from the creature's lips and chin. The creature then loped onto the rock where the lizard had met its fate, and sat there, looking out at the arid expanse of the Mojave while tearing off chunks of lizard meat with its sharp, needle-like teeth. The long grey line of the I-15 was once again deserted, and the creature sighed in disappointment. It had been a few months since the last of the humans and their battle cattle had travelled along the I-15. The predator looked at its dirty and fraying robes and sighed again, this time in irritation.
The humans had been good to her. Well, some had. She'd traded scorpion venom glands and Thingies that she found in and around Black Mountain in exchange for clothes and metal for her weapons. But things had gone bad for the humans: huge lizard monsters had moved into a place near the I-15, and now the humans were too scared to go past it.
She hopped down from the rock and ran, leaping over crevices and climbing up boulders with incredible speed and agility. The humans had always been baffled by how quick and quiet she was, and some, in their fright and surprise, had told her to "skedaddle". The word had stuck, and she had adopted it as her name. She was Skedaddle, last of the Boneskin tribe, slayer of radscorpions, eater of lizards and permanent nuisance to Tabitha, the undisputed leader of Utobitha. And speaking of Utobitha, Skedaddle was now overlooking the rear entrance to it. Down in the vale squirmed several centaurs, their deformed bodies crawling around a large bomb crater. Skedaddle smiled and waved at one of them.
"Hi Moe!" She called in her raspy voice, "How is you?"
Her voice echoed across the rocky valley, and several of the centaurs turned to look at her. Skedaddle was about to call out again when she heard the squeak of a rusting gate being opened.
"Uh-oh" she said. Raucous voices exploded in anger on the other side of the valley as two super mutants emerged from the gate. She saw them take aim with the big metal sticks humans called "guns". Gunshot cracked in the dry air, and bullets whipped past her. Skedaddle turned tail and fled on all fours. Once she'd put enough distance between her and the super mutants, she stood up and dusted her ragged clothes.
"Stupid ugly super mutants" she said, "Me can't say hi to Moe or borrow stuff from Utobitha without thems pointing bang-things at me!"
She grimaced and hissed, her tongue dropping down to the end of her chin. Tabitha had never been very nice, but after Skedaddle had left Black Mountain she had become even nastier. Skedaddle did not, of course, make the link between Tabitha's current behaviour towards her and her past actions, namely her insulting Tabitha before leaving, and her repeatedly sneaking into and stealing from Black Mountain's supplies. Such things simply didn't cross Skedaddle's mind.
Skedaddle then turned her unblinking, reptilian gaze towards the I-15. Perhaps she could sneak down to where the 'Splosion Men lived and throw rocks at their flat 'splosion Thingies. This invariably made the 'Splosion Men angry, but Skedaddle couldn't care less. Nothing could beat a nice loud 'splosion. And so, with her mind filled with exploding mines, Skedaddle set out towards the I-15. Some time later she emerged from the mountains, her thin form flitting from rock to rock without a sound. The sun had almost vanished beyond the horizon, and the Mojave was shrouded in darkness. Skedaddle's eyes could pierce the penumbra with ease, and so she continued on her way to the nearest minefield. In the distance, the I-15 lay silent save for the yapping of coyotes.
As she picked up a rock, the cool night air brought worrying noises from the I-15. Skedaddle froze as she heard the low growls of a deathclaw. She hastily dropped her rock, but before she could scurry back to the safety of the mountains, she heard a completely unknown sound. It rose and fell, much like a high-pitched scream. Now curious, Skedaddle began to creep towards the I-15. When she reached it, she climbed up a boulder and looked out.
All right Xillian, it's your cue.
|
|
|
Post by Commander Xillian on Jan 26, 2016 21:39:34 GMT -5
"Easy, Elsie."
A metal-armored hand pat the thick neck of the mostly-white horse,calming her down somewhat. Not completely however, as she had sensed something dangerous nearby. The man atop the horse couldn't blame her though, the Mojave desert had been cruel so far, and the realm known as The Divide had nearly claimed him. The air was off though, the sense of impending danger unrelenting. The man gripped his saddle, keeping a hand on his horse's neck.
"C'mon girl," he whispered, and the mare began to plod along, her hooves quietly disturbing the dirt and dust, the occasional patch of asphalt giving a gentle retort of ceratin on stone. Shadows beyond the line of sight danced just behind the rocks, perhaps the over-active sense of danger that the armored man had developed? He had begun to see boogiemen behind every corner lately. Didn't help how often he was right, no matter how much he reminded himself that he wasn't Psychic or magical, that tingle that warned of danger or the sweat that screamed of coming Combat always returned. Always, and never a moment too soon.
Leonard moved a hand to his belt, past the ornate hilt on his belt to the short shotgun he wore as a ranged "dissuasion" to attack. On the saddle he had a hunting rifle strapped securely, a weapon he preferred to save for the rare times getting up close was out of the question, but never found himself for lack of want of it anyways. Maybe it was his training? "Better to have and not need", he supposed? His Horse snorted sharply, grunting. Something really spooked her this time.
" What is it girl?" He asked, leaning forward, "Is something coming?"
As the man rose to look out over the rocks, hand beginning to draw his shotgun, he turned in time to see a long, sharp finger glide over his helmet. The ringing of metal on nails was harsh, but it missed him, thankfully, as he had been leaning forwards. Before he could turn his eyes to follow the hand towards its owner, he caught the sight of blood as the talon sheered into the neck of his horse. His blood began to run cold, his mind kicking into over-drive to process what was going on, and then time resumed, maybe it sped up a little to catch up as well.
A whine cut short, crash of metal on metal on dirt,snarl, sweat, pain, red, leather releasing metal, a low growling gasp, then sight.
His leg was caught under his horse, he clinically analyzed as his mind took stock, and there might be something broken. Maybe, maybe not. He would be too numbed by adrenaline already to tell just yet. His shotgun had whipped up to the direction of the arm, in time to line up with a second arn reaching out. His gun's muzzle was point blank to the palm, and the man idly observed the blood when he pulled the trigger, noting how little there was, and how thick the hide on this beast must be. He heard the howl, if it could be called that, as the hand retracted back over the belly of the dead horse, the shadow of the owner pulling back a foot or three.
Sitting up, the man held his breath and fired again, this time blindly, and took what he assumed to be an opening to focus on one, forceful inhale. The breath had been knocked out of him, but brawls and Combat training helped him clinically and cleanly waylay his natural reaction to suck for air like his life depended on it. He knew he would be hurting like no man ought to once he got his bearings, but that would have to wait until he survived.
Putting his metal boot on the horse, he grabbed the ground beneath him with his free hand and pushed with all the might he could muster. The dirt infiltrated his gloves, lending unwanted grit to his grip. The effect was less than he had hoped to achieve, and his horse budged some, but not enough. He needed a few more seconds, which he knew he would not get. He needed a distraction, and there was only one trick up his sleeve. Reaching down to his saddle bags, he grabbed the flaregun he kept loaded in arms reach for just the sort of occasion that was as far from this as he could get. Yanking it free, he aimed blindly up at the shadow hunched low over his Horse, leaning in for him once again and pulled the trigger. Eyes locked on the shadow, he pushed one last time with his leg and arm, and managed to extract the majority of his leg. As the flair went off, he could only watch as a nightmare monster loomed over him, recoiling from the red light and heat of the flare in the encroaching twilight.
He had only encountered a Deathclaw once, and that was when he had a squad of Teslagunners focusing the thing down, and now here he was, all alone, with only scrap metal armor and a sawed off shotgun. It was as objectly horrifying as he remembered however.
Rising to his feet, the man tossed his shotgun aside; he had no spare ammo on him, it was under his dead horse. He dropped the flaregun, it would be useless now, after that first distraction. Reaching for the hilt, he slid his hand along the pommel until he felt something snag, and wrapping his fingers around the hilt, a gentle hiss became audible.
As the Deathclaw rose up, towering over the man with sinister intent and claws that reeked of murder, the shadows that cloaked the beast fell forwards, slinking up the man's legs, slowly fighting to cover him, as if to say, "What is to happen should not be seen." The man saw for a moment what he could imagine a sinister smile, as the predator knew it could see better in the dark than the canned mean before it. There was not a sign of fear however in the posture of the man, who spread his legs wide and sunk low.
"Beast of Darkness," he growled, his tone rising in fury and volumn as he spoke, "You shall not leave this place alive!"
The Deathclaw lunged from the darblade, and as it did the man twisted his hilt. The scrape of flint on steel screeched, and for a moment there was nothing but the blink of a few sparks.
Then, fire and light roared from the man and his blade, his sword wreathed in flames, his voice shaking with a bass fury that was hard matched in the cruel world of the current days.
The blade was blinding in the darkness, especially to the keen eyes of the Deathclaw, but Leonard had one small advantage: in the darkness, he could track the sight of the Deathclaw with every near miss he made, his fiery bladd dancing back and forth. The Deathclaw knew where he was, simply by the presence of the dancing blade, but little of where he was exactly.
"You will regret," roared the man, his black steel metal armor only flattening his profile in the dark, his flaming sword swinging up and across, catching the Deathclaw on the brow, "The night you dared," the sword stabbed forwards quickly, failing to find purchase, and was quickly swung across his body just in time to catch a hand swinging around to gut him in a single movement, "to challenge," ducking down, the man stepped forwards and slashed upwards, the sword finding purchase in the rough underbelly of the Deathclaw.
"Black!"
The sword wove across and down, the man setting into furious strokes as he followed his blades momentum and pushed into his enemy,
"Steel!"
Putting all his weight into his next attack, the man leaped up and gripped the flaming sword in both hands, roaring his title, his name, for all to hear,
"Leonaaard!"
There was a harsh 'crack' as the bladd bit bone, and for a moment, Leonard believed be bad caught the skull of the beast. This was short-lived, as from his left a hand swung out and slashed at him, sending him flying feet from his enemy, even in his heavy armor. The slash marks of the claws would be a reminder in the morning of this close encounter, but as the fueltank on his back began to run dry, and the flames died out, Leonard watched as a shadowy shape leaped over a rock and vanished, the only sign of the fight his dead horse, wound upon his armor, and the severed hand lying nearby.
Night was nearly here, and the Knight of the Brotherhood of Steel slowly rose, groaning under the impact and onsetting pain from the Battle. Sliding the blade back into its home, he released the hilt and used his other hand to steady it, jerking the fuel injector for his sword out of its receiver. He shambled over to his horse, sorrow in his bones, as he pulled off the saddle bags, untied his hunting rifle, and abandoned what he couldn't carry. Shotgun, companion, and his only chance for a swift and safe journey behind him, he turned towards the setting sun and began to follow it. He had a ways left to go before be reached his destination, but as far as he was concerned, this would have to be the road he walked.
|
|
|
Post by Lawnmower Joe on Jan 28, 2016 7:05:07 GMT -5
Skedaddle stayed hidden throughout the battle opposing the strange human and the massive deathclaw. Never had she seen a lone human stand up to such a terrifying beast, and she had watched with a mixture of awe and terror as he hacked away at his foe with a sword that seemed to be made of fire. When the deathclaw ran for the hills, the human had turned away from the scene and continued walking...right towards the lair of the deathclaws.
Skedaddle remained frozen for a moment. She didn't share her Utobithan brethren's burning hatred for mankind (although she was rather scared of humanity's dreaded battle cattle), but one had to be cautious around humans, as some were less than friendly. As she watched the human follow the setting sun, she hopped quietly down from her perch and began to follow him. The smell of blood was already thick in the air, and the scent tugged at her predatory instincts. She glanced wistfully towards the dead horse, half-tempted to cut some of its still fresh meat off with her knife before the coyotes and geckos found it. But her concern for the human overrode her need for food, and she hurried after his receding figure without a sound.
As she followed him she wrestled with her concern, curiosity and fear. She didn't particularly want to face his fiery sword, but at the same time she didn't want him to get torn to shreds by the monsters that lurked in the hills West of the I-15. Finally she reached a decision, and she silently caught up with the human, every muscle in her body tense and ready for flight should things turn sour.
She was about two meters behind him when she called out in a low, raspy voice. "Hey, mister human!" She hissed, "Mister human! Stop! Don't go there! Thems hills bad! More deathclaws there!"
|
|
|
Post by Commander Xillian on Jan 28, 2016 11:26:00 GMT -5
Leonard noted how much he remembered the familiar weight of metal boots. He missed powered armor, but his body freely set into the old notions of marching in the cumbersum ensemble. He had a feeling of being watched, but a short glance over his shoulder didn't reveal anything, and he decided breaking out his torch too early could wear the battery down. He knew he would hear something before it got too close, and if it did get behind him before he noticed, his armor would take the hit.
Then he heard a rhasp from behind him, a low call that cried out, "Hey, Mister Human!"
Mister Human? That wasn't usually the sort of comment that a normal, sane person would make. Leonard stopped, and turned to face the direction the voice had come from, remaining at easy and not going for any weapons. He held his rifle by the middle of the barrel in his right hand, and had three saddle bags over his shoulder on his left. As far as he was aware, the chances of someone speaking to you and then attacking you immediately were pretty low.
Course, it happened. Just usually it was 'Hey!' or 'Think Fast!'not, "Mister Human, Stop!"
As his eyes strained into the darkness, he saw a pale outline. Something bleach white clung to the dirt, speaking primitive English with a bit of a functional grasp on speaking, "Don't go there!"
The creature 'skittered', low in a crouch. Defensive, he took it, and did his best to keep from being threatening. A genuine concern for another's safety? Perhaps.
"Them hills bad!" It cried, explaining with a strong emphasis, "More Deathclaws there!"
Leonard tossed a look over his shoulder into the darkness of the ending twilight. Night proper had begun, and not much could be seen. He was going to need that flashlight now...
"Thank you, kind creature," Leonard said, turning back to the small thing that had warned him of the danger, "More than one Deathclaw, and I don't think I would be walking much further."
It was true; one Deathclaw, the worst he did was take a hand, and that was because he had used the twilight to his advantage. It was night now, and he was out of gas for his sword's fire. It would take either some refueling or a little bit of luck before he would be taking out anything half the size of a Deathclaw.
"I am afraid this is the only path I can travel, however," he sighed, coming to grips slowly with the eventuality that he was going to his death, "I must reach my destination. There is a rumor, I have heard, that a valley near here is home to a stash of old war relics. I am hoping I might be able to gain access to some of the stores hidden there."
He was being mostly truthful, though it pained him to ommit a critical detail, that he was searching for any surviving members of the West Coast Brotherhood of Steel. Still, some little details are dangerous, and he could not let a rumor spread out of control if it happened to be correct.
Leonard squared with the road ahead of him, digging into his bags and producing a headlamp. Switching it on, it sputtered for a moment before slowly growing from dim to bright.
"If you have need of anything, I can surely detour to assist you," he said, pulling his hunting rifle to his shoulder and gripping it, panning across the dry desert with his torch, "As a.. Ah, Knight, it is my duty to aid where needed."
|
|
|
Post by Lawnmower Joe on Jan 29, 2016 16:36:08 GMT -5
Skedaddle cocked her head at the man's statements. He didn't seem threatening, just tired, and perhaps a little shaken from his encounter with the deathclaw earlier.
"You look for old Thingies?" She asked, "There many old Thingies in mountains there."
She pointed back at the mountain range she had come from, which, of course, lay in the direction opposite of the one the human wanted to follow. Nevertheless, Skedaddle was even more determined to pull the human away from certain death.
"I live in mountains" she said, "there big bad mutants, theys not nice, and there 'Splosion Men, theys not nice either, and there big weird Metal Men. Theys live underground, behind big metal doors."
The Metal Men were strange indeed. Skedaddle seldom saw them, and when they did appear they were shrouded in sand storms, and they clanked around in suits made entirely of metal. Skedaddle had never dared approached them, preferring to watch them from hiding. Skedaddle rose from her crouch to a standing position, her rag-dressed body thin in the darkness.
"Oh! I know Thingy you would like!" She exclaimed, "Is in mountains, in big hole in ground. There two dead humies covered in big metal suits, but must be quiet or nasty mutants will see you and kill you."
|
|