>>3794357
>>Tech Raider. Grafted with various prosthetics and cybernetics. Your strengths depend on what exactly you equip. Some simpler folk may be distrustful or even outright hostile.

Flesh is weak

>>3794357
>Write In

Can we be a robot?

>>3794357
>Human. The standard model. Nothing special or detrimental. Most folk will be accepting as long as you’re friendly. The Purity may even allow you into their ranks.

>>3794357
>Human. The standard model. Nothing special or detrimental. Most folk will be accepting as long as you’re friendly. The Purity may even allow you into their ranks.

>>3794377
Not a full fledged robot no but you can mod yourself quite extensively.

>>3794392
Yeah then Tech Raider

>>3794365
>>3794398
That’s 2 for Tech Raider and
>>3794383
>>3794388
For Human Bean. I’ll give it a bit before I roll for it in case we get any extra votes

>>3794357
>Human. The standard model. Nothing special or detrimental. Most folk will be accepting as long as you’re friendly. The Purity may even allow you into their ranks.

>>3794357
>Mutant- Your body is tainted by the corruption. Your flesh has mutated and warped to suit new purposes. The purity will attack on sight but mutants and other exiles will welcome you.

>>3794357
>Human

>>3794415
>Tech Raider. Grafted with various prosthetics and cybernetics. Your strengths depend on what exactly you equip. Some simpler folk may be distrustful or even outright hostile.

Luckily for you, you’re a normal human at least. The Tech Raiders and Tinmen, mad or not, were usually not very welcomed in what passed for civilization. And that’s not at all regarding how some religious cults felt about them. Some of the more fanatical members of the Purity were fond of purging anything not pure human in bonfires of holy flame. As ways to die go, being beaten, tortured, mutilated and then burned alive was definitely not the one you would pick.

You pull a canteen from your hip, uncorking the opening and taking a small sip of water to wash the taste of dust from your mouth. The dead city looms all around you, the rough black stone of the roadway littered with debris and rubble. A well gnawed human femur skitters away from your foot as you accidentally kick it, the remains of that particular unfortunate lost in the detritus. You take a moment to look around before continuing onward, crossing a gaping pit in the roadway by way of a thick beam of metal lain across the gap. At the bottom of the small chasm, a stream of murky water gushes amongst the twisted metal and jagged stone, the remains of broken pipes and gaping tunnels visible in the stone.

On and on you walk, your footsteps echoing against the silent husks, the rustling of leathery leaves and the skittering of various vermin the only real counterpart. You pass by a long abandoned campsite tucked in the hollow between two ancient structures, the walls spattered with rust colored stains and the ground scattered with cracked bones. You grimace, not wanting to notice the small size of some of the bones and continue on, wanting to reach shelter before nightfall.

You have business to complete...

>You are a....

>Nomad. You wander and plunder the ruins of the old world, finding secrets and treasure, trading in artifacts.

>Law Bringer. What passes for a traveling lawman, Bringing in scalps and collecting bounties.

>Hunter. There are creatures that can bring a pretty price if you know what to cut off.

>Black Hand. Folk will pay to have someone dead. Sometimes they pay very well.

>Nobody. You’re just looking for work and a place to stay.

>Write in

>>3794470
>>Nomad.

>>3794470
>Law Bringer. What passes for a traveling lawman, Bringing in scalps and collecting bounties.

>>3794470
>Nomad

>>3794470
Nomad

>>3794470
>Black Hand. Folk will pay to have someone dead. Sometimes they pay very well.

>>3794470
>Nomad. You wander and plunder the ruins of the old world, finding secrets and treasure, trading in artifacts.

>Sorry for the delay. Had some personal issues pop up that required my attention.
>Nomad.

The townies and settlers called you a Nomad. A wanderer who had no real home for themselves, who traveled from place to place, seeking out the ruins and artifacts of the old world. From machinery and tools to power cells and weapons, there was always a demand for the treasures that could be pried from the past. Most townies would welcome you into their gates with open arms if you could help them recover some lost tech or break open a ruin for them to plunder. Some would even pay for your expertise in disabling the traps and security if the ruin was still powered or clearing out the residents if Gangers or Ferals had moved in.

The seemingly cobbled together armor and gear you had was painstakingly gathered, each item having its own purpose. The layers of flowing cloth that made up your jacket concealed a carapace chestplate of some ancient alloy, it’s surface pitted and nicked with scratches. The seemingly crude gas mask that covers your nose and lower chin functions as a air filter while a compact yet extensive repair kit fits neatly to your belt. The goggles resting across your forehead can be powered with a small button, turning the darkest ruin as bright as day. Among your favorites though was a compact dart launcher that clasped around your forearm, the bolts it fired sharp enough to bury several inches deep in flesh.

>Basic Nomad Gear
>Carapace Chestplate
>Gas Mask
>Tool kit
>Stalker Goggles
>Concealed Spiker

But your skills are more than just your equipment. Any fool can scrounge together some gear and raid a ruin and any fool can die doing it. It takes a certain sort of soul to venture into the realm of the ancients and return with treasure AND your life.

>Wandering Blade. You excel in clearing ruins of unwelcoming residents. (Combat Subclass)

>Tech Hunter. You have always preferred to refit the relics you find for your own use (Utility Subclass)

>Stalker. You work in the shadows, creeping through the darkness to uncover ancient relics, (Stealth Subclass)

>GearMaster. You prefer to let the ancients work for you, repurposing mechanical servants. (Support Subclass)

>Write

>>3795000
>Wandering Blade.
Nice trips.

>>3795000
>>Wandering Blade. You excel in clearing ruins of unwelcoming residents. (Combat Subclass)

>>3795000
>Tech Hunter. You have always preferred to refit the relics you find for your own use (Utility Subclass)
Time to build us some lasers and robot suits

>>3795000
>GearMaster. You prefer to let the ancients work for you, repurposing mechanical servants. (Support Subclass)

>>3795000
>>Wandering Blade. You excel in clearing ruins of unwelcoming residents. (Combat Subclass)

>Wandering Blade wins!

Some could call the skill set you have cultivated over your lifetime “bloody” but those are people who don’t know the ways of the treasure seeker. Sometimes, even if you disarm every trap, evade every security drone and pick every lock, you’ll still have to cut some stubborn fuck in half. Killing is as much a part of ruin delving as anything else, be it defending a claim from a rival treasure seeker or clearing out a gang of scavvers, blood is often needed to be spilled. It is with that thought in mind that you approach your problems and you have yet to be disappointed by that.

While many nomads would be content with a simple pry bar with a cutting blade secured to it, you elected to arm yourself for battle. The weapon slung across your back is a single piece of steel, a large wrench forged out into a shallowly curving blade as wide as your hand and as long as your arm. The weapons edge is capable of slashing through flesh, bone, scales and most crude armors with barely a tug against the metal. Coupled with the carapace armors underneath your sleeves and the thin plates of alloy sewn into your trousers, you put forth a formidable offense and defense to any fool that chooses to contest your claim. For those that think your weapons and armor your only strengths, you can easily craft improvised weapons and equipment to assist your efforts.

>Nomad Cleaver
>Medium Carapace Armor
>Arms Crafters tools.

Not many nomads have gone down in history, most don’t even know their names outside the circles of the Dust Walkers. But your name will be remembered. You will be known forever.

>Who are you?
>Name
>Age
>Background
>Details (anything specific you want to add to the character)

>>3795069
>Name
Leon Anun
>Age
25
>Background
Grew up in a small village. Didn't lose his parents or have some major tragedy befall him. He just decided to seek his fortune scavenging what's left of the ancient world. From time to time thinks of what he left behind back in the village.


By the way, am I correct in thinking this is inspired by the game Kenshi?

>>3795176
This works.

>>3795176
+1

>>3795176
You would be very correct in that. I like the idea of a futuristic dark age more than is probably healthy.

Your parents had named you Leon, Leon Anun. Back in that tiny nameless village tucked away against the salt desert, they had watched you depart with a Nomad caravan, the traders promising your parents to teach you all they knew and keep you as safe as they could. It had been a safe place, far enough away from the dead cities and the Ashland’s to avoid the worst of the mutants and wandering tinmen while being secluded enough that most bandits wouldn’t even bother finding it. Staring out into the great expanse, the husks of ancient leviathans protruding from the salt crust, you had yearned for more. For adventure and excitement, for treasure and fame, like the people in the stories the traders would tell when your father gave them tall cups of grog.

You imagine they’re still there, puttering about between the wrecks of ancient titans, carving out blocks of salt and passing the time with stories from those more worldly than them. You can’t help but imagine some of those stories might be about you. You might return one day, a wiser man, a richer man, able to look your father in the eye and ask to share a story or two in exchange for a drink.

But right now, you need to focus on getting to shelter before your story gains an abrupt end. There are signs and scribbles scrawled onto the sides of some of the ruins around you, directions in traders code. Following them, you quickly consult your map again and determine that you’re more or less getting rather close as you compare the landmark of a ancient tech temple, it’s innards long since gutted but the characteristic design standing out despite the damage and the encroaching plant life. You cock an eyebrow distastefully at the row of heads impaled on spikes on a street corner, the grasping fist branded on the rotting foreheads of those still with flesh telling you these were either bandits or petty thieves, depending on the harshness of local law.

>Continue on. You want to get somewhere more or less secure.

>Inspect the area. You’re within the towns borders and it should be safer.

>Other

>>3795580
>Continue on. You want to get somewhere more or less secure.

>>3795580
>>Inspect the area.

>>3795580
>Inspect the area. You’re within the towns borders and it should be safer.

>>3795580
>Inspect the area. You’re within the towns borders and it should be safer.

>>3795580
>inspect the area

>>3795176
Sure y not

>>3795580
>Continue on. You want to get somewhere more or less secure.

Deciding that going through a new area without at least giving it a cursory once over would be tantamount to dishonor, you decide to search the area. Slipping free the wire loop that holds your cleaver in its sheathe, you turn a slow circle in the middle of the roadway, deciding what to do first.

>Search for Raw materials (can be used in crafting)

>Search for electronics/machinery. (Can be sold or used in advanced items)

>Search for food. (Can be traded, used as bait or to bolster your supplies.)

>Search for shelter (a safe place to make camp/hide out)

>>3795965
>>Search for food. (Can be traded, used as bait or to bolster your supplies.)

>>3795965
>Search for Raw materials (can be used in crafting)

>>3795965
>Search for Raw materials (can be used in crafting)

>>3796007
Also, am I right in assuming that this “Tech Temple” that we’re going in is basically an Apple store or a Best Buy?

>>3795965
>Search for electronics/machinery. (Can be sold or used in advanced items)

>>3796028
Basically yeah. Its a futuristic version of a Best Buy/computer repair store where you can sometimes find electronics/circuitry and small robotic components. They’re usually picked clean but you can sometimes find small goodies.

>>3796094
Cool. Hopefully it has an appliance section, we could tear off a mini fridge door and make it a shield.

>Search for raw materials
>Roll me 1d100+5. You get a small bonus to scavenging/looting rolls as you are a Nomad. Best of first 3

Rolled 24 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3796130

Rolled 73 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3796130
Here goes.

Rolled 27 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3796130
How are crits treated for this quest?

Rolled 45 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3796130

>>3796151
Crits are 100 and 1 with 100 being a incredible success and 1 being a crushing failure. Rolling a natural 100 on a scavenger roll might lead to some rare loot or a lead on a untouched ruin while a 1 could be a ambush or a collapsed building or a injury.

>>3796183
Can we get a critical 100 with our bonuses, or is it strictly natural 100's for crits?

>>3796189
Strict natural. Artificial 100+ is considered a great success but not to the degree a natural is.

>Write up inbound.

>78! Good success!

It is with no great expectations that you venture into the gutted ruin of the ancient tech temple. Muttering a quick apology to ward off any angry machine spirits, you climb through a collapsed doorway, brushing aside the tendrils of a creeping vine and wincing as your foot collapses a desiccated skull. Looking about within the darkened confines of the ancient ruin, you can tell the locals have long since picked it bare, stripping away the metal paneling on the walls, the floors and even the ceiling. Pipes have been pried from the walls, loops of wire pulled from within them while the machinery and tech that would have been on display here has long since been scavenged to the last screw.

But few nomads have picked over this place and you notice the telltale signs of a cache scratched into the rusted metal paneling in one of the back rooms of the temple. Using the flat of your blade, you pry away the paneling and uncover a small bundle of wire, metal strips, circuits and even a small power cell that still hums faintly. Tossing the valuable piece of hardware up in your hand, you quickly stow the lucky find into your pack and shoulder it, sheathing your blade at your hip.

>Gained 2 Raw materials
>Gained 1 Small Power Core.

>Make Camp. Its starting to get late

>Continue on. You’ll have to hurry now.

>Keep scavenging.

>Other

>>3796660
>>Make Camp. Its starting to get late
Keep the metal panel, we could use the metal as a base for a knife or shield.

>>3796660
>Make Camp. Its starting to get late

>>3796660
>Keep scavenging

>>3796660
>Make Camp. Its starting to get late

>>3796660
>Make Camp. Its starting to get late

>Make Camp.

With a quick consultation of your map and a glance to the sky, you come to the realization that you would be hard pressed to make it to shelter before nightfall. Not trusting your safety in a unfamiliar dead city after dark, you decide that making camp for the night would be the best course of action.

Venturing back into the abandoned tech temple, you finish prying off the metal panel where the cache had been hidden, strapping it to your pack with a loop of cord. While not really high grade, being rusted and pitted, with some work you could make a decent makeshift dagger or a crude shield. The alcove within where the cache had been stored is just wide enough for you to lean back out of sight within it, your pack pushed into the opposite corner and your robes pulled around you like a blanket.

A few bites of a tasteless ration bar and a large swig from your canteen serves as your dinner, not wanting the smell of food to attract undue attention. It is with one eye open that you drift off to sleep, your hand on the hilt of your cleaver.

>Roll me 1d100 to see if you pass the night safely.

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>3797039

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>3797039

>80! Undisturbed!

Perhaps it is the fact that you’re technically within the territory of whatever settlement is nearby. Perhaps it is because this area is so picked over that is is not a common hunting ground. Perhaps you’re just lucky. Whatever the reason is, you spend the night in peace, not errant horrors wandering in to rip you to shreds. The morning comes quickly, the chill of the air making you thankful for the layers of your robes as the sun has yet to bathe the dead city in heat.

Your breath steams in the air as you stretch and twist, popping stiff joints as you grab your pack and sling it across your shoulder. Venturing out from the ancient tech temple, you put your feet to the roadway and continue on. As the sun rises higher, beams of bright yellow light slide across the ground, landing between the bones of the ancient towers and temples as you read the scrawls scratched and chalked into the rough stonework of the roadway. In traders code and common, the scrawls give direction, warning and information about the area. One set of symbols chalked onto the side of a ruin tells you that there is a curfew for the gates at sundown. Another set scratched onto a sheet of metal on a post informs you that Tinmen and Tech Raiders are not unwelcome but require a escort at all times or they will be “scrapped”.

It is with at least a small portion of knowledge that you find yourself turning a corner between two fallen towers and find yourself looking at a set of rusted, metal plated walls with a small gate set into their center. A man and a woman, both garbed in simple makeshift armor consisting of a helmet and a metal plate covering their vitals stand guard at the gate. The woman levels a makeshift crossbow at your chest while the man steps forward, a rusted spear angled towards your heart. His face is grimy, patches of coarse hair sprouting randomly on his cheeks as he does his best to glare intimidatingly. His teeth are cracked and brown you note as he barks out.
“Hol’up! Who are ya an’ whatcha want in Scrag?”

>What say?

>>3797081
>I'm a nomad, I seek shelter work and to trade.

>>3797086
Yer simple and to the point i like it.

>>3797081
Looking for work, shelter and booze.

>>3797081
>>3797086
+1

You resist the urge to cock an eyebrow at the gate guard and gesture to yourself with a wave of your hand.
“I’m a nomad. I’m looking for work, trade and a good drink. You have that here in Scrag or do I need to keep moving?”

The female gate guard squints at you suspiciously, black grease smeared across her face in thick lines beneath her eyes.
“Nomad eh? Nomads go in them “caravans” don’t’cha? Why’s you all alone?”

You shrug, obviously these two aren’t the brightest. Nomads travel in convoys, groups of three to ten, pairs or by themselves all the time. Just very few venture into dead cities alone. In the cramped confines, its good to have someone watching your back.
“I’m wandering alone. Left my convoy a few years ago. Traveled with the Salt Desert Wanderers under Kai if you’ve ever heard of him.”

The guards share a look before the spear wielder lowers his weapon a tad, standing a bit straighter. He still regards you suspiciously but you can tell it’s more of a customary suspicion than anything else.
“Not a mutie or a Eater are ya? Hold out ya hands. Roll up ya sleeves. Cmon cmon you know th’drill”

Holding your arms out chest high before you, you hold the pose for several seconds so they can inspect you for signs of shaking. Those that consume too much human meat develop tremors that worsen over time. After assuring them you’re no cannibal, you roll up your sleeves slightly, showing your skin is, while heavily darkened by the sun, clear of any boils, cysts, growths or scales. After pulling down your gas mask and baring your teeth to confirm you’re human as well as you can, you fit your mask back onto your face and cross your arms across your chest.
“Satisfied? Just a nomad. Got a bit of scrap for trade, got money for drinks, got a blade for work.”

Again, the guards share a look before they both seem to come to an agreement, the spearman nodding to you before hawking a lump of bloody phlegm to the ground and shouting up to the top of the wall.
“Rikker! Oi! Rikker! Open up! Got a nomad wants in!”

The female guard slams the wall with the butt of her crossbow, causing a resonating thunk to echo through the metal. A few moments later, a mildly sleepy voice calls down.
“Nomad? Ehhhhh....’es all’lone though. He a eater?”

“Fuck no’es not a bloody eater ya sleepy fuck we done checked’im!”
She calls up, the look she tosses you near apologetic as she hammers on the wall again.
“C’mon! Hit the lever’es clean!”

With a groan of both lazy indifference and squealing metal, the gate slowly opens inward. Through the widening gap, you can see shacks and hovels built from scrap and scavenged stone, homes and stores, folk out and walking around in the early morning. From the size of the small settlement, you estimate there to be about two hundred people living here, give or take twenty or thirty.

>Ask one of the gate guards a question

>Head on in.

>Other

>>3797366
>Ask one of the gate guards a question
Where to go for some grub and booze, and where’s the job board?

>>3797366
Head on in
Bow and thank the gurds for letting you in

>>3797366
>Head on in.

>>3797366
>Head on in.

>>3797382
Supporting

Bowing your head, you step through the opening gates, tucking your arms hands into your sleeves. The rust covered walls and gate fall behind you, their interior a mess of scaffolding, girders and piled stone. Spikes made from sharpened pipes and steel rods jut through the metal, a thin metal walkway covering the top of the makeshift wall. The gate squeals closed behind you, a potbellied man sitting up above them on a barrel, lazily operating a set of levers that controls the counterweights.

Striding forward into the small town, you look about you slowly. Nomads tend to have a reputation as mysterious and wise to townies, a view that can sometimes be quite useful if you can play it correctly. With your gas mask pulled across your nose and mouth and your eyes hidden behind your goggles, you are a faceless entity beneath the robes. Giving your surroundings a cursory glance, you can see what looks to be a shop operating out of a half collapsed ruin. Across the wide street is a multi tiered tower of scrap and junk that defies gravity by remaining standing. A guard stands by the doorway, a spiker hefted in his arms and a set of rather jagged metal armor covering his arms and chest.

A crude workshop has been erected beneath a set of tarps strung between three scrap metal walls. Sparks and smoke are already visible within the doorway, the squeal of metal being cut vibrating the air. It is too early in the day for a tavern or bar to be serving drinks but it could still be the place to inquire after work or a place to stay. It is with slow and methodical steps that you plan your next course of action.

>Go to the shop. See what kind of prices you can get.

>Go to the Junk tower. Surely something important is there.

>Go by the workshop. They may let you use the equipment if you ask nicely or pay.

>Go by the bar. See what you scrounge up.

>Other

>>3797840
>Go by the bar. See what you scrounge up.
Let's see about potential work first. Will give us idea about equipment and items we will need

>>3797840
>Go by the workshop. They may let you use the equipment if you ask nicely or pay.
I’d like to try making something out of that panel we got, maybe try out the crafting rules.

>>3797840
>Go by the workshop. They may let you use the equipment if you ask nicely or pay.

>>3797840
>Go to the shop. See what kind of prices you can get.

Lets get soem money frist befor upgrading stuff and this should let people knoe we are about to being shit back

>>3797937
>>3797955
>>3797840
>Go to the shop. See what kind of prices you can get.
I mistook the shop for the workshop.

>Go by the workshop.

The smell of hot metal, smoke and electrical fire is too enticing for a seasoned nomad to resist. You turn towards the workshop and quickly make your way over to the oddly shaped building. Constructed of various sorts of scrap, rubble and refitted metal plating, it is a haphazard structure, rivets and weld marks crossing the exterior walls like half healed wounds.

Stepping through the doorway, you knock a knuckle against a bell, the tinny note cutting through the sound of grinding metal with the repetitive notes. The flickering light provided by a pair of cracked bulbs illuminated a thin figure that quickly staggers forward. The figure resolves itself into a woman in a pair of overalls stained with so much grease they are pitch black, her left arm and leg ending in crude prosthetics at the elbow and mid thigh. She pushes a pair of cracked goggles up her nose, leaving yet another smear of grease on her face. She wipes her hand on a already filthy rag, working it into the crevices of her three fingered prosthetic as she looks at you suspiciously. Finally with a sigh, she reaches out and stills the bell with her good hand, extracting a pair of earplugs with a grunt.
“Right. Welcome to m’workshop. I’m the town black-thumb. Whatcha want outlander?”

She looks you up and down, wiping a film of grease and grime from her goggles.
“You a nomad? Welp... good to see someone who knows ol’tech.”

>What say?

>>3797999
Not that I mind going to the workshop, but >>3797937 switched his vote over here >>3797966, so the regular shop won the vote.

>>3798013
Yeah I actually didn’t see that he changed the vote until after writing (auto update was off)

That will be next place of interest visited

>>3797999
I'm actually looking for some paying work, and I've got experience with weapon forging. I was wondering if you've got a spare workbench I could use for a bit?

>>3797999
Nice place you got,
Got any jobs need doing, and what stuff you got for sale?

>>3797999
Supporting
>>3798035

Your voice is fairly muffled by your gas mask but you speak clearly and loudly enough that the machinist can hear you.
“Just traveling through. Looking for some paying work.”

The grimy woman looks you up and down before pulling her goggles up and squinting at you. She cross her arms and gestures at the array of grinders, presses, drills and welding equipment that fills the majority of the shop.
“Can ya run machines? If ya can I got some orders ya can help on. If ya can work a wrench, the water filters on the fritz again an’ I can’t get it sorted. Or if ya don’t feel like gettin’ greasy ya could go scrounge some parts I been needin’.”

You gesture to the small but extensive tool kit secured to your belt and the more inclusive armorers kit stowed on your pack.
“I’m a fair hand at making weapons and armor but yeah, I can run any piece of machinery you have here. I’m a half decent mechanic if you have anything that needs fixing here as well.”

The machinist works her jaw for a moment, gnawing her lip as she looks you up and down before she nods.
“I’ll pay ya fair. Bring me the parts I need, ya get thirty Clink each. Help me with the orders, I’ll give ya a Quarter what they bring in. I’ll throw in a Shine and free use of my shop if you go scroungin’ for me.”

>Assist with the shop orders.

>Go scrounging.

>Try to fix the water filter.

>Pay to use the shop.

>Other

>>3798494
>>Go scrounging.
Do we have any sort of money on us?

>>3798494
>>3798503
So, I figure I should be specific about what I think we should do. My plan is to scrounge for the parts she needs, then assist with the orders when we come back.

>>3798494
>Try to fix the water filter.

>>3798503
Yes you do! You have a half decent amount of wasteland currency on you. You have 150 Clinks (silverish coins) on your person. 100 Clinks are equal to 1 Shine (Goldenish Coins). Some places however will not accept them and only accept barter.

>>3798494
>Try to fix the water filter.

>>3798494
>>Try to fix the water filter.

>>3798494
Try to fix the water filter.

>>3798494
>Go scrounging

>>3798494

>Try to fix the water filter.

Knowing that doing a service for the community as a whole was a surefire way to securing more lucrative work, it doesn’t take too long for you to make up your mind. You don’t even bother making a show of deciding as you quickly respond.
“Seems that water filter would be good to have working again. I can take a look at it.”

The black-thumb shrugs, her mechanical hand spinning around at the wrist like a drill as she does.
“Eh. Fair’nuff. Few rads never hurt anyone so I ain’t bothered. It’s down in the tunnels behind Greenies Bar. Tell’im Grit sent ya and he’ll give ya the key.”
She thinks over a fair reward for the task before she extends her functional hand.
“I’ll throw ya fifty clink and a drink at Greenies ya get it fixed. Deal?”

>Deal

>Initiate Haggle

>Actually I don’t want to.

>>3798916
>Deal

>>3798916
>>Deal

>>3798916
>>Deal

>>3798916

>Deal

>>3798916
Deal

>Deal. 50 Clink and a cup of grog.

“Deal.”
You grip the machinists grease stained hand, nearly wincing as she almost pulps your fingers. You squeeze back and shake her hand firmly. With a mildly pleased grunt, she releases your tingling fingers and takes a step back.

“Ya get paid when it’s done. Anythin’ else ya want or can I get back to workin’ on these springbows?”
Her attitude is terse and gruff but you get the impression Grit is just a fan of her own work. Her skill with machines and metal has secured her a stable source of income and more security than a one armed and one legged woman could get in most places.

>Any other questions?

>Pay to use the shop.

>Go get to work

>Other

>>3799285
>Go get to work

>>3799285
>>Go get to work

>>3799285

>Go get to work

>>3799285
>>Go get to work

>>3799285
>Go get to work

“I’d better go take a look at that then”
You quickly step out of Grit’s shop, the machinist returning to her work with a shrug. The squeal of tortured metal returns as she turns a cutting wheel onto some reclaimed scrap, sparks showering the floor. The sunlight is a welcome change from the flickering incandescence of the interior, the ever rising sun casting crawling lances of light through the skeletons of ancient towers.

Several townies give you odd looks as they pass you by, some carrying bundles of food or supplies from a small trading station sprung up between four wagons long since settled onto stone blocks. The unhappy squeals of Gnawers and the thunk of cleavers emanates from one wagon, the stylized knife and bone sign displaying it as a butchers. Another wagon has a sign hanging from above the carriage door displaying a syringe and a blade, while not one to trust a scrap town doctor, they were better than no doctor at all.

Asking directions from a few helpful residents, you quickly make your way to Greenies bar. As you suspected, it has a sign with a large tankard simply emblazoned with “Greenies” hanging above the door to the two storied establishment. The exterior is scrap wood and metal in equal amounts, the structure wide and low, resembling a sludge toad more than anything else. The double doors swing inward as you step through them. Several round tables, seats made from empty crates or buckets fill the available floor space, booths of varying sizes occupying the walls. As the doors swing open, a tinny bell brings a grunt from behind the bar.

“No drinks yet ya drunks. Ya want breakfast go ovah to Mama’s.”
A hoarse grunt comes from just out of view, the clinking of cups and bottles, crates shifting and the creaking of wood as whoever is behind the bar readjusts the stock. You slowly approach, threading your way between tables and knock a knuckle on the top of the bar.

“I said I ain’t servin’ drinks yet. Ya fuckin deaf?”

>What say?

>>3801457
"Grit sent me to fix the filter. I'm told you have the key?"

>>3801461
>>3801457
+

>>3801461
Backing

“Names Leon. Grit sent me to fix the water filter. She says you have the key?”
You speak loudly and clearly, your voice faintly muffled through the mask. The clinking stops for a moment before a deep inhale and sigh seems to rattle the floor.

“Fuckin’ finally. If I hear one more o’these softies whine on about rads, I’m gonna rip’is arms off.”
Comes the grunting reply. With a groan of effort, a figure comes into view from behind the bar. You have to crane your neck back to look at his face as Greenie rises to his full height, the man standing well over seven feet tall. The skin on his neck and cheek is mottled green and yellow like a bruise, the pigmentation disappearing beneath the tattered shirt stretched across a chest broader than a Packbeasts. A bristly grey beard covers his chin and cheeks, barring the hairless segment where the strange coloring appears. Beady black eyes glare down at you over a squashed nose as he leans forward on the bar, the wood and metal groaning under the pressure. He snorts, looking you up and down before nodding, giving a mildly pleased grunt.
“Right. Nomad eh? Not seen one of you in a while. Know ya way round a wrench?”

You suppress the desire for sarcasm, noting the fact that greenie could quite easily cave your skull in with an errant slap and nod.
“That’s why I’m here. I’ll take a look at it and see what I can do”

Greenie shrugs, fabric creaking as he fishes into a pocket on his threadbare pants and withdraws a small black key. He tosses it onto the bar and jerks a thumb towards the back of the bar.
“Well, I won’t get m’hopes up but good luck. There’s the key then. Doors out back. Mind ya head and mind the steps. Gets a bit slick down there”
Slinging a stained towel over his shoulder, he turns to walk away before pausing and looking over his shoulder.
“Might wanna Keep a eye out for Muties too. Every once in a while, fuckers pop up in the tunnels. Usually just go pop some heads an’ they stay away for a bit.”

>Mutants? There’s ferals in the tunnel?

>I can handle myself

>Grit didn’t mention muties.

>Other

>>3801665
“Any chance of a bonus if I have to clear some out? I’ll take half off grog for the evening, if it comes to it.”

>>3801665
I can handle myself

>>3801760
Backing

“Muties huh? Any chance of a bonus if I take them out? Discount on drinks for the evening seems fair to me”
While the concept of being ambushed by ghoulish mutants in dark and treacherous tunnels is not your concept of fun, if there’s a chance for a pay raise in it you’ll take it.

Greenie scratches his beard and ruminates on the question, his shovel shaped jaw working. Finally he takes a half step back towards you and lays a heavy hand on the bar.
“Right. Half of th’grog for tonight seems fair. If ya can find out where the bastards keep getting through, I’ll throw in somethin’ extra. Gettin’ tired o’havin’ to fuck around down there turnin’ the ugly bastards inside out.”

>Deal

>No deal. I’ll just do the water filter.

>What’s the surprise?

>Other

>>3802298
>What’s the surprise?
>Deal
It'll cost extra to patch the spot though.

After that's finished, see if we can buy a working flashlight or headlamp and some chalk.

>>3802315
You actually don’t need a headlamp. As a Nomad, part of your starting equipment is a pair of scavenged goggles that function as night vision. Its basic but it won’t give away your position. Chalk you can get though.

>>3802322
In that case, maybe a pipe bomb or two in case of a nest or a big mutant, and a lighter to light them.

>>3802298
Deal
Must be a hole some where or a nest.

>>3802298
>Deal

While mutants are definitely among your top ten least favorite things to deal with, if theyre in the way of your job, they’ll have to. Reaching out, you snag the key and tuck it into a pocket at your belt, giving Greenie a curt nod.
“Deal. Half off on drinks then. I’ll look for where they’re getting in... wouldn’t happen to have any pipe bombs would you?”

Greenie blinks at you with a moments confusion before he shakes his head slowly.
“No, I don’t. What kinda bar has boomsticks? Been t’some strange places haven’t ya boy? Ya want firepower, check out Crickets. Nutty fucker’s got anythin’ you could need”
Greenie cracks his knuckles, the sound like popping rivets in the quiet of the empty bar
“Don’t know why ya would though. Only ever needed m’fists. Mutie’s got thin skulls.”

You shrug, turning to walk out.
“Worth a shot. Could be useful for blasting the tunnel closed or if I run into a big one. Oh well”

Greenie returns to his work as you leave the bar, your first hour in a new town and you’ve already got a job with a bonus. Not bad for a dust walking nobody. Stepping out into the vaguely empty area that passes for a town square, you tuck your hands into your wide sleeves and look around the area.

>Head down into the tunnels. Get to work.

>Head by the shop.

>Head by “Crickets”

>Go by the trade station

>Go by the scrap tower

>Other

>>3802644
>Head by “Crickets”
>Head down into the tunnels. Get to work.
Grab two pipe bombs and a lighter, then head on down.

>>3802644
>Head down into the tunnels. Get to work.
Let's kick some ass

>>3802644
>>Head down into the tunnels. Get to work.

>>3802644
>Head by “Crickets” lets get some boom sticks

>>3802644
>Head down into the tunnels. Get to work.
Gotta make money to spend money.

>Head down into the tunnels. Time to repair some filters and purge some mutants

Quickly making your way around the back of Greenies bar, you can’t miss the pair of heavily padlocked doors set at an angle above a descending staircase. The links of the chains wrapped about the door are as thick as your thumb, the stone visible through the lattice of steel strips making up the door is visibly scratched and scarred. A quartet of pipes as thick as your calf snake through the corner at the bottom of the doorway, murky water dripping from the joints and patches on the pipes. You sigh to yourself, cracking your neck and knuckles before you slot the key into the lock. The well oiled padlock pops open, the chains slithering free to allow you to pull the doors open with a grunt of effort. Metal scrapes on metal as you heave the door open, it’s weight and the awkward angle making you exert yourself far more than you thought it would. Perhaps it’s a further barrier to any mutants that may make their way this far? Pushing against that door from the inside would be one hell of a chore.

Peering down into the darkness of the stairway, the sunlight being almost immediately swallowed by the stygian blackness, you mutter a curse to yourself and tap the side of your goggles as you descend. Water slick stone squeaks beneath your boots, moss and mold growing thick on the stairway and walls. Ducking beneath a rather bent pipe that extends from the ceiling, you can’t help but appreciate Greenies warning about watching your head as you peer along the tunnel. Your goggles autofocus, the ancient tech shifting through shades of green to illuminate the tunnel as clearly as day. While at first it gave you a headache, the Stalker goggles were a treasured asset to any Nomad or Scav worth his salt.

The quartet of thick pipes run down the floor of the tunnel, wedged flush against the wall and held in place with brackets bolted into the walls and floor. They vibrate softly with the chugging of filthy water, their contents so obviously irradiated you can almost feel your skin prickling. Several offshoots of the tunnel branch off to the left and right, the pipes continuing on straight into the darkness, amidst piles of refuse and faintly glowing fungi.

>Follow the pipes

>Search for any Muties

>Make noise. See if anything answers you.

>Other

>>3803906
>Search for any Muties

>>3803906
>>Follow the pipes
At worst we won't find anything to kill on the way to filtration system

>>3803906
>Search for any Muties
Fixing the filter will make noise, we should deal with the mutant ferals first.

>Search for any Muties
>Roll me 1d100 please. Best of 3

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>3804267

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>3804267

Rolled 73 (1d100)

>>3804267
Interesting quest.

>>3803906
>Make noise. See if anything answers you

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>3804267

>73. Good success!

Deciding that fixing the filter would be easiest without worrying about a pack of ferals sneaking up behind you, you elect to make sure you knew where the ugly fuckers would be coming from. Your feet splash softly in the puddles of fetid moisture that pool on the uneven stone floor, the long rusted conduits and pipes jutting from the walls forcing a constant ducking crouch to your movements as you avoid banging your head and shoulders against them. You frequently inspect the ground, searching for disturbances, signs of movement, anything at all really.

It is at your third intersection that you find a trail of smeared blood across the floor. Scraps of pale skin and mangled bits of flesh are stuck to a jagged pipe jutting from the lower wall, a clear drag mark moving down the corridor and disappearing out of sight. Kneeling down, you dab a finger into the blood, noting that it’s only just now started to thicken. Moving in a steady crouch-shuffle you make your way down the tunnel, stopping every few feet to listen. At first, only your faint footsteps and the endless pattern of water against stone. Its nearly a hundred yards into the narrow, twisting tunnel that you suddenly stop, dropping to a knee and tapping the side of your goggles to enhance the image. A short distance away, the tunnel widens into a large circular chamber, movement visible in the shadows.

A small pack of ferals crowd around the mangled body of a juvenile Rathound, their warped and twisted limbs wet with blood as they rip into its entrails. The sound of ripping flesh and guttural snarls echo out as they jostle each other over their meal, a pair of gaunt, ghoulish figures tussling over the Rathounds liver before a three armed brute smacks them away and claims the morsel, holding it in a near vestigial limb that sprouts from the junction of its bulbous neck. You suppress a curse of distaste as you take notice of the extra or missing limbs, the mismatched eyes, the boils, warts and tumors that sprout from pale and wrinkled flesh. Mouths are filled with broken, jagged teeth and needlelike fangs, misshapen fingers tipped with cracked and filthy nails. Their nude bodies are smeared with their own filth and that of the tunnels, crude designs visible in the disgusting self decoration.

>Continue watching

>Try to bait them into a trap. You’d rather not take them on all at once

>Advance. Push them and see where they retreat to

>Make some noise. In this tunnel they can only come one at a time

>Other

>>3804948
>Try to bait them into a trap. You’d rather not take them on all at once

>>3804948
>>Try to bait them into a trap. You’d rather not take them on all at once
Really wish we got those pipe bombs...

Can feral mutants use and make tools?

>>3804952
They cannot make their own tools but they have the animal cunning enough to pick things up like rocks, shards of metal, pipes and bones to use as makeshift weapons. The bigger ones (Brutes) and the biggest ones (Alphas) and the biggest biggest ones (Behemoths) don’t really need weapons as they can turn your entire body into chunky salsa with a slap. Mutants of the non feral variety (meaning those that have at least the majority of their brain intact) can and will operate with all the efficiency, intelligence and capability of a normal human. Sometimes even better.

>>3804958
Well, crud.

Hope we can find some dead scavs we can pilfer trinkets and tools off of.

>>3804948
>Try to bait them into a trap. You'd rather not take them on all at once
Do we have any torches or ways of starting a fire?

>>3804980
Your inventory consists of
>Nomad Cleaver-One handed weapon
>Medium Carapace armor
>Wrist mounted Spiker- Concealed Ranged weapon. Short range.
>Stalker Goggles- Night Vision, Magnification, protection from sandstorms.
>Gas Mask-Protection from poisonous gases, smoke, tear gas, etc.
>Tool Kit-Allows basic crafting, repairs, modifications. Allows breaking locks.
>Weapon Crafters tools (basic)- Allows creation of simple improvised weapons/modifications to existing combat equipment.
>2 Raw materials (Used In crafting/trade)
>1 Poor quality metal panel
>1 Small Power Core (Can be used in crafting, trade, used to power a small machine/robot, overloaded into a makeshift explosive, etc.)
>150 Clinks
>3/3 Flares (used to provide light)
>Roll of rope (50ft)

>>3805081
How small and strong is the Small Power Core boom power? Could use it to take out brute/ group kill.

Would likw to use the into a triping trap then stap them once there down.

We still have that scrap pice we can use as a sheild? Put it down behind rop and then thow a rock at it to make a noise for them to chase.

>>3805087
Rope wopps forget a word in there.
Any one wana talk about this plan?

>>3805081
>>3805087
Alternately, can we electrify the panel and set it on the ground for them to zap themselves on? That plus baiting them out and a trip trap with the rope for an easier kill.

>>3805087
The Small Power Core would be explosion with a AOE of about 10 feet. lots of heat, shrapnel and concussive force over a small area

>>3805173
If you wanted to, you could use the metal panel, the power core and 1 unit of your raw materials to make a Shock Trap that will stun any mutant that steps on it.

>>3805190
Could we use both units, the power core, and the panel to make a shock shield?

>>3805194
Why yes anon. Yes you can.

>>3805194
Demm that sounds cool, though i sthink the shock trap would be better in the as we dont realy want to gett close to that many at once

Set a trap seems to win

>Make a shock trap (Consume your small power core, your metal panel and 1 unit of raw materials)

>Make a shock SHIELD (Consume 2 units of raw materials, your small power cell and metal panel)

>Make a improvised energy grenade (Consume your small power cell and 1 unit of raw materials)

>Make a snare (Consume 10ft of rope and 1 unit of raw materials)

>Other

>>3805379
>Make a snare (Consume 10ft of rope and 1 unit of raw materials)

>>3805379

>Make a shock trap (Consume your small power core, your metal panel and 1 unit of raw materials

>>3805729
Would the shock trap stun them all if they steap in it? Wheres the snar would only work on one of them?

>>3805379
Question: If we go for the trap, will the core burn out? And if it doesn’t, would we be able to unhook it from the trap?

>>3805805
The core could be salvaged and repurposed yes but the shock trap would be destroyed and the shock shield would become a simple shield

>>3805731
The shock trap would stun any mutant that steps on it, the snare would restrain one of them yes

>>3805379
>Make a shock trap

>>3805379
>Make a shock trap
Look for a pool of water we can place it in, assuming that won’t short out the core.

>>3805889
Maybe if the puddle is touching the plate it would increase the width of the trap, but that's only a maybe from a non-electrician that's not the QM.

>>3805856
Ausome shock it is.
>>3805901
I mean if its in water itl shock all whos in water.

I was thinking of useing that as a bait pice or we keep it for a shotty aheild just for this fight.

>Make a shock trap.
>Roll me 1d100+5. Let’s see how successful you are.

Rolled 48 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3806445

Rolled 90 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3806445

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>3806445

File: B563063F-8C52-4CC5-84AA-0(...).jpg (48 KB, 485x383)

48 KB JPG

>>3806496
...figures.

>>3806496
Dude

Rolled 38 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3806445
>>3806496
Oh just ficing ausomes we shock ourslfe/ it blows up in out face

>1. Critical Failure!
>Shock Trap Malfunction!

Ducking back against the wall, you look over the group of mutants as they savage the corpse of the Rathound. There are three that fit the description most call “Rotters” or “Ghouls”, their bodies almost skeletal and lanky, pallid skin marked with flaps of loose tissue, warts and tumors. Their faces are twisted and deformed, their jaws jutting forward and lines with jagged teeth. Their noses are gaping pits in their misshapen faces, pus filled eyes squinting like those of a rodent above. The larger of their number rips away the Rathound’s leg with a casual jerk of a grotesquely muscled arm, the three crooked fingers clenching hard enough to audibly crunch the bone. The vestigial arm at the junction of shoulder and neck still waves the hunk of liver mindlessly as the brute opens a overly wide mouth to rip a chunk of bloody flesh away from the bone.

Deciding that going toe to toe against a group is a bad idea, you make a tactical decision and dig into your pack. The bundle of wires, metal strips and various components is quickly joined by the small power cell. While you debate simply overloading the power cell and lobbing it into their midst, you’d like to reuse it in the future. The metal panel is unstrapped from your pack and you quickly dive into your tool kit.

The power cell is a small, cylindrical affair nearly four inches long and as big around as the circle between thumb and pointer finger. A pair of leads are accessible in a small divot at either end of the power cell and it is to these that you attach a pair of wires from your salvage. Sparking the ends together yields a satisfying arc of electricity between them. Securing them with a twist tie, you take the other end of the wires and begin attaching each of them to the metal panel with use of some handy screws. Wrapping a squarish strip of metal in the insulating coating from a large segment of wire, you fasten it as a sort of crude handle so you can pick up and disarm the trap.

You heft it up, impressed at your own ingenuity as small sparks dance across the metal panel, the telltale lights on the power cell flashing a extremely dim green and yellow. Small lances of electricity ark out to touch the pipes around you, static electricity going across your skin like crawling insects. Just as you make to toss it into a large puddle in the middle of the corridor, a sudden throbbing hum makes you pause in shock as the telltales on the power cell begin flashing red.

>Continued

>>3806806

“Motherfu-”
Is all you manage to get out before you reflexively toss the malfunctioning trap away from you. It detonates in a sphere of flame and concussive force that batters against you like a hammer. The wind is knocked out of you as you are tossed bodily backwards. Your head slams against the stone, spots dancing before your eyes as your vision starts to fade to gray around the edges. You wheeze in pain, your entire body feeling as though someone strong had just beaten you with a club. You try and fail to lift your head before collapsing back as feral snarls and grunts of confusion draw closer.

>Darkness

You can feel wet stone beneath your back, the taste of blood in your mouth from your bitten tongue as you are jerked along by an ankle. The grip around your leg is strong, bony fingers clenched tight enough your toes are tingling as another jerk has the same stone slide by beneath your back. Lifting your head slowly, you wince as your headache flares and your goggles autofocus, illuminating the tunnel ceiling that jerks by erratically as the force pulling you continues to drag you.

Looking towards your feet, you can see a bony and crooked back, long and gangly limbs and more unwashed mutant ass than you’re honestly comfortable with. The Rotter pulling you snarls at a smaller one that comes to investigate its prize, flailing a misshapen fist at the smaller freak. Footsteps and insane, feral grunts issue from all sides, the padding of bare feet on stone and the erratic smacks of excited fists against the floor and walls. From your guess, you where only out for a few minutes at most, they can’t have taken you very far.

>What do?

>>3806807
Do we still have our cleaver?

>>3806836
Yes you do. You have a cleaver and a concealed Spiker on your forearm (which is a short range wrist crossbow basically)

>>3806807
>>3806807
I guess play dead, then when one of the fuckers gets his face close, shoot him.

Goddamnit, there'd better be something to scavenge after we're done here.

>Play dead and then shoot a mutie in the face
>Roll me 1d100 please. Best of 3!

>>3807123
I'm abstaining for now, based on how shit my last roll was.

Here's hoping someone can do a good enough job rolling.

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>3807123

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>3807123

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>3807123

Yo, OP, are you still running this?

>>3808279
Yes I am, sorry, work kicked up. I’m off now though.
Write up inbound

>71! Good success!

You allow yourself to remain more or less limp as the Rotter drags you along. Its bony fingers dig into the meat of your calf and your ankle as it grunts angrily, waving its arms to shoo away a smaller mutant that scuttles closer to investigate. You’re thankful your goggles don’t emit any glow unlike some of the cruder models salvaged and sold in Bastion, the lack of illumination allowing you to turn your head gently and look about the chamber that you’re being dragged into.

From what you can see, it isn’t pretty. Bones and scraps of torn hide and clothing litter the floor of the cistern, some arranged into crude nests where the freaks have been sleeping. The air that filters through your gas mask is tinged with the scent of decay and shit, disease and unwashed bodies as fetid water drips from the ceiling. The Rotter dragging you suddenly drops your leg with a anxious growl, beating its thin chest with overly long and crooked arms as the hulking brute lumbers closer. Blood coats the three armed mutants mouth, its massive underbite working as it gnaws a mouthful of flesh. Hoarse, choking grunts issue from its mouth as it waves threateningly, trying to scare the Rotter away from its prize.

Its prize being you.

You’re content to let the inbred mutants fight it out while you slip away but as you go to lift your head, a warped claw grips you by the collar, yanking you back and dragging you several feet. You look up into the salivating horror that is the face of the smaller Rotter, the half starved creature twitching its fingers as it prepares to dig into your belly and feast on your innards. Deciding that now is the time to stop playing dead, you bring your right arm up, slapping your left hand onto your mid forearm.

“Eat THIS”
The metallic *Clunk* that issues out as the mechanism is cocked is drowned out by the *twang* of the Spiker firing and the mutants choked shriek of pain as the five inch long shard of metal punches through its mouth and juts from the back of its neck.

You quickly roll to your feet, your head throbbing as the thieving Rotter flails on the ground, clawing at its own mouth as thick blood pours from the back of its neck and from within its jaws. The satisfying crack of ribs as you bury a boot in its side and send it sprawling is nearly drowned out by the confused roars and screeches of the rest of its pack as they break off from their squabble, the remaining pair of Rotters and the Brute turning to face you.

“Come on then you ugly bastards. Come to Papa Leon”
Your cleaver rasps against its sheath as you draw it, taking several steps back as you whip it in hissing figure eights, the blade light and balanced in your hands. You bend your knees, bringing it crosswise across your body in a two handed grip as the Rotter that drug you in here snarls, dropping into a low crouch as it sniffs the blood on the air.

>What do?

>>3808530
Kill or maim the smaller one, then run back the way we came to make the big guy chase us until we can find a dark spot to hide in, then wait for a chance to sneak attack the brute.

File: CFA7AF1A-AE51-4AB2-851B-8(...).jpg (192 KB, 1333x1000)

192 KB JPG

>>3808530
Basic idea of a Rotter

File: 77F3942B-BAC5-490A-84A9-D(...).jpg (6 KB, 259x194)

6 KB JPG

Basic idea of a Brute

>Alrighty then with 1 vote for Attack the Attacking Rotter and book it, that’s what we’re gonna do.
>Roll me 1d100+5 for your combat roll. Best of 3

Rolled 29 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3808843
Alright, enough time has passed for me to feel a bit more confidant with the dice. I'll give it a shot.

Rolled 93 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>3808843

>98! Excellent success!

Rotters, despite their gangly, decayed appearance can be quite dangerous. Their feral strength coupled with their filthy claws and jagged teeth can inflict horrible wounds that are sure to fester to the point it’s preferable to simply cut the limb off if one wounds you. While they may look about to keel over from advanced necrosis, you’ve seen them take some truly devastating injuries and just keep on fighting. Rotters are fast, agile, utterly relentless and deceptively durable.

That is why any wounds you inflict have to either be fatal or debilitating.

As the Rotter lunges at you, jagged claws whipping at your throat, you simply shift your weight back and to the side. The blow whistles by harmlessly over your head, the Rotters enraged snarl tinged with indignant rage as it overbalances, the follow through of its swing nearly spinning it around. The Nomad Cleaver lives up to its name as you bring it around in a looping slash that buries the blade several inches deep in the mutants back. The tumor strewn skin splits beneath the razor sharp blade, bone cracking audibly as the nearly foot long gash opens the freaks back. Blood immediately spews from the grievous wound, coating your blade and spattering your robes with thick droplets as you wrench the weapon free with a grunt.

The Rotter stumbles forward, flailing and clutching at its back as its legs give out, one hanging limp while the other kicks weakly. It snarls and shrieks in mindless agony as blood streams from its ruined back, it’s nearly severed spine visible in the gash. The pair of wounded Rotters both screech in pain as they flail about on the floor of the circular chamber, their remaining packmate and the lumbering Brute both looking at them with dim apprehension as you begin backing away. The Brute takes a few steps forward, baring chipped and broken teeth at you as it grabs the crippled Rotter, wrapping its massive hands around the unfortunate mutants head and snapping its spine with a casual twist.

Tossing the corpse aside, it gives you a wary eye as it grunts to the final remaining Rotter, the gangly mutant crouching over the remains of its fallen packmate and sinking its jagged teeth into its thigh. The sounds of ripping flesh and the pained groans of the Rotter you had shot in the mouth are all you hear as you back away slowly, keeping your blade between you and the mutants.

>Search for a way to collapse the tunnels leading to the cistern

>Search for a way to flood the cistern.

>Backtrack. You need more firepower to deal with that.

>Backtrack. You’ll worry about the mutants another day.

>Other

>>3808931
>>Backtrack. You need more firepower to deal with that.
Time to get those pipe bombs.

Uh, anyone else want to make a suggestion or something?

>>3809069
Seems like you’re the only anon offering ideas. Regrettable but it’s understandable. Some people like to wait to see if I’ll succumb to the QM curse.
>Writeup inbound

Making your way back through the tunnels, you quickly find yourself back at the main intersection where you got yourself into this mess. Your throbbing headache amplified the sounds of your feet against the stone, each sound driving spikes of pain into your skull. You frequently stop and look back into the darkness, making sure that nothing is following you. Other than a overly curious Gnawer that you crush beneath a boot, nothing follows you that you can see.

Beating a hasty retreat, you quickly make your way to the stairs, wincing as your goggles flare painfully bright before you power them off. You almost stumble several times going up the slick steps, moss and filth squelching beneath your feet as you do. Closing the gates with a grunt of effort, you lock the gates again, tucking the key into the pouch on your belt.

>Go by Crickets shop. See what he has

>Go by Grit’s workshop. Make something useful.

>Talk to Greenie. See if you can buy some bottles of hooch

>Other

>>3809171
>Go by Crickets shop. See what he has
Besides the explosives, see if he’s got caltrops or a bear trap.

>>3809171
>>Go by Crickets shop. See what he has

>Go by Crickets shop. See what he has

Deciding that Cricket, the apparent man to speak with if you needed something deadly, was a good idea, you go about finding exactly where he is. Several of the locals look you over, mud and filth smeared on your robes and blood spattered across your sleeves but they good naturedly point you in the right way. A few even give you mildly sympathetic looks as they do, one even going so far as to say
“Don’t pay him any real mind. He’s harmless.... usually.”

With that In mind, you make your way back towards the gate entrance but take a right just before you get to it, heading down a narrow alley where Gnawers squeak and chatter, the oversized rodents scrambling away from your feet. Towards the back of the alley is a small door tucked against the wall, standing out against the rough and aged stone around it as it is made of seemingly solid metal. A slot with a hinged flap is set just under chin height, the sounds of banging metal and the scent of electrical smoke drifting from behind the door.

It thunks solidly as you knock your fist against it, the chatter and banging ceasing for a moment before the sound of metal ratcheting and quick, shuffling footsteps sounds from behind the door. The flap squeaks inward and a large, bloodshot eye glares out at you with thinly veiled suspicion. A small hand crossbow just from the door, the serrated dart leveled at your face. A thin, reedy voice screeches out
“Who th’crispy fuck are you? Whatcha want!? Ya make a move an’ I’ll put a spike in ya eye!”

>What say?

>>3809203
"Need some firepower to blow up a bunch of stinking Muties.What'd you have in stock?"

>>3809203
“Greenie told me to see you for some firepower. Need to kill a brute in the cistern so I can fix the rad filter.”

>>3809203
>>3809386
+1

You lift your hands slowly as a grubby, bandages finger tightens on the trigger to the crossbow. You keep your voice level and calm, not wanting to agitate the obviously twitchy shopkeeper further.
“Greenie told me you’re the one to talk to if I need some firepower. There’s mutants down in the cistern and I need to clear’em out. Ya have anything that could help with that?”

The bloodshot eye staring at you from the flap narrows slightly, the serrated bolt of the crossbow dipping slightly to point at your chin as opposed to your eye.
“Greenie sent ya? An’ there’s Muties in the tunnels? AGAIN?! Just las’ bloody month we were up t’our elbows in em.”
The crossbow retreats and there’s the sound of several heavy duty locks shifting and clunking solidly. The door slowly creaks open as Cricket pushes against it with a grunt of effort.
“Might as well let ya in if yer gonna be killin’ Muties. Can’t say I blame ya.”

The diminutive figure barely reaches to your mid chest, his sweat stained clothes ragged and smeared with rust, grease and all manner of filth. His greeting hair is wispy, sticking out from his head at bizarre angles, matted with dirt and knots. A large, warped burn scar covers his neck, the underside of his jaw and travels down his scrawny chest, extending down his left arm. His long bony hands are wrapped in multitudes of small bandages around the knuckles and wrists, his nails blackened and cracked. His long nose supports a pair of cracked spectacles that only further magnify the already oversized eyes that fix you with a glare you suspect is nearly constant.

The inside of the shop is cramped and extremely cluttered, littered with weaponry, traps, parts, materials and various bits of tech that you can’t even identify. Cricket scurries behind a makeshift counter made from a sheet of metal and supported by two barrels. Small buckets of bolts, screws, rolls of wire, boxes of circuitry, blades, power cells and motors all line the walls while the shelves are filled with racks and piles of ready made utility items. Your eye catches on a Mag-Charge, the rare explosives being perfect for busting open the most stubborn of ruins.

Cricket waves a bandaged hand around the shop and looks at you over the top of his glasses.
“Well? Don’t just stand there gawkin’ Nomad. Get what ya want, pay me an’ get th’fuck out”

>Browse Crickets Wares

>Ask after a specific item

>Ask for a custom job.

>Ask Cricket a question

>Other

>New thread as it seems this one is rather dead
>>3810261