>>4175370
>no

>>4175370
Who are you?

>I am a Nomad. A wanderer of the shifting dunes between the dead cities and the great salt wastes, trading and offering service wherever able.

>I am a Tech-Raider. Some people call yours barbaric, savages and thieves. Those people are right. But cybernetic limbs can settle those arguments quickly.

>I am a escaped Serf from a Tech-Barons bonds. A life toiling away in toxic waste and merciless radiation was little better than death.

>I am a worshipper of the Machine Cult. The weakness of flesh led to the downfall of this world. You will wander it’s wastes in search of the true knowledge.

>I’m just a Wanderer. There’s a better life to be had if you can just find it, but it or fight for it.

>Other (feel free to be creative as always)

>>4175390
>>I am a worshipper of the Machine Cult. The weakness of flesh led to the downfall of this world. You will wander it’s wastes in search of the true knowledge.

>>4175390
>>I’m just a Wanderer. There’s a better life to be had if you can just find it, but it or fight for it.

>>4175370
>I do

>>4175399
Fuck I didn’t see the typo. That’s *buy* it.

>>4175390
>I am a Nomad. A wanderer of the shifting dunes between the dead cities and the great salt wastes, trading and offering service wherever able.

>>4175390
>I am a worshipper of the Machine Cult. The weakness of flesh led to the downfall of this world. You will wander it’s wastes in search of the true knowledge.
Adepta Mechanicus

>>4175390
>I’m just a Wanderer. There’s a better life to be had if you can just find it, but it or fight for it.

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As always I’ll give it a bit before closing the votes. It’s not first to 3 it’s whichever is more popular when I lose patience so feel free to discuss or write in your own ideas

>>4175390
>I am a Nomad. A wanderer of the shifting dunes between the dead cities and the great salt wastes, trading and offering service wherever able.

>>4175471
I reconsider.
Proposing an alternative.
>I'm sometimes called a witch, a saint, or just a medic. An expensive knowledge on what kind of things can and won't kill you, with enough knowledge to stop people from bleeding out... or hitting thee right vital areas to know they won't be comming back.

>>4175399
Changin mine to>>4175479

>>4175479
This is good

>>4175479
changing

>>4175479
incredible. We are the docto

>>4175390
>I am a worshipper of the Machine Cult. The weakness of flesh led to the downfall of this world. You will wander it’s wastes in search of the true knowledge.

>>4175479
Ok. This is something that would fit nicely into the specialization but not so much into the backgrounds. The background is more or less where you’re from/what faction you hail from or not at all. This would be more like what you’re good at. An excellent suggestion that I’ll add to the specializations

>>4175509
Tried to convey it in a sense.
Sort of wanderer, but more to the extremes of...
Well...
> Love him or hate him, he's spitting straight facts yo

>>4175479
>>4175481
>>4175485
>>4175493
>>4175503

Ok so after some discord discussion and personal deliberation I’m gonna add this on as a potential speciality with the reason that this fits snugly into a skill set but not so much as a actual background. I am not disregarding this write in as it is excellent and a great idea, but it simply is not fitting for this choice. My apologies if this twists anybody’s ass hair

>>4175550
Got it.
For now I'll go with
>I’m just a Wanderer. There’s a better life to be had if you can just find it, but it or fight for it.
Then.

From my count we have

3 for Machine-Cult worshipper
And
3 for Wanderer

As the medic option has been shifted to speciality. Does anyone else wish to make a choice?

>>4175559
And that makes 4 for Wanderer! Locked in and writing.

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>Wanderer- You have zero relations or alliances with any factions. You are a independent and free man in all rights as long as you can keep away from slavers. The only factions inherently hostile to (at varying degrees) you are Raiders/Tribals/Mad Automata/Slavers.

You are a Wanderer, a lone pilgrim being carried by the dust laden winds from one settlement to the next. From the great salt wastes, tiny villages nestled against the rotting hulks of ancient colossi to the Dead Cities, you trod the lonely roads from place to place. At some you recurved welcome, the tattered remnants of civility still holding on despite the wear of ages. At some you kept a hand on your weapon and slept with both eyes open, stepping over corpses picked bare as you left seedy bars and hovels. There is work for a man to be found if you have but the will to perform it. There are always jobs that need done, mutants that need killing, ruins that need delving. And you intend to always be the man for the job.

You left your home years ago, leaving a sand strewn shack behind in your footsteps. It had no future for you and neither did the mournful eyes that watched you leave. You were no stranger to work, to tasks that were beyond the ability of the vast majority and in your years of wandering you’d had plenty of opportunity to ply your skills.

>I’m a skilled Scavver:There are still ruins to delve and riches to plunder in the dead cities and the wastes beyond not to mention the valuable scrap and loot that a discerning eye can find (+10 to Scavenging Checks, +5 to Barter and Stealth)

>I’m a Law-bringer: Wherever there are those that take what they wish from the innocent, you will be there to bring them in. (+10 to Melee Combat, +5 to intimidation and Perception)

>I’m a Traveling Medic. It is the responsibility of those with the ability to help those who require it. With the hands of a healer, you can help those who cannot help themselves. (+10 to Medical Checks, +5 to melee combat and Persuasion)

>I’m a Hunter. There are creatures both robotic and flesh roaming the world that can fetch a pretty price. You can bring them in, alive or dead. (+10 to ranged Combat, +5 to Tracking and Agility)

>I’m a Technomancer. The ancient tech of the old world can be utilized in ways by those skilled enough that is seems magical. (+10 to Tech Rolls, +5 to Scavenging and Crafting)

>I’m a Blackthumb. The old machines, the rusted metal and the scrap can all be disassembled and assembled anew by those with the knowhow. (+10 to Crafting, +5 to Scavenging and Tech)

>Other (feel free to write in, one major skill and two minor)

>>4175656

>I’m a Traveling Medic. It is the responsibility of those with the ability to help those who require it. With the hands of a healer, you can help those who cannot help themselves. (+10 to Medical Checks, +5 to melee combat and Persuasion)

>>4175656
>>I’m a Traveling Medic. It is the responsibility of those with the ability to help those who require it. With the hands of a healer, you can help those who cannot help themselves. (+10 to Medical Checks, +5 to melee combat and Persuasion)

>>4175656
>I’m a Blackthumb. The old machines, the rusted metal and the scrap can all be disassembled and assembled anew by those with the knowhow. (+10 to Crafting, +5 to Scavenging and Tech)

>>4175656
>I’m a Traveling Medic. It is the responsibility of those with the ability to help those who require it. With the hands of a healer, you can help those who cannot help themselves. (+10 to Medical Checks, +5 to melee combat and Persuasion)

>Im a Traveling Medic
>+10 to medical checks. Medical checks involve first aid, wound treatment, installation of plugs and cybernetic prosthetics.
>+5 to Melee Combat. You are well versed on the locations of vital areas. Your critical range on humanoid organic targets drops to 95.
>+5 to Persuasion. In most areas, no matter how lawless, a wandering doctor is always a welcome sight. Most will be more agreeable when speaking with you.

Your hands have seen their fair share of blood, more than their fair share if you’re being honest but not all of it was spilt in violence. Not half of it. You had long had the gift of healing, of knitting torn flesh and broken bone together, of warding off rot and fever with herb and root and fungi. You’d helped mothers bring children into the world and you’d bound the limbs of wounded raiders. You’d broken the fevers of young children and spoken reassuring words while sawing through bone. The world was a chaotic, violent place where to many, a injury would spell death. You hoped that your assistance would stave that fate off for just a few days more.

But not all that you met were pleased to see you. Many saw your pack full of supplies and equipment as ample reason to stop you on the road, to relieve you of your burden. They quickly learned that the hands of a healer know the work of a butcher just as well. A few quick slashes and deft thrusts would leave them kicking in the dust as their lifeblood fled from them in scarlet streams. Even the twisted bodies of mutants were familiar enough that you could drive a blade deep into their vitals, spilling ichor across the ground like tar.

The road is long beneath your feet, stretching back for endless miles and reaching ahead into the distance. As murky clouds crawl across the stained sky, as the sun beats down from on high, it calls you forward as it ever has.

Or at least it would be, if you weren’t slowly coming to consciousness facedown in...

>The hardpacked earth, the taste of salt thick on the dust against your tongue (The Salt Wastes)

>The clinging grayish sand of a steep dune, blood from your scalp gluing it to your face. (The Ash Desert)

>The sticky mud of the scum swamps, the smell of rot and pollution thick in the air. (Scum Swamps)

>The rough stone of the ancient roadways, scraping against your face with every movement. (The Dead City)

>Other

>>4175838
>The clinging grayish sand of a steep dune, blood from your scalp gluing it to your face. (The Ash Desert)

>>4175838
>The rough stone of the ancient roadways, scraping against your face with every movement. (The Dead City)

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Shameless self bumpage

Anybody at all want to vote before I call it and roll for it?

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4175854
1
>>4175864
2

>>4175838
>>The rough stone of the ancient roadways, scraping against your face with every movement. (The Dead City)

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The weathered, cracked stone of the centuries old roadway scrapes against your cheek as your head reflexively jerks back. You wince as clotting blood from a ragged tear in your scalp pulls free, sending a fresh trickle of blood down your brow. Lifting your head a fraction of an inch, your eyes blearily focus on the ruined city around you. The skeletons of ancient structures reach up towards the stained sky, murky brown-gray clouds oozing across the sky between harsh beams of scorching sunlight. The surfaces of the ancient towers that have not yet weathered away are scorched black, twisted metal peering through cracks in the stone. Rubble and rusted lengths of metal litter the street, the occasional tick and patter echoing out as bits of stone fall from on high. The last thing you remember before it all went dark was a grunt somewhere above you and the whistle of something moving through the air.

A rustling and jostling assails your ears as you suddenly come to terms with your situation. You’re alone in the Dead City and whatever knocked you out is still nearby. You need to come up with a game plan fast or you’ll be stripped bare and left for dead if not just killed on the spot. You push your head up another fraction of an inch and do your best to look around.

The street is deserted in both directions as far as you can see, simply piles of rubble between collapsed buildings and the high reaching towers. A massive crevasse splits the street ahead of you down the center, collapsed inward on itself with some noxious vapor oozing from within it. Turning your head to the right, you catch sight of a figured dressed in tattered rags, face concealed beneath a torn hood as they walk away, engrossed in the contents of your pack. Their grimy skin is stained almost the same color as the majority of the dead city, a dull grayish black from years of caked in filth. Their skinny bare feet are exposed up to mid calf, lined with scratches and scrapes, nails cracked and blackened. They mutter to themselves in a jittering cackle as they dig through your pack, likely retreating to whatever filthy pile of trash this vagrant calls home.

The ballsy bastard dropped a rock on your head and robbed you blind!

>push yourself to your feet and call after him. That’s your shit.

>Look around for a weapon, something, anything.

>Push yourself to your feet and follow him as quietly as you can.

>Sigh and accept it. He’s just a crazy bum and you’ll be fine.

>Other

>>4176119
>>Push yourself to your feet and follow him as quietly as you can.
And stealthily, don't want to be seen either.

>>4176119
>>Push yourself to your feet and follow him as quietly as you can.

>>4176119
>Other
>Push yourself to your feet and follow him as quietly as you can.

See if we can spy a good length of metal that isn't brittle from rust, or a chunk of old concrete with a sharp point, something good to repay our friend with in kind for the bump on our dome. Then we can go after him, don't want to confront anything or anyone out here without at least some kind of rudimentary weapon.

>Push yourself to your feet and follow as stealthily as you can.
>Look for a weapon? Y/N

>>4176261
Y, if we're gonna go after this guy it would be crazy to do it emptyhanded.

>Cursed Hungers for Dice!
>Feed me 2d100 for Stealth and to see if there’s anything useful around as this bum has taken your weapon(s?) (whatever it/they may be)

Rolled 63, 8 = 71 (2d100)

>>4176338
Rollum!

Rolled 92, 8 = 100 (2d100)

>>4176338

Rolled 95, 99 = 194 (2d100)

>>4176338

>>4176347
Fuckin hell
This pleases me greatle

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>>4176347
The dice gods smile upon this thread

>95. Like a mildly concussed ghost
>99. Masterwork metal shard

Levering yourself to your feet without grunting in pain as a dagger of pain twists within your skull. Your vision is very slightly blurry, the slightest tinge of grey looming at the edges of your eyesight. The vagrant shuffles on, oblivious to you as he paws through the interior of your bad, his filthy feet pattering against the stone as he makes his way to what you presume to be his hideaway. He ducks into a gaping hole in the wall of a half collapsed tower opposite the one that the stone fell from, likely not sleeping in the same spot that he chooses to ambush folk from..

Once he is out of your direct eyesight, you push yourself fully to your feet. With a slight wobble to your balance you begin creeping after the wretch, rolling your feet from heel to toe to avoid even the whisper of a footstep from reaching his ears. The wind that whistles through the upper reaches of the sundered ruins is louder by far than your footsteps as you stalk after the thief. Blood trickles down your face in a slow trickle, swollen droplets spattering the ground with every few steps. You almost follow the figure within their ruined lair before you realize you are entirely unarmed, without even the pouch of surgical as they’re nestled safely within your pack.

Quickly looking around you pass your gaze over fist sized chunks of stone, rusted metal fragments and lengths of bent piping. With a almost pleased grin your fingers wrap around a section of a broken metal strut, nearly two feet long. Possibly sheared off violently in the collapse of some wall, the edges of the fragment are jaggged and serrated like a butchers blade tapering to a jagged angular tip. It’s crude, something you’d expect a particularly clever mutant to run around with but for your purposes, it’s more than sufficient.

>You are still hidden

>Advance quietly into the vagrants hideaway

>Scout around and look for a rear entrance

>try to lure him back out

>Other

>>4176471
Hm, our attacker is an opportunist who prefers ambush, he probably won't come back out if he thinks anyone is outside and knows about his presence. If he's smart enough to set an ambush he may also be smart enough to set a trap, so let's
>Scout around and look for a rear entrance

If he's done this before he may expect a victim to charge after him in pursuit, he probably won't expect somebody to try and come at him from a different angle.

>Scout around and look for a rear entrance

>>4176496
>>4176513

>Entering through the back door
>Giggity

The half collapsed structure the vagrant retreated into is leaning precariously against its neighbors. Wind whistles through gaps in its structure, slowly eroding the stone with the endless patience of nature. With particularly fierce gusts, the entire building groans, dust filtering down through the cracks in fitful streams. You stare at the structure for a moment, contemplating your next move while you wipe away blood from your brow with the back of your hand.

This thief attacked you from ambush, dropping a chunk of stone on your head from several stories up. Obviously a man who preferred the safer approach to murder and thievery. A man this devious and sneaky likely would have some sort of trap set up within whatever he called home on the off chance something chased him into it. Shifting your attention to the narrow, darkened alleyway between the ruined towers, you heft the chunk of jagged metal in your hand and make your way into it.

The interior of the alley is mostly sheltered from the endless wind that gusts down the streets of the dead cities, the stillness something to be appreciated. A scrawny rodent with patches of warty flesh scurries by with an offended squeak as you step over the picked bones of some ancient scavver, a rusted spiker bolt still lodged in the yellowed skull. Small piles of grit and dust muffle your footsteps as you creep down the alley, your eyes and ears alert for any sign of danger or alarm. All that reaches your ears is the vagrants muffled cackling and jabbering to himself as your belongings are likely dumped out all over some pile of pilfered rags.

A jagged, half rubble filled hole in the rear of the structure affords you entrance. With a grunt you duck into the shadowed interior only to be immediately covered in a fine layer of dust as the building shifts yet again. The fine grit clings to the tacky blood on your forehead and neck as you listen carefully. The mad chattering is coming from nearby and from above you from what you can hear. The room you find yourself in is half filled with rubble and sand, the ceiling above you decayed to a patchwork of rubble held together by lengths of bent metal. Ancient bones jut up from the piles of grit, yellowed and crumbling to dust. Crouching down you make your way through a doorway, pushing forward through a corridor parallel to the alleyway, lengths of decayed cable and piping falling from the walls and hanging haphazardly from the ceiling. Peering through each open doorway or collapsed wall you encounter, you constantly listen for the vagrants chattering, his reedy high pitched muttering and cackles leading you ever closer.

>Cont

>>4176594
After passing several rooms, their darkened interiors holding naught but rusted, bent metal and piled sand you pause as you set eyes on a the door dilapidated stairway set into the wall on the opposite side of a open room. Lengths of metal and rubble half emerge from the piled sand, jutting forth like the claws of sleeping Skimmers. You press forward into the room, keeping your eyes open for any traps.

>Roll me 1d100 for perception. Best of 3

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>4176596
Rawlin

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>4176596
Rololol

>>4176620
>>4176609
The dice gods smile has shifted. Quick, someone appease them with a burnt offering and save this MC

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4176596

>>4176678
>85! Great success!

The sand and grit beneath your feet absorbs the sound of any of your footsteps as you pad silently across the room. The jagged shards of rusted metal and broken stone do little to slow your step as you weave between obstacles in your path. Thing and angular beams of pale light knife through the gloom of the interior through cracks in the walls and ceiling, illuminating your path in snapshots. But even without the light you doubt you’d have any issue with your footing, following the vagrants tracks with ease as you turn towards the stairway. The metal door that once covered the entrance to the stairway is long rusted to nothingness except for a few scraps of flimsy metal, the stairway crumbling and leaning in on itself as it spirals upwards in a series of right angles and small landings.

Just a few stories above you the murky sky is clearly visible, twisted lengths of rebar and jagged stone reaching up towards the sky. Your feet settle lightly on the first step and you immediately pause, feeling it shift beneath your foot. You slowly angle your eyes down and scrape a layer of sand from the step and wince internally as you notice the false step, a tripwire leading out from the edge of it. Following the tripwire through several small metal loops concealed against the wall, you quickly spot a length of jagged metal held back with a pin attached to the wire. Stepping on that step with your full weight would have caught you a length of heavy jagged metal directly to the face as you stepped forward.

“Crafty bastard...”
You mutter to yourself as you ease your weight off of the trap.

>Try to disarm it. (Tech check)

>Just avoid it, step over it.

>Set it off. See what he thinks of that.

>Other

>Set it off. See what he thinks of that.

Les be cunnin. We can ambush him as he comes running to check.

>Gotta catch some sleep anons, thanks for playing so far and well pick this back up once I’m no longer a zombie

>>4176712
Ditto
Fuck this Ol Prospector looking mofo

>>4176712
supporting
toss our jacket onto it to make it look like it caught something

>>4176704
Disarm it

>>4176704
>disarm it. might be of value.

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>Set if off, toss your jacket on the jagged chunk of metal.

Stepping to the side of the stairway, you hook the edge of your makeshift weapon on the tripwire and give it a sharp yank, pulling the restraining pin from the shard of metal and allowing it to swing free. With a sharp whistle and a heavy thunk it slams into the ceiling and rebounds, the slightly rusted hinge squeaking as it rocks back and forth in the air. The insane muttering and low cackles from above cease, the vagrant obviously listening closely.

With a slight smirk, you quickly shed off your jacket, the worn cloth patched and ragged with hard use. Tossing it onto the jagged metal edge of the trap, you step back into the shadows against the underside of the stairway, crouching slightly against piled sand and crumbled bone. You don’t have to wait long as quiet, shuffling footsteps slowly approach, moving slowly down the stairway. The muttering returns with a soft cackle, rapid stomping in place as the vagrant does what seems to be a celebratory jig.

“Ha! Haha! Ya thought ya could give Ol’Gringer the sneaky sneak didya? Didya? Ohhh ya didn’t know Ol’Gringer. How that whack to the gob taste eh? Eh? Where’d ya go? Ol’Gringer gonna make sure ya stay down this time yes’e Is.”

The footsteps begin making their way down the stairway, moving with none of their previous stealth as the rag clad vagrant snatches your jacket off the trap. Wincing with irritation as the grimy thief rips the fabric from the trap, opening up yet another hole in it. Tossing your jacket back up the stairs with a satisfied sniff, the vagrant finally steps down onto the sandy floor of the stairway entrance, stalking slowly towards the door with a jagged rusty knife held in a icepick grip. From the dull brown stains embedded in the pitted metal, you can assume he has used it at least once but the near skeletal fingers and open sores dotting the exposed hand don’t lead you to believe he is in the best health.

(Pic related: my idea of Vagrants scrap dagger)

>Wait till he passes, make your way up the stairway and retrieve your gear

>Confront him. He stole your shit, you came to reclaim it. Winner takes it all, one of the few unspoken laws of the wasteland.

>Sneak up behind him and skewer him with your handy shard of metal. He didn’t offer you any chance, why should you?

>Sneak up behind him and knock him out. He didn’t kill you, no need for you to kill him.

>Other

>>4177797
>Sneak up behind him and knock him out. He didn’t kill you, no need for you to kill him.

>>4177797
>Sneak up behind him and knock him out. He didn’t kill you, no need for you to kill him. because:
>Other

Hes gonna tell us all he knows, so he can die easy, instead of die slow. Fucker tried to kill us.

>>4177797
Skewer him

>>4177804
>>4177807
thirding

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>Sneaky Beakey Cheeki Breeki
>Sneak up on this filthy hobo and knock him the fuck out
>Roll me 1d100 bo3, beat his perception check

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4177874

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4177874

can we stick a finger in his pooper too?

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>4177874
gg ez game

>94>76. You dun snucked up on him

The prospect of simply skewering the crazy old bastard with the sharp end of your scrap piece is tempting to you. There’s a unspoken rule of the wastes that if you’re going to rob someone and not kill them, it’s your own fault if they come back for it. There are Raider clans that follow that dogma religiously. Even if they saw you, not many would judge you for opening his belly, or driving it right under his sternum, or giving him a nice heavy crack across the temple with it. The urge to split the old fucks skull and reclaim your possessions almost overtakes you and you pull yourself back. With a internal sigh of resignation you step forward, rolling your foot from heel to toe as you settle your weight.

The old vagrant, Gringer, barely even has time to register your light grunt of effort as you step forward and give a carefully calculated kick to the back of his knee. The thin joint pops audibly as he gasps in pain, reflexively attempting to wheel and swing with his makeshift knife. It’s almost comically easy to catch his wrist in one hand, twisting it back until his fingers release, the knife dropping point first into the sand. The vagrants filthy face stares up at you in sudden, overwhelming shock, his chest length beard caked and matted with filth, thin greasy hair twisted into matted dreads. His face is lined with scratches and scars, open sores dotting the grimy, filth stained skin. What few remaining teeth he has are rotten to black stumps, a string of browned saliva stretching between them as he gawks up at you. The rancid stench of him assaults you, the stench of rot and horrifically stale body odor and old urine.

“Wha-?”
Is all he has time to gasp out before you ram your elbow into his skull just ahead of his ear. The impact rocks up your arm and you grunt as his eyes roll up into his head and he collapses backward like a sackcloth puppet. You quickly roll him onto his stomach, planting a knee in between his shoulder blades and pulling his hood back, the ragged fabric ripping and leaving a greasy residue on your fingers. Placing two fingers on his neck, you check for a pulse, nodding to yourself as you feel the regular flutter of his heartbeat. Pulling his rope belt from around his waist, you bind his hands behind his back with them and haul him into a sitting position against the wall.

>Leave him there, go retrieve your stuff.

>Slap him awake, ask him some questions

>Force down your sense of smell and search him.

>Other

>>4178073
>Force down your sense of smell and search him.

Turnabout is fair play

>>4178073
I guess I’m too much of a goodie two-shoes. I’m all for “an eye for an eye,” but he never killed us, as bad as his attempt was. I think being a medic in a fallen, dystopian world gives us a moral obligation to see if we can help.

>Other: Leave him there, go retrieve your stuff. See if we can give him medical attention or aid him in some way (give him some food).

>>4178073
>>Force down your sense of smell and search him.

>>4178073
>Leave him there, go retrieve your stuff.

First, do no harm.

>>4178135
Change to this.

>>Force down your sense of smell and search him.

Loot for the loot god.

>Force down that gag reflex and search him
>Roll me 1d100 please, see if he’s got anything worth taking on him

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4178284
If our fingers weren't sticky before this they will be after

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>4178284
>>4178336
its noko+dice+1d100 in the option field

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>4178348
Oh my

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>>4178348
Well then. That happened. So I’ve got to get to sleep as I’ve got work in a few hours but ill resolve this Roll in the morning.

>jutting forth like the claws of sleeping Skimmers
What are Skimmers?

>>4178073
>Force down your sense of smell and search him.

>>4178507
>What are skimmers?

What indeed

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>>4178348
The time has come. We know the body all too well. He hides secrets, and we shall know them all.

>>4178431
>>4178554
Looking forward to this. Detailed writing thus far. Thank you.

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>Sorry for the late start, i work nights so this is technically noon for me.
>100! Critical success!

Forcing down your sense of smell, you crouch down in front of the vagrant and begin patting him down. He groans softly in his unconscious state, a thin line of brownish drool spilling from his lips to mingle with the other filth in his matted beard. His body is skinny, near emaciated, his eyes sunken and his cheekbones jutting out, stretching the grimy skin of his face tightly. In the twisted, dreadlocked mass of his hair and beard, you can see parasites and other vermin crawling freely. You pause as you suddenly feel a strange hard lump in the interior of his coat as you frisk him.

Suppressing a shudder of revulsion, you pull pack his coat of rags, exposing a pallid, filth stained torso lined with ragged scratches and weeping sores. A series of puckered scars run across the vagrants side, the clean circular wounds left by springbow bolts, one dangerously close to his liver. Whoever this old bastard is, he was tough as nails at one point. But contemplating his past is not your prerogative at this point. He robbed you, time to repay the favor in kind.

The hard lump in his coat is buried within layers of crusted, matted rags and cloth. You have to peel back crusted layers, doing your best not to breath in the dust that puffs up. You jerk the soiled cloth apart and it rips like spiderwebs, spilling a squat, cylindrical object at your feet. You snort in surprise, lifting the object gingerly and turning it this way and that. It is maybe half the size of your fist, made of a dark grey metal smoothed to a a near polish, a small indicator light on its side flashing a soft green every few seconds. Each end of it is capable of iris opening with the push of a small button on its face, allowing the introduction of electrical wires.

You toss the small energy cell in your hand and give the old man a rueful smirk. Power cells allow most larger settlements to function, running generators, tools, water and air filters, powering gates, allowing new built machinery and scavenged archeaotech to function. They’re widely accepted as valuable barter, functioning as a form of currency for the Machine Cult and inclined Nomads. They operate in a specific niche of just hard enough to get to be valuable, depending on their size. A few wily Tech-Barons have reportedly resurrected the automated factorum that creat the cells, sitting on boards of them to maintain a constant price. It’s most definitely the most valuable thing he owns, likely why he kept it on him.

>Gained 1 Small Power Cell (Power Cells are a valuable commodity, useful in trade or barter, crafting or powering equipment.)

>Wake Ol’Gringer up and ask him some questions

>Leave the crazy coot. He’ll wake in time and his knife is close enough he can wiggle over to it eventually.

>Other

>>4179449
>Leave the crazy coot. He’ll wake in time and his knife is close enough he can wiggle over to it eventually.

Well he did leave us for dead as well.

>>4179453
>Other:

Medical- Assess old man's health, see if we can set something right before we bounce. Also leave him tied up and check his lair for more loot. If he has something as good as a power cell, the old bastard probably has something else of use.

Maybe we feel generous and drop him off somewhere, like a slaver.

>>4179449
>Wake Ol’Gringer up and ask him some questions
I can't think of much to ask this early into the quest. How does he want to die. We can make it quick and painless.

>>4179458
I agree for the loot and retrieving our stuff back, not so much the part of touching him any further. I don't think we have enough sanitizer.

>>4179449
Man, feels weird to be a medic in a dystopian world where surviving is probably the pinnacle of most people’s to-do list. The question is: will it bite us in the butt later if we helped him? Will he try to seek revenge? Or if we helped him, would he be grateful? But then, this is all complicated by the idea we stole his most valuable possession. That’s why he had it on his person.

Hmm...

>>4179458
I vote for this, but just the medical assessment part. It’s our duty. And, I don’t believe he has anything more important.

>Medically Assess Gringer, make sure the old bastard doesn’t die
>Roll me a 1d100+10, best of 3. Let’s see what you can find out

Rolled 56 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4179582

Rolled 88 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4179584

Rolled 20 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4179582

Rolled 43 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4179582

>98! Excellent Success!

You make to stand, to leave the old man to wriggle to his knife once he regains consciousness. But your training stays your feet. You have always made a point to help people wherever able, to never do more harm than was necessary. It would fly in the face of everything you’ve worked for over the years to just leave the old man without even trying to help him, even if he did knock you out with a chunk of rubble.

Crouching over him, you give the old man a quick but thorough once over. Pulling back his lips with a ginger finger, you grimace as you look over his blackened, foul gums and the rotted stumps of his few remaining teeth. There is nothing at all that could be done for that besides implanting some replacement teeth and you doubt old Gringer could ever pay for that. The inflammation and swelling present in the back of his mouth and throat, while not a good sign is more than typical for those eking a living off of scraps. If you had some Blisterweed extract on you, you could set that infection straight but it’s likely to run it’s course without much harm. The rapidly growing knot on the side of his head is going to leave a nasty bruise and a persistent headache for the next day or two but he should be fine.

The sores and scrapes adorning his skin are surprisingly clear of pus and infection. While the combination of rodent bites, scrapes and insanity induced picking are doubtless going to be fouled at some point, they’re currently no threat to the old mans life. His skinny frame and slightly distended belly are signs of malnutrition, mild starvation and most likely a bad case of intestinal parasites. Not at all unexpected from someone subsisting on vermin.

Hopefully *just* vermin. He didn’t suffer from any facial tics or shakiness so you doubt the vagrant is a Eater.

Really the most concerning injury is the dislocated kneecap which you grimace at in sympathetic discomfort. Rolling the ragged pants leg up to his thigh, you gingerly place your hands on the side of the bulge on the wrong side of his knee and give it a gentle push. With a unpleasant squelch and pop it slides back into place and the old man groans, twitching slightly as his eyes flutter, his head rolling from side to side before he is still.

Good thing he was out already or that would have HURT.

>Wake Gringer and ask him some questions

>Leave the old coot and go get your stuff. He’ll be fine in time

>Other

>>4179786
>Leave the old coot and go get your stuff. He’ll be fine in time

>>4179786
>Leave the old coot and go get your stuff. He’ll be fine in time

>>4179786
Lets just
>Leave the old coot and go get your stuff. He’ll be fine in time
That bump on the dome will hopefully dissuade him from attacking someone less friendly in the future, and he doesn't seem like the kind who would have too much useful information.

>>4179802
>>4179817
>>4179847
This.

>Leave the old bastard and go grab your stuff.

Dusting your hands off and rising up to your feet, you look down on the old vagrant. You consider cutting the rope belt binding his hands behind his back before you think better of it and simply kick the scrap knife to bump against his bare foot. When he wakes, he should easily be able to cut himself free. Retrieving your jacket from the stairway floor, you grimace at the ragged tear in the shoulder before pulling it on, stowing your newfound Power Cell into interior pocket. Patting the pocket containing the valuable piece of scrap, you make your way up the stairway, following Gringers footprints in the sand and dust.

Entering the doorway has you grimace at the sight and stench.

The floor immediately above the ground floor has almost entirely been turned into a makeshift nest at the rear of the building. The collapsed walls are covered with bits of old rags and bits of wood, sheets of ancient plastic and rusted sheets of metal. Piles of garbage sit against the walls, animal bones and bits of refuse and filth emerging from the heaps. Shiny bits of wire, rodent skulls and bits of reflective metal have been crafted into dozens of small fetishes and symbols that hang from the ceiling, swaying in the wind that hisses through cracks in the stone and metal.

Clustered into a corner at the farthest reaches of the makeshift hovel is a circular depression in a mound of scavenged rags. Your pack is open within it, your belongings spread out as if dig through by a greedy hand and tossed aside. Some of your rations have already been gnawed at, bits of jerky and Crik-bread strewn about while a starch stick has been gummed at and tossed aside. You think better of retrieving the contaminated food and instead leave it be, simply stowing your belongings back in your pack one by one.

>If I could get 3 rolls of 1d4 please because reasons.

Rolled 1 (1d4)

>>4180071

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>4180071

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>4180071

File: 8691D4B3-F866-47CA-911E-B(...).jpg (6 KB, 600x200)

6 KB JPG

Gained Medic Kit: This set of tools, bandages, ointments, oils, extracts and powders allows you to treat serious injuries without having to consult a town doctor. (Decreases DC of Medicine Checks and allows you to treat serious injuries!)

1! Gained Shoddy Goggles: These goggles may be worn and cracked but they’ll at least keep most of the sand and grit out of your eyes. (Reduces perception and accuracy debuff from sandstorms from -20 to -15)

3! Gained Basic crafting Kit! This collection of small hand tools, files, pliers and a power cell operated hand grinder can allow you to craft basic tools and equipment without visiting a settlement workshop. (Allows basic equipment crafting in the field)

3! Gained Merc Spear. This curve bladed spear is well utilized by many of the mercenary outfits in the wastes. Fitted for the thrust and the cut, there’s a reason it’s favored by the professionals.

I will allow one reroll of your starting equipment if you guys really dislike this.

>It’s ok

>Reroll it.

>>4180222
>>It’s ok

>>4180222
>It’s ok

>>4180222
Just a note on the medic kit, if you or somebody is critically injured (I roll on a secret table and we see what body part gets mangled) you will require specialized treatment or equipment to fully rest the injury. You can bandage that stump of an arm all day long but you’ll need a socket to get a cybernetic limb installed. If someone has their guts torn open, you’ll need some Plugs on hand to ram into the hole to get their organs in order. Things of that nature.

>>4180222
>It’s ok

>>4180248
Noted: next time we're in town we'll buy augmentation / cybernetic / prosthetic plugs first, then the cybernetic limbs second if we can afford them. Well actually a Helmet and armor actually. And replacement food for the stuff we lost.

>It’s ok

>>4180237
>>4180242
>>4180257
>>4180875
This.

Sorry for the lack of updates today, it’s been a busy one. I’ll get a few updates out before bed

>Gear locked in

You stow your equipment back in your pack, seating each item carefully into its allotted place. Your bundle of remaining rations is tucked beneath a heavy cloth pouch holding an array of bandages, oils, ointments, extracts, tools and probes. It’s the focus of your skill set and you go to great lengths to ensure the safety of your Medic bag. Without it, you’re limited to being able to treat only moderate injuries, anything more serious being simply beyond your ability.

A pair of mildly cracked goggles are secured against your forehead, ready to be pulled down at a moments notice. While not comparable to the full face masks and air filters of the Machine Cults or Nomads, they’re still very useful for keeping most of the grit from your eyes. Sandstorms occasionally roll through the wastes, bringing days of hanging dust in the air just waiting to fill the eyes with stinging grit. The cracked leather of the strap creaks ominously as you pull the goggles on and you make a mental note to oil it at your earliest opportunity.

A small metal toolbox is secured to the outside of your pack, closed with a metal latch. Inside it are a assortments of small hand tools, files, a small rotary saw and grinder operated by a crude power cell and a collection of metal scraps. While nothing compared to even a basic workbench available in the most spartan of settlements, this set of tools allows you to perform simple modifications, repairs or even create your own gear while out in the wastes.

After rolling your bedroll tightly and lashing it to the rear of your pack, you shoulder it, adjusting the buckles for comfort as you do. Rolling your shoulders, feeling drying blood flake from your cheek and neck, you nod to yourself and set off out of Gringers second story hovel. Marching briskly by the still unconscious vagrant, you duck your head against the low ceiling of the ground floor, quickly making your way out to the street where you had been unwisely waylaid. The gaping chasm splitting the street down the middle for thirty yards still oozes noxious fumes, the breeze carrying them away like acrid grey smoke while water trickles into the jagged wound in the earth. The wind still whistles between the ancient towers, the endless creak of savaged stone and warped metal singing out in the silence. Digging your fingers into the pocket of your jacket, you pull forth a small map with a crudely written set of directions and pictograms. Mentally tracing your route, you deduce that you’re not too far from....

>The Spire, a massive ancient tower converted into a vertical township. Ruled over by a eccentric Tech-Baron

>Rat Town, a subterranean tunnel complex that serves as a trade hub and free settlement. Rumored to have a mutant problem.

>The Twins, a sprawling settlement built onto the leaning remnants of a pair of ancient bridges. Literally bridging the territory between two large raider gangs.

>>4182250
>The Twins, a sprawling settlement built onto the leaning remnants of a pair of ancient bridges. Literally bridging the territory between two large raider gangs.

The fun option.

>>4182250
>Rat Town, a subterranean tunnel complex that serves as a trade hub and free settlement. Rumored to have a mutant problem.

>>4182250
All these options sound fun.

I’ll vote for Rat Town, but if there’s a serious tie, I’ll go with the masses.

>>4182250
I'll vote for
>Rat Town, a subterranean tunnel complex that serves as a trade hub and free settlement. Rumored to have a mutant problem.

>>4182250
>>Rat Town, a subterranean tunnel complex that serves as a trade hub and free settlement. Rumored to have a mutant problem.


naa senpai, money. Money's where it's at

>>4182541
supporting. Rat town.

>Rat Town.

Marked in the crooked scrawl of a half drunken old scavver in the last settlement you’d been through were directions to a larger town. The settlement of Rat Town was aptly names apparently, the sprawling underground like some kind of root system or a warren of tunnels for vermin. It wasn’t precisely a bad idea in your opinion to set up roots underground. Out of the wind, out of the sun, few entrances, relatively easy to defend. Other than being cramped inevitably and the air getting stale, it wouldn’t be a bad place to catch a rest and some work.

But from what the old scavver had folk you, they had a problem with mutants, Lurkers to exact. The twisted beasties liked the dark, hiding out in the abandoned tunnels and depths of old ruins. No prayer known to man could save you if your lights failed in their territory. Hopefully though, a settlement able to survive this long underground in the Dead City would have some sort of countermeasures in place or they’d have been overrun a long time ago.

Tucking the map back into your jacket, you adjust your pack and set the butt of your spear against the roadway, using it as a walking stick as you resume your path. It would be best to get somewhere relatively safe before sundown.

>Push forward, try to get as close as you can to Rat Town

>Search the area for a good spot to lay low for the night

>Search the area for anything useful to you, it looks picked clean but who knows?

>Pull your kit out and treat that gash in your scalp

>Other

>>4184059
>Pull your kit out and treat that gash in your scalp
Let's not show up somewhere bloody

>>4184059
Thanks for updating:

>Other:
>1) Search the area for a good spot to lay low for the night
>2) Pull your kit out and treat that gash in your scalp

>>4184059
>>Pull your kit out and treat that gash in your scalp

>>4184059
>Pull your kit out and treat that gash in your scalp

>Treat that gash in your head.

The sharp ache in your scalp and the ringing headache that old Gringer imparted on you via gravity assisted concussion is a clear and present concern for you. You’re not having any blurriness to your vision or loss of motor control so you doubt you’re seriously injured it’s simply the matter of an open wound in a area where you are nowhere near the top of the food chain. Feral Mutants, Ghouls, Lurkers, Gargoyles and Skulkers all considered the Dead Cities home and all considered humans a fine meal indeed. Not to mention that the old vagrant was filthy from head to toe and you doubt that rock was particularly clean.

Holding your breath as you hustle up the street, skirting the crumbling edges of the collapsed center of the roadway, the noxious fumes emitting from it prickling your skin, you look for a safe spot to duck out of sight. Half collapsed buildings and the skeletons of ancient towers like the roadway, the ancient and corroded remnants leaning precariously. You adjust the strap to your pack and hurry by the remnants of some creatures meal, tattered bones and scraps of flesh drying in the dust amidst the blood spattered. Ignoring the strips of cloth visible in the mess, you push forward.

A alleyway offers you a convenient spot to treat your wounds, a half collapsed wall creating a mock ceiling that allows you to sit in relative shade, safely out of the ever present wind as you dig into your pack. Your canteen offers up a small splash of water to a clean rag that you dab at the gash in your scalp, wincing as you press on the aggrieved tissue. Pulling a small mirror from your kit, you wipe away the dried and drying blood from your face and neck. Bloodstained travelers are rarely welcomed. Gritting your teeth you splash a small bottle of clear liquid against the gash, wincing as it foams and bubbles. With a sigh you set the small mirror against your pack, beginning the arduous task of stitching your own scalp, doing your best to guide your hands by looking into the mirror through the corner of your eye. The curved needle pulls slightly as it hooks through the torn flesh, the gut thread pulling each side closer and closer until you groan and tie the final knot.

With the tip of a finger you dab a pungent black paste along the gash, the fungal paste sealing the wound and keeping out dust and filth. It will itch horribly but it’s less likely to get septic so you’ll have to live with that. Tossing the bloodstained rag aside you begin returning your items to your pack. Setting it back to your shoulder you hustle out of the alleyway before the scent of blood attracts any unwelcome attention.

>Look for a place to bed down for the night, suns going down fast

>This area looks picked clean but who knows?

>Try to hurry to Rat Town, you’d rather not spend the night outside any walls.

>Other

>>4186179
Hurry to tag town

>>4186179
>This area looks picked clean but who knows?

>>4186179
>Look for a place to bed down for the night, suns going down fast
We really don't want to be outside after dark.

>>4186179
>Try to hurry to Rat Town, you’d rather not spend the night outside any walls.

>>4186325
supporting.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4186298
>>4186892
1: Hurry to Rat town

>>4186325
>>4186941
2: Look around for some scrap or loot.

>>4188281
Ok, by the will of the dice gods we’re searching for some scrap in this area. Roll me 1d100 please, as this area is pretty picked over this is gonna be a hard one.

>>4188286
Finally, some salvage.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>4188286

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>4188286
Oops

File: 1586374456806.gif (3.56 MB, 256x188)

3.56 MB GIF

>>4188293
Do you guys smell that?
It smells like PROFIT.

File: 2B6E17C2-879D-41B4-A622-3(...).jpg (27 KB, 600x417)

27 KB JPG

>>4188293

>>4188320
To be fair I forgot to add my dice roll to my first post

>>4188293
>100! Critical success!

As you walk, following over the crude directions to Rat Town, you keep an eye on your surroundings. The Dead Cities prey on the unwary and alone, many a scavver and traveler has fallen victim to the myriad of hazards. You keep your eyes and ears alert for movement, for the tick of claws on stone or the scuff of footsteps, for the creaking rattle of an ancient machine or the gurgling wheeze of a mutant. More than once you duck into a alleyway or crouch into a pile of rubble as some winged mutant glides overhead, massive leathery wings shuddering the air with every beat.

It’s on one of these impromptu darts for cover that you duck into a half buried doorway, pressing your back against the wall as a small flock of Gargoyles screech overhead, harrying some sort of prey in the upper reaches of the ruined towers. Their hissing and shrieking brings dust trickling through the cracks in the ceiling as you push yourself into cover, quietly pushing yourself back into the depths of the half collapsed space. You reflexively jerk in shock, reaching for your weapon as your hand lands on tattered cloth, the fabric coarse and ragged beneath your fingers. Turning around, you exhale in relief at the sight of a dessicated corpse half buried in the sand, a scavver in the ragged remnants of a dark green jacket and dark brown pants of a coarse fabric. The visible skin of the corpses face and hands has drawn back like dried leather, exposing yellowed cracked teeth, a hanging open jaw home to a copious amount of spiderwebs, the arachnid nestled under the withered remains of his tongue. The eye sockets are wide open, their contents long since shriveled to nothing or plucked out by rodents. The remaining wisps of brittle brown hair clinging to chin and scalp flutter softly in the slight breeze that drifts through the half buried doorway.

None of this catches your attention as much as the handle of a serrated knife that is wedged in between the ribs under his left arm. Judging from the entry wound and the dried remnants of blood caked around his nose and mouth, the blade pierced directly through his lung and likely nicked his heart as well. This poor sod died drowning in his own blood.

>Cont

>>4188426
But something niggles the back of your mind and you realize that for him to have been killed like this, somebody had to have been present and that someone likely wouldn’t have left their weapon behind, even lodged as it is in the scavvers corpse. That means that whoever killed this man was either unable or unwilling to pick his corpse over. With that in mind, you lift your gaze from his body and nearly immediately notice a smeared bloody trail against one wall, leading towards a side doorway, rust colored bloody handprints marked into the doorframe. Pushing yourself up to your feet, you hunch against the slightly low ceiling and make your way over to the doorway, avoiding metal struts and chunks of rubble that emerge from the sand that has drifted into so many structures over the centuries.

The room that the bloodstains lead you to is dim, your eyes having to adjust to the darkness. As they do, you’re unsurprised to see the body of what appears to be a young woman sitting in the far corner, the sands around her body stained a dark rusty brown. Her head hangs down towards her lap, wispy blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that had come heavily loose, allowing strands of hair to obscure her face. A dirty tan cloth shirt has had both sleeves ripped free, rusty brown bloodstains dotting the fabric around the neck. A torn strip of fabric is bound heavily around her side, the barbed head of a crossbow bolt emerging from the makeshift bandage, the cloth and the sand around her hip soaked a rusted brown from dried blood. A bulging pack is set beside her, a cocked and long since rusted crossbow laying across her lap, the bolt having tumbled out of it when she likely fell unconscious from blood loss. From the look of her positioning, she had been aiming it at the doorway in the off chance that the man in the other room had gotten back up.

>Cont

>>4188431
With a sigh, you look back at the dead scavver in the main room and back at the corpse of the young woman. You don’t know what led them both here, perhaps he was a cruel man preying on a young woman, perhaps they were a team that had a dissagreement, perhaps they were strangers that met poorly. You’ll never know their story but you do know how it ended. You know more than your fair share of endings. With a bit of respect and gentleness, you cross the young woman’s dried arms across her lap and pat the corpses shoulder gently. Grasping the pack, you pull it towards you and dig through its contents.

>Pick three of this list.

>1 Bottle of Volatile Chemicals (Used in crafting)

>2 Units of High Quality Scrap (Used In complex items, tools and equipment)

>1 Rusted Crossbow and 5 bolts (must be repaired before being used)

>150 Chits (widely accepted unit of currency)

>6 Units of Simple Scrap (Used in crafting basic tools and equipment)

>Scavver Gas Mask (Access areas with foul/toxic gasses)

>Scrapper Saw (must be powered by a Small Power Cell, a medium sized rotary saw capable of cutting through metal or flesh)

>Zapper Stun-Stick (Must be powered with a Small power Cell, capable of stunning organic and small mechanical enemies)

>>4188437
>>1 Rusted Crossbow and 5 bolts (must be repaired before being used)

>>4188439
Pick three items m80

>>4188442
...
Missed that.
>150 Chits (widely accepted unit of currency)

>6 Units of Simple Scrap (Used in crafting basic tools and equipment)

>>4188437
>Scavver Gas Mask (Access areas with foul/toxic gasses)
The option to traverse through dangerous areas has its appeal and uses. You know for scavenging for loot.

>Scrapper Saw (must be powered by a Small Power Cell, a medium sized rotary saw capable of cutting through metal or flesh)
This would be useful as both a deadly melee weapon and means to cut through most rusted and locked entrances. For loot of course. And lockers. And chests.

>150 Chits (widely accepted unit of currency)
We'll be using in favor for the power cell that we will be using for the saw. Since we'll be heading to a trading town, the currency will probably be widely accepted. We could use that to buy medical supplies and maybe even a helmet. And better loot.

A shame that we cant take the crossbow to sell or the chest knife..... can we? I mean in addition. If not I'm sticking with my three choices.

>>4188455
The crossbow and chest knife wouldn’t have a lot of value unless they were repaired. You could feasibly take them but you’ll be lucky to give them away

>>4188439
>>4188454
Now hear me out instead of buying a crossbow, what if we use th2 steel saw to cut up pieces of metal and make scrap spears?
Suns out guns out yeet metal poles at people.

>>4188464
we'll still need a battery

>>4188464
You can do that. Melee weapons can be made from simple scrap.

For example on the crafting mechanic in this game

Scrap hatchet, just a simple melee weapon would be 2 Units of basic scrap either with your toolkit or at a workbench in a settlement.

Ripper Spear, a motorized saw mounted on a metal shaft would be 2 Units of High Quality Scrap, a small power cell and 3 Units of Basic Scrap and would need to be done with either a dedicated toolkit or at a workbench.

Explosives, traps, modified crossbow or spiker bolts, mechanical creations, generators, Vehicles, etc require things like Volatile Chemicals, Machine Cores of various sizes, Medium or Large Power cells, etc etc

>>4188487
Oh. Well I still liked my choice but Cursed does bring up a few choices like damn that Ripper on a stick. Wait hold a second there anon. We do have a cell. From the hobo remember?

>>4188497
Would butchering the knife, crossbow parts and already existing scrap spear be enough for that Ripper spear?

>>4188526
No you would need some high quality scrap for that or a motorized saw already in your inventory

>>4188550
So far there's only been two votes, but the only thing we agree on is getting the money. At worst we can still take the crossbow and knife.

>>4188572
Yes you can. I’ll give it a bit to allow additional votes

>>4188455
I think I'll support this, ranged has a lot of value but with so few bolts I feel like mele will be more reliable early on.

>>4188455
support

> Chits
> High quality scrap
> Gas mask


We already have a decent melee weapon. The masterwork blade thingie. The gas mask is useful in wasteland environment. Money is useful. And high quality scrap is useful.

>>4188592
>99. Masterwork metal shard
Found this while looking for the bum. It's a very nice improvised shank we found.

>3! Gained Merc Spear. This curve bladed spear is well utilized by many of the mercenary outfits in the wastes. Fitted for the thrust and the cut, there’s a reason it’s favored by the professionals.
This is the starting weapon we got before getting brained by the rock.

>No you would need some high quality scrap for that or a motorized saw already in your inventory
It's a medical bone cutting saw. The small one. Not the big one meant to tear apart a car.

Point is the only thing masterwork is a shiver we got. It's cute, it's a decent holdout, but it doesnt compare the super saw.

>>4188455
>>4188589
>>4188592

>Gained Scavver Gas Mask (Access areas with foul/toxic gasses)
>Gained Scrapper Saw (Unpowered)
>Gained 150 Chits (total up to 225)

As you pick through the dead scavengers pack, feeling much like a scavver yourself, you single out items that you feel you could use. While you’d like to take anything of possible use, you’d overencumber yourself quickly with that much gear and you’d risk slowing yourself down to unsafe degrees. So it’s with an economical mind that you select key bits of scavenged gear for your own use.

A full face mask made out of bits of heavily treated leather and cloth is set to the side, the thick glass lenses of the eyes caked with a layer of dust over the years. You inspect the filters that emerge from the portion that would be directly over the mouth and find while they are a little clogged with dust, a few smacks against your boot knocks them relatively clear. You know that scavvers utilize masks such as these to access ruins and ancient tech temples that have fouled or toxic air within them. As long as you don’t remain in the area longer than the filters can withstand, you should be able to journey into those ruins yourself.

A rotary saw the length of your forearm follows next, it’s battered metal casing marked with scratches and dents. The alloy blade that sits at the end of it gleams wickedly still, hooked with thick teeth ready to carve through lesser metals and flesh alike. You’ve seen many a Tech Raider and Nomad make use of weapons such as these, fixing them to long shafts or using the motors to draw bladed chains through set channels. Without a power cell to power it, it’s little better than a club with a slightly pointed end but you could sell it for a decent price or make use of its capabilities if you’re willing to sacrifice a power cell to get it working again.

Tucked within the bottom of the pack is a small leather pouch that clinks with a satisfying weight as you bounce it in your palm. Dumping the pouch in your lap, you quickly count through the sum of squarish metal coins that now gleam dully in the rapidly fading light. With a sum of 150 chits, it’s clear that this scavver, whoever they were, were decently successful. Pouring the sum into your own coin pouch, you afford yourself a small smile as you hear the coins clink against one another. You could purchase yourself some armor, medical supplies, a pack mount, even a bloody helmet.

As you sequester your new acquisitions into your pack, securing the slightly bulky saw against the side, you can’t help but notice that the light is fading to almost nothing extremely quickly. The sun is setting over the Dead City and with the night is coming the real horrors of this ancient necropolis. Already, nocturnal mutants and creatures screech into the rising darkness, their bellies rumbling and jaws slavering with animalistic greed at the prospect of warm flesh to fill their bellies this night.

>Cont

>>4188696
>Make camp here tonight. The fact these scavvers haven’t been bothered much means this area should be safe.

>Double time it towards Rat Town, hope you can make it.

>try and craft something with your available materials

>Other

>>4188698
Your equipment list

https://docs.google.com/document/d/13dYjn8cvwup-GfpMdT55Hrn01nNCt5bpa94nmMqlJjk

>>4188722
You can certainly attempt to

>>4188698
Reposting because I forgot to include stuff.

>Make camp here tonight. The fact these scavvers haven’t been bothered much means this area should be safe.
>try and craft something with your available materials
So we cant take anything due to it making us encumbered, but what about making traps? We could stay here for the night, but first maybe we could make a trio wire explosive trap with the volatile chemicals, and a crossbow trap by repairing the crossbow with the parts on hand?
My rational is if a someone comes the traps will kill them. If a monster comes the traps will kill it and we might get free breakfast.

>>4188734
I like the idea of keeping it safe and using the kit to restore the crowbow into a trap, plus the chemicals.

we have three quarters of a ration tho. The body takes a lot of punishment, so I am not really concerned about that. But water worries me way more

>>4188823
I'm not too worried about water. We have enough cash to guy some water or purification tablets when we get to town, and if we're lucky enough to kill something or another person with our trap then we can sell whatever we dont want to keep.

Here's my idea. If some raiders come by and all but one of them is dead but the survivor is still injured, we knock then out, time them up then forcen them to carry all the shit until we get to town to sell it all off.

>Make camp here tonight. The fact these scavvers haven’t been bothered much means this area should be safe.

>>4188734
supporting this. Waste not, want not.

I propose while we keep what we are keeping, we go check the green guy for any loot real quick, and then make the most of our night.

0. Check green guy corpse. maybe we fix up our jacket.

1. Put our plundered small cell into the saw we got.

2. Use the scrap, crossbow, and chemicals to set a trap to keep us safe for the night.

3. Use our googles to repair that new mask if there is anything to be had, otherwise toss them, they are kinda shit.

4. Combine the stun stick we were going to leave behind with our spear, and possibly consider attaching the saw onto the spear as a replacement for it's blade. its plenty sharp spinning or not, and it saves us weight.

tl/dr: Shocking, slicing, spinny ma-jig.

5. Try and sew up our fucked up jacket with some of the clothing from those corpses.

>>4188823
You have 3 out of 4 days of rations. Sorry I didn’t specify that in the doc

>>4188734
Ok so I’m assuming this is the winning vote.

With the materials at hand, I’ll say you can rig up a crossbow trap and a explosive tripwire with the volatile chemicals and the scrap materials. You’ll be rolling at a disadvantage as you’re working in the dark.

Roll me 2d100 with a -15 Penalty

Rolled 11, 34 - 15 = 30 (2d100 - 15)

>>4189841
oof

Rolled 72, 75 + 15 = 162 (2d100 + 15)

>>4189841

>>4189841
>You’ll be rolling at a disadvantage as you’re working in the dark.
What if we found some stuff to make a camp fire?

>>4189874
Then I would remove the penalty. Do you guys want to try to make a fire with the available materials?

>>4189916
we can try to burn the clothing of the corpses? or the whole corpses. its a little fucked up, but they seem pretty dry. and its sort of...a burial. mostly for light though.

Rolled 4, 13 = 17 (2d100)

>>4189841
add the penalties yourself

>>4189940
>Add the penalties yourself.

No problem dude, just making sure you all are aware of the penalty

>Attempt to make a fire with the available materials to remove the penalty? This includes the corpses, their clothing and anything flammable you can scrounge from the immediate area.

Y/N

>>4189969
yes
A fire can sort of be respectful. I'm sure in some societies..... yeah lets go with that.

>>4189969
yeah

>ok so making a fire from the available materials you have removes the penalty from working in the dark so those rolls are no longer affected by that -15.

>72. Good success! Used Volatile Chemicals and 1 Unit of Basic Scrap to create a explosive tripwire!
>75! Good success! Used Rusted Crossbow and 1 Unit of Basic Scrap to create a Crossbow Trap
>Lost 2 Units of Basic Scrap

With the light quickly fading towards the deepening darkness of night, you have little option but to bed down here for the night. You have no problem sleeping rough in the wastes, having had to make many a camp in old ruins, empty villages and the ruined husks of the ships of the ancients. It’s the uncomfortably close presence of the Dead Cities nocturnal predators that has you briefly consider making a run for Rat Town and the safety found behind spiked walls and your fellow humans. The not too distant screeching of a Lurker makes your decision for you, you having no chance of outrunning a pack of them.

You quickly pull your bedroll from your pack and lay it out against a wall perpendicular to the corpse of the young woman. No matter your familiarity with death, sleeping literally next to a dead body seems impolite to you. The open doorways and the faint but surely perceptible odor of blood from your nearly stitched head wound make you pause for a moment. With the old crossbow and that bottle of volatiles, you’re sure you could rig up something to give any curious predator a nasty surprise. With a quick nod to yourself, you pull out a small canvas pouch of odd bits of metal, springs, screws, nuts and bolts, various wires and metal strips. Your crafting kit goes next to it on the sand packed floor, the small toolbox rattling slightly as it’s contents shift.

Cursing to yourself, you look at the quickly deepening shadows that are turning the room into a pitch black tomb. Not even the faintest glimmer of sunlight is peaking through the cracks in the ceiling or walls, within minutes you’ll barely be able to see your hand in front of your face. You can’t make anything with visibility this poor. With a deep scowl you run through your available options and sigh with resignation as you realize you’ll need some sort of light source if you hope to sleep safely and without a glow cube or a lantern, fire is your only option. Scrounging through the sandy floor, against the walls and in the main room of your impromptu shelter, you find a small quantity of tough, dried grasses that have sprung up over the years in the widening cracks in the roadway or blown in here by the endless winds. A few small, bent twigs from the hardy, twisted trees that occasionally take root in the cracks in the stone are also yielded up by your quick search.

>Cont

>>4190707
It’s not enough, you realize as you run your hands over the small pile of fuel. It would surely burn brightly but it would only do so for a few minutes at most, the material being dry as bone. You’d need something more... substantial. Your eyes settle on the faint outline of the young woman’s corpse and you curl your lip in mild distaste. It’s not nearly the first body you’ve desecrated over the years but it still feels fairly rude to disturb such a long and peaceful rest. But, the scavver pair is long dead and you doubt their ghosts still linger in this place. You’re alive and you well intend to remain that way, besides, cremation is a common way of burial for the Nomads and the Tribals in the Ashlands to the south.

The scavver with the knife in his ribs you drag into the small room, his dessicated body remarkably light, pulling free of the sands embrace with only a few grunts of effort on your end and mild cracking on his. Feeling that he was likely the aggressor in the original situation, judging by his counterparts defensive position, you have no qualms about tanking the serrated blade from between his ribs, cutting his ragged clothes to bits and using the saw-like edge of the dagger to dismember his corpse. It’s much like sawing through old, dry wood that has begun to crumble, wisps of completely dried flesh, greasy with subcutaneous fat, curling out through the gashes as you sever his limbs at the joints. His body resembles a pile of neatly cut firewood as you stack it next to the pile of tinder, your eyes straining in the dark.

You gripe for your rightfully taken small power cell in the depths of your pack, pulling it free with a triumphant grin. A small button on the side of it allows the aperture at its cylindrical end to iris open, revealing a pair of leads. A bit of metal twisted round with insulated wire is held to these leads as you press the affair against the pile of tinder, gently prodding and adjusting till at last a buzzing, eyewatering flash emits from the leads and the acrid scent of ozone is quickly replaced by the scent of burning grasses. Gently piling on the larger bits of tinder, you feed the hungry flames as the small room becomes filled with a warm yellow-orange dancing light as the growing fire consumes everything you feed it.

The first of the Scavvers limbs is placed on the flames along with a small pile of his clothing, torn to strips. The fire takes a moment to take hold before flaring brightly as the long dried fats burn like lamp oil, the mans likely flabbiness before death a boon for you long after he passed. Adding a calf and a forearm to the fire along with another bundle of cloth strips, you watch the smoke filter through the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Grabbing the rusted crossbow, it’s wayward bolt and the vial of volatiles, you take a cross legged position by the fire, your tools close at hand as you begin working.

>>4190709

The crossbow is relatively easy to repair to at least a functional degree. The dry conditions mean that the main body of it, while nowhere near the condition you could buy one for in the poorest of scavver camps, is at least structurally sound. All the modifications you have to make are disassembling the trigger mechanisms and throughly lubricating it with a bottle of oil. After making sure that it will move more or less smoothly, you reassemble the trigger mechanism. The corroded string is replaced by a length of sacrificial wire, the material unlikely to hold up to repeated shots but more than satisfactory enough for one. Pulling the string back until it locks, you load the bolt and wedge the butt of the crossbow into the corner directly facing the doorway into the small room you shelter in. A length of thin wire is ran though several eye screws that you work into the wall, creating a basic tripwire fired crossbow trap after you poop the wire through the trigger guard of the crossbow. If anything larger than a Rathound hits that tripwire, it will be sorely surprised when it catches a crossbow bolt to the mouth.

The bottle of volatiles is rigged up simply enough, the materials inside are so dangerous that it’s damn near a lethal trap by itself. Harvested carefully from old machines, ruptured fuel cells and the great leviathan ships of the salt wastes, the dull orangish liquid swirls by itself through the thick, dark glass of the bottle. Dropping it would be enough to set it off, most people who transport it do so in bottles like these packed in layers of cloth and straw. Running a length of wire around the neck of the bottle, you simply suspend it just outside the doorway leading into the main room from the road, your eyes peeled for any nighttime predators. The tripwire you rig up ensures that anything, man or beast, will have only a few moments before the bottle falls and hits a conveniently located jagged stone. While an amount like this is unlikely to prove fatal to a large creature, a Lurker, a human or a ghoul would be reduced to a battered corpse by a wave of heat and pressure, not to mention the burst of glass shards.

Your security more or less assured to the best of your ability, you return to your makeshift campsite and place your belongings back in your pack. You pile more of the scavvers body on the fire, his limbs hissing and spitting as they burn merrily. Sitting on your bedroll, you take a few large swallows from your canteen as you chew down several mouthfuls of your rations. The dry, coarse Crik-bread sticks in your teeth, grinding like sand as you rip at a piece of jerky, the stringy meat originating from some multi legged lizard the size of three large men laying end to end youd seen being butchered by a small convoy of Nomads.
>(-1 day of rations, 2 remaining.)

>Get some sleep

>Work on your equipment

>Give yourself a once over, it couldn’t hurt.

>Other

>>4190713
>Get some sleep

>>4190713
>Get some sleep

>Get some sleep

Washing down the remnants of your rations with another gulp from your canteen, swishing the water through your teeth, you fold the ration pouch back up and tuck it into your pack. Your campfire slowly flickers down, burning through the mummified corpse of the scavver like it’s been soaked in oil. Standing, you toss the remains of the male scavver onto the fire, a cloud of sparks and acrid grey smoke swirling upward as the fire flares up. The body of the female scavver is light as a feather as you gently grab it by the shoulders. To ensure the fire burns through the night, you need to add just a bit more fuel. Her body settles into the flames, pale yellow flames licking the cloth of her pants and the tattered shirt about her torso. Withered skin begins cracking and flickering as the flames begin consuming her body. Giving the corpse a small nod, you turn to your bedroll. Adjusting the worn pack into a makeshift pillow, you sprawl into your bedroll and do your best to get comfortable.

>Roll me 1d100 for your nighttime encounters. Best of 3, Higher is better

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>4190956
yeet

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4190956
Freeeemaaaaaaan

Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4190956
:( sorry for not being avaible

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>4190956

>>4191023
>89! Great success!

Perhaps it is the scent of smoke, some natural instinct in the creatures of the dead city fearing the prospect of fire. Perhaps it is your relative seclusion in a desolated region of the ancient metropolis, simply not considered a prime hunting spot by the resident nocturnal predators. Perhaps it’s just a simple matter of luck, some other unfortunate pulling the proverbial short straw.

But whatever the circumstances, you pass your night undisturbed, habitually waking a few times throughout the night to listen to the nearby area. A few distant screeches and the leathery wingbeats of some aerial predator are all that reach your ears beyond the cracklings of the fire as it burns itself to wispy coals. It’s with the early morning light oozing through the cracks in the wall that you awake, sitting up and groaning as your joints pop loudly. With a twist of your head and a quick stretch, you stand and roll up your bedroll, stowing it in your pack as you go about preparing to move out from your impromptu campsite.

>Work on your gear

>Head out, you’ll get to Rat Town before noon if you’re lucky.

>Dismantle the traps and try to salvage the materials

>Other

>>4192088
>Dismantle the traps and try to salvage the materials
>Work on your gear
We have 4 inventory space left. I don't know how much space the crossbow will take up, but lets use up the scraps we have available to repair the crossbow, and possibly the goggles if at all possible. Since we can't take all of it, we might as well use it all to fix our stuff, maybe even improve them.

>>4192088
>Dismantle AND work on the gear.

Take that shock stick, and see if we can integrate it into our spear. That would still be balanced, but give us a little more utility to our attack. we havn't abandoned it yet.

If its possible to add the scavenger saw onto the spear at the cost of the blade, that gives us some reach, but i suspect its a clunky fucker.

>>4192113

>Take that shock stick, and see if we can integrate it into our spear. That would still be balanced, but give us a little more utility to our attack. we havn't abandoned it yet.
>If its possible to add the scavenger saw onto the spear at the cost of the blade, that gives us some reach, but i suspect its a clunky fucker.

These are modifications that would require high quality scrap and a workbench or a dedicated tool kit. These are beyond the ability of your dinky toolbox

>>4192101
The crossbow would take up 3 spaces as it is a medium object.

>>4192143
Can we use the scrap to add a little protection value to the Wanderer Jacket and Worn Boots?

>>4192156
Yes you can. The Scrap is a catchall, assume as long as you have ENOUGH scrap that you have whatever parts you need unless you’re doing something really special. So we’ll assume you have a bunch of large gauge steel washers and strips of metal to secure to your jacket.

>>4192161
In that spirit, lets just cannabalize shit, do some quick and dirty upgrades to our jacket and boots, and get outta here. Maybe pocket that shock stick if we have the room. we might be able to get some extra room by inserting that power cell into the big saw.

Big TL/DR:

Can we get a roll to consume all resources in the area like locusts and see what we get?

>>4192161
>-Basic Crafting Kit (a small toolbox that allows the creation of basic tools and weapons from Basic Scrap while in the field) -1 Inventory Space
Would it be possible to improve the basic Crafting Kit with the 2 Units of High Quality Scrap, or would we still need a High End Crafting Kit?
if we can't improve the Basic kit then yeah, let's break down the crossbow trap and use all 6 units of our simple scrap stuff to repair things. Just using up all the simple scrap to improve the goggles, jacket and stuff.

>>4192113
Like this guy's idea. We can attack the shock stick to the other end of our scrap spear. Except lets not do the saw attachment until we get additional power cells. We only have the 1 so far, plus the small one would be useful for surgeries.

>>4192228
>Would it be possible to improve the basic Crafting Kit with the 2 Units of High Quality Scrap, or would we still need a High End Crafting Kit?
You would still need a better crafting kit. The high quality scrap isn’t the tools, it’s the materials you would be using.

>>4192225
Can we get a roll to consume all resources in the area like locusts and see what we get?

Yes you can, it would take a while and you’d have a few encounter checks depending on the area but you can mass scavenge an area.

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>>4192239
lets dew et

>Consensus seems to be
-attempt to dismantle the traps and recover the scrap used.
-Try to scavenge the area as fully as possible
-Attempt to use the Basic Scrap in the scavvers pack to reinforce your jacket and boots and repair your goggles.

Bueno? Did I miss anything?

>>4192421
Bueno

>>4192421
Ok so Roll me 4d100 please.
-attempt to dismantle the traps and recover the scrap used. (2d100 for 2 traps)
-Try to scavenge the area as fully as possible (1d100)
-Attempt to use the Basic Scrap in the scavvers pack to reinforce your jacket and boots and repair your goggles (1d100)

Rolled 90, 47, 52, 43, 35 = 267 (5d100)

>>4192631
adding 1 more d100 for how swagger we'll look.

Rolled 23 (1d400)

>>4192631
We gotta remain inside the building untill we minmax everything possibleeeee

Rolled 80, 84, 3, 32 = 199 (4d100)

>>4192631

Rolled 31, 90, 48, 51 = 220 (4d100)

>>4192672
>>4192631

hehehe, Cursed I am dummy thicc and the clap of my asscheeks prevents me to roll

Rolled 97, 46, 49, 16 = 208 (4d100)

>>4192631
Screw it. Probably doesn't matter anymore but here. One more 4d100 for the pile.

Rolled 29, 93, 77, 39 = 238 (4d100)

>>4192631
Rolling for the glory

>>4192631
Story progression is understandably slow, but I hope one of these days we'll get to drive a car in this wasteland.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuIamJ7hCnI

>Sorry for the lack of updates yesterday, it was a busy one. I thought I’d have much more free time over the weekend than I ended up having.
>90! Great success!
>90! Great success!
>52! Mild Failure!
>51! Mild Failure!

Your makeshift traps are both dismantled with ease, their components stowed away within your pack in moments. The crossbow trap is quickly dismantled, the wire you used to set it recovered and stowed away within your pack. The corroded crossbow is tossed aside into the corner, the ancient wood and metal cracking. You’re lucky it didn’t shatter under the strain of the arm being pulled back and set. It’s with extreme care that you unhook the vial of volatiles from its wire hook, holding the thick glass bottle gingerly with both hands. Stowing it, the length of wire and the eyebolts back into your pack, you shoulder it anew and look out onto the sand and rubble strewn roadway of the dead city.

>Gained 2 Basic Scrap

Sitting in the early morning sunlight, you lean against the wall of the structure you’d made camp within and strip off your jacket, pulling the bundle of scrap and your tool kit from within your pack. You’d had the idea to attempt to reinforce your jacket and boots with the metal and now was as good a time as any. You spend a bit of time securing washers, strips of thin metal, small lengths of chain and wire through and against the fabric of your jacket, focusing on protecting vital areas. But as you attempt to secure it firmly, the weathered fabric simply rips, many of the scrap bits falling with a metallic clatter against the stone. Cursing, you simply do your best to sew up the tears in your jacket with thin wire before pulling it back on and picking up the fallen scrap.


Sighing, you look around the deserted streets of the dead city, an idea coming to your mind. With those scavvers having gone so long undisturbed, you think you could spend a few hours combing the area. It’s likely this area hasn’t been as picked over as it appears if a haul like theirs went undisturbed for such a length of time. With a bit of time invested, it’s likely you could scour this immediate area for anything of value and still get to Rat Town before mid-afternoon. Using your spear as a walking stick, you set off at a brisk walk for the remains of a inwardly collapsed structure, the faded markings in the stone marking it as some sort of ancient tech temple.

>Time passes.

Frustrated, you dust your palms after crawling out from a cramped room half filled with rubble and packed sand. A glimmer had caught your eye as you rooted through the remnants of a leaning Hab-tower, the prospect of something valuable after hours of dust and rusted metal tempting you in. You’d gotten within arms reach of the metallic shine only to discover it was a thin layer of reflective insulation that had been bound once around more valuable wires. Shiny, but ultimately worthless. Some other scavver had gotten here before you.

>Cont

>>4195451
Running a damp rag across your face, you scowl as you look up and down the street. The sun is slowly crawling through the murky sky, shadows shortening as noon approaches. In the wastes and the great salt flats, this is a dangerous time of day as the heat haze blurs vision and the baking sands threaten to cook you from the feet up. But in the Dead Cities, it’s less of an issue. Taking a pull from your canteen, you allow it to swing back on its strap and set back on your way.

>Continue on to Rat Town

>Look for a less scavenged area to pick over

>Look for anything of interest in the area.

>Other

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239 KB JPG

>>4194404
Well not really cars but there are vehicles, mounts, boats, trains, etc.

>>4195454

>Other

continue to rat town at a slower pace, try to move from shade to shade, or find an oasis. fuck getting caught in the sunset.

>>4195454
Power up the saw and cut a thin wall of metal. Get some string or basic scrap and use it as a sled to carry all our stuff.
Be armed with the volatile chemical to yeet it at anything that tries to attack.

>>4195477
And this is the kind of ingenuity I like

>>4195477
supporting

>>4195477
YEET

>>4195477
Support

Dead?

>>4200509
Not at all. Just been incredibly busy the last few days. About to launch a tasty new bread if you’ll give me but a few moments anon

new bread
>>4200631