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Post by Gravedust on Jul 5, 2010 23:38:58 GMT -8
Elle has little to say on Claire's arrival, other than to give her a terse smile. "I'm fine... You get used to the long hauls. As for land.. It'll be there, if it is." She shrugs. "In any case.. We won't crash. If we come up against empty I'll set her down gently.. And from there... I guess we swim."
The day stretches on, as the sun rises into the sky. Bethesda climb along with it, as Elle eases them higher to give their eyes a wider horizon in which to catch any errant speck of land.
The wind picks up as well, a strong gust out of the north that whips whitecaps from the sea surface far below. Bethesda heels to port as Elle corrects for the wind... Or near as she can tell. The sky becomes jittery with turbulence as rainclouds form, sprout and shrink away to the north and west of them, once sweeping the Bethesda's deck with water and wetting the exposed bridge. To those with any nautical experience, it seems like a storm is brewing.
It is just after four o'clock when land is sighted, seen by most of the searching eyes aboard ship at almost at the same time. Not the mainland but a tiny scrap of island, perhaps two or three miles from stem to stern with a tall black peak in the center
"Got something!" Elle cries jubilantly, raising her voice to be heard over the rush of wind through the smashed windows. "I don't know about you but I'm ready to set 'er down now, before this weather gets any worse!"
Without waiting for further discussion she hauls Bethesda's nose into the wind, struggling to reach the island against the opposed headwind. She dips the craft's nose and pushes the throttles to the stops, muttering something as the ship shudders then begrudgingly gives up altitude, caught between the wind and the tugging of the engines.
"Gonna get a mite rough!" she shouts over the din. "Anything not strapped down oughta be, including crew!"
================
Upkeeeeeep
Marty: +2 CP
Claire: +2 CP
Kenneth: +2 CP
Heloise: +2 CP
Dexter: +2 CP
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Post by brendur on Jul 6, 2010 5:37:00 GMT -8
(( I am SO sorry I missed out on yesterday guys :S I had that day off from work and I was in complete weekend mode.))
It's the howl of the wind against the hull that finally wakes Tom up from the sleep of the dead. For seven years he had been waking to the sound of the deck whistle, it was the start of the day on a ship, and the end of it. Without one he felt all the less of a sailor and more an escapee.
It was just as well though, he'd been two days without sleep in that cramped cell, and the rush of the fight had taken a lot out of him. A day's sleep had done him a world of good, and with any luck he'd be waking to the fresh batch of options that was land.
Yawning he hopped out of his bunk, grabbing his rucksack in the same motion. He noticed it was lighter the moment he landed, lifting the flap slightly to confirm what he had suspected, one of them had finally been bold enough to take the hat. Good, at least one thing about this ship was now vaguely shiplike.
The ship...there was something he had been supposed to do on the ship...it was on the tip of his tongue. The previous crew. Damn it, those bodies were still in the aft engine room. He'd best go take care of them now, whether the new captain said anything over their bodies or not. Taking off down the halls, he hurried to beat the brace of bad weather they were headed for.
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Post by DeleriusDruid on Jul 6, 2010 7:57:36 GMT -8
Marty had just glimped the speck of land before them when he heard the call:
"Gonna get a mite rough!" she shouts over the din. "Anything not strapped down oughta be, including crew!"
The deck of the airship was definitely not the place to be now, with the weather turning rough. Marty climbed back down the stairs to join the others.
He thought to himself about what would happen next? After they had earned their freedom... but would they really be free? The commandeering of a Concordian ship would not go unnoticed.
"Suppose this lil' rock of an island be inhabited. Will they take kindly to a Concordian prison ship? And what if there even be Concordians there already? Best be careful, methinks."
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 6, 2010 9:10:12 GMT -8
((Khrys it's up to you whether Kenneth's already found ye bodies in the cannon compartment, and how much work is done on them already, since you indicated he was off looking for them.))
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Post by e on Jul 6, 2010 18:38:21 GMT -8
Upon hearing the pilot's exultant "Got something!" Claire grins broadly and silently offers up her thanks to Lady Fortune.
She takes another quick glance outside as Ellie mentions the weather. "Sounds fitting to me. I know you'll do us proud."
As the pilot begins adjusting the controls to descend, Claire saunters toward the bunks, and straps herself tight. "Don't know about all you, but I sure am tickled pink to find this sojourn ending at someplace apart from the salt mine. I do reckon Marty's not far off the naked truth. We'd best be cautious as foxes."
Her focus turns inward, thoughts flitting around to many things, some memories, some fantasies... long cleansing baths, Viktor's strange and unexpected departure, sailing to recover treasures with a hearty crew and worthy ship at her behest, herself and her brother working themselves into oblivion in a mine blowing with sand and saltfilth, the feel of fresh fruit sliding down her throat.
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Khrys
Full Member
Posts: 130
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Post by Khrys on Jul 6, 2010 20:29:28 GMT -8
"Gonna get a mite rough!" she shouts over the din. "Anything not strapped down oughta be, including crew!"
Kenneth had just discovered the remains of some prior crewmembers when the ship began it's pitching. His ears didn't hear the cry out. Instead it was the past several years as a ship-board cook that advised him this keeling was strong enough to put his plans on hold.
Sulking unhappily that his task had yet again been interfered with, he made his way to the kitchen in order to assure everything was locked down before strapping himself in near the stove. "Ship's galley secured!" he roared in his thick, loud, voice - a habit that he realised was bred from working with a formal crew. He blinked with surprise not at the habit but at the fact that he had expected to hear the chime-in from various locations aboard ship.
Ah well. It did no harm. And these folk had no doubt already figured he had been part of the original crew. They seem to have ignored this fact, which left him feeling comfortable. He settled in during this tossing-about and tried to make plans. Once things were less choppy, he'd likely return to what he perceived to be his duty, back in the cannon compartment.
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kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
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Post by kraftykate on Jul 6, 2010 21:34:52 GMT -8
Heloise grabbed a blanket from her bunk and ran in search of Boris. The cat needed to be secured as well and she wasn't about to let the poor thing become a casualty if she could help it. Of course she found the rotund rascal hovering around the kitchen area. "C'mere Boris. C'mere boy. This bucket's gonna get tossed and you need to be secured too." Quickly, she wrapped the cat up in the blanket despite his misgivings. "You'll get over it. I'd rather you think me a bitch then be squished."
With that, Heloise got into a relatively safe and secure place in the bunk area.
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 6, 2010 23:30:59 GMT -8
Bethesda protests, -loudly- as she struggles forward, nose into the wind. Elle finds herself humming, in part to calm herself, and in part to drown out the sound of Bethesda rattling like a box of tools tumbling down some stairs. "We'll be fine, though..." She murmurs to no-one, gripping the wheel. "Concordia builds 'em tough... Maybe a bit brick-like, but tough." The harsh tug of war between the headwind and Bethesda's engines continues, and the shape of the island grows slowly but steadily larger. "Almost there. Come on old bird." Elle pushes the throttle forward even though it's already jammed against the stop. The black blur of the mountain looms up in the cracked viewscreen. There is an alarming lurch and as the ship passes into the calmer air of the island's lee, but Elle manages to stabilize the craft and gentle her down to treetop level above a wide expanse of beach. Gradually lowering the power she settles the ship in amid a storm of flying sand. As soon as Bethesda is settles in she cuts off the engines and banks the furnace, cutting it's flow of air back to the bare minimum needed to keep it's coals burning. "And here we are!" Elle smiles and steps back from the wheel, rubbing her hands together. "On the ground, safe and sound. You can unstrap now." The view of of the ship's windows is dim with rain, but the massive dark pillar of the (presumably volcanic, though there is no visible smoke) cone in the center is clearly visible. Wide yellow stretches of beach extend off to the east and west, following the gentle curvature of the island itself, as does the dense treeline of the jungle that seems to take up the center of the island. "So now what?" ISLAND MAP Gray area represents unexplored terrain.==================================== UPKEEPTom:+2 CP Marty:+2 CP Claire:+2 CP Kenneth:+2 CP Helo:+2 CP
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Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 7, 2010 6:22:04 GMT -8
The sudden shouting did nothing to rouse Dexter from his book-reading. The sudden change in pitch of the ship (coinciding with the end of a paragraph), however, did, and his eyes moved up a little dazed and bewildered, and stared about the room to get his bearings. They found anchor with Claire as she advanced toward the bridge and the pilot. Listening to the sound of the ship and finally processing the voices that had been shouting over the din of the engines about land, Dexter's eyes became focussed, and he braces himself for the rocky landing.
As soon as the Bethesda settles down and starts in on the normal routine of creaks, groans, cracks and other complaints she emits when she's quiet (and stable) enough to be heard, Dexter races up the steps to the aft engine room and the deck to see what of the island he can see. As the engine rotors finally slow to a stop, he clambers up to the top to get a better view of the layout.
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Post by brendur on Jul 7, 2010 6:43:07 GMT -8
Tom scoots by the lumbering mound of Kenneth as the ship begins it's initial protests, sliding along the floor and rolling back up to his feet to narrowly miss bowling into the chef.
"Low Bridge!"
The thought makes him chuckle as he continues to dash down the iron corridor, exultant to be up and moving in any space at all. He latches on to the ladder up to the aft engine room as soon as the Bethesda makes her own joyous break into freedom, hanging on for all he's worth to not be thrown off. He uses the moments of relative calm afterward to pull himself into the engine room, surveying the "Boys" where he left them.
"Well, seems like tis no burial at sea fer ye lot, a nice sunny beach twill do ye jest as fi..."
As he opened the the door to the rain-splattered deck, he paused in his assessment.
"Well tis a beach anyhow"
He walked out onto the deck, appreciating the warm tropic rain on his face for a few moments before he headed to the railing. Holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the rain, he surveyed the surrounding beach, just to make sure he wouldn't be dropping bodies on bodies.
((Spot check on the beach))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 7, 2010 8:56:23 GMT -8
((Visible to the people on deck))
The beach is is largely empty, save for a few pieces of bleached white driftwood and a generous ring of dead kelp washed up on shore at various tides, like the growth rings of a tree. (The Bethesda being located a healthy distance away from the highest tideline.) A platoon of small crabs scuttle in and around the gentle surf.
The beach seems clear of prints, but then on the other hand the rain would likely have helped to blur out any that may have been there.
In the distance to the north-northeast, barely visible against the overcast is a thin grey plume of rising team, dissipating as it reaches skyward. The distance is hard to judge, but by best estimate it appears to be coming from a source perhaps one or one and a half miles distant.
A few moments later another smudge on the sky is picked out, this one thinner and white... Smoke instead of steam. It's spotty nature makes the distance hard to judge, but it's location is pinned firmly in the Northwest.
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Post by brendur on Jul 7, 2010 9:49:40 GMT -8
Steam and smoke, two tell tale signs of life which could just as easily mean civilization or savagery on the horizon. No matter, it affirmed that they were not alone on this island, and gave rise to a healthy dose of caution in the back of Tom's mind. He turned to Dexter eying him for a moment then nodding out to the two plumes in the distance.
"Ye might want to tell the others we ain't alone out here. I suggest any of em that care to wander from the ship, had best do it with someone at their side."
That being said he began with the business of dragging the bound bodies out the aft engine room, and dumping them over the side of the ship. Sand would be easy, especially freshly wetted, a few shallow graves and then he could help going about the matter of refueling the ship.
"I won't be far from the Bethesda, certainly within yellin distance."
He headed back into the ship, making his way for the boiler room for a shovel, whistling an odd tune all the while.
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Post by DeleriusDruid on Jul 7, 2010 9:55:20 GMT -8
The landing was rough yet wonderful. Solid land. Unknown and mysterious land sure, but it was still land. And for that Marty was grateful.
He peered out through the rain to survey the island. Not much could be seen, and what he could see meant very little to him.
"This lil' rock of an island looks decent enough, but let's not make this an extended stay, shall we? We be needin' fuel for the ship an' fuel for us, then we're off.
If there be any other folks around here, I may be able to, er, "acquire" a few things if need be. Anyone comin' with me?"
Without waiting for anyone to answer, Marty left the ship and headed to the steam to the northeast, keeping to the treeline.
((Leave ship, head northeast. I want to stay just inside the treeline in order to hide as soon as I see anything or anyone unusual))
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Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 7, 2010 10:35:02 GMT -8
Dexter climbs down from his lookout spot but not before swinging on the rotor a few times, seeing how much of his 120 pounds it can hold. Answer: easily several times as much.
As his feet hit the deck again, he notices Tom sizing him up and shrinks slightly under the intense gaze.
"Ye might want to tell the others we ain't alone out here. I suggest any of em that care to wander from the ship, had best do it with someone at their side...I won't be far from the Bethesda, certainly within yellin distance."
Dexter looks up again and meets the man's gaze then nods curtly and runs across the deck into the engine room and slides down the ladder to the furnace room. He trots to the bridge, almost bumping into Grimshot as he makes his way out.
"...If there be any other folks around here, I may be able to, er, 'acquire' a few things if need be. Anyone comin' with me?"
Dexter watches his back as he walks away from the crew, then turns around and sidles up to Claire.
"The sociopath with the bombs says we probably shouldn't venture towards civilization alone," he says to her, but loud enough that anyone within proximity can hear him. "It might be wise not to let that hooplehead get himself shot with arrows. Unless we want some arrows..." He glances in the direction of the large cook in the galley. "Or more kindling..."
Dexter runs downstairs to grab the airman's rifle he pilfered the night before from the deck, and the half-full magazine and slaps it into place clumsily. He straps it on his back and returns to the bridge to see what the others decide to do.
((If anyone else makes any move to join Marty, Dexter will silently accompany them.))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 7, 2010 10:48:37 GMT -8
((Math tells me that each individual rotor can withstand the weight of approximately 268 Dexters, although since they are designed to withstand upward stress rather than downward, they may actually buckle under as little 60 Dexters if they were weighing the rotors down.))
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Khrys
Full Member
Posts: 130
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Post by Khrys on Jul 7, 2010 18:42:57 GMT -8
After freeing himself, Kenneth made his way to the exit. The others had already poked their heads out, if not stepped out completely onto the sand. He was about to do the same when a strange trepidation seized him.
In all his previous experiences, he boarded when his contract began, he went ashore when it had ended. They handed him payment for his duty and he either began a new contract or returned home.
This was not home.
There was no new contract.
He'd likely not even got paid for this - - this - - haphazard attempt at survival.
He stood blocking the exit for a full 10 minutes. On the 11th minute he turned around and the exit became an entrance. He recessed back to the ship's interior, heading to the cannon compartment, feeling lost and aimless inside.
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Post by e on Jul 7, 2010 19:15:58 GMT -8
After the ship has quieted, Claire takes her gun out of her rucksack and tucks it discreetly on her person, reshoulders the pack and heads to the galley to stow a tin of preserves with her other things and fills a flask with water, tossing that in on top of the food.
She sees Boris the cat on her way about ship and stops to look him in the eye. "Now, sweetness, you take awful good care of our ship here while I'm away. And don't let nobody tell you you're not entitled to a share if we get lucky neither. After all, you're on my crew." She puts a finger affectionately to the cat's nose and then turns and gets on with her business.
As she's busy moving around the room, she recalls the time she was stuck in a cave at the top of Mount Zenitha in a raging blizzard with only a few sticks of jerky to hold her over. At that thought she grabs another tin of foodstuff, just to be a little better prepared.
She reshoulders her pack and walks offship after Dexter and the others who're already on the sandy beach. She takes a moment to glance around and then looks pointedly at Dexter's back, newly decorated with a rifle and declares amusedly, "Well, looks like we're accompanyin', Marty. Anyone else is welcome to join, but I'd rest easier if somebody'll stay here and look after the ship."
She calls after Tom as he makes his way across the sand. "A few of us are off to the steam risin' over yonder. We'll be back in a while with news."
And with that she sets off after Marty, trudging steadily across the beach and toward the vegetation.
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kraftykate
Junior Member
Dr. David Sunday
Posts: 90
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Post by kraftykate on Jul 7, 2010 19:39:38 GMT -8
Heloise watches them go from the deck above. She doesn't wave or call out. Just watches. Once they are out of sight she heads down into the ship and seals the hatch behind them. "No one is coming back into this bucket unless we say so. Isn't that right Boris?" She looks down at the cat as he grumbles a little for food. "If there is smoke, that means someone's going to come on back here and they may not be friendly. Now if some assholes do get onto this ship, you do your best to trip them, okay? You cats are good at that."
Looking around, she calls out, "Hey cookie! You here? I need a hand making this old girl a bit ornery!"
((Heloise is going to start booby trapping the ship. If anyone tries to operate the ship without Heloise, it should be an ugly scene.))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 7, 2010 22:10:27 GMT -8
The trip into the foliage and then east along the shore is at first uneventful, the only contact the small group makes is a small monkey that climbs around the branches high above them.. The rains begin to slow, but the canopy still has plenty of water to drop on them, and their progress is marked by the soft drumbeats of thousands of droplets hitting the ground and leaves below. This has the pleasant side effect of muffling the sounds of their passage, though at the same time it also increases the chances of someone sneaking upon them unheard. Early on in the trip the first indication is given as to why their quest for burnable fuel may be a trifle harder than expected. The rains are apparently quite frequent, and everything, -everything- here is sodden and drenched. Even the dampest piece of firewood can be dried out given time out of the wet or a hot furnace to steam out the moisture, but the process is lengthy, and the amount of wood required to build up the steam pressure needed to turn Bethesda's rotors for even a single hour is prodidgious, compared to the compact solid fuel the ship normally feeds on. Getting Bethesda back to the mainland on a belly full of wood is certainly not not an impossible prospect, given the amount of empty space in Bethesda's holds and empty cells, (and airships in their time have burned far, far worse) but certainly the drying process would take some time, measured in days. At least between the stores that remain in Bethesda's hold and the probable availability of food from the island itself, (meat, fish, fruit) it's unlikely that hunger will feature prominently as a problem. In the Bethesda's battered bridge, Elle finishes a bit of light housekeeping by sweeping the shards of glass and shattered armor plating out the largest of the holes punched in her starboard side. Rainwater is trickling down into the compartment from some of them, and she catches some in her palm for a drink. Looking down at the puddle forming on the deck she sighs. This would not do.. Moisture would wreak havok with the instruments... She exists the bridge and rummages through the storage lockers in the cargo room until she finds what she's looking for; large oiled tarps used for covering and securing cargo boxes. Taking her prize back to the bridge she wedges as many as she can into the shellholes, stopping much of the dripping water. That done she plops wearily down into the Captain's chair, leans back with her hands folded across her lap, and falls deep asleep. Just outside the ship, Tom has a number of holes dug deep into the wet sand. Aside from having to pause in his efforts the stop the advances of a small number of exceptionally bold crabs, his efforts went uneventfully and now the old crew of the Bethesda (minus two) are ready to be laid to rest. Back out in the foliage and out of sight form the Bethesda, Marty, Claire, and Dexter find their journey abruptly interrupted by a faint noise from up the beach. Freezing on reflex they stand still and listen as two figures come into view, walking down the shoreline in the direction of the Bethesda. The pair seem to be an older man and a young man, trodding through the sand southward. Both are armed; the older man carries a rifle in one hand and the youth holds a handgun awkwardly put to his side, like he's not quite certain what to do with it. The sour-looking old man's mouth is moving as they two walk, though it's not until they draw closer that his words can be made out.. "....has a chance in any port that ain't got blind whores, yeh?" He hawks and spits. "...Suppose so." The youth answers slowly, looking as though he'd like to change the subject. "What class ship did they say it was?" "Not a damn idea. If'n ye hadn't got yer nose up yer bothers arsehole as usual ye might've noticed it yerself." The youth frowns. "...I wasn't on watch." "Not an fuckin' excuse. Not at all. Gunner." He raps the boy's shoulder with a knobby fist, not in any way a gesture of comraderie. "ye cleave to yer cannon and ye watch the sights, on duty'r off. 'f ye'd've done that maybe it'd be someone else goin' fer a fuckin' walk now." He hawks and spits again, tugging on the brim of his ancient cap. "Hold a damn minute.. Hold.." He bends double and lets loose a series of wracking coughs. The youth turns away and looks elswehere, his eyes scanning the forest from behind a pair of thin round glasses. An odd look crosses his face. The old man straightens up. "Ah... God damn it all. Cap'n's a bitch to put me out in this weather." He eyes the youth with distatse. " 'n with you of all people. God knows why." The young man speaks too quietly for those in the jungle to hear, but his lips are easily read as he touches the old man's shoulder. 'Someone is out there.' The old man's head follows his companion's pointing hand to where the three in the bush are hiding. ===================================================== ((Wow.. I'm not sure what happened to the map export on that onc, but it's late and I'm too lazy to fix it! Also, please remember to notarize inventory changes. It keeps life simple. )) :::Character Upkeep::Dexter:+ Clevinger Highwind (Back, ammo 6/10) +2 Cp Tom:+2 CP Marty:+3 CP Kenneth:+3 CP Claire: +2 CP +1 canned preserves (Size 1) (Rucksack) Helo:+2 CP
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Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 8, 2010 5:36:49 GMT -8
((CMYK vs RGB? or vice versa?))
Dexter hastily moves the rifle from his back, readying to give it to someone more able to actually use it, almost dropping it in the process of shrugging it off his back. His eyes flit to Claire's Ladyfinger then to Marty's B33, and he sighs silently. He holds the gun in an imitation of what he believes to be the "right" way and hopes he looks mean (though very much doubts it), ready to fire, if necessary, and most likely put some of his bullets in a few trees (though hopefully not any animals).
((2 tins of preserves for Claire by my count, marked on the character sheet.))
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Post by DeleriusDruid on Jul 8, 2010 8:43:41 GMT -8
Marty ducked quickly behind a tree. They were not alone. Listening to the snatches of conversation he could hear through the rain, he considered his options. He looked around at the know-it-all twerp and his bossy sister. They had also noticed the strangers, but had not hidden as well as they needed to. They had been spotted. 'Someone is out there.' Marty froze, thinking quickly. The grumpy old man was clearly not in a good mood and would be difficult to talk to, if he didn't decide to shoot first. The younger one looked as likely to drop his weapon as shoot wildly on reflex. All was still. The calm before the storm. As quietly as he could, Marty drew his handgun and aimed. Marty whispered harshly to his two companions, "Get down!""No, this isn't the path to making friends on an unknown isle. These'uns could be a help to us if we just use the guns to make them listen to what comes out of our mouths instead. Whatd'ya say? How's about I walk out there and say gooday to these folk and see if they'll tell us 'bout what's here and ye can keep that gun on 'em in case they look like too much trouble?"Marty squeezed the trigger. (( Edit: If I'm not in range for a sneak attack, just a carefully aimed ranged attack thenEditEdit: I'm assuming that my action of drawing my gun and taking aim gave Claire enough time to react, so I will change my action if that's alright.EditEditEdit: Guess I'm trigger happy ))
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Post by e on Jul 8, 2010 9:52:05 GMT -8
As she sees Marty readyin' his handgun to shoot the two pirate flunkys, Claire grimaces. Oh hell. Why can't things ever go smooth? she wonders.
She sticks her hands into her rucksack, pulling out the Captain's hat and doffing it, hissing at Marty as she does so. "on an unknown isle. These'uns could be a help to us if we just use the guns to make them listen to what comes out of our mouths instead. Whatd'ya say? How's about I walk out there and say gooday to these folk and see if they'll tell us 'bout what's here and ye can keep that gun on 'em in case they look like too much trouble."
((Claire removes Captain's hat from pack and onto her head.)) ((Spending 10cp for +2 Cheat and 10cp for +2 Lie Detector))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 8, 2010 10:08:15 GMT -8
((Well I didn't bring the player sheets with me today but I'll try to ad-lib as best I can...))
Stefan (The old man) rocks back in surprise as the slug from Marty's gun punches through the flesh just above his collarbone. "Ah, fer fuck's sake!" He falls back a pace, clutching his shoulder for a moment before dropping to one knee with the precision of an army firing team, sighting into the bush from under the brim of his bent old hat.
Rick (the younger man) spins on his heel and heads off running at full tilt, with not so much as a look back.
'Ye goddamned coward!!" Stefan yells after him without raising his eye from the sights.
From the far distance come the faint sounds of shouting, and a moment later the deeper, far more ominous rumble of steam engines spooling up.
===========Upkeep Marty: -1 B33 ammo
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Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 8, 2010 10:25:38 GMT -8
Stirred by the sudden barked command and gunshot, Dexter turns and bolts back in the direction of the ship. He pays no mind to how much noise he makes and doesn't stop running until he reaches the ship. When he gets there, his eyes immediately search the area for the man he previously considered a lunatic (although, at the current moment, seems much more sane than certain members of his former company). When he sees Tom, he runs up to him, but, too excited and out of breath to get a word out, he can merely gasp and point in the direction of the trees he just ran through. ((If yer around, Tom, I'll give you a chance to react, no sense in having a conversation if I'm talking to an empty board ))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 8, 2010 10:30:53 GMT -8
((It will take Dex a round or two to reach the Bethesda since we are in combat time. The shots are loud enough to be heard easily by anyone outside the ship, and possibly people inside the hull as well.))
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Post by jazzs3quence on Jul 8, 2010 10:33:11 GMT -8
((well that takes care of my actions for a couple rounds then ))
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Post by Gravedust on Jul 8, 2010 10:35:35 GMT -8
((Yeah.. Hate to be a buzzkill, but them's the breaks. : / ))
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Post by e on Jul 8, 2010 10:44:40 GMT -8
Claire grabs her gun and fixes it on the old pirate on his knees, wishing there was a quick way to grab the old bugger without risking injury. Eh, makes it the more exciting, I s'pose. She whispers to Marty "Go on and give 'im another bullet. I'm savin' my remainin' for better lookin' men. We need to get back to the ship. Now."
((Taking a round to take careful aim.)) ((If Marty's shot misses (or he doesn't shoot) then Claire will fire at wounded pirate.))
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Post by brendur on Jul 8, 2010 11:19:28 GMT -8
To Tom, the rain proved to be a mixed blessing, at times it hampered his work with the digging, but still it kept him cool during what would have been grueling work in island heat. When the last of the graves was deep enough he looked to the line of corpses in the sand, then began to haul them by their feet into their graves.
He didn't mind bodies so much, they were predictable to say the least. They bled, stiffened, turned purple and blue, and then started their slow but inevitable return to the table of elements. During this final indignity he felt they deserved every scrap of respect the world could muster, after all no one lives with the intention of becoming kindling. You lived to be sailor, you aught to be sent off like one.
The thought was a pleasant one, and it kept him working as he tossed sand on the closed lids of their eyes. When the last shovelful was thrown, he stood there for a few moments, wiping grit and sweat from his brow.
"Don't know if my captain said anythin fer ye lot. Iffin they did, good fer them, but I don't expect it. Seen the way they look at me when I tells em bout respectin the profession. Anyhow..."
It was a strange silence as Tom tried to muster the words. He wanted to say something grand, but nothing sat ready on the tongue. He wished Dirk was here, he always knew what to say when they sent off their enemies. Dirk had been a proper captain, dressed his finest for the occasion, ordered a round of shots fired, and then would break open a cask for the crew to drink themselves into a stupor with. Tom was no captain, he was better at making corpses than sending them off. Hell, he wasn't even sure he was part of a proper crew any more.
The multiple shock-waves of cannon fire ripped through the air, offering a strangely muted tidal roar by the time they reached Tom. The hull of the slender Raven class, the Morrigan, gave a wounded resistant whine to the first round of shots, and then the second came and ripped her asunder. Her turbines held her aloft under the last breath of steam the boiler had provided, then she rained to the ground, so much smoke, metal, and ash.
For the first time since the death of the Morrigan, Tom felt small and useless.
"Ye boy's did alright, to hell with anyone that asked more oh ye."
Tom's head snapped up at the sound of the gun report, frowning as all sort of nasty pictures painted themselves about how the scouting party had gone wrong. The sounds of the steam engine's starting didn't sound too promising either. Stabbing the shovel into the ground, he tore off the direction of the shots fired, yelling over his shoulder at those on the ship.
"Get her ready to fly!"
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Post by DeleriusDruid on Jul 8, 2010 11:29:16 GMT -8
((We've got a runner, watch out for adds! lol))
The coward called Rick had run for help. The coward Dexter had run. Shouts could be heard in the distance, and the unmistakable sound of an airship.
Marty fired one more shot at the wounded man on the ground. He turned to Claire,
"We may be havin' company soon. Unless I be dead wrong, that's a ship over yonder. And it's bound to be better equipped than ours. Methinks we could use another ship."
((Fire at the old man, head north while sticking to the treeline again))
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