The Twisted Earth (Post-apocalyptic Role play) (Started - Closed)

[Tips_of_Fingers]

As the chatter of the others washed over his darkly brooding mood, Blake considered their options. Betraying Balthazar is a risk, but working with him is probably an even bigger risk. At the moment, we have leverage; info he sorely wants - probably thinks he needs - but I'll be a damned mutant if I'm going to hand it straight to him. He paused from his musings to glance at Mortis, the horribly scarred mutant making a point about the smoke not being for the two wounded men. Grimacing, Blake shrugged and took one last, long drag before tossing the end out of the window.

Rico...I want him so badly. Balthazar claimed he could provide me with informatiom to find that bastard, but I'm pretty certain there are other, more honest - he smiled to himself, thinking of a truly honest person on this twisted earth - people who can provide me with the same information. We need to consider some of the otehr merchant families....

Turning to face Irish again, Blake nodded at the trader. "We're definitely going to be needing your help with our situation, Irish." Blake sat up straight and looked around the whole truck, taking in this rag-tag group of lowlifes, caught amidst something that they could never hope to understand. Blake knew he was there to guide them in their quest; the Good Man had decided upon it.

"Listen up," he shouted over the hum and crashing of the vehicle. "There's no way I'm letting Balthazar get ahold of this information, and I'm sure the majority of you feel the same way. There are few people who we can trust on this twisted earth," he grinned, eyes betraying the mirth that his mouth feigned, "least of all each other. But for now, we're in the same situation and we have to work together to get through. The question that remains is who do we go to?" He turned to Irish, casually flicking a hand in his direction. "And that's where you come in, trader. You have a good knowledge of the merchant families. I, myself, have a little understanding of some of their personal aims but the very nature of your life demands an exceptional level of understanding and a whole host of different contacts. We've spoken many times of the other merchants and rumurs srrounding various factions so I pose the question: who best to barter with?"

As he settled back into his seat, Blake called out to the others again, "if anyone else has any suggestions about what we do with these plans, then I'll hear 'em. Irish here has a lot of merchant knowledge though, so I'll be deferring to him."

 

[Dectomax]

Ford brought the vehicle to a sudden halt, looking into the distance. Ahead, a giant plume of smoke was rising into the air and the flickers of flames could be seen. "Wha-what is that?" Ford asked, putting his foot back on the accelerator. The vehicle moved slowly forwards and the suddenly, the whole picture came about. Coleman's landing was in flames. Bodies littered the ground. As Ford got closer and began to cross the small rickety wooden bridge, a horrible smell washed over the air. The sickening smell of burnt flesh. On the floor, in the village square lay the corpses of children, both boys and girls, Men and Women. Great chunks torn from their frail bodies. Ford moved his hand to his mouth, to prevent gagging and drove past, nudging debris out of the way with the vehicle.

Upon leaving the small village Ford stopped the car and looked behind him, towards the others.
"Wha' do ya mean betray Balthazaar? We gotta go back and give him his stuff right?" Said Ford, eye's darting nervously between the passengers.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

"Well..." Irish took one last drag of his cig, then put out the little smoulder on the frame of the window and tossed out the stub. He savored the last of it before slowly exhaling out the window, then continued, "way I see it, there's a couple options on the table fer us. A feller I know, goes by the name o' Rex, operates with The Far Traders. 'E may be able to 'elp wit' findin' out just wha's on tha' flash-"

Irish was interrupted and jerked forward in his seat as the humvee came to a halt. All he could say after seeing the sight of the town in all it's ruin was a weak end of his sentence: "...drive." The smell of burning flesh invaded his nostrils and swiftly overcame the once-lingering taste of tobacco. He cupped his mouth and nostrils with his right hand and used his left to slowly roll up the window.

"Jaypers..." The initial shock was subsiding, though the sickening smell still lingered and the image of the corpses was still on his mind. The driver spoke up, breaking Irish's focus on what he just saw. He only looked at the man and shrugged, not sure how he should answer seeing as he knew very little of this Balthazaar and the deal he'd made.

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Blake closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the victims of Coleman's Landing. "The Good Man did not favour them..." He muttered as he opened his eyes, turning to keep his gaze fixed on the corpses.

The vehicle continued on for a time, leaving the sharp smell of roasting flesh behind, before Ford suddenly pulled over, turning to the others, his eyes nervously darting from one to the other. "Wha' do ya mean betray Balthazaar? We gotta go back and give him his stuff right?" He said, licking his lips in agitation.

"No Ford," Blake called from his seat. "Balthazar gets nothing from us. He's taken too much already. Irish is right to mention the Far Traders... They've got a lot going for them in terms of information but I doubt they'd want to buy anything else." He shifted in his seat, idly easing the beretta out of its holster just in case Ford decided to try anything. "I don't really wnat to go into Crux - it's a little too close to Balthazar for comfort - but I know a guy there who goes by the name of Fargo. He's almost as bad as the blasted abominations," he paused, savouring yet ignoring the angry mutters from some of the other passengers, "but he's good at gathering information and..." Here, Blake faltered, waving his left hand as if trying to conjure the correct word from his lips. "Well, let's just say 'hiding things'. For the right price, he's a man that does many useful things."

Blake eyed Ford suspiciously, the driver seemingly just staring into space as he took in Blake's words. "Do you have a problem with that, Ford?" He asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Say no, driver. I don't want to have to leave you in the wastes to die...

 

[Dectomax]

Ford looked at Blake, brow sweating. His eye's darted between the rest of the men in the jeep. He opened his mouth, then shut it again and shook his head. Working up the courage to speak again he looked towards the two injured men. "Wha' we gunna do with 'em?" He asked, nervously.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish looked at the shaky and sweating driver, wondering if the man was always this nervous. "Alright bucko, no need to be brickin' it. I'm sure the back-seat doctor 'as things 'andled fer now, though we shouldn't mess fer long. And ye may be reluctant to do so, but I think we ought to go back there an' see what we can find. Mayhap somethin' useful, mayhap signs o' who coulda done all tha'."

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe looked away but she knew the scent all too well. Numerous times her father had made her watch the slaughter the residents of the places they raided time and time again. Each time her father forced her to watch so it would one day "shape" her to succeed him. For the most part, it worked. Ashe shared no remorse for she was taught not to for they had deserved it, as her father had said.

Ashe wasn't sure whether to help or say anything with this recent turn of events and Ford's shock at what was bout to happen. Ashe had seen it coming and it was only fitting that Blake did assume his leadership role again. He seemed the role but with the mutants, the outcome would be unpredictable.

"I agree with Blake, I think we need to get away from Cruz as far as possible at this point. The trading families, though could give us a room and supplies with the information that we're willing to sell."

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun knew this smell, not recently, but further back in time when he was a child. He remembered all too clearly, the bandits that burned his family and community down, but Shaun stayed all too quiet and closed his own eyes to offer his own silent prayer, once he opened his eyes slowly in regret, he sighed.

When Shaun opened his eyes he saw Blake do the same, he thought that he could be a good man but with a wrong path, which he may encounter the good one soon enough. The bad thing is that he thinks that all mutants are demons, but Shaun knew that some were angels.

When Shaun heard Blake speak, he offered his own opinion, "Judging by you're talking, it seems that your on this Balthazar's bad side I'm guessing, but aren't their people like me who Balthazar hasn't even heard of? And I am sure we want to know what's on this thing, right? I say trust the merchant families and find out what's on this thing!" Shaun said as he popped the USB out of his pocket and fiddled with it.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

"I'll be right back." Said Irish as he opened the door to the humvee, stepped out with his rifle in hand and pulled his pack from inside. He hoisted his pack onto his back, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and shut the door. The pressure on his wound made him wince, but it wasn't as painful as it was before. He looked towards the raided town and he could get a faint whiff of the smoke and char. He raised his scarf over his mouth and nose, then lifted his goggles over his eyes, adjusting them comfortably.

Alright, time to work, thought Irish as he began walking towards the town with a noticeable limp. The scarf helped, but only in a pinch; the smell of burning corpses still entered his nostrils but Irish wouldn't let that deter him from scouting the place out. He entered the town, looking left and right, scanning for signs of life, supplies, anything that could be useful. Corpses littered the ground, everywhere he went. Men, women, children; no one had been spared it seemed. Poor souls, thought Irish, may they rest in peace.

There were several sets of boot treads around the corpses, a few of them Irish recognized. They were standard issue militia boots of Foundation troopers. Among the tracks were spent casings, Irish crouched down and picked one up. He looked at the base of the casing, it was marked '5.56mm'. Casings were scattered all over the place, it was obvious there had been a large skirmish. Eit'er The Foundation is takin' a likin' to slaughter, or summat went awry.

Irish was following the tracks for a bit when he discovered another set of prints, much larger ones, as if made by a giant. Well now, 'tisn't every day ye get to see a feller big enough to make these. He set his focus onto the large prints and began to follow them. They led him to a shack, the inside dimly lit, preventing Irish from getting a clear view of what was inside. He walked up to the doorway and poked his head in, looking left and right as his eyed adjusted to the low lighting. He saw nothing but empty corners save for some wood and metal scrap. He noticed a corpse slumped against the wall directly across from the doorway, untouched by fire but the man had blood running across his chest. Irish stepped towards the man, a short and stout figure with a rather large and thick ginger beard.

"Why weren't you burned like the rest o' the town? What did they need from ye, old man?" Irish asked, speaking his thoughts softly. He turned back towards the doorway and briskly walked outside. He found the exit tracks and continued to follow them. The large tracks were heading in the same general direction as those of The Foundation. Towards the other end of the town, both sets of tracks were met with tire tracks, the tread marks identifiable as Foundation tire treads. Irish could clearly see that the large prints overlapped those of the Foundation troopers' and vehicles'. Whoever had made them seem quite interested in The Foundation's own interests. All tracks led out of the town and down the road that led towards the dome.

A chill began running down Irish's spine as he contemplated who might've been tracking The Foundation. He had heard tales of men, wanderers from down south, people with strange and almost mystical abilities. They were known as The Savants and it was told that it was because of them, entire settlements have removed from maps and all roads leading toward them deemed untraversable; some might even go as far to say they were cursed. Irish had never given much thought to these stories, always figuring they were just wives' tales or just the work of bandits that had been horribly misconstrued by the faults of going by hearsay. He couldn't explain the feeling, but the strong possibility that The Savants were something other than works of fiction. Irish shook his head and attempted to cast the thought from his mind, but it still remained as if imprinted into his head. Regardless, someone, or some thing Irish's mind had interjected, had taken great interest in The Foundation's activities and left a dead, burning settlement in their wake. At that moment, Irish was uncertain if he really wanted to know.

Turning back, Irish headed back for the humvee, walking considerably more briskly than before. The pain in his leg was almost nonexistent at this point, though he still walked with a slight limp. He approached the humvee and reached for the door, pausing only to look back at the burning settlement for a moment, then he opened the door, threw his pack inside and clambered in after, shutting the door behind him.

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Blake nodded at Shaun's words. "The merchants are definitely more trustworthy than Balthazar, mutant. I'm not sure if they'll have a way of finding out what's on that stick, you've got though." Blake paused as Irish excused himself and stepped out of the humvee, limping casually towards the smouldering remains of Coleman's Landing.

Sticking his head head out of a window, Blake eyed the trader uncertainly as he began investigating the area. He needs to leave that place alone... Blake thought worriedly. In the wastes, chasing incidents like that one could prove more trouble than they were worth. Sitting back in his seat, Blake turned to Shaun again, frowning at the glowing blue eyes that stared back at him. An angel...? Don't flatter yourself, mutant.

"As I was saying," He continued gruffly, "there's no guarantee that the merchants have the necessary tech to retrieve that information. They might know who does though." Blake hesitated, an idea suddenyl occurring to him. "The problem with going to the merchants is that they'll want what we have. They may be more trustworthy than Balthazar but that ain't sayin' much. They'd sooner take the stick for themselves than tell us where to get it deciphered." By this time, Blake's voice had picked up speed and he was reverting back into his former leadership role; hard, confident voice supplemented by an air of entitlement and no-nonsense authority. "No, the merchants aren't the people to go to. Fargo's our man. If anyone can be easily manipulated into telling us what we need to know, it's that damned greaser."

Just as he finished addressing the group, Blake focused his attention on Irish as the hardened trader pulled himself back into the vehicle, a slightly uncertain look on his face. "Find any clues, trader?"

 

[Dectomax]

The wounded crewman twitched and awakened, coughing up blood as he done so. He instantly reached for his stomach, groaning as he did so. A look of pain washing over his face. He looked around the vehicle, terror growing in his eye's. "W-w-where am I?" He stuttered.

Blake had finished his speech and was just about to ask for Irish's opinion when a pain, like a thousand needles passed through his head. He felt the chill invading his mind, like an ice cold liquid spreading through his synapses and then he blacked out.

You. You are a strange one. Human. Mutant? The voice sounded quizzical as if pondering this. Flesh. Yes, flesh. So many memories in this one. In an instant, Blake was transported back to his youth. Sitting at the village well. Some of the children passed, laughing at him. "You're a freak. Weirdo! Strange boy!" They yelled and laughed at him.
Anger. So much anger. So much hate. the voice said again. The images flashed back. The moon was high in the sky, it's dim light illuminating the bleak wasteland infront of Blake. To his side, a warmth kept the cold away, an arm was entwined with his, a head resting on his shoulder. The voice laughed again. Love? Humans and your love. With all his might Blake shifted all of his focus away from that thought. Banished the presence from his childhood. the presence halted for a moment, almost annoyed at this sudden banishment. Strong minded. Especially strong minded. For a Human. For a Mutant. The presence delved into Blake's memories again. Faint images passed, flickering by like a broken show-reel. Towns in flames. People crying. Fighting. Rico. The memories sped past. Halting at one. Rico stood over Blake, watching him crawl on the floor, clutching his chest. With an almost sickening smile Rico lifted a heavy lead pipe and brought it crashing down onto Blake's head. With an inaudible scream of rage Blake pushed the presence from his memories. You're strong. Curious. Very curious. Blake fought with all his might, pushing the voice, the presence out of his mind. With a scream he blasted it from his head and awoke, slumped on the side of the Humvee, sweat pouring from his brow and panting.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

As soon as Irish left the Humvee Ashe scooted herself onto the turret once again but this time she seated herself on the roof of the Humvee. She watched as Irish investigate the burned settlement. Wisps of smoke were still escaping into the sky with the smell of bodies still lingering.

She scanned the horizon as Irish made his way back, wondering if there would be any dust clouds being picked up by moving vehicles but she couldn't see anything. She overheard the speaking of the Mutant Hunter and the trader then his scream sent her looking back into the truck to see what was wrong. The look on Blake's face resembled that of what the people would have seen if they've seen a ghost. He looked drained, but shocked more so.

The Goddamned Mutant Hunter with a mental disorder' leading us now?

"Blake you okay?" Ashe said as she went back to her seat.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish was stuck deep within his own thoughts about his findings in the ruin, but was quickly pulled back into the world when Blake had let out a loud scream. All of his attention went to Blake, leaning against the humvee door, sweating and breathing heavily. He grabbed Blakes shoulder and gently shook him, trying to snap him out of whatever it was that had happened. "Oi, ye alright, boyo? The feck was tha' all about?"

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Blake gasped, pulling himself up unsteadily. "Wh-" He stuttered, clutching his head. Head feels like it did that night with Rico... Blinking through the pain, Blake wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. He winced towards the injured crewman.

"What did he do to me...?" He growled.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

"We need to start moving, scavengers are gonna lured to the smoke and bandits too." Ashe said to the group. Then she heard the injured crewman's small voice pierce the silence.

What did he do to me...? Ashe heard Blake rasp those words as she kept her eyes on the injured crewman. She abandoned her seat and went to the injured man, magnum tucked close in case he try something.

"Your in a Humvee. Your sort of safe now."

 

[Dectomax]

The crewman stared at everyone in the humvee eye's darting back and forth. "Where's my crew? Where is everyone else? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?! YOU...you...yo-" he paused for a second, gasping and clutching his stomach. Panting he looks outside the window. "Where's my airship? Where are you taking me, you savages!?" He yelled.

 

[StormShaun]

After the crewman complimented all of them, the silence coming from Shaun's lip suddenly came to a stop. "Your ship crashed" Shaun plainly says to the excited crewman, " The ship crashed into a den of spiders, and we came and saved you just in time...but, all we found was you" Shaun said as he brushed his dusty hair and started to resume cleaning his katana.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish was preparing to ask Blake about the episode when the scrawnier of the injured men in the back had awoken and began going into hysterics. Irish leaned forward and tapped the driver's shoulder, clearing his throat as he did so. "D'ye think we can find a secluded place so as to get rid of the Foundation markings on this 'ere rig? I don't quite feel comfortable goin' into anywheres wit' 'em. Might attract unwanted attention..." Irish shook his head in disbelief in his own lack of manners. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Ford is it? The names Miles, but ye can call me Irish. So how's about we start 'eadin' out? I don't think stickin' 'round 'ere is a good idea."

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

Eyeing the hysterical crewman uncertainly, Blake tried to calm himself after his strange incident. The visions had been accurate, the details as perfect and engaging as if he had been physically reliving them. That voice inside my head... He couldn't really recall it's words but he remembered the tone. It was interested in me...like a curious animal sniffing at a strange - but tasty - piece of food. Thinking back to that curiosity made Blake shiver, goosebumps prickling his neck. It was as if he was being watched by the voice's owner right now.

Blake continued to stare at the wailing crewman as a couple of the others tried to soothe him. Blake's anger began to rise, his fists clenching and then unclenching methodically. The soothing words spoken to the crewman washed around Blake, never reaching his ears; just whirling and whirling around his head, making it itch.

Suddenly, Blake launched himself from his seat, pushing past the others to grab at the crewman. Slightly raising the injured man by his collar, Blake snarled like a wild beast, his eyes bloodshot and muscles tense and bulging. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?"

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish's attention to the driver was jostled as the humvee wavered from the force of Blake's leap, but what had really caused Irish to shift focus entirely was the sudden yell from the back of the humvee. Blake  was attacking the scrawnier of the injured men who had, as Blake's yelling suggested, done something to anger him beyond reason.

Feckin' 'Ell, 'e's gonna kill the poor feller. Irish thought as he got up from his seat to head for the back. As soon as Irish stood, Ford took it upon himself to get the humvee rolling. With a roar of the engine, the humvee rapidly accelerated with enough force to send Irish flying to the side. He managed to cushion the impact against the metal plating of the humvee with his left temple and quickly dropped to the floor. He managed to get back up, barely, muttering profanities that would make even the fiercest of bandits appear to have a sense of decency.

Cradling his head in one hand, he reached out and firmly grasped Blake's shoulder with the other. With lightning speed, Blake had thrown back his elbow at Irish, connecting with his ribs, causing him to lurch forward in pain. With equal swiftness, the enraged man had sent the firm sole his boot into Irish's face, effectively breaking his nose and sending him back to the floor. Irish groaned in pain and rolled onto his back, wishing he had a third hand to nurse his temple while his own were tending to the freshest of the injuries.

"Bloody feckin' nose...second time...this bloody feckin'...month...feckin' 'Ell!" Irish hissed these words through clenched teeth in between deep breaths as he lay there in pain.