Silas
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Squirellking*~*Southsward[P:NaN]
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Post by Silas on Dec 10, 2007 22:32:34 GMT -5
OOC: Okay. This is an intro/story doohickey inspired by the game S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadow of Chernobyl. Look it up in Wiki if you want. "Some don't believe me. Others call me crazy. But what they don't know, is that I'm telling the truth. A living, beast-made Hell does exist. Right under their very noses. And you know what? I'm going straight into the center of it." OOC: *Accoustic guitar starts up, the screen fades in to reveal some words:* Sergei Ramikov... *And after a short list of names/cast members,* S.T.A.L.K.E.R: Shadow of Chernobyl The occasional clink of the train tracks broke the silence in the passenger coach itself, while its residents read books or blankly stared out of windows. Such a beast was doing the latter, gazing upon the flat scenery as the train rolled onward, towards the border of Russia and Ukraine. There lies the beast's destination. A waselmaid walked down the aisle with a cart, approaching the beast who leaned upon an arm placed upon the table in front of him. OOC: *Guitar music slowsdown and stops here* "Anything from the cart, sir?" She asks, her tone with a touch of flirtation added in. The beast, naturally a weasel as well, looked towards her. He raised an eyebrow, then said, "I'll just have some water." "Okay." The weaselmaid replied sweetly, filling up a glass of cold water and setting it by the passenger, who promptly grabbed it. "If you need anything else, just ask." With that and a blink of her eyelashes, she went down the coach to the next beast. The weasel himself sighed in relief as she left, taking a sip of his drink. He was a regular on the train, and had confronted her many times. And every single time she saw him, stuff like that happened. He didn't like it all that much, judging from his expression as he gazed out the window again. Thirty or so minutes pass, and the train comes to a halt. The weasel gets up, gathers his duffel bag and backpack from under his seat, and walks out into the evening light... ...And the entrance to Hell. Guarded by the Russian military, the entryway was only a small gap in a huge wall that surrounded the once-cheerful area of Chernobyl, now lying in ruin and abandonment. Yet the Russian government has taken special interest in the place. Soon, word spread that terrible things, monsters and anomalies that defied all known science living in and around Chernobyl, probably due to the high levels of radiation. The weasel walks over to the guards hefting AK-74 rifles. Taking out an ID tag from his jean pocket, he showed it to one of them, allowing him passage inside to the Zone. OOC: Actually, this could be a roleplay thingy right here...
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Silas
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Squirellking*~*Southsward[P:NaN]
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Post by Silas on Dec 22, 2007 17:40:16 GMT -5
The Zone itself was a sixty-mile span of land around the Chernobyl disaster area, where radioactive dust has deposited itself, in some places making Geiger counters ring as if synthesizing music. In front of the weasel was a vast plain of tall grasses, a road leading deeper into the zone, as well as the first town inside it. The road itself was formally known as road six, but most residents have taken to calling it "Ie-Naura Qant." or 'Widow's road.' An army-style troop truck was coming towards the weasel, its squeaky brakes heard even from this distance. He set his duffel bag down and watched the transport come through narrowed eyes as a breeze ruffled his fur.
He was back again.
The truck stopped next to him, and a rat looked out of the driver's side window at him. "Yer here f'r the bus ride? Hop in back. Got plenny o' room." The greasy-looking beast commented, gesturing to the back of the military-style truck. The weasel merely nodded and hopped in back. "Yer all crazy, if y' ask me..." The rat added, hopping into the front seat. The weasel rolled his eyes and took a seat in the empty troop area, opening his duffel bag as the truck started to turn about towards the first town in the Zone. The contents of the bag were revealed, displaying a bullet-proof vest, twin silver 1911 handguns with three magazines each, and a heavily-customized AK-74, bearing four extra magazines of 7.62 millimeter ammunition. A gas mask and two geiger counters were present, as well as rations that would last about a month if treated correctly.
The weasel sighed, fitting into his vest easily with the velcro straps, soving the AK magazines into their pockets first, then his radio and geiger counters. Strapping the two 1911 pistols and their respective thigh holsters, he finally reached out and took the AK74 out of its bag and assembled the stock to the rest of the gun. The AK was the signature weapon of the Russian military, not too costly, but not at all flimsy or inaccurate. His particular model had recieved a custom paint job, the reciever housng painted an olive green to match the surroundings (And the four composite magazines currently in his vest), the front pawgrip textured to provide a more stable hold on the weapon. The optic it bore was nothing special, merely an illuminated red dot sight that magnified targets two or four times depending upon the settings. The latter he adjusted, sighting down the length of the gun.
The truck rolled on through a desolate wasteland, abandoned houses and public facilities making themselves evident as they were passed. The area changed into forest from the grasslands now, with the half-destroyed structures in the midst of the trees. Beasts once lived here in peace, never knowing that their way of life would be torn up by the roots and cast aside by the disaster that was Chernobyl. The houses served as a grim reminder to those beasts, of what once was, of how they were utterly defeated... Or destroyed... by their own creation. The few beasts who did live in the zone were either treasure-seeking pioneers, or horrible deformities of once-normal species, the latter of which sometimes proving to be hostile. There were no rules in the Zone, just guidelines, and occasionally a flicker of honor and hope. But usually, death and greed took over the land of misery. The weasel was reminded of this as he looked out of the back of the truck as it drove onwards. Holding onto his AK, he waited.
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Silas
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Squirellking*~*Southsward[P:NaN]
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Post by Silas on Dec 23, 2007 1:32:06 GMT -5
After roughly ten minutes, the truck stopped. but they had not arrived at their destination. The rat in the front growls in annoyance. "Outta gas." He informs the weasel. They were now in between two exterior gates, in the middle of a segment of the wall that hems in the Zone. Even this far to the civilized world, there was still the danger of being attacked. "You mind coverin' me?" He asked the weasel through the rearview hole in the back of the front cabin. The weasel grunted and got out, taking his AK with him. Putting a paw on the grip, he felt the familiar weight and pressure it had on his paws and shoulder. The rat hopped out of the truck carrying one of many 5-gallon tanks of gasoline in one paw, a Desert Eagle magnum in the other. If you wanted to survive in the zone, you didn't come with .22s and nine millimeters.
The weasel took up a kneeling position on the side of the road, searching for anything out of the ordinary in the woodlands. Dry leaves rustled, somewhere a bird called out in the silence. The grey sky cast its half-shade over everything, limiting his visibility. nonetheless, he searched for targets as the rat busily filled up the external gas tank on the truck. It was a slow process.
"I don' like it here..." He said aloud as he held the red container. " 'S too quiet." The weasel sniffed, smelling something on the wind. Something that smelled like... dried blood, rotting corpses... death. His eyes widened as he realized what produced the stench. "Get in the truck! NOW!" He yelled, rushing for the driver's seat as well only to stop in his tracks. A stoat stood with its mouth agape appearing out of nowhere to stare at the rat, who was too scared to even draw his Desert Eagle. The Stoat's eyes were completely white, his clothes tattered, an arm severed in some horrific accident. Drool dribbled from the side of its mouth.
The spectre was a result of previous treasure seekers driven crazy by the radiation levels they endured. After the initial state of craziness, it was said that the victim turned into a zombie. They traveled in packs...
The weasel leapt in and beat the stoat back with the butt of his rifle, prompting a moan from the thing as it fell back. As soon as he did so, though, four other such zombified beasts encircled them, with more on the way, each muttering parts of phrases in their stupified state.
"Liku tanre...'
"Why...Why..."
"C... come...!"
"Get back!" The weasel called out to the rat as they both backed up against the side of the truck. Then, with a mighty roar, the weasel took the AK off safety all the way to full auto, and blasted at the group of zombies, the shots heard from miles around.
OOC: ^Didje hear that? From miles around...^
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Silas
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Squirellking*~*Southsward[P:NaN]
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Post by Silas on Dec 23, 2007 2:55:55 GMT -5
Empty shells clattered to the asphalt as the AK barked out bullets again and again, hammering into the zombies, killing some wounding most. The weasel tried to control his aim, but what good would that do, with a group this big? Soon, after about three-fourths of them were mowed down, the AK ran out of ammuntion. quickly slinging it back onto him, the weasel attempted to take out both 1911 pistols.
He turned to see how the rat was faring. He was firing his own weapon, the last bullet slamming into the face of another zombie, making it explode in a gory mess. Everything happened in slow-motion then. The Desert Eagle's slide locked back, the rat panicked, and the weasel was tackled by another zombie. He then fought for his life, taking out both 1911s and slamming each into the zombie's head and face, while the zombie itself tried to bite him. Finally, he shot a bullet into its chest, but no after hearing the rat scream as he fought. Apparently the rodent was not so lucky. His neck ripped open by the bite of the stoat zombie, he struggled to run as the last three zombies fell onto him, hungry for flesh. The weasel heaved the corpse off of himself and bought his pistols to bear, firing wildly at the zombies. Then, all was quiet.
The weasel stood up, holstering the 1911s and jogging over to the rat. "Hey! You alright?" He asked, surveying the beast among the bodies. The rat coughed and looked up at him. "I think I'm done, mate." He said. His neck was bleeding, as were several other, more minor injuries. "No you're not. C'mon, I'll get ye into town." He said, heaving the rat up into the passenger seat of the cab. Hurriedly filling the gas tank up the rest of the way, the weasel got back into the truck, started it up, and continued down the road, leaving behind twelve dead souls and thirty-seven empty bullet cartridges to accompany them.
The town that the weasel spoke of was just a mile or two ahead. Though small, it was a necessary stop for thrill-seekers and treasure-hunters alike. The road ran straight through the center of it, passing the entrance to a bunker, a campfire, and a few houses on the left, while on the right there was a small barn to park cars and such, along with a few more abandoned houses. It was in the barn that the truck stopped, and as the weasel stopped three military-looking beasts holding specialized, expensive Obokan assault rifles came to 'greet' them.
"Ede, yurigan duroga henh, eh?" One commented in some other language. Of course the weasel spoke the language as well, though he didn't show it. The military was often disdainful towards his kind. They wanted to close off the Zone and hide its secrets from everybody, and so characters like the weasel were treated poorly by them. The phrase spoken by the militant meant, Look, The morons are back, eh?
Smirking, another soldier approached the truck. "Looks like you fellers ran into some trouble." He commented, eyeing the rat. "Still, I'm afraid you'll have to pay up for parking..."
"What? It was free last time I checked!" The weasel protested. "That was a year ago." The soldier lied casually. "Now own up before we use our new toys on ye." he vaguely gestured to his Obokan, an improved version of the AK74, superior in nearly every way. The weasel sighed. They had no time for this. "Fine." Reaching into his pocket, he threw out some coins to the soldier. "There. Happy?" He said, exiting the vehicle, supporting the rat. The soldier examined the coins, quickly counting their value. "Of course not. Now get goin'." He said, still with that smirk on his face. But as the weasel turned about to leave the garage with the rat, he muttered, "Liret be rotaken, monu-etran'e!"
The soldiers merely looked at him, then at each other, then laughed. One was even bold enough to throw a can at the weasel's back. "We're already there!" One shouted in reply. The weasel grimaced, tempted to use his pistols for a second time that day. The rat coughed again, in a daze as they walked towards the bunker entrance. "Ye holdin' up?" He asked him. "Yeah..." the beast responded weakly as they entered the bunker.
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Wolfie
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[blue]Toboe the Timid[/blue][P:NaN]
Get over here, Zuko. Being part of the group also means being part of group hugs. ~ Katara
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Post by Wolfie on Dec 29, 2007 2:53:15 GMT -5
Two otters with rifles slung over their shoulders walked out of the barraks and stopped when they saw a weasel and rat headed their way. The larger of the two walked over to them, baring his sharp, wolfish teeth in a silent warning snarl. What can we do ye fer, gents? What happened to this 'un? He indicated the wounded rat with slight contempt showing on his wolfish face. The other walked over and put a wrapped paw on the other otter's shoulder soothingly as he spoke. Stand down, mate. Can't ye see he's hurt? They need help. He turned to them and bowed politely. Sorry about him, mates. He uh... he don't trust strangers none to put it simply.
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Silas
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Squirellking*~*Southsward[P:NaN]
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Post by Silas on Dec 29, 2007 3:11:54 GMT -5
"I don't blame him." The weasel commented, looking back at the military beasts, returning his gaze to the otters. He gestured to the rat, as time was of the essence. "Uh, d'you know if the Healer's still around here?" He asked, trying to see beyond the pair of otters into the main base*. The weasel has been away for a while, and it seemed he had a lot to catch up on.
((*The base: Barracks to the left, bar and Inn straight ahead, residential quarters at the far end of the bar, leading down two flights of stairs. Storage beneath that, as wel as a hidden tunnel.))
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carabadgermum
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~Badger Matriarch~[P:NaN]
the paw that rocks the cradle rules the world
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Post by carabadgermum on Dec 29, 2007 17:15:45 GMT -5
Anna couldn't stay in the healer's office another minute. She still had another 3 hours left in her double shift but the pretty young nurse needed a break. She was exhausted physically and mentally from the time spent and the shear number of cases they had seen in that time. She wouldn't normally have taken a double shift but one of the other girls had gone and gotten herself pregnant by one of the soldiers and now couldn't stand the smell. If anything she had learned Anna had learned that lesson the easy way. She wouldn't let the same thing happen to her.
She stepped outside the door of the healer's office and leaned back on it. She was wearing a nurses hat and apron. The apron was splattered generously with the blood of several creatures. Some of the stains were old and unable to come out through repeated washings but there were also those that she had attained just today. She took a deep breath of the relatively fresh air as compared to that in the office. Pushed her glasses up on her muzzle and wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her paw.
A soldier saw her and whistled. She gave him a dirty look. Even if he had been a weasel like herself she wouldn't have given him the time of day. There was a danger in being as lovely as she was in a place like this. So even though she hated the thought of using a weapon she was always armed. She would have been even prettier if she could have gone without her glasses but contact lenses were a ways down on the list of medical supplies that they could get out here and not near as important as antibiotics and pain killers.
She noticed the newcomers talking to the otter pair and took note of the state of them. She had compassion for the injured creature. She had come out here as part of a mercy mission in the first place. So she called out to them, "Y'all need a healer?"
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Wolfie
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[blue]Toboe the Timid[/blue][P:NaN]
Get over here, Zuko. Being part of the group also means being part of group hugs. ~ Katara
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Post by Wolfie on Dec 29, 2007 17:28:34 GMT -5
The larger, wolfish otter turned to her and noded ointing to the rat. He does, Miss Anna. He got hurt bad by sommat. Smells like a Zombie wound to me..... The other otter nodded in agreement. Fer sure. That's a Zombie wound if I've ever seen one. Can ye help him?
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Dec 29, 2007 17:46:24 GMT -5
The weasel held the rat up higher as he spoke. "Yeah. The truck ran outta gas halfway here, so we had some company." He informed the general assemblage. His eyes then rested upon Anna. A replacement healer? Or just a stand-in? Now he knew that things have really changed since his last visit... The last healer here was a fox. And the regulars in the bunker did not include the otters.
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Kal Skirata
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Green Leader[P:NaN]
When the barren leaves blow
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Post by Kal Skirata on Dec 29, 2007 17:48:34 GMT -5
((So is this like a futuristic Redwall?))
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Dec 29, 2007 17:51:51 GMT -5
OOC: Futuristic, yes, but not exactly based in Redwall. But, it runs along the same line with the anthro-furries.
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Kal Skirata
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Post by Kal Skirata on Dec 29, 2007 17:58:44 GMT -5
((I see.))
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carabadgermum
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the paw that rocks the cradle rules the world
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Post by carabadgermum on Dec 29, 2007 18:25:27 GMT -5
Anna shuddered at the mention of the Zombies. They weren't the most fearsome of the dangers in the Zone but that didn't make them any less revolting. She nodded. The wound did smell of the mutant creatures now that she came to think of it. She looked at the rat trying to judge the seriousness of the injury. She really didn't want to cut her brake short but it looked like she was going to have to. She sighed then she looked at the weasel. This was done a bit longer then necessary as she was trying to size him up. She didn't learn much from this initial outward investigation. He was a pretty guarded character but then most beasts were in this neck of the woods. She blinked twice and then spoke, "Bring 'im in. We'll take a look."
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Dec 29, 2007 18:33:51 GMT -5
"Alright." The weasel responded, tugging gently at the rat to indicate movement. The weakened creature looked up at the gathering, seemingly 'out of it' for a minute or two. "Hm." The rodent comments as he sees Anna. The otters he knew, but...
"Is the medbay in the same place?" The weasel asked Anna as he took the rat down the remaining flight of stairs to the entrance of the bar and the hallway to the military barracks and armoury. He felt like asking that question since so much has changed.
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carabadgermum
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~Badger Matriarch~[P:NaN]
the paw that rocks the cradle rules the world
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Post by carabadgermum on Dec 29, 2007 19:03:54 GMT -5
"Same place it's always been, I guess. Don't know really. I haven't been here that long." Anna answered him and shrugged. The truth was she had been in the zone exactly one month. It was nothing like what she had expected. They would probably laugh if they heard the real reason she had come: those pitiful disfigured dibbuns in the pictures on the Dateline special. She had a talent for healing and had gone to school for it. She wanted to work in a place where she was really needed. She certainly found that when she entered this hell. Even if it wasn't the little creatures she had seen in the television program that she was helping, she was going to give it her best shot.
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