coolyo294
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Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
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Post by coolyo294 on Mar 27, 2014 3:30:29 GMT
The Eagle Shipping staging yard was a bustling hub of activity, despite the frigid weather that always set in during the winter months. Fresh snow had blanketed everything during the night, but as dawn broke the pristine whiteness was soon trampled into a dirty slush but the boots of caravaneers and guards as they rushed to and fro making last minute preparations for the caravan that was about to set out.
A quartet of vehicles were parked near the gate that lead outside the walled-in compound. Two were technicals, armoured pickup trucks with imposing looking HMGs mounted in their beds, while the others were massively up-armored shipping trucks that looked like they could drive through a minefield without taking a scratch. All four were painted slate gray with the red eagle logo of the company emblazoned on the hood. Soon the air was filled with the rumble of engines as the drivers prepped their vehicles to move out.
On the other side of compound two men huddled around a barrel fire. Both were bundled in thick winter jackets colored a mottled shade of gray, clearly the uniform of Eagle Shipping's employes. Name tags were sewn onto the breast of both mens' coats. One read "HIGGINS", the other "WILLET". From their tones and the subject matter of their conversation, a listener could deduce that Higgins was the leader of the convoy that was about to head out while Willet was the company overseer.
Near the two men a small group milled. They were an eclectic bunch, clearly not regular employes of Eagle Shipping. Some chatted while others simply tried to stay warm. They were all hired guns, temporarily brought on by the company to make up for the recent shortage of caravan guards brought on by increased raider attacks.
The conversation stopped as Higgins approached.
"Alright people, look alive! We're heading out in fifteen minutes. Make sure you've got all your gear stowed and your gamefaces on, because dead men don't collect a paycheck and the raiders have really been stepping up their game this winter. I'd hate to lose any of you out there."
He stopped to pull out an old, yellowed map of the city which he proceeded to lay out on a small table. The hired guns crowded to get a look at the map as he indicated the route they would be taking. "We'll be making two stops on this trip." he said, jamming his finger at a pair of red Xs on the map. "Fed outposts. Poor, dumb bastards are stuck out there and it's our job to bring them ammo and supplies." Higgins stepped away from the group and indicated towards the vehicles. "As I'm sure you've deduced we're a bit short on men. We have drivers for each vehicle, but beyond that we need a gunner for each technical and someone to ride in the cab for each. Whoever's left will ride in the trucks I'll be riding shotgun in the lead technical. Any questions?"
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Welcome to Fallout: New York-Winter Wonderwasteland!
This RP is set in New York wasteland during the winter months, so make sure you keep that in mind when writing posts. So stuff like blizzards, freezing temperatures, blistering winds, and marauding canadians are all fair game.
As I'm sure you're able to figure out, your characters are the hired guns. Once you make your sheet feel free to post an introduction. Once I feel there are enough players I'll event us into the game proper. I don't expect this to last too long, but I expect it to be fun.
Character sheet: Player name: Character name: Equipment: Bio: {please try and keep it to New York and the surrounding area} Appearance:
Now I know I lost all of my Fallout: New York stuff when the old site went down so I'll be running this based off of what I remember and what I can come up with. If anyone has anything that they want to contribute I'm open to it. Also, if you were one of the people that contributed last time and you still have the stuff that you wrote saved, I will gladly take it
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Post by Darko on Mar 27, 2014 13:56:41 GMT
Player name: Darko Character name: Carla Equipment: Reinforced leather armour, storm coat, goggles and balaclava. Hunting shotgun, N99 10mm pistol, 35 12. gauge shells, 3 clips of 10mm ammo, 73 bottlecaps, two bottles of water, a handful of MREs, kitchen knife. Bio: A wanderer, Carla doesn't stay in one place for very long. She's good with her shotgun and doesn't like to talk about her past much, but works equitably with others if she has to. Ultimately, the only thing that seems to really matter to her is getting paid and moving on. Appearance: 5'5, lean build, shaved head, emerald eyes, pale-faced with defined cheekbones.
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Post by Warork on Mar 27, 2014 16:17:46 GMT
Player name: Wark Character name:Malcolm MacKay Equipment: Marksman Carbine w/auxiliary GL, Machete, Colt 1911 pistol Bio: Malcolm, known as "Mad Mac" by some but simply "Mac" or "Malcolm" by most, grew up in Nova Scotia amongst a small community of native Canadians outside of Halifax. His ancestors were anti American occupation rebels and he upheld their legacy by being a difficult child and an unruly teenager. As a young adult, he eventually got himself into enough trouble that he had leave the province and washed up on the shores of New York soon after. Accustomed to the lawless wilderness and frigid rawness of hist native land, he quickly thrived in the big city as a private contractor; filling bounties and doing other hired gun work. Appearance: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mac watched his breath fog the area immediately in front of his face every few seconds. It was bitterly cold out this time of year. All the mercenaries around him were bundled up in coats, some in the furs of large animals they had killed. Most had gloves of some sort like Mac; frostbite was one of a mercenary's worst nightmares, if you lost your fingers, you couldn't bloody well get work. He himself, knowing that layered clothing was best for keeping away the cold, had acquired a hooded sweatshirt to wear under his armor, a light amalgamation of some old ballistic combat armor and the leather plates more commonly found in the New York wasteland. Over that was a leather coat he'd traded for a month ago at the onset of winter. It was lined with fleece and fur, both just providing enough insulation for this kind of cold. Cold weather goggles were strapped around his head as well to prevent tears from freezing in his eyes whenever the wind blew. He would know a thing or two about cold, seeing as he was from the north. Mac clutched his rifle as he listened to the plan detailed by the caravan boss. Seemed simple enough; take these trucks to some outposts, one further north in Brooklyn, another all the way at the airport in Queens. Mac did some math in his head. He'd been here a few years so he knew the general distances between locations. He came to about forty miles round trip for this run. That was a dangerous distance to go in this city but then again... Mac looked back up at the armored vehicles that were to make up their caravan. Quite simply, they were made for punishment; armored plates fastened on all the trucks, especially the ones carrying the supplies, each of which more resembled a bunker on wheels than a vehicle and had ports on either side for men inside the trucks to shoot at things on the outside with their weapons. The technicals each had a big gun in the back, fifty caliber guns that could cut a man in half and chewed through cover like a dream. these Eagle people knew what they were on about, Mac surmised. He turned his head back to the group just in time to hear the boss ask for any questions. Mac looked at the map for a moment before reaching a gloved hand forwards and pointing a finger at a section of the route that had been marked out on the map with one hand and pulling down the scarf that was piled around his neck and mouth with the other. "No questions, but I'll just point out that the route takes us close to Deathclaw territory in a few places as we go through Brooklyn. They're cold blooded bastards so no doubt they're deep underground by now but that just means the raiders'll be moving around more free like." Mac retracted his hand as he continued to think about the route. "Other than that, the real fun'll be getting to the airport; its a big Fed outpost and the raiders know they get runs regularly year round." He spared a quick glance around at the hired guns, noticing a lot of them listening intently. Many of them looked young and were basking in the chance to learn from a mercenary who had some experience. This was a business where it was said "What you don't know will kill you." "I only know that cause I made the same run last year...lots of good guys didn't come back." He paused for a moment, and then with a nonchalant shrug he added, "Pays always real good though, you know the drill." He looked at the caravan boss and hiked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the vehicles behind him. "If you need me, I'll be behind the gun on the lead truck. Good luck to ya boys!" He said to the general group as he trudged away, his boots making squeaking noises as they trampled the icy ground. "You'll need it where we're going!"
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Post by Darko on Mar 27, 2014 16:29:46 GMT
Carla regarded the experienced-looking merc who'd addressed the others. He seemed capable enough, unlike some of the rest of the dredges the eagle company had hired. Most of them wouldn't survive this, which meant a bigger share of the pay for her. She smiled slightly under her balaclava. Maybe she could earn enough to head west after this.
She walked a few paces behind the man with the carbine but stopped at the second technical. Opening the door, she sat in the passenger seat of the cab, diligently checking her shotgun to ensure it was in peak condition. It was an old weapon, older than her most definitely, but she kept it well-maintained. Still, it didn't help to double check in these conditions. She idly loaded shells into the weapon, unable to hear any further discussion from the other hired guns over the increasingly strong winds.
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coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
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Post by coolyo294 on Mar 27, 2014 22:48:09 GMT
This is the route you will be taking
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coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
|
Post by coolyo294 on Apr 1, 2014 21:37:22 GMT
As soon as Higgins was done giving his briefing, the hired guns quickly scattered towards the vehicles. Those that weren't quick enough to nab spots on the technicals piled into the trucks, disappointed looks on their faces. Higgins didn't blame them. Riding in the smaller vehicles was a hell of a lot more dangerous than the big trucks, but damn was it fun to let loose with the 50 cals. Unfortunately for Higgins, he was needed in the cab to direct the convoy so using the machine gun was out of the option.
The big canadian merc was already on the gun by the time he reached the lead technical. Higgins had never personally worked with the man, but he'd worked with the company long enough that he knew his name. It was good having a reliable man on this run.
"Stay frosty out there, canuck." he said to the merc as he climbed into the cab. Higgins chortled at his own shitty joke as he grabbed a radio transceiver from its cradle on the technical's dashboard and clicked the talk button. "Gate, this is Higgins. We're good to go."
There was a short squelch of static before the response came. "Roger that Higgins. Good luck out there."
Higgins switched the radio's frequency to the one used by the convoy's trucks. "Look alive people, we're heading into the shit. Stay cool and you should make it out alright with a nice fat bonus. Higgins out."
Slowly the compound gate creaked open. The cold air rumbled as the vehicles gunned their engines before trundling out into the wasteland.
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Post by Warork on Jul 12, 2014 5:28:28 GMT
The convoy rolled out of the compound at speed, engines roaring as their heavy vehicles ate up the cracked and splintered asphalt that was all that was left of the road system of the "Big Apple." All Mac could hear from his position in the back was the wind that tore at his cold weather clothing. This time of year it shrieked off the Hudson like a banshee, its icy tendrils wrapping themselves around the unwary. It was a common occurrence every year to find men, women, and children frozen alive in their holes, having fallen asleep and never woken from the intense chill.
Minutes passed in relative silence. He liked sitting behind this big gun and all but he couldn't help but think about the other guys all warm in their heated cabs. He grumbled as he pulled up his scarf to cover his nose which was already starting to burn from the cold. He started humming to try to get his mind off it and in a few minutes he was singing to himself an old song that has been sung in an old watering hole he'd frequented once upon a time:
"Oh, the year was 1778, how I wish I was in Sherbrooke now! A letter of marque came from the king, to the scummiest vessel I'd ever seen.
God damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold, we'd fire no guns-shed no tears. Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's Privateers!"
The song went on, Mac stomped out the rhythm on the floorboard of the truck's bed from time to time to the tune only he could hear for all the noise of the wind and engines running. They passed shacks of scrap metal and the hulks of large pre war buildigns as well. New York was a mish mash of old and new construction with denizens just as varied. On one block they would see dirty children playing with backalley mutts and just as filthy scavvies running at the sight of their large, well armed vehicles. Thugs clad in leather gave them wary eyed stares from street corners but did nothing else, knowing that to do so would mean certain death. On the next block they would see nicely dressed businessmen, clerks, travellers and uniformed soldiers from the Federation all going up and down the street, making their way in and out of bars, casinos, restaurants, all with their own generators which powered their lights and neon signs. There was a slight delay as the convoy lead blared its horn at a man trying to get a brahmin to cross the street to a market.
"Hey, fuck you!" The man shouted in his harsh accent from under his wool hat. "You hit my cow and I'm gonna climb up there and kick your ass with your own piece ya schmuck!"
"Yeah, you and what army, bub?" Mac called back.
"Me and the army of fuck off! Fuckin wise guy." He cursed as he pulled the cow out of the way. Mac laughed as they drove past. Sure, he could have just shot the man, but he'd have probably gotten chewed out for it for doing it in such a public place.
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Some time later the commotion died off and eventually the convoy came into a relatively abandoned part of Brooklyn. As they turned onto another street, Mac saw something up ahead. He stared at it for several moments before climbing down from his turret and knocking on the truck's side window. The man who rolled it down nodded.
"Yeah I see it too, we're gonna have to go around."
In front of them where the road narrowed several hundred yards ahead there was a blockade. It looked like someone had drug the hulks of old trucks to block the road. On the side of a bus that formed one of the lines of the blockade was a large symbol; a crimson red dog's head snarling with yellow eyes at the approaching convoy.
"Blood Jackals." Mac said. "Nasty."
Everyone in the city knew of the Brooklyn Blood Jackals; a vicious gang of cut throats that thrived off of extorting everyone within their territory and trafficking both people and chems. They were nasty ones alright and there were now three armed men standing in front of the blockade. There was only one way the Convoy could go, left, and the jackals knew it.
"The only detour we can make is through the Herring tunnel." The caravan boss up front said.
"We can't go that way, they'll be expecting us there."
"I know...dammit. Who the hell told the Jackals we'd be out here?"
Silence passed between them for a moment as the convoy finished its turn. The lead truck driver kept checking his rear view mirror as if expecting one of the jackals from the road block to open fire.
"There's another way around." Mac said, still leaning to the passenger side window. "Take the roads through the old Morrison Facilities."
"But that's..."
"Deathclaw territory, yeah. But who would you rather fight, some ornery dinosaurs or motherfuckers with missile launchers?"
A few more moments passed in silence as the caravan boss mulled it over and radioed his partner to discuss it with him. A minute later he waved Mac down again.
"Looks like we're taking your route. I hope you know what you're on about."
"Yeah, me too." Mac said and went to go make sure his fifty cal was in working shape.
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