Binder Fred
3 rings to bind them all!
"Ah!" Finally free to move, the suited one jerked away, ineffectually beating at the now scorching-hot back of his suit.
[M&M2e] Red Sands Chronicles
- Thread starter Relique du Madde
- Start date
Deezy gingerly lowers the fuel line and aims it so it's pointing away from the blower...then lets go. Some discolored liquid blurps out, but without the suction from the engine there's nothing to pull more fuel up the line.
She sighs and pats Seif on the back.
"Good job there. Looks like we won't blow up after all. And with the vents going, the aether should clear up in a jiff!"With a nod at Brian Deezy adds, "We can start letting them in, I'm pretty sure."
She sighs and pats Seif on the back.
"Good job there. Looks like we won't blow up after all. And with the vents going, the aether should clear up in a jiff!"With a nod at Brian Deezy adds, "We can start letting them in, I'm pretty sure."
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Binder Fred
3 rings to bind them all!
"Hhhaaaa," breathed the desert man in relief, though about a slightly different matter. "Good work," he agreed with a nod to Deezy, then, somewhat more reluctantly, to Brian as well. Without further ado he strode over to the now almost too familiar intercom: "Blower has been disabled. 20 minutes left on our oxygen. We will retreat to the stairwell and await your go-ahead."
<Response Silverstone?>
[sblock=OOC]No need to rush this and expose people to any more aether then need-be, I think. The plan would be to go back through the lock, turn off our oxygen tanks and wait for Silverstone's go-ahead. As Deezy said, I don't think it should be too long, but even 10-15 minutes will dangerously deplete our oxygen supply.[/sblock]
<Response Silverstone?>
[sblock=OOC]No need to rush this and expose people to any more aether then need-be, I think. The plan would be to go back through the lock, turn off our oxygen tanks and wait for Silverstone's go-ahead. As Deezy said, I don't think it should be too long, but even 10-15 minutes will dangerously deplete our oxygen supply.[/sblock]
Relique du Madde
Adventurer
Dear Reader,
I would like to sincerely apologize for the fact that due to circumstances beyond our control, several pages of our chronicle's narrative has been misplaced. The fault of occurrence rests entirely upon the shoulders of the United Earth Postal Service and not upon those of our ever-stalwart editorial staff who have spent much of the last Martian fortnight heavily intoxicated. You shall be reassured that our publication will make amends for this heinous act by swiftly placing a bullet into the skull of our detractors, which includes one Ms. Marjorie Preston of Iron Cathedral and Mr. Aldous Brokencoil of Aetherton, who shall be dead in a matter of hours from the time of this publication, glory be the Great Martian Union for the swiftness their actions.
Now, for those of our readers who are still capable of breathing and are appreciative of our tireless efforts, I would like to announce that the next installment of our serial will arrive in your mail boxes and penned in the blood of our aforementioned detractors shortly. However, before we can proceed, I must inform you, our gracious readers, of the events that occurred within the missing pages of our manuscript.
After much prolonged consternation our heroes made their way into the lower reaches of the bunker. There they met with Engineer Silverstone and the villagers, many of which were feeling quite under the weather, for obvious reasons. Although the villagers managed to persevere without many casualties, it soon became apparent that some of them were destined to have their human lives cut short as the result of their developing signs of burgeoning mutantdom.
After the mutant villagers were put to rest, it was decided that the critically ill were to be placed under medical observation and promptly killed if signs hinted that their becoming a mindless mutant was eminent. Meanwhile our heroes, accompanied by Elder Dune-Sage, contacted the caravan and began to eagerly await its arrival.
-- Editor.
OOC: I will update on Monday at the latest.
I would like to sincerely apologize for the fact that due to circumstances beyond our control, several pages of our chronicle's narrative has been misplaced. The fault of occurrence rests entirely upon the shoulders of the United Earth Postal Service and not upon those of our ever-stalwart editorial staff who have spent much of the last Martian fortnight heavily intoxicated. You shall be reassured that our publication will make amends for this heinous act by swiftly placing a bullet into the skull of our detractors, which includes one Ms. Marjorie Preston of Iron Cathedral and Mr. Aldous Brokencoil of Aetherton, who shall be dead in a matter of hours from the time of this publication, glory be the Great Martian Union for the swiftness their actions.
Now, for those of our readers who are still capable of breathing and are appreciative of our tireless efforts, I would like to announce that the next installment of our serial will arrive in your mail boxes and penned in the blood of our aforementioned detractors shortly. However, before we can proceed, I must inform you, our gracious readers, of the events that occurred within the missing pages of our manuscript.
After much prolonged consternation our heroes made their way into the lower reaches of the bunker. There they met with Engineer Silverstone and the villagers, many of which were feeling quite under the weather, for obvious reasons. Although the villagers managed to persevere without many casualties, it soon became apparent that some of them were destined to have their human lives cut short as the result of their developing signs of burgeoning mutantdom.
After the mutant villagers were put to rest, it was decided that the critically ill were to be placed under medical observation and promptly killed if signs hinted that their becoming a mindless mutant was eminent. Meanwhile our heroes, accompanied by Elder Dune-Sage, contacted the caravan and began to eagerly await its arrival.
-- Editor.
OOC: I will update on Monday at the latest.
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Relique du Madde
Adventurer
CHAPTER VIII: THE CALM...
A slight breeze began to blow from the mesa top as the group waited at the village gates for the caravan to approach along the main road accompanied by the sound of an occasional distant pop from a union member's firearm and a gargled howl from an unseen mutant. Not far from the group's position, the Elder stood, conversing with several his clansmen in their ancient native tongue. Unexpectedly, the Elder Dune-sage grabbed a spyglass from his companion's grasp, and quickly chided him before then stepping forward.
"My kinsmen, Red-Dust, fears that you are servants of the Warlord because he noticed that numbers on your crawlers match those of the vehicles that attacked us this morning." The elder frowned. "I tried to reassure him it is not the case, but he hard to persuade."
"However, knowing that both of our people were prey to the Warlord does give me hope..." The Elder raised the spyglass to his eye for a moment, before continuing, "because it means that the your people's goods may have been relocated to the place where my people have been taken. That said, my clansmen are eternally grateful for your people's help; so, you desire our assistance before heading into the Galaxias, do not hesitate to ask."
Meanwhile, caravan's paced slowed as neared the settlement. The majority of the dune runners slowly pulled out of the formation so the crawlers could seek safe harbor within the town's walls. Several of the Dune Runners remained outside of the town even after last crawler to enter through the walls, for safety reasons.
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Binder Fred
3 rings to bind them all!
Seif stood once again in his traditional dark robes, presently wind-tossed, pale blue eyes piecing the distance over the rim of his equally dark veil, arms crossed, ancient steam swords sheathed at his back. "Warlord Muro's horde is without number. A frontal charge is unlikely to succeed."
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Brian cringed at the 'mercy' to the mutants, knowing he was just one wrong move from members of his own company providing the same to him. The experience wasn't one he wanted to repeat, but for now, at least, he seemed to have shown enough usefulness that he wasn't in immediate fear of death by steam sword.
"Not sure I'd be keen on a charge even if the horde was finite," Brian mutters, clearly unnerved by the thought. "So, if the warlord was matching numbers, I think we can assume our stranded caravan isn't stranded, but requisitioned, yes?"
"Not sure I'd be keen on a charge even if the horde was finite," Brian mutters, clearly unnerved by the thought. "So, if the warlord was matching numbers, I think we can assume our stranded caravan isn't stranded, but requisitioned, yes?"
Relique du Madde
Adventurer
Lord Burroughmeister spoke as he stepped down from the crawler, followed by Aeaxeos, "That is a good assumption, comrade, however I fear that the crashed crawlers may have been salvaged for parts and left to rust in the wasteland."
Lord Burroughmeister quickly introduced himself, and Aeaxeos to the Elder. After their introductions were complete, the vice-chairman then asked. "Elder, if my comrades and I are to search for these wastelanders and their warlord, how are we to find them?"
"I do not know where their main base of operations is located, but one of their subservient gangs has a hide-out hidden in the hills about a two hour drive from this our settlement. The hide out is hard to spot from the main road, but that dirigible you are towing can spot it."
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