"There will be raiders to kill before the vault is open to us, but if we are successful you will never see another raider again. would you be prepared to let go of your revenge in order to live a better life?"

-Name: Branston
-six: Male
-Age: 29
-Race: Caucasian American.
-Profession: Slaver
-History: Branston was born and raised in a slaver camp. His farther was a slaver and his mother was a slave, his father although ruthless and without morals took pity on his child and so let the mother live until the boy no longer needed the sustenance she provided. Branston grew up in a harsh environment, as from an early age he saw slaves being brought in and out of the camp some brutally beaten into submission, others not strong enough to last. With this experience he was desensitised to the violence and inhumane treatment of slaves, he saw it as an honest living. He learnt as much as he could from his father, and was officially mark as a member of the slaver guild at the age of 16. After many skirmishes to gather slaves his emotions to anyone who was not part of his slaver community was little to none, he sees all other humans as potential caps.

-Equipment: 5 Stims, Strange Meat, Cigarettes, Lighter
-Armour: Leather Armour, Storm Chasers Hat.
-Weapons: Dart gun (left leg), 10mm Pistol (right leg), Hunting rifle

-Appearance: Branston has a http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glasgow_smile (a form of punishment for conversing with the slaves), roughed face which shows the age of some one at least 10 years older. He is 5’8 inches, strong arms and is able to run when needs be, Branston has the signs of some one who over indulges with a slight beer gut protruding through his armour.

Branston awoke as had done for the last couple of weeks, he looks around the area he decided to hold up for the evening, only to find that the building was in fact an old garage. Where part of the roof had caved in, the sunlight poured in, heating his face, he eventually moved his stiff legs to get some circulation going through them again. Once he stood up he took out a tattered piece of paper and admired it as he did every morning, wishing that his travels so far had been for nothing. This piece of paper could bring him fortune. “Paradise, lets hope so..” he said aloud, with this piece of paper and the signs that had been left through out the wasteland Branston knew he was on the right track, there should be a shanty town to the east of his current position, the meeting was due to take place today, at some bar. As he walked out of the shelter he could see smoke flowing up into the clouds from just over the hill, it was the same direction that he could see lights the previous night. With this confirmation he took his time to check his weapons were clean and in good working condition, packed up his various items and started his trek to an unknown community.

(OOC: If this is not fitting then tell me and ill stay out.)

OOC: sounds good. a little variety in characters is always a good thing. steal a brahmin on the way here, we need something to carry our ammo and supplies.

"You never know, we will meet some along the way, the gang was called the trojans." Marcus said, " This dog has been my best friend since the raid................" His voice trailed off. Rocky started barking at random people
(what does OOC and IC mean?)

(OOC: Out of character, IC: In character)

As Branston approached the settlement he could see it was far from paradise, “Maybe some of the settlers here would make good slaves if this journey doesn’t pan out” with in an instance of the thought he decided against it, “I couldn’t travel back home with a single slave, it was hard enough looking after myself, let alone anyone else. No I need to find out if this paradise is real and take advantage of it”, as he moved through the main entrance he suddenly felt like all the eyes were upon him, he cautiously checked his storm chasers hat covered his slaver tattoo, and moved on through the town where he found a dingy looking establishment that appeared to be a bar. As he walked in he could smell stagnant cigarette smoke that clung to the walls. He approached the bar taking notice of the group of men sitting in the corner, not able to hear exactly what was being said but still they didn’t look like they were too comfortable in each others company. Branston ordered a drink, exchanged caps for whisky and sipped it slowing, whilst trying to listen into the group in the corner, picking up bits and pieces, something to do with raiders, "This could be more difficult than I thought." he thinks to himself.

Roland's Journal, March 3rd, 2281:

Sat in the bar all day again, waiting for anybody to accept my offer. Had a few takers, these ones seemed like they meant business.
first to approach me was a quiet man with a protectron following him. seemed a little distant. i suppose i'll make him my lieutenant, it may make him open up a little.
We should be leaving town in the morning, if we can't steal a brahmin i guess i'll make one of the guys carry the ammo and supplies.
suspicious man approached me in the bar today, asked some questions, then left.

possibly a slaver, i'll keep my eye on him.

i won't sleep tonight. too much to plan, too much to fear.
these people have fear in their eyes, but they also have hope.

and hope is all we need.

(are we going to the next morning?)

OOC: i figure i am probably just going to skip us all the way to the vault with another journal entry 2 weeks into the future.

also, i think this may be better as just a Fanfic instead of an RP....?

( Let's do the breakout, you can control the other characters, I want this to be a roleplay,)

So this isnt going to be a RP anymore?

Sigh.

(I think it still is)

"Well, I'm going to bed, good night Roland, if We are leaving in the morning notify me."


"I Don't like the feeling of this," he thought, "That branson guy seems, a little scary."


That was the last thing he thought about before he dozed off into sleep, Rocky somehow stayed awake a little through the night after that, his instinct was telling him something wasn't right, but he soon dozed off too.

ooc: im fine with forfeiting control of my character. it probably would be better for group combat, but would be less effective when the group develops internal conflicts.

(conflicts are the outline of games and roleplayes, come on, that's the whole point)

(OOC: Just sorting out some loose end in this one, as for some reason people thought Branston had joined the party, to keep with the flow here we go.)

Branston waited until the majority of the group had left the bar before he approached the person he assumed was the leader. The man that sat before him appeared fairly old for some one who looked like he had spent his life in the wastes. A couple of inches taller, Branston could tell even when the man was sat down. It appear from his clothes that the man was originally a vault dweller but Branston thought nothing of it, many people have either found or removed such items within the wastes, which made him think this man should not be underestimated.

"Are you the guy offering paradise?" Branston said in a low condescending tone.

Branston could see the man sizing him up, but was more worried about his tattoo than anything.

The leader’ reply was simply a nod, waiting for the questions that would follow.

The tension between the men was unbearable; Marcus had stayed for the exchange of pleasantries and decided to leave to get some rest before the journey the following day.

Branston, seeing that he would need to act more pleasant if he was hoping to get anywhere with this man, introduced him self. The leader introduced himself as Roland, and explained his plan to enter a vault that would bring paradise to the few that followed him. "Vaults are impossible to get into, but maybe this Roland knows a way into this particular vault. It would be a waste of a journey not to see where this lead." Branston thought to himself.

Attempting to sound enthusiastic about a plan to live in some vault, a man claims to know of, was hard for Branston, the normal catalyst for such an emotion would be going to the bar after being paid for some slave he had captured. Never the less, Branston agreed to join them and left the bar back out into the wastes, to settle down for the night. He felt more at home in the wastes, without the temptation of all the free slaves that were in the community close by.

ooc: i know. this seemed like an rp that would lack combat. plus, i really like the way these characters are coming out, i had to really stretch my imagination to make something reasonable

OOC: we will get to the vault, build a fortified camp of some sort, then venture out into the city one at a time to get the components we need to have mark build something to get the door open.

Weasel was sitting quietly in the corner of the booth, listening. "Whatever this vault is, it sounds nice, that's what I'm here for, I'm in," he yawned, "need some sleep first, maybe with the local chicas." He stood up and wen't to the bar and sat in the middle of a group of women, all armed, probably mercinaries, "Why hello, which one of you....beautiful....women, would like the pleasure of treating me to bed with them? Hmm?" One of the mercs smashes a bottle in Weasel's face, smashing his hopes greatly, bichs. His hopes down, he bought a room and left upstairs to his room, followed by a local woman.

ooc: sorry for my infrequentness...
bich is feminine dog in spanish and chica is girl, in case anyone didnt know

"finally!" Mark exclimed "now that all those other loud as heck people are gone I can ask you a few questions." " Do you really think all the tech is still operational?" mark said, but then he continued to talk exitedly, not waiting for a answer. "even if it is some of thse people look like there just waiting to throttle each other, howd o you plan on keeping things from falling apart once were inside? well?"

Roland stood up, dropped a few caps on the table, and said "i don't"

"if you want to be my lieutenant, you are welcome to the position"

"...we leave in the morning"

Roland walked out of the bar, leaving Mark just as confused as ever.

"Well that sure was helpful." Mark muttered " I wonder what the hell a lieutenant is" Mark mused "Its probably some old pre war term used in the army, Oh well doesn't matter" Mark started grumbling ot himself about getting into a unopened vault as he tossed some caps to the bartender and went upstairs to bed, the whole night Glitch stood watch, like Metalic sentinel standing watch over the harsh unforgiving wasteland.

Roland's Journal, March 10th 2281:

We have been on the road for a week. we managed to steal a Brahmin on the way out of that piss-pot little town we met in and headed north toward the border. on third day after departure, we heard an explosion over the mountains to the south. probably raiders. whoever owned this brahmin before, he won't be missing it now. The going is slow. this region is all either mountainous or flooded, and it is all covered in burned out forest. The suspicious fellow from the bar has still been following us. he doesn't seem no know that i am aware of him. nobody else sees. if he doesn't introduce himself tomorrow, i will either kill him or put him off our trail. probably kill him. we had our first clash with raiders last night. we are lucky we have Mr. Bai with us (can not tell him this). he was in a tree with his sniper rifle covering us while we secured camp, and he spotted their attack party. the weasel got stabbed in the gut trying to sneak up on a raider. he will probably survive. if he slows down we will strap him to the brahmin and give him the assault rifle of one of my mercs that was killed in the battle. (nobody noticed me shoot shoot him. that is what happens when you try to demand more caps that the agreement). Marcus disappeared during the battle, but when we set off the next morning i left a note for him saying i had his baseball cap. if he survived, he will find us. found missile launcher at raider camp with 4 missiles. why didn't they bring it on the raid?


-casualties since last entry:
Roland: a bullet grazed my left shoulder during the fight. bandaged myself
Weasel: stab wound to the gut during raider attack
Marcus: MIA. last seen during battle with raider party
Bishop(mercenary): KIA.
Mark's protectron: arm blown off. mark has been struggling to fix.

OOC: now act out this battle.

Roland was laying out his bedroll when he heard the unmistakeable THUMP that was the signal. He had posted Bai up in a tree with his sniper so they could set up camp without being surprised by anything. the men had hoisted a stone the size of their Brahmin's head 5 feet off the ground and suspended it with a rope. If Bai saw anything, he was to release the knot in the rope that was tied next to him, dropping the rock and alerting the party without making too much noise. Roland hit the floor, and flipped over to look upward at the asian man above him. bai pointed roughly southeast ( mercifully, there was a slight decline in that direcion, and a small cliff) then held up 3 fingers signifying 300 metres. They were just over the edge of the ravine. Roland silently cursed bai for letting them get so close.

he looked around, everybody else was moving into cover, except the Weasel, who was nowhere to be seen, and Mark's protectron, which didn't understand the concept of cover or stealth, and was waiting silently out in the open. Roland unslung his hunting rifle from his shoulder, crawled quickly on his belly over to a patch of bushes, propped up his rifle on a branch, and waited.

OOC: now everybody describe how they reacted to the signal, and how they prepared for the fight. lets do this properly.

Mark heard a Thump outside of his tent. "[censored]! Either were all screwed or Glitch fell over again." Mark said "Hard to decide wich one is worse" Mark muttered glumly. "glitch takes forever to right if he is down, last time luckily we were in a building so I just built a pulley system to get him back on his feet." Might as well see if it was the alarm Mark thought. As he exited his tent as quitely as possible he noticed Glitch was standing. "Well thats good" Mark whispered to himself. "Glitch!" Mark whispered, "get down behind a tree or something. The alarm went off and we want to be stealthy!" Unfortunatley the robot paid no heed to Marks furious whispers. "Gosh darnit!" Mark said as he crawled back inside and grabbed his laser pistol and started to zip up his jumpsuit.

we don't fight until everybody is prepared. edit that last post, please.

thanks

edited