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Everything posted by The_Good_Doctor

  1. Continue and with a new poll! The details of the scenario for it can be found in the final section under the spoiler tags below. Scenario 4: The Hospitallers
  2. Neither. They're both demons in the eyes of the Church of Obsidian.
  3. In Tactics or the RP, the name "Satansoft" will never not make me laugh.
  4. "Cleaver-Land" has got to be one of my favorite plays on a prewar name that I've seen. That's so perfect. As for the rest, I don't think there's a problem or need for an edit. You never said that he was in a desert. And Autumn in Missouri can fluctuate between pleasant and brutal. If someone is limping for miles in a full kit while wounded on a warm day, the extreme humidity in the area (particularly before a storm) will most likely kill him -or get damn close, as you depicted well. Sinbad is a very, very tough bastard, or he probably wouldn't have made it at all. Not having water isn't an issue either. People get lost in the woods and die of dehydration within miles of fresh water in the real world. Even if the rivers and streams of the area aren't particularly radioactive, Sinbad is a nomad from far away who doesn't know where they are. It would be very dangerous to stray from the road to search for one in his condition.
  5. I'll read your post now and get back to ya.
  6. Haven't gotten to read the post yet, but yeah, the farther you get from blast zones, the greener the land will become. There are scorched and ruined areas around the outskirts of Wellstone where Kansas City was hit really hard. We have to keep in mind that for the most part, the games are either set in deserts or centered directly around major blast zones, which is why they always have a more apocalyptic look than we would get if we ever got to go explore more rural and forested parts of the country. Jacobstown is a good example of this. Like it, the Belt is mostly forest apart from specific areas.
  7. October, 2284 A train passed overhead. Its iron wheels rumbled over the tracks with a noise to rival thunder, delivering tremors that violently shook every light fixture in the warehouse below. Duane stood at the open window and watched the monstrosity pass them by. Loud as the beast was, it only moved a few miles per hour. They would be stuck listening to its racket for another twenty minutes, at least. Least it drowns out that fuckin' radio. A desperate man had to be able to count his blessings. Duane flicked his cigarette butt out the window and stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his coat to hide that they were still trembling. Even now two of the smugglers were watching him like hawks, while the third still struggled to shove the dead woman's body into a wooden crate. The big one with the shaved head said something to him, but the words were lost beneath the roaring of the train. Duane swallowed and cleared his throat. "What'd you say?" "I asked if you were ready to finish what we started." The man seemed strangely relaxed, his fingers drumming against the knife handle protruding from his belt. All his life, Duane had thought himself a hard man, a real badass from the streets of Junker Town who knew all the answers. What a damned idiot he had been. These people were killers. Real killers. The sort who could shove a blade into a woman's heart in one moment and kick back to a tune by the Ink Spots in the next. He was in over his head. Regardless, as Duane's brother liked to say, "When shit gets bad, don't stop to smell it." He was in the thick of this now, and the only way out was to see it through. "Yeah," he told the bald man, making sure to speak loudly enough to make himself heard. "I'm ready when you are." "We been ready," said the skinny girl with the red hair, "It's your slowpoke ass that ran to the fuckin' window." She glanced at her partner. "Look at this guy. He's chokin'. I reckon he ain't never seen someone killed." "I'm fine," Duane assured them. "It's like I said, I just needed a smoke." "This ain't a freakin' church. You can smoke inside." "Right." Duane nodded his head. "Well I also wanted some fresh air." "Course ya did. Come on now." The smugglers led him over to the stack of crates, each one ranging from the size of a briefcase to just large enough to contain a bent up human corpse. "Big Max had his eyes on you for four months," the girl said. "The folks you've been dealin' with these last two were his people's people. Now you get to deal with his people directly." "Not Max himself?" Duane frowned. "I was told-" "You were told that Max would sell you guns," the bald man said. He patted one of the crates. "Well here they are. What's it matter if he ain't here to hand them over?" "I guess... well, I suppose I'd just thought we'd be building somethin' of a partnership. I've got more cash. My boys and me are making it steady across the river. We want this to be an ongoing thing." "And it will be," the man promised. "Maybe someday you'll get to meet the big man, himself. Until then, you deal with us." "I doubt it, though," the woman said. "Chem peddlers ain't our usual market. And with this haul, you'n yours'll probably be running Junker Town by the end of the month. Won't have any need of us when the competition's been muscled out." "There's always competition." Those were the first words that Duane had said with genuine confidence all morning. As long as there were junkies, there would be people fighting over who got to sell them their high. "And, well..." Damnit man... You've done it now. Here goes nothing. "There's the Brotherhood of Steel." He saw it at once, the sudden change in the room's atmosphere. The smugglers shot each other a look, and for a moment the only sound in the warehouse came from the train up above. Duane didn't want them to mistake his meaning, so he quickly continued, "Word is they're bringing in an army. We may all want something to protect ourselves with before long." "You got beef with the Brotherhood?" the woman asked. Her tone of voice had changed drastically, as if every word was now a bullet being loaded. His answer to this question could very well be the difference between life or death. "Nah," Duane said, trying not to let his nervousness show. "But maybe I know some folks who do." The woman smiled. "Maybe we know some folks who do too." Holy shit! Duane could hardly believe this was happening. Is she for real?! The look on her face certainly said so. What in the fuckin'- SHIT! Every criminal in Wellstone knew the name 'Big Max', and every man, woman, and child knew that the Brotherhood's imminent arrival was a response to rebel cells cropping up in the city. But Duane might've been one of the only people stupid enough to theorize that they were one and the same. And now the woman's grin said all that needed to be said. "I-" he stammered, and then quickly composed himself. "I'd like to meet Big Max." "What's that?" The third smuggler, the one with the dead woman, had to holler over the train. It was a wonder he could even tell they were talking. "You say somethin' about Big Max?" "Shut up, Walter," the bald man barked. "And keep an eye on the doors. Shit just got serious. Anyone else comes in, do 'em like the last one." "Aye-aye, Boss." "Want me to tell him," the bald man said, turning his head to the girl, "or you?" "Tell me what?" Duane's heart was pounding. This had already gotten far beyond the simple operation he'd hoped for. He was on new ground now. He was dealing with rebels. The redhead shrugged and sat back in her chair. "Alright, Mr. William, here's the truth. This man next to me with the stupid grin, is Big Max." "He-" Duane lifted a finger, and then immediately dropped it again. "You-" "That's right," the bald man said, his 'stupid grin' spreading from ear to ear. "In the flesh. Now don't let it change things between us. Alright? Talk to me like you've been. I want to know about these 'folks' who 'may' have beef with the Brotherhood of Steel." Don't stop to smell the shit, Duane. Duane took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and proceeded to feed the rebels lie after bullshit lie, just as he had been doing all morning. Just as Wellstone Security had told him to. The plan had always been for him to gain the smugglers' trust until he could meet their leader, and then get a reward for his ID. Now though, Duane's little leap of faith based on a stupid-ass theory was going to make him a fuckin' hero! He just needed to play it cool. This was the last day he would have to be 'William'. "That's it," Duane finally said after a solid five minutes of spewing garbage. "That's what the Brotherhood's cost my 'friends'. And that's why I want a partnership. Guns will be needed. And not for rival chem dealers." "Huh," Big Max had listened attentively the entire time, never saying a word except to ask Duane to clarify on little details as he spoke. "You know, you're a terrible fuckin' liar." All at once, Duane felt his chest close around his heart like a clenching fist. "What? No, I ain't lying!" " 'Course you are. You've got like five tells. And you contradicted yourself twice in all that shit you just tried to sling at us. It obviously wasn't as well rehearsed as the crap about you dealing chems." "Hell, the chem stuff might even be true," said the redhead. And she was right, of course. He had only started working with the city less than a year ago. "We got a rat, Gil?" the one called Walter called from across the room, still having to shout to be heard. "Looks that way," she answered. "Either way, can't take chances with him now." "Damn." "I swear you've got it wrong!" Duane pleaded. "What contradictions are you even talking about?! I can-" "Look, you blew it, okay? He's all yours 'Max'." Gil said, stepping back. Big Max drew his knife. "Fuckin' wait!" Duane shouted, wishing that the train wasn't passing. No one outside would be able to hear him scream for help. "I swear, whatever you think, it's not-" The bald man took a step in his direction. "Oh screw this!" Duane drew his pistol then, and saw the alarm in each of the rebels' eyes right before he pulled the trigger. "Shit!" Gil's own hidden gun flashed out next, and before Duane fully understood what had happened, he was on the ground, staring up at the trembling light fixtures with a hole in his chest and the sound of a train in his ears. That sound eventually passed, and was replaced by swearing rebels and a faint tune by the Ink Spots. By the time the song ended, the man who'd called himself 'Big Max' was dead, and Duane Freeman would soon be joining him. Walter and Gil were gone, and the only voice left in the room belonged to Wellstone's most popular radio host, Ronald Layder. "How ya doing, Wellstone? It's twelve-o-clock and you know that means it's time for me to share some old world wisdom with the bunch of you -and trust me- this one's good. But first, some news: ... I'm sure by now all of you listeners know that in light of recent attacks in the Industrial and Market districts, the Brotherhood of Steel is sending troops to occupy our fair city. Well it turns out that these guys work even faster than we thought 'cause they're gonna be here tomorrow. Yep, you heard me right. The BoS is about to be in town. Is this good? Bad? Only time will tell.... Me personally, I just hope that the killing comes to an end... and that brings me back to that old world wisdom I promised you folks. It's an old quote I managed to dig up that I think everyone should perk their ears for. So Wellstone, Brotherhood, Rebels at large, y'all listen up 'cause it's a doozy. Before you go to war, you should know that war, well, war never changes.
  8. Damn straight. It doesn't get much more badass than a Nordic Redguard. When she kicks the bucket and goes to the Far Shores, she better get a timeshare in Sovngarde.
  9. True. Though like a true friend, I went on to sacrifice Jodun's soul in the hopes that somewhere, somehow, Unrivaled would sense it and feel a little joy.
  10. Don't listen to him, Gokuono. It's a trick. Things never turn out well for our Redguard characters.
  11. Endar doesn't care what you ingrates think of him anyway!
  12. My team probably hated me in that game. I was dicking around so hard.
  13. I'd be very interested in finding out how you do it if you figure it out.
  14. Of FEV yeah, not radiation.
  15. If that was the plan, I'm glad they cut it. The super mutant lore has already been butchered enough. No need to make it even worse than it already is.
  16. It was Gregory who was on there before. If I had a good one of Boldir that I liked, I'd use it.
  17. I had over 5000 posts on their old forums. Don't have any on the new one. I'm not using that ****ty site.
  18. They didn't come with the GotY? That's bullshit. And it's not even like it's because they came out after it. All the little plugins besides Fighter's Stronghold came out before KotN or Shivering Isles. Shame, because I thought quality-wise, Oblivion's house DLCs were better than Hearthfire or FO4's ****ty settlement toys. Considering CDPR gave out at least a dozen free mini plugins for Witcher 3, I'd wager you're right.
  19. Holy shit, it was! I like to think I have good memory when it comes to things like this, but looking back at all my old attachments, there were several pictures I'd forgotten about. The Rebec one must've been old because I didn't even know the baby's name would be Ragna yet.
  20. Lol thanks. Are you sure pregnant Rebec was me, though? I remember trying to draw her and Baldur at the wedding in Falkreath but I got annoyed and quit on it before finishing. Don't remember ever doing Rebec by herself or pregnant though. Endar and Mila at Cloud Top was the hardest. Just because I did it on my pipsqueek phone screen using a finger painting app. You ain't missing much, bud. The others Colonel mentioned weren't very good, but I at least tried to make them actual pictures. The Baldur x Dales one? Not so much. It was a thirty second joke sketch like most of my shit.
  21. She does look mid twenties or so, but I always thought she was meant to look young for her age. Not sure why I thought that.
  22. She looks older than I pictured. But that crown looks ******* badass.
  23. Midir is a bad example for this. He may be more mobile on the ground, but at least the dragons from Skyrim actually use their wings to fly. That's when they're most dangerous anyway. Not that I'll defend Alduin for being such a chump. But pretty much everyone agrees on that.
  24. I'm glad somebody said it.