Dusty

Avatar: Out of the Ashes 🔥

I'd be interested in joining, can I get rolls? @BlueSky44

Our Evil Ways

By in large the world hadn’t changed much for the smallfolk. Those little woodland creatures whose very existence was threatened by the ruthless, expert killers that patrolled the skies and lands day and night. As such they were less than impressed by these new, shambling humanoid monsters concentrated in urban population centers, who upon occasion wandered into their forested home. For many they worried about the normal hunters, and upon one scent of the decay that heralded the approach of the walking corpses they would scatter, flee down their respective burrows and trees hunkering down until the threat inevitably passed over. Content to live another day, and be the prospective meal for a more competent hunter. Unfortunately for this rabbit, Bubba did not stink of death, and his natural aroma gave no warning concealed downwind. Even his massive bulk, towering six and half feet high gave no clear warning, as the giant moved as soft and low as a snake through the leaf littered forest. Not even the tall twitching ears, sensitive to the whistle of an airborne rock, or the soft padded paws exploding into evasive maneuvers could save the doomed lapin from the inevitable. The rock, more akin to a small boulder smashed into the buck’s head sending it reeling, crushing its brains and skull and leaving a sizable dent in its small, fuzzy head.

Snorting at a stone well thrown Bubba stood from his hiding spot, dusting leaves and dirt from his red flannel button down, and blue jeans. He’d been sitting motionless for the better half of an hour, waiting for the unfortunate rabbit to warily sneak from its warren. He’d already bagged two others and a squirrel, and his fourth kill of the day, lying broken before him, its feet twitching in its death throes was a particularly large buck. Alone it could feed three hungry men, or Bubba. The catch had been difficult to be sure, the rabbit being as cautious as it should be, and Bubba had worried more than once that the wind would change and the creature would dart away unscathed. His concerns it seemed had been unfounded and he bent to tie a twine about the rabbit’s hind legs, pulling the cords tight and throwing the carcass over his shoulder. He strode easily through the woodlands, the rabbit bouncing on his broad shoulders, and the morning sun just peeking over the horizon, filtering soft light through the foliage overhead. In his free hand Bubba bounced his throwing rock, it was a good find, round, about the size of a large orange and made of a heavy granite of some kind. He’d found it in Arkansas along the banks of the Buffalo River, and ever since countless scores of small animals across four states and hundreds of miles had fallen victim to its stunning impact.

Storing the stone in his backpack Bubba splashed into a cool, fast flowing stream, that ran over sparkling pebbles, filling his bottle on the fresh water. Above him hung his other three catches, similarly tied by their hind legs and left on a low branch over the inch-deep water, just high enough so that an enterprising coon, or bear wouldn’t find themselves privy to a free breakfast at Bubba’s expense. Unknotting the staying rope Bubba tossed the three to join the fourth on his broad back, before striding purposely northwest.

His long legs ate up the miles easily but even so the sun set high at midmorning by the time he reached the Highway. The road was deserted of the living, and Bubba counted only a few roving undead as his company. For the most part they ignored Bubba, even as he hummed his tuneless hum, and strode boldly past them, unperturbed by their moans and unsteady gait towards him. The Glock at his hip remained holstered, and even though he wrenched his wood axe from its place, bit deep in a handy pinewood tree he made no move to clear the few zombies away. Scratching idly at his beard Bubba continued on his way, seemingly unconcerned that the group had left without him. He didn’t blame them, he was well known for being hanger on, a disjointed part of the whole and oftentimes he was gone for days at a time, generally bringing back a few kills, some fish, and even a few bottles of whiskey at one point. He always found the group again, or a new one. The group being the scattering of nomadic peoples whom he attached himself to. He’d been a part of at least seven different gathering so far, or had it been eight? Bubba could recall. They were different people in different states that Bubba either lost or abandoned once their interest diverted from his own. This group seemed to have an interest in traveling north however, which matched Bubba’s own so he remained with them, letting them do their thing, as he did his, their relationship symbiotic in full. This group was large too, and most unfamiliar with woodcraft making them easy to find. Their unconcealed spoor was practically a flashing neon signpost for Bubba. Still, they had half a day’s journey on him so it was best to set to with a vigor. So, he did.

The flat interstate made travel easy, and it was a little before midday when he finally spotted them in the distance, and an hour after that he reached their rearguard. They’d stopped for a breather it seemed, and Bubba frowned at this. To him it appeared they were going slower and slower every day, and the lackluster pace couldn’t be solely blamed on the six-year-old. Sure, disease was rife in their unsanitary conditions, Bubba had beaver’s sickness himself, but their lack of true progress did not bode well with Bubba. He’d thought it would have been evening before he located them, and here it was barely past noon.

Bubba stepped over a man named Wyatt McCarthy who was lying upon his back and past a girl he whose name he could not recall with her dog. All around him those of little consequence were settling down, while the self-elected leaders gathered. Bubba paused, eyeing the discussion with contempt. Letting the kill fall from his shoulder he dug around his pocket, locating his dip can and stuffed a healthy pinch into his lower lip. He was uninterested in their debate. If they’d bothered to ask him, he could show them where plenty of food and clean water was. Fresh water streams flowing from underground waterworks were plentiful, one only had to follow a deer trail to find them, and in a single morning Bubba had bagged enough food for six or seven people. Sure, they wouldn’t be living the high life like before, they’d be hungry and wanting and fighting for survival but it was better than this self-inflicted desperation for abundant resources. They never would ask him though, so Bubba felt no need to tell them just how bountiful Minnesota was.

Taking a seat Bubba drew his knife and began making small incisions in the first rabbit, squeezing the feet and dripping cool blood on the asphalt, watching the process in fascination. Taking his smallest finger, he inserted it under the rabbit’s flesh, wiggling it about watching the fur bulge and pulse, a morbid grin plastered on his face. Turning he looked straight at the girl with the dog, his blue eyes fixed on upon them with a sudden intensity. “I like your dog,” he informed her his voice flat, almost emotionless. He held up his rabbit, his finger still inserted beneath its skin. “Would it like something to eat?” In a single deft motion, he slit the rabbit from throat to rump, it guts spilling open for the world to see. Grinning he ripped out the heart and liver and lungs from the spinal cord, holding them out for Violet to take. “Here, he’ll like ‘em I know.”

Our Evil Ways

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Bubba Bellenger

^{_{aba000 | Robert Redford}}

---

Bubba Bellenger
^{Asylum Inmate/Factory Employee}

---

Physical Characteristics

Bubba is a giant of a man, topping out close to seven feet in height with thick arms and legs like oak trunks. His ragged, blood stained clothes preach of hard times in his past, and his wide, icy blue eyes tell a tale of madness barely suppressed within. He's got a gorgeous smile, or at least what once might have been a gorgeous smile now the clenched toothy grin of a psychopath, his teeth stained yellow but set in neat rows, all surrounded by an unkempt, dirty blonde beard. Bubba carries himself as light as a cat despite his bulk and has a nasty habit of licking his lips when he's around other people, and staring at them hungrily...

Life Before the Apocalypse

"Me? Well paint me black an call me negro, if that ain't something. Most people don' give a damn where I came from before, they jus' give me funny looks. Well since ya done asked nice I'll tell y'all, just let me put in a lip first, there we go. So I was working with this recycling plant ou by Brimming. But I got snagged by th’ law over after a little incident an’ got myself a dang long sentence. They put me in this nice place called, Saint Ninnys or somethang. Th' hell if I know what its actually called. Anywho I'd been staying there, held up for th' past two years. But then this hullabaloo started in earnest, an' people was panicking every which way from Tuesday. I didn't mind th' chompers too much, long as they kept their distance, an' they didn't mind me, long as I kept mine. Th' interns left th' doors open for me, nice of them I said. But I ain't sure how I got to Minnesota so quick. Funny thing time, flies like’a crow. I've been jumping rides since Birmingham, seemed lots'a people been heading northwards, and I figured, why th' hell not? I've been wanting to see Canada for awhile, and I was bored. They certainly didn't need nor want me back at th' factory."

Strengths & Weaknesses

➕There's something to be said about Bubba's immense strength when it comes to survival. He's a fighter through and through, tougher than a bear and strong as a horse and quick as a pissed off rattlesnake.
➕ Redneck know-how is often mocked, until the zombie apocalypse. In his own way Bubba is handier than a craftsman's bag, and can fix just about anything with only some WD-40 and duct-tape, plus he can skin an' trap a rabbit, gig a frog, crack-shot with any gun and be a generally useful outdoor redneck.
➖ His insanity really plays against him, and Bubba's a bit touchy on the subject. Calling him crazy is just about the one way to make him really angry as laid back and amicable as he usually is. Course, he looks crazy and acts it too, but as long as no one mentions it.
➖ Having received a less than five star schooling Bubba isn't the most book smart person in the world. Sure he can read and write and do his numbers, just don't ask or expect him to understand long division or delve into deep nuanced concepts.

Personal Goals

Bubba's goals are simple things. From day to day its finding the next meal and another can of dip, helping people and fulfilling his erratic desires. He likes providing assistance, as long as people ask nice. He's a genuine southern boy after all, and being useful is what makes him happy. Beyond that he's always saying how he'd like to see the states, and how much he enjoys touring all these new places. For some reason Bubba doesn't mind the general chaos and apocalypse, and seems unfazed by the death and destruction. Actually, if someone was to venture a guess they might say he enjoys it! So, Bubba doesn't have any plans on trying to set up a new civilization, develop a cure, or anything like that. He'd rather keep roaming, play whack-a-mole with the chompers, and find a goddamn pair of wheels and some gasoline so he doesn't have to walk everywhere all th' damn time!

Inventory

Bubba's got a pistol, a Glock .45, with a whole eight rounds remaining. He prefers to use his woodcutters ax however as its general purpose and quite useful, especially since he can swing it hard enough to split skulls. In his backpack he carries about thirty-seven cans of dip that he looted from a convince store, a water bottle, and some beef jerky. Stuck in his boot is a flaying blade, and rolled on top of his pack is a heavy dark green poncho.

Our Evil Ways

@McHaggis Edited to have a actual face claim.

.
.

Bubba Bellenger

^{_{aba000 | Robert Redford}}

---

Bubba Bellenger
^{Asylum Inmate/Factory Employee}

---

Physical Characteristics

Bubba is a giant of a man, topping out close to seven feet in height with thick arms and legs like oak trunks. His ragged, blood stained clothes preach of hard times in his past, and his wide, icy blue eyes tell a tale of madness barely suppressed within. He's got a gorgeous smile, or at least what once might have been a gorgeous smile now the clenched toothy grin of a psychopath, his teeth stained yellow but set in neat rows, all surrounded by an unkempt, dirty blonde beard. Bubba carries himself as light as a cat despite his bulk and has a nasty habit of licking his lips when he's around other people, and staring at them hungrily...

Life Before the Apocalypse

"Me? Well paint me black an call me negro, if that ain't something. Most people don' give a damn where I came from before, they jus' give me funny looks. Well since ya done asked nice I'll tell y'all, just let me put in a lip first, there we go. So I was working with this recycling plant ou by Brimming. But I got snagged by th’ law over after a little incident an’ got myself a dang long sentence. They put me in this nice place called, Saint Ninnys or somethang. Th' hell if I know what its actually called. Anywho I'd been staying there, held up for th' past two years. But then this hullabaloo started in earnest, an' people was panicking every which way from Tuesday. I didn't mind th' chompers too much, long as they kept their distance, an' they didn't mind me, long as I kept mine. Th' interns left th' doors open for me, nice of them I said. But I ain't sure how I got to Minnesota so quick. Funny thing time, flies like’a crow. I've been jumping rides since Birmingham, seemed lots'a people been heading northwards, and I figured, why th' hell not? I've been wanting to see Canada for awhile, and I was bored. They certainly didn't need nor want me back at th' factory."

Strengths & Weaknesses

➕There's something to be said about Bubba's immense strength when it comes to survival. He's a fighter through and through, tougher than a bear and strong as a horse and quick as a pissed off rattlesnake.
➕ Redneck know-how is often mocked, until the zombie apocalypse. In his own way Bubba is handier than a craftsman's bag, and can fix just about anything with only some WD-40 and duct-tape, plus he can skin an' trap a rabbit, gig a frog, crack-shot with any gun and be a generally useful outdoor redneck.
➖ His insanity really plays against him, and Bubba's a bit touchy on the subject. Calling him crazy is just about the one way to make him really angry as laid back and amicable as he usually is. Course, he looks crazy and acts it too, but as long as no one mentions it.
➖ Having received a less than five star schooling Bubba isn't the most book smart person in the world. Sure he can read and write and do his numbers, just don't ask or expect him to understand long division or delve into deep nuanced concepts.

Personal Goals

Bubba's goals are simple things. From day to day its finding the next meal and another can of dip, helping people and fulfilling his erratic desires. He likes providing assistance, as long as people ask nice. He's a genuine southern boy after all, and being useful is what makes him happy. Beyond that he's always saying how he'd like to see the states, and how much he enjoys touring all these new places. For some reason Bubba doesn't mind the general chaos and apocalypse, and seems unfazed by the death and destruction. Actually, if someone was to venture a guess they might say he enjoys it! So, Bubba doesn't have any plans on trying to set up a new civilization, develop a cure, or anything like that. He'd rather keep roaming, play whack-a-mole with the chompers, and find a goddamn pair of wheels and some gasoline so he doesn't have to walk everywhere all th' damn time!

Inventory

Bubba's got a pistol, a Glock .45, with a whole eight rounds remaining. He prefers to use his woodcutters ax however as its general purpose and quite useful, especially since he can swing it hard enough to split skulls. In his backpack he carries about thirty-seven cans of dip that he looted from a convince store, a water bottle, and some beef jerky. Stuck in his boot is a flaying blade, and rolled on top of his pack is a heavy dark green poncho.

Our Evil Ways

Here’s my entry

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.

Bubba Bellenger

---

Bubba Bellenger
^{Asylum Inmate/Factory Employee}

---

Physical Characteristics

Bubba is a giant of a man, topping out close to seven feet in height with thick arms and legs like oak trunks. His ragged, blood stained clothes preach of hard times in his past, and his wide, icy blue eyes tell a tale of madness barely suppressed within. He's got a gorgeous smile, or at least what once might have been a gorgeous smile now the clenched toothy grin of a psychopath, his teeth stained yellow but set in neat rows, all surrounded by an unkempt, dirty blonde beard. Bubba carries himself as light as a cat despite his bulk and has a nasty habit of licking his lips when he's around other people, and staring at them hungrily...

Life Before the Apocalypse

"Me? Well paint me black an call me negro, if that ain't something. Most people don' give a damn where I came from before, they jus' give me funny looks. Well since ya done asked nice I'll tell y'all, just let me put in a lip first, there we go. So I was working with this recycling plant ou by Brimming. But I got snagged by th’ law over after a little incident an’ got myself a dang long sentence. They put me in this nice place called, Saint Ninnys or somethang. Th' hell if I know what its actually called. Anywho I'd been staying there, held up for th' past two years. But then this hullabaloo started in earnest, an' people was panicking every which way from Tuesday. I didn't mind th' chompers too much, long as they kept their distance, an' they didn't mind me, long as I kept mine. Th' interns left th' doors open for me, nice of them I said. But I ain't sure how I got to Minnesota so quick. Funny thing time, flies like’a crow. I've been jumping rides since Birmingham, seemed lots'a people been heading northwards, and I figured, why th' hell not? I've been wanting to see Canada for awhile, and I was bored. They certainly didn't need nor want me back at th' factory."

Strengths & Weaknesses

➕There's something to be said about Bubba's immense strength when it comes to survival. He's a fighter through and through, tougher than a bear and strong as a horse and quick as a pissed off rattlesnake.
➕ Redneck know-how is often mocked, until the zombie apocalypse. In his own way Bubba is handier than a craftsman's bag, and can fix just about anything with only some WD-40 and duct-tape, plus he can skin an' trap a rabbit, gig a frog, crack-shot with any gun and be a generally useful outdoor redneck.
➖ His insanity really plays against him, and Bubba's a bit touchy on the subject. Calling him crazy is just about the one way to make him really angry as laid back and amicable as he usually is. Course, he looks crazy and acts it too, but as long as no one mentions it.
➖ Having received a less than five star schooling Bubba isn't the most book smart person in the world. Sure he can read and write and do his numbers, just don't ask or expect him to understand long division or delve into deep nuanced concepts.

Personal Goals

Bubba's goals are simple things. From day to day its finding the next meal and another can of dip, helping people and fulfilling his erratic desires. He likes providing assistance, as long as people ask nice. He's a genuine southern boy after all, and being useful is what makes him happy. Beyond that he's always saying how he'd like to see the states, and how much he enjoys touring all these new places. For some reason Bubba doesn't mind the general chaos and apocalypse, and seems unfazed by the death and destruction. Actually, if someone was to venture a guess they might say he enjoys it! So, Bubba doesn't have any plans on trying to set up a new civilization, develop a cure, or anything like that. He'd rather keep roaming, play whack-a-mole with the chompers, and find a goddamn pair of wheels and some gasoline so he doesn't have to walk everywhere all th' damn time!

Inventory

Bubba's got a pistol, a Glock .45, with a whole eight rounds remaining. He prefers to use his woodcutters ax however as its general purpose and quite useful, especially since he can swing it hard enough to split skulls. In his backpack he carries about thirty-seven cans of dip that he looted from a convince store, a water bottle, and some beef jerky. Stuck in his boot is a flaying blade, and rolled on top of his pack is a heavy dark green poncho.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Can one of y'all post then? @POOHEAD189 @Andreyich @Jbcool Frans Vou is being perpetually poked and whacked to death.

Our Evil Ways [An Apocalypse RP]

I’ll do it!

Intergalactic Space Adventurers- [ISA]

Throughout Emmett’s short speech, and Ursa Cooper’s own shortly after and the proceeding conversation Jean kept a mask of practiced impassivity. His years hustling skilled players at the card table granted him the ability to mask his thoughts and feelings, not just in his expressions but his words and body language. A good thing he did too. Jean hated it every time she brought up her chosen profession, and the conflict that existed between them. The respect he felt for this woman, her amusing attitude, and fiery personality was growing into something more, but a impassable barrier was set between them, one that Jean couldn’t ignore forever. They were allies of convenience, pursuing a common goal, or at least they possessed similar enemies and a mutual friend. His life choices pulled him in one direction, and hers another. Her trust in him to uphold an honor amongst unlikely allies dug the proverbial knife ever deeper, and twisted the jagged blade in his heart. Despite all his skill, Jean found he could not look her in the eye, and could only nod, staring remorsefully at the floor. It seemed loyalty was a fickle thing after all.

“You’d fallen off the grid for a few rotations, I was starting to worry about you, we didn’t need to lose another good ranger so soon.”

Jean leaned against the Ranger’s hull, checking periodically up and down hall to ensure he was alone. They were only a few minutes off from touching down on the moon and Jean had already inserted the coordinates into the small communicator. On the other end, halfway across the universe Director Jane sighed, the exhale of breath scratchy through the long distance encoded communication.

“I haven’t been in a position to chat with ya lately. Been pressed tight, and kept a close eye on. The situation is, complicated.” Jean murmured, it was true enough to not be a total lie. Between fighting space battles, and the cramped quarters of the Ranger, subversive and secret communication was difficult to say the least. Though if Jean had been entirely honest he would have admitted to holding off making the call until the last minute.

“You’re under cover?”

“Not exactly.”

Director Jane’s silence was a question in of itself. Jean decided against explaining the intricacies of his situation over the radio static, instead pressing the Director for limited action, and informing her of the threats, which he could only assume would be upheld. The director wouldn’t hear of it though, her voice almost scolding through the comms device.

“No, Ursa Cooper is wanted for millions of kredits throughout the known galaxies and beyond. I cannot in good conscious abandon a score like that because she helped you once. I’ll hold off raiding her facilities until you are out of danger for retaliation. I won’t say it again, no bargains, no deals, that’s final.”

Jean pressed his forehead against the steel wall, his hat, a large burn hole through the middle pushing up and falling off, held from descending to the ground by a leather strap fastened around his neck. The leather’s bite at his throat felt fitting, the hat’s weight pulling down on the leather even left a thin crimson line, a reminder of the betrayal. But was it truly betrayal? Was he not upholding his oath of office? The question permeated his thoughts even as Director Jane continued.

“I’m assigning a squad of rangers to shadow your movements sheriff. If you ever need assistance they’ll be close enough to pull you out, but far enough back so your hosts aren’t alerted. Keep up the good work sheriff, I expect a report within a week, if I don’t get it I’ll assume you died in the lion of duty.”

The line went dead and Jean hid the communicator in his pocket, pacing up and down the hall, silent and brooding.

~*~*~

Leeroy’s triple toes curled, digging into the red sand that dominated the beach and coastline. Jean had been overjoyed to find that the smugglers had also kidnapped his spughoss Leeroy, storing the loyal beast in a cramped cargo hold. Jean led him out with them, lettining the equine stretch his muscled legs and shake his white mane, the oxygen sacks on his nose flaring happily in the rich air.

His three toed feet left large prints in his wake as he snorted and stomped, his large watery eyes rolling as he reared to run. Jean laughed, a very different man than he’d been only minutes before, his confusion and internal debate hidden behind a guise of good natured humor. “Hang on ya big dolt, let me get ya loose.” Jean uncliped the harness, swatting Leeroy’s flank and sending the great spughoss stampeding away from them, prancing across the sands as delicate as a cat and splashing into the water like a foal at play.

Turning back to the conversation he’d been mostly ignoring he saw a flushed Ursa, and a semi strangled Aquaria standing together looking at him. “Uh, howdy marm.” He grinned, touching the brim of his hat. “Thankee kindly for your hospitality, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance I’m sure.”

Stepping around the girls he followed the pleasant seeming Jim into the warehouse. Even Jean, who'd seen some large underground organizations in his time was impressed by the grand scale of the operation. There was something to say about the classier criminals, they knew how to organize and operate better than some multi-galactic corporations. All under the radar as well. Stepping up to a crate he slid it open, eyeing the line of highly illegal carbon evaporators stored within. Jean shrugged, tossing one to Emmett. “Better gear out in the best they’ve got if they’re offering it free. Those sell at top dollar on the black-hole markert, I should know. I’ve raided a few sell zones myself. Smugglers tend to think that a deadly weapon is all it takes to end a bust, so they like to keep them handy...” Jean padded over to the next orange crate, flipping it open to find a more humble collection of clean clothes, and another to find poached items. He pulled out a pair of jeans, and a moonmoth silk button up, (also highly illegal due to the endangered state of the moonmoths, and the process required for extracting the necessary silk,) the fabric was unbelievably soft and supple, and sturdier than steel wool and well sought after by big name buyers. Jean had a special hatred in his heart for poachers, but the smuggled good had already been made, there was nothing he could do about it now. Tearing off his grimy and ragged shirt he pulled the navy blue moonmoth silk over his back, buttoning it up and pulling ivory lined crimson vest on over it. The jeans fitted well enough as well, and he buckled on a deep sea offilaos ray leather gun belt over them, tightening the strap before slipping a revolving carbon disintegrator, pistol configuration into the holster. He kept his hat, despite the plasma burn straight through the center of it, shoving the wide brimmed rancher down low over his eyes, tufts of his brown hair protruding through either side where the plasma had gone straight through.

“I suppose,” he said, justifying his new getup and weapon more for himself, than for Emmett who stood beside him. “That if I’m riding shotgun for smugglers an’ assassins like y’all, I might as well dress like one.”

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Probably not, but we can just continue with the three of us though.

Twisted Tales ~ Once Upon a Nightmare

Sentient animals are a staple part of Faery Tales, and you’ve mentioned the big bad wolf multiple times. Would a talking, thinking animal be common in this world, or are the animal characters to be replaced by human personas?