Firecracker_

The Dust

i should really read all these IC posts.

The Dust

Introducing, the great and magnificent Jonathan “Kyrios” Diederich Looks familiar Kapu, No?

@Aeonumbra

Is it supposed to be like your character from Deadlands? I think it's your character from Deadlands.

The Dust

holy shit darcs goddamn another post slow down before i start to feel inferior.

The Dust

Aeon, my next post is going to be taking place probably around late evening/night/early morning of the next IC day, so should I wait until everyone posts to kinda 'end' the day or wha?

The Dust

Holy typos! I just reread my post and I don't know how you all restrained yourselves from tracking me down, busting into my dorm room, and beating the crap out of me... I'll try to fix those up for whatever good that does. And like Aeon, next time I post I hopefully won't be coughing up a lung. Also, though I'm certain there are plenty of people who would (rightfully) blame the Motum Diversum for the attack on the Forsaken caravan, the operation was not officially sanctioned, and was carried out with bandit gear. So I don't think it would necessarily be overly common knowledge/undisputed fact that they pulled the attack. Especially in light of the fact that the story would have likely been swept together with the small slave uprising that occurred in the area in the following months, leading most to believe that the slaves were somehow responsible for the attack.

@Callthecops

Hmm, I was kinda staying with the same theme as that The Security Chief has access to a lot more information that most don't, as hinted to when he knows Ulver's full name, when most don't, but I can go ahead and add in a few discrepancies, or just full on rewrite the scene all together. I was just thinking that a Chief of security in one of the Gaen's capitals would have access to heavy information. Plus, there were other survivors to the attack I thought? Maybe they could've passed information along?

The Dust

Alrighty, I've posted, and since Unraveller is no longer with us, I guess that means the cycle is through!

The Dust

It was nearly a chore to open the door, with his hands shaking so bad. Ulver found his shaky steps to the counter, and plopped down on a stool before he collapsed. The bartender was at the other end of the bar, a distance that seemed to continuously stretch in Ulver’s mind, seeming farther by the second. Ulver pried his helmet off, desperately trying to get some fresh air on his face. Sweat was pouring down his face, his arms shaking uncontrollably. Ulver’s helmet landed with a loud thud on the counter, drawing some glances and stares from the few other patrons in the bar. His hair, with bright, nearly white tips and deep brown curls, was nearly soaked in sweat, and he found it hard to keep his breath. The bartender noticed the grim shape of the man sitting down at the far end, and approached slowly and cautiously. He called from a fair distance, “Hey buddy! You feeling alright man?” He said, concern in his voice, accompanied by some lingering suspicion. Ulver looked up, startling the bartender with sudden eye contact with his fierce eyes. He raised a shaking hand up “Y-yeah” he replied in his gravely, yet shaky voice “I j-just really need a drink, man.” He said, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. The sweat that had started on his face had spread along his body, his back and arms and legs all beginning to dampen his clothes. He exhaled roughly, and started peeling his belongings off of his body, backpack and weapons, and then jacket, until his was in his muscle shirt, stained and dirty, wet with perspiration. “A-are you sure that’s what you need man? I can get some wa-” “No no no no no, I need booze, something, fast. Hell, give me some fuckin’ rubbing alcohol, something.” The bartender took a few steps closer, never breaking eye contact even as Ulver’s eyes shot rapidly around, beads of sweat falling around them. “I- I don’t think-” Ulver slammed his fist on the counter, jumping up from his seat. He readied himself to yell, but his voice caught itself in his throat, with the bartender drawing a pistol from his back, with another patron in the bar standing with the both of them, a shotgun trained on Ulver. The patron was one of quite a few years, maybe a few years older than Ulver himself. Pretty heavy bags underneath his eyes, and a waxed mustache hung from his lips. His eyes were hardly visible in the dim light of the bar, but Ulver could feel them stare into his own. It appeared that his job was to protect the bar, as none of the other patrons, all unarmed, were surprised that he had brandished a weapon so quickly. Ulver stared back at him, his own eyes equally crazed. He knew it would be death to reach for his weapons, so he opted instead to slowly sink back down onto his stool, switching eye contact between the two armed men. The guard spoke up, his voice deep and experienced, even a bit intelligent. This wasn’t his first rodeo. “Now, you’re goddamn lucky we even let your kind in this town, and you’re even luckier that I don’t fill your chest with buckshot. You’ll behave yourself in this bar, or you’ll leave it in a goddamn box, you understand me, boy?” “Loud and clear.” Ulver said, staring intently at the man. The guard didn’t respond, and chose to instead slowly lower his shotgun, setting it back down against the counter before returning to his own stool. Ulver turned back to the bartender, and spoke up, a bit calmer. “Listen, I’m going through serious fucking withdrawal. I need some shit, or I’m going to fucking die. Now, please, serve me some damn drink.” The bartender, who had also put away his weapon, carefully moved to the cabinet, pulling a bottle of tequila out, before sliding the whole bottle down the bar. Ulver took the bottle, wildly prying the lid off, taking a few deep mouthfuls. It burned intensely in his throat, but almost immediately, Ulver could feel the warmth spreading slowly, his symptoms beginning to calm down. “Maybe you should kick the habit, man.” The bartender said, watching Ulver pant and drink from a distance. “How much is the bottle?” Ulver replied. --- After a few knocks, the door in front of Ulver opened, his sight being occupied by a slender, attractive woman, dressed in mainly utility clothing with bandoliers and and a handgun under her arm. She looked down at Ulver from the higher step, almost annoyed that he even knocked. Before Ulver could talk, her eyes fell to his helmet that he had in his arm, and instantly recognized him. “Oh, my god! You’re Sandman! Alrighty, come in, we’ve been expecting you.” She said, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside the building. He followed her lead, as she dragged him by the hand through the building, a Peacekeeper office serving Aspin’s citizens in the business district. There were many officers and secretaries moving around the office, papers being moved and Peacekeepers being deployed, offenders being brought in for processing. The woman guided Ulver through all the chaos, with Ulver catching many curious and suspicious looks from the criminals and officers alike. His sandy dusters and metal helmet drew much contrast from the still sandy, yet cleaner and more symmetrical uniforms of the officers. The woman quickly guided Ulver down a narrow hallway, with many doors leading to many different offices and sections of the building, before leading to large, heavy wooden double doors. The girl knocked, and didn’t wait for a response before opening, with two men staring back at the two of them. One was behind a desk, he was an older man, face lightly wrinkled with graying hair starting from the bottom. He was wearing a tattered kevlar vest, a large patch reading “CHIEF” across the front. A hat was sat on his desk, with a gray over coat was hung on a rack behind him. He was obviously the chief of the Aspin Peacekeepers. The other man was also adorned in Peacekeeper attire, but his face was hidden by a mask, made for breathing in the sandy environment, a respirator of sorts. The chief spoke up first. “Ah, Mindy. I see you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring the Immortal directly to my office. You’ll have to be reprimanded for that later.” “W-wha, uh, o-oh god, sir, I’m sorry I-I didn’t-” “Of course you didn’t think, you never do. You are relieved, Mindy.” “B-but, Sir-” “You are relieved, Private. Leave.” The Chief replied coldly. The girl left, defeated, without a word. Ulver watched as she walked off, and then turned back to the chief, who was already staring at him. “Take a seat, Mr. Rakis.” “Wait, wait, how d-” “I’m one of few security chiefs of the Gaens, Sandman. Don’t be stupid. I do my research. Now, take a seat or get out of my office.” Ulver mumbled something, and took a seat in the chair next to the masked man, on the opposite side of the desk as the Chief. They both looked at Ulver, with Ulver returning the gaze, before the chief started talking, softer than before. “I’ll get to the point, Sandman. There has been a series of murders and robberies in and around this city, and the people are getting scared. This type of violence isn’t very...usual in Gaen territory. It’s very out of character for this city, especially. Most are busy with scientific research and working with the ARK parts. No one has time for banditry here, and I’m not about to let it become commonplace. Not in my city.” The Chief stopped talking, and as if it were a planned cue, the masked man began talking. His voice was tact and youthful, and very direct. “My boys have seen him a few times. No accomplices. Just one lone wolf operator, breaking in, killing the inhabitants of a house, takes all valuables and then he leaves, with not even so much as a fingerprint left. He’s good, experienced. He’s done this before, and possibly with a group before. He doesn’t appear to have any connections to a certain faction, but the brutality of the murders could suggest the Forsaken.” Ulver spoke, “Well, brutality isn’t exactly specific to any tribe or faction. What about those weird fuckers up north?” The Chief spoke up “Edenites? No, impossible. They never leave, and no one enters. There’s no fathomable way they’ve found their way this deep in Gaen territory. Are you insane?” “I’m just saying, man. We don’t know what they’re capable of, this could be their first strike against the outside world.” “No no, this is either a Forsaken lone wolf or bandit lone wolf.” The masked man piped up. “Well, his loyalties don’t matter, what matters-” “Yes, his loyalties DO matter. I don’t know if you heard, but the Motum Diversum attacked and wiped out an entire Forsaken convoy 6 months ago. Miraculously, it hasn’t led to total war between them, but the last thing we need is a campaign of death taken upon us by the Forsaken.” The chief interrupted. “You and I both know the Forsaken don’t have the time or interest in attacking the Gaens, chief, one lone tribal isn’t going to start a crusade against you. If the Motum can survive without warfare after wiping out a whole convoy, I find it hard to believe that one lone little prick is going to make much a difference to those animals. I know the Forsaken, Chief, and I know you know that. They couldn’t give a shit about one lone wolf. A convoy, maybe, but nothing this small. They probably don’t even know the fucker’s even out here.” “I don’t care if The Professor himself is kissing the King’s feet and sacrificing his first born son to him, I don’t need political repercussions in this. You scout the guy out, find out what his motives are. If he’s a bandit, you can kill him with no hesitation, and keep what you find there along with the money we give you. If he’s Forsaken, or any other faction for that matter, you capture him, alive, mind you, and you bring him back here for questioning, and leave the stolen goods as evidence. Are we clear on this agreement, Mr. Rakis?” Ulver sighed, and gave a single nod of the head. The Chief exhaled, almost as if to release the stress of the situation he’d been holding in. He slid his chair back, opening a drawer. He pulled out a small silver case, which opened to reveal almost brand-new looking high grade rounds. The Chief took 2 rounds out, and tossed them to Ulver, who threw his hands up in surprise to catch them. “That’s the prepayment. You get the job done,how I want it, and you’ll get the rest of it. You know how it goes. Now, get out of my office before my superiors investigate me for association with an Immortal. And make your exit quickly and quietly. I don’t need my officers thinking their Chief is some sort of mutant lover.” “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Ulver responded, sarcastically, even a bit toxically, as he pulled his metal helmet over his head. “I still don’t trust this guy, chief. Immortals are a destructive bunch of mutants.” The masked man spat, staring at Ulver. “Go fuck yourself, bud. I’m the best damn hunter on this island. You need me.” “Why, you mutant fuck-” The man said, rising to his feet. “Enough. Wolff, if I recall correctly, your squadron has let this guy escape three times in the last month. I’ll hear nothing of unreliability, from you, or anyone else in this precinct. Off, to your stations, you’re on rooftop watch for today.” The masked man said nothing, simply staring at Ulver as he walked out, making sure to bump his shoulder as he passed the bounty hunter, in his walk to the door. “I’m off to find this bandit, Chief. Try not to talk shit to any more employees, huh?” “What do I pay them for?” The Chief said, cracking the first smile Ulver had seen him crack during the whole conversation. Ulver chuckled, and walked out, leaving a considerable amount of sand in the place he sat.

The Dust

*beats chest* You DARE CHALLENGR THE TRUE KING OF WESTER- kidding. I though I would explain my reasoning incase anyone had a constructive argument, I aplogize if it came off as a challenge. And yes, always willing to help.

@Aeonumbra

this made me giggle like a little girl

The Dust

Best case senario, I have a post up by late tomorrow night. Worst case, Saturday night. I will begin tonight, but the HW is heavy.

The Dust

Basics

Name: Ulver “Sandman” Rakis (ool-verr rack-iss) Age: 38 Appeared Age: Early Thirties Height: 5’11’’ Weight: 188 Eye Color: Right eye red, left eye yellow Hair Color: Dark Brown, with the ends of his curls starting to bleach themselves. Physical Identifiers:

• Lines of X-Shaped Scars going up his arms and legs to his chest, meeting in one large X over his chest.
• There is a large scar under Ulver’s left eye, the yellow colored one, that goes down to his mid-cheek. He has another scar across his right cheek, in about the middle of his cheek, about 3 inches in length. Both are scars of battles past.
• There is a large, somewhat circular scar on his right shoulder, from an old gunshot wound.

Appearance:

Without Mask

Ulver is a fairly normal looking man, aside from his near bleach blonde hair tips, scars and brightly colored eyes. His facial appearance is that of someone who is coming to the very end of their youthful looks, and beginning to graze the start of aging. Wrinkles are slightly making themselves apparent, and the dark bags under his eyes tell of man who gets little sleep in his line of work. His body is fairly ridden with scars and cuts from fights from the far past and the day before. His body is muscular, but not ripped, just well built for what you’d expect from a mercenary.

Background

Residence: None Profession: Bounty Hunter/Mercenary/Guard for Hire Aligned Faction: None Relatives: One Brother, Jimis Rakis

Backstory

Born to two Forsaken tribals, Ulver was the second son of the pair of Forsaken Peons. His parents, Richter and Layla were 2nd generation Forsaken Tribals, making Ulver and Jimis 3rd generation Forsaken, destined to be the first of the line to be warriors. From a very young age, they were trained to be loyal warriors to the Forsaken Order. They were trained first to have complete apathy to killing and death, something Ulver had trouble mastering, but something Jimis, 10 years Ulver’s senior, had perfected. Jimis was already well trained and destined to wage warfare by the time Ulver turned 7, but instead stayed behind to work with Ulver in his training, so they could be in the military together. Ulver had trouble in the training, disliking the brutality of the officers and complete disregard for human life. Ulver simply wanted to be a child, and have fun, spend time with his parents, and enjoy wildlife instead of to kill it. These feelings weren’t well harbored, with Ulver being beat often for thinking anything other than to kill and to eat. His parents simply allowed it to happen, hoping Ulver’s feelings of mercy would soon pass with age and maturity. Jimis was much harder on Ulver than any adult in his life was, training him day in and day out, trying to teach him the proper ways of Forsaken Warrior, sometimes even beating the lessons into him. Even with all the violence, Jimis made it obvious that he did it out of his love for his younger brother, only wanting to see Ulver succeed and become a Forsaken hero. Time passed, and Ulver became more used to being a soldier, and Jimis had already gone off to fight a few minor battles against irritants of the Forsaken. Being two fairly successful warriors of the Forsaken, the Rackis family began to rise a bit more in prestige among the Forsaken, gaining better jobs and pay. Even if he was sad to have to suppress his true feelings, Ulver felt the reward granted his parents was worth it. He was 17 now, and ready to head into his first battle in the name of the Forsaken Order. The battle that followed was one of the most nightmarish memories of Ulver’s young life. A group of angry marauders had began to hassle some older villagers. When Ulver and his group arrived to ward them off, they immediately attacked the soldiers and the village, shooting man, woman and child alike. The reaction by the Forsaken was swift and deadly, killing most of the marauders, and capturing a few to make an example of. The prisoners were sat in a circle in the center of town, with the the weakest one sat a distance away, forced to watch. One by one, the Forsaken killed the prisoners in varied and sadistic ways, some by dismemberment, the quickest and least painful of the many punishments, others by live immolation. Some were drawn and quartered by horse and man alike. Soon enough,after they were all dead, they released the weakest prisoner, naked and weaponless into the wilderness to pass on the story of Forsaken destruction. By the end of the confrontation, Ulver had killed 3 men, 2 of which was forced to kill, and watched as they suffered in their last moments. It left deep marks on Ulver’s still young mind, and left him in a state of shock all the way home. Jimis, whom had racked up the 2nd most kills of the group was given great praise, almost the polar opposite of Ulver, who was bullied and criticized for his hesitation. Jimis tried to comfort Ulver, but it was of no use, Ulver was a lost child. After that battle, and a quick overturn of the throne, Jimis was quickly offered a position in a new Soulless squadron being formed exclusively to answer to the King’s whims anywhere in the Order’s territories, under strange conditions. Jimis was ecstatic, and when he was encouraged by his equally excited parents, he quickly went off the capitol to negotiate the terms of his entrance to the Soulless. Ulver, while happy for his brother, was still having a difficult time coping with the death he caused. It bothered him for many weeks to come, even making him physically sick at times. If he wasn’t off on military missions, he was sulking in his room, or wandering the wastes outside his village. After a few weeks, late one night, Jimis returned home, escorted by a squad of Soulless. Ulver and his parents were brought out of their home, greeted by a rather cheerful group of soldiers, and an equally happy Jimis. The one who appeared to be the leader of the squad stepped forward, his arm on Jimis’ shoulders. “We have some happy news! We have agreed to accept Jimis into the Soulless!” Ulver’s parents were obviously very happy. “What are these conditions?” His mother asked eagerly. “Well, show them, Jimis.” The leader said, turning and smiling to the young man. Jimis gave a happy nod, taking a step forward towards his father. Jimis’ hand quickly found the rear of his waist, and pulled something that glinted in the moonlight, before sinking into his father’s gut. The man pitched forward, grunting in pain, blood beginning to flow to his mouth. Jimis had stabbed his father, and pulled out the blade, and moved swiftly to his mother, grabbing her by her hair before quickly and cruelly kicking her to her knees, and making one quick slice of his throat. She fell to the ground, choking next to their father, who was in tremendous pain, blood slowly trickling from his mouth. Jimis kneed down to his father, and brought his blade down on his head, a sickening crunch filling the air as he made the killing blow. His mother followed suit, dying very quickly, before Jimis turned his eyes to Ulver, who was stood still in a mixture of shock, fear, rage, and sadness. Before Ulver could react, Jimis made a swift blow to Ulver’s face, knocking him out cold instantly. The next time Ulver woke up, he was a naked, young adult stuck in the middle of the desert with no clothes or weapons to him name. They had killed his parents and left him to die. Odd how they didn’t just murder him, too. But such was life in the Forsaken Order. Even if he tried to tell people, nothing could or would be done. He got up and walked. He walked until he found a quaint little town. An old bounty hunter had finally passed away after dying of long life, a spectacle the town had gathered to see. No one claimed the old man’s belongings, seeing as a naked young man had just limped his way into town, and probably needed it more than anyone did. He got a nice shotgun, a duster and some nice boots. These gave for a nice start to Ulver’s new life, a life outside the insanity of the Forsaken Order. He knew no one, and no one knew him. He started with odd jobs, before picking up a few bounties, which thus confronted him with the same thing he had had an issue with mere months before. It turned into a thrill. He found that he had finally disconnected himself from empathy, and was ready to kill anything and anyone that had money on their head. It was a sick game for him. A game that was fun enough to play that the money was merely a bonus. The birth of a new man. A man on a mission of revenge, no matter how long the grudge is held, no matter how needless the violence. Ulver was going to hunt his brother down, and kill him. He swore it.

Gear

Weapons:

• Pearla: An old AK platform rifle with a bayonet on the barrel, picked up from a trader a while back.
• Roger: The long time companion of Ulver, from way back when he got kicked out of his old tribe. The wood is losing it’s grip and it’s starting to jam here and there, but it still kicks like a mule and hits like one, too.

Armor: (Refer to top picture.) Ulver wears a chest piece made of a fairly even mixture of leather and metal as to keep a manageable weight, metal protecting vital areas. Some kevlar is also in the mix, mostly in the arms with leather sleeves and kevlar at the shoulder, elbows, and patches around the forearm. His helmet almost entirely metal, with some padding at the bottom entry hole and on the inside facial areas to keep the helmet from being incredibly uncomfortable. The vent at the mouth area tends to keep the helmet cool and ventilated, but the helmet is still prone to overheating in extremely sunny conditions. Ammunition: Pearla: 30 in active mag, 2 extra 30 round mags on back up. Roger: 5 shells in tube, 23 extra shells. High Grade Rounds:10, in a small metal container. Heavy Ammunition: 10 Slugs, 3 Fragmentation Shells Coyote Pack: 3 Canteens of Water, Sleeping Bag, Weapon Cleaning Kit, 3 makeshift MRE’s, Medical Kit, Partial Surgical Kit, Spare Binoculars, Collapsible Spade, Metal Spork and Knife, Rain Poncho, Sewing Kit with Leather patches, Knife Sharpener, Grappling Hook, Gas Mask, 2 Morphine Auto-Injectors, extra clothes and boots, fire starting kit, small kettle and pan Shotgun Sheathe: Carries Roger. Utility Belt: Morphine Auto-Injector, Binoculars, Pouch containing shotgun shells, with the special ones in a smaller zipper, mag pouches for his AK Mags, Map, Compass, Pouch with 3 bandages and 1 Hemostat, Flashlight

Immortalis Information

Manifested Phenomena: Sand/Earth Unique Abilities:

• Sandman: Traveling all over the desert time and time again, and you get a little accustomed to sand in everything. Ulver can bend sand to his will, forming projectiles that he can use to his advantage in mid-to short range combat. In sticky situations he can even use it to form ultra-durable shields to block incoming incoming projectiles.
• Bountyhunter: Hunting humans is a sport that never gets old, with new tactics always showing up to be more useful. Being in touch with the earth, Ulver can concentrate his senses, and use the sand around him to try and detect minute vibrations of sound and movement to help him find his prey.

Strengths:

• Desert Nomad: Being a roaming bounty hunter for so long, you get used to shitty weather. Even if hot weather is no new thing to most of Dust’s inhabitants, exposed to the elements day in and day out has adapted Ulver even further. He can go fairly well with little food and water, and the heat doesn’t get to him as much as it did when he started bounty hunting.
• That ‘Tired of Your Shit’ Look: Ulver is no stranger to the idiots, brutes, cons, perverts, tribals, users and general scum of the island, and knows his way around bargaining and coercion. The combination of his eyes, tone and overall attitude lend themselves pretty well in conversation.

Weaknesses:

• Use & Wear: Gunfight after gunfight, fist brawl after fist brawl, fall after tumble, the traveling man’s lifestyle is starting to catch up and take it’s toll on Ulver. His joints are getting stiffer and sorer, his stamina shorter and weaker. Aging is starting to matter
• A Healthy Dose of PTSD: Seeing, who you thought, was your best friend murder your parents, and then nearly kill you can leave a mark on a man. Ulver isn’t much for crying much anymore, but he’s a fond friend of nightmares and flashbacks.
• There is no Bottom: It’s nice for a while, but alcohol is only a temporary solution with a long term problem. Ulver is very fond of his drink, and has been on a dry spell for a while. Withdrawal symptoms galore.