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Year 12

About Wotz

  • Birthday 09/02/1997

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  1. IC: Dune Wolf (Creep Canyons) Dune was momentarily taken aback. Until now Wolf had seemed stoic, cold even. Now there was a sort of profound empathy about her that the desert-dweller had not expected to see. "Damn straight" he said eventually. "Let's kill these bastards." Then they were on the move again, roaring down the canyon towards the party of Bone Hunters. OOC: @a goose
  2. IC: Dune Wolf (Creep Canyon) The wolves skidded to a stop. Dune frowned. "Bone Hunters. But where did they get that shit?" OOC: @a goose
  3. IC: Dune Wolf (Creep Canyon) The two Kaxiums tore away across the sand, kicking up beige clouds in their wake. They left Atero to the south-east and descended into Creep Canyon. This was territory unfamiliar to Dune Wolf, who had previously dwelt primarily in the Dunes of Treason to the west. The air was slightly cooler here, but the high rock walls that surrounded the pair had a foreboding look about them. Far ahead, a group of tiny black figures were visible, some mounted, some not. Their mounts, he couldn't be sure, but they looked like... Rock Steeds. He and Wolf exchanged a glance. He signalled for them to slow down. OOC: @a goose
  4. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Kagnii's Used Wheels) "I'm the sociable type," Dune retorted. He twirled the key round his fingers as he approached his Kaxium. "Allow me to introduce you: this--" He inserted the uniquely-shaped object into its corresponding hole, and the engine exploded into life, flames sputtering from numerous exhaust pipes around the vehicle's rear. "...this is Hahli." He climbed aboard, smiling with satisfaction. "And it looks like our slimy friend over there refilled my baby." He raised his head to look over Wolf's shoulder. "Hey! Looks like I could rely on you for something after all!" Kagnii cowered away. Clearly he was praying for the wolves to leave, and Dune was happy to oblige. "Lead the way, Serrat. Let's burn rubber." OOC: @a goose
  5. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Kagnii's Used Wheels) There was a few moments of silence as all present exchanged various glances, none sure quite what to do first. In the tension, Dune caught eyes with Kagnii, and realised. Keys. "Aw, hеll." All at once, about fifteen Iconosian thugs turned and sprinted in the same direction, and Dune Wolf was among them. He turned on his heel and leapt atop the Thornatus, darting from vehicle to vehicle in the hopes of overtaking the throng. But he realised rapidly that there was no need to outrun them. They began by shoving each other aside. Then they moved on to tripping up their compatriots in an attempt to slow them down. Before long all illusions of unity in the group had dissolved. As if realising suddenly that each and every one of them was carrying a deadly weapon, the thugs proceeded to kill each other remarkably quickly. Their savagery was astounding; within two minutes the crowd of rabid addicts had become a desecrated array of reaking corpses, the foul chemicals in their guts steaming in the hot sun. Dune hopped down from the back of a Baranus and stepped over the ruined corpses surrounding the office. Could they all have died? Logically there should be at least one to-- "Stay back!" An uncharacteristically large Iconosian appeared in the doorway. Most of his armour had been stripped off. One arm was missing. His icy blue skin was covered in lacerations new and old. And in his eyes was the savage desperation of an addict in need of a fix. "Don't come any closer!" Dune Wolf lifted his empty hands. Privately he was calculating how many milliseconds it would take for him to draw one of his chains from this position. "I won't let you have it!" "I--" Dune sighed. "Look, I don't care about your stupid Spice." "It's mine!" "Fine by me." "..." "Get out of the way. I need my keys." "It's mine!" "Great Beings..." A second later, Dune's chains cracked like whips on each of the junkie's legs, shattering his kneecaps. The outlander stepped over the screaming shell and retrieved his keys from the safe. With one last look at the Iconosion, who still lay clutching the bag of spice, he spat, lobbed a hunk of fireroot between his gums, and began slowly limping back through the lot. OOC: @a goose
  6. NPC: Kagnii (Kagnii's Used Wheels) At this, Kagnii's eyes darted desperately round at their hungry audience. "Don't listen to her! There is no magic safe with all the answers in it! There is no safe!" OOC: @a goose
  7. NPC: Kagnii (Kagnii's Used Wheels) Kagnii squirmed and spluttered. "Don't kill me! I'm just a merchant trying to protect his wares! Please!" Urine streamed down his leg and formed a sad puddle at his feet. "This isn't fair!" OOC: @a goose
  8. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero) “I know the place. I’ll get my Kaxium, meet you there.” And she was gone. It was only once he was alone that Dune Wolf noticed the walls of his throat sticking together. He also noticed his head was throbbing and his vision narrow. He cursed Blackthorn Gin silently and spat dry air in disgust. The way to the lot consisted of a tangled maze of alleyways that embedded in a densely packed residential quarter. Washing lines zig-zagged above the dark figure as he side-stepped oggling children and the suspicious glares of housewives. What drew attention to him more than his piercings and tattoos was his lethargic gait; the locals knew a junkie's stupor when they saw it. Dune himself was astonished by the potency of his hangover. Surely this was not just the work of alcohol...? He shuddered with surprise as a figure stepped into his path, arms outstretched. His vision came to focus on a blue-skinned woman holding out a bowl of water. There was a moment of confusion, as he tried to move aside so the woman could pass, but she remained stood where she was, gesturing with her eyes to the water. Oddly, she did not speak. Dune Wolf bent down a little and took a sip. Then another. Then he took the bowl and poured it all into his mouth. Instantly he felt the water wash through his head and throat, its soothing coolness spreading and rejuvenating him. His eyes shifted sheepishly from the empty bowl to the Tajunite woman, ashamed by his indulgence. But she merely smiled and stepped aside, allowing him to pass. Dune could feel the onlookers watching him from all directions as he slipped past the woman - croaking a 'thank you' - and vanished on his way. (Kagnii's Used Wheels) The 'lot', as Dune Wolf had called it, was a small fenced enclosure filled with an assortment of haggard-looking vehicles. The lot's owner, Kagnii, was squatting atop a particularly ancient Thornatus with a blow torch when he saw the Glatorian approaching. The Agori sighed and lifted his mask. "I should've said when you came by yesterday - no takebacks!" "What?" "Don't play dumb. You sold me your bike and now you've changed your mind. So let me make it easy for you: Alll transactions are final!" "I didn't sell you my bike..." Dune's brow furrowed. Had he...? "What, you thought this was just somewhere to park?!" Kagnii's mouth fell open in disbelief. "You rode in here. I gave you money. Yet you think I was providing you a service?" "No, I sold you that scrap. That's what the money was for." "The scrap? That scrap wasn't worth jack. You sold me the bike." "I told you--" "ALL TRANSACTIONS ARE FINA--" Dune Wolf snatched the Agori by the collar and pulled him fully off the Thornatus, bringing them eye-to-eye. "I'm twice your size. You really sure you wanna mess with me?" "No... But they will!" Suddenly, a host of ghoulish Iconosians began to emerge from the ruined vehicles. Their armour and weapons were visibly salvaged from dead warriors - a green pauldron here, a steel boot there - while their faces and limbs were deformed, emmaciated from decades of addiction. What Kagnii was paying them in Dune Wolf couldn't tell, but there was no time now to dwell on such things. The thugs were nearly upon him. Dune dropped the Agori and let him scurry off into the shade. A few tense seconds passed, broken by the jingle of chains as the desert dweller prepared his only weapon. Then he was no longer Dune Wolf the lonely desert dweller, but Chains, the murderous avenger. IC: Chains From the far left, one of the thugs stupidly charged, screaming at the top of his lungs. With a flash of singing chains he was struck down, his bloody face caked in sand. Then he was struck again, and again, and again until he stopped squirming and lay still. His comrades looked on in silence. Evidently the rest of them knew better than to attack one at a time. Quickly and calmly they filled the space surrounding the outlander. He remained perfectly still, eyes and ears trained. A faint patter of feet approached from behind, accompanied by the whistle of a stolen blade. Chains whirled around, veering out of the blade's path just in time and simultaneously coiling a chain around the thug and his garish weapon. Just before turning, he had caught a glimpse of the two in front beginning to move in unison. So he had some warning for the momentary rustle of armour as these two came at him from either side, swinging axes at his legs and head. The one aimed at his head he caught, but received a gash in his leg as he failed to shift his position far enough. Ignoring the pain, he yanked down on the axe and freed it from the addict's feeble grip, then, using the still-enchained blade-wielder as a pivot, rotated at speed and embedded the one axe in the other's skull, splitting their rusted helmet in two. Heavy blood spat from the wound as the thug fell to the sand, their jaw hanging open in shock. Immediately, Chains kicked back at the disarmed axe-wielder. Hearing him crash to the ground, he finally yanked on the chain, sending the blade-wielder spinning out of control. Before the thug could regain his balance, the chain's tip had snapped into his nostrils, pushing part of his skull back into his brain and killing him instantly. The second axe-wielder scrambled desperately for escape, but had barely moved at all when he felt sun-kissed metal around his neck, squeezing tighter, tigher, tighter untill-- SNAP Chains pulled the chain, link by link, from the man's limp corpse. He looked around. The thugs still surrounded him. In fact, there were more of them now than before. Then, feeling the blood gushing down his leg, head spinning, looking at the blank expressions all around the lot, it dawned on him. He could not survive this. OOC: @a goose
  9. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero) The pair of them gathered whatever possessions they had with them and left the inn discreetly. Outside, Dune pointed a mechanical finger over some nearby buildings. "I'm parked a little ways east, in a lot of some kind. Yourself?" OOC: @a goose
  10. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn) Dune Wolf smiled viciously. "Sounds like my kind of place. You have transport?" OOC: @a goose
  11. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn) "What a treat." - - - - - That night, Dune Wolf slept restlessly, when he slept at all. He had thought that a proper bed would relax him, had looked forward to a deep sleep. But he felt wrong, out of place. Too hot. It was rudimentary, just animal skins and dried grass, but he was accustomed to sleeping in caves, upon sand and on cold, hard stone. Almost without thinking about it, he crept back downstairs and stood out the back door of the inn. By this time, most of the patrons had turned in or gone home, while those who had none slumped over their tables in slurred conversation. Dune Wolf chewed fireroot and looked up at the stars. He recalled an old slave once telling him that the stars were the souls of the dead watching over the living. He could see how that would be consolling. It would be consolling for him now, if he could bring himself to believe it. But it was more relaxing here, with the open sky above him. If he just sat down... The fireroot was finished. He spat it out. His eyelids drooped. Better head back up. For now, just rest his eyes, lean back... - - - - - Pools of blood and countless atrocities. Millions of slaves, all of Bara Magna, all cattle, all meat. All of it visible across the landscape, illuminated by gore-stained sunlight, naked flesh, naked bodies. Chained together like cattle. Cattle and milllions. Millions of meat. Millions of bodies and endless death. The child taken away from her mother. The mother clutches her bossom. She weeps. Then the black swords come down; she is old, her body-meat is stale. She is dead. The mother of the slave dead. Dead slave-mother. Millions of babies. It screams as they throw it into the firepit. Into the bloodlake. Learn to swim in an ocean of pain, or learn to die; these two options are the same. Death-learning. Learning to live its own death. The baby cries for it's death-mother. Machinery now, pumping, churning. Surgically-enhanced flesh of the earth. The desert as a great body, its sand-skin penetrated by rusted, evil metal. Jagged shards. Millions of parts. Oiled by millions of blood and infinite atrocities. Teeth, natural teeth, ground up to feed. The slaves augment the machine. The body rises. Millions of bodies. Infinite death. NO-- - - - - - "--FREEEEEDOOOMMM!!!" Dune Wolf blinked, looking around. He was standing there, fighting stance, out the back of the inn where he had obviously fallen asleep. The sun had just barely crept over the wall and laid a thin strand across him. He turned to head back inside the inn. Tried, tried, TRIED-- Door locked, great. He clamboured up over the shed and scaled the wall up till he spotted the distinctive dark purple skin of his compatriot. The window slid open. "You awake?" OOC: @a goose
  12. IC: Dune Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn) Visions...? Visions, to Dune Wolf, were fearful, involuntary, synonymous with nightmares. Even now, through the veil of vague amnesia induced by the Blackthorn Gin, flashes of parched flesh, blood and rusted metal swam behind his eyes. "Funny," he forced a laugh. "Seems to me that visions are the thing I spend most of my time trying to get away from." Still, there was something enticing about her request. He had never heard of these 'Serrata' before, but he felt some strange kinship with them for that reason. Forgotten people. And if he helped them, perhaps there would be a stronger force to help him take on the Bone Hunters. Besides, who would he be without nightmares? Dune eyed the blackness in his hand. "But that voodoo shi'it probably has more of a kick than this trash." He looked up at this mercenary who shared his name, and realised the face had become familiar. Purely by accident, there was a barely detectable smile on his face. "Sure, I'll come east. Iconox can wait, for now. But let's wait and leave in the morning. I've ridden far enough today." OOC: @a goose
  13. IC: Dune Wolf (Red Star Inn) "Yesterday, ideally." Dune leaned back, sizing her up. Serrat, was it? He might've heard of such a tribe, if the gin weren't already beginning to cloud his memory. But it seemed the Glatorian and he had some common ground. Maybe they could stroke some kind of a... Strike some kinda... He eyed the glass. The black stuff was stronger than he remembered. He swallowed some more. "You help me help me my people, and your... people will be helped." He cleared his throat forcefully. "As in, the Bone Hunters. Have money." OOC: @a goose
  14. IC: Dune Wolf (Red Star Inn) "Responsibilities?" OOC: @a goose
  15. IC: Dune Wolf "Well, whaddya know, me too." Gin. He rememberd she had asked him a question. "Slaves. Brothers and sisters of mine, you know how it is. Last I heard, the ice tribe have close ties with the Bone Hunters. And those aßholes killed my family, all my families. So I got an appetite for vengeance." Gin. "Care to join a fellow wolf hunting his prey?" OOC: @a goose
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