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Stormy Waters subcampaign: Al and Achilles

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adamu

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« Reply #45 on: <06-03-16/1842:42> »
"Satlink? Shee-it, Ivan, gimme an hour an' I'll make ya one. That ain't no thing. But a city? No question there's lots o' bergs hereabouts with plenty o' people, but ya want a real city, sort place you can get that mess fixed up right, well yer sittin' in it. This were it fer this crap country, afore they pissed off the big lizard. Now, ya got Baghdad ta the west, Baku ta the niorth, an' Ashgabat up northeast way. Good five hunnerd klicks no matter how ya slice 'er. Never pick ol' Gibber's trail up again after a detour like that. An' I don't mind sayin' I'm innerested in meetin' this feller. Afore we croak 'im, o' course."

The little man grinned, all yellow teeth and chapped lips, as if what he'd just said was good news. "But reckon yer in luck, kemo sabe. Karavan done parked onna south bank o' Latyan Dam not two days back. Twenny, twenny-five klicks, an' if ya got cash or trade, they'll fix ya up good."

pistolgrip

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« Reply #46 on: <06-06-16/2237:18> »
Achilles nods as he thinks, rubbing a hand across his whisker-shadowed face. "Yes, good thought. But I forget, I am... low on budget." He looks at his damaged arm and rips the remains of his sleeve off at the shoulder seam. A considered but wary expression crosses his face as he looks back at the building in the fading daylight. "You think they would trade for a military laser?" He takes a few steps over and grabs a length of rusting pipe. "Perhaps even a truck?" He taps the pipe against his other hand as he nods his head back towards the building, looking the American in the eyes.

adamu

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« Reply #47 on: <06-07-16/0818:14> »
An hour later both men were sticky with blood as Al steered their new deuce-and-a-half up a winding dirt road toward Latyan Dam and the huge reservoir that shared its name. His Landrover was secured to the back of the truck by a tow-line. The Russian ork's trick with the generators had worked, and they'd left behind them only a pile of rubble filling a crater where the building had been. Beneath the rubble were dozens of dead undead, and if they'd had any thought of becoming undead-undead, it wouldn't help them much with a few hundred tons of concrete and rebar piled on top of them.

What wasn't under the rubble was about half of the military hardware they'd found down there, now loaded into the truck Al now drove. It was more than enough to parlay for repairs to the ork's cyberarm, and they'd agreed to split the rest of the proceeds (on top of Al's guide fees, of course). Now they were looking forward to whatever hospitalities Karavan could afford paying customers - which Al assured Achilles were extensive - not least of which would be a shower for the blood now caking their hair and clothing. Not to mention the satlink the ork needed, not having felt like waiting for Al to make one (or not really trusting that he could).

"Say there, Ivan, that were a neat bit o' work bringin' that buildin' down with jist yer commlink. And then that talk about sendin' the files ta git analyzed, made me think o' some dark command center under the Kremlin or somewhere. You some kinda secret agent ork? Sort of a Russky-tusky James Bond type?"


pistolgrip

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« Reply #48 on: <06-18-16/0021:22> »
Achilles laughed robustly at the American's joke. Eventually he settled and gave the question some thought. He answered, "I am... property of Russian State." He tapped his metal hand onto his metal arm and continued. "They pay my bills and replace any parts I lose on mission. But always add it to my 'state credit account'." He shrugged. "I think they keep me until I am too old or die." He reached up and turned a mirror towards him to look at his own face, then frowned. "This chrome is only thing keeping me young." He turned the mirror back.

"So tell me, Mr Guthrie, were you ever a soldier? You fight like maybe soldier... who was fired from post." Achilles asked with half a smile. His sack rode in the floorboard and his commlink was stashed in a pocket, and for a while he even took off his monocle. He let himself drift completely into the moment, free of data files and reports and loading or cleaning firearms. He listened to the low rumble of the truck along the dirt path and the idle chatter of the strange American. He wondered how many more missions he had in him. He wondered if he would have a retirement. He wondered what Alina would think of him now. He shook his head and pulled his uzi out to clean it.

adamu

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« Reply #49 on: <06-18-16/1855:09> »
"Pa, he did some soldierin'. Me? Always seemed like they's a blamed lotta rules in it, an' they want ya ta follow 'em, too. Yes, sir. No, sir. How high, sir? That ain't fer Al. 'Sides, who'd ya reckon I'd soldier fer? CAS if anyone, but they ain't never done nothin' fer me or mine. An' ya ain't fightin' fer love o' country, they yer jist a merc, an' killin' fer money, that ain't fer Al neither." He flicked a butt out the open window. Soon a freshly lit Lucky Strike was in his mouth, though his hands had not appeared to leave the steering wheel. "So nah, no soldierin', but trouble she seems ta find me regardless. An' then I reckon I did work fer Proteus fer a spell. They had this, um, special team. We did a lotta this an' that, but part of it were counterterror, an' a lotta them guys'd come outta special ops under this flag or another. They was all scientific about room entry an' buildin' clearance an' all that. Hand signals. Stuff ta look cool, was all I made of it. But I might o' picked up a thing or three."

The little man chatted on for a while, but finally realized the ork had fallen into a contemplative mood, so he let him clean his Uzi in peace.

As dusk gave way to twilight they cleared a crest in the Alborz Range and before them in the distance was the shimmering slate surface of the Jajrood River where it swelled to a good kilometer wide behind the Latyan Dam. And between them and the water was the sea of lights - fed by firewood, kerosene, or gasoline-generators - that was Karavan at night. Thousands and thousands of vehicles laid out in ordered chaos to form avenues and alleys. A city where none had been two days past and none would be two days hence. Two airships floated above, and patrols of horses, bikes, and ATVs roamed the perimeter.

"Hungry?"

pistolgrip

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« Reply #50 on: <07-31-17/2315:00> »
2063, Old Tehran Province, Latyan Dam, Iraq


"Hungry?" Achilles thought of the twice-dead bodies, the torn-apart mercenaries, and the cackling acid fungus, as well as his burns and bruises. He was prepared to scoff at the question when he suddenly became aware of how empty he felt. He thought back and realized he hadn't yet had a full meal in this country. Suddenly the day's events faded away behind a thick mask of powerful hunger. He wiggled the 3 remaining fingers on  his damaged cyberhand and shrugged. "I will go to shop tomorrow. Tonight we have meal like Russian officers." A smile crossed the tired ork's dirt-smeared face. He turned to the American and shot him a look. "If you can find me good vodka I will forget how much you overcharge me." His lips parted in a huge, tusky grin, but he seemed perhaps a bit too worn to actually laugh.
« Last Edit: <07-31-17/2319:04> by pistolgrip »

adamu

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« Reply #51 on: <08-02-17/1838:43> »
"Vodka I can do."

It was another two hours before they made their way down the north face of the range and hit Karavan's roving pickets. A trio of ATVs rode along with them for a few hundred meters, just letting them know they were there, but no one hailed or challenged them. They drove in among the sea of camps and trailers for a while, until the going got too tight for their vehicle and, with no sort of designated parking area, they just left it in the first bit of empty space they found.

The place was a true polyglot. They heard ten languages spoken in as many yards walking among the stalls and hastily thrown up prefabs. But nearly everyone spoke Arabic of one flavor or another, and Al had no trouble asking around for what he was after. After fifteen minutes winding their way through the constantly shifting warren of passages and lanes, they came to a large tent emblazoned with Traktir na Karavsn in both Roman and Cyrillic characters. Before they could go in, a great fat man with a beard sweeping across his chest erupted from the half-open tent flap, roared something that might have been "Al" but was probably just an incoherent growl, and embraced the little guide as closely as the bulk of his stomach would allow. From his accent, Achilles new the man for a countryman, but he spoke to Al in English.

"Al, you diminutive scoundrel, who have you brought with you to my humble establishment?"

"Boris, this here's a countryman o' yours, one Grade-A commie badass. Ivan buddy, this here's Boris. Boris, mi compadre here wants wants ta drink good vodka an' eat like a Russian officer,whatever the hell that means."

"Ha ha ha - it means you eat all the best while your men eat scraps like unwashed dogs. The true spirit of Soviet equality! Achilles, my friend..." after which the man broke into Russian and Al lost the thread completely.....
« Last Edit: <08-19-17/1700:22> by adamu »

pistolgrip

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« Reply #52 on: <08-03-17/0001:04> »
Achilles stood up a little straighter when Boris began speaking in Russian. Soon he was smiling and at some point in the conversation he gave Boris a dramatic salute, which the man half-returned before jovially disrupting the gesture with a laugh and turning away to some other task. As he left, Achilles found where the American had planted himself and took a seat across. The tables were ribbed like shipping crates and pillows served as chairs, but the relatively clean synthetic fabrics gave a small impression of faux-luxury. He looked across at Al and smirked slightly. "I have placed order for us." He said confidently. "You will like."

As the American started rambling about his connection to Boris, and something about the swarm of heathens in these parts, Achilles looked to his commlink to see if he could get a signal. Sadly the only connections available seemed to be local. There were a couple of nodes that were pay-gated, but he couldn't be sure if they were uplinks or something else; apparently these people relied more on face-to-face business than electronic presence. Nevertheless, he was able to call up some hardware dealers and get sale estimates for their military gear and repair estimates for his cyberware. The prices were a bit far off from what he'd get in a city, but it would have to do.

adamu

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« Reply #53 on: <08-04-17/1646:50> »
Al had no doubt whatsoever he'd enjoy whatever Nikolai had ordered, and said so. "Hell, I'm hungry a road-killed skunk'd look good after three days ripenin' inna sun."

When the ork looked up from his commlink, Al spoke again as they waited for the meal. "Been thinkin' Ivan buddy, an' I decided we's gon' be partners. Now I seen what this Geber asshole can do, reckon he's someone I'd like ta meet, jist ta see what sorta human comes up with that sorta crap. An' then o' course, after a suitable amount o' time ta git acquainted, say, thirty seconds, we gon' kill him deader'n a damn doornail. Jist thought ya might like ta know ol' Al's in it fer the duration. Course, since I'm reckonin' yer gittin' funded by dear Mother Russia anyhoo, s'pose I'll keep on takin' yer money. But you an' I'll know it ain't really about that. This Geber feller's some nasty dogshit onna heel o' the world, an' we's the ones ta wipe it off."


pistolgrip

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« Reply #54 on: <08-08-17/1553:02> »
Achilles leaned back and thought for a moment, looking for words. He circled his hand slowly in the air as though to gather up the missing words from the empty space between them. Finally he decided on something and spoke. "I... am not the only one looking for Geber." He stated plainly, waiting a beat to see if the implications sunk in. "It is unlikely that Geber killed his own mercenaries. Perhaps they were killed by...
 eh, local monsters. Or perhaps by work of someone else."
As the food came, he continued. "My intelligence does not suggest the nature of his latest work, so I cannot know. Perhaps he is evil маг, or perhaps not. Either way, he is preferred to be property of Russian state."

The Russian ork let the words hang in the air, wondering how the American self-appointed magic cleanser would react to the idea of capturing instead of killing. He then began eating, still keeping an eye on the American. "I hope this does not complicate our arrangement." He added expectantly.

adamu

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« Reply #55 on: <08-12-17/1709:10> »
"Complicate it? Sheee-it, plot thickens is all. But I assume we can at least kick him around some...An' how 'bout these other fellers after him? They on the side o' the angels like us'n? Or maybe they's some league o' evil assassins out ta enslave Geber's diabolical brain fer they own nefarious purposes, in which case we cross paths with 'em the gloves can come off? Don't mind sayin' ol' Al's hopin' it's the latter."

He went straight for the potatoes. "Damn, Gregor, this is some fine chow!"

pistolgrip

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« Reply #56 on: <08-18-17/1901:58> »