Two-Finger Joe's page

Regretfully my offline life is becoming a bit too hectic and I need to trim some commitments. Regretfully this is one of them. Sorry! I've very much enjoyed the game and hope you continue playing. Thanks!

"Right, bullets tain't workin. Let's try blades, then, eh?" Holstering his beloved gun, he draws his bladeflinger and attacks!

Attack: 1d20 7=10, 1d8 1=4

"Consarn it! Isn't there a durn way out of this trap?!?"

Joe fires at the nearest Zombie (if there are zombies close to any civvies, he'll fire at them first): 1d20+8=27, 2d6+1=7

"Take that, you damnable walking disease fact'ries!"

Joe will then Step back a square and look around furiously for a way out of this kill box.

Joe pops a shot off at the nearest zombie and then moves 30 feet into the complex (to c5) to try and find another way out of the soon to be deathtrap!

Attack: Attack 1d20+8=21, Damage 2d6+1=8

"Die you lily-livered codswain of a heap of diseased flesh! Or at least, die again!"

Seeing the woman nearest him, he yells at her as he passes, "C'mon lady! Ain't no time to be pussy-footing around! Run!"

Initiative: 1d20+4=18

"Jumping Jiminy Jesus! What in the second circle of hell was that?!?" Joe glances down to where the rocket seems to have come from and begins running toward there, slinging his disc flinger and drawing his Sweet Betsy (his Colt Python).

Joe will head over toward the gate that the zombies are pounding on, his disc flinger out and ready, getting cover and getting ready to shoot if the gate falls.

"Wellll, sugar s$%%e! Looks like we're gonna see us some zombie fightin' afore the day's out," Joe drawls.

Does the town have any sort of entrenched defenses or offenses we could use?

Joe wakes up with a start, his hand shooting toward his gun. He steadies himself, shaking his head, and gets up. He pulls a clean(ish) shirt over his head, slips on his boots and heads out to the nearest gate, all quiet like. On the way he checks the load on his gun and his disc flinger. His hands never stop moving, flexing and twitching his fingers as he goes.

Joe watches as the new arrivals filter into town. He keeps his disc flinger handy, near to hand, just in case. As he walks, his head twitches, due to a nervous tic that never seems to go away. He can be heard muttering under his breath softy. It sounds like he's saying, "Watch the eyes, Joe, not the hands. Hands'll lie, Joe. Hands'll lie."

Gawds, man. I was born ready. And a bit premature if you ask me mam...

Joe's ready to go. Scootch!