open
here.
"Now this is more like it," observes Perry. "None of that space b&#*++##. Just good ol' f%+!in Earth."
Here.
dot mcdotndot
"I swear I had a number five spanner somewhere around here..."
As the first light of day breaks over the Australian Outback, a strange orange sun begins to rise over the horizon. Instead of the warm yellow glow of a typical sunrise, this sun was a blazing orange ball of fire, illuminating the sky with a fierce intensity. As the sun continues to rise, a shimmering halo of nuclear energy begins to form around it. The halo pulsates and shimmers with a dazzling array of colors, ranging from deep red to vibrant green and blue. The sight is both mesmerizing and unsettling, as if the sun itself were alive and burning with an inner energy that threatened to destroy the world. The Outback, normally barren and quiet, is transformed into a chaotic landscape of flickering shadows and brilliant light. The harsh desert terrain is bathed in the glow of the orange sun, making the normally unforgiving landscape seem almost magical. As the sun reaches its zenith, the shimmering halo expands to encompass the entire sky, casting its glow over the entire Outback. The sight is so awe-inspiring that people stop what they're doing just to gaze at the sky, marveling at the sheer power and beauty of this strange phenomenon.
The orange sun was just one of the many strange and inexplicable phenomena that had arisen since the arrival of the rifts. The rifts were mysterious portals that had suddenly appeared all over the world, bringing with them a host of bizarre and unusual events. It was the end of the world as humanity knew it. A global nuclear war had erupted, reducing cities to ashes and sending shockwaves through the ley lines of the Earth. And then, as if fate itself was mocking the survivors, the ley lines exploded, opening portals to different times and dimensions. At first, the portals were like wounds in the fabric of reality, leaking out strange energies and unpredictable anomalies. People thought it was just another bizarre consequence of the war, but then the monsters began to emerge. Gigantic beasts, demons, and other terrors from beyond our world came pouring through the portals, wreaking havoc on an already devastated planet. Humanity was on the brink of extinction, facing an enemy that they could not hope to defeat. The rifts were everywhere, some small and easily overlooked, others vast and unmistakable. Some led to other worlds, while others opened up into other times and dimensions. The rifts were not just gateways to other places, they were gateways to other realities, and with each passing day, the reality of our world became more twisted and strange. People tried to band together, to fortify their cities and protect themselves from the horrors that lurked beyond the rifts. But they were fighting a losing battle, and with each passing day, the rifts seemed to grow larger and more powerful. There were those who saw the rifts as an opportunity, as a way to escape the ruined world and find a new life elsewhere. And there were others who saw the rifts as a curse, as a portal to a world of darkness and death. But no matter what anyone thought, the Coming of the Rifts was the end of one world, and the beginning of another. The once-proud cities lay in ruins, the countryside was filled with strange and terrifying creatures, and the skies were dominated by the shimmering light of the portals. The world was forever changed, and humanity was facing an uncertain future in a reality that was not their own.
The orange sun was just one of these events, and it had become a symbol of the strange and unsettling times in which the world now found itself. The orange sun rose slowly over the Central Market of Bastion City, casting its warm and eerie light over the bustling streets. The sky was a brilliant shade of orange, tinged with hues of red and yellow, as if the sun itself was afire. The vendors of the Central Market had already begun their day, setting up their stalls and calling out to the early customers. But as the sun rose, they fell silent, marveling at the strange and beautiful sight that filled the sky. The orange light illuminated the street, bathing the market in a warm and comforting glow. Shadows elongated, stretching across the pavement like fingers, as the sun continued its ascent into the sky. The merchants and traders of the market, who had seen countless strange and terrifying things in the aftermath of the Coming of the Rifts, were awed by the beauty of the rising sun. They paused in their work, gazing skyward, and for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the Central Market fell silent. As the sun rose higher, its light became brighter, and the shimmering halo of nuclear energy around it became more visible. The people of Bastion City were used to strange and terrifying sights, but the orange sun was different. It was beautiful, in a way that was both eerie and reassuring.
Bastion City was one of the last bastions of civilization in the aftermath of the Coming of the Rifts. Surrounded by towering walls, the city was a haven for those who had survived the terrors that lurked beyond the portals. At its heart was the Central Market, a sprawling, vibrant hub of trade and commerce. The Central Market was a place of constant activity, where merchants hawked their wares and traders haggled over prices. The air was filled with the sounds of people bargaining, shouting, and laughing. The scent of fresh food and exotic spices wafted through the streets, mixing with the pungent smell of leather and metal. The market was a place of life and hope in a world that was increasingly dark and uncertain. People came from far and wide to trade goods and to catch a glimpse of a world that was still struggling to survive. The vendors at the Central Market sold everything from weapons and armor to food and medicine. There were stalls selling rare and exotic items, brought through the rifts from other worlds, as well as more mundane goods that were simply hard to come by in the desolate world beyond Bastion City's walls.
Indio, dressed in his work clothes blinks and frowns at the unusual solar phenomenon.
Sure, it was pretty, but considering how things tended to work out on earth, anything new and unexplained was potentially dangerous.
Normally, he enjoyed the market, even though he usually didn't have any spare credits to spend on much.
Oh sure, with his various skills, it was easy to make a living, but you didn't make the big bucks just fixing stuff.
Unless you got money to spend, you can't get the big opportunities.
The market was still nice, especially the scents.
But it was hard to focus on that now, since some new horror might be about to happen.
Still, he needed a number five spanner to complete his toolbox.
Perry was tinkering with the number five spanner he'd salvaged the other day, getting it back into working order on the chance somebody happened to need one. Somebody with cash on hand, preferably. He didn't operate a vendor stall, but he was known about town as a man who found things. And anyway he heard that a local acquaintance, Indio Black, was looking for one of these.
He paused only briefly to regard the Sun. Whatever ideals he had when was young were long since vaporized by reality: this world was s++# and everyone was gonna die sooner than later. Still, he had been born and figured he owed it to the memory of his parents not to just throw his life away frivolously. But a guy had to make a buck for beer. To that end, his ears were always open to any legitimate big shots that wanted to buy his armor. He was asking a million-five but not exactly making a big show of it lest someone wanted to test him and steal it off his dead body.
Noah wasn't sure what meat was skewered on the two sticks in his hand, but it was heavily spiced and the first time he hadn't had to cook for himself or eat dehydrated food on the road for a few weeks. He savored this bites, but when he lowered the second stick below his waist, Cob grabbed it and swallowed it in a single gulp.
Noah was a small, compact man with dark skin and hair. Cob was a giant furball in a tactical harness. He would have looked intimidating if not for the big black and pink mottled tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
Noah had change to spare from a recent job and no particular needs. But there was always a chance of finding a useful bit of gear.
Indio stops short and then snaps his fingers.
"Oh yeah! I have to get some feed for Glory as well, 'effin horse...
The day she started following me around, 'effin Glory..."
So, horse feed and a spanner, anything else?
Moving over to an empty bench, Indio puts his toolbox up, opens it and begins to look through it.
"Sealant...check, Philips head Screwdrivers...check, needle nose pliers...check, pipe cutters...check..."
The bazaar of Bastion City's Central Market was a bustling cacophony of sound, smell, and color, a vibrant tapestry woven from the myriad cultures and traditions that converged in this crossroads of the Australasian world. A veritable cornucopia of exotic goods and services, it hummed with activity from dawn till dusk, a ceaseless hive of commerce that thrummed with the rhythms of life.
The raucous calls of merchants, haggling and shouting over prices and goods, were interspersed with the hypnotic strains of street musicians and the rhythmic clanging of metalworkers and blacksmiths.
As one walked through the labyrinthine alleys of the bazaar, one was assailed by a sensory overload of epic proportions. The air was thick with the mingled scents of spices, perfumes, and foods, each a symphony of fragrance that tugged at the nostrils and begged to be explored. One could find virtually anything in the bazaar, from rare and exotic spices and herbs to fine silks and textiles, glittering jewels and precious metals, and even the occasional live animal or exotic pet. The vendors were as varied as the wares they sold, with weathered old men in traditional robes rubbing shoulders with shrewd, fast-talking hucksters and sharp-eyed merchants from far-off lands. In the midst of this vibrant throng, one could also find a multitude of food and drink vendors, each tempting passersby with the irresistible aromas of their offerings. From savory stews and grilled meats to sweet pastries and exotic fruits, the array of flavors was dizzying, and one could easily lose oneself in the whirlwind of tastes and textures.
As the morning sun rose high over the bustling market, the air was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasted meats, tantalizing even the most jaded of palates. And among the myriad vendors peddling their wares, a group of rugged outback hunters stood out, their stalls brimming with an exotic array of bushmeat from the vast and untamed wilds of the Australian outback. The hunters were a grizzled bunch, each with a rugged air about them, attesting to the harsh conditions they endured in pursuit of their quarry. And the meat they offered was a reflection of this, each cut bearing the distinctive flavors and textures of the rugged, sun-baked landscape.
There were strips of kangaroo meat, lean and flavorful, their rich, gamey flavor tempered by a hint of smoke from the open-fire grills that sizzled and crackled nearby. The meat was tender and juicy, and one could almost taste the vast, arid expanse of the outback in every mouthful. Beside the kangaroo meat were cuts of emu, the towering flightless bird of the Australian wilderness. The meat was dark and savory, with a texture that was both tender and firm, each bite a complex blend of smoky and savory flavors that seemed to burst in the mouth like fireworks.
But the real star of the show was the crocodile meat, a delicacy that few outside the region had ever tasted. The hunters had expertly prepared the meat, roasting it until it was perfectly crisp on the outside yet tender and succulent within. The flavor was bold and distinctive, with a tangy, almost citrus-like aftertaste that lingered on the tongue long after the meat had been savored.
In the heart of the bustling bazaar, a group of skilled gunsmiths stood behind their stalls, each offering an impressive array of firearms for sale. And among the gleaming metal and polished wood, the prized pieces were undoubtedly the Wilk's 320 Laser Pistol, Wilk's 447 Laser Pistol, Northern Gun NG-57 Pistol, Northern Gun NG-Super Pistol, Northern Gun NG-33 Pistol, Northern Gun NG-L5 Laser Pistol, Northern Gun NG-P7 Plasma Pistol, and Northern Gun L-20 Rifles, each more powerful and precise than the last.
The Wilk's 320 Laser Pistol was a compact and lightweight weapon, ideal for use in tight spaces or for quick draw situations. It boasted impressive power for its size, with its laser beam capable of penetrating even the toughest armor.
The Wilk's 447 Laser Pistol, by contrast, was a larger and more imposing weapon, perfect for heavy-duty combat situations. Its high-powered laser beam could blast through even the thickest of materials, making it a favorite of military and law enforcement agencies alike.
The Northern Gun NG-57 Pistol was a sleek and stylish weapon, with its streamlined design and precision engineering making it a favorite among discerning marksmen. Its laser sight and customizable grips made it a versatile and reliable choice for any situation.
The Northern Gun NG-Super Pistol was a true powerhouse, with its high-capacity magazine and rapid-fire capabilities making it a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. It was a favorite of military units and private security contractors, valued for its durability and reliability under even the most extreme conditions.
The Northern Gun NG-33 Pistol was a well-rounded weapon, equally suited for both close-quarters combat and long-range sniping. Its laser sight and adjustable stock made it a versatile and effective choice for any situation.
The Northern Gun NG-L5 Laser Pistol was a formidable weapon, capable of firing a concentrated beam of energy that could cut through even the toughest armor. Its compact size and reliable construction made it a favorite of special forces operatives and bounty hunters alike.
The Northern Gun NG-P7 Plasma Pistol was a fearsome weapon, firing explosive bolts of plasma that could obliterate even the most heavily-armored targets. Its sleek design and impressive firepower made it a popular choice among elite mercenaries and high-end private security firms.
And last but not least, the Northern Gun L-20 Rifles were the workhorses of the gunsmiths' offerings, a range of versatile and reliable weapons that could handle any task, from long-range sniping to close-quarters combat. Their rugged construction and precision engineering made them the go-to choice for any situation, whether on the battlefield or on the hunt.
As the crowds swelled and the sun began to set, the gunsmiths' stalls remained a hub of activity, with each weapon drawing admiring glances and eager buyers.
Having finished his inventory taking and packed up once again, Indio continued to walk through the Bazaar.
While his hands certainly itched to do some business, his lack of credits beyond what he needed for basic necessities prevented that.
Still, he couldn't exactly stop himself from being drawn into the throng of people looking at the guns.
Guns were a sad necessity of life in these parts, and his own meagre pistol was sorely in need of an upgrade.
The plasma pistol certainly drew his attention, as did the rifle.
In a month of Fridays maybe...
Perry finds Indigo Black near the gunsmiths.
"Hey Indigo, here's that number five spanner you were looking. How's life? Still better than the alternative?"
Perry watches the crowd. He has no interest in the weapons; he wants to see who's buying.
But he can't see anything.
Indio looks up and blinks, taking a moment to come back to reality.
"Oh, Perry, 'lo there.
It's pretty much same old, same old.
Everyone constantly needs something fixed, but when it comes to payment, it's always "Tomorrow my man, tomorrow, I promise!", except of course, tomorrow never comes."
Taking out a little notebook, he glances through it quickly.
"That's a lot of credits still owed me..."
"And you?"
"You know - gonna live until I die! I hear you on credits, man. Say, you just gave me an idea. You know I've been trying to find a buyer for my Combat Mage Heavy EBA personal armor. It's just a lot of bulk to carry around and get in and out of when I'm not activating it. If you help me sell it I'll cut you in for 20%. I figure it's worth a million-five."
Indio quickly goes pale and makes shush motions with his hands.
"Quiet man! Don't mention that sort of cash out loud.
You never know who is listening in, believe me, you can NEVER be too careful.
People would happily slit you from nose to crotch for a tenth of that."
Calming down a little, Indio raises an eyebrow as he considered with a clearer mind.
"It's a good deal mind, and I'm certainly interested.
What do you need me for though?"
"Trying to move it sooner than later. Figure you have your connections and I have mine - double the possible area of interest. Not asking you to be a salesman, just to keep your ears open for legitimate opportunities."
Indio considers for a moment, then shrugs.
"Easy enough, I'll be sure to do that.
Sure do need some liquidity, that horse is eating me out of house and home, effin Glory..."
"I swear, she is a pain in my arse, and jealous too. If I so much as look at another female, no matter what she might be, she gets all narky at me."
Cedrica, who had spent the day lounging or squating near the gunsmiths, simply to enjoy the smell of the oils, the whine of the energized energy ammo clips, (the sight of the men that came to the stalls, though she wouldnt admit it out loud!), Cedrica nibbled on 'roo jerky and sipped the filtered water from her hip flask. Although she wasnt sweating, since she was in the shade, she knew the moment that strange orange-tainted sun bathed her, shed become a sheen of sweat.
Five million huh? she says, standing up next to the two men, who, until she had spoken, hadnt realized she was there amongst the storage boxes. She lifts a foot up onto a box, her high heeled combat boot catching the edge and locking the footware into place. She leans over slightly, and puts an elbow upon the knee. Looking at both men, smiling in what she thinks is a sexy, flirty manner (it's not!), she takes a small nibble at the 'roo jerky (a fat chunk of meat and she chomps it loudly wiht her mouth open.) Go on- im listening. she says (which comes out as geu aww, 'emm litnin)
"One point five, not five..."
Indio replies before he fully registers that someone else has entered the conversation.
When it clicks, he nearly jumps out of his skin, sure that the previously mentioned "slitting" was about to happen.
Still, he would rather not get TOO confrontational, so instead of reaching towards his gun, he instead focuses his mind.
The hidden weapon is the best one...
He then glances at Perry, more than happy to let him take the lead.
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"I swear, she is a pain in my arse, and jealous too. If I so much as look at another female, no matter what she might be, she gets all narky at me."
"That is a circumstance I could not abide, friend."
When the attractive if not as sexy as she attempts to be woman speaks up, Perry coughs when Indigo corrects her. "Hey, next time someone says five mill, do me a favor and go with it."
Then he turns to the woman and nods with an easy smile. "You have the serious look of someone who can handle armor like this. Bet if it came down to it you could put me in the ground with your bare hands while still chewing that stick o' meat, which you do well, by the way.
"Name's Perry, nice to make your acquaintance."
Unable to quite resist a little bit of banter, Indio quips.
"Heh, Perry, with our luck, next time someone says five million, it will be "You OWE us five million" you know...One and a half won't sound so bad then."
Cob stops in mid-stride, his nose twitching this way and that. Scenting old friends, the big dog lopes away from Noah, running toward the threesome hanging out at the edge of the weapons market.
Noah follows, but without any sense of urgency.
As a Roamer warrior strode purposefully through the crowded street, the throngs of people parted like a sea, making way for him to pass. The hustle and bustle of the city seemed to recede around him, as if the people could sense his power and respect it. The Roamer's appearance commanded attention, his tall frame and chiseled features radiating a sense of strength and authority. As the bustling city traffic roared around him, the Roamer strode confidently across the busy street, his unique garb drawing curious glances from onlookers. Despite the chaos of the surrounding city, he moved with an easy grace, his fluid movements a testament to his years of experience navigating the treacherous terrain of the Outback wastes.
As he made his way across the street, it was impossible not to take note of the Roamer's striking appearance. His clothing was a blend of Japanese and Bedouin Arab styles, seamlessly blending the traditional garments of two distinct cultures into a striking and functional ensemble. The flowing robes and loose-fitting pants of his outfit were adorned with intricate patterns and intricate embroidery, reflecting the Roamer's keen eye for detail and his appreciation for the artistry of his garments.
But the Roamer's clothing was far more than just a fashion statement. It was also a practical necessity, designed to help him survive the harsh conditions of the Outback wastes. The lightweight, breathable fabrics of his robes and pants helped to keep him cool in the scorching sun, while their loose fit allowed for maximum freedom of movement in combat. The sturdy boots on his feet were made from tough, durable leather, providing protection from the harsh terrain of the wasteland, while the intricate wraps around his arms and legs helped to cushion blows in combat.
As the Roamer reached the other side of the street, he paused for a moment to adjust his weapons - a pair of finely crafted Japanese swords strapped to his back. He knew that, despite the relative safety of the city, danger could lurk around any corner, and he always remained alert and ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. As the Roamer warrior strode through the busy market streets, his laser katanas could be seen glinting in the sunlight from the scabbards strapped to his back. The sleek, elegant weapons were a testament to both form and function, their design blending the traditional samurai sword with cutting-edge technology to create a deadly and efficient tool for combat.
Each of the katanas was a work of art in its own right, with a slender, curved blade made from a rare and precious alloy that was capable of slicing through nearly any substance. The hilt of each sword was crafted from a durable, lightweight material that fit comfortably in the hand, allowing for precision strikes and lightning-fast movements. But the true power of the laser katanas lay in their blades. Instead of a traditional metal edge, each sword was equipped with a deadly laser beam that could slice through even the toughest armor with ease. The beams were focused through the blade's edge, creating a narrow, intense cutting surface that left no room for error. In the hands of a skilled warrior, the laser katanas were capable of devastating damage, able to cleave through entire groups of enemies with a single strike. As the Roamer walked, his movements sent ripples through the scabbards on his back, causing the laser katanas to jostle slightly. Their bright, neon-colored blades glinted in the sunlight, their power barely contained by the sleek, futuristic design of their housing. The scabbards themselves were made from a hard, lightweight material that protected the blades from damage, even in the roughest of conditions.
While his attention is mostly focused forward, to wards the woman who had just appeared like that, Indio does notice that something seems to be going on around them as well.
Risking a glance to the side, he notice the cause of the hubbub.
Well, look at Mr Fancy pants there, huh, quite LITERALLY fancy pants as well.
It's alright for some I guess, things like that cost a mint I bet.
"Don't look now, but we've got a VIP roaming around."
Perry did not see the lone figure until Indigo pointed him out, such was his level of focus with the woman he was chatting up.
"Yep, a real dandy. I bet he's got some serious coin on him. Don't those swords seem a bit impractical to you? Unless he can dodge lasers... I'd wager he's some kind of ceremonial warrior that hunts things coming through rifts. Maybe someone should go say hi."
"Eeeeh...I'm not sure. You see how everyone is moving away from him? You might end up having a bit of that rub off on you.
I...uh...kind of do not like that sort of attention much."
The Roamer warrior was a striking representation of perhaps the one cardinal division of human civilization in Sahul -- the name given to Australia in the time after the Coming of the Rifts: citydweller and wastelander. The cities of the eastern coast, facing the newly arisen continents of Zealandia and Mu, were immense arcologies constructed with the arts and engineering of the Golden Age of Technology that existed before the Coming of the Rifts. The city of Sydney was an immense fortress over a mile tall comparable to the Coalition capital of Chi-town in North America. Melbourne and Perth were similarly impressive conglomerations.
The citydwellers were almost exclusively humans. The city-states of the EHRA, the xenophobic alliance of Gold Coast conurbations, busily planned the violent extirpation of all non-humans from eastern Australia. Their fervor in this regard rivaled that even of the fascistic Coalition States. The heavily armored peacekeepers of the EHRA were an increasingly common sight in the outlying settlements like Bastion City.
The culture of the arcologies was a striking mixture of Eastern and Western elements -- the influence of China, Japan, and Indonesia was apparent in the religion and architecture of their inhabitants. The religions of the Earth after the Coming of the Rifts were significantly changed since the Golden Age of Technology. Much knowledge of revelation had been lost, and surprising new syncretisms had emerged in the centuries after the Apocalypse. The most prominent faith among the citydwellers was the teachings of Mahayana Christianity, a syncretistic movement that grew out of the strange holy book known as the Sri Koranjiyana, a collection of pre-Rifts sacred texts from Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, and Christianity, as well as other faiths. In truth, it was not one book, as dozens of regional versions of the sacred text existed in different parts of the world. The version of the Sri Koranjiyana used in the Australian arcologies was a compilation of the New Testament, several apocryphal Gnostic gospels, the main sermons of the Pali Canon, the Lotus Sutra, and the voluminous writings of the Scientology scriptures. The teachings of Mahayana Christianity -- though there were several forms -- held that all humans were inchoate Buddhas, universal sublime beings, that had existed since the beginning of time but had forgotten their sublime condition on account of traumatic experiences endured over countless life times. The teachings of the Third Christ Arhant, or whatever devotional figure was the center of the specific tradition -- the Maitreya Mashiach, the First and Final Buddha, etc., would lead their followers to an awakening to their sublime natures, and free them from the malevolent influence of 'yaksas' or 'onis' -- demonic psychic entities that clung to the bodies of humans like parasites. The depictions of these entities in religious artwork resembled the xenomorphs of the ancient pre-Rifts science fiction franchise Aliens, though the inhabitants of this age did not, of course, know the origins of this artistic habit. Various aspects of this legendarium were woven into the teachings of Mahayan Christianity -- some of the stories of the previous lives of the Buddha Christs related how the sublime entities had travelled to an isolated planet during their explorations of the galaxy -- a planet that was discovered to be a 'Hive' of a virulent parasitic organism that was, however, also somehow magnetically fascinating to the human atman. The struggle between the parasitic influence of the organisms and humanity's fascination with their perfection and adaptability was seen as a parable of the religious life. One of the chief Buddha Christs of the Mahayana Christian teaching was Ellen Ripley -- who was held to have lived in an ancient age and conquered her inner passions, symbolized by the strange xenomorphs, and been reborn several times in subsequent lives to lead her fellows to salvation. Many statues of the 'Guan-yin Ripley' were common sights in the temples of the Mahayana Christian Churches.
By contrast, the wastelands of the Outback were the domain of the Roamers -- humans who had learned to survive alongside the strange new peoples that had entered the Earth since the Coming of the Rifts. The Roamers' culture also combined elements of eastern and western traditions, but they were adherents of a separate tradition known as Buddhislam, an umbrella term for the a family of religions related to the teachings of the 'Mahdi, the Second Muhammad', an enigmatic desert prophet of the post-Rifts world. Their holy book of the Golden Koran, like the Sri Koranjiyana, existed in many forms in different communities. It contained much of the pre-Rifts Qu'ran, as well as large portions of the Sira tradition -- the life of the First Muhammad, as other exegetical writings called tafsir, as well as traditions about the 'Atreidies Imams'. Though the Buddhislamic ayatollah did not know the origins of their traditions, the narrative of Frank Herbert's Dune had been confused in the post-Rifts world with the history of Islam and Buddhism. The Outback adherents of Zensunnism and Zennshi'ism now believed that Paul and Leto of Dune had been historical imams alongside Ali ibn Ali Talib, Ja'far as Saddiq, and the other twelve imams of early Islamic history. Duncan Idaho was considered to be the 'future imam', and had been confused with traditions about the hidden Imam from pre-Rifts Iran. The traditions of Buddhislam took many forms -- each Roamer 'township' had its own local nabi who was held to receive 'qu'rans' -- episodic new revelations from the supreme being Buddhallah. The tombs of these figures were sites of pilgrimage and contemplation for the friends or wali of the nabi.
The Roamers were a proud warrior people that sought to maintain their independence from the arcologies of the EHRA. They were increasingly in conflict with the peacekeepers as the coastal cities attempted deeper incursions into the Outback, and more permanent, wider-spread settlements of the Roamer territories.
Cedrica looks at the Roamer. Huh. Must be a king. He aint covered in crap.
For a moment, Indio wonders if this woman is serious?
Sneaking another a glance at the roamer, he decides that it's probably unlikely.
So she has a sense of humor, a luxury to be sure.
"Well, I'm hoping he moves on soon. The less attention and fuss, the better."
As she strolled thru the bazaar, Zithara stopped to buy some kind of meat placed between two roughly-cut slices of bread. It felt good to be back in "civilization", having spent the last few months in the outback protecting the small villages and settlements from all the horrors of the rifts. She accepted the orange sun as part of the new reality, not really giving it any thought. She seemed to have a calm air about her, probably from her Buddhist training, but just beneath that seemed to be a power ready to explode out. She kept her Cyber-Knight armor activated, to tell all that saw her that she was ready to help anyone in need.
Who moves soon. cedrica asks out the side of her mouth, looking at the knight (roamer warrior)
strange. she didnt feel me as she walked past... Wasnt trying to hide myself...
Cedrica steps out from behind the crates and reveals her full frame. Standing just short of five and half feet tall, her brilliant red hair catches the orange glow of the sky, giving it a more subdued tone than normally found under "normal" sunlight conditions. In a pony tail held at the top back of her head, the curve of the hair goes high and then gracefully arches down to below her shoulder blades. Her shirt, a cutoff cotton shirt with the image of a woman holding a large vegetable in one hand and two smaller round fruits in her other paired with the phrase "got meat?". Her shorts are short, not cut off but short enough to expose plenty of thigh, yet tight enough to stay pressed against her body as she moves. Her pockets upon the shorts, small as they are, present the telltale signs of a pocket knife, a lighter, and a small round thing. Her calves are covered in a tall pair of six inch high heeled combat boots, complete with steel toes and pointed studs protruding from the metal surface. her skin, had she lived in the northern hemisphere, would have been claimed as "pale", but here, in the down under, it is described as "chronically burnt".
Noah isn't overly concerned with the urbanites or the Roamers. He makes his living moving on the boundaries between the two. And really, he hasn't cared about much of anything since Tatyana died. Burned out? He still wasn't quite sure how he wanted to frame all of that in his memories. As he catches up with Cob he leans on a crate Captain Morgan style and takes in the whole scene.
In the market square, a group of tribesmen had gathered around a makeshift arena, their faces covered in grime and sweat, eager to witness a spectacle that would take their minds off the harsh realities of their existence. In the center of the arena stood a burly tribesman, his eyes fixed on a large, snarling creature that was chained to a post.
It was a mutant badger, a fearsome beast that had once been a harmless woodland creature, but had now evolved into a ferocious predator that was the bane of many a traveler in the wasteland. In the post-apocalyptic world, the wasteland was home to many mutant creatures that roamed the barren landscape. Among these, the mutant badger was a feared predator, a massive creature the size of a truck, with twelve legs that propelled it forward with incredible speed and agility. This beast was covered in matted fur that was a deep shade of black, giving it a sinister appearance as it darted through the shadows, always on the hunt for its next prey. Its face was dominated by a set of serrated, shark-like teeth that jutted out from its jaws, glinting in the harsh light of the sun. But perhaps the most feared attribute of this mutant badger was the toxic cloud of musk that it exuded from its body. The smell was overpowering, a pungent odor that could cause nausea and disorientation to any creature that came within range. It was said that the badger could sense its prey by the scent of their fear, and that once it had locked on to its target, there was no escape. The mutant badger was a creature of instinct, driven by a hunger that could not be satisfied. It would hunt relentlessly, always searching for its next meal, and woe to any creature that found itself in its path. It was a relentless killer, taking down even the most formidable opponents with ease, its razor-sharp teeth tearing through flesh and bone with little effort. Despite its fearsome reputation, however, there were those who sought to hunt the mutant badger, driven by a desire for glory or the promise of a substantial reward. But many who had attempted to do so had fallen victim to its toxic cloud, their senses overwhelmed as the badger closed in for the kill.
The tribesman, armed with a crude spear, slowly approached the badger, his movements careful and deliberate. The creature bared its teeth, its eyes gleaming with a feral intensity as it circled the tribesman, looking for a weak spot in his defenses.
The tribesman, however, was not intimidated. He had faced many mutant creatures before, and knew how to outsmart them. He feinted with his spear, luring the badger towards him, and then darted to the side, causing the creature to overreach and lose its balance. Seizing his opportunity, the tribesman lunged forward, driving the spear deep into the badger's side. The creature let out a piercing scream, thrashing about in a frenzied attempt to break free from the chains that held it in place.
But the tribesman was not done yet. He taunted the badger, goading it into a frenzy with his words and movements. The creature, blinded by rage, charged towards the tribesman, its jaws snapping shut like a steel trap. But the tribesman was too quick. He sidestepped the badger, tripping it up with his spear and sending it tumbling to the ground. The badger let out one final, pitiful howl before falling silent, its lifeblood soaking the dusty ground.
The tribesman stood triumphant, his spear stained with the blood of his fallen foe. The crowd cheered, their voices ringing out in the desolate landscape, a momentary respite from the grim reality of their daily lives. And as they dispersed, the tribesman disappeared into the shadows, his victory serving as a reminder that in the wasteland, only the strong survived.
A hush began to settle over the marketplace, like a thick blanket slowly being lowered onto the scene. At first, the reason for the sudden quiet was unclear, but then it became apparent.
As the sun beats down on the dusty market square, a figure catches the eye of the onlookers. A tribesman, garbed in bushman trooper armor, strides confidently through the crowd. Bushman trooper armor is a unique type of protective gear designed for the needs of the Roamers, who are known for their expert hunting and tracking skills in harsh environments. The armor is a combination of lightweight padding, kevlar, and plate composite armor, making it both durable and flexible. The padding used in the armor is made of a lightweight and breathable material, which allows the wearer to move with ease and remain cool in hot and humid climates. The kevlar layer provides an additional level of protection, stopping bullets and other projectiles from penetrating the armor. The plate composite armor is made up of a series of plates that are strategically placed around the body to offer maximum protection to vital organs, such as the chest and head. The design of the bushman trooper armor is intended to make the wearer almost impervious to attacks from both humans and wild animals. The armor is crafted to be form-fitting, allowing for maximum mobility and flexibility, while still providing ample protection. The chest plate is made up of several layers of kevlar and composite armor, creating a shield that is nearly impenetrable. The armor is further reinforced with padding and additional layers of composite armor around the shoulders, back, and thighs. These areas are the most vulnerable during combat and hunting, making the additional protection crucial. The armor also includes a helmet, which is made of kevlar and composite armor and provides protection to the head and face. Despite the armor's impressive protective capabilities, it is relatively lightweight and easy to wear. The armor's design allows for ventilation and air circulation, making it possible for the wearer to remain comfortable even in extreme heat. The armor is also adjustable, allowing it to fit a range of body types and sizes.
The tribesman leads another mutant badger with twelve legs on a heavy chain made of MDC chromium synth. The creature writhes and snarls, its many limbs thrashing about in a futile attempt to break free. The tribesman seems unbothered by the creature's ferocity, instead holding the chain with a calm confidence that suggests he has done this many times before. The mutant badger was a horrifying sight to behold, even for those used to the twisted creatures that roamed the post-apocalyptic world.
This mutant badger was a true behemoth of a creature, larger than its fallen brethren and almost unrecognizable as a badger at all. Its body was a hulking mass of fur and muscle, and it moved with a terrifying grace and speed that belied its size. Its eyes were a piercing yellow, and they glowed with a fierce intensity that seemed to draw the gaze of anyone who looked upon it. Its snout was long and pointed, lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth that protruded from its mouth even when it was closed. Its limbs were thick and muscular, covered in coarse black fur, and its paws were the size of dinner plates, each one tipped with razor-sharp claws that glinted in the harsh light of the post-apocalyptic world.
As the mutant badger moved, the ground beneath it shook, and a low growl rumbled in its throat, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it. Despite its massive size, the mutant badger moved with a surprising speed and agility, leaping and bounding through the landscape with an almost effortless grace. It was easily the size of a small tank, with thick, mottled fur that seemed to shift and ripple as it moved. Its eyes glowed with an eerie red light, and its twelve legs were like thick, gnarled tree branches, covered in sharp claws and wiry fur.
As it moved, the mutant badger's body rippled and undulated, each limb working in perfect unison as it propelled itself forward with incredible speed. Its jaws were massive and lined with razor-sharp teeth, capable of crushing bone and tearing through flesh with ease. Despite its size and obvious power, the mutant badger moved with a terrifying grace and speed, its movements fluid and smooth, like a predator stalking its prey. Its eyes were fixed on its target, unblinking and unyielding, and as it drew closer, the air around it seemed to grow thick with fear and tension.
The sight of the mutant badger sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest and most experienced of post-apocalyptic survivors, and for good reason. With its massive size and deadly limbs, the mutant badger was a true force to be reckoned with, a creature that could easily take down even the most heavily armed and well-prepared of warriors.
As the tribesman approaches the center of the market square, the crowd parts to make way for him. The badger, sensing the open space, lets out a fierce roar and lunges forward. But the tribesman is too quick for it, yanking the chain back with a sudden jerk that sends the creature tumbling to the ground. For a moment, the market is still as the onlookers watch in awe. Then, as if on cue, the tribesman begins to speak. His voice is deep and commanding, carrying across the square with ease.
"Behold, the mighty grexxaitten," he announces. "Feared by many, but tamed by few. This creature is a testament to the power of the roamer warrior. And it can be yours, for a price."
The crowd erupts into a chorus of excited chatter, jostling to get a closer look at the creature. The tribesman remains calm and collected, watching the commotion with a quiet satisfaction. He knows that he has the upper hand in this situation, and that his armor and training have prepared him for any challenge that may come his way.
The crowd had been gathered in the market square, murmuring and chattering with excitement as they watched the tribesman warrior enter with his mutant badger. But as the creature lunged forward, its many limbs thrashing and snarling, the mood in the square quickly shifted. For a moment, the air was filled with the sound of screams and shouts as the badger broke free from its chains and charged towards the onlookers. But the tribesman was quick to react, his movements graceful and controlled as he stepped forward to face the creature.
With a swift and decisive blow, the tribesman chastened the mutant badger, sending it tumbling to the ground with a sickening thud. The impact seemed to echo through the square, the force of it causing the ground to shake beneath the feet of the onlookers. A hush settled over the crowd. The excited chatter and murmurs were replaced by an uneasy silence as the onlookers watched the tribesman, unsure of what to make of the display of violence they had just witnessed.
The tribesman stood there for a moment, his armor glistening in the sunlight as he surveyed the scene before him. His expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the visor of his helmet.
"Doesn't look all that tame to me..."
Indio wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty rag. It didn't really matter much, since his face and hands were already stained with grease from work.
It could be said to be a bit of shame, because he was a man with a potential to be quite handsome, if he took a bit more care of himself.
His hair was messy, and could use a comb, as could his beard, and obviously a stained overall wasn't exactly showing of much.
The grease also stained his hair and beard which had been grey since an early age and made him look like he had salt and pepper instead of all salt.
"What's with this parade? Seriously, any idea what all these tough guys are doing here?"
"This is all making me a bit uncomfortable...
I mean, it looks like something is going down, and that could mean trouble.
And not the kind of trouble that could spell C.R.E.D.I.T.S unfortunately."
"What's with this parade? Seriously, any idea what all these tough guys are doing here?"
The trader, a rugged man with a weathered face and a broad-brimmed hat, turned to face the Perry, his eyes glinting with knowledge.
"Those are the Roamers, born out of the wild and rugged terrain of the Australian Outback after the Apocalypse" he said, his voice ringing out with a note of respect.
"I'll tell you about the Roamer culture. It was a time of great turmoil and chaos, when the old world order had crumbled, and the survivors were left to fend for themselves. Many were refugees, fleeing the devastation and destruction of their homes, while others were criminals and outcasts, seeking refuge in the lawless wasteland."
"And then there were the Aboriginal people, who had lived in the Outback for thousands of years, and knew its secrets and dangers like no one else. They had long been marginalized and oppressed by the settlers who had come to their land, but in the new world that emerged after the Apocalypse, they found a new sense of freedom and power."
"All these groups came together to form the Roamer culture, a unique blend of old and new, of tradition and innovation. They lived off the land, hunting and gathering in the desert, while also scavenging for supplies and weapons in the ruins of the old world."
"They were a tough and resilient people, with a deep respect for the land and the creatures that inhabited it. They spoke in a distinctive dialect, blending the languages and slang of the various groups that had come together to form the Roamer culture. Over time, they developed their own customs and traditions, with rituals and ceremonies that reflected their unique history and values. They were fierce and proud, with a strong sense of community and loyalty to their fellow Roamers. But they were also feared and misunderstood by outsiders, who saw them as savage and uncivilized. This only fueled their sense of independence and defiance, as they continued to roam the desert, carving out a life for themselves in the harsh and unforgiving world of the Outback."
"They've come to trade with us, because it's the Holy Month of Vekas. The Holy Month of Vekas is a time of great significance for the Roamer Clans, a nomadic group of people who travel the vast Outback of the EHRA. During this time, the various Roamer Clans set aside their differences and come together in a spirit of peace and harmony to celebrate the season of trade. The month-long festival begins on the first day of the Vekas Moon, which falls in the middle of the dry season. This is a time when the Outback is at its harshest and most inhospitable, with scorching temperatures and scarce resources. The Roamer Clans, who rely on hunting and gathering for survival, often struggle to find enough food and water to sustain themselves during this time. But during the Holy Month of Vekas, the Roamer Clans put aside their daily struggles and journey to the Central Market of Bastion City. Here, they trade goods and resources with the city dwellers, who in turn provide the Roamer Clans with much-needed supplies and provisions. The Central Market of Bastion City is a bustling hub of activity during the Holy Month of Vekas, with merchants from all over the EHRA coming to trade their wares. The Roamer Clans set up their camps on the outskirts of the city, and the marketplace becomes a vibrant and colorful spectacle of sights, sounds, and smells. The Roamer Clans bring with them a wide variety of goods, including furs, pelts, herbs, spices, and exotic meats. The city dwellers, in turn, offer clothing, tools, weapons, and other resources that the Roamer Clans need to survive. Despite their differences and occasional conflicts, the Roamer Clans and the city dwellers of Bastion City come together in a spirit of cooperation and mutual respect during the Holy Month of Vekas. They recognize the importance of working together to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment, and the festival serves as a reminder of the bonds that connect them all as members of the EHRA community."
"The Holy Month of Vekas was a time of great spiritual significance for the people of the Outback. It was a time when they would gather together to honor their ancestors, perform sacred rituals, and seek guidance from the spirits. And at the heart of this holy month was the green gibbous moon Sibbagua, a celestial phenomenon that never failed to captivate and inspire. As the month of Vekas approached, the people of the Outback would eagerly await the rising of Sibbagua. And when it finally appeared in the sky, it was a sight to behold. The moon was a deep, emerald green, like a precious gemstone hanging in the sky. Its light was a soft, pulsing glow that seemed to emanate from within, filling the air with a gentle, mystical energy. As the days passed and the moon moved through its phases, its color would shift and change. Sometimes it would be a bright, vivid green, like the leaves of a young sapling. Other times it would be a dark, almost black green, like the depths of a forest at night. And always, Sibbagua would be accompanied by a sense of awe and wonder, a feeling that anything was possible under its light. During the Holy Month of Vekas, the people of the Outback would hold special ceremonies and rituals to honor the Sibbagua. They would dance and sing under its light, offering up prayers and blessings to the spirits. And always, the moon would shine down upon them, a symbol of the deep, abiding connection between the people of the Outback and the natural world around them."
The trader was a rugged man with a thick Australian accent, his voice rough and gravelly from years of shouting over the noise of the marketplace. He stood in the center of a crowded bazaar, surrounded by tables and stalls piled high with goods of all kinds. The sun beat down on his broad-brimmed hat, casting deep shadows across his face. He is a rugged-looking man with a muscular build, a thick beard, and scars that tell stories of battles fought and won. The man's beard was a sight to behold. It was long, thick, and lustrous, reaching down to his waist in a cascade of dark, curly locks. The strands of his beard were bound in several tails, each one tied back by ornamental clasps that glittered in the light. The clasps were made of precious metals, their intricate designs speaking of a bygone era of wealth and luxury. The tails of the man's beard were braided, each one a work of art in its own right. The braids were tight and precise, each one woven with care and skill. The braids ran down the length of his beard, some thicker than others, and were bound by the ornamental clasps that held them in place. The man had taken great care in the creation of these braids, and it showed in the way they shone in the light and moved with a certain fluidity. As the man moved, his beard swayed like a curtain in the wind, catching the light and reflecting it in myriad colors. The strands of hair were soft to the touch, their texture almost silky, and they smelled of the spices and oils he used to maintain them. The beard seemed to have a life of its own, moving with the man's every gesture, almost as if it were a separate entity from its owner. The man's beard was more than just a fashion statement. It was a symbol of his pride, his heritage, and his identity. He wore it with dignity and honor, and it commanded respect from all who saw it. To the man, his beard was a badge of honor, a sign of his strength, and a testament to his ability to survive in a harsh world.
The trader wears a unique set of armor made out of pangolin hide, a rare and valuable material in this world. The armor covers his torso and limbs, providing him with protection against the dangers that lurk in the wasteland. The pangolin hide is known for its durability and resistance to piercing, making it the perfect material for armor. The armor is also adorned with intricate carvings and engravings, adding to its value and beauty. The armor made out of pangolin hide was a marvel to behold. It was an intricate web of scales and leather, covering the torso, arms, and legs of its wearer. The scales were small and overlapping, each one attached to the hide beneath it with tiny leather thongs. The armor was supple and lightweight, yet strong enough to resist even the sharpest blades and teeth. The pangolin hide armor had a natural sheen that caught the light in a thousand shimmering colors. It was a deep, rich brown, with a hint of red and gold, and it looked almost metallic in its iridescence. The armor was both beautiful and intimidating, and it immediately commanded respect and attention from anyone who saw it. The scales of the pangolin hide were particularly valuable for their unique properties. They were hard and durable, yet flexible, allowing the armor to move with the wearer's body. They also had a natural resistance to piercing and slashing, making the armor an effective defense against most forms of attack. The scales were arranged in overlapping rows, with the smaller scales at the edges of the armor and the larger scales protecting the vital organs in the center. The leather of the armor was soft and supple, yet thick and strong enough to withstand the wear and tear of combat. The leather had been treated with oils and waxes to make it water-resistant, and it had a slightly musky smell that was both pleasant and intimidating. The armor had been crafted with great skill and care by a master armorer who understood the value of the pangolin hide. The armorer had spent countless hours cutting, stitching, and attaching the scales, making sure that each one was perfectly aligned and fastened securely to the hide. The result was a work of art that was both functional and beautiful, a testament to the armorer's skill and the unique properties of the pangolin hide.
On his head, the trader wears a broad sedge hat with small tassels dangling from its brim. The hat provides him with shade from the harsh sun and protection from the occasional sandstorm that sweeps through the wasteland. The hat is also an important piece of his identity as a trader, as it helps him stand out from the rest of the survivors. The broad sedge hat was an impressive sight, with numerous decorative tassels hanging from its brim. The hat itself was made from a sturdy, woven material, which provided ample protection from the sun and other elements. The brim was wide and flat, with a subtle curve that gave it a distinct, stylish look. But it was the tassels that really caught the eye. They hung down from the brim at regular intervals, each one a different color and length, and adorned with small, ornate beads. They swayed and danced in the breeze, creating a mesmerizing, hypnotic effect. The tassels were crafted with care and attention to detail. Some were long and thin, with intricate braids and weaves that seemed to go on forever. Others were short and plump, with tufts of soft, fluffy material that felt almost like fur. Each one was unique, with its own color, texture, and design. As the wearer moved, the tassels shifted and swayed, creating a gentle rustling sound that added to the hat's already impressive presence. They seemed to dance and play in the wind, as if they had a life of their own.
The trader carries a backpack filled with supplies and trade goods that he collects during his travels. He is always on the lookout for anything that can be traded, from precious metals and jewels to rare artifacts and technology. He is a shrewd negotiator, always looking for the best deal, but he is also fair and honest, which has earned him the trust and respect of many in the wasteland.
The sight of a C-27 heavy plasma cannon sticking out of a backpack was an imposing one. The weapon itself was long and cylindrical, with a diameter of several inches. The plasma cannon was a weapon to be feared, and the fact that it was contained within a backpack only made it more intimidating. The backpack itself was a marvel of engineering, designed to hold the massive weapon in a way that was both comfortable and efficient for its wielder. The backpack was made of a thick, durable material that was able to withstand the intense heat and pressure of the plasma cannon. It was covered in a series of pockets and pouches, each designed to hold various components of the weapon, such as extra plasma cartridges and spare parts. The backpack was large and bulky, but it was also well-balanced and had been designed to distribute the weight of the weapon evenly across the wearer's back. The plasma cannon itself was an impressive piece of technology. It was a long, cylindrical weapon, about the size of a man's arm, with a series of cooling fins running down its length. The barrel of the weapon was surrounded by a series of capacitors, each one charging up to provide the energy needed to fire the weapon. The plasma cannon had a digital display on the side, which showed the charge level and provided other information about the weapon's status. When fired, the plasma cannon emitted a bright, white-hot plasma beam that could melt through most forms of armor and incinerate anything in its path. The beam was incredibly hot, and it generated a great deal of heat and light as it traveled. The weapon had a significant recoil, and its weight made it difficult to aim accurately, but its sheer destructive power made it a force to be reckoned with.
The trader continued to speak, his voice rising above the din of the market. "They're fierce fighters, but they're also honorable," he said. "They won't attack us, as long as we show them the proper respect. And in return, they'll offer us some of the rarest and most valuable goods in the wasteland."
As the trader spoke, his eyes flicked over to the group of Roamers once more. He seemed almost reverential as he gazed upon them, as if he knew firsthand the dangers and struggles they faced every day. "I've traded with them before," he said. "And I can tell you, they're not to be underestimated. They've survived in the Outback for a reason, and they know how to get what they want."
The trader jutted his chin in their direction, his expression a mixture of curiosity and caution. He had encountered Roamers before, of course - they were a common sight in the markets, with their brightly-colored clothing and ornate jewelry. But there was something different about this particular group that caught his attention. Perhaps it was the way they carried themselves, with a confidence and poise that suggested they were not to be trifled with. He cleared his throat and resumed his explanation, his tone growing more animated as he spoke.
"The Sain uu Tobok are a remarkable clan, to be sure. The Sain uu Tobok Clan is well-known among the Roamer communities for their exceptional skills in hunting, taming, and fighting the grexxaitten. The grexxaitten are large, badger-like mutants that roam the wilds. They are fierce creatures and very difficult to tame or even kill, but the Sain uu Tobok have mastered the art of hunting and fighting them. They have a deep understanding of the grexxaitten's behavior and biology. They know how to track them, how to approach them without being detected, and how to fight them effectively. Taming a grexxaitten is no easy feat. The Sain uu Tobok use a combination of patience, skill, and a special kind of herb that they use to soothe the creature's aggression. The xehneed plant is a rare and elusive herb that grows only in the most remote corners of the wilderness. Its leaves are a vibrant green and its flowers are a bright orange-red, making it easily recognizable to those who know what to look for. The plant is highly prized by the Sain uu Tobok clan for its unique properties. When ingested by a grexxaitten, the plant has a calming effect on the creature, reducing its aggression and making it more docile. This makes it much easier for the Sain uu Tobok to approach and eventually tame the creature. Despite its value, the xehneed plant is extremely difficult to harvest. The plant grows in rocky, hard-to-reach areas and is often guarded by dangerous predators. The Sain uu Tobok are skilled hunters and gatherers, however, and have developed a special technique for harvesting the plant. First, they must locate the plant, which can be a challenge in itself. Once they have found it, they use a series of ropes and pulleys to lower themselves down to the plant's location. They work quickly, as the scent of the plant can attract other creatures, and they must be cautious not to disturb any nearby grexxaitten. Once the plant is safely harvested, it must be carefully prepared for use. The Sain uu Tobok grind the leaves and flowers into a fine powder, which can then be mixed with water or other liquids. They store the powder in small vials, which they carry with them on their hunts and battles. Despite its potency, the xehneed plant is not a guaranteed success in taming a grexxaitten. The process is still highly dangerous, and many Sain uu Tobok have lost their lives attempting to tame the creatures. Nevertheless, the plant remains a vital part of their culture and traditions, and they continue to use it with great respect and caution. Once they've earned the grexxaitten's trust, they can train them to be loyal companions and even mounts. The grexxaitten are also used in battle. The Sain uu Tobok are expert fighters, and they often ride into battle on their grexxaitten. The creatures are incredibly strong and can cause a lot of damage in a fight, so they make formidable allies. They are one of the most respected Roamer clans in the region, and their skills with the grexxaitten are renowned."
The Outback settlement of Bastion City was a place of refuge in the harsh and unforgiving desert, surrounded by towering walls of sandstone that kept out the worst of the elements. At the heart of the town lay a lively open-air market, a place of commerce and trade that drew in traders and merchants from all corners of the desert. As the strange orange sun rose high in the sky, the market began to stir to life. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting vendors and the bustling crowds of shoppers who thronged the narrow streets. The stalls were adorned with brightly colored awnings, each one a beacon to those seeking to browse the wares on offer.
At one stall, the awning was a bright shade of yellow, drawing the eye with its vibrant hue. The color of the awning was like that of a freshly squeezed lemon, exuding a vibrancy that drew people to it like a moth to a flame. The stall was set up with baskets piled high with freshly baked bread, arranged in a way that made the mouth water. The air was thick with the delicious aroma of warm, freshly baked bread, and the occasional scent of lemon zest wafting from the back of the stall. A tall man in a white apron stood behind the counter, his arms covered in flour up to the elbow as he kneaded the dough for the next batch of bread. He smiled warmly as people approached, offering them samples of his wares to taste. The bread itself was a work of art, with a crusty exterior that crunched beneath the teeth and a soft, fluffy interior that melted in the mouth. The lemon zest added a subtle tang to the bread, a hint of citrus that lifted the flavor and gave it a bright, refreshing taste. As the man worked, his hands moving with the practiced ease of someone who had been baking bread for years, the yellow awning flapped gently in the breeze, a symbol of the warmth and hospitality of this small corner of the bustling city market.
At another, the awning was a deep shade of blue, the color of the sky at the height of summer. The color was so striking that it caught the attention of anyone who passed by. The vendor was a woman with piercing green eyes and long, dark hair, her fingers deftly weaving and knotting as she created intricate macramé pieces. The awning provided a stark contrast to the beige and grey of the surrounding buildings, as if beckoning people to come and explore what lay beneath. As she worked, the woman's fingers moved with practiced ease, her nimble hands crafting each piece with precision and care. The stall was covered in an array of macramé items, ranging from simple plant holders to elaborate wall hangings. The blue of the awning complemented the natural fibers and textures of the macramé, and gave the stall a sense of tranquility and calmness amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. The color was so vivid that it almost seemed to glow in the sunlight, making the stall stand out against the rest of the street. As the woman worked, her face was filled with a sense of calm and purpose, and passersby could see the pride she took in her work. The deep shade of blue was not just a color, it was a statement of her craftsmanship and the care she put into her art.
A third stall was shaded by a rust-colored awning, the color of the desert sands. The awning, tattered around the edges, seemed to blend in with the old brick building that housed the shop. It was a stark contrast to the bright and colorful awnings of the surrounding shops. The store was filled with an eclectic mix of antiques, handmade crafts, and vintage clothing. The smell of old leather and wood mixed with the scent of patchouli incense, creating an atmosphere that transported customers to another time. As the customers browsed the store, the owner stood behind the counter, a kind smile on her weathered face. Her eyes were bright and welcoming, and she greeted each customer with a friendly hello. The rust-colored awning provided a sense of warmth and familiarity, like an old friend that had been with her through the years. The color was a reminder of the dusty, rugged landscape of the desert, a place that was both beautiful and unforgiving. As the owner worked, her hands moved with a practiced ease, arranging the items in the store with care and attention to detail. The rust-colored awning seemed to cast a warm glow over everything, like a filter that brought out the unique beauty in each item. The customers left the store with a sense of nostalgia and a connection to a bygone era. The rust-colored awning and the eclectic mix of items in the store had a way of transporting them to a different time and place, evoking memories of a time long past.
Together, these, and many other, stalls formed a colorful and vibrant tapestry of the town, a place where travelers and locals alike could come together to trade and barter for the things they needed to survive in the harsh and unforgiving desert.
An armor plated 2022 GMC Canyon pickup truck rumbled into the busy market of the fortified Outback settlement, the sound of its engine echoed through the narrow streets. Its thick armor plating, made of an Inconel strength alloy, shimmered in the bright sun, a testament to its strength and durability. The pickup was a formidable machine, designed to withstand even the most brutal attacks.
Its thick armor plating had been carefully designed to provide the ultimate protection for its occupants, making it nearly impervious to any assault. The exterior was armored with plates of Inconel Strength alloy, a material that could withstand even the heaviest of blows. The armor was painted in a matte black finish, designed to blend into the shadows and strike fear into the hearts of its enemies. The body armor of the truck was an impressive sight, made out of Inconel strength alloy, a material known for its incredible strength and durability. The armor was a dark matte black color, designed to blend into the shadows and hide the truck's presence until it was too late for its enemies. The armor plating was adorned with spikes that were painted in a bold, striking red color. The spikes were sharp and menacing, jutting out from the body of the truck like a menacing weapon. They were a warning to anyone who might consider attacking the truck, that they would face certain death if they dared to do so. The spikes were evenly spaced across the body armor, running from the front of the truck to the back. They were made of high-quality steel and were carefully sharpened to a razor's edge, ready to pierce through anything that stood in their way. The armor plating itself was thick and heavy, capable of withstanding even the heaviest of blows. It had been designed to provide the ultimate protection for the truck, making it nearly impervious to any attack. The armor was also designed to be incredibly flexible, allowing the truck to maneuver with ease, even in the toughest terrain. It was able to absorb impacts without cracking or bending, giving the truck an unparalleled level of protection. As the truck roamed the wasteland, the spikes on the body armor glistened in the bright sun, their menacing red paint standing out against the dark matte black finish. They were a powerful symbol of the truck's strength and aggression, and anyone who saw them knew that they were in the presence of a force to be reckoned with.
Mounted on the top of the truck were four 50 caliber Browning machine gun turrets, pointing in all directions, ready to rain down a barrage of bullets upon anyone who dared to challenge the truck's authority. The four machine gun turrets were mounted on the top of a massive truck, looming over the landscape like a sentinel of death. The turrets were an impressive sight, each one capable of unleashing a deadly barrage of bullets with incredible speed and precision. The turrets were sleek and imposing, the barrels of the guns protruding from their metallic frames. The guns were mounted on rotating bases, allowing them to turn in any direction, tracking targets with an incredible degree of accuracy. As the guns rotated, their metal frames made a loud whirring noise, indicating their immense power. The turrets were capable of firing at an incredible rate of up to 600 rounds per minute, and their firepower was capable of destroying anything in their path. The barrels of the guns were long and menacing, and their tips were sharp and pointed. The bullets they fired were massive, each one capable of punching through metal and flesh with equal ease. The turrets were controlled by a skilled operator, who sat in the safety of the armored truck below. From his seat, he monitored the surroundings and controlled the turrets with a series of levers and buttons. As he operated the turrets, the operator had to be careful not to overheat the guns. The immense rate of fire generated tremendous heat, and the barrels of the guns could quickly become red-hot and warp. To prevent this from happening, the operator had to fire in short bursts, allowing the guns to cool between volleys. The turrets were a formidable weapon, capable of wreaking destruction and death on an epic scale. Their menacing presence and deadly firepower made them a powerful symbol of fear, a warning to anyone who dared to cross their path.
The spikes jutting out from the body of the truck were menacing, a warning to anyone who might consider attacking it. The spikes were sharp and menacing, designed to pierce through anything that stood in its way. The truck was nearly unstoppable with all of its weaponry and modifications. As it roamed the streets, the sound of the engine growled like a fierce predator. Its rumbling vibrations shook the pavement, and the intense heat emanating from the engine block could be felt from several yards away.
The driver of the truck was a stoic figure, his face covered in a bandana, his eyes shielded behind a pair of dark sunglasses. His hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, and he maneuvered the truck with the skill of a seasoned warrior. The driver of the pickup, a hardened warrior with a steely gaze, navigated the vehicle through the narrow streets with ease, the powerful engine propelling it forward. The crowd of people watched in awe as the pickup made its way through the market, its armor plating shining in the bright sun.
The truck was a force to be reckoned with, a vehicle that embodied the spirit of survival in a lawless world. Its power and aggression commanded respect and fear, and it was a symbol of the ruthless nature of a world that had been stripped of all semblance of civilization.
As the pickup drove into the bustling market, the crowds of people parted before it, giving it a wide berth. The sound of its engine, combined with the clanging of its heavy armor, created a sense of foreboding, warning everyone in its path that they were in the presence of a dangerous force. As it passed by each stall, the vendors and shoppers alike stared in amazement, their eyes fixed on the vehicle's menacing presence. The spikes adorning the armor plating gleamed in the sunlight, adding to the truck's intimidating appearance. The truck was a formidable sight, its muscular body imposing and intimidating.
Perry listens to the trader but his interest level does not match the other man's enthusiasm for local knowledge.
"Hey look, a float!" Perry points at the truck. "Throw candy!" he shouts.
Noah has pretty much everything he needs, but he is looking for anything weird and useful. Or some cigars. Those are rare enough that he comes across them not very often.
"Look there, Cob. Nice truck. And let that badger bloke alone. We don't need any of that."
He moves close to Perry. "I don't think they are going to throw candy, Mate. Looks more like trouble to me."
"Ugh..."
Indio began to look for a place to hide, so he could slip away if things really went to the pits.
Too much going on, and nothing that could score me credits.
Short of the weapons trader getting shot so I could snag myself a gun.
...
Except I don't really want him to die just for that, damn my morals.
As the bustling market square was filled with the sounds of vendors hawking their wares, the screeching sound of metal against concrete suddenly pierced through the air. People turned their heads to see a heavily armored pickup truck barreling towards them at breakneck speed. The truck was painted a deep black, and its menacing exterior was covered in various bulletproof plating and reinforced grills, a testament to its durability.
As it careened towards the center of the square, the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a sudden, screeching halt. The armored pickup truck skidded to a sudden stop in the middle of the dusty road, its massive wheels kicking up a billowing cloud of caustic dust that obscured the vehicle from view. The tires ground against the pavement, sending up a thick cloud of dust that obscured the vehicle from view. The sound of the screeching tires echoed throughout the square, causing people to cover their ears. The dust was thick and acrid, stinging the eyes and throat of anyone nearby who dared to breathe it in. As the truck screeched to a halt, the driver and passengers inside the vehicle remained motionless, their bodies protected by the reinforced steel plating and bulletproof glass that made up the truck's exterior. Their breathing was regulated by the advanced air filtration system that was designed to keep out the toxic fumes of the caustic dust that surrounded them. Outside, the cloud of dust continued to billow and swirl, illuminated by the bright beams of the truck's headlights. The air was thick with the acrid stench of chemicals and burning rubber, and people nearby began to cough and sputter as they struggled to breathe in the toxic air.
Despite the danger of the noxious cloud, curious onlookers crept closer to the vehicle, their faces covered by masks or scarves in an attempt to filter out the harmful dust. Some tried to peer through the thick haze, hoping to catch a glimpse of the occupants of the truck, while others took cover behind nearby buildings, wary of the corrosive effects of the caustic dust.
As the dust began to settle, the armored pickup truck loomed large in the center of the road, a foreboding presence amidst the chaos of the swirling cloud. The driver of the truck sat motionless behind the wheel, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The driver and passengers remained inside the vehicle, waiting patiently for the dust to clear and for whatever mission they were on to continue. The truck's massive frame slowly emerged from the haze. It was a sight to behold, with its massive wheels and imposing front grill. The front of the truck was adorned with an enormous bumper, which looked like it could crush anything that dared to stand in its way.
The large armored pickup truck screeched to a sudden halt in the middle of the busy market square, leaving deep tire tracks in its wake. The tracks were gouged into the pavement, marking the path the truck had taken as it barreled towards the center of the square at high speed. The tire tracks were thick and jagged, the result of the truck's heavy weight and powerful engine. The pavement around the tracks was cracked and pitted, evidence of the force with which the truck had come to a stop. As the dust from the truck's sudden stop began to settle, people nearby could see the tire tracks clearly, their depth and breadth a testament to the truck's size and power. The tracks were almost a foot deep in places, and they stretched for several yards before coming to a stop. Some people in the crowd murmured in disbelief, while others exchanged knowing nods, recognizing the tracks as a sign of the truck's impressive capabilities. A few brave souls even ventured closer to inspect the tracks, running their hands over the rough, tire-marked surface of the pavement. For several minutes, the deep tire tracks in the pavement remained a stark reminder of the truck's sudden stop. But eventually, as the market square returned to its usual bustle, vendors setting up stalls and hawking their wares, the tracks began to fade, gradually disappearing under the feet of passersby as they went about their business.
Zithara listened to the trader, and watched all the spectacles of the market attentively to see if any new knowledge could be obtained, all the while staying vigilant for any signs of trouble from the Roamer, his beast, or the pickup truck. When the truck kicks up the dust, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a handkerchief-sized cloth, and ties it around her face, covering her nose and mouth.