Draconias Galactica
First time out of the vault
I present to you a tale, a tale of un-epic proportions, the likes of which the world has seen many times before!
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If you asked anybody who he was, they probably wouldn't be able to give you his name. Truth be told, he didn't go by his name much anymore, since he couldn't stand the name "Vernon". Most people knew him as that gguy with the scared mouth. He had a scar that ran an inch long aligned with his lip on his right cheek, which made him look like he had an extra-long, un-centered mouth . With a mark like that, he didn't really need a name to identify himself.
And with that scar came a reputation that defined him better than any name could. Ever since that day four years ago when he appeared out of nowhere and slaughtered a group of six raiders that had been harassing a worn-out farming town. He got his scar in that fight, barely dodging one raider's wide knife swing aimed at slicing off his face. Ever since that day, he had been a bit of a legend.
He'd wander from town to town, and if there was trouble, he'd settle it. He never asked for a reward, and he never turned anyone down who needed help. The worst he'd do would be to ask for some food and maybe a place to sleep for the night. But he never stayed in one place for long. There were seven towns (though some shanty towns came and went) along the Great Trade Ring, and he'd visit each one at least once a month, usually. He kept moving back and forth between the towns, randomly going from one to the next.
He was fairly good at his job. At almost 6'2", he definitely had the intimidation factor on his side. If that didn't work, he could crush bricks with his bare hands and had good aim with a gun. His arms and chest were still scared, though. He wasn't perfect, and neither was his armor. But once he got into a rage, he was practically unstoppable. It was like a deer, painted red, fighting with a bull.
Nobody questioned why he helped others, mostly because they were too busy enjoying his help. The few that bothered asking never got a response. Vernon started doing what he did because, at the time, somebody needed to and nobody else was stepping up to the plate. And he kept on going with it to this day.
This day was much like any other day - it was hot outside. There hadn't been many clouds around since the bombs, or large bodies of water besides the ocean, so the heat kept rising. It was unpleasant. It didn't help much that Vernon was covered from the neck down in cow skin.
The only thing that changed for Vernon on a frequent basis was where he was waking up. Not only would he travel from town to town, he'd travel from house to house. Using inns and sleeping in abandoned houses were last ditch efforts for when nobody was willing to give him shelter. Usually he had to go on a "mini quest", as he tended to call them, in order to get a free place to crash for the night. As he had just entered town the previous day - or the previous night, rather, as the sun had already set - he was forced to rent an inn for the night. His budget was tight - only the villains become rich - but it was enough to avoid sleeping outside on the dirt.
Another thing that had changed recently was Vernon's dreams. Up until a week or so ago, they had been fairly non-discript. Occasionally he would give birth to a deathclaw, or ride a nuclear shockwave with a surf board, but these were very rare occurrences. His dreams lately had been unsettling, to say the least. To say more, he had been surrounded by corpses and covered in blood, and there was an evil laugh in the background. Though he would never find the one laughing, Vernon knew that man was responsible for all of the deaths. Just looking at what had happened to the corpses, he'd instantly see how they had died, in all the gruesome detail. He hadn't slept much since those dreams, no, nightmares started. He didn't know what to make of them either.
Since he couldn't figure his dreams out easily, Vernon chose to ignore them. They were probably meaningless anyways. More importantly, they wouldn't help him keep himself fed. With that, he set out to find a place willing to haggle over jerky.
***
Twenty coins. That was the lowest Vernon could get the price of his breakfast down to. Jerky rarely cost more than seven, and there was usually a lot more of it. Something was up. Most likely his quest for the day.
"Hey longmouth!" somebody shouted. Longmouth was one of his more common nicknames he had. While he wasn't in love with the name, it still beat Vernon. Turning around, he saw that the voice belonged to Alex Coyne, the closest thing Harpel had to a leader. Even if it was part of the Great Trade Ring, the town was still fairly small, so there wasn't much call for a formal government. They just needed someone to settle disputes over who's brahmin was grazing in the wrong spot, and Alex could handle that.
Vernon sat down on what appeared to be a halfway comfortable chair facing the fire. There was always a fire at the center of the town (or at least a firepit), and some salvaged chairs and couches. It made for a good place to talk, to meet, or to just eat your breakfast. Alex walked up and sat down next to him. There wasn't anybody at the fire besides them, since it was still early in the morning.
"Glad I caught you. I was afraid you were going to head out today."
"I was planning on it. What do you need?" Alex had a tendency to get off track easily. The direct approach was usually narrow enough for him to stay focused on the conversation at hand.
"Well, we got a problem. With our brahmin."
"What type of problem?"
"Somebody keeps taking them. We've lost four brahmin in the past week. I don't think we can afford to loose too many more. Hell, a lot of people are getting ready to jump ship." Alex was fond of Harpel, probably more so than any other resident, which is why he was the closest thing to a leader. He'd do just about anything to keep the town together. "Do you have any idea how much Larry's going to start charging for food? I'm just glad there's so many geckos around, for once at - "
"So you want me to find out who's taking the brahmin?" Vernon interrupted, not interested in the local gecko population.
"Nah, I got a pretty good idea who's taking them. Some punk wandered into town about a day before the first brahmin was stolen. He was staying at that collapsed building at the edge of town, but when I went to ask him about the brahmin he was gone. I need you to catch him."
Vernon tore off a strip of jerky and chewed it for a few seconds, thinking. "When was the last time a brahmin was stolen?"
"Um, day before yesterday. Whoever's doing this has been hitting our herds every other day. Not too smart if you ask me. That's why I think it was that punk, he didn't look too smart. All muscle, no brains. If you ask me - "
"How much muscle?"
"He looked pretty strong. Could probably drag off a brahmin if it was acting stubborn."
"Who's he been stealing from? Anyone in particular?"
"Just Larry. It's probably just that Larry keeps his herd the furthest out. I keep telling him he shouldn't keep them on the edges of town, but does he listen?"
"Can you take me to his heard?" Vernon had a rough plan formed out in his head. Nothing much more complicated than jumping the punk when he wasn't looking, but it would probably be enough.
"Yeah, sure. I can do that. C'mon, let's go." Alex got up and walked off. Vernon put the rest of his jerky back in its bag and followed him.
***
It was dusk that evening. Vernon had been huddled inside Larry's herd of about ten brahmin, relying on a brahmin-skin blanket to keep his cover. If Larry's son was doing his job, he would be nearby, watching the herd. Of course, Larry was about the only one who didn't know how lazy his son really was.
Ten brahmin was a fairly high number for a small town like Harpel - the punk probably thought he could sneak out a few brahmin without anybody noticing. A good plan, except that he had been doing it a bit too long; there were originally 14 brahmin. Vernon had been waiting there for almost two hours.
With all this time, and nothing to do during it, Vernon's mind had been drifting. He found himself thinking about his dreams again, despite his inability to figure out what they meant, if anything. Somehow, the dreams seemed firmilar. It could have just been that he had been having the recurring dream for so long now. Of course, the dreams were similar to that one time years ago, but Vernon doubted there was any connection. Why would he be dreaming of that incident again, when he hadn't dreamt about it since it started four years ago?
The sound of a rock being kicked brought Vernon back to reality. Somebody was coming. Under the blanket he was kneeling beneath, he double checked his gun was loaded. He was anxious to get this over with - the smell of all the brahmin and their shit was starting to get to him.
Peering up, Vernon saw a figure moving along the far edge of the herd. He couldn't make out any weapons, but the figure was definitely large. Almost as large as himself, if Vernon had to make a guess. He debated how best to handle this. Ammo was scarce, and the figure was (presumably) unarmed, so there wasn't any immediate reason to use his gun. If he caught whoever it was off guard, he would probably be able to end the fight quickly.
Vernon crouched and watched, waiting for the figure to turn his back. All he seemed to do for almost two minutes was look over the brahmin, most likely deciding which one to take. If he chose to take Vernon, that could complicate things. Well, if worst came to worst, that guy wouldn't be expecting a brahmin to be able to aim and shoot a gun.
The man took out a rope and tied it around the brahmin's neck. Vernon began moving forward slowly, making sure not to drop the blanket. The man took about a minute to finish tying his knot (there were two necks for him to tie it around, complicating his job), giving Vernon ample time to move into a proper ambushing position. The man gave the rope a few tugs, and started leading the two-headed cow away...
...there! The man turned his back, and in a flash Vernon was up and charging straight for him. He plowed full force into the man, knocking him straight onto the ground. Vernon fell tot he ground as well and rolled over top of the man - apparently he charged a bit _too_ hard - before regaining his balance. The man was out cold.
"That went well," Vernon thought to himself. Aside from the fact that his shoulder was now killing him, he came through that encounter fine. Not waiting for the man to come around, Vernon took the rope from around the brahmin's neck and tied up the man's hands. The brahmin wandered back towards its grazing area, with the rest of the herd.
"Ugh," the man said as he slowly came to. Vernon pulled at the rope on his arms.
"C'mon, get up." The man slowly got to his feet, with Vernon pulling him up the rest of the way once he his feet were touching the ground.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? You Goddamn thief!"
"What are you talking about?"
"What sort of a pussy ambushes a man while he's taking care of his herd."
"I know who's herd this is. It's Larry's, and you owe me the 13 coins he jacked up his jerky price because of _you_."
"Damnit," the man muttered, realizing his charade was failing. They walked off towards the center of town. Along the way, the man caught a glimpse of Vernon's face.
"Heheh," he laughed.
"What's funny?"
"You're that guy, the one with the lopsided mouth."
"Gee, what tipped you off?" The people gathered at the center fireplace came towards them, as soon as they were in sight.
"RW's been looking for you." Vernon thought about that for half a second, and then stopped dead in his tracks.
"W-What did you say?"
"RW's been looking. For _you_." Alex and half a dozen other villagers reached the two. Vernon continued to stare at the man, not believing what he just heard.
"Hey, great job longmouth," Alex said. "I told you it was that punk." Larry, who was among the other half-dozen people, walked up and punched the man in the gut.
"F-Fuck," he muttered as he collapsed.
"Don't faint yet, I still owe you for three other brahmin!"
"Hey, ease up Larry," said Alex, stepping in between the two. "We got a rope on that tree by your house for this thing. C'mon, let's get going." The villagers lifted the man back to his feet, and half pushed half dragged him off.
"I'll see you in hell lopside boy!" he shouted as he was carried off. "I'll see you _real_ soon!"
"...RW?" Vernon asked, rhetorically. "There's no way." How could RW have...it didn't make any sense. He'd think about it in the morning, he decided, and walked off to the local water hole. He had more important things to worry about right now, most pressingly the fact that he still reeked of brahmin shit.
But RW...there was no way. It was impossible.
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-Draconias Galactica
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If you asked anybody who he was, they probably wouldn't be able to give you his name. Truth be told, he didn't go by his name much anymore, since he couldn't stand the name "Vernon". Most people knew him as that gguy with the scared mouth. He had a scar that ran an inch long aligned with his lip on his right cheek, which made him look like he had an extra-long, un-centered mouth . With a mark like that, he didn't really need a name to identify himself.
And with that scar came a reputation that defined him better than any name could. Ever since that day four years ago when he appeared out of nowhere and slaughtered a group of six raiders that had been harassing a worn-out farming town. He got his scar in that fight, barely dodging one raider's wide knife swing aimed at slicing off his face. Ever since that day, he had been a bit of a legend.
He'd wander from town to town, and if there was trouble, he'd settle it. He never asked for a reward, and he never turned anyone down who needed help. The worst he'd do would be to ask for some food and maybe a place to sleep for the night. But he never stayed in one place for long. There were seven towns (though some shanty towns came and went) along the Great Trade Ring, and he'd visit each one at least once a month, usually. He kept moving back and forth between the towns, randomly going from one to the next.
He was fairly good at his job. At almost 6'2", he definitely had the intimidation factor on his side. If that didn't work, he could crush bricks with his bare hands and had good aim with a gun. His arms and chest were still scared, though. He wasn't perfect, and neither was his armor. But once he got into a rage, he was practically unstoppable. It was like a deer, painted red, fighting with a bull.
Nobody questioned why he helped others, mostly because they were too busy enjoying his help. The few that bothered asking never got a response. Vernon started doing what he did because, at the time, somebody needed to and nobody else was stepping up to the plate. And he kept on going with it to this day.
This day was much like any other day - it was hot outside. There hadn't been many clouds around since the bombs, or large bodies of water besides the ocean, so the heat kept rising. It was unpleasant. It didn't help much that Vernon was covered from the neck down in cow skin.
The only thing that changed for Vernon on a frequent basis was where he was waking up. Not only would he travel from town to town, he'd travel from house to house. Using inns and sleeping in abandoned houses were last ditch efforts for when nobody was willing to give him shelter. Usually he had to go on a "mini quest", as he tended to call them, in order to get a free place to crash for the night. As he had just entered town the previous day - or the previous night, rather, as the sun had already set - he was forced to rent an inn for the night. His budget was tight - only the villains become rich - but it was enough to avoid sleeping outside on the dirt.
Another thing that had changed recently was Vernon's dreams. Up until a week or so ago, they had been fairly non-discript. Occasionally he would give birth to a deathclaw, or ride a nuclear shockwave with a surf board, but these were very rare occurrences. His dreams lately had been unsettling, to say the least. To say more, he had been surrounded by corpses and covered in blood, and there was an evil laugh in the background. Though he would never find the one laughing, Vernon knew that man was responsible for all of the deaths. Just looking at what had happened to the corpses, he'd instantly see how they had died, in all the gruesome detail. He hadn't slept much since those dreams, no, nightmares started. He didn't know what to make of them either.
Since he couldn't figure his dreams out easily, Vernon chose to ignore them. They were probably meaningless anyways. More importantly, they wouldn't help him keep himself fed. With that, he set out to find a place willing to haggle over jerky.
***
Twenty coins. That was the lowest Vernon could get the price of his breakfast down to. Jerky rarely cost more than seven, and there was usually a lot more of it. Something was up. Most likely his quest for the day.
"Hey longmouth!" somebody shouted. Longmouth was one of his more common nicknames he had. While he wasn't in love with the name, it still beat Vernon. Turning around, he saw that the voice belonged to Alex Coyne, the closest thing Harpel had to a leader. Even if it was part of the Great Trade Ring, the town was still fairly small, so there wasn't much call for a formal government. They just needed someone to settle disputes over who's brahmin was grazing in the wrong spot, and Alex could handle that.
Vernon sat down on what appeared to be a halfway comfortable chair facing the fire. There was always a fire at the center of the town (or at least a firepit), and some salvaged chairs and couches. It made for a good place to talk, to meet, or to just eat your breakfast. Alex walked up and sat down next to him. There wasn't anybody at the fire besides them, since it was still early in the morning.
"Glad I caught you. I was afraid you were going to head out today."
"I was planning on it. What do you need?" Alex had a tendency to get off track easily. The direct approach was usually narrow enough for him to stay focused on the conversation at hand.
"Well, we got a problem. With our brahmin."
"What type of problem?"
"Somebody keeps taking them. We've lost four brahmin in the past week. I don't think we can afford to loose too many more. Hell, a lot of people are getting ready to jump ship." Alex was fond of Harpel, probably more so than any other resident, which is why he was the closest thing to a leader. He'd do just about anything to keep the town together. "Do you have any idea how much Larry's going to start charging for food? I'm just glad there's so many geckos around, for once at - "
"So you want me to find out who's taking the brahmin?" Vernon interrupted, not interested in the local gecko population.
"Nah, I got a pretty good idea who's taking them. Some punk wandered into town about a day before the first brahmin was stolen. He was staying at that collapsed building at the edge of town, but when I went to ask him about the brahmin he was gone. I need you to catch him."
Vernon tore off a strip of jerky and chewed it for a few seconds, thinking. "When was the last time a brahmin was stolen?"
"Um, day before yesterday. Whoever's doing this has been hitting our herds every other day. Not too smart if you ask me. That's why I think it was that punk, he didn't look too smart. All muscle, no brains. If you ask me - "
"How much muscle?"
"He looked pretty strong. Could probably drag off a brahmin if it was acting stubborn."
"Who's he been stealing from? Anyone in particular?"
"Just Larry. It's probably just that Larry keeps his herd the furthest out. I keep telling him he shouldn't keep them on the edges of town, but does he listen?"
"Can you take me to his heard?" Vernon had a rough plan formed out in his head. Nothing much more complicated than jumping the punk when he wasn't looking, but it would probably be enough.
"Yeah, sure. I can do that. C'mon, let's go." Alex got up and walked off. Vernon put the rest of his jerky back in its bag and followed him.
***
It was dusk that evening. Vernon had been huddled inside Larry's herd of about ten brahmin, relying on a brahmin-skin blanket to keep his cover. If Larry's son was doing his job, he would be nearby, watching the herd. Of course, Larry was about the only one who didn't know how lazy his son really was.
Ten brahmin was a fairly high number for a small town like Harpel - the punk probably thought he could sneak out a few brahmin without anybody noticing. A good plan, except that he had been doing it a bit too long; there were originally 14 brahmin. Vernon had been waiting there for almost two hours.
With all this time, and nothing to do during it, Vernon's mind had been drifting. He found himself thinking about his dreams again, despite his inability to figure out what they meant, if anything. Somehow, the dreams seemed firmilar. It could have just been that he had been having the recurring dream for so long now. Of course, the dreams were similar to that one time years ago, but Vernon doubted there was any connection. Why would he be dreaming of that incident again, when he hadn't dreamt about it since it started four years ago?
The sound of a rock being kicked brought Vernon back to reality. Somebody was coming. Under the blanket he was kneeling beneath, he double checked his gun was loaded. He was anxious to get this over with - the smell of all the brahmin and their shit was starting to get to him.
Peering up, Vernon saw a figure moving along the far edge of the herd. He couldn't make out any weapons, but the figure was definitely large. Almost as large as himself, if Vernon had to make a guess. He debated how best to handle this. Ammo was scarce, and the figure was (presumably) unarmed, so there wasn't any immediate reason to use his gun. If he caught whoever it was off guard, he would probably be able to end the fight quickly.
Vernon crouched and watched, waiting for the figure to turn his back. All he seemed to do for almost two minutes was look over the brahmin, most likely deciding which one to take. If he chose to take Vernon, that could complicate things. Well, if worst came to worst, that guy wouldn't be expecting a brahmin to be able to aim and shoot a gun.
The man took out a rope and tied it around the brahmin's neck. Vernon began moving forward slowly, making sure not to drop the blanket. The man took about a minute to finish tying his knot (there were two necks for him to tie it around, complicating his job), giving Vernon ample time to move into a proper ambushing position. The man gave the rope a few tugs, and started leading the two-headed cow away...
...there! The man turned his back, and in a flash Vernon was up and charging straight for him. He plowed full force into the man, knocking him straight onto the ground. Vernon fell tot he ground as well and rolled over top of the man - apparently he charged a bit _too_ hard - before regaining his balance. The man was out cold.
"That went well," Vernon thought to himself. Aside from the fact that his shoulder was now killing him, he came through that encounter fine. Not waiting for the man to come around, Vernon took the rope from around the brahmin's neck and tied up the man's hands. The brahmin wandered back towards its grazing area, with the rest of the herd.
"Ugh," the man said as he slowly came to. Vernon pulled at the rope on his arms.
"C'mon, get up." The man slowly got to his feet, with Vernon pulling him up the rest of the way once he his feet were touching the ground.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? You Goddamn thief!"
"What are you talking about?"
"What sort of a pussy ambushes a man while he's taking care of his herd."
"I know who's herd this is. It's Larry's, and you owe me the 13 coins he jacked up his jerky price because of _you_."
"Damnit," the man muttered, realizing his charade was failing. They walked off towards the center of town. Along the way, the man caught a glimpse of Vernon's face.
"Heheh," he laughed.
"What's funny?"
"You're that guy, the one with the lopsided mouth."
"Gee, what tipped you off?" The people gathered at the center fireplace came towards them, as soon as they were in sight.
"RW's been looking for you." Vernon thought about that for half a second, and then stopped dead in his tracks.
"W-What did you say?"
"RW's been looking. For _you_." Alex and half a dozen other villagers reached the two. Vernon continued to stare at the man, not believing what he just heard.
"Hey, great job longmouth," Alex said. "I told you it was that punk." Larry, who was among the other half-dozen people, walked up and punched the man in the gut.
"F-Fuck," he muttered as he collapsed.
"Don't faint yet, I still owe you for three other brahmin!"
"Hey, ease up Larry," said Alex, stepping in between the two. "We got a rope on that tree by your house for this thing. C'mon, let's get going." The villagers lifted the man back to his feet, and half pushed half dragged him off.
"I'll see you in hell lopside boy!" he shouted as he was carried off. "I'll see you _real_ soon!"
"...RW?" Vernon asked, rhetorically. "There's no way." How could RW have...it didn't make any sense. He'd think about it in the morning, he decided, and walked off to the local water hole. He had more important things to worry about right now, most pressingly the fact that he still reeked of brahmin shit.
But RW...there was no way. It was impossible.
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-Draconias Galactica
