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Author Topic: A Handful of Dust  (Read 3046 times)
Spartan-777
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« on: January 05, 2012, 02:40:25 AM »

(Planet got glassed, but survivors have banded together in an effort to survive. No Spartans, no ODSTs, no Marines, etc. You can have a civilian or a member of the local militia/resistance group. Jackals are also accepted, raider and otherwise. All equipment is in varying states of disrepair. Resources are limited. We'll be starting in a small town that's been partially rebuilt by the survivors.)

Remnants of UNSC Outer Colony World Paradise Falls, invaded August 2552. Presumed lost.
Current Date: January 2553

The Kig-Yar crowded around the base of their vessel like a pack of vultures, barking orders and pacing back and forth with a motley assortment of collective firepower. They seemed to have picked up a Banshee at some point, and the fightercraft circled lazily overhead. For smugglers, they seemed to be doing quite well.

"You want eat, no?"

The lead Jackal kicked a supply crate laden with food, one of several that arrived every other week to sustain what few survivors were left on this rock. For a fee, of course. The colonist nodded begrudgingly, and with a grunt of exasperation, tossed his pack to the ground, offering its contents for examination.

A pair of M9 High-Explosive Dual-Purpose grenades. A Sangheili rifle. A few older model M6 handguns and assorted ammunition. One Misriah Armories assault weapon.

The next man stepped up and dropped his bag. And the next. And the next.

The raider's grin grew.

***

The view in the sniper's scope seemed to leap backwards, giving him a wider view of the area. Sure enough, the last of the Jackals were disappearing up into the belly of their vessel, hauling their recent acquisitions up the ramp. The pulse turrets remained trained on the colonists, tracking them even as it began its ascent. It was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving a crowd of dissatisfied customers in its wake. One voice in particular rang out across the empty air.

"Well this sucks!"
« Last Edit: January 05, 2012, 03:19:34 AM by Spartan-777 » Logged

Danny
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« Reply #1 on: January 05, 2012, 03:44:59 AM »

"You've got that right, mate."

A burly, uneven haired man with a Scottish accent rasped by decades of smoking, picked up his now empty pack, "Buggers took everything. Didn't even leave a mere shell casing!"

He swung the pack over his shoulder and began examining what little 'food' they had just traded their goods for.

"And for what? This!?" He picked up a up what could be described as a fruit, "This prickly shitty lookin' thing? Ack!" He dropped the substance and began storming off, yelling out; "I'm gonna go shmelt something!" And other phrases related to lack of cigarettes, toilet paper and other 'basic necessities'.

Hamish MacCormack, or 'Mac', was the resident fixer and 'inventor' of the small trash dwelling somewhere on Paradise Falls. Their town, populated by just a few, was made up of scrap metal tipi's and holes in the ground. They were constantly harassed by Jackal pirates and scavengers and attacked by rival settlers. Paradise.
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