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IC [Apocalypse World 2e] After Ragnarok

AndersGabrielsson

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Ylva

Ylva hesitates a moment before answering.

"Yeah, maybe. I got a... warning. I think."

She's about to ask Old Lars if he's seen the strange woman in the exo-suit, but she's suddenly conscious of how loopy she's been for the past few weeks and she no longer trusts her senses or memories. Especially after the strange experience with the woman's voice.

She shakes her head.

"Give 'em something watered down if they make too much of a fuss."

She looks around again for Bucket, a frown on her face.

"Trouble from the outside. Outside the walls, I think, though who'd be crazy enough to go at us in the dark in the middle of a blizzard..."

She trails off. She knows someone who'd be that crazy.
 

Argent

aka Jerry Sköld
Validated User
Twitch of blood spurts across her face as she moves, letting go of the blade buried in the eyesocket of the thing that used to be a person; she grabs for the rifle as it falls, bringing it up in one swift motion as she pushes through the door - iron sights swinging for whoever waits outside. She needs to lock them down before the shock leaves them, not give them one fucking moment to collect themselves, to cry out.

The red across her face looks like the only splash of color across her monochrome visage as she bursts out, a hoarse whisper spat out from her lips:
"Not a fucking sound."

Spoiler: Show
DICE!
Taking a liberty with the rifle there - tell me if it is too much and I´ll delete and go with another knife instead. Otherwise...

Go Aggro: 2d6+3(Cool) = 10.

XP marked.
 

MysteryCat

They Seek Him Here & There
Validated User
Ylva
Lars grunts. "Strange things outside these walls," he offers, and it's the most poetic you've heard him since he just showed up one day and started doing the jobs that needed doing.

Oh, but it's been a day.

You wait, and subtly fret as there's still no sign of Bucket. He's usually one of the reliable ones. "He's been a bit off today," Helga offers, when you quietly enquire. "Distracted. Something on his mind, I think."

Outside the warmth and merry boistrous calm of Ragnhall, when you can hear it past the singing, the wind is a little wild. it's not the blizzard, not again; but enough to make the rafters creak high above your heads. A cold night already, made colder by the windchill. Yeah, a crazy night to fight.

And yet, just as the runner Lars sent out to the stockade forces the door back closed against the wind and stamps the ice from his boots, you hear it. You all do, clear as day, and the singing in the hall slows and falters.

Gunfire. And the howl of engines.

"But everything's fine!" the runner by the door cries in protest. "I checked!"

Lars lays down the rag he's been wiping the bartop with. "I'll see if Gams is done," he says, and stomps off towards the lavatories.

Leaving a lot of people, for some reason, looking to you.
 

AndersGabrielsson

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Ylva
Ylva climbs up on a chair so everyone will be able to see her and her voice will carry around the room.

"Listen up! We're about to be in a fight. The wolves are at our door."

She looks around the hall, focusing on the people she knows to be steady and reliable, trusting them to carry the others forward.

"Anyone who can fight, put on your clothes and grab your weapons and follow me to the wall. The rest stay here and prepare barricades and tend to the wounded."

She directs this at Helga, knowing she can keep a crew going.

"We hold them off at the wall if we can, otherwise we fall back towards Ragnhall, but make them pay. Let them know the people of Loggertown are not to be fucked with!"

Then she hops down and goes to grab her outer clothes, hoping the others will follow, wishing there was time for a plan and sober men and women to carry it out. But this will have to do.
 

MysteryCat

They Seek Him Here & There
Validated User
Skuld

You move fast. The man's still watching his - what, wife? partner? fuckbuddy? - fall, mouth agape in shock.

So the broad muzzle of the rifle clicks none too gently against his exposed front teeth, adding physical pain to the mix of emotions on his face.

Slowly, with a look of almost sickened self-loathing, he slowly raises his hands. There's a pistol on his belt, and a knife, but his hands are nowhere near them.

Still, from the sudden ruddy flush to the cheeks beneath his heavy beard, you don't doubt he's angry enough to go for them if you give him half a chance.

Spoiler: Show
All good. Now what...?
 

Dirty Chai

Flamen Solis et Lunae
Validated User
Freyr

Contentment? In all of this?

The man throws a leg over the farther side of the bike and grabs the limp form of Miekke by the pits under their arms - with a heave, he pulls their body up and straight, then bends them into his folds so that their bare skin back and rear is shielded as much as possible.. Not enough; they'll die. Now, after everything. This cannot happen. With a sigh, he pulls off his outermost layer, throws it over their torso, and ties it to his waist by the sleeves. Finally, he pats around the machine blindly, looking for goggles or spectacles - anything to help his eyes. He grimaces when he finds none.

Tyrants. Murderers. Manipulators. Witches. We dream awake at the end of all things.

The hairs on the back of his neck stir, just barely, tingling through the numbed skin. It comes as a reminder. The engine growls into action as he works his way out of the snow drift, but his thoughts wander to a river bank encapsulated within his most vivid memories. The first river he'd ever seen, from a high cliff-side. Running water flows unlike anything else in all this hell. It meanders along, looking for the lowest points - the paths of least resistance, simply letting itself tumble forward, often falling and making a fool of itself. It comes upon dead-ends and obstacles, but with time, it rises above them and keeps on moving, carving a path through the valleys of the eating-pines. And, eventually, it conquers all things, withering everything down and carrying it wherever it pleases.

Freyr's speeding down what he thinks is a road, down where he thinks he'll find the closest men that won't risk their lives by trying to take advantage of him. Men that'll see the vagrant and all his myriad of murderous teeth, and be thankful he just wants a seat next to the flame and little else. And he begins laughing, imagining explaining the things he's seen and the things he knows, to all these little ice-fishers and fools and thieves and killers and lumberjacks that scour these wastes. The small minds, playing with pebbles and sticks, and wasting the lives of others.

He feels an impatience, an urgency - to become. Can I will the wyrd to hasten? What lies at the end?
 
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MysteryCat

They Seek Him Here & There
Validated User
Ylva

Of the thirty-odd folks in the hall who hear your little speech, about a dozen follow you out into the cold. Camo. Babbers. Zeds. Jenga. A couple of drunk young woodsmen, and another woman in her thirties who has a hardened look. Gams following up the rear, sweaty and pale but her hand seems steady enough.

As the door opens, the night is still. Bitter cold, but still. A sudden burst of gunfire carries through the night, coming from the gate you reckon. A frontal assault? Anyone fighting on a night like this has to be little mad, but still.

Your little war party hurries towards the hastily-erected barricade, and on the way in ones and twos they drift off towards their homes - returning with whatever weapons they can grab in a hurry. A couple of rifles, several pistols, Gams' shotgun, and a veritable arsenal of blades and clubs.

At least, most of them return. The hard-faced woman and one of the boys, though, they slip away into the night and don't come back. "Fucking cowards," Gams grumbles through a mouthful of chewing tobacco. You look at her, look past to see a trio of dark figures approaching from the forest edge of the town.

Then something explodes. From near the gate. The blast washes over you, a wave of light and briefly welcome heat. A shower of snowmelt and splinters. Someone curses, struck harder or unluckier than the rest.

"Was that a grenade?" Camo says incredulously, and his fingers flex nervously on the handle of the club he's carrying.
"Too big a bang," Zeds says, like he knows for sure.

Then gunfire rips the quiet night again; not just one gun this time, but several.

Spoiler: Show
Okay, what's the plan? Rush to the modest wall you've built around the town, see what's occuring? Or something sneakier?
 

Argent

aka Jerry Sköld
Validated User
Circling the man slowly, Skuld makes minute motions for him to drop his weapons - and carefully, as any hasty movements are met with a hardening of her already-cool eyes and one finger weighing down on the trigger of the rifle. The barrel follows him - unyielding, merciless - as she herds him backwards inside the doors, stepping past the still-warm body of his lover.

More steps, and more, bring them inside. The valkyrie keeps her distance, keeps him off-balance. This man had been on his way to enter this sanctuary under completely different circumstances not too long ago, but why deny him one look at this metal-coated divinity? She motions for him to turn towards it, to take in its´ gleaming form.

"Kneel before your gods and ask for their mercy, little man." Her voice is cool and flat. Almost ceremonial. "Or for them to strike me down, if you want."
If he´s going to lunge, this is where he´s going to do it.

Rarely is the nature of a person laid as bare as when they are up against the embrace of the abyss. Is this a distraction to get him off balance as she sends him off to worlds beyond? Is it the smallest kindness, given to someone who had everything taken away in a heartbeat? She is unable to say.

Spoiler: Show
Yeah, this is Skuld giving him one chance to say a quick prayer before popping one in the back of his head. Consider this whole post... preliminary if you like; I know that everything can happen but I hate to write in if/thens.
 
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AndersGabrielsson

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Ylva gestures for her band of fighters to form a loose semi-circle, Gams anchoring one end and Zeds the other, herself in the center. They advance quickly but stay in cover as much as possible, hoping to reach the gate before the attackers are too far inside - their opponents seem to have plenty of guns and explosives, and giving them room to move seems like a recipe for disaster. But if the defenders can catch them where things are nice and tight a knife or a club will count for as much as a pistol and more than a rifle.

Part of Ylva's mind notices the biting cold, but mostly she's focused on moving forward, staying low, and watching for movement up ahead. Any flash of light could be the last thing she sees, but after all she's been through over the past few days she finds she relishes the simplicity of her current situation. Kill or be killed isn't pleasant, but it's uncomplicated, primal, far from prophecies and revelation.
 

MysteryCat

They Seek Him Here & There
Validated User
Freyr

The road, like rivers, like fate, wanders where it will; meanders and loops in ways inexplicable to those who ride it. Only if you know the minds of those who wove it, those half-crazed heroes of Plower's crew, peering bloodshot and sleepless over the wheel of their massive, armoured snowplows as they carve lines across the ice; lines of communication, of civilisation, of trade and culture. They are survival, you realise; the survival of everybody, of whatever is left in this frozen corner of the world.

And you don't understand what drives them; what makes them turn this way or that, or curl two hundred and seventy degrees around a singular rocky upthrust through the ice, cutting back across their own trail. Clearly it is nothing so prosaic as geography that dicates their path.

Then you spy a light, out in the dark to your left; a little orange glow, signifier of warmth and heat and life. And you realise just how cold you are, how long since you felt the fingers wrapped tight around the snowmobile's handgrips. And you wonder if Miekke lives.

You don't know this settlement. You don't honestly know where you are. Ice fishers, you reckon, by the way the trio of ramshackle shacks are huddled together. A standoffish bunch, commonly, but perhaps the unspoken laws of hospitality will work in your favour.

Spoiler: Show
No move needed; but you're taking harm from the cold now - 1 d-harm (cold) - and so it's definitely a choice. Push on for... somewhere more likely to be welcoming, and risk death by exposure. Or take your chances with the ice fishers.
 
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