Good job bud! This is the creativity I like to encourage in the players of the games I design!
Cheers, Thor
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| Stories from Ol Scragg http://www.wotg.stgfc.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=132&t=794 |
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| Author: | Scragg [ 09 Jan 2011 18:12 ] |
| Post subject: | Stories from Ol Scragg |
Originally I had devised my character off of myself after the apocalypse through several text messages with a friend. It revolved around the premise of who would you rather have around your campfire, an emotionally suppressed Rambo, or a dick that makes fun of everything despite what his own mood may be so that others could laugh? I dubbed my post apocalyptic persona Ol Scraggledick (Ol' Scragg for short), based on my behavior and unkempt hair and beard. The real idea sprang to life when I heard that in 2020 medical technology should have progressed to allow humans to live forever, and that I would get the treatment. Anyway I filled in my player sheet based around myself as an old relic from before the disaster. Then I decided that having knowledge of the old world would be a bit too much. So I decided to write this based on one of my decendents who took up my moniker and possessing only a fraction of my knowledge base. I now present to you: The Founding of Rock Hill. He looked up at the sandbag lined town that laid before him. He had enough with wandering the wastes. He walked up to the walls waving his arms, shouting merrily about fresh newly forged weapons and of exotic foods and products from far off civilizations. The same old song and dance he went through at every town his caravan came across. He motioned for his guards to bring the horses on up loaded with goods as he stepped up to the settlement, the wind blowing his great curls to one side, allowing them to flutter freely. He continued his sales pitch as he was allowed to enter. He was taken to the leader's home while his rugged men stayed behind to swipe at the gathering crowd with swords, while those on horseback prodded at them with their spears to keep them from swiping any of the materials loaded on the horses' backs. He took one good look at the man who had summoned him and drew his revolver instantly and took off his head with a precious .45 Colt cartridge, signaling to his men to start the slaughter and walked away. His people would have a home of their own Scragg walked around his newly acquired camp as his men wandered around looting their new home, and clearing it of the defenders' bodies. He surveyed the remnants of the buildings and the tools inside them, noting the location of each. He found the grain silos to be stocked, relatively pure water in the holding tanks. He took the tin shack in the center of town as his own and settled in while the families of his soldiers settled into their own. That evening he threw a grand feast by having some of the beasts in the town's ranches slaughtered and the buildings stripped of wood to provide fuel for the cooking fires. That night he gave a speech during the feast: My loyal mercenaries! Tonight is a grand night for us all! Today, we took a grand prize for ourselves! We now have a foundation to build ourselves on! The hard times have passed us on! No more will we wander the wastes! No more will we have to worry about fresh food or water! No longer will we scavenge the irradiated ruins of the Old Ones to barter for something to eat! We can do everything on our own RIGHT HERE. To hell with going from town to town! If someone wants something we have, let THEM come to US instead of US going to THEM! In time we'll ALL grow rich, in this town, on this foundation, we'll build a great trading city the likes of which the Old Ones never dreamt of! Now drink, and be merry! He stepped down amidst a roar of applause and walked to his shack and laid out his gear on a decrepit old desk. Sitting down in a chair he opened up an old bag of corn chips and poured them into a bowl, then lit them with the remaining fuel of an old lighter. Everything he gazed at belonged to his ancestors, dating back to the original Old Scragg at the time of the Fall. He carried his rifle, his revolver, wore his jacket and necklace. Everything had been passed down to him through the eldest child. He stared at old faded notes and manuals whose meaning had become long lost to everyone around him. Out of all the information compiled by the original Scragg and preserved by his ancestors, the only knowlege they would now yield is the formula for the fuel of the Old Ones' weapons, like that that powers the few remaining .45 cartridges he possessed, gunpowder. Everything else had become too faded by age and the sun. He looked at an old and faded picture of his ancestor, whose name he now bore. A mass of curly hair that naturally formed itself into a shaggy jewfro, long scraggly black beard hair and a yellow toothed smile. One thing had not been lost to his decendants, for it had been ingrained in them by the harsh world and diligent practice. The importance of clean water. Always boil water no matter where you get it. He gazed into his corn oil fueled fire as it burnt out and moved to make himself a cot on the floor. He would make his ancestors proud. He would make great use of the trader heritage he was handed from way back when the Old Ones had a great war with themselves over slaves. |
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| Author: | Þórgrímr [ 09 Jan 2011 21:04 ] |
| Post subject: | Re: Stories from Ol Scragg |
Good job bud! This is the creativity I like to encourage in the players of the games I design! Cheers, Thor |
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| Author: | Þórgrímr [ 09 Jan 2011 21:04 ] |
| Post subject: | Re: Stories from Ol Scragg |
Originally posted by Scragg. I plan on chronicling every major happening with a story. |
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