Author: Nosferum; June 10th, 2003
This actually happened. Wolfdor and I roleplayed the whole time, so the dialogue is largely as it occured in-game. Alero just had a knack for gaining aggro.
Easy Money
"Hey, would you guys like to make a quick 500 credits each?"
he beckons, coyly.
Redicent to respond immediately, the old man darts a glance at his companions. The tall, burly one responds in kind, and the armored one retorts, "What's the catch?"
"Likely, a corpse" cats the old one.
The stranger scuffs his bare feet upon the hardened ground, embarassed. "Yeah."
"'Tis best, then, that you know our names" the old man resolves, rubbing the side of his bald head as if brushing something away-- an old habit, not yet dead. "The tall one here is Wolfdor. The one in the bone armor is Alero. I am Nosferum."
Wolfdor seemed proccupied with his most recent catch; a flying beast native to this planet he had just tamed. It was still quite wild, though, even in it's young age. It bit him more than a few times, but the tall man was undeterred.
Readjusting his bone plates, and continuing his saga to organize his overstuffed backpack, Alero then readied his pistol and grinned. Moreover, he readied quite a few Stimpacks.
"Let us away" said the dark one, and with a motion, they were off. The most recent addition to the ranks, the bellied, flying creature, made off with a few of Wolfdor's long blond locks as it flew in the other direction. Hardly impressed, the great man snatched the creature out of the sky and returned the reins to his grip. It's as if it was taunting him, trying to make Wolfdor wish he hadn't tamed the beast.
Leading over great plateaus and vast valleys, Nosferum's age betrayed him. He began to yell from the back, rather than calling from the front. While he and the more-journeyed Wolfdor did their best to mask their scent, there was little they could do for their companions. As they treked, the local wildlife harried the group, threatening to carry off Alero more than once. The stranger, clad in nothing more than a clone's top and shorts, neared falling a few times, pulled away by the dog-like creatures of the plains, called Kusaks. As vicious as the game was, though, the company made sure to set up camp after each encounter, edging on slowly, making sure to see Alero for any required healing. Try as they may, though, they eventually succumbed to a pack of Kusaks and some other flying scavenger.
Alero was the first to call out in the room, "Man, these clone chambers smell so bad." It takes a few moments before you can see, but your sight is restored and you're naked, save for your clone's bleached white top and shorts. Some of us had recently insured our items. Some had not. The stranger, who then let us know his name (Suge) bellied, "Damnit. Sorry." It's strange knowing you're a clone. Technically, you're not the same person, but you never feel that way. To get by in this world, though, you can't think about it. Leave it to the Shamans to figure out.
Not to despair, the group started again, from the Cloning Station back to their fresh corpses. With any luck, the Kusaks would have fended off scavengers. Kusaks will eat the meat, but they don't horde the shiny things that their prey are prone to carry. Within an hour, the beleagured group was back at their corpses, rummaging through their items and getting re-equipped. Wolfdor's new pet had taken their fall as an opportunity to escape. He didn't talk much after that, as he was too angry.
The trip back was rather uneventful until they met a large pack of Kusaks again. Their stealth had been tested and it had been broken. Those who had not insured their items again, cursed in their clone chambers. This time, at least the old man hadn't insured his items. It was just him and enough clothing to make him officially not naked. Alero had collected a rather quiet friend of his, Gimme (yes, that's his name) to help. Gimme didn't talk-- he just shot things-- and for this, Wolfdor was glad.
Resolved not to fall again, their tactics changed. Rather than attempt to win large scale combats, they decided to only fight battles they could likely win. If a horde came, they'd fire warning shots to scurry off the hungry packs. This worked remarkably well, as a pack of seven Kusaks and three flying scavengers was reduced to two Kusaks and the occasional scavenger. This was more manageable.
In the end, when all the corpses had been recovered and buried, including two more that Suge hadn't told the group about, they sat down for a much-deserved camp. Wolfdor hurried along, forgetting to place chairs in his camp the way he normally does. Again, he was too angry to detail everything. They ate their rations and whatever he and the old man could forage. Alero, as always, tended to wounds as needed, which was often his own. Being the best of the group with the Pistol, he was known for gathereing a lot of attention. No one spoke, save for one final bellow from the tall warrior-- apparently unaffected by his own deaths-- "I'm still pissed about losing my pet."