ApocalypseJumper
New Member
The day was mostly over in The Valleys for the day. The sun had disappeared behind the tall buildings overhead, casting a sleepy twilight over the town. Some vendors were closing shop, while others simply turned to other tasks expecting business to slow down significantly. Only last minute stragglers may need to buy dinner or other essentials before bed.
Most of the craftsman, caravan workers, and vendors either turned into their hovels or gathered at the three bars in town. The cold metal doors to the Foothill buildings were long closed up, and quiet. The streets were blanketed with snow, with muddy trenches padded down where the people walked to and fro. A stark breeze picked up and died down, threatening to get colder as the night came.
The town was basically made up of four streets. One city block, based around a main building. The great skyscrapers serving as natural cover as well as scaffolding on which the rest of the shanty town was built. The market was comprised of shops and stands scattered all around this main streets. Some families or loners live in abandoned buildings or huts up to a street away, but anyone beyond these satellite homes is likely a raider or psycho.
Then, there is the wilderness beyond that. Overgrown suburbs filled with ghouls, mutants, and animals. This is a rough trek from the true foothills of the Rockies, though there is a main stretch of road considered the safest route to the east.
This was the path Wes now walked down. Rifle slung in front of him, crossing his body. Ready to snap up to a target if he sensed any movement. His load was heavy, several pelts strapped to his backpack adding to the weight of his tools. Within the sack was only a change of clothes, flint and steel, fishing line, needles, hooks, hunting knife, and a spare combat knife.
On his belt was a hatchet meant for felling small trees and cutting firewood. pre war of course. As well as his .357 magnum revolver. Both were obscured by the leather winter duster he wore. The patchwork of fur turned inwards for warmth.
Wes seemed calm, and on a casual stroll. He'd been down this road many times when coming back to town for trading since he set out on his own years ago. To him, this was just the hike into town. In fact, it passed uneventfully. Though he wasn't sure why, or how. That part WAS rare. Usually a stray ghoul, mutant, or large insect would prey upon travelers at some point in transit. Today was unexpectedly quiet. Perhaps it was the cold wind, or perhaps it was just his luck. He hoped he hadn't used it all up for the day on this little walk.
Before long he was in town. Again, late for the party to do any trading. So, he bypassed it all to check on a couple old friends. He could sell in the morning and pick up what he needed. That is, with whatever caps he had left after a few beers, of course. It's not every day the woodsman stopped by the watering hole, after all.
ReddyBear
GotDatDAWGInMe
ShadowFlash
Most of the craftsman, caravan workers, and vendors either turned into their hovels or gathered at the three bars in town. The cold metal doors to the Foothill buildings were long closed up, and quiet. The streets were blanketed with snow, with muddy trenches padded down where the people walked to and fro. A stark breeze picked up and died down, threatening to get colder as the night came.
The town was basically made up of four streets. One city block, based around a main building. The great skyscrapers serving as natural cover as well as scaffolding on which the rest of the shanty town was built. The market was comprised of shops and stands scattered all around this main streets. Some families or loners live in abandoned buildings or huts up to a street away, but anyone beyond these satellite homes is likely a raider or psycho.
Then, there is the wilderness beyond that. Overgrown suburbs filled with ghouls, mutants, and animals. This is a rough trek from the true foothills of the Rockies, though there is a main stretch of road considered the safest route to the east.
This was the path Wes now walked down. Rifle slung in front of him, crossing his body. Ready to snap up to a target if he sensed any movement. His load was heavy, several pelts strapped to his backpack adding to the weight of his tools. Within the sack was only a change of clothes, flint and steel, fishing line, needles, hooks, hunting knife, and a spare combat knife.
On his belt was a hatchet meant for felling small trees and cutting firewood. pre war of course. As well as his .357 magnum revolver. Both were obscured by the leather winter duster he wore. The patchwork of fur turned inwards for warmth.
Wes seemed calm, and on a casual stroll. He'd been down this road many times when coming back to town for trading since he set out on his own years ago. To him, this was just the hike into town. In fact, it passed uneventfully. Though he wasn't sure why, or how. That part WAS rare. Usually a stray ghoul, mutant, or large insect would prey upon travelers at some point in transit. Today was unexpectedly quiet. Perhaps it was the cold wind, or perhaps it was just his luck. He hoped he hadn't used it all up for the day on this little walk.
Before long he was in town. Again, late for the party to do any trading. So, he bypassed it all to check on a couple old friends. He could sell in the morning and pick up what he needed. That is, with whatever caps he had left after a few beers, of course. It's not every day the woodsman stopped by the watering hole, after all.
ReddyBear
GotDatDAWGInMe
ShadowFlash
