YOU HAVE REACHED A FORT.
YOU HAVE REACHED A FORT.
Press SPACE BAR to continue.
Up ahead of your gathered wagons is a large, slowly-appearing fort. The sun is beginning to set, far on the horizon, and you hear the sighs of pleasure as people are eager to find a place within the upcoming stop for some real rest and relaxation. Well, the standard, not-piled-on-boxes rest and relaxation. Wagons creak and croak past the large entrance doors -- made with logs all fastened tightly together. Those doors close immediately, however. There are no stragglers; the entire train has made its way into the fort.
The appearance is that of a tiny town, almost. Travellers have been coming through these parts for months, and store fronts have built up over those months to accomodate the demand for trade and goods. At first, everything is silent. Almost eerily so. The fort appears abandoned, but as the wagons move in and settle the general managers and store employees begin to pour slowly from their storefronts. Slowly… is the key word here.
They aren't behaving quite right. There's a shuffle to their step, a slowness and an awful smell. Disease? Dysentery? Covered in bees?!
It's only when one brave trailgoer makes their way toward the small bar that they notice; really notice. These people? They're not quite people at all, not anymore. It's with a distant howl of pain that our brave trailgoing friend disappears into that bar -- never to be seen again. With that, these people of the fort turn to face our train of wagons. There's more of them. More of them shuffling, inching out of doorways and small hotels and tiny empty bars. They're coming toward you.
They're coming toward you, and those large, wooden doors meant to keep out the wilderness from this once-friendly fort? They're locked. They're keeping you in, instead.
Damn, that is not how this is supposed to work. Better start putting those hunting skills to use. Barricade those wagons! Someone's gotta know what to do here, right? …anybody?
Whhhaat would you liiikee to buuuyyy?
Their voices are faint, almost automatic. On a loop, even.
Maaake a selectionnn from the liiistt…
What -- What list? What the hell is this?
Aarrree you suure you waaant six-huuundred bbboooxes of bullleeettsss…? Y/N?
Oh, oh God. Y. Y!!!!!!
[Mod Note: Your characters are now locked into the fort for a week -- surrounded by zombies. There are a few huddling masses of normal people, crouched in corners of bars and surviving on what little they have. You might run into some of them. There are two types of zombies here; think Shaun of the Dead. Some of them are going to continue to stand in one place, trying to sell you their automatic, computer-programmed loop of goods and services. The others are going to shamble toward you, chase you, and ultimately attempt to snack upon your delicious flesh. Unless you are a Transformer, in which case they will be sorely disappointed and you're probably going to fair better than some. Probably.
Think of the fort like a tiny town and anything's up for grabs. Food, supplies, blankets, an incredible amount of guns as long as Magneto hasn't melted them all in a fit of post-bullet-to-the-butt adventures in agony. Oh, and bullets. There's plenty of bullets. Let's, uh. Let's just hope we all know how to use them this time! And don't go shooting them at snakes. This is a bad time to have a limp.
Any questions can, of course, be left on this post and will be answered as soon as possible!]
Press SPACE BAR to continue.
Up ahead of your gathered wagons is a large, slowly-appearing fort. The sun is beginning to set, far on the horizon, and you hear the sighs of pleasure as people are eager to find a place within the upcoming stop for some real rest and relaxation. Well, the standard, not-piled-on-boxes rest and relaxation. Wagons creak and croak past the large entrance doors -- made with logs all fastened tightly together. Those doors close immediately, however. There are no stragglers; the entire train has made its way into the fort.
The appearance is that of a tiny town, almost. Travellers have been coming through these parts for months, and store fronts have built up over those months to accomodate the demand for trade and goods. At first, everything is silent. Almost eerily so. The fort appears abandoned, but as the wagons move in and settle the general managers and store employees begin to pour slowly from their storefronts. Slowly… is the key word here.
They aren't behaving quite right. There's a shuffle to their step, a slowness and an awful smell. Disease? Dysentery? Covered in bees?!
It's only when one brave trailgoer makes their way toward the small bar that they notice; really notice. These people? They're not quite people at all, not anymore. It's with a distant howl of pain that our brave trailgoing friend disappears into that bar -- never to be seen again. With that, these people of the fort turn to face our train of wagons. There's more of them. More of them shuffling, inching out of doorways and small hotels and tiny empty bars. They're coming toward you.
They're coming toward you, and those large, wooden doors meant to keep out the wilderness from this once-friendly fort? They're locked. They're keeping you in, instead.
Damn, that is not how this is supposed to work. Better start putting those hunting skills to use. Barricade those wagons! Someone's gotta know what to do here, right? …anybody?
Whhhaat would you liiikee to buuuyyy?
Their voices are faint, almost automatic. On a loop, even.
Maaake a selectionnn from the liiistt…
What -- What list? What the hell is this?
Aarrree you suure you waaant six-huuundred bbboooxes of bullleeettsss…? Y/N?
Oh, oh God. Y. Y!!!!!!
[Mod Note: Your characters are now locked into the fort for a week -- surrounded by zombies. There are a few huddling masses of normal people, crouched in corners of bars and surviving on what little they have. You might run into some of them. There are two types of zombies here; think Shaun of the Dead. Some of them are going to continue to stand in one place, trying to sell you their automatic, computer-programmed loop of goods and services. The others are going to shamble toward you, chase you, and ultimately attempt to snack upon your delicious flesh. Unless you are a Transformer, in which case they will be sorely disappointed and you're probably going to fair better than some. Probably.
Think of the fort like a tiny town and anything's up for grabs. Food, supplies, blankets, an incredible amount of guns as long as Magneto hasn't melted them all in a fit of post-bullet-to-the-butt adventures in agony. Oh, and bullets. There's plenty of bullets. Let's, uh. Let's just hope we all know how to use them this time! And don't go shooting them at snakes. This is a bad time to have a limp.
Any questions can, of course, be left on this post and will be answered as soon as possible!]