The Krivbeknih

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

The door opens onto a long, narrow spit of rock. Brackish water rises on both sides. "Sorry about this," Ellen says, "but this was the easiest door for me to bring you through without either trying to navigate the swamps alone or taking the chance of running into the other two Paladins. We're at the entrance to a lighthouse off the southern shoreline of the swamp area right now. I'll show you my Pip-Boy map as soon as we're on proper ground."

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods, once, taking in the landscape as he racks back the bolt on his M4. He's gone light for this mission - you have to, when you're talking swamp water. Only one frag, one smoke, his NODs and body armor, a set of flexicuffs, and a half-dozen magazines each for the carbine and the SIG.

"So what's so important about this book?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen makes a face. "Mr. Blackhall," she says, "claims that it's some kind of evil tome of cursed ancient lore and that it's his family's responsibility to destroy it. Since I don't believe in creepy evil tomes of cursed ancient lore, the important thing to me is that Star Paladin Cross was badly injured in a fight with several giant mutant catfish and two razorback hogs, and that Mr. Blackhall is looking after her because we ran out of medical supplies putting her back together, and Mr. Blackhall asked me to try to find the book for him as payment. And I know it sounds stupid and that Mr. Blackhall probably ought to go looking for it himself, but he's the oldest human I've ever seen and he has a hard time moving around his house without sitting in a chair on wheels and pushing himself around."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grunts. "Good enough."

He sets off at an easy walk. "So, Tobar - where did this dude use to live?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"In a bog on the western side of the Lookout area," says Ellen. "He'd set himself up in a shack not too far from where the Mother Punga grows. I don't think he had line of sight on the plant, but it wouldn't have been much of a walk for him to get to a place where he could watch with binoculars. He'd been there for years, according to the notebook he had on him when he died."

[boston_bruiser]

Another affirmative grunt. "Best get there quick, then. He look like the kind to booby-trap the area?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I don't think so," says Ellen. "I've been through his house and he didn't even booby trap the room that I wish I'd never looked into."

Those jars are going to be in the background of her nightmares for weeks. She gave them the best funerary rites she could.

"His diary mentioned selling off some kind of a book to a particularly lunatic swamp dweller who headed northeast with it some years ago. It's the only time he mentioned a book in all his dealings, so I'm guessing that it was a pretty noteworthy occasion. There's only so much territory left to the northeast that a human is likely to have been able to live in."

[boston_bruiser]

"Works for me. He mention any distinguishing features, or is 'loonier than the rest' all we got to go on?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Apparently the man was prone to facepaint and wasn't one of the lobotomy tribals," Ellen says. "Tobar mentioned that he spoke strangely- very clearly and loudly, but with very odd diction. I think he might have been one of the other tribe that lives here- Cross and I were talking to one of their women when the catfish attacked, and she did face paint and spoke in iambic pentameter."

[boston_bruiser]

Another grunt. "Looks like we'll have to bust some heads, then. Lead the way."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods and holds out her left forearm. Calling up her Pip-Boy map she notes, "The book buyer would have gone into this area, according to Tobar's old diary. It's also the only place on this side of the island that I haven't actually been yet, so we can rule out any of the defined areas on the map... which is good because most of them are infested with huge mutant things. Hopefully-" She pauses. "Never mind. I was about to say something that would only invite disaster. Let's get moving."

Dogmeat trots out ahead of them, sniffing eagerly. Perhaps there will be something he can eat for dinner on the way. They have interesting animals here.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo appreciates Ellen's restraint and genre savviness.

The swamp - that he does not appreciate so much.

It's a bit of a hump before they get to it, and looking at it makes him wish he didn't take solid land for granted so much.

"Where to from here, Ellen?" he says, taking a knee and glancing about the area.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

She consults her map a moment, then takes the opportunity to remove her helmet and pull on her goggles. "I'm not seeing any particularly fresh human trails," she says, "but it looks as if there's some heavy swamplurk activity on the terrain to the east. Unless you really feel like fighting giant crabs with the ground trying to pull off your boots, we're probably better off heading west. The iambic pentameter lady's tribe is weird, but they're not flat out insane."

[boston_bruiser]

Iambic pentameter - how's that work, again?

Not five-seven-five, he's sure of that much. But if it's something he needs to know, Ellen'll tell him.

"Lead the way," he says. "I'll let you do the talking."

(Probably the smartest decision he's made today, that.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

He'll know it when he hears it, if he hears it. Or at least Ellen will.

Ellen nods and swings wide of the potentially hazardous area, doing her best to pick her way over the more solid parts of the local ground. Just because she's not seeing crab scent doesn't mean there aren't other things around here to be wary of.

Dogmeat, for his part, has his head up and his ears pricked. Ellen's concentrating on scents on the ground, but he can smell things on the wind, and hear a lot farther than anyone else. And there's a lot to hear around here.

[boston_bruiser]

Oh yes there is.

Such as bouts of scuffing and grunting in the distance, along with bouts of splashing. Whatever's making that noise isn't in sight - then again, there's a ton of vegetation obscuring their sight lines.

"Ellen. You hear that?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen stops in her tracks, tilting her head to one side so as to point her ear in the direction Voodoo's looking. After a moment, her breath hisses.

"If that's not at least one razorback in a fight I'm going to be very surprised. Mutant pigs, bigger than me."

She fishes out Karkat's storage deck and immediately swaps her Gauss rifle for the plasma rifle she occasionally carries. This isn't going to be a situation where a long distance strike will be feasible.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods, once. "We'll split whatever there is."

He flicks the carbine's fire selector to automatic, then moves forward swiftly, gun up - and stumbles upon a seven-foot-tall catfish duking it out with a pig with spikes all along its back.

He parks his ass against a nearby tree, holding up a fist for Ellen to see. If they're lucky, one will kill - or at least weaken - the other, and they'll save that much more ammunition.

Of course, this assumes they're not spotted.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods and flattens herself as best she can in the Tesla armor, silently cursing the fact that she has goggles on and not her helmet. Personally, she's rooting for the pig to win. The catfish are much too maneuverable for her to want to fight even a wounded one.

Dogmeat, however, hasn't killed anything in hours. And those things up there smell dangerous. The battle of the mutants comes to an abrupt halt as both creatures turn to stare at the sudden arrival of a whole lot of barking and fangs.

Ellen suddenly wishes she were the kind of person to swear.

[boston_bruiser]

"GODDAMMIT."

Don't worry, Ellen, Voodoo swears enough for three.

He steps out from behind the tree, takes aim, and lets loose a series of bursts at the catfish's upper torso.

(Yes, upper torso. It is seven feet tall, bipedal, and really not fucking around.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

If Dogmeat hadn't saved her from Tobar when she was passed out, she'd be-

Well, never mind what she would be. There's an oncoming raging pig of doom charging her way and she's got a lot of plasma to deliver straight into its face. Even if she can't wound it enough to kill it on the first pass, brilliant green light tends to blind tiny piggy eyes enough to slow things down.

[boston_bruiser]

For its part, the catfish is doing an admirable job of trying to rip and/or bite Voodoo's face off, considering its physical limitations. The thing is built like a freaking tank, though - 30 rounds of five-five-six and it's still kicking.

It does make the mistake of bumrushing Voodoo when he's reloading though, and Voodoo backtracks like a sensible human being reloading as quickly as possible just kidding; he tackles the fish, straddles it, and gives it an old one-two combo to the eyes and temple before he unsheathes his tomahawk and begins to chop the everliving shit out of everything above the catfish's neck.


Mr. Fish - today was not your day.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Yeah, no. No, it was not. The catfish had a pretty thick skull when it started out this morning- Ellen's seen what happens when you saw one in half- but nuclear-accelerated evolution never designed it to stand up to that kind of abuse. Voodoo's gonna be seeing a whole lot of gray and chunky in a hurry, and the fish is gonna spasm and go limp long before it can avenge itself.

Ellen's just going to concentrate on annihilating the pig's forward end. Dogmeat is busy trying to tear it apart from behind. Bone spikes or armorlike hide to the contrary, the animal's not going to last long.

[boston_bruiser]

Yeah, no. We're guessing the round Voodoo puts through its skull isn't going to help matters.

(Hey, once the catfish is dead, it's dead. And the tomahawk's quick to sheathe.)

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Not in the slightest. Good Lord, that's one distressing death squeal.

Or it would be if Ellen were the slightest bit likely to feel distressed over the death of something that attacked her right now, anyway.

"Thank you, Voodoo," she says when she stops panting. "Remind me not to complain about Wasteland wildlife being tough any more? That was just ridiculous."

[boston_bruiser]

"Will do," Voodoo says, sliding the P226 back into its chest holster. "Think there might be more of 'em on the way there?"

He reloads as he does this, tucking the empty magazine in a back pouch before inserting a new one and palming the bolt release. The fire selector gets switched to semiautomatic - cool as full-auto may be, he simply hasn't got the ammunition for it.