Gateclosing 101 - RPLOG
From Flexible Survival
Participants
Date
6/2/2022
Log
T'is high noon somewhere in the world. Right here, actually, on a lonely, dusty road leading out of the city and at great distance from the safety of the nanite server. Even with clear skies overhead, the sun offered little reprieve from winter's biting winds. All that extended beyond this point were dead wastes and barren field, untouched by the hand of progress, ruined and mostly reclaimed by nature. It had been over a decade since the nanites hit, and while Fairhaven had recovered from a post apocalyptic dump into a somewhat functioning metropolis, the same can not be said about pretty much anywhere else. All that remained now of the abandoned old world were ruins, consumed by ivy and pretty much reduced to rubble. Such harsh terrain necessitated mores of transport more suited to traversing the wildlands, and thankfully the group arriving here to follow up on their job description would be met with something rather unexpected. Was... was that a humvee? By all that's holy and otherwise, it really is! Looking rather dusty with a dent here and there, the machine appears exactly as one might expect to see it in the world that once was! Leaned over its opened hood was a familiar feline, his body covered by an unbuttoned brown leather duster, black undershirt beneath and loose camo cargo pants. Around his neck remained woven the same scarf he seemed so attached-to, its fabric guarding his neck, ends tucked under his duster to protect against unnecessary stains. He looks quite busy, perhaps verifying that their transport was all set for the journey ahead~
Walking up to the transport is a human man that is about six feet tall with a fit and trim build, looking to be about 160-180 pounds, belaying the fact that his dense nanite-altered body makes him more around 250 pounds before taking into account worn gear. He is Caucasian, with a short-cut head of dirty blond hair, the kind that tends to darken with age, and a clean shaven face. Even though his head is exposed, he doesn't seem phased at all by the bitter winter winds. His ancestry, other than being mostly from Western Europe, is hard to pin down, but it has given him a handsome face with a confidant looking jaw line. It is almost a shame it is never seen, given it is often masked or overridden by most nanite infection forms. Lastly his eyes are a dark green and brown, which currently look unenthusiastic about the mission at hand, though it does brighten up when seeing a working vehicle has been aquired. Gear-wise, he is wearing a long coat over a thick long sleeve shirt and cargo pants, pockets already stuffed with items, with a pair of sturdy boots; with the expectation of having to walk all day. On top of his clothes, is a Zephyr standard issue armored vest, with a common issue pistol holstered on one side and a med-kit on the other side. His well-used and maintained equipment pack is on his back, and his ID badge is pinned to his armor, indicating it is the Zephyr field agent Randel, who is in rare form today, being human for once. "Hey, what's up?" he says to the feline, smirking in amusement, and curious to see Magnus' reaction to his uncharacteristically normal form.
There's a bit of pride and warmth that swells in Yejian's heart every time she sees that scarf. But, today was a trip of business, not casual visiting. The lapine knight wanders down the road, without her spear today. She preferred a slightly different piece of equipment for her trips outside of the bubble, as evident when she draws near Magnus and plants her shield lightly in the ground and leans forward. "Soooo. Where are we headed?"
A canid of several varieties approaches. A water dragon watching on and finally turning to return home. Here is Hreit walking on two, not four. Yet ever looking a bit haggard, or worse for wear. A jacket that's seen better days remains white, edges trimmed in blackness, from fire and heat. Covered in layer after layer of pinned bandages in lieu of thicker clothing. Like a few layers of hand made garments, even partly covering her hands. Her feet covererd in thicker leather strips this time around. Three handles sticking up at her back. Carefully settled in between her back and the small pack settled there to prevent them moving about or wobbling. She seems, a bit jumpy, eying everyone that's already here. Also approaching magnus, though seeming a bit unnerved at something. Not that her own appearance wasn't unnerving itself already. "I think I'd talked to you about this job on the comms?" She asked openly, holding up a highly customized phone-like device that still has Zephyr marked on it. Looking like it belonged to someone a bit higher up that totem pole.
Crypto carries a full pack of weapons and utility items for the journey ahead. Beyond that, Crypto is so nondescript it would be forgivable to completely forget his presence. He walks in the footsteps of other people almost out of habit as he makes his way to the humvee. He glances towards the group, puts is stuff down, and waits for further instructions.
Moose eases himself off a big, rumbling motorcycle driven by another deer, nearly identical to himself. "You sure you're okay, Pops?" the driving stag asks, different from his father only in being a little softer around the edges. The mustached stag waves off his kid and lights up a thick cigar. "I can handle myself, Junior," he says gruffly, though fondly and stalks toward the waiting humvee, ornaments and charms rattling in his antlers. Moose is not a moose, he is a big, dad-bodded white tail deer with a thick, luxurious, white mustache tinged with leaf green at the edges. He fills the plaid shirt he wears nicely with a layer of softness over thick, working muscle. He takes the cigar from his lips with thick fingers and blows a ring of bluish smoke away from the group. "Moose," he growls, "How can I help?"
