by Max Barry

Latest Forum Topics



Region: Fallout DnD

The fallout frontier

New decandsor ii wrote:Institutum


Marcy takes notice of Lilith admiring the Bowie knife from the counter, and reaches to her side instinctively. She stops though, remembering she had lost her combat knife a couple of years ago. Or was it a couple of decades? Regardless, it's gone and she's itching to get a new one. But that's a side concern. Her main concern is the job. And maybe learning more about her murky past while she's at it. She shudders at the thought of a settlement in the Mire. Who in there right mind would try to rebuild civilization there, of all places? Even the name creates an atmosphere of fear and mystery.

But none of that matters. She has a job to do, and she's going to do it. She stands up and grabs her Hunting Rifle, slinging it over her shoulder. She looks over at Ivan.

Marcy Josephine - "Of course. I need me a whiskey."

(I forgot to add that Marcy also recieved 150 caps from Atticus, which she can use on top of what she already has)

"Well then, let's get moving. Atticus, if I die on this mission, you know where to send the money," Ivan spoke, only half jokingly. He put on his bomber jacket and reached for the door.


The group of three, Ivan, Marcy, and Lilith, found themselves outside the Morgantown Supply into a city bustling with life. Travelers hailing from every corner of Appalachia, from the ghouls of Grafton to the raiders of the Mire, wandered the expansive trading city. Morgantown's narrow, wood pallet paths were covered with vendors, shops encircled the city center, and all around people could hear the shouting of workers on soapboxes saying something akin to "step right up and get some fried squirrel bits!"

Lilith having left the group to resolve some "business" left Ivan and Marcy to wander the city alone. Ivan could barely manage to ask what she was going to do before she was washed away by the massive crowd of people. With a puzzled expression that lingered for a few fleeting moments, Ivan continued towards the tavern.

The two passed an armorsmith, several food stands, a chem vendor, and a clothes store. "Maybe we can supply up before we head out," Ivan noted.

After several minutes of wandering the crouded city, Ivan announced "Here we are, Bootlegger's Tavern," as he opened the door to a small building, the shell of a prewar tattoo parlor. As the two entered the tavern, they were met with the smell of vomit and expired food, something that sent Ivan back before reminding him to wear a bandana to mask the potency of it all. "Quite the inviting smell, eh?" Ivan joked through a coughing fit. He handed Marcy an old rag to use as a bandana, although he wasn't sure if ghouls could smell given their... condition. The bar was small and crowded. Its cramped main room was filled with tables of drunkards. To the side sat two rows of billiards tables encircled by spectators. Ivan walked cooly through the tavern - if "cooly" meant nearly tripping on several puddles of what he hoped was just beer, and nearly suffocating from the lingering smell. He leaned over the bar and shouted for the bartender. "I'll take the usual, Bill."

The bartender looked at Ivan with a puzzled expression. "The usual? Do I know you?"

"Yeah, Bill. It's me, Ivan!"

The bartender rubbed his chin reaching for any recollection of the name but found none. "Sorry, bud. I don't know who you are."

"We've spoken on multiple occasions. We even drank together. Hell, we're practically brothers-" Ivan stopped himself as he noticed the growing confusion in Bill's face. "Fine," he grumbled. "Blackwater brew."

"7 caps please." As Bill counted his caps, he looked over to Marcy. "You ordering?"

New decandsor ii