Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190904182217/@comment-5543592-20191020151415

ReDquinox wrote: Wilkes stalked ahead as quietly as his stuttering exoskeleton would allow. Whoever lit this fire might be friendly... but judging by the previous interactions with the people of Montana, that was unlikely. There wasn't much cover, but the darkening sky was their friend. Comparing to the light of the campfire, it was doubtful those sitting around it could see them.

There were three men, tribal-looking. They had lean, wolfish builds, people who hunted to eat, were always moving. Their hair was long, stringy, caked in places with red paint. They wore cloaks of animal skin--those were painted in stripes of red.

They were conversing with one another in nonsense, broken English--some sort of tribal tongue, probably, devolved after centuries of no grammar school. Their tongue was so alien that Wilkes would have to get closer to parse what they were saying.

They had weapons, long, fat-bladed machettes with rusted edges. More clubs than blades, but they were nasty things that could easily hack a limb off.

-

("What do'n make no sense, Josey?"  His helpful comrades cried.)