Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20160720133828/@comment-5583506-20160723205709

(Thought that generic hostile NPCs fell under the GMs jurisdiction, but sure.)

Septic adjusted his baggy trousers. The day had been shit. The only people he and his crew had managed to rob this afternoon was a pair of merchants who peddled in seashells and gull droppings.

''As if the world wasn't fucked up enough. Gull droppings? Who would even buy such a thing?''

What worried him further was that Razor had beaten one of the merchants down with the butt of his rifle and taken the crates with gull droppings for himself. Septic never asked just what he intended to do with them, nor did he want to know, but he strongly recommended that Razor stashed the crates somewhere far from the camp. Somewhere where the sun wouldn't reach them when morning came.

Fucking God, the stench...

"Yo, Septic?" asked Razor from the campfire. "You got anymore Jet? Frizzle hasn't gotten her fix in two days now."

"Find your own fucking Jet", growled Septic. "This last one is mine. I found it."

"Hmph, fucking cheapscate."

"And what exactly are you planning to do with those crates of bird shit, huh? They gonna stink for miles away and probably attract unwanted attention. Get rid off them, you hear?"

"Woah, take a fucking chill-pill, would yo? I've heard that fertilizer can be used for a lot of things. Including chem making. If I could get my hands on one of those chemistry sets I could easily make some good stuff. You want some?"

"I am not going to snort shit, you fucking idiot", sighed Septic. "And neither is Frizzle. Get those fucking crates out of the camp, or we will make fertilizer out of you instead."

"Septic, come on. You are always acting like such a little bitch. Never willing to try anything new and..."

Suddenly a loud bang sounded and the top half of Razor's head flew straight off, sending a majestic spurt of blood pumping out of the opening.

"Wait, what the fuck?!" growled Septic in shock.

Another bang followed and sent the remainder of Razor's skull flying away in all directions. His body did some sort of rhytmic spasm before it ultimately fell to the ground in front of the fireplace.

"Get your fucking weapons at the ready!" shouted Septic and pulled his shotgun from its holster. "We are under attack!"

<p style="font-weight:normal;">Wouldn't fucking surprise me if that idiot's shit stench brought some undesirables here...

<p style="font-weight:normal;">As the Raiders were in an uproar, running up and down their crude battlements with loaded weapons, Septic spotted a man dressed like one of those old western hero posters emerge from the shadows with two revolvers drawn, aimed at him.

<p style="font-weight:normal;">Destruction awaits, reflected Ward jovially as he pulled the trigger.

<p style="font-weight:normal;">The muzzle flashes from the revolver pipes were the last thing the Raider known as Septic would take notice of in this world.

<p style="font-weight:normal;">So red...