Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190326124223/@comment-5583506-20190326203541

A couple of weeks had passed since Overseer Ridgemont had received the strange distress call from scout reports. They had located the source to some coordinates in the NCR. Knowing her previous achievements and reliability the old woman had happily sent Evangeline Winfield to answer the call and to pledge the Order of Salem to face the threat this woman called Shrike posed.

Ever since, Evangeline had made her way through the wastelands, travelling by foot, and discreetly travelling with caravans whenever the opportunity presented itself. The Order of Salem didn't go in all guns blazing as the Brotherhood of Steel did. They preferred subtlety, they wanted their members to represent that attitude of theirs. So whenever Evangeline ended up in big companies during her travels, she refrained from speaking or telling them where she was headed and for what reason.

Now she had arrived. She was almost completely spent, but her rations had lasted her the entire way. Pure water had been a necessity to make it through these arid badlands. The coordinates had led her to a warehouse she could catch a glimpse of in the distance.

With a cowl and a hood to cover her head from the burning sun, she pushed onward.

Just a couple of steps more, she thought.

Shanks was close to seeing double. The pig piss this bar was serving, and had the stomach to call the "house's finest", was the most putrid ale he had ever tasted. But it had somehow gotten him really drunk. He leaned back into a ruined sofa with one leg on the table and the other on an empty chair next to it. The people in the bar eyed him warily. No doubt they had taken notice of his ears, his tail and his hind legs. Strange as it was for them, he doubted that he was far from the strangest misfit to haunt their locale and drink their foul-tasting ale. The outskirts of the NCR were less than friendly, but the strange distress signal his Pip-Boy had caught had led him here before it had gone silent.

''Broken? ''was his first thought, observing the device on his arm. Or maybe he had just accidentally turned it off in his drunken stupor. In either case, this was as far as he had gotten the signal, and now the trail was cold.

Though his sense of smell was impeccable, how the hell was he supposed to track radio waves? Surly at the idea of losing a potential amount of caps from this mishap, he signalled for the waitress to pour him more of the ale.

"You sure you haven't ... had enough?" she asked him, her voice in a blur. She observed his hideous animalistic appearance.

He straightened his back and leaned forward in a clearly intoxicated state. "When I have had enough, I'll be sure to let you all know. Now, be a sweetheart, and bring me more of that foul-tasting ale."

"Sir ... you've been downing fermented pea-soup for the last two hours. We meant to have that vat poured into the sewers."

He glared at her with a sunken eye, unsure whether or not he had heard it correctly.

"We tried to stop you, tried to offer you the house's finest. But you just shoved us away and kept drinking."

"Uh .... huh ..." he murmured, not really willing to admit his mistake. "Well, pour some more of that stuff then."

The waitress looked over her shoulder worryingly, as if she wondered whether or not the dog-man would throw up his insides for all the bar to see, before she headed over to the counter to discuss things with her manager.

Meanwhile Shanks collapsed backwards, his head spinning and his stomach in an uproar. He truly felt like shit, and he truly felt alive.