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TURMOILwriter (ID: !!hU8daz7zrSL)
TURMOIL—A post-apocalyptic USA. and a dash for p o w e r . 2017-01-08 08:22:16 Post No. 1022257
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TURMOIL—A post-apocalyptic USA. and a dash for p o w e r . 2017-01-08 08:22:16 Post No. 1022257
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TURMOIL—A post-apocalyptic USA. and a dash for p o w e r .
TURMOILwriter (ID: !!hU8daz7zrSL)
2017-01-08 08:22:16
Post No. 1022257
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Gazmanoph somehow looked older as Dermisse approached him. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen him in so long—maybe it was because he was somber today, or perhaps the radiation poisoning was beginning to tamper and tinker with the tightness of his flesh. Either way, he looked extremely weary and tired—eyes sunken, massive, untrimmed beard more like a nest, dark eyes sunken and sticky with dried tears—most likely from the responsibility set on his shoulders and the constant dread everyone—except Dermisse—felt. Dermisse stopped when he was feet away from the worn, tattered, opened tent that the elderly man sat in.
Gazmanoph looked up, fatigued eyes half-lidded and red. “Why do you come here again, boy?” he said in a raspy, aged voice. Dermisse regarded him with a flat glance. “You know why.” Dermisse said.
“You’re the only one here with that…magic.”
Gazmanoph shook his head. “It’s not magic. It’s a blessing.”
“A blessing? Why of all times would there be a blessing now? How come there was no blessing for the nuclear bombs to become defunct? How come there was no blessing to stop the acid rain from boiling our people alive? How come there was no blessing that helped the crops—”
“Cease, boy.” Gazmanoph muttered. “Just bring me the water. I will only take one cart for myself this time, if it is of urgency.”
Dermisse frowned. “Fine.”
The black-haired teen rested his rifle on the ground, and leaned on it like a cane. He turned back at his soldiers. “Drink-warden, come.”
One of the soldiers broke away from the line of men traveling with Dermisse and stood in front of him. He saluted. “Sir, what do you call me for?”
Dermisse looked back at Gazmanoph. “Bring me the water carts.”
“Yes sir.”
>>
In a few minutes, the line of soldiers—after scurrying away from Dermisse to to fetch the chain of water—had returned. The drink-warden, Lidrin, pulled the handle of the front cart. The chain of carts moved, rattled, and shook around the camp, snaking around—though snakes, as well as wildlife in general, were now scarce and hard to find. It soon came to a halt next to Gazmanoph’s tent. The elder rose—knees shaking, arms trembling—and shuffled over to the long line of water reservoirs. He shed his purple robes, revealing a strangely athletic but wiry build, despite his deteriorating age.
Lidrin lingered next to Dermisse, holding a tattered rifle. The water was thick, slimy, with an odd, frothy film stretched on its surface. Gazmanoph caught a glance of a strange school of wriggling, worm-like parasites fluttering along the top. The radiation gave a sound strike to the ecosystem—a sound strike to resources in general—and began breeding horrid, sacrilegious monstrosities only told in lore as extreme as the pagan days. However, when they were slain and their flesh was roasted…well, they tasted much different than they looked.
Gazmanoph paused next to one of the carts. He dipped his finger inside. A clear, crystalline patch of water swirled around his finger, the squalid, thick, putrid fluid disintegrating as he touched the liquid. The pristine patch of water spread out, the sludge that once reposed in the reservoirs now being replaced by healthy, transparent water.
Dermisse grinned as Gazmanoph stepped to the next cart—dipping his finger inside and instantly purifying it. He did the strange ritual everyday. Soon, he began muttering incoherent phrases under his breath as he neared the end of the cart-chain. The rambling turned into hums, and the hums soon diminished into silence as the last cart was purified. Cosmics were…extremely eccentric—also, extremely useful.
>>
And now we start making shit up.
Aaaaaaaaalriiiiiiiiiiight.
>>
sounds cool
So how does this go?
>>
>>1022278
Just greentext suggestions or demands as to how the story goes from here on out. We can begin fabricating and worldbuilding other characters (The Walkmen, The Western Confederation, The Calvin Empire, Camp Dermisse, New Germany, The Imperial States) and write conflicts from here on out. I want this story to be VERY democratically ruled for the sake of the mighty principle: MAKE SHIT UP
>>
Okay cool
Got any preferences how we make shit up?
IE just write our own stories about other places n shiet? or stories wrapped around your first couple posts?
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>>1022298
just write suggestions and characters in pastebin, post link, and then i'll type it all up in scrivener
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>>1022308
rad, hopefully this thread stays up till I painstakingly write my OC donut steel stuff
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>>1022257
Looks rad. Can we make our own camps/cities/nations?
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>>1022420
of course, go ahead!
>>
TURMOILwriter (ID: !!hU8daz7zrSL)
2017-01-08 08:14:22
Post No.1023244
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File: GOOGISINE THE RAMBERSNAMP DID NOT DESERVE DEATH, TRIGOLOTH! YOU WILL PAAAAAAAY! YAAAATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT! YEEEEEH-TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!.jpg (34KB, 680x667px) Image search:
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>>1022420
>>1022311
https://discord.gg/nXYDr
We can also discuss here.
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