Nukular Stuff Found
Deep in the Unclaimed Territories of the Herpetological Empire's Earth holdings, citizens that manage to eek out an existence do so in the most primitive ways.
http://www.5amfunnies.com/sakkra/Sights/sakkramap.jpg
Here we come across Jee Thro, a simple Sakkran in the most literal of terms. Brandishing an old Slug Thrower rifle and guided by his 'sniffin' Newt, he has come afoul of a remnant from centuries past. A Nuclear Stockpile of weapons.
"What's that, Bloo? You git the scent of some critter?" Jee Thro watches as his trained Swamp Newt takes off at a run, snarling and hissing all the while. Small birds and rodents are flushed out with the commotion, and Jee shoulders his antique weapon swiftly. A squeeze of the trigger sends a block of lead flying out of the barrel of the weapon, where it succeeds in totally pulverizing a rabbit into a cloud of flying fur and gore.
"Well, durn it all. 't ain't even 'nuff for a chaw." He slings the weapon over his shoulder, and spits on the ground. Bloo sniffs at the mess for a moment, and then follows Jee on the hunt. "Gotter be vittles hereabouts somewheres, or my name ain't Jiminy Cricket."
Jee stops for a moment, as his eyes scan skyward. "Whet a minnit. It ain't! Carn sarn it!" He scratches his head, nearly poking out one of his too-small eyes in the process with his claw.
A long bit of walking, as well as occasional pulping of some small animal with a flying block of lead, finds Jee out a bit further than his usual hunting grounds would take him. The area is thick with brush and trees to the point of making the sky overhead quite dark and hard to see.
Bloo starts snapping, and circling a patch of ground with his nose low. "Whatcha got thar, boy! You got a scent?" More snapping and circling, and the Newt takes off with a crash through some bushes, where he summarily seems to disappear into a hole in the ground.
Jee Thro looks into the hole. Nothing but blackness as far as he can see. "Bloo! You okay down thar? Speak to me, boy!" The sound of claws scratching at something tinny can be heard quite clearly, as well as teeth worrying something metal. "Cen't be thet far down. Think i'll take me a looky-loo."
Jee sets his legs over the edge of the hole, and lowers himself down. The total fall is about 9 feet or so, and the dirt is pitch black. A flashlight is produced, showering the tunnels he can now see with light. "Gee doggies! Big gophers around hyar!" He walks down the tunnel towards the scratching sound.
After a time, he spies several small skeletons wearing helmets. He picks up a femur, which promptly turns to dust in his massive fingers. The flashlight is swung around, and the tail-end of the Newt is seen, swishing wildly.
"Whatcha got thar, boy?" Jee flashes the light in the direction the Newt is facing, and comes upon several dozen conical cylinders. Writing is on these cone-shaped things, and some pictures as well. "Co...balt.......Co.......balt.....Wa.....Durn this scribbling. Cain't make heads or tails of it." He hunkers down and strains to grasp the writing. "Co...balt...War...Heed." He stands up, and scratches his head some more. "Sounds all fancy-fied. Mebbe Paw'll know what in tarnation this is."
Crimmond
15-10-2004, 08:17
OOC: Sakkra! I thought you died off months ago. And still playing with nukes, I see...
OOC: Old lizards never die. They just hibernate for a while. And as you can see, this is an ancient stockpile of weapons, not of our making, found by some hillbillies.
Back at the rube compound, Jee Thro returns with Bloo. His sire is there, sitting on a massive rocking chair with an old Slug Thrower at his side propped against the house. "Boy, dun't tell me you ain't got no chawin' stuff! You was gorn close to a whole cahcle thar." The old Sakkran is chewing on a piece of Paroo wood.
"'t ain't got nuttin fer the stew, Paw. But out thar is sumpin funny. All shiny-like wit funny words all over it." Jee kicks at the ground a bit, stirring up small stones and dust.
"Ye dun't say? Like treasure? This bears some investigatorizin', I reckon." With a creaking noise and much groaning and grunting, the patriarch stands up, and walks over to the doorway a few feet off from his sitting spot.
Yelling into the doorway, he picks up his rifle. "Maw! I'm-a gonna go an an expeedeeshun with the young'un heeyar. Git the kettle goin', an' we'll be back in a spell."
"Donchoo git yer fool foot blown off out thar, Paw. And git some stewin' vittles while youse at it! Nuttin but spit 'n' bark in the pot as is!" The wavery voice of the matriarch carries through clear to the outside, followed by the tinny hissing of young hatchlings scurrying about.
Following the trail already taken, Jee and Paw arrive after a time to the same spot, followed by a trio of 'sniffin' Newts. Jee points at the hole. "Raght down thar. Ol' Bloo slipt into this pit, and I follered 'im in." Paw heads in, looks around, and surfaces after a half hour, bearing one of the warheads on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With a grunt, he hoists himself up out of the hole.
"I gots me an idear, baw. I reckon someone lorst these here doohickeys, and may wanna git 'em back. Or mebbe someone'll pay a few teeth for 'em. I'm-a gonner git on the speakin' horn witcher cousins, and see what they thinks." He starts back to the house, a pair of Newts in tow. "Now take yer shootin' iron and Bloo, and git us some critters fer dinner. Cain't work the speakin' horn on an empty belly."
The 'speakin Horn' turns out to be an old tightband communication array housed in what appears to be an outhouse with a score of antennae on the roof. Supper having been had with the successful return of Jee, who bore with him a pair of water buffalo, Paw sets himself at the comm station, puts on the headset, and activates the unit.
Sparks fly for a moment, and the sound of power going into circuitry that hadn't seen use in some time is heard. "Dhaar, this is Paw. Git yer rump in gear and ree-spond. Over." This message is sent several times, before a hiss of static comes through. 'Dirty' Dhaar is one of the more notorious runners of illicit materials deemed unfit for Imperial Society, yet somehow manages to find a niche.
"I'm here, Paw. Long time. What you got? Over."
"What we gots here is sumpin bears takin a peek at. Cain't say much over the lines; never know who's snoopin. Le's jest say you may find it worth takin a lookie-loo at. Over."
"You gotta gimme a rough idea of what you mean. I can't just drop everything here and run over to the vermin-infested tract of land you call home. I have business to run here. Over."
"Alreet. I's metal, looks old, and has all sorts of old military markins on it. Over."
Several beats pass, and the staticky transmission resumes. "Ok, you have my interest. I'll come down and see what you have there. My money claw is itching, and that's good. Over."
"10-4 good buddy. I'll have one of the youngins wait for you at the docks. Make sure youse ain't follered. Over."
"Understood. I'll be there in a cycle. Over and out."
Paw shuts down the comm system, and removes his headset. He then heads out of the 'out-house' and yells at the cabin. "Maw! City-slicker cousin comin down in a cycle. Le's gussy up the shack some, and git the kin cleaned up."
Dhaar's pleasure yacht cruises into the eerily silent and foggy bay of the Unclaimed Territories. The name is misleading, as the land is indeed claimed by the Empire, but has not bben developed by any interests private or otherwise. This is due to the hazardous nature of the area.
Coming to a full stop, anchors are dropped to keep the ship there. From an inlet comes a soft whirring sound, and the fog parts a bit to reveal a pair of Sakkrans in rugged clothing piloting a flatboat out of the inlet. They stare silently as they come alongside the ship, where Dhaar and one guard descend a ladder and board the flat.
They cruise down one of the many rivers that are interspersed through the land. Crocodiles hold silent sentry at the banks of the river as mangrove trees stretch their roots throughout the surface of the muddy waters. No conversation is held as time passes, and Dhaar looks about, not moving his head.
As they near the cabins of Paw's family, the sound of music begins to waft through the darkened swamp. It is an ancient recording of Mea Culpa which is heard. It plays low, slowly and almost ethereal in this atmosphere. I haven't heard this version of this song since I paid a visit to the Louvre in France.
Je ne dors plus
Je te desire
Je veux aller au bout des mes fantasmes
Je sais que c'est interdit
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Je suis la, et ailleurs
Je n'ai plus rien
Je deviens folle
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Prends-moi, je suis a toi
Mea culpa
Dhaar is humming along to the music as the flatboat cuts its engines.Paw stands at the docks wearing his coveralls and holding his Slug Thrower in one hand. He waves at the flat as it breaks through the fog cover. Behind him are the entire clan, all twenty of them; all looking silently at their cousin from the city.
"Good to see ya, boy. Good to see ya. How's city life treatin ya?" Paw claps a heavy hand on Dhaar's shoulder, which results in a small 'whoof' sound escaping the visitor's mouth. "Not badly. Now, let's get to business, shall we? I have other matters needing attention."
"Sho 'nuff. Maw, get some vittles goin, while I take or cuzz to see the doohickey." They go around to the back of the cabin, the entirety of Paw's hatchlings following several steps behind; some looking at their cousin, some looking at his guard. All stay a short distance off. When Paw gets to talking business, it's best to stand back a bit.
Dhaar looks over the conical object, scratching at several spots of filth, and taking a lupe out to look over the lettering. "Well, i'll be dipped in vrelte. Paw, you know what you have here?"
"Sounds sure 'nuff like sumpin worth sumpin. What we lookin at?"
"You have an old Cobalt Thermonuclear Warhead, made by humans about two hundred years ago, give or take. A bit outdated by modern standards, and something the Empire has no interest in, but to the right people you stand to make a few teeth on this. How many did you say you have?"
"Enuff. Now the thing is, I cain't rightly go around to the central market and expect someone to pay me fer this, right?"
"Well, yeah. You have to know the right people...."
"Thought as much. I reckon, for a good cut, you could act as a go-between, right?"
"Well, yes. But I won't take less than 60%."
"Yer kiddin, right? 60%. Tell me another yarn, thar. 40%, since i'm the only one what knows where theys at. You get the buyers, and we split it."
"50%. You might be the one who knows where they are, but it's my neck if the Empire finds out what i'm up to. They take weapons smuggling, even these old things, in a very bad and DEADLY way."
Paw cups his huge chin in his meaty hands, and angles an eye skyward. "I reckon you got a point thar. 50% it is. And my kin, as well as yer boy thar, are witness to this. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Forearms are clasped in a bond of contract. Dhaar radios his ship, and tells them to send out a secure message to his underworld weapons-buying contacts about what he's got, and that an auction is to take place for the possession of the entire stockpile.
OOC: Alright, this is now open. You could be underworld buyers, InterPol (or the equivalent) looking to make a name for yourself, or anything else that would fit into this idea.
OOC: And so a BUMP for visibility. No-one wants to play the part of a seedy buyer of weapons?
The still water rippled aside in front of the flat bottomed swamp boat obliterating the two faces that had been reflected there for the last few minutes. Perched on the boat were three people - a human named Darcy Campbell, an elf named Tiriana, and a Sakkran named Skee Tir. The three had been wandering the swamps of the unclaimed territory for the last week doing nothing more exciting than studying the wild swamp newt.
"Remind me why we are studing swamp newts?"
Darcy lifted a large low hanging branch and held it up as the boat nudged deeper into a large copse of cyprus trees. The newts nested under their arching roots and the researchers had to be very careful when poking around.
"Someone requested a carefully study of swamp newt life and habits and we put our hands up?"
"At least we didn't volunteer to study the cave newts."
----
"Awww... Isn't he cute?"
Brady raised an eyebrow as his wife sat in the darkness with a yellow spotted cave newt beside her. She was stroking it's ear fringe and jaw and it was rumbling quietly in a pleasant manner that almost reminded him of purring. The two had spent hours crawling through the caves around the space port and now they had found what they were looking for - the rare and apparently domesticated cave newt.
Brady sighed and got out the recording gear - it would be a long climb back and he needed all the footage he could get.
*ooc-ish chuckle* Go for the warheads, Bloo, go for the warheads! Raaaagh!