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Rifleman

Tales of the Gray Fangs

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Rifleman    14

It was a cold, foggy and musty evening in which thirty men and women trudged through the unforgiving Chernarussian undergrowth, their well worn boots squelched in the mulch beneath their feet - At the front, a tall, muscular and pale skinned man in his late twenties lead the group onwards, having taken over from the previous point man - in hope of finding a place to set down for the night...his lead was slow and cautious, ensuring that they wouldn't be followed, the bitterly cold rain that sapped at their strength with every step would destroy the trail they made...

Good he thought to himself, ensuring the group wouldn't be found on purpose...the Fangs had too many close calls recently - the recent Council counterattack inflicting wounds on some of the more experienced members of the group...he didn't fancy loosing anyone else to this hellhole...Some of the faces were fresh...some raw civilians in desperate need of arms training, others Ex-Military like himself, bringing what limited expertise they had to strengthen the group's cause.

Break the criminal mentality, unite the survivors, fight as one were constant goals that lingered in the back of his mind - prodding his ever weakening resolve...he knew some of the groups would never conform, others had potential - hell, a few even already openly cooperated with them...still, it wouldn't be enough...greed, spite, anger and the want for outright bloody revenge were the traits of humanity that were still being shown on a daily basis...It was like fighting a loosing battle outnumbered twenty-to-one...they might as well be against the Council bastards.

The group then came across a small clearing - but large enough for everyone to put down enough tents for a decent night's sleep, A few of the group went off into the woods and began cutting down trees for some firewood, others began swiftly setting up tents to take a rest out of the freezing rain. Smith sat down on a nearby rock that overlooked the makeshift camp, the rain dripping onto his cap and gradually soaking into his skin...the shaking had started again...the memories of the outbreak all coming back in brief flashbacks...not enough to severely affect him or his duties...but enough to make it torturous, Survivor Guilt...exactly what I'm stuck with...' Smith thought to himself as the cold sapped at his strength.

He felt a hand on his shoulder - It was Draiven...Smith had no idea what the guy had gone through...or even if he understood...but it was enough to have Smith regain his composure before joining the remainder group around the fire pit...a tiny ember of hope, surrounded by the dark, unforgiving forest...not a task...but a challenge for the Grey Wolves to tame.

OOC Note: This is sort of an Idea for a FANGS Roleplaying thread, based on actual IC interactions including robberies, roadblocks, and RP events. Feedback is appreciated, more coming Soon.

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Rifleman    14

This time it was different...the sun shone, the sky clear - the twittering of birds and squeaking of wildlife stirred Smith from his slumber at his makeshift camp - His trusty M16 still at his side, and all his faculties intact, meant the night was a kind one - nobody had found him, nor found his equipment...yet still the nights felt as cold as sleeping in the open in the middle of Antarctica...despite having slept rough for the past two years, the Chernarussian nights would still ice over his skin...Smith collected his belongings, and destroyed any evidence of this place being used as a camp, before setting off towards the Trade Post.

Trade Post...hah, more like a little fort Smith thought to himself; the tiredness making him slightly giddy. The place was renowned for being stocked with tanks, APCs and around twenty or so guards at any one time. Now the CTC looked scarred, battered, but not beaten yet...they lost around sixty men during that Council counterattack...

Military Genius Smith thought to himself as he made progress to the South-West - the plan was perfect - the CTC and survivor forces wear themselves down with the horde - then the Council rolls through - Tanks, Armed Littlebirds - the lot...Wilson had told the Group that it was a god dammed massacre over and over - Several innocent men - now gone from this planet, Wilson barely pulling through it himself...

As Smith came out of the dense forest into the glaring sunlight, he could see the Trade-Post ahead, the smoke from the campfire showing the presence of people...Right...Time to go to work Smith cracked his knuckles before walking through the front gate.

It wasn't a busy day, just a small group of around ten people dotted about the seeming Ghost Town feel of the Trade-Post at such times...There weren't many people to help - Just a few Civilians in desperate need of medical attention - which he provided to the best of his ability - blood transfusions, high-protein foods, even administration of antibiotics to one lucky civilian who had wound up with some kind of infection - then, he headed off - back into the woods, setting his camp up again like he did many times before...

The Grey Wolf eyed him as he stared at his patch that was becoming slightly worn and grubby - The Fangs are making a name for themselves - just one bit at a time...

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