Airsoft LARP/Fallout Scenario. UNAMYSTIC: THE BEGINNING. June 27th.
Posted: Tue Apr 06, 2010 10:16 am
THE FOLLOWING AIRSOFT EVENT IS NOT AFFILIATED, SANCTIONED, OR SPONSORED BY THE A.O.S.C. Event organizer ACCEPTS ALL RESPONSIBILITY OF SAID EVENT.
It is late in the night, year 2190, in the bustling town of Unamystic. The guard towers stand empty; there has been no threat to the city in years. While most citizens are in bed, the lights of the town pub still shine bright. Out of the darkness trots a newcomer astride his Nalger stallion, a two headed horse-like animal with 5 hooves that mutated and thrived in the former American Midwest. The young man, obviously wealthy, slipped off its back and tied it to a post near a tri wheeled bike and several dwarf mules. He entered the saloon’s smoky interior and approached the bar, gesturing for a drink. The bartender put down a glass and poured a vile smelling mixture from what appeared to be a plastic pepsi or coke bottle, still useful centuries after its creation. The hand pouring the bottle had only three fingers, and one pointed the opposite direction directly out of the back of the wrist. The outsider didn’t spare a second glance, mutations were a way of life wherever you went. He was not, however, used to the potency of the drink and after several more shots he was trying to strike up a conversation with whoever would pay him mind. The few inhabitants of the bar did not heed him for the most part, they were mostly older men intent on their game backgammon. But whenever the man’s boasts turned against their town, the oldest among them began to take notice.
“You southerners have it so easy here!â€
It is late in the night, year 2190, in the bustling town of Unamystic. The guard towers stand empty; there has been no threat to the city in years. While most citizens are in bed, the lights of the town pub still shine bright. Out of the darkness trots a newcomer astride his Nalger stallion, a two headed horse-like animal with 5 hooves that mutated and thrived in the former American Midwest. The young man, obviously wealthy, slipped off its back and tied it to a post near a tri wheeled bike and several dwarf mules. He entered the saloon’s smoky interior and approached the bar, gesturing for a drink. The bartender put down a glass and poured a vile smelling mixture from what appeared to be a plastic pepsi or coke bottle, still useful centuries after its creation. The hand pouring the bottle had only three fingers, and one pointed the opposite direction directly out of the back of the wrist. The outsider didn’t spare a second glance, mutations were a way of life wherever you went. He was not, however, used to the potency of the drink and after several more shots he was trying to strike up a conversation with whoever would pay him mind. The few inhabitants of the bar did not heed him for the most part, they were mostly older men intent on their game backgammon. But whenever the man’s boasts turned against their town, the oldest among them began to take notice.
“You southerners have it so easy here!â€
