You wake from dreams of a giant roach trying to explain the majesty of the law to you to find a three inch long roach climbing down the side of your face. Disgusted, you brush it off.

The alley you're in has a skeletal feral mutt dog that gives you a considering glance as it realizes its plan to sneak up on you for a bite to eat is forestalled.  There is a horrible smell in the cold, wet air. And you look down the mud street to the gouged ditch in which objects float that lets you know its an open sewer.

An incurious looking man comes around the corner of a slapped together shanty, in his heavy felt coat which only comes up to his elbows in the arms and has one button in front. He looks at you, shrugs to himself, and throws up on the outside of the shanty before turning back around. From his sway, you'd say he was three-quarters stone drunk.

PT

WTF!!! What are these arrows made of, fricking Uraniu... Hey, what, where, huh? F*** versed out.

I sit up and behold the mutt as reconsiders it's approach.
 "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT BONEBAG! SCRAM!"
and throw fireball in his general direction for good measure. If the spell fails and it doesn't back away, I'll just kick it.

I get up, take a moment too get my bearing and walk up to the drunk for a few answers:
 "Hey you, Boozer! No the other drunk around here smartass. Where is this place: the street of what in the city of what in the nation of what on the planet named what? Where do you get your news? Do you know what a newspaper is? Drunk man says what.


After that brief conversation, I'll try if 'reading his surface thoughts' works and then walk around the shanty (or shanties) until I find a hospitable looking entrance.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:06, Mon 04 May 2009.

The spell fails for uncertain reasons.

You kick at the mutt, but it has very highly developed dodging skills, and it snarls at you, and then turns tail, and flees.

"Ye've gut moolah?" He holds out his hand for money, and wipes his mouth with the other hand. It takes you a second to readjust to his thick accent which is excaberated by his drunken slurring.

"Uh, this is the street that Porter's Bar is on. Its the capital city Lvianks, in the wondrous nation, the Benevolent People's Repubilic of Mordit. We listen to Radio One for news, and we're on Nova Terra, of course, ya' dumb forreigner. Now give me my beer money. My head hurts."

You slip into his thoughts.

==Rich, scummy forriegner. Least he's not Liv. He'd better pay me or I'm going to throw up on his shoes. This day stinks. I need beer. All days stink. He'd better give me beer money or I'm going to be mad.==

PT

 "Maybe I have 'moolah', but I asked first. How many radio stations do we have on the radio? Who founded Nova Terra, and why is it split up into nations? And what's a 'liv'?"

Upon reading his intentions for his stomach-content I will maneuver myself to his side and keep on reading his mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:22, Mon 04 May 2009.

He blinks at you.

*One. That's all the President for Eternity needs.* He thinks. He says.

"Moolah?"

"Um, colonists, colony ships. Hunnerds of years ago. Um, what?"

The concept of 'why nations' confuses him. He can't imagine another way of doing things. So he forgets your question. So you're unprepared for the tidal wave of fury that roils his mind, and almost throws you out when you say 'liv'.

"Scum. Evil, oppressive thieves. They hate God, and their own selves. Every single last one of them should be killed."

You keep listening and he thinks.

*The Liv and the Ansk are the two tribes in this horrible place. We just want to be left alone, but those nasty Liv....* Here he gets incoherent again as pure rage swamps thought.

After the man is done babbling, I pull a few coins out of my pocket, and jingle them in my hands and say:
 "Thank you for your time, smelly cretonne. Here are a few coins, which I'm not going to give to you."
I shove the man in a sort of general 'away'-direction, and look for a nice hospitable bar, where the radio is on.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:52, Wed 06 May 2009.

You shove him back, and he tips over, and lands on his bottom with a startled squawk.  You leave him and a trail of curses follows you.

The road is winding, and potholed. An occasional bycycle is evident, but the owners of these obviously treat them as treasures from the coldly suspicious glances they direct your way.

The children tend to be dressed in long t-shirts and shorts with no shoes. Most of the men seem to be standing around. The women either stand around, or are at work in slow motion.

You find a bar as you enter a road that is actually paved.

The doorman looks at you, and obviously decides you're okay to enter. He's better dressed and larger than the others. And his facial features are a bit broader and flatter than the others you've met so far.

You enter, and other than the bartender the room is empty. Its actually presentable in a complete fourth-rate sort of way.

"Welcome, what country are you from? What do you want to drink?" The bartender has a slightly different accent than the drunk you met earlier.

PT

I stand out like a parading sore thumb attached to a neon sign. I need to find out why that is and fast.

I talk to the bartender:
 "Why yes, I'm not from around here. How did you know? ... Do you have any soft drinks? ... Is there some sort of event going on, or do prefer a quiet atmosphere in your bar?"

If he pressures me about my origin and purpose, I will tell him I'm a 'Market-Potential-Assessor for a Travel-and-Entertainment Agency' from 'Schrauven-Haag', a small country which is about as nice to visit in as it is easy to pronounce, with crappy weather, and a lot of bored tourists.

His laugh rumbles out."My friend, have a seat." He hands you a cold bottle of something blue which turns out to be sweet and tangy and carbonated. "You wear nice clothes, nice than mine, and I've got a good job. Plus, you have a sword. Guns and machetes are forbidden in the capital city. Also, you don't have the face of the Liv like me, or the pathetic whiners, the Ansk."He points out a few details about your face which are closer observation than you're used to.  It occurs to you that if you live in a nation where the genotypes are very few, you learn to observe more closely. You on the other hand, come from America which has genotypes from the whole planet so you're not so used to distinguishing between say Virginian Caucasian, and Georgian Caucasian.He sits down across from you, and gives you a friendly smile as he leans forward to speak quietly, and looks over his shoulder before he starts."You don't look to see who is listening to you, and who might be reporting your words to the Palace. Now, buy me a drink, eh? I answer your question."PT

 I reply in kind with a slightly hushed voice: "I admit: I have a bit of a paranoia problem. I don't have any. My lack of caution will be the death of me. (Mental note: It already has been, but he doesn't need to know that.) But the place seems quiet and you are a friendly guy, right Mr...? Erm, yes, buying? I should point out that I haven't found a bank yet, so if you insist on cash, we may have to settle on a foreign currency."

I will buy him his drink provided he's willing to settle on some of the coins I looted in the temple of the dying sun.


 "Is there any licensing, or safe storage for arms, or is all weaponry outright banned?"
 "And who enforces the law, and for who do they do this? I mean how does your society function?"

"There seems to be some hostility between you Liv and those Ansk. Is there some history there?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:39, Mon 11 May 2009.

"Oh, call me Jenner. Sure, I'm a friendly guy, but there's plenty that aren't. And foreign currency..." He grins and leans forward. "The best kind. Local currency is good for wiping your nose with, eh?"

He takes your money, and gets you both another drink.

"Oh,banned. I mean, the police or the army would say they'd store it for you, but they'd have it sold out the back door before you got out thefront door. Who enforces the Law, in all its dread majesty?" he snorts in laughter. "I was educated in Saipo, at Chandler University, a degree in mathematics so I know things. Some places on this planet are not like here. In some places, most of the people can read. The Army enforces the President for Life's whim, or its own whim. Marcus Winrov, the President for Life, he do as he want."

He nods.

"The Ansk, they lived here. Stupid farmers. We moved in two hundred years ago. Warriors. They got all snippy because we were better than they are. Braver. Ansk are just cowards and drunks."

PT

"So Jenner, you've seen the world, why set up shop here? It doesn't seem like a particularity good place for a mathematician," and I add whilst glancing around "or a bar, by the looks of things."


 "I see. Does the Army take any stance on the situation, or do they treat everyone ehm, equally?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:32, Wed 13 May 2009.

"Its where I was born, and Saipo said I had to go home after college." He avoids answering the rest of your question with practised ease. "Oh, well, the Army is all Liv, of course. Who'd want a bunch of cowards in your Army?"

 "Who's Saipo?"
After that I ask him for some general directions around the city (where do what kind of people live, where do those people congregate, where is the army stationed, what areas are off limits?). Then I'll take my leave, and look around town for a welcoming Ansk community gather of sort.

"Saipo is another country. They kicked me out after college." It turns out he was a foreign student in a more advanced country.

He gives you some details about where to go and not to go.

You leave.

As you walk out, a long black limosine drives by.

PT

People in big limos have a tendency to have the sort of ego that makes them thing strange things, Like: anybody with a big shining sword of righteous fury and several guns is trying to use those on him, in spite of a armored escort.

I make an effort to conceal the fact that I'm armed to the teeth and look out for people with big guns. If the limo's passengers don't try to get my attention, I'll move to another street, and continue looking for either a working radio, an army info/recruitment station or a friendly Ansk for another chat.

The limo skids raggedly to a halt thirty-five feet down the road.

PT

Big people in trouble, I got to see this!
I keep the car in my sights, but make not attempts to get closer.

Five guys step out. Three are armed with rifles. Two have pistols.

They stomp in your direction, yelling angrily.

Soon enough, you realize the esential part of their complaint.

The Presidential Limosine passed you in the street. You did not bow. You're guilty of at least 'promoting sedition' and 'lese' majeste'. The chief officer claims to be the Army Chief. His lesser officer wonders aloud if you have enough money for beer.

You get the distinct feeling that this could become violent, whether kicked in ribs, or a bullet in the head violent you're not sure.

They keep on swaggering in your direction.

PT

 "Now now gentlemen, there is no need for this to get ugly. I'm a bit new to these part and haven't fully taken up local customs as of yet. Is our illustrious leader for life present in the car, so that I may apologize to him in person?"
I read the chief officer's surface thoughts.

*Yes, he is, but its not like such a foreign pig-dog as yourself would ever see his illustrious, but quite fat presence. If this disrespectful forreigner is rich, I will let him live, but break a few ribs. Otherwise, we kill him. Its been a boring day. We kill him, and then we go get drunk. Find some girls to grab off the street....*

"You're supposed to bow to show respect, but now we must show you how the law is done in Livansk."

They're closer and you can see the three soldiers' rifles all have plentiful rust down the barrels, and one doesn't have a clip. That one is reversing his rifle in preparation for using it as a baseball bat on your skull...

PT

I point my finger behind them and shout:
 "Look over there! It's Super-Shane!"
and run like a bat out of heck whose wife hasn't noticed he didn't take out the trash.

If they don't fall for it, I will throw some coins in the air, then run.
If they shoot at me I will look for cover in a side street.
If they pursue me, I will move into the side street, around the block and back to the limo.

Or maybe I should just give em all I got?
This message was last edited by the player at 08:45, Wed 20 May 2009.

Up to you.

And I think Oak's taking over now.

PT

I'll die in a blaze of lead, blood and gasoline.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:46, Thu 21 May 2009.