ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Sparrow Sparrow had been passing by, she's heard the screams of the fishermen and stopped one to ask what was happening. After hearing, Sparrow turned Blue to a fast trot the direction that the local man had given her.

Others will hear about it and all have to come to a place that the shore widens out before thinning and heading into something of a cliff where the Cazadors are said to have a cave above and they come out to hunt at twilight and then rest on the rocks for the night. That's where most of the group ends up, Sparrow having left her horse behind.
Vuk Vuk? Vuk wasn't here to help any one, he's fairly well lost. Iris had -left- him alone, blind, and he was no where near familiar territory, and now, the blind man was wandering. His CAWS occasionally used to prod at the ground, some times sweeping at noises as he limps along. "Must be night time..not hot enough to be the day.." he is muttering to him self, oblivious to people fleeing in the distance -until- he hears noises from aggressive large insects..which has him beginning to prod around for some sort of cover to drop behind. "Saint Di-ode.." he begins beseeching.
Apostle     The search for scrap brings you many places.
    The screams of men does not call so loudly to Apostle.
    There is word that reaches, however, beyond the thundrous call of her purpose and she has wound up in this place, pistol drawn and mask somewhat muted by the pull of her scarf over the hissing vents and whirring mechanisms that keep it going. She stands at the brink of the scene, staring in at the mayhem, rather plainly visible to any but the blind Vuk. Yet he somehow manages to draw more attention than does she.
    Click. Hssk.
    Her head turns toward Vector, "Every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old." She offers as helpfully as ever, most likely suggesting to one that knows her slightly better that he should probably get stuck in. I mean, everyone has to fight and lose some day.
    ... Not her, of course. But, Vector, certainly.
Vector     The low hum of furiously beating wings? Obviously nothing ever good. Especially considering the relative size of huge beasties within the Wasteland, almost all things out there being of the persuasion that A: People are tasty, and B: People are tasty.
    The screams in the night air attract Vectors attention almost as assuredly as the buzzing of wings, because where there's smoke, there's fire, as the old saying goes. His turban has the veil firmly set over his face to ensure that the wasteland itself doesn't add any more beatings to his already rather weatherworn skin. "Takng a few licks is good for the soul. Although, with those screams, I don't think they'll be coming back for more." He offers in return, as he reaches around to draw up a compact SMG, checking the magazine before ensuring a round is chambered. "Although, I did need to test this weapon out."
Ashur His dreams have been haunted. The curse of Dunwich has settled on Ashur-- for so bold as he is, he has seen fit to plunge into its macabre depths, and aroused the attention of strange forces. Murders of crows, ghostly hands in the earth that wail with the voices of his dead family; queer cultists and arcane rituals, and ghostly icefire that burns marks into his skin through sheets of riveted steel tank-thick-- all of it has left an impression, and he awakens in the night as of late hearing and seeing the otherwordly.

It infuriates him. The goosebumps that line him like a coat of shivers are rooted in rage as much as fear. What is an enemy he cannot strike? What can he DO to kill it?

It's that frustration that's seen him come to the area despite his wounds and fatigue, inclined to indulge in a bit of the old ultraviolence to soothe the burdens of a fractured soul.

So comes Ashur, a bull of a man in salvaged power armor white-gold and resplendent, cloak fluttering behind him.

He does not speak. He's grumpy.
Sparrow The buzzing is intense but this is the Cazador at rest. But an alert Cazador becomes a terrible thing on the ears, the clatter of wings sharpens and quickens and it nearly rattles the bones. It's Apostle who'd gotten their attention and two giant black shadows and two slightly less giant black shadows.
    Four sets of glowing red eyes burn in black faces, amber wings and glistening poisoned stingers shimmering in the light as they swarm is aloft and suddenly on its way towards the group. (One round of Poses before Inits)
Vuk Vuk is firmly staying pressed to a rock, because he isn't sure what's going on. Infact, if he figures out -what- is going on, he's likely to begin belly crawling away from danger. Of course when he considers the fact things can -fly- that might not be easy. So he begins the HK Caws towards the sound. He's got this right? It's not likely he'll shoot Apostle in the butt is it?
Apostle     Welp.
    Hssk.
    This is happening.
    As the things seem to spot Apostle, on her best day about as stealthy as a rainbow and subtle as a beartrap, the noise kicks up and begins to drown out the sounds of her rebreather. But, can it silence her voice?!
    Hssk!
    I think not!
    "... Fight on, brave knights..." She begins in recital. "Man dies, but glory lives..." Crackle-hiss, that vague electric snap of her mask struggling to make itself heard over the horrible and wretched reverie of these things. "Fight on; death is better than defeat!" The mechanical pang to her tone gives, a clearer representation of her human tones, the inflection of emotion, "Fight on brave knights! For bright eyes behold your deeds!"
    It's then that her pistol is raised and pointed toward the encroaching fiends in preparation to fight.
Vector     You know, since people are making noise...

    There's a bit of a flutter of fabric, and Apostle notices she might just be on her own. It's not like she's been abandoned, or anything. No, that isn't how this works. It's just that it's far easier to shoot something when it doesn't know that you're hiding there, it's far easier to keep oneself out of trouble if you can get the first drop on them, and all that.
    And thus, Vector is currently hiding - SMG raised and held fast, waiting for the first of the buzzing beasties to get close to the Hssk-Shout of Apostle, so he can riddle it angrily.
Ashur Cazadores. What obnoxious pests, Ashur thinks-- their bright oranges wings and red eyes that look like bloody honeycombs mark them as clearly unnatural, universally instinctive colors of danger. He sucks in a deep breath, focusing on the pain that flows through every inch of his battered form. The otherwise silent man finally speaks, his growling rumble projected loudly with a metallic filter through the T-45's rebreather and speaker. "Disgusting."
Vector     Well that didn't go entirely to plan. At least not in Vector's mind. Seeing a pair of huge Wasps promptly stab the absolute nonsense out of Apostle wasn't in his intiniary, and he doublechecked it before he had left. It read simply: LOOT STUFF / LOOT STUFF / EAT / SLEEP / LOOT STUFF. Nothing about watching people getting stabbed by giant Wasps. So instead, he comes stepping out of cover and promptly empties the full magazine of the .45 SMG he just bought.
    The full thing. Probably going to cost him a fortune to reload it, truth be told - but as the magazine runs empty, he's satisfied about one thing. He didn't hit Apostle, and he certainly hit them at least once both. Wait. They're still alive.
Vuk Vuk pops out from behind cover and lets the shotgun roar in the general direction. "Say hello to my little friend!" He shouts out..and totally kills that tree stump.
Apostle     Jesus christ.
    Hssk, hss--kksh!
    As those things begin to assail Apostle, she has a strange stalwart quality about her; she is not without fear, but is a slave to the logic and reason that comes with the ebb and flow of combat, drowning in the droning thrum of her heart as her blood rushes through her in a momentary instinct of flight.
    She really needs to get some armour.
    She grunts loudly when the first stinger penetrates through her mechanic's attire, stumbling back a step to press her palm to the wound before pulling her hand back to view the venom-marbled blood that now stains it. There is a quake of her muscles as she fights the toxins demanding that she kneel, the second stinger digging deep in that very same moment.
    HSSK. HSSK. HSSK.
    Her pistol is snapped upward, a seething heat in the gold of her eyes as she levels aim, the charged hum of her laser weaponry readies itself for discharge, "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." The emotion is stripped from it as that ancient, tinny quality filters it through. "And so do I strike the Rune of Ignition, and to the choir of angels alive in blissful hum of wrath so sung in response, the dirge of flesh in funiary rite..."
    It's about then that the pistol fires off a charged round with a scientific 'pew', shooting off a leg as it spins away, finger clenching down in surprise, pulling again on the trigger, a flash of orange lightning tearing through beating wings to the result of gossamer confetti spewing out behind it, bringing it toppling to the ground.
    Still, she bleeds.
    ... hssk. Wheeze. .. hsk.
    "... The splendid armour of the combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle-axe."
Vector     Getting stung is an awful thing. Nobody likes to get stung. The first stinger that attempted to pierce his hide failed against the thick leather, the second? It went through, and the toxins contained within the stinger were not of Vector's liking. They burnt, and hissed, and bubbled in his veins - then, alas, another stinger - and now Vector is in dire pain, and with dire pain comes the urge to inflict it in retort upon ones enemies.
    With a grunt of anger, the man produces a rather well cared for and tended M9 pistol, drawing it up as he flicks off the safety. It's pointed towards the downed giant wasp, and he fires twice, a rapid shot that sends both bullets in around the same area - with satisfying results. "Bastard." He states, lacking the wit or wisdom of Apostle to appropriately insult the foul creatures in a more advanced and suitable form of language. So instead, their parentage is insulted, and then they're shot. "Armour bends, but we do not break. Yes?"
Vuk Vuk is firing away despite his blindness, though another round sprang off god knows where, a few bits of 00 shot nail into a Cazadore and Vuk can hear the impact. "Did I shoot one of them, or you Driver!?" he barks out.
Apostle     Another leg flies off the creature on the ground.
    The weapon is turned over in Apostle's hand as she glares down at it, accusingly. She staggers back a step, free hand holding where one of the stingers punctured through, wheezing out a breath or two. The fatigue, perhaps mercifully, has her silent aside from the gentle hssking of her steady breath.
Vector     ".. Yes?!" Vector shouts at Vuk. "Keep shooting!" And then in comes one of the littler ones, buzzing about like the most irritating thing you ever did see. Hooray. Fantastic. Vector barely manages to dodge getting impaled on yet another stinger and suffering from even worse toxic effets, and in the meantime he still attempts to open fire on the larger of the Wasp creatures.
    .. And... All four shots go wide. He'd blame the gun, if it wasn't for the fact that he shot something not too long ago, and now he's muttering angrily to himself while still trying to make sure none of the flying monstrosities get their hooks into him.
Apostle     Maybe he's born with it.
    Maybe it's ... what the fuck...
    Apostle is rattled terribly by the toxins in her body, so focused on what had been such a threat before that she can't seem to be bothered going to the aid of anyone else. She just ... keeps shooting. Missing, shooting, repeating...
Vuk Vuk is just blasting away, for all that it is worth, hopefully, none of the non bugs are being plastered. Firing by sound alone..is problematic.
Sparrow Combat has been rough, so far, stings about and purple-blackish welts have begun to rise, burning itch and sting as the poison in the mutated wasp's glands works its way through the poor Wasters systems. Who has lost his wings, and almost all of his legs. He somehow manages to pull himself just out of the range of Apostles Shots by his meager one leg. It doesn't make any noise - not like What. What is currently flopping around on the ground like a fly in its death throws. Sparrow had not only shot its antenna but half it's head off. Goo is oozing.

Where and Why however are displeased. The Adult Cazadores had after all been the things to feed them. So they buzz about and use their prickly sharp stings to butt-stab at people angrily.
Vuk Vuk some how, is doing quite alright for him self as he keeps pumping out shells from the HK Caws. "Did I hit any thing yet!?" he shouts out over the roar of the combat shotgun. Book of Eli indeed.
Vuk Vuk realizes the buzzing has stopped...things are growing quiet, and he slings his shotgun over one shoulder, and begins to..just walk off. Leaving a pile of destroyed bug where he was, the Cazzadore torn apart by brutal shotgun fire. He might trip over a rock on the way into the sunset or some thing. He's blind, and all.
Apostle     PEW.
    HSSK.
    Hssk. Hssk.
    Instead of the normal collapse of an executed critter, Who explodes into bright light and drifts into the night like so many embers set awash through a sea of ink. Hssk. Bits of crispy once-exoskeleton flit over to land ever so delicately, like spiderweb when you're trying to get through your front door without the light on, on Vuk's skin.
    Crackle. Hiss. Hssk. "... Fuck this place..."
    It seems she has no more epic words of inspiration.
Vector The sounds of a rapidly shot semiautomatic are more or less drowned out by the audiable 'PEW' and 'BOOM' of a Laser Pistol and a Shotgun in that order, but the 'POP' of the gun occurs anyway, firing a few choice rounds into the creature before it collapses, and begins flailing around with all the anger an insect on its last legs can muster.
    So, Vector promptly empties another round into it, and then holds his gun there as it begins to grow still, waiting just to make sure that it isn't, you know, faking. He doesn't know if they're smart enough to fake, so he makes sure. He also promptly boots the thing in the sde to ensure that it is very dead.
    "Agreed."
Sparrow Final shots ring out as the massive mutates Tarantula Wasps finally drop to the ground twitching in their last throes before laying still in pools of their own buddy life ooze. it's quiet but people are hurt and stung and so Sparrow tries to get people to take a moment to recover. The night is once more deadly silent and the cool light of the stars and the moon twinkle above.