Bennosuke
2014-03-07, 10:22 AM
Every 12-14 days, Joe Hughes is forced to leave his remote mountain lodge to drive the some 40 miles into the nearest town, Wormwood, to trade. While the gentle giant has made every attempt to remove himself from society and the pain of human interaction, it is still necessary to regularly restock on supplies. Joe loads the back of his rusted black Jeep pickup. He lugs several crates filled with pelts collected from the small game he's caught, extra lumber, and 5 glass jugs of what is considered the finest fruit moonshine in the Snow Crest woods of Colorado. His hands still shake at the thought of going back down to Wormwood. The local Drugstore owned by and named after Old Gary often trades Joe's goods for needed gasoline, and other non-reusable supplies. Old Gary is a man as portly as he is sour, but Joe's moonshine always seems to sweeten their deals. Joe's dog, races back and forth from the cabin with excitement, she knows what this ritual means and she yips with excitement, tail wagging.
With the truck loaded up, Joe lets his dog into the passenger seat and keys up the ignition. The engine sputters and misfires, coughing up a dark exhaust as he puts it into first. A narrow, but uncomplicated trail runs the truck for about 15 miles before coming onto the freeway. As the truck roars down the empty blacktop, Joe begins to feel more and more uncomfortable. It gets harder to breath, and it feels like his chest is full of lead. The dog yips and licks at his right hand. Though it's still early in the day, not a single car is on the road, not even a sheriff's car sitting in neutral in the breakdown lane, and the trip into Wormwood is mercifully fast.
Welcome to the Game. Please make a wits+streetwise roll (for you that's just 1d10), to see if Joe recognizes anything odd as he comes into town.
With the truck loaded up, Joe lets his dog into the passenger seat and keys up the ignition. The engine sputters and misfires, coughing up a dark exhaust as he puts it into first. A narrow, but uncomplicated trail runs the truck for about 15 miles before coming onto the freeway. As the truck roars down the empty blacktop, Joe begins to feel more and more uncomfortable. It gets harder to breath, and it feels like his chest is full of lead. The dog yips and licks at his right hand. Though it's still early in the day, not a single car is on the road, not even a sheriff's car sitting in neutral in the breakdown lane, and the trip into Wormwood is mercifully fast.
Welcome to the Game. Please make a wits+streetwise roll (for you that's just 1d10), to see if Joe recognizes anything odd as he comes into town.