Trains and zeppelins are rewriting the map, motorized artillery is proving its might in monster defense, and migrants are rushing to hitherto-untamable wilds to seek their fortunes. Vasilisa Vedel, bounty hunter of men and monsters, strives to do the same in the New Frontier of the Tsardom of Cimo.
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Prologue 1
dash931
Conil
It's a fantastic day. Just enough clouds that the sunlight is bright without being oppressive. Mild heat, paired with a cooling wind that feels great on the face. The landscape is great too, low mountains covered with ancient trees with false autumn red and yellow leaves. The earthen damp from last night's rainstorm lingers in the air. The only trace of civilization is the railroad the train is rolling along, curling back and forth along the side of the mountain slope. The Cimocan wilderness invites a man to drink it in.
Vasilisa is all too aware she absolutely should not be thinking about this right now, but adrenaline has always done weird stuff to her head. That's probably why she's here, bullets whizzing past her head, fighting this fool's fight.
Battling the recoil to stay clinging to the train, Vasilisa fires her double barrel shotgun, once, twice. The bandit's face turns to slick red. Their revolver falls from their hand and tumbles downhill, and they follow a moment later.
"I got another one!" Vasilisa cries, ducking back behind the cargo carriage. She balances on the narrow grate platform as she breaks open her shotgun. She flicks out the spent shells, hissing at the heat stinging her fingertips. "That's four left. Or five? Four or five left."
"I think four," Yoseph says, firing another couple of rounds from his borrowed Auto-Pasha machinegun across the carriage roof. Vasilisa raises an arm to guard her head against the spent brass falling onto her, biting back words she'd regret. He pauses as he runs out, then hurriedly ducks down along the metal bar ladder as gunshots ring out from the other end.
"No, no, that's definitely five. Fuck." Yoseph loops an arm through the ladder bars to brace himself as he fumbles the magazine pan off his Auto-Pasha. He drops it, the pan clattering down to the tracks, and extends his clawed, furred hand down. "Give me another pan!"
Vasilisa yanks another ammo pan out of the leather backpack at her foot. "Only one left in the bag," She says, passing it up.
Yoseph takes it in silence, his wolf's head muzzle is contorted into a pained snarl. His right leg dangles uselessly, blood matting the ripped trousers and gray fur. She's almost surprised he hasn't passed out from blood loss, after taking that shotgun blast straight to the unarmored leg, but as mediocre a mage as he is, Yoseph and his werewolf transformation live up to the die-hard reputation of beast magic.
As Yoseph tries slotting in the pan past his trembling fingers, Vasilisa runs her thumb along her bandolier until she hits fresh shells to load. She doesn't like how long it takes to find some.
"Damnit. Yoseph, I'm running out of shells," She says, grimacing as she loads them up. "And I won't be doing a damn thing with my revolver like this."
Vasilisa snaps her shotgun closed, crouches down, and steels herself with a few quick breaths. She risks a peek out around the side of the carriage, only to flinch back from glancing down a rifle barrel.
Luck smiles, yet again. She moves just fast enough that another hole is blown through the thoroughly-shredded carriage corner instead of through her. She's reaching for the sharp sting on her cheek before she registers the pain, and her hand comes away holding a thick splinter and covered with blood.
"Vasilisa! Damnit! Vasilisa, are you alright?" Yoseph's voice is distant, barely audible over the surging panic. Vasilisa has a hole in her face. She has a hole in her face. But then her tongue probing against her inside cheek finds nothing, and she realizes she can't taste any blood, just the dust the train is throwing up.
"Yeah. Yeah, shit," She mutters, waving to Yoseph. She wipes her face off onto her sleep, and then winces at having ruined her best set of clothes with bloodstains. "I'm alright, I'm alright, I just..." She shakes her head. "We're going nowhere fast and I can damn well feel my luck running out." She glances up to Yoseph and jerks her thumb toward the bandits. "You want to back off? If they want something off the cargo cars, hell, I say they've earned it."
"Fuck you! You're all fucking dead!" A booming voice yells from up the train, somehow loud enough to be audible over the rushing wind. Vasilisa needs a moment to attach the voice to the brawny bandit ordering the others around. "You think you can shitheads can fuck with us and live?! You're dead! We'll cut your cars loose, let you fucking walk home and have the gobbos eat you! You hear me!? You're monster food!"
As the rant continues, Vasilisa and Yoseph pause and share a look. Yoseph leans over, glancing back down the train. Vasilisa follows his gaze all the way back to the passenger carriages this mess started in. Vasilisa wracks her brain, trying to think past the adrenaline. Discounting the would-be robbers that'd boarded with everyone else, there's maybe, what, ten other people back there?
Yoseph heaves a growled sigh and resumes fumbling in the ammo pan. Vasilisa cusses under her breath, cups her shotgun in the crook of her arm, and pulls her revolver. A spin of the cylinder confirms all six chambers are loaded.
Yoseph finally gets the pan in, braces the Auto-Pasha's stock against his hip, and pulls the bolt back with a meaty metallic ratchet. "Right, for lack of any good ideas," He says, looking down. "What kind of stupid plan do you have for us this time?" He jerks his head and flicks one ear. "If I didn't have this bum leg, I'd say we just rush across the roof, guns glazing, and jump down to punch their teeth out."
"Hey, I've handled worse than five to one odds," Vasilisa lies, leaning against the carriage wall as she grins. She glances at the bullet-shredded carriage corner, then down to the carriage connector and the speeding railroad tracks below it. "I could crawl up the carriage bottom while you keep them busy, put some bullets into their backs."
Yoseph chuckles. "They'll need to scrape you off the tracks with a shovel after you get shot down off the train, you know that?" He grunts as he pulls himself up a rung of the ladder, getting ready to pop up and shoot. He leans out to do a momentary look down the side of the train opposite you. You hear the bandits fire off some potshots in reaction, and the bandit leader renews his ranting. "Yeah, I don't know. Maybe, maybe that defense car has something else we can use?"
Maybe, but running there across the rooftops is an invitation to get shot at. Vasilisa strains her neck to peer back at the defense car just in front of the passenger carriages, the flatbed car with the anti-monster emplacement. Yoseph yanked the Auto-Pasha off the dragonkiller cannon mounting, and you're pretty sure you grabbed all the spare ammo pans for it. But maybe- maybe with how the track is curving away from the slope, she could-
"I could pump a cannon shell into them," Vasilisa says, which has Yoseph's head snapping around to look at her. She gestures. "From the dragonkiller gun."
"Would that derail the train?" Yoseph asks, squinting down at you.
"Hell if I know." Vasilisa grins and waves her hand. "Hey, if it does, then they'll be monster food like the rest of us."
That gets a laugh out of Yoseph. Then he bumps his wounded leg against the carriage. Vasilisa's grin vanishes with the laughter, and she hesitates as she watches Yoseph give an agonized gurgle.
Yoseph presses his head against the carriage, eyes clenched shut and ears folded back. He inhales through clenched teeth with a hiss. "Alright, just, just pick something. Do something. Before the loudmouth over there stops talking and starts doing."
=====
When there's no good options, when the chips are down, when it's down to raw thoughtless reflex, there's one instinct that drives Vasilisa. The vital impulse that's kept her alive where anyone should rightfully be dead. What is that edge?
Choose one. This will determine both the plan executed, and Vasilisa's core fighting style.
[ ] Forward Charge. Everybody's always surprised when you ram ahead dead on. Sometimes your shotgun isn't enough. That's why you have fists, feet, and a sharp knife.
[ ] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
[ ] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
Vasilisa is all too aware she absolutely should not be thinking about this right now, but adrenaline has always done weird stuff to her head. That's probably why she's here, bullets whizzing past her head, fighting this fool's fight.
Battling the recoil to stay clinging to the train, Vasilisa fires her double barrel shotgun, once, twice. The bandit's face turns to slick red. Their revolver falls from their hand and tumbles downhill, and they follow a moment later.
"I got another one!" Vasilisa cries, ducking back behind the cargo carriage. She balances on the narrow grate platform as she breaks open her shotgun. She flicks out the spent shells, hissing at the heat stinging her fingertips. "That's four left. Or five? Four or five left."
"I think four," Yoseph says, firing another couple of rounds from his borrowed Auto-Pasha machinegun across the carriage roof. Vasilisa raises an arm to guard her head against the spent brass falling onto her, biting back words she'd regret. He pauses as he runs out, then hurriedly ducks down along the metal bar ladder as gunshots ring out from the other end.
"No, no, that's definitely five. Fuck." Yoseph loops an arm through the ladder bars to brace himself as he fumbles the magazine pan off his Auto-Pasha. He drops it, the pan clattering down to the tracks, and extends his clawed, furred hand down. "Give me another pan!"
Vasilisa yanks another ammo pan out of the leather backpack at her foot. "Only one left in the bag," She says, passing it up.
Yoseph takes it in silence, his wolf's head muzzle is contorted into a pained snarl. His right leg dangles uselessly, blood matting the ripped trousers and gray fur. She's almost surprised he hasn't passed out from blood loss, after taking that shotgun blast straight to the unarmored leg, but as mediocre a mage as he is, Yoseph and his werewolf transformation live up to the die-hard reputation of beast magic.
As Yoseph tries slotting in the pan past his trembling fingers, Vasilisa runs her thumb along her bandolier until she hits fresh shells to load. She doesn't like how long it takes to find some.
"Damnit. Yoseph, I'm running out of shells," She says, grimacing as she loads them up. "And I won't be doing a damn thing with my revolver like this."
Vasilisa snaps her shotgun closed, crouches down, and steels herself with a few quick breaths. She risks a peek out around the side of the carriage, only to flinch back from glancing down a rifle barrel.
Luck smiles, yet again. She moves just fast enough that another hole is blown through the thoroughly-shredded carriage corner instead of through her. She's reaching for the sharp sting on her cheek before she registers the pain, and her hand comes away holding a thick splinter and covered with blood.
"Vasilisa! Damnit! Vasilisa, are you alright?" Yoseph's voice is distant, barely audible over the surging panic. Vasilisa has a hole in her face. She has a hole in her face. But then her tongue probing against her inside cheek finds nothing, and she realizes she can't taste any blood, just the dust the train is throwing up.
"Yeah. Yeah, shit," She mutters, waving to Yoseph. She wipes her face off onto her sleep, and then winces at having ruined her best set of clothes with bloodstains. "I'm alright, I'm alright, I just..." She shakes her head. "We're going nowhere fast and I can damn well feel my luck running out." She glances up to Yoseph and jerks her thumb toward the bandits. "You want to back off? If they want something off the cargo cars, hell, I say they've earned it."
"Fuck you! You're all fucking dead!" A booming voice yells from up the train, somehow loud enough to be audible over the rushing wind. Vasilisa needs a moment to attach the voice to the brawny bandit ordering the others around. "You think you can shitheads can fuck with us and live?! You're dead! We'll cut your cars loose, let you fucking walk home and have the gobbos eat you! You hear me!? You're monster food!"
As the rant continues, Vasilisa and Yoseph pause and share a look. Yoseph leans over, glancing back down the train. Vasilisa follows his gaze all the way back to the passenger carriages this mess started in. Vasilisa wracks her brain, trying to think past the adrenaline. Discounting the would-be robbers that'd boarded with everyone else, there's maybe, what, ten other people back there?
Yoseph heaves a growled sigh and resumes fumbling in the ammo pan. Vasilisa cusses under her breath, cups her shotgun in the crook of her arm, and pulls her revolver. A spin of the cylinder confirms all six chambers are loaded.
Yoseph finally gets the pan in, braces the Auto-Pasha's stock against his hip, and pulls the bolt back with a meaty metallic ratchet. "Right, for lack of any good ideas," He says, looking down. "What kind of stupid plan do you have for us this time?" He jerks his head and flicks one ear. "If I didn't have this bum leg, I'd say we just rush across the roof, guns glazing, and jump down to punch their teeth out."
"Hey, I've handled worse than five to one odds," Vasilisa lies, leaning against the carriage wall as she grins. She glances at the bullet-shredded carriage corner, then down to the carriage connector and the speeding railroad tracks below it. "I could crawl up the carriage bottom while you keep them busy, put some bullets into their backs."
Yoseph chuckles. "They'll need to scrape you off the tracks with a shovel after you get shot down off the train, you know that?" He grunts as he pulls himself up a rung of the ladder, getting ready to pop up and shoot. He leans out to do a momentary look down the side of the train opposite you. You hear the bandits fire off some potshots in reaction, and the bandit leader renews his ranting. "Yeah, I don't know. Maybe, maybe that defense car has something else we can use?"
Maybe, but running there across the rooftops is an invitation to get shot at. Vasilisa strains her neck to peer back at the defense car just in front of the passenger carriages, the flatbed car with the anti-monster emplacement. Yoseph yanked the Auto-Pasha off the dragonkiller cannon mounting, and you're pretty sure you grabbed all the spare ammo pans for it. But maybe- maybe with how the track is curving away from the slope, she could-
"I could pump a cannon shell into them," Vasilisa says, which has Yoseph's head snapping around to look at her. She gestures. "From the dragonkiller gun."
"Would that derail the train?" Yoseph asks, squinting down at you.
"Hell if I know." Vasilisa grins and waves her hand. "Hey, if it does, then they'll be monster food like the rest of us."
That gets a laugh out of Yoseph. Then he bumps his wounded leg against the carriage. Vasilisa's grin vanishes with the laughter, and she hesitates as she watches Yoseph give an agonized gurgle.
Yoseph presses his head against the carriage, eyes clenched shut and ears folded back. He inhales through clenched teeth with a hiss. "Alright, just, just pick something. Do something. Before the loudmouth over there stops talking and starts doing."
=====
When there's no good options, when the chips are down, when it's down to raw thoughtless reflex, there's one instinct that drives Vasilisa. The vital impulse that's kept her alive where anyone should rightfully be dead. What is that edge?
Choose one. This will determine both the plan executed, and Vasilisa's core fighting style.
[ ] Forward Charge. Everybody's always surprised when you ram ahead dead on. Sometimes your shotgun isn't enough. That's why you have fists, feet, and a sharp knife.
[ ] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
[ ] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
- Location
- SV's Only Complete Persona Quest
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
Eternal_0bserver
(Unverified Bookworm)
- Location
- Earth, Northern Europe
[X] Forward Charge. Everybody's always surprised when you ram ahead dead on. Sometimes your shotgun isn't enough. That's why you have fists, feet, and a sharp knife.
- Location
- va
[X] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
- Location
- Germany
[X] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
I'm a fan of mixing fantasy with a wild west aesthetic, so I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
I'm a fan of mixing fantasy with a wild west aesthetic, so I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
Dromeosaur
Feathery Raptor of snowy planes and frozen sea
- Location
- The land of Trees and Squirrels
[X] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
[x] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Circle & Flank. Always hit them from where their eyes aren't looking and their guns aren't pointing. Six revolver shots, five bandits, and you won't need the extra bullet.
[X] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
- Location
- Earth
[X] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
When in doubt, use More Dakka.
When in doubt, use More Dakka.
Deadly Snark
Tryhard As Fuck
[X] Overwhelming Firepower. Never lose because you used too little force. If you don't have enough, find more. They'll never see it coming until you've ended it all with one final cannon shot.
Prologue 2
dash931
Conil
With her answer demanded, Vasilisa finds it's no choice at all.
"Yoseph, keep their heads down while I make a break for the cannon," Vasilisa says, hopping across the gap. Yoseph just grunts and drags himself up just below the train top, while Vasilisa climbs up the ladder up the carriage behind him. "Yoseph, fire on my mark."
"Save your sprint for the last stretch," Yoseph says, coiling up like a spring, readying to pop out and fire. He's still breathing hard and fast from the jolt of pain. "For after I run out of bullets. Or after you're far enough down. When they can shoot at you from the side. Whichever comes first."
Vasilisa doesn't remember saying the words, the countdown from three. Just the tension, the sweat damping her clothes. Then the sound of her feet on the wood flying beneath her, the bursts of machinegun fire behind her, and the ache in her legs that grows with every carriage she leaps between.
Vasilisa feels more than hears the first gunshot aimed at her. A mosquito buzzing past her head on the edge of perception, and her skin crawling as recognition kicks in.
Vasilisa bounds onto another carriage, drops to one knee, and turns with her shotgun shouldered and aimed. A flicker of movement where Yoseph isn't. Vasilisa fires once, twice, and then she has no time to look at anything but what's in front of her.
Vasilisa sprints. Run, run, jump. Run, run, jump. Run faster, run as fast as you can, run faster than your luck is emptying out.
And then, suddenly, there is here. Vasilisa narrowly avoids making a flying leap off the rooftop all the way off onto the flatbed railcar. She skids to a stop, stoops to grab the top rung of the ladder, and swings herself down. She bounces off the ladder onto the flatbed, and trips on the corpse her foot catches on.
Vasilisa's shotgun clatters off away- somewhere, her hands can't find it. Her vision is blurry. Her head is ringing. Vasilisa growls under her breath as she crawls forward and pulls herself into the dragonkiller cannon's gunner seat.
Old training kicks in from there. Turn the crank handles, the cannon spinning on oiled cogs to point at the target. Vasilisa flinches as a bullet ricochets off the metal, almost throwing her focus. Switch to the fine aim cranks, press her eye to the gun sight, and place the crosshairs over the moving bandits and their puffs of muzzle flash. Remember at the last second to check the sight's distance correction setting, then lower the barrel to compensate.
Vasilisa clamps her hands over her ears, peels her lips back in a snarl, and slams her heel down into the cannon's trigger pedal.
The cannon booms, deafening Vasilisa and rattling the mount. The shell clips the train car right next to the bandits and detonates in a blast of flame and shrapnel. And then there's nothing but a half-wrecked carriage and falling debris, the train rolling onwards without care.
Nobody's shooting at her anymore, which is nice. The ringing takes a while to go away, which isn't.
Vasilisa drags herself to her feet and looks around for her shotgun. She grabs it off the floor, reloads, and glances at the corpse she tripped over.
A gunhand. Armored. Dent-peppered cuirass and open-face pot helmet. Laying faceup, with an expression of mixed surprise and pain. Rifle wound to the hip just below the cuirass, which would've put him down hard and bled him out fast.
Vasilisa hesitates, squinting at his face, trying to remember whether he's a train guard or one of the bandits. Try as she might, the face doesn't help, but she does recall none of the bandits were wearing armor. Vasilisa supposes that makes sense. Guns are common enough, but wearing armor means you're expecting trouble. Or that you're planning to make it.
Not that it matters now. Vasilisa sighs, unbuckling and stripping off the corpse's belt for its shotgun shells and army surplus first aid packet. Time enough for the dead after thinking of the living.
=====
The shadows grow long as the sun sinks toward the horizon. The closer sundown gets, the stronger the nagging worry becomes, that the train might not get into town before nightfall.
It's an irrational fear, thankfully. The train lost little time. After patching up Yoseph, Vasilisa held up and captured the lone surviving bandit, who'd been guarding the armored locomotive to ensure the conductors kept the hatches sealed up and stayed locked inside. The train was stopped just long enough to load the dead into the train's icebox car. The bandit dead included, given how dumping the corpses risks the local beasts learning to see trains as a source of meals.
Yoseph is sitting in the dragonkiller cannon's gunner seat, keeping watch ahead. Vasilisa sits on the flatbed to his side, keeping watch to the rear. Vasilisa is the one that's good with the cannon, of course, but Yoseph is the one with the busted leg, so he gets the good seat until further notice.
Keeping watch means they can avoid looking at the bloodstains on the wood. Vasilisa is glad the wind is sweeping away the smell of death, but after sitting for hours on end in the middle of a stream of railroad dust, she's not sure there's enough water in the world to wash out her mouth. And no amount of wind and washing has ever been able to erase the sweat-stink of her armor, not for lack of trying.
"You know they're not going to volunteer a reward for us, right?" Yoseph says suddenly. Vasilisa doesn't look at him, but she can hear the wry smile in his tone. "Because you blew up their train, and all."
Vasilisa can't help grinning. "I blew up their train because I knew they're not going to give us shit for saving them."
Yoseph laughs, and Vasilisa does look this time. He looks better. Werewolf is gone, and he's swapped out of the clothes he ripped up by transforming inside them. Fair skin, shaggy blond hair, stocky. Flattened nose from one too many punches, but Vasilisa still figures his blue eyes more than make up for that in looks. His padded clothing is too big and his breastplate straps are too loose, meant for him to grow into a comfortable fit when he transforms. But how much he fidgets with it, it's always been plainly uncomfortable when he's unchanged, and walking around barefoot is never comfortable. His muzzlehead helmet is in his lap, not even fitting onto a normal human's head to begin with.
Just looking at and talking to him sitting down like this, there's no way to tell he's injured at all. It's only the way he avoids putting weight on his leg when he's standing or walking to show it. Not for the first time, Vasilisa is jealous of his pain tolerance, how fast he heals. She's still feeling her aches and bruises, and she needs to catch herself from fidgeting at her cheek.
Unfortunately, pain tolerance isn't a substitute for good health.
"How are you for money, for seeing a healer about that leg?" Vasilisa asks. She's already gritting her teeth and bracing for the answer.
Yoseph grimaces. "For getting me fixed up enough to work? I'm going to be tapping our winter savings."
Damnit.
"Then I'm not going to be able to buy enough bullets to cover what I fired surviving this fucking mess." Vasilisa says. The only reason she's not counting her remaining shots on her fingers is because of the ammo and guns scavenged off the dead. Looting the bandits, fuck 'em, but the train guards?
Vasilisa tells herself she's just taking back what she used to avenge the train guards. She needs the ammunition to protect the train too, to make sure their remains get a burial. She tells herself they'd be professional about this.
The guilt stings a little less. A little.
Vasilisa sighs. "Bandits' stuff is ours, I can sell off whatever we're not keeping, but- shit. We're behind schedule for saving up our wintering money."
Yoseph glances at Vasilisa, then leans his head back and stares up at the sky. "...We can look at some bigger jobs," He says, slowly, tasting the words. "See if there's anything we can handle."
Vasilisa hesitates. She likes the idea. She does. She likes money, they need money, she doesn't care about the danger, just…
Well, no, actually, she does care about the danger. Because thinking about the danger means she's thinking about how many bullets and fangs have missed her neck, to be here today. Here at sundown on this very day.
"Yeah, I guess we will look and see." Vasilisa sits up straighter. That's enough talk, eyes back on guard duty. "Let's hope for something good."
=====
Vasilisa has a skill that lets her stretch her money in the summers in between gunhand work, and keep herself fed through the winters when the ice and snow bring the New Frontier to a halt. What is that skill?
Choose one.
[ ] Sewing. Clothes are too expensive to just replace if they're damaged. Hiring a seamstress for patching and repairs is cheaper. And Vasilisa knows that being the seamstress is even cheaper yet.
[ ] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[ ] Card Sharping. There's no shortage of popular gambling games where skill matters. So long as there's people around willing to play, a skilled gambler won't go hungry. And Vasilisa knows how to avoid and deal with accusations of being a cheat.
Food, drink, and a dry bed is enough to survive, but that alone isn't enough to live. What does Vasilisa do to relax and have fun in her spare time?
Choose two.
[ ] Scrimshaw. There's always certain beast bones that the craftsmen don't want. Vasilisa has taken to keeping the spares for her carving knife.
[ ] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[ ] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[ ] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[ ] Trinket Making. Making something pretty needn't take more than bits of wood and bone, colored string, and maybe a pretty rock or two. Vasilisa enjoys seeing what she can improvise from whatever is at hand.
"Yoseph, keep their heads down while I make a break for the cannon," Vasilisa says, hopping across the gap. Yoseph just grunts and drags himself up just below the train top, while Vasilisa climbs up the ladder up the carriage behind him. "Yoseph, fire on my mark."
"Save your sprint for the last stretch," Yoseph says, coiling up like a spring, readying to pop out and fire. He's still breathing hard and fast from the jolt of pain. "For after I run out of bullets. Or after you're far enough down. When they can shoot at you from the side. Whichever comes first."
Vasilisa doesn't remember saying the words, the countdown from three. Just the tension, the sweat damping her clothes. Then the sound of her feet on the wood flying beneath her, the bursts of machinegun fire behind her, and the ache in her legs that grows with every carriage she leaps between.
Vasilisa feels more than hears the first gunshot aimed at her. A mosquito buzzing past her head on the edge of perception, and her skin crawling as recognition kicks in.
Vasilisa bounds onto another carriage, drops to one knee, and turns with her shotgun shouldered and aimed. A flicker of movement where Yoseph isn't. Vasilisa fires once, twice, and then she has no time to look at anything but what's in front of her.
Vasilisa sprints. Run, run, jump. Run, run, jump. Run faster, run as fast as you can, run faster than your luck is emptying out.
And then, suddenly, there is here. Vasilisa narrowly avoids making a flying leap off the rooftop all the way off onto the flatbed railcar. She skids to a stop, stoops to grab the top rung of the ladder, and swings herself down. She bounces off the ladder onto the flatbed, and trips on the corpse her foot catches on.
Vasilisa's shotgun clatters off away- somewhere, her hands can't find it. Her vision is blurry. Her head is ringing. Vasilisa growls under her breath as she crawls forward and pulls herself into the dragonkiller cannon's gunner seat.
Old training kicks in from there. Turn the crank handles, the cannon spinning on oiled cogs to point at the target. Vasilisa flinches as a bullet ricochets off the metal, almost throwing her focus. Switch to the fine aim cranks, press her eye to the gun sight, and place the crosshairs over the moving bandits and their puffs of muzzle flash. Remember at the last second to check the sight's distance correction setting, then lower the barrel to compensate.
Vasilisa clamps her hands over her ears, peels her lips back in a snarl, and slams her heel down into the cannon's trigger pedal.
The cannon booms, deafening Vasilisa and rattling the mount. The shell clips the train car right next to the bandits and detonates in a blast of flame and shrapnel. And then there's nothing but a half-wrecked carriage and falling debris, the train rolling onwards without care.
Nobody's shooting at her anymore, which is nice. The ringing takes a while to go away, which isn't.
Vasilisa drags herself to her feet and looks around for her shotgun. She grabs it off the floor, reloads, and glances at the corpse she tripped over.
A gunhand. Armored. Dent-peppered cuirass and open-face pot helmet. Laying faceup, with an expression of mixed surprise and pain. Rifle wound to the hip just below the cuirass, which would've put him down hard and bled him out fast.
Vasilisa hesitates, squinting at his face, trying to remember whether he's a train guard or one of the bandits. Try as she might, the face doesn't help, but she does recall none of the bandits were wearing armor. Vasilisa supposes that makes sense. Guns are common enough, but wearing armor means you're expecting trouble. Or that you're planning to make it.
Not that it matters now. Vasilisa sighs, unbuckling and stripping off the corpse's belt for its shotgun shells and army surplus first aid packet. Time enough for the dead after thinking of the living.
=====
The shadows grow long as the sun sinks toward the horizon. The closer sundown gets, the stronger the nagging worry becomes, that the train might not get into town before nightfall.
It's an irrational fear, thankfully. The train lost little time. After patching up Yoseph, Vasilisa held up and captured the lone surviving bandit, who'd been guarding the armored locomotive to ensure the conductors kept the hatches sealed up and stayed locked inside. The train was stopped just long enough to load the dead into the train's icebox car. The bandit dead included, given how dumping the corpses risks the local beasts learning to see trains as a source of meals.
Yoseph is sitting in the dragonkiller cannon's gunner seat, keeping watch ahead. Vasilisa sits on the flatbed to his side, keeping watch to the rear. Vasilisa is the one that's good with the cannon, of course, but Yoseph is the one with the busted leg, so he gets the good seat until further notice.
Keeping watch means they can avoid looking at the bloodstains on the wood. Vasilisa is glad the wind is sweeping away the smell of death, but after sitting for hours on end in the middle of a stream of railroad dust, she's not sure there's enough water in the world to wash out her mouth. And no amount of wind and washing has ever been able to erase the sweat-stink of her armor, not for lack of trying.
"You know they're not going to volunteer a reward for us, right?" Yoseph says suddenly. Vasilisa doesn't look at him, but she can hear the wry smile in his tone. "Because you blew up their train, and all."
Vasilisa can't help grinning. "I blew up their train because I knew they're not going to give us shit for saving them."
Yoseph laughs, and Vasilisa does look this time. He looks better. Werewolf is gone, and he's swapped out of the clothes he ripped up by transforming inside them. Fair skin, shaggy blond hair, stocky. Flattened nose from one too many punches, but Vasilisa still figures his blue eyes more than make up for that in looks. His padded clothing is too big and his breastplate straps are too loose, meant for him to grow into a comfortable fit when he transforms. But how much he fidgets with it, it's always been plainly uncomfortable when he's unchanged, and walking around barefoot is never comfortable. His muzzlehead helmet is in his lap, not even fitting onto a normal human's head to begin with.
Just looking at and talking to him sitting down like this, there's no way to tell he's injured at all. It's only the way he avoids putting weight on his leg when he's standing or walking to show it. Not for the first time, Vasilisa is jealous of his pain tolerance, how fast he heals. She's still feeling her aches and bruises, and she needs to catch herself from fidgeting at her cheek.
Unfortunately, pain tolerance isn't a substitute for good health.
"How are you for money, for seeing a healer about that leg?" Vasilisa asks. She's already gritting her teeth and bracing for the answer.
Yoseph grimaces. "For getting me fixed up enough to work? I'm going to be tapping our winter savings."
Damnit.
"Then I'm not going to be able to buy enough bullets to cover what I fired surviving this fucking mess." Vasilisa says. The only reason she's not counting her remaining shots on her fingers is because of the ammo and guns scavenged off the dead. Looting the bandits, fuck 'em, but the train guards?
Vasilisa tells herself she's just taking back what she used to avenge the train guards. She needs the ammunition to protect the train too, to make sure their remains get a burial. She tells herself they'd be professional about this.
The guilt stings a little less. A little.
Vasilisa sighs. "Bandits' stuff is ours, I can sell off whatever we're not keeping, but- shit. We're behind schedule for saving up our wintering money."
Yoseph glances at Vasilisa, then leans his head back and stares up at the sky. "...We can look at some bigger jobs," He says, slowly, tasting the words. "See if there's anything we can handle."
Vasilisa hesitates. She likes the idea. She does. She likes money, they need money, she doesn't care about the danger, just…
Well, no, actually, she does care about the danger. Because thinking about the danger means she's thinking about how many bullets and fangs have missed her neck, to be here today. Here at sundown on this very day.
"Yeah, I guess we will look and see." Vasilisa sits up straighter. That's enough talk, eyes back on guard duty. "Let's hope for something good."
=====
Vasilisa has a skill that lets her stretch her money in the summers in between gunhand work, and keep herself fed through the winters when the ice and snow bring the New Frontier to a halt. What is that skill?
Choose one.
[ ] Sewing. Clothes are too expensive to just replace if they're damaged. Hiring a seamstress for patching and repairs is cheaper. And Vasilisa knows that being the seamstress is even cheaper yet.
[ ] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[ ] Card Sharping. There's no shortage of popular gambling games where skill matters. So long as there's people around willing to play, a skilled gambler won't go hungry. And Vasilisa knows how to avoid and deal with accusations of being a cheat.
Food, drink, and a dry bed is enough to survive, but that alone isn't enough to live. What does Vasilisa do to relax and have fun in her spare time?
Choose two.
[ ] Scrimshaw. There's always certain beast bones that the craftsmen don't want. Vasilisa has taken to keeping the spares for her carving knife.
[ ] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[ ] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[ ] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[ ] Trinket Making. Making something pretty needn't take more than bits of wood and bone, colored string, and maybe a pretty rock or two. Vasilisa enjoys seeing what she can improvise from whatever is at hand.
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- Location
- SV's Only Complete Persona Quest
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[x] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[x] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
Last edited:
dash931
Conil
You're meant to choose two hobbies, friend! Don't be shy, now.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[x] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[x] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[X] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[X] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[X] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[X] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[X] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
- Location
- Spess
[X] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[X] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[X] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
[X] Diary & Drawing. It's easy to forget places and people, everything blurring together. Vasilisa likes to ensure she can remember.
[X] Music & Dancing. A good tune is enough to warm any heart. Vasilisa is proud of her singing voice.
- Location
- Where I an right now
[x] Handloading. With the right tools and know-how, it's possible to craft one's own ammunition. And Vasilisa knows that buying components is always cheaper than buying finished products.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[x] Trinket Making. Making something pretty needn't take more than bits of wood and bone, colored string, and maybe a pretty rock or two. Vasilisa enjoys seeing what she can improvise from whatever is at hand.
[x] Storytelling. Living means being able to feel, and a good story will move any heart. Vasilisa has an ear for tales and a talent for retelling them.
[x] Trinket Making. Making something pretty needn't take more than bits of wood and bone, colored string, and maybe a pretty rock or two. Vasilisa enjoys seeing what she can improvise from whatever is at hand.