Outlaws
This is the final installment of my adventures.
So I would like at least somebody to reply to the first post, and actually read it. If not, Mods, Lock this thread up!
Time for a recap. I had just got rid off the Guru, (again) and had ended up in western Mudos and we decided to get some Mullah to help rebuild Splinterz after the war.
I slowly walked towards the counter.
“What the hell do you want?” The Clakker asked, head down, and reading an old, rotten newspaper.
“I want a map of this place. Every square mile of it.” I asked.
The clakker stared through a hole in his newspaper. “Ask someone else.”
Monty walked in along with Richy.
“I need this map!” I shouted and banged my fist on the table.
The clakker put down his newspaper. He stared me in my eye.
“You’re one of those freaky Slig things, aren’t you? And two Vykker friends. We had one once. Didn’t end to well…hung by D. Caste Raider.”
Monty gulped.
Ziggy walked in with a Chippunk on his shoulder. “Look, if I wanted a pet, I wouldn’t be shoving you in my barrell!”
The ChipPunk stared at his slig buyer. “You Git! Befriendin’ me like that!”
The Clakker pulled a stone out of his pocket. The clerk hurled it at the Chatterbox.
The Clakker turned back to me. “I can only give you a map if you have money! Simple.”
“We’ll get it. I need to get the Bounty List.” I said.
“A bounty Hunter, eh?” The clerk said, “You need to run off to The Bounty store, across the road. A Steef cleared the list a while back. Now those Bounties are jumpin’ up everywhere!”
As I walked out a clakker stared at me. “Dangleface!”
I glared at him. He shut up.
We walked up to the store, and I pushed into the Bounty store.
The clakker looked up. He tossed the Bounty list.
I caught it, and looked.
Name: Oily Rubber
speacies: Boom-Hawk
weakness: Wasps
crime: Dropping boombats on towns while flying.
Base: Gizzard Gulch Valley
alive: 250 mullah
dead: 150 mullah
I passed it to Ziggy. I turned to the others. “Should we take it?”
Monty nodded in approvel. “I’ll supply the weapons. Anyone want a Vomit Gun?”
The Clakker looked up, “A vomit gun? You might want to sell those for us. You’ll make quite a lot of money with them.”
Monty nodded again. “Do you mind if we set a stall up outside?”
Clakker shrugged. “Ask my boss.”
Monty was about to ask where his boss was, when a peg-legged, eyepatched Wolvark stepped out from the back room. “Sure you can, but I don’t want you scaring away customers…”
Monty gave a quick nod, and walked out with a rather drooly Richey.
Ziggy passed it back, and I picked up another.
Name: The Crap Bandit
species: Crapotan
weakness: Other people's crap.
Crime: Crapping on people.
Weapons: His crap.
Base: In a pile of crap in the sewer pipes of Gizzard Gulch.
Worth alive: $200
worth dead: $500
“Us clakkerz don't wanna clean up his poop in jail! That's why he's worth more dead!” Said the Clerk. “So if you go after him, make sure he’s dead!”
“Errr…no thanks…” I shivered.
Slug jumped up, trying to see over the desk at the Clakker.
“We’ll go after Greasy Rubber.” Ziggy said.
We all nodded.
“Well if you go around the corner, you’ll reach a gate. You just have to open it, and follow the path.” The Wolvark replied.
I nodded, and we walked out towards the gate.
Monty ran up to us, and gave us the Vomit Guns.
I paused. My one was red, instead of the yellow supersoaker design, and it did not have Vomit in.
“Monty- were’s my vomit?” I asked.
“Richy couldn’t throw up anymore, so I decided to make a new weapon. Its ammo is Bolamite Venom.”
I nodded, and walked off towards the gate.
The crowd of Clakkers around Monty’s stall grew angry. “How they get them free?”
Monty replied, “Because they’re my family.”
The Clakkers looked puzzled. “How are they your family? What was your mother?”
“My mother was vykker.” He replied. “My friend Richey’s was a Gabbit.”
We opened the gate, and stepped into the wilderness.
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