The Fjury Road

[eumenis]

Furiosa's ambition is not like a normal person's. In the Wasteland, survival is base mode; any ambition beyond that tends to be to gather power, hoard stores of supplies, or maybe, if you're a madman like Joe, to breed infants to rebuild the world in your own image. Furiosa is pretty indifferent to her own image, but she does want to rebuild the world.

They've spent the last several months traveling back and forth to and from the swamp where the Green Place once was, setting out reeds to filter the water, building structures, coaxing insects to return. The physical progress is slow going, but they've made solid alliances amongst the Crow Fishers. Which is why, when they hear that an unfamiliar group of slavers has snatched several of them, Furiosa immediately rallies a war party to chase them down.

The Crows are, after all, a lost remnant of the Vuvalini. They're her kin.

The War Party moves fast, worried about the head start their quarry must have--any slavers with half a brain will be headed away from the Citadel at breakneck speed. It's well known that they don't tolerate such things since Joe's fall.

It's a surprise when they start to catch up. More so when they realize the raiding party is stalled in the road ahead of them.

Comments

Well yee-haw

[mayberaven]

It was that alliance that meant that when they were spotted on the trail, that a small cluster of people were willing to come out of hiding, all of them Crows, all looking a bit banged up for the capture but nervously rambling to Furi's people about their rescuer, a madman with his face painted all green. He'd been holding his own when he'd encouraged them to flee, they commented uneasily, but was outnumbered and they were nervous for his chances.

And to be fair so was he. He'd had the element of surprise, something he'd quickly spun into bluffing that he might be interested in a slave or two- no matter his unusual surroundings he knew the look of slavers when he saw them in that calculating sort of way they seemed to review a person. Gotten close enough to inspect that he'd been able to get the drop on the one with the keys. That man had been killed quickly, the ring tossed to the captured group while Fjord himself was busy trying not to get stabbed or bludgeoned or... shot. Just his luck he'd run into a group of artificer slavers. He had his shield at least, and the knife in his hand was plenty sharp. With the surprising gall of a single man just going on the attack in such a situation he'd been able to drop a few slavers but things were looking rather grim. He'd taken refuge behind one of the vehicles, and while a hand-axe flung to bury itself in one of their skulls made them wary to try and rush him, that didn't make them any less triggerhappy.

Fuck. Fuck, he was so boned. No spells, no falchion, alone and outnumbered, he could feel the aches and pains of where he'd taken a hit and he was fairly certain that the burning pain in his leg was from a bullet, this was not quite how he'd seen himself biting the big one.

[eumenis]

Furiosa perks up when she hears about a lone madman charging into the fray--but Max wouldn't have any reason to paint his face green, that she can think of, and this particular lunatic sounds more verbal from the account of the escapees.

She detaches a couple cars to take care of the Crows, but proceeds ahead with the new Rig and the rest of the party. The battle, or what passes for one, isn't too far ahead, and they cross the ground at speed. Their arrival will be dramatic; Toast and several of her cavalry-riders rush in first on motorcycles, followed by the roar of the Rig. It's probably fortunate that the Crows described the green paint on their rescuer, since it enables them to single him out and fire at everyone except him.

It's a rout, quick and violent, but they let some of the slavers escape in two battered cars, to tell the tale. When the dust starts to clear, it's just the green man and the Citadel outriders looking at one another warily, until Furiosa cuts off the Rig, sets the kill switches, and hops out of the cab, loping across the sand to have a look at him.

"We won't shoot if you won't," she calls out, holding out her arms in what's meant to be a peaceful gesture.

[mayberaven]

His first panicked idea is reinforcements which doesn't cheer Fjord at all given his already dire situation. But the roar of the unfamiliar vehicles draws in, and the sounds of battle just seem to ramp up as the new group seems to be more interested in chasing off the slavers than messing with him.

He has no clue what powers the vehicles, the biggest of them honestly sounds like it's got a dragon somewhere inside of it, but so long as the riders are friendly or at the very least neutral, he'll be plenty happy to see them. Only when the slavers have turned tail does he focus much on the strangers, and carefully picking himself up from the sand and his cover, though he leaned against it for the moment as he was taking stock of his own state during the uneasy sort of standoff that culminated in someone coming out of the largest vehicle and approaching. Yellow eyes darting to her, but she wasn't broadcasting an intent to attack, and her behavior and words seemed to back that up enough that it gave Fjord heart that this could end without him getting wrecked even more.

"Given I'm rightly out-gunned here, I'm not about to go startin' trouble where it don't need startin' ma'am." He drawled, slipping his dagger and the last axe he had away. He could have them at the ready in a blink but better all around to try and play the diplomatic route here.

[eumenis]

The Rig has two dragons in it; at least, that's what Furiosa would say, if asked. A V8 is as good as any mythological monster in her book.

When she approaches the stranger, it's maybe notable that her entourage is attentive, eyes on her partly to follow her lead and partly to protect her in case the green man does anything treacherous. It's hardly necessary, though; Furiosa is as well-armed as he is, or better, between her prosthesis and her sidearm. As she gets closer to him, she realizes that the green tint to his skin is not paint--not unless it's artfully applied to every bare spot of skin showing. His ears are pointed, too, and there is something about his jaw structure that looks unusual. There are, of course, tons of mutated humans around. Just because she's never seen a green one doesn't mean they're not out there. Still, it's different.

Something about the accent he's got reminds her of some of the older War Boys. The vowels aren't the same but the way he drops the ends of his words puts her in mind of the Ace. There's a flicker of as mile, but then she lowers her arms, sobering. "Fair enough."

"You the one that set the captives free? We ran into a group of them down the road. If so, your planning could use work but congratulations on the balls of chrome."

[mayberaven]

It is noticeable the way the others seem to watch her, not entirely from worry about approaching a stranger, but also from a clear searching for cues on how they should respond. Definitely someone who if not the leader, was someone they respected. He wasn't planning on attacking them, even without being even more clearly outclassed here than with the slavers, but he also definitely noted the arm and sidearm, as well as the way the woman carried herself, like someone who'd be more than capable of putting someone on their ass.

He had to huff at the comment on his planning, but from the wryly accepting tone, it was clear he realized as much too. He'd gotten... used to having the Nein at his back, gotten used to the terrible powers his patron had dubiously granted him. Now he was without both and still trying to sort out what that meant for him.

"Couldn't just leave em' to suffer," He replied in an almost sheepish, boyish tone, as if it was just that simple. And while many might play that angle for kudos or to play an angle, Furiosa was likely observant enough to realize that for him, it was that simple. He'd seen something bad happening and simply had to interject. "Glad to hear they got themselves away alright... they didn't look too hurt did they? Didn't have the time to really give more than a quick once-over before things got messy."

[eumenis]

"A lot of people could," she says mildly, but with every word her body language seems to soften and open up. The list of people she can think of who'd stick their neck out alone for complete strangers is very, very short. She's not sure she'd do it, herself, with the kind of odds he just faced. And maybe that makes him a little foolish, but it's the kind of foolish you can't teach in a fallen world like this one.

She shakes her head a little. "There were a few bruises, maybe a minor break. Nothing that won't heal. They're in safe hands."

"Those were my kin," she adds. "Distant cousins, sort of, but important. I'm not saying I owe you, but I am saying I think we should be friends. My name is Furiosa. We're from the Green Towers."

She pulls one of the canteens off her belt and offers it out to him, which is as open a peace offering as you can get in a place like this.

[mayberaven]

He let out a soft noise of assent at the comment. He could argue that he couldn't, but that was pretty plain here. And he knew back home there were plenty who could just turn a blind eye too, for whatever reason. Not always because of anything bad, just... being afraid, or unable to fight.

"Even if I was gonna worry about markers and favors, you showin' up to pull my fat outta it even after your cousins were safe and sound squared us up regardless. Ain't gonna turn down new friends though." The world was a hard place to manage in alone.

"Good to meet you though. I'm Fjord, from Port Damali." He wasn't desert-bred, didn't know the ways of surviving in a wasteland like this, but in some ways the sea was... not unlike it, in that water was precious enough so that he recognized the offer for what it was, accepting the canteen with a small nod. Only taking a small bit, enough to whet his throat before recapping it and offering it back with a faint smile. Mostly to show acceptance without being too wasteful. Who knew how far they were from somewhere they could resupply after all.

[eumenis]

Her lips quirk into a wry smile. Half the reason they continued to chase the raiders down was to teach them a lesson, but it's also true that they have no real obligation to treat him as a friend just because they have the same enemies. "I guess that makes us even," she says, "and that's a good way to begin a friendship."

"Fjord," she repeats thoughtfully. "Never heard of Port Damali. You must be a long way from home."

She takes the canteen back favorably impressed by his manners. "They left a little salvage. We can split it, if you want, but you don't seem to have a vehicle. You going anywhere in particular?"

[mayberaven]

"The best way." Fjord agreed with a smile that while it was genuine, was a little crooked, like he wasn't entirely sure how to hold his own mouth. Not entirely untrue- even with his tusks filed and chipped down it wasn't like they were hidden if he smiled too wide, and he wasn't sure what these people thought about his sort yet. He'd found people were willing to overlook the color, so long as the more 'savage' elements seemed to have been 'bred out' for whatever reason.

"Can't say I've heard of the Green Towers either so I'm likely a lot farther from home than I thought." It made him somewhat nervous. Surviving on the ocean meant you needed to have a heading, needed to have your bearings. Rudderless in the middle of the desert seemed just as much a death warrant to him as being adrift did. "Won't say no to splittin' what's useful. Lost as I am, was figurin' the best option would be findin' the nearest settlement where I can get an idea of the lay of things without gettin' in too much trouble just for bein' y'know..."

She'd probably assume he meant 'an outsider' even if the result was basically the same.

[eumenis]

In Furiosa's world, a crooked smile probably means an old injury or aching teeth; she's not going to question that. The green skin is honestly the more off element, now that she's realizing it isn't paint. Still, she's seen stranger. Some of the War Boys may stare a little, but no one's going to make an issue of it.

"Right now, we're closer to the swamp where the Crow-Fishers live," she says. "Which doesn't really have a name. We're going to have to take them back there. If you need a ride, you better come along. There are a lot of nasty gangs in this part of the Wasteland."

She doesn't necessarily track what he's saying. 'Outsider' is close enough. Just being alone and without a car in the Wasteland marks you for exploitation and death.

[mayberaven]

The green wasn't... sickly either like one might expect to see of a mutation. More a fade from a darker, almost deep-summer greenery shade to a lighter one more akin to fresh-sprouted growth. And that was even with the yellow eyes. But so long as it stayed to stares and maybe some curious comments, Fjord was likely barely even going to clock the additional attention as anything abnormal.

"Right behind you then." He agreed, feeling a bit more confident in his chances with that offer. Alone was rarely a way to make it in the world in general, and in a rough area like this he could only imagine how much worse of a death sentence it could be. Better to at least stick with them for now, see what he could make of this place before he decided anything further.

[eumenis]

The green is pretty. It makes her think of what the Green Place used to look like--and given they started this project to make it look that way again, and here he comes along to help some of the residents of the area in need, if Furiosa were a more superstitious type, she'd take him as a Sign. The way it shades into a natural Imperator's mark on his forehead is interesting, too. She might have to ask later.

"Pretty sure since you saved their tails, they'd let you stay with them," she informs him. "But unless you're good on stilts you might not enjoy it much. They're good people and they've adapted to where they live, but their ways aren't the most comfortable."

"As an alternative, you can come back to the Towers with us when we go, if you're the kind of person you seem to be. Your call."

Raising her right hand to her lips, she gives a whistle and calls out, "Gale! Come see if this schlanger's hurt, I think we like him."

There's some laughter from the closest War Boys, but it's friendly laughter, and one of the women, older, with goggles on her head and braids in her hair, slides off her bike and lopes over with a smile. "You could let him sit out of the sun first, Furi."

[mayberaven]

"Me on stilts'd just end in a bruised ego for me and a whole lotta laughs for everyone else." He agreed with a short chuckle. "Wouldn't say no to with comin' back to the Towers with you folk though."

They could see what they made of each other, and at the very least it would give him a chance to maybe better outfit himself to survive, figure out where to go if for some reason they didn't mesh well enough that he felt comfortable staying for much longer.

"She probably doesn't want me bleedin' all over the good shady spots." Fjord hummed as he watched the woman, Gale approach. "I'm a big guy, lot a blood in here to make a mess." At least he didn't look too terribly hurt- his armor had taken most of the blunt weapon hits pretty well, some sort of sturdy leather tooled with all manner of ocean motifs- shells and fish, waves and sea creatures. Not that it would have stopped a bullet, so it was just as well he was only hit the one time it looked like from the blood staining his leg, a single through-and-through. "Luckily I don't feel like anything's busted, and I was only shot the once so it coulda' been worse."

[eumenis]

"Yeah, I don't do stilts, either," Furiosa smirks. "Been sky-fishing with them a few times, though."

"Sand is great for absorbing blood," Gale agrees cheerfully. "Here, boy, take my arm and we'll get you into the shadow of the Rig."

Furiosa nods her approval and turns to the War Boys, calling out orders for a break and quick-set camp in order to go over the salvage.

Gale has him sit and stretch out that injured leg, but in the process of opening up her kit she takes a closer look at the designs on that armor. "...have you ever seen the ocean?" She asks thoughtfully, wetting cloth with moonshine to sterilize the wound.

[mayberaven]

"Well now you know you're gonna have to tell me about sky-fishin' right?" Fjord commented with a smile at Furi's smirk. They were strangers but there was a comradery there that reminded him enough of the Nein that he felt comfortable enough being a bit less formal, a bit more open. He was more than willing to let Gale lead him to the shadow of the looming Rig, gingerly settling himself in the sand with his leg out so she could do what she needed with her kit.

"Sure... Grew up by it even. Port Damali's on Menagerie Coast, spent more than a few years as a sailor. Hard work, but the livin's honest if you've got the right captain."

[eumenis]

Judging from Furiosa's chuckle, she's content with informality, and willing to tell him about sky-fishing once camp is set.

Gale's movements are efficient and sparing and sure; she's clearly an expert at this, though there's obviously no magic healing to be had here. "Menagerie Coast," she repeats with a thoughtful sniff. "Right, you're definitely not from around here, are you? Ain't seen the ocean on this world since I was four years old and running from the last holdout city with my mum."

"Not sayin' it's not still out there somewhere," she adds. "But from here, you can't get to anywhere that isn't either just swamp, or dead salt flats and bones. You're more lost than you look."

She binds up the wound snugly, with clean bandages, and ties the ends off neatly. "But that's not a problem on our end. We take all kinds from all places as long as they mean us well."

Furiosa comes over in time to hear the tail end of this, and raises an eyebrow. Instead of commenting, though, she just sits in the sand beside them and yawns, stretching.

[mayberaven]

"This world..." Fjord tended to be quieter than his companions. Between that, and the general stereotyping of orcs, half-orcs like him, and generally bigger guys as a whole, it was often assumed by strangers that he might not be the smartest of his group, especially with that slow drawl he tended to speak with. However he was a lot more intelligent than that first gloss, and so picked up on the implications there pretty quickly if the raise of his brows was any hint.

"Must be. Sounds like I was lucky you folks were comin' along then, didn't think I'd be addin' jumping planes to my agenda today." He smiled wryly, but was a bit worried. The Nein weren't in any danger right now but finding someone on the same world was hard enough, another world altogether was leagues different. But if anyone could find a way to make contact it would be them. He just had to hold tight.

He was definitely grateful for Gale's expert care here, offering her a grin as she finished up. "Well seein' as I'm not lookin' to stir up trouble, I'm sure we'll get on just fine.

[eumenis]

"Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later," Furiosa says, catching on to the context of the conversation. "Did you come in through the Nexus, or do you know?"

She, for one, is grateful that if they've got an extradimensional visitor in the first place, that they at least don't have to have multiversal theory explained to them. Furiosa barely understands it herself, and prefers not to dwell on it.

"Either way, you're stuck with us until we get back to the Citadel," she adds. "Because I don't have my PINpoint on me. But we'll look after you, either way."

[mayberaven]

"The Nexus?" Fjord repeated, though from the uncomprehending tone it was clear that wasn't the case. "Not that I know of. I'm from the Material Plane... you know which one this is? Might narrow down how long it'll take any of my friends to be able to Message or something."

At least he'd found some friendly people to hunker down with in the meantime. At least they seemed friendly enough. He'd take what he could get in this situation. "Definitely appreciate the hospitality though, I don't think I need to tell you the trouble I'd probably be in here soon enough on my own."

Not even going into his willingness to wade into danger for strangers which would have already had him as a bloody smear in the sand at best without Furiosa's group showing up.

[eumenis]

The two women look at each other, and Furiosa shrugs, then answers Fjord: "Not a clue. We don't think of things in terms of 'planes' for the most part. There are very, very few people here who wouldn't just assume you were sun-touched if you talked about coming from another world. You just happened to run into the one group that has some experience in crossing dimensions. Lucky you, I guess?"

She smiles a little, amused but trying for reassurance. "Some kind of gateway formed in our mountain. Leads to a Nexus of hundreds of worlds. It can be...complicated, but I'm sure we can find your Material Plane once we can get back there."

It does beg the question of how he got here, if not through the Nexus, but maybe that doesn't matter so much just now.

[mayberaven]

"Definitely not too proud to turn my nose up at luck. Honestly first day or so I thought this place was some sort of new dream. Sharing space with a giant pool of molten metal, seems reasonable to assume that'll turn dreams to a pretty dry desert but clearly it's not that at this point," Fjord hummed with a wry chuckle as he went rummaging through his beat-to-hell pack, coming out with some wax paper-wrapped jerky that he ripped in three, holding two chunks out in a hand towards Furiosa and Gale in quiet invitation as he bit into the third. Taking a moment to chew thoughtfully. "If this Nexus has a gate back home, I'll count this as extra lucky. If not, well... I suppose we'll have to get creative trying to figure out how to make contact, let alone getting me back where I should be."

"Also, if you see an orange tabby cat, try and pass around to your people not to kill it- one of my companions has a familiar, Frumpkin, that he can sometimes manage to send to other planes, it's possible he might use the cat to try and scout out where I ended up. Can't do that if he's stuck resurrecting the little hairball though." Fjord didn't mind Frumpkin, but had to play at annoyance with how allergic he was. Seems like cat dander was the same whether the cat was normal or fey.

[eumenis]

"A giant pool of molten metal?" Therein definitely lies a tale, Furiosa is convinced. "That sounds risky as hell."

Both women blink at the offer of food, clearly surprised by the generosity, but they both accept, and don't ask what kind of meat it is, nibbling at it trustingly. "Boys're making bean mash and sorghum," Furiosa tells him with a smile. "You'll get a share when it's ready. But thanks."

"No worries about the cat," Gale says. "They're in high demand with us. Keep pests out of the granaries. We've only got a dozen now, no one's going to kill and eat one. Might try to catch it to keep, is all."

And that, of course, begs a few explanations regarding just how bleak and dangerous a world Fjord has fallen into. Gale and the War Boys come and go with food and drink, but Furiosa sits with him and talks about the Wasteland, the Road War, and her quest to revive the Green Place. With no real magic to speak of and just basic, practical landforming techniques, it's hugely ambitious, but then so was the plan to defeat Immortan Joe, and it panned out quite well.

Salvage is gathered in time, and after a night at camp, the caravan turns. Fjord is invited to ride in the Rig with Furiosa, and he's welcome to sit in the cab with her, but the War Boys are also friendly and willing to teach him to perch on the back of the moving vehicle as they go. Handholds there are small, except for next to the guns and the crane arms, but they're careful not to let him fall.

The swamp that was once the Green Place is eerie. The Crows are a strange people; they speak in hoarse whispers and watch the skies obsessively for prey, but it's very obvious they're grateful to him for his intervention on their behalf. Before the caravan leaves for the Citadel, he's given a bracelet of braided leather with feathers and bone woven between the strands.

[mayberaven]

"Not as risky as you'd think. There's a family of dwarves that live there, the Dust clan. They call it the Underforge of the Wildmother, the whole thing is tucked into Kravaraad which is a pretty intimidating looking volcano to tell the truth. But even in the rooms you could still feel the heat of it." Them trying to catch Frumpkin was no worry- the cat would simply vanish from whatever hands or snare caught him, back to he assumed the Feywild until Caleb summoned him again.

He's glad that things seem to be continuing in a peaceful vein, happy to help pack up salvage- while he might not know what they'd find useful to pick from the rest, he can still carry things where they need to go, help with setting up and breaking down camp. It's not just to make friends, though he's glad to see that if anyone looks askance at his eye color, his skin or ears, they don't seem to pay it much mind beyond that initial glance, are willing enough to welcome him.

Fjord accepts the gratitude of the Crows, looking almost a bit uncertain about the idea but clearly glad that their people weren't harmed more than could have been. That they're reunited. The bracelet is gingerly wrapped around a wrist before they leave, the half-orc musing over the faint prickle of a breeze that wafts through, though he sees no sign of it in the area around them, no ripple of shallow puddles, no ruffle of threadbare fabrics.

He appreciates Furiosa's invitation to ride in the cab, but he feels much more at home now that he understands the idea of the vehicles better, riding on the back with the War Boys. Keeping a grip reminds him in some ways of scrabbling around on a ship, up the mast or in the rigging, or maybe along the side dangling from a rope to help with repairs. Enough so that he takes to the method of hanging on easily, doesn't seem to be in danger of falling.

The sun was high, the sky was a familiar, starkly searing sort of blue overhead, and while the Rig was strange, the blast of wind as they got to a good clip reminded him of those days when he was just another sailor, with no notion of anything more dangerous than another jaunt over the horizon to look forward to.

And the shanty that came to mind was fitting enough, so with a playful grin to the War Boys he was set up with he started singing a easy enough, lighthearted sort of tune that would be easy enough for the others to pick up along with him.