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.