Go to Mr. Rezvy
From Create Your Own Story
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Las Vacaciones seemed nice enough from three miles out, but you knew the resort town was the pretty face the government was putting forth to the world. No doubt an hour's travel inland would expose the country for the mess it was. At least it wasn't too hot, and it could only smell better than the hold of the Dutch freighter you had hitched a ride on. | Las Vacaciones seemed nice enough from three miles out, but you knew the resort town was the pretty face the government was putting forth to the world. No doubt an hour's travel inland would expose the country for the mess it was. At least it wasn't too hot, and it could only smell better than the hold of the Dutch freighter you had hitched a ride on. | ||
| - | + | You disembark with your rucksack, your Glock, and the sun in your eyes. A peasant boy trys to pry your pack away from you, so that he could carry it and then ask for a tip. You shoo him away and look down the dockyard to see if you can find Mr. Rezvy. | |
| - | A portly man with a graying beard and a Hawaiian shirt | + | A portly man with a graying beard and a Hawaiian shirt walks up to you, a cigar between two meaty fingers. He grins and sticks out his hand. |
"You are the beacon, yes?" | "You are the beacon, yes?" | ||
| + | |||
| + | *[[Yeah, but just call me Beacon. | ||
| + | *[[Yeah, but don't call me Beacon.]] | ||
| + | *[[Yeah, what's it to you?]] | ||
{{Status|Equipment=''Rucksack'' ''Glock''|Health=100|MP=0|Level=0}} | {{Status|Equipment=''Rucksack'' ''Glock''|Health=100|MP=0|Level=0}} | ||
Revision as of 09:20, 3 February 2009
Las Vacaciones seemed nice enough from three miles out, but you knew the resort town was the pretty face the government was putting forth to the world. No doubt an hour's travel inland would expose the country for the mess it was. At least it wasn't too hot, and it could only smell better than the hold of the Dutch freighter you had hitched a ride on.
You disembark with your rucksack, your Glock, and the sun in your eyes. A peasant boy trys to pry your pack away from you, so that he could carry it and then ask for a tip. You shoo him away and look down the dockyard to see if you can find Mr. Rezvy.
A portly man with a graying beard and a Hawaiian shirt walks up to you, a cigar between two meaty fingers. He grins and sticks out his hand.
"You are the beacon, yes?"
- [[Yeah, but just call me Beacon.
- Yeah, but don't call me Beacon.
- Yeah, what's it to you?
| Status | ||
| Health | 100 | Equipment:
Rucksack Glock |
| MP | 0 | |
| Level | 0 | |
