Badass Dragons of the Wasteland - Round Eight

“'Ere, Mel, what ‘zactly are we waitin’ for?”

“Somebody to get closer.”

“Wasn’t they close enough to yer yesterday?”

“Didn’t have this with me then.”

“'Ey-‘ey-‘ey! That’s goin’ a bit far, ain’t it? Doesn’t exactly strike me as a tool of particularly surgical precision y’got there. Why, any number of disint’rested parties might get caught up in somethin’ like that.”

“I get the job done. I don’t mind if a little extra work gets accomplished on the side. Call it my Puritan work ethic.”

“But that’s just a wee kid down there!”

“Keep flappin’ those receding gums, Bruce, and I’ll have you stand a bit closer to the Gorn just to improve the smell down there. Long as you’re chained up and disarmed, you’ll do as I say and like it, unless you wanna volunteer your hide for traction testing on my Lincoln’s BFG’s. Or worse. Now just keep an eye out there for anything that approaches the gate.”

“Christ, ever since Man Without A Face, nobody can talk to yer.”

“Fourth Commandment, Bruce. Break it again and you’re dog food.”


Everyone cast your dice and make your moves. Keep in mind that, all banter aside, all named NPCs here are tough but not invulnerable. Make a deal if you think you can (or want to), otherwise, let the lead and flames fly. You got just under an hour remaining to roll yer bones.

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I just climbed the hill next to the highway and have updated information about the layout of the HQ. Also, sometimes I forget we’re communicating over the TCB, and I’m not actually with the main group. You all are at the north end of the map, in sight of Toecutter and Fleetwood, who are a half kilometer out from the north HQ entrance. There’s a gate but you can’t see much beyond that. I received a TCB image feed from one of you, and enhanced it by eating some Lucky Starks, and the Gorn is actually holding the Kid just outside the gate.

Now, as I noted earlier, there is a back way in through a tunnel under the highway here. From the top of the hill I could see that there’s a huge collection of burned out cars to the northeast and I don’t think we can get through there, but the tunnel doesn’t appear to be guarded as I thought. I am sure the back gate into the actual compound is barricaded though.

I thought I caught a glint of something over at the Famous Rock, but you guys are closer to that than I am…

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Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy?

Anyway, I reckon we could perhaps sneak in along the Pacific Coast Trail, to the East. Like Desmond says, we need a distraction, though. I still doubt Bruce is entirely on Max’s side. He’s a Kiwi, and they always support whoever is playing Australia. Perhaps he could be…persuaded to help?

As to the tunnel? I do not like the smell; there is foul air down there, or I am no guide.

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#The Ballad of St. Lemmy
<.as it known on Mars.>

'Twas the night before Launchmas, when all through the lands
Not a thing was stirring, not even the sands;
The snipers were aiming their targets with care,
In hopes that Maj. Headshot soon would be there;

The children of Lamplight weren’t in their beds;
As visions of Lucky Starks danced in their heads;
And Cougar in her 'kerchief, and I in my leather cap,
Had just poured one out for Blazer’s long dirt nap,

When out by the sphere there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my shitter to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters without wiping my arshe

The moon on the creast of the dust looked like snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did aggregate,
But a real front-man and many band-mate,

That odd lead singer seemed so blinkered and fuzzy
I knew in a moment he must be THE OZZY
More rapid than eagles his band-mates they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

Now Dio.

Now Iommi.

Now Wylde

Now Ward

To the top of the Famous Rock!
To the top of the Wall!
Now dash them away! dash away! dash away them all!
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the sky these undead they did flew
O’er the car of De’ath went St. Ozzy too—
And then, in a twinkling, we heard like a poof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
To the Sphere, The Wizzard of Oz came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of things he had flung on his back,
And he looked at the Toecutter, and opened his pack.
Oh Toe’s eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the drool on his chin glistened like snow;
Toe asked plaintively, through his clenched his teeth,
“What gift will the Great Oz me bequeath?”

St. Oz looked Toe up, and rubbed Toe’s beer belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
And Oz gave him the last gift he had
Was his bestest guitarist, that fine Yankee lad
Who’d not been down as many tour roads
but had called himself Zombie Rhoades

Zombie Randy spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with pieces of that jerk,

Oz laid his finger aside of his nose,
Which was a signal for the cocaine that made his dead rose
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out macht schnell
“Happy Launchmas to all,"
“See you all in HELL!”

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And the Earth cracked open, and the Skies parted
And the Winds groaned, and the Moon farted.

Lemmy snapped his fingers once, and the Switch was thrown.

And from over the horizon came a devastating sound, a power chord that rang through every driver and woofer and tweeter in Junior’s E.A.R.A.C.H.E., resonating every flat surface down to the tympanic membranes of the suddenly startled fleas congregating in the Gorn’s nether regions. And following that chord came the bellowed answer to Lemmy’s supernatural summons:

“Now where do we go?”

And on from the south came the Rock Army, the Unholy Hordes of Heavy Metal Hell, summoned by the Bastard Baron of Bass, the Rocking Vicar’s Son, the one true Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla, Ian Fraser Kilmister his own bad self… and marshaled by the late legend, the man whose very name confers deity upon himself, Old Leatherlungs himself, Ronnie James Dio.

The Forces of Rock are driven by the whips of Dio’s loyal lieutenant (and former attorney) Murray, but they need no exhortation as they catch the scent of a tempting vital fluid:

Oh, yes indeedy. And Jack Burton, Junior, leads Lemmy’s Army straight at the gates of Fleetwood’s HQ. The gates are burst wide, and the battle therein is joined.

Fleetwood MacChanics Accounts Receivable Departmental Picnic, 2027

(they’re quite formidable when provoked, those guys)


The heavy MK2 phasers are brought to bear and tires spray gravel as Channing’s Hilux leaps forward.

Danger, danger the Queen’s about to kill
There’s a stranger, stranger and life about to spill
Oh no move me out of harm
I need a spell and a charm

And just like that, Fleetwood’s Caddy suddenly appears behind the Hilux, as if it were being towed there. At least, that’s what Fleetwood saw. Toecutter saw his own rig suddenly lurking immediately behind the Hilux, and both villains paused briefly in confusion.

And that pause made a huge difference.


“Crikey, who’s the chump with the dancing car? Did you ever see such a… hey! What the hell…? Who stole my Lincoln?”

“Never mind that, Mel… who made off wit’ me gyro?”

“Bugger that rattletrap of yours, Bruce, some bastard stole my Futura and it’s down there in that rabble surrounding Fleetwood! I’m gonna nail that whoreson right through the windscreen. Nobody makes a fool out of Mel…”

“'Ere, now, don’t ding my gyro now…”

And Mad Mel brings his rifle to bear…


More engines shift from SHITGO to hi-octane petrol, throttles are mashed wide open, and Desmond Balthar’s Cobra leads the way past the Famous Rock and down the east road toward the South Canyon. Before the dust can clear, Major Joseph Talleyrand-LaRoche has shouldered his long rifle and sighted the gleam behind yonder rocks. Bubba Zanetti sacrifices his polystyrene passenger (not without a pang of regret; they’ve seen a lot of miles together) by dumping her in front of Toecutter, with a flippant “A gift from the Bronze, Toecutter,” then peels out up the road behind Balthar.

Fly like the wind
I’m no pawn, so be gone, speed on and on
Kill the king
Tear him down

Bewildered by De’Ath’s Iso Grifo dancing the Charleston, followed by Clank’s illusion and Bubba’s needling of old wounds, Toecutter swings his flamethrower around. De’Ath’s Iso leaps directly toward the glint behind the outcropping just as Mad Mel and the Major fire simultaneously. Mel’s shot flies true, directly through what remains of the old Dodge van’s windscreen. The Major’s shot creases Mel’s scalp… but severs the chains that restrain Bruce’s arms. As Mel ducks behind the rock, Bruce realizes which way the wind is blowing, and doesn’t hesitate to act.

It’s looking a bit dodgy for Mad Mel.

But then Bruce notices the approach of De’Ath.

“Oh, bollocks.”


The Gorn stiffens at the approach of the black Cougar, bearing down on his position with engine screaming and guns blazing, “Honey” Mallone pacing her and firing from the flank. The Kid ducks behind the largest rock he can reach as his mother’s car smashes headlong into the lizard man with a terrifying crunch.

After which the Gorn blinks calmly, spitting out its now-flavorless bubblegum.

Cougar’s not looking so good.

But then the children arrive, the Lamplighters rescued by Bill and the Major from the Super Mutants. And they’ve brought along a friend.

That faintly iridescent '72 Imperial is unmistakable… it’s Momo, still throwing off a lethal dose of roentgens (since she’s old-fashioned that way) from her close encounter at the San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant back in Round One.

Gorns generally dislike gamma radiation, since it softens their hide to a marshmallow consistency. making their sugary sweetmeats altogether too vulnerable to snack-starved children.

Guess he better make a saving throw, too.


Fleetwood brings his considerable firepower to bear on the closest Drivers, which would include Channing Hunter, Deadly Harry, and the Mechanics. But as the Toyota and the Caddy exchange shots, Toecutter swivels his flamethrower all the way around, and torches Fleetwood where he sits behind the wheel of his Caddy. Toecutter’s flames and Channing’s phasers make short work of the old junk dealer as the Caddy’s SHITGO systems explode in a fireball of fusion-fueled feces.

Kill the king
Tear him down
Kill the king, yeah
Got to take his crown

Kill the king
He’ll rule no more
Strike him dead
The people roar

And as the other engines recede in the distance, Channing and Toecutter regard each other in relative silence, until he finally speaks.

“Will you listen to me now?”


It seems a great deal has taken place. Give @penguinchris and me some time to calculate damages, and we’ll submit a detailed report as soon as we can.

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The Hilux engine idles as Channing examines Toecutter. A full three beats pass and then the fallout of the explosion reach them: ash and rocks and debris, pitter-pattering against the windshield, some of it suspiciously brown. Channing takes a breath, then another, before sighing–

“What a convenient Heel-Face Turn, Toecutter. Now, what exactly were you going to monologue about, before I get tired of waiting and just shoot you?”

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Round Eight Results Now Available Here

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Aha! Kids! Have any of you ever had the fantastic good fortune to play with one of these?

Bright, sunny day, eh?! Fancy a go?

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