Let's Roleplay Kenshi - Vumu's story

[Namira]

Hi all!

Kenshi is a post-apocalyptic survival RPG set on a moon.

It has bug people and horned people and robots and horrible evil giraffes. I adore it.

Sometimes I put together stories about my escapades. I recently finished a pretty long playthrough, and decided I felt like going roleplay heavy for my next save. I do like streaming the game, but it's hard to A) keep the narrative rolling when chatting and B) sometimes not a super exciting game to watch.

Soooooo... maybe best of both worlds, I decided I would have a shot at sharing a story-based game via the forums.

Honestly this is super self-indulgent but HEYO I had fun.

[Namira]

Chapter 1
Gdoc link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BoJ ... yhux0/edit

[+] Large image warning

The Outlands.

Reaver Camp.







The Reavers. Violent slavers, calling themselves heroes.

Stealing freedom, while claiming they fight for its sake.



My captors.

Murderers of my family.



How long have they kept me here?

I can’t remember how it feels not to wear shackles.

I can’t remember my village.

I can’t remember their faces.



I remember my name.

It’s all I have.

Vumu.

Vumu.

Vumu.



Each day, we ‘patrol’



We seek more innocents to enslave. More lives to destroy.



They call us a brotherhood. Comrades in arms, but in truth…



We’re so much chaff to them. Disposable.

Fight and die. Day after day after day. Starved and beaten and brutalised.

Try to escape, be cut down, or worse, mocked, patched up, and sent back into the endless death march.



But… here and there, they get careless.

Many are wounded back at the camp. The patrols are undersized.

Maybe they thought we were docile, our wills broken. That we wouldn’t try anything.



I am not broken.



Too few pairs of eyes. I shed my armour. I slip the shackles.



I run.





I run. I run until my feet bleed and dawn breaks. And I see it.



I’ve seen this structure before. I dare to hope for safety.



And hope finally answers.

Black Scratch. It belongs to the Tech Hunters. Faint memories of lone travellers and traders. The guards look at me with faint indifference. One half-heartedly congratulates me on escaping the Reavers; it must be so obvious at a single glance.

I could weep for joy.

The relief does not last.



Did they follow me? Impossible to tell. The Reavers raid indiscriminately.

I could stay hidden.

I should stay hidden.



But… did I come all this way to cower?







...I should have cowered.

I’m half-starved. I only know the basics of fighting; they never even bothered to give me a weapon.



I didn’t wake up in chains. That’s what counts.

And, since the Tech Hunters don’t seem to mind if I take a couple of bandages, I can be of use.



The other—the slaves deserve help, not to die at the whims of homicidal maniacs.

I’m not much of a doctor, but the basics are better than nothing.



And I still know my way around a lock.



It’s not enough for some, but I do what I can.



“You there. Girl.”

“Y...yeah?”

“Don’t flinch. You were brave.”

“...”

“Doubt. I know you are scared. Bravery arises from fear.”

“Okay…”

“Hm. Weak. Go to the bar. Tell them Palspa sent you. Eat. Sleep.”

“T-thank you.”

“Hmph.”



“Vagrant. Leave.”

“I—but—”

“No beggars.”

“P-Palspa sent me.”

“...Soft-hearted. Very well.”



My first meal as a free woman.

Dried meat. Dry as the desert. Tough as old leather.

It’s wonderful.



A… a bed. An actual bed.



“Here. Clothing.”

“Ah, t-thank you.”

“If you are to remain, you must pull your weight. There is an ore vein nearby. Take these tools. If you work, you shall be fed.”

“I, I can do that. I think.”

“Do not think. Do. Or else go your own way. It is dangerous, but you survived to Black Scratch.”

“I’ll—I’ll stay for now.”



I’ve never held a pickaxe in my life. It’s exhausting.

It’s a thousand leagues better than fighting the Reavers’ battles.



Battles that they bring to Black Scratch, over and over.









I’m not ashamed to run away. Their taunts don’t sting me.



The last of them goes down. I look at them. I see a thousand abuses. A thousand injustices.

The rage takes me. I kick. Over and over. It bruises and batters my foot. I don’t care.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck YOU! FUCK—"



“Relax, kid.”

“O-oh. Um. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise. But you’re gonna break a bone doing that.”

“...Right…”

“Palspa likes you. I do too, actually. I’m Yermil.”

“...Vumu.”

“Vumu. I’ll remember it. Just keep working and trying your best, alright? Nobody is going to let you starve here.”

“Thank you…”



I work. I help out. Little by little, I grow stronger.

Palspa and Yermil have taken a shine to me. Nobody else especially cares.

That’s okay.

Two’s more than none.



I’m a light sleeper. Had to be, to duck the beatings, to protect my tiny food ration.

So I hear the commotion in the night.





“What do we have here? A traitorous little mouse?”

“...”

Pretend my silence is stoicism, and not a throat closed by fear.



Fight.

I will not go back.

I will not go back.



I’m getting better. Faster.



“Gratitude. You learn more each day, Vumu.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“Continue.”

I do. I will.



I catch a glimpse of my reflection one day.

My hair has grown back.

I’d say I feel like myself again, but I don’t remember how that is supposed to feel.



I am Vumu.

It’s enough.

[The Honeless Beard]

Pretend my silence is stoicism, and not a throat closed by fear.

What a banger of a line.

Vumu is dope. I love the eyes and general stature. Can't wait for more.

[Lilith]

what the fuck youre a letsplayer im breaking up. this is gamer catfishing

[Namira]

you knew what you were getting into

[MurderWeasel]

B) sometimes not a super exciting game to watch.

I don't know what you're talking about! Watching cannibals slowly cook your last dude never gets old.

I enjoy the reaver start/area. It was one of the spots that didn't make my computer crash, and is a very interesting part of the world to play around in. And I dig the voice. Really well done!

[Namira]

When streaming I am always acutely aware of just how much time I'm spending moving stuff around between inventories.

[The Honeless Beard]

Sometimes it's an inventory management sim.

Other times your whole squad has to sprint away from cannibal hivers.

[MurderWeasel]

Other times your whole squad has to sprint away from cannibal hivers.

Objection! They're only cannibals if your squad is hivers too. Otherwise it's just the food chain.

[Namira]

Chapter 2
https://docs.google.com/document/d/135U ... HShho/edit

[+] Large image warning

Time marches on.

I work, and I learn.



“Insolence. I’ll rip you in half, worm!”

I fight.



With each battle, I grow a little more. Experience hard won.



Palspa and Yermil might see me as a child, but I cannot begin to explain to them how it feels to fight alongside people who actually give a damn.



They help bandage my wounds from concern, not to throw me into their enemies’ blades.



I wish I could do more for the slaves. That I could make the Tech Hunters see for a moment that they’re fighting opponents half-crazed with fear. But to falter in battle is to risk one’s own death.

I do what I can. I save those I can.

The wounds run deep. It’s never enough.



I see many strange sights.



I develop my techniques.

I didn’t intend to become an unarmed fighter, not to begin with, but I can’t stomach even holding a Reaver blade, and learning other weapons from scratch would set me back a great deal.

My fists are swift. I know where to strike.



“Not too shabby, ‘ol girl.”

I begin to earn respect, and hide my smile.



The blow knocks me flat, knocks me out. I lie bleeding, and my eyes open to see the battle still raging around me.

I could remain still, allow the Tech Hunters to handle this, to save me.

Or…

“I… can… do… this,... ... right?”

Perhaps I can.



I will not, indeed, I cannot learn by cowering in my own blood.

My heart pounds with fear and adrenaline, but fight I must.



These techniques can only be mastered through battle.



No longer am I scrutinised for simply walking into the bar. I have a place of my own.

Travellers pass through, Tech Hunters resupplying ahead of their next venture, mercenaries en route to the United Cities.

Their stories make me think about Black Scratch, and what is beyond.



I can’t rely on Palspa and Yermil forever. They are not my parents, and I am not their responsibility.

They do not deserve to be burdened by their own generosity.

And, though it might frighten me, I think it’s time.



I have purchases to make. Travel clothes. A backpack. Food. Maps.





And with that, there are decisions to make.

I don’t know where my village is—was. I’m not sure I would want to see it again anyway.

The maps tell me much of the United Cities.





North, west, southwest…



One of the bar regulars has travelled far. Bo. She has an intimidating aura, but I need her advice.



“North of here is Gut, filled with creatures that’ll eat you alive. How quick are you, kid?”

“Um…”

“Hm. Stay out of Gut.”

“R-right.”



“Leaving?”

“...Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“...Um.”

“Fortune. You have grown much. Perhaps you will not die.”

“Thank you.”

“It is unnecessary.”

“No, I mean it. Thank you, Palspa. I couldn’t have made a home here if it wasn’t for you.”

“...tch. I have done little of consequence.”

“It’s of consequence to me. I’ll see you again someday.”

“Hm. Farewell, Vumu.”



I move on.



This place is vast. I run for miles. Thankfully, I see nothing of the Reavers.



Eventually, in the distance, there is a town. If I remember the talk of the barflies properly, it is Brink.



What in the world…?

The samurai guards let me through without comment.



Brink feels different from Black Scratch. The Tech Hunters’ indifference wanes in comparison to the cold, suspicious stares of law enforcement, the downtrodden exhaustion of the townsfolk.

I will not stay here long.

On the edge of town, I see it.





In my destination’s direction, the sky rains fire.

Perhaps the Brink of this town’s name is that of hell.

My chest seizes with foreboding.



And yet, there is nothing for me here.

I know my bearing.



“Hold up, kid! Keep heading this way, and you’ll blunder right into Venge! Are you mad?”

“...no.”

“If you don’t want to be burned to a crisp, turn back. Now.”

“...”



What choice do I have?

Run back to Black Scratch, tail between my legs?

I must do this.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Brace myself.



And run. Like. Hell.





The intense heat blazes around me, scorching my very breath.

My lungs scream. My hair is singed.

I press on. I press on.



I pass through.

The environs change. The beams of fire blast my surroundings no longer.

Survival.



I run on until day turns to night, and I happen upon what is not quite a town, but could be respite.



The doors are locked, but this is little barrier. I can plead forgiveness later.



Empty.

What is this place?



Ah.

Drugs.

The Reavers were not frequent users of hashish, but they partook of it enough for me to be familiar.

Is this some manner of lab?





For now, nobody is here, and I need to sleep.

Given the bounty of illegal narcotics about the place, I doubt that they will miss a single sleeping bag.



Hm.

This seems safe.



The world, apparently, does not appreciate my glibness.

I do not know what manner of hiver clan this is, and I do not care to find out.



A structure on the horizon. Safety, perhaps?



My tail is persistent.





Good fortune. This place is held by Tech Hunters. One rushes to my defence.



I look down at the dying hiver.

I do not even know what he wanted. A bandit? A slaver? Something else?

I will never find out.



Familiarity. Once more, I owe much to Tech Hunters.

They appreciate news of Black Scratch, at the least.

This town—Flats Lagoon—cannot be more than a stopping place. I am not trading one set of protectors for another.



I invest in another map, restock my supplies.



More of the United Cities are revealed to me. Perhaps one day I will venture north.





For now, I stop and consider. Which route is best to take next?

The floating bread does not reveal to me its secrets.



“Yo. Newbie. Come pull up a chair.”

“...me?”

“Duh, newbie. You heading to the Ashlands?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Haa. All the way out here and you don’t know the Ashlands? I respect it, I respect it.”

“Um.”

“Name’s Braddicus, newbie. You?”

“...Vumu.”

“Nice. Where you headed?”

“Southwest.”

“And out here all on your lonesome? Good hustle, good hustle.”

“Um…”

“Hey, see you in the Ashlands someday, newbie.”

“...”



Time to venture outward.



I do not get far. Another warning.









No. Not a warning.

A shakedown.



“Don’t even bother answering. I’ve lost all my patience with you already!”

A blade clears scabbard.

Fuck.




With their jeering and insults in my ears, I flee.

I flee for my life.