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More from General_Baz
Custom Apoco-Pimp Half-track: Chevy Bel Air "Taxipocalypse"
Another custom half-track, this one I made for myself. It's got a little bit of a story, Fallout-based. These are available for $5 each - any car or truck (or combination of both) you want, so long as I can find a decent enough side view!
War. War never changes. But the people of the wastes continue to live. They survive, they thrive, scavenging what is left of a decaying civilization lost to atomic fire, and innovating to remain alive. However the wasteland is a harsh, cruel, and unforgiving land, blasted by sand and heat, and stalked by dangerous creatures, violent tribals, and half feral, amoral raiders. Few can roam the wastes for long and live. Of those that do, legends are often born.
A Mysterious Stranger, whom tales tell was born in Montana, can be seen lending a hand to wasteland travellers with deadly efficiency, and swift death spat from the muzzle of an engraved .44 Magnum revolver.
A fleet footed wandering gypsy, around whom all sorts of misfortunes tend to occur to those who would do her protectorate harm, from misfiring guns to accidentally detonating explosives, only to vanish as quickly as she arrived.
An ageless cowboy, guarding a fantastic treasure from before the war, who wanders the wasteland stamping the mark of the blue star in hopes someone worthy enough will come to claim it.
There is another. Lesser widely known, but possibly the most mysterious at all. Few know the tales, and even fewer yet alive can actually attest to having seen him. An old ghoul, driving a modified car from before the war, apparently untouched by time and cleaned of the dust kicked up by wheel and track. He would appear, silent as a spectre, pulling up next to hapless souls lost in the wilderness, dying of hunger, thirst, and battle wounds untended. Where ever you're going, however dire your need is to get there, if your feet fail you, there's a chance... a slim chance mind... that The Yellow Cab will pick you up. His fees are always affordable, his service unparalleled, and his departure once the fare has been completed as swift as a dying breeze.
If asked about who he is, or where he comes from, he tends only to shrug and answer, "I drive a cab."
War. War never changes. But the people of the wastes continue to live. They survive, they thrive, scavenging what is left of a decaying civilization lost to atomic fire, and innovating to remain alive. However the wasteland is a harsh, cruel, and unforgiving land, blasted by sand and heat, and stalked by dangerous creatures, violent tribals, and half feral, amoral raiders. Few can roam the wastes for long and live. Of those that do, legends are often born.
A Mysterious Stranger, whom tales tell was born in Montana, can be seen lending a hand to wasteland travellers with deadly efficiency, and swift death spat from the muzzle of an engraved .44 Magnum revolver.
A fleet footed wandering gypsy, around whom all sorts of misfortunes tend to occur to those who would do her protectorate harm, from misfiring guns to accidentally detonating explosives, only to vanish as quickly as she arrived.
An ageless cowboy, guarding a fantastic treasure from before the war, who wanders the wasteland stamping the mark of the blue star in hopes someone worthy enough will come to claim it.
There is another. Lesser widely known, but possibly the most mysterious at all. Few know the tales, and even fewer yet alive can actually attest to having seen him. An old ghoul, driving a modified car from before the war, apparently untouched by time and cleaned of the dust kicked up by wheel and track. He would appear, silent as a spectre, pulling up next to hapless souls lost in the wilderness, dying of hunger, thirst, and battle wounds untended. Where ever you're going, however dire your need is to get there, if your feet fail you, there's a chance... a slim chance mind... that The Yellow Cab will pick you up. His fees are always affordable, his service unparalleled, and his departure once the fare has been completed as swift as a dying breeze.
If asked about who he is, or where he comes from, he tends only to shrug and answer, "I drive a cab."
Category All / Miscellaneous
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 574 x 273px
File Size 88.8 kB
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