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jflaxman — Mule
Published: 2014-02-09 15:11:29 +0000 UTC; Views: 33717; Favourites: 585; Downloads: 507
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Description
Light trucks have changed little in generations. The Mule and its derivatives are usually seen in or near fixed settlements. They move heavy loads short distances, and when space is available, they also carry passengers. Some traders use them in overland convoys, but their poor performance on bad roads and extreme vulnerability make them less effective in this role.Design Features
- The cab-over-engine layout improves the driver’s forward view, reducing the risk of collisions with the light vehicles, livestock and foot traffic common on domestic roads.
- Flatbeds and trays are more common than closed containers, and extra luggage can be carried on the roof and side rails. Tarpaulins provide some protection and are easy to repair or replace.
- The large curved window panes seen on pre-Schism vehicles are hard to replicate, and most Mules have cruder substitutes. This example uses perspex sheets with metal reinforcing spars.
- The paired rear wheels improve weight distribution and make punctures less dangerous. Mules are still susceptible to breakdown and immobilisation especially if used offroad.
- On longer assignments the cab-over layout tends to be less comfortable; it also offers less protection and makes engine access harder. When possible, convoy operators use dedicated armoured transports for long-range trade and exploration. The more desperate or destitute arm their Mules as best they can.
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Continuing from my other comment on this Last Voyage of the Charon
Well... here we were, on the shores of a new Ashland, the freezing sky overhead with nowhere really to go but straight in front of us. Marcus and I began walking, no real purpose, but it was all we could do. The others followed, either out of a similar sense of loss, or just because it was where everyone else was going, they followed, a trail of footsteps behind us as the Charon vanished from sight over the bleak horizon. Myself, Marcus my fellow warrior priest lead the way. Barbaras, a former slaver and the ships crew, Captain Axel Flynn, Jack the engineer, Luke the chef, Reggie and Andy the deckhands and Bart the gunner, all carrying weapons covering our position from the ashlands. I kept my gun, a salvaged pre-schism assault rifle hidden under my cloak, and Marcus alongside me with a hidden war ax and pistol. The others from the ship, a teenage couple, a behemoth of a man and his lover, and a few others from our eclectic crowd followed solemnly behind us.
Several hours passed in silence, with Marcus and i simply praying quietly to ourselves, simply to pass the time. We came across a road etched into the dirt, fresh tire tracks from larger vehicles and speeding bikes criss-crossed the shattered landscape. We decided to follow it. But before we could, we heard the growl of a diesel engine. We snapped to attention, guns ready as a truck appeared through the ash fog, honking at us. We were extremely cautious, very careful, we didnt know this area. Then it came into view proper, i could see the driver. Grizzled cigar chomping old beard in his late 50s, blaring his horn from the cab. I recognized him immediately, and removed my mask. He spotted me and slammed on brakes, pulling on the side of the road.
He got out, threw his arms open and yelled out at me. 'Weeeeelll cover me in ash and call me a Tar Worm, Valtiel, my brother from another mother! Y'all come give me a hug now!' His thick accent shone through. He was one of very, very few people who was still alive when the Schism happened, his kind were becoming increasingly difficult to find.
'Jeffers old friend, good to see you! My god look at you! Definitely a better sight than the sorry state i found you in last time eh?' I joked, remembering how my kindness gave him a second shot at life.
'Yer daayum right son! Now tell me, what in the sham hills asshole is y'all doin' out in here? Bad place to be caught in a ash storm.' He asked, giving a greeting nod to Marcus who was standing nearby.
'Lost. Our order collapsed... kind of have nowhere to go. Mind if we get a lift?' I asked bluntly. Low on supplies, no idea where we were... ash storms... i hated to do this, but with no other recourse i just came out with it.
'Weeeell sheeeit! Damn straight i will! Not gonna leave a good man like you out here in hell. Come on y'all! Get in! Sorry its a bit cramped back there, heading to market! Find a spot and chill, i'll take you ta town.' He said cheerfully, gesturing everyone to hop in.
Barbaras and the men with guns took up positions on the truck as best they could, with Barbaras himself proudly, expertly standing on the roof of the cab, gun drawn. Hed done it before, no matter how much bumping and rocking the truck did he barely flinched from his position. The other crawled over the pile of junk in the back, repacking it to make space for everyone to at least try sit. Jeffers requested that Marcus and i sit in front with him, me in the sleeper cab, Marcus riding shotgun. Jeffers said to get comfortable, as it was a two hour drive to a place called Crater City. I got busy. I found some scrap papers among the debris in the back and began scribbling with a piece of sharpened charcoal, the only thing i could find, and while chatting to Marcus, wrote down what i learned from the conversations i had on the Charon. By the time we got to Crater City, i had 40 pages of work, with Marcus fervently reading every page, memorizing what id written.
The city was massive. A crater caused by the Schism, with towering spires of the shattered ruins of civilization poking out at every point of view, shattered skyscrapers hundreds of feet high reduced no little more than burnt out husks now made the proud, strangely beautiful home of this burgeoning city. A huge hole in the ground, surrounded on the south, East and West side by a dune created by the bomb that landed here decades previously, a massive circular structure of cobbled together shacks, shanties and marketplace stalls full of people, all of this surrounded by concrete and steel pillars reaching up into the sky. By the time we arrived in the city center, helping Jeffers offload his cargo as a thank you for the lift, Marcus had memorized the papers id scribbled down. He always was a fast learner. I wandered around the stalls, looking to see if someone would be willing to buy my rifle. Perhaps i could trade it off for something smaller, and get Marcus and i meal or something. Id found a dealer, traded my gun for two revolvers and some change. The money they used were things called 'casino tokens' and were so much lighter, more easily useable than the klanky clinky bottlecaps and can tops we used in the old place. I found the system more effective and smiled as i found a shop dealing in Noodles, one of my favorite foods.
My train of thought derailed as i could hear Marcus' thundering voice blast across the market stall. He had found the preachers pulpit and began a sermon, based upon what was said in the papers i wrote, extensively revised of course as he was saying things i never wrote down. His sermon quickly gathered a crowd, small at first, most people disillusioned by the usual ponderous babbling offered by the podiums previous occupants and deciding to simply not bother. But after a while, the crowd grew, and grew, he spoke more sense than i ever could put into words, the fantastic orator placing the 40 page principle of faith i had scribbled on some scrap paper, and turning it into a rousing speech that reduced the finest political speeches and religious sermons to little more than the babbling of a crippled preschooler. His words moved everyone, even me, and the crowd gathered to the thousands, speakers erected to warn residents of danger redirected to broadcast his rousing sermon made his already booming voice echo from miles around. I gathered together some trinkets at a blacksmith, and began to work, forging the symbol of what i knew would be something great. It took a bit, with some solder and a hammer, i cobbled together an approximate facsimile of our banner.
I moved forward through the crowd, standing behind Marcus brandishing a pole bearing our new emblem on the tip. A refashioned spear piercing through an eight toothed gearwheel, in the center of that wheel, the expertly carved face of the Wastelands most potent symbol of strength and survival - the Ashwalkers - with a hastily made banner of cloth underneath it, painted blue, green and red, bearing the name of our faith - Concordias Deus Gaia or in the Old tongue The New Gaia Concordat.
Marcus finished his speech, resulting in an enormous uproar of approval from the crowd, his booming voice replaced by the elated screams of a shattered ruin full of newfound hope. Id never seen something like this happen, i knew words had power but not like this! Marcus grabbed the hasty construct i made, raised it high and yelled out 'FOR THE GLORY OF GAIA, WE MUST BRING BACK THE GREEN!!!' resulting in a second thunderous roar from the three thousand inhabitants of the city.
Marcus wasted no time, seizing the moment for his new faith to blossom and immediately got to work. Marcus you see was a Doctor, a well practised surgeon, and began assisting the overly burdened and very much undertrained medical staff while instilling in the gathering flock even more wisdom from his newfound faith. I however moved among the crowd, my faith in humanity restored to its fullest as i received an endless barrage of requests for blessing and help for the gathering flock, and did my finest to supply it. To those that i could reach i blessed them. A simple gesture with a simple phrasing. My right hand on the persons left shoulder.
'Pasashe Us Teyuth Lorekaan Deus Gaia.' or in the old tongue - Give Me Strength To Bring Back The Green.
jflaxman you mentioned symbols and descriptions... i hate email. its why i havent responded. So... i prefer something like this. So there you go, theres the description of your symbol, plus some more story. hope you enjoy
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'never say die'
Reminds me of a scene in the 1986 movie, Howard The Duck
"On my planet we don't say 'die', we say kill!"
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My father, an old truck driver, would have loved this. Logistics is often a thing ignored in all media.
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I could see this on a t-shirt.
I'm always impressed by a great vehicle. I could never do them. Too much perspective and detail that you have to get just right, but this is gorgeous.
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I love the gritty look - and the detail! Even a pallet and an old milk can. NEAT!!
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Even in mankind's declining years there will always be someone who writes "Wash me" on a dirty windshield.
'Great pic. Love how you got this looking so run down.
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Thanks! I used a lot of textures from photos I've taken over the years.
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This just simply looks so damn good I'm just not saying this for the hell of it this really looks good like it was done by a complete pro!
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Awesome!
This looks great! awesomeness man! I love it!
This is straight up something one would see in the helltorn wastes, I love it! The friggin detail man, superb!
Also, this truck looks like one of those from India, is it? what model is it, if I can ask.
Keep it up man!
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Thanks! I'm not completely happy with the background (I used a weird mix of concrete and chemical spill textures) but the rest of the textures here were fun.
This truck isn't based on any one kind, but you'd have no trouble finding many like it in poorer or remoter places.
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You're very welcome ^^ The background
looks great, legit wasteland 
like it was fun to do ^^
Hmm, it reminded me of a truck from
India, but eh. I still like it
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