Brother Edgar's reverie is broken by the sudden closer bursts of gunfire.  With a sigh, he started to turn and stand.  But the rats started coming out from everwhere.  No time.  Still in a crouch, the Doomsayer gripped his staff and slammed its end to the ground, calling, "Praise to Saint Curie!  The Nature of Radiation Revealed!"  The rod hummed and glowed.  Once again the priest himself dimmed as he released the Glow.  This time he pushed it out, the Glow shimmered and expanded out from him in a widening half circle.  A barely visible field of green energy with the Doomsayer at the center. He gritted his teeth in pain,  "Rally to me!!"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg # 33):

The ruins filled with gunfire as Trask fired short bursts from his ACR's attached carbine. The giant rat-things squealed and a few were hit. Suddenly, there was an expanding green glow centred on a praying Brother Edgar. The giant mutant rats all stopped in surprise at the boundary as if slamming into a flickering green wall. Hearing Brother Egar's command the beset-upon scav changed course and made a beeline for him. His pursuers who hadn't got the memo did when he crossed into the safe zone, screeching to a halt.

After a brief pause, the mutant rats decided they weren't that hungry after all. They beat a hasty scrambling retreat back to their literal rat-holes, dragging their dead and wounded with them.

Gasping for breath, the young man finished inserting a mag into his MP10 with a shaking hand. Then hit the charging handle with the edge of his hand to slam the bolt home and chamber a round (the "HK slap"). "Good Lord... thanks for the help, fellers! I'm Luke and I reckon woulda' been done for without your help! Those nutria came outta nowhere!"

Brother Edgar pushed himself to his feet, a bit shakily, but continued to hold the control out in front of him.  A focal point of concentration for maintaining the glowing barrier.  The radpriest still looked very tired, but now also in some sort of deep pain.

He's having a hard day.

Despite that, Brother Edgar managed a strained smile at "Luke","Happy... to help...  Luke.  Brother Edgar."  To the rest of his travelling companions, Edgar added, "I will only be able to keep them at bay for a few minutes.  I can't guarantee they won't be back after that...  A plan?"

"You can drop the barrier. I doubt they are coming back in five minutes." he says as he holsters his pistol. "Chricton. And other than the obvious what are you doing out here son?"

Trask thought to fire on those retrieving the dead ones, but held off to save ammunition and so as to not antagonise the creatures to attack again. He let them depart unmolested as he continued to run scans of the area should they return while the rest of the team were talking.


-

There was some snarling and fighting as the mutant nutria began devouring their dead and wounded even as they were dragging the bodies out of sight.

The young man nervously watched the carnage with a horrified look on his face. "Thanks again, that could have been me! They're so hungry." His soft drawl marked him as a Louisianan. "Brother Edgar, Crichton. Pleasure is all mine, I assure you!

"I was doin' some scavvin' here. Lookin' for empty propane cylinders that weren't too rusted. Found a couple, put them in my boat. Thought I could get one more. That's when I got cornered by those nutria. They're gonna be back, so I guess I'll be on my way. Ya'all got my deepest thanks. Is there anything I can do to help ya'all? Just name it."

Peter had fired off only a couple shots before things were ended. He lowered his gun and gave the newcomer a wary nod. "I am Peter." He paused a moment as the man started rambling on.

"Nutria, did you call them?" He frowned slightly. "It is dangerous to scavenge alone at the best of times in the best of places. You must be very desperate."

He glanced at the others and gestured. "We are....tracking someone, who headed that way. Could you guide us, or at least give us information about what lies that way?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 39):

He nodded his head. "Luke. Luke Kirby. Yeah, whatever you want! I'm from across the river. Nutria are swamp rats, like big water rats. But non-aggressive. Bred for their fur! A lot meaner now."

Looking at their half-completed raft he said, "I can take ya'all cross the river with me. Sounds like that's where whoever you're tracking is from. I'm from Nouveau Baton Rouge, the old city centre that's in the middle of the river now. We rigged up ramps and walkways to connect the buildings that are stickin' up out of the water and the swamp. You want to come along? Let's get out of here!"

"Do you mean you have transportation, Luke?" Smoker asked.

Brother Edgar opted to allow the miracle to be maintained, though it was uncomfortable.  It would be more uncomfortable to be gnawed upon those things.  Folk might also note the air seemed a bit cleaner and sweeter even.  Within the bubble, everything just seems a bit...better.

At Smoker's question, Edgar merely moved to follow Luke, "I say we follow him and find out."

Peter listened and then glanced at Brother Edgar. He gave a half-shrug and nodded. "I have no argument against that." He made a 'we'll see' sort of gesture. "Your home sounds interesting."

However, he was intrigued to see how Luke would answer Smoker. Their 'raft' was likely going to be fine and all, but actual transportation might be more welcome.

"Uh-huh. It's this way. What I can do is tow your raft. That way you're not completely stranded across the river. I'm apprentice to Nouveau Baton Rouge's chief engineer, Mr. Tinsdale. I can introduce you when I drop off the recycling I found. He or Mashall Reyanrd should be able to help you out and maybe give you something for helping me out. We also call it "Red Stick" for short. Let's go."

He began leading them upriver to the north, along the bank. They detoured around wrecked concession stands, some sinking into the black stinking river mud.

"Hey, that booming noise, is it getting louder?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:29, Mon 14 Sept 2020.

Indeed, the booming sounds coming from upriver were getting noticeably louder and had sped up in tempo. Whatever it was, it was getting close. Hidden by the trees and ruins on the bank.

From around a bend there came into sight a Mississippi paddlewheeler. Boats like this had been popular before the war as floating casinos, hotels, restaurants and tour boats. Whatever this one's former profession it had fallen on hard times! The pilot house was gone. The promenade deck below was lined with sandbags and behind those were a ragged crew waving long rifles of some kind and various hand weapons.

Formerly white paint was stained with rust and grime. One stack was missing and the other sheared off halfway up. The smoke that wafted out from the remaining half stack was probably not from a boiler (these boats had all once been electric or had diesel engines) but the paddlewheels in the back were completely removed. Instead, a series of oars protruded from the lower deck, dipping and pulling to the rhythm of the drum. On the bow an ancient cannon was mounted on some kind of ancient turn-table.

Four flat-boats with outboard engines roared around the corner as well. They were packed with filthy-looking scavvs, all armed with rifles of some kind and keeping low for cover.

Luke looked flabbergasted, he obvious has no idea who these people are or what they want, although the latter is pretty obvious!

Smoker found himself staring at this apparition. Part of his mind was working out what he'd do with such a platform... certainly there was scope for devising a far better propulsion system...

Trask was on the move once it became apparent what they were facing and where the drums were coming from. He looked for cover before aiming at the deck gun and getting ready to fire.



-

Peter gave a nod towards Luke, "That would be very appreciated, thank you. We will eventually need to come back over this way." He began to follow Luke, but that soon ended.

His eyes widened when he saw an enormous boat, like one of the 'casino boats' he'd heard of back in the day to avoid 'law enforcement entanglements' by not operating on land in their 'jurisdiction'. But this was...not quite what it once would have been. And it looked like it was bringing danger their way.

"Well, crap." He gave Luke a push even as he put a finger to his lips. "We should hide or at least find cover."

OOC: Do we have a chance to hide, or do they seem to see us already?

"This is gonna get interesting." the junker says as he pulls a couple pistols and starts to watch the bandits warily.

  OOC Pulling his Plasma Pistol and his Colt Bluntline. He offers the Bluntline to Smoker.

Brother Edgar sighed a bit at the sight.  The glow under his robe was so faded.  Just tired.  Wasteland life will do that to you.  Run you ragged with all the constant threat.  He moved over alongside Luke, nudging the man toward whatever cover could be found, "Best to get down..."  He might not have much help left to offer, but he could at least protect the man with the ride out of here.

"Thank you, Airen," said Smoker, dropping the armful of scrap to accept the Buntline.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg # 48):

"My boat's about a half-mile upstream, hidden...." He also seemed mighty surprised at the old scow.

"What in the Hell is that? I agree, Peter, let's get the heck outta here!"

He began looking around for cover or a way out of there.

In reply to Luke Kirby (msg # 52):

The question whether they'd been seen was answered by a puff of white smoke from the cannon on the foredeck of the ship around 300 yards away. Followed by a dark object whizzing overhead to crash into the old boardwalk about 200 feet away and a booming crack (as the report of firing caught up to the shell). It was not an explosive round, however, as there was no explosion on impact of the round. The gun crew immediately began swabbing out the thick iron gunbarrel.

The four motorised flatboats split into two pairs, one heading past them to angle towards the shore downstream, the other aiming for upstream. Both were about 250 yards out. Both crews were holding their fire and keeping as low as possible, hiding behind the low gunwales.

The nearest cover was a flimsy wood concession stand half-sunk into the riverbank mud. Farther away were concrete ruins of the amusement park and the ruins of Port Kelley. Right where they were was a boardwalk with wood and concrete concession stands. Downstream were some riverside newer hotels and restaurants, upstream were older collapsed houses hidden among the trees. Kudzu and grey Spanish Moss covered everything.

Trask found the nearest cover that was made of concrete, the concession stands close to them seemed to be ideal. He took up a position and let the HUD begin to identify targets as he aimed for the deck gun with a HE 20mm shell.


Increase Trask rolled 6 using 3d8, keeping the highest dice only, rerolling max with rolls of 6,3,3.  20mm.




-

Peter was no fool. A small wooden shack would provide almost zero protection against...cannonballs?? He let out a small, frustrated sigh. Then without another word, he began to sprint towards the ruins of the amusement park. Concrete would at least provide some protection, if not forever. He wished he had a better plan other than run and find cover, but for the moment that was what was needed. Once they had cover they could strategize. He hoped.

  "Damned if we don't keep running into trash. First Kargo, then the damned Anti-Templars, and now these screw ups. Bet they aren't expecting resistance." he says out loud to no one as he runs for cover behind some concrete. "This is gonna be bad. Smoker get over here."

Brother Edgar, trying to keep Luke with him and head down, quietly agreed with the others assessment of cover.  He too headed for the more solid concrete stands.  Knowing that the others were focused, rightly so, on the ship, Edgar tried to keep an eye on the rest of the area...in case the rats decided to hide in the same place as they were heading...