May 05, 2094
Wednesday, 0700 hours
The Road East of Pantanto Station
Clear and Cool.



It's the day after the battle of Pantano Station. Some repairs have been made, weapons reloaded, wounds bound or healed by the powers of the divine. The townsfolk are happy to be free of the gang, but they make it clear that the horde of muties aren't welcome to stay. Mostly because there isn't enough food to spare for them, and truth to tell the townsfolk felt guilty about not helping them out when they had the chance. Perhaps in the future there would be some reconciliation, but for now the wounds and guilt were too fresh. After they made it to the ruins of Chance City and settled there, the muties might be back to trade, as Pantano Station would be their closest neighbors.

Three groups stood at the on-ramp to I-10, at the interchange. One consisted of the crew of the rig and chase vehicle, another were the wandering defenders and the last the muties and their shepherd. It was time for the Road Warriors to head back east to Las Cruces and then St. Louis.

The muties were ready to continue walking east, as they'd been doing since Tucson. But they had helped them defeat the gang that had preyed on other travelers, and their destination was on the way. It would be natural to give them a lift.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:20, Fri 25 June 2010.

As the bright Sun rose across the wide open New Mexico plain, the Doomsayer gathered those Chosen who had come to accept the Truth of the Glow.  They gathered for a morning devotional, honoring the Saints of the Bomb and the Atom. The Sun becomes a shining focus in this sermon, reminding all of the benevolent power of the Glow.  It is worth noting that not all the mutant band have truly joined the cult; though they all respect and look to the Doomsayer as a protector.  The quite ceremony ends with the gathered offering the chanted refrain:In the name of the twisted, In the image of the deformed, in the fury of the Atom, in the glow of the Bomb...The new age arose.

Devotion complete, Brother Edgar and his flock begin packing up their things to begin their journey again.  Many amongst the mutants look over to the rig crew camped nearby.  The promise of the rig is simply too powerful.  But they then remember their twisted faces, their burns, their scars, lumps, tails, fangs and worse.  The Doomsayer who walks amongst them, helping and carrying more than his share seems to realize their hopes and cannot turn away.

He now walks slowly towards the rig and its crew, hands raised in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture.  He comes alone.  No sense in giving the wrong idea.  Survivors can be very protective of their vehicles.  For good reason.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:35, Fri 25 June 2010.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #2):

The other muties cluster nervously behind him. They have an assortment of hand-carts, suitcases, boxes, backpacks. There are even some livestock and poultry.

"Are the normies gonna hurt us?" asks little Timmy, face discoloured by a speckle of quarter-sized light marks on his black skin.

Dayne had shed his guise to assist the gathering mutants in recent tribulations, but by this point in time had once again assumed the only guise that was particularly easy for a long haired unshaven man as himself to pull off - that of a vagabond.  He walked alongside his horse for the moment, which was laden with his belongings, which were also quite well hidden away.  Not everyone rolled around with armor, a Templar's tabard and a sword.

He had wondered whether or not these mutants were deserving of his assistance, but upon witnessing Brother Edgar's bravery in the face of danger, he had been convinced that they were making an effort to stand up to themselves and were worthy of his help.  Arthur Dayne took a moment to contemplate the saints from whom he drew most inspiration, Wyatt Earp the Saint of Justice and John Wayne the Saint of Grit.  They would have approved of his actions, in that he was confident.  In his place, both of those giants among men would have done what was necessary.  His hand rested on his horse, reaching into a bundle of rags and gripping on the hilt of his weapon.  If trouble arose, Arthur Dayne would not hesitate to draw his sword and bring justice to whoever sought to trouble their present company.  For the moment however, he was content to let Brother Edgar be the diplomat.

In reply to Arthur Dayne (msg #4):

"Man, I sure hope they give us a ride." Michaela muttered. She was standing on the other side of the horse. Her own gear was on her back, but unlike her mentor she would be walking to their next destination. She was unused to all this harsh sunshine, being from the west coast. "If that's okay, sir."

Already the buzzards were circling over the graveyard in the crisp morning air, where dozens of new graves were being dug to accommodate Pantano Station's old masters.

Dakota Jack yawned and counted the empty loops on his belt, and was not pleased.  The 19th century leatherwork contrasted sharply with the 20th century pistols.  The belt had nearly been full before those thugs had relieved him of it, but after that nasty business yesterday he was down.  This was to say nothing of the the sweet swag he'd lost in Truth or Consequences, but he'd resigned himself to that over a week ago, which was forever in Dakota Jack's terms.

He was uneasy as he walked down the shoulder of the old interstate, which was in such disrepair the sagebrush and cacti were growing up through holes in the pavement.   Normally when Jack wandered his eyes swept the ground and horizon looking for water or the glint of misplaced salvage, but he didn't even bother to keep an eye out for such things on such a well traveled route.  Amazingly he'd somehow escaped injury in the battle, but then again it's not that hard to keep your foes from fighting back when you shoot first.

He looked at the weirdo in the purple bathrobe, as he called it, approaching the convoy, such as it was, and wondered what he and that gang of freaks were going to do.  Jack hoped they wouldn't run into more trouble like that Pantano Station gang, but at the moment he wondered how they'd survive day to day.  He shrugged and kept walking.  That was a problem his quick hands just couldn't help them with.

The thought occurred to Jack to try hitchhiking.  He'd done it before, sometimes if you offered to shoot banditos and brought your own guns, you could hitch a ride, and Dakota didn't particularly care where they were going so long as it was not Truth or Consequences.  Of course there was that one time where he'd been dangerously close to the Colorado border, and out of ammunition, and the intrepid road warrior known as Large Marge had demanded payment of a different sort...

He shuddered at the memory.  Still, he'd gotten six rounds of factory primed ammo and the privilege of a ride for two days, in the cab no less.  Totally worth it.

That's when he realized he was walking about parrallel to a horse's rear end, and recognized the man who'd let him out of jail.  It's not everyone who lets you out of jail.

"Hey there hombre."  He called out to Arthur Dayne, that ominous rasp in his voice a sharp contrast to his goofy grin.

Nix took another drag on his ever present pipe as he watched the priest approach.  He was sat on the top of the cab of Roadkill's truck with his binoculars in one hand and his rifle across his lap.  He'd been up for a while, taking his turn on guard duty and keeping watch for any returning gang members or members of Brother Edgar's flock who were inclined to help themselves to the cargo in the back of Roadkill's truck.

"Doomsayer's commin' this way for a parley!" he called down to the other members of their little convoy after exhaling the smoke from his pipe.  He was certain that all of them were up and moving but he wanted to ensure that they were all aware of the approaching Priest.  "Doubt we're gonna get payment for them bullets we gone and fired yesterday from the looks of him," he added.

He studied Brother Edgar again, making sure for the umpteenth time that this wasn't the particular Doomsayer who had an issue with Nix.  It was hard to tell one purple robed priest from another but Nix liked the sound of Brother Edgar's voice, even if he didn't really understand what the man talked about, and he was sure that this wasn't that particular Doomsayer.  He wasn't sure just how connected individual Doomsayers were to each other though, so that worried him a little.

He also wondered what the Priest wanted and curiosity eventually overtook him.  He couldn't wait for the others, he just had to ask!  He couldn't stop himself!

"What ya need Pastor?" he called in greeting, staying sat on top of the truck's cab but studying the Priest and abandoning keeping watch at all.

Jane leaned nonchallantly against the convoy's gun. It was a calculated move; it looked casual, but menacingly casual. With luck she wouldn't have to waste any ammo from the old boy. 'Tom', she called it; it was a tradition from the 'Hats. You named your biggest gun after the first person who'd broken your heart...

Nix had already started the parlay, and that was fine with her. She wasn't much the jawin' type, and the mutie priests gave her the shivers. Sure, she had a stake in the game, but she didn't want to push it; gun-hands were surprisingly easy to find in this zone, and besides, while she wasn't a huge fan of mutant-kind, she wasn't about to let innocent people sit out here and rot.

...If they were innocent.

With the sun to his back, the soft green glow from beneath the Doomsayer's hood is very apparent.  The vehicles and their crews get a good once over as he gets close enough.  Pausing a moment on the intimidating heavy machine gun and the gunner with her calculated lean.  Having recently seen the damage that one gun can dish out, he seems of no mind to start a fight.

And so, his hands remained raised in peace, palms open.  His attention goes up to the lookout on the cab and his question.  Brother Edgar's expression is open and friendly, as usual.  His voice a careful medium, no passivity or aggression, "I would speak with your driver.  I wish to see about arranging transport for these suffering souls."  With a sigh, his expression slides into regret, "After the terrible business with the road gang, I feel they would be best served by reaching their destination as swiftly as can be negotiated."  Carefully putting emphasis on negotiation.  The Doomsayer is here to try and deal, not fight or take.

Peter, as he was wont to do after a battle, stood near his pickup truck trying in vain to fix some of the uneven areas and the places where the paint had been shot or scraped off. An occasional curseword came out of him as he did so. But he did glance towards the mutants and the Doomsayer.

"I have nothing against mutants or Doomsayers, as a rule. Just the bad ones. The ones who believe in death to us non-mutants, who want our blood and our lives, they do not get anything but my bullets."

He stood up and knuckled his back with one fist. "I am getting too old for this." Then he walked towards Nix and the Doomsayer.

"A ride would be welcome, Michaela," said the Templar, considering her for a moment and then favoring her with one of his rare smiles.  "Less time on the road, more time doing good for those who are in need...and who deserve it."   He trudged on for a moment in silence, pensive and contemplating the recent past and the future.

Hearing a voice calling out for him, he turned and saw Jack, the man he had released from prison earlier and nodded solemnly at him. "How do you do?" the stoic warrior asked the man, not sure exactly what to say after the recent situation they had encountered..

Nix pointed to Roadkill in response to Brother Edgar's question.  "He's the driver and it's his rig."

Nix then returned to scanning around and noticed a familiar figure a short distance away.  He stared at the man for a couple of seconds before standing up on top of the cab and yelling.  He was certain that it was his former cell mate.

"Jack!  Dakota Jack!  Is that you?"

Jack hollered back loud enough to be heard clearly.

"Sunuva'itch!  Is that you Smokey?  I didn't recognize you in all the commotion... hey man you're not gonna believe this... This hombre..."  Dakota Jack firmly clasps his right hand over Arthur Dayne's left shoulder.  "This guy right here... sprung me out of jail, and thats not all, he leads me right up into the middle of those guys.  I mean damn man I don't know what that looked like from your side but that was some plumb loco stuff going on from my end.  This crazy mother was running around left and right swinging a damn sword, it was nuts!  This guy's got a pair so big, they must be the size of watermelons.  Can ya'll believe that!?  Sprung out of th' pokey twice!  I musta done somethin' right, my karma's been awesome lately.  Oh man, we are going to party whenever we get to... wherever the hell you're going.  Say friend how's your..."

Dakota Jack's eye wandered to Micheala.  He took her in for a moment before grinning a wide grin.  Cordially he removed his sunglasses, tipping them for lack of a hat, and used his best sly smile.

"Ma'am."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:11, Sat 26 June 2010.

Roadkill had been sitting in the driver's seat of the rig cleaning his sawed off shotgun when the doomsayer approached...with a whole mess of mutants behind him. He threw a couple shells in and snapped the weapon shut but left it laying in his lap, not wanting to appear too aggressive. He didn't want to end up in a mutie stewpot tonight.

A tense moment passed for him until the doomsayer spoke. The mutant's words were reassuring and he began to relax a bit. Maybe not every warped member of the human species was a cannibalistic savage after all.

"My name's Roadkill and this is my rig," he says in a matter of fact tone. "I'm heading East. If that's the direction you need to go then perhaps we can reach an agreement. But the spook juice that this baby runs on ain't free..."

Peter's eyes lit up slightly at the mention of negotiation and payment. He put on a smile that was meant to look kind, but ended up looking slightly 'greasy' like a used car salesman. "Well, now. I have some room in my truck as well for a few of you. Well-paying customers even get to sit inside the shelter of the well-armored cab with me, though seating is, of course, limited." He held up one hand, "I do not accept slavery or sexual favors, however. Though I am willing to allow one person to ride free if 5 friends pay."

Mentally figuring up how many people he could reasonably and safely ferry, he looks back over his shoulder. "Jane, are you riding with me or with the rig?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg #15):

There are some angry, disappointed muttering from the crowd of 30 or so muties gathered on the on-ramp.

Mostly, the comments that were heard were along the lines of, "Would we be walking if we had anything to give?" and, in disbelief, "do those brainers think we're out here raising money for cancer research?"

There were a few muties buried too (although outside of town) so the survivors felt they paid their dues in blood by helping take out the Pantano gang. Sigfried, the leader of the refugee band (besides Brother Edgar) shouldered his M10 rifle (with its remaining half-full magazine) and started getting people moving.

"Come on, if we start now we can make it by nightfall. We're not going to pay these guys anything." While Brother Edgar was their guide and spiritual leader, but Sigfried was the one they elected to lead them at Chance City after Brother Edgar moved on to spread the word of the Glow elsewhere.

Dejected and sullen, they began shouldering their burdens and walking along the road. Some looked dejected, a few looked sullen, but most looked determined to continue the journey onwards.

A crown of the "good citizens" of Pantano Station gathered. Some smirk approvingly at the penniless refugees being ruthlessly shaken down by Peter and Roadkill, laughing with hard eyes at the plight of the less fortunate. "God damned lazy good-for-nothing muties. Start givin' them free rides, and soon they'll be begging outside the liquor store, getting drunk on Welfare Wednesday and puking on the sidewalk..."

A particularly bold townsman yelled, "You tell 'em, boys! Serves 'em right! Goddamn lazy bastards! They's gotta pays their way, like all honest good folk! Ha! Ha!" He was clearly enjoying the muties' embarrassment. Most started to look away in embarrassment, and a couple stalked away in disgust.

The new mayor of Pantano Station looked guilty. Someone whispered something in her ear.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:26, Sat 26 June 2010.

Roadkill takes out a small pouch of tobacco that he had 'recovered' from one of the dead at Pantano and sticks a wad in his lower lip. He listens to their complaints with a flat face and watches with impassive eyes as the mutants turn around and start to leave. With a shrug he hops down from the cab and says to nobody in particular, "Well if they're not even going to try and bargain I can't help 'em. This ain't a damned charity."

If he gets any disgusted looks from anyone nearby he adds, "Oh c'mon, they've got some firearms. Probably some ammo too. All those things are good for trade." There is a slightly defensive note to Roadkill's voice, as if he knows he is being the bad guy here but he also speaks with a certain stubborn resolution that indicates that he has made up his mind and won't easily be swayed.

The situation seems to quickly be dissolving around him.  The Doomsayer was about to speak to the driver when his people began to rush to judgement.  He turned to his flock, only to be momentarily distracted by the comments from the town.  Will people never learn.  Knowing his responsibility lies with the Chosen, he concentrates on them.  Raising his voice only to be heard.

"Chosen of the Atom!  Do not allow yourselves to fall prey to false assumption.  Just as we must look after ourselves, the Driver must look after his rig and his crew.  He has every right to ask for trade for a service provided.  The same right you would have in his place."  His tone turns now to admonishment as he looks over his people, "Vehicles such as these do not run on charity and I know of none that do."  He looks now to Siegfried, the protector, "We lost friends and supplies in our defense.  These people lost as well.  They could have driven on.  They had every ability to do so, but they stayed to help you all.  And asked for nothing."  He begins to look once more around the group, trying to catch eyes and let them see that he means every word, "To move forward towards the utopia that awaits us, we must all work together.  Normie and Chosen.  That does not mean we give anything away.  I would never ask that of you.  I would not ask that of them.  It means we find a compromise.  It means we are /patient/.  It means we find a way."

Once he can see that his words are having some positive effect on the group, he will spare a moment to turn back to the Driver, "Can we find a way?  I admit, we do not have much in the way of items.  But we do have skills.  Once settled in a new home, these good people can even provide trade and food.  Perhaps a contract that could benefit your Convoy?"  There is no pleading, no passivity.  Just a respectful search for reason and fairness.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:29, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #18):

At this point, the mutants ignored Roadkill and Peter with icy contempt or feigned nonchalance. They keep walking down the road without stopping.

Sigfried wandered over to Brother Edgar. Like many muties, he still was a Christian and knew some of the bible by heart, even if his faith in the Lord had taken a considerable beating.

"Brother Edgar, the book of Matthew says, "Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you."

"We're not interested in what this brainer's selling, because we can make it on our own.

"We got one rifle and ten bullets left between us, but we have faith the Glow will protect us. When you're done wasting your breath with these normie brainers, you can meet us down the road."

He tipped his baseball cap at Roadkill with exaggerated courtesy and sauntered away.

Roadkill noticed that he wouldn't meet his eyes for some reason, but as he didn't appear intimidated or embarrassed he couldn't figure out why. Brother Edgar knew that Sigfried had been looking in the wrong direction on Judgement Day, and an after-image of a glowing skull-shaped mushroom cloud from a Ghost-Rock bomb detonation had been permanently seared into his retinas so he couldn't see straight-on.

Seeing that the muties had sand, the townspeople continued their embarrassed silence, and even the hecklers were told to pipe down.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:49, Sat 26 June 2010.

The Doomsayer cannot wait for the driver to respond.  With a shake of his head, he turns to follow after Siegfried and the others as the gather.  Moving close and speaking quieter, trying to converse with the mutant band, especially its warleader, "Saint Darwin taught us that it is only through change that we become greater.  Stubborn pride and intolerance are the enemies of change."  He pauses for emphasis before continuing, "The Glow will guide and protect you, that is true.  But it will not do everything for you.  It is through the struggles that we are forged.  Are you so deserving that you would demand to be given freely what others have worked for?  And when others do not give you what you want, you decide that it must be worthless?"

Shaking his head once more is sadness, Brother Edgar scans the crowd to find any hope of reason, "With their help we can safely cross the plains much more quickly and safely than we can alone.  By treating them with respect and honesty, we gain allies.  Allies that can help your community survive.  You have so much to gain by working together.  You have everything to lose by being prideful.  Think of St. Darwin's teachings.  Adapt."

Dakota Jack managed to somehow be distracted by what was going on just ahead of him, a real feat considering he had Micheala right there in front of him.

Ah hell.  He thought when he heard We got one rifle and ten bullets left between us.

"You, er, uh, I'll be right back."  Dakota Jack released Arthur Dayne's shoulder and then glanced back at Micheala with another #### eating grin.  "Don't go changin'."

Jack scampered across the interstate so he could talk to Smoker without having to holler, his guitar case swinging behind him.

"I think I'm going to have to give you a raincheck on that reunion party Smokey, ten rounds of ammo ain't gonna get them freaky people too far and it's pretty obvious they're walkin'.  They might as well be a line 'o ducks 'a waddlin' down th' road.  They got that scary weirdo in the purple bathrobe, but that only goes so far."  Dakota Jack shrugs.  "The best protection against murdering bastards is another murdering bastard.  But since we don't have any of those available I guess they'll have to settle for a jackoff like me."

The Templar smiled faintly at Jack's praise.  While he knew inwardly that he was a man with greater than average bravery, skill in hand to hand combat, and testicular fortitude, he did not believe in ostentation.  He accepted the praise with dignity and humility, but did not attempt to diminish his own role in matters.  It was important for people to know that there were still people like himself and Michaela walking the earth.  The good would take heart and the bad would have a seed of fear planted in their hearts.

As Jack walked away, the Templar gave his squire a teasing smile.  "Another young man falling for your charms, Michaela," he said, his voice touched by his wry sense of humor.

PEter gave a loud theatrical sigh. He scrubbed a hand on his face and hesitated for a long moment. Then called out after the mutants loudly but mostly spoke to the Doomsayer. "Alright, ALRIGHT! It wouldn't be that far out of my way, so I suppose I can help some of them out. Maybe they can provide food and a night's rest or something in trade when we get where they are going." He sighed again and shook his head, muttering under his breath.

Nix shook his head as Dakota Jack approached and then took another drag on his pipe.

"God damn you Jack," he said, half smiling and half complaining.  "Why can you never call me Nix like everyone else.  Why do you always have to go and call me something else!"

It had been Dakota Jack who has given Nix the nickname of Smoker when they had shared a cell together.  Well Smoker was just one of the nicknames Jack had labelled Nix with.  Smokey was another but Nix's favourite had been Genius, though that had only been used once by Jack when Nix had managed to pick the lock of their cell door enabling them to escape.  Jack hadn't used it since as far as Nix was aware!

"Roadkill," he called to his friend in the cab below, uncaring as to whether he was interrupting a conversation that Roadkill was already in.  "If we need another gun I can personally vouch for Dakota Jack Cardinal here.  He's a really badass with a gun!"  Whether Roadkill valued the personal recommendation of someone as young as Nix only time would tell.

Registering that Dakota Jack intended to accompany the mutant survivors in their walk Nix then added with a grin.  "Jack, if you get killed can I have your guitar?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #20):

At Peter's caving, a voice sneered from the back of the crowd of townspeople, "aw, just like all them damn wagon-burners, no backbone! Mutie-lover!" He was quickly shushed.

Stopping, Sigfried nodded his thanks to Peter.

"Give me a second, sir, to have a bit of a palaver with the good Brother here."

Speaking to Brother Edgar, he answered quietly, "Brother, we got nothin' left to give. What food we got's gotta last us a couple days until we can hunt for more. There's no shelter there right now, it's just some tumble-down adobe walls. We were gonna make some lean-tos and hang some blankets. It's just a day's walk, which we can make for free, and we're no worse off than we were before. In fact, I reckon it's likely to be safe as kittens on that road all the way from here to Las Cruces, for obvious reasons."

He gestured at the trucks by way of explanation.

"Someone who'll help you out when there's nothing in it for them is a friend and ally you need and can trust. Someone who won't, isn't. Don't matter if they're mutie or norm. If we got something to trade in the future, then this guy and his friends will come sniffing around no matter what, if he don't think that'll brand him as a "mutie-lover". A big part of adapting and surviving is using the old noggin, right Brother?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:24, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Arthur Dayne (msg #22):

Michaela looked after Jack with an interest that Arthur sensed was maybe more than just comradely, but it was hard to tell under her sunglasses. She slung her bags and lay her Winchester across her tired shoulders, holding it by the barrel in front of her.

"Well, sir? We hitting the road with these folks? Seems to me they could use a couple more guns." She gestured to the muties, who were making their way east and picking up speed. They were pretty noisy due to a couple of rattling and squealing shopping carts piled with baggage, food and waterskins, but all in all they would make good time on the Interstate.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Sat 26 June 2010.

In reply to Michaela Fukushima (msg #26):

He offered a muted grin at her as she brushed his comment aside.  "We'll definitely be moving on with them.  Something tells me that they still need some help.  Bullets if we must, but I prefer other means."  He patted the bundle of rags affectionately as it held a weapon passed down from Templar to Templar, and of course was blessed by Simon.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #24):

"You sunuvabitch, you know if I get kilt, I'm supposed to be cremated and stuffed inside the gitar."

Jack leaned against the side of the truck, putting his sunglasses back on as looking up at Nix was blinding him.

"Hey, sounds like the Injun feller's come around to hauling a few of them out of here.  Ya know I can't rightly blame your friend in the driver's seat for wanting something for his spirit juice, but it seems like his own convoy's goin' agin' him.  Feller might not even have a rig any more if'n they hadn't picked up a bunch of sticks an' rocks and charged down a bunch o' folks with guns that were a shootin' at 'im an' his fancy truck.  I know there was like.. fitty of 'em, but that's still took some brass ones."

The Colonel walked into the station from the desert, a big sniper rifle carried easily across his shoulders. Though nobody had seen him during the fight, his contribution had been obvious by the number of gangers felled by precise headshots.

Though it had been like shooting fish in a barrel, the Colonel had still enjoyed it immensly; not only had he been killing the bad guys, but there had been a couple of challenging shots when several of the other fighters had closed in with the gangers. All in all, a good days work.

Not good was the amount of ammo he'd expended. The .338 Lapua Magnum rounds he needed for his Mauser rifle were difficult to get, though admittedly a lot less difficult than the caseless 4mm ammo for his pistol.

Quietly, he took leaned against a wall just inside the station proper and watched the situation unfold.

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #29):

The mutie who addressed Brother Edgar shook his head and answered both Peter and Jack at the same time.

"Look, the offer is much obliged, but Brother Edgar says there's nothing there. No buildings or houses, Just some adobe walls from a couple hundred years ago and a creek. We're gonna pitch tents tonight and hunt and trap tomorrow. What food we got's gotta last a few days, what supplies we got need to go towards the town."

He addressed Peter directly. "Sir, we can't pay anything now, but you'd always be welcome with us and we'd stand you for a meal and whatever we can spare if you come through. It's just twenty miles down the road and that's what, a gallon of Ghost Juice? Plus we're going your way. But we're willing to walk it if we need to."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:14, Sat 26 June 2010.

Nix grinned in response and then added, "Yea, but I still get the guitar with youse ashes inside.  Ain't gonna make my playin' any worse!"



Nix shrugged as he answered Jack.  "Ain't my rig so ain't my call."  He seemed to be ambivalent to the fate of the mutants and the discussions that were going on regarding helping them.  If Roadkill decided to help them then Nix would as well but if Roadkill chose to play hardball for a fee then Nix was happy to take that angle as well.

Nix glanced at the pair of pistols Jack was wearing.  "Hey, what size bullets does your pistols take?  I've got four nice shiny nine mil rounds for trade if they is any use to you?"

The Doomsayer just shakes his head again resignedly.  He gave it his best shot.  You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink.  It appears that not only is Siegfried and his band not buying what the driver is selling...he's not buying what Brother Edgar is attempting to sell either.

Thus, the good Brother simply steps back.  Allowing Siegfried to negotiate with the crew as he will.

Having remained in stoic silence leaning against the big gun, Jane raised her sunglasses, "Pete, I'm stickin' here. You need my hand for this thing. But we're takin' some of these folks with us, and if that means tacking it onto my bill, so be it."
With that, the sunglasses went back over the eyes.

The Glow sometimes works in mysterious ways.

Sigfried was mostly interested in hitting the road. The rest of the group were making their way along, but weren't too far.

At this point, most of the townspeople were looking downright ashamed. Especially after hearing Jane, Dakota Jack, and Arthur. Even Pete. The couple trouble-makers in the townie ranks seemed to have faded away.

Interestingly, Brother Edgar's words seemed to affect them the most, even if they weren't directed at them. They had formed into groups, debating what course of action they should take, galvanized by what he'd said.

The mayor, a dark-skinned hispanic woman in a battered cowboy hat, came up to Brother Edgar. She spoke in a flat Arizona accent as she addressed him as one would a Brother of a religious order.

"Hermano, I'm Shiela, the new mayor here. We heard you talking about adapting, maybe it's not so much your folks or the truckers that need to change and adapt, it's us.

"Them muties... them people are going to be our neighbors when they get where they're going, and we're the ones that done them wrong by not doing anything about those pendejos that were here before. Are we not our brothers' keepers? I think it's high time some things changed around here, and thanks for helping us see that."

"We decided if these fellers ain't gonna take your people, we will. Free of charge. We got horses and a truck, but it doesn't run too good. It'll take some squeezin', but we figger we can do it. We'll even loan some tools and lumber to help get things started with your town."

Then Shiela turned to Peter and Roadkill.

"El Hermano en Purpura, the Brother in Purple, his words have touched us, made us see things differently. If you will take them instead of us... we don't got a lot to give, those bastards sucked us dry and didn't do us the courtesy of leaving many of their carcasses behind. Still, we got fresh food and you and your crews are welcome to have a meal on the house if you'll agree to take those folks down the road a spell. We managed to grow some vegetables and there's beef, eggs and milk. What do you say? You can have an honest-to-God trucker's breakfast!"

Ah, the mythical "trucker's breakfast". It was a steak, done rare, with fried eggs on top and has browns. Junkyard was one of the few places you could get one.

The Glow sometimes works in mysterious ways.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:17, Sun 27 June 2010.

Still sat on top of the rig's cab, Nix leaned over the edge so that he could speak to Roadkill in the cab below.

"Hey boss.  One thing.  If Peter and Jane take off and leave us behind then we loose that cannon as protection.  Might be worth the juice just to keep paired with them!"

Roadkill rubs his face as he ponders the offer and then spits into the dirt. A good meal was hard to come by and the rumbling in his stomach told him that he was due.

"It's not far," Roadkill says when he looks up, "and I'm not one to pass on a free meal."

After a pause he says, "I can agree to that, though it sounds like these folks here don't really want my help," he adds with a gesture to the band of mutants. "There's plenty of room though if'n you're still interested. If not...well, I guess we'll see you on the road then."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:57, Sun 27 June 2010.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #36):

It was Sigfried's turn to look ashamed.

"Brother Edgar, will you forgive me? I let my pride blind and deafen me. You've made me see things can be different, not just that we should change, but that the non-mutants can change, too." The theological implications of this were a little dodgy from a Doomsayer perspective, but now probably wasn't the time to get into it. "Brother, we may not need a ride, but we'll take one if it's offered in friendship."

In reply to The Marshall (msg #34):

When free breakfast was mentioned, the Colonel stomach rumbled appreciatively. He'd been living of Milrats stretched with what he could trap and find for some time now; real fresh food sounded like a treat.

He took of his boonie hat and put on the red barrett with the proud emblem of a diving eagle with bolts of lighting in tis claws and crossed lances behind it. Now dressed formally, he walked up to the group with the woman who had declared herself to be the mayor.

"Good morning. Does the offer of free breakfast only extend t those offering rides, or are all of the people who rid you of your oppressors included as well?" he said in a deep voice with a hard german accent.

It actually takes Brother Edgar a long moment to realize the ripple of changing attitudes.  He had taken up his new position suggesting support of Siegfried, rather than leadership of.  His thoughts had turned to hos he could turn this around later.  For him, the lessons of compromise and patience would be invaluable to the new settlement.  Invaluable to the bright future he knew to be true.

The mayor's words re-lifted his attention.  Surprise being obvious.  Then a slow smile grows across his glowing face.  He nods his thanks gently, but doesn't dare interrupt just yet.  The Glow was working a miracle and he would not disturb such a fragile thing.

His attention goes then to the "mutiny" of the road-crew and the eventual giving-in of the Driver.  He can't help but look a bit stunned.  More surprised than anyone at this turnaround.  Taking a moment, he bows his head and murmurs a quiet prayer to Saint Darwin, whose changing influence was obviously at work.  Change.  Adaptation.  Hallelujah.

Lifting his, literally, shining face again.  A slightly more glowing streak is visible curving down from the corner of his eye.  He places a hand gently on Siegfried's shoulder, "Forgiveness is unneeded, but granted if you wish.  Just earn this miracle.  Learn."  He looks to the mayor and bows his head to her, "Thank you for your offer.  I hope it can be the beginning of much cooperation between your people and mine."  To the crews, the townspeople, and the band of mutants he raises his voice, "Let us all share what little we can and enjoy a breakfast together.  In friendship.  Then we can continue our journey."

Roadkill shrugs indifferently and interejects by saying, "Yeah, sure. You can call it friendship if you like. Makes no difference to me."

Hell, we can all sit around the campfire and sing koombaya if it makes you feel better and gets that steak and eggs in my belly he thinks to himself.

Roadkill then shifts his attention to the mayor and calls out, "Hey mayor! Your town in need of anything when next I'm coming through? Sounds like you've got food, but what about medicine? Tech? You need luxury items? I'm frequently in the market to do a little trade."

The mutants are called back by a much-chastened Sigfried. A feast was prepared.

Normally this would bankrupt most towns, but they had much stockpiled in order to feed the many members of the gang, now deceased.

As well, it was verified that the badly-scarred stranger was the likely source of many of the suspiciously precise high-calibre head wounds that could not be explained as random hits from the cal-fifty or other small arms. He was welcomed into the fold by the townies.

The steaks were small and tough, the eggs a little on the stale side and the veggies more than a little wilted, but there were truckers' breakfasts for all. While they ate an anemic-looking pickup truck wheezed over to the semi. It was loaded with tools and lumber, and a few volunteers from Pantano Station were ready to accompany the muties out to their new home and help them get started on home construction.

There was even some ersatz coffee, made from chicory beans and flavoured with unpasteurised milk and a little sugar. Over breakfast, Mayor Sheila talked with Roadkill, discussing trade and what the little town could offer. It seemed the Convoy didn't like to come this far south, and so while they had some surplus food and other hand-made goods to offer, plus salvage, there was little trade through there.

Sitting across from the hideously-scarred veteran, it was all Michaela could do to avoid staring at his face. Or what remained of his face. It looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to one side and a nailgun to the other.

Looking down, she berated herself for being so yellow. Forcing herself to look into his eyes, she smiled warmly and asked, "excuse me, sir, do you mind if I ask your name? I guess you were a comrade in battle yesterday, but I've not seen your... seen you until now." She flushed a bit in embarrassment but kept smiling.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:14, Sun 27 June 2010.

The Colonel looked up from his meal when the pretty young thing across from him, asked him for his name. He was of course aware of how most people reacted when they saw his face. Though he had been a handsome young man once, he hadn't be such for the last thirteen years.

"Colonel Kurt Shaeffer. I'm pleased to make your aquaintance. That's how you say it, ja?" He smiled carefully, as he didn't want to scare her.

He put his knife down and held his hand out for her to shake.

"Nah Smokey, I lost the last thing I had that used nine mil two towns ago when the Law Dogs relieved me of it.  If they hadn't had these old cop guns of mine sitting in that evidence locker after you sprung us out, I wouldn't even have this much!"


The easygoing Dakota Jack found the good vibes more amusing than spiritually uplifting, but he wasn't about to not go along for the ride.  Things had been going a little too well lately, and he kept waiting for the other karmic shoe to drop.  In the meantime it was essential to ride the wave of positive mojo.

"Like a damn Norman Rockwell painting.  If'n Norman Rockwell painted pictures of people with machineguns and three arms eating breakfast in the desert..."

Jack finished his portion quickly; Dakota Jack did everything quickly, it was his life.  Except for one thing, no he never hurried that.  Speaking of which, realizing he had a while before anyone was going anywhere, he opened the guitar case and began to tune it, not that it needed much tuning.  Hell, I could never tune it again and most people wouldn't know the difference any more.

Still, Jack took careful care of this guitar, it was often hard to find an intact one any more, God help you if you broke a string, and this thing was pure señorita stink bait.  Testing the waters, he decided to strum four chords, D,A,Bm,G gently.  He was always amused which of the dozens if not hundreds of songs people would think he was playing.

Peter gave a small smile at Jane and nodded. "Very well then. I am glad." He almost shook his head as he watched the 'change of heart' spread among the different people. It was very strange to watch, especially for someone so used to the hard relentless brutality of the world. And of himself.

But nonetheless, he did agree. "As stated, I will take some of the mu...ah, Chosen...as passengers without problem." When the meal was offered, he did eat, although he seemed almost reluctant to do so for just a moment but then he dug in with gusto.

The Doomsayer uses the breakfast as an excuse to help personalize relations between Pantano Station and the soon-to-be Chance City Chosen.  He will do his best, without being too pushy, to introduce folks who might have something in common.  Trying to spend a little time bridging some gap between Chosen and Doomed.

Its his way.

He does make a special effort to introduce himself to each of the road crew and the other gathered warriors.  He is also sure to extend a very personal thanks for helping protect his people, misguided and impatient though they can sometimes be.  Friendly and open, a peacemaker through and through.

To Jack he offers, "I've always liked Norman Rockwell.  And I think he could do wonders with this new image of americana.  Extra arms, eyes, weapons, et. al."

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #46):

"Yeah! I'm Michaela. Pleased to meetcha." Her accent was a little odd to his ear, as she was from the Pacific Northwest of the old USA.

They talked pleasantly for a bit. She was intelligent and bright, but they probably didn't have a lot to talk about. Michaela had grown up in New Vancouver, near Portland. She'd heard a calling and started following Arthur, wanting to become a Templar.

Before the eating started, Mayor Sheila did something some of them hadn't seen in a long time, sometimes never. She got them to hold off on eating for a second. Then she crossed herself and said, "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

There was a moment of embarrassed silence while she did this, then she continued, "Okay fellahs, dig in!"

Through the meal, she divider her attention between Roadkill and his asking about trade, and the Doomsayer and the link of friendship between what would become their neighboring community. Dakota strummed his six-string.

After the breakfast, the small convoy got ready to go. Passengers and meager supplies were loaded up, Additional food and water was donated by the townies.

It had gotten a lot hotter, the sun bleached out the colours of the desert. Vivid reds and pinks of the rocks and sand faded to muted pastels and whites, the deep blue sky washing out to a burnished bronze steel. The sparse vegetation (desert grass, hardy shrubs, desert cacti) seemed to wilt or shrink from the sun which gave them life.




This message was last edited by the GM at 20:38, Sun 27 June 2010.

Traveling with the muties was a woman dressed in sturdy clothing, carrying a medical bag over one shoulder and armed with a Kalashnikov. A quiet person when she wasn't telling stories, she also dug into breakfast.

"I'm Rowan. I traveled with Brother Edgar out of Tucson. They seemed like nice people, and I figure they could use my help in keeping their spirits up and with medical attention."

She had quiet a large appetite for her lithe frame.

After the meal, she stood by, ready to be assigned.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:25, Wed 30 June 2010.

"Norman who?" Nix replied to Dakota Jack and Brother Edgar.  "He some kind of mutant big enough to carry a cannon?"

---

When the food appeared Nix had wolfed down his share and anything going spare with the speed of someone who had suffered great hunger.  Having grown up as a street kid scavenging for food Nix didn't waste time with things like table manners and waiting for grace to be said.  He hardly chewed and certainly didn't savour anything - eating food as rapidly as possible was ingrained deeply in him.

When the broken down pickup from the town appeared Nix's interest was immediately peaked.

"We ain't in any particular hurry are we?" he asked aloud to those nearby.  "Let's see how well the town's truck runs before we leave."  Irrespective of the answer he moved quickly to Roadkill's rig and pulled a rusted old toolbox out of the cab.  He then walked quickly over to the town's pickup and addressed the driver.

"Hey man, pop the hood and I'll give her the once over for you!"

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #43):

"You're a German?" Roadkill asks around a mouthful of steak and eggs. "How the hell did you get here? From the way you talk it sounds like you're a recent transplant."

if COL shaeffer has visible officer rank Roadkill thinks to himself Then again, it looks like he's got officer rank. Dad always said those guys were a little slow on the uptake.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #51):

The Colonel had heard questions like this one before and as susual, he didn't like the implications one bit. Especially from someone who called himself after something that had been runover and killed by a car.

How people from a country that compared to his home had barely gotten out of it's historical diapers could be so ignorant and arrogant at the same time never stopped to amaze him.

"Ja, ich bin Deutscher. To answer the second part of your question," he made walking motions with his fingers deliberately misunderstanding the trucker's meaning," I've walked, as most people do these days." His voice was slightly condescending.

He smiled at Roadkill while he said it, but his smile was very different from the one he had used while talking to Michaela. This time, it emphasized the scarring and the cold look from his brown eyes.

"As for how long I've been in Amerika, since '77. Fighting your war."

"Hmmm," Roadkill says, while popping in another mouthful of eggs. "Just don't see many foreigners these days." Roadkill leaves it at that and focuses on eating and discussing trade with the mayor. He had meant the question as an accusation but apparently it was a touchy subject with the soldier.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:42, Mon 28 June 2010.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #50):

While people were finishing their breakfasts, Smoker went outside. He adjusted the ancient engine's timing and fuel mixture a little, and dang if it didn't run a lot better! It was still smoking badly, indicating oil was getting into the cylinders, and the brakes were shot.

Kurt shrugged when the trucker turned back to the mayor. He continued to chat with Michaela and checked out the rest of "the rescue squad" ,as he was mentally labelling the people that he had supported with accurate gunfire.

After the meal, he made sure to thank the hosts. Then he walked outside to take a closer look at the vehicles. If he were to decide a setup for the little convoy, he'd have the local's pick up go first, followed by the trailer rig and the armed pick up as the last vehicle.

Of course, that was the military answer to the question and most likely it would not be appropriate; even if it was the most sensible one.

The Colonel sighed. Some things had just been easier during and immediately after the war. These days...

Anyway, the best position for him would be on the trailer. He had commo and it would provide him with the most stable firing position. He walked closer to it and began to look for a ladder or another way up.

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #55):

There was a line of chrome metal rungs leading up to the roof of the cab. There was no ladder on the trailer.

Peter finished up his breakfast and leaned back, wearing a slightly satisfied look on his face. He smiled widely and patted his stomach a few times. "Thank you, all."

He stood up slowly and stretched his arms and body. He walked over behind Jane and said quietly, "Jane, my dear, I am going to go check on the truck and make sure it's ready to roll for when everyone is ready to go. I shall see you out there in a little while."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:51, Mon 28 June 2010.

"OK man," said Nix to the driver of the town's pickup truck.  "You need take it easy with that engine.  Wait three seconds from putting the key in to starting up.  Got to be exactly three seconds mind otherwise you'll upset the electric sprites!  And when you put juice in make sure you pour it even 'n slow!  Don't let the tank gulp when it drinks, she's greedy!"

The Templar stood with his Squire, silent, stoic, and awaiting the next move.  Looking around him, he felt strange and isolated from the world amongst a group of people that were as much different from him as anyone he could imagine.  He had finished his breakfast quickly, and remained apart from the others, offering silent nods of acknowledgment as he contemplated recent events.  However, it was probably as good a time as any to start getting to know people if he would spend any time traveling with them.

He began by approaching Brother Edgar, and spoke his intention without pretense or preamble.  "Myself and Michaela, we will ride by your people and safeguard you from harm should any attempt to waylay you on route to your destination," he said.  "I do not have weapons to give them, but if any wish to learn the art of hand to hand combat, we will train any of them who are able bodied to defend themselves.  This world is full of the ignorant and I suspect they may encounter trouble again in their time, though I wish it not on them.  In trained hands, a stick can be as effective as a sword.  Well, almost."

In reply to The Marshall (msg #56):

The Colonel grunted and began to climb the rungs up to the roof of the cab. Once he was up, he checked out the sandbagged fighting position; just by looking around he found that his assumption that he would need to find a position on the trailer had been right.

With a sigh, he climbed from the rig onto the trailer. once up there, he walked its length, looking for a place where he could tie himself securely.

Brother Edgar would be busily helping the Chosen climb aboard the trailer and stow their meager belongings.  At the approach of Arthur and Michaela he would be sure to pause his work, to be attentive.

The offer is received graciously, with a hand extended to seal the deal (a hand that has been noticed glowing in a rather radioactive way), "My people would be very grateful for the instruction, if you can spare the time.  Many carry such weapons and swing them with enthusiasm.  Control and skilled defense would benefit them and others nearby, greatly."  He pauses a moment, a wistful smile, "I dream of the day when such skills may not be necessary...  But that is not this day."

Arthur looked uncertainly at the man's hand for a moment, but reached his hand down to shake it anyway without hesitation or flinching, retrieving it as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  He nodded at Edgar's reply.

"A man....or woman," he added after getting a look from Michaela, "has sometimes few options, but always a choice to stand by and allow wrongdoers to trespass over him and others or to take action into his own hands.  You and the people who seem to clearly follow your lead stood tall in the face of opposition today.  No one would dare gainsay your courage.  However if your people are both brave as well as trained, then woe unto those who would do harm unto them."  Arthur was known for breaking into bits of impromptu inspirational speaking, meant to inspire courage into the hearts of his companions.  He wished to help as many as he could, but his method involved seeking out the best parts of men and women and inspiring them to be better so that he would have a reason to fight for them.

"Things were a bit...crazy before, and I'm not sure if I had the chance to properly introduce myself.  I'm Arthur Dayne, and this is my friend and close companion, Michaela."  He never introduced them as Templar and Squire, though those in the know would have few choices but to draw such conclusions at a man who walked into battle bearing a sword and shield.

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #58):

"Oh, right. Three seconds. The sprites."

Although a little puzzled by Nix's instructions, the townies seemed glad to have their truck in better working order. There was a middle-aged driver and someone riding shotgun, literally. The passenger wore overalls and a ball cap, and carried a double-barreled shotgun.

Aside from the Chosen, there was a small quantities of supplies to be loaded into the back of the trailer under Brother Arthur's supervision.

Jane ate quietly but quickly, and gave Peter a nod as he left.
As it seemed introductions were going around, she waited until there was a pause and her mouth wasn't full, and said simply, "Jane Guin. Gunner."

After finishing the meal, Rowan wandered over to Brother Edgar and Arthur Dayne. Having walked with Brother Edgar and the Chosen from Tucson, they were well-acquainted enough. He wasn't sure what her mutation was, only that she had joined them in Tucson for the journey. Rowan had listened to his sermons like everyone else at the end of the hot exhausting day but looked too tired to discuss her thoughts. Still, she always managed to tell a story to keep people's spirits up.

To the truckers and their crews, Rowan stood out from the rest of the muties. She wore good quality clothing of mostly natural fabrics (leather, cotton, wool), although she did have a Gore-Tex jacket too keep out the elements.

"Good breakfast, nice to meet you all. I've been traveling with the Chosen, I have some medical training and I'm good with a rifle. It's great to meet you."

Wearily, she saddled up with the rest of them and got ready to move out. Because she was one of the few within the Chosen who had a weapon and ammunition, she would be best stationed where she could shoot. From the fighting position on the roof of the rig seemed to be a good idea to her.

Rowan pulled a bright green scarf out of her satchel and wrapped it around her head to protect her skin from the sun, then slipped on her sunglasses. It would be warm up top, but the wind would be nice. She propped her AK against the sandbags so it would be handy and not fall out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:28, Wed 30 June 2010.

0900
Heating up.

It took a couple hours to eat and get geared up. After they were done, the convoy hit the road.

By then, it was starting to get hot out. The townies gave each of the travelers some water to last 'em, about a gallon each in various containers from pint bottles to plastic jugs and buckets with lids on them.

Peter's dusty but capable technical was in the lead, with Jane as gunner along with Dakota, Arthur and Michaela in the back as the group's mobile fire support. Next was Roadkill's rig with Rowena in the cab and Col. Schaeffer and smoker riding shotgun in the fighting position on top. Finally, the townie pickup followed with two townies, one armed with a shotgun, and Brother Edgar in the truck's bed filled with lumber and tools.

Those riding outside pulled up various bandannas, shemaghs/kheffiyahs or other drive-on rags to protect their faces from the dust and sand blown up by their travel. Those that had them put on their sunglasses or goggles.

The 20 mile run lasted all of a half-hour or so. There were a few rusting skeletal wrecks dating back from the war and the chaos on the highways that followed after. All had been long-stripped. There were far more potholes and sand drifts on the road to worry about.

The turnoff south to Chance City was a little speck on the map named Grant, now it was less than that. All that remained of Gage were a few tumbled-down buildings no one had bothered to strip for anything but the most easily-obtained salvage, including an old gas station.




At Gage the small convoy turned south onto a cracked but paved road and passed to the east of Gage butte and the Victorio mountains. There were several abandoned Ghost-Rock and other mines in the Victorio mountains, including the Last Chance Mine, once owned by Randolph Hearst. Chance City had provided needed services and R&R to them all. But the Ghost Rock had played out in the 1880s and Chance City, also known as Victorio, went bust. The whole area around the Victorio mountains were honeycombed with shafts and tunnels.

On the plus side, Chance City was on the south side of the Victorio Mountains, on the side opposite the Interstate. So it would be close to the road but not directly visible. Unfortunately, water looked like it would be a considerable problem unless there was a well. Otherwise, they would have to go about 3 miles to a creek that had water all year around.

To get to the abandoned townsite, they would have to leave the paved-but-potholed road and travel up a poorly-maintained dirt track. The rig would have trouble on the rough road, although the technical and pickup would have little problem.

The choice was to take the rig and risk getting stuck, or send the smaller vehicles on ahead and have some of the people walk the rest of the way. They reckoned it couldn't be more than a mile or two.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:07, Tue 29 June 2010.

After breakfast Roadkill had been eager to start the journey and had been quick to get into the cab of the truck and head out saying, "Well, the sooner we get on the road, the sooner we get there."

When they reached the badly overgrown dirt track Roadkill pulls the rig to a stop along the side of the road and turns to Rowan sitting next to him. Over the rumble over the engine he shouts, "Well, looks like that's the end of the line!  This baby wasn't meant for off-roading and I don't think the tow companies are answering their phones any more! Should only be a mile or two further now, but I imagine you guys can handle it from here! I'll stop by when I can and see if you guys need anything hauled or traded! Good luck with your new settlement!"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:11, Tue 29 June 2010.

The Chosen got to unloading the semi trailer. It was clear that taking the rig over the dirt road with a trailer was asking to get stuck. Soon, there was a small crowd with a pile of belongings on the pavement.

It was quiet in the desert, with only a slight breeze and the ticks and pinging of metal as it cooled from the engine heat. From the road, the track to Chance City led up into the scrub-covered hills. The various armed guards got out and stretched, although it hadn't been more than a 45-minute trip, if that.

To turn his rig around, Roadkill would have to take it further south until it intersected with another road because the road here wasn't wide enough. The road cut across the eastern flank of the mountain, so one shoulder dropped off a little, and the other was uphill.

The townie driver got out and walked over to the technical. He said to Peter, "I figger they ain't quite there yet. Why don't we shuttle their supplies up there to where they're goin' for them? Won't take more'n a couple trips with both of us workin' together."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:05, Tue 29 June 2010.

Safing and slinging her rifle, Rowan climbed down from the trailer. Stretching, she sipped the warm water the townies had given her and the rest. The good-looking 30-something young woman seemed more talkative today.

"Man, that sure beats walkin'. A girl could get used to that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:55, Tue 29 June 2010.

Jack rolled out of the bed of the truck and his feet wobbled just slightly as he touched the ground.  No matter how much it beat walking, riding in the back of a pickup, bobtail, cargo trailer or other such thing which wasn't originally meant for passengers always put a little crick in his back, no matter how good the driver was.

Bracing his hands against the small of his back, he leaned back and pushed.  His eyes darted around before he relaxed, shrugged, and realized he'd come this far.  Seeing the townie driver talking to Peter, Dakota butted in on the conversation.

"Hey, if you're going to do that, I'd like to make a suggestion.  There may be a welcome committee in Chance City a' waitin' for these folks, if'n you know what I mean.  If they think it's on okay place to try to make it, odds are purty good someone or somethin' else done had the same ideer.

"I ain't got nothin' better to do, so I'd be much obliged if'n we could do us a little scoutin' run to take a quick looksie at where they think they's gonna set up.  Might be better to make sure the coast is clear before'n we send the whole gang of 'em on down the road into an abandoned town that's possibly full of God knows what.  Hell, we could be doing that while yer coming back for the ones that don't walk so good."  Jack shrugged.  "If either one of ya'll wouldn't mind making the run."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Tue 29 June 2010.

The ride had been quite enjoyable, especially the view from the top of the trailer had been something of a treat for the Colonel. To his own amazement, he felt rested and not stiff as he would have expected.

While everyone got out of the vehicles, Shaeffer climbed down from the trailer again using the rungs on the side of the cab. He arrived back on the ground just in time to overhear Rowan's comment. Once again smiling carefully, he tipped his boonie in her direction.

"Yes, a pleasant change from the usual." With a wink the Colonel walked to the group at the pick up. He listened to Dakota Jack and then offered his own opinion.

"Ja, scouting makes a lot of sense. Though I think a recon should be better done on foot, to avoid any visible raising of dust and thus any alarming of possible opponents, ja? If you give me some time, I can certainly take a good look at the location."

"Save the fuel that way too.  Not a bad ideer there Hans."  Dakota Jack informed the funny sounding ferner and joked:  "Hell, maybe if somethin' done holed up in thar you can jus' kill it from here."

Peter looked from the Townie to Jack to Schaeffer. His lips quirked a bit and his eyebrows rose up. "Soooo....you two that are volunteering have anything in the way of radios to let us know if it's 'safe' to approach? Or will we all be waiting for you to return?"

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg #73):

"I tell ya what, once we're done I'll just play an acostic cover of 'Don't Stop Believin' three times in the key of d minor an' that'll be the signal."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Tue 29 June 2010.

When Dakota Jack called him Hans, the Colonel couldn't help rolling his eyes. It was always the same with the Amis. Somebody would call him "Kraut" next, but in that case, his reaction would be anything but friendly.

Even worse than Dakota's ignorance was Firecrow's implied insult. A proud man, Shaeffer was not going to let that slide so easily.

"Well yes, I've got a working radio in my helmet. But surely we'll be able to use smoke signals or drums to let you know of what we find. Maybe you would be more comfortable with those, ja?"

In reply to COL Kurt L. Schaeffer (msg #75):

Dakota Jack couldn't help but laugh.

"Yer all right feller.  But seriously we got to stop jokin' around about this, this here's serious business."  Jack stopped smiling and let his penetrating gaze wash over those assembled before speaking again in a rough and gritty voice.

"It doesn't have to be Journey.  Could play Achy Breaky Heart or some Spice Girls instead, I can fake it."

OOC: Dakota Jack has both "The Stare" and "The Voice" for whatever it adds to such a lame joke.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Tue 29 June 2010.

Peter leaned back, eyes narrowing mostly focused on the 'Colonel'. "Is there a reason why you are acting like such racial-profiling jackasses? I asked a simple question with no malice trying to ascertain whether or not you would be able to radio us or no. Apparently you do, so that is wonderful. Not EVERYONE has radios so it was a VALID question."

He shook his head and moved away from the two before he had to worry about getting angrier or inciting them to anything else. "Fucking assholes."

Shaeffer ignored Firecrow's outburst. Judge not lest you be judged, or something like that. While the question itself had been valid, the way it had been delivered was not.He turned to the Gunslinger.

"Me, I'd prefer Brothers In Arms or Money For Nothin'. But it is your choice."

There was some slight humour in the German's voice. The he shrugged and continued.

"Anyway, I agree that we're just wasting time. I'll leave my pack back here and put my Ghillie suit on."

Shaeffer took his pack off and took his Ghillie out. Then he put his pack unceremoniously into the back of the townie's pick up. Next, he pulled the Ghillie suit over his armor and as soon as he was done picked the Mauser rifle up and nodded to show that he was now ready to go.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:08, Tue 29 June 2010.

"Fellah you're wound up tighter than the girdle of a Baptist minister's wife at an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.  Even Hans here can cut loose, and that's purty good considerin' they ain't even got no jokes where he comes from.  Yer comin' wit' me an Smokey one night... Hans too.  We'll learn ya how to relax."

Arthur stood nearby, next to his horse, listening silently as the other men conversed.  As they argued or flung insults at each other, he shook his head sadly with the expression of an old and patient father watching his bickering children.  He didn't say anything about it though, it not being any of his affair, though he shared a look with his Squire.  He walked up to them.

"We could go as well.  They would be less likely to suspect one who appears such as I, riding a horse such as this, and with a woman riding alongside.  If trouble arises, we are more than capable of defending ourselves."  From the bundle of rags that he carried he drew forth his blade, which looked the more impressive in the sunlight.  Those who knew of such things could see the broadsword's double edged blade and perhaps gain an inkling as to the fine workmanship with which it had been wrought, though such would truly be revealed only upon closer inspection.  Hundreds of years after swords had fallen out of use, he did not expect others to have a true appreciation for such a fine craft, but at least for the work that he and Michaela could do with such things.

Dakota Jack really seemed to like that ideal for some reason.

"Well dang, someone scare up a keg and we got us a party.  Careful there hoss, you'll put an eye out with that thing... probably mine."  Jack pauses.  "Just where in the blue hell did you get a real sword anyway?  I ain't no expert but that don't look like no movie prop recovered from some guy's basement apartment.  Oh, hold on a second, speaking of swords I got to tend to my axe..."

Jack went to Nix.  "All right Smokey since you like this thing so much, I need you to hold it if yer stayin' put.  But I'll warn ya, anything you do to her while I'm gone, I'm doin' to you when I get back.

"Course, given my luck that means you'll suck on the head and violate the sound hole."

The Colonel checked out he sword in the Templar's hand. It was a piece of fime workmanship.

"A beautiful blade. And from what I've seen, you know how to use it as well."

He got his own sword from the pick up. Reverently, he drew the blade. A single-edged officer's saber, its watered-steel Solingen blade shone in the sun.

"A real Solingen blade. My vater's sword. The mark of an officer."
Shaeffer's voice was full of reverence. It was impossible to say if it was for the sword, the man or what it symbolized.

"Sadly, I'm not very good with it. To say the truth, schrecklich...how do you say it...abysmal, ja?"

When asked about the origins of his weapon, he simply smiled and said, "I guess you could say it's something of a hand-me-down."  Even the stoic man couldn't help but find amusement at Dakota Jack's levity, and allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought of Nix doing as Jack indicated.

As the apocalyptic wagon train pulled into the dusty, long-forgotten little interstate turn-off of a town, Brother Edgar took a good look around and began to plan.  This wouldn't be the main settlement, but might be necessary for a watchpost and trading post.  His training was mostly through survival, but he thought these rundown buildings showed some promise.

He leaped out of the truck as it pulled to a stop, being sure to thank townie for the fine, relaxing, scenic drive.  Making some small joke about it having been a while since he'd had a vacation.

It didn't take much to assess the situation with the rig and the rough road.  Thus, Brother Edgar went simply back to helping his people.  Unloading the rig this time.  Helping organize who and what will go on which truck and when.  One of the Chosen brings him word that a few folks are gathering to scout ahead and so he makes his way to the scouting party.

"I am given to understand that you are going to walk ahead to see how the land lays?" offers the Doomsayer as he strides up, "You have already done so much and greatly appreciate that you would undertake this as well.  Would I or any of the Chosen be of use in this?"  Obviously leaving it open for the more tactically minded to turn the offer down gracefully, should they want to stay with a small scouting group.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:09, Tue 29 June 2010.

Nix grinned in reply.  "You better bring it with you then cause if there's scouting going on of this town then I'm up for that!  There ain't no way I'm staying here while there's somewhere I ain't been before to go investigatin'."

He didn't say it out loud but from the interest that appeared in his eyes the thought of potential scavenging opportunities had just occurred to Nix, irrespective of the intention of the mutants to settle in the town.

At the sight of people comparing swords Nix put his hand to the hilt of the machete at his belt.  He wasn't as skilled with it as certainly Arthur seemed to be but it would do for some close in hacking it he ran out of bullets for his pistol!

Roadkill wasn't very happy with the way things were going. What had started with an offered ride was now turning into something that sounded like it was going to be an extended stay. He would much rather be on the road and headed to his next destination but since it was sounding like Smoker and some of the others were wanting to check out the town he figured he might as well make the best of it.

"Hey Nix, when you're in town let me know if you come across a snow plow or anything else big and heavy that would work as a suitable ram plate for the rig. I'll be here getting her turned around and ready to go in the meantime."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:56, Wed 30 June 2010.

"Looks like I'm haulin' it myself then.

"Ya might as well come, Glowy.  Even if this is a bust, ya got thutty of 'em that's gonna be askin' you where to poop.  Might as well pick the spot before they get there so's you can prevent as much confusion as ya can."

The Doomsayer can't help but laugh at that.  Of course, few seem to be able to resist laughing when Dakota Jack is about.  With a nod, he returns, "A good spot to poop is one of the finer things in this life."

That said, he goes back to the gathered Chosen and lets them know that he's going to scout ahead.  He recommends that they take a look, carefully, through these buildings and help the rig driver however he might need.  He has been very helpful to us after all.

Having helped his people with direction, the Doomsayer returns to the scouting party as it gets ready to move.

0900-0920
West of Chance City, NM

The Chance City area had been completely abandoned for something like 160 years, since the 1930s. The odds of there being anything other than some adobe and stone walls was slight, a snowplow, non-existent.

Just over 2 miles back, up by the interstate, was the town of Gage. Being just off the road, it had been thoroughly cleaned out, although some of the half-dozen buildings still stood.

One of the townies, a sunburned hayseed with a beard, ambled over to Roadkill. "I reckon once these folks are settled in, you can hit the trail and be in Las Cruces long before nightfall. If some of these folks want to take apart Gage for building supplies, we can help them out, now the truck's running smoother."

Col Schaeffer, Brother Edgar, Smoker Nix and Dakota Jack set out along the track. Well, not along the track. In true reconnaissance fashion, Schaeffer led off the path, but parallel to it. For men on foot, there wasn't much of a difference. Without vegetation, anyone on the high ground could see them coming for miles around.

In the mean time, the semi was unloaded, and Roadkill took it down to Pipeline Road to turn it around. Soon, he was on the way back, wisps of Ghost Juice smoke streaming from his stacks as he geared down to take the hill. There was little pollution, although the engine always sounded strange when it burned Ghost Juice, like something or someone keening, lost and frightened. It wasn't bad during the day, but running at night it was creepy and almost drowned out the Peterbilt's engine.

To the west, the little group went up and down over the foothills for about 15-20 minutes. Chance City had been nestled in the folds of the foothills lining the southern edge of the Victorio Mountains. Soon, they came to some high ground overlooking the townsite. There wasn't anything visible aside from some broken walls and brush. Nothing moved, there was no sign of life or activity, no vehicles. It wasn't a park or a historical site, so there wasn't even any plaques or outbuildings.




They checked out the site for about 30 minutes. Schaeffer performed a radio check, and easily raised Roadkill's rig from on the high ground. Peter's truck and Battlesuit Helmet could also hear him but there was more static picking him up because their antennae were shorter.

All they found were tumble-down walls. They also found the wellhead, and using his suit light Schaeffer confirmed there was still brackish metallic water down there. Without agriculture draining the water table, it had risen after the war to levels it hadn't been in over a century.

They had to decide to call in everyone else, or if they were going to look longer.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:54, Wed 30 June 2010.

Shaeffer was anything but impressed by the ruins. A few tumbled down walls and a lot of dust were nothing to brag about, especially to someone whose home city had over a thousand years of recorded history. Most likely had had, he reminded himself. The way the Last War went, he was pretty sure someone had dropped a city-buster on it.

The Colonel slung his sniper rifle and readied his M4.

"I'm going to check out the 'buildings'. Who knows what has taken to living in there, ja? Also, I suggest checking the closer area further. If this was once a mining town, then there should be tunnels, pits. We should make sure there's nothng hiding in there before we clear the civilians to come."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:34, Wed 30 June 2010.

With the rig turned around and ready to go, Roadkill cuts the engine to save fuel and hops out. He takes a glance up at the sun. It's a hot one today he thinks to himself. That sun is going to turn my stationary cab into an oven in no time. No sense sitting in there and sweating my balls off.

He then looks to find the hayseed that spoke to him a few minutes ago. "You wanted to try and tear down Gage for some building materials?" Roadkill says, squinting against the sun. "Well let's go then. I think the others might be a while and maybe I can find a spare gas can or something at that abandoned station." With a shrug he adds, "It beats just sitting around here and waitin'"

Brother Edgar, on the other hand, seemed very pleased with the tumbledown ruins of Chance City.  His mind's eye could see potential here, safety here.  The Chosen could be hidden away from most marauders to live and learn in peace.  The Brother is an idealist.

At the Colonel's suggestion, the Doomsayer offers his agreement, "Yes.  We should take a quick look around the area."  Placing a hand on a crumbled half-wall, he adds with a smile, "This does feel like a good place to make a new start.  Even the name gives hope.  /Chance/ City."

He removes the Geiger counter from his belt, unclips the sensor, and begins to wander through the area.  He didn't really think there would be too much radiation so far out here away from the major bombsites, but it didn't hurt to check.  His tour will take him through the "town proper" then around the perimeter.  The perimeter defined as much by faith as any real markings.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:31, Wed 30 June 2010.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #91):

The yokel, who peered out from beneath his cap, scratched his beard as he thought about it for a second. Finally, his brain clicked into gear.

"Well now. Suits me fine. We kin take our truck and yours."

"Hey, any of you folks want to come along to the town and do some salvaging?"

A few of the Chosen stirred. They were trying to take it easy but it was impossible in the desert sun without any shade. Their belongings lay in a pile around them.

"I'm half relieved and half dis'pointed we didn't find us a pre-war meth still out here."  Dakota Jack remarked as he looked at the ancient (to his way of thinking) structures.

"I personally don' think we should go messin' 'round in any old mines though, although it's probably not a bad idea ta go find out if there's any in the immediate area jus' so nobody trips and falls in.  I mean these old walls look like they done been here a while an' they ain't held up, so I don' think it's actually a good ideer to go stickin' ourselves in an old mine shaft built by the same folks.  I reckon they's jus' gonna have to work at findin' em all, they must be all over the desert, an' they's jus' gonna have to scrap fer some dynamite or somethin' to close 'em up."  He shrugged.  "Not that I don't want to help but I ain't no jee-all-oh-jist, an' I'm not gonna stick aroun' here for several years to root 'em all out."

"Sure man," replied Nix even though he wasn't particularly sure what a snowplough was.  Roadkill had described what he wanted however so Nix had the general idea.  "I see if I can find something to use as a ram."

---

As they got a good look at the ruins Nix was disappointed.  "Man, them is real old!" he commented aloud, the disappointment apparent in his tone.  Salvage opportunities looked to be poor in such old buildings - Nix preferred the more recent ruins as they always presented a better opportunity for scavenging.

He hefted his rifle and joined the others in the continued search, his eyes concentrating on potential salvaging opportunities however rather than any threats.

"I reckon we should check out the mines.  Never miss an opportunity!"  He flashed a grin at Jack as he made his final comment.

"Richtig alt. Unglaublich. Na ja, kein Wunder beim einem Volk ohne eigene Kultur und it dem historischen Gedächtnis einer Eintagsfliege,"
the Colonel muttered to himself. He fixed a bayonet to his M4's barrel and proceeded methodically with checking out the ruins.

17:27, Today: COL Kurt L. Schaeffer rolled 14 using 3d8, rerolling max with rolls of 5,6,3. Searching the ruins wth rght no of dice.

1000
Chance City/Drop-Off Point

Col. Schaeffer, Brother Edgar, Dakota Jack, Smoker Nix decided to search the townsite.

Schaeffer and Dakota commenced clearing the buildings, looking for anything useful. Smoker checked out the mineshafts, and Brother Edgar surveyed the site for contamination, always a smart thing if long-term residence was required.

Roadkill picked up the townie and 3 Chosen helpers. After the townie, Brad, asked for help, Rowan decided to throw in as well. If nothing else, she could provide security while they scavenged building material up in Gage. They were all able to easily fit in the rig's cab, which could fit a driver, passenger, and several more in the sleeper's "mini-apartment" in behind the cockpit.

Anchoring the now spread-out group, Peter and Jane stood by at the drop-off point with the rest of the Chosen, as well as Arthur and Michaela. The townie pickup waited there too, as unloading it to drive it to Gage and then loading it up again wouldn't make sense, and Roadkill had cargo space to spare. The CB radio in Peter's technical and his IB helmet could pick up and relay signals from both groups, although if they reacted to a problem in either area then comms between the outlying groups would be impossible without them in the middle.




After a half-hour of searching the ruins of Chance City, Schaeffer and Dakota found nothing of value, which was expected, and no threats, which was also good. Schaeffer found evidence of some transient occupation but likely years in the past. Someone or another had passed through and stayed long enough to build a fire and then conceal the ashes and police up their garbage. Possibly even from a Lat Am or SA patrol during the war. Brother Edgar found no surface contamination. The well-water was at the bottom of a shaft under a metal cover, so a bucket on a lead would need to be brought to check it out thoroughly.




Smoker found several mine shaft entrances up the hillside, all boarded up except one. The open mine-head had a small chamber inside where a railed tunnel led deeper into the Victorio mountains. The entry chamber had some ancient equipment like compressors and a pump, all dating back maybe 200 years. It was in good shape for storage in a museum, but would be completely non-functional without major repairs and parts that would have to be hand-turned on a lathe.

There were also three crushed Alamo Beer cans and a used condom.

---

1000
Gage City

The townie and the Chosen in Gage had gathered a fair amount of building materials in the last half-hour, mostly wood frames, metal window frames, some glass, and a few sheets of Gyprock from the flimsy gas station and trailers. There were plenty of brackets, nails and screws, and there was still some PVC and copper metal piping and bits of wiring left, which was all carefully collected. There were no fixtures or light bulbs.

All salvage was brought to and piled in the trailer. On top of the trailer in the fighting position sat Rowan, keeping watch. At the gas station, Roadkill looked in vain for a gas can or other container. Years of drifters and travelers had cleaned the place out.

The salvagers heard Rowan calling from the top of the trailer.

"I see something moving on the road. East towards Deming, 'bout four and a half miles! Looks like... four or five bikes, coming this way!"

The desert was hot and still, there was no wind. You can't hear the rumble of motorcycle engines...yet.


Marshall's Notes:

To orient yourself, have a look at the photo of Gage. Gage is on the south side of the Interstate. Chance City is further south behind you (off the bottom of the picture). The bikers are approaching from the RIGHT, in the direction of Deming and (eventually) Las Cruces. Back to Pantano City is to the LEFT.

http://tinyurl.com/3x6hc6w

To find the truck's location, search Google Maps for Gage NM or follow the map link posted above or in the Reference section. The truck is parked in the gas station to the south of the Interstate.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:10, Thu 01 July 2010.

"Well I think we done what we set out to do.  Nothin' excitin' happened, but that's good I reckon."  Dakota remarked to the others.  "Reckon we ought to let 'em know the coast seems to be clear?"

As the scouting party regroups, Brother Edgar returns his clicker to his belt.  With a glowing smile, he agrees with Jack's assessment, "Indeed.  It seems quite perfect really.  A good foundation for a future."  He takes another glance around at the crumbled ruins before adding, "You have to admit the foundations really have survived quite well."

Peter sat in his truck, waiting for the radio to come to life. In the meantime, he tried to take his mind off little things that were stupid and yet annoyed him. He cleaned his gun and made sure it was fully loaded and ready to go. He peeked under the hood of the truck as well just to make sure nothing was out of place.

In reply to Peter Firecrow (msg #100):

Trying to protect herself from the blazing sun, Michaela tied her bandanna over her head and put on her sunglasses. She was dressed in a loose cotton shirt and vest because her leather jacket was just too damn hot.

"So, what do you think of this crew? Not just the Chosen, but the others. Most of them seem all right."

She thought for a second as she sipped warm water from her canteen.

"If something's bugging us, are we as Templars allowed to say anything? Or are we supposed to keep it cool?"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:00, Thu 01 July 2010.

Roadkill cursed himself for not parking further off the road or behind the gas station where the bikers could miss him as he sprinted towards the cab and crawled inside. Once he was seated he yanked the CB to his mouth and keyed it up.

"We've got company from the East! Four or five bikers about 4 miles down the road. That ma deuce would sure help right about now!"

ooc: Sorry for the brief post but I've gotta run to work.

Nix was disappointed with the pumping equipment he'd found so far.  He doubted that there was much salvage value in it and the only use might be to link it somehow to the well so that the mutants could get hold of water more easily.

That was something to think about later though, depending on how long they ended up staying.

As it was Nix had a railed tunnel in front of him leading further into the mountain.  The rails could possibly be welded together to make a ram for Roadkill and Nix paused to study them further.  He also wondered where the tunnel led so he slung the sling of his rifle over his right shoulder and pulled out his flashlight.  Turning it on he shone it down the tunnel, holding it with his left hand and pulling his revolver with his right.

He then began to take cautious steps down the tunnel, checking both the floor and roof in case either looked unstable.  There was always the chance that something worth salvaging was further inside.

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #99):

"Ja, it looks like it." The Colonel shrugged. The place actually seemed pretty good for setting up a settlement; the thing that bothered him most was the distance to the nearest fresh water. From his point of view it was too far, but if they could built a cistern it should be less of a danger.

Shaeffer was just about to reply to Dakota Jack's question, when he realised that one memeber of the recon crew was missing.

"Jack, where did zat smoking friend of yours disappear to?"

"Ah hell.  He said somethin' about mine shafts... dammit Smokey I told ya not to poke yer nose in there, damn things are probably ready to collapse after this long.  If'n he went in there ah'm gonna kick his ass."

In reply to Michaela Fukushima (msg #101):

Arthur was silent most of the while as they moved on ahead, leaving it to the more verbose and garrulous members of his present company to fill the air with their sounds.  It was Michaela's talking that brought him out of his silent reverie.  Turning to Michaela, a warm smile lit up his rugged features.  He spoke to her quietly.  "As you say, they seem all right.  They are not the company I might have chosen, but sometimes the path we walk puts us amongst others.  As long as they do not do wrong by our code, it poses no problem for me.  If anything, it seems they are at least willing participants in this task we have undertaken.  Mostly."

He scratched at his beard, which had grown undoubtedly itchy as they had traveled.  "If something is bothering you, Michaela, I advise you to speak your mind so that others around you may have a chance to remedy their conduct, or at least be on notice of your disapproval.  Personally, I would keep your statements calm and diplomatic and retain a level head while making them, despite the opposition you may face from dissenters."

Roadkill watches the approaching bikers with a tense stare as he checks his weapons and hopes that they'll just ride on by.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #107):

slinging her AK, Rowan walked back across the roof of the trailer to the cab. Opening the hatch she said, "excuse me, mister Roadkill, sir?"

"I know we don't want to run and draw the bikers back to Chance City. We're in the open here, but do you want to pull in behind the building on the off chance they ain't seen us yet?"

In reply to Arthur Dayne (msg #106):

Michaela nodded, absorbing her master's wisdom. She lounged back against Peter's truck, thinking a little. "I understand. I was originally going to ask Col Schaeffer what it was like being in the Einsatzgruppen, but instead I'll just say his remarks about smoke signals were racist and he should apologise to Peter."

When the radio call came through, she snapped to attention.

"Oh man, that sounds serious! Wonder if it's those ass-hats from Pantano Station, or someone else? We staying here, going in the truck, or taking the horse?"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:07, Thu 01 July 2010.

In reply to Michaela Fukushima (msg #109):

"I say we ride out, on horseback" he said, speaking from the back of the horse that he had been sitting on already for some time.

"If these individuals mean to pose trouble, we will fight better mounted than on foot.  Our horses are mobile and agile, can leap where they cannot and our height advantage will allow us a better opportunity to strike them down."

Peter let out a string of muttered curses as he slammed the hood of the truck closed once more. He eyed the road a bit and then spoke slowly to those still at the pickup with him. "If they are coming towards us, we should let them. We should make sure they do not go towards the others and the city. We can easily set up here to be able to be armed when they roll up and shoot them down if needs be." He glanced at Jane. "Do you want to take control of Betty again?" By Betty, he referred to the gun in the back of the pickup truck, which had the name Betty painted on it, and not of his doing - it had come that way.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:46, Thu 01 July 2010.

In reply to Rowan Dawson (msg #108):

"Too late for that," Roadkill answers, shaking his head solemnly. "If we can see them then they can see us. A parked semi might be missed or assumed to be an old junker but if this baby starts moving there is no way that it won't catch their eye."

"Besides, if it looks like we're trying to run or hide and they're bad men, I guarantee that they'll swoop down on us like the predators that they are. I should know...I used to be one of 'em."

The group was split into three elements.

(Marshall's Note: In the future, please refer to the tactical map posted in the Reference Threads so you're all clear on who's where.)

http://tinyurl.com/3x6hc6w

One part of the posse was in Chance City in the Victorio Mountains, with Smoker even further on his own in a mineshaft.

Another was in Gage City on the Interstate, with the rig.

The last was in between, with Peter's pickup on the road south of Gage City in the foothills of the Victorio Mountains, at the foot of the dirt road to Chance city with the Chosen who'd been dropped off.

None of the groups have visual contact with each other. The group in Chance City may not even be in radio contact any longer, as Schaeffer's IB helmet doesn't quite have the range to Peter's truck. Smoker's walkie-talkie does, but he's underground.

---

The townie and Chosen in Gage looked concerned, and mounted up in the pickup.

"We're just gonna go around them buildings. We only got the shotgun, ain't gonna be much help."

Thankfully, there were a few visual obstacles in between the riders and the gas station, so it's possible they hadn't seen anything yet, being occupied with keeping the shiny side up. Roadkill knew from personal experience that riding took a lot of concentration, with not a lot left over for sight-seeing.

---

At the drop-off zone, the Chosen looked bewildered when they heard something was happening. They weren't in sight of the Interstate, but knew if someone came south down the road they were going to be in a passel of trouble!

Deciding that someone would have to look after his flock, Sigfried called out to the milling throng, "okay people, let's get moving! We're going to walk to Chance City from here. I'd rather be there than sitting here. Come one, move it! Let's go!"

"Mister Firecrow, we're gonna hoof it to Chance City from here. Brother Edgar and the others who went haven't said anything, so I'm guessing it's safe. Even if they come down the road, they hopefully won't figure out where we've gone, or that we were here at all. You gonna get your friends over in Chance?"

It probably would work, especially if they covered their tracks. Bikers on the Interstate would have no reason to randomly follow the rutted dirt road to long-vanished Chance City. Once the people were out of sight of the road, it would be like they were never there in the first place.

---

Smoker wandered down the tunnel, checking for anything interesting. There wasn't a lot to see other than the rails. The others gathered around the metal-covered well-head. There was water down there, but no way to test it until someone brought a bucket.

There was a burst of static on Schaeffer's radio, but he was unable to decipher Roadkill's call because of the intervening mountain. Inside the mine tunnel, Smoker couldn't hear anything at all.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:12, Thu 01 July 2010.

"Just great." He couldn't tell if she was commenting on his past or their present and likely immediate future. "I'll get back up in the fighting position. I got a couple hand grenades, that should help. They're not free, though." She winked at him from above.

Pulling the AK's cocking handle back, she let it snap forward with a metallic Ka-clakc. With her tumb, Rowan then selected Single fire from the large selector handle on the right. She trotted back over the top of the trailer to the fighting position, getting into cover.

In reply to Rowan Dawson (msg #114):

"Let me mount up behind you, then."

Micahela jacked a round into the Winchester's chamber, then climbed onto the back of the horse.

"Funny thing, if "Colonel Klink" were using smoke signals, we actually COULD communicate with him! Radios? Not so much. Maybe those Old Ways types were onto something."

"Ready to go."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Thu 01 July 2010.

"The native peoples that followed the Old Ways were honorable, and their warriors were to be feared and respected.  They made the best with what they had, and hell, the way things are today, no one's really got that much of anything.  I think we could probably learn a lot from one of those."

He moved his horse ahead, and gestured for Michaela to follow.  "We're going to go catch up to the others. Anything you want us to tell them?"

In reply to Arthur Dayne (msg #116):

From behind him on the horse she said, "It's up to you. They'll see where we're going, anyways."

"We gonna gallop?

Brother Edgar turns his gaze across the nearby open spaces, trying to pick out where mineshafts might be.  Trying to catch sight of the missing scout.

"We'll give him a little longer," suggests the Doomsayer, taking a seat on a nearby wall section, "Perhaps he found something of use.  He seems a handy sort."  With a look to the Colonel, he adds, "Perhaps you could signal the others?  Let them know that things seem safe and ready for their arrival?"

In reply to Brother Edgar (msg #119):

The Colonel shook his head.

"Can't. We're out of range for the helmet radio. Also, I don't think sitting and waiting here will do any good. We need to split up, as someone should go look for Nix and we need to let the others know this place is clear as well. The sooner everyone is off the road, the better."

He smiled at Jack and the Brother.

"How about this. I go looking for Nix and the two of you head back to let the others know they're safe to come?"

At this moment, the helmet's speaker crackled with a burst of static.

"Verdammt. Somebody just sent a radio signal, but with the distance and these mountains all I got was static. Whatever the message was, we need to move. Now. You two go back to the others, I go looking for Nix."

Shaeffer knew that he might be missing a chance to fight, but to him the safety of Nix and the others was more important than having a little fun.

"Well only cuz ya beat me to it.  Somethin's weird though, they ain't too far away.  I mean I ain't no radio expert or nothin' but that don't seem right ya can't hear 'em.  Probly outta hoof it back."

Jack scratched his stubble and figured This here German Kommando guy is probly more apt ta find Smokey than my dumb ass anyway.

With Jack in agreement, Brother Edgar stands again, brushing his robes off, "When we lack information the mind begins to fill in the blanks with worst case scenarios.  Let's go ease our minds and theirs."  He begins to head back up the rutted track again with the guitarist, turning back to the Colonel as they go, "Try to send a signal when you find the young man?"

In Gage, the bikers approached along the Interstate from the direction of Las Cruces over the next few minutes or so.

Using her binoculars, Rowan studied them.

The townie moved his truck behind the building, while the three Chosen stayed with Roadkill for the moment, not having any better idea. They would be useless in a fight; one had a club made from a pipe and the others had knives.

A few birds glided on the thermals above the mountains to the south. A crow landed on the top of the trailer, not too far from Rowan. It squawked at her, then flew off to land on a telephone pole to watch the coming conflict. It knew there were often dead lying around after such clashes, which could yield tasty treats for it's crow palate.

When they were closer, Rowan called down, "there's five and it looks like they're wearing green... some kind of green robes? And I can see some kind of symbol in them, it looks like the funny one Brother Edgar's wearing. Like a 3-legged mutie. Mo offence!"

One of the Chosen named Elsie described the Church of Doom symbol. It sounded the same.

"You mean like that? Oh, that's real bad. They've got the power of the Atom, but it's perverted because they're evil, according to Brother Edgar. They'll kill all you guys. But they'll leave us alone, we're Chosen."

"Hey wait, if you normies hide, and they think this truck is ours, then maybe they won't do anything? What do you say, Mister Roadkill, it's your truck! You can hide in the truck or in the building, anywhere really that's out of sight, and we'll bluff 'em out."

The crow squawked again in agreement.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:46, Fri 02 July 2010.

"Atmosphere hasn't been the same since the bombs fell. Also, the range on these,"he tapped his helmet to indicate nthe integral radio"was never meant to be for more than squad coordination. Range is about half a mile, so even under the best circumstances I'd only be able to receive. With the mountains, even receiving range is lowered."

Shaeffer shrugged. It couldn't be helped, so there was no point in worrying about it.

"Anyway, I'm off to find Nix. I'll try to send a signal, but I won't promise that it'll work. Godspeed and we'll see you later.
With that, the Colonel turned away and began looking for Smoker's tracks.

OOC: 15:40, Today: COL Kurt L. Schaeffer rolled 29 using 3d8, rerolling max with rolls of 3,(8+8+3)19,7. Searchin' for tracks.
15:41, Today: COL Kurt L. Schaeffer rolled 11 using 3d8, rerolling max with rolls of 2,3,6. Trackin' Nix.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:43, Fri 02 July 2010.

In reply to Michaela Fukushima (msg #117):

"Let's gallop then," he said, giving the horse a light nudge that it was trained to respond to with a burst of speed sending them onward towards Gage.

The light emanating from Nix's flashlight flickered and Nix had to whack it a couple of times to get it to stay on.  The brief moments of complete darkness made the mine tunnel close in on him and Nix started to tremble slightly.

It suddenly occurred to him that investigating a mine tunnel on his own probably wasn't the wisest thing to do.  Turning round he quickly retracted his steps, heading back for the safety of the glaring sunlight and he newly acquired friends!

In reply to Smoker Nix (msg #126):

[Smoker, Schaeffer, Dakota, Bro Edgar]

Expertly finding Smoker's tracks, Schaeffer quickly followed them to the only open shaft around. He met Smoker as the other man was coming out. Schaeffer was also certain there were no tracks (other than Smoker's and his) leading into or out of the mine. There were other tracks in the dust of the ante-chamber, but they looked old to him and preserved in time.

"Glad you found me! I was just coming out, anyways. Some cool stuff in there, I can get it to work but it'll take time," Smoker said.

The other two, Brother Edgar and Dakota Jack, started back east towards the drop-off point and the Chosen who were waiting by the pickup truck.

---

[Firecrow, Jane, Arthur and Michaela]

By way of reply, Jane pulled back the charging handle on the Ma-Deuce.

"I'm okay with being on the Ma-Deuce," she answered Peter. "You're a better driver than I am." But not by much, she was a qualified marksman but seemed even better behind the wheel.

"Ready to rock!"

Meanwhile, Arthur and Michaela (riding double) had left at a gallop, heading north to Gage. The Chosed refugees had gathered their stuff and were starting to walk along the dirt road west to Chance City.

---

[Roadkill, Rowan]

The approaching riders still weren't clear to Roadkill on the ground, although Rowan could obviously see them. She must have good eyes to spot the symbol, they were still at least a couple miles away!

From up top, Rowan said, "Roadkill, what we do's up to you." She kept looking through her binos, keeping low to minimise her silhouette.

Now he could hear the rumble of their unmuffled engines across the desert.

"They're stopping... yeah, I can see the symbol all right, definitely Church of Domm Doomsayers, very tough. Heavily armed. Looks like they spotted us, they're pointing and having some kind of discussion." They're moving again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:58, Sat 03 July 2010.

Roadkill scowled as he peaked up over the dashboard. Five of Silas' goons was bad news. If they were going to come and investigate subterfuge was probably the best answer. If nothing else it might buy them some time until backup arrived. He just hoped that someone had heard the radio signal. He hadn't even gotten so much as a 10-4 back in aknowledgement.

"Yeah, let's hide. There's no reasoning with those green robed nut jobs and we ain't got the firepower to engage them at long range," Roadkill tells Rowan before crawling into the back of the cab to conceal himself with his sawed off clasped tightly to his chest.

Hopefully the crazed doomies passed them by after a brief conversation with the muties from brother Edgar's band. If not...well, he had two facefulls of buckshot waiting for anyone who went digging around in the cab.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:14, Sat 03 July 2010.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #128):

[Roadkill, Rowan]

They were still a couple miles out when they came into view from the cab of the truck. Roadkill peeked over the dash to make sure, and then got down. Laying down in the fighting position, Rowan seemed to be trying to shoo away the hungry crow that was sitting on the sandbags, without success.

"Dang it, you buzzard-in-training! Shoo!"

One of the Chosen, Randy, borrowed a mesh baseball cap to look more like a trucker. Elise and Carter, the other Chosen, made a show of loading more salvage into the back of the trailer. Elise had some kind of degenerative skin disorder like leprosy, although in every other way she was a young vibrant 17-year old. Randy had a full pelt of striped fur, and Carlos's fingernails had elongated and turned black, like non-retractable talons (although finger function was normal). They were obviously mutants.

"By the Glow, those are skulls! On the front of their bikes!" Carter exclaimed. "Fresh ones. Get ready, here they come."

Roadkill switched off the CB. At this point, a transmission wouldn't do them any good and at worst could spook the Doomsayers, tipping them off. Either help was coming, or it wasn't.

There was a sound of several motorcycles gearing down and pulling in. Despite an attempt at politeness and good humour the raspy voice of the Doomsayer's leader sent chills down their spines. In contrast to Brother Edgar, who spread warmth and goodness.

"Hello brethren, I see you are taking the spoils of the Dead Ones! As is your birthright."

"Dead Ones" was becoming a common Cult of Doom term for normies, because they were all dead as far as they were concerned although some didn't know it yet.

"Yep, we are. Many of the gifts of the Atom, and what once belonged to the Dead Ones is surely ours to take!" answered Randy, a former lawyer and de facto spokesman for the Chosen there. "Enjoying the ride?"

"Ah, I am glad to hear you have embraced the words of the Prophet Rasmussen. Indeed we are, thanks to the Glow! I am Brother Ezekial of the Church of Doom, servant of the Mutant King and the Prophet Rasmussen. We are hunting someone who has stolen a holy relic from the Church, the Eye of Hiroshima. Here is what he looks like, and what the Eye looks like. This despicable thief is a scavvie who stole it from a museum before we could bring it to safety. Mark him well. One of the High Priests wants him alive, but dead will do. Failing that, recover the Eye at all costs."

There was a rustle of paper, then Randy answered, "no Brother, we've not seen him all along the road west to Tucson. If we shall, we will send word?"

"Please do, to Vegas or any other Chosen community. Your reward will be great, greater if you bring the Eye, and his head, if possible. A dozen rifles and a case of ammunition."

"We will! Is there anything else?"

"Now that you mention it, we see you seem to be woefully under-armed for these violent wastes. Any of the Dead Ones would gladly see you dead, and so how are you protected?"

After a pause, Carter replied. "Brother, I do have a shotgun in the cab. Want me to get it? I don't need a gun myself, the Glow has provided me with weapons." Presumably, he was showing his talons for them to admire.

"Splendid weapons, but not the only ones you should use. Do not trouble yourself, my child. Here, take these for your defence. Cleanse any Dead Ones you may come across."

There was a clatter of metal on the pavement as some metal things are placed there.

"We recovered them from a town of Dead Ones to the east of here. They were unresponsive to our questions and so they were cleansed. Not before telling us that the one they call "Smoker Nix" was heading west towards Tucson. I see that was a pathetic lie, that he probably went east towards Almagordo or south into Mexico. We shall return that way, and continue our search."

Roadkill had a bad feeling. The closest settlement had been Las Cruces, and Smoker had hung around with him there for a least a few days. They tolerated but didn't much like muties there, and he could imagine how that conversation went.

"In the name of the Glow and the Saints of Evolution, we bid you good day!"

With a roar, the motorcycles revved up and rolled back onto the road, then the sound faded to the east. The thin sound of screaming followed them from the burning spook juice. You can actually smell the ghost rock fumes in the air!

"Man, what a dick. You can come out now. They left us some guns and ammo!"

When Rowan and Roadkill lifted their heads, Carter, Elise and Randy indeed were armed, one with a Mexican 9mm P-38, an SA M10 assault rifle and the other examining an SA Southern Eagle M50 sidearm. A web belt had several magazines in an ammo pouch. There was also a shoulder holster with a couple spare .50 magazines and a belt holster with a couple magazines of 9mm. Carter was also holding a case of Milrats.

Disappointed in the lack of carnage, the crow flew off squawking.

---

[Arthur, Michaela]


The cultists were disappearing towards the east as Arthur and Michaela galloped out of the foothills of the Victorio mountains, heading for Gage.

Beside Arthurs ear, Michaela said, "Boss, I see 'em! About a mile out at our two o'clock, heading away towards Las Cruces."

There hadn't been any sound of gunfire and there was nothing to indicate a battle had been fought, like smoke or circling turkey or black vultures (aka "buzzards").
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:31, Sat 03 July 2010.

Peter nodded to Jane and gave her a whip-quick smile that was gone faster than a cold snap in summer. He started up the pickup truck and began heading towards where the semi-rig was, but stayed back enough to not be seen from the road yet, and tried to make sure no dust cloud would be kicked up either that could be spotted.

He called the semi over the CB. "Are you there, Mr. Roadkill?"

In reply to The Marshall (msg #127):

Schaeffer clapped Smoker on the back.

"Good to hear and it's even better to ssee you're hale and hearty. Lets get back to the others. I'll try to send a radio message.

Shaeffer activated his radio. "This is the Colonel. I've foiund Nix, he's alive and well. WE're moving back to the drop off point. Shaeffer out."

The Colonel smiled and walked in the directio of the pick upmand the waiting chosen. The coast seemed to be clear, so it was time to get everyone moving.

Roadkill had moved back into the cab and flipped on the CB radio just in time to catch the tail end of Firecrow's transmission. Picking up the mic, he responds with, "Firecrow this is Roadkill, I'm here. We just had a little run in with some hostile Doomsayers but it looks like they've left the area. I'll 10-25 with you at the drop off point in a sec."

Roadkill peaks around to make sure that the Doomies are gone before hopping out of the cab. "They all gone?" he asks before changing the subject to the conversation he had just overheard.

"What was all that about an Eye and a thief and Smoker Nix? Can I see that paper he gave you?" Roadkill asks as a bad feeling grows in his stomach.


ooc: There is some regional variance in 10 codes but where I'm at 10-25 means to meet face to face.

In reply to Ian Roadkill Colby (msg #132):

"Yeah, they split." as he spoke, Carter buckled on the Southern Eagle. Randy the furry lawyer picked up the assault rifle and pulled back the cocking handle to examine the chamber. Elise belted the Mexican 9mm around her waist.

"Search me," Randy replied as he slung the Commando around his back. "Never heard of it before. Ours is a young faith, although our Holy Relics have been around us all the time. Obviously, our friend has something the Cult of Doom really wants.

"You'd best ask Brother Edgar about the split between the Cult o' Doom and our breakaway sect, The Church of the Atom (Reformed)".

Randy handed the paper to Roadkill. There was a sketch of Smoker Nix, with information on a reward for the return of the Eye of Hiroshima. There was a photo of the Eye itself, and it just seemed to be a monocle of some sort, a glass lens set in an eyepiece, nothing remarkable looking. The reward was as stated a dozen automatic rifles and ammunition, plus a bonus if Smoker was brought in dead, and even more if he was brought in alive for the Prophet to "Confess".

Arthur and Michaela rode up, and then when it was explained that the bikers were Doomsayers but were gone, they loaded the horse up in the trailer. The rig and townie pickup returned the way they came, to the drop-off point where Peter was waiting.

On their way back, Brother Edgar met with Sigfried leading the rest of the Chosen, who were lugging everything they had down the dirt road to Chance City, by hand. Schaeffer and Nix passed by the band of they Chosen as they double-timed it back as well.

Most of the posse ended up at the RV point at the end of the road to Chance City, where Peter and Jane were waiting, at the same time. Schaeffer and Nix jogged up as well.

OOC: This puts all the PCs at the same place and time. I would assume the next order of business is to get the Chosen the final distance to Chance City, then figure out what to do after that. Although most NPC dialogue in the future will be in Red (to avoid confusion with Private Messages and to match OOC notes), "good" Chosen/Doomsayers will be purple and "evil" Chosen/Doomasayers will be in green. Hope that's not too confusing! NPC'd players will be in the same colour as they were before.