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.