The game will begin in the small town of Marshall's Corner (fictional) in a rural county in southern Georgia, Deerfield (fictional), located east of Macon, Georgia. It is a very rural farming region known for corn, hogs, and moonshine. Marshall's corner is your usual town; dine stores, grocery, gas station, post office, local bank, courthouse, sheriff's office, and school.

The sign entering town says welcome to Marshall's Corner, home to 236 of Georgia's finest people. Aside from corn their are peaches, of course, it is Georgia after all. Likewise the town boasts 'world famous' pulled pork and bar-b-queue ribs, peach cobbler that brings a tear to the eye, 'loaded' sweet tea, and the Corner Hall, a dance club featuring bands four days a week.

It is Sunday, June 1, 1922. The midday heat in Georgia is both hot and humid to the extreme. And you are in Marshall's Corner. Why is that? Are you traveling? Sight seeing? A local resident? Or something else, something more...you.

The Savege family were old money...not filthy rich, just respectable old money.

Bas' older brother inherited most of the families assets. Bas received the old family home and land in the country.

Most of the land he's leased out to local farms. A large plot around the old home, he's turned into an airfield.

(Can expand on this more later if needed. At work right now)

Not for the first time did Dai miss the cool climate of the hills and mountains of his homeland. Not to mention the refreshing ever-present rain. Stopping to read the sign at the town border, he wiped his sweating brow and adjusted his satchel, wishing he could spare a sip from his canteen and wondering where he might refill it, or find work, in this sleepy little backwater. He looked over at the peach orchard by the side of the road and smacked his lips at the thought of sinking his teeth into one of the juicy fruit hanging just out of his tantalous grasp, both physically and legally. Brushing off his daydreams and turning his mind to more practical matters, he set his feet and let them take him into yet another unknown. The last three towns had taken one look at him and run him out for vagrancy and disreputation. Perhaps this town would be more friendly, but he didn't really expect it and steeled himself for the strangers welcome he was all too familiar with.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Thu 07 Apr 2022.

Jake finishes the lunch his sister Ethel has prepared. One advantage to boarding with her family in Marshall’s Corner is the meals just like his Mamma’s. He thanks her and reminds her he’ll be staying at the jail for supper, doing his turn as jailer the next two nights. Sheriff Ham LaMont’s wife will feed him and she’s a good cook but it’s not like home.

The young deputy takes a roundabout way to the sheriff’s office in the basement of the courthouse in the middle of town. Ham likes for his men to be seen around town some to remind any miscreants that the town constable isn’t the sole defender of public order around. He strolls a couple of residential neighborhoods, politely greeting homeowners relaxing on their front porches in the afternoon heat and nodding at the kids playing quietly in the shade of old oaks.

He turns down past the red brick school building where he acquired his formal education and strides along one end of the business district, passing the five and dime, the tea room, the movie house, and the livery stable (now selling gasoline from a pump out front) along with other small stores. Most of the shops are closed on Sunday afternoon and the warm, sultry weather means there are few town folk on the sidewalk, but Jake greets a few acquaintances, most of whom have known him since he was a boy, and his Daddy and Grandaddy before him.

He rounds the corner by the Brill Building where about half the county’s  lawyers and realtors and accountants have their offices, and turns into the town square, a green lawn surrounding the courthouse and giving space to the Johnny Reb statue and the Civil War cannon, the water trough by the hitching rack, and more old oaks that shelter a few benches for loafers and codgers and courting couples.

Jake circles behind the building to the entrance of the Sheriff’s office across the street from the Sheriff’s house and attached county jail.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:33, Thu 07 Apr 2022.

"Hell's bells, Hardwick!" Scott cursed softly to himself as the car rolled to a gentle halt and a final splutter in front of the gasoline pumps in the service station just south of the crossroads that defined the city of Marshall's Corner. The town was too small to be on his itinerary, but the car had been making kachunching noises and soft growls under the floorboards for the past ten miles and he was grateful that it had gotten him this far. But none too pleased, nevertheless. It was not his vehicle. It had been assigned to him by the Committee to Elect T.W. Hardwick as a pool vehicle to make a scheduled run through likely precincts that need a bit of a pep talk to get them thinking the right way. And by the sounds of things, unless one of those grease monkeys was an engineering genius, he was stuck in this little podunk town at least overnight.

Maybe longer, he revised his estimate as the car gave a sudden belch of fuel and a loud backfire before visibly settling an inch or two on its suspension.

He signed deeply, opened the car door, stepped out onto the running board, and down to the blacktop surface of the filling station forecourt. He pulled his hat from the passenger seat and jammed it on his head. He badly wanted a smoke, but even he knew better than to light up in front of a gas pump.

"Can I get some service here?" he called to the two stalwarts in the side garage who were looking at him, dumbfounded as if he had just arrived from Mars rather than driven from Macon. Just over the horizon, really, but a million miles away as far Marshall's Corner was concerned.

In reply to Bastion Aric Savege (msg # 2):

Bas and his chief mechanic, Charlie Long, were elbow deep in the engine bay of the newest gem to his tiny fleet of planes. It was a Davis-Douglas Cloudster, only a year old, and in pretty rough shape. It had seen use of a long distance delivery vehicle fly from Memphis, Tennessee to Albuquerque, New Mexico twice a week for the last nine months.

"It's the carburetor again." Charlie said. "Might as well go into town and order a new one. Hell, order a whole set. These carbs have all been over tweaked, running real thin, old owner wanted to save money more than lives evidently."

In reply to Dafydd Taliesin Morgan (msg # 3):

Dafydd Morgan was dry. The days were hot and muggy here in the heart of Dixie. Looking about the little town there wasn't a lot to take in. The sign on his was way in had stated that there were several hundred people living in the town. It looked to be somewhat less, but then, a busy town never looked full before lunch.

A nearby brick building had big windows displaying lumber, nails, tools, paints, and work clothing. The sign over the windows read 'Morgan's Construction Outfitters'. Dafydd smiled a 'my lucky day' smile an felt it was a good sign. He sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. In the window there was a sign that read 'hiring strong hands and back, apply within'.

In reply to Jake Westley (msg # 4):

"Your back. Good." Beatrice Levine said as she stood up from her desk. Her clutch in one hand and a hat box under the other arm. "I'm off to take a girt over to Anne Marie. She is due any day now and I missed the shower on Saturday. Earl and his tournaments. I mean, sure, he catches a lot bass. But all he ever wins are more damned lures. You're on the phone for now, sweetheart."

With she headed for the door.

"Oh, and if that farmer, Hoover calls again arrest him as a nuisance." She said suddenly before walking out.