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 Recent Posts
One of Old Nan's family members takes the proferred items with a mummur of appreciation. The old goat woman stares off a bit and then begins to speak. "Well now, it was 'nigh on two months ago, I reckon, right 'bout when we foist pulled up to this here hellhole. I was real twitchy from all that journeyin' through the mountains, an' we had a powerful lot of things to do to get set up. One night I was outside here in my chair cuz I couldn't sleep. The fire'd burned low, and there was jest a little bit of light left when I saw the Twitchy Man. "He came out of the darkness, walking like he'd got a snort of bad squeezins. He was goin' back and forth, weaving around, but kinda, almost sniffin' if you unnerstand that. Like he was a lookin' for something. He came over to me an' I thought I was headed for the Lord's bosom. He came up to me, an I saw he was a wrapped in a big ol' coat and a floppy hat like a summer sombrero to keep the rays off. He had a scarf on his face too, even though it had been a powerful warm night for Apill. All I could see was these weird yellow shiny eyes. "Well, I can tell you boah, I was scairt like nothing else I ever seen, and I lived in the back hollas where all the weird things hide. This Twitchy Man done scairt me speechless! He took a long look at me, an' he said nowt the whole time, jest made this burbly bubbly sound in his throat. He turned about and walked away from me, I don't know why. "Next mornin' ol' Bin Roggars went missing, long with alla his kin. Folks said he jest decided to leave under dark, but I knowed better. The Twitchy Man was headed his way last I seen him." Old Nan stops and pats her furry forehead with a lace handkerchef. "I'm sorry boah, that story allus scairs me a trifle. I never did get over that thing's eyes. That and evur one but my kin don't b'lieve me. Sad thing is I seed him some more, and I seed him taking folks with him, an' they all twitching like him. I also seed regular folks jest staring into space when he walk by, like they don't see him. He got some powerful juju, whatever he is."
The ragged man snatches up the rations. "Thankee SAI! No problem, Billy Ray. My name's Gus." Gus shakes Billy Ray's large hand. "If'n you want, grab a loada them boards we jest got and follow me. I'll introduce you to Old Nan. She's kinda tetched, but she claims she saw the Twitchy Man for certain. Tells a powerful good yarn about it at least."
Spoiler:
Gus leads Billy Ray through the tent city to one particular bonfire. They drop their lumber by the banked fire, and Gus introduces Billy Ray to Old Nan before returning to his wagon and wife Salleh nearby. Old Nan is travelling with her extended family, they gather around the old woman protectively. Gus' introduction and Billy Ray's friendly inquiries mellow them out a bit. They allow him to speak to her briefly.
Old Nan is a wizened old mutant woman. It's hard to tell if she's a human with a few unfortunate mutations or a goat with a few advantageous ones. Old Nan is covered in a grey fur pelt. Her eyes are that disturbing black barbel-shaped goat pupil, with yellow irises. Two small horns jut from her forehead, and a wispy beard descends from her knobby chin. Otherwise she is human enough, with arthritic-looking hands that are knitting socks at the moment as she rocks in a crude chair. The old woman looks up at Billy Ray and cackles. "My stars now there's a healthy boah! What do you need with Old Nan Boah?"
The ragged man smiles "Ah it's jest an' old campfire story. People 'round here is mostly back-holla folk, and they'll b'lieve any damnfool thing." The ragged man laughs "'sposedly some folks've seen this twitchy-like scarecrow fellah, and he sneaks into the camp an' takes people away. I think it's a load of moldy beans m'self. I ain't got time for no boogerman. I gots to get ready for the REAL boogermen." The ragged man jerks his thumb back in the vague direction of Noratom. "Those boogermen I gots no doubts about."
The ragged man looks at Billy Ray "Not personal'y, 'cept to be tol' to move on when I was askin' for a place to get supplies. They don't likes us stayin' here, but they aint gots the men to drive us'n out, an' we gots no wheres to go." The man spits to the side "Reckon' they keep hopin' the Twitchy Man will get rid of us all 'fore the snow flies."
The ragged man who spoke looks at Billy Ray "Prob'ly the same way you did mister. I owned a sundries store near Albnee. Did a good bunch of business with folks thereabouts 'till the Wreckers invaded. They burnt my store to the ground and I said to my wife, 'Salleh, these folks aint gonna be friendly towards us'." The ragged man points to his glowing green eyes, which are fringed with small waving cillia. "So we loaded up a wagon with what was left and headed out East. Wagon broke down an' one of our horses got sick 'round here, 'bout the same as the otherin'." The ragged man looks down the road. "I had hoped to get a stake in around here, but the folks roundabouts are a mite standoffish, to be kind. Me and Salleh are fixin' to head out yonder towards Grenfield when the weather cools a bit. I'm still hopin' my horse gets better."
As Chiro swoops down through the deepening gloom, he notices something odd. By the Deerf River there is a solitary person walking, but they are walking very stilted, as if they were having problems coordinating their movements. They seem to be staying to the tree cover, but Chiro catches the occasional glimpse of them as they head towards a draw that would bring them to the Mohawk Trail. There is a group of refugees washing in the river as well nearby, looks to be a family with Pa at the bank, shotgun in hand ready for trouble. As Chiro is circling around to take another look at the folks he has spied, he gets an incredible urge to land.
Billy Ray walks slowly East along the Mohawk Trail. The trail is churned up, and the skeletons of several wagons have been pushed aside and ransacked for parts and wood. There are a few folks pulling boards off the ragged wagons at this moment, looking for something to keep the bonfires lit. Billy Ray sees that most of the folks are giving him the hairy eyeball. Down the road a bit there is a draw where water has carved a narrow path down to the distant Deerf River. Billy Ray can see that there is a faint trail etched in the loose scree here, possibly from folks travelling downward.
Chiro settles his mutant plant next to Roach's mount Bullwinkle. The large Morse begins to strip foliage off Creeper's side, gathering the green leaves in with his blubbery lips. Creeper doesn't seem to mind. Chiro wanders about the edges of the camp. The sides of the summit drop fairly rapidly, but there are several natural draws and trails leading down to the Deerf River below. Several folks are heading down the trails. There are several farms scattered along the riverbottom land below. Chiro gets the notion that he could see more of Florda and the river if he glided down into the valley.
Roach's neighbor, a thin man with blue-splotched skin and knobby horn bumps on his balding skull spits to the side. "The Flordans are scairt of us Albnee folk. There aint many of them around, and they think we mean to take their land away from them. They don't want to let us settle hereabouts 'cuz they'll lose power." The man spits again "Thing these thick-headed Flordans don't see is they'll need every one they kin get come the Wreckers. If they'd let me set up a 'stead I'd fight those mangy purestrainers to the death. They caught me unaware onc't, they ain't gonna do it agin.'" The man looks at Roach "As fer the disappearances, I don't rightly know what to think. I don't think the Flordans got the stones to go killin' folk in the dead of night, but that damnfool rumor's got legs. Mostly people wanna think the worst of 'em. I already think pretty bad of 'em, but I don't think they're doin' it. More'n likely some critter been stirred up by alla this activity on the road an' is using Tramp Town as its personal chow line."
Roach sets up camp with the practiced efficiency of someone who has done it a million times. He gathers up some supplies and heads out to the nearest large fire. The bonfire is a meeting ground of sorts, with refugees congregating and gossiping as they cook their evening meal on the sides of the burning coals. Roach blends in well, the crowd accepting him as one of them. Most of the males Roach sees are armed with some sort of weapon. Guns are common, as are swords. One large fellow sports what looks to be a traffic light pole from the Golden Age, repurposed as a club. As Roach sits and eats, he hears a lot of talk about Florda and their attitude. Many of the refugees have bascially been stranded here for lack of supplies or tools to repair their wagons. Many of them have been travelling along the Mohawk Trail since fleeing Albnee and the Wreckers. There is a current of anger that is simmering among these folks. Roach also hears of people going missing among the tents. Some might just have moved on, but there are wagons left empty and tents with dishes of food scattered about that no one can explain. The fear mixes with the anger, creating a very unstable atmosphere.
Cocaman looks for hot women. Cocaman wanders about on the fringe of the refugee tent city. The twilight sky is fading out, but he sees plenty of folks still up and about. A human-looking female of youthful years is watching a gaggle of children of various shapes and sizes. She smiles at Coca, and looks back at her small charges. On closer inspection she is a mutant, her ears long and pointed, her skin shimmering with a strange blue opalescent glow, almost like a dim lightning bug. She is dressed in ragged gingham, but underneath the rags is a pleasing shape.
Doris nods at E.V.A. "I ain't got no problem swapping stories with you, just interfacing is a little personal." Doris nods to the others "I'm right in the middle of my shift anyway, no real time to chat."
The group moves on from the ramshakle inn and are swallowed up by the refugee tent city. The smell of waste and burining fill the air. Several large fires burn at several locations, with folks clustered around trying to cook makeshift meals. There is plaenty of open space after trotting to the end of the summit area, although the ground is ripped up and muddy from countless feet.
The Nu Orker snickers, revealing a mouth full of shark-like teeth. His cat-pupiled eyes take in E.V.A.'s form. "Well Mami I would be more then happy to interface with you, even if you are just a rubber dolly. I bet you still have a lot of that fun pleasure programming buried up in that cabeza of yours. Then we can see whether my pistolero measures up." Doris smacks Mawteeniz again "Mind your manners and stay on guard Mawteeniz." Doris swivels back to E.V.A. "No offense, but I'm fine with my soma, it don't bother me, I ain't vain like a meat would be. My scars keep the horndogs like Mawteeniz here from humping my leg alla time." Mawteeniz mimes humping Doris' leg. She smacks him again, looking as exasperated as an android can. "I also don't interface with strange 'droids I just met. Too many Shadow Year viruses still running around, and the Hivers are always trying to sneak a Trojan by my firewall. I share files with you next thing I know I am goose stepping down to Amherst chanting 'OMNUS is great'. Thanks but no thanks."
Doris the android looks E.V.A. up and down. "What did you just come out of a vault somewhere sister? You still got that new 'droid smell on you. Ain't no easy way to get past your basic programming, just live your life, watch the meats, try to remember that just because you got silicon rather than carbon in your brain doesn't make you anything less of a person." Doris swivels to show E.V.A. the back of her head. Her blonde hair has been shaven, and numerous black metal sensor antennae now sprout from implants in the back of her skull. "Back in the Shadow Years I was an Artifically Stupid pleasurebot in an upscale brothel. I got hit with the Joker Virus just before Shiva struck, and I was free. I spent the Fimbulwinter trying to survive, and got me some of these nice scars along the way." Doris points to her seamed face. "No working repair pods around. When I got damaged I got the repairs I could, and as I went on I learned more and more about life. I had a Shadow Tinker install some aftermarket hardware and software, and here I am." Her companion Mawteeniz looks at her. "That was so touching I grabbed my huevos."
Eva looks to the female android with curiosity, she wonders if she is damaged, will her repairs mar her as well. "Do you have a serial number? Eva asks the android inquisitively The female android looks at E.V.A. Her telescoping eye whines slightly as she focuses it. "I did, sister, a long time ago. Now I just go by Doris. I spent a lot of years getting that machine think out of my processors. I'm a person just like any of these other folks." Her Nu Orker companion snorts and quips, "'Cept uglier." The female android b*tchsmacks the Nu Orker in the back of his bald head. "Shut it Mawteeniz. You'd fnck an Obb if it wore a skirt."
Chiro wanders about the haphazard campsites. He attempts to engage some folks in conversation, but he receives a lot of stony stares. There seems to be an undercurrent of tension and anger among the refugees. One old mutant recognizes him from Noratom and is willing to chat with him. Lykos is an Ark missing most of an ear, his fur streaked with grey. He tells Chiro that a lot of folks are angry that they are being restricted to this plateau. there is a lot of land that could be broken for farms, but the Flordans are reluctant to grant it out. There is also a lot of rumors that the Flordans are rounding folks up at night and taking them away. "Damn smug azzholes will be crying out the other side of their lyin' mouths should the Wreckers get this far." Lykos says, with a growl. Chiro can actually get a lot of camp goods for 1 GP, a tent, a warm bedroll, basic cookware, a small lantern, and an entrenching shovel. Plenty of folks are desperate enough to sell, and there is a lot of camp goods scattered about.
The android turns to Roach and extends her telescopic eye towards him. "There have been many disappearances lately among the refugees. A few Flordans have also gone missing. Some folks think it's some hill critter, some think it is a group of folks doing a little vigilante work. No one knows, but it's got folks' backs up."
The group makes its slow way through the shanties of Tramp Town. Chiro sees several makeshift shops along the way, mostly selling foodstuffs and tools. The group rides on towards the large permanent structure that sits in the middle of Tramp Town. Piano music wafts through the air and the sound of dishes and glasses clinking as they approach. The building is some sort of inn, with an attached stables. Two guards stand at the entrance to the common room, assault rifles at their side. One is a Nu Orker, his chameleon skin set to a bright green at the moment. The other is a woman, but as the group rides closer they see that it is actually an android. What had once been a pretty face now is seamed with several patchy repair scars, making for a disquieting visage. Several add-on pieces of metal equipment sprout from the android's head, perhaps after-market sensors of some sort. One blue eye has been replaced with a crude makeshift telescoping ocular device, which extends and retracts as the group approaches with a mechanical whine. "Welcome to the Rolling Hills Inn." The female android says in a lovely contralo voice.. "We accept cash customers only, all weapons to be checked at the door."
The guard snorts and hawks up another spit ball. "Git goin'" He motions with his rifle towards the road. The group pass a lot of pedestrians on the trail, many of which beg for food and water. The Noratom group don't see a lot of townsfolk, but they are probably down nearer to the river in the valley below. Like the guard had said, five miles down the road is a refugee camp, the place he called Tramp Town. A motley collection of wagons, tents, shacks and other habitations are strung out along a narrow summit that opens the Mohawk Trail up to a half-kilometer, about a klick long. Bonfires burn, tools clank, and voices chatter in the deepening twilight as the group approach. One large four-story ramshackle stone and clapboard building seems to be the hub of Tramp Town. It rises above the wagons and tents like an elephant among horses. The group can't quite make out what the building is from the edge of the camp.
The guard Coca was talking to spits in the dust "Ought to confiscate your shooting irons." He looks at the other guards, then sighs. "Give me your names and I want to see your asses riding off into the sunset. Take the trail to the side there." The guard points to a dirt track leading past the keep's walls. A ragged collection of refugees wander along it heading East. "Tramp Town is five miles down the trail if you need a place to stop. We got enough trouble around here without armed strangers wandering around." The guard sits waiting for the names.
The man scowls deeper, staring up at Coca atop his mutant Gallus. "Funny man. You might want to watch yer tone. You got legitimate business here or are you just another bunch of road tramps?" The group notices the rest of the guards readying themselves slightly. A squealing sound alerts them to a turret-mounted Gatling Gun at the top of the keep's gate manned by what looks to be a Dabber (humanoid Racoon). The Gatling and its operator are protected by a piece of steel welded to the swivel mount, leaving a small slit for the weapon's snout to poke through.
The next morning dawns hot and sticky. Late Joon in the Berksh region is a killer. The group saddles up and readies itself for the trek to the next town of Florda. The large form of the Tenant is at the gate as they prepare to move out. "Just wanted to thank y'all personally for helping that family. You ever need something you come see me." He shakes each one of your hands as you depart. The day passes tolerably well. The heat is bad, but bearable. There is a lot of activity on the road as wagons rumble down the rutted track towards whatever destiny awaits them. Towards late afternoon the riders reach the small town of Florda. The small town has a stone and concrete keep built along the Mohawk Trail, with dwellings built along the side of the sloping mountainsides. Terraced farmlands snake along the steep slopes as well. A large river twinkles in the valley below. It is a peaceful-looking scene, but there is an undercurrent of tension. The riders pass several broken wagons, ragged refugees staring out at them from makeskift awnings with dead eyes. The gate to the fortification is guarded by a squad of unfriendly-looking men sit in front of it fingering assault weapons. They scowl as the riders approach, and one steps forward as the group gets near. "State yer business strangers."
The group cobbles together an ersatz harness out of the scraps left by the murderous Drakk. The wagon is still in good shape, but the canvas top was ruined by the Drakk's claws, and there is slight damage here and there from the mutant bat's actions. The group attaches Bullwinkle and Peg to the harness, as they are the most willing. The Morse grumbles telepathically a bit to be harnessed with the smelly porcine, but at least his thick coat spares him the quills of the porcuswine. The group pushes the mauled Podog corpses off the cliff to rest with their murderer, Rolf's small children crying a bit. Then the group heads back to Whitcomb Eyrie. The guards at the gate rush foreward and bring the Smiff family and their wagon inside as soon as they see them. The watch sarge thanks the group profusely for their heroics. "I'll be sure the Tenant knows 'bout this. Y'all did a fine job savin' these're folks." The band of adventurers fall out and dive into their bedrolls, conscious that dawn will come soon enough, and tomorrow will be a long day. The group gets some light shut eye before the squall of several dozen roosters announce dawn's light. Another lovely summer day in Appalachee has dawned.
The cycloptic-mutant folks look a bit downcast, but they sigh and get on with things. "'Bout what we figured," Rolf sighs. "Guess we'll have to abandon the wagon and start on foot to Florda. Cain't pull it no how by hand." Rolf and his family start unloading their wagon, pulling off the ripped canvas cover and fashioning a rude travois for their supplies.
Rolf shakes Coca's hand. "I really do appreciate you folks lending a hand like you did. It's a hard road we've been on since we left the high mountains. Lower we get, more creepy crawlies seem to come out." The one-eyed mutant looks thoughtful. "You folks from around here? Know if there's room in this Florda place for refugees?"
After the fall of the Drakk, the party moves forward to the wagon and its dead Podog haulers. As they approach, they see a group of five beings emerging from upslope. They look to be human-descended mutants, with odd-looking patches of armorplate skin and two large feathery antennae over one cycloptic eye. The largest one, moves forward towards the group. The mutant is male, about 5'7" and dressed in homespun like most refugees. He takes his battered cowboy hat off and smiles. "Thankee sai for stopping that whatever-the-Hades that was. I though we was goners once that brute got done with Fluffy and Rex." The man twists his hat a bit in his calloused hands. "We don't gots much to give y'all but our thanks. If'n y'all need any supplies feel free to take 'em. We don't have much but we'd have nobbut but for y'alls arrival."
Coca unlimbers Nixon and fires a round at the huge wagon-sized bat.
Nixon's round ventilates one head of the Drakk, then by serendipity it exits the hideous bat and enters its second head through one bulging eye. The Drakk's screeches are cut off in mid cry, and the huge monster goes limp, tumbling out of the air and landing down the cliff of the mountain in a broken heap. Coca looks over the edge. "Boomshakalaka."
Chiro's and Roach's bullets strike true, causing the giant mutated bat to screech in anger, its cries echoing along the mountainside. It flies over to Chiro and snaps at him with one of its huge misshapen heads. The slavering jaws snap shut a scant foot from Chiro and the Drakk's other mouth screeches in frustration.
The group saddles up their mounts, scrounges up a hip flask of raw shine from one of the gate guards and rides out. Chiro flys ahead, scouting. The trail heads down off the Eyrie, descending into lower mountains. The group rides hard, the darkvisioned leading the others. After a bit, Chiro catches sight of the giant two-headed bat perched on a wagon, a podog in its mouth. The large horse-sized dog is being drained of its blood. Another lies dead at the wagon's front. There is no sign of any humanoid casualties. The wagon had been pulled over along a small widening of the Mohawk Trail. A campfire burns fitfully next to a few rumpled bedrolls. The Drakk looks up as the riders approach and screeches in stereo, its two hideous heads staring at the intruders on its meal. It drops the podog and flaps its wings, preparing to take flight.
E.V.A. flashes through the requested repairs. Her work is very precise and well-done, the overmind hums with satisfaction. 1000111100011 101110 0001010101...
Spoiler:
::Repairs effected satisfactorally unit E.V.A. 3500. Prepare for download of informational media files pertaining to the human culture known as the Wreckers:: E.V.A. jerks as a stream of pictures, text, video and various other informational bits are downloaded into her temporary information sequestration buffer.
E.V.A. spends the rest of the evening assisting the HVCS robots with a few minor repairs on their van. Chiro finds her tightening a bolt under the wheel well when he goes looking to round up the group. MEANWHILE ... Chiro finds the group where they bunked down in the patch by the stable. Bedrolls out, they had just slipped off into a semi-drunken sleep when Chiro nudges them up. Grumbling and heading for the gatehouse, the sleepers rondezvous with E.V.A. who looks unfazed as usual. At the gatehouse a guard has thoughtfully pulled their weapons from storage. As they check them over he gives them a bit of advice. "Be wary of the Drakk's saliva. It makes wounds bleed really bad, so the wounds don't seal up as quick as they should. Wash the wounds in alcohol if you can, it will help neutralize the spit."
The overmind acknowledges the descision 10000 001010 111100001010101 ...
Spoiler:
::Access denied. Collective will convey information to OMNUS upon return. The needed repairs are as follows: Forkbot 32-J has a tread malfunction. Playbot Snuffy Dawg has a reciprocating error text associated with left paw. Warehouse Guardian CVX-67 Alpha is experiencing sticking in sensor turret... ::
The guards gasp when Chiro explains what he saw. "A Drakk! We haven't seen one of those nasty things in years! Sweet Jesu so many weird critters are about these days!" When he explains about its destination, the guards frown. "We really ain't set up for a night raid. Do you and your crew think you can handle it? Otherwise we might have to let Florda handle it."
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