The hot summer sun bakes down on the small trading town of Nortaom. The mountains surrounding the town shimmer in the haze, looking like they are underwater.
Although by rights the town should be deserted at this time of day, its inhabitants getting their siesta in, it is thronged with beings of every shape and size.
Refugees from the fall of the Albnee Confederacy swarm the dusty streets, hauling what little goods they have with them, the lucky ones driving wagons loaded with their worldly possesions, the less lucky humping them on their backs.
A platoon of Nu Orkers, their skin tuned to a pale color to reflect the sun clatters by, grinning their oh-so-toothy smiles and jabbering in their slangy brand of Anglish. Mercenaries by look, they sport wicked-looking swords along with their more traditional AK-47 clones.
Walmert's is mobbed, the salesgirl Mary Sue standing in the doorway, trying to traffic cop the crowd. Her yellow scales rustle in exasperation as she tries to get a family of mutant beavers to move along from the porch.
A trio of Hoops in costumes pinning their origin to the Zootocracy of Verminont sneer at the humanoids walking by, but say nothing as they tend to their Hopper mounts.
All of you have been given a message from the Town Boss, Piet Breeanson. The note, befitting the taciturn gunsmith reads simply:
"Come to my smithy at 3PM today. Town business. Breenason" It was sealed with his signet, so it seems legit.
Smilling at the harried Mary-Sue, Billy-Ray shakes his head and thinks to himself, "Dang gurl, ifns she wanz t'ose folks ta leeve, she otta jest start tellin' 'm bout her ole boyfren Curli- Dats wat got me movin on. Huh- huh-huh."
Billy-Ray heads off to secure his goods and check to see if ole Peg is ready to head out. Its time ta make dem Rekkers die fo what dey dun to Billy-Ray' kin. He'll be at that meeting.
What the hell could this be? Deciding that it was probably militia business, Roach resignedly heads off for the smithy. Being in the Watch brings both benefits and burdens, it seems...
"Gonna be sum bidness. Ayup."
<Spits his chaw.>
"Sphoot!"
"What the hell time is it?"
The large old-fashioned clock in the Grange tower bonged 1 PM a bit back
"Da clok rung? Well damn I can't hear wak afta firin off batty Nixon."
<Cleans his ear with his pinky.>
"Da ears iz ringin lahk chow bells."
The large old-fashioned clock in the Grange tower bonged 1 PM a bit back
Eva reads her note and set an internal alarm to go off at 2:45 giving her the time needed to efficiently make it to her appointment in time. In the mean time Eva roams the streets watching the many different species interact trying to make sense of the social interaction they display, she sees a group of children playing and wonders in amazement at how these individuals make any sense of their chaotic and wasteful movements. Eva runs through many mathematical algorithims to make sense of the play but no pattern emerges, this seems to upset Eva.
<Looks EVA over, lost in thought.>
"I wonda wot she did befo da wars?"
The late Joon sun is just working up a good cooking temperature as the Grange clock strikes the half hour chime. By the Hoosk River, a line of refugees wash their clothes and draw water. A group of folks are fishing as well, hoping to add to their meager diet with some fresh caught Squid Trout.
By the banks of the Hoosk a large pavilion has been erected, and a group of robots and androids are busy giving out supply packages to the refugees. The infinity symbol bounded by a computer screen is marked on the pavilion's cloth sides, identifying the robots as a delegation from the Happy Valley Collectivist State.
The dusty roads East out of the Berkshs are clogged with wagons and pedestrians, much as they have been for over a week now. Despite the dangers of the lowlands and the uncertain reception that these travellers will receive there, there seems little hesitation. Behind them is only death.
Another pavilion at the riverside is more of a recruiter's tent. The Nu Ork Irregulars Mercenary Brigade is taking in anyone who can shoulder a weapon and is willing to travel up the pass to fight the Wreckers. The Nu Orkers, and their genetically-blended offspring, the Half Orkers, have a fearsome reputaton, but there seem to be few of them in evidence. Nu Ork is far off, and the pirate clans of Bahston Isle are more interested in the sea than what is occuring in the distant Appalachee lands.
"Aiii, Cocaman bin to Nu Ork. Wuz born in Bichport an' 'cavenged all da massiv places. Dem Nu Orkers ent so metal."
"Youse bettah watch it Coca .. Less you wanna see the subways"
"Doosh."
Roach eyes the Nu Ork Irregulars tent for a while. The offer was tempting, and he had a big bone to pick with the Wreckers. Hell, if today's meeting went nowhere, he might sign up with the Orks. Better hear the smith out first, though...
"Ayup"
<lays out a towel. A bottle of oil and a couple of tools. Starts cleaning his handgun.>
The concrete box building of Breeanson's gunsmithy shimmers in the afternoon Joon sunlight as Eva, Coca, Roach, Oliver and Billy Ray trot up to the hitching post just before 3 P.M. They tie off their repective mounts, Peg grunting happily as he snarfles up a horse apple some previous tenant left.
The five have met each other briefly during millita meetings. None of them are native to the area, but have lived nearby for a few months, some fleeing the Wreckers, some looking for the oppotunities that war brings.
The front door has a sign on it: Closed for meeting but of course that's what you are all here for.
Coca-man spits out his chaw and moseys on in.
Opens door
"Afta Ya'll."
"Thanks, biggun."
"Thank you". Eva scans the surroundings running data to locate the optimal escape routes and weak points of the structure. Scanning her peers she recognizes the redundancy in armour plates and the areas that are more exposed, her complex binary hybrid organic brain always looking for an advantage. Her eyes follow the trajectory of the chaw that was spit out by Coca-man and she runs a trigonomic equation so in the future she can help to optimize this man's chaw spitting ability.
The door to Breeanson's is unlocked, and the hulking form of Billy Ray keeps its steel-plated heaviness easily open for the rest.
The inside of the gunsmithy is about what you would see for any trade. A collection of finished pieces, many with custom grips for those beings with odd hands lines the wall. A counter with glass windows lines the back of the smithy, full of custom items like scopes and clips and ammo. An open door leads to the work room out back, a small blacksmith's forge and several workbenches lined with tools are in this area.
You see Piet's right-hand man Nerm Yannson behind the counter. He nods somberly to you, his narrow face covered in soft downy red feathers.
"Piet's out back here folks." Nerm yanks a clawed hand to the workroom.
You enter the workroom and see that one of the workbenches has been cleared off and several simple chairs have been set up around it. Standing next to it is the familiar face of the Noratom Town Boss, Piet Breeanson.
Piet is a taciturn man, rarely speaking but effective as a town leader. He is a slim, weathered-looking man, the lines in his face speaking of a lot of time spent outdoors. His hair is dirty blonde, worn collar-length and his eyes are the color of a well-oiled gun barrel. He could pass for Pure Strain if it wasn't for the four small nubs of yellowish horn that are spaced evenly across his forehead. He wears simple homespun, with the badge of his office, a golden upside-down triangle, pinned to his shirt. A pair of holstered pistols sit on his hips, the ends of the holsters string-tied to his legs, the belts lined with shiny casings.
"Come in folks, and thanks for showin'." He drawls, his accent pure Northern Appalachee
Once the five of you get settled he takes the chair up front and sits down. He gazes at you with his narrowed steel-colored eyes and launches into his pitch:
"I woulda taken y'all to a lunch or had you up at the Grange, but things are a bit crazy anywhere in public for me right now."
Piet sighs and rubs the skin around his small horns in a nervous gesture.
"I'm sure you have heard as much as me about the Albnee Confederacy falling to the Wreckers two weeks ago. Not much to tell, the Wreckers have good solid numbers and weapons, even if they don't go real fancy. Albnee was too divided, and all the different groups couldn't get their sh*t together fast enough, even when they knew the holy joes were stomping through the Hio region."
Piet casts a side glance over at Roach "No offense meant 'bout that ."
"Y'all are new to the region, but you know that were in a mess of trouble. The Princies up here are more scattered than Albnee was. We got no central government, and we don't got the kind of numbers it takes to face down a division of the Wreckers. What we need is backup."
Piet looks the group over.
"I been talking to Verminont, we are kinda on the same side, but I get the feeling that they are waiting for the Wreckers and us to soften each other up a bit before they jump in. The HVers keep telling me they can offer aid, just not weapons or fighters, says that's against their core programmin'. Gawd only knows what that whacko computer what runs the place thinks really, probably too busy running simulations to give two squirts in a tin cup."
Piet pauses, and offers water around the table
"We gots some Nu Orkers here, but the High Clan Council won't call a warpath. We need them bad gents, but our normal route aint exactly easy. Usually we'd bop right up the valley and go to the Harsk River, sail down to the Huds and Mechsberg, and float our way down, but that way is guarded by the Wreckers now that Albnee is gone. We either need to sneak in that way, or cut down through the Neticut valley into Nu Ork overland.
I need you five to make a run to Nu Ork. I included Coca here cause he's been there scavving before."Piet looks over at Coca" No fears I am sending a diplo packet in case anyone is gunning for you. If they wont send us troops, maybe they will at least call a Clan Council meet and you can work on the individual members. Also, there's a lot of working Hi-tech there, maybe you can find us something that'll give us an edge."
Piet leans back, looking tired.
"I understand you folks don't have a lot of loyalty to the town here, but we are all on the Wreckers sh*tlist no matter where we go. You folks are my shot in the dark, but if you get results I promise you whatever this town can give you it's yours."
Piet looks at all of you
<Pats Nixon.>
"I reckon I'm in fer killin'."
"No offense taken, 'cause you're right - the Confederacy never had their s$&$ in order. We'll need to be smarter than them to win this fight. I'm tired of runnin' from them Wreckers, but we need allies more than raiders going out to snipe at the approaching hordes. I'm in."
Ah aint smat lik sum o' dese fellas, but ifns yall be feelin dis is da bes way tu poke dem Rekkers inda eye, Ahm al fo it. Yall kan count on ole Billy-Ray.
Eva tilts her head to one side and her eyes dart from side to side. She looks to her "new" comrades and begins, "The most direct route to Nu ork would be to take the rivers discussed, since they are guarded will the diversions we have to take get us there in time before the wreakers make their first strike?"Eva again tilts her head to one side as if she is straining to hear something. "I have never been to nu ork, I will go"
Piet leans forward and stands up. He seems almost emotional, but perhaps it's just the dust in the air making his eyes shine.
"Thank you all. Thank you."
Piet paces over to the next work table and picks up several boxes. He hands them over to each of you. Inside is a sheaf of documents atttesting that you are legally appointed diplomats of the Free Town of Noratom. There is also a weird-looking crystal and 300 rounds in 10 separate clips of your favorite ammo. A pouch of gunpowder (100 charges) and 100 empty shell casings complete the box's contents.
"I figured you caint have too much ammo. The crystal in there is a safe passage chip from the HVCS. I aint sure you're going near them, but it caint hurt, seeins your headed East more than likely."
Piet puts his hands up
"I don't want to know how your going, loose lips and alla that. I trust you'll find your way."
"Ain't that the truth. You can't never have too much ammo. I'll go saddle up my horse."
"I'll be packin some more ammo, Piet. Nixon's runnin' low."
Piet looks at Coca and his well-maintained weapon
"Yeah I reckon' Nixon is a little hard on the ammo. I gots some more in here."
Piet rummages through his boxes.
"What you reckon' you need, Coca?"
"You ammo's the best Piet, I'm carrying 45 five-ohs and that's a lot but I think I might grab 15 more, and another 28 rounds for the .45."
That box of ammo will give Bill-Ray something to carry.
"You ammo's the best Piet, I'm carrying 45 five-ohs and that's a lot but I think I might grab 15 more, and another 28 rounds for the .45."
That box of ammo will give Bill-Ray something to carry.
Hyep, Hapi tu.
"You ammo's the best Piet, I'm carrying 45 five-ohs and that's a lot but I think I might grab 15 more, and another 28 rounds for the .45."
The group ambles out into the afternoon sun, chatting a bit. Piet and Nerm lock up behind them and they both amble off downtown. Piet turns to you all as he walks off:
"I don't need to tell y'all that time's of the essence. We don't know when the holy joes are coming down the passes, but we'll hold 'em long as we can."
Piet tips his hat to you all and turns back to walking.
"I reckon we'll be needin' te go south."
"Me, I was thinkin' east. Go to Greenfield, follow the ole highway down ta Hartford and then the sea. Move to Nu Ork along the coast."
Yall pik da rout, Ahm'l get ole Peg ready t' hed out. Me ahn Peg follerd da ole trane rails most o' der way up heres to Noratom. Ah aint so good wit maps- betr wit follern da stars or lukin for lanmarks. Onct yall pick da way yer wants ta go, we'sl hed out.
"Me, I was thinkin' east. Go to Greenfield, follow the ole highway down ta Hartford and then the sea. Move to Nu Ork along the coast."
"Well. That's how I got here. It's good travellin'"
"So over the Moohak trail over the ridge then down the Deer River?"
"Good stuff. I'll go get my morse, and we'll be off."
<Coca man twists his lips and stick his rolled tongue between his teeth, letting out an ear shattering whistle.>
"Colonel!"
<The giant chicken comes running.>
Roach shakes his head as the big bird bounces past him at a full trot. "Yo, Cola, does the Colonel lay eggs? Or does he just wake us up at daybreak?"
Roach shakes his head as the big bird bounces past him at a full trot. "Yo, Cola, does the Colonel lay eggs? Or does he just wake us up at daybreak?"
"She's a girl. Doesn lay no eggs less I keep her sittin' round for a week or two."