Midwinter Hype Post #3

They had followed all the protocol.  Appropriately scavenging what clothing they needed, using the local money in the proper locations to secure food and passage, and even arming themselves just enough to look more dangerous than stupid.  It had served them well, and the plan had been well conceived as far as they were concerned.  Each step carefully plotted in case of emergency.  Each move planned beforehand so as to move freely and without being questioned.  They were on the last leg of the northern trail, and had taken the turn east to Mill City two days back.  The trails were covered with snow enough to cause a bit of slow travel, but by and large they hadn’t disappeared.  Everyone had been able to keep pace and, as best as anyone could tell, they were on track and still making good time.

It was a night like most any other for the last few, and it wasn’t any more pleasant.  They had left the last town – with a warm bed, a fire, and a hot meal – at least six days back, but there was a quiet debate that it may had been seven.  Everything else had been cold, salted meals and water.  No fires, no luxury.  The only thing to look forward to was the next day in front of the last, when they all hoped they would be closer to their final destination.

“Where the hell is this place, anyway?” Chilt had asked on the road, the sun still hanging high in the sky.

“No idea yet,” Raynor had responded, his curt attitude extending well past the confines of the rooms they all had shared for years.  “We’ll get our next drop in Mill City, and then we’ll have a clue where we end up.”

The thought that most everyone had on their minds was simple.  Emergency protocols were a pain in the ass.  Everything had taken a turn for the immediate shitter, and this little band of misfits were the only ones left to carry out their final orders.  They weren’t thrilled about any of the circumstances, but they knew what was at stake all the same.

Everyone had started to hunker down, getting as close to each other as they could.  There would be no fire, and there was no tent to cover them.  Only the gear that kept them warm, and a hope that no one had underestimated the weather.  They had made it so far.

“What the fuck Droz, kill that light!”  The voice was disembodied at that point, but the unmistakable glow of a light shone on the man’s bearded face for a moment and disappeared.

“It’s only a smoke.  Piss off,” Droz said in reply, grumbling a few more words under his breath.

Raynor prepared to have them all cut the shit, knowing full well everyone was getting a bit testy after being on the road this long.  He didn’t have time, as the thud in the snow accentuated the need for quiet all too well.  The small party scuttled around the fallen man.  Droz, with his precious cigarette, lay on his side as a small pool of red formed from the shaft of a pole lodged firmly into his chest.  A fine, high pitched whistle preceded another thud, this one more metallic than the last.  Another projectile had landed not far from their sleeping circle.

“Go, now!” Raynor hissed, shoving people onto their feet as he took off at a sprint northeast, angling slightly to keep the sense of the road as best he could.  He pointed off in the distance at a house tucked away, flickering between the trees as he ran.  “There!”

He turned, leading the group, and hoping that the glint of light he saw wasn’t too many windows.  They’d likely need to barricade the place quickly.

Midwinter Hype Post #2

It was a crisp evening, the snow laying over the surrounding land like a fine blanket untouched by foot traffic.  A small family, dressed in old and patched clothes, sat around a glowing hearth drinking warm drinks and sharing stories.  A middle-aged gentleman, decked in finery, looked well out of sorts sharing the room with the family, but he seemed to be engaged all the same, tastefully regaling the room of age old stories with a dramatic flair between his long silences spent with his tea.  Dinner was being prepared by the Irons in the kitchen, and the house smelled of both delicious meat and wafts of burning pine.

The ruckus from outside immediately drew the attention, and as uncharacteristic as it was, the finely dressed fellow was out of his seat before the rest of the room had clamored to the window.  A sharp blade hung loosely at his side as his hand slid into his overcoat allowing the tips of his fingers to caress the old, oiled wood handle of his pistol.  Between the great room’s large windows, at a run, and the thinner windows around the front door, he could make out a great many shadowy figures in the darkness.  The noise, albeit loud, was still a ways in the distance as a handful of bodies cleared the perimeter of the house and into the lights.  With a flip of the switch, the light poured into the darkness, likely half blinding those now standing in the front lawn.  He opened the door, inspecting the few quickly and with a precision that was well-trained.

“Why’re you on my land then?” he asked in a hurried and hushed voice, now looking beyond the few that seemed to be no real threat.  “I’ve half a mind to cut you down and go back to my tea if you don’t make it snappy.”

Before any of them could respond, a crack in the distance and the splintering of wood next to the man’s head had him raise a single eyebrow.  He scanned the darkness with a slight squint, seeing what no one would ever hope to laid out before him.  “Raiders,” a breathless voice coughed out in the cold, “hundreds.  Pouring in.  Everywhere.”

“Get in, ya gits.  Can’t stay out here with them marching up.”  The response was designed to sound strong, yet a bit of the fear laced his throat as he spoke them.  The report he was just given matched what he saw moving toward the house.

“Cookie!  Get what’s prepared and get everyone into the dining hall!” he called, turning his back on the few outside.  He heard their footsteps following him, and even the door closing.  Smart enough lads for the moment.  He looked to the hearth and saw he didn’t need to repeat himself, as the entire family had abandoned their drinks and leapt into motion to follow.

Down the front hall and through a large archway, people flooded into the room set for a nice meal.  An Iron hurriedly moved people along as they balanced and bobbled dishes, plates and pots with a variety of foods.  With very little thought to it, everything was piled haphazardly onto the table, as the rest of the house was ushered in from the front hall door.  The finely dressed gentleman did a very brief scan before moving about the room in a practiced fashion.  Moments later, solid steel walls fell into place one at a time, creating a barrier between them and the outside world.

“Might be a bit loud, but why don’t we get settled for supper?  You can tell us about the trouble outside once your bellies can be quieter than your mouths.”

Midwinter Hype Post #1

Aside from the buildings, most of the town was packing up for the gathering season and things were starting to look a bit sparse.  The Corvid caravan had folded in on itself, packing things away in its bowels before they spurred it into motion.  The Bastards, Norske and Roadhouse were all in different states of packing and storage, each with their own flair for the best way to stow certain items and walk with the rest.  Tents were being struck, the town hall was being boarded up, and the hostel was quickly becoming cold and more sterile by the moment.  Both of the main buildings, along with the naval depot, had been secured for storage should people want to leave more cumbersome items behind, and both The RPM and the Iron Navy would be on regular patrol, as it always was.  Everyone else was being moved out of town, or into temporary accommodations offered by the navy.

In less than a day, the town would be deserted including the infirm or elderly, who would be in the warmth and care of the Ironworks.  It would be expected that those taking the annual sojourn would bring supplies enough back to last through the worst of the winter, and with the town’s massive expansion in such a short time, it was worrisome to think what might happen if everyone didn’t band together.

~~*~~

Just this time, he wanted to stay home for the gathering season. He saved all the food he could, and bought rations just in case.  He even managed to afford some medicine and hooch if things went poorly. He figured it was enough to get him through until people returned in full, if not longer.

As he watched the last of the caravans roll out of Steel Horse Crossing, and the lines of people that took to walking, he mused on his position.  He wasn't going to steal, and even his snooping would be kept to a bare minimum. The remainder of the crowd trickled out of the hostel while Matt and Gary had steady conversation during the lockup. They were the last to leave, slipping into the crowd in front of the group of Norske who would take up the rear until the caravans parted ways.

He’d never stayed this late. He wasn’t sure if that was the “final sweep”.  He heard the stories, but didn't know what that actually meant. He stayed low in the brush. He had to know.

Was it two days?  Perhaps three?  Suddenly, a loud engine was heard rolling up the road. A huge monstrosity of a vehicle billowing smoke and fumes stopped at the edge of town. Soldiers poured out with guns ready, and a man and woman stepped out behind them. They formed long lines and started walking the town, inch by inch. He kept perfectly still, barely breathing, so that he avoided any notice. He didn't know the penalty for staying, but he knew he didn't want to find out.

An eternity passed, and they seemingly swept the entirety of town and its outlying trails. The soldiers were finishing up, heading back towards the enormous vehicle, when a woman in a black suit snapped her head in his direction. She pointed towards his cover and said, “There.” He should have run. He should have started moving as soon as her intense green eyes locked on his hiding place, but he froze in terror. She looked right at him, as if she didn't have a doubt where he was the entire time. The men with guns grabbed his arms and dragged him out into the gravel road in front of the woman.

Somehow he was frozen, unable to move, while he was scolded by that terrifying woman’s gaze. A simple nod from this woman was all it took for them to shut him off. No strike, no pain, just black and quiet.  He was unceremoniously dumped into the back of the vehicle as it roared to life.

Boots hit the floor around him, and the doors slammed shut with a loud clang that echoed through the empty streets of Steel Horse Crossing. The town was clear for The Gathering Time.