Hey, Did You Hear? - May's Rumors

“Lots of families are getting desperate with the war going on. It’s almost done killed some whole families out all the way.”

“Looks like the radio tower is up and running on shaky legs.  The Helldiver’s Society got the electric bits going, and have a signal!  Word over the air is that the ground’s going hot up north a way through he raider lines.  Looks like we’ll need a plan to make it northeast, towards the lake!”

“My brother saw one of them Damned Knights walking around behind the lines last night. They's all skulking around, preaching about how we's all in hell and such. Real creepy.”

“Looks like Zell-Ann ain’t gonna get that morgue moved after all.  Wonder how pissed she’s gonna be?”

Printed in a Mill City gossip rag found on the train: The Wasteland's most famous beekeeper, Abbe' Collins has been rumored to be making their way to Steel Horse Crossing to investigate a possible new strain of bees and assemble a team to acquire some for research and development.

“Some scientist was poking around south of town in the foliage.  Said he was from Bloom Industries, looking at some plants?  That seems to be an odd thing to do, running about in a forest poking at random greenery.”

“I sent Little Jimmy out to scrounge up some vittles and he came back with a slimy foot. We ain't no nasty Lasscies, so we dun wanna ate it.”

Hey, Did You Hear? - March's Rumors

Action Report: CY-F0226-UF

Militia lines breaking on western front.  Collateral damage to auxiliary units.  Raider on raider violence increasing to compensate.

The logistics of the area being what they are, even the RPM and the rail lines can’t keep up with the consumption of lead and steel.  Constant flows of material seem the call of the day.

“Best thing I’ve heard come out of the Ironworks for business is the new work orders.  Should get my shop in profit right quick with making and selling some of those pieces they’re looking for.”

“Seems relatively safe, as best as we can expect, for a war just outside the doors.  At some point, the military goes home.  What happens then?”

“One o’ them dragoon types come set hisself up on the front of the house, comfy as you please, leaning like a slab o’ beef on m’wall.  I come out to figger what he’s up on, and he takes off his helmet with a hand as big as a ham, and that face… that face.  It’ll haunt me til I’m gone the last time.  Let that’un sit against that there wall as long as he wanted, to be sure.”

“War is bad for health, but good for trade.  Food has been shipped into the area to keep the chill at bay, and people keep coming and going to head to the front lines.  Means we keep fresh hands and pockets cycling through.”
“Beats the last few years.  Having this much food available means no one is going hungry, which sure as hell I won’t complain about.  Nor the new, full pockets.”
-Overheard at the train depot

[pm fvb jhu ylhk aopz, hzr hil mvy alu sbn] – a note passed around the bar one night

“The Snowfoot clan keeps chattering about the Hodag.  Looks like they may have found the real thing this time.”
“I wonder how many will be dead before the give up on that thing?”

“Sounds like the Helldivers are planning to find a way to clear the radio tower so they can assess the damage and see if it’s still in working order.  Bet they end up having to pour a lot into that sucker after this long.”

Military Action Report

Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind - DeWalt

He never thought himself to be unreasonable or stubborn, but that’s what his crew would say when they were angry. He felt he was a fair businessman, reasonable even. He knew the intricacies of accounting better than anyone he’d ever met, and rightfully so. Ledgers, contracts, and inventory management had been literally bred into his family line for generations. The art of negotiating contracts & deals came relatively easy to him, until his crew at The Roadhouse in Steel Horse Crossing. It was a new challenge to him and secretly he simultaneously hated and loved every minute of it.

As much as he despised being run around like a solestros, he thrived on the negotiations veiled as common social interaction. However, lately he had begun to enjoy the social interaction more than all the time he’d been sitting at a desk running numbers. What was this town doing to him? Building a tavern in a small outpost town on several trade routes seemed like an excellent mid to long term investment. This was the first time he’d taken on a project of his very own without his family’s backing or interest. It was something just for him (and his employees) to enjoy the profits of their labor.

It wasn’t without a hundred different difficulties, all new to him with it being a unique venture. He hadn’t had such opinionated people in his employ before. Why didn’t anyone tell him the location he chose for the tavern was directly on a path the local raiders had been using for quite some time? When the train brought in tourists and travellers, sometimes they didn’t have enough hooch to fulfill their needs and had to send them somewhere else for their thirst. Sometimes they had inventory to spare and the train & trails brought nothing but dust and zed. He knew there were risks in building in a fairly young town, but Grandfather always taught that if one doesn’t invest in the beginnings of things, they miss the biggest payoffs. DeWalt was starting to think the old may have missed the mark with that one because he certainly hadn’t done anything distinctly wrong.

The rest of the crew had grabbed everything of value and were on their way out of town. No one knew where the safest route out of town exactly was, but they knew they needed to head South and quickly. He hoped they somehow avoided the swarms of raiders attacking the roads because they were all carrying so much. Heck, Phillips had an entire still strapped on his back. There was no way they were going to be able to handle outrunning warpath raiders or any of those other nasty ones working with them. Odds are most of them will make it in one piece.

He walked swiftly back to the Roadhouse to make the arrangements. He nestled little bundles of oil-soaked rags around the perimeter of her floor. He used the broomhandle to loosen the wooden roof tiles up so that there’d be better airflow. He was just hauling the very last armfull of tinder inside when he heard the barbaric screams coming up the swamp trail behind the bar. He barely had enough time to set it down and grab his weapon when he heard the pounding on the door. This wasn’t the first time something tried to pound that damned door down, but it certainly was the first time it had gotten barricaded shut while the bar got lit up from the inside.

He wasn’t going to give those filthy raiders the satisfaction of using the Roadhouse as a trap to lure others again. He wasn’t going to yell for help or run out the back so that he could lead them to the people trying to evacuate. These damned raiders had done this crap so many times over the last few years that it was almost kind of funny at this point. DeWalt sat his hammer down on the bar, found his chair, and cracked open the finest bottle of hooch he had stashed just for this occasion. Propping his feet up on the bar, he took a drag off a fine cigar he’d been saving for a while, and took a swig of hooch before saying loud enough for the raiders (but not the townsfolk) to hear “This is MY damned bar and I’m not leaving!”

Realizing the people they heard inside were not coming out, the raiders attacked it loudly. Perhaps they were trying to intimidate the denizens of the Roadhouse into leaving by throwing loud explosives at it, making their presence incredibly known to the last straggling evacuees of Steel Horse Crossing. DeWalt enjoyed these few moments of seemingly complete madness by realizing he’d never been more serious, more sane in his whole life. He bent over and lit the little pile of oily rags with his cigar and laughed loud enough to antagonize the raiders further. They busted through the door, faces dripping with sweat & blood, covered in scars. He picked his axe up off the bar, spit the cigar across the room, and stood in front of the beautiful hearth with the stone owl. “COME AND GET IT!”, he yelled just as the rags and everything else lit up like a bonfire and the melee began.

The townsfolk heard the yelling coming from the Roadhouse and smelled smoke. As they always did, they dropped whatever they were doing and looked in the direction of the bar at the edge of the swamp. In that split moment of listening, the Roadhouse blew up loudly, scattering small pieces of wood and stone all over town before the smoldering door landed right next to Town Hall. Every person still anywhere near Steel Horse Crossing shouted, “GO TIME!” and scattered to their rides as quickly as possible.

He knew he was dead. The smell of his own burnt flesh may have put him off from eating any meat cooked over a fire again. He laid there slumped on the floor of the burning building, inhaling the toxic smoke through a hole in his face where his mouth used to be and through a hole or five in his throat and lungs. It sounded more like gurgling and he didn’t know why he even bothered to try. The explosion made quick work of the bar and it was just steadily burning now. It sounded just like a lovely fire roaring in the fireplace. It would have been almost comforting had he not heard the pops, bangs, and screams of about a dozen of the stragglers taken down by snipers and traps on their way out of town. He imagined there would have been a lot more of those pops had the Roadhouse not burned as loudly & brightly as it did. Good thing they had a solid door.

Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind - Jeb Franks

It was all wrong.

Winter is the time for quiet, introspective thought, planning for Spring, and strengthening the connections with our loved ones. Autumn is the reaping time, harvesting what we have sown, the time things die so that they may rest before they come alive again in the Spring.

All things are part of the Cycle, whether they care to realize it or not. The natural world, the seasons, time and matter itself. The people, their lives and deaths, even their different politics and faith, are all connected in the Great Cycle of the Seasons. Nothing is able to bypass the Cycle and those who attempt to disrupt it will not find the world to bear its insolence for long. The world has survived all things this far and will continue to do so because it always realigns to its natural path and flow. To go against the Cycle of the Seasons, the natural order of things, will only bring great pain and defeat. She is patient, our world, and will adjust a million small things so that the Cycle will reset itself. Bringing forth a wave of death when all should be quiet will have an unfathomable amount of consequences for them. The Cycle will make them pay.

When you truly embrace the rhythm of the Seasons, you understand that everything has its place. You begin to understand that you end up exactly where you’re supposed to be at the exact time you are needed. Although some things seem to be more enigmatic than others, the wind in the trees never sends you anywhere you’re not supposed to be.

I will never turn away from the earth’s call, nor of those who choose to faithfully adhere to the tenets of our Seasons. I have family, a caravan, and many friends, but my flock are connected to me through the earth, wind, water, and sky itself. Many, even of my own religion, have shunned me for opening myself so much to what our world has chosen to teach me, but the true believers know that what I have seen to be true. Olivia understood the vision the Earth had chosen to send me and she honored me for it. She believed in the Cycle and was starting to see how all things were connected. We listened to the same lake winds, tended the lands together, and laid hands on the same trees. I couldn’t have left her out there, lost amongst those defilers of the Cycle. I couldn’t leave with my caravan because I couldn’t leave her out there alone. Thankfully, they didn’t fight me about it, but instead loaded me up with provisions and supplies before sending me out with blessings of hope.

Few know this land like I do, but for those who tended it around Steel Horse Crossing I stopped at their homes to make sure they were leaving for safety. I knew Olivia wasn’t one for stopping at small farms, but at least this way I could try to save some others as well. I only hope I wasn’t the only one who tried to warn them.

I found her on a tiny deer path off the outskirts of a huge raider encampment. She was somehow staying hidden from them while inspecting a corral of what seemed to be normal local townspeople. I knew what she was planning to do and tried to grab her attention without letting the raiders know I was there. I never was very good at hiding so it wasn’t a surprise when I heard the gunshots hit and shatter my armor. That caught her attention. I could almost see her mouth form “Goddammit Jeb” before she started to move. I ran deeper into the treeline to obstruct the snipers’ view with much success, but instead found the traps I somehow avoided on my way in. The first one was brutally vociferous and momentarily felt like a blast of hot fire on my legs before they suddenly felt ice cold. I fell over into the second blast and the only thing I remember is that it smelled like the filthy smoke that billows out of those rides driven by Sophie’s “dirty cousins”. Something went flying - maybe a piece of my leg? - and that set off the third one that stopped me from being able to smell or see anything anymore. I did, however, hear Olivia muffling herself; I couldn’t tell if it was screaming, sobbing, or scolding. It doesn’t really matter though, does it?  

As I laid there in pieces, I looked to the trees and whispered into the wind a message for her. The trees won’t lead her astray.

Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind - Muldoon

Most good and bad things start and end at a tavern. His father used to tell him and his sister Saoirse the tale of how he decided to become a sea captain after a particularly rough and tumble bar fight with his employer. Saoirse used to sing the barsongs she learned in taverns to the crew on Captain Forsythe’s Saltmore when they were particularly downtrodden, and she became the voice of their hope. Hope, bravery, and valor were long dead to Muldoon and very little had brought a smile to lips since he last set eyes on them. The decision to come to Steel Horse Crossing had been made after a rowdy night of drinking and storytelling amongst the fishermen of a shithole port town. It was a foolhardy decision, but he had nothing to lose anymore.

It's a strange feeling, walking into a new town where you don’t know anybody. You don’t know if folks are going to be kind, if the pay is going to be good, or if you’re even safe being there. It didn’t really matter to him anymore, ‘cept making a few bucks where he could. He didn’t know a soul here and didn’t care to. As long as he got some work and got paid a decent rate, it was worth sticking around.

And what a strange little town he happened to find! Not only were folks decent and kind, but they were openly welcoming of a strange, lonely fella who smelled like the sea. They had plenty of food and drink, and they told stories that would rival those of old codger fishermen down in the warf taverns. It was like being in a friendlier version of a port town, except a lot more rovers. Muldoon wasn’t sure what to make of the place when a rover with long braids and a fiddle started to play a song one quiet morning. He thought it strange that this girl felt it safe enough to intentionally make some serious noise. But it wasn’t noise at all. She pulled her bow across the strings quickly, creating an instrumental version of a tune he knew well. It was one of the drinking songs Saoirse used to sing to the crew, and even continued to hum while they were scouring the wastes, long after all of the crew were lost. In the still silence of that morning, with that fiddle singing the songs he held close, he knew this place was where he belonged.

It was surprising to him that he somehow, unknowingly became invested in this weird little town. He helped out where he could, and started to feel like he may have even made a few friends. For somebody who swore off having any attachments to people again, he sure did care about this place. So when folks started talking about the town possibly being overrun by raiders, he didn’t even hesitate to jump in and offer assistance. After all, what else did he have to lose? This place had quickly welcomed him and it snuck it’s way into somehow making him care about something again. He wasn’t going to let it go down without a fight!

He didn’t have a strong enough knowledge of the layout of the town to help much with planning or tactics, but one thing he did know was how those bastards moved across the water. Offering to be the lookout at the water’s edge, he quickly explained how the sea-faring raider tribes moved through the water and set up camps once they hit land. He didn’t know about their land tactics, but it seemed like a number of the townsfolk had some good ideas as to how things may go down. As soon as plans were made to get the town evacuated, Muldoon snatched up only the necessities and headed out with a scouting party. As soon as he could smell the water a click East, he parted ways with Olivia and headed quietly towards the shore. He found one of those sand embankments covered in tall grass to lay down in so that they wouldn’t see him when they came near the shore. He knew some of them were landbound already, but word came to Steel Horse from the Navy that a bunch more were on their way from the water. Muldoon was going inform the townsfolk as soon as the big push was about to dock so that they knew it was the last call to evacuate.

Exactly as he remembered them, the waterfaring raiders sailed up on their scrap metal pontoons and quickly docked a half-click from where he was hiding. He crept up to the edge of the embankment so that he could observe which way they were planning to move first. As soon as he saw the hand gestures pointing towards Steel Horse Crossing, he slid down the backside of the grassy sandhill and ran back to town as quickly as his sea-legs would carry him.

As soon as he got near Steel Horse via the back trail he was instructed to take, he could smell the burning. He knew that most of the townsfolk had already made their way out of town, and by this time at least some of the area farmers and homesteaders may have gotten out as well. He got to the edge of where he was supposed to report in and he didn’t see anyone around. He didn’t even get the words out of his mouth before he heard a loud “THWAP - TWANG” and felt an excruciating pain in his chest. He looked down and saw an enormous harpoon-like spear coming out of his chest and he immediately coughed out a bloody laugh. Just like old Forsythe, he thought, and it couldn’t have made more sense to him. He saw one of the normal folks off in the distance, but couldn’t make out who it was. The pain was blinding him and he knew he didn’t have long to complete his mission. Muldoon yelled, “BIG PUSH IS COMING. GO! GO! GO!” before the harpoon yanked him back sharply  to face an enormous, horrifyingly scarred beast-like man. It smiled widely at him and he noticed it was missing most of it’s teeth, just like that old codger fisherman who he used to work for. Muldoon tried to look up at the sky, but the smoke from the burning in the distance blackened out the blue he was searching for. As his head lolled onto his shoulder, he noticed the dark wood of the Roadhouse. “Of course, I’m at the tavern”, he thought before everything went black.

Hey, Did You Hear? - February's Rumors

The Ironworks have dispatched one hell of a force headed north.  What’s so important that they sent more than one unit of Dragoons?

“I heard one of ‘em told the gas brains up there that they needed to give ‘em their land and their right to self-govern or some nonsense?”
“How’s that work?  Them folks want to try and take the land from the Ironworks?  Sounds a bit like treason, y’ask me.  Where was the Works on their radio?”
“Ain’t nobody told the works they had their radio – just up and made demands and such.  M’friend Ansel had ‘em read the whole transcript, word for word!”

They say those secretaries of the Ironworks were making deals with folks, but how many people actually know what they were asking for?

Sounds like all types of folk were available for any number of things.  It seems Septima was everywhere at once, making promises.  Think she can keep them all, or did she just sign her own life away?

When is the last time you heard of a town working with raiders to achieve a common goal?  The answer is usually when half the town is ok with bad brain.  Guess that’ll make way for new folks with clearer heads.

“Reports from folks left up north scouting say the land has been shelled so hard by the navy that everything is a bit out of sorts.  Hills and valleys, trees cleared away for days, rubble everywhere.  Hear they’re trying to keep all the buildings standing, though?”
“Not just standing, but intact best they can.  Suspect they’ll need some repair after all that.”

Is it true, raiders can build their own shacks?  I thought they were just mindless creeps.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  Have a friend moving out in the morning that’s joining the corps of engineers to get water and power established back home, at least in a temporary fashion.

“We may be heading back to life as usual, huh?”
“Mayhap with a lot more raiders to deal with.  Whole town’ll have to be more worried about dangers now, what with all those raiders getting bold enough to make a real threat.”
“Organized raider armies – who’da thought that was a thing, anyway?”
“Ain’t like that Chez fella and Badda Boom haven’t been fightin’ each other for a few years now.  Raiders don’t make a big show of fightin’ each other if someone ain’t pointin’m some way.”

Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind - Stitches

The screaming and smell of smoke often plagued his dreams, as it was such a recurring theme in his pathetic, short life. He would put his head down and start stitching the people back together until someone stopped him. It wasn’t until they melted into the ground that he would stop trying to save those poor people. He would wail for those who showed him kindness and quietly sit vigil where the rest of them died. It was when people would start screaming at him, pulling him away from trying to save the little ones that he would be jarred awake. The sadness and rage that filled him was so overwhelming, so confusingly strong, that the immensity of it always made him wake up. This confusion was how he started every single day.

Stitches was walking back towards Steel Horse Crossing on one of his “collection walks” when he heard the screaming and smelled the smoke. Visions of the orphanage filled his mind and he started running. The closer he got to town, the stronger the smell of smoke and the louder his memories started to scream at him. He veered off the slim, barely-visible trail he had been following towards a path that ran along the darker, backside of town. He heard someone screaming and visions of Clapton filled his mind. He ran towards where he thought the sound was coming from, but it grew weaker as he got closer. He feared maybe he was too late and he wouldn’t be able to stitch them back together.

Heavy footsteps were to his left, the side nearest town. They were grunting and the smell of  blood, sour body odor, and burning carried their identity on the wind. Stitches was not as ignorant as most would have imagined, as his experience hiding from danger was far more expert than any of the “normal” people. This poor wolfchild had been hiding from danger all his life, and his acute sense of smell was one of the greatest tools he’s had in staying out of harm’s way. He knew that concoction of foul aromas far too well. He’d encountered it every time he lost everything.

Ducking down behind a rotting ball of tree roots, he quickly pulled some rotting leaves around him. He knew they were fast approaching and he had to hide. However the voice from the back trail whimpered again, hoarse from calling for help. The faces of Liarsberg swam in his mind’s eye and then he started to panic. Who was it? It didn’t sound like Rhea or any ladyperson. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place who it was. Did it matter who it was?

Steel Horse Crossing was the second kindest place he’d ever been. He may have made a friend or two at the orphanage, but the larger people didn’t understand him and chased him away. Liarsberg was the only other place he’d felt like home and they acted as his family. When he came into Steel Horse carrying the remnants of his happy life inside a burlap sack, people didn’t beat him away. Some stayed their distance, but some were kind to him, fed him, and even played with him. He even loved some of them, especially Rhea.

It didn’t matter who it was. He was going to go save them. He quietly snuck out from behind the wall of muddy tree roots and bent over as low as he could before he started running as fast as he could towards the wimpering. It wasn’t far and the bad ones would probably disregard him as some other kind of monster out in the woods. He came up on pieces of people-insides off the edge of the trail. He reached down and grabbed it, collecting it like a slimy red rope. He finally got to his friend who was lying there in pieces. Stitches didn’t know if he had enough thread to sew poor August back together. He started putting the insides-rope in a pile on top of the strange bloody basket the cracked ribcage created. August looked up at Stitches, trying to form some kind of words with what was left of his mouth, but instead he just formed a small smile before he started to sink into the ground. Stitches started to pull at the insides-rope, hoping he could somehow get a few more minutes to try to save his friend from melting away. He wailed with his distorted voice, sounding like a wounded animal.

He howled for not being able to save his friend. He keened for knowing he was going to lose everything again. All the games, the food, and all the nice people who were friends (or at least not trying to hurt him), but especially for Rhea. He didn’t think he had it in him to try to find another home again. He keened for the life and love he wanted because the closest he had ever gotten to it was being eviscerated and burned to the ground. His soul-crushing howls were so loud, so transcendentally siren-like, that the crunching of his bones under a heavy mace weren’t even heard. The silence after his remains were destroyed by a grenade was truly deafenening.

Exodus from Steel Horse Crossing - The Rovers

It had already been a long night, and it was getting longer by the moment.  The small council of Rovers that had met some hours ago were in motion almost immediately, and word had made it to all corners that still had people: It was time to leave if you valued your life.  It wasn’t a message sent easily, or without the weight it deserved, but it was the right thing to do for the moment.  Elder Timothy from the tribes had made his appearance as expected, and was already moving south with the first caravan out to work with the Ironworks in Mill City.  His people had split between working with the clans to sort people, movements and rescues as they became necessary.  The symbiosis between Rover and Natural One melded effortlessly as it had many times in the past, speaking volumes for the closeness of both strains in the area.

More worrisome was the RPM, as not a single Diesel Jock had made their way to the appointed emergency locations.  That spelled out two possibilities.  The first was that they didn’t believe the threat was credible to the town, and the second was that they were already trapped in on the north side of the town, and were unable to make it out.  Dick Berken was bold, and even reckless, but he wasn’t a stupid man.  He would know that this event was too big even for his best fighters, and if he could have made it they would have been here.  No, they were already lost, and there would be no freeing them.  Not right now, at least.

The elderly man, his long white hair flaring in the light breeze, sat on a log thinking in the time provided about all these things and more in the matter of a few moments.  His heavily furrowed brow bore the weight of many people across its ridge, and gnarled old fingers passed thoughtfully across a tattered brown and grey scarf wrapped around his neck, shoulders and chest.  Claus Staghorn had lost much of his family and clan over the years, and they had left him holding the reigns of a many year old peace between the founders of Steel Horse Crossing.  The old Rover could remember those very beginnings, all the way back, despite the cobwebs that hung around those memories.  He was as old as anyone could count, and yet the fates had yet to see him dragged off into his final day.  Until that day, he would hide in plain sight of his own people, the third Elder of Steel Horse Crossing, the only man that could recount the history of the entire region to the day they had all fought for the land together.

“Claus,” a small voice whispered in the darkness, the feel of a warm hand on his elbow accompanying the words, “we need to get you inside.  You’ll freeze out here.”

Claus chuckled softly, a little cough following the noise.  “Greta, at twice your grandparents’ age, you’d think you’d stop worrying about me.  If I made it this far, the cold of my own homelands are unlikely to be the thing that ends me.”

Greta had been one of the few familial survivors of the Staghorn clan, and one of even fewer that refused to let go of that name out of sheer respect for her kin.  Claus was her relative, but she wasn’t sure how far it went back, and how many “greats” had to be attached to the relationship.  It wasn’t important to her in the end, as she’d spend whatever part of her life was required looking after him and she liked it that way.

“You’re being intransigent, you old coot,” Greta teased.  “Come now, others are waiting, and we have so many things left to do.”

The pair made their way slowly to the low, protected fires near discreetly hidden caravans.  Various clans, caravan leaders, and other notable Rovers had gathered here despite their groups being similarly hidden in other locations along the southern reaches of town.  Claus noted the faces in the low light, counting who was still left and where there was someone missing, he counted the number of people that should have been taken with the caravan that was already on the roads.

“Too many still here.  What are we holding for, and do we know if whatever that is will end up making it?”  Claus’ voice was soft, but firm.  This was no time for too many heroics, and anyone that thought otherwise was likely to perish along with anyone they were attempting to rescue.

“Not many left now,” came a deeper voice from behind the shielded fire.  “We should all be on the roads within the hour, and we’ll leave one behind for any last emergencies, as instructed.”

Claus nodded, as did Greta, both acknowledging that plans were being enacted as expected.  Only one last detail was missing, and Claus would see to it personally.

“A small addition to our plans, then,” he commented, as all the faces turned to listen.  “I’ll make my way immediately to Rail City.  This is bigger than just Steel Horse, or even Mill City.  We’ll need to invoke the treaty, and I’m not sure Elder Timothy knows enough of the details.  Dick Berken hasn’t made it to the rendezvous point, so I’ve got to assume they are a loss for the time being.  That means it falls to me to reach the Chancellor and discuss the terms.”

A bit of rumbling came from the voices around the fire, some in agreement that Claus would be the only reasonable alternative while others suggested he would have problems in such a large city with the Ironworks.  While divided, the voices never made demands nor did they ever suggest the statement was invalid.  Their respect was clear, despite the worry that they carried with them.

Claus clacked his teeth together quietly, yet purposefully, while the few voices spoke.  He was of two minds.  Standards suggested he allow them to talk, as everyone should be heard.  Time suggested he skip to the point of importance.  He opted for the middle, and let the conversation happen without him for a few more moments as he processed who was still available on the southern town borders.

“Unfortunately my friends, this talk will not settle the problem of needing someone in Rail City that knows the terms of our contract with the Ironworks.  I am that person.”  Claus spoke as a matter of fact now, bringing his considerable years to bear.  “I will need a caravan ready to move now, as I’ll find my second leg of the trip in Mill City once we arrive.  I also need some letters delivered for those that would be in Mill City, and I’ll need someone handpicked for a task that will take on some matter of importance in the near future.  Have people watched during the discussions to follow.  I need to know who would be astute to take on some matters for the future of the town.”

The others around the fire acquiesced to the older Rover, knowing that his words were to be followed at this point now that his mind was made up.  It would be up to them to all do their parts, in whatever fashion they could make them work.  A few of the people standing in that same circle would never share similar moments again if everything didn’t go to plan, but they knew that for the security of the town and the protection of the Ironworks, they would need to perform their duties as best they could.  It was a group effort to secure the community.  It was the community that must survive to ensure that Steel Horse continued beyond that night.

Greta looped an arm through one of Claus’ as he started to walk off, enacting his plan.  A single voice called out from the fire as it petered out, chasing the pair of them.  “The gods go with you both, and see your safe return.”

Claus grinned slightly, looking ahead at the caravan readied for his departure.  “If I’ve made it through all this just to not make it back from the Chancellor, let’s hope you’ll send Hugo and Muni after the lot of them, yeah?” 

At the mention of their names, two caged ravens bristled and squawked, their blood red eyes trained on Claus as he flicked a finger’s length of raw rabbit meat at both.  “You’ll have formal invitations for the town by the new year, and if you don’t, you’ll know where to come looking for me.”

Death Stories for Those Who Stayed Behind -Jackson Farwalker and Cooper Bennett

Death Stories for those who stayed behind: 2 & 3 of 7

Jackson Farwalker and Cooper Bennett

The night had been long, and it certainly wasn’t without its pitfalls, but he had made it through to the hours just before the sun touched the skies.  The stars were still out and, while he took a moment to appreciate their existence, Jackson Farwalker kept his other senses tuned to the world around him.  He had been encountering and assisting a variety of locals and residents alike as they made hurried escapes from the raider threat that had descending in the night.  He knew, like the stars he was watching, that there were too many for him to worry about by himself.  He would instead work with what he had and where he could.  The shadows wearing thin would be his call to be more careful as his freedom in the dark waned considerably.

A sudden burst of low, chittering voices drew his gaze away from the sky and towards his right shoulder.  He couldn’t make them out, but he took a quick assessment and felt safe enough that he could find cover to investigate closer.  He took off at a comfortable lope, easing through the trees and underbrush as quietly as he could manage.

Cooper Bennett had been stuffed out of the way for some time, waylaid on the way back to Steel Horse by one of his favorite things in the world: raiders.  Dollie raiders specifically, because the world had at the very least a sense of humor.  At least Del would get a rise out of the story when he finally passed through the Gravemind and popped up to tell it, so it wasn’t a total loss.  It had been a while since he had seen their faces, which let him stew in his own head a bit; perhaps too long?  He passingly thought that too much time by himself was starting to cause a bit of internal sarcasm along with the extended fear he was experiencing.  That, or he had just found a great form of torture for the next jackass that tried to screw with the Donkey.  Just hand them to seemingly forgetful Dollies and see how long it takes for them to snap, but only after they had started to carve portions of their body off and dry and grind them down into a paste.

Yes, that still hurt he realized, trying to wiggle the fingers on his left hand.  They were no longer there of course, and the pain made a constant reminder of that.  They still felt attached when he did try to use those digits.  If only the blood would stop dripping into his face, he’d at least have been able to see something other than a blur of light and a smear of color.  And then he heard the voices.  Those bastards were back, and headed straight for him.

Shit…

Jackson quickly surveyed what he could see in front of him, which was as simple a scene as he had come upon the entire night so far.  With his armor in disrepair, and banged up a bit to boot, he wasn’t sure how much of a confrontation he could take.  Seeing that it was two raiders blathering at each other, he didn’t feel much need to commit.

“Com’on in here and finish it, you bastards!” came a voice that seemed vaguely familiar.  “I’m tired of waiting for you, and I hear you.  Don’t just stand there, send me on my way already!”

“Coop?” Jackson exhaled, barely louder than the breath he emitted.  He was fairly sure that Cooper was there, and that he was definitely not in a good place.  Re-evaluating the situation, he calculated the odds in his head and mentally grimaced.  He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but he was hoping that it was only those two.  If any more of them showed up, he was screwed.

Slipping from one tree to the next, he avoided being caught out of position and took the advantage.  He stepped from behind his cover, catching the pair off-guard, and commented in almost a whisper, “Nice make-up, but you missed a spot.”

The blade in hand made the first cut across the eyes of one of the two raiders, spilling blood across their face.

Coop was tired of waiting.  He was nearing the edge of outrage, hearing the movement outside and yet no one had bothered to come finish what they started.  If he could get lose, he was prepared to end himself simply to spite the raiders that took him.  He could almost imagine their faces finding him dead before they had expected it!

“Damn it, maybe I’m really losing it,” he mumbled, struggling lightly against his bonds.  “They’d be just as happy to grind me up.”

The scuttling noises outside had taking a brief, sudden break and then ended in a sudden crash of leaves just outside the hole he was stashed away in.  He was no longer sure how long he’d been down here, but starving and parched, and only running on half sanity, he was done.  With every bit of strength he could muster, he began tearing wildly at his bindings, unknowingly growling and grunting as he struggled.  They would finish him or let him go, he’d force their hands one way or the other.

Two bodies hit the floor in fairly quick succession.  In the back of his head, Jackson knew something was wrong.  Dollies didn’t hit the deck that easily, which meant someone else had gotten to them first.  He tried to run through a mental replay of the combat, but was interrupted as he heard what he thought was Cooper struggling loudly only feet away.  He deftly ducked into the underside of an uprooted tree, clearing away some moss and roots, and seeing only some of what he expected with a few additional surprises.   It was Coop alright, but it looked like only two thirds of him was there.  Entire parts of him had been carved away, but he was still ravaging everything in sight trying to get free.

“Coop,” Jackson whispered, trying to catch his attention with as little noise as possible.  “Coop!  It’s me, Jackson.  I gotta get you outta here, but you need to shut the fuck up for a minute.”

Cooper didn’t seem to hear him for a moment as he turned and tried to lunge at the figure in the entryway.  Grasping and struggling, the words hadn’t settled into his mind quite right at first.  It wasn’t until Jackson slapped him with a stinging blow that he realized something was amiss.

“Jackson?” Coop murmured, his hand with missing digits reaching his face where the blow was struck.  “Seriously?  No shit?  I was sure I was going to die…”

“And you will,” Jackson cut him off, wasting no more time as he cut the other man free, “if you don’t keep quiet, follow me, and let me get you out of here.”

Coop nodded, not that it mattered in the dark hovel, and Jackson quickly freed him.  Helping him from the hole, both men took a brief survey; Coop adjusting his eyes to the minimal but newfound light, and Jackson trying to see who had heard the pair.  Seemingly, they were still alone.

Jackson took one last look and nodded at Coop.  “Time to go, we have to make tracks.”

The pair moved as hastily as the injured man was able, but as Jackson had already realized much earlier, it wouldn’t be fast enough to avoid pursuit from the amount of noise that they had made.  Another quick set of calculations in the back of his mind as he looked to the sky, he stopped Coop briefly and pointed to the sky.  “See that star?” he asked, looking around cautiously.

“Yeah,” Coop responded, wiping at the blood on his brow, “I see it.”

Jackson nodded, still looking around for signs of others, “Go that way – follow it.  You’ll make one of the Rover camps that are waiting for folks at the south side of town.  It should still be safe, and they’ll get you out to evac points.”

Coop tried to protest, but then heard the noise that Jackson had likely been scanning for.  It was in the distance yet, but it was closing.  It was one of those noises that tingled in the back of your neck as unnatural, yet you couldn’t figure out why.

“Go Coop.  Live.  Find your passion, hold onto it, and make sure you spread that like an infection,” Jackson filled in the silence, gently pushing the other man forward on the back.

“Damn it, Jackson, get your ass back safe.”  Coop struggled with the pang of guilt for leaving the other man in the forest, and the realization he’d be little more than a branch in the path of whatever was coming in his current condition.  Jackson was giving him a chance, which was more than he’d have had on his own.  He almost said more, but instead decided to move his body as fast as he could make it move.  They weren’t too far from the Dollies, and he was sure there were more unaccounted for.

Jackson quickly scoured his pack and pockets, pulling the last stores of what he had on him to help prepare for the oncoming noise.  He still couldn’t identify the source, but it sounded like only a single body moving clumsily about in the distance.  He took a quick drink of the meager mixes he had left, and watched Coop make his way along the barely lit forest path.  The guy could move for having that much muscle missing in places you’d expect it to be particularly required.  He crouched low, trying to fade into whatever cover he could afford himself.

Turning back towards the oncoming noise, his head snapped quickly left then right as noise came from both directions in quick succession.  Not one, then, but at least two.  He peered into the darkness, but couldn’t pick out any movement from his vantage point.  He didn’t dare to move from the cover he had established, but the last report of noise seemed close enough that he should see whatever it was that was making its way towards him.

He had a dreadful thought that he was missing something just a moment before he felt the razor sharp point stab through the remnants of his armor, cutting deep into his back just above the kidney.  He swore he could feel the weapon’s tip tapping the lower spine, which hit him almost like a detached moment of scientific interest rather than a blow that would kill a person.  It wasn’t until he attempted to turn his head to see who had struck the blow that he realized he couldn’t move, nor speak.  His body would no longer responded to his commands.

“Jackson Farwalker,” the voice whispered directly into his ear, the sweet smell of something familiar lingering past his face, “your time is now.  My client sends her regards.”

As the blade slipped from his back, a card flashed in front of his face.  An image he knew well, with the number thirteen written in one of the old world numbering formats, disappeared as he felt the hand slide the object into his jacket.  Most of the world went numb beyond that, his last few moments left to him as he expired.  The eyes that watched him from the shadows bothered him briefly, but then there was no more time left to worry about such things.  He would try to move, escape, flee… but he knew he could never truly do any of those things.

It wasn’t so much of a run as a wobbling hobble that Cooper took to, moving as quickly and quietly as he could manage.  He knew he wouldn’t have much time if Jackson couldn’t hold off whatever was coming, and he wasn’t keen to be caught a second time.  His mind raced and he pushed his body to the limit, knowing only that his salvation was still in the distance.

If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with everything that just happened, including trying to validate his position with the star that was pointed out to him, he might have seen the figures rounding a copse of trees.  He might even have had a chance to hide or otherwise get out of the way.  But none of that happened.  All he could do is stare in stark disbelief as the remaining dollie raiders that had been missing rounded the trees into the small gap between them.  He felt the deepest of sighs, one of pure resignation, erupt from him as if daring anything else to go right.

As one of the figures pointed, recognizing him from recent encounters, he felt the mental blast wash over him that sent him into a state of confusion.  He stood there, shaking his head to clear it, no longer sure where he was or what just happened.  He panned the faces for Jackson for a moment before registering that these were raiders and he was not safe.  Everything went dark as something hit him from behind.