Aftermath (IC|Dead)

[The Hobbesian Metaphysician]

City of Charleston,
Formerly Charleston County, South Carolina
Second Week of January

The launching dock

Centuries ago this place had sparked a grave conflict under the name Fort Sumter, but to the collection of survivors 600,000 while a great loss pales in comparison to the millions who died some time ago. The old tourist signs which marked everything around the island were long unknown to the remainder of Charleston outside of the scholars who worked tirelessly at the city museum. Whatever the people fought over back in the farthest days, and whatever the people memorialized in the far off days seemed trivial to those who worked to the area suitable for boat launching. Centuries ago the harbor in Charleston and various other communities would feed through hundreds of boats intent on visiting this slab of rock. Though its tourist function was gone the fort still served a purpose with it being the final stop to clear out all ships as they left the area.

Regardless of whatever the intention people leaving Charleston had to stop by here, and get approval. Though boats were rendered a necessity once you left the island given it was the only way off of it the Charlestonians are a proud, and paranoid bunch. They hadn't survived this long without a method of keeping their place secure. Yet it wasn't long ago that someone who went before the governing council made a daring proclamation. "I ask the governing council for permission to explore northwards". The man was known to them and had been denied three times previously.

They called him the "mad bastard Ravenel", his claim to fame is that he had previously led an expedition to explore the ruins of the outer banks, and had to turn away from Virginia due to a ferocious storm. He, of course, was also notorious for his occasional bouts of madness, which some claim is an old family curse of the Ravenels. Regardless for whatever reason the man dressed up before the launching dock inspector didn't look dismayed, but instead eager handing the man a token of approval. Someone had either had enough of the "mad bastard" or seemed genuinely interested in whatever he might bring back to advance Charleston. As the launching dock inspector lets the others know the ship was ready for clearing inside the cabin of Ravenel's quarters was a table with a map of the former United States with an arrow pointing toward Annapolis.

Summary
-A ship is preparing to go on a journey toward the Outer Banks, and then if possible up to Annapolis. Regardless of the reasoning, the captain believes civilization for Charleston should be more than just traders, and surrounding villages.

[HypErcApitAl]

Post revoked.

[Nazeroth]

California foothills, Jumping Frog Tribe

Capta Wyott stared over the burning embers of the fire that was centered in his great village. The village where his home was at. It was dark now and quite cold, the winter had come and his people had rallied around him as there chief. The normal was expected, though this winter seemed a bit more harsh. Luckily, snow was somewhat rare in these parts, though that didn't stop the temperature from dropping at or below freezing. His people wore furs and other clothing to protect them from the biting chill. His wife was at home, taking care of his son near there home's fireplace. He had come down to see the mood of his people, so far it was to be expected, there was a hunkering down feeling among the people, where they simply wanted to stay warm and have enough food and to make it by. Thankfully, water was still available, but food was becoming a bit more scarce. It was time as chief for him to start making some more decisions.

Speaking with the other tribal elders he knew that food was to be consumed only when needed and not for frivolous means, the winter spirit could steal a mans breath after temping him with a warm belly. Wyott looked to the night sky, the embers floating before his view as he could see his cold breath evaporate into the sky. He thanked the spirits for his smoked goods, the smoke spirit bringing his gifts upon there time of need it seemed. The jumping frog chief stood up and began to walk away from the elder meeting, flanked by two tribal guards as he soon entered the home of the Shaman of his village. The man he stared before him was covered in strange tattoos, symbols of the spirits and of course frogs. He sat down with the man as they smoked and had wine, he then spoke as the realms merged in his mind.

" Oh, gifted one, what do the streams and sky say? Where does the crow point it's beak?"

Summary
-hunker down for winter.
-conserve food, excess food that is found is to be smoked.
-Speak to Shaman about the next action.

[Formerland]

New Crocus Manor, Ghost
Martin Adderman sits relaxed on a reclaimed pre-collapse sofa as Tiffany and other Crocus busy themselves in the main room.

" It isn't like we have never had a winter before. The river freezes and all of the sudden we need to take Employee retention famine measures?"

" Wake Up Martin. The herdsmen have moved to the river valley to ranch because the snow is too thick and harsh out on the flats! Nobody, and I mean nobody, has heard from Arberdeen in months. We are going to prevent the exports of food outside of Oahe, and peg the price if we need to".

" Stop the exports of food? Tiff, when did you become so blind to opportunity?"

" Opportunity? Christ Martin. If our employees and kinsman starve in the streets or get ambushed carrying food, and they will, we will loose everything".

" No risk no reward, that's what you people always say".

"That's not risk, it's stupid. Besides. Allen and I are already in agreement. He's already on his way to get Old man Carver on side. You can't outvote us, and don't be stupid".

Wind howls and a chill falls through the house, Tiffany and Martin move towards the porch to greet the people who have entered. One older man, a younger man, and a younger woman . Tiffany speaks up

" Any word?"

The younger man gestures to the younger woman, and she pipes up.

" I was out on the watch balloon when the storm abated, I saw something in the snow to the northwest. I don't know if it was a herdsman, an envoy, and bandit, the snow was already too high".

The young man starts

" As you may have guessed, no word on Arberdeen. Several other trade partners and outposts have also not checked in recently".

The older man has already taken off his winter coat and has settled at the dining table
" I've accepted your proposal, Tiffany. I'd be willing to extend the embargo to locally produced coal if need be as well".

" Ecxellent. Thank you Detrich. I will be sending scouts to act as envoys to nearby communities. One team to Kadoka, One to Redfeild. And one to Those guys out by Soo Falls. If they come back We will take it from there. Hopefully with the rivers frozen it will be easy enough to stay out of the wind on the way there".

-----------------------------
Mechanical;
- Food exports cease, food prices will be pegged if gouging occurs.
- Envoys sent to the three freeholds in south dakota and the federal reserve remnant tribes on the border to see what the situation theyre in is.

[HypErcApitAl]

Post revoked.

[Camelone]

Kingdom of Niagara
Unclaimed Monroe County
January 2nd week, 2223
The cold was an unrelenting reality when one was away from the confines of the holds, manors, and towns of the kingdom and the men of the 1st Century who were sent to survey and claim additional land for the king were enduring as well as they could. King Edward had already had them stationed on the eastern border of the kingdom preparing to go at a moments notice, unfortunately the majority of the 1st Century had to be left behind so scouts and engineers were formed into new Conterbaniums quickly, outfitted for their task and marched off. They hadn't gotten to far into the new area but the engineers had been setting about to survey and write out relatively detailed maps that would be sent back to the Senate.

All of this was going through Isaiah Georgeson Quinn's head, the Lord Decurion of this expedition, and things seemed to have been going rather nicely. Supplies were still good, even if the belts were tightened and the food bland and tasteless, and his scouts were making great strides in gathering information for the engineers. This of course would allow them to help build the encampments to cut down on the impact of the weather, even if slightly, and give the men a place to rest that is not exposed to element or foemen. It also allowed Isaiah a place where he can look over the reports and maps without the wind blowing them onto the wet ground.

In the Lord Decurion's tent stood Decanus Jacob Ericson Barrier, the scout commander and the one who organized the care for the horses, Decanus Cicero Anthonyson Cellsmith, the head engineer, and Optio Decanus Alexander Patrickson Carsmith, his second in command. They had been discussing the expedition and looking over the maps, old and new, and reports together.

"At the moment it seems most of the old roads are still usable, with the sturdiness of certain bridges in question. I think these old maps will help us traverse this area easier." Decanus Jacob explained tracing his finger across Interstate 90 and up Interstate 490 on the old map.

"The only down side with doing that though is that tribals or bandits will probably be settled near or around those parts. It's to good of a place to not set up shop." Optio Decanus Alexander pointed out, stressing the need for caution in unfamiliar lands.

"Not to mention an old bridge in disrepair can put the expedition in a compromised position." Isaiah concurred with Alexander, they didn't have a lot of information of the people, if there were people here, or their potential capabilities. Having to divert around a bridge would certainly lose them time but it could also give them an easy access for an ambush, unless of course they took a different route.

"We can use the scouts to plot out alternative courses. They are already gathering information at the moment anyways. What is this but them doing their damn jobs?" Jacob responded, his scouts had horses and they were well versed in their bowmanship. "I'll have them double their patrol numbers to, just to keep their fighting capacity high."

Isaiah nodded along to that, it was a sensible plan but Decanus Cicero had yet to weigh in. "Decanus Cicero, what says you?"

Cicero seemed to have been startled out of a thoughtful trance and he looked at his three compatriots. Composing himself quickly he responded "Well sir it would be best to know the state of the 90 and send reports of it back to the Senate. It would make future rebuilding efforts easier and the more we know the quicker we will be able to restore the roads for use by our forces and people. That and the maps have been incredibly reliable so far. I say we follow Decanus Jacobs plan." Cicero concluded in a rush of words which was known to the fast speaking engineer.

"Very well. You have your orders. Commit them with the eyes of God on you men. The Senate prosper." Lord Decurion Isaiah ordered with his men snapping a crisp salute and response of "The King's will prosper sir." That concluded they left his tent and the Lord Decurion flipped through a few of the artifacts they collected and he couldn't help but think 'What the hell is a Red Wing?'

Kingdom of Niagara
Niagara County
January 2nd week, 2223
The census information was gradually coming in and the stores seemed to be filled enough to last through the winter if the proper rationing measures were taken. While King Edward certainly did not mind keeping the administration of this order at the local level, Heaven knows that a centralized administration of this could not be formally done. Those Senators were a stubborn bunch when it came to the maintenance of their autonomy, thankfully he knew they could not publicly argue or stand against a tri-council to oversee the rationing. Taking his quill King Edward wrote out a decree, he was after all the highest court in the realm when it came to laws, just not the protection of the Tablets of the Senate and King.

King Edward also knew that the census was not fully completed yet, there were still areas in the reaches of the kingdom who had not returned and that information was critical for a proper administration, as well as future prosecution of ill management of resources in a time of emergency. Such ill management was a crime against Senate and People, such a penalty would carry great consequences and he couldn't afford to let anyone off the hook or falsely prosecute someone.

Returning the quill back to the holder he handed off his decree to his personal attendant. The decree read:

'Falsifying census data for personal gain shall receive the great sword after public scourging. If Senator, Yeoman, or Citizen manages the rationing process improperly to the misery and death of their fellows they shall be held as an enemy of the realm, stripped of all titles and possessions beyond basic travel necessities, and exiled from the realm. Decree of Emergency.

Signed,
King Edward Alfredsson Roma,
King by decree of Heaven, preserved by the grace of God, First Servant of the People'

Mechanics
-Expansion into Monroe County continues, scouting and surveying conducted
-Census continues to be taken and rationing procedures distributed
-Decree of Emergency issued by King Edward informing all the punishments of lying on the census and ill-managing the rationing

[Greater Redosia]

January, 2nd Week of the Soarin' Musem

"Another success Air Marshal. We have gained ourselves another airman, look at him. His glider is perfect, though I'm concerned of his idea of eventually adding a propeller. What do you have to say?"

The Air Marashal simply shrugged, leader of the Musem, or Museum as everyone wishes to call them, it wasn't so difficult as one would think. It mostly consisted of supporting the future Airmen and making the decisions the Council of Warrants couldn't decide on. But one important part is dogma and the doctrine of gliding and powered flight, the Soarin' Museum rejected lighter than air and powered flight as unorthodox and heretical to the simple and more orthodox gliding. But that was long ago when it was first set in stone.

"I believe we should try to get some powered flight only if it is used to support gliding, not as its main source. Power and fuel are a pain to obtain so we should be cautious. We need more fuel and parts...We're starting to run low in what the Museum has to offer."

The Warrant Officer smiled at the Air Marshal, pulling out a map and laying it in front of the table as a sudden chilly wind blew across the land. Almost blowing it away if it wasn't for him holding the map down too, looking at it he was surprised it was a nicely saved map of New Mexico.

"You see Air Marshal, this is only a museum and only had so much supplies for us to use for so long. So me and the other Council Members have been organizing a settlement expedition north to Santa Fe County, there is an airport which not only served the region but a small force of the old national guard, whatever that was. In the end, it could still hold fuel in its containers and have the parts we need to build more craft. Perhaps even with the city of Santa Fe there, it could give us enough living room for our people to expand and many supplies that could help us through this winter, along with making more bombs to take out those raiders to the south."

"And all you need is my approval, isn't it."

The Warrant Officer nodded, "Give us the go ahead and we'll send an expedition with scouting gliders as well. We have the supplies and we will make sure that we are safe."

The Air Marshal thought for a moment, as the leader of the group, he had to be careful. But in the end, if this could support their ability to build gliders and fight back against the raiders to the south, then they can be safer than before. "Alright, go ahead and move north to settle the county. We need the city and the airport so secure those first. That is imperative." With a salute the Warrant Officer went off to inform the other members of the council and to get the expedition underway northward. Along with that, the glider sets down on the ground and the airman yelled in excitement that his glider was a success and cannot wait to do it again. With a smile the Air Marshal wrote down the pilot's name in the log book of Airmen and sent him off to improve upon the glider.

Summary:
Soarin' Museum begins expanding North into Santa Fe County, focusing on settling the airport and the city first. 20 guards and 5 airmen in gliders are sent to protect and scout ahead.

[Vacif]

STC Pathfinders, 3rd Element
Captain David Yamashita
Treasure Island, California
January 5th, 2223
Turn 2

---

The bay area is an unsettling place, not simply because of the fog that seems to stick to the waterline like an unnatural glue, but because of how dead the place was. Elsewhere one could hear bugs, rodents, birds, or people. In the Bay area, all one could hear was occasional ghostly car horns and incredibly feint whispers.

In the early morning light, a junk ship sailed quietly towards a distant island. 12 Pathfinders stood on the deck of the craft, looking out to their target. With Santa Clara county having been scavenged and cleaned up as much as it was, they needed new places to salvage. David had lead expeditions into Oakland before. He'd been to Modesto, Fresno, and just about every other city on the west coast before. These cities were mostly inhabited by small groups of people, but the old world resources there had usually been used up or expired in the 200 years they'd sat there. This would be David's first mission into the Dead Zone, the first expedition in over twenty years.

"So what's so special about this mission Captain?" It was Caroline. His trusted right hand.

"Well what do you mean?"

"Why all the high security? Why the secrecy? Usually when we venture out there's a big party, Jules's group is getting a going away party. Why are we sneaking out at the break of dawn? And why are we bringing 4th Element with us?"

"Well we're being sent to Treasure Island. Treasure Island is technically part of the Dead Zone. Now if you remember company policy, we don't go to the Dead Zone. Not after what happened to 9th Element back in '03." Chimed in Mike. Leaning his back on the railing of the deck. Arms crossed, with a know-it-all grin. "This is against policy. "

"So then why are we being sent in?" asked Caroline.

"Place hasn't ever popped up on anyone's radar, the Board suspects there's some old world goodies on the old naval station. Reportedly there are no signs of the Infection on the island, and we're not picking up any radiation from there. It ought to be safe." answered the Captain.

Their radio man, Peter Mo, scoffed. "Ought to be is entirely different than is."

"Hey Peter, you don't actually believe the ghost stuff do you? Come on, even if the carbon shadows move, they can't touch you." This time it was Calvin, team leader of 3rd element's second team. He was trying to settle the nerves of his younger subordinate. "But you're right, we shouldn't let our hubris and overconfidence get the better of us. Everyone watch your backs, got it? Ghosts or not."

While David was technically the leader of 3rd Element, the command structure was decently relaxed. It was closer to a Chinese parliament system when they were in the field. He trusted his men enough not to hover over their every move. "Alright everyone, here's the deal. We've all heard the stories about Treasure Island. We're here to clear the record and secure a foot hold for the salvage teams. Preliminary reconnaissance shows the piers and marinas have eroded past the point of use over the past 200. The Junk will be on station off the coast while we insert via Sampan onto the soft sand of the southern beach. From there, 4th Element will hold the beach while 3rd Element sweeps the island in a counter-clockwise manner. Target buildings are the Barracks, Office buildings, the army post where the old bridge was, the Treasure Island Museum, and the storage units on the north side of the island. We see anything funky, take the advice you've been given. Ignore it, do not think about it. I trust your judgement if anything gets bad. If you become engaged, fall back immediately and regroup at the beachhead. Standard recon procedure, bag any valuable assets you can, tag anything for later pick up if you can't. Questions, comments, or concerns now or forever hold your peace."

No one asked. It was a pretty standard set up.

Treasure Island seemed to be wholly untouched by the chaos that had descended upon the area so many years before, with all the docks having fallen to disrepair, the boats were forced to land on the beaches. Calm, but cold, uncaring waves silently carried the boats onto the beach. 4th Element pulled the Sampans up behind some rocks and took a defensive posture. 4-Echo-1 stayed on the beach while 4-Echo-2 posted up in the old lighthouse to provide sniper overwatch, but due to the thick fog that hugged the land, it wasn't worth much.

3rd Element jogged up the rocky part of the beach, cutting towards the old coast guard pier. They'd gotten the rough outline on the way in but now could see it in greater detail. The wrecked remains of a rusted out cutter remain docked at the end of the pier, half sunk and likely filled with nothing but scrap and oil slicks trapped within. Further down the pier is a collection of older PT boats, a few lay nose down in the water, but one still appears to be afloat. A miracle in a world where they're lacking. On the concrete foundations behind the PT boats are a duo of buildings, one looks like an office, while the other seems to be a barracks of sorts.

<<"This is 3-Echo-1, we are at the pier, spotted one working PT Boat tied to the Pier. Tagging for pick up. We are splitting up to secure the area. Report back in 30 minutes, out.">>

<<TOC, acknowledged. Stay safe out there 3-Echo. Look forward to your report. TOC Out.>>

And with that the six man team split into their per-organized groups of three. David himself marched towards the Barracks while Calvin's team went towards the offices. The two teams slowly losing sight of each other as they entered the mist.

The Barracks was dank, dusty, and more importantly smelled like multiple somethings died within it's halls. As the team moved through, they found multiple skeletons, some locked together in silent embraces in the face of death, few others sprawled out, likely having died on their feet. The trio kept a tight formation, David and Caroline watched front while Mike held up the rear. Their combat boots echoed through the desolate halls as they cleared room by room. More of the same within each room. Nothing special within the barracks, just beds, and bodies.

Though there was something different in one room. Though the foggy 200 year old glass, they could see a figure. Upon entering an office, the sight of a man in a chair sat upright took their attention, multiple items of gold and silver decorate the tattered uniform he once wore. A metallic glint shines through from under a layer of desiccated biomass, peeking out from his mouth. Underneath, an old pistol, still coated in a nickel plating, a quick cycling of the action indicated that not only was it still loaded, it was still perfectly functional. Truly it was a pitiful sight. There were no signs of fighting in the barracks, what little remained of the clothing and almost mummified skin indicated the men merely starved, or dried out. A sad end to those who were destined to defend the waters of the United States

"Suit's you Captain, hopefully you won't end up like this guy." joked Mike.

"Dude, no." Caroline said, face scrunched up behind her mask. "Why would you even say something like that?"

"Take the joke old woman, plus it wasn't even for you" Caroline scoffed at this. However before she could say anything else, David raised his fist.

"Keep a lid on it. This building is clear, let's regroup at the pier with 3-Echo-2."

Back with 3-Echo-2, the Office was a much similar state, though now with a much more vacant hold. No bodies resided within, as if it was evacuated before the barracks. Besides some random sheets of paper and small items like pens, letter openers, and shiny metals, there is nothing of value here. "Head office could always use more office supplies." joked Julia. The 2IC of team 2.

"Tsh, yeah well this building's a bust. Let's wait by the Pier for the others."

The two teams finished up around the same time. But due to the proximity of the offices to the Pier, team 2 reached the Pier first. "Report." David requested.

"Just ancient office supplies. Maybe we could break down the old computer stuff for scrap, no high value objects. Yourself?"

"Captain found a working pistol." Mike said.

"Nice." Calvin could see the glint of nickel poke out of the Captain's hip holster. "Suits you Captain."

"See?" smirked Mike.

Caroline exhaled through her nose. "Fuck you Mike."

<<"This is 3-Echo-1 to TOC, tagging office buildings for office salvage, and barracks for general salvage. Moving to Army Post now. 3-Eco-1 out.>>

When the Captain spoke, the joking ended. "Alright team let's move. Army post is next."

It was a short five minute walk. The Army outpost was not much else but sad remains, the bridge's destruction left a good majority of it's barracks and office destroyed, all that remained was a small shack by the waterfront, as the team approached, the sense an aromatic smell of... something they aren't familiar with, it's fresh, sweet, but waxy. A closer approach revealed a very strong smell of oil, as if a drum of pig fat had been dumped over one's head.

David's face scrunched up, the hairs on his neck stood on end. He looked to those around him. They were equally on alert. "Team 2, back up to the crest of the hill. Team 1 on me. Watch your fire."

David opened the door to the post, there was the the feeling of slight resistance, with a shove, the door opened to the sound of clattering metal. Surveying what was in front of him, a single ancient corpse leaned against the far wall, in one hand a plastic keycard attached to a tattered lanyard, in the other, a breaker bar of some kind. A single hole is drilled into his head, cracking it open and revealing an exit wound and pock mark in the far wall at head height. That was not the most glaring issue present. Most of the 50 meter building was lined with what appeared to be pre-collapse torpedos, the sight of an off white sludge bulging out of the seems of every one giving an indication that the smell is from the decaying and likely incredible unstable explosive compounds within them. As David took note of exactly how many torpedoes were within, he wagered a guess that it was enough to level this half of the lesser Island of Yerba Buena.

"Everyone back up!" he hissed.

David approached the corpse, carefully and slowly. Now standing over the body, he reached down and grabbed the plastic card and breaker bar. As he examined the card, he heard distant screaming, and to his shock, saw a man looking over tools on the wall in front of him. The room was now in perfect condition, the corpse, gone. The man appeared to be frantically looking for something, until with a cry of triumph he grabbed the breaker bar and turned. As he took in the sight of David, his face turns to horror as with a scream, a gunshot rang out. Back in the present, David whipped around in shock, only to see Caroline looking at him. Turning back, he saw the corpse on the ground, no different than before.

"Captain, are you alright? You look.... startled."

"Ghost memories, we need to get clear." he responded brusquely, marching swiftly out the door.

"Fucking shit! What happened?" Caroline asked, startled. Quickly back peddling, not wanting to experience any old world flash backs. Ghost memories was what they called it when someone experienced a flashback of the past.

"Doesn't matter, but there are enough volatile explosives here to level this half of the small island. We're double timing it to the Museum." David said as he strode toward team 2 on the ridge. "Peter, down here, now!"

The radioman sprung up from his prone position wordlessly and carefully slid down the ridge to meet Team 1. Captain Yamashita grabbed the handset from the backpack radio. <<"TOC, this is 3-Echo-1! Tagging the Army Post by the bridge as a tier 1 hazard! The torpedo shack is lined with torpedos that could go off at any moment if disturbed. Those things are leaking explosive compounds, probably enough to level half the minor island. Regrouping with 4th Element before we go to the Museum. 3-Echo-1 out.">>

<<"Acknowledged, good work 3-Echo-1. Sakvage teams will steer clear. TOC out.">>

Hearing the extent to which the building behind them could detonate, 3rd Element had an extra spring in their step as they jogged back to the beach. 4th Element had heard the news over the radio so there was no need to bring them up to speed. It was decided that Team 1 from 4th Element would move with 3rd Element to the Museum while Team 2 would stay with the boats and abandon the tower. The mix of teams moved up through the snaking roads. As they peak near the bridge's old highway, they now see the now collapsed and ruined skyline of San Fransisco, and Alcatraz Island in the distance, the latter of which gave a wash of cold on every team member as they saw it. Regardless they forged onwards to the Museum.

As they marched towards the museum, Captain Yamashita examined the keycard. It was simple, red, with a very intact barcode. All the keycard said was 'PROPERTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE'.

"DoD huh? That can only mean amazing loot, or amazing danger." Remarked Benji, leader of 4th Element.

"Yeah..." muttered David.

After not too long, the approach the half circle building, in the parking lot, it appeared as if the whispers grew louder, it seemed like two men were having a conversation, heated as it is. One was asking for help with 'dealing with the Colonel' the other, wondering simply what's happened to deserve such a reaction. It faded after this. Continuing into the structure itself, it seemed to have been turned into a fortification of some kind. More bodies, though this time more heavily armed, overgrown sand bags and a heavy machine gun are set up watching the frontal approach, entering, there were a number of bodies strewn about, no firearms, but the equipment indicating they were fully military. Their bodies stripped clean. From a certain perspective, it appeared that those within the room began to fire on one another... for some reason.

"Jesus Christ! Look at all of them!" gasped Julia.

"Got to be the bulk of the marine garrison in here!" exclaimed Mike.

The scene before them was stunning, as what appeared to be two groups of now mummified marines had engaged and successfully killed each other. Their bodies still had their ancient plate carriers and rigs. The ballistic fibres that made them useful long since expired could probably be salvaged or researched for future developments. Mike jogged up the stairs to the balcony overwatching the foyer where the machine gun was set up. Despite the grizzly scene the man gave out a hearty laugh of disbelief. "This right here is an M2 Browning. And she still works." he proudly declared.

"No way. For real?" Asked Julia in disbelief.

"Yup! She definitely needs some urgent repair, but we can get this thing working like it use to!"

"Alright alright, stow it. We need to secure the building first before we go over loot. Everyone grab a sector." Warned Captain Yamashita. The team recomposed themselves and reformed up to clear the different wings of the Museum. Outside of a few more bodies, there wasn't much else there. It was a fairly small museum. The interest was all in the lobby and front approach to the building.

<<"3rd Element to TOC, Museum is a massacre, garrison looks to have killed each other off here. There are a lot of bodies and gear here with an old M2. No other weapons, just kit. Over.">>

<<"TOC Copies, we'll mark it. Proceed to your final objective, TOC out.">>

Moving onwards, undeterred, 3rd and 4th moved for the area marked as a shipping container and private storage unit yard on old maps. It seemed most containers were opened and looted long before they arrived, however there were a half a dozen storage units still locked, of them all, only one had a lock that still looks strong enough to hold whatever is in there in any form of safety. The rest have rusted through and could be plucked off by hand. In total, the squad managed to cobble together: 4 Bicycles in passable condition, hockey equipment for a whole team, a textbook on agriculture sealed within a plastic bag, an army Silver Star medallion, and a gasoline generator in alright condition. The strong locked storage locker is larger than the rest, and seemed to need a little extra oomph to unlock it. Captain Yamashita looked to Julia, the B&E specialist of the team and handed over the Breaker Bar. This was her domain.

Everything had been all quiet so far, but the dense fog, and constant feeling of dread put everyone on edge. While Team 2 worked on the door, everyone else took up a defensive position watching the storage unit. If anything bad were to jump out at them, it would have to be here as they'd searched every single structure at this point.

After breaking off the strong lock with some team effort, the shutter door raised a bit, and as the team pulled it further upwards, within the locker was a canvas covered object, large, it occupied nearly the whole locker. Yanking the cover off revealed an automobile, a flatbed with slowly rotting picketing on the sides forms the back, while the once blue cabin has lost it's luster, and gained a few patches of oxidation. A vintage model, even before the collapse. D O D G E is emblazoned across the grille. It's tires, though deflated, seemed to be in serviceable enough shape to reinflate, at least partially.

After seeing it was just a simple truck, the team visibly relaxed. Some even laughed. The tension in the air diffused as they'd completed their mission mostly without incident. Decades of rumors, a spooky atmosphere, sounds of whispers and a dead city, would be set straight. David breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright let's return to the beach." Everyone was in agreement to that.


<<"This is 3rd Element, we've cleared the last of the storage lockers. We've got an ancient diesel truck in the storage lockers. We can't move it, but the techs are going to love taking it apart. Over.">>

<<TOC copies, return to the beach and head on home. Good job team, that's one for the books. TOC Out.">>

The team packed up the loot they could carry and began marching back the way they'd come. However the walk home was no less tense. The sounds of the old city still called out to them. The whispers still just audible.The team moved to return to their boat, the fog cleared ever so slightly, revealing a field ahead, along with a mangled metal monstrosity, warped metal lays stuck up from the ground as a hulking mass lays upon the center of the field. M A R I N E S is emblazoned on the side of the tail end of the hulk, still and destroyed as it lay. The feint whispering had all but stopped, as had the sound of the pre-war world.

"What.... the hell is that?" asked Caroline.

"Well it's a... plane... I think?" Replied Julia.

"But it's got propellers like the Pavehawks at Moffett." Questioned

"Yeah but there's two of them." countered Julia.

'Hey! Eyes peeled, 4th Element, give us cover, we're moving up." ordered Captain Yamashita.

As 3rd Element approached, they noticed that there was no trench usually associated with a crash at speed, and it seemed the bottom of the craft was crumpled more than the snout. As if it simply, fell on the spot. A dozen bodies at the rear of the craft, same uniforms as those found before, M16s in their hands, with noticeable shell casings in the dirt. They had, like before shot each other in haste. Within the wreck itself, what wasn't covered in plant life was bare. All sans a single metal crate in the center of the wreck, strapped down and with the emblems of the US Department of Defense, on top was a small outcropping, with a slot big enough for a card.

"That.... is fucking cursed man." Mike blurted out.

"Yeah no shit." Hissed Caroline.

"Captain, your orders?" Asked Calvin.

David contemplated for a moment. He didn't like this situation, but they were here to clear the island of all hostiles. If this box was a threat, they needed to address it now lest the salvage team be murdered when they arrive. "4th Element, Benji! I want your guys to salvage the dead men, get clear. Return to the boats. I don't like this but I'm going to open the box. Everyone else, out. Team two, provide us cover, Team one watch my back."

A deep pit filled their stomachs as they took up positions surrounding the crashed airframe. 4th Element begrudgingly salvaged what they could from the ancient corpses and began to move back to the south shore.

<<"This is 3rd Element, we've encountered crashed US Marine airframe with a potential hazard on board. There's an unmarked DoD box inside. I'm going to open it. We're sending 4th Element back to the boat with the salvage while we clear the potential hazard. Over.">>

There was a pause over the air as they awaited command's response. <<"Team, this is TOC, acknowledged, good luck. Report back if anything happens. TOC Out.">>

Everyone was uneasy. No one wanted to open the box. The whispers had stopped here, the city stopped making noise. They could only hear their breathing. However they had a job to do. "Alright Benji, get out of here." And with that both teams turned to do their jobs.

<<"This is 3rd Element, we're opening the box now. 3rd, Out.">>

David sighed, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

As the key was inserted, the box gave a hiss, the latches shifted and open, some type of gas, or perhaps carbon dioxide fog spilled out. As this happened, the scenery shifted. The muffled sound of rotors echoes through the hold, now sealed. As pilots recited some form of code. The rotors wash increased with intensity, before they stopped, lights within the hold stopped, and it dropped back to the earth. Metal was wrenched, lights snapped, and dust wafted upwards. Sounds of panic reached David's ears, as he stood in the now ruined hold. Looking out through the wrenched open cargo door, he spotted several marines panicking, the lighting across their faces not at all indicative of a natural sunrise, nor the number of shadows they casted. Then all at once, their panic stopped, their eyes, no matter the color they were before glowed a sickly green. They then all turn and ruthlessly opened fire upon one another, gunning each other down in a ruthless and cold maneuver that left it's retro-active witnesses confused. As the vision once again ended, David's eyes were fixated on the now ancient corpses. And suddenly, he felt fear.

Agonizingly, he turned his head back to the crate, now open, it's hatch cast aside, and now, he saw sickly green eyes, beset into the head of a mummified corpse that was actively sitting up. It's skin cracking and creaking, it's head turned to the team's lead. An instant later, the rest of 3-Echo turned the corner to witness this event.

STC Pathfinders, 4th Element
Captain Benji Lee
Treasure Island, California
January 5th, 2223
Turn 2

---

No one liked the order. No one had a good feeling about it, they knew only bad could come out of it. Benji had four assault rifles slung over his shoulder as he marched through the thick fog when the radio came to life.

<<"This is 3rd Element, we're opening the box now. 3rd, Out.">> came David's voice. There was a dreadful silence and then... Pops of gunfire broke the silence. BANG...BANG BANG BANG BANG!

Benji grabbed his radio.<<"This is 4th Element, reporting gunfire! 3rd Element report in, Over!">>

There was no reply. Benji did not hesitate, he did not think. Sheer instinct kicked in as he and his men dropped the salvage they'd been given. Their boots stomped through the fresh snow, retracing their steps in the road. The fog gradually breaking up as they closed in. Five Pathfinders lay there in the snow. Crimson red clashed with the white of the earth. Their weapons had been turned on each other. Eyes wide, but their faces stone cold. Standing in the bay of the crashed airframe, was Captain David Yamashita. Stupefied, clutching the red keycard. In front of him, an empty metal casket...

---

Turn 2 Action Report

• Pathfinders 3rd Element Disbanded
  
  • 3 Echo 1-1 David Yamashita [PENDING OFFICIAL REVIEW]
  • 3 Echo 1-2 Caroline He [KIA]
  • 3 Echo 1-3 Mike Kazato [KIA]
  • 3 Echo 2-1 Calvin Rothschild [KIA]
  • 3 Echo 2-2 Julia Hu [KIA]
  • 3 Echo 2-3 Peter Mo [KIA]
• Salvage Teams deployed to Treasure Island

[Anowa]

NEW EVENTS

Questions Better Left Unanswered

The Dead Zones are known to be creepy as all Hell. The locations where millions of lives were lost, in a betrayal between government and citizen. Though mostly simply see the paranormal tales those who venture in tell as mere myths and ghost stories, there is evidence of something more sinister. Many who do know of the authenticity of these tales refuse to go back, fearing that something they do will unearth something they don't want. That the crazed hobos muttering about heaven and hell being atomized, and those who died in the blast, remain with the blast, that mankind has more to them than previously thought, are right.

Whatever it was that the Sunnyvale Trading Company has unearthed, there's nothing to say what will happen next.

This Event is the start of an Event Chain.
Affected Factions: ????

---

[Nouveau Quebecois]

The City-State of New York

---

Commissioner, Edward J. Identity & "The Patriot", Walter Quincy

Louie Ludwig - Thank God and Governor Long
West Plains, New York
January 2223, Week II

---

Outside of City Hall, the sound of Wooden Shovels against marble replaced the Robin's song of the morning, as temperatures dropped and less and less civilians stood out in the open. Inside the Cabinet's Room, Commissioner of the New York Defence Force, Edward Identity, was consolidating with Governor Loveland the recent successful false flag carried out by his best men against the Doomsday Movement and all it's Prophet; absolute disgrace. Prophet Isaiah was publicly trailed for the robbery of a civilian supply convoy. Thought the Contingency Government found him guilty, they couldn't push past a death sentence, but that was all part of the plan. After a brief stint in jail, nowhere in the North East could the Prophet simply overturn an orange crate and speak about the end of times without meeting hurled compost and hecklers a dozen times louder then his fringe supporters. The Doomsday Movement had been sufficiently slandered, thanks to the good work of the Commissioner and his men. Identity flicked open his silver lighter as he lit up his cigar, then raised a document over his lighter, letting the burnt crisps of the highly-confidential operation plans falter onto the oak meeting table.

"How selfless of me, Gov'nor. All this hard work I do and no 'thank you' from the country I so nobly serve."

"New York thanks you" Governor Loveland replied, through gritted teeth.

Though normally strict rationing would mean that there was little to go around, the surplus of supplies seized by the Assault Team in the previous operation meant that a lot of supplies would have to be destroyed of, but the Commissioner knew better then to let such rarities go to waste, and furthermore to let it fall into the Contingency Government's fatcats. The original plan was to just pawn it off to a wandering trader for profit, but Identity had a better idea.

"I've got a special guest I want you to meet, Gov'nor. He'll be arriving shortly, and he bares the likes of me. I think you'll like what you see."

The Commissioner slid a less burnt file across the table. Oh, Walter 'The Patriot' Quincy. The Commissioner had some inside information, courtesy of the New York Rangers. A Sergeant manged to come across the poor soul wandering the wastelands, apparently looking for the fields of West Plains. While 'The Patriot' slept, the Sergeant had written up an impromptu dossier on the man and the conversations he had with him, which Commissioner Identity just received from a midnight runner at dawn. "The Patriot" didn't have a real name, only known that he's named himself after the home-city he resided in. Not much is known about his past, 'cept that he is renowned in the military sphere for being a cut-throat general, talented statesmen, and above all else, a lone wolf in sheep's clothes. Though he may lend his services, Identity highlighted a key feature of his character; he's a capitalist, and his work is for profit.

"We don't know why he's heading South along the Hudson, but our Rangers picked him up anyways."

"He's probably migrating South for the winter, and we're probably his best chance."

"That's what I thought, but here's something he knows that we don't."

The Commissioner reached back into his satchel and slid yet another document. "The Kingdom of New York". Now this was news. The Sergeant to escort Quincy wrote about how he so valiantly spoke about a surviving Government in Albany; a self-proclaimed Kingdom, to which "The Patriot" would aid in anti-bandit activity. Organised bandit parties were one thing, but a standing Government? Contact had to be made.

"This is revolutionary information, we have to send an expedition North at once."

"Once step ahead of you-"

A knock was heard at the door, and the Governor's Adjutant peered his head through.

"Governor Loveland, a Wanderer is here to see you."

"Bring him in, William" the Commissioner answered for him, as he grabbed the documents from the Governor's hands and stuffed them back into the briefcase.

"Good morning Gentlemen, I am Walter Quincy." The man spoke, in a calm, sophisticated manner.

"Patriot of New England." The Commissioner continued, much to the man's fluster.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir Quincy, I am Governor Loveland of the New York Contingency Government, that right there is Commissioner Identity of the New York Defence Forces. Please have a seat."

Walt glances around the room. His gaze first meets the eyes of Governor Loveland before turning to Commissioner Identity. He takes a seat and returns his focus to the man in front of him.

"Please, the pleasure is all mine. I have heard quite a bit about your operation here, how long has the Contingency Government been around if I may ask?"

The Commissioner opens his mouth to answer but Governor Loveland motions for his restraint.

"Our history books say that the Contingency Government has lasted the 200 years or so since the disaster just North of the Bronx, though only recently have our predecessors in Government made the daring move to expand further East and West of the Hudson."

"Well, then perhaps you have yet to hear of your friends further up the way. I presume that may be why I have been granted such an audience upon my arrival."

"What friends? Aside from the bandits, wanderers, and the wolves." The Commissioner shares a nod with the Governor, who duly replies.

Walt grins. He removes his gloves, stowing them into the interior pocket of his weathered overcoat.

"Would you happen to be in possession of a map of the fine old state of New York?"

The Governor departs his seat to the headside of the room. Where hangs two roll-down map, he pulls down one. It's old, faded over time, but markers and chalk outline the territories of the Contingency Government, and the American Northeast. The party's collective attention drifts towards the map. The room looks on in a sense of curiosity, Walt being the lone exception.

"Oh, what once was beautiful, the American States."

"How familiar with you are the history of this country and her states, this one in particular?"

"Well versed. I'm known around here as one of the great historical bums. Character of my Governorship." Governor Loveland responds in a more sincere tone.

The previously tense stigmatization of the situation begins to shed it's veil to a more mutually beneficial relationship with a hint to Loveland's true character. Walt smiles in return, himself being a member of the self-described historian community.

"Always a pleasure to encounter a man such as yourself. Then you should certainly be familiar with New York's former capital and our neighbors north of the border? These coastal enclaves like this fine one you have established here were never the lone survivors of the northeast. Albany is a hub, much like the one we are sheltering in now. Survivors from up north couldn't hack the weather, headed south. Albany was their best best. Now here around the city, we've got to put up with everything from radiation to bandits. Up that far north, only mother nature herself can thrive. Anyone wanting to stake it up there, they need to cooperate. That's what the whole place was based on. I've done a good deal of law enforcement for them on their frontier but, they never took too kind to outsiders like myself. This winter though, certainly should have changed their minds. Now I take it you are interested in some outwards expansion?"

"Well I-"

"I do believe outwards expansion is in order" the Commissioner interrupted from his chair. "Fortunately for us, we were planning just an excursion. It wouldn't take much to rework to head North, straight to Albany."

The Governor, though would have approached the issue from different terms, concedes to a similar goal.

"You know the way, you can take us there. Why don't we saddle you up with some of my boys, and we can teach them the proper New Yorker's way of greeting wanderers like yourself."

The abrupt interruption of the Commissioner put Walt back on the edge he had previously been sitting on. To a spectator, a clear divide in personality exists between Identity and Loveland. Not attempting to pry the divide any further, Walt plays along the fault lines.

"If I may ask, what are your intentions?"

"Hearts n'minds of course. If there truly are a wary band o' survivors up in Albany, making contact is a necessity. Stronger together, amirite?"

The Commissioner continued, placing his feet up on the oakwood table.

"But I've heard your 'law enforcement' stories. Only natural we can't just go up there empty handed. Don't call it my speciality or nothin' but it keeps one's wits to be prepared."

Walt nods in agreement. Even he had avoided the Kingdom of New York as recently as two months ago for reasons better kept to himself.

"Your Rangers, I take it they are some of your best men?"

"Well, not exact-"

"Well sure they are!" The Commissioner replied energetically. "At least in terms of waste-wandering experience, nevermind their own steed."

A rather puzzled look bestows itself upon Walt's face. He attempts to conjure up a way to address the relationship at what he presumes to be the Contigency's highest level of leadership.

"It appears you gentlemen seem to have some opposing perspectives here. I'm not looking for killers, though I wouldn't mind packing some of the hardware I've seen being touted around here. I need brains just as much brawn. Like I said, they'll work with outsiders, but coming in strong is a good way to lose your heart and mind long before you get the chance to win theirs."

"Luckily for you, I'm prone to innovation n'adaptation. If you need killers, so be it. If you need charity, we're trained in that too."

Governor Loveland finally took a moment to resume control of the conversation.

"We obviously don't want to ignite conflict in our State. We're hoping that with your connections, and with the support of the Rangers, we can come to even terms with this settlement."

Walt comes to his feet and extends his hand in what he hopes to be a deal. He looks at both men before confidently describing his plan.

"In that case, I believe we have come to an understanding. I would be happy to connect your territories. As long as your men can put miles on their horses and know when to pull the trigger, this might just be the start of a very interesting partnership."

The two men take turns shaking Walter's hand. Immediately, draft papers are drawn up, the town cartographer is brought in, and the accompaniment of biscuits and snacks energise the planning stage of what was to be the new Contingency Government's first expedition.

Summary:

• "The Patriot" meets with the New York City Contingency Government.
• The New York City Contingency Government learns about the existence (or lack-of-existence) of the Kingdom of New York. It is locally dubbed "The Albany Government".
• The New York Rangers formulate plans for an expedition to Albany, they expect to depart before the end of the week.

[Anowa]

Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, Knights Hospitaller

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 9th
New Jerusalem, Cathedral of the Patriarchs

The rationing was heavy. The rather moderate expectation of lasting until March was still expected, but there would likely be little to no food left in the storehouses. Even with most of the Clergy already sacrificing meals for the betterment of their neighbours. Almost the same scenario was reoccurring year after year, this time however, it was expected that food would only arrive once every two days when the growing season finally bore fruit, literally. While the areas nestled between mountains and near rivers supplied what they could, it ultimately wasn't enough. At least, that's what Girard Leclerc explained the situation as.

The man continued, "The largest collection of arable land within our grasp is the San Luis valley to our south."

For a moment, Sarah thought the man was going bonkers, the San Luis valley was a distinctly cold desert, the ground there was solid in all but a few places thanks to the actual plantlife that occupied such places, but it was far from optimal growing ground. But the woman knew for a fact that if Girard had lost his marbles, he wouldn't be the Head Scribe of the Order, "I'm assuming this means it's more than succulents and sand then?"

The man paused and started looking around the table for something, he hummed, sifting through various papers as Sarah stood watching. The room they were in was the meeting room that the various heads and commanders came to when something rather important was needed to be discussed. A massive table of a wood that Sarah didn't recognize, was now covered in a mass amount of charts, maps, and multicolored arrays that she barely understood.

After sifting through about a dozen of said sheets of paper he gave a loud hum and pulled something to the top, setting it down so Sarah could look at it.

It was a chart of said various colors, and after a few moments, Sarah clued in, it was a topographical map from before the collapse of the San Luis valley. She still had no clue how exactly it was related, "While I'm sure this explains it all, I'm not well versed enough in geography to make sense of it."

"Um. How do I...?" The man simply gestured to the U shape of mountains surrounding the "It's fed by the waters of the surrounding mountains, they either drain into the north portion, or underground via the water table or by the number of creeks and streams, ultimately ending up in the Rio Grande. While not technically the head water of the river, that's up on Canby Mountain, it's still a massive amount of water. While yes the northern portion is almost wholly swamp, everything south of that can allow irrigated agriculture, and given how large it is..." the man left the sentence hanging.

Sarah finished the sentence, "No more shortages... ever."

The man nodded, "Yes, nearly two million acres of farmland, the main crops before the collapse were potatoes, head lettuce, wheat, barley and some quinoa. I know we have seeds of all those in stockpiles, so come March we can get a head start." As he finished the sentence, he began chewing on his knuckle.

Sarah knew what was to come, 'There's a but there."

Girard nodded, his spectacles coming off, as he scratched his bald head, "Yes. I'm afraid the valley is... well. occupied. I doubt they'll be happy if we suddenly move in and muscle them out."

Sarah nodded, "People are usually adverse to change, I suppose we'll simply ask to supplement their farms."

"None of them are farmers, or at least farming more than they need."

Sarah looked up from the variety of charts to look at the man, "If they aren't going to use the land, they don't exactrly have much of a say over what's done with it do they?"

Girard sighed as he started rolling everything back up into the metal tubes, "I suppose not. I just hope they won't get violent over it. I'll let the scribes know that we'll be expanding into the region over the next few months. Hopefully we get most of it prepared for plantation before Spring arrives."

There was a knock on the door, while previously it was just the two of them in this massive room, it wasn't exactly common to get a knock in a meeting like this. "Come in" came the woman's reply.

The door opened, and in stepped a member of the Knight's Hospitaller. He strode across the room with a letter. Even from underneath the amount of armor he wore, the smell of cooked flesh was enough to discern the man as Brother Heracles. A former raider caught on the wrong end of a fire, when the Order took him in he saw the pain he now experienced as a way to atone for his crimes. As such he declined any painkillers or medicines to relieve the suffering of his obliterated nerve endings. He was neither the largest, nor the fastest of the Knights, but what he lacked in either category he made up for in raw, unadultered tenacity. While even wearing ceremonial armor, it had battle scars denoting a man who took no issue with violence.

Heracles wordlessly offered the letter, a duo of stamps indicating it as an express delivery from the Order's post, and to be sent by hand directly to herself. Opening it inquisitively she balked at the nature of it's contents for a moment. It seemed like a simple letter from a child asking for a blessing, but rather it was a letter from a child asking for relief.

"Matriarch?" came Heracles, his voice sounding like someone was trying to gargle ash, "You seem puzzled."

"The children of Aspen are suffering under the weight of winter it seems, and they're asking for food, whatever we can spare." it was spoken not in a mocking, or surprised tone, but a sorrowful one.

Girard, who was still packing up, paused, "... But, we barely have enough ourselves. Even if we don't offer them anything, we'll be cutting it short."

Sarah sighed, "I know."

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 14th
Near Aspen, Colorado

She could hear the Roaring Fork River moving under the ice, God's work never stopped, not even for his own machinations. Gehenna was one of the youngest of the Hospitaller, at 16, she was a year shy of the majority of their little trek to Aspen. The general consensus among the Hospitaller was that if they had to lose a third of their rations to aid others in need, so be it. The younger number of Hospitaller were dispatched to Aspen, due to the small locales general culture and mild distrust of their elders, Leftenant Michael Isaacs being the eldest at just over 22.

Of course, that didn't include Doctor Morosov, while accredited institutions no longer existed, he was one of the dozen practiced surgeons among the Order, practiced meaning he had operated on someone and they lived. This far from home, the fourty something year old man was to assist in medicating and assisting the children of Aspen for any winter maladies. His rucksack filled to the brim with medications for things ranging from pneumonia to salves for frostbite.

The Hospitaller themselves each carried a pack with the general things they needed, shortswords, daggers, as well as their rifles. Based off the old CETME model, each were hand crafted for the Hospitaller upon their entry into service, while the Guard were stuck with pipe rifles, and in some cases muzzle loaders, the Hospitaller had their expenses on hand on every patrol. In addition to their standard kit, they had a sleigh packed with some rather bland pemmican, no fruits or chocolates among them, but it was enough to last the children to March if no one gorged themselves. While normally, the black armor they wore would be unaltered for patrols, a mass amoung of white linen strips now adorned each and every one, providing some measure of camouflage.

Approaching from the southeast, the town seemed quiet, likely due to the frigid outside. Gehenna paused, adjusting the slit goggles she wore, and pulling the face cover back up to cover her nose. The open face nature of the patrol helmet didn't exactly protect one's face from the elements, but the lack of full enclosure allowed her to properly aim her rifle. Not that she was at the moment. As they seemed to enter the town proper, Leftenant Isaacs called out at the head of the unit, "Hello? Is anybody still here?"

Summary of Events:
Jan, Week 1:

- Wind Walker Free Hold (Tribe) begin vassalisation under the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem. (11 Months, 3 Weeks Remaining)
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Realm of North Texas (Arrival in 5 weeks).
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Soarin' Museum (Arrival in 5 Weeks).
- Platoon of the Knights Hospitaller has been dispatched to Denver County to begin clean-up processes (Arrival in 1 Weeks).

Jan, Week 2:

- Missionary Party dispatched to Integrate Saguache County, CO (4 Weeks Remaining).
- Platoon of Knights Hospitaller dispatched to deliver 'spare' rations to Aspen.

[The World Capitalist Confederation]

NAMC HQ, Concordia, Iowa

"Well, we know what to do. Activate Code White and get me my milk turkey, with some peas. We'll have to slaughter livestock, eat only what we can grow. It's milk, meat, potato and pea season."

"Yes, sir, of course."

The General, mulling whilst the food was cooked, wondered if there was actually enough for anyone. Of course, their religion and culture didn't mind cannibalism, so they might have to start eating the recently-deceased, but that'll be a matter for another time.

The food was readied within thirty minutes, and the General gnawed into it. There were still reserves of food, in fridges and freezers, but he worried that this year would be hard, meaning mass slaughters of livestock and long-term famine. This winter would be long and cold, and he knew it...

Mechanics: NAMC begin eating into reserves, slaughtering livestock, eating winter foods that grow in cold temperatures and generally getting ready for a brutal year overall...

[HypErcApitAl]

Roll of The Dice
Nevada
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223



Boatshire and generals

"Keep training and preparing the Partisans. When times like this approach us, anything could happen. In Desperation, we could get invaded. And just remember, Nevada falls when Vegas falls." Boatshire ordered.

"We've been doing that, and we'll keep on, sir." A.B. Simmons told him.

"As for Diplomacy, Exploration and Allyship, we'll just have to wait." Boatshire said.

"I feel like we're sittin' ducks in a barrel, just waitin' to get shot." A.B. Simmons told Boatshire.

"I feel the same. Like I said, use the surroundings to our advantage." Jackpot Boatshire replied.

"We got propagandas, though. Also, good parents would teach their children how to use a goddamned sword, or slingshot, or somethin'." Armoine cheered.

"Everybody's crowding the goddamn churches! It's good to be devout and all, but we should stay on Watch." Boatshire demanded.

"We should send some Lookouts to our Western and Southern borders." Armoine said.

"Hey. That's a good idea, we'll do that." Boatshire replied.

Mechanics: Vigilance: Lookouts will be sent to the West and South borders of RoTD. The gov't and partisans will continue to keep watch. Skilltree: Partisan posters will be placed all over The Roll, and support would be drilled to join the Diceroller Partisans.


Roll of The Dice
Nevada
2223
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire

"I've been working hard at Archery. Someday, I'll be good enough to join the Partisans. My fingers hurt from pulling this bowstring back and forth." The girl thought.

"Things have been changing alot around here, and I know my brother'll fend for my parents. First, we got more Nationalist. All of this flagwaving is making me want to serve my country s'more." The girl continued to think.

"Alex! Dinner's ready!" The woman cried.

"I'm coming, mom!" Alex answered.

Alex stomped her way into the Living Room, sat down, prayed for Luckiness, and then ate with her parents and siblings.

Mechanics: A Nation Full of Archers: Continued focus on Ranged weaponry. Civil Training: An amount of RoTD's citizens have some sort of training in weaponry or survival skills like cooking, etc. Always Bet on Black: Continued Nationalist focus around the nation, and Academia/Schools in RoTD.

[Sarderia]

[quote="Sarderia";p="36923008"]

MISSOURI CARAVAN COMPANY
2nd WEEK OF JANUARY 2223

---

FRANKLIN COUNTY

A dozen horses and ten mounted State Marshals strode along the ancient Interstate 44, carrying wagons and accompanied by several hunting dogs. The surrounding land is heavily forested, with any remaining vestige of suburb or farmland gone, the only empty spaces left are the shores of Missouri river, where some Company farmers occasionally bulid temporary ranches for grazing. Ancient settlements, such as the towns of Pacific and Eureka, are reduced to stone rubbles, where cedar and oak tress made their roots and the moles made their lairs. There were several Company outpost towers around the old settlements, but they had been abandones since December, as the trade routes ceased because eof severe winter. Now, however, those small outposts would be stationed again with men, as the Company planned to reestabilish their trade south through the Ozarks and west to Kansas. They descended the Interstate through an exit that led to the old town of Pacific, now forested and deteriorating.

Colonel Heinz Jackson, commander of the Second State Marshals Division of forty troops, dismounted his horse and parked it in the porch of a rotting old building with a sign “Bank Star Pacific” near the street. “Stop here and park the wagons. There’s an empty parking lot behind the bank there. Rest of you, follow me into the town.”

Six of the Marshals followed him into the abandoned town, where the Company’s old outpost was located. It was a collapsed old McDonalds with a broken wooden tower at its top.“Shit… ain’t nothing left of the outpost. We need to make our own provisions. We won’t be here for long, though,” he said to his men. While the remaining Marshals were busy greasing their weapons or their belongings, he noticed one feeding the retrievers. “Quite a hand you got there with the dogs, Deputy,” he Jackson said.

“Junior Deputy Elias Ford, sir. I just joined last week. I used to work at my pa’s farm in St. Charles, so I figured I’d know something about hunting dogs,” the new Marshal answered. Jackson thought that he was not even twenty years old, looking by his small stature. More and more people joined the fighting force throughout the winter, as food stores were dwindling, and the Marshals are paid with generous food in winter times. Jackson sighed. “Fine. Get your guns geared up, we’ll begin the hunting now.” He took out a piece of paper in his pocket.

“Alright, fellers, we have a target to be brought back home. Mind you, there’ll be an influx of civillians that’ll be hunting game here for the next weeks, so try to not scare the animals, lest they run off further south. We have a list of twenty deers, and to collect enough…” he squinted his eyes to the piece of paper, “…fowls, turkey, birds.. hell, even cotes and rabbits. Nevermind. And remember, none of it belongs to you; I’ll personally blow your hands off if I caught you cutting even one of the bounty. This forest and all that dwell in it belongs to the Company, granted by God… and I hope God granted us enough deers to shoot at or y’all would be breaking your hands off farming wheat in the winter.” The six of them entered the forests followed by their dogs. Light was scarce – even though the winter sun was sufficiently bright enough – covered by the dense canopy of oak and pine woods. The pointer dogs sniffed and walked first in front of them. Jackson signaled for the group to spread out.

He had walked the woods for nearly a hour, without sighting even one deer or fowl. The hunting party increasingly felt like a loss. He’d figured out that most of the animals were migrating south anyways, or were into hibernation – until he heard Ford screaming from somewhere deeper in the woods. Jackson cursed and ran into the voice, and he found Ford lying prone beside a large bush, at the shores of the Meramec River.

“The fuck, Ford? You gonna scare them animals off or call fucking bandits to us or what?” He cursed. The junior Deputy pointed at the opposite shore, where dozens of deers were drinking water from the river. Jackson crouched and took up his Spencer repeater. “Good Lord, there’s a fucking lot of them deers here. Why’d I never get to see one?” He cocked his repeater and aimed at one of the deers.

“Sir, I think you shouldn’t shoot first.” Ford pointed at their greyhounds in crossing the river, stalking the pack of deers from afar. Jackson handed him a revolver and a lasso. “Yeah, well, the dogs ain’t gonna wait for long there. You might want shoot them deers or tie them up; I don’t want any one of them to escape. The greyhounds gonna take care of what’s left of them.”

Jackson moved silently to a tree nearby, hiding in the bushes and aiming for a deer. He saw Ford doing the same. He signaled the greyhounds with one loud, single whistle – and shot a deer right in the head. The hunting dogs ran and jumped right into the deer pack, biting and dragging the scattered deers. Jackson shot a deer in the leg, and Ford shot another in the head. By the end of the brutal mess, the dogs had their paws covered in blood and there are more than twenty deers lying dead on the ground.

“Jesus Christ that was tense,” Ford remarked. Jackson lifted up the deers and stacked them on top of one another. “Your first time catching deers, boy?” he smirked. “Thank the Lord we didn’t have to starve ourselves more this week. Oh, the Governor’s gonna drown us in cash. Call the others, boy, het them horses to lift the mess here.”

He waited for another thirty minutes until the other five Marshals arrived to the river. They loaded the deers into their horses, and set back into the Bank where they kept their wagon. Jackson continued to walk along the river, and by the end of the day, the wagon was loaded with twenty-two deers, six fowls, seven turkeys, and one stray coyote. They lost four greyhounds to the coyote that day, and Jackson buried the dogs near the old McDonald’s outpost. “I won’t have them eaten by,” he said, “these dogs helped us catched the deers after all, and it’s the least we could do.”

He noticed several strange things about the outpost, however. There was fresh firewood there, as well as some burned logs – someorne had made a camp here. The Company lockbox in the kitchen is broken, and the leftover supplies are gone. Usually the Company kept several guns, ammo, oil, and a map of Missouri marked with Company seal in the lockbox, and only Company merchants have access to lockboxes scattered in every Company outposts. If a Company merchant is stuck in weather, got robbed, or fell into other problems, he could find the nearest outpost and resupply with it. Other Company merchants would refill the boxes if they found it empty. Jackson would too, if only the box hadn’t been torn open, leaving several axe marks on the wooden box.

“Shit… if anyone got here first, then he would’ve known the road to St. Louis and our other storehouses,” he remarked. “Where is the nearest settlement known to us?’

“I know a town down south in Maries County,” said a deputy. “Been there couple of times before, when I’m still following caravans. It’s about three weeks away from here by foot.”

Jackson stroked his beard. “You, and Ford there, you two will follow me into this town. See what they know or whether they send people up here. The rest of you,” he pointed at the remaining deputies, “bring the bounty back to Saint Louis, to Father Lumiere in the Cathedral Basilica. He and the other priests will take care of all Company hunting parties. Don’t expect your job to be over, though, you’ll be back here soon with another list to hunt. Oh, and ask Lumiere to send a company of Rangers – a dozen will suffice – and additional two Marshals for me. Man’s a bit busy with tending the greenhouses, though, so be careful.” He adjusted his hat and mounted his horse, followed by Ford and the other deputy. “God bless you, fellers.”

---

Company Report 2st Week of January

---

• Hunting parties from Franklin county, St. Charles county and Jefferson county returned with catches of deers, turkeys, fowls, and other animals. Outposts are estabilished in these counties and more hunting parties will be sent.
• Production of winter vegetables, such as kale, red cabbage, and parsleys in the greenhouse to be increased. Additionally, the harvest of carrots are postponed to make it grow larger and sweeter in the cold.
• Civillians now allowed to hunt in surrounding lands, with the restrictions put up in Company Reports 1st Week.
• Colonel Heinz Jackson, Jr. Deputy Elias Ford, three other Marshals and twelve Rangers to begin an expedition into Maries County (3 weeks)
• A cap of two deers or other animals of equal weight is placed on each household to hunt
• State Marshals sent to St. Charles, Franklin, and Jefferson counties to rebulid outposts (1 week)

[Nouveau Quebecois]

The City-State of New York

---

Commissioner, Edward J. Identity.

American Union State - New Kings Walking
North Highlands, New York
January 2223, Week II

---

Now the Rangers were accustomed to the fierce cold that froze the soil and sheered the deep English dirt, but never were they to depart on an expedition as against the weather like they would today. A daring platoon of 35 Rangers were divided into two squads of 15, formidably equipped to take on both weather and wanderer. The Commissioner stood atop his mounted steed, and "The Patriot" his own. They shared a nod as Identity locked his Winchester Rifle, and patted down his revolvers; a backup, and a backup to his backup. Next to him, Contingency Government Cartographer William trotted alongside, and pointed a carefully drawn map of the expeditions route. They yelled at each other between gear, hoping to drown out the frosty wind.

"Bright n' Early, Commissioner!"

"Bright n' Early, not 'cause we like it, only 'cause it ain't freezing yet!"

"Now once again sir, look-it-here. We'll be following Route Nine all the way North to Albany. It should take us about a week. As long as we follow the route, we can hunker down in the remnants of the many towns that border the Hudson."

The Cartographer paused, then yelled out louder, for the whole Platoon to hear.

"And should any of us get lost, they can follow the Hudson all the way back home!"

"Or all the way to Albany!"

---

---

The Rangers were always less strict on uniforms, but for the Albany Expedition, even less so. Wives knitted wool hats and gloves for the married, while the less fortunate had to source their own before departure. Only the bravest beloved and family bore the cold to see their young boys turned men depart. Women and brothers and women in coats waved handkerchiefs as the Rangers prepared to depart, while Sergeant Spencer kissed his girl's hand from horseback. She returned him a bottle of rum. Provided by the beloved Government were white sheets, with holes cut for hoods and sleeves. Never designed to keep out the cold, only acting as wind-breakers and camouflage, to moderate effect. A small upgrade but certainly needed should the Rangers come in contact with less hospitable wanderers, or worse, an Albany without room to spare.

"Now Commissioner, rumour in the ranks has it that Albany won't be as welcoming to Washington loyalists like ourselves" the Cartographer spoke, with more hushed a tone. "I trust yous' a plan should things go south."

Despite the name, the Contingency Government was no more loyal to a Washington that couldn't give orders then any other bandit clan, but it was upon themselves to act as such. As far as they knew, they were the successors to the American Union, and if Albany disliked that, then down with the traitors and up with the stars it so be.

"Don't you worry, William. We're prepared for anything."

"... Even from 'The Patriot'?" the Cartographer continued, as a Ranger finished tying their horses together.

'The Patriot' found himself leading a squad of Rangers, 13 plus a Chaplain and himself. While he found respect amongst most his comrades, it was no secret that they were wary of being ordered by foreign tongue, but the Commissioner was desperate to have the 'The Patriot' as integrated into the ranks as possible, mostly praying that the dog doesn't go bad.

"Don't worry about a thing, William. He respects us as much as we respect him."

The Commissioner reached into his satchel, pushed aside a flare gun, and pulled out a horn, waving away the Cartographer to fall into rank and file. He expanded his chest, and unleashed a tri-time blare.

"Rangers! Attention!"

Like a snap at the finger, Rangers unmounted bid their lovers a final kiss at jogged to their horses, those already prepped gave a wave before giving the Commissioner their full attention.

"Now listen 'ere! I know y'all are gonna be leaving a lot behind. Lovers, children, brothers, and luxuries, courtesy of the Gov'nor..." The small crowd present to bid their boys farewell fell silent as the Commissioner spoke, in a stern voice commanding respect.

"But I don't want none of you to worry a 'bout a thing!" He reached to his neighbouring Ranger, and grabbed his wooden M50 Reising, hoisting it up high.

"With the blessing of our brothers in the NYDF, we're well equipped to face any threat! Be in rain, snow, or bandit alike!"

The small platoon let out a small 'hurrah'.

"Now that we've set aside any bitching of bandits or the storm, I 'ere there's some rumours goin' around town about a bloody Albanian threat! As if they're opposed to integration under Governor Loveland!"

While the Platoon remained silent, it was the Civilian's turn to murmur and whisper.

"Now I'm here to set the record straight! If those New York so-called Empires aren't hardy to give us a warm welcome, and a oven-baked meal, I say 'pass the bloody ammunition' and keep 'em coming! We place our trust in Governor Loveland! And no bandit or wanderer, or mutant, nevermind a traitor, will break that trust!"

To mixed reception, the crowd responded, but to energetic applause met the Rangers.

"Washin’ton bombed our homeland! Communistic bandits slaughtered our people! But today, we may march North as traitors, but we will come home as New Yorkers!"

To much better reception, the crowd cheered. The Commissioner returned the Reising to it's owner, then let out a final scream.

"Rangers! Saddle UP!"

The Platoon mounted forwards as families pushed and shoved at a human wall set up by the New York Guard, mixed feelings to not be departing on such a captivating yet dangerous adventure.

"Ready! By the centre! Forwards, MARCH!"

The NYDF military band started playing from a stripped down instrumental, having to be adjusted for the cold outdoors. The anthem of New York wished the Rangers well as they departed, the expeditionary's singing along to the faithful tune, keeping in beat by the clopping of 30 or so horses plus the unmounted steeds at the rear brought as extra.

"... Should all our triumphs be forgot, the blood and sweat and toil!"

---

---

And just like that, the Rangers, the Commissioner, and The Patriot all disappeared behind a haze of snow and fog, supply cart in tow. Against the weather they headed north, with hearts so duty loyal. To Albany and back.

Summary:

• An expedition of 30 New York Rangers with special equipment depart North along the Hudson River to Albany. Expected arrival time is one week.
• Colonisation of Dutchess County, New York, has begun.
• Accompanying them, Walter 'The Patriot' Quincy.
• Surplus equipment gained from previous events are spent on troop movements.

[HypErcApitAl]

Roll of The Dice
Nevada
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223

Boatshire's private house.

"I get so tired of doing what I do, the speeches, generals, everything. It's good to be back home with you two." Boatshire said.

"Yeah, being Jackpot's a stressful job." Amelia, his first wife agreed.

"I swore an oath, got blessed and everything. It stresses me out protecting the Root." Boatshire replied.

"The Root?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah, Root Sixty-six. An ancient road that leads here, or just the Southern bits and pieces of Nevada." Boatshire replied.

Boatshire held Amelia's hand, and started to move further onto her arm.

"So... how'd you spend your time?" Boatshire asked.

"Reading, mainly, these ancient books." Amelia replied.

Erin, Stewart's second wife walked into the room.

"Oh, Stewart!" Erin groaned.

"It got lonely and boring without you!" She shouted.

"All Amelia did was read, read her old,dusted books. I did nothing but daydream and think." She continued.

"It gets boring when your children are out the house. It's been the three... or two of us for sometime, now." Stewart replied.

Stewart got up and kissed Erin.

"I'm sorry I've been busy, y'all. I swear, this nation would eat me alive ." He told them.

"It's either you or that guy that ran against you sometime ago. I think The Roll would rather you than him as Jackpot." Erin replied.

"I don't think 'that guy' did any well with women! You, Stewart, on the other hand, are a ladykiller!" Amelia cheered.

"Exact-a-tact-ly. I forgot that." Stewart laughed.

Some time passed.

"Well,that was good. After my term's over, I'll just hang Politicking up and spend some more time with you two." Stewart said.

"You might get re-elected. I didn't check the approval ratings, but it seems like the entire Roll likes you ." Erin replied.

"You might need to stay Jackpot for awhile, sweetie. I heard stories, possibly a rumor of a country in the far-east that collapsed." Amelia told.

Boatshire laughed.

"Yeah, I clearly don't want that to happen to us. Or getting besieged by those... to the North." Boatshire said with a pinch of Anxiety in his voice.

"Well, I should pour you somethin' to drink." Erin replied.

Erin walked out of the room and returned with a glass of wine in her hand. Erin walked over and gave it to her husband, Stewart, who sat down with one arm 'round Amelia. Stewart grabbed it, and chugged.

"Like you said earlier, the book thing. I should finesse you s'more books. If that-" He interrupted himself with a burst of hearty laughter.

"If the diplomacy and exploration thing works out, which I think it might, because-" He hiccuped.

"I'm sorry. I just haven't had a good drink o' Wine in awhile." Stewart managed to say.

Erin and Amelia laughed.

"Oh, so your liquor tolerance's low? We'll boost that back up, don't worry 'bout it." Amelia told him confidently.

"I don't even smoke, but since we're enjoying ourselves, right now..." Erin opened up a cigar box.

She grabbed a cigar, and a lighter, and lit it. She began smoking.

"In times like this, I guess we could lower our standards a bit. We have these standards because we're a city-state, not a tribe like the Iroquois or Sioux. We're civilized." Stewart said, sniffing Amelia.

"Spoken like a politician." Erin laughed at herself.

"Some people take our faith too far, and that goes against the Gambler and the Church's teachings, as our system isn't a system of 'living life dangerously and recklessly' because we're Lucky, or favored amongst Fate and Fortune. Our system's a system of carefulness, of intrigue. I remember reading about this sect of an ancient faith that was obsessed with Snakes and Poisons, and would allow themselves to get bitten by said snakes so that they'd somehow gain an 'immunity' from it." Stewart would monologue.

"I'm gonna getcha another Glass." Amelia noted.

She walked out of the room, and then came back with another full glass of Wine.

"This , right here, is what happens when you marry into Royalty, or Power." Erin joked.

She took another whiff of the cigar, blowing the smoke around her.

Amelia handed him the glass. Stewart'd drink again, but not glug it down because he didn't want to get a blowback.

"I think one of many reasons why the past civilization fell, was because they didn't write, or chronicle down things. I remember reading a book about 'the Internet' and how it supposedly 'changed the world,' yeah, it 'changed the world,' but it made the world dependent on this system, instead of just, drawing or reading a book. Also, imagine the disconnect when their civilization fell and became what it is, now." Stewart continued to profess on-and-on.

Erin played with the lighter, though put the cigar down.

"I heard there's this one country, somewhere, that worships Fire .' Erin said, trying to stop herself from laughing.

"Sounds like something the Ancients did long, long ago, in what they called 'Prehistory,' and the 'Stone Age.'" Amelia said, laughing and making fun.

Erin stopped playing, and continued smoking.

"That reminds us to not get bound up in our faith." Amelia said.

"Correct, so we don't share the same accursed fate as our ancestors' ancestors." Stewart agreed.

Mechanics: Relaxation, Introspection and Discussion, or thinking-back on the Past and other cultures/societies/civilizations. Satire and Comedy expanded. Free-thinking grows in RoTD. Skilltree: All day work makes a boy lame: RoTD's HoS (Head of State) entered a period of Rest and Enjoyment. Booklarnin': Continued emphasis on Education and Civility, not just Warfare and Violence/Aggression.

[Vacif]

STC Pathfinders, 7th Element
Captain Conroy Stroud
Modesto, California
January 6th, 2223
Turn 2

---

Captain Stroud watched his breath condensate as 7th Element rode through the snow. His team shivered under their layered wraps. The good news was, the snow was actually lighter than it was back in Santa Clara because Modesto was nestled between mountains. The bad news was, because few, if any, people still lived there, there was a distinct lack of maintenance and infrastructure. Santa Clara had a decent population, and in the inhabited areas, the roads were maintained and shoveled, they had working trains, power, water. It only took a few hours to travel across Santa Clara County. The road out of Santa Clara were well maintained too because caravans often traveled the 130 and 152. Though due to the movement freeze, all non-essential travel and work was being limited. There wouldn't be many people traveling the roads in the snow, and the company didn't want to waste energy (and by extension food) on something that wouldn't be used, so a decent bit of snow had accumulated on the roads on the edge of their territory. Once you passed the OHV sign on the 130 though, it was all unmaintained earth. The asphalt roads long since degrading.

Due to the rationing and movement restrictions, 7th Element did not get a send off party. However to compensate for it, the team was given a larger desert ration. It was a small consolation but it was the best they could afford. Hopefully their deployment would provide them some arable land or at the very least more food resources. Soldiers weren't being expected to do much heavy lifting due to the current weather effects and the intimidation on the part of their new air raider friends so their rations had been cut by approximately 1750 kCals. Quite drastic, but who needs breakfast and a large lunch? Just have a supper and a snack. Only the essential heavy lifters were getting full rations, and that was because their work absolutely demanded it, they weren't any slackers there. Even the Pathfinders who were out on missions like them were going to receive slimmed down reconnaissance rations.

People were going to get hungry, but no one would starve.

"Hey Captain, you there?" A voice called out behind Conroy. It was Sonny, the team medic. Conroy just grunted. "We were wondering what the Company had planned for the festival."

Conroy scrunched his eyebrows together. "Festival? We're on rationing, and limited movement, nothing that isn't essential is going to fly."

"Well if you were paying attention to the conversation, Cleo has a contact in upper management. Apparently the company is going to host some kind of event to distract people from how hungry they are. Irving thinks they're going to play movies for free at central, Monty thinks it's a concert. No clue on if food will be available but I can appreciate the idea of keeping people happy. It's a critical component to health and survival." said the medic.

"Well... that doesn't sound as stupid as you opened up with. What do you think Sonny?"

"Uhhh fu-fire works. Simple, easy, everyone stays at home and watches from their home. It's not like we can eat them so no one can give us shit for it and we're not dragging people out into the cold for entertainment with no food."

"Or this festival could just be a rumour made up to get people thinking of something that will never come instead of focusing on their hunger." Casper said dryly from the wagon.

"Ever the pragmatist aren't you Casper?" laughed Irving. "But knowing the current Super, I wouldn't be surprised. Get what you want without the price."

7th Element traveled forth in a loose formation. They had three horses in a wedge formation traveling ahead of the wagon which was being pulled by another two horses. Cleo, the Radiowoman, Sonny the Medic, and Casper the horse driver/mechanic sat in the wagon in the back while Captain Stroud, Irving the B&E Specialist, and Monty the Generalist took up the front. Once they hit the ruins of Patterson, their Geiger counters started to crackle.

"Oh mother fucker! Really?" Exclaimed Irving, as he checked his counter. It was light, detectable, but not harmful. The sheer amount of layers would probably protect them.

"Relax! It's just trace radiation being blown down south from Modesto. If it were serious, we'd probably be seeing radiation counters go off back at base." Sonny called out. With this reassurance the team continued to approach from the south.

200 years since society ate the proverbial bullet. Modesto was, for the most part, overgrown suburbs, an absolute MOUT Hell where maps couldn't be relied upon, trees, corn stalks, and all manner of wild plants had since overtaken streets, lamposts and buildings. A majority of the housing had been eaten by the flora. Leaving a rather heavily clustered trio of locations in the city. In South Modesto, this was an area around a few warehouses, grocers, and a bottling plant.

The first real building spotted by the team was a rather long, metal sided longhouse of sorts. A shutter door sat bulging inwards at the growth of a tree. This tree provides enough of a space in the door to enter the building. The team entered to the smell of a dank and dusty room. No bodies to be seen, but the rank smell of oil filling their nostrils. A massive red stain had taken up a good quarter of the shop they now entered, everything hydraulically powered now either rusted in place or in it's neutral most position. What at one point would've been performance vehicles lay on a lift, since collapsed back to the ground. Mass collections of almost untouched tools lay in various tool kits and racks across the shop. Machine tools being lined up against a wall. If brought back to life, they'd give enough of a push to start an industry if they could be supplied with power and stock. Casper looked like he was in heaven as he ogled every ounce of the room. The rest of 7th Element watched on in amusement as their usually stoic and tough mechanic fangirled over some metal bits and bops. Out back was a scrapyard, full of old cars, engines, and more. None of them worked but could probably be studied in depth.

While Casper peaked through every cabinet and box, Stroud and Cleo went outside to call in their find. <<"TOC, this is 7th Element, we're tagging a scrapyard/machine shop in South Modesto. It doesn't have any food but there are lots of useful tools and machines for study. Over.">>

<<"This is TOC, we copy. Not what we were looking for but a good find none the less. Proceed with your mission, TOC out.">>

"Alright! Pack it up, we're moving! Cleo, Irving, you're with me! We're headed to the Grocers. and Plumbing supplies store. Sonny, Casper, Monty, you're team spotted the office, and second Grocer. You guys are on it. We'll meet up at bottling plant." Captain Stroud ordered. To Casper's credit, he snapped out of his fangirling and returned to work. Captain Stroud's team took the horses while Sonny's group took the Wagon.

The Contractor's office was largely empty, sans a couple of construction diggers parked out front. While the hydraulics and electronics to the diggers had long since faded away into dust, the machines could potentially be fully repaired, even if one had to cannibalize them both. Like back in the machine shop, Casper was all over the ancient machines. He wasn't sure how they were going to bring it back to base, or how they were going to fuel it, but it was an interesting find that they'd tag for later.

The Grocer was in a sad state of disrepair. The ungodly smell of rotting plant matter wafting out from the doors the instant the team entered. Sludge coated nearly every wall, as vines, roots and fungus seem to occupy every space available. In the scant few places where sunlight had breached the ceiling, genuine plants grew to be harvested. In one corner, under neath nearly four square meters of open roof, a plant with what looks like red fruit sprouting has taken hold. Wracking his brain, the Captain comes up with a name "Strawberries!"

"Bravo Captain! Think we can salvage any of this other stuff?" asked Cleo.

"I'm not a botanist, but this is more than enough to justify coming out here. Fruit in this weather? Hell yeah!" Declared Irving.

"Alright, I'm going to call this in. Try not to touch those fungus, we don't know if they're edible or even safe."

Stepping outside with Cleo, Captain Stroud spoke into the radio. <<"TOC, this is 7th Element, we're at the first Grocer, place is humid as a green house and smells pretty putrid, but we've got Strawberries growing here. We've also got unknown plant life growing all over the store. Over.">>

<<"This is TOC, we copy. Great find! We'll mobalize some of the agriculture team immediately, TOC out.">>

After marking the Contractor Office, Sonny's team proceeded to the other Grocer. Much like the previous, the other grocer was in a sorry state of disrepair. However, unlike the previous, there was nothing to be seen within. It appeared that all the food was swiftly and meticulously cleaned off the shelves before the end of days. All that remained were some notably aged cases of alcohol nobody wanted, decayed toiler paper, and a fuck load of PEZ dispensers. Sonny was pretty sure the 200 year old candy wasn't good to eat but the 200 year old wine would probably still be good. Enough to warrant tagging the building to him at least. Sonny tagged the building for luxury goods, and moved onto his team's next search area.

The Plumbing supplies store was in better shape, no one after the end had much planned in terms of home renovation. Almost all of the metal that was here when the world ended remains. Ranging from stainless steel, to copper, all the way to PVC. Specific tools like pipe cutters, heat guns, and tar wrap however, were nowhere to be found. In the backroom, a man sat leaned against the wall with a corroded shotgun wedged between his foot and mouth, a large divot on the wall behind him spelling a picture, even if the obliterated skull didn't. Stroud was genuinely surprised no one had looted the building. Anyone in the city still alive trying to maintain some kind of settlement surely would have come by in the last 200 years. But there was the very real possibility that no one was still here. There were enough vines in the city to cover any would be bodies. Again this was more material they couldn't eat, but with the cold weather, they would probably need these pipes for the winter. Stroud called in the plumbing supplies before moving on to meet the rest of his team at the Bottling Plant.

After a bit of time, the two groups eventually regrouped. The bottling plants was pretty fucked up. It seemed like production was stopped mid process, and as such it smelled grossly like old sugar. Sugar probably crystallizing over time. A large amount of already bottled sodas remained in alright condition, wrapped in clingwrap and on pallets, ranging from Barqs, to Coke, to Brisk. Most of the machinery may not be able to be fixed, but at the very least it could be studied. "Anyone want some 200 year old soda?" asked Irving.

"I'll pass. Don't know how good 200 year old sugar is, let's leave it to the food guys back home." Replied Sonny.

"Let's rest here for the night, it's been a long day and we've still got two more clusters of city." Stated Captain Stroud. "Rest up, eat up, Casper get on feeding the horses."

There was no objection as the team set up camp in the office section of the plant as it did not smell like crstalized sugar. Captain Stroud radioed in Team Two's findings once they'd regrouped and informed them that they'd be resting until sun up. After that the Pathfinders happily opened up their recon dinner ration. It was mostly corn, peas, rice and ground turkey. One Pathfinder had an older spaghetti ration, while another had Chicken Stew. The Pathfinders slept in turns for the night. Team two had taken the first watch. In the morning, the team skipped breakfast and satled up and headed to the East end of the city. On the way informing command on their journey plan.

In the East, there was an airport. A crashed C-130 lay in the run way, within was a bunch of fucked up ammo pallets, and a metal fabricator containing a shit load of steels of varying types. There was hope that the C-130 had MREs, but the old world bullets were still properly packaged. The pallets themselves were ruined, and ammo boxes lay scattered around the interior, the seals on all the ammunition in the boxes they checked were still surprisingly intact. They weren't sure how they'd hold up firing 200 years later, but the team again called headquarters. They had a number of old world weapons laying around and if this ammunition could be salvaged, they now had a lot of firepower. This was the armoury tech's job now. Headquarters confirmed the location of the assets, and ordered the team to move onto their final objective in the north. The Hospital.

The North was MOUT hell, at the far end the only location of note was a hospital, within was a recently deceased man in a closet, looking like he'd suffered a pretty brutal mauling, and a single dose of Gene Therapy, labeled CD4+. Sonny's heart almost stopped as he investigated the fresh corpse. The man had been dead for about 18 hours from his analysis. Piecing the scene together, Sonny hypothesized the man was looking for something, likely medicine in the old hospital. The man's wounds had congealed, meaning they had clotted. but they also curiously had pus in them. The team laid the man down and draped one of the bed sheets in the hospital over his body, and put the Gene Therapy in a secure padded case for fragile valuables. Proceeding with their mission the team swept and cleared the entire hospital but found little value there. Sure they could have someone sent over to tear apart all the old electronics in the building but in the current conditions, that was not a priority.

<<TOC, this is 7th Element, Hospital was a bust, nothing much of value there that we don't already have. Tier 4 salvage. All objectives have been searched, over.">>

<<"Copy that team, proceed back to the first Grocer with the plant life, and hold that position until the salvage teams get there. Good work out there Captain. TOC out.">>

With their objectives completed, the 7th Element Pathfinders spent the rest of the afternoon trekking back to the store and holding that position with little interaction.

---

Turn 2 Action Report

• Light Salvage Team Deployed, Recovery ETA 1 Week
• Heavy Salvage Team Deployed, Recovery ETA 2 Weeks
• Potential growing area discovered
• Gene Therapy Acquired
• Hunger Distractions in Planning
• Food preservation and rationing education workshop now open to general public and company personnell

[Anowa]

Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, Knights Hospitaller

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 13th
Poncho Springs, Guard Barracks

News from the south was that the settlements scattered at the head of the San Luis valley was that they were a bit opposed to the integration, but so far had no real issues with a larger entity providing protection and necessities. Few of them had much opposition to actual doctors and educators, and they had previously established connections with the missionaries and priests operating in the area. All except for the settlement of Saguache, the town had settled to become a stick in the mud. Surprisingly, it had remained almost unchanged in the past 200 years, it's homes still stood, it's school still operated, and it's people still farmed. It had always been expected that the town would be wary of outsiders, after all, in the past the townsfolk had been at least receptive to Order personnel travelling through the town.

This time however they had gone too far.

Harling wasn't too enthused about the fact a duo of Guardsmen now lay on cots from wild bullet wounds. One of them was to the thigh, fracturing his femur and basically ending his career. The other was luckier, in a sense. The bullet had hit him in the head, fractured his skull and deflected under the skin, wrapping around and popping out near his temple. His was unconscious and likely had brain damage, but he was apparently coherent earlier. If all went well he'd be up and moving in a few days and back on duty in a month.

However, that wasn't the issue at hand, but rather what to do with the town. Having a hostile pocket inside their own territory wasn't good, and if they simply shot someone on sight, it wasn't exactly a sign they could be talked with. Unless there was an overwhelming show of force, but that wasn't quite the Order's way. For the most part at least.

Harling turned to his left, beside him stood the unequivocally miserable form of Commander Daemon Xenou, the name was apt. His red varnished patrol armor gave a notable crimson visage to both him and his cabal of the Hospitaller. The Cabal of the Damned. It's membership was composed solely of those who believed they had committed atrocities so horrendous that they were irredeemable, no matter what the clergy said. They performed missions and operations that were deemed unsavory to the rest of the Hospitaller. The Cabal accepted these missions, because they already saw themselves as having lost their souls, and so could do nothing to make their torment worse, and if it somehow redeemed them, it was worth doing.

The Commander's hair was unkempt, his beard, was knotted and untouched, he had bags around his eyes and smelled of acid and decay. He had killed many during the Raider-Wars. He was in charge of clearing the west of bandit clans, raider groups, and surveying settlements to bring into the fold... from a distance of course. He was also the only user of flamethrowers in the whole of the Order. All other commanders in the Hospitaller thought they were too damned cruel, and the Guard didn't like them because of their risks and training needed to safely operate them.

They were a last resort in this situation, they would remain in the area for the time being however, as a few more attempts at conversing with the town of Saguache would be attempted. The primary reason Harling was down here however was to deliver orders for a Guard Company to head east into the former Fremont County to recon on the number of prisons in the area and hopefully bring news as to whether they were occupied or not. Harling had his work cut out for him it seemed.

Summary of Events:
Jan, Week 1:

- Wind Walker Free Hold (Tribe) begin vassalisation under the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem. (11 Months, 3 Weeks Remaining)
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Realm of North Texas (Arrival in 5 weeks).
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Soarin' Museum (Arrival in 5 Weeks).
- Platoon of the Knights Hospitaller has been dispatched to Denver County to begin clean-up processes (Arrival in 1 Weeks).

Jan, Week 2:

- Missionary Party dispatched to Integrate Saguache County, CO (4 Weeks Remaining).
- Platoon of Knights Hospitaller dispatched to deliver 'spare' rations to Aspen.
- Cabal of the Damned dispatched to monitor for dissidents in Seguache County
- A Company of Guard are dispatched to recon FCC Florence and East Cañon Prison Complex in Fremont County (1 Week)

[Ralnis]

The Queen's Love,
Week 2

The airship lowers back down in the center of their impromptu strip. The former picturesque neighborhood of Monterrey. It had the upper-class condos and mansions of those who would've been the rich and famous now are nothing but ghost stories of forgotten people. The skyscraper-sized airship touched down in the now icy dock as the landing gear touched down and the balancers had lowered itself. A man with peppered hair and some useful look walked with a limp by his brace outside of his room.

"We've touched down back home Captain," the helmsmen signaled off.

"Good, Her Majesty is back home." Just as he said that the metal was groaning because of the change of pressure.

"I'll say Captain," the helmsmen laughed.

The Captain saw the snow that fell on the window as they tried to put the big behemoth of an airship to rest. The airship still groans some more with the pressure still changing in the metal barge. He looked at the sight of the ruined neighborhood and gave a sigh. He always wanted to see what the world was before the Collapse but he looked to one of the control.

"Pressure balance set to resting Captain." The controlman said.

"Set all rooms to green, get people out of the rooms and cabins."

"Aye Captain!" The controlman saluted.

A loud, buzzing sound was heard throughout the ship and various green lights turned from the red ones. From throughout the ship people opened sliding doors and going about their daily lives. From the various communications the Captain's voice could be heard.

"This is your Captain speaking. We are back home on our landing strip from a successful task of putting some dogs in line. Because of our threatening presence and of Her Majesty, not a single bullet was fired and no one had died!"

Cheers could be heard throughout the ship as the voice continued.

"Because of this success, we have enough food and fuel to keep the Queen and her Children running for a month before we have to go out again. However, we must keep up the strict rationing of food as the winter is still upon us. With the sight of the cold biting us and the poor regions still being very poor. But that is not the point anymore. Before I sign off and give with this morning's announcements, I wish to have the rest of the Council members to come to the Room within five minutes."

As the noise of the morning announcements the Captain made his move to the Council Room. Throughout the way he saw the various books and maps of the Wasteland that were either made by their hands, scavenged or recovered in ruins. For raiders, the need for education was equal to their thirst for resources. The amount of people who can read and can even repair ships and guns was surprising to those who first meet the Children.

The common bandit was an illiterate who only took from those who are more successful at thriving in the Wastes. The Children were no different but they saw themselves hire than the common clans. Those like the San Benito or Kern county bandits was the basic definition of the bandit clan. They cared nothing for the preservation of the Wasteland or to try and improve their Clan. They are one built on survival and nothing more.

The Captain, like many others of the Queen Love, looked down upon that idea of the bandit clan. They used to be more than this, they are more than this. Their history was marked in books and song, a time beyond when they used to paint their history on scrap metal before they could read and write. This was but a small step to their ambition that they wanted to take over the Midwest, becoming the Khanate of the sky. That was the history of their people but it was nothing but a myth since it happened around thirty years ago.

The maim Captain sat down and read the ruined books that was among those that the Children's scribes couldn't entirely recover for them. The Council were five in total. The Seneschal, Head Engineer, Head Scribe, Quartermaster, and Spymaster. They all were not a court but were also the main power behind the Queen Love. This was the same for every Captain that had gained power through vote via the Council of Families. They held all the power through their court leaders and those assigned to the Captain's Council.

As they sat down in the scavenged leather chairs. They had been able to repair it from their other parts but it still look like a Post-Collapsed product. From here they sat around a round table with the flag of the Queen Love. Something that the people of the ground like to call them Air Raiders or an Air Pirate Flag. It did come from the days of yore for when the bandit clan were clans and the Midwestern Skies were theirs.

" I have called this meeting because of the situation of our food supply." The Captain started.

"Yes, the winter is very dangerous to our food stockpiles. We have adopted the bandit clan forcing tribute to us but I still believe we are lacking in suitable storage and even hydroponics." The Quartermaster said.

"Ahh yes, we've been trying to get some grow boxes and an irrigation system running through the ship's water storage. It has been an ongoing project but without the materials that could be scavenged from the area around us then we are going to be raiding for scraps for some time."

"We still have to raid for these coming months won't be pretty," the Seneschal said," I mean we always have to raid, since there's more fighters than farmers here and most people just eat what they can take. It's not a problem honestly, but many bandit clans do more than just raid and extort from the people."

"Like drug production and slaving? I mean Kern county comes to mind." The Quartermaster raised his eyebrow.

"Of course Kern comes to mind. They are drug producers, smugglers, and raiders over there." The Spymaster rebutted.

"They also are in the same dire straits as we are and the rest of the state. This winter has made every raider around here desperate for food and just because we have had a successful raid doesn't mean we can sit idly by and have someone try to raid us back. Kern could try to attack the Aztec people south of them or they could try their hand at attacking the raiders with a flying fortress. Either way it will go to the idea that we will have to do something about them soon." The Captain noted.

" Is there anyway to ally with them? Is there anyway that we can join forces without us having to raid one another?" The Scribe asked.

"Not with the winter being this bad. Even still raiders don't tend to have lasting alliances." The Head Scout shakes his head.

"Captain, I advise you to not think about allying with anyone of the clans. We, especially us, have the most experience that we can't just have any long-lasting alliance with any of the bandit clans. You both know that a raider only respects strength, no matter the clan's government. This is true for us as well. We may have a democracy but even we know that we are raiders of a different stripe. We need strong leaders and that's what holds this Children together." The Spymaster explains.

After a while, the Captain just sits back and sighs," you're right. However we can't just rely on brute force forever but until this winter is over with. Paint the target on Kern and then one on the Aztecs. We will hit them for the Febuarary and the March months respectively. We will force the Kern bandits into submission and raid the Aztecs since they wouldn't be expecting a giant airship full of raiders who know what they are doing."

With that agreed they went on to the next important piece of the business, the airship. The airship would be needing to become more capable of doing bombing attacks. Though some wanted to upgrade the airship's own engine power, mostly since steam engines aren't that powerful compared to the combustion engines of myth. The Head Scout believed that it would be best to perhaps scout out the infected zones and see what is intact for them to scavenge and restore for the Queen Love.

One region that was near them was Santa Barbra. Two weeks a way and already have been retaken by the infection that collapsed the world. Muties run wild among the nature-taken ruins but the Head Scout was adamant that a band of raiders using the airship could be beneficial so they could have access to their home in case of any problems.

The main problem of that was the Queen Love was bigger than any airship in the Wasteland and can't go into anywhere that has the big tower building ruins. Yet the cartographers that were underneath the Head Scout made motion of that Santa Barbra was a coastal city much, much less expansive that the danger zone that was known as San Francisco. Even still, the idea to burn their fuel on a two week chase to find ancient technology or whatever goodies that would seem to be nothing but a crapshoot and a waste of already dwindling resources.

So the Head Scout decided to send a party of 50 raiders with supplies to go scout out that area and see what they can scavenge. The Captain expected that it would be more of a fight to try and secure only one bit of useless scrap that wasn't worth the cost. However there are stories.

The last part was to send a runner to Sunnyvale about their success. The trading company owed them supplies and discounts and they haven't had the time to send a runner to cash in their success. If not then the Children and Sunnyvale knew what may happen. Not just that but the Captain could actually pull San Benito and his dogs to come pick clean the bones of Sunnyvale and rope them into a tribute like what they did to the kingpin in the hills.

However the Captain didn't want to do such a thing. He knew that the Queen Love needed more allies that would actually work with them instead of for them. Sunnyvale was making new things and perhaps the Captain could strike a deal for some of this technology to help them upgrade their ship so that the Queen Love didn't need to rely on just raiding and extortion. It would be a large jump from paying off raiders, to working with them but it would be a desirable goal.

A runner was sent anyway to establish some more concrete relations while telling them of their success to get their end of the deal. In the mean time the workers started to scavenge around Monterrey and started to upgrade their home by putting the idea of a "flying garden", a ship-based farm based on irrigation piping from their water tanks. It was something they already have but to make it more like a garden and less of a potted plant assortment. It was worth the upgrade if they were to try and survive the winter and the aftermath beyond just raiding and extortion.

Summary of Events!

50 raiders go scout down to Santa Barbra and scavenge what they could find from the mutant-infested ruins(2 weeks)
A runner sent to Sunnyvale telling them about their success and trying to establish something more concrete, like an alliance and a deal on getting better tech
Airship is getting upgraded with a inship hydroculture farm so stave off food shortage better and have food year round. Materials being stripped from the ruins of Moterrery.

[Anowa]

ANNO DOMINI 2223

WEEK THREE | JANUARY

NEW EVENTS

Ghost Town

A voyage sent north up a frozen river, men and women made of cold steel and prepared to fight for their home. Their first destination giving no other indication of life beyond a pillar of smoke, arrival was met with neither greetings nor resistance, only the smell of death. The only sound of life being the wind, showing that despite everything, mother earth still stirred. There was no one home, no signs of battle and nothing to indicate there was any civil strife. The center of town had shown where everyone went.

A pile of burnt, congealed corpses stacked almost 30 feet high sat dead center of the square, somewhere deep within the pile a fire still stirred, drenching the town in an oily, black haze. In the distance, more columns of smoke in nearly every direction, the thickest plum, and likely most recent, came from the old city of Albany.

One has to wonder if the crazed man on a soap-box had a point.

This event is the resolution of an event chain, and may impact further chances of other event chains.
Affected Factions:New York City Contingency Government

---

Actions: A war party is sent to attack, raid, and possible subjugate the northwestern enclave bordering Chicago.

The city of Gary was once a thriving and industrious haven for the blue collar worker, that was before even the collapse. A history long since lost to it's denizens, Gary, Indiana had looked like the decrepit and decaying shithole since the 1970s. With an absolutely stunning crime rate, the city hemorrhaged people like an infected sore hemorrhaged pus.It had been 200 years since, and it didn't look any different. The streets were surprisingly far from quiet. Beyond the sounds of people residing in the brutalist structures of concrete and metal, distant gunshots and screams of help rang out.

A thick layer of snow coated everything, rubble from buildings long since collapsed filling the streets.

There was furious yelling near the edge of what was once Gary's industrial district, an obvious disagreement had arisen over what looked to be a deal of some kind. Two groups of people seemed to now be in a yelling match over the contents of a crate. All of the dozen or so individuals were obviously armed, if not with pipe weapons, than with improvised clubs and knives. The few surrounding buildings had people peering out of the windows to watch the event with a morbid interest, some of the spectators themselves were armed, perhaps waiting to pick a side, or perhaps to pick off what remained if it came to blows.

[HypErcApitAl]

Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223
Nevada




Boatshire's meeting w/ generals

"We keep surviving, but for Lady Luck-knows how long?" Boatshire asked.

"I know. I can clearly tell this 'survival' thing has been irking you." A.B. Simmons responded.

"I chilled with my wives, but this is still irksome. As-long-as my country's at-risk, I won't stop." Boatshire replied.

"Then what should we do?" A.B. Simmons responded.

"Catapults. Trebuckets. Our borders. Get some men, and seal up our borders. As-far as I'm concerned, we might not last 'til March, but we have to keep pushing. We have to keep trying. I will always be there to defend and protect my people and other likeminded individuals and nations. They've elected me, so why not?" Boatshire said.

"This is Vegas, for God sakes. We'll survive. We're blessed. We have the Gambler with us." Armoine stated.

"I know, but who the fuck knows what they're planning in California? Those Westerners are crazy, and even those idiots to our North, what with the snakes and the desertion." Boatshire worried.

"The Partisans have been exercising and working their asses off, I think we've got this, sir." A.B. Simmons tried to calm him down.

"I'd like to think so, Simmons." Boatshire replied.

"I mean, for God sakes, we're 'The Battleborne State,' or that's what this region was referred to in the Past." Armoine told them.

"Yes, I'd like to think that we've inherited that status and not those godawful Northerners." Boatshire said, matter-of-factly.

"Look, I'm not itching for War. I'm not a Warmongering Jackpot, but I have to do what I have to do to ensure The Roll and its Faith's survival. Those troops and missionaries that we sent East, they're probably dead. Knowing what's around us, they're all probably savages." Boatshire angrily stated.

"If we die, we die as warriors. As fighters. I'd like to believe that we'd rest in our Goddess's bosom when we pass away, sir." Armoine stated frankly.

"Hopefully so. This plane is cursed. These peoples were thrown-away. Discarded. Trashed. And now, what, those descendants of their ancestors are now bottomfeeders. We had to kill them, years ago. We don't take-in Raider or Thief scum. If you don't work, you don't eat. " Boatshire responded, still angered about the situation-at-hand.

"I guess." Armoine said, nonchalantly.

"Yeah, we're nowhere near Spring, but Spring's a sign-of-change. Anything could happen in that season. Countries could collapse, even." A.B. Simmons said.

"We're not going to change, men. We'll stay the same way as we formed, way earlier in our Proud Nation's history. I just know I don't want to be a footnote when all of this is finally said-and-done." Boatshire replied.

"What happened to you?" Armoine asked.

"Being a Jackpotter happened to me. I know I'm not all cheerful and shit, anymore, but this is a crisis. I'm being honest here. I'm making these moves so that The Roll won't be a distant thought. We might not become an empire, but I believe in us." Boatshire said, sighing.

Mechanics: Vigilance now becomes 'State of Preparedness,' BoTD adds more protection to their borders and increases lookouts. More Trebuckets and Catapults are built.


Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223


Jackpot Stewart Boatshire's speech to the People

"I have Faith. Faith that we'll make it out of the Storm. Faith in us, in our survival, in our Gambler. This mighty nation will, one day, unite this glorious region of Nevada. We will cleanse Nevada of all of the Sin and Unluckiness in it. You elected me for that purpose. A Greater Las Vegas, I believe in. I believe in preserving and protecting all Dicerollers, male and female. I believe in us all. You have never forsaken me, the Gambler, or Lady Luck, and I will never do the same. I would never lose my faith in Democracy or the People that elected me. Me being a Jackpotter was at your hands. The people's decision, but guided by our Church. Guided by our Goddess above, as she holds our hands. Fate, Destiny, and Fortune are ours and those who choose to believe, wash themselves from their unluckiness and their horrible fates."

The citizens cheered.

"Hoist the Red and Black! Hold it tightly! Keep it from falling to the ground! Lady Luck, herself, shall kiss it! It is ours. Glory is ours, and our allies. However, we don't have allies yet, but that's not beyond us. That's not beyond my doing. We, the People, the Dicerollers and the Faithful, have established a beautiful nation. Unions have fell, and fallen in the past, but, this isn't a Union. This is a creation. A creation of our forefathers who formed this country and its Faith. When they found Lady Luck, they were reborn. Hopefully, all of the Silver State can be reborn, too. We were Silver in the past, but we are a phoenix. We are Red. We are Orange. We are Black. We have risen out of the Ash. Yes, we were an ashen people. We were a simple tribe, at that time, but now, we are a mighty city-state filled to the brim with mighty peoples."

The citizens continued cheering and clapping. Some shouted out Nationalistic slogans.

One of Boatshire's aides gave him a cup, and he'd then drink from the cup before returning to the speech.

"You should be proud, 'cause, look, I'm proud." He laughed, before returning.

"I'm proud of the place I grew-up in. I'm proud of this country, proud of being a Jackpotter. The title of Jackpot was held by four others. It's a highly-esteemed title. I've read so much about Las Vegas. I've read so much about Nevada, and what it was before now. The Roll of The Dice isn't its Faith, but its people. As long as we are Dicerollers, we will always belong to the Roll. And, The Roll, with us. For, we are a mighty nation, and a mighty nation has to have a mighty face. A mighty leader. And I'm glad that you chose me. You blessed me. You elected me. You cheered for me, my policies and politics."

The crowd roared. He paused, taking another drink. The crowd made even more noise and more Diceroller Nationalists cried out, and waved flags.

"Men on soapboxes and stages will NEVER divide this country! We stand united! We are The Roll of The Dice, and we're proud of it!" One girl, perhaps the nationalistic young girl from a week or two ago, cried out.

Jackpot Boatshire laughed a hearty laugh, before returning to his speech.

"Yes, I don't think our lovely girls and ladies would ever, ever say a fearmongering thing about this Country and its fate. We stand strong against the enemies of the Diceroll Church! Against the enemies of The Roll! We stand strong against enemies, far and wide. The many in Vegas are now one. I'm saying all this, because we should love our country. We should respect it, as Lady Luck and the Faith respect it. Take pride. Take a stand. Have a lust for this nation, for she will have a lust for you, too. We are the Reds. The Crimsons. We are the Rubies. Our First Jackpot, Alex Waters birthed this nation, but I, the fifth, shall birth pride in it. Nationalism and the name "Stewart Boatshire" shall be one-in-the-same! We've survived the Sand and we'll survive the Snow, too! Amelia Edson, a proud woman. She shall be remembered throughout History and Future, and Time Incarnate shall scream her name. The second Jackpot of all four past Jackpotters. James and Edward were brave men. I don't want to be remembered. I want only the first four to be the most revered. Yes, there's many reasons, but I don't want it. My payback is your smiles and cheers at the end-of-the-day. My payback's when my wives kiss me, and the knowledge of my legacy. However, my legacy shall be a silent one. I am spending my time as a Jackpotter honoring our past. Honoring this nation's past. This faith's past. Our Gambler's past. I could rave on about myself, but, I don't want to. The proof's in the pudding, of what I've done, and will do before my time as Jackpot, my term, expires."

The crowd began to crescendo, and then decrescendo.

Stewart's second wife, Erin would laugh, and Stewart would walk away and let her say what she had to say.

"Yes, that's my husband. He's so humble. At home, Amelia and I love him so much, we almost suffocate him in our love. Hopefully, you look past all his mistakes that he makes, or will ever make, and will just see him. Just him and his personality. We're happy to be 'Ms. Stewart Boatshire.' " She said, then walking away and sitting back down.

"Quietness." Stewart said.

The crowd would laugh.

"I wish they weren't so quiet in-public, y'know. At-home, they're chatty cats. They love talking, but I guess that's because there's only the three of us. Family. You should always treasure your family, that, and the sword by your side." Stewart laughed at his own comment.

"I'd like to end this speech by saying; Remember. Remember the memories, the moments, the people in your life. Remember that we'll always be there with you, through good and bad. And, I know I talk way, waaaaaaay, too much about what I believe."

The crowd laughed, before clapping and cheering and more shouting.

Mechanics: Passion, Kindness, and Awe: Having a compassionate, caring, and self-aware Jackpot in the form of Stewart Boatshire. A Great Land: National Pride slowly begins enshrining itself in the Roll, and becoming normal. Admiration, Appreciation and Adoration of old leaders starts to fully take form. Skilltree: Democracy: Passionate presidents and heads-of-democratic-states. Transparency between the people and gov't grows.

[Glengo Island]

Address by la Ensembladora Evita to the nation, made live in Ciudad de El Centro and published on leaflets for distribution

Ejército de Nuevo Aztlán ANP Especial

---

People, I have some grave news. It seems that our benevolent gesture of goodwill to our neighbors was spat upon. There was no bloodshed, but our trade organizer made it clear to them that this transgression will be their last they should make lest something awful is brought in return. I have discussed the matter at length, and there is no cause for immediate retaliation. Our borders to the west remain under far greater threat, and we were merely shortchanged. However, as we were unable to supplement our armory in this way, I have approved a project of the State to build an arms manufacturing workshop within El Centro to supply us when our neighbors fail. We must remain vigilant to safeguard our Aztlánito way of life.

Off the record...

Evita and most other officials were most upset about the special strains of cannabis that had been missed in the failed trade. She had devised a plan to breed and grow cannabis en masse to distribute as a numbing agent to the depressed populace after experiencing its effects for herself, hoping to bring some much needed recreation and temporary happiness to the tired, overworked masses - and herself. Local wild variants had proven to be meager in comparison, and if the State just had a couple cultivars, things would be radically changing. Perhaps they could yet be won fiercely, but not during this winter.

It was her who ordered that the sticks the La Paz people had so graciously provided them be staked into the sand along their shared frontier, however.

> Construction of Weapons Workshop (3 weeks to completion)
> Western Front Subject of Increased Concern (Event)
> Crude Palisade Wall Along ENA-La Paz Border Constructed (Increased tensions - NPC Faction)
> In The Market for High-Grade Sativa (Mild Desperation)

[The Hoosier Alliance]

Gary, Indiana

As the sun rose over the rubble-strewn city of Gary, the Iron Clan raiders were ready to make their move. The one hundred mounted bandits had split into several independently operating war parties tasked with raiding and even occupying different sections of the city. In conjunction with the others, each raiding party began their charge towards their respective targets, letting out warcries as they went. Men armed with bows, pistols, and submachineguns opened fire on anyone foolish enough to stay out in the open. The disorganized gangs of locals were sent running as the raiders closed in. All of those that tried to stand and fight were shot or cut down. The men arguing over the crate were run off, killed, or captured. Their previous possession now belonged to the bandits.

As the raiders made it past the outskirts of the city, resistance continued to crumble. The lack of unity between the people played into the hands of the bandits, allowing them to capture groups of fleeing locals to be sent back as slaves. Homes, storehouses, and the like were looted, their items loaded up to be returned to the clan. The attack itself didn't last long and gave way to hours of looting and enslaving.

With the city subdued, those that weren't in chains to be brought back to work in service of the clan were rounded up and brought before their conquerors. The leader of the war party gave a speech, detailing what the locals must do to prevent yet another raid. Workshops would construct weapons to be sent to the clan, food would be sent to their new overlords, and some people would be pressed into service for the clan, either as workers, soldiers, or brides.

The people were defeated, and the streets had order returned to them, but at a high cost to the people living there.

Action: Gary, Indiana, was raided and subjugated by the Iron Clan

[HypErcApitAl]

Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223

https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

"All of this studying and learning's boring and tiring me out." Alex thought.

The speech from the day before played again in her head, with Jackpot Boatshire going on about Luck, Faith, and trying to place 'core values' in The Roll.

"Hoist the Red and Black! Hold it tightly! Keep it from falling to the ground! Lady Luck, herself, shall kiss it! It is ours. Glory is ours, and our allies. However, we don't have allies yet, but that's not beyond us. That's not beyond my doing. We, the People, the Dicerollers and the Faithful, have established a beautiful nation. Unions have fell, and fallen in the past, but, this isn't a Union. This is a creation. A creation of our forefathers who formed this country and its Faith. When they found Lady Luck, they were reborn. Hopefully, all of the Silver State can be reborn, too. We were Silver in the past, but we are a phoenix. We are Red. We are Orange. We are Black. We have risen out of the Ash. Yes, we were an ashen people. We were a simple tribe, at that time, but now, we are a mighty city-state filled to the brim with mighty peoples."

"I liked what he said, he's my favorite Jackpot, even though he says he doesn't want Favoritism." Alex continued to think.

"...Amelia Edson, a proud woman. She shall be remembered throughout History and Future, and Time Incarnate shall scream her name. The second Jackpot of all four past Jackpotters. James and Edward were brave men. I don't want to be remembered. I want only the first four to be the most revered. Yes, there's many reasons, but I don't want it. My payback is your smiles and cheers at the end-of-the-day. My payback's when my wives kiss me, and the knowledge of my legacy. However, my legacy shall be a silent one. I am spending my time as a Jackpotter honoring our past. Honoring this nation's past. This faith's past. Our Gambler's past. I could rave on about myself, but, I don't want to. The proof's in the pudding, of what I've done, and will do before my time as Jackpot, my term, expires. .."

"Such an honest and wise man. If I were old enough, I would've voted for him." Alex thought.

"I will remember." Alex thought aloud.

"I will always remember Stewie." Alex smirked.

Alex put the book she was studying down, grabbed her bow and quiver, then stomped outside. She immediately began putting her quiver on her back, and mentally preparing herself to shoot her bow. She felt her skills immensely growing, and changing, and one day, she'd be able to enlist in the Diceroller Partisans and protect her nation and family.

The snow didn't bother her one bit. She adapted to the Nevadan Sands, why not adapt and overcome the Snow? "Deserts and Tundras, or Arctics, must be the same. I mean really, it's just lack-of-grass. Trees grow back, like, really fast, though." She thought.

All the time she'd spent outside, in Nature, made her used to it. Used to it all, to her surroundings. She thought about the Partisans, and specifically joining as a Bowman. She figured that scouting, recon, and other out-of-sight tasks and duties were important.

Alex's parents and siblings had tried to teach her swordplay and swordfighting, but she was no good with blades such as those. Her hands were more suited for knives or daggers, the smaller blades.

She closed her eyes, pushing on the bowstring, her arm bending. She fired the arrows, hitting the targets. She also liked shooting at the sky, usually killing whatever birds flew by.

She repeated and repeated, until studying and reading became fleeting memories. She'd put the bow gently down on the ground, and begun stretching and exercising, usually trying to keep her agility. She prized her speed, prized that she could run faster than her brothers. She tried to build-up fast reflexes, practicing her knife-throwing, and other activities that she figured helped her.

The things Alex read and studied made her feel like she lived in a fantasy world. Like this wasn't supposed to be possible. She agreed with Boatshire. She wanted change in The Roll, too. To advance and grow. She didn't want constant fear, or for Dicerollers to live in fear of the Northerners or 'those idiots to the West.' Everyone wanted a better Nevada, a better Vegas, and this felt like a copout. An excuse. Reading books like a loyal and honest schoolgirl made her skeptical of the world around her. Of The Roll, and its Faith in the goddess Lady Luck. Luck, Fate, Chance, Fortune, and all of that reminded her of that book she read about ancient faiths and this thing called "Karma ." It all felt the same to her. Politics and the Way of the Wind , or the way that things were done here, she slightly questioned but also took pride in.

The girl grabbed her bow and went back inside.


Mechanics: Continued growth of previous mechanics.

[The Hobbesian Metaphysician]

Kitty Hawk, Dare County
Former State of North Carolina
Third Week of January

The wind was fiercer than usual with just as bad a storm to boot forcing the crew to dock within the remains of what had once been the beachfront town of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. In 1903 the world focused its eye just ever slightly on this area because a pair of brothers breached the heavens itself. The town was spared nuclear devastation from what could be seen, but age did the trick just as much as anything. Enough time and even the tallest of buildings will become mere remnants, and trappings time ruins all things just like that of Ozymandias. Given enough time, and not even the ruins of the buildings would stand, but for now they provided shelter from the horrid wind.

The captain scoured the remnants of what had once been the town hall or at least the sign outside indicated it was. An old map of the United States dated 2001 pointing to a few sites of interest made little sense to him until he noticed a legend with the caption "site of the September 11th attacks". Ravenel knew it was important enough for the people of this era to dedicate a map series to it, and wonder what living back then was like. The rumors of the technology were always out of this world, and perhaps in a thousand years, one might be able to see it again. Lucky pockets of humanity have technology that mimics the old ways, but at the end of the day, mimicry isn't the same as replicating it.

The crew nervously peaked out the broken windows wondering when it was safe to move when out of nowhere a horrid gasping wind blew through the building forcing people to cover their ears. This didn't sound like any ordinary wind, but instead like the collective agony of human screaming. One of the crew lost it running out of the building only for what sounded like a bloodcurdling gasp to come out of his mouth. He staggered back into the building with his lower jaw missing, and blood seeping everywhere. The young man died in a minute as the ship's doctor looked on, and backed away from the door.

The captain eyed what appeared to be skull-like figures in the midst of the horrid wind, and they looked very mad. They were famished with little bone to them, and couldn't have possibly been human...unless they were. One of them walked forward in the storm and pointed toward the others to move toward the town hall. The captain ordered a few of the crew to lodge an old bookshelf in the entrance understanding that an attack was about to happen. Within seconds one of the old windows burst open sending glass fragments everywhere, a spear followed suit hitting an unfortunate crewman in the leg.