Aftermath (IC|Dead)

[HypErcApitAl]

Roll of The Dice
Nevada
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png


Meeting w/ Boatshire and Generals

"I know I said I didn't want to waste troops, but I feel really curious about California , how about sending some 'Spades?" Boatshire asked.

"That'd work. I understand why, I just don't want to waste Bowmen, not even Crossbowmen. I see you said Ranged is an effective approach, but perhaps our soldiers could be over-armed?" Armoine responded.

"It doesn't hurt to exercise caution, General Armoine. That's why I'm sending some 'Spades. I know I sent troops already, and to Utah, but it's best that we know what's going on there. California's California. They're the most active part. Honestly, I kinda understand, but they could have some sort of advanced technology or weaponry. A few men with crossbows wouldn't hurt, and you know how much time and effort our Aces put into their craft of Archery." Boatshire told.

"I'm just exercising caution 'cause there's probably nothing but raiders, thieves, scumbags and savages down there. It wouldn't hurt to look, though." Boatshire continued.

"Alright." A.B. Simmons took-in what everyone else was saying.

"I also had plans, not just the Rogues, but also Pokerfaces, Chemtroops, and 'Flower Power.'" Boatshire told them.

"We'll see whatcha got." Simmons said.

"We need peacekeepers here, some sort of protection besides regular guardsmen. Pokerfaces would help in times of distress, dangers, and crises, much like what we're going through right now." Boatshire explained.

"Chemtroops sound like they sound, on the tin, troops that are specialized in chemical stuffs. Burning things, poisons, the like, and 'Flower Power' is just a diplomatic thing. Flowers wouldn't hurt." Boatshire continued.

"It'll work." Armoine answered.

"Once our population grows, and more time passes, we'll be able to train and recruit Diceroller Paladins for those divisions, just like you said." A.B. Simmons responded.

The Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
January 2223, the First Week


"I propose a new division for our Partisans." Simmons said.

"We have two main divisions, the 'Spades and 'Hearts. Crossbowmen and Longswordsmen are excellent, and we've trained our 'Hearts and 'Spades well, but we need more specialization in the Armedforces." Simmons commented.

"Just get to the point. Stop beatin' around the bush." General Greg A. Thompson angrily told Simmons.

"Alright, fine. I propose a division that uses slingshots and daggers. I know this nation has a theme around Gambling and Cards, but I thought of naming this division 'Slingers,' or 'Rogues.' " Simmons told the rest.

The other generals nodded.

"I like that idea, Simmons." Greg said.

General Armoine spoke up.

"They're 'Rogues' 'cause they're mainly agile units, right?" Armoine asked Simmons.

"Yeah. I mean, Jackpot Boatshire told us to mainly focus on ranged, which we're doing, but we need more agility. We need to learn from our surroundings before we start losing wars and campaigns." Simmons told Armoine.

Simmons continued.

"For their uniform, we give them some armor, but they're mainly going to wear coats with many pockets in them. It'll help store their shootin' pebbles and whatever else. This also suits the 'Rogue' theme, aswell." He described.

"That's a good idea." Armoine told him.

Simmons spoke again.

"We should build-up our musketeers and pistoleers. That's why Paladins're using this kinda tech. It works, but we should work on advancing them. Our guns're trash, they can't really beat other countries, but Swords and Bows are a good military advantage. Also, we should work on tactics involving guns."

"That's a good idea." Armoine said.

"I have another idea. We should have Snowtroopers. Atleast have soldiers that're used to fightin' in the Snow. Train 'em, give 'em special armor, and maybe a different weapon, like a blowgun, or have them also be Bowmen." Simmons said.

"Snowtroopers're excellent. Also, this is Las-freaking-Vegas, for Lady Luck's sake. We should adapt more to the Nevadan Sands. We've done well, but, War's always about Evolution." Armoine added.


RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
January 2223, the First Week.


Boatshire remembered talking to the generals earlier, and okaying their ideas of 'Rogues,' 'Snowtroopers,' and etc.

"It's best that we get used to the Snow, before the Snow gets used to us. " Jackpot Boatshire joked.

He had other ideas, also, like 'Flower Power' (sending a bouquet of flowers to nearby nations as an act of Diplomacy), Chemtroops, and 'Pokerfaces.' (Pokerfaces were peacekeepers used only when Roll of The Dice is in a crisis, civil unrest, and similar events/scenarios.) (Chemtroops are Paladins specialized in Chemical Warfare and Poisons/toxins, throwing Molotovs, and other such things. He thought of arming them with broadswords as their sidearms.)

All the memories of the past two weeks rushed him. Stewart, or 'Stewie,' as some citizens nicknamed him, remembered his first speech in January, talking to the Gambler, worrying and stressing about neighbors and war, the Nationalists, and the fun he had at-home with his wives.

The blond, bearded man continued talking to his generals about numerous things regarding The Roll and its Armedforces, the Paladins, or Partisans. They couldn't decide which term they wanted to call them, so they switched to and from the two at-will.

"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.

He remembered, remembered just like he said he wanted his citizens to do, after his speech. After all, Memory is the key. A part of him still dreaded losing everything. Everything he, and the four Jackpots before him had built up in The Roll. Core Values, the Faith, etc, etc. Making sure Las Vegas, and the Region of Nevada didn't lose its civility or sanity in the madness. In the Storm. A part of him was cynical and skeptical about everything he'd ever done in his life. About getting elected, getting blessed, etc, etc. He just knew Politics did something to the psyche. To the brain. People needed Faith, needed something to believe in, hence Religion, rumors, gossip, drama, etc.

Parts of him questioned. Questioned if he'd ever make it to next year. To two or three years in the future. Questioned waking up in a no-mans-land that used to be a thriving city, seemingly eons ago. He wondered if he was bullshitting in his speech, or was he right? Was he stating the truth, the absolute truth and nothing but the truth? Or was it all lies? Was he just another lying scumbag, like the ones surrounding the City-state? Could Nevada ever be unified? And if so, then, by who? By the Northerners?

Mechanics: Cardshuffle: Skilltree on Warfare, Diplomacy, and technology grows. Other mechanics linked to Military also grow and continue. Another group of troops is sent, but to California.

[Nouveau Quebecois]

New York City Contingency Government

---

Commissioner, Edward J. Identity.

Piotr Musial - Some Place We Called Home
Albany, New York
January 2223, Week III

---

As a deep black smog passed overhead the Rangers, and the stench of rotten flesh carried in the wind, it began to dawn on them and the Commissioner just how desperate and bleak the situation was outside of the everyday Americana of New York City; or what was left of it. A morbidly tall, yet almost comical pile dark pile was coming into view before the Commissioner peered through his Cartographer's binoculars to confirm that the population of Albany was indeed located all in one place. The Commissioner first considered turning back when the troop already picked up an injury simply crossing a short stout of the Hudson River after finding the bridge was down. Now he seriously had to consider abandoning the mission. Simply breathing in the stench for too long could not be good for one's health.

---

---

"God... There's no way those are bodies."

"Something organised has been here. More organised then us" the Commissioner replied, handing the Cartographer's binoculars back to him so that he could inspect the war crime himself.

---

---

One by one, as the Rangers entered the city in three-filed column, they tightened their scarves over their faces, and those who could afford them raised dust goggles to mask the bacteria from their eyes. As the Commissioner gave non-verbal hand signals to stay alert, they circumvented the Town Center where the pile of bodies laid, passing through the side streets as morbid comments rung in the air, most in doubt that those were actually human. Eyes open, the Commissioner noted to himself, making sure the Patriot was equally picking up on information as it came in: No signs of conflict, no signs of battle, just a burning pile of corpses in the Center Center. The Commissioner made another signal for silence, before making sure to point out to his men the open window sills so as to at least be able to know that an ambush is coming if one did occur.

"They said there was a civilisation. I had the Governor's daughter kiss this map I've made for them."

Disobediently, the Rangers couldn't help but multitask, forming rumours about Town Square as they disembarked and unholstered rifles into the low ready, but the Commissioner was more conspiratoral then his men. The thought of this being an ambush set up by none other then the Patriot, who so adementely described a bustling and self-governing Albany now turned Ghost Town. He dismissed his thoughts to the headache-inducing smell, then brought his column to a halt.

"If you haven't already, dismount." the Commissioner ordered.

"Thin the line into a skirmish formation. We stick together and we'll circle the block. If anyone sees any sign of movement, hold your fire and alert your squad leader."

"Sir, yes, sir."

The Commissioner hesitated before giving a more morbid, yet equally important order.

"If you come across loot, don't touch it. If you see a body, don't search it. If you find a woman or a child begging for help, don't break formation. We are in foreign land."

The company didn't respond this time, but took the order nonetheless, before the Commissioner turned to face the front and continue leading the march from horseback. Though the smell made him sick, and the smog made his eyes water, the Commissioner couldn't help but break a grin. He tried to feel sick, he tried to feel ill, but all he could do was laugh in his head. This is truly war, and this is war on American soil. This is what he lived for, and there was no way the supernatural will take this from him.

Summary:

• The New York Rangers arrive in Albany.
• The Rangers locate the suspicious pile in Town Square. They choose to stick together and search the town cautiously.
• Accompanying them, Walter 'The Patriot' Quincy.

[HypErcApitAl]

RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

Orders. He had to make orders and address the Gambler. He tired of reports about the crowding and overcrowding of churches being made. "Yes, we're a devout nation and all, but don't they have something else to do besides praying and kneeling? This can't be good for Society." Jackpot Boatshire thought.

"I get it, the snow and everything's demoralizing, but we have to live. We have to endure. We have to find our own norms, well, besides the Faith." Boatshire continued to think.

He was aware that the Faith and Church provided escapism for many Dicerollers, but there had to be Arts. There had to be Entertainment. There had to be both a culture and a counterculture, and he supported it. He tired of constantly thinking and worrying about War, Expansion and the Diceroller ways-of-life being persecuted, stamped-out or threatened everyday. The constant thought of an invasion by the Northerners or the Westerners drained him.

Yet, he wasn't ready to go back to his wives and relax again. The Roll had to work through the stagnation. Through the Storm.

He ordered his generals to continue with the Partisans, so that they wouldn't grow restless or bored. The Roll was in a constant state of Vigilance and Readiness, yes, but he feared more dissent. More unrest, much like the first... or second week, was it, when the fearmongers rose up and started preaching and teaching signs and calls of Doomsday and Armageddon, and other tales.

"We have to become a nation of Words. A nation of Authors, Poets and Journalists." Boatshire thought.

Boatshire walked into the symbolic house for Jackpots, not liking it, instead vastly preferring his personal abode. He greeted the many Green-clad guardsmen that protected the building's interior and exterior.

Guardsmen served as the policeforce for The Roll of The Dice, wearing green uniforms and taught in unarmed combat and several techniques and tactics to stop riots and anything/everything resembling a revolt or revolution.

The governmental building was very ornate and fancy, its interior designers worked their hardest.

Boatshire shuffled to his Office, and immediately begun writing bills and orders. One of them was an official Currency. He remembered the debating of governmental officials prior over The Roll's currency, and what it should be. The Roll saw itself as an actual country, though didn't have a national language, symbol, animal or any stylings of a State besides a flag and a long, rich history. It's a wonder how The Roll survived this long without Economics or Currency being an issue. It's only guessed that a faithbased people survived only because of its dependence on Religion and Religious beliefs, needs, et cetera.

Stewart Boatshire wanted to change that, though not radically. He thought very well of the Diceroll Church and the Gambler, though a part of him was skeptical and cynical on and about Beliefs and Faiths.

He remembered, remembered just like he said he wanted his citizens to do, after his speech. After all, Memory is the key. A part of him still dreaded losing everything. Everything he, and the four Jackpots before him had built up in The Roll. Core Values, the Faith, etc, etc. Making sure Las Vegas, and the Region of Nevada didn't lose its civility or sanity in the madness. In the Storm. A part of him was cynical and skeptical about everything he'd ever done in his life. About getting elected, getting blessed, etc, etc. He just knew Politics did something to the psyche. To the brain. People needed Faith, needed something to believe in, hence Religion, rumors, gossip, drama, etc.

Parts of him questioned. Questioned if he'd ever make it to next year. To two or three years in the future. Questioned waking up in a no-mans-land that used to be a thriving city, seemingly eons ago. He wondered if he was bullshitting in his speech, or was he right? Was he stating the truth, the absolute truth and nothing but the truth? Or was it all lies? Was he just another lying scumbag, like the ones surrounding the City-state? Could Nevada ever be unified? And if so, then, by who? By the Northerners?

Logically, sensibly and obviously, he couldn't. He wanted to maintain his standing as a well-liked Jackpot, and didn't want a rift in the nation or amongst the Diceroll Church. He pushed the thought out of his head.

Before he was a politician, he studied Diceroller History, and knew that Fundamentalism was founded in the city-state. He knew that, in the far-future, if The Roll ever became an Empire or Republic in its own right, it'd still face the same religious-cultural issues that it faces now. Its politics and religion made the Roll unique, but also kept it to falling to its past enemies. A religion based on Luck helped the city, especially its Morale. In times like this, he wondered if Lady Luck, herself, was keeping The Roll from being invaded.

The mantra rung in his head; "If Vegas falls, Nevada falls."

Stewart didn't mean to be such a pessimist recently, but things could change, and change rapidly. They've changed when it came to that one country to the East that collapsed , so why wouldn't it change with Nevada ? Why wouldn't the Northerners not have a reason to invade? Whatever it was, or was going on, the Partisans prepared for it.

He didn't want to be thought of as a warmonger in the annals of History, but also didn't want to use "Strategic Patience" either. If the Westerners responded to his troops' delve into their lands, he'd be open to the possibility of waging a proxy war or conflict. He just wanted to boost morale, not just uniting the region of Nevada for cultural or strategic reasons, but for a sheer boost in Dicerollers' morale.

As of right now, he didn't do anything to antagonize the Northerners, though he still very wanted them annihilated. Removed. Cast off the Earth. They weren't just traitors, but also Defector scum.

The Roll of The Dice's new currency shall henceforth be the Stalwartpence. The Stalwartpence shall always take the form of a round piece, or 'coin.' The Stalwartpence shall be made out of any and all metals, and/or the metals-on-hand. The paper stated. Stewart hated writing in this governmental, or legal format.



Mechanics: Achievement Get!: A currency in the form of the Stalwartpence. http://www.photocoinoffers.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/SilverImage15.jpg Other mechanics also grow, and the Skilltree has a new economics branch.

[Spiritual Republic of Caryton]

✻ N E B U L A - C I R C L E✻

---

---

1. A Message

For the past few years, the radio stations had been untouched by Nebula Circle. However, investment in a central broadcasting location and the completion of a multi-year long project to set up this long-ranged radio center came as a massive achievement for the cosmological doomsday cult. At precisely 10:00 PM at night, a space-like drone coupled with a crude-sounding music box blared loudly to anyone listening. The propaganda outlet began, knowing full well thousands were tuning in out of interest and curiosity. A lovely female voice with the slightest tinge of an eastern accent greeted the listeners.

Welcome to the broadcast of the Nebula Circle. We seek to sustain the truths that we speak throughout this night to guide the lost towards the literal expanses of the stars above. The apocalyptic scene is merely your temporary home. The cold nothingness of the void is the trustworthy, as it shall guide you to the brightest and most breathtaking of stellar nebulae. Our leader is a star personified as a human to guide us into the vast outreach above. Friends, have you not wondered why you have been cursed to survive in such a crude world? Think for a second that your survival is irrelevant when compared with the likes of the galaxies above you. Nothing matters, and paradoxically-- everything matters. Why not come join us and see the true magnitude of the multiverse? Look to no books for answers, but look to the skies. Orion teaches that to become a guru, one must abide by a life of spiritual understanding. What good will constantly fighting off creature and bandits do for you to become more perfect? The next time you look at the clear night sky, think of the galaxies as people, and the stars as mere cells, also sentient. We are your family, all made of the same elements, just like the Sun. Ponder these ideals, and if you have decided to join our ranks, please contact one of your local representatives."

---

---

[Christian Confederation]

January 2223
It's been 5 years since Tom's father had died. O'Brian's have ran things around here since before everything went to hell. The old world idea of Reelecting the Incumbent until they died carried on. Mayor or President now is basically a Inherited position, Your Father was a Political your a politician. The world may be over but the rebel spirit never dies!
Tom Finished writing and walked to the balcony getting thunderous applause from his people. He smiled and began his speech.
"In the last 200 years we have secured the country but failed to expand. We must expand beyond our borders North to Gatlinburg, East to the Atlantic, West to the lands the Feds stole from us years ago, and South to the Gulf!" He said with Fire in his voice. "We Shall Expand North into Cook county! We will survive, and we'll thrive! GOD BLESS Y'ALL AND GOD BLESS THE REPUBLIC!" He finished the speech the way he always had before heading into his office to finish the planning.
"General We should use the 75 to head North it's the quickest way." Tom explained. "Mr. President I do Declare using the 75 does make sense but the 41 has more tree coverage and places for our men to rest should they require!" The General reasoned. Tom looked over there charts and agreed with the generals logic. "Alright prepare 50 men to mount up with 25 more in reserve if they be required!" Tom ordered. The General noded and left to prepare his men.

A few days later the Men were prepared for their expedition. They were massed at the Outpost at the old county line, with smiles on there faces. The president shook each and every hand and gave his regards to each family before taking the podium. "Camander what is your assignment?" Tom asked the leader of the Expedition. "EXPAND THE REPUBLIC MR. PRESIDENT SIR!" He Responded. "Are your men ready?" Tom asked. "SIR YES SIR!" The men called. "Very well. Proceed with your Expedition good luck, and God bless Y'all!" Tom said giving a Salute. The Camander Saluted before turning to his men "MOUNT UP AND FORM UP!" he ordered his men. The 50 men got on 5 wagons and mounted 35 Horses forming a column and heading out after Saluting the President. The band played the national anthem as the men set out causing much excitement throughout the men. https://youtu.be/ZdMLb3eiWWg

[Beutarch]

The Federal District of Annapolis

---

14 Jan 2223 - 21 Jan 2223
Caroline County Expedition

Despite his relaxed attitude, Rylander was a diligent worker. From the moment his company had set out into Caroline county, the man busied himself with soil samples and impromptu cartography. Using a year's old brochure as a template, Rylander sketched the roads that crisscrossed the area and marked out areas he figured would be ideal farmland. The quantity of collected materials soon outpaced his own carrying capacity, and he ordered one unlucky marine to empty out his pack, filling it once more with corked glass vials of melted snow and silty soil.

"Captain, are these really necessary?"

"We're within 100 miles of the site of a nuclear explosion, the ecology of this place has undergone dramatic change since our reference texts were written, hundreds of years ago. It's certainly necessary to take a closer look at the water and soil of this place, lest you want your Caroline county-grown potatoes to make you grow a third arm. Empty out your goddamn sack, you can have someone else hold on to your teddy bears or whatever you've got tucked away in there," he said indignantly.

The marine turned to one of his comrades, carefully taking out and handing over his possessions, all the while not giving the Captain the satisfaction of watching him do it.

Content, Rylander continued on his trudge through the county.

On the third night of the expedition, he skipped supper, opting instead to retire early to his tent. As he had done for the three previous days, he would edit and annotate the observations he had made during the daytime. His company had grown used to this routine, angling themselves away from the lantern-light that would inevitably spill out of his tent into the late hours of the night. Unlike the previous nights, however, a handful of soldiers coalesced around the extinguished camp fire. The group huddled around one Lieutenant Green, Rylander's second in command for the duration of the expedition. Under normal circumstances, a surveyor's second would act as an aide-de-camp, a wonderful opportunity for a young officer to foster connections with a more established figure in Annapolis's military spheres. But, given Rylander's worth ethic, the man was practically his own aide-de-camp. For the most part, Green was left to her own devices, only loosely told to "mind the troops." This suited the Lieutenant's goals nicely.

Though Rylander was largely a shut-in, despising the politics of the District, he became a symbol to many within the District's legislature. His penchant for exploration in the Delmarva region, had contributed especially to his popularity among circles of politicians identifying with the Easterner faction. Believing that the District's focus ought to be settling eastward, they were pleasantly surprised that such a dedicated and skilled officer had taken to publishing extensive reports detailing the promise and fertility of potential settlements. Now being needled by their political opponents with facts and figures, Annapolis's Columbians decided that Rylander's expeditions would have to come to an end. Green had been tasked with making that decision a reality. Rylander had accurately guessed at Green's ambition, but failed to see the full extent of it.

Now, surrounded by a half dozen co-conspirators, the Lieutenant detailed the plan which would unfold in the morning.

---

"Captain! Our protein stores are running low, permission to take some of the men hunting?" Green stood above the Captain, stiff as a board at attention. Still in bed, the captain nodded affirmation and waved the other officer off. She trotted back to her cadre, leading them out of the clearing that their camp sat in. A safe distance away from their comrades, embedded in the forest, the Lieutenant halted their trek. She wheeled about to face the men, giving them a curt signal. At once, half of the men began to strip off the outer layer of their uniform, removing from their bags a motley array of improvised leather garments and small makeshift firearms.

The uniforms the men had previously been wearing were not anything special, simple cloth and canvas affairs, but the disguises they now put on eliminated any sense of unity, replacing it with an intimidating irregularity. The garb of raiders and savages. To accommodate the additional clothing, the soldiers had left behind several day's worth of rations. Nothing the men were unaccustomed to. They were not border guards or reservists, but rather some of the District's finest professional soldiers. After depositing their service weapons and uniforms, the men positioned themselves even farther from the camp then where the Lieutenant had stopped.

Still joined by the other half of her hunting party, Green waited for the second group to begin the second phase of the operation. Minutes later, one of the men from the other group raised his gun to the air, firing a shot out of the pipe-pistol. His comrades followed suit, soon joined by Green's men.

"Hostiles! Fall back!" She screams over the growing din of discharging weapons.

He groups falls back toward the camp in a rehearsed manner, stopping every dozen yards to feign returning fire at the attackers. Green backpedaled faster then she would have liked in an actual combat scenario, but the speed of her retreat was necessary to catch the rest of the camp off guard. Her men spilled into the clearing, stirring the camp into a frenzy. Of the reservists, some diehards loaded their rifles in their underclothes, preparing to take on the fictional enemy. It was the responsibility of Green's group to convince these men to give up and run. Despite being experienced soldiers, they played the part of the shell-shocked recruit very well. The reservists that didn't already get spooked by the fleeing hunters were berated and tugged at by some of Green's actors, desperately dragging them off.

The attacking group advanced closer, their shapes now visible against the tree line. For the benefit of the stragglers, they stopped firing at the sky. Though still missing, their pipe-weapons peppered the dirt around the camp. Confident that none of the reservists would hit him, one of the 'raiders' dropped his jammed weapon, removing a wicked looking knife from his belt. He made a show of yelling abuse at the camp's inhabitants, before running at one of the last stragglers with the blade. The man blanched, dropping his firearm and joining the others in fleeing.

In the midst of the chaos, the Lieutenant made her way to Rylander's tent. As expected, she found him inside, clutching one of his unfinished journals in one hand and a revolver in the other. He lowered the weapon once he saw Green.

"Lieutenant, your little expedition seems to have led the enemy to our door!"

Before Green could respond, the two officers became aware of the conspicuous silence outside. The camp emptied, the 'raiders' had no need to waste further ammunition, allowing an unsettling lack of noise to wrap itself around the encampment. Thinking positively, Rylander misinterprets the silence.

"Have the men repulsed them?" He peers behind, Green, out the tent flaps.

Just as he caught sight of one of the supposed attackers sit down by the camp fire, the Lieutenant fires her own weapon into Rylander's chest. The elder man keels over, dropping the revolver and pulling the book closer to his chest. Blood from the wound begins to wet the journal's pages.

She quickly pulls the journal out of the man's dead hands, walking over to the campfire. Upon seeing the Lieutenant, the man removed the raider's cowl, giving a hasty salute. Green pushes the book into the man's hands.

"Before you leave camp, pick up the old man's notes. Afterward, Round up your raiders, get dressed and meet up with the rest of the group. Bury your rags and shooters. Got that?"

"Yes'm. It'll be done."

---

Annapolis

Senator Marcus Westbrook, brother of the President and the sitting Senate majority leader, was pleasantly surprised by the haste that the news of Rylander's death had arrived with. That Lieutenant Green must have run her men ragged to get within communication distance in such a short time. She had done her job well. The Senator's opponents across the aisle were in an uproar, with Easterners attempting to keep their coalition in line with their agenda.

The "majority leader" title which Westbrook holds is itself a relic from the past United States Senate. Westbrook's "Columbian" party is described more accurately as a plurality, rivaled by a collection of men claiming to be of various parties, all under the "Easterner" banner. Had Westbrook been present at the founding of the District, he would have far preferred the two-party system of his ancestors, however the District was marred by independents and special interest-focused candidates. The Easterners, in recent months, had been more unified than before, successfully killing much of Westbrook's proposed legislation. Ordering Rylander's execution was his Hail Mary attempt to curb the opposition's gains, and it appeared to work better than he could have anticipated. Evidently some had intended to award Rylander with a Congressionally-issued distinguished service award, and now intended to give him the award posthumously. The party's more cynical members believed it to be a waste of time, and the ensuing shouting match could be heard from across the Senatehouse. The argument devolved further, ad hominems beginning to fly as the coalition fractured to an unrecognizable state.

Under this surface layer argument, the Easterner legislators realized that they had placed too much hope on one man's shoulders. Long term plans were made based on projections and contingent on further surveys and data, items that could now easily be undone by a surveyor friendly to the Columbians' cause. In a moment, all of the promises and deals that held the coalition together seemed lost.

The Senate's presiding officer, meanwhile, attempted to read the next name on the speaker's list. It occurred to Senator Westbrook that the officer had been shouting his name for the past five minutes, drowned out by the bickering Easterners. He cut his revelry of the opposition's collapse short, approaching the podium at the head of the room. Smiling at the glaring officer, he took his place at the head of room. He nodded toward the Sergent-at-Arms, a personal friend and longtime drinking buddy. The Sergent lazily stood up, removing his sidearm from its holster. He fires a round into the ceiling, prompting the Easterners to shut up and take their seats, still visibly fuming.

"Gentlemen. In light of recent events, I motion to suspend all expeditions into the Delmarva. Our initial expeditions were made with the assumption that to go Eastward would be both more peaceful and more profitable than any alternative. This, clearly, is not the case. Any missions East would have to be armed just as heavily as those to the District, and where would that put us? The conquerors of raiders and sand? No, that will not do. Our very birthright is to retake the Old District, and that is what we shall do! For my second proposal, I motion to renew the Potomac incursions!"

At this, Westbrook's side of the room erupts into applause.

Summary:
- Expedition sent to St. Mary's County (movement)
- Rationing is continued (event)

[HypErcApitAl]

RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

The Atheists, and other vocal and huge sets of nonbelievers, or atleast nonbelievers when it came to the Faith or the Church, were protected by Diceroller Law, preventing the Faith from having too much of a power or voice in the Roll, but the vast majority of Dicerollers had some faith or beliefs in Lady Luck. The normal or average Diceroller either forgot, or wasn't aware of Atheism in The Roll, or secularist values.

Obviously, some secular values still existed and lingered in the city-state, and most forms of Liberalism and Egalitarianism, even in the Faith (if the Diceroller faith had to be measured somehow, politically, it'd be thought-of as Leftist and perhaps radical or Radicalist in some areas, but socially and legally, Diceroller girls and other females had the same rights and religiously, the same rights. As Luck was thought of being a goddess, some misandry wouldn't exist.). In a Cascadia or even comparing post-Aftermath Nevada to pre-aftermath, The Roll would've been thought as weird, what, with some religious overreach and influence, even with a Pope-like figure (the Gambler). Yes, preservationism and resurgism still existed, but seemed very idealistic and unrealistic.

The belief or thought that "well, atleast this belief has a fairer deity than other deities," was widespread and believed, and satire or mockery of other faiths around the city-state existed.

When it came to faith, others like Boatshire or Alex existed. (wanting to present other values and beliefs, etc than just the Faith and religious movement/needs.)

In the city-state, certain taboos and faux-pases towards faith with a lowercase "F" existed, however, though it wasn't as cut-and-dry or black/white, hence certain debates and discussions didn't exist, or weren't brought-up unless in the sanctity and security of house and home. The culture was "religious-cultural," and could be seen as "backward" by more developed nations (if they existed), but those very same nations would also see merit and charm in it, though, as The Roll atleast resembled an actual country , with an actual state and gov't than some tribe or set of raiders, bandits, etc.

But, still, efforts are being made presently and currently to change.





Paladins/Partisans and certain groups in the city-state aimed at Technology, and developing it. The current Jackpot has Technology on his mind, though, as he is a politician, and the head (or atleast one of them) of the country, he had to think and worry about other issues and matters, like Warfare, Diplomacy, Exploration, and Social issues like Values, culture, and so on. Some thought Technology was a lost cause, and mainly concerned themselves with the Faith and what it had to offer, or survivalism and the new methods of this world. As Vegas is Vegas, even under the system of The Roll of The Dice , opulence, sin, and other hallmarks of the "Old" or "Ancient" Las Vegas were still there, even underneath the Faith and newness of this new regime. Polygamy was and is both a sociopolitical feature and a survivalist one. Lust lost its stigma and taboo, and became embraced by the inhabitants of the city-state.

As Stewart, or "Stewie," some Dicerollers affectionately nicknamed, recently created a currency (the Stalwartpence), it seemed like economical change, not just sociopolitical or religious, was going to occur. Smiths and Armories are now also devoted to the creation of the coins. Though there was no trade or commerce just yet, the Roll prepared itself for one. It prepared itself for interactions with other states, and closed itself off to terrorists, raiders, marauders, and other thieves, though tales of "an air-raider faction" did persist. Non-state parties, in the Roll, do carry a stigma of being uncivilized criminals and gangsters or burglars.


"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.

"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.

Earlier, this week, Jackpot Boatshire sent some missionaries and troops to the region of California, for the same reasons as last time. Exploration. Diplomacy. Reaching out to other nations and peoples. Learning more about not just Cali, but the world the Roll of The Dice finds itself in.

Boatshire did everything in his power recently to keep The Roll from collapsing, from getting invaded, or other horrible fates. City-states seemed to be prime targets for would-be expansionist empires, or crime hordes. Even if it meant pissing off some of the Dicerollers that supported and loved him, he would've done anything to keep the red-white-black cross flowing, to some extent. He still had some reservations. He heard news about vassalization, and that "countries" in the East, or atleast the former Midwest were vassals. He wished there was a way to factcheck. To tell truths and facts from rumors, gossips, lies, fictions.

"Survivor enclaves" and "free clans" could be made up, or cannibals. If there were any real, actual groups of survivors or likeminded peoples similar to The Roll, Dicerollers and Stewart would've tried anything and everything to help them, taking them in and possibly expanding the birthrate and population through other means than just popping out babies and having multiple brides. The Roll of The Dice, or atleast, Dicerollers, were skeptical of "good-natured" peoples outside of the borders, or former-"city limits."



Mechanics: Power of the Mind: Cultural enrichment and expansion, continued growth of other cultural mechanics. Power of the People: Religious, political and warfare/military expansion and continued growth of other mechanics relating to these.

[The Frozen Forest]

The Kingdom of David
Iowa

The forest around them howled furiously and the snow battered the outdoorsmen as they stood before a strange individual in heavier winter gear than any of them had. When they had set out none of them expected such horrid weather, Their supplies (not including the trading goods they'd be sent with) included jerky, potatoes, animal skins, metal tools, crude maps and a small amount of alcohol. The alcohol was supposed to be for emergencies like cleaning injuries but that didn't stop the men from partaking in it as they sheltered each night. Perhaps drinking in a snow storm wasn't the best decision but the men were hardy and knew to drink in moderation, and so they'd kept discipline.

After a week of trudging and stomping through waist high snow the men entered a massive forest. Things became better and food proved less scarce as they grew closer to where the settlement of Montezuma was supposed to lie. As the evening settled into their first day in the forest the men were approached by an individual cloaked in deer skin and wearing a heavy parka. He was armed with primitive weapons and spoke first to the group in a foreign tongue. The dialect was unfamiliar to everyone in the group except for one word that may have been interpretable as Outlander (a word in the Davidian dialect meant to describe someone not apart of the Davidian Church.)

The head of the group stepped forwards. His name was Ranald Glass. His father before him had been a ranger of a now extinct tribe, his mother had been a native Davidian. When Ranald was just ten years old his father was gored to death by a massive Kodiak Bear. His mother faced the decision of starving to death in the mountains or taking him to the land of her birth. Ranald was brought to Lambs Grove and baptized into the Davidian church. His mother taught him to speak Davidian and English (English having become the language used for reading scripture, much like Latin had once been) and he grew attached to his new home. Now twenty-five years old with a wife and young child he was made the leader of the expedition as it was determined he was the best scout in Lambs Grove.

"Crifta." Ranald gestured to one of the younger members of the group who came forth with a bundle of thick wolf pelts. Ranald took the pelts and visibly set aside his own axe. He took several steps forwards and offered the pelts to the stranger. "Wei gom burranga criftas ad tarada. Dayk hus dou ror dom ad pheple ." Ranald waited patiently for the man to accept the furs. Assuming there was no trouble he would back away and smile, then present one of the maps given to him for his expedition which clearly marked out the old settlement of Montezuma. If that didn't work then he intended to offer some of the groups alcohol. Either way he wanted to present goodwill and not have an axe buried in his head by the end of the interaction.

[Vacif]

Sunnyvale Trading Company
Supervisor Allison Veil
Sunnyvale, California
January 21st, 2223
Turn 3

---

Allison leaned over her desk reviewing the plethora of reports scattered across her desk. Some were quite good, while others were quite bad. Starting with the good, the Pathfinder excursions had proven very fruitful, engineering had more than enough resources and assets to study during this winter lock down thanks to the Pathfinders. Engines and tools from the scrapyard in Modesto, and not to mention the truck from Treasure Island. Construction crews had plenty of material to work with once spring came along. Security forces were more than grateful to the scavengers when they pulled up with literal thousands of rounds of ammunition. They could probably now actually start to practice regularly with their pre/prior collapse weapons. Amazingly, the team had found an auto-injector of Gene Therapy. Captain Stroud and his team would be getting a heart bonus this season. Pathfinders 7th Element had also found all sorts of plant life in the grocer in Modesto, though she wasn't sure if these were worth their while. Despite this, the botany team came and collected up all the plant life for them to grow back in their own proper greenhouses that weren't dozens of miles away. Jams and jellies were already being produced and preserved for distribution.

On the note of food, the air nomads, or raiders, whatever they were, had done their job. There were those on the board who would have liked an in-house solution, but it was generally agreed upon that paying someone else in food to deal with the raiders was cheaper and more efficient than sending the ESF to deal with them. The material and food cost would be incredibly costly, a war with limited resources in the winter was asking for trouble. They'd seemingly successfully strong armed the San Benito raiders into bothering someone else. They were the Queen Love's Children, she wasn't quite sure what their demonym was, but she'd refer to them as the QLC for official documentation. They were coming by to collect their reward, but a runner had been sent in advance proposing long term cooperation. This was not something she'd anticipated. But considering they took the initiative, they probably weren't likely to turn on the STC. The proposal however made sense. QLC had manpower, and mobility, but limited production capacity due to... well their nomadic air ship habitation. STC had resources, production facilities, but limited manpower and mobility. The STC also had an airfield that was fairly well maintained, a balloon hangar in specific from the collapse era was well maintained by the STC for their own balloon fleet. There were skeptics on the board, but she'd at least hear them out, and give cooperation a chance. They could meet at the airfield when they came to collect their reward, or the STC HQ since it was close by.

Now onto the bad news. The salvage from Treasure Island did not come at a light cost. The entire team of 3rd Pathfinders had been disbanded. Five of them lay dead, still on the island while their leader sat in a holding facility undergoing psychological evaluation. Captain Lee had corroborated his story up until the actual deaths of 3rd Element. If Captain Yamashita was to be believed, they might have some kind of ancient mummy monster running amok. The bodies of 3rd Element were going to stay in the morgue that was on Treasure Island. The building was still serviceable so they would keep them there along with the rest of the dead on that island. No matter what they did, the fog would not go away, so the salvage team hastily packed their kit before going home, triple checking to make sure nothing followed them home. They were able to keep things mostly under wraps though, 4th Element had policed the bodies, and kept security. The salvage teams knew little and were not privy to share their experience on the island. No one knew what had happened there except for 4th Element, Captain Yamashita, and the Board.

And then there was Mariposa...

STC Pathfinders, 9th Element
Captain Luciana Pliego
Mariposa County, California
January 15th, 2223
Turn 2

---

Captain Ario Holloway and Captain Luciana Pliego walked side-by-side down the snow covered "highway". Truthfully there wasn't much here left. But to its credit it gave them a pathway. Snow and cold killed most of the overgrowth. Mariposa wasn't very large in terms of land, there was just a single large settlement here, but larger than most. Most settlements had a few dozen folks, but the small town nestled in the mountains had a good few hundred souls. Maybe as many people as STC had employees, but it wasn't Sunnyvale's job to keep census data. Market and consumer data maybe, but that was besides the point. Mariposa had good natural defense, the mountains prevented most large groups from crossing into their territory whilst funneling them in through a select few passes. It was rough terrain for anyone who wasn't local or had special training. The Mariposa Wardens weren't exactly the first people that Ario or Luciana would call in for a fight but they weren't slouches, and they kept the bandits out of their territory. They made due with what they had. The company had struck up a deal with Mariposa, in exchange for food and raw materials from their mines, Sunnyvale would give them refines goods like tools and weapons. Majority of the Wardens used Sunnyvale's Falling Block Rifles, so there was always trade between the two. The season however had been rough, so the usual monthly caravans had been waylaid. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened but each side understood why neither had sent caravans in the past. Mariposa were good, honest folk, and the team couldn't wait to enjoy their hospitality. The final stretch to the perimeter gate were in good spirits.

Until it wasn't.

The mood immediately went stale as no guards greeted them at the southern gate. No lights, and no sound but the whistling wind. The two Pathfinder teams quickly spread out, taking up defensive formations as they scanned their surroundings. Captain Pliego and her men cautiously approached the scrap gate that STC engineers had helped build. The gate was ajar, unlocked. There was no sign that the gate was trapped so 9th Element pushed forward, 10th element a little bit behind.

The Freehold was in ruins. The perimeter walls were intact, but the same could not be said for the settlement. Every building seemed to have some form of damage from where they stood. Doors kicked down, windows shattered, some structures had been burnt to cinder. Scowls were etched into the faces of the Pathfinders as they trekked through the town. Bodies dotted the landscape, from their view, it was fairly indiscriminate fire. It was hard to ID between Wardens and civilians with the bodies having been looted. There were large piles of burnt out junk, they weren't sure what they were, potentially civilian belongings, carts, loot that whoever did this couldn't take with them. Captain Pliego wouldn't cast bodies outside of the realm of possibility. She'd heard of raiders doing things like this, sacking towns and burning belongings so folks didn't have a place to return to. She didn't know if that was the objective here, but it left a very bitter taste in her mouth. Whether or not all the civilians had been killed or simply fled their homes was to be discovered. Surely if there were survivors, word would have had reached them by now.

The intent was to rest at Mariposa before heading onto Carson city, but it seemed there was only more work to be done in the ruins. They looked for survivors or ideas of where they could have gone, and for traces of the perpetrators. Some of the more brazen raiders usually left calling cards, either to increase their reputation or to feed some kind of psychopathic ego. The Pathfinders didn't need to search very hard to find something of value. It was a piece of cloth, a flag. Not one that belonged to the Butterfly county though.

"Bronco, your the raider expert, you ever seen a flag like this?" called out Ronald, the one who found the flag.

The Pathfinder jogged to meet their ally. "Pass it here."

It didn't take the man too much time to identify the flag. "This flag belongs to the... Night Witch Battalion. This lot fancies themselves descendants of a bunch of crazy special forces types. Martial tradition, mostly nomadic, occasionally pop up across the west coast. No one really knows much else about them. Civis up north spin all sorts of stories about how they're the boogeyman. All unsubstantiated rumors of course, but they seem to focus heavily on a reputation of fear. Anything from them being mythical beasts, to having a bunch of crazy old world tech. Most of these rumours can be done away with via simple deductive reasoning anyway. But most folks out there don't have the benefit of critical thinking, education, and actually having something to do with their hands like we do." explained Bronco.

"So they're descendants of Special Ops, so what? So are we." replied one Pathfinder dully.

"While the bulk of their reputation is based off of fear and rumours, they do have a clear and present raiding track record to at least back up their fear mongering. They are still very much real, and very much dangerous, as we can see here. An unknown quantity is one of the most dangerous foes out there. Mariposa Wardens aren't top notch, but there were a lot of them, and they were tenacious." retorted Bronco.

"Well we have the who. When and why doesn't really matter now. Movement restrictions and bad weather ought to keep people away for a while." Came Captain Pliego. "Captain Holloway, my men are going to RTB. There's nothing left for us here and we don't have a numbers for a man hunt. Good luck with Carson City. Try to keep Mariposa on the down low. The last thing we need is panic in the dead of winter."

"Safe travels Captain Pliego." Replied Captain Holloway. He and his 10th Element trudged through the ruined town towards their objective.

The march back to Sunnyvale was an especially cold one, but it wasn't the weather. No one was in the mood for jokes or speech. 9th Element took rest at the end of the day at the ruined city of Merced. It took them a day just to get here. But it was here that they could regain radio communications with command. So while the rest of the team rested inside of the old Costco they were based out of, Captain Pliego and her radio operator Gil stepped onto the roof to transmit their report. After Gil set up the antenna, the Captain was clear to speak with her superiors on the company's secure frequency.

<<"Echo Six, this 9-Echo-Romeo. Do you copy, over?">>

<<"Zzzt-Six here. Your line is a but fuzzz-y but you're transmiting. Wasn't expecting a status report so soon. Have you encountered any trouble, over.">>

"Affirm Echo-Six, Mariposa settlement is Tango Uniform, no survivors. 10-Echo is still en-route to Carson City. We are RTBing now. Over">>

<<"Ak-zzzt-eg 9-Echo-Romeo. Any IDs on who did this, over.">>

<<"We found flags belonging to a raider group up north called the Night Witch Battalion. No other traces found, over.">>

<<"Acknowledged 9-Echo-Romeo, return home safe. Echo-Six out.">>

---

The two bits of bad news were enough to completely exhaust the current Super of the Sunnyvale Trading Company. The loss of an elite unit was heavy, but the loss of an entire trading partner was devastating. To boot there was now likely a murderous band of psychopaths with god complexes hiding out in the Yosemite. Probably a great place for raiders to be hiding out. Hopefully, the talks with the QLC would go over smoothly, for everyone's sake. They'd be keeping news about Mariposa suppressed for the time being. At least until the rationing situation had itself sorted out.

[Anowa]

ANNO DOMINI 2223

WEEK FOUR | JANUARY

NEW EVENTS

Second Sun

A timer set so long ago has finally run down. Mobile, Alabama, is no more. It's surroundings rendered to ash, as the city itself is all but erased. The shockwave can be felt as far away as Amarillo and St. Louis, while in the coming days, the few geiger counters that worked in Annapolis would start picking up abnormal levels of fallout, as the already horrid winter the Afromerican tribes were enduring suddenly get worse as radioactive particulate begins to fall with ash and snow.

Mobile and Baldwin Counties are now Dead Zones. The Lemoyne Tribe now ceases to exist.

This is the end of an event chain.
Affected Factions:The Nation of Afromerica

---

The Riders from the North

Men riding horses had arrived, with minted coins and proper manners and language. Educated as they were, the had the rank stench of death, yet they were no bandits, the uniformity of their equipment said as much. Instead, they met with community leaders, and started handing out singular fist sized pendants. The only answer to such a confounding riddle was simple: "You have been given The Khan's Mark. You will know the decision when it comes."

The rumors, horror stories, and tales from north spoke of an empire from years long ago. Under a man known simply as "The Khan", it had expanded almost immediately after the collapse, only falling upon his disappearance. Such a long journey for such a simple message did not bring good omens.

This is the start of randomized event chain.
Affected Factions:Queen Love's Children, Zion Raider Alliance, Sunnyvale Trading Company, Night Witch Battalion, Spiritual Republic of Caryton, Roll of The Dice.

---

A Strange Signal

A broadcast from the west coast had only been playing for a little under an hour, when an odd, short static burst had been heard over the airwaves. Every three hours since then, a short burst of static had slowly wafted over the continental US. Anyone with a radio would receive it, and if any of them could even remotely triangulate where it was, they'd find it bellowing out from somewhere between Pittsburgh and Baltimore. What it was, and more importantly, who was sending it, would be valid questions.

This is the start of triggered event chain.
Affected Factions:All With Access to a Radio

---

Two Weeks Prior

"Crifta." Ranald gestured to one of the younger members of the group who came forth with a bundle of thick wolf pelts. Ranald took the pelts and visibly set aside his own axe. He took several steps forwards and offered the pelts to the stranger. "Wei gom burranga criftas ad tarada. Dayk hus dou ror dom ad pheple ." Ranald waited patiently for the man to accept the furs. Assuming there was no trouble he would back away and smile, then present one of the maps given to him for his expedition which clearly marked out the old settlement of Montezuma. If that didn't work then he intended to offer some of the groups alcohol. Either way he wanted to present goodwill and not have an axe buried in his head by the end of the interaction.

The man knelt, shoving his axe back into his belt, he began to sift through the pelts, taking pretty much all of his attention off of the so called foreigners, he was either very brave, very stupid, or very trusting. After some time, he was seemingly confident in the skills of the tanners in the Kingdom. As the map was presented, the man once again looked up, and noticed the gestures. He gave a slight chuckle at Ranald pointing at Montezuma, "A traveler who speaks not the language of the place he seeks to travel, is a poor traveler indeed." Collecting the pelts he spoke again, though not at the new arrivals. "Hark!"

Around the 14 Davidian men, nearly a dozen people rose out of a foot of snow, some having previously lain within three feet of the trading party, now stood, all fully armed with a variety of axes, bows, and a few firearms. Their leader had not lost concentration earlier out of bravery or trust, but rather confidence. Confidence that his braves would cut down any who dared to attack him.

"We will take you to Mantyzem. If the Chief does not agree with what you propose, you will be sent away."

---

It took another few hours before the collection of individuals had finally arrived at the village. Fewer buildings than had been were occupied, the village was now almost wholly centered around the highschool and nearby church, with wooden cabins filling the gap between them, and an 11 foot wooden wall acting as a border for the town.

The gates were open, and manned by individuals with forearms, although given the lack of any polish or sheen, they were likely of a sub par construction quality. The further into town the travelers got, the more activity they found, as those who had lead them here had split off, likely to return to families. Passing by the church, a duo of individuals stood outside of it's doors who were notably not locals, neither the garb they wore, nor the weapons they bore were indicative of a tribe like this. If any Davidian worth their salt had read about the crusades, they'd notice the Maltese cross on their tabards almost instantly.

Arriving at the highschool, the group of Davidians were stopped outside, the man who had so far lead them hear spoke for the first time since they'd met, "Only one of you may enter the halls, to keep our people secure."

[HypErcApitAl]

Men riding horses had arrived, with minted coins and proper manners and language. Educated as they were, the had the rank stench of death, yet they were no bandits, the uniformity of their equipment said as much. Instead, they met with community leaders, and started handing out singular fist sized pendants. The only answer to such a confounding riddle was simple: "You have been given The Khan's Mark. You will know the decision when it comes."

The rumors, horror stories, and tales from north spoke of an empire from years long ago. Under a man known simply as "The Khan", it had expanded almost immediately after the collapse, only falling upon his disappearance. Such a long journey for such a simple message did not bring good omens.

RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

The generals bumrushed it to Boatshire's office, in the ceremonial Jackpotter house. They knocked on his Office's door, and a few Guardsmen let them in, knowing of their rank.

"What is it?" Boatshire asked.

"I know you've said all that stuff a time ago, but this is paramount. All of the civilians are freaked out, talking about some 'Khan' figure. Most-likely, they'd fill-up the damned churches again, and then the fucks would ambush and murder, or possibly rape them." General Armoine reported.

"Fuck all that shit I said about not being a warmonger. Immediately mobilize the Partisans, and draft any ablebodied Diceroller. This is exactly the fucking situation we've been preparing for, for days and days now, Armoine! But, I thought those goddamned filthy Northerners would be the ones!" Boatshire screamed.

"Don't worry, sir, we're prepared." General Thompson said, with a straightened face.

"Hopefully. But, let's hope our civilians won't go looting shit like they used to do in the ancient days." Boatshire responded.

"We'll wipeout these "Khanate" dirtbags with precision never-before-seen, sir." Thompson told.

"Luckily, our lookouts heard of this. If it's anything I hate, or hate more, it's being unprepared." A.B. Simmons said.

"Give all of them swords and spears. We can't have any of them horsing around in a time of Conflict, like this." Jackpot Boatshire replied.

"That's why I wish we had Pokerfaces." Boatshire mumbled to no one in particular.

"And also, ready the infirmaries. All Cardsharks better be on Deck." Boatshire sternly said.

"What do we tell the Gambler?" A general that no one'd seen before asked.

"Shut down the damned churches. If anyone's pious enough to fight for our Faith and the Diceroll Church, also put them on the frontlines." Boatshire replied.

"In the ancient times, a 'President' had to notify the other politicians, or "Congress" if they wanted to declare war, but I'm not going to talk to my other political colleagues. They don't understand the significance or importance of this. Now, we're in full-war-mode, and nothing can take or talk us outta this."
Boatshire thought.

"They'd just sit there, for hours-on-end debating and generally just wasting time in the halls, and we don't need that shit. Our lives and liberties are at-stake." Boatshire continued to think.

Mechanics: State of Preparedness/Vigilance mechanic, and all others related to warfare continue to grow. Declaration of War: Roll of The Dice instantly declares war on "the Khan." Holy Warriors and Enlightened Ones: Holy War rhetoric, with the Diceroll Church and the Gambler.

[Anowa]

Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, Knights Hospitaller

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 24th
Poncho Springs, Guard Barracks

The situation in Seguache wasn't getting any better, but it wasn't getting any worse either. The small town had elected to simply bar the gate and keep quiet, isolate themselves from the outside, but they'd stopped shooting. Harling wagered that it was simply a cascade of panic from the town's rather paltry guard. All it took was a single man with enough fear to pull the trigger, and suddenly a death blossom would erupt. Harling couldn't pass judgement, fear affected everyone differently, and the men who were wounded understood that just as well.

In good news, the man who'd been shot in the femur was apparently on the road to a functional recovery, he wouldn't need a cane, but he'd still need physical therapy, and given the nature of the wound, an abundant amount of morphine. As for the man who'd been shot in the head, fragments of what was assumed to be a .380 round has been found in his brow, which made him an incredibly lucky man. He'd been milling about earlier trying to regain his bearings, with the help of his comrades. In surprisingly good spirits given the circumstances, and had opted to forgo the potentially addictive painkillers, toughing out the migraines instead. The man had a will to continue, that was for sure.

In the east, the company of Guard had rooted through what had remained of the Colorado prison system in the county, Almost all had their prisoners still locked tight in their cells. The guards having seen fit to condemn those contained within to a horrid wasting death. It was a damnable action, prisoner or not, they deserved to die free, or at least be given the chance to. ADX Florence however was a fortress, harling had his eye on it for a long time, but there never was much reason to actually set up camp there, but apparently not only was it still in prime condition, it's guard armory still had a stockpile. While a vast majority of what was left was decayed, rusted and generally useless, the parts remaining that could be cleaned off, derusted and cannibalized into workable firearms would either be put into service or traded off for raw supplies.

All in all, things in the south were going alright.

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 26th
Denver, Forward Barracks

Things in Denver weren't going alright.

Yes, one Marcus Colt knew it could be worse, but they'd fallen back to their basic swordsmanship upon realizing that they'd run out of bullets if they tried to start using firearms to clear the city out. So far they'd simply held up while the supplises for their plan finally came in. Ammonium nitrate was to be mixed with distilled pine tar to form a less than optimal ANFO mixture. That wasn't to say it wasn't lethal.

They were going to set up central locations in Denver, clear those areas of supplies, and then set up a massive bomb and ring a literal dinner bell. With the mutated humans proceeding to rush in, the bomb would be detonated and hopefully a large number of mutants would be given peace. Until then, they were holed up in a high rise near downtown, quietly going about their day and ensuring that they'd survive until the supplies they needed arrived.

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 28th
Gunnison, Wind Walker Camp of Chiefs

The Knights of Moses were the only Hospitaller Cabal trained to use and maintain long range radio packs. Salvaged from excusrions into Fort Carson, the radios were the lifeline for the long range team of pathfinders and explorers. In combination with their already heavy packs, and their largest 'worth it's weight in gold' items, being a series of ten 5-ton trucks, also salvaged from Fort Carson. While normally, the Knights Hospitaller only needed roughly 5, water and fuel trucks included, the length of their journey and the suspected state of the capitals they were arriving at meant they might need assistance. Each had of course been modified, all of them currently had pintle mounted machine guns and their diesel engines had been modified to sustain themselves on biofuel. Two were fluid tanks, one filled with fuel and the other filled with water. The rest were cargo variants, each having been fitted with a metal piped frame over the rear and additional armor plating, their armaments mostly consisted of the simple M240 or M249s they could salvage, but the lead vehicle was armed with a twin mounted M2 Browning assembly on a raider platform to give a 360 degree arc of fire.

The Knights of Moses had previously been sent on assignment to reach to the previously established border with Canada, and if possible explore beyond it. They did, and only recently reported back that it was nothing but ice and ruin. Before that they had aided or directly participated in remapping the Rio Grande, driving out or assimilating every bandit clan in the surrounding 200 miles, and assisting with pilgrimages to Mecca. But of course, that was all east.

The KoM had yet to foray beyond the Rockies, everything beyond was untouched land to them. They knew of Annapolis, New York, New Orelans, and Miami. And such, they had been given their goal. Labeled as the Fransiscan Crusade, blessed by the holy men of the Order, and with their wills readied and submitted, the collection of 64 Knights of Moses and nearly an equal number from the Hazardous Operations Cabal "Filters of Gomorrah" set off on their crusade. Their destination was a snaking path across the western half of the United States. Starting with Salt Lake City.

Summary of Events:
Jan, Week 1:

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

Jan, Week 2:

- Missionary Party dispatched to Integrate Saguache County, CO (2 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

Jan, Week 4:

- Platoon of the Knights Hospitaller have arrived in Denver County to begin clean-up processes.
- Knights Hospitaller Cabal "Knights of Moses" dispatched to make contact with Salt Lake City, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and San Fransisco. (13 Weeks Est.)

[Beutarch]

The Federal District of Annapolis

---

21 Jan 2223 - 28 Jan 2223
Annapolis

President Wallace Westbrook came to prominence during a period of immense corruption and discontent within Annapolis' government. With the people's needs sated by the flow of grain from the Delmarva and the initial forays into the Old District ending in tragedy or nothingness, newly moneyed men from across the Chesapeake began to push their own interests in the legislature. The practice of lobbying was a well known, if ill documented, occurrence in the pre-Collapse United States. The reintroduction of money into the politics was sold to the people in the same way that they made schoolchildren recite the pledge, an extension of the American system and a way to imitate their ancestors. What these men failed to recreate was the gentleman's agreement that kept lobbyists just under the surface of the creation of legislation, rather than in the foreground.

Within the span of a few election cycles, advocacy groups and offers of help with campaign finance quickly devolved into outright bribery and coercion. A series of arrests and confrontations with lobbyists, carried out by then Captain Westbrook, began to combat the spread of such practices. The man went on to surprise everyone by announcing his own intention to run for president. To the outrage of his opponents, he orchestrated the arrest of the opposition's chief candidate, accused of accepting bribes. Such a radical move endangered Westbrook's political career, but having secured the tacit approval of his colleagues in the Admiralty, he continued his election bid. Surviving a number of assassination attempts and forcing executive orders when the legislature did not acquiesce to his demands, President Westbrook irreversibly changed the face of the District's government. All in an effort to fight corruption, numerous reforms were enacted. The House of Representatives was dissolved, leaving the Senate the only house of the District's unicameral legislature. A degree from the Academy was made a requirement in order to be considered for any government office. Westbrook then installed his own brother as the Senate's majority leader, cementing the Columbian faction as the District's dominant political force.

Now nearing the end of his third term, the President had mellowed with age. He empowered the Senate, so that another man could not do what he himself did from the office of the Presidency, and allowed his political enemies to come together under the faction of the Easterners. This frustrated the younger Westbrook, who found his efforts in the Senate increasingly difficult without the assistance of the executive branch. The two brothers had largely stopped talking, Senator Westbrook despised the holier-than-thou position the other had taken in recent years. Years previously, he would have asked the President to order Rylander's arrest. But now, the President would have chastised the Senator for the idea if he presented it to him.

Thus, it came as a surprise when the Senator was summoned to the President's offices. A retainer now opened the door to said offices, motioning for the Senator to enter. Sitting behind a large chestnut desk and beneath a Rembrandt, spoils of a particularly successful expedition into the Old District, sat the President.

"Frank. I will keep this conversation as succinct as possible. I need you-"

"What is this, Wallace? Do we now only speak when you need something? Our planned budget was nearly shaved in half last month, and you didn't raise so much of a finger. I've had to take my own measures in order to maintain our course."

"I'm well aware of Captain Rylander's 'incident.' A brutish plot, the Easterners will figure it out if they follow the breadcrumbs which you so carelessly left. Half the Academy knows that you gave Green the orders," grumbled the older man. His face spelled out his exhaustion with his brother as he continued talking. Frank's reply did nothing to ease him, "Perhaps if you had thrown me a lifeline I wouldn't have had to resort to such measures, they were this close to turning back our progress. The Old District will be ours by the year's end, thanks to what I have done."

"Enough. That is not why I called you here." The President fumbled with his desk, removing a small handheld radio from a drawer. He places it on the top of the desk between the two men. "Excluding our own programming, I have heard nothing but squabbling traders and fascist propaganda from the North for years. This Monday, a unique signal began broadcasting. Only static, but carefully patterned, pulsing every three hours."

"What of it?"

"In truth, it could be anything. But, I believe it is a military distress signal. An SOS. If that is the case, it is our responsibility to investigate."

"And why have you brought me here?"

"Your Lieutenant Green. She is the best at what she does and I want her to do the investigating. As I understand it, you've already been leveraging my contacts in the military to your own end. So, I ask that you do the same, but for mine. I've already spoken to men in the signal corps about locating the source of the signal - have Green follow up with them and set out as soon as they have it pinned down to a reasonable radius. Consider this penance for murdering a member of my military without my knowledge or consent. That is all, you may leave."

---

The Coast of St. Mary's

The USS Bataan, like all of the District's ships, had a storied life. Having protected American interests across the Atlantic for years, the ship returned to Virginia just in time for the nation's Collapse. With the disease ravaging the pre-Collapse US, the Bataan was considered to be refit as a hospital ship, but ultimately was looked over. This lucky break allowed the ship to escape the fate of Naval Station Norfolk, fleeing with a small number of other ships first toward DC, and then Annapolis. To stay in service during the post-Collapse years, drastic downsizing took place. The ship's complement of aircraft was the first to go, useless without a reliable supply of fuel. The vehicles were broken down for electronics and metals. Without the aircraft, there now was no need for the deck to be as large as it was. The ship itself was shrunken, to allow the use of a much less powerful steam generator. Missile tubes and similar weapon systems were dismantled, replaced in favor of simpler mortars and bullet-firing deck weapons.

Despite the alterations from all her years, the ship never strayed from her intended purpose: amphibious assault. When the District needed a ship to touch down in a diseased county, there was no better choice than the Bataan. Paired with a company of marines, the ship was sent on her way to St. Mary's. Since then, the ship maintained its distance from the coast to the best of its ability. Now only minutes away from the drop-point at Point Lookout, the ship's inhabitants busied themselves with preparations for the landing.

Within the bowels of the Bataan, a flat-bottomed landing craft was removed from storage and moved across the ship's internal monorail. The boat had to be pushed by men toward the stern gate, but the novelty of a boat being launched from another boat was not lost on Sergeant Veers. To Veers, this was what separated the District from the savage masses that inhabited the wastes of America. The synergy of man and machine. As his squad of marines filed into the waiting landing craft, the Sergeant began to inspect his men. Outfitted in earth-colored combat jumpsuits and armed with assault rifles, his fire-teams were the most heavily armed soldiers the District had fielded for years. Being the leader of the landing party, Veer's uniform was fitted with a rare pre-Collapse Geiger counter. To his knowledge, no marine had ever developed radiation sickness during an operation, and the Sergeant intended to keep things that way. The readings that the device displayed were higher than the expected values, but Veers chalked it up to proximity to the Dead Zone. Worth making a note of though, just in case.

The landing craft spilled out the back of the vessel, moving toward the coast. Veer's 12 men were to take point in the landing, ensuring that the beach was cleared of hostiles before the rest of the company made landfall.

"Some lighthouse, huh?" joked a private. The lone building on the coast was dilapidated, the tower of the lighthouse fallen over and precariously balanced on the exposed beams within the roof. Despite its sorry state, the construction held a commanding view of the Chesapeake and the mouth of the Potomac. This was to be the site of an outpost, a resupply point for expeditions into the Old District. Sanitizing enough land to create a reliable route to the old city would take months, but scavenging operations could be carried out in weeks if performed by boat. To put a cherry on top of the site's strategic importance, the building was once considered property of the United States Navy prior to the Collapse, and by extension, is now considered the rightful property of the District. "You better can it, they say ghosts live there. Might make 'em angry if you insult their abode," chided Veers.

The skipper of the landing craft slowed as they approached the rock-laden jetty, steering the craft to touch down on a patch of sand. Readying to jump out of the boat, the Sergeant turned to his men.

"Teams 1 and 2, clear out the house. Put down any mutants you find. 3, establish a perimeter to our North. Once 1 and 2 are finished, we'll call in the engineers from the Bataan. Roger?"

Summary:
- Rationing is continued (event)
- Troops in St. Mary's begin assembling an outpost in the far south of the county. (movement)
- Expedition sent Northwest, toward the Strange Signal. Exact destination unknown. (movement/event)

[HypErcApitAl]

A broadcast from the west coast had only been playing for a little under an hour, when an odd, short static burst had been heard over the airwaves. Every three hours since then, a short burst of static had slowly wafted over the continental US. Anyone with a radio would receive it, and if any of them could even remotely triangulate where it was, they'd find it bellowing out from somewhere between Pittsburgh and Baltimore. What it was, and more importantly, who was sending it, would be valid questions.

RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

The "War" room

"Fix those goddamned radios! I want senses on those goddamned Mongol wannabes!" General Thompson commanded.

"Sir, yes, sir." An odd Paladin by the alias of 'Oval' copied.

"I don't know a single thing about Radios or Technology, sirs, why am I not at the frontlines right now?" Alex asked.

"You're a Nature Girl?" Oval laughed.

"You've gotta be kiddin' me." Oval responded.

"Sorry it had to be this way, greenie, but, only three of our radios work. Well, they don't really work. Everything's been staticky. Every time we get a signal, it sounds like muffled speech or backmasking or something. Are the coms encrypted?" Another odd Partisan, by the alias of "Flour" said.

Thompson laughed.

"I don't think they'd be." Thompson responded.

"I'm just surprised they don't just run up in here and kill us, right now." Thompson murmured.

"I'm happy I'm here and all, but, I just don't! C-could someone help me?" Alex asked.

"All these greenies ever do is complain, complain, complain." Armstrong said.

"And who the heck are you?" Alex asked.

"Girls nowadays. Sheesh. Welp, some of us only go by surnames around here. Mine's is "Armstrong," got that, buckaroo?" Armstrong answered.

"I don't h-have a callsign or nothin.' Everyone keeps calling me 'Greenie' over and over. Is it b/c I just got enlisted?" Alex pondered.

"Well, duh. All newbies 'round here get called that, but, don't worry. It'll be fine. I suppose you know what you're doing." Armstrong smiled.

Alex cackled.

"I guess. I've been training, practicing, and studying my keister off to serve my Country." Alex said, matter-of-factly.

Alex's bowstring-hand 'felt itchy,' so she walked out to relieve it. Just like at-home, a set of bullseyes were there, all lined up and all. Several other Spades were practicing their archery, also.

Several men and women in knight-like armor marched, walked around, played and practiced instruments, spun batons/wands, and prepared foodstuffs. Some of them had cowls and capes that were colored black and red, or had certain "Diceroll" patterns on them.

Alex was trying to concentrate, to focus, but there was so much noise. So much sound pollution. She looked around, and in one direction, she saw a staff/drill sergeant or someone of higher rank scolding a fellow comrade-in-arms and ordering them to exercise.

Alex thought back to school. She thought back to the many schoolbooks and textbooks she read, the many novellas, novels, library books and so on that were preserved. Many quotes ran, rushed through her mind. She kept trying, despite the bands playing old and ancient music, or improvised music, or the several sets of vocalists doing throat exercises.

She closed her eyes. She slowly took the bow off her back, and an arrow from her quiver. She readied herself to fire, both mentally and physically. She'd think about the fifth Jackpot, and all the havok presently going on w/ the Boatshire Administration, then, she'd finally fire.

The arrow whizzed in the air, before hitting the bullseye straight in the very centre.

She wanted to daydream, she wanted to think, or meditate on and about everything in her life. Finally being a Partisan. Finally defending her country. Her family. And everything else. Going through so much rigorous training, studying and practicing both pre- and post- becoming a Spade.

"The only thing I probably regret, is not joining the Band. I could've been a horn-player. A hornet?" Alex thought.

"Not Sax, not Trumpet, and definitely not the European horns, but the Fluggelhorn. Exactly." She continued to think.

"Maybe, I did waste my time with Archery..." She secondguessed.

She continued to practice. A "voice in her head," perhaps a begging/nagging conscious would tell her something.

"We have to stay. We have to stay marching. We have to continue jumping whenever a Superior says "Jump," we have to be stellar marksmen. If not for Boatshire or Country, then, for who? For Lady Luck, herself? For Fate? Destiny? Chance? For the Gambler and Church? You have to do this."

"There is no 'we,' there is only me." Alex sternly said.

Mechanics: Technology and Me: Technological and Mechanical Paladins/Partisans fix The RoTD's communication's systems. What's black-and-red All over?: Social mechanic(s) for Alex.




The Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart "Stewie" Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png


Jackpot Boatshire anxiously waited all day in his Office, waiting,waiting, waiting for some news or feedback or something to turn up. To just turn up. His conscious nagged him a bit. He worried about "his Legacy," the "Administration," "Impeachment," and the next Election. Diceroller Citizens greatly liked him, though he feared that that could change. That their admiration and adoration could rust or be washed away. He was worried about the Storm, still, and getting The Roll to survive into Spring, though he knew Springs weren't really good.

Historically, as he was a man of History and the Textbook, he knew that War or Conflict or some sorta disaster usually happened around Springtime or Wintertime, and that wars generally ended around Christmas and the "Happy Holidays." He feared that some anti-Boatshire citizens were thinking he was going to tell his generals to coup the city-state, or some sorta Orwellian or Despotic martial law, or that he was going to declare himself "King" and start the Boatshire Dynasty/Royal Family for sure. Although, Presidents in the ancient times were thought-of-as the "new Kings," so technically he was "King" already, but then there was so much interference.

He also feared the Gambler'd try to start a full-on Theocracy or Holy Empire/Caliphate in The Roll. Yes, he had good relations with him, but he still feared. His mind, his brain were still active. He dreaded something bad happening to Roll of The Dice and Diceroll Democracy. He even dreaded the thought that Diceroll Democracy was ineffective or incompetent.

"Would we last forever? Would the Boatshire name last forever? What's to happen to this city-state and its peoples," he thought.

"I don't need a political legacy, or "Boatshirists," I just need the family name to still exist. I already married and did everything I had to do. I had two kids, though they're grown now." He continued to think.

"I try not to be pessimistic. I try to laugh my ass off, and everything, but as Jackpot and as a politician, I'm worried about this country and it's Future. As a married man with two wives, I'm worried about its peoples. We must persevere. We must survive. We must keep our independence no matter what." Boatshire was thinking.

Normally, he did all his speeches "off-the-cuff" or from the top of his head, but since he was bored, stressed, and anxious out of his gourd, he decided to write his own speech.

The blond, bearded man sighed, and began writing.

"I wake up everyday. I sacrifice myself, my health, my wellbeing and welfare for this country. I don't take a Cyanide pill. I just rough it out, no matter how hard the times get. Everything I said to you, in past speeches, is still very much true. I'd sacrifice myself for this country. I'd sacrifice myself for you lovely folks. We may be at-war, but there's still another expansionist empire. There's still movement, somewhere, I betcha. Someday, one day, they'll come for us. They'll take our religion, our swords, our females, and whatever else we may have, but they could never take our Spirits. Thus, we fight, and we fight HARD. For, we are the Battleborne State . We are the true heirs and claimers of the Region of Nevada, and we could never ever be silenced. Raze the grounds. Scorched-earth the shit, do whatever we have to do, because these invaders will never take Vegas. They'll never take Nevada. They'll never take us alive, so, go ahead, try to catch us. Try making our days, you runts.

I say, to all you Dicerollers out there, to all you battle-hardened peoples, not just in Nevada, or Cascadia, but all around America, we will never surrender! We will continue fighting for what we believe in! No one's gonna take us down. I don't care if y'all don't remember my name, my message is crystal-clear. So, keep on, my beloved Dicerollers."

He finished the script. He'd then sleep on his desk, scared that he was going to stress himself out to death.


Mechanics: Continuation of previous mechanics.

[Anowa]

The Khanate of Idaho

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 9th
Salmon, Idaho

The leadership of the Khanate was filled with a collection of worry and anxiety. The three lesser Khans currently sat in a singular room, a nice wooden table that no one was currently seated at, alcohol, food, and heating. Salmon was the last town that still held on to the blessings of the Khanate's glory days, and it wasn't about to let go any time soon. The Three Khans went by rather unique names, Tepes, Attila and Mosaic. The latter most being the only woman in the room.

Tepes was an older man, balding and heavily wrinkled, but still muscular, more than capable of serving on the line if necessary. He had a look in his pale blue eyes that signified a long and hard life. A myriad of scars and mottled skin told a tale of a warrior. Tepes was known to be among what was known as "The Last Generation", the last few people who could hear tales of the Khan from first hand accounts, their parents, or masters were right alongside the Khan during his conquests, and as such, they were some of the highest ranking and most well respected among the Khanate. He had fought and bled for the Empire as it was rapidly declining, on that alone he was a hero. He stood at a rather solid six feet, give or take an inch.

Attila was much younger, smelled, and was notably less kept together than his peers, his skin, a natural mocha, was almost the color of coal dust due to the layer of dirt on it, his black hair had an off putting sheen. The only beacon of civility were his blue eyes, shining as if the man knew something you didn't. The man had no real excuse, Salmon was his home and it had hot water, the man was asking for an infection at this point. That being said, he was quite the merchant, having made connections with a majority of the surrounding settlements, and still maintaining a level of authority over them based on a currency. If one ignored his smell and general savage nature, he was quite the intelligent man. He stood a mite bit shorter than average, almost 5 and a half feet.

Mosaic was a younger woman, the only spot she held here was that of the Khan's descendant. The governing had been left to the other two Khans over the sole two territories that remained under the Khanate's banner. That wasn't to say she was inexperienced or naive, the variety of scars visible along her arms and neck were endemic to the Khans, even if the glasgow smile carved into her cheeks wasn't. An almost permanent 1000 yard stare etched into emerald green eyes, something that not even Tepes had hinted at hidden depths, but no one dared ask what the message was. Her blonde, shaven hair was one of the few genetic markers from the Khan that was evidence to her lineage, the other was her amazonian height of a little over six and a half feet.

The trio milled about a bar in the side of the room, Attila was pounding back shots of liquor, an attempt to calm his frayed nerves. Tepes was simply contemplating the situation, holding his chin in thought. Mosaic, mosaic was simply staring off into the world between worlds, like always. The voices that seemed to whisper at the corner of her mind silent for once.

Attila spoke up, a gravelly voice, as if trying to speak through a puddle of mud, the man's smoking habit had left his lungs in a similar state to the rest of his body. It truly was a miracle he yet lived. peeking out from under potentially years of grime, "So... what do we do? How do we explain that so much is gone?"

"We tell the truth, and hope it's enough." came the strung out and faded voice of Tepes, weathered by years of screaming and yelling at either his slaves or his soldiers. Despite it's worn state, it had authority and command. "He was a fair man, tough, but fair. I see no reason that he should have us killed for events handed down to you two. Me, perhaps less so."

"He valued experience, which you above all of us have, Tepes." Mosaic was still staring through a wall as she spoke, it had a notable sovereignty to it, a finality in her words that left no room for argument, even more so than Tepes' voice. "If anything, you're at the least amount of risk if he gets here."

"You mean when?" came the grimiest of the trio.

"No, If." the woman finally turned to Attila, "What we've heard so far is simple rumors of a titan among men walking around near our borders. There's nothing to say it's more than just hearsay or rumors. You two seem to forget that many of our people revere him as a god." Silence reigned.

The woman made for the door, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off reclaiming the land of my Ancestor's Empire."

The Khanate of Idaho

---

Anno Domini 2223, January 27th
Bellevue, Idaho

They had swept south, Sun Valley and Ketchum weren't expecting an assault, and folded within days. A few scant communities between there and Bellevue did the smart thing and prostrated themselves before the Khanate. Hailey was still technically under siege, but word of that campaign was going well. Bellevue tried to put up a fight, but they simply didn't have enough manpower in the end. From what had been shuffled up the grapevine, the few in-between villages and the old town of Carey had willingly given up. For them, life would go on much the same.

The Khanate cared little for the religious or cultural practices of those it conquered, so long as the Khan's law was not violated, they could go about their lives in their own way. What remained of Hailey's population would ultimately end up enslaved, and Bellevue, while giving up in the end, had still resisted, and as such an example had to be made.

Mosaic looked upon the collected mass of the town's population, some 200 people. Surrounding them and preparing to exact said example were 180 Hordesmen, most armed with Garand rifles, fewer armed with flamethrowers or Automatic rifles. Sitting upon her horse in the armor befitting someone of her rank, bull's horns protruding from her helmet, she called out.

"To those of you now kneeling here, know that you are now direct subjects to the Khanate of Idaho! Know that your culture and religion, whatever practices they hold will remain unmolested so long as our laws are observed! You will be handed a wooden stick that is colored at one end at this point in time, if you do not know what color it is, or you are color blind, ask for clarification from a Hordesman!" At this point, a quartet of Hordesmen, proceeded to work their way around the crowd, a much more massive take on simply drawing straws. Many in the crowd seemed confused, a few even hopeful, a vast majority had horror dawn on them as they realized what might happen.

As the Hordesmen finished handing out the sticks, they rejoined the rest of their comrades at the front. Mosaic stepped down from her horse, a Hordesman approached her and offered her a pull from a bundle of sticks. She plucked one out, not looking at the color, instead looking at the crowd.

The Hordesman called out Blue, Red, Green, Purple, Black, White, Orange, and Yellow in that order. As the individuals with those colors were shuffled to the side, all that remained were those who pulled Pink sticks. The basis of such a thing dated back to the Roman Legions. Except knowing that not everyone could count anymore, The Khan used the basis of color, and with only 9 readily discernible colors, decimation turned to novemation.

23 individuals still remained on the ground, a few were resigned, others were still confused. Sat almost dead center of them all was a child, about 8 or so. He still had baby fat on him and was as dirty as a child his age was expected to be. Mosaic approached the boy, looking over to the crowd of benched individuals she looked for any who were particularly concerned for the boy's well-being. All of them stood stock still, wide eyed and frozen, awaiting what would happen next.

Looking down, she spoke to the boy, "Stand up." the boy complied, as Mosaic knelt beside him, "Point out your parents for me."

The boy, still silent, raised his arm up eagerly, finger pointed straight at a woman at the end of the row, tears were streaming down her face as it was contorted into an ungodly flexation of agony. Beside her a man who's eyes were as large as dinner plates. A crutch at his side and a swathe of bandages over his chest indicated he had fought a recent battle.

Mosaic turned her attention to the rest of the line, "Are there any among you who would take this child's place, so that he may be forever united with his parents!?" Silence. "None of you?"

The small square was dead silent, a single click of a dagger coming from it's scabbard was the first sound from anything, followed by the sound of metal tearing into flesh, and the ungodly wail from the child's mother. The father either knowing the futility, or too deep in shock didn't even twitch, his eyes simply fixated on his son's trashing, gurgling form. Panic had set in, and a trio more gunshots followed from the Hordesmen, two as a warning, and one into the back of an individual trying to flee. Mosaic simply walked back to the front of the formation as the flamethrowers pressurized, she gave the order to incinerate those still sitting when the boy had stopped moving.

Mounting her horse, she awaited the news from up in Montana, and Tepes' own campaign there.

Summary of Events:
Jan, Week 2:

- Khanate of Idaho prepares for the suspected return of The Khan.

Jan, Week 4:

- Khanate of Idaho conquered the County of Blaine, Idaho.
- Khanate of Idaho begins integration of the County of Beaverhead, Montana.

[Ralnis]

Children of the Queen's Love,
Week 3

The reclamation and modification of Monterrey. The entire place had started to develop infrastructure to support the building of more airships. They know that they can't just lug around Her Majesty across the Wasteland, especially in the winter. With the county already providing the necessary needs to build it, there was already word from Sunnyvale that they had something like that set up but the air raiders were looking to expand to even greater buildings. Make a full industry to rebuild their once legendary fleet and take back to the skies once more.

It was a monumental task but one that could be done in a couple of weeks. However the people had more than enough food and resource surplus to do this task and make sure the industry is built to kickstart the Children's rise to power again.

On the other half, the Court has assumed that they should try to make peace with the Kharn county bandits and try to make an alliance and trade with them. They also believe that they should start looking directly north of them to make the survivor community up north of them into a tributary but not now. It would be prudent to have all of their raiders back from that scouting mission back from the green zone of San Benito. It was already a dangerous trip, knowing the plague and the mutants being what they are.

Massive scavenging and industry being set up around Monterrey to build airships
40 raiders being sent to scout and scavenge San Benito with gas masks, bolt action pipe rifles, and medical kits trying to see what they can do(1 week)
An emissary of the Children is sent to the Khan county bandits do be in an alliance, if not then they can always be forced into it( 1 week)
Buy supplies from Sunnyvale in order to help expedite the building of their industry.

[HypErcApitAl]

RoTD
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png


Stewart sighed, thinking of ways to calm his stress and anxiety.

"There's one thing Newcastle didn't warn me about, and that's all these pebbles and boulders on my shoulders and chest. I feel like Atlas, just carrying the world on his back." He thought.

"All this time and preparation... I figure my generals know what they're doing. Sometimes, you just have to let the cards fall where they may, I guess." He continued to think.

Stewart Boatshire was a blond and bearded man, though some time of holding the office of Jackpot has caused him to age rapidly, much like former Presidents of the United States (POTUSes). He tried to eat whenever he could, but his politicking and time in-office caused him to lose weight. Before politics, Boatshire was a historian, and during that time/following, he mainly practiced hand-to-hand and flail combat. He preferred the Flail's nature, as it was "an exceptional weapon" in his opinion, being a midrange melee and all.

A well-read and experienced career politician, though well-liked, Boatshire was. In ancient American politics, career politicians were hated. Most Americans, or the "Silent Majority," as they were called, wanted a wildcard.

He preferred keeping his generals closest to him, and the military structure of long-to-midrange weaponry of longswords, greatswords, and bows of all kinds. He remembered hearing stories, myths, legends, and tales about sharpshooters of all kinds from his family. Precision and accuracy. Scoped weapons. Long-guns. Olive or grape branch in one hand, and a fistful of arrows in the other. Perhaps, that's possibly where Boatshire got "Flower Power" from, or the age-old idea that wars, violence, and conflicts could be stopped by communication, "hugging it out" and other beliefs.

The Jackpotter Office held its decorum and civility, though recently, Boatshire might've faded some of that civility. He mostly wore tunics, and tried to wear tasteful attire. Something that marked his position as a very powerful figure in The Roll, but also something that was stylish. Something fancy, but not too fancy.

Stewart's eyes were mostly covered by spectacles or a monocle of some kind, though he almost-always wore a smirk. Recently, that smirk became a scowl or grimace. It seemed like Stewie had two dispositions, two sides; the cheerful, positive, optimistic, smirking fellow, and the man that scolded his generals, scowled, thought about many things, and very unpolished.

He had a knack for debating, arguing and other sorts of dialogue and "back-and-forth," but also a brain filled with many quotes from his times studying. Nowadays, he fought tooth-and-nail to keep the theocratic republic from falling into disarray, so he didn't have much time to be the jovial, heartily-laughing sort he was, before. Maybe it was the politicking and historical researching that made him stiff-as-a-board and uptight, or maybe his wives and supporters chilled him down, preserving his humanity - or his last traces of it, and not some man-in-a-chair yay-ing or nay-ing laws, orders and chapters that were passed down to him by his political coworkers. There was unpolished layman speech, and then there was legal or governmental speech, and Boatshire preferred the former.

Stewie and the Gambler, oh, the Gambler, such a righteous man, with his tight and flowy robes - his serious-at-all-times or stoic demeanor, his memorization of texts and papers of Gamblers before him, his staunch determination to preserve the Diceroll Church and its values. The two seemed to foil and slide off of another, but this was the opposite case - the two stood together, though the Gambler supported Jackpot Boatshire. Or, maybe, the religious man and the office-occupying, tea-slurping lad weren't so different after all?

Both commanded armies and diehard, gung-ho supporters. Both had some traditionalism and conservatism. Both, victims of Age and Time. Both, keepers of knowledge, in their own right. Both, very busy and occupied.

Many would die in the name of Faith, Religion, and the Church. Many Partisans and militiamen would die in the name of Diceroll Democracy and The Roll's values. Scripture and old teachings versus Constitution and new, progressive thought.

Stewart "Stewie" Boatshire, a man of two houses. Two buildings. One, political, and the second-and-last, his personal. His wives, Amelia, and Erin, mostly occupied the former house, but that's because they mainly were ones to stay out of the spotlight - though their husband, Stewart, would always reference them in speeches, and also allowed them to speak their minds, standing atop soapboxes.

Playing "House," playing "Man of the People," playing "Straight-man of the Nation," and other roles made Boatshire weary, tired, and somewhat nervous, paranoid.



Mechanics: Mechanics concerning Jackpot Boatshire continue to blossom.




The Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart "Stewie" Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

"Now that the radios are fixed, let's respond to those blasted signals!" Thompson commanded.

"Respond how, sir?" Alex asked.

"Like this, Greenie," Oval responded.

"Niner, niner-two-one-eight. Is anyone hearing this? This is the channel of the Diceroll Armedforces, specially marked-and-classified as 'Partisans,' do you copy?" Oval spoke to any would-be listener.

"Showoff." Alex murmured.

Alex defiantly moved, and shoved Oval out of the way, annoyed.

"Answer her, for God's sake!" She yelled into the radio.

"I forgot to close." Oval told.

"And how do you close?" Alex asked, like a smart-aleck.

"You're supposed to say; 'Over-and-out,' I think." Oval answered.

"Answer her, for crying-out-loud! Over-and-out." Alex closed.

General Thompson sensed some sort of animosity amongst the two soldiers, holding them both back with his hands.

"Don't be such a smart-ass, Greenie." Thompson told.

"Yes, sir." Alex heard.

Alex, still annoyed, walked out. She still saw everyone doing their thing. Certain groups of Hearts waving around swords, and practicing their swordplay. Other Aces, very much like herself, talking about Superior Officers that annoyed them, and the non-chatty patties, practicing their Archery.

Bands played songs, and she noticed the Horns all grouped-together, playing a song she recognized. The name of the song came back to her like a boomerang. "Chandelier," it was. She started to have flashbacks of her parents singing songs to her and her siblings humming. She hummed the song as she prepared her bow-and-arrow, being able to multitask from years of practicing her archery, though she mainly preferred not to.

Arrows whizzing away in the Winter winds reminded her of Home. A girl and her bow. Oh, how times change! Though, the times didn't really change, as the more things change, that's the more they stay the same.

"Why do they have to be such buzzkills and killjoys, huh? Why can't they just lighten up for once?" She asked, mentally.

"Yes, I know it's the Military, but why they gotta be like that?" She continued firing, the questions being in her head, the talking-points being drove home or emphasized by arrow noises.

"If we're at-war, then let's see what the Khanate's all about!" She stopped firing arrows, slinging her bow so that the bow was on her person now.

She walked towards the hand-to-hand area, seeing many other Partisans sparring. They all had their helmets on, and she thought "Safety, first," so she'd go to where she'd last place her helmet. She'd grab it, putting it on. She hated wearing helmets, because of getting "helmet hair." That, and she loved her long, black hair so much. She remembered she used to comb and brush it alot, and when she'd get infront a mirror, it'd always look bright and shiny.

She'd return to the hand-to-hand combat area, picking a partner, and sparring. So much punching had went on. Some of the sparring partners looked like they had unusually-soft punches, but the one that she had, punched hard. She returned said punches, though favored kicking or chopping. The armor constricted them, so they couldn't do crazy-style forms of ancient martial arts, though.

The armor wasn't exactly uniform, though. Some had Knight or Crusader-style armor, others were lightly armored or padded. Generals and other high-ranking members were focused on eliminating some of the odd parts of the Partisans, and fully unifying the army and the two branches (Spades and Hearts). Alex recalled seeing some Partisans with cloaks, cowls, and capes, or capes with hoods. Hearts mainly had European-style swords, though other sword types were seen, like rapiers, sabres, and so on. She'd also heard of some Queens-of-Hearts having lances, though she didn't see any horses, lancers, or spearmen as-of-yet.

She remembered her training, and bootcamp, and all of the walking, pacing, shuffling, running and speedwalking that she had to do. She also remembered the multiple squats and leaps. She remembered being yelled at several times by some sort of Drill Sergeant. She also knew that Boatshire emphasized the Partisans, and military training. Alex harnessed her anger and angst into her hand-to-hand combat, trying to knock her sparring mate unconscious, despite the fact he also had a helmet on.

"Even though we're at war with these 'Mongol wannabes,' there'll always be an unseen and invisible enemy." She thought, finally 'defeating' her sparring partner.


Mechanics: Continued growth of previous mechanics.

[Revlona]

Duchy of Camden

Duke Samuel Raatkins, leader of the Duchy of Camden, listened intently as his scouts told him of what they had found. “It was a odd building, pretty thick lookin with a big ole sign out front that said armory on it Mlord. My mama said I’m not much of thinker but I think that it might be from before the collapse.” The scout said, a deep southern twang making much of his speak incoherent to anyone who wasn’t used to it.

“Alright thank you Jonathan, you can leave,” Samuel said, a smile on his face as he began to realize what this might mean. He then turned to his small council, a group of half a dozen local representatives that were voted in to advise him. “Any thoughts?” The Duke said, his smile still readily across his face.

“This could be big Lord, very big, that bass is pre war. We might be able to scavenge weapons and ammunition from those armories, hell we might be able to scavenge a working radio.” Lonnie Howard, a local farmer said.

“Working firearms could mean a lot to the Duchy Sam, we could much easily beat back this near annual raids from up north, might even be able to more securely start expanding.” Duchess Savannah Raatkins said, favoring her husband with a genuine smile as she spoke. Several of the small council cast skeptical looks at eachother as she spoke of expansion, but they wisely kept any other thoughts to themself. They knew that Samuel was a lord who could stomach insults made against him or people disagreeing with him, but he wouldn’t hold to anyone doing the same to his wife.

“Alright, well it’s settled then. We will send a part out at first light to take a peak and try and scavenge what they can. Any news from our other scouts?” Samuel said, casting a look at Lauren Olarry, one of his more able military commanders.

“Not yet m’lord, they were only sent out yesterday after all,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as she did.

“Well inform me immediately when they do,” The Duke said briskly, raised from his seat to signal the end of the meeting. He helped his wife, who’s belly was already beginning to round, out of her seat before looking at the others, all of whom bowed at the waist. He nodded once and they turned and left the room, leaving the two rulers to themselves.



Mechanics:
-Send a 10 man team into Kings Bay Naval Base to scavenge from the Navy and Marine armories there.
- Send 5 man scouting missions to each of the neighboring counties.

[Glengo Island]

Ejército de Nuevo Aztlán

Week 4

Punto de Hospitalidad is a small town in the northern reaches of Nuevo Aztlán. The Californian/Nevadan border would be just to the east, if they knew what it was. It mainly served as a place of refuge in the Mojave for patrols to set off from and rest up in and have the odd merchant peddle their wears, given its proximity to old Las Vegas. One new product becoming available in the main plaza would soon gather more attention than the rest.

The country was a guarded yet amiable one, and religion had a casual existence in affairs. A peculiar, relatively new kind of vendor that had been popping up were the men and women who would sell nothing. They would merely set up a stall that was little more than a cushion with a simple roof and within a small box or sack would be games of chance that customers could pay to play with the vendor, usually with the enticing promise of getting to win back more money than they spent if they played right. These simple moneymakers were deceptively easy, and as consequence appeared to require little skill.

The little games were inevitably lessons in Luck. Small lines delivered by the vendor served as minor distraction but was more or less Gospel. Repeat players would lose money but gain subtle insights in Luck that will slowly change Punto de Hospitalidad and the nearby communities west of the border.

In the rest of the country, business largely continues as usual. The arms facility in El Centro is coming along as expected, due to be complete in 2 weeks' time. The western frontier remains dangerous. The agricultural quota this month is not going to be met, but fortunately not by much. La Paz remains a minor thorn in the leadership's side. A dinky, guarded radio facility in the central-west part of the Mojave is buzzing at an unusual frequency, but as no other cause can be found this will be deemed a defect and it will soon be shut down for thorough inspection.

[Beutarch]

The Federal District of Annapolis

---

21 Jan 2223 - 28 Jan 2223 (cont.)

The District's Signal Corps was one of numerous ancillary organizations that the District kept around in an attempt to recreate the United States' organizational structure. As far as morale was concerned, giving each group their own insignia and patch did much, but resulted in bitter arguments and accusations of unfairness when the Admiralty released their budget each year. Initially, the Signal Corps had successfully saved dozens of pieces of RADAR and other various pieces of navigational equipment from the downsizing of naval assets when the District was first founded, but soon found that they were sidelined by the Admiralty. The District itself had scrapped all of its air units and, so far as they were aware, were unrivaled on the water, thus eliminating the need for careful detection of the enemy.

When Lieutenant Green came knocking, around 400 years since the unit's inception, its members were relegated to a former dormitory on the grounds of the Academy. A collection of crudely assembled antennas protruded from the building's roof and were visible from a distance, while closer inspection revealed some of the more carefully preserved pieces of equipment poking out from the building's upper windows, pulled inside during inclement weather. Many secrets of electronic warfare had been lost, but these men were capable of carrying out the President's request. Using the technology at their disposal, they had placed the strange signal to the northeast of the District. More specific then that, they were not able to determine.

They were, however, able to provide Green with a hastily assembled radio pack. With it, her team could not only stay in constant contact with the District, but could also relay data back to the Signalers so that they could better triangulate the position of the signal, making it easier for the group the closer they got to the target.

---

Unlike her previous operation, Green was accompanied by just a small fraction of the veterans that had served under her. The majority of those elite troops had been pulled in order to assist the landing in St. Mary's. In their place were several former border guards. Without the need for secrecy, as in the previous operation, the differences between the two classes of soldiers were very apparent. Armed with long rifles and outfitted with thick cloth and leather uniforms. The guards wouldn't have looked too out of place among Cossacks or Pioneers, whereas Green's men worse more modern, drab-colored coveralls and were armed with short and stout sub-machine guns. The two groups eyed each other warily, but were both bound by the chain of command to the Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Green met with her expeditionary force at one of northernmost gates of the District's borders. In addition to the men, three pack animals had been allocated for the mission. On the backs of two of them were two, small disassembled rail cars, while the third held a substantial amount of rations. On foot the trip could take up to two months round trip, Green intended to cut down on that number by utilizing some of America's old rail systems. Leaving from the north of Severn, her group would walk until they made it to the Old Main Line Subdivision, staying a safe distance away from the husk of Baltimore. They'd put their little trains together and haul ass to Fredericksburg, and then to Cumberland if the signal turned out to be farther than expected. Good tracks could last for over a century, Green hoped that they'd make it to 2 centuries, given that nobody's used them in any substantial way for years. If the tracks were too bogged down with debris, they could dismantle the cars and walk on foot, but Green hoped to stick to the rails as much as possible.

[HypErcApitAl]

Week 4

Punto de Hospitalidad is a small town in the northern reaches of Nuevo Aztlán. The Californian/Nevadan border would be just to the east, if they knew what it was. It mainly served as a place of refuge in the Mojave for patrols to set off from and rest up in and have the odd merchant peddle their wears, given its proximity to old Las Vegas. One new product becoming available in the main plaza would soon gather more attention than the rest.

The country was a guarded yet amiable one, and religion had a casual existence in affairs. A peculiar, relatively new kind of vendor that had been popping up were the men and women who would sell nothing. They would merely set up a stall that was little more than a cushion with a simple roof and within a small box or sack would be games of chance that customers could pay to play with the vendor, usually with the enticing promise of getting to win back more money than they spent if they played right. These simple moneymakers were deceptively easy, and as consequence appeared to require little skill.

The little games were inevitably lessons in Luck. Small lines delivered by the vendor served as minor distraction but was more or less Gospel. Repeat players would lose money but gain subtle insights in Luck that will slowly change Punto de Hospitalidad and the nearby communities west of the border.

The Roll of The Dice
Jackpot Stewart "Stewie" Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

The Stalwartpence was starting to gain value, though economists in The Roll didn't know why, as there was no diplomacy between the two areas. Small reports would come in, from Partisan lookouts and citizens, saying they'd seen foreigners from the West. Maybe, it was the Airraiders. Jackpot Boatshire'd sent some Aces-of-Spades to California, and there was no signal or report saying what happened, or if they'd returned safely.

Ifnot Military, then Religion or Currency could/would serve as a bargaining chip, or uniter for those in the larger region of Cascadia. The radios were fixed, but the Paladins didn't get a return signal from anyone in California, or even the far-east. That was still softpower diplomacy, and better than what Boatshire's governmental colleagues had heard. There were some rumors that Idaho was forcefully uniting its neighbors, and even tiny holds that didn't do anything to them. Why were they harming innocent peoples, peoples that appeared to not be able to harm a fly?

Time went very slowly, or atleast, felt slow, though since some people had literally nothing to do other than the "Market" of Gossip, rumors, tales, and some tidbits of News, factual news went faster than a speeding bullet. Some girls were part of this "Market," whilst others bore fruit and other treats/surprises from far-away.

https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/peasant-girl-picture-id97586862
https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/f371a42d-e206-4712-8307-c090cfdc32b5/d280175-0d38f4e8-3442-44fa-ab9b-747680416ad6.jpg/v1/fill/w_730,h_1095,q_75,strp/peasant_girl_stock_5393_by_moon_willowstock.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJpc3MiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwic3ViIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl0sIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiIvZi9mMzcxYTQyZC1lMjA2LTQ3MTItODMwNy1jMDkwY2ZkYzMyYjUvZDI4MDE3NS0wZDM4ZjRlOC0zNDQyLTQ0ZmEtYWI5Yi03NDc2ODA0MTZhZDYuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTczMCIsImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTA5NSJ9XV19.gsFawSSLA4zpidczkvrAMtOxAs7-BrEkNIhFvMw8NvQ
https://st2.depositphotos.com/1394326/5580/i/950/depositphotos_55802531-stock-photo-renaissance-peasant-girl-portrait.jpg
https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/a7e5ba16-92c4-4747-a88c-7f231ff25fbb/d1lw4v0-0407068e-fd51-4fec-a12e-d53388992b70.jpg/v1/fill/w_559,h_1429,q_75,strp/peasant_girl_stock_9_by_fairiegoodmother.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJpc3MiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwic3ViIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl0sIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiIvZi9hN2U1YmExNi05MmM0LTQ3NDctYTg4Yy03ZjIzMWZmMjVmYmIvZDFsdzR2MC0wNDA3MDY4ZS1mZDUxLTRmZWMtYTEyZS1kNTMzODg5OTJiNzAuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTU1OSIsImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTQyOSJ9XV19.1a0wVojqvfP0r2sXbd4TseYcqujdYHagqU8wCHILun8
https://media.istockphoto.com/photos/victorian-peasant-girl-picture-id487247074
https://static4.depositphotos.com/1010661/314/i/950/depositphotos_3145725-stock-photo-girl-in-peasant-womans-dress.jpg

They all varied in Dress, though, but it didn't matter. The few in The Roll, that knew and noticed, appreciated these tokens that the girls had. Some girls were dressed with parts and pieces from ancient clothing, most-probably sewn/stitched back together. Some had exact styles and articles of clothing that appeared to be very new, or were probably looted very far away from The Roll. Others had varyingly-different styles of dress, since every region became a subregion and every subregion had/most-likely had different culture(s). It still was Winter, but some were starting to get over it/get used to it, or braved it. Some girls had what appeared to be bonnets on their heads, possibly because of winds. Others didn't, altogether, or had worn accessories in their hair.

https://freedesignfile.com/upload/2017/12/Beautiful-girl-in-blue-short-dress-Stock-Photo.jpg
https://image.shutterstock.com/z/stock-photo-girl-in-blue-dress-doing-a-backbend-941848.jpg
https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/girl-blue-dress-sitting-high-chair-posing-studio-42325757.jpg
https://image.shutterstock.com/image-photo/image-450w-517143244.jpg

Whatever the case may be, there were markets, now more than ever, ever since the Stalwartpence was made The Roll's official/national Currency. There were rumors that the Far-northerners were illiterate and/or uneducated, which made sense, seeing that The Roll had known of the Khanate's ever-increasing presence. It wasn't just War, and it wasn't The Roll possibly using Currency to subjugate peoples, but it was Education. The Roll had placed an emphasis on Education, whatever the subject may be, just so as long as they were educated. The Boatshire Admin had placed lots of significance on the Paladins, but also varingly-different fields, hobbies, and practices. Stewart Boatshire, himself, had placed some importance on Core Values, and slowly-but-surely, everything Boatshire wanted had came (or was still coming) to pass.


Boatshire was busy, but a courier message addressed to him had appeared. Was it another supporter? It probably wasn't so, because of the Draft, and also because Dicerollers were busy tending to other needs and issues, and not just Politics all day long. It read:

Ophelia Boatshire

https://cdn1.thr.com/sites/default/files/2011/03/debby_ryan-2011-a-p.jpg
https://cdnph.upi.com/sv/ph/og/upi/8651498831621/2017/2/e43542e766c9e93ab54ee62f6e8c25df/v1.5/Disney-alums-Ashley-Tisdale-Debby-Ryan-cover-Destinys-Child.jpg (Her, presently)

https://uploads.wornontv.net/2015/09/emmas-floral-checked-top.jpg (Her, in her younger years)

Hi, Dadsy. I miss you, and the Moms so much. I'm so sorry that I didn't get to write you. Things've been very hard, and busy for me, but I imagine you've been kept busy, too. Try not to worry about me, Dadsy, I've kept safe. How're things back Home? I haven't kept in-contact with my siblings, or anyone else in the family. I really miss my sis.

It was very short, snappy, and punctual. Ophelia had good English, and a very pretty handwriting. The sister she was referring to, at the end, is Harriet Harper Boatshire. Ophelia'd inherited her parents' charm, and cleverness. She also had a very good Slight-of-Hand (fast reflexes), and her preferred weapon(s) were daggers, though she was very crafty when it came to Unarmed Combat. In her youth, she was a good hider - infact, she still has some of her stealthiness.

https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ieWimM9LN3Q/TnhSKBD7DDI/AAAAAAAABWk/s2-xzZuXlVo/s1600/scarlett-johansson-90408003.jpg
https://a.abcnews.com/images/Entertainment/HT_scarlett_johansson_glamour_2_sk_140408_4x3_992.jpg
https://i.pinimg.com/736x/03/df/b5/03dfb514d0a9ac191c9c10dee9070e97.jpg
https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/beautiful-girl-white-bag-white-29666388.jpg
(Harriet Harper, present)

https://i.huffpost.com/gen/1382759/thumbs/o-SCARJO-570.jpg?3
(Harriet, in her youth)

"Dadsy," was Ophelia's nickname/pet-name for Stewart, ever since she was younger. Stewart was so absorbed in Politics and the minutiae of being Jackpot that he'd almost forgotten about his children (were-it-not for his wives talking about them), and other parts of his personal life that he now considered "little." He still missed his wives, though checked in on them when he'd wanted a fresh air from the desk/office-job that is being the Jackpot. Also, politicking and the art of Debate also took up parts of Boatshire's time.

All-in-all, once Stewart did/would get the message, he'd be concerned about them now. As for fond memories, he'd always remembered Harriet Harper being the shy/taciturn one. Ophelia was a "daddies' girl," he remembered, and also very upfront and opinionated, though also interested in Diceroller Fashion.

Mechanics: Lessons learned: Start of economy growth, also trade/economic interactions. Hiding in the Broom Closet: Growth of social mechanics (in-gen, but also Boatshire's.)

[Christian Confederation]

Republic of Dixie
The Expansion into Cook has been relatively successful as of now. There have been no attacks on the search party and the land is fertile. Once deemed safe the new lands could be used to grow the Republic in many areas. The search team has reached the first crossroads on their journey and decided to set up an outpost and camp for a few days. The Troops find some building supplies but no major food supplies. The ruins of the town are used to build the Outpost. After a few days the Outpost is complete and maned by a squad. The rest of the party head on in there Expedition.

[HypErcApitAl]

ROTD
Jackpot Stewart "Stewie" Boatshire
Nevada
2223
https://i.redd.it/chx73qmevht21.png

Boatshire and his Admin were playing a game of Tightrope, but some people started to get angry that Nevada wasn't unified yet.

"You promise Progress and Growth, but we're still a city-state. What have you been doing?" A man asked.

"A whole lot." The politician answered.

'But it's worth it. We needed to focus on The Roll and not the rest of Nevada, though that is one of our main objectives." Stewie continued.

"We've learnt to do a whole lot with a teeny-tiny amount of Space. Now, expanding and broadening our worldview, not to mention getting new maps, that's a good idea, but it's also risky." He thought.

"We were focused on Idaho, but I don't think Idaho is focused on us. The Partisans are readied, and I trust my generals, but..."

Nationalists and other supporters of his showed up w/ flowers and other treats, and the very devoted even giving him amulets and locklets. He didn't want a cult-of-personality, but this seemed very benign, he was just worried about the very devoteds.

He received the letter, and read it, crying. He also noticed the amount of wanderers, and supported this immigration and the girls in blue dresses.

"As I said, way earlier, we should be a sanctuary for all, and that's what I'm trying to do. The gov't gave all of these people Citizenship; they seemed very desperate." He thought.

---

The Partisans continued testing the radio, as-well-as fixing a few of them. They continued to hope that someone would answer them, but at the same time, they weren't sure.

Alex got bored and tired, and also a bit violent - she wanted to actually engage, instead of being stationed at a base with a bunch of morons and dudes with weird names and nicknames.

Mechanics: Testing, testing, one-two-three: Diceroller Partisans' radios and radiomen get experience. Blue is your color: Acceptance of outsiders, as well as formal pro-Immigration stances realized.