NationStates

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 11:59 am**

The Reboot of an RP of the same name by New Grestin
>OOC<

ANNO DOMINI 2223

WEEK ONE | JANUARY

NEW EVENTS

A White Winter

In times long gone, a blanket of snow over the land was seen as a blessing, a sign of a holiday season filled with joy and cheer. That was a long time ago, now all snow brings is a sense of dread. Humans don't hibernate, so the first sign of snow means the first sign of grabbing whatever food you can and hunkering down, anywhere from 3 to 5 months. Sometimes, people don't make it, and end up doing the unthinkable...
Not to mention the floods that occur afterwards.

This event slows population growth and troop movements by half, and outright ceases crop production. Poor management can lead to widespread starvation.
This Events Ends in the First Week of March
Affected Factions: All factions in the following states: California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Dakota, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, Wyoming.

Desperate Measures

With food supplies having run low, or even out, Raiders are getting more and more bold, perhaps even desperate. Instead of the usual method of keeping out of prying eyes unless they plan something, activity by raiders has ramped up to nearly a sighting a day by neighboring locals. If something isn't done, things could get violent...

This event increases the chance of an NPC Raider attack on neighboring factions by 75%. Lack of attention can lead to raiders running rampant through your territory.

Player Bandit Clans will not gain any population until the end of the event, unless the month has had a successful raid.
This event ends when the source of the issue is dealt with
OR
Until the First Week of March
Affected Factions: All factions neighboring a Raider Clan/ All Player bandit Clans.

Doomsday Prophet

To many, what some soapbox preachers do is fearmonger and drive already pitiful morale further and further into the ground. A good majority of them simply don't have a building to hold mass in. Every so often though, a crazed madman with a strong case of paranoia takes to the square's little wooden box and starts preaching about how the end is nigh, that some figment of evil is going to start yanking the souls out of people, and how Heaven and Hell no longer exist, and have merged with our own mother Earth...

But one has to wonder if they have a point.

The chance of public dissent in a player faction held county increases, until the source of the event is removed.

This event ends when the source of the issue is dealt with
Affected Factions:New York City Contingency Government

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 2:12 pm**

[post deleted]

Edit:
Summary:

Strict rationing has gone into affect to ensure the country has enough supplies to last the Winter.
New York Assault Troops plan to frame the Doomsday Prophet and it's followers with a fabricated supply-convoy raid. The intent is to permanently defame the Doomsday movement.

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 4:48 pm**

The Federal District of Annapolis

1 Jan 2223 - 7 Jan 2223

One had torn its way through the fence.

He might have called it a dog if you cleaned it up, but in it's current state it was more akin to one of Hell's hounds. A smattering of black blood coated the animal's hind leg, leaking from a gash toward the top of the limb. From where the marine and his comrades were hidden, they could practically smell the disease emanating from the creature. They had discovered the hole a handful of hours previously, one of the fence's chain links stained with the same blood they saw dripping onto the snow-covered grass in front of them. The fence was one of several lines of defense, part of the motley collection of outposts, barbed wire, and walls that separated Annapolis from the corrupted lands to the West. The big ones, the ones that might've been bears, they were easy to spot. The little ones, they were the real problem. Small enough to wiggle through the wire, hard for sentries to spot against the dark of the forest, but deadly enough to take a man's arm off if they get the chance. Hell, even if they don't get it, the surgeon will, lest an infection kill the man all together.

Such attacks were usually rare, but they were starting to become worryingly frequent as the cold set in. There just is not enough food for everyone, not even the abominations.

The marine opened the breech of his rifle, ensuring that his round was properly inserted. The gunsmiths of the District had tinkered with dozens of potential service rifles for the new Marine Corps, with varying degrees of success. The gun the marine now held was one such design that experienced a long production run, a breech-loader chambered in .45-70 Govt. Fighting against raiders, you would easily be overpowered by the snub-nosed pipe guns favored by many bandits, but that was not the intended use case of this particular rifle. This rifle was made for the sentries along Annapolis' border, taking down the irradiated beasts of the Old District. One solid shot was enough to put down most abominations. The rifle's large rounds aiding in this, cutting through the diseased, leathery hides of most creatures with ease. Satisfied, the marine closed the breech and set his sights on the creature.

Crack.

The marine stood up, satisfied with his work. His comrades followed, stepping out from the tree line. The abomination was thoroughly dead, sprawled out in a growing pool of blood, in stark contrast to the otherwise undisturbed snow. The marine removed a flask from his overcoat, taking two swigs. The first, he swallowed. The second, he spat onto the corpse. He replaced the flask into his coat, swapping it for a book of District-made matches. After lighting one, he dropped it onto the corpse. Making contact with the home-brewed liquor, the diseased creature was set alight. Turning to the other marines, he frowned slightly. Their rations had been reduced to three-fourths, and their CO had threatened to lower it to half if the snow got much worse. He expected that civilian leaders would follow suit. Some had tried to eat the abominations, more often than not, they became sick to their stomachs after. The thought of chowing down on the necrotic flesh of one such creature was an unsettling to the marine, but he sympathized with those who were driven to it.

For years, the District had fed largely on seafood, the ground both too rocky and likely too irradiated to yield any significant crops. Since the acquisitions across the Chesapeake, however, cereals and other staples had re-entered the population's diet. The Delmarva, while minuscule in relation to an area like the Great Plains, had long been used for agricultural pursuits, since the days prior to the Collapse. Of course, nothing except the mutated plants in the Old District could grow in the cold. The marines would have to find some game on the way home, if they wanted to eat more than three-fourths of a slice of cornbread and a pittance of crab meat.

Someone had once told Captain Rylander that Kent was named after a place across the Atlantic, in some old world country. As far as Rylander was concerned, Maryland was the old world. One of the District's long-time surveyors, Rylander had scoured Kent county relentlessly, cataloging subtle geographic shifts that had taken place in the past hundred-plus years and marking down the plethora of ghost towns that matched up to his crumbling pre-Collapse maps. For all the work he put in, Rylander figured it would be better for the District to rename the county after him, instead of some foreign province an ocean away.

Most of his fellow surveyors felt that the Delmarva assignments were inferior to the more patriotic incursions into the Old District, but Rylander was not of that opinion. The operational freedom was enough to justify his position in Delmarva, away from the militarists back in Annapolis. Not to say Kent was full of hippies and pacifists, but Rylander felt that his countrymen were more amicable when they were concerned with crabs traps and harvests, as opposed to the reconquest of the continental United States.

The man's first expedition into Kent was more than twenty years ago. An old man by modern standards, Rylander now seeks a fine place to lay down a homestead and catalogue minerals, for no reason besides his own entertainment. Unfortunately, he has yet to find such a place, and as such he continues to serve the District's Geographic Survey. Moreover, his colleagues lack his enthusiasm for geology.

"Hey, cap'n! Smoke says we ought to have headed out fifteen minutes ago!"

Rylander's assistant, a junior officer with ambition too large for her own good, disturbed the man's thoughts. With the business end of her rifle, she motioned toward the patterned trails of smoke floating upward from across the Chesapeake. She was surrounded by about a dozen marine reservists, rounding out their term of service with the Survey. They felt more at home with the junior officer's by the book nature, as opposed to Rylander's eccentricity. A privilege of serving outside the normal command structure, Rylander insisted that the group rally on the front yard of his waterfront property, instead of the Kent barracks. Naturally, Rylander had spent the previous night in his shack, with a handful of tents awkwardly pitched outside, on either side of the dirt path that stretched to his front door.

"Lieutenant, put out that damn fire! Let me ask you, do you know how long it will take to reach Caroline?"

Rylander had received his orders several days earlier in a sealed piece of parchment, straight from the Survey's wing of the Academy. He was to take a team down south to inspect Caroline county, in anticipation of the District's expansion into the county.

"Well, no, but it'll be around two weeks and we were scheduled to leave-"

"If you don't know, then the folks across the Bay don't know exactly either. This business isn't as formulaic as the brass would like to believe, relaxing for fifteen minutes will yield better results then setting out at dawn, all stressed and sad," said Rylander, kicking dirt onto the impromptu campfire the men had set up. Though a reliable postal service enabled communication across the Chesapeake, by means of a handful of swift cutters, the District's Fleet and Marine Corps rely on floodlights to relay important messages, and smoke signals in areas where electric lights are not available.

"But, it is a decent time to set out. Snow's stopped falling - for now. Pack up, boys."

Summary:
- Rationing is put in place, as to preserve enough food through the winter. (event)
- As patrols along the District's Eastern border are tightened, soldiers are encouraged to hunt for additional food. (event)
- An exploratory expedition has been sent toward Caroline county. (movement; 2 weeks)

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 6:04 pm**

Creolan

Birmingham, Creolan Confederacy
1 Jan 2223 - 7 Jan 2223

Shakhan knew what fear smells like, and he could taste it on the wind. He tasted fear when his fifteen year old daughter, eldest of his lineage from his first wife, would be seated upon the throne. She would preside over matters related to the city of Birmingham-simple disputes over cattle, books, and the slaves, and she was nervous. He was nervous too, both when he first ascended the throne, and for his daughter. Though she was his eldest, she was not his only child. There were other sons who may challenge her through right of deed-in combat or in leadership. Challenges to her rule will only increase until she found herself a husband, sired an heir, and ruled well and long enough to be respected. Shakhan himself earned it through punitive expeditions, the quelling of rivals, and the near eternal struggle against the bandits of Centreville to the southwest. Such was his rule, such was the Law.

While aged, Shakhan, the second of his name, maintained discipline over the vast clans as he had always had. Those who would not submit were slaughtered, either in secret or in duels, and his name still held power as long as he drew breath. He was a warrior, a veteran of a dozen years both fighting and commanding, and he knew that these desperate attacks meant one thing.

The Bandits could no longer maintain their position, and had begun to exhaust their resources. They were afraid, they were weak, and they would continue to act desperately until shattered, subdued or somehow overcoming them. Winter was felt even this far south, and the war of attrition between the Creolans and the bandits seemed to be in his people’s favour. Glory to the Lwa, Shakhan gave silent thanks to the divine patrons of his people-and the long war that had plagued his people ever since they could remember, Ogou Feray may grant us victory in this life...

Behind the scenes, Shakhan became less of a father and more of a figure-a causer of movements and a queller of quarrels before they occurred between his dynasty. At his daughter’s request, an envoy would be sent to the Bandits-as seemed almost tradition in this case with recent rulers. Their offer was simple, to swear fealty to the Vhetmans and the Roy in Birmingham; they would keep their lands, have access to foods and the commerce gleaned from their confederacy, and share in the wealth that they have. Provided they continually prove themselves loyal and able servants, of course.

MECHANICAL ACTIONS:
An envoy would be sent southwest to Bibb County and the Bandit enclave there, to negotiate terms of assimilation.
Meanwhile, the army is used to keep the peace, and to patrol for bandit activity. Any excess would be put to work maintaining the roads, and infrastructure between the tribes. An important note is that many male heirs of House Vhetman are abroad, and wield a great deal of loyalty to their armies and autonomy. Perhaps a deal could be struck without the Roy knowing among his less satisfied relatives...

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 8:45 pm**

Inside the Queen Love,
Week 1, January

The large beast of an airship was on her berth as the snow fell across the land. The bandits themselves were doing all they can to run the weather checks and work at their stations. Already the Children were facing desperate times as winter set in and hit them to the limits. Food was getting low and this was bad. The Children had to get food and other means to get their way for the winter. They knew that they had only so many targets within such a short distance without expending so much of their much needed fuel.

They neighbored a bandit clan of groundwalkers that were nothing more than runts in the snow. They were an easy target for the Children to make them bend the knee in order to get food and much needed influence in the area. Other clans didn't have much to offer but these little ground walkers were better alive than dead as they can generate more for the Captain and the large sky crew.

The other was a small trading company known locally as Sunnyvale. The company was to the north of the Children's impromptu landing strip and weren't much for pickings in this winter. The Captain still needed to have a place where they can get supplies and trade without resulting in losing more men to fighting and resources in starvation. Winter time was already tough enough with the Children as they needed to get supplies to last the month.

So the airship was being prepped for the slow ride to the neighboring counties. One carried a message to the boss of the Sunnyvale Trading Co. and the airship herself to have her Children apply their trade in bringing one of the neighboring clans underneath the heel of the sky.

Summary Action Report!
The Queen Love is prepped and sent to raid the local bandits and force them into paying a monthly tribute to the Children.
Food is measured and stockpiled to the best of the bandits ability
a deal was sent to Sunnyvale Trading Co for discount of trading supplies and food in exchange for protection.

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 10:12 pm**

Above the Soarin' Musem territory

The makeshift glider creaked under the weight of Airman Henry as he pulled one of the levers to turn his glider slightly to the left, it was the third flight test of the machine and was forced into service due to the coming weather. Winds were blowing the glider around the air unpredictably, but it allowed the machine to stay afloat much longer and go much farther than it normally would. Looking at the scrap riveted machine gun right in front of him, he thought he was actually more than capable of surviving the wastes. But it was starting to become deathly cold, thus showing the bundles of clothing he was wearing and the small heating stove inside the machine which was left at the lightest setting due to the wind, especially when the dial was shifted to its hottest.

"Lets see what we have here..."

Sticking the lever into autopilot mode, which involved locking it into place instead of any fancy electronics which were in even shorter supply than heat, allowing Henry to crawl to a sliding door which opened to a glass pane allowing him to look down at the ground. From what he could tell, it was a bandit camp, at least one that was on fire from other bandits attacking it. This was good on paper, but also on paper were that this was done by an extremely larger camp that was slowly moving towards their land. The weather was making things difficult for everyone, raiders were simply being forced to do their job more often. In the end, this was good information to report and for the Air Marshal and the Council of Warrants to discuss. He closed the door and heard the snap of the locking mechanism of the lever releasing it, the glider tilting downward. Airman Henry scrambled back to the cockpit and using both hands to pull back up, the glider getting dangerously low to the ground before shooting back up with the support of a tailwind giving more lift to the makeshift glider. Heading back to the home base of the old Southwest Soaring Museum.

Southwest Soaring Museum, Soarin' Territory
January, First Week of the Winter

"Despite our location from the Northern wastes, it seems that winter is harming us as well." told the Air Marshal, looking out at the small council of Warrants who he was officially leader of, "The nights are becoming colder and the food is becoming more scarce than it was before. We need to enact emergency measures to ensure that our people are safe and we will survive. You see, unlike most people we live in a land of fire and ice, day and night. During the day, we have the unending heat, during the night that heat disappears. What plans do we have about the heating problems?"

The Council of Warrants begin to discuss about what to do about the heating, when one of them raises their hand, "What if we use water to heat our homes? Now listen." Stepping forward he clears his throat, "We get our water into a large tower like jug, with giant mirrors angled correctly to concentrate the heat of the sun into the water tower. Then using the gravity of rushing water going downward, we can have this heated water travel through pipes into the homes of our people, not only conserving our water but making enough heat to get us through the winter, especially since water takes more time to change temperature than the air. Then when the water reaches back to the tower, hopefully we would have enough to last the night to survive till day, allowing it to reheat and keep us warm again."

The Council of Warrants agreed that such an idea was innovative and would conserve the limited access to water and provide heat to their homes. Once that was settled and the plans to enact it across the territory, the next point of discussion was about the food problems, "Well it's obvious we need to ration the foods. We need to preserve the meat by salting it and freezing it, which will be simple due to the changing weather, allowing us to cook it later. Train the people to find animals in the waste like scorpions to eat and cook, protect themselves from snakes and other dangerous animals which then allows them to survive and find us more food, then finally, using cactus while they are still around to provide our people food and water. Cactus hold water like they were made to survive these lands, the insides if made right are also edible, especially if the cactus can grow fruits. I also believe we can use our gliders to go out far to scout for locations to find food and if possible, grow it." many agreed with their words and write it down. Finally, there was the bandit question.

"We simply need to be more careful." shouted one of the female Warrant Officers of the Council, "We also need to be the ones to strike first, we have gliders and they do not. We rule the skies and none of their pathetic balloons can survive our gliders who can shoot them down! If they are preparing to attack, then we bomb them from the skies with our gliders! Pipe bombs and any of our larger makeshift explosives can dominate anyone who dares tries to lay stake to the lands we call home! We survive because the enemy does not own the skies, so we will rule the skies and continue on as we've always done! The raiders to the southeast will know no mercy! And if we can, we must make an alliance with the survivors to our west! They too are people who must survive to thrive with us, if we can defeat these bandits once and for all we can finally be safe!" No one clapped, these kinds of speeches were normal from this officer, but they all agreed her idea was simple but ultimately the right one.

Summary:

To conserve heat, towers full of water are being build around the Soarin' territory with strange glass fixture on them to concentrate the sun's heat into the towers to heat them, then ultimately having that water travel through pipes to heat the homes of everyone.
Food is put onto ration cards for everyone and survival classes are mandatory for the people to learn how to survive off the land, gliders are also sent in all directions to find locations that could hold food or lands perfect for growing food despite the weather.
An over watch of gliders is tasked with patrolling the border with the bandit clan, all gliders are to be armed with bombs and machine guns to attack anyone that tries to enter their territory from these lands. The guards are being mobilized and the people are told to stay safe if they live close to the border with the bandits.

Posted: **Tue Mar 31, 2020 10:52 pm**

Northern Indiana, near Iron Clan territory

Snow fell around the prone men as they peered through their binoculars, gazing at the wooden walls surrounding the small settlement to the northwest of Iron Clan territory. Several scouting parties had been dispatched over the past few weeks to survey the enclave and determine militia numbers, patrol routes, and locations of possible garrisons, outposts, or smaller outlying farms and minor settlements.

The bandits in question where members of the final scouting party for the winter. Once the snow cleared, raiding parties would be sent to first destroy the defenses of the enclave. Once that is achieved, supplies and slaves would be taken and then, if enough survivors remained, the people will be subjected and forced to provide tribute, recruits, and the like. However, all of that would have to wait for the winter to pass.

The scouts were made up of about a dozen or so men armed with various weapons ranging from homemade bolt-action rifles, to revolvers, to crossbows, to metal swords and shields. With the final report written down, they mounted their horses and began the journey back home to the Iron Clan.

The main encampment of the Iron Clan was situated along a lake and protected by a wooden palisade. Guards, mostly riflemen, crossbowmen, and archers, stood watch at all times along the walls while men armed with spears, swords, axes, and various firearms patrolled the ground, both inside and out. Tents and wooden buildings made up the majority of the structures populating the encampment. A large shire stood at the middle of the camp, with dozens of men and women kneeling before, praying to and worshipping the large fire burning inside the stone structure.

Workshops were busy filling orders for new equipment as well as repairs for old items. People congregated in groups here and there, talking. Others gathered around in a ring to watch pairs of warriors entertain themselves and everyone else with friendly, and brutal, fist fights. It was a normal day in the Iron Clan camp.

The people of the clan were growing rather bored, as they often do during the winter months. Winter brings travel to a halt, meaning few, or even no, traveling merchants to rob. It also means they can't travel as far for their raids for slaves or supplies. However, the winter does bring a chance for all to properly worship their deity, the Holy Flame. It gave them comfort in times such as these.

The people, while bored, were able to continue their usual lives during the winter months, thanks to the stockpiles their Chief, Mordecai Hunter, was able to produce through raids and slave labor on farms and fishing boats. While rationing was, of course, in effect, the people were content with their diet. For now.

Once the harsh winter ends, raids were expected to go back into full swing, if not before. Scouting parties had already been sent to the northwest and southeast, to study the defenses of nearby enclaves. If food reserves held, they would make their move come spring. If not, then raids would be required to keep their people fed. Only time would tell.

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 2:05 am**

Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, Knights Hospitaller

Anno Domini 2223, January 3rd
New Jerusalem, Cathedral of the Patriarchs

Electricity hummed through the rudimentary lightbulbs above the Matriarch. Although it had been nearly hundred years since the electrical grid of the United States had collapsed, the abundance of reservoirs and the few power stations in the area gave a great aid in salvaging the knowledge and parts needed to make a functional, if small, grid again. Turbines sat on the banks of the surrounding waterways, and within New Jerusalem itself were capacitors to hold the electrical charge. New Jerusalem was the only town in The Order's territory to have reliable electricity, and as such, many called it the city of lights. Of course, this did lead to times of blackouts for maintenance, but no longer was getting up to get a glass of water in the night a potential fire hazard. Thanks to the copper piping, screws and coils attached to the very same turbines that drew in water to be pressurized and held in boilers. Running water was available in New Jerusalem as well, even if only in select few homes who had the bravery to house a boiler or the communal baths could one find warm water on demand.

Education of the masses in all aspects of life, even that outside of faith was important, else the accomplishments and jobs needed to keep the Order and the people it watched over would be lost or left derelict. Skills were taught, standard curriculum were taught, sciences, faith, physical activities, agriculture, mechanics. They were the cornerstones of life in this world that God had given them the challenge of living in. This world held more need to it than just soldiers and leaders, it needed farmers, miners, construction workers and mechanics. For while soldiers and generals could take land, it was the commoner who made it a bastion of peace and success.

Yet still, soldiers were needed, trained and disciplined, the Knights Hospitaller and the Guard of this realm were a paramount to this, within the halls of the very Cathedral the Matriarch resided in, were a collection of sealed glass containers, each holding an artifact of the many many individuals who had helped build this Order up, almost all of them canonized as saints. From personal possessions, to weapons, to articles of attire. Among them all, the Matriarch always held one among those of even the Cross: The Green Beret of Saint Harold. He was the one who trained and devised the curriculum needed to train and equip the members of the Guard, and furthermore, the Hospitaller. His methods and the prevailing needs to help fellow people in need was the reason why one could walk for 300 miles in any direction and not encounter any raiders, bandits, or marauders.

The Matriarch felt a waft of cold, as she once more tore her eyes away from the silver decoration on the revered beret. Turning to the Cathedral's main doors, she once more took in the sight of the mass of pews, prayer mats, and the colossal fire burning at the side of the room. Massive tapestries hung from the ceiling bearing the symbol of the Order. Outside of that, there was nothing less humble than the polish on the tiled floors and wooden structures. It was a modest cathedral, despite the pristine Gothic architecture.

Turning, Sarah took in the sight of Lord Commander Harling. The man had once come to the Order nothing more than a teenager, his name simply that and nothing more, in Sarah's opinion, Goliath would've fit the man more. He was as broad as an ox, and taller than her by nearly two heads, his armor alone when he was inducted into the Hospitaller cost a pretty penny, especially since they needed both a ceremonial and battle dress. One the gold emblazoned and engraved suit the guard of the cathedral wore, and the flax oil burnt color of the armor they actually wore into battle (with a more open helmet to functionally use a firearm). Compared to her own black robes, the ceremonial armor he wore was a nigh obnoxious contrast. Her husband was not a man to be angered for sure, for which she was glad he came with such a slow to build temper.

"Harling, it's good to see you in good health." came Sarah, a warm smile growing.

The man did nothing to open or remove his helmet, an act which was commonplace so long as he was on duty, the mildly tinny "And to you Sarah. Brother Maximillian's autopsy was concluded this morning." Sarah nodded as she beckoned for the man to follow her. As Harling followed, he continued, "The students were astounded to learn he still had fourteen fragments of eight separate projectiles in him."

The Matriarch chuckled, "That was Max, gets himself shot a dozen times, tells his kids about it and dies at 73. I assume it was his heart that finally went?"

Harling shook his head, "No actually." Harling guffawed, containing himself after a moment, "Alcohol poisoning."

The two had now entered their private chambers, Sarah paused at the doorway, "You're kidding."

Harling shook his head as he ducked into the room, "I'm not, his stomach still had wine in it. His wife hasn't said anything about the occasion though, but I've had Sister Hannah keep an eye on her, just in case."

Sarah sighed, a smile on her face, thinking of how Max would be laughing at how he had died/ Of course, as with all Hospitallers, they took an oath to donate their corpse for medical study upon their death if possible, regardless of their death. Max had uphold his oath, and his loss was both sadenning and endearing. There would be one more person waiting for her and Harling in the Kingdom of God. As Sarah sat down she uncorked a bottle of cider as her husband sat across from her, "I know your hesitant to say it, but we both know it's going to happen, so I'll save you the anxiety. We're running out of food."

Harling nodded as his wife poured into his glass, his helmet now off and on the table, Blonde hair had been hemmed down recently with a razor, a rather bushy mustache having been formed on his lip, as green eyes shone under the light like emeralds. The giant ran a hand over his head, "Yep. Pipes down by the gate burst as well, plumbers were on the ball though. Winter's just another few months though, and we still have a lot of frozen meats in storage for rationing. It'll be bland until, maybe April, but we should make it... Wish we had more salt though." he took a sip of cider as silence reigned.

Sarah finally broke it, eyes focused on the trifold flag she had been gifted so many years ago, "We can't stay here forever."

Harling saw what she was looking at, "Denver first, or?"

Sarah shook her head as she simply held her glass, "More than Denver, well, yes Denver, but... There has to be more than just the Order. We can't have been the only people left on this continent who congregated to this degree. Government Remnants, thought out survivalists, or, Hell, even plucky kids stuck in a cave."

A pause, then Harling spoke, "Like, Asp-"

"Yes, like Aspen. And hopefully not just raiders, or children, someone has to have collected more knowledge than how to fight."

Another pause as the two sipped on the fermented fruit, before Harling spoke up, "Oh! By the way, the Wind Walkers are finally looking to integrate."

Sarah smiled, "That's good, granted, it's been in all but word for decades now."

Harling shrugged, "At least now they can help us with the food... Or make it worse, it was an odd time for them to do this I'll be honest."

"Not like they have much choice. Seems like they're testing us at this point, waiting to see if we can handle the population we have."

Harling downed the rest of the glass, "Caravans have brought word of a few towns from down south. I'll see about sending a Mission down there to scout things out, see if we can make a permanent connection with any of them with our next caravan. I'll see about sending a small foray into Denver as a scouting party to see the what's what. The giant stood, leaning over to leave a kiss upon his wife's head as he donned his helmet to return to his shift.

Summary of Events:
- Wind Walker Free Hold (Tribe) begin vassalisation under the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem.
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Realm of North Texas (Arrival in 6 weeks).
- Missionary Party has been dispatched to the Soarin' Museum (Arrival in 6 Weeks).
- Platoon of the Knights Hospitaller has been dispatched to Denver County to begin clean-up processes (Arrival in 2 Weeks).

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 4:47 am**

4 January 2223 of the Gregorian Calendar
Mobile Bay

Jacques Canavan had skin more resembling gnarled oak than flesh, years of salt and wind had weathered him beyond his years. That was not to say that we not old, old at least amongst the people of Lemoyne. He had seen more than a half century of winters, he could remember his grandfather speaking with pride at being at the growth of their numbers to include more and more disparate families and clans along the Gulf. Yet those days of expansion had passed, peace had fallen upon the Tribe of Lemoyne. The Shaman sat upon the beach, looking out at the canoes bobbing in the distance, young men desperate to prove their worth fishing as if their lives depended upon it. For in truth it did, the Lord God in his great blue envisage provided for them dearly, just as he was want to take away.

The Shaman had grown wise with age, as his father had before him. The people of Lemoyne were happy, but they were far from safe nor fat. The land provided, but it was also their greatest threat and adversary. It had been many a year since their boats had gone up the inland waterways to meet with the odd-folk of the interior, to trade shells and dried fish for the goods of more settled folk. Canavan knew how the winds of change were blowing, it was almost inevitable that their small communion of families would fall to the evils of foreign influence and technology, like they had so many generations passed.

As if sensing his internal turmoil, Pierre Delarue spoke up, his still present blue eyes ever a reminder of his heritage, "You seem troubled, brother."

"I fear," Was the response from the aged patriarch.

The two men had settled themselves in the overgrown rubble of what had once been a beachfront property, not that the two tribals would know that. All they knew was that the land of old which they now found themselves in had been lost to nature well before their father's or even their forefather's birth. The price of the lord Lucifer consorting with the men of the old country, and their blood sacrament forsaking the bonds held by their ancestors and the earth mother.

"I fear that once more the yankee shall come to these lands with his vile heresy, and we shall be slaves," Jacques continued, eyes upon his clan.

Pierre merely nodded, waiting for his brother's continuation.

"These days we hold are blessed, thanks to the blue God and his virgin wife of Earth," the shaman spoke, his words clumsy as was want for his folk, "yet we must be ready in the event that we should ever come under attack. I... I do not think we are ready."

Pierre seemed almost aghast, it was borderline sacrilege, to suggest that their ways could collapse, "Then what should we do then?"

Jacques paused and thought. It was a deep thought, one that he had mulled over for many a restless night. What could they do. The shaman sighed, and he spoke, "We must grow in strength. Our forefathers before us united to form our harmonious family, I believe it is time for a second great unification."

Mechanical actions
Lemoyne Tribe Expands to Baldwin County (6 months)
Cursory expeditions begin into the ruins of the city of Mobile proper for study of the old world
Cursory expeditions to the outreaching the lands to find other small bands of tribal survivors
Continued pre-agrarian fishing and gathering

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 8:17 am**

"His Majesty has arrived!" a loud male voice announced as two servants opened the iron gates leading to the conference room. King Garcia Oñez walked slowly inside. He was wearing a golden crown decorated with jewels and a heavily jeweled, long, narrow silk cloth, dropping down straight in front to below the waist, and with the portion behind pulled round to the front and hung gracefully over the left arm.

The two servants bowed before their monarch as he made his way inside. So did the Minister of the Treasury, Juan Carlos Sánchez, and the Generalissimo, Pedro de Sainz. The conference room was essentially one broad room with a large, round wooden table in the middle. The King sat in an elevated, jeweled comfortable chair. Upon seating, with a waving of his hand he gave the signal to his two - still bowing - officials to get up and to take seats. Juan and Pedro sat to some rather simple wooden chairs.

"Juan, you may speak first," Garcia spoke.

"My Lord," Juan replied, "our agricultural production and, thus, our tax revenue are steady." Unlike other parts of Northern America, the Kingdom of Latinia was unaffected by the coming of the winter. It rarely snowed in those parts. "I believe that it would be prudent though to take precautions now that times are good, so that we may be ready if things change for the worse. One can never know what God's plans are for us."

"You make a good point," Garcia nodded in affirmation. "We should be building extra warehouses where we can store part of our agricultural production. If there is any kind of famine or other disaster in the future, we shall be ready for it. The wise man preparers for war at times of peace and for disaster at times of prosperity."

"If you will excuse me," Pedro interjected, "may I be allowed to speak?"

"Sure!" Garcia replied.

"Thank you, my Lord. I believe the same principle applies to defense from external enemies. Although our scouting reports indicate that bandits are far to the north and, as such, not an immediate threat, we can use this time of respite to strengthen our defenses. I propose that we extend our already existing defensive line, by construction new fortifications along our borders. We can never be too careful."

"I concur," Juan added.

"You are both right," Garcia replied. "We need to focus our energies on the internal strengthening of our realm, before we can turn our energies to outwards expansion."

1. Wooden warehouses are being constructed across the Kingdom, to store surplus (or otherwise not needed) agricultural production. The goal is to eventually have enough supplies in case some disaster or famine strikes.

2. Wooden fortifications shall be constructed across the border, in strategic locations. Each rectangular-shaped fort shall have tents for living quarters, weapons storage, supply depots and will communicate with other forts/forces on the behind through fire signals.

3. Increased border alert for bandits. Although they are relatively far to the north, one cannot take too many chances with them. If a small raiding party approaches, it should be eliminated immediately. If a sizeable force is detected, the Latino soldiers on the border shall retreat, in order to alert the main army and prepare for a counterstrike. Reckless action against superior forces is not recommended.

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 9:38 am**

ZION RAIDER ALLIANCE

First week of January 2223
Wallachia, Washington county, Utah, Free territory of Zion

As the snow falls on the desolate city of Wallachia, formerly known as St George, a convoy of bandits arrive to the center of the city, the former century old town hall now serves as the conference place for the leaders of the Zion Raider Alliance known as the Inner Circle, a monthly conference is held in it every first week of the month.

the leaders walk into the conference room where a big table is located in the center of it, sitting at the head of the table located opposite of the rooms door is the patriarch of the ZRA, The Impaler, a strong built man in his early forties, a bloodthirsty leader who seized the throne only a few months ago.

the Impaler lights a cigar as he waits for the leaders to get seated.

''Present me the report for December'' utters the patriarch in his harsh raspy voice, product of the years of tobacco smoking.

High Priest John Raven, the oldest man in the room, leader of the Fangs, a shamanistic tribe of snake worshipers, Zealous raiders based in Lincoln county starts the summary:

''Our forces have spread along Clark counties northern border with the bulk of our strike force compromised of 500 raiders are located on the Great Basin Highway, our base of operations in the Western Elite Landfill on the intersection of the GB highway and Kane Springs road is being built, our forces need at least around 2 months to be fully ready to invade northern Clark county with this fucking storm going around.''

''About this storm'' interrupts Hel, the matriarch of the dire wolves a tribe of gunslingers based in Mohave county Arizona, bearing more resemblance to the old world gangs than the savage raiders of 2223, she also the daughter of the late Fenrir, the founder of the Alliance.

''With this storm ravaging both of your territories, the dire wolves are ready to ship provisions, but in return our military operation and impending Clark county invasion from our turf will have to wait till March, we can not spread our forces to thin.''

''Fucking snow.'' shouts the Impaler as he stands up from his chair, and looks at the desolate snow filled landscape of the city.

''Operation Sandstorm, was supposed to launch next month now we will have to postpone the invasion because of this fucking storm till early march.''

The Impaler sits back in his chair.

''Well most importantly now is to prevent a famine, i want strict rationing to be implemented across Zion, from Arizona to Utah to Nevada, lets focus on raiding small settlements and caravans that won't present a huge threat, focus on small raid for now until this fucking weather clears up.''

Hel than looks at the Impaler with a map in her hand, a small black X is drawn a bit south of the Mohave county border in Lapaz county.

''Patriarch, the settlers in Lapaz won't present much of a threat, our scouts on the southern borders are observing activity in the settlement of Planet, few miles from the border, a Raider party should be set up in a few days to raid it.''

''Carry on with it, and lets hope this month pass as fast as possible.''

Three days later
1:04 AM
Outskirts of ''Planet'', near the Mohave county southern border, Lapaz county

A Dire Wolves raider party of 62 bandits armed with pipe rifles, revolvers, crossbows and machetes gather around a bonfire behind a sandy hill on the outskirts of Planet, the leader of the party a veteran gunslinger by the name of Colter instructs the raiders.

''I want this to be a quick fast job, the settlement is small we split our forces in half, two parties and attack from east and west and then push toward the towns center as our scouts reports point out that is where the locals stash their supplies, this will overwhelm the locals and we slaughter the rats, gather the supplies and head back home clean fast and simple, every damn second counts and we need those supplies to hold out till the end of this winter, we attack the unsuspecting sheep two hours from now at 3.''

Summary:
*A planned invasion of Clark county is postponed till march.
*The fangs tribe began fortifying positions along the Lincoln-Clark county borders.
*Strict food rationing and stockpiling is enacted.
*The Dire Wolves tribe from Arizona will begin sending provisions to the other tribes afflicted by the snow.
*A Dire Wolves raider party is ready to raid a border settlement in Lapaz county, Arizona.

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 2:39 pm**

The Kingdom of David
Iowa

The Kingdom of David and the rest of central Iowa felt the brunt of winter as snow poured from the sky, burying anything or anyone unprepared for it. Harsh winters seemed to be growing more common year by year but this one seemed to be the worst that even the elders had seen. Of course they had built up a store of food in preparation for such weather but it seemed as though there wouldn't be enough left over to eat comfortably until summer rolled around. There was also news of an increased raider threat due to the lack of available food, though King Isaac hadn't received viable reports of any activity at their borders.

Naturally the baptisms had been put on hold to prevent newcomers from getting frostbite. Church ministry didn't stop though, in fact it was in full swing. Pastors would be ministering Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday to encourage and assure the population that everything would be fine and that with Isaac's presence that Lambs Grove wouldn't be affected.

The survivors enclave of people to the east of the Kingdom seemed to be doing much the same as the Kingdom of David was. It would be easy enough to attack them and steal what food they had to survive the winter but such an action would deny the Kingdom a new flock. There was the debate that they turn into bandits if they began to starve and with them just on the border that was a dangerous prospect. The decision to send a party of men to the Enclave came from the Apostles rather than the King. Fourteen fit, experienced outdoorsmen would take a small amount of corn and soybeans to trade for post-collapse technology and establish formal diplomatic contact with the Enclave.

By decree of the King all other food rations would be shared between the people of the Kingdom of David. Nobles would turn over all excess food that they didn't need to survive the winter. Recipients of the food would work one day in every week in return for as long as the Winter persisted.

ACTION
>Fourteen individuals are sent to the Free Hold to the east to establish diplomatic contact and trade for Post-Collapse technology.
>Food hoarded by the Nobility is dispersed to the citizenry by order of the King. In compensation all recipients of the food are required to give a day's worth of work every week to the nobility.

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 5:39 pm**

Kingdom of Niagara
Niagara County
January, 2223
The snow continued to fall outside the sturdy walls of the Senate House, it truly was a paradoxical sight that something so beautiful and generally harmless can become so deadly in greater numbers overwhelming even man through cold or hunger. Yet it was with this paradox of nature that King Edward and the Senate had to contend with once again, people needed to be fed and kept in a healthy shape or else the pillars of endurance and piety will suffer. If those pillars were shaken then the kingdom could not hope to stand, let alone complete the Prophecy of Alfred, and every man in the Senate knew this. Already the opening procedures had been completed with a prayer service and sermon from the High Presider who stressed temperance, fortitude, and how a uniting of their sufferings with the sacrifice of Christ would lead the souls of all to Heaven if they took care of their lesser brethren. No matter how many times King Edward heard High Presider Marcus preach the old preacher knew how to engage his audience and expertly weave Scripture and commentary throughout his sermon.

The opening procedures began and the first few motions passed without much of a fuss, simple public works and military budget requests then came the motions that King Edward had been fearing. He had been butting heads with Chancellor Jonathan ever since the man was elected to his position last year, the Chancellor was a firm supporter of conservatism and argued constantly for a greater focus to be made on internal improvements instead of foreign expeditions. This of course contrasted greatly with Edward who was an avid imperialist and constantly pushed for greater concessions to be made to the citizenry, most notably abolishing the debt.

In a cloak of black and gold fitting for his position of Chancellor of the Senate Jonathan began his motion "Brothers of the Senate I request your time to hear my voice and may God preserve my words to speak true to you and His holy will." He said sweeping his arm wide across the Senate as he walked into the center of the house. "We know that the winter is a time of great struggle for all of us, most notably the citizenry, just as the good High Presider preached about. Do we not all know that the winter is not the time for military expeditions? Is it truly the time for expansion when the snow weighs us down and presses violently against our lungs and the heat of our bodies? I think not brothers, I think not. Please brothers I make my request that we pass a motion which prevents the usage of our Centuries for reckless expeditions that would strain our resources until the thawing of the Spring." A chorus of stomping feet soon followed from the Senators who agreed with the Chancellor while those who disagreed shouted "Nullum, nullum!" After a few moments of this the slamming of the king's gavel brought order back to the Senate, he would not tolerate further distraction from the motion. Edward gestured for the Chancellor to continue, to get to the end of his motion for the debate to commence. "Thank you my king. Furthermore in addition to this motion I would like to add that a census be taken of all food stores, Senator to Citizen, and that strict rationing to be enacted." After another spat of commotion the Chancellor sat down. A few quiet seconds passed before Edward arose noticing that no one else would stand.

"Thank you Chancellor for your wise words, you have shown the Senate's and Citizen's wisdom once more this day... I must unfortunately voice my disagreement with the first bit of your motion, with all due respect my good brother." Bowing his head towards Jonathan, no one was surprised that these two would be at a disagreement, thankfully they were still at good terms if not also rivals. Turning back to the Senate proper King Edward made his way into the center, wearing a cloak of gold and white for his status. "Brothers of the Senate hear my words and consider them with prudence, and may God be your adviser. I must disagree with the halting of the plans for expansion, this time is even more important to expand, or at the very least brothers to gather information necessary. It should also be noted if we send a portion from the 1st Century we can have them scavenge and survey new lands for the might of Niagara to claim. I must agree that we can not be reckless, not one of us wishes to be reckless but we can take this opportunity to find more resources, resources which we can use for the glory of Niagara. Brothers I ask not much from you but allow me to use my 1st Century, the Royal Century for this mission of mine, it shall not come from the others, only the Royal Century. I pledge this as your King and as a fellow Christian." Again the process of stomping and yelling began, the noise being louder than at first but it was hard to tell if that was from the stomping or yelling. Chancellor Jonathan took the opportunity to use the gavel to restore order. "Thank you Chancellor. Now I agree with the second part of the motion but wish to go further. No man, no household will be permitted to hold any feast until the winter has fled these lands, we can not be wasteful. Then for the census I hold that representatives from the Church, the Sheriffs, and the Senate oversee the process in every settlement. As an optional addition any Citizen, Yeoman, or Senator who engages in a fast will receive the King's Honor as Servant of the Realm and the ability to petition myself directly till the New Year. God be with you." He concluded before sitting down once more, letting the debate play out for both sides before he was forced to leave the remaining proceedings due to the king being forbidden from being present at the vote.

In his palace King Edward looked out into the swirling mass of snow that was falling upon his fair kingdom, lost in thought before the voice of a servant interrupted his musings. Turning to see the boy he took the folder and flipped it open, reading it he smiled. By a narrow margin his motion had passed the Chancellor's veto, with a few other concessions that were not all that bad, some minor things. Closing the folder he placed it on his desk and wrote down a few things, orders for his 1st Century and for the census. Handing it to the boy he dismissed him content with the proceedings of the day, truthfully it could have gone a whole lot worse.

Actions
-3 Conterbaniums (32 soldiers) would be deployed to Monroe County to survey the land and send any additional food provisions back to Niagara
-A census is taken across the Kingdom as well as rationing occurring under the jurisdiction of local tri-councils of sheriffs, pastors, and Senators or their representatives

Posted: **Wed Apr 01, 2020 10:38 pm**

The Realm of North Texas
January of 2223

Blake Brownell sat in the family homestead, a 'castle' composed of adobe brick walls. The keep was a small but sturdy place, held up by strong wood struts and built on a foundation of stone. He contemplated his plans to expand his kingdom, looking at a crude hand drawn map given to him by his scouts. Off the edges of his territory was mostly empty land, with few settlers about. To the southeast was another hold, a survivor commune that he knew little about, but he knew they could be an asset to his kingdom if they were to ally or join him. He thought slowly about his plan, and then called upon Sir Conner, the Senior Knight of the Order of the Realm.

Shortly Sir Conner would arrive, the ride from his land was short, being so close to the capital. He was wearing steel armor, one of the better suits in the Realm. On his chest plate was painted a purple star, scratched and faded with years of use on it. "You summoned me, sir?" He would ask Blake, removing his helmet.

"Yes, Sir Conner, join me." He said as he waved the knight to come join him in looking at the map. "Gather your knights, and split them into bands of twenty-five. I want one to march into each direction. One party shall seize Hanzford, one shall seize Hartley, another shall take Cimarron county, and the last shall take Union. Raise the levies, take 100 foot soldiers each and twenty archers each. Head into each town and make it clear that our realm has expanded to encompass them. If any violently resist, return in kind, but avoid bloodshed if you can." Blake ordered. He didn't want his knights killing off future subjects.

"It shall be done, my lord." Sir Conner said before bowing out.

"Oh, and please summon Kennedy for me, I'll require his assistance for another project." Blake added.

"Yes my lord." He repeated as he stepped out the door. Conner was a good knight, Blake had trusted him with his life before, and his loyalty to his duties had saved the realm from countless threats. Blake knew that Conner wanted to expand the Realm like he did, to civilize the wastes and to bring glory to himself and the kingdom.

Kennedy wasn't a man for glory in the same sense though. Where others prefered battle, he knew victory could also be found in diplomacy. The advisor had helped him negotiate peace with the internal factions before, and had helped him find those who would betray him and root them out. He would enter the room minutes after Conner left, slightly bowing his back before reporting. "You want me sir?"

"Yes, what do you know about the settlement to our southeast? The one in Moore?"

"Not much, they've kept to themselves for a while and we have done the same. Our scouts have only noted that there's a larger settlement out there. Appearingly civilized." He stated.

"Good. I suppose it's time we met them, bring them a message, that I personally want to meet them. Bring them a gift, twenty horses and 50 gallons of clean water. Have scouts go ahead of you, and take twenty of the guard, and fifty cavalrymen."

"Yes sir, I'll make it so."

Posted: **Thu Apr 02, 2020 5:02 pm**

Sunnyvale Trading Company
Santa Clara County, California
January 4th, 2223
Turn 1

It was... chilly to say the least. Santa Clara county didn't usually get snow, but Allison was starting to notice a pattern she didn't quite like. The weather was just one piece. In the years past, snow had started to drift in from.... god knows where. Summer was still nice and warm, but she would have infinitely preferred the usual old rainy season to this snow that felt like it was appearing more and more frequently during the winters. It use to only happen once a decade, but now they were seeing it every few years.

"Andre, what's on today's briefing?" Allison requested while stoking the flames in the heater in the conference room.

Andre Taliaferro was the closest thing the STC had to an intelligence officer. His "Special Duties" division was highly irregular, working completely outside of security's command structure, and reporting directly to the board. The Pathfinders worked almost exclusively under his division as the STC's primary eyes and ears. Andre knew the county and surrounding counties like the back of his hand and had people everywhere. Not necessarily under the employ of the company of course but he knew people.

"The surprise snow have wreaked havoc on our rainy season crops, however our agriculture division has a proposed we overhaul our hydroponics and aquaponics division. We have the materials, they're just waiting for authorization of funding. Winter-fowl game is also appearing for their yearly migration in the northern rice fields by the shore." He replied, sliding over a clipboard with the proposition and damage report from the agriculture division. "We've lost pretty much everything for the rainy season gains. Anything that's still alive won't be available to harvest until at least March like the onions, peas, so on."

Allison flipped through the damage report. No new food from the Rain Harvest meant that in order to keep their own employees fed, they'd probably have to dip into their commercial stockpiles. However this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Hydroponics was usually reserved for more luxury cash crops but in this context, the board was more than willing to retask the green houses for this. As for aquaponics, they'd been breeding tilapia for years in the old community centres. The fish were fast growing, hardy, and most importantly, tasty. If it came down to it, they could dip into this year's fish stocks. Allison put down the clipboard and quickly scribbled down her signature onto the papers.

"Chi, get your people on it. They've got their enhanced budget, now get me some peppers and green houses. Zeng, this is a learning opportunity. I'm authorizing an enhanced research budget for indoor farming. I know you've tore apart the NASA building for information but head there anyways just in case your division missed something about hydroponics. I'm also authorizing the hunting of the winter fowl but in regulation. We may need them next year. What's next?"

"Next topic is security. This sudden snow has got the San Benito raiders between a rock and a hard place. My contacts tell me the raider stockpiles were not ready for anything like this. They're probably running low on supply. With their numbers, I don't think they're going to last without at least trying our southern border. Now those airship raiders are proposing an exchange. They're going to try and pacify the San Benito group for us in exchange for supplies and discounts."

"Right well this complicates things. Eric, what are your thoughts?"

"Our men have the advantage if the bandits come for us, but if we let this sit it will only get worse. The more desperate they are, the more dangerous and crafty they become. Launching a winter time offensive is pushing our boundaries. We will likely incur unacceptable casualties if we try pacifying them ourselves and consume our limited food stocks. Now I quite dislike the idea of paying off raiders, but this raider proposal is the best outcome we could hope for. Paying off this group to deal with the other group will cost us less than fighting ourselves. Now I don't put an incredible amount of stock in these air raiders, so I propose we move the 1st Expeditionary Group to support the 3rd Territorials in Gilroy. Maybe send some Bowmasters to back up old Blackburn at his farmstead. The old man might have some contact."

Allison chuckled at the mention of the Blackburn farmstead. It was a farmstead that was parked right on the edge of the county line, and watched over the only way into Merced County from the south. A vital route in order to get to the Mariposa county settlements. It also served as an excellent spot for the STC to spy on the San Benito raiders. Now old Blackburn was a retired Pathfinder from the company, but the man was always willing to lend a hand to the company, and was a company legend. He was older than practically anyone else in the county and was too stubborn to die. Man survived over seven months alone in the dead zone and retrieved enough goodies to set him and his lineage up for the rest of their days. Even with his advanced age, he could still probably singlehandedly take on the entirety of whatever the raiders sent at him. That was also discounting the lineage of equally hard to kill sons and grandsons living with the man. The Bowmasters were probably better off manning the wall.

"I'm authorizing negotiations with the air raiders, but I'm also authorizing the deployment of the 1st to Gilroy. Though I don't think the Bowmasters will be needed at the Blackburn homestead. Can we accommodate having so many men in Gilroy? What about the seasonal caravan to Mariposa and Carson?"

"With winter grinding so many facilities to a halt, we can afford to fully dedicate the the 1st to backup the 3rd. Most of their non-combat services aren't doable in the snow. Most civilians living within the walls are also too cold to go outside, we won't have to worry too much about the reduced presence within the city. As for accommodations, the Gilroy garrison has more than enough space to accommodate the 1st. We've enhanced their heating and housing facilities in anticipation for such actions. As for the seasonal caravan... ma'am I don't think we should send one right now. The bandits know we usually send a large amount of supplies out around this time of year and they'll be anticipating it. Best send some pathfinders in preparation for future deals. Let them know what's going on."

"Sounds good, Andre I want one team of Pathfinders sent to Mariposa, and one sent to Carson City. See if they're just as hard hit as us. I also want teams of Pathfinders looking for some place hasn't been buried in snow. Tag anything of interest, we cannot afford to sit and wait. For the time being I want rationing and limited movement from non-essential personnel. The more energy people consume doing non-essential work, the more food they need. While we're at it, let's set up some workshops on growing crops from home and home rationing. It may not solve the food problem but it should encourage self sufficiency and moderated consumption. Also send someone to the sewage facility, I don't want a cholera or dysentery outbreak because our pipes froze."

The daily briefing continued on, breaking down the Queen's Love proposal, discussing the deployment of soldiers and Pathfinders and its logistics and so on. A company wide rationing system and information dissemination program was discussed alongside informing the general unaffiliated civilian holdouts in the county.

Turn 1 Action Report

Hydroponics and Aquaponics are expanded to address food production
Rationing system enacted
Food moderation/alternative food options and rationing workshops are opened to educate the public on reduced consumption
'Gardening inside' workshops are opened to encourage civilians to grow food at home
Reduced wintertime hunting and fishing regulations
Enhanced research into hydroponics
1st Expeditionary Group (80) deployed to Gilroy defense line
Pathfinders deployed to Mariposa County (2 weeks)
Pathfinders deployed to Carson City (5 weeks)
Pathfinders deployed to Modesto (Scouting Action) (Arrival 1 week)
Pathfinders deployed to Treasure Island (Scouting Action) (Arrival 1(?) week)
Acceptance of Queen Love's proposition

Posted: **Thu Apr 02, 2020 9:53 pm**

West Point, New York
NYCG Territorial Border
January, 2223
Walter "The Patriot" Quincy

In the haze of light evening snow, a lone silhouette on horseback travels south along the banks of the Hudson River. Shoulder length brown hair emerges from under the hood of a cold weather overcoat. All but the man's eyes are concealed by a scarf covering the rest of his face. January's frosty winds bite hard, though not quite as bad as the blizzards this man had experienced in years past, for he comes from the same unforgiving land he bears the name of. Regardless, Walter Quincy is starkly aware of the dangers a winter night in upstate New York can pose to an unsheltered individual such as himself. The horse's stride marginally lengthens into a trot over the thin blanket of snow, though not quite enough to qualify as a run. Two months prior this duo of man and beast first met further north, beyond the grasp of the Kingdom of New York. In return for hunting a small bandit party that was giving an ever smaller farming tribe undue trouble, he was gifted the horse and a share of the spoils. Nobody could afford to spare food with the threat of winter knocking on the door, especially so far into the unforgiving north. Few dared travel there, rather ironically, due to the chance they would find nothing. Running into a bandit party that far up country was rare let alone discovering friendly territory. The uncertainty drew Walt like a moth to a flame. In lieu of hibernating in the corrupted zones of Boston for the winter, Walt chose to head south in the hopes of reconnecting with some old friends. After skirting the boundaries of the Kingdom of New York, he made contact with another farming community upriver on the Hudson he had previously assisted in getting on their feet. They spoke of an expanding government just outside of New York City, once again inciting Walt's curiosity. His old friends granted him enough provisions to last him the journey and they parted ways, Walt wishing them the best in yet another winter.

Walter's last contact with humans has since passed by a few days. Making good progress along the Hudson, he decided to explore the ruins of the former United States Military Academy. "The Patriot" got his nickname for good reason, had he been around before the collapse, he likely would have found himself among the ranks of the cadets that called West Point home. To this day he remains fascinated by such places. When he was a child, his father told him stories of his ancestors that came from such institutions. One of these great-great-great to the nth power grandfathers defected from the Marines to return to Quincy, establishing the community that Walt once called home. Though it means little in this post-apocalyptic waste, Walt is proud of his heritage and the country the former glory his country had achieved. One of these achievements was the architectural work that was West Point. Of course, Walt was very much aware that the castle like fortification would be picked clean of most fighting implements. He was not interested in the weapons those walls held, but the knowledge. To his surprise, the library was in relatively good condition for a structure that had been centuries old even before the collapse. Walt collected a number of books to add to his collection, anything from leadership tales to manuals on old rifles. As per usual, he skipped over the mathematics section. In addition to his literary loot, he also garnered some colder weather clothing and old military memorabilia. Somewhat jokingly, he affixed a captain's pin to his collar and a lieutenant's silver bar to the horse's reins. Once again: no food, no weapons.

One of the few upsides to the freezing weather is the ice highway that the Hudson becomes in winter time. Bridges across such large waterways are a rare sight in today's world, and river crossings remain a perilous task. None the less, trekking across the massive Hudson is no easy bid either. Walt approaches the waterline and dismounts from his trusty steed. He unclips his gear from horseback and lays it on a tarp a short distance away, extending a rope to the saddle and tying to off in order to disperse the weight. One precarious step after another, he carefully broaches the thicker coating of ice a few feet beyond the shore. His horse follows, sinking through the thinner sheets in shallow water before stepping up on to the larger shelf coating the entirety of the river.

"Easy now boy, wouldn't want to go dying all the way out here"

He mutters. The nameless horse is reluctant at first, but after a concerned whinny finally starts to match the pace of his owner. The tarp-wrapped gear slides across the ice behind them. Slowly but surely the pair makes their way across the mighty Hudson. They make an enticing target, but anyone trying to kill them for their gear would have to wait to hit them in shallower water or risk it being washed away. This is little comfort to Walter, currently standing on top of a snaking, emotionless waterway with the power to drown a city let alone a single man. A brief and unexciting walk later, they make it to the opposite bank. Walt eyes his perimeter, hurriedly restoring himself and his gear as passengers of his mount. Well aware of his exposed position, Walt spurs his steed and takes off towards the rumored New York Contingency Government.

The plethora of stories of this "NYCG" he had lent an ear to over the past couple months ranged in tone. Most referred to the political leader, Governor Loveland, in high regard. What concerns Walt is the rumors about a powerful man in uniform, who despite the name, had little idea about what his true identity really is. If Loveland calls the shots, then Identity is said to be the one pulling the trigger. Stories of governments structured as such were not always a concern to the average wastelander, who rarely experiences anything beyond dictatorship. In the post-collapse world, fascism represented a secure stance against the unforgiving wastes beyond the walls. Walt on the other hand still holds his doubts. History is filled with examples of such experiments in authoritarianism ending in tragedy. Even the mighty United States ultimately met their demise when they abandoned the principles of liberty and democracy, instead choosing to end themselves in an atomic fire. On the contrary, Walt did respect what he had heard of the NYCG's pride in military tradition. Perhaps he would have someone to learn from, or maybe even an opportunity to reveal some of the lessons he had learned over the years. Either way, the notion of not being shot on sight eases his nerves. Walt is excited to see where this adventure will take him.

The snow falling around him and the sun setting off in the hills to his west, Walt makes haste for a good encampment site. Now with miles in-between him and his impromptu river crossing, he reckons that it must not be far to NYCG territory. These thoughts are soon proven correct when he is met with a posse of horse mounted New York Rangers brandishing rifles and revolvers, gear that immediately set them apart from a standard survivor or raider. Their gear and composure, even from a distance, matched the descriptions of upstate survivor enclaves. Walt realizes he has found what he is looking for. He pulls his hood down and uncovers his face from beneath the scarf. In a deep voice partnered with a Boston accent he calls out over the howl of the wind to his compatriots.

"You gentlemen wouldn't happen to know the way to White Plains, would you?"

Actions: Walter makes contact with the New York Rangers on the border of NYCG territory.

Posted: **Thu Apr 02, 2020 10:37 pm**

Roll of the Dice
Nevada
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223 AD

"By Luck we've gotten this far, and by Lady Luck, I promise you all that we'll survive the snow!" Jackpot Boatshire cried out, addressing Dicerollers. "This city of Vegas shall stand forevermore, and the Roll of The Dice will keep Goddess Luck's favor!" He cried, continuing his speech to the denizens of Las Vegas. "The Roll shall never surrender!" He ended the speech.

Dicerollers hunkered in the churches, praying. Praying that they'd be lucky, and that Lady Luck would honor the country. Jackpot Boatshire met with Partisan generals, talking about defending the Roll of the Dice from outside threats, and protecting the borders. "We don't have any allies, perhaps we could send out a messenger or two?" A general asked. "That's a good idea. I'll have two messengers go, but with a small group of Spades. It's best that we keep our range. I also hope that Lady Luck blesses us with more food and weapons." Boatshire said.

The Gambler addressed the Diceroll Church. "Preachers and Pastors of our faith have been fearmongering, saying Luck has forsaken us, but if she has forsaken us, then we wouldn't have Jackpot Boatshire. We wouldn't have Diceroller men and women working hard. Our Partisans have been working hard to keep us defended. We've been praying day-and-night, and Lady Luck answered our prayers multiple times. The Snow is a sign to not lose our faith. To keep working, trying, and persevering. This city-state is lucky. We are the chosen people. The people that will lift Nevada out of its unluckiness."

The Gambler met with Jackpot Boatshire.

"I trust in you, Your Holiness." Boatshire said.

The Gambler nodded.

"I sense infidels all around us, Mister Jackpot. North, South, East and West of this lucky land." The Gambler told Stewart.

"So, what're you saying? Are you calling for a crusade? I've met with all of our generals. I do not want to waste The Dice's resources on a Holy War." Stewart said, worry in his tone.

"I have Faith, yes, but I'm still disturbed by what's out there. These Godless, luckless raiders, marauders and thieves are a plague upon our almighty Nation!" Stewart yelled.

The Gambler shook his head.

"I believe in you, Mister Jackpot, you definitely know how to lead this country. We have Faith. We need to continue having faith. We need to send missionaries out to the rest of Nevada." The Gambler told the Jackpot.

Jackpot Boatshire sighed.

"I'll try, to the best of my ability." Jackpot Boatshire told His Holiness.

"I wish I were Jackpot Waters." Stewart Boatshire thought.

"Jackpot Waters was a good man. He was The Dice's first Jackpot, and he was a uniter. He enshrined many of the values that we presently have and enjoy." Boatshire continued, in his mind.

The Gambler placed both of his hands on Stewart's shoulders, and began to bless him again. "Oh, Lady Luck, please help us. Please help our Jackpot in times of Need and Crisis, much like now. Please watch over him and his wives. Watch over him and his children. Give him a brain, and Wisdom, oh Goddess Luck." The Gambler ended.

Mechanics: Missionaries will be sent from RoTD to the rest of Nevada. RoTD will use some of the loot in their storage. A messenger from RoTD and five-to-six men will be sent with that messenger to any nearby nation. Vigilance : Dicerollers and Jackpot Boatshire will keep a vigil eye. Church service and attendance increases.

Posted: **Fri Apr 03, 2020 6:47 pm**

The City-State of New York
New York Ranger, Sergeant Spencer.

Dmitri Shostakovich - Waltz No. 2
West Point, New York
January 2223

Every winter, it was customary for militiamen of the New York Defence Force hunker down in place for the Winter. Common sense dictated that. But for the Rangers, Winter just meant less rations and colder hours. While recently the Contingency Government drew back on Wasteland expeditions on account of losing too many men to unhuman elements. While the Rangers were glad that their life expectancy and possibly recruitment rate would be on the rise, the everyday grind of border-control was still a 24/7, 12 months a year task. Only in the fiercest of weather would the Rangers back down the from opportunity of meeting travelling tradesmen to spread the word or useful New York Citizens to offer a home to. Such was life for the Contingency Government.

Mizrad wrote:West Point, New York
NYCG Territorial Border
January, 2223
Walter "The Patriot" Quincy

The snow falling around him and the sun setting off in the hills to his west, Walt makes haste for a good encampment site. Now with miles in-between him and his impromptu river crossing, he reckons that it must not be far to NYCG territory. These thoughts are soon proven correct when he is met with a posse of horse mounted New York Rangers brandishing rifles and revolvers, gear that immediately set them apart from a standard survivor or raider. Their gear and composure, even from a distance, matched the descriptions of upstate survivor enclaves. Walt realizes he has found what he is looking for.

From a distance, a ranking Ranger, Sergeant Spencer, could make out the feint outline of a man, to which he signals for his company of 2 to a skirmish line around him, as they take typical flanking positions from the North. Winchesters kept in holster, it wasn't completely uncommon to come across survivors so desperate they they simply fire upon any horsemen at sight, and the staggered line meant that if this particular survivor of the cold had ill-intentions, only one Ranger would have to be carried home with a cap in their chest. A demoralizing tactic, but one commonplace throughout any scouting doctrine, even before the collapse.

Mizrad wrote:He pulls his hood down and uncovers his face from beneath the scarf. In a deep voice partnered with a Boston accent he calls out over the howl of the wind to his compatriots.

"You gentlemen wouldn't happen to know the way to White Plains, would you?"

Spencer really couldn't be more careful. Holstering his binoculars as the wayward man approached closer, he could faintly hear out a distinctive accent and defining long hair that emerged from the tall man, even as Spencer dismounted his horse to approach. Through the fading snow, he replied,

"Yes, are you seeking refuge?"

As they made contact, Quincy made his case clear, and "The Patriot" made himself known. Being a military man, Spencer cursed himself under his breath for failing to recognise the famous name that echoed throughout the Northeast. Spencer normally wasn't keen to be giving up frontline duties to be an escort to wayward souls, but for "The Patriot" he could make an exception. He spoke to Quincy, referencing an untied map, carefully drawn up by New York City's talented cartographer.

"West Plains' silver fields are only a days travel from here. We can sleep by our Company's outpost on the way, and follow the river all the way south.

Normally with 'roamers' as they were called, the first step was to disarm and scout their tracks for any signs of hidden numbers or ambushes, but the Rangers quickly acquainted with the legacy-man as they escorted him Southwards, back to camp. By tomorrow morning, they would be meeting with the Capital, and the Governor himself.

Summary:

New York Rangers escort "The Patriot" to the Capital of the Contingency Government. A meeting with the Governor is arranged.

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 2:31 am**

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

Ejército de Nuevo Aztlán ANP Especial

My comrades, we enter a new year. We have accomplished much in our past, and it would serve your fellow Aztlánitos well to continue our development as best we can. There is much to discuss this week. I know many of you are concerned by the presence of the Wasted and Bandits on our borders but rest assured, an upgraded task force devised and selected by the General and the Commandante is being rolled out in the coming days. Our current patrol officers have yet to report any severe incidents since my last address, but they remain vigilant.

Our peacekeepers are aided in no small part by the contributions of produce and food to keep them strong and at their best. It is the farmer and ranchero who labors to keep the state alive, and on this subject I am happy to report that the vast fields of Tacna and along the Rio Gila are still at peak production this winter season. Our crops here in the west, however, have shown signs of suffering and rationing of produce will need to take effect in the coming weeks as we rely on the Arizona communes to provide the brunt of our stock. I will admit, the next move of government might seem poor given the circumstance, but we are keen it will yet serve an important role. The stronghold at La Paz to the north-east offered the trade of our food for some of their fine weaponry last month, and we have finished assembling the caravan destined for La Paz just last night. If you see it on its way, be sure to wave to our fine caravaners and their guard unit as they help in strengthening relations with our neighbors. Keep up the good work everyone, and I will brief the nation again next week.

For the glory of us all.

Summary:
Rationing in place for whole of the country. (event)
Starting next week, border patrol will be better equipped. (event)
Caravan of food sent to the Free Hold in La Paz in return for ~200 weapons of unspecified quality and a small amount of cannabis (NPC Faction) (action allowed?)

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 3:59 am**

Roll of The Dice
Nevada
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire
2223 AD

Diceroller generals would meet, discussing plans. A.B. Simmons would speak-up.

"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.

Mechanics: Adaptation: Paladins now have Snowtroopers. The Diceroller Paladins are also adapting their methods and tactics regarding battling and warring in the Nevadan (or any sandy) environment. Skilltree: Rogues added. Musketeers and Pistoleer paladins are being improved, and tactics regarding them and gun-based combat.

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 10:32 am**

ASPEN
Pitkin, Colorado | | January 2223 : Week 1

Winter had come exceptionally hard this year. Truthfully, winter was a difficult time every year, but the blizzards this season especially had proven themselves burdensome to a most troublesome degree for the little community of Aspen. To the younger children the forests and hills were nothing short of a snowy wonderland; to those tasked with keeping the town afloat it was a nightmare that only worsened with time. Hunting was more-or-less impossible due to the thick snowdrifts that had arrived seemingly overnight, and the meager supplies stockpiled from the summer gardens had already run dangerously low. A few of the older boys had cracked the ice of the nearby stream to fish, and another had caught a rabbit in a snare, but it wasn't enough to replenish what was already gone, meaning that what remained would be strictly rationed until the situation improved.

As expected this was not a popular decision.

Bethany Tash, the popularly elected Mayor of Aspen, a position that she had held for the past three years, was sitting behind a frayed wooden desk in her office, the very same office in the very same City Hall that had served the city of Aspen, Colorado, centuries ago pre-Collapse. The office (and the City Hall) had been restored to a minute fraction of its former glory — which was to say the roof no longer leaked — and aside from the patchwork the room looked mostly as it had a lifetime ago. The desk was dark wood, simple, but with an elegance behind its cracked veneer. An intact window looked out to the town and the surrounding mountains. Opposite the window, pinned to the wall with nails and tacks, was an old moth-eaten Colorado flag and, below it, various maps of the country, state, and nearby regions that hadn't been ruined to the point of incomprehension. Across the hall a small auxiliary office had been redecorated to serve as the Mayor's private bedroom. As for the mayor herself, Bethany was a scrawny teen with dirty-blond hair and blue eyes that were muddy around the edges. Nothing about her was particularly extraordinary and she could best be described as somewhat above-average in appearance.

On most days Bethany was a kind and helpful sort of person. Today she was exhausted and irritable, a feeling made all the more apparent by the scowl she wore. It was east enough to see why. Sitting across from her was Matthew Jones, or Slash as he was otherwise known amongst his compadre of delinquent friends. A younger boy who routinely caused trouble. Darker-skinned with a small scar across his nose. He, like so many others, had come to speak with the Mayor regarding the sudden lack of food, however, unlike the others he wouldn't be swayed with nice words and apologies.

"There isn't anything extra," Bethany said for the eleventh time that morning.

Of course Matthew pressed onward with his complaints. "How do you expect us to live with one meal a day? That's cruel. Last year we had more than enough food!" His words were laced with a quiet anger. He was hungry, just like the others, and had taken to blaming the Mayor and her rationing policy.

"We weren't buried under three feet of snow last year you moron. Look, if you're so hungry then grab a fishing pole and help the guys down at the stream, or maybe help Arnold make a more snare-traps. Otherwise, deal with it until spring, okay?" Bethany made it quite clear that the conversation was over, her tired gaze carrying just enough authority for the dense boy to take the hint. With a huff, Matthew stood and left the office, pushing past his two friends that had been listening in from the other side of the door. Once he was gone Bethany allowed her head to fall onto the desk with a solid thunk. "Just kill me now."

Another girl, Elizabeth Warren, a few years younger than Bethany with frizzy scarlet hair and cracked glasses held together by spare tape, allowed herself into the office to take a supportive place at the Mayor's side. "It's not that bad," she said in a timid voice.

"It's worse," Bethany groaned to her secretary, still face-down atop the desk. She raised her head and allowed it to fall with another thunk.

Elizabeth pouted in worry. "Then how about we trade for what we need? We've done it in the past."

Bethany lifted her head to peer at her friend with tired eyes. "When's the last time a caravan's come through?" A rhetorical question as the answer was that no friendly caravans had passed through Aspen in months. She sighed, resting her head now in her hand and allowing her eyes to drift to an old wooden case housing an old non-functional rifle they'd found. Had it worked she might have entertained the thought of shooting Matthew in the foot for being an idiot. "I get it. It makes sense, but everyone is so skittish that getting them to go along with opening up to outsiders is like asking them not to breath. I'd have a better chance of convincing Matthew that his nickname is stupid."

"Then make it work," Elizabeth encouraged. "You're the mayor, do what you think is necessary."

"I did and everyone hates me because of it."

"They're gonna hate you more once they starve." Elizabeth stepped closer to place a reassuring hand on Bethany's shoulder. "I get it, it's not easy, but everyone is looking to you to make everything okay, and even if they disagree they'll come to realize that you made the decision to save the town. So ignore Matthew because he's an idiot and take charge!"

Bethany considered it for a long moment. Yes, she had wanted to make friends with the nearby settlements to guarantee they'd always have food and supplies, but most of the kids living in Aspen were suspicious towards adults, and the previous times she'd mentioned it the collective opinion had been to resist the very notion. Matthew, of course, was a vocal opponent of her so obviously riled the others to make any decision an uphill battle. But Elizabeth was right. She was mayor, not Matthew or anybody else, and if she wanted to play nice with the grownups then she'd do just that.

Not that she knew much about the surrounding settlements. She was certain the people living to the south called themselves the Wind Walkers but couldn't be entirely sure, and those in the east were church-types last she heard. Bethany had fond memories of a church before coming to Aspen so her decision was maybe somewhat biased.

"Thanks," she said finally before springing into action, rummaging through the desk for paper and pencils. She quickly scrawled a letter, making an effort to make it as official looking as possible (it wasn't), the general message being to ask the leaders of the Order to negotiate a trade agreement between them and Aspen. She reckoned that if they agreed she'd have to go down herself but, considering the current situation, she had to stay where she was lest the kids go into a panic. So instead she folded the letter into an envelope and handed it to Elizabeth. "Get Lucas to deliver this to the guys out east. He's been out that way before. Tell him it's urgent and to deliver it to whoever's in charge."

Elizabeth nodded and quickly departed to find Lucas, an older boy nearing nineteen.

Bethany watched her go before turning back to the window to look out at the snow-covered town, empowered from his decisiveness and yet wondering if Matthew and the others would call for her to step down once they found out. At the very least she was hopeful she had saved Aspen.

ACTIONS
- Courier sent to Order of Saint John requesting to negotiate a trade agreement.

- Food rationing in effect.

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 10:51 am**

MISSOURI CARAVAN COMPANY
1st WEEK OF JANUARY 2223

C

O

S

L

A wooden horse carriage crossed the old bridge passing through the partially-frozen Mississipi River. From above, one could see the glimmer of boat lights, scattered around the river, either docked or thawing in the middle. The bridge, used to be known as Poplar St. Bridge, is now no more than a deteriorating slab of concrete, patched with stone and wood in the middle, with additional supporting pillars constructed on its base. It was still a large and magnificent bridge, though; the barriers on its sides and center are decorated with rock carvings, and ornate lanterns lighted up the bridge in night. There was still a busy traffic coming back and forth from the city; mainly traders and Marshals tasked with supplying the Company’s trade outpost on Belleville. The driver threw a blanket over his horses, just to keep them warm; harsh winter times often led to unruly beasts. He spurred his horses to speed up the couch, its wheels rattling and bouncing until he arrived into the city gates.

Saint Louis was a large city in its time, inhabited by over three hundred thousand people, though less than ten thousand now still remains in the area. Their legacy has largely remained intact, but for the deteriorating conditions harsh weather brought over centuries. Most notably, the Gateway Arch is still preserved, although it missed some parts because of cracks, and several wooden piers are constructed in front of it. What was a symbol for America’s westwatrd expansion is now a flourishing hub of trade, bringing life to the isolated survivor outposts through the American Midwest. The large city, up from the Drainage Channel through the old Zoo and to the McKinley Bridge, is walled by large stone blocks, with occasional wooden towers between them. A large wooden-and-metal city gate located on the old Interstate 44 serves as the gateway to the rest of Missouri. The old buildings at Forest Park and Central West End had been demolished, either by weather or decades of human work, and turned out into a large marketplace and warehousing area. Up to seven thousand people called the city their home, but only two thousand are permanent residents – the rest came from all the settlements around them for trade and business.

While deep in thought, the driver’s couch had reached the bridge’s end; a blocked main road and two exits. He spurred the horses to the right, descending the overpass until he arrived into another major road, where a small wooden gate blocked the way. Several deputies guarded the road. He took up his bag and handed them several official parchments from the Company. He continued driving across the highway and stopped in front of a large ancient Cathedral, where he parked the carriage and unloaded his goods. A priest greeted him with a frown.

“These damn merchants, leaving their horses out here and scattering the park with goods. Do they have no respect for us?” The driver chuckled. “Well, I think God needs to charge all these men for making his lawn a market,” he answered. “It hasn’t been a good month for us, Father Lumiere. Snow’s got us all dragging the horses and couches all night. Can’t even ride here from Belleville properly without getting a wheel splintered.”

Father Lumiere smirked. “It’s certainly a good month for me, Jackson. Folks all night come and pray that their horses don’t die, and they did give God a ton of money to make sure of it.” They walked into the Cathedral. “Come on. Best not be late for the Company review. The Governor’s got a lot more impatient recently with all his aides stuck in the snow. Commissioner Larsen even got himself stuck in a blizzard far west in Jefferson City.”

“Poor man. Well, I’d like to inquire about the planned expeditions that have to be stalled this month. Last year’s review chartered out some ambitious plans to estabilish outposts as far as Indiana.” They entered the busy Cathedral. “I don’t know, to be honest,” Lumiere answered. “That is certainly overly ambitious. But even when this winter is finished, I don’t think it’ll come to pass. It’s just way too far, and last I heard bandits are still roaming the hinterlands of Illinois. Personally I’d prefer it if we continue going up north. The communities there depended on Mississipi boats for their living, which we control, and well… the Church certainly have more influence up there.”

They entered through the church’s back door, which is reserved only for pastors and order congregation members to use. The door opened into a spacious, newly constructed room, decorated with ornate closets, chairs, and tables. Governor LaForge is sitting comfortably in a bishop’s seat behind a large table, examining an ancient map of Missouri before the Collapse. The Governor greeted them with a kindly smile. “Ah, commander LaForge. Please, have a seat. You as well, Father,” he gestured for Lumiere and Jackson to sit beside him.

“You’re back from Belleville, I suppose,” the Governor started. “I heard the recent blizzard has cut off the highway just a few miles from the bridge.” Jackson responded with a nod. “Now… that put us in a precarious situation. Clearing the road could take from one to two weeks , and the grains coming down from Springfield would all be frozen there ‘till it’s done. While we still have an adequate supply to last a month, it’s not going to last forever, especially considering the extra mouths we need to feed, the merchants that won’t go back into their home settlements since last month…” he referred to the non-citizens staying at St. Louis.

Jackson examined the map of Missouri laid on the table. The paper is very fragile and the colours leached, but the landmarks and settlements – which are mostly reduced to rubble by now – could still be clearly seen. “I thought all the Marshals are currently idle, as trade expeditions stopped because of the snow.”

“Of course, what are you suggesting?” the Governor answered.

“There’s thousands of deers, sheeps, and fowls roaming around from the Mark Twain forest to the Missouri river. And the nearest big enough settlement to us are far down south in Maries county. I reckon they’ll hardly go far enough near St. Louis to catch game.” Jackson turned to Father Lumiere. “And you did say the Church collected enough donations, Father. It would be better for all of us, if religious organizations could handle distribution of food to citizens.”

Lumiere stroked his thin beard. “So I’ve thought. The Latin Church is not the only church we have here, though. But we could certainly set up rationing posts in this cathedral, as well as the other churches. We have a large stockpile of grain, wheat, and bread stored up at the old District Court building that we could use. More than half of it are our savings for business in March… but we could always prepare more for later.”

“Very well then,” the Governor responded. “You will take, no more than twenty Marshals each to the surrounding counties to gather animals. Set up posts on each county, I won’t have smugglers and other outlaws stealing from us. A limit of two deers for each household should suffice... and we want to limit sales to foreign merchants too, so that our stockpiles didn’t go empty. And in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if the agriculture officials in the City Hall would boost their production of hydroponic plants… just to diversify the source of our food.” He handed Jackson a piece of paper with the Governor’s seal. “Please give it to the Board of Supervisors in the City Hall. Oh, and lastly, inform them that we will abolish all taxes on fishing the river.” He rolled the map of Missouri and stored it at the closet behind him.

Father Lumiere rose up from his seat, taking several papers as well as his rosary beads. “Well, it looks like we have a good ton of work to do, Mr. Jackson,” he chuckled. “God provides, gentlemen. A good snowy night for you both.”

Company Instructions 1st Week of January

Food rationing enacted in St. Louis with distribution in community centers and religious centers
Increased production of Hydroponics-growed vegetables in Company greenhouses
Abolition of fishery-related taxes to encourage civillians increase their fishing production
Lowered tariffs on wild animal hunting
A cap of two deers or other animals of equal weight is placed on each household to hunt
State Marshals sent to St. Charles, Franklin, and Jefferson counties to set garrison posts (1 week)

Map of the City and County of Saint Louis
Brick city wall outlined in black and gates in boxes
Surrounding suburbs are mainly rubble, and turned either Farmlands or Forests

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 12:21 pm**

Roll of The Dice
Nevada
2223
Jackpot Stewart Boatshire

Boatshire's office.

Diceroller nationalists rushed Jackpot Boatshire's office, before his guards could stop them.

"Hai!" A young girl shouted, holding the national banner of RoTD.

"Y-yes? What's it?" Jackpot Boatshire nervously asked her.

"Hoist the Red-and-Black! Never let it fall!" A Diceroller Nationalist yelled out.

"O-okay, then." Boatshire said.

"S-sorry to disturb you, or anything, Mister Jackpot, but we came here because of pressing matters." The young girl said, articulately.

"And what're these pressing matters, young one?" Boatshire asked her.

"I know you're a busy, busy man, Mister Jackpot, but we need to boost Nationalism in this very lovely nation." She told him, placing emphasis on the word 'very.'

"I know. I agree with you. I'll go ahead and do that. I'll have this nation's... very lovely seamstresses work on producing more flags, and placing emphasis on our culture and history." He replied, smiling. He was still nervous, as they'd caught him off-guard, and w/o an appointment to talk to him.

Boatshire stood up, and shook her hand.

"Nice talking to you." He said, regaining his confident tone-of-voice.

"You too." The girl said, in a singsong way.

The nationalists would leave, and Stewart would return to signing orders and such other Jackpotter work.

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.)

Stewart Boatshire is known amongst Dicerollers as a jovial, yet anxious or emotional Jackpot. One to make jokes, laugh, and cheer others up, but simultaneously, he also was the one crying and punching the sky in anger at times.

Mechanics: Diceroller Nationalism and Patriotism rises. Jackpot Stewart Boatshire is now seen very positively in the eyes of Diceroller Nationalists. Skilltree: Comedy and Satire in tough times.

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 2:37 pm**

ANNO DOMINI 2223

WEEK TWO | JANUARY

NEW EVENTS

Sins of the Father

As many people know, so many years ago, the United States brought hellfire upon it's various cities in an attempt to contain disease and decay. LA was firebombed and atomized over the course of four days. Special Forces had to smuggle in a recreation of Castle Bravo into New Orleans. Sacramento had a B83 bombs dropped on it after it's twelfth confirmed case of the disease. Mobile, Alabama had a similar fate to the latter most in store, but due to reasons unknown, the southern city was never embroiled in hellfire, instead, it sat, awaiting some unknowing visitor to arrive.

When a scouting party arrived in Mobile, they simply found an odd shipping container near to a military convoy, sealed up tight and surprisingly unmolested by the elements and bacteria, without corrosion or rust. Strange symbols having faded mostly away, their meanings largely lost with time.

...A rhythmic ticking, emanating from within the box. Counting down to the fate designed for it, so many years ago.
This Event belongs to a triggered event chain, and can only end when directly addressed.
Affected Factions: Lemoyne Tribe

The Salt Flat

A chance event, like finding an oasis in the breadth of the Mojave. A salt flat smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and a massive stretch of asphalt before it.
In the distance, offices, buildings, and massive curved structures with colossal doors. Who would waste such resources on such a location? Who would build something like this so far from the world around them? Was it still occupied? Was there anything of value left here?

With the site in such a random location, the odds of finding any answers to these questions seemed be higher than normal, after all, no one would go so far off the beaten path, and the area seemed naturally dry. Surely something would be left behind... right?
This Event belongs to a triggered event chain, and can only end when directly addressed.
Affected Factions: Zion Raider Alliance

Danceria wrote:
Creolan
Birmingham, Creolan Confederacy
1 Jan 2223 - 7 Jan 2223

An envoy would be sent southwest to Bibb County and the Bandit enclave there, to negotiate terms of assimilation.

The Creolan Envoy would arrive to find barren camps and missing people. Anything of value or rather anything that could be carried had been taken, the bandit clan seemed to have spotted the envoy and thought the worst. Rather than face the might of a nation that outnumbered their fighters 4 to 1, they chose to face the brutal cold in an effort to find more fruitful grounds. The tracks lead west, further into the forgotten lands of Alabama. At the very least, the Afromericans wouldn't have to worry about any reprisals anymore.

The Frozen Forest wrote:
The Kingdom of David
Iowa

>Fourteen individuals are sent to the Free Hold to the east to establish diplomatic contact and trade for Post-Collapse technology.

Near the old ruins of Montezuma, Iowa a grand forest had spread over years of neglect. Now wild over most of the area, it provided a good natural defense for those within. The fourteen members of the Kingdom of David would be wandering through one of these forests. A sudden and unexpected encounter, an individual wearing a heavy deerskin and fur lined parka stood between two trees, a crude axe in one hand, and a bow strapped to his back.

The individual did not waver as he stood before the number of likely armed individuals, from within the deep hood, a man's voice spoke, "Owslendir ootmen Mantyzem?"

Glengo Island wrote:
Ejército de Nuevo Aztlán ANP Especial

> Caravan of food sent to the Free Hold in La Paz in return for ~200 weapons of unspecified quality and a small amount of cannabis (NPC Faction) (action allowed?)

In what was marked on old maps as Poston, the pre-established trade agreement went through it's steps in a small warehouse on the outskirts of this town. Though this time, things were not as agreeable as they had been prior.

In exchange for the food, the usual assortment of varied pipe based homemade firearms, scrap swords and spears, slings and bows and arrows, instead now had an array of various sharpened sticks of varying lengths. The cannabis, that was previously in abundance, was outright missing. The order's supervisor was a young woman who looked nervous, afraid even of what was obviously a one sided deal. The three others around her to aid in actually moving the items of the trade into an out of the warehouse looked similar in demeanor, as if they too knew exactly what was bound to happen.

Ralnis wrote:Inside the Queen Love,
Week 1, January
The Queen Love is prepped and sent to raid the local bandits and force them into paying a monthly tribute to the Children.

San Benito was not a happy locale at the moment.

"God fucking Dammit!" the raider's head simply looked up at the giant floating barge parked above their little fortress.

An aide spoke up, "I mean... We could not do what they ask."

"The fuck do you mean we could not? Look at that fucking thing!" he gestured to the airship, "Are you about to tell me Merlin the fucking wizard is about to clap that thing's ass and save us from our woe? Holy shit."

The aide took on an expression of thought, "We could always run."

The kingpin growled, "Yeah sure, outrun the fucking floating castle." he crumpled up the note and threw it, "Fuck it, give 'em what they want. Trading Company never gets us anything and the fuck ups around us don't have anything left. We'll fucking harass Mariposa."

Posted: **Sun Apr 05, 2020 3:40 pm**

Chief Mordecai stood in front of the shrine to the Holy Flame, the deity of the Iron Clan, as he looked down on the assembled warriors preparing for a raid on the northwestern enclave bordering what was once Chicago. The gathered men numbered a hundred. They were armed with an assortment of weapons, ranging from swords, spears, and bows, to crossbows, bolt action rifles, revolvers, small submachineguns, and homemade explosives and firebombs. They all wore protective winter clothing to brave the snowy wildlands to reach their target. Mordecai called for the raid after scouts returned and reported on the enclaves security situation. Having discovered that many of their guards were kept inside due to the weather, Mordecai believed it to be the perfect moment to raid the enclave. War parties would assault outlying outposts, storage facilities, and farms, as well as probe the defenses of the main settlement. If defenses there proved weak, a final attack on their main settlement would occur. Supplies, weapons, and slaves would be captured, and young children would be taken to be raised as warriors and members of the Clan.

Mordecai blessed the war parties that kneeled before him, asking the Holy Flame for help and guidance during the raid, offering their eternal service to It, and promising sacrifices in the Holy Flame's name. With the spiritual rites finished, the war parties mounted their horses, whooping and hollering as they rode out of the main bandit encampment, as the women and warriors that remained behind cheered them on.

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

NationStates

Aftermath (IC|Dead)

Aftermath (IC|Dead)