This map is not new

In fact, it is quite old. It has aged beautifully during the last few years, taking on that special patina that is difficult to simulate. Some locations, which only have been discovered during the preceding years, have been added. Enjoy the newly fotographed, well-worn worldmap in the scorched earth materials post!

On a related note: Everybody loves inventory. Nobody dare to tell me otherwise. Innawoods is a website that makes tracking your post-apocalyptic gear fun and easy. Alas, the site has been dormant for some time, so, while many nice doodads can be added to your backpack from the "others" category, and you can burden your character with dozens of jars of pickled olives, and it is finally possible to put a rifle-sized scope on your favorite revolver, this is possibly as good as it's going to get.

But then, that site is hardly the only one the drop the ball for few months, is it?

Five Rules

If you need a new gun, or new guns, or ammo to feed your guns, Five Rules is a good place to be. It might be a bit out of the way, though. An addition to the Scorched Earth materials post, in German.

Blessing

Blessing: A nice town just down the Vever from Holy Flame City. Enjoy all the amenities of the big city without the usual hassle, even if you are a wanted man. An addition to the scorched earth material post, in German.

A letter from White Tower

A road leads to Atlanta! This much I always knew, but now everybody knows that a road leads back. To think of it: The Dry Place, lost for four generations, now open to us. Two unis, corporate headquarters, one of the largest airports on the continent, two army bases. Untouched. Enough loot to build a nation, if one wanted to. I didn’t think much of their chances, when the big men of White Tower started talking about an expedition into North Carolina two months ago. At the time, I heard more or less open speculation that it was the town’s way of bidding one of their longest living servants good bye with honor and dignity, together with getting rid of assorted riff raff which any town at a crossroads will collect – destitute orphans, stranded mercenaries, the lot. They were bundled into a truck left over from some kind of gambling scam and sent towards the South.

At least that’s what the town’s ancient gun seller told me over a few drinks. Few thought they’d ever see them again.

But lo and behold – a mere month after they were sent off, the brave explorers returned, and not a day later, White Tower buzzes with stories of heroic derring do, Deathdealers on the prowl, pale critters in the metro tunnels, flying monsters, feral guardians of the necropolis walking through walls, sentient black dust and other nonsense. But the truck’s chassis ran awfully close to the ground when it made its way past Lola’s Bar, the springs creaking piteously and every piece of movable equipment packed at the outside of its freight compartment. Something was taken from the dead city, something heavy, and it has made some people in White Tower quite happy. Everyone tries to keep up appearances of business as usual, but some people stopped talking to me, because I’m the nosy guy, or try to feed me bullshit. It’s a food processor. Or two tons of DVDs. Or a box filled with that sentient black dust.  It’s a change in the weather, some tell me, and I tend to agree.

No matter.

My next missive will contain as much about the route to the Dry Place as I can find out, as well as my honest attempts to separate the truth from the legends so eagerly spun around the campfires. I would advise you to get all your ducks in a row and collect a party to get there asap – second place is better than nothing, and there will still be lots of truck loads left if you hurry. You can be sure that many others now see the Dry Place in a new light, and right now they are gathering the right people for a little exploration. Be sure to gather them first.

 I remain,

L.

Point Transit

Point Transit is the gateway to the Far West, or to the Desert Heart - depending on your perspective. A city of such importance has lots of secrets, which will not be spoiled in this short introduction, instead there will be a separate document taking a look at some of the dirt the people of this fine community have accumulated over the years. This will be stuff only the game master should know, or characters who spent an inordinate time digging in the backstreets, cracking safes and computers, or listening to pillow talk. An addition to the Scorched Earth materials post, with a map.

Goats

Goats is two towns in one, and outsiders get to see not even half of it. An addition to the Scorched Earth materials post - some spoilers if you're not one of the Sheppards.

Sharp blades, silent steps

The Gorgons are an addition to the Scorched Earth materials post: A gang with many secrets. As such, players of mine should keep away, unless they want to wallow in spoilers.

Yaddaheads

The Yaddaheads: They'll sell you all the drugs you need for those freakish t-shirts you found in the ruins. The next day, they'll do their damnedest to shoot you because a butterfly told them to. The batshit crazy, barking mad doctor feelgoods of the wastes, in German.

Troy has fallen

Someone was asleep at the wheel.

-Judge Korvanova, LAW Memphis-

Debriefing MISSION TRO-003

Jhat BELLADONNA

Judge Benevol (KIA)

Dean Bishop (at HQM for debriefing)

Grissom Card (at HQM for debriefing)

Makmande (MIA)

José Guanicontez (presumed in Troy)

Luci (MIA)

The following debriefing is based on the testimonials of Dean Bishop, who served as the jhat’s driver and mechanic, and Grissom Card, a soldier, both in the service of LAW for many years. Dean Bishop’s diary served to rectify certain dates.

For a precise mission statement, please refer to MISSION TRO-003 – in summary, a request for military support reached the Tribunal on xx.xx.xxxx from Troy. Although the relationship between this city-state and LAW has been strained for a variety of reasons (see e.g. MISSION TRO-001 and HOU-007), Troy’s rich source of crude oil and its working refinery make it one of the important communities on the Vever. On the other hand, the nature of the threat and the source of the request were very vague. Thus, a small jhat was sent to Troy, not as a direct support force, but rather as an attempt to find out the nature of the threat and to gauge the LBM’s willingness to cut a deal with LAW for their protection. The choice of soldiers was not only based on the nature of this region, but also on the fearsome reputation of two of its members, Luci and Makmande – Judge Benevol wanted to be able to show off some of our finest warriors to underpin his negotiations with Troy’s famously contrary council. José Guanicontez was added to the jhat as a designated sniper/fail-safe.

The voyage towards Troy was without incident, until the jhat – employing one lightly armored sedan and two motorcycles – was ambushed about forty clicks from Troy. The assailants were later identified as ferales known as Moonbrothers, and used a highly sophisticated ambush techniques, although most of their armaments were decidedly lotek. It was here that Judge Benevol was killed by a rifleman, and Grissom Card received a grievous wound in the left leg. Although outnumbered, the rest of the jhat was able to drive off the attackers and make their way towards Troy. There – contrary to earlier experiences – they were admitted and even asked to remain in the city as mercenaries by Glosster, one of three members of the ruling council.

The remaining members of the jhat decided to stay in Troy at least until Grissom Card’s leg was healed up, if only to learn more about the city and the ferales threatening it. According to Grissom Card and Dean Bishop, Troy was well defended, boasting a concrete wall, searchlights, and about eighty well-trained shooters, as well as a couple of heavy weapons for wall defense, but had lost all its scouts to the Moonbrothers and was suffering from a water shortage, as the main source of fresh water was removed from the city, about five clicks west. It also became clear that the request for help had not been issued by the council, but by a Merle Purple, a local trader, who voiced bitter disappointment at our response and asked the jhat to keep her involvement a secret, as her actions would have been judged defeatist by the council, leading to her exile, or worse.

After two days in Troy, the jhat had learned much about the council (this knowledge now, sadly, completely useless), but was not able to find out more about the Moonbrothers. The citizens of Troy feared a massive assault by these ferales – basically, the Moonbrothers seemed to be bent on destroying Troy completely, having started their siege about four months earlier. Apart from their tactics and preferred weapons – a steel spear, or dart, flung with the help of a throwing lever – the inhabitants knew next to nothing about their enemies, only that they had brought travel from and to Troy to a complete standstill, that they killed every scout the council had sent out, and that they seemed to mass somewhere in the vicinity of Troy.

On day three of their stay, the fit members of the jhat were asked to escort a larger expedition to Troy’s water source. About thirty members of the city-states defenders, led by one Bene van Klyng were sent out to replenish the city’s depleted cisterns with two large tankers. The Moonbrothers seemed to have anticipated such a move, and attacked the party in force. Troy’s defenders suffered heavy losses, including Bene van Klyng, who – according to Dean Bishop – seemed to have been singled out. In this ambush, Dean Bishop was also severely wounded, putting him out of action for several days. The other three members of the jhat appear to have had a devastating effect on the attackers. Regrettably, this left only Grissom Card as a witness for this debriefing, who, in my opinion, is far less observant than Dean Bishop.

While the attack on the water convoy did replenish Troy’s water reserves for the medium term, many of its defenders were now dead or wounded, and their leader had to be replaced by one Frater Lamb. According to Dean Bishop, Frater Lamb seemed to have been more cautious than his predecessor, and more approachable, although less of warrior. Ammunition for the defenders’ firearms also became a problem. Relations between the jhat and Hartheart and Dellon, the other two council members, remained cool – both Dean Bishop and Grissom Card put the blame for this straight on Hartheart, who appears to have been a singularly stubborn and inflexible ruler.

By now, it seemed obvious that the Moonbrothers had amassed an atypically large army and were showing an equally atypical strategic and tactical acumen. But there siege around the city was not total, as a group of a dozen or so Yaddaheads, under the command of one Terata (see MISSION – PTT 021), was able to slip into the city. While the Yaddaheads claimed to have been ambushed as well, the larger part of their group was unharmed. Terata, while on his way to Five Rules and Little Rock to trade medical supplies, drugs and alcohol, was persuaded by Glosster to stay on as mercenaries to bolster the city’s defenses. While there was some initial friction between the more warlike members of the jhat and the Yaddaheads, relations remained positive, even amiable during the whole stay. Makmande, José Guanicontez and Luci traded extensively with the Yaddaheads.

About two days later – regrettably, Grissom Card was vague about this – the Moonbrothers staged a massive night assault on the city itself. The assault was preceded by a heavy explosion in Troy’s so-called Stash, the repository of refined fuels, which demolished a length of the protective wall and killed the defenders stationed there. The cause of the explosion remains unknown, although the jhat suspected sabotage: Troy seems to use slave labor in then Stash and the oil well, and a number of these slaves were missing after the attack. Right after the explosion, a large group of Moonbrothers attacked the breach, while their few riflemen shot at the searchlights and the defenders on the wall. According to Grissom Card, the martial qualities of the jhat shined again, with Luci making a fearsome appearance in the breach. The Moonbrothers seemed to retreat after sustaining heavy casualties by all defenders, and Makmande, José Guanicontez and Luci made an on-the-spur decision to pursue the attackers, to either find the Moonbrothers’ camp or – in Grissom Card’s words - “to put the fear of god in them”. While they were able to wipe out a group of Moonbrothers via an impromptu ambush and take a prisoner, they were attacked on their way back to the city: Makmande sustained many injuries, and only staid operative due to the massive use of Aesculapin. Nonetheless, the jhat’s training and weapons prevailed once again.

At this point, things looked up for Troy: While the attack had left some more defenders dead or wounded, losses were less than expected for such an attack, and while a part of the wall was destroyed, heavy weaponry from the city’s gate was relocated to the breach. Interrogation of captive Moonbrothers also revealed the location of the ferales’ main camp, and the name of their leader. A woman named Hecate had, as the jhat found out later, united three of the regions fractious feral tribes – Dengue, Fishbone and Brownroots. Boasting “supernatural” powers, she had basically taken over the tribes from their regular chiefs and had, over the course of some years, shaped them into an army bent on destroying Troy. The captive ferales were convinced she was a goddess “coming from darkness, leaving in darkness”, that never slept and could kill with a touch. Regrettably, we have no clue, at the time being, who this individual is, and whether she is still alive and/ or operating in the region around Troy.

Regrettably, it became obvious that the night assault had been only a diversion for a much more dangerous attack on Troy. About half of the citizens fell ill with cholera in the following days, the freshly filled cisterns being the source of the epidemic. As the water was tested thoroughly after being brought from the source, someone seemed to have contaminated the cisterns during the night assault. Troy’s doctor, already working beyond endurance with the many wounded, could only help a fraction of the infected.

The death toll from cholera amongst the normal citizenry and the further weakening of the city’s defensive capabilities seems to have lead Hartheart, the only councilor to remain healthy, to a fateful decision: a massive attack on the Moonbrothers’ camp with all available men and weapons. He announced this “strike to end the Moonbrothers forever” about a week after the night assault, giving his remaining men only 12 hours to prepare. What happened next points to a deep rift between the council and various citizens of Troy – something already noticeable in Merle Purple’s behavior. Frater Lamb, very unsure of the attack’s chances in view of the Moonbrothers’ numbers, their atypical tactics and high discipline, met the jhat in secret to arrange something that amounted to mutiny. The jhat, which by now had a reputation as exceptional fighters among Troy’s inhabitants, were to be paid to make an assassination attempt on Hecate, before the city’s defenders were on their way. Frater Lamb hoped that the Moonbrothers would dissolve as an army with their leader gone, and he was willing to bet the city’s arsenal on the attempt. He made it clear to the jhat that they had all weapons and ammo of Troy at their disposal, if they used them to infiltrate the camp of the Moonbrothers. While Dean Bishop and Grissom Card were less than sure about this endeavor, the other three reacted “enthusiastically” to this proposal. Subjecting Troy’s armory to what Dean Bishop called “wholesale plunder” and even spiriting away the one remaining LMG from its position in the breach, they denuded the city’s defenses even further – something that might have influenced later events noticeably. After gearing up, the jhat drove to the camp the same night Hearthart declared his intentions.

According to Dean Bishop, the first attempt on Hecate’s life was a “grand, glorious and dismal failure”. He and Grissom Card remained about five clicks from the camp in the armored sedan, now enhanced by the hastily bolted on LMG. Makmande, José Guanicontez and Luci entered the camp on Dirtbikes, hoping to make out the leader’s tent, kill her and to escape in the confusion. Regrettably, the camp was not only well organized, but it was populated only by warriors, numbering 300-400 ferales, with no women or children in sight, and large parts of it were situated in caves impervious to prior observation. The attack became bogged down very fast, and the three fighters escaped only through quick thinking and the application of superior firepower. José Guanicontez was shot in the leg during the escape, taking another fighter from the jhat. A further foray towards the camp in the early morning, using the sedan and the LMG as a decoy or to force Hecate into the open and neutralize her, was repelled by accurate rifle fire. The jhat retreated to Troy’s water source to discuss their options. At this time, the men were unsure how to proceed further: The Moonbrothers, while having sustained heavy casualties, were not even close to being destroyed as an army, and their tactical discipline made further attacks on their camp suicidal, while the jhat’s combat capabilities eroded steadily.

At this point they became witness to Troy’s attempt to wipe out the Moonbrothers. They noticed two trucks and a jeep, all carrying armed men, leaving Troy at high speed, going towards the ferales’ camp. Deciding to follow the remaining healthy defenders, the jhat was forced to travel slower than the convoy. Thus, they arrived in a position to observe the fighting only after the battle had started. Hartheart seems to have opted for a full-bore assault, relying on the speed of the trucks and his men’s firearms to deal with the masses of ferales awaiting them. According to both witnesses it was a woefully one-sided affair. While Troy’s defenders brought massed rifles and vehicles to the fight, they had no intelligence about the camp’s set-up and its defenses, and Hecate seems to have implemented certain tactics to deal with just such an attack with the means available to her. The jhat became witness to the complete annihilation of Troy’s force – a dearly paid reminder of the dangers of underestimating any highly motivated, highly disciplined opponent because of his inferior gear.

After that, there was not much to do but to warn the city of its imminent destruction, and to evacuate. On its way there, the jhat noticed that the Yaddaheads under Terata’s command had left Troy and made camp about a click from the city. According to Terata, they were waiting to see how the end of the city would play out. Hartheart had ordered the Yaddaheads to accompany his troops on their ill-fated attack, but Terata had refused. After that, Hartheart had them thrown of the city. At the time, it appeared that Terata’s group was waiting for the Moonbrothers’ attack, or for the desperate citizens of Troy to barter for protection. It was after talking to Terata, that Makmande and Luci decided to have a third attempt at killing Hecate: Dean Bishop and Grissom Card were both not sure what drove the men to this course of action, but both characterize Luci as obsessed with personal glory, while Makmande seemed to have been duty-bound to make the attempt.

After bartering with the Yaddaheads for certain performance-enhancing drugs, the jhat left for the camp once again. Luci and Makmande planned to infiltrate the caves, silently this time, and hopefully while the Moonbrothers were celebrating their victory. Even so, the attempt appears suicidal. They had radios on them, and their last transmissions confirmed that the Moonbrothers were indeed feasting, and that Luci and Makmande made good progress. Then, as they rappelled into the caves, their signal vanished. This was the last the remaining three heard of them.

After waiting for a day at the rendezvous point, Dean Bishop, Grissom Card and José Guanicontez returned to Troy, the death of Luci and Makmande being as good as confirmed. In their absence, Terata had been able to talk the citizens of Troy, and a recuperating Glosster, into rehiring them as protectors. The much-reduced jhat decided to stay in Troy for another 48 hours before starting their voyage back to Memphis, as José Guanicontez’ leg was still hurt. In any event, everyone waited for the final attack of the Moonbrothers. The citizens’ appeared desperate or apathetic, while the Yaddaheads seemed to relish the thought of the coming destruction. If someone bore the jhat ill-will because of their solo attack on the Moonbrothers they kept it to themselves.

As the jhat prepared their sedan for a possibly very dangerous drive, a large number of vehicles and bikes was spotted in the west. As soon as this mass was identified as a host of Yaddaheads, Dean Bishop decided to leave Troy as fast as possible. Grissom Card agreed, while José Guanicontez decided to stay, although his motives remained unclear. While he claimed to remain behind for Luci and Makmande, it is quite possible that he worked for the Yaddaheads the whole time. As the sedan pulled away from Troy, Dean Bishop and Grissom Card both heard shooting from within the walls. Apparently, Terata decided to strike as soon as he was sure that enough of his accomplices were present.

The latest reports by our spies and the railers have confirmed that Troy was taken over by the Yaddaheads. It is suggested that jhat BELLADONNA is broken up, with the survivors receiving recommendation marks. Concerning the protection of Troy, MISSION TRO – 003 was a complete loss, on the other hand, we were able to collect valuable intelligence (see app. 1-4). In conclusion: The jhat performed admirably, if futilely, in the defense of Troy, and the composition of its members made it difficult to attain mission success after the death of Judge Benevol. The debacle of Troy being in the hands of the Yaddaheads is, in the end, the Tribunal’s fault: The buck does stop here. Concerning the Yaddaheads, we recommend an intensified effort concerning deep intelligence, even if this was an opportunistic strike, and not a coup planned well in advance.

Scorched earth: What happened next?

The Scorched Earth campaign is still going strong. But after playing rather talky, very diplomatic and very careful characters for a long time, the players opted for something different, and the "false benefactor" plot line is developing on its own in the background, while the players make their influence felt in different places in the wastes. Two built very combat-oriented characters that took full advantage of the points you get for lowering you IQ-score, another one released an old sniper (José, for those with very long memories) from retirement: He once was basically a dumb guntower, now he has the potential to be the brains of the group. The fourth player opted out: no more spare time in the evening, and Dark Heresy is much more his style. Clearly, the remaining players wanted less talking, more shooting.

At the time being, they are in a besieged oil town deep in the Southwest, and there have been many, many fights against vicious ferales. Indeed, the sand runs red. I will put this adventure into story form, but possibly not in the same detail lavished on the exploits in Memphis and Refugium.

Edjera

Another settlement added to the scorched earth materials: A map will be added in time.

A letter waiting in Holy Flame City

Hello my friend,

I hope this little report on my latest exploits finds you in good health – in any case I am available for that little scheme of yours. But first let me tell you about my last three months.

After the little ruckus in Memphis I accompanied the young benefactor to Refugium, partly out of curiosity, partly because I had the feeling that a sound profit could be had – if not now, then maybe in a few years’ time. We were still after those high-end assassins who impersonated benefactors, and one of their tracks led to the very edge of the Appalachians.

Refugium is much less impressive than it’s portrayal in the stories. It’s basically a big book dump in an old federal prison, tended by some forty hermits – although I must admit that their leader Ling is maybe the sharpest guy I have ever met. Some good trade may be had, but don’t hope for cheap discounts – the “monks” are very good traders.

We did these monks a few favors of a violent nature, and in the course of these actions we found out that one of these assassins (although not the one we hunted) had made himself king of a local tribe. While he was not willing to meet us in person – and I would never walk willingly into his camp – the old silvertongue works well enough via radio and he spilled a few secrets, stuff not fit for paper. We’ll meet soon enough; I’ll get you up to speed then.

One thing I can tell you, because LAW knows of this, and thus we can be sure it will become common knowledge before the month is over. The assassin was originally after a secret facility from the Long Ago, hidden deep in a train tunnel. This info was kept safe (but indecipherable) to Refugium’s keepers, and our assassin hadn’t found a way to steal this secret, and thus just became a Hanhan warchief instead. After some to and fro (and there might have been some threats), the monks shared this knowledge with the young benefactor, and using some gadget from the assassin’s gear, we were able to pinpoint the position. And some good scav was found. The monks from Refugium and the benefactors are set to make a deal to share the facility as a safehouse and laboratory – the Institute might not be as safe as it was, and thus the benefactors seem to be looking for alternatives, while the monks are probably happy for the top notch health care they will be getting. Regrettably, the lawlita in our group probably reported this news to the tribunal as soon as he found a working radio (anything for a shot at getting his tattoo) so the secret is out.

In any case: While I didn’t exactly make a fortune, I came away with a “palpable plus” as your fetid partner used to say. I’ll be back in Holy Flame at the end of the month – I had my fill of all things LAW, and thus meeting up in Memphis is out of the question. Anyway: After a few months with a constantly doped-up benefactor, his sidekick “the weird kid” and a self-righteous, bullheaded glory seeker from Memphis, it will be a joy to work with professionals again.

best regards & keep your powder dry

MP

Now in English!

A glossary of the wastes has been arduously translated and now is at your disposal in the scorched earth materials post. In the future this will remain the variant which I will keep up to date - and the translation also contains some stuff not present in the German version.

Biker gangs!

No post-apocalyptic setting is complete without hairy men on greasy bikes, wielding rusty implements of violence! Thus, I present the deathdealers - a dangerous and ancient scourge of the Wastes. An addition to the scorched earth materials.

The Eye and the box

It takes about a day for the HanHan to return – while Dan Hawking and Zed Memphis spot the warriors approaching the ruins, they lose them as soon as the ferals reach the town. The tall warrior meets them at the crossing, and he brings Ghosteye’s approval to have a talk via radio. He also broaches the subject of the prisoner. The young man is to be handed over, unharmed. The group is to drive towards the junkyard from Bozeman, and they will also wait for four hours, so that the ambassador and his companions can return to Ghosteye beforehand. Benefactor Rod and the others have no problems with these conditions. The watch the HanHan disappear and prepare for the drive to the junkyard.
Its is early afternoon when they reach their destination. The drive towards the junkyard was hard on their backs, basically just a rut between the brushes – even with the Conquistador and Zed’s dirtbike it was a tough ride. At one point the pass a column: three old refrigerators placed upon each other, their doors torn off. As they come closer, the explorers see that the refrigerators have been stacked with skulls. “Just a little reminder,” says Mal “the HanHan are ferales, treacherous and cruel. Expect a backstab any time, keep your guns handy.” The young HanHan, tied up in the backseat, fidgets as they pass the marker. Then, the junkyard rose in front of them: Walls of rusted hulks, a whole football field of smashed cars, vans and trucks, detritus discarded by the Long Ago. There seems to be a two-storied building in the middle of this mess, and a huge construction crane next to it. The grisly markers of the HanHan are everywhere: Skulls on rusty poles, scarecrows from bedsprings, bones and mirror shards. People seem to move on the red walls, Zed makes out some women among them, and a lot of men carrying crossbows and spears, clad in metal armor as red as the wrecks.
The explorers have not much time to take note of the scenery: A group of HanHan rises from cover less than thirty paces from their car. The tall warrior is among them: He seems to have earned the honor to talk to the outsiders. He strides towards the Conquistador, while his group keeps a respectful distance, fingering their cutters and spears. The tall warrior knocks against the car door “Free the prisoner”. Without saying a word, Rupert cuts the young man’s bonds and opens the car door. The young HanHan slinks away, towards the group of warriors. They give him sour looks, and Mal suddenly realizes that the prisoner quite probably will not be feted for his happy return, but that there might be harsh punishments in store for a warrior who allowed himself to be captured. The tall warrior waits until the prisoner has reached the group, then he smiles “Good. Now give me the radio”. He says it like it is some kind of strange animal, thinks Dan. Mal hands over one hand-held two-way radio. “I will return with the radio after the talk is over.” “Tell Ghosteye that we are on channel five.” “Yes. Wait for a few minutes.”
A few minutes pass. Mal grins painfully and is about to say something disparaging about ferals in general, as the radio comes to life. Channel five, damn, they know how to use a radio.
“Who is this?” squawks the box. A male voice, somewhere between thirty and forty, dry, self-assured.
Mal grabs the radio before the others react “This is Mal Porter. I am with Benefactor Rod, and three friends. We asked for a talk, an honest exchange of info.” -click-
“But you do not want to share the hospitality of my tent” -click-
“We think we all are easier where we are right now. Of course we would all be interested in a little honest face-to-face” he grimaces “but I for one would not come unarmed, and neither would you, or your guys, and that’s just a recipe for trouble, wouldn’t you agree. Anyways, we handed over your warrior, and I think we would both profit from sharing some news. Is it true you killed this visitor hand-to-hand?” -click-
A dry chuckle from the box “Not so fast. I also want to ask a question: How do you know that this visitor was so special?” Mal looks at the others. Rod nods. -click-

“We had dealings with men like them before. Good people died.” Rod takes over “I am a benefactor. Men like your visitor basically attacked our homes. We found out where they were headed. That’s why we are in these parts.” -click-

“That is interesting. Where are the others?” -click-

“Not so fast. You owe us answers too. Tell us a bit about your visitor.” -click-

“Very well. He was…one of those men you seem to have met before. A reminder of my past, and so I had to kill him. He seemed to be surprised.” -click-

“Your past?” -click-

“Where are the other men?” -click-

Rod hesitates, but he thinks that arguing in good faith might be the best approach here “Okay. One went to Memphis to do God knows what. Whatever it was: He failed. He is in a morgue in Uptown now. The second is somewhere in Oklahoma. We have no idea why, the only things he could destabilize and assassinate there are dogs and scorpions.” Mal thinks that this is not quite the whole of it, but he keeps his mouth shut. “The third went here. We thought he was after Refugium, because all of their books and their database.” -click-

“That might have been true. Anyway, I buried him and his mission. How did the man im Memphis die?” -click-

“We knew what to look for, and when we found him, we tried to take him out. LAW intervened and caught him. He died in the hospital in Uptown: His own poison tooth killed him.” -click-

A chuckle “That’s a primary design feature.” -click-

“What are you people?” Rod nearly shouts into the mike.

There is a long silence. “I was an infiltrator. I came here to recover a hardened data storage device, to upload it into a SKMR, a Subcompact Keystone Media Reader, which would send the data to Control, then return to Control for debriefing.” That is a lot of gibberish, even to technological guys like Mal and Rod. They take it in stride, and the voice on the box goes on “The data is in Refugium, they were sure about that, but I found no easy way to infiltrate the monks’ fortress on my own. I met the HanHan. End of story.” -click-

“End of story? Infiltrator for whom? Who sends these guys through our villages? Where do they come from? How do we stop them?” -click-

“Benefactor, this is the kind of knowledge that is of no use to you.” The voice sounds sympathetic “I was an infiltrator for Iron Eden. The name will mean nothing to you. They have a large base thirty clicks to the north of the Institute, and they will send infiltrators and soldiers south through your area as they see fit, and there is nothing you can do against it. Their military is very capable and extremely well equipped. And from might comes the right to rulership.” Rod grows pale, as the voice goes on “Don’t think about going to the base like you went to visit me. They kill every person that breaches the base, and they routinely count the field mice crossing the perimeter. My advice: If you want to avoid them, move elsewhere. Pack up and leave.” -click-

Mal senses that the stranger on the other end is in a talking mood and snatches the mike “How did you train to become an infiltrator? How many are there?” and, after a short pause “Why did you give it up?” -click-

“There are some of us…but I will not talk about my childhood and youth. Concerning your other question: There once was this huge empire, in a time before the Long Ago. It dominated three continents. Its capital was the marvel of the world. Rome, you might have heard of it. Once, one of its great generals rode with his companions through a village at the very border of the empire. It was sorry sight, a few hovels and barns, a dirt track instead of a road. The great general took a look around and said: I’d rather rule here than serve in Rome.” -click-

“I do not understand” -click-

“I was not born to serve. I learned that in the junkyard. The HanHan are my people, and I am their leader and protector. I have a wife and she is HanHan – an Iron Eden infiltrator would never marry. My warriors depend on me, and they know I will lead the HanHan to greatness.” -click-

Mal thinks: or maybe you just enjoy being the only dog in a pit full of rats, but he also has another thought “But you know that these Iron Eden folks will send another infiltrator here. They send a second guy, why not send a third, and a fourth…maybe these will be not so careless. Not to sound disrespectful, Ghosteye, but if such a man found out you scrapped your mission so you can rule the HanHan, he might just slip into your tent at night and pop a few bullets in your head.” He pauses to let this sink in “I understand that this…skimmer will read out the data and send them to your home base?” -click-

“Correct.” -click-

“Is there any way to copy the data that are transmitted?” -click-

“The SKMR has readout…so you think I still have this gadget around, for old times sake? You propose to take the SKMR to Refugium and ask the monks nicely for the storage device, uploading it and ending my mission, so that no further infiltrators will come looking for the data…and for me? And you will probably do it for free, because…there is something in it for you?” -click-

Mal grins “Even if they can roll right through the Institute, we are still interested in all scraps of info about Iron Eden. The skimmer might tell us something about their plans or the next target where they are going to strike, or something we could use to start negotiating with them. Anything is of value. And yes, you still have the skimmer. Not for sentimental reasons, I know.
But if you hand over the skimmer, your past will truly be past. No more looking over your shoulder. We’ll be going to Oklahoma next, and your old employers will most likely lose interest in this part of the world. The tale about a new, nearly superhuman leader of the HanHan is already out, but there’s nothing we can do about that, and everybody with half a brain will think that’s just stupid rumors – such tales pop up all the time.” -click-

Rod whispers “Nicely played.” Mal answers “Can’t shake being a trader.” The pause grows longer, then the dry voice returns “Very well. I think I can trust you to do as you have told – Thank god for self-interest.” A sigh. “Time to throw some useless rubbish out.” The is really very easy to use. Self-explanatory. Usability under pressure. A warrior will bring the SKMR and the radio out to your car. It sure was interesting talking to you. I trust we will never speak again.” The radio falls silent, and all attempts to raise Ghosteye fail. Some time later, the tall warrior reappears, alone.
He hands the radio to Mal, and an appliance the size of a lunchbox, blocky, with a small monitor and a key panel. The tall warrior says “Data storage device goes here. Just press Send, here. Ghosteye tells me the machine will do the rest. The data send will appear here.” He points to the monitor. “Ghosteye says you better read fast, or make a photo.” Then he turns and walks away. After a few steps he shouts “And do not come back. You are not welcome.”

A talk in Bozeman

Benefactor Rod meets a single HanHan in the middle of the street – the others just melted into the ruins of Bozeman, a place each of them has known for years, while Refugium’s ambassadors had only a few hours to scout. Mal Porter looks at the two: Rod leaning on his aluminum staff, his grey poncho thrown over his shoulder, the red crosses on his shoulders on display, facing a large, sinewy man, armored with rusting metal plates, a red hubcap protecting his chest, his large hands never far away from a cruel hacking iron hanging from his belt. All hear the talk between the doctor and the feral via their HiTek headsets, and it is not going too well – the feral is quite sure that Ghosteye, new leader of the HanHan, will never leave the junkyard to talk to the men who captured one of his warriors, however interesting their information might be. But he offers hostages for his visitor's safety. Rod knows that his friends will never consent to visiting the junkyard, hostages or no. Mal Porter, for one, has experienced the inconsistent hospitality of ferales before, in the ruins of Chicago. It’s a mistake you make just once, he whispers via the com. The one won’t come out, the others won’t go in. As the negotiations stall, he has another idea: If Ghosteye is a false benefactor, he should be technologically inclined. He leaves his position and walks up to Rod and the feral. He gets a look at the hard man. Old scars crisscross his chest and arms, his face is sunburnt and painted with rust and chalk – a body shaped by times of hunger, fighting and struggle. A necklace with screws, small bones and teeths around his neck. Two old knives in his belt, apart from the scarred cutter. Improbably bright eyes measure Mal Porter. He probably thinks he can take my head in one swing, and maybe he’s right, better keep a bit of distance…”Does your leader know how a radio works?” The big feral snorts “Our Ghosteye knows how everything works. He could build a radio from scraps and dog’s blood.” Maybe he can, Rod thinks, but I am not quite sure if you know what the word radio means “Then I think I have a solution for our situation: We have some radios, they don’t go very far, so we’ll have to drive up to the junkyard.” The feral gives him a stony look. Mal changes tack “We give you one talkbox and we keep one. We talk using the boxes, so we do not have do go into the junkyard where our presence would just trouble your kids, and Ghosteye won’t have to leave his palace…safety assured for everyone. No need for hostages or such bunk. After the talk, you bring back the talkbox, and we go our separate ways. I think, Ghosteye would agree that this is a very smart solution.” A scavvy through and through, Red thinks. If a problem seems insurmountable, just raise the technological bar. The feral takes his time answering, but then he nods “I have to ask Ghosteye if this is agreeable. Wait here, you will have the answer next morning." Then he vanishes – he moves into the ruins and just is gone. Dan Hawking’s voice squawks though their headsets, crestfallen “Fuck, I lost him, it’s like he stepped into a wall…” It’s their playground, Mal thinks, they know it by heart. A few minutes later, Dan reports that the ferales are moving out of the ruins. They move trough the sparse shrubs and the shifting dust like fish in water, that’s what he tells his friends later, when he returns from his perch in the church tower. Not easy to keep a bead on one of them, not easy at all. Mal nods and keeps his thoughts to himself: If Ghosteye is not in the mood for a radio chat, this playground might become a battlefield right quick. And he sees to his weapons.

Deus Vult!

The Magnum Opus enforces God's plan for the Wastes. They are the last of the righteous, and they shall drive the unbelievers before them like scattered ashes. An addition to the scorched earth materials.

Perfect

Even madmen need a loving home, a place to come back to, a little hole in the wall. Perfect provides, even if its love is deadly. An addition to the scorched earth materials post.

Prepping a meet

How does one have a sit-down with a feral chief who does not want to be met? Ling tells the group that Rupert Ropehands, leader of Refugium’s militia, knows how to contact the HanHan – something that Rupert does not advertise. Maybe talking to him would be a first step, the next would be going to Bozeman with him so that he can facilitate a meeting.

The sunburnt ex-mercenary has already been briefed by Ling when Mal and the others show up at his post in front of Sue Snell’s motel. Wordlessly, he gathers his gear and jumps into the Conquistador. Again, Zed Memphis goes ahead. Mal quizzes Rupert during their drive to Bozeman. Yes, he has had dealings with the HanHan before. It’s always very paranoid, not a real meet, but rather an exchange of barter items with the trading partners keeping out of each others’ sight: “I leave the stuff I want to trade in the front of Bozeman’s old bank, then I leave for two hours. When I return, my stuff is gone and some of their stuff lies there for the taking.” Mal asks “So what are you trading?” “Well, mostly meats and leathers. Sometimes, they leave some tools from the old scrap yard. Much appreciated by Jaxxon and Heidi Platt.” “No, what are you trading?” “Stuff, mostly. Clothing, food, you know, nothing special.” Mal takes his eyes of the road and gives Rupert a quizzical look “At some times, I have also put some rounds of ammo down. Really not enough to bother anyone, and there would be no trade with them if I hadn’t sold something really valuable, and thus no back-channel. Just don’t tell Ling, okay? No reason to upset the old man.” In the back of the jeep, Spinoza, bound and gagged, flanked by Rod and Dan Hawking, stares ahead.

They arrive at noon. Bozeman seems to be HanHan territory: In the Long Ago, it was home to maybe ten thousand peaceful citizens. Now, long steel poles festooned with bones, necklaces of rusty nails and doll’s heads, rammed into the central crossing of the town, proclaim a different kind of inhabitants. Nonetheless, the ruins seem to be deserted. The group sets up a camp, with Dan taking position in an old church tower in the middle of town, tirelessly scanning the wastes surrounding Bozeman. Rupert is quite nervous, stomping around the camp, fiddling with his shotgun, glowering at the dark and overgrown alleys between the ruins.

After a few hours, Dan sees a HanHan leaving Bozeman, but only when the feral is already hundreds of paces away from the town. The man is running, his long strides carrying him towards the west, where the old junkyard lies. Dan curses and calls down from his perch, and the others grin. They have been discovered, and soon the HanHan will return in force to investigate. Time enough to prepare a meeting that calls for three parts diplomacy and one part warfare, with just a dash of ambush. Dan remains in his tower, his new fancy carbine at the ready and his old rifle at his feet, while Zed takes up a position about a hundred meters west from the edge of town, as an advance scout and surprise element. Or even as the one who will get away if it all turns to shit. He digs in. Mal finds himself a nice and cozy hidey hole in Bozeman’s bank, with a good view of the central crossing. He does not want to get too far away from proceedings, partly because he has some things to say, partly because he thinks that Rod might need some close support. At the crossing, amid the metal poles, Rod stands in the open, unarmed, hoping to do some talking, with Rupert being present, but silent - just a friendly, well-known face hovering in the background. Spinoza - the leverage - stays in the jeep, bound and gagged.

Chalice

Chalice is a community slowly withering away, sitting next to an old nuclear reactor that is poisoning its fields, its water and its air. And yet, people stay, waiting for a messiah who will make the reactor's promise of boundless energy come true. An addition to the scorched earth materials post.