Good morning Vados!
Let’s talk briefly about our setting this weekend. We’ve been so busy! With national qualifiers, COVID vaccine administration, top surgery (yay!!), family emergencies and work crunches we’ve felt pretty swamped this month. But you guys have been so patient with us, so thank you for that.
We’re going to The Spoiled Coast for Feb, specifically to a little port city known as The Clutch. So without further goading, please read on:
The Clutch as seen from the some of the docks. By JP Artork
The Spoiled Coast; The Clutch
Population: 700 - 2,700 (seasonal, with the highest population occurring during the Long Night; when no ships sail the Inksea. )
Real Life Comparison: The Port of Houston
Scope of Play: The Clutch specifically, but also the outlying territories 25 miles either way along the coast; Port Victory, The East Line Construction Zone as well as The Flotilla.
Executive Summary
On the coast of the Lonestar, at the gossamer edge between blastland and the blind depths; lies The Clutch, oldest port city in the San Saba and generational home of sailors, fishmongers and leviathan hunters alike.
The peoples of the Spoiled Coast live in bizarre harmony with their unforgiving circumstances. With resignation or enthusiasm; the waterkind of the East wrestle with the forces at play beneath the black waters of the Inksea and eke out a living as tradesmen and killers; the few willing to brave the many-toothed waves and haul their thin spoils to shore.
Much of the money that flows through the Clutch stems from its single, massive cargo port. Most of the trade from Gatorland, 40Watt, and other Southeastern locales must pass through the casteiron gates of The Clutch before being trucked many miles to its final destination somewhere inside the San Saba Interior. In the miles of open water and open mortis between the Clutch and more eastern ports, tradeships must contend with privateers, homicidal weather, hypermutated megafauna and the threat of Badbrain outbreaks that, in the close confines of a sailing ship, spell doom for the entire crew.
The city itself, attached to the port, is a vibrant crystal growing from the fetid gray matter of the Spoiled Coast. Mostly old warehouses that have been patched and rebuilt so many times as to recall the topical Ship of Theseus, small lean-tos have been constructed in the eves of the oldcestor facilities. Possessing a kind of “grown over'' look, the thatch-roofed slums and converted boat houses meld into one another along a long promenade that begins at the mouth of the port and extends some half a mile inland. Otherwise, the porthouses of the clutch encrust the stone mantle of the port like so many glowing barnacles grown over a prefall shipwreck.
The population of the Clutch varies, with most of its official residents being sailors who spend a nontrivial amount of their year at sea. Those who live there as permanent residents are generally shopkeepers, bartenders, craftfolk or family - extended family in the case of many Junkerpunk households.
Setting Ephemera of Note
The East Line Construction Zone; ELC-Z, “The Elk-Z”
The expansion of the Oxline along the coast is a construction zone guarded by heavily-armed RRC mercenaries. Construction crews, heavy equipment, and rail line infrastructure fill the area with the noise of industry. The “ELC-Z” is a highly contested region of the San Saba territories on the loose border of Junkerpunk territory and that of the Board. The East Line, when completed, will offer a bypass to the traditional trade routes of the ocean.
The Flotilla
In the bay of the Clutch is a motley assembly of ships and makeshift buildings built on an uncertain foundation of broken hulls and former vessels. Serving as a partial seaport for larger ships that can’t make a shallow harbor, and a home for captains of the Junkerpunks that can never be claimed as territory of any landowner, the Flotilla is the heart and soul of the Junkerpunk faction. Over the years, the Flotilla has waxed and waned like the tides as new ships are built in the dampened dry docks or as broken carcasses of lost fleets are added to the ramshackle mass.
Alleged Flotilla Roster here
The Cicatrix (Open Water Mortis)
Underneath the murky water of the Inksea lies the sole morgue of the Clutch, known only as the Cicatrix. When the Gravemind reclaims biomass nearby, the tendrils that emerge resemble that of a monstrous octopoid, dragging down helpless ships and those too near the water alike. The capricious nature of the morgue means the newly dead are first returned to a chaotic embrace of imminent drowning. Those that don’t survive the return are thought to become the Drowned Ones, as the spark of life is chased away by a need for air and survival.
The Muddy Water Accord
A set of loose rules or articles of code, that aim to create an honor system for the pirates and sailors of the Spoiled Coast. The Articles, as the code is often called, are highly regarded by the Muddy Water Accorders, but they can be cast aside in a moment of opportunity with outsiders for those not particularly devout to the causes of the MWA. Their general stance is Interdependence before Independence. The largest competing philosophy is espoused by one Admiral Clearwater and their constituents and crew.
The Red Tide Riots
The Junkerpunks established their foothold on the Clutch in a series of bloody riots that occurred during the founding of the San Saba territories. The riots were a response to extremely close quarters, a nuclear winter as a function of the Hiway War, and the authority of the land telling folks what to do. While the RRC was focused on securing their foothold with the Oxline, the Lonestar largely ignored the plight of the suffering folk on the coast. Those riots left countless dead and the waterlogged settlement in fiery ruins, with the survivors left to rebuild on their own. Through sweat, tears, and blood, the Junkerpunks built up their trade empire under the noses of the RRC and other factions.
Subnautica
Beneath the oilslick waves of the Spoiled Coast, light disperses entirely only a few feet beneath the surface. The horrible dark, blind eternity is so complete as to be opaque, and without visual depth. Beneath that, however, is the unspoiled salt water of the Deep. Here, there is no sunlight - for the film of oil, some twenty feet thick, blocks it entirely. Instead there is the low and nonspecific glow of bioluminescence, cast off by strange megafauna whose ecosystem dissolved thousands of years ago, replaced with crude oil and shadow.
Leviathan Hunting
Following the destruction of Aggieland during the Hiway War, a number of experiments on the flora and fauna were thought to have been lost on the Spoiled Coast. The megafauna and monstrous creatures that survived have been tracked and hunted by the Diamondbacks along the coast, and the Accorders across the Inksea. Every inhabitant of the Clutch fears the thunder and crashing waves partially because it might be some gargantuan threat bearing down on them. Many of these creatures have no natural predators either on the oily waves of the Coast or below in the clear waters of the the Deep. But their blood is powerful stuff, distillable and heady; Leviathan blood burns as brightly as any oil and twice as long.
The Lighthouse
Above the rocky shore of the Clutch lies a beacon of light for ships abroad, and those returned to life through the Cicatrix. The light gives a point to orient those swimming up from the depths of the ocean floor, while also serving mundane duties as a functional lighthouse. Maintained by the Muddy Water Accord through trade with the inland, the Lighthouse is neutral territory for all.
A Sailor’s Life on the Spoiled Coast
The ravaged coastline of the Clutch suffers the extremes of poor weather; from radiation-infused storms, oily acidic rain, or terrible hurricanes blown inland from the far sea. Rain is a constant state in the Clutch, and the inhabitants here are largely at peace with it. Even the most novice sailor in the Clutch has sailed through the worst weather imaginable, and their skills are unmatched due to a lifetime of survival in such conditions. This constant danger has hardened the people of the Clutch, and is at the heart of their stubbornness and love of the freedom of the sea and sky.
Black Tide
The biodiesel used as a fuel for ships and caravans alike is ultimately formed of carbon, compressed of dead things and decayed rot. While most of the sea in the Spoiled Coast is covered in some kind of film of oil, it can pool in massive fields some twenty-feet deep. Sometimes, this phenomenon can serve as an impromptu morgue, half-remembering what life might be, releasing partially formed things that aren’t quite zed and not quite anything else. The oil slicks themselves can sometimes mimic life and drown unfortunate ships in an inky, oily blob of death. A superstition common in the Clutch tells that “black tides in the morning are a sailor’s grim warning”.
The Drowned Ones (Raider Identity)
Ships go missing, sometimes they wreck. Sometimes the entire crew gets infected with Bad Brain and they forget to come back. Out in the smokes, on the spoiled waters of the coast, ships draped in viscera, with skinsails bloated in a red breeze, the Drowned Ones are as good as dead.
They hunger, so they hunt. They never return to shore. Their ships grow steadily shoddier. They replace the rugged wooden and iron workings with the mutable flesh of their prey. Over time, decay wins. The ships sink and the biomass returns to the open-water mortis. but not before becoming a splendid and terrible figure in the bedtime stories of fishmonger’s sons.
Drowned Ones generally wear whatever they can scavenge off other ships, their gear slowly rots away thanks to the powerful humidity and brine of the Inksea. Drawn by Balee L
Their boats, as much as they can be maintained with skin and salvage, grow to resemble organic things, leviathans in their own right. Drawn by Balee L
The Competing Identities
We’ve alluded to them before, but here they are; the two competing core philosophies the Junkerpunks possess. After this weekend the philosophy most espoused by the PCs who are supporting the Junkerpunk plot will become the core philosophy honored by the faction overall going forward.
The Clearwater Vision; Independence Above all Else
Everyone is born Free. When we are born we are not heirs to an apocalypse. We are as free and new as every generation that has come before us, and princes of a world all our own. All generational notions are lies designed to control us.
The ruin of Freedom is Slavery. No one person is fit to rule another, not the Longberths us or we our greater selves. We are all imperfect, and too varied, for it to be moral that a group of us makes decisions for all of us. To allow others to create litigation structure is to give up one’s own freedoms, which is tantamount to giving up one’s own life and the greatest folly a man can commit.
Slavery is a function of Hierarchy The notion that some people are above the imperfect rest is a lie. When we begin to entertain the idea that some people are worth more and others less, it becomes ethical to mistreat a portion of the population. Without hierarchy there is no tool by which one might determine between the worthy and unworthy, the notion fails altogether.
Hierarchy is a function of Interdependence Society is a formalized hierarchy, for leadership is the first step in both. Entrenched hierarchy normalizes the mistreatment of the indisposed and widens the gap artificially between the haves and the have-nots. More people become enslaved while less people remain free. Therefore, Interdependence is Slavery and Anarchy is Freedom.
The Muddy Water Accord; Interdependence means a Free Community is stronger than a Free Individual.
Ships Have Captains for a Reason. A sailor is not a slave if they choose their path, nor are they a slave if they choose to follow a leader. Structure and hierarchy are not weaknesses as long as they serve a purpose. When you are at the bar sharing a pint, every sailor is equal. But in the midst of a storm, you follow the orders of the captain because we ALL sail home when we work with one voice.
Each Ship Has a Place in the Fleet, No Matter Where They Sail. Your obligation to the Junkerpunks is equal to your obligation to yourself. Freedom is equally as important as the success of the lowest of us. We are interdependent on each other for our collective success. We chose the Junkerpunks for a reason.
There is an Honor Amongst Thieves. The Articles of Code are all the structure we need. No organization or entity can control the wastes, or hold dominion over another - this is true. But total anarchy is naive, and having order is not necessarily a bad thing. People will disagree from time to time, and relying on the survival of the fittest to sort things out hurts us equally in the end. We need at least some rules we can rely on.
Sink or Swim, We Survive and THRIVE Together. We are already the experts at what we do, and we have the resources already. We have the ships, the crews, and the trade routes already. The RRC and the Board still have to catch up. We just have to leverage what we have collectively to ensure we have a place in the Wastes. We can choose to be better than the Board.
We Get to Choose If or When We Join, not the Board. The Board should have to beg us to come back because we do it better. Leaving us out of the San Saba Accord is their own mistake, and the best revenge is living well. When they are ready to own up to this mistake and make it right, only then will we consider joining them as equals.
———
That’s All For Now
Hopefully this gives you guys a pretty decent idea of our setting this month. We’ve spent a lot of time building it. The Clutch has been a passion project for a few of our team for over a year now. We’ll see you there, where the tides are black and the horizon burns, and where the Leviathans labor under heavy waters.
<3
-Shan, Aesa and the DRTX Team