The Future of Drywater

Hey there Vados! It’s Jonathan here with one last update before the game this weekend - BEYOND THE HORIZON. We are going to talk about some mechanics regarding the new settlement of Drywater that you might see during our upcoming event. During this game, your characters will have the ability to influence the new Junkerpunk port of call by completing tasks for one of three factions. Which faction will you help unlock new items and blueprints to bring to our game?

While advanced ticket sales for the event are closed, you can still get tickets at the door!

The Drywater Settlement Package

The infant settlement of Drywater, just a few hours walk to the West of New Bravado’s extended territory, has begun to erect its first permanent structures and acquire its first permanent citizens. Queen Jasper, the sickly but politically powerful matriarch of the Antler clan, has come to New Bravado to oversee the perilous and brave process of sculpting a homeland from irradiated dirt. With the help of the Longberths, a faction of the Tribes Disparate who have historically butted heads with the smaller merchant faction, the scrap of land will become a dry port of call only rivaled by Waking Prime. 

During this next game, the Junkerpunk faction will achieve a major victory by constructing a new town near Bravado. This port will be a new future for the faction and realize the shared dreams of Admiral Sinker Swim and the Regent of the Tribes Disparate, Holy Mother Queen Jasper. However, any construction project of this magnitude cannot be completed by just one person. It takes a village, so the saying goes..

Luckily, three of the major factions of the San Saba have proposed a plan to help the new settlement: the Tribes Disparate, the Railroad Conglomerate, and the Grave Council. Each has their own motivations and reasons to be involved, but there’s really only enough space for one of them to really succeed. That’s where YOU come in!

drywater work orders

The one thing the factions lack in town is the labor necessary to help their cause. At the start of game, each player will have an option to take a DRYWATER WORK ORDER. This tasklist will give you a way to track your assistance to one of the the three factions. Scattered through our site will be TWENTY different tasks you can complete as part of this Work Order. These tasks will require you to complete Skill Challenges, expend item cards like scrap or herb, or use Mind and Body points towards your task.

• Every FOUR tasks you complete will earn ONE vote towards one of the three factions. Some of these tasks will be easier than others, so even brand new players can participate.

• Most Tasks can be completed ONCE per Twelves. That means you’ll be able to do some tasks more than once, but you’ll have to do multiple Tasks if you want to maximize your votes.

• Each character can cast up to FIVE total votes in your favor. There will be a few other ways to earn votes past the Work Orders, so keep your eyes open for opportunity!

• You can only submit one Drywater Work Order per character. If you want to play that alt, go right ahead — we will have additional Work Order forms at the Post Office.

Once you’ve completed as many tasks as you can, you can submit the finished Work Order to the Post Office to record your vote. You’ll choose one of the THREE unique Drywater Upgrades to put your votes toward, securing that faction’s inclusion into the new settlement.

So what do you get for all this hard work? Your investment in the new settlement of Drywater will help out Bravado in the future in a few specific ways:

Drywater Upgrades

The faction that succeeds in influencing new construction in Drywater will reap the benefits of the new trade routes, resources, and alliances with the Junkerpunks. Each faction has proposed an option for upgrading the town, and each option comes with its own unique benefits.

The Cali*Co-Operative Arsenal

Owned and Operated by the dependable Cali*Co Caravan, the *Co-Operative Arsenal will employ the local Junkerpunk population for the purpose of munitions development and production. Located on the scenic ridge that overlooks Drywater, the Arsenal will develop and produce munitions for the defense of the Greater San Saba and her citizens from the threat of zed, raider, or invading body.  Espoused by the Holy Mother Queen Jasper of the Tribes Disparate, the Arsenal is her final attempt at preserving the San Saba as the homeland of her people and their allies.

• This Drywater Upgrade will provide new regional Weapon, Armor, and Vehicle blueprints for trade with Bravado as the town develops.

The Redfield Boatel and Spa

This sumptuous lounge and resort will be just one stop down the Oxline from New Bravado and attract personages of affluence from across the Greater Wastes. Local Junkerpunks will make up the staff of the Boatel and Spa and be provided with a living wage, ongoing benefits, and housing. Located on the river, the Boatel and Spa will technically be a mobile living environment permanently docked at Drywater. The kitchens at the Redfield will produce highbrow brews and confections beyond anything the San Saba has seen so far, and are personally endorsed by Felicity Redfield, CEO of the Railroad Conglomerate.

• This Drywater Upgrade will provide new regional Brew, Meal, Gizmos, and Culinary blueprints for trade with Bravado as the town develops.

The Imix Institute

The closest GraveTech research facility is located in the Dead Marches, many miles to the distant south, beyond even the Blastlands.  To be placed in the middle of town as a multi-story cathedralex, the Imix Institute would employ and educate the local Junkerpunk population as researchers and volunteers in the ongoing effor to understand and benefit from the Mortis Amaranthine and the Grave Minds that lurk within it.  This project is endorsed by the leaders of the Grave Council, Takheeta Firstborn and Commander Rampart.  Research from this facility would likely produce compelling advances in Grave and Psi- technologies.

• This Drywater Upgrade will provide new regional Gravetech, Psionic, and Faith-related blueprints for trade with Bravado as the town develops.

Which faction are you going to put your support behind to help the new town of Drywater? How will you shape the future of the San Saba? Let’s find out this weekend, BEYOND THE HORIZON!

Girl Scout Cookies Update!

Hello friends! Quick add-on from Aesa!

We have two wonderful Girl Scout troops coming out this weekend to sell cookies on site, and, great news, you can now PRE-ORDER those cookies for pick up on either Friday or Sunday! Order using the links below. Select the Girl Delivery option and in the notes put ‘pick up at Camp Kachina’.

Troop 8226 Friday 4:30pm Pre-Order Cookie Pickup Link

Troop 21003 Sunday 11:00am Pre-Order Cookie Pickup Link

This will streamline the process and help ensure both troops have enough of each cookie on hand. Each troop will also have extras for those wanting to pay cash or waiting until they are there.

Let’s help support our site and our girls!

Reminder about Site Times

Re-posting these reminders from a few weeks back about when folks can be on site and where to stay.

COMING ON SITE

Unless you have special permission from staff or are part of our designated Setup Crew for that weekend, the time when you can come onto the site from the parking lot is 3pm on Friday. This applies to Guides as well. At 4pm players who pre-registered can pick up their character sheets and check-in at the Post Office. At 5pm players who did not pre-register can check-in. Read the full Weekend Itinerary here.

DRIVING ON SITE

Likewise, you can only drive on site if you have explicit staff permission. Everyone else needs to park in the parking lot and use a cart to bring their items on to and off of site.

MEDICAL AND NEW PLAYER SLEEPING ACCOMMODATIONS

Wigwam Cabin is our primary Med Sleep location. Wikiup is our primary New Player cabin. Last game we were overcrowded in these spaces. We do not want to have to start restricting who can sleep there further, or requiring medical notes, so please consider sleeping elsewhere if you are not a new player or require medical sleep accommodations.

Kiva is climate controlled and open to anyone. There are also many open-air cabins available in Hopi and Zuni, the platform tents in Tewa, and tent-space is available for those who want to bring their own tent. Some people choose to stay in hotels and air bnb’s off-site as well. If you just would like a Med Sleep note on your character sheet to sleep in a different location without interruption, we can accommodate that. Please email info@dystopiarisingtx.com.

Map of Camp Kachina

See you tomorrow!

March Update 2.0

Good Thursday, Survivors! 

This post comes to you in two parts. We’re going to get the unfun stuff out of the way first - so stay tuned for PLOT. We are staying up to date on information with Covid-19. We are still holding our March event and we do not have plans to suspend or cancel future events yet.

Large events do represent an increased risk for community spread. We are all watching events, schools, and conferences canceled which host many thousands of people. While we might be large for a larp, we are still quite small in the scheme of event-planning. In some respects we are closer to a small conference or symposium in terms of population, duration, and human contact. We are looking at those rather than comparing ourselves to SXSW for instance. If social distancing measures increase then we will seriously consider altering or canceling events. We are not there yet. If the situation warrants, then we will go there.

All that being said, there are things we can all do to mitigate the risk of infection. If you are sick, please stay home. You have heard a hundred reminders to wash your hands. Please wash your hands. Additionally…

1.      If you see that a bathroom has run out of paper towels or soap please tell us so we can get more.

2.      Please use make-up wedges/applicators ONCE if dipping in a communal container. That means coat the wedge, put it on your face, then throw it away. Don’t double dip. We will also have a number of tiny paper cups you can use to put a reasonable amount of makeup in to apply to your own face. 

3.      Please help us to keep high contact surfaces clean. Kitchen counters, work stations, etc. If you can't find a cleaner and think a surface needs cleaning, ask staff or a guide to help you find some. 

4.      If you need a break from shambles, please please please help us clean. Clean make-up, wiping down surfaces, wiping down brawler handles, and doing laundry will help keep everyone healthy.

5.      Get enough sleep! Lack of sleep will tank your immune system. Take a nap if you need one, go to bed when you’re tired, sleep in if your body needs it.

6.      Do not skip meals! And please consider eating healthy meals instead of surviving on pocket cheese and cupcakes.

Okay! That’s the stuff we MUST say to feel good about having done our due-diligence to keep our pals healthy. You’re grownups, all of you. So let’s make grownup calls about our health. Secondly! Game is tomorrow - Hell yeah! 

To that end here’s some juicy new lore it’d be good to know for the weekend upcoming. This month the Tribes Disparate will be coming together for their yearly summit - hosted by the RRC itself. Thirteen tribes coming from across the wastes to discuss and plan and...who knows what else. “But!” You might exclaim, “Shan! We haven’t been TOLD what the thirteen tribes are. We only know NINE of them!” 

To which I reply “Until now, bucky-fuckos.” Check out this link to the Tribes Disparate page and take a peek at the newly revealed players in this month’s plot. You’ll have lots of mobility to address their standing inside the Tribes Disparate, their relationship with the Township Bravado and what our intertwining story looks like going forward. So study up, kids. Spring is upon us, time of growth and change. Let’s tell a cool story about it.

——

She is our Holy Mother Queen, 

Bearer of the Antler’d Crown. 

Who warred for peace and always sought, 

The chance to put her scepter down. 

The Cervaxi held her up on high, 

While the Torchlight shone from down Below, 

The Longberths bore her on their boats, 

Mighty row by mighty row. 

The Rabbits begged for peace and trade, 

And so Ox Killers did make it so, 

While the Sweetwaters turned that great big Wheel, 

All the way to Cali*Co. 

The Ja Cintos ranged and found ripe land, 

That Scadians thought good as their own, 

Which The Local 727,

Did render a new and lasting home. 

The Cloudskippers took the Queen above, 

To the skies above her brow, 

So that the Curators could record wisely, 

That none before and none do now, 

Rival Jasper in her rule, 

In her merit, measure or might, 

May she live forever always, 

Holy Mother dressed in White.

Friendly Counsel

“...and we will have enough fuel to help the Sweetwaters move the equipment to Waking, but we will need to prepare for refueling costs there.”

Everyone was listening, she supposed, even if their body language said otherwise.  She smiled to herself, and continued. It was late, and even Shale was disinterested.  But it was the duty of the matriarch to lead by example, so Momma Rabbit paused for a moment to let the others realize their minds had been drifting.  It was subtle, but as a skilled fishmonger drove their fish to the net, so she rounded up their attention once more.

Children would be children. And children indeed were the royal attendees of this summit.  Lessons passed down from mother to mother in the Rabbit family always seemed to become useful in surprising ways, she mused. 

The rest of the regents were gathered around the map of The Lands Bravado, listening with at least half an ear to her update on current events.  It was challenging enough getting the regency of the Tribes Disparate in the same room for quorum, much less keeping their attention throughout.  They would have to wait until the Summit to get the entirety of the thirteen regents in one place. For the handful she had here today, this was a necessary meeting.  An army marches on its stomach, her mother always said. “The DJs needed fuel to continue playing their part in all this.” Momma Rabbit pressed now.

At the mention of this, Shale looked up.  It was the one thing the Queen didn’t seem to understand, but Shale was in his element in this moment.  He was the most interested in these council meetings, where strength of arms did not matter as much as strength of will.  Let the Queen pursue her wars, but Shale would lead from the council chambers. Momma Rabbit smiled to herself and at him.

“We can get the RRC to fund the expedition. The Antlers have been protecting the Ox’s move south, and they can’t afford us to redirect our forces somewhere else.”  she answered in response to Shale’s unspoken question. The regent of the Ox Killers glared at her mention, but stayed quiet for now.

The Texican regent put his boots up on the table and offered a different suggestion. Her kindly eyes darkened at this willful display of bad manners.

“Maybe the Conglomerate can make an offer too.” Sam said with a drawl. “The Ja Cintos have enough connections there.  The Minister don’t like dealing with the Railroad any more than necessary. We’re all here for the Queen first, not the Commission.”  The regent of the Ja Cinto Militia surely meant well, but Momma Rabbit sighed internally at his aggressive tone.

“Sam, you know as well as I do the contracts we’ve signed.” Momma Rabbit countered. She tsked at him and brushed his feet off the table.  He sheepishly apologized, as she wiped the dirt off the map. He was a good lad, if he could only remember his manners.

“Fuck the contracts.”  The Torchlight regent’s gravely voice was barely a whisper, but when they spoke, the primitive filter on their mask made it impossible to sense any real emotion.  The Lascarian could be expected to provoke the fight further.

Another argument. This night was not getting any closer to being finished. 

The other regents acted predictably. The Ox Killers had a grudge, and their regent banged his fist on the table in support of the Torchlight’s suggestion.  The Ja Cintos would eventually back her if she could make her case, and maybe the Long Berths. The DJs of the Sweetwaters needed the work to keep the clan happy, so they would be on board when it came time for a vote.

“We trusted the sun-dwellers’ promises before. It cost us everything. Why should we continue to support them?”  the Lightbearer, for someone with such a name, spent so much of his time focused on the darkness of the past. It was frustrating. She smoothed her skirts as the others chimed in. The Torchlight regent was unnerving, but they are family too, she reminded herself.

“I say just let them deal with the Firebrands on their own. We have our own issues to solve. The storm always passes.” The Long Berth captain spoke.  They had their own problems with the Junkerpunks, to be sure.

“The Great Wheel will turn our way again, my friends. Sometimes we lead, sometimes we follow.” Words of wisdom spoke from the greasy road captain, younger than his wisdom suggested. The DJ could be counted to come to her support. Momma Rabbit smiled fondly at the Sweetwater regent. They understood the need for allies in these times.  And he was always so careful to avoid leaving the coat of dust and grime, that perpetually seemed to follow him, on her nice table.

“This was the Queen’s will, long may she reign.” she reminded them. “Her vision is what brought us all together.”

“For now.”  The Ox Killer regent spoke softly, but everyone heard his words.

She gasped. The Ox Killers could be so obstinate, but the challenge was clear.  His eyes glared at Shale, and she could see the Torchlight leader nodding too.

“The Queen is with us eternally, and especially right now. Whether you like it or not. Long live the Queen.” she replied.

The Ox Killer smiled viciously. His teeth were filthy. 

“Long. Live. The. Queen.” he said with a smirk, drawing out each syllable in a mocking, frustrating way

Momma Rabbit puffed up, and struggled to maintain her composure.  She readied her best stern glare and prepared to rebuke the man.

Shale broke the tie before the argument could escalate.

“I understand your hesitation, but this helps the Tribes in the future.  The Queen has seen fit to choose each of you.” He looked pointedly at the Ox Killer regent, and continued. “But it appears that I am the deciding vote.”

Shale stood up, wearily, and pointed to the map in front of them.

“The further the RRC depends on the might of the Antler tribe and all of our combined strengths of the Tribes Disparate, the more prepared we are for our eventual rise. The world is changing, and we must be prepared for that new future. Let them build their railways. Let them focus on the ruins in the Bravado camp.  We have always been about our people, the common folk, and those that have been forgotten. It is through our differences we succeed, but it is through our Queen we triumph. Long may she reign.”

Prince Shale cast his gaze around the room, and each of the regents realized the truth of his words, one by one.  Even the Torchlights and the Ox Killers. No challenge would be accepted now.

Mother Rabbit beamed at Shale.  Another argument settled. The Tribes might fight, but they each meant well.

“Long live the queen!” The regents echoed, some more readily than others.

It was enough. United for now, their voices rang into the evening, and into a new future.

---

A Tribes Disparate Vignette by J. Loyd

Read more about the Houses of the Tribes Disparate here.

Uncharted Waters

The wind was a ghost’s whisper across the water. It fluttered along the boards of the hull and streamed backwards, a swallowtail behind the thirty foot copper-clad sloop. The fishhook moon smiled up at Kel from the black water flowing past to starboard. He gave a tremulous smile back at its reflection and twisted to look forward. 

“Down to twelve feet, captain,” Arnie hoarsely whispered from the bow. Kel could see the glint of her silver rings in the moonlight as she hauled up the depth line and prepared for the next toss. He tensed his fingers around his oar and readied for what he knew was coming.

“We’re at the neck now, friends,” the skipper’s call was barely audible above the soft splash of the depthline’s charge slipping back into the channel. “I don’t need to remind you what happens if we don’t do this fast, quiet, and smart.” A jabbing finger, sharp nailed and glittering stabbed at the night-cloaked shoreline. Here the trees loomed in towards the river like hulking bodyguards ready to shoulder them out of an Essex bar. The dark obscured what Kel knew lay under their scraggly branches - long low bunkers and a prodigious amount of men with guns and arrows who would not be pleased to see them slipping by in the dead of night without paying the levy.

“Arnica, report.” 

“Nine feet.” 

A low rumbling started along the rowing benches. It was the end of the burning season and the waterways were shrinking. Much lower and The Alligator would be in danger of wallowing in the mud like its namesake. Kel’s pulse hammered in his temples, half dehydration, half adrenaline. This was his first run into the Punkerport and the marshy stink of the polluted water made him yearn for the briny tang of the open sea once more. He narrowed his eyes as a sudden flash lit the darkness.

BANG

“We’re spotted!” he yelped as a projectile whistled overhead and continued into the water beyond with a splash.

“All hands pull!” the skipper growled, and The Alligator surged forward as the oar crew stretched their backs into the thrust. Arnie’s readings at the bow came as fast as she could throw the weight now.

“By the mark, Eight and a half. Eight now,” her voice was punctuated by the whistle-shriek of bullets, and the flashes on the shore were close enough in the narrowing channel that Kel could see the faces of the shooters in the flare of the discharge. He felt a trickle of sweat tracing its way between his heaving shoulder blades but he didn’t dare pause. 

“Five degrees to port!” Arnie shouted. The captain nodded, twitching the rudder to the right - his jaw stony, eyes staring down into the dark water, trying to keep the craft in the deepest part of the channel. The shore seemed to inch by in slow motion and the range was closing. An arrow skimmed over the gunwale and buried itself in the bare mast, missing Kel’s shoulder by a hair. 

“Heave to!” a cry from the shore came crisply across the water. “Surrender your cargo and we’ll let you live.”

“Think I’d trust the word of a Long Berth?” The skipper shot back, and the crackling of firearms increased, punctuated with a few choice insults from the fighters on the shore.

“By the mark, seven!” Arnie hollered and the rowers doubled their intensity. The keel wouldn’t clear much past six feet in depth. 

And then it happened - an awful grinding sound beneath their feet and their speed slowed. They were scraping the bottom now, and in this narrowest part of the waterway, the treeline was only a few yards away on each side.

A shout, and Kel looked up to see the skipper doubling over, a dark stain spreading across his sleeve which now hung limply at his side. A body pushed past him - Arnie diving to seize the rudder and shoving the skipper down into the cockpit. 

“Kel! We need you in the water! You too, Cleat!” 

He dropped his oar into the locks and turned towards the bow. The Baywalker next to him did the same, JP tattoo dark beneath the hollows of his eyes. The grinding on the hull was louder now, reverberating through their feet and throwing him off balance as he lunged towards the prow. Arnie was muttering to herself as they went, “Told him we was too heavy with this metal. Should have taken the plastics instead I said. Not been enough rain.”

The wood of the railing was silky beneath his feet, ground smooth by years of scraping and sanding and bare feet. Kel snagged a sheet as he went, wrapping the end of the rope twice around his hand and hoping the other end was tied to something solid. He didn’t have time to check before he jumped.

The water was warmer than he expected with the sun down for hours, and the force of his jump carried him down beneath the surface, his ankles sank into the soft mud at the bottom of the channel. Kel tugged at the rope above his head and heaved himself upwards, breaking into the warm night air as Cleat slammed into the water next to him. Immediately they both began to swim, pulling the rope taut and tugging the boat through the water. It was scraping less now, with their weight offloaded, but still dragged sluggishly behind. Kel’s free hand splayed wide, the translucent webbing between his fingers and toes scooping hard into the water. He kicked with all his might, feeling the resistance of the boat pulling him backwards with the current. The shouting on the shore intensified and arrows pierced the water near them, bobbing back to the surface harmlessly.

The sky above was suddenly illuminated. The Long Berthers had lit their arrows on fire, content to haul the scrap out of the bottom of the channel after they had all burned and died. His legs were starting to cramp up from the constant kicking. 

And then miraculously the boat was surging past them. They had cleared the bar. The rowers cheered as The Alligator once more sprang into crisp motion. The swimmers drifted back along the side, hauled along by the very rope they’d been tugging. A fire arrow thudded into the hull next to Kel’s head and he splashed water on it before it could light up the tarred wood above the copper cladding. Something beneath the water brushed against his legs and he shuddered.

“Get us up!”

Hands reached over the side and hauled them upwards, depositing them as soggy lumps in the center of the boat as something smooth and scaled broke the surface of the water they’d just left. The shore was retreating once more, the crack of firearms fading into the distance. Kel dashed back to his spot and picked up his oar, resuming his rowing until Arnie shouted “Rest!” long minutes later. Panting, he collapsed forward and chugged on the waterskin beneath his seat. When he finally had a chance to look around, he realized how far they’d come. A broad lake stretched into the darkness on either side, its surface choppy with a stiffening breeze. Beneath the dark waves faint glowing shapes moved and far, far ahead there were torchlights sparkling and distant across the water. He thought he could hear off-key singing. 

“The Punkerport.” Arnie affirmed, looking up from bandaging the skipper’s arm. 

“Is it always like this?” he asked incredulously. “Getting here, I mean.”

“Not always.” Arnie shook her head with a sharp, toothy grin. “Sometimes it’s worse.”

 “Welcome to Bravado, Kel.”

---

A Junkerpunks Vignette by A. Garcia

Concerning the Hiway War and her Lasting Effects (cont.)

If the first year following the exodus out of the Lands Bravado was a period of reset, during which the bones of the old burned in hellfire and the culture of a people died with their constituents, then the second year was a rebirth.

Like ashes scattered over a fallow field, riotous growth followed after. The discovery of grand mystery under the old town swept us up and along like a demagogue her flock. 

At first it was a trickle - a few dedicated Delvers disappeared into the mud to find the roots of that perfect obelisk of white stone springing up and out of the caldera. Within days they returned, eyes brighter than the treasures they found and adventure on their lips.

Below us, they said, there are steel doors that guard something precious. They spoke of blinking lights that still function. Live munitions that click and whirl like analog machines. Long stretches of corridor bored out by ancient machinations that turn the stone smooth for miles and miles. Nothing like the Lascarian Tunnels of Old Bravo - twisting things chiseled by time and circumstance - but something deliberate and terrifying in its implications.

More delvers followed. Irons and Retrogrades, mutants and evolved for whom the residual radiation was merely an inconvenience, dove into the Ruins like Saltwise into brine and came up again and again with ancient metals, defunct computing devices, niceties of a fallen world and, very occasionally, the delicate pages of notes held together by little more than the careful handling of their discoverers. 

And the Lonestar heeded them. 

What happened next was a complex two-step of bureaucracy and belligerence. A paperwork whirlwind that, when the cyclone died, created a powerhouse capable of producing a dynasty.

What was previously the Road Commission laid the first tracks near Essex, the first city on what would become The Bravado Line. The newly christened Railroad Commission contracted out evolved and mutant strains to carry and lay corrugated steel and heavy wooden beams along the old trade routes between the two settlements, while Warden Tabitha St Mercy of Prudence Penitentiary employed her penitent work crews to begin the same process on the Bravado end.

Using notes safeguarded for generations, the Conglomerate, a collection of Digitarian houses who possess a great and shrouded interest in the Ruins below New Bravado, began the process of constructing the first high-powered locomotive in the Lonestar. The Ox, at that time a skeleton of iron, steel and super-plastics, would eventually become a gestalt amalgamation of construction equipment, a half dozen derelict trains and the engine of a single downed jet plane. Contracted and funded by the Railroad Commission the Conglomerate employed the great and surviving minds of scientists and psionists alike in their research centers in the town of Waking to provoke the monolithic iron horse into motion. 

But all great movements cause waves, and the process of rebirth is often as bloody as it is brilliant. For all the steel and will of its warden, Prudence Penitentiary for the Peregrine and Penalized buckled under the weight of work crews, its guardship, and the compressed conditions of its cell blocks. Riots ensued and the sickness of man was put on morbid display. In the far displaced land of New Bravado, with no larger authority to appeal to, Warden Tabitha St. Mercy closed the doors of her prison and let Wrath determine the outcome.

Colloquially we now refer to the Penitentiary as Killhouse Prison in reference to this massacre, for when the doors were opened there were little more than corpses on concrete. The survivors begged for the Warden to again resume control. Amidst her Wrath there was Pride in her work and so the Warden struck a deal with her prisoners and the tradition of the Indulgence was born. No prisoner would be made to serve more than a year in the Prison, if they were smart. For once a year all prisoner contracts would unilaterally expire, rendering them free people. Twenty-four hours later the contracts would be reinstated, the doors would close and Warden Tabitha St. Mercy would sic the Law Dogs upon the retreating backs of any prisoner who loitered in her city.

And so, with the tradition instituted and upheld, Prudence Penitentiary resumed its work on the railroad with gusto, outstripping the paid workers of the Railroad Commission by several weeks. The uptick in bodies begged a question, however. The Killhouse Massacre was the most devastatingly fatal event since the Bomb that decimated Old Bravo. Without a proper morgue, many of those first prisoners escaped, we assume. Perhaps they retreated to the Dune Sea or fled east towards the Clutch.

Both the Railroad Commission and the Prison found themselves at a loss. Without a way to control the flow of bodies, a prisoner could simply commit an infection to the cause of their escape. Without a mechanism by which to enforce order in New Bravado the system would fail, and without voluntary work crews seeking to shorten their sentences the railroad’s production would be brought to a grinding, painful halt.

The Grave Council, a collection of Undead strains lead by the powerful Takheeta Firstborn, stepped in as the solution.

Through ritual and rite the Council of Grave Decisions determined the location of each morgue-to-be. They dispatched Graverobbers and Grave Touched to these sites, and committed their own bodies to the creation of these morgues and, in a brilliant exchange of power, negotiated total ownership of these sites and the right to tax anyone who used them. 

Now that their lives and afterlives were solidly controlled under comfortable capitalism, the survivors resettling the area found a great darkness lifting - literally. A land that had been burning with hellfire now burned with the lights of hundreds of new homesteads. In the spaces between powers, the voids of civilization, new stars were lit aflame. Had these people always been here? Or were they deposited on the shores of this disaster like flotsam on the beach after a storm?

Wherever they came from, they brought with them the salt of the earth, these settlers of the lowlands and hollers. They were the early risers, once more planting the seeds of hope into the soot-streaked soil. New quiet folk for a new settlement. Keepers of the land and Tenders of the hearth. Quick with a witty comment and slow to judgement. A magnet for a network of community bonds across the region - the Lovelace Family began to be used as a surname and identity of these landsmen, hundreds of families finding kinship under their good name. Thousands of strings of stories and lives tied together in hope for a beautiful agricultural future.

And among these quiet neighbors, there remained institutions of charity and well-being. Now that the immediate harm of the Great Disaster was healing, the Widows of the Lonestar turned their eyes to where else their kindly influence could improve the lives of others. They took a keen interest in the work of the Grave Council, and lent their weight into helping to prepare places of sanctuary and rest for those weary from work, sickness, and disease. Anyone seeking a meal, bed, or safety at their door was never turned away - including a large number of those who managed to escape the tall walls of Killhouse Prison. Above all, they sought to protect a populace that had, for too long, been victimized. 

To the north the Tribes Disparate under Holy Mother Queen Jasper thrived. Maintaining a friendly rapport with the Braves that saved their people, Jasper committed workers to the cause of re-building the city of Bravado even as she kept an iron grip on the thirteen tribes that writhed and strove beneath her. Houses formed, with figureheads who swear fealty to the Holy Mother in a feudal framework that benefits both the Lady and those who report to her. The individual tribes vie for her attention and favor, some committed by blood and sword - others by convenience.

The Junkerpunks, a loose coalition of seafaring folk, begin to earn the name alluded to in the first chapter of this long-form essay. Among their ragtag ranks a leader emerged, a Saltwise of dangerous charisma and wit, Sinker Swim captains the flagship of the Junkerpunk flotilla. 

The nature of their separation from the naysayers of the Clutch encouraged in the Junkerpunks an  underdog mentality that never truly left their culture. Seeking out the downtrodden, desperate, and dangerous to swell their ranks the Junkerpunks quickly became known as pirates, bandits - but also coy merchants in an era where few ships navigated the inland seas of the Spoiled Coast.

It was this mercantile mindset, this author believes, that lead the Junkerpunks to build a modern-day Tortuga in the middle of the lake that was Old Bravo. The marina, cheekily called the Punkerport by locals, trucks in undocumented finds from the Ruins as much as it does raw imports of food and supplies for the delve-camps there.

The Junkerpunks, in the second year of their watery pilgrimages, found an accord with the Spiderhause Redstar who have, in recent years, taken up residence in Essex and its surrounding plane-space. Both underdogged, both committed to uplifting those who otherwise do not have the means to achieve their own strength, the members of Spiderhause left the land that had treated them poorly to try again on the open sea. What the Junkerpunks lack in organizational skills and raw, coordinated strength, the Redstars of Spiderhause make up for in spades.

In the second year following the Bomb that destroyed Old Bravo, the world began again to turn. The hole in the sky closed up, mostly. The water in the lake might never be drinkable in our lifetime but the fish seem to like it just fine. The riotous growth-post-nuclear burned in the summer and regrew again in the following spring, just as it always has. These events in isolation beget no particular question. But in aggregate, in the context of the bomb and its thereafter effects, this author wonders aloud what arcane circumstances render this land livable again after only two years. And if the truth of this place is merely old, or truly ancient.

It is said around these parts that things are happening that have happened before. But it is this author’s humble opinion that previous trends do not indicate future behavior. And that just because something has happened before, does not mean it will always happen.

-  “Concerning the Hiway War and Her Lasting Effects”

By: Dr. Perenthius Goodfellow