Keepin' it Local!

Some of you may remember a time in years past when great caravans of DR players would pile into an over-sized van or two and drive ridiculous hours and miles just to be present for “THE big event” at other chapters. When chapters would have, in addition to big plot events, one event a year that was a bit more ‘special’ and exciting because it meant everyone made sure that was the event you Did Not Miss.

We are pleased to announce we are bringing back that tradition, with the re-introduction of premiere local events! In a network with approximately 20 branches, there’s never been a better time to put the spotlight on local chapters and local stories. Those of us who remember those days remember how fun and exciting they were, while also giving us more of a reason to go say howdy to the neighbors or trek cross-country between our own local events. For this reason all branches unanimously voted to bring back this tradition.

In 2019, and again in 2020, each branch will run a Premiere Event. They are spaced out through the remainder of this year, to give every chapter the chance to shine the spotlight on their new 3.0 stories. For Texas, our Premiere Event will be October 25th - 27th. Players attending this event will have the opportunity to buy up to an additional 5 build, as we did in the past, for +$50. The opportunity also exists for us to run 4 day events in the future, should we decide to do so.

The DR chapters are divided into regions. Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Georgia, and Florida now comprise Region 2 so you’ll see the Premiere events rotate between those chapters in our region, spaced out as best possible. If you don’t know the date of your 2019 local regional event, check with your local chapter! You will also see greater cross-plot and regional event opportunities coming in the future, and the incorporation of wasteland-wide story lines into the local level. Our goal is to bring the network together in new, bigger ways, on a smaller scale.

Region One

Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland

Region Two

Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, North Carolina, Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, Florida

Region Three

Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas, Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky

Region Four

Washington, Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, Oregon, Wyoming, South Dakota

Region Five

Northern California, Southern California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico

And now for some sad news, Deathcon/Downfall 2019 is cancelled. While we are excited to accommodate the shift to premiere events as a replacement, if you have already purchased your attendance to Deathcon, you will have several options, including a full refund, applying your ticket price towards your local chapter event attendance, continuing to experience the non-attending Downfall plot, and more. Please follow this link for more information about Deathcon cancellations. Where possible, we want to make this shift in scheduling easier, and that page will provide information about what to do next if this change effects you.

Additionally, with the shift to local events and focus, we will be able to sell things like advanced memberships and merchandise locally, starting in mid-September. That helps keep it all in-house, and gives you, the player, easier access to the faces and people who are handling your experiences and purchases directly.

Thanks friends for reading, we’re excited to continue to share stories with you!

Your Texas Team: Shan, Aesa, & Ryan

Sales Pitch

It was already over. They just didn’t know it yet.

The couple was seated in the ramshackle office outside the rail station, and the bustle of the camp outside was simply dim background noise.  The repeated clanging of the workers laying track outside was a spiking rhythm that cut through the walls, but the repetitive nature made it easy to tune out.

“Like I was saying, you both know that the Firebrands have been pushing further east.  There have been three reported attacks in the last week, and it’s all the Tribes can do to keep the railways clear.  I can only imagine the worry that has caused both of you.”

He leaned in a bit, and rolled up his sleeves, half-listening to their stories of raiders and zed.  A comforting smile, and he was back.

“The Railroad Commission wants to help ensure your safety.  With the upcoming construction of the greenline, it will be possible to get from Essex to Waking in just under a day.  The wastes have never been closer, or more connected. But I really feel like I need to ask you a question.”

One of the prospects took the bait.  “Sure, I guess?”

“Are you a man of vision?”

“Uh.  I think so?”

Sure he was. He moved in for the kill.

“No, I don’t just think so. I know so.  You knew the dangers out there, but you realized the importance of having a place to rest your head safely on the trip south.  It’s been profitable for your farm, and you’ve been able to reap the rewards of that foresight. You’ve set aside a nice nest egg for the future, and only a man of vision knows what it takes to protect their family and provide for their future.”

Here it comes.

“I think you are an honest man.  A reasonable man. You know the truth as well as I. The raiders and zed don’t stop. It’s only a matter of time before a horde is a little bit too big, or that steel door takes one too many hits to stay on the frame.  But you have options now, and that has to be such a good feeling to have.”

“Uh.. What do you mean by options?”

Gotcha.

“Opportunity, my friend.  Your farm is something that we at the RRC have a need for.  The engineers tell me we can shave off a month off the construction if we route past your farm. You’ve named your price, and I’m happy to say that the Commission decided it was worth the investment in our shared future.” 

The couple shared a glance to each other.  Of course they were impressed.

“We also have a shining new opportunity in the Bravado Camp.  You’ve heard about what we found there, haven’t you?”

Of course he had. Everyone had.

“The RRC is paving a path forward to the future.  Imagine a world where you don’t have to worry about those raiders breaking down the door, because you are safe in your bed, letting us keep watch at night.  This world is more connected that you can imagine, and there are opportunities that I know a man with your intelligence has already considered.” 

A little effortless flattery never hurt.

“Imagine a world where you can delve into the ruins to find fortune and glory, and then be back in Essex by nightfall to join your family for dinner.”

A gasp. Right on cue.  

An interested murmur between the two meant that he had sparked the man’s imagination.  A grin crossed his face, as he wrapped this one up.

“That’s not a fantasy.  It’s a reality.” The prospect leaned closer.

“I want to help you with this favor. Why stay in this farm, hoping you can survive another Burning Season, when you can help the Lonestar become something better?  Our contract will ensure that your investment in this farm is tripled. You will have the funds to provide a better life for you family, enough to fund your expeditions into the ruins, as well as a little left over.”

He pushed the contract forward, so the prospect could appreciate the sum that they were talking about.  A pittance really compared to what the RRC would gain from being able to build without a fuss from the locals.

“When this railroad is connected, thanks to your vision to know that selling your land now, while the moment is right, you will be part of something more.  Who could argue if you pocket a few extra Brass for yourself in the process?”

The prospect eagerly agreed. Who could blame him?  It was easy to be forward thinking when you were the one profiting.

“I’m so proud to have been part of this monumental contribution to our future. Thank you sir.  With your help, this great railway will connect the entirety of the Lone Star.”

He was particularly proud of how his eyes seem to water, seemingly overtaken by emotion at the idea of the prospect’s contribution.  Hook, line, and sinker.

“Just sign on the dotted line.  I’ll have Agnes go over the terms and conditions with you outside.”

A smile, a handshake, and it was over.  He grinned, and called for the next prospect.  Man, he loved this gig.

The future was bright indeed.

---

A Railroad Commission Vignette by J. Loyd

2.0 > 3.0 Item Conversion Store

Starting with the 3.0 Meetup events the weekend of August 2nd-4th and continuing through our first few events you will be able to turn in 2.0 materials for 3.0 materials. The conversion tables and info for item cards are HERE.

Values are for the Quantity on Item Cards and not the number of Item Cards

Items You Keep Using (Zero Trade in Value)

• Basic, Uncommon, and Rare Herbs

• Basic, Uncommon, and Rare Scrap

• Currency

• Non-Mechanical Items

*Items with expiration dates maintain the same date. Once a card has expired or is turned into Ops or the Post Office it must be destroyed.

Items That No Longer Exist (Zero Trade in Value)

• Plot Cards

• Unique Item Cards

Purchased with Transfer Points:

• Basic Scrap or Herb: 1 Transfer Point per 3 Quantity

• Uncommon Scrap or Herb: 1 Transfer Point per 2 Quantity

• Rare Scrap or Herb: 1 Transfer Point per 1 Quantity

• Named Herb & Produce: 2 Transfer Point per 1 Quantity

• Named Scrap: 3 Transfer Points per 1 Quantity

• Blueprint: 5 points

Survivor’s Talisman

Everyone has that one thing that is most important to their character, an item that may even define them. Something that would have been taken good care of in the 3 year jump. Because of this, every character will be able to transfer one item over from 2.0 to 3.0 more directly.

You must turn in a valid 2.0 item card of the item that you will make your Survivors Talisman, as well as possess any applicable skills to use the item.

While the new item may not be exactly the same, it must remain in the same category (ie: Weapon, Armor, etc). You will need to work with your local branch runners to find something that will be an appropriate match as most 2.0 items no longer exist in 3.0. This is up to your branch runners final approval. All expiration dates stay the same.

This item will not cost Transfer Points but the old 2.0 card that it is transferring from may not be converted into Transfer Points. It will instead live on as this new 3.0 version, just like your character!

Off Screen Crafter

In the 3-year jump everyone had the ability to make a friend who could craft them an Item. Using Transfer points, you can purchase the above raw materials and hand them to the Off-Screen Crafter to make any blueprinted item at your first 3.0 Event. There is no need to have the item cards made for the materials, just the points needed to have bought them. The result will be 1 item card made of the finished product. All it requires is the points to spend on the raw materials and access to use the item’s full potential.

Examples:

• For Brews which do not require skills to use anyone can get them, however if it is a Strain specific Brew you must be that Strain.

• For a Weapon which requires a Master Skill to use only a character with the Master Weapon Skill Level can purchase that weapon.

Death and Taxes

It was nearly sunset.

The graverobber stood a few paces away from the couple, silently observing their relief and joy at being reunited. His hands were still covered in the sticky black dirt from the morgue, and he was exhausted from the effort.

Time passed as they continued their reunion, but his work would stretch long into the night.  Another town, another morgue, another soul to guide back to the land of the living. He brushed the dirt from his hands and gathered his tools to leave. He didn’t feel much emotion anymore, but there was a particular satisfaction of a job well done that he still enjoyed. He had a purpose, and that was enough.

“How much do we owe you, sir?”

The woman had broken her embrace with her wife, and turned tearfully to the graverobber. He could see the tinge of fear in her eyes. The common folk always believed the stories.

“There is nothing owed today. The Collectors will assess your grave tax, but I assure you it will be a pittance. Your wife’s death was an accident.”

She nodded, thankful, but still tried to press a few Brass into his hands.  He would need to record the donation to make sure their contracts were updated accordingly, he supposed. 

Outside, the light was dimming but still bright enough. He blinked and shaded his red eyes.  Normally this kind of work happened in the dead of the night, and he never really adjusted to the light of the surface.

A man stood across the road watching him leave, obviously drunk. A Texican perhaps? Maybe a Baywalker.  But probably a Texican. The graverobber turned and headed back to his caravan.

“Tax man here to collect his blood money! Tell me tax man!” Spittle flew from the drunk’s lips on each word of the insult.

“If an apple keeps the sawbones away, what keeps you Council fucks away?” The drunken man’s words were slurred, but the challenge was clear.

Not every doctor was sanctioned by the Grave Council, but he was. Gathering his anger, he composed it into a fiery, dead-eyed stare and turned deliberately to face the man.

“Stephen. Joseph. Clark.”

The blood rushed from the face of the Merican as he realized his taunt had been successful. Most graverobbers would have ignored him.  Not today.

“How.. how.. do you know my name?”

The graverobber took a menacing step towards the man. The graverobber’s eyes seemed to glow with a pale deathly light.

“We know what happens in the night, Stephen.”

A step closer.

“We see your dalliances. We assess your crimes. We remember that night in Essex.”

Another step.

“The tax will come due.”

Another step. The graverobber could smell the stench of the cheap hooch on the man’s breath.

“All will pay the tax when it is due. Perhaps when your pitiful life is over, cut short by a life of booze or even a raider blade at your neck in the night when you forget to lock your doors...”

A step closer.

“A hand like mine will reach out to help even the likes of you, Stephen.”

A final step. He could smell the bitter tang of piss. The terrified man had pissed himself. It figured.

“But the tax will come due.”

A long moment passed, and then Merican was alone once more, shivering in a pool of his own urine.  The graverobber stopped, and looked back at the pitiful retch.

“Remember Stephen. There are only two things certain in this life. Death and taxes.”

The final words whispered across the road. 

The sun was setting, and the balance was once again restored.

---

A Grave Council vignette by J. Loyd

Last Words

The first light of dawn was just on the horizon, and already the sky was glowing with the impending sunrise.  It was that perfect moment before the day began and the end of the long night that meant the final few hours were gone.

The small enclosure the prisoner was trapped in overlooked the open air area of the recreation yard, a place the Warden called “Purgatory”.  The ground was mostly a cracked and broken black top, probably that once served as a parking area for the inhabitants of Temple Station before the Prison was built, but now served as an area to get a little sunlight if you had earned enough cred with the Commissary.  It was quiet at this hour, save for the two of them. He gazed at the gaping maw of the hole in front of him, and tried to suppress a shudder.

The true purpose of the yard was really the Pit.

At least thirty to forty across, the only notable feature near the edge of the chasm was the metal rings near the side that were used to lower the prisoners to the bottom of the Pit. No one really knew how deep it was, but it was deep enough. It was probably once a well or cistern, but now it served a completely different function.

It was a constant reminder of the price a prisoner could pay for doing the things even other prisoners found distasteful. There were lots of ways to die in Killhouse Prison, but this was probably the worst.  At least if the butchers in the Meat Grinder got you, you’d eventually be pulled out of the morgue by a graverobber. The Pit was the final place a prisoner could finish their sentence at the prison, though the Warden could call it “mercy”.

His cellmate was sitting nearby, outside the cage, watching the sunrise continue to turn the sky a glorious shade of crimson.  A small consolation from the gang, purchased with the last bit of good will the Warden might have had. No one else would come sit with him.

“I’ve got money with the bookie on ten minutes.  Think you will last that long, Tommy? I could use the cred.” 

Fitting he would be worried about money, even now, he thought. The cred could buy out his friend’s contract, maybe even earn him a spot on a work crew outside the prison.  He would have probably done the same, had things been reversed.

“I’ll do my best, but I’m a tinker, not a fighter.  Depends on how many zed are down there now.”

His cellmate only grunted in agreement.  

The Pit loomed large in the morning light, and you could barely make out the low groans of the dead below.  Even if the zed didn’t get you, you’d starve or die of dehydration eventually, and it would begin the cycle again.  The other prisoners and even the guards liked to bet on how long the poor fuckers thrown in could last. The big money was on the long shot of surviving past the first few minutes, but the bookies loved taking the sucker bets.

“I wonder if she will come to watch” he mused to his partner.

“Maybe. You really pissed her off.  I haven’t seen her that mad in awhile. Maybe the lifers have, but not me.”  

His cellmate was absently scratching at his chin, contemplating the crime that had earned him a trip to the Pit.

“You fucked up though, Tommy. We don’t really want another riot on our hands, no matter how much I like you.  I gotta survive till the Indulgence.” 

His cellmate put it rather matter-of-factly.  The condemned man was silent.  

No one wanted the atrocity of the riot that earned Prudence Penitentiary it’s real name of Killhouse Prison to happen again.  The prisoners policed their own. It was the rules. If the guards had to step in, you knew it was bad. He had fucked up. The grave tax had to be paid.

“Remember when the Law Dogs caught up with us outside of Essex?  You put up a mean fight there. Even knocked that puddle jumper out before his buddy clocked me in the head.  Maybe you can make it ten minutes. Wouldn’t that be something?”  

His cellmate chuckled to himself, remembering the times before the Prison.  They sat there for a few more minutes, silently contemplating the past.  

He could hear the bustle of the Prison as the morning shift was ramping up, though.  There would be a decent amount of onlookers, he thought. Everyone enjoyed the entertainment, as fucked up as it was.  

His cellmate pulled himself wearily to his feet, as the guards would be here soon.  Appearances were important to the Warden, and it wouldn’t be right if the others saw his cellmate here with him.  He didn’t want his partner to catch any flak from the rival gangs, either.

“Any last words for me bud?”

HIs cellmate looked at him one last time. He knew the ritual.  It was the first tradition you were taught you when you made it to Killhouse.

“Just remember, Tommy.  The shiv they give you before you go down isn’t really for the zed.”

---

A Killhouse Prison Vignette by J. Loyd