Wampower

War Never Changes

Santa Fe, Brigadier General Garcia

They talked as if he wasn’t there. He listened patiently as the peacocks fluffed their feathers, but anyone could tell they only spoke so boldly of “containment” and the NCR’s “old world pitfalls”, because of their reliance on the vast power of the Midwest and Caesar. Here he was being threatened by the disfigured remains of the Western Brotherhood, previously destroyed by the NCR, and a trumped up gangster from a city that was occupied by the NCR for seven years. It was bitter irony, but he would have to swallow it. As proudly as he had marched towards Santa Fe for Kimball, he was Hsu’s man now. He also couldn't help but appreciate the Generals order for a peaceful mission at this conference. He had a child on the way back in the Hub. Against that, any personal hatred he still held towards the Legion that might make him advocate for a hawkish stance was weak.

Before he could respond to the King’s postering, Caesar proved to be the voice of reason. “Let us hold fast for the moment,” Lucius stood as Barnaky and The King had finished speaking. “There is much to discuss here. I assure you all that we will get to each and every one of the issues that has been put forth. If I might bring some focus to this discussion however, let me first address the item that is most concerning to me. I feel too, that without resolution to this, we will not get far in this meeting.”

“First, I would like to welcome the delegates of Texas and the NCR military. Your presence here is necessary to ensure that what I wish to accomplish is done. As the neutral party in this affair, I hope that Texas may be able to ensure a smooth mediation and a fair agreement.”

Harris nodded and responded accordingly, “We act for the peaceful advancement of the Southwest”.

Lucius sat down once again and folded his hands in front of him, he looked directly at the NCR delegates sitting aside President Harris,

“The first and foremost item of the agenda is this: I wish to formally end the war between the NCR and Legion. My terms are simple and direct: a continuation of the terms laid out between myself and General Lee Hsu during the general armistice and a formal treaty of non-aggression. Under the terms of the armistice, all remaining NCR POWs that have rejected the Legion’s offer will be returned home by the end of the month. Finally, and most importantly, the NCR will accept full responsibility for the actions of its military and President Kimball Jr. The cause of the war, and its conclusion, will be laid squarely at the former President’s feet. The NCR Government will issue a formal condemnation of Kimball Jr, his administration, and his foolish invasion which ended any hope of diplomacy winning out before it could even begin. Those are MY terms, and I will accept nothing less than that. Given the circumstances, I think they are more than generous.”

Garcia responded smoothly enough, given the circumstances “the NCR is willing to accept these terms wholeheartedly and measures have already been taken to follow this request. Kimball’s populist regime is being blamed and denounced for leading the nation into a needlessly aggressive war against the Legion, nearly destroying chances for peace. We just want to get our veterans home now.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “On Californian emigration to Vegas, that is within the rights of our citizens. However, I would like it if you considered letting the NCR re-establish an embassy in New Vegas to help manage this development. We’re struggling to keep track of the emigration, some citizens have requested to retain duel citizenship, and there are other problems with the legal status of these people.” He paused, preparing himself to say something he never dreamed of. “And since the Republics bank isn’t broken, General Hsu is also offering reparations for damages the Legion has taken during Kimball’s illegal war, which was a violation of the Treaty of Goodsprings.”

He stood up now and surveyed the room, giving strong looks to the King and the Western elder. It was time to make his own clever speech. “The New California Republic has failed the world. We showed our worst face at New Vegas Conference. And Kimballs invasion was a violation of the peace the world hoped for.” he looked at Lucius, a former enemy he’d never seen before today, and couldn’t help but respect him some for all this. “Both of our nations have been at eachothers throats for years in a needless conflict. Thousands died for a dam that ultimately neither of us owned when the fighting stopped. Kimball tried to restart that when we ought to have ended our silly conflict. For that, the new leaders of the NCR apologize and hope to make things right in the coming years in whatever way we can. Resentments between our people may continue, but never again another war. The Republic may one day expand into those untouched wastelands at our border, but the people of California have had enough blood. We want to gradually establish peaceful and open economic and diplomatic connections to all nations around us. There is only benefit to be had for Texas, Vegas, the Legion, and both Brotherhoods to discussing open trade agreements with us. To carry out these promises, General Hsu is currently reforming our democratic government and I have been authorized to make binding agreements with you. So by all means, be prepared for some far future conflict with the Republic. But know ‘gluttonous expansion’ and further war is not on the Bears agenda.”

As he sat down, he hoped that that speech would be enough to make his other request compelling. “I have one request Caesar. Would it be possible for the remains of Kimball and his outfit to be turned over to the NCR? The remains could serve as a powerful symbol of Kimballs defeat to the NCR public. They would also be some consolation for the family relations and friends the man left behind, regardless of his final actions.”

War Never Changes

Shattered Conch:
Black Sun, Point Lookout
Alexander Suttbray

As Hemingway and a band of his best men led him through the town to the beach, Suttbray marveled at the change that had come over Point Lookout. The dark heart of the town was beating fervently, in tune with the dark beat in his head. The decrepit and mostly abandoned board walk town was suddenly bursting with cult warriors from the north, as men ran past him and spread throughout the camp. They were exactly what he wanted: a fearless host, well supplied and trained for whatever they might face. Now he just had to take command.

A fearsome chant of “DAL THRO! DAL THRO!” was heard before the vanguard was seen. But the town was small, so he came to the landing site soon enough. They had come in their own fleet, that was good. It might save them an overland march. Hundred of tons of ammo and guns were being placed on the sand. The lowly soldier that had come to Hemingway led them to the leader. He might not have recognized the beast before him as the leader if he hadn’t been shown. The super mutant
was so old that its skin had turned a grey almost as dark as the chunks armor and metal wrought into its flesh. It didn’t scare him. As he understood, those closest Ug-Qualtoths black light made up quite the grotesquerie. But he doubted the war beast before him could be more than a rallying point with a whip.

Suttbray bowed before it as its pale eyes came upon him, though maybe not as deeply as he should have. “Welcome to Point Lookout, elder one. I thank Ug-Qualtoth for your arrival. Your aid is welcome in my quest to subjugate the lands of the gulf under the monolith. You should prepare your men for the journey south. Forces loyal to me in Jacksonville can be added to my army and we can burn our way to the end of Florida.”

War Never Changes

Free Confederation of Texan States,
New Austin Capitol Building,
President of the Confederation and Governor of New Houston
Robert Harris

As the Confederation Congress hammered through another session, Robert Harris anxiously enjoyed a guilty mannerism of his: fiddling with his old brass pipe. He hadn’t smoked in years to protect his papery ghoulish lungs, but it was still a thing to only be touched in private. The people in the capitol building may be publicly elected officials, obliged to manners and politically correct behavior, but showing any weakness could be dangerous. Especially for a ghoul. Despite holding two of the highest offices in the land, any small weakness arising from his condition could be pounced upon by his opponents. He could see it making the cheap newspapers tomorrow: “President Harris Can’t Control His Hands! Is He Going Feral?”

Fortunately, he was obliged to be primarily in his office on this day. When Congress was in session, he wasn’t allowed in the room. A symbolic and ineffectual measure to show an illusion of Congress’s divorce from the executive offices of Texas. Today was especially important, because it was another voting day. For months, policies had been worked out in committees, debated over, bartered for, and bought on some occasions. Hundreds of hours of work from the lowliest aid to himself had led to this. It built up to a few weeks of final decisions, last minute provisions, and voting rituals. He was happy he didn’t have to participate, though he still knew everything that would come out of the room.

The Destinists would win the day. An informal association of warhawks, frontier politicians, nationalists, ranchers, farmers, ocean traders, and other interested businessmen. New Dallasians had supported them the hardest of the states, but the others had strong sympathies towards them as well. Their primary goals were expansionism justified on the right of the Confederation’s democratic and humanist ideals, growing Texas’s international presence, westward expansion, and intervention in the Keynesian Civil War. Their name was a blatant reference to the old pre-war ideal of Manifest Destiny. Harris could see why they garnered so much support. The world outside of Texas was becoming an increasingly threatening place. The people were frightened by word of the new war in the Gulf, the onslaught of the Cult and Midwest in the east, and the stunning loss of New California against the Legion. The world was rapidly devolving to a state not unlike the Pre-War days: an age of wolves. He had only supported them lightly, as some of their initiatives were too hawkish. One man called for a full embargo on the Legion and the Midwest, which would be frankly disastrous. Many were hostile to his goals of a peaceful trading relationship with those powers, but he felt he could get it through.

There was a knock on the door. Harris set the pipe down, straightened the brown wig he wore, and invited him in, expecting his messenger. It was him, a slight man named Nathaniel, with another man Harris at once recognized and another he did not. It was Base Commander Jensen Banks of the Texas Rangers and Fort Bliss. And with him was a man dressed like a soldier of the NCR. There was a hesitant moment, where no one was sure who should speak first. Harris took the lead, standing up and putting on a grin appropriate for unfamiliar men “Gentlemen?”

Nathaniel spoke first. “This is Brigadier General Garcia.” Brigadier General Garcia stepped forward to shake his hand over the desk. Though he looked lean in the uniform, his handshake was firm. His eyes were steely, but watery at the corners. “These men have flown from Fort Bliss to discuss an urgent foreign policy matter.”

“The Legion are playing at peace,” Garcia started abruptly. “They’ve called a conference in Santa Fe.” His tone was hard to puzzle out. On one hand, he sounded like he wanted nothing more than to march to Santa Fe with his men. On the other, he sounded defeated.

“Lucius’s messenger told us that he’s willing to negotiate terms regarding the final condition of the New California Republic and the status of the NCR troops we’ve been housing at Fort Bliss,” Banks elaborated. He paused and opened a red envelope he’d been holding, pulled out the message, and read it. “I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark.”

There was a quiet moment as all four men processed the message. For most of their lives, the Legion had been a far western boogie man. A horde that was the antithesis to what had been worked for in Texas and California for decades. But the game was changing.

“Sir, I believe we should leave as soon as possible,” Banks said, breaking the silence. “This could be an unprecedented foreign policy opportunity.”

Garcia nodded. “The New California Republic would appreciate Texas taking a lead on this. Tsu has his hands full.”

Harris had no need for hesitation. “Very well. Once the proper notifications have been made, we will leave.”

“There is one more matter, Mr. President” spoke Nathaniel. “Congress has done it. The isolationists have ceded ground. They’ve authorized you to use military force against the Southern Liberal Alliance, operations in Oklahoma, and a number of other things.”

Harris nodded grimly. War would have to wait until matters in the west were solved now.

Santa Fe,
President of the Confederation and Governor of New Houston
Robert Harris

Santa Fe was a surreal place. The aqueducts and crucifixions reminded him of the old Pre-War historic epic holovids, where slaves fought in coliseums and legions marched through the streets towards victories in Gaul. Only those images had been transplanted from books and Hollywood to the American Southwest. It was a kind of false reality, a place built on artificially placed symbols. An attempt to shroud the institutions of despotism with a romantic sense of purpose and nobility. But as he walked through the streets of the place past hundreds of people doing their jobs, it was hard to call their culture fake. Countries had tried to claim the legacy of Caesar for centuries after the original anyways.

They had flown from New Austin to Santa Fe in a quick enough journey, but they had been delayed by taking the precaution of stopping in Fort Bliss to clear their small plane with the Legion over the radio before entering their airspace. From the only recently refurbished Santa Fe Regional Airport, they had been quickly led by finely armored Legion warriors into the city by foot. The airport was underpopulated except for a few ominous Midwestern jets. The entourage of Texans and Californians in suits and military gear was at odds with their ancient surroundings. Their escort had no reaction to Harris’s ghoulism nature, but the average citizens of the Legion gawked. Meanwhile, both Texan and NCR rangers in the company wore the infamous Ranger combat armor. A coincidence arising from the Pre-War Ranger School in Fort Bliss that trained U.S. Army Rangers for the Gobi Desert. The Rangers were considered necessary in heart of Caesar's power. A turn of events could lead them into a firefight.

The building they were eventually led into was surprisingly modest. A classically styled Pre-War library that was further romanized and embellished. A faded “Santa Fe Library” sign was curiously left up. The praetorian guards in the courtyard snapped to attention with impeccable decorum. Rather than being faced with another gauntlet of soldiers upon entering, a brown haired woman in a simple dress faced them.

“Salve," she said, "I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

“An honor to meet you,” Harris shook her hand. And then Jensen repeated the gesture. Garcia, however, was distracted by one of Caesar’s trophies. It gave himself a moment of pause. Inside a glass case, on a carefully folded NCR flag, was a 9mm semiautomatic pistol, a well made leather holster for it marked with the NCR Bear and three stars, and a Tankers helmet, as well as what appeared to be a red vehicle ID plate emblazoned with the three white stars of a Lieutenant General and a NCR military ID card. On a small brass plate attached to the case was a simple statement "Taken in battle outside Phoenix". The ID card read “Kimball”. It was a hell of a trophy: the horns of a leader of the free world.

Before entering the conference room, Garcia said “the remains of our late president shouldn’t be in Legion hands. We should get Caesar to give them back.” Harris nodded and then swept the entourage into the room. It was the Lion’s den, to be sure. Caesar Lucius sat at the head of a table seated by Brotherhood autocrats and a man from New Vegas. One was a robot he knew to be the mouthpiece of Barnaky, while the other dressed like he rode a panzer here. Their entrance came in the middle of his talk.

“...my belief that an entente between the Western Brotherhood, Vegas and the Legion should be formed to both contain the NCR and deter it from any future acts of aggression. Would you be open to such an arrangement? And of course, the reopening of trade between our lands would also be on the table as well.”

He flashed a ghoulish smile, while the rangers took up positions around the room like the other guards. “I’m sorry for our interruption. We are here to represent the Free Confederation of Texan States, as well as the New California Republic.” They took their seats at the wooden table, with Harris sitting closest to the other powers. He waited moments for the other interactions to cease, or for any talk directed towards them, before stating “I come here hoping for peaceful negotiations and the normalization of relations and trade between our countries. There are several worrying matters to address as well, such as the state of the Most Serene Key Republic, the final negotiations with the New California Republic, and the smooth expansion of Texas into Oklahoma.” He shuffled his hands for a half second, smoothing papers he had set in front of him in a nervous slip. “I also wish to hear of conflict with the Cult in the north.”

War Never Changes

deleted

War Never Changes

New Austin, The Free Confederation of Texan States

"We can NOT remain a nation, that has to survive on expansion. No such nation can survive forever - to do so would be the crown one an Empire. No Empire has stood forever - it is the will of the people, that change, progress and understanding develops. But sadly, that will has been abused...many times over. By people, whom tax one heavily. By people, whom send you to die for reasons you can't understand. By people, whom would spout freedom as an excuse to invade those, that might seem 'different'."

"Yes, we have nations at our borders who aren't democratic, free or you might say just. But who are we, do tell them so? Aren't we bound by the notion of freedom of speech? The right to hold one belief sacred?"

"The New California Republic - in its core, will-”

“Joseph, come give me a hand!”, shouted his pa from the front, breaking his focus on the broadcast.

“Coming, Pa!”, he shouted back, a little irritated, but completely used to these interruptions. He dropped the knife he had been using to cut the wavy brown onions and moved towards the front. He could still Hsu’s words as he walked away from the cutting board.

“...can longer do that. We have a choice - we can either change with the growing times or go the fate of our predecessor. If one has to wonder what that is - one has to only…”

“Look out the window”, he finished, mumbling under his breath. The statement had been played repeatedly on various radio stations with all the hosts offering their various opinions. It had caused something of a rebirth in politics in the city. And of course, fate would have it that the Confederation Congress was meeting at the same time as this. He wasn't sure what to think. He just knew the world was changing, and that change could mean peace or another deployment somewhere.

Joseph lowered his head to get through the small doorway into the dining area. His Pa and his Grandpa were short half-Mexican men, but his Ma had given him height and a fairer complexion. He expected to see his father struggling with the new sack of brahmin meat that was supposed to come in that day. Instead, he saw him leaning against the open outside door and talking to somebody outside. As he moved closer to see who it was, his heart sunk. The recruiting sergeant.

The man came by for a burger somewhat regularly. They had always taken extra care with him, giving him a free thing with his meal every now and then. As if an ice cold Dr. Chili on the house would somehow keep Joseph from another deployment.

As Joseph went outside, he got his usual bombardment of novel sights, sounds, and scents. Even though it was cloudy, wet, and a sniff told him another shower was on its way, the hum of business was all around. There was the colorful and junky cluster of shops, coffee houses, restaurants, and street food, which had been refurbished and rebuilt, gentrified and un-gentrified so many times since the 20th century that the supposedly “restored” properties looked nothing like the old holovids. A clammer of incessant instruments and clubs from 6th street could still be heard in the morning, while horse drawn and gas powered vehicles going by competed to be the noisiest. The horses were gradually winning, as gas prices consistently went up and the people up at the Longhorn Institute worked on making cheaper nuclear cells.

The recruiting sergeant was sitting at the rusty table closest to the door, slurping a coffee he got from down the street. Joseph frowned at the man’s choice, which seemed to say favors were useless today. He was an older, bald man, with thick silvery sideburns lining his face. The leathery and lanky blue clad sergeant rode his bicycle around the city, delivering news of military obligations and stoically facing tears and fists for it. The Confederation’s army was technically a volunteer one, but the last New Austinian Secretary of Defense had sneaked a damnable clause in the old volunteer contract. It effectively made him and others “volunteer” for conscription for a number of years. Needless to say, the man was booted out of office not long after his bullshit was found out. The government was “forced” to uphold the contracts though, so now old non-commissioned officers like Sergeant Harrison spread through the city using flimsy paper to summon men and women into service. The irony was that many of them would have volunteered regardless if there was an obvious threat, but the compulsive element just made them angry. Although he was as mad as anyone else, making a scene would only cause problems for his Pa’s reputation. Joseph was prepared to do his part for Texas, as much as he didn’t want to get shot at again.

Harrison looked up at him with watery grey eyes and a stoic frown. “Take a seat, Joseph,” he said in his gravelly country accent. He nodded and drew out an ancient metal chair meant for old world people’s porches. The junk dealer he’d bought it from had hastily painted it white, and now the rust was starting to show itself again after last night’s rain. Harrison sipped his coffee deeply, set it aside, and stared at him again with his reaper face. “I thank you and your Pa for your hospitality to me. God knows y’all are better than most of the people I have to wrangle everyday. But your contract came in, Joseph.”

His heart sunk again, though he had known this was coming. Running flashed through his panicked mind before he forced the thought away. Then anger fired up in him. “With respect sir-”

Harrison spared him the trouble. “It’s horseshit, I know, but Congress has good reasons to enact the conscription this time. All the Governors signed off on it.”

That chilled him immediately. If Angela and Bob and Will had actually all agreed to it, that meant something serious was happening. “Sir?”

“It’s the Vault, Joseph. People are saying that they’re coming back online. Then there’s the Keynesian civil war. Bob wants to send some people to help His Serenity. And there’s rumors of something in the north. General Davis already took God knows how many men into Oklahoma.”

Joseph shook his head in disbelief. Everytime he thought Texas had pulled itself into peace from the chaos of the Wasteland, it seemed like the Wasteland came howling back for them. “Do you know where I’ll be sent, sir?”

Harrison grabbed his coffee cup, stood up, and handed him an information packet. “No. But I’ll bet they’ll have you in a leadership position. It’ll be up to you command some kids into the fire. You gotta make sure they only come out singed.” He shook Joseph’s hand and his Pa’s hand, and then he went back to his bicycle.

Joseph was dumbstruck, wondering where he could likely die in the coming months. The first two fronts he knew about already, but what’s up north? And what’s in Oklahoma?

Deadlands - A Supernatural Western

Franz Kaufmann

Zeke went through the bar, beckoning them to follow, and quickly cut through a walkway into the taxidermy shop. Franz followed, with the others along behind him.

"Been a long time since I heard a voice like that," he says over his shoulder as he walks between a large bear eternally stretching to its full height and roaring and an eagle perched and staring at the counter which Zeke made his way to. The counter is thick old wood, heavy looking, littered with receipts and order forms and some sort of Silver Dollar looking shop coin.

“Oh yeah?” Franz answered him, feeling a prick of curiosity at what the man was getting at.

"Name's Zeke, Zeke Ritter. My parents you see, they were from Germany too," he pulls out a flyer announcing the bounty and slips it over to Franz, not paying much attention to anyone or anything else in the room for the time being.

That was interesting. He’d only ever known the big cities of Europe. It was hard to imagine a person from near his country to live in such an area. He decided to ignore the man’s association of Austria with the rest of Germany and keep it cordial. How could he know the difference? “I come from Austria. It’s interesting to see Germans out so far.” He remarked.

"Come to America for a new life," he turns back to appraise him but seemingly seeing something agreeable he continues,

"I fought for the Union you know. You got that look about you too. Hard to see sometimes, like that feller you saved? You know he was a Rebel? Well a Reb Deserter but a Rebel jus' the same." His right hand, resting on the table shakes until with concerted mental effort he steadies it.

Franz nodded at his hatred of the rebels. “I fought in a couple wars too. Power hungry Prussians separated my country from other Germans.”

"About your money though," he counts out $50 dollars lining them up in two lines across his counter, pushing some of the coins out of the way for room.

"Now then as you can see the reward offered were fifty, but since y'all only killed the one..." he gathers one line and returns it to the register.

"Them critters been botherin' the town fer some time now. You and yer boys go out and hunt the other'n and I'll give the rest of the money, even though I'd say now with just one a them damn things the town could probably handle it...but I'm gonna offer you a deal"

Frowning at the man’s lack of directness and desire to not give them their due upfront, Franz simply said “Shoot.” in response

"I'll work my magic on this here kitty, you let me display her here for a few month, and then you can have it. That's free taxidermy now and I ain't no slouch."

His works were indeed impressive. The bears roared, the fish flopped, the pumas screamed, but he wasn’t sure if the deal would quite suit their purposes. Carrying a stuffed big cat the rest of their journey wouldn’t be easy, though it would be a hell of a souvenir. He was about to say so, when the man continued.

He gestures out at his shop, "Don't answer yet now. Take a look. It's a good deal fer both of us why you'll get a beautifully stuffed critter and I'll..."

A commotion broke out with a waitress. Constantin got into his usual trouble beating up the perpetrator. Other men were stepping in, including a sheriff. Scheiße this was trouble. Last thing they needed was for Constantin to end up in jail or worse.

"Shit, I figured this day were comin' but she were my best waitress yet. Fine specimen too." Zeke says with a whistle after Lilly heads off on her way.

"Anyway, what do you say? I know a few folk in town would be willin' to go back out there with you and get that puma's mate. Another $25 in it for y'all. Me an' you could talk about the old country, share stories. Ain't too many make it out this far."

Franz felt like he could detect a note of longing in the man’s voice, and he could understand. America seemed to have a lot of opportunity, but lacked the culture and grandeur of Austria. It wasn’t always for the best. Vienna’s obsession with the past stifled some opportunity for him, but it’s excesses were a part of what made it home. “Sounds good, Zeke. I’ll try to come back sometime for the cat.I’m not sure I’ll have the time for the other one. We’ve got our own mission, checking out this land’s magical oddities. Especially the ghost rock. But if I get an extra day or two in town, and I don’t run into the cat on my own, I’ll take you up on that deal. And I will tell you all about what’s been happening in Germany.”

He shook Zeke’s hand and made his way over to the others. It looked like they had avoided jail and gotten some help from the Sheriff and a pretty, local woman. "Oh," the Sheriff said with a grin, "More prospectors out to make their fortune? How droll. The woman, I believe she is referring to the Father's friend. Had a claim out someways, suppose it's lost now. Not sure what he found, but he didn't seem quite as excited as I would have expected."

"Aveline," he calls out in an unnecessarily loud voice, "Be a good girl and show these men to the Father won't you."

He looked towards Aveline expectantly, eager to hear what she had to say about this mysterious prospecting.

Deadlands - A Supernatural Western

Franz Kaufmann

The last time Franz had driven a coach was three years ago when his business was still getting off the ground, and he had to deliver his firearms himself on occasion. He’d since hired a man to take care of that part, which he was regretting as he nearly crashed into a house on the way into Selina. He hissed under his breath, “Scheiße…” Constantin reacted accordingly (OOC fill in angry French words here)

The town was coming out in full force to greet them, gasping at the sight of the dead beast strapped to the coach. He brought the horses to the best halt he could, and people immediately began surrounding them. “We have a hurt man…” he started, but the townspeople jumped into action regardless of anything he was saying. The injured coachman, God help him, was carried off on a stretcher. Franz jumped off the carriage, preparing to explain what had happened to them and ask for the man who could dispense their due bounty, when a local businessman pushed his way to them.

"Alright fellers," the man said with a smile as he looked up at the great dead beast, "why don't you come in my shop now and collect yer bounty, one drink for each a ya on the house too."

Franz smiled back, though the man was difficult to understand. “Thank you,” he turned to Constantin and John. “This man has our bounty and drink. Let’s go.”

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

James Gregor Castner

Rose was gone.

The fiery synth had been standing on the Hull no more than 12 feet away from him, and she was gone in a flash of sparks and a puff of fog. James wanted to shout something, anything, but the shock and his training kept him silent. He felt utterly disturbed by what he witnessed.

"Your town is living on borrowed time," the head cultist said, "Tell your people that they must make their choice soon. Far Harbor can not remain as it is. Someone must make them choose..."

With that, the assembled group of Cultists turned and walked back into the fog-covered ruins of old Bar Harbor, melting back into its protecting envelopment and leaving them dumbfounded.

Of course, it was the Enclaver who opened his mouth first. James turned back to the others... "Anyone else think that was staged? They took that railroad agent too quickly and easily.... did anyone see her arms go down when the fog approached her?" he asked..

Castner shook his head out of uncertainty, rather than denial. “She seemed surprised, but didn’t move like the rest of us would have. The cult must have some way of effecting synths with the fog. Maybe Rose was forced to go. I hate to say it, but it seems like some kind of magic.”

"Oh and can someone help me get this off?" James asked, as though they hadn’t just been faced with something momentous, bizarre, and downright unnatural. "I should go and see the doctor about my arm before the foggers come back."

Castner sighed and helped the Enclaver out of his power armor. “My makeshift bandages from earlier will do for now. I’m going to talk to Corrine and Steve about our next move.” He got out of his suit too and went to Corrine and Steve, thinking the Enclaver might follow.

He moved quickly to them and talked quickly to them. “It’s good we got Avery, but we need to start preparing the town. That sounded like the last bit of diplomacy we would get. We should get all those projects we had in mind going with the vertibird stuff. Do you still have people good at working on the Hull and other engineering? (OOC Wondering if the Mariner is still around).”

He paused abruptly and stared at the spot where Rose was. “Rose couldn't have just disappeared,” he said slowly “What if they somehow forced her to run off into the Fog? If she moved quickly, she could have run off in the short time we couldn’t see her. I’m going to check for tracks. They could lead us to the cultists. Can either of you help me?” James went over to the ground near where Rose stood and started looking for footprints or other signs. [Roll for tracking]

Deadlands - A Supernatural Western

Franz Kaufmann

"Dont german me, Kaufman, you know that i hate that!"
Franz grunted. “I was talking to our hapless employees, Blanc. You know I don’t speak French that well either.” Meanwhile, his short search was obviously fruitless.

John chuckled "Es ist in Ordnung, Franz. Ich kann deutsch sprechen, ignoriere diese Kröte.”

Franz nodded appreciatively, but mentally noted once again the man was something of an Arschkriecher. He liked the Brite well enough and appreciated what he’d done in the past and present. But he had a suspicion that he wanted something besides information for his investments. He reeked of ulterior motivation.

Walking over the corpse as well, Constantin coldly stared down at the woman. "C'est des conneries! They mostly hold onto their belts when they die! Check below her, or cut her belt open, some hide their money in there..."

Franz hesitated at that, but he knew any money would be useful and they could find out who the woman was. He unsheathed his knife…

"Typical Frog" John said as he stood back up "You really have no shame do you? I understand looting from soldiers in battle or worthy foes but an poor peasant women? what could she possibly have to be worth defiling her corpse over? Anyway I'm afraid we there is not much we do for this woman." John said approached woman's head and drove his fancy old sword though the woman's skull before looking at his companions "Better safe and sorry."

"Gardez votre bouche anglaise fermée, ou je vous souille..." Constantin’s voice suddenly stopped, as the mercenary looked over to the bushes. "Merde..."

Franz sheathed his knife and stood up with his Gasser raised towards the bushes. Before he could ask Constantin what he saw, "Kaufman, Anglais! Over here!" His head turned to the driver. "Get back into the carriage! You two..." He turned to John and Franz, his rifle still aimed at the bodies. "Do what you have to do with these damn bodies, and then lets get the hell out of here! What ever killed these may still be around..."

Franz was startled, but trusted in Constantin’s instincts. He moved where the Frenchman indicated. Then a growl rose up from the bushes. Constantin didn’t hesitate to start shooting. "SHOT THE FUCKING THING!" He fired off two shots from his revolver too, hoping to catch whatever animal it was.

Deadlands - A Supernatural Western

Franz Kaufmann

Just then, the coach stopped. Franz looked around in surprise, and then he shrugged. Franz drew his Gasser revolver, and he gestured for the other two to do the same. He exchanged a look with them, making sure they were ready, and swiftly opened the door with his gun raised. No threats presented themselves, and he could their two drivers talking on the road. He groaned and lowered his gun a little. “Let’s go see what’s wrong.”

He left the coach, and as he moved past the horses, he could see what was wrong. A woman, he thought, was mangled and scattered across the road. His heart hardened at the sight, the defense he developed during Sedan. The horrific images for that night flashed through his mind as he slowly approached the body. As he got slowly got closer, he could see it was worse than he thought.

The two men they hired and were gaping at the corpse. He shook his head, and muttered “steh zurück” to them. He realized he spoke in German and corrected a little louder “stand back!”. He kept his gun on what remained of her head as he slowly circled her, searching for a purse with identification or some clue. What had done this and where had it gone?