You sit on a wooden bench, swaying gently, with your back to the passing Lonestar sky. The sunlit interior of the passenger cabin is dusty and empty beside you. There are other passengers, on other cars, but none other in yours. The pale light of early morning is crisp and sharp and you feel the familiar pang of destiny in your gut.
An hour ago you boarded ''The Ox''; haphazard locomotive and gestalt amalgamation of half a dozen derelict trains, construction vehicles and the turbine of a single downed jet plane. You departed New Bravado, boomtown and bustsville that it is, to Essex.
You are rocketing across the Lonestar blastlands at ludicrous speed and the sound of the tracks below you drown out your thoughts.
[[Look Outside]]
[[Wonder why I'm here]]
The train begins to slow and its gargantuan brakes to squeal as you shift your weight to look outside. The sky is perfect bluebonnet above the scrub and dust of The Lonestar. Distantly, you see the cresting ridge of a Sand Leviathan undulating along the curvature of the earth. Further still, you can see the shadowy outline of your destination, Essex.
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]]
[[Focus on the Sand Leviathan]] Essex was small once, recently even, you remind yourself as the Ox pulls, shuddering, into the station. Buildings of wood and stone, low and honest homes of common and honest folk, line the roads of the dusty township. The market, held monthly, is lively with commerce and the sound of haggling that you can hear even at a distance. As you step out of the train and into the Ox Yard you can see the towering spires of what was once surely oldcestor dwellings.
[[The Governor's Mansion]] sits in the heart of the city, a painfully white and wooden complex on stilts. You've heard the family that runs the city are [[Purebloods from New Austen]].
[[The Elbow Room]] Is supposed to be the classiest establishment in the city. Famous for it's Amberdraught Beer and, until about four years ago, it's Rivershack special.
[[The Candy Shop]], on the other hand, is notorious for being the worst kept secret in Essex. If you're the right kind of person, that is.
It's a big city though, you reflect, lots to see.
[[Disembark]]Governor Augustine Amberdraught's family made their fortune in booze before the war. Thanks to the Hiway Conflict that occured four years ago the Amberdraughts ended up with enough Brass to start their own town - so they did.
Essex, The City of Light and Sound is a haven for Courtiers of the Kings and Queens. The Amberdraught consider themselves patrons of the musical arts. You've heard there was some kind of scandal that pushed them out of New Austen but the Amberdraughts are notoriously huffy about their past.
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]]
The Candy Shop is exactly what it sounds like. Taffy, malt balls, sweets so hard they break your teeth on contact, or so sticky as to unhouse them from your jaw. You know what everyone always says about The Candy Shop, "What happens there, sticks."
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]]
You disembark the Ox in a miasma of biodiesel. The air is thick with smoke and byproduct and at first it is difficult to see more than about ten feet ahead of you. The wind picks up, however, and after a few paces you exit the noxious cloud and are greeted with the sight of Essex proper. You are currently located in the [[The Ox Yard]].
You don't know what the "extraordinary" thing that maniac on the radio wanted to show you - might as well take a look around.
[[Look around Essex]]
Huge, those things. You hear they're native to the Dune Sea about 20 miles east of Bravado. It's shiny, bronze carapace catches the sun and for half an instant you're blinded by it. Even at a hundred yards, you can just barely see its gaping, trifurcated mouth and countless blind eyes when the thing crests the sand before ramming its grindhouse teeth into the next dune and burrowing inwards with the kind of alacrity not generally reserved for monolithic brick-slugs.
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]] Sitting in the city's absolute geographic center, the Governor's Mansion has only ever housed a single family. A family of [[Purebloods from New Austen]] founded Essex nearly four years ago.
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]] You've heard The Elbow Room is the classiest bar in town. They serve Amberdraught beer - which is a sign of status unto itself. You also hear the proprieter used to be fucking loaded - but ended up having to fold her dynasty in with the Amberdraughts when her trade routes went bad after the war.
[[Take a Closer Look at Essex]] You reflect on the strange signal that highjacked the radio just a week ago now. You recall the stories of oracle boxes, which never act of their own accord, springing to life and sound with the image of a young man, bearded and brilliant, who beckoned the peoples of the Greater Lonestar to coordinates that reflect the train town of Essex to show them "something extraordinary".
You know the shape of stories. You've lived them all your life. So you answered the call.
[[Look Outside]]
You head into the city proper. You pass dozens of people, maybe a hundred, townies and nomads, rotface and paleskin and green veins intermingling like a virulent cocktail of humanity. This is a metroplex in the truest sense and it is hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of life here - when compared to your own settlement.
You see brick buildings probably a hundred years old belching smoke into the clear blue sky all around you. The cobblestone road beneath your feet has been repaved a dozen times and between the cracks you can see older road still that long ago buckled and failed.
The market is open and smells delicious. You could head in that direction you suppose.
[[Head into the Market]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]]
[[IF YOU ARE READY FOR THE ADVENTURE TO END: Head to The Spire]]In the middle of the city, adjacent and west of the Governor’s Mansion, there is an enormous circle of grassless dirt partitioned off from the rest of Essex by ancient cattle guards. Shipping containers, recently unloaded or iminniently to-load, are stored atop one another here in the Ox Yard adjacent to the Locomotive itself.
The poor and itinerant of Essex and the surrounding wastes live and work here. Laborers looking for their next meal unload cargo from shipping containers into flatback pickups and deadsleads to be carted across the greater Lonestar.
You see tent-houses and lean-tos in the furthest quarter of the Yard. Bright and motley colors; reds and yellows plastics and sterile blues, mark the living spaces of those with so little they repurpose the weather-coverings of train cars for their homesteads. Entire derelict shipping containers have been retrofitted into bars and flophouses for the laborers here and the leering eyes of the Oxmen stare back out at you from behind the cattle guard.
You have the impression this place is unfriendly to outsiders at best, and violent at its worst. A den of crime in the heart of a metroplex.
[[Head further into The Yard]]
Leave and [[Look around Essex]] You figure you can handle a few disenfranchised workers - you just came from Bravado after all.
The east side of the Ox Yard is dominated by tenthouses and retrofitted traincars. Winding streets made out of tarp and tension guide you to its center. The residents give you choice looks but no one gives you shit about being there.
[[What's that smell?]]
Give up and [[Travel deeper into Essex]] The smells here are nearly as overwhelming as the sound. It looks like most of what is being sold is foodstuffs out of colorful carts. But you forgot breakfast - so that's nice.
[[Buy something exotic]]
[[Buy something familiar]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] Saited, you head back into the city proper.
You consider where you to go next.
The [[Grave Quarter]] has always sounded exotic. Maybe you could go snoop around the Bureau and pay your Grave Tax. Tis the season, after all.
Alternatively you've heard some interesting things about The [[Candy Shop]] and [[Various Pubs]] if you're looking for a colorful evening. You pass an Unborn woman wearing a colorful shirtdress of red and gold. She greets you kindly and offers you a kind of savory pastry. Inside, she explains, are spices and meats with names unfamiliar to you. You elect to purchase it.
When you bite in the flavor explodes in your mouth, rich and spicy. It is nothing you've had before but she explains the meat is Murdergoat. Incredible. You hope the smell doesn't stick too long.
[[Buy something familiar]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] Grilled cheese, you could really go for a grilled cheese. There's a Merican in a funny hat selling those. But it's a really funny hat. The kind of thing with cupholders for drinking from. And he looks pretty intense.
[[Whatever, the best cheese is grilled by the biggest weirdo]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] "TJ Maxx" the figure introduces yourself. He manages to sell you two grilled cheese and somehow you end up paying for three.
It's a damn good grilled cheese though.
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] You're pretty hungry. A block over you can smell hot meat and spices.
[[Head over towards the scent]]
Give up and [[Travel deeper into Essex]] There's an old saltwise here - looks like a catfish insomuch as her whiskers drag the ground between her crossed legs. She's stirring a pot of something greasy but the smell makes your stomach rumble.
"Wanna buy a bowl, kiddie?" She asks you, her eyes are swampy green and her hand is outstreached looking for a brass."
[["Sure, here's a money, Lady."]]
Say no thank you and [[Travel deeper into Essex]].
She passes you the bowl in exchange for one of your currency. The stuff smells excellent and when you put the bowl to your lips you taste fish and chili powder and something that makes your tongue buzz.
You pass the bowl back when you're done and the Saltwise looks expectantly back at you.
[[Ask for another bowl]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] You ask for more, you're a glutton. She gives it to you with a grin in exchange for another currency. She could do this forever. It's a deep bowl.
[[Ask for another bowl]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] You head east towards the Undead portion of the city. Largely controlled by the Grave Council this section of Essex is populated by zed-facing and Gorger strains.
[[Meet some of the locals]]
[[Head to the Grave Bureau]]
[[Check out one of the city's four morgues]]
Before you is a tiny storefront with faded lettering on its haphazard wooden signage; “The Candy Shop” has stood in Essex since its inception, and will likely last until the town’s demise. Pressed and suffocating between two huge steel mills, The Candy Shop is little more than a perfunctory veneer for the largest Crystal Candy manufacturer in the Lonestar; the best kept secret everybody knows.
Inside the building a man who calls himself Jerry Sweettooth manages the counter and the sparsely populated shelves of the coffin-sized shop. At the right word, however, you have heard, the shelves spring open to reveal a secret speakeasy that Governor Amberdraught has been attempting to shut down for years - but strangled by the bureaucracy of his own system and outwitted by the Candy Shop’s proprietor - it remains an ongoing and smirking reminder that law and order are double edged blades.
[[Go Inside]]
[[Travel deeper into Essex]] No one here really looks very interested in speaking with you. Brevity and blank stares characterize the undead strains, you reflect. You wish they'd be a little less... lifeless.
But one woman, with a short black bob and a severe outfit of fitted burlap and the bearing of an accountant, stalks up to you.
"Skipping taxes, ehh Vicious Vic?" She demands archly You notice she has a revolver strapped to her hip.
[["Whoa lady - no way I'm not whoever you just called me"]]
[["Yeah it's me, Vicious Vip - the notorious one."]]
[[Say nothing]]
It only takes a few minutes to walk there.
More bank than church, the Grave Bureau is a triple-story stone affair with real glass windows. It’s front entrance, double-doored, is flanked by a pair of painstakingly carved and triple-headed lions; snarling at you pointedly. The steps are steep and well-worn by those looking to pay or to dispute their Tax. The whole place smells faintly of rot.
Here is where the Grave Taxes are recorded and kept.
[[Head inside]]
[[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] Essex is huge, big enough that no less than four morgues have manifested in the past four years. You can follow the signs - they're everywhere.
Head to [[The Northeast Hallows]]
Try out [[The Paradise Bar]]
Check out [[The Cistern]]
Brave [[The Dead Drop]]
Leave the Grave Quarter and [[Travel deeper into Essex]] "Not gonna fess up huh-" She stops and takes a good look at you is suddenly very embarrassed. Her nose scrunches up and she looks downcast at your feet. "Sorry - I'm a new Tax Collector. I thought you were Vicious Vic just waltzing up like you didn't owe the Grave Council six-hundred brass in back taxes.
[["Sorry - Grave Tax?"]]
[["That's fine. Do you need anything else?]]
[["It's a shame the GC can't quality control their own Tax Collectors."]] She blinks, confused. "I said Vi- oh." Her nose scrunches up and she looks downcast at your feet. "Sorry - I'm a new Tax Collector. I thought you were Vicious Vic just waltzing up like you didn't owe the Grave Council six-hundred brass in back taxes."
[["Sorry - Grave Tax?"]]
[["That's fine. Do you need anything else?]]
[["It's a shame the GC can't quality control their own Tax Collectors."]]
"Not gonna fess up huh-" She stops and takes a good look at you is suddenly very embarrassed. Her nose scrunches up and she looks downcast at your feet. "Sorry - I'm a new Tax Collector. I thought you were Vicious Vic just waltzing up like you didn't owe the Grave Council six-hundred brass in back taxes."
[["Sorry - Grave Tax?"]]
[["That's fine. Do you need anything else?]]
[["It's a shame the GC can't quality control their own Tax Collectors."]] "The Grave Council stewards all the Morgues of the Lonestar" the full dead explains. "If you make use of them - we track and tax that usage to facilitate their upkeep. It keeps our mortis infrastructure functioning and our Hiway Robbs without their Stampedes."
Express that you understand and [[Introduce yourself]]
[[Ask for Directions to the Grave Bureau.]]
Disengage and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] "No sorry. Have a great day." Clearly embarrassed, she turns to leave.
[[Introduce yourself]]
Let her go and head back to the [[Grave Quarter]]
Her eyes go hard as flint and she turns to go. "Excuse me then, Mx. I'm sorry to bother you."
[["Hey, wait - that was shitty of me."]]
Let her leave and go [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]]
Shrug and [[Head to the Grave Bureau]] "It was." She agrees frankly. "But I guess I accosted you. I'm Chiipi - Deadeye Chiipi. I'm a Grave Robber for the Council, normally."
[[Introduce yourself]]
Excuse yourself and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]].
Excuse yourself and [[Head to the Grave Bureau]] "Nice to meet you." Deadeye offers and shakes your hand with a clammy but vigorous grip. "You're not from around here?"
[[I'm here about that crazy signal from last week.]]
[[Nope. Bravado Actually.]] She nods, "That's been on my mind too. The Grave Council can't figure out where the signal originated from other than inside Essex. We're a little stumped."
[[Ask for Directions to the Grave Bureau.]] "Oh! I'm there all the time! I know tons of Vados! I've pulled a number out of the Mortis, actually."
[["I know. I'm one of them."]]
[[Ask for Directions to the Grave Bureau.]]
If she had the blood to blush, you imagine she would.
[[Ask for Directions to the Grave Bureau.]] She quickly gives them to you. "I've got to run. Viscious Vic and all."
[[Head to the Grave Bureau]]
[[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] As you push the doors to the Bureau open and pass into its cool interior, you find yourself in a marble hall lined with quiet teller stations. Full dead, mostly; in beiges and browns with padded elbows, their eyes downcast on their work - they record and account all the carnage in the Lonestar with impassive eyes and steady hands. The room is largely silent.
[[Approach a teller]]
Leave and return to the [[Grave Quarter]]
"Ser." The Full Dead behind the counter greets you. Whip-thin and tall, he introduces himself a Abernathy and you think the name suits him. "You're looking to pay your Grave Tax, ser?"
[["Excuse me - Grave Tax?"]]
[["I'd like to pay my Grave Tax, thanks."]]
[["I'm not here for that."]]
"The Grave Council stewards all the Morgues of the Lonestar" the full dead explains. "If you make use of them - we track and tax that usage to facilitate their upkeep. It keeps our mortis infrastructure functioning and our Hiway Robbs without their Stampedes."
[["I'd like to pay my Grave Tax, thanks."]]
[["I'm not here for that."]]
You do so. You exchange a number of currency equal to your tax, recieve an offical payment reciept with the Grave Council logo, and stuff it into your pocket.
[[Check out one of the city's four morgues]]
[[Meet some of the locals]] "Aah. My mistake, Mx. Please let me know if I can help you with anything else."
Leave to [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] or
[[Meet some of the locals]] Built in the remains of an oldcestor structure of concrete and metal formerly known as an outlet mall, the Northeast Hallows is the most used Morgue. The shells of the former buildings here often serve as makeshift shelters for the poorer and dispossessed in Essex that are not welcome in the Oxyard. The Grave Council looks the other way, as they know the difficulty of not having a home.
Nice.
Head to [[The Paradise Bar]] next.
Check out [[The Cistern]]
Brave [[The Dead Drop]]This small morgue is underneath a still operating saloon, with the basement morgue exiting outside into the streets. A tradition of offering a free drink to anyone recently returned is upheld, but the clientele here tends also to attract the rough and rowdy looking for a drunken brawl or a fight with the undead. The Baywalker bartender, Kurt, you've heard maintains the premises with armed force and keeps careful watch on who comes and goes from the bar.
[[Go in and get a drink]]
Check out [[The Northeast Hallows]]
Head over to [[The Cistern]]
Brave [[The Dead Drop]] The second largest morgue in Essex, the Cistern is underneath the remains of a water treatment plant from oldcestor times. Long since dried up, the pipes clogged with fungal growths of the Gravemind, this morgue echoes the still of a grave even during the busy trading season. The stark concrete walkways remain empty of animal or plant life, and only the Groundskeepers keep a watch here.
[[Look for a Groundskeeper]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] Less a morgue, so much as a gaping wound into the Mortis Amaranthine, the Dead Drop is a deep mine shaft descending into the earth. There are no ladders or easy ways down the shaft, but the Dead Drop is normally crawling with the undead. A peculiar strain of shambler has emerged here known as a “leaper” for their tendency to make frantic grabs at any foolish attempt to descend into the depths. Their powerful limbs and sharp claws make climbing the sheer cliffs of the abyss deceptively easy. The yawning chasm still manages to attract its fair share of treasure seekers seeking rumors of oldcestor compounds deep underground.
[[Peer into the Drop.]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] The inside of the bar is lowlit and lurid. The bartender is quietly scrubbing a glass that seems to be getting dirtier the longer he works at it.
[[Order Hooch]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] He gives it to you, wordlessly. It is the strongest alcohol you have ever tasted and for a solid 30 seconds after drinking the stuff you're bent over and coughing. Luckily no one else is here to watch - except for Old Pete there. He doesn't seem to mind.
Stumble out and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] "You looking for someone, dearie?" A cracked and aged voice inquires from behind you. When you spin to look, your eyes overlook the short and bent figure below your chin. "Esca," the saltwise introduces herself. Her hunched shoulders and thin frame belie the mischievous sparkle in her swamp-colored eyes.
[[We know eachother.]]
[["I'm...]]
[[Freak out and punch this old lady for creepin' up on you.]]
[[Stay silent.]] "Well nice to meet you, dearie. Are you waiting on anyone?"
[["I'm just looking around."]]
[["Aren't we all?"]] She dodges your punch neatly - with entirely too much grace for an old lady. "Well nice to meet you too, dearie." She says with the kind of smile only the old and very wily possess. "Are you waiting on anyone?"
[["I'm just looking around."]]
[["Aren't we all?"]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] "Well nice to meet you, dearie. Are you waiting on anyone?"
[["I'm just looking around."]]
[["Aren't we all?"]]
[[Continue to be silent.]]"Got in interest in the Grave - eeh?"
[["Insomuch as we're all headed steadily that way."]]
[[I do.]] She rolls her eyes. "I suppose, dearie."
[["I'm just looking around."]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] She nods understandingly "Sometimes I can't find it in me to speak for grief either, dearie. You'll talk when you're ready."
[["I'm just looking around."]]
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] "Oh!" Esca exclaims, "So we do, dearie. I'm sorry I didnt realize it was you. What are you doing here?"
[["I'm just looking around."]]
"Tourists serve as much a purpose as toilers," she says with the wisdom of an adage.
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]]
"Well this is the place, dearie. This place or the Dead Drop. Are you studied?"
[[I am - GRAVEROBBER or GRAVE ATTUNED]]
[[I'm not.]]
"I think they're all the same morgue." Esca explains excitedly. "And another will appear next year - I think."
[["That's insane."]]
[["Please explain."]]
"Study up then, dearie. The Essex morgues are incredible. I think they're the same morgue." Her expression is pensive - for a fish.
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] Her expression does not change. "What I'm saying is that I think there's something incredible beneath this city. Something that interacts with Gravespace strangely enough to cause duplicious mortis behavior. Last year a man came out of two different morgues - the same man - twice."
[[Stay silent and wait for her to continue.]]
[["The same man?"]]"What I'm saying is that I think there's something incredible beneath this city. Something that interacts with Gravespace strangely enough to cause duplicious mortis behavior. Last year a man came out of two different morgues - the same man - twice."
[[Stay silent and wait for her to continue.]]
[["The same man?"]]"He was a remnant, his mother was a rover and his father was a saltwise. When he came back - it was as a rover AND a saltwise, dearie. The rover died and now he's just a saltwise. But I wonder what's going to happen when he dies next?"
[["So kill him."]]
[["Fascinating."]]
"He was a remnant, his mother was a rover and his father was a saltwise. When he came back - it was as a rover AND a saltwise, dearie. The rover died and now he's just a saltwise. But I wonder what's going to happen when he dies next?"
[["So kill him."]]
[["Fascinating."]] "Absolutely not." She protests, "Have a little humanity. You're worse than my son."
[["Who?]]
Excuse yourself and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] "I agree." She says, for the first time her tone losing its levity. "There used to be rules, dearie. But I fear someone is changing them."
Esca turns to go and makes a gentle shooing motion with her hand. "Get going, dearie. There's more to the story, I'm sure."
[[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] Her expression darkens. "Zodiac."
Excuse yourself and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] At least a thousand zed shuffle below you. You can hear them before you see them. No light in the Dead Drop means their outlines are shadowy, bleeding into one another, meshing, merging, groaning with inhuman vocal chords both too tightly wound and too numerous for a lineage to possess.
Leave and [[Check out one of the city's four morgues]] Essex is famous for it's nightlife and more famous still for it's booze culture. You've heard of a few good places.
Where you do want to go?
[[The Drafthouse]] is a popular pub near the Ox Yard.
[[The Elbow Room]] is a classy establishment owned by Rose Rivershack and is popular for its Amberdraught beer.
There's supposed to be some good drinking down at [[The Essex Docks]]A popular pub near the Oxline, famous for being equally easy to find a drink as company for the night. The Accesensorite proprietor, Malorous Mab, holds court here at night and frequent visits from the Cali*Co Caravan keeps the place busy at almost all hours. Mab, a known Final Knight, keeps the Governor’s rules in check, but anything can be had here, for the right price.
[[Head inside for a drink]]
Not your scene. Try other [[Various Pubs]]. Water access to Essex is limited, but riverways and canals connect the city to the Spoiled coast and the waterways of the Bravado camp. The Docks are not quite as large as you’d expect for the volume of traffic that comes through Essex, but they are efficient and well maintained. Saltwise shipwrights, Rover merchants, and sailors of the Longberths and Junkerpunks alike make this area nominally neutral territory in the cold war between the two sailing factions. No one wants to risk losing a berth in the Docks and instead pirates of every calling try to keep the violence reserved until they are outside the range of Essex.
[[Look for a place to drink]]
[[Look for trouble.]]The walls are lined with dusty, sparse shelves. There is a single person inside, a gentleman of indeterminate strain but possessing very bad teeth stands behind the counter and is clutching the largest bag of taffy you have ever seen.
[[Greet him and introduce yourself.]]
[[Hi I'm here for...crime?]]
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "A Single Flickering Candle"]]"Pleasure to meet'cha." He replies "name'a Jerry Sweettooth. Can I getcha a sweetie, sweetie?"
[["Don't call me that."]]
[["I'd love a sweetie."]]
[["Hi I'm here for...crime?"]]
"You're not!" He assurely gaily. "Otherwise you'd say somethin else!"
You understand and leave to [[Look around Essex]].
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "A Single Flickering Candle"]]
[["No - really. I'm definitely here for crime."]] "In a Vast and Hungry Darkness." he replies and sets his giant bag of taffy down. The man who calls himself Jerry Sweettooth stands up and moves from behind the counter. In the back corner of the tiny shop he opens a particular jar of what you assumed was candy - before he reaches inside and pulls a lever you cannot see.
The wall springs open and a dark corridor sloping downwards beckons you in.
[[Enter the Candy Shop Proper]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]]
"It's a brand thing, sorry. What can I do for you?" He looks abashed.
"Nothing thanks." You leave to [[Look around Essex]].
[["Hi I'm here for...crime?"]]
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "A Single Flickering Candle"]] He passes you a piece of taffy out of the bag "That one's free, kiddo."
Pay for a candy and [[Look around Essex]]?
"You're not!" He assurely gaily. "Otherwise you'd say somethin else!"
You understand and leave to [[Look around Essex]].
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "A Single Flickering Candle"]]
[["No - really. I'm definitely here for crime."]] The man of indeterminite strain's eyes narrow. "You're trying to punk me, aren't you? The bossman's gabbing my gaffer. Yankin' my chain - Maraudin' my Murdergoat as the sayin' goes - yeah?"
Excuse yourself politely and [[Look around Essex]]
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "A Single Flickering Candle"]]
You enter the darkness and the door shuts behind you. Electric lights flicker on with a Edisonian buzz and the corridor, you can now see, extends a hundred feet ahead and terminates in a doorway that, from where you're standing, looks open.
[[Walk Forward]] You walk the hundred-or-so feet down the hall. The lights, once you pass them, cut out. Leaving you, at last, in a shallow pool of light that stops at the door frame. Ahead of you is the chemical smell of a Crystal Candy manufactury.
Leave and [[Look around Essex]]
[[Head into Den.]]
When you pass into the room beyond, you realize what it is. Another version of the candy shop above. The same shelves, as if transposed, are heavily laden with dimebags full of Crystal Candy. The sharp, crystalline structure of the stuff catches the electric light and throws it back outwards - making the room sparkle with shards of light as if through a prism.
Behind the counter, clutching a enormous bag of Crystal Candy, is a man who looks eerily similar to the bouncer in the previous room. His strain as indeterminate, his teeth just as bad. "Jerry Sweettooth," he introduces himself, "Can I get you a sweetie, sweetie?"
[[Do some Crystal Candy with Jerry]]
[["Wasn't the last guy named that too?"]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] instead. You hand him a few currency and and Jerry passes you a dimebag. You snort that shit like a champ and the high hits hard and fast and you barely stop yourself from clocking your dealer a good one right in his ugly teeth.
[["TIGHT, man. You make this shit here?]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] to walk off the high.
"A poser." Jerry explained as if it's the simplist thing in the world. "Now you wanna buy or nah?"
[[Do some Crystal Candy with Jerry]]
Politely excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] "Yeah." Jerry replies wiping his own nose of the residue. "But the boss doesn't like me talkin' about it to customers. Sorry, pal."
You understand. That's the way it works. You excuse yourself to [[Look around Essex]].
[[PROFICIENT CRIMINAL INFLUENCE - "Nah man you're boss wouldn't mind. I'm legitimate.]]
Jerry narrows his eyes, "I thought you looked familiar, sweetie. If the boss is good with it then I'm good with it." C'mon.
[[Follow Jerry back into the Candy Lab.]]
Politely Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] instead. You pass through another door, this one triple-locked and possessing a bioscanner much like those you've heard of cropping up in the Ruins below New Bravado.
The room is dimly lit by a few flourescent lamps that have been deck-screwed into braces that hold up dirt walls. Unlike the previous room, all attempts a propriety have been discarded here. Beds line the distant wall, bodies lie in them - hooked up to huge, tanklike machines.
The strong, chemical oder hurts your nose. It reminds you of ozone and the dizzy feeling you get when psionics are used nearby. Along another wall is a boiling flask, a titration set and a half dozen flasks of various sizes all connected by tubes of differing dimensions.
You see the boiling flask is full of a liquid - and about six thumb sized psion crystals.
You've seen enough. Leave and [[Look around Essex]].
[[Explore the lab]]You move to the back of the lab, Jerry at your heels and clearly nervous. The figures in the bed are thin, sickly and covered in bedsores. Their wrists are bound and the steady drip-drop of the IV is louder than their muted, wet breathing.
These are psions, you assume. Their heads are wrapped in bandages - obscuring their eyes.
This is enough, thanks. [[Look around Essex]] instead.
[["So how do you get it so pure?"]]"Titration." He explains, clearly not knowing what it means. "Our cheif distiller is a insanely good. She could render your bones into drugs, I bet. And the high would be sweet as honey on a Sunday."
[["Can I meet your distiller?"]]
Head out and [[Look around Essex]] "What? No way. The boss would have my teeth yanked if I introduced you. That's crazy talk, sweetie."
Fair enough. You're not quite there yet. Leave and [[Look around Essex]].
[[MASTER CRIMINAL INFLUENCE: "Nah, man. I told you I'm legitimate. If you don't introduce me someone else will."]]His face crumples. He knows who you are. This guy's just a coward. "Alright - fine." He agrees sullenly before leading you across the room and through another door - this one locked four times with different keys. Including some kind of puzzle Jerry takes his sweet time figuring out how to solve.
When he opens the door and leads you through it - it's into a dank and dusty room where a thin woman in a thin and threadbare labcoat sits bent over a chemistry set to rival any Conglomerate cronie.
"Her name's Audelia." Jerry mutters. "She's busy though so be brief."
[["Ms. Audelia may I introduce myself?"]]
[[Stay silent and watch her work.]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] instead. She doesn't reply at first. But she does hear you. She finishes pouring a red liquid into a vacant beaker before sealing it, setting it carefully down and stripping the gloves from her hands. Which she turns around you realize she is wearing a Deathmask - probably against the fumes - which she removes.
Audelia is a tall woman with blonde hair and washed out eyes. You couldn't know her strain but you might guess a townie or a elateriat by her bearing.
"You may, Mx...?"
[["A pleasure I am..."]]
[["You can call me, sweetie. Everyone else seems to."]]She’s magnificent in the half light of a half dozen Edison bulbs. Pulled back to emphasise high cheekbones, her hair is bound tightly in a braid that falls to her middle back. Her thin fingers play with delicate knobs whose purpose is lost on you and, with all the elegance of a tea ceremony, she pours a brackish liquid into a clear one - and the whole room fuzzes for half an instant before snapping back to sharpness.
[["Ms. Audelia may I introduce myself?"]]"Aah yes. I've heard of you, actually. Big reputation for a little town like yours." What brings you to Essex?
[[Explain that you're here because of the strange signal that swept the wastes a week ago.]]
[[Lie and say you were hoping to meet her.]]"She rolls her eyes. Aah yes. I've heard of you, actually. Big reputation for a little town like yours." What brings you to Essex?
[[Explain that you're here because of the strange signal that swept the wastes a week ago.]]
[[Lie and say you were hoping to meet her.]]She nods, understanding. "We've been looking into it. I was here - in my lab - when the signal went out. Hijacked my radio and the screen I use to communicate with the Jerry up top. Best as we can figure he must be underground. My radio doesn't reach up top with fidelity."
Thank her for her time and [[Look around Essex]] for more clues.
[["So you spend a lot of time down here?"]]
She smirks, "You didn't know I existed until five minutes ago."
[[Explain that you're here because of the strange signal that swept the wastes a week ago.]]
[["I didn't know what I was hoping for until five minutes ago."]]She blushes though you can barely tell in the half-light of the flickering electric bulb. "I am flattered at your attentions but I think you ought to be going. The compound I am working with is...time sensitive."
Agree gracefully and [[Look around Essex]] for more clues.
[[Ask to keep in contact.]] She blushes though you can barely tell in the half-light of the flickering electric bulb. "I am flattered at your attentions but I think you ought to be going. The compound I am working with is...time sensitive."
Agree gracefully and [[Look around Essex]] for more clues.
[[Ask to keep in contact.]] "I - of course." She looks concerned but you cannot ascertain why. She gives you her working address and permission to write. "But please - we should speak later."
Make your exit and [[Look around Essex]] above for more clues.You find a small pub that, at first, you think is called The Swaying Wanker - but realize shortly thereafter that the signage is misleading and in fact this establishment is called The Swaying Anker. It's small, a popup pub that probably travels as much as its owner.
The gentleman inside is bearded and tall. A baywalker to the bone - you can smell the brine on him.
[["Can I get a drink?"]]
This isn't really what you had in mind. Maybe you ought to [[Look for trouble.]]
Don't go inside. Head back and [[Look around Essex]] proper instead. Best way to get to know a place is to beat up someone who deserves it - ideally in front of the people who love that sort of meticulous violence. The docks aren't really the best place for that kind of thing though. But you've heard great things about [[Cutthroat Alley]]. The baywalker passes you a blue drink with - surprisingly - an adorable gummy shark suspended in the liquid. It kicks like a murdergoat when you drink it and for a second - the world spins.
"You alright, pardner?" The baywalker asks.
Express that you're fine and head back to [[Look around Essex]].
[[Have a few more before you go. That was excellent.]] A thin and snaking backstreet three blocks behind the Governor’s Mansion, Cutthroat Alley is the premier location for marauding, murdering and meticulous violence. If you’re here, it’s for a good reason. If you don’t have one of those - someone else might.
The black walls of factories that line this alley are like the sheer cliff faces that characterize a mountain path. Bristling mercenaries stare down at you from atop buildings, bows or boomstocks clutched in capable hands.
Here you can buy most anything. The ramshackle storefronts are little more than temporary pop-ups to aid in the quick dispersal of evidence in the event of Lawdog interference. The air smells like sweet meats and Crystal Candy. The alley winds onwards for nearly a mile - and rarely can you leave by the same route by which you arrived.
[[ANY LEVEL OF CRIMINAL INFLUENCE - Go.]]
Nah I'd rather [[Look for a place to drink]]
Decide against it and [[Look around Essex]] instead.
You and the barkeep trade gossip and goods for a solid half hour. He introduces himself as Roscoe and you learn he is from Bravado - if you didn't know him already. He's here for the same reason - Vados and Vagrants from all over are flocking to Essex to hear about the The Scientist and what he means when he says "Something Extraordinary".
Thank him for his time and leave to [[Look around Essex]] some more. You arrive just a few minutes later, your veins buzzing with adrinaline and maybe a little candy. It won't be hard to pick a fight. But you ought to pick the right one.
[[Look for someone big.]]
[[Look for someone little.]] Fucking with the big guy makes everyone else respect you, you reason reasonably. You cast your gaze for the meanest motherfucker on the strip.
You find her. She's huge. At least seven feet tall. Probably an Unstalbe but you guess that bioluminsence could be psionic. She stands out because she towers, head and shoulders, above the crowd - but also because her veins look like supercharged neon even in light of early afternoon.
[[Attack the Unstable]]
This is stupid [[Look for someone little.]]
Bad idea alltogether. Return to [[The Essex Docks]]Everyone loves it when the shitty shrimp gets their clock knocked - you can do that. You cast your gaze about the Alley and search for someone both crummy and weak enough you can use them as leverage.
There she is. A rank bitch pawning Candy so opaque you can't see the high on the other side. You watch her catch the wrist of a young kid and pull him close enough to hiss in his face. You could definitely knock her block off right now.
[[Attack the dealer]]
Fuck this there's no glory in it. [[Look for someone big.]]
Bad idea alltogether. Return to [[The Essex Docks]]Well. You're gonna fucking do it.
You pull out your weapon of choice and the Unstable realizes what you're doing immediately. She makes eye contact with you, her irises the color of the sky if the sky were charged with ten million megahertz of Big Bitch Energy.
[[You Win]]
[[You Lose]] Well - you're gonna do it. You're gonna punch this drivel bitch right in her Candy sock. She realizes what you're about when you walk up. She pulls a knife, wicked sharp, and attacks you first.
[[You Win]]
[[You Lose]]You fucking did it. You're a champion. Incredible. She lies bloodied at your feet and everyone is looking very impressed - or - well maybe they're just looking unnerved and scared. Maybe beating the shit out of a woman on the street for cred was a sloppy move.
Or was it?
Someone taps you on the shoulder.
[[Turn around and clock them too.]]
[[Turn around very slowly and very cooly.]] You cannot believe you fucking did this. You limp out of the Alley bleeding from about six different holes. What were you thinking?
Forget it. This sucks and you're hungry. [[Look around Essex]] instead. Maybe [[Head into the Market]] or back to [[The Essex Docks]].Whoever they are, they duck. Your swing goes wide and before you can correct yourself he's jumped out of range. Bald, shorter than you, and wearing a strangely well-kempt suit he straightens and holds out a hand.
"Frederick Kingsley, at your service. You beat her up right good, kiddo."
[[Shake his hand. Introduce yourself.]]
[[Leer at him.]] Bald, shorter than you, and wearing a strangely well-kempt suit heholds out a hand to shake yours.
"Frederick Kingsley, at your service. You beat her up right good, kiddo."
[[Shake his hand. Introduce yourself.]]
[[Leer at him.]] "Pleasure." He assures you and wipes his hand on his slacks. I'm a business man in the business of thugs - are you looking for employment my hamfisted harbinger?
[["Sure. Whatcha want, Fred?"]]
[[Nod, but stay silent.]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] for more leads. "Strong and silent, eh? I prefer my lackies that way. Want a job?"
[["Sure. Whatcha want, Fred?"]]
[[Nod, but stay silent.]]
Excuse yourself and [[Look around Essex]] for more leads. "I got a man who keeps goin' on about that Signal from last week." The pinstriped man explains. "He's stark raving mad so I can't sic any of my normal guys on him. Bad business to kill the insane, y'see. So I want you to go do to him what you just did to that poor woman over there."
Fred gestures at where the woman had been - since your conversation began she'd slinked off. Not dead after all.
[["Sure. Pay me."]]
[["You know anything about that Signal?"]]
You'd rather not. [[Look around Essex]] instead. "I got a man who keeps goin' on about that Signal from last week." The pinstriped man explains. "He's stark raving mad so I can't sic any of my normal guys on him. Bad business to kill the insane, y'see. So I want you to go do to him what you just did to that poor woman over there."
Fred gestures at where the woman had been - since your conversation began she'd slinked off. Not dead after all.
[["Sure. Pay me."]]
[["You know anything about that Signal?"]]
You'd rather not. [[Look around Essex]] instead. "Sure." Fred puts a heavy envelope into your hands. When you open it - it's stacked with a few dozen trade notes. Reasonable money, you suppose.
[[Agree to the job.]] "Nah. Only that I got a guy walkin' the Alley every day lookin' for trouble and bein some kinda mad prophet - which frankly cuts into my mad PROFIT." Fred laughs because he thinks this is very clever.
[[Agree to the job.]]
Decline and excuse yourself to [[Look around Essex]] or back to [[The Essex Docks]].Fred gives you the details and, as quickly as he appeared, melts back into the Alley as if he'd always been part of the scenery.
You know you're looking for a gangly teenager with lank red hair. Probably a Lascarian based on the description. You've been told he wears rags wrapped around his entire body save for the crown of his head and his hands. You don't know how you're supposed to tell he's a teenager but you suppose that's besides the point. Crime is rarely easy. But at least it pays.
You've been told he parades down the Alley around noon every day and has for a week. You suppose you could go looking for him. But you suppose you could wait too.
[[Wait him out here.]]
[[Go searching for him.]]
You settle in to wait. The foodcart nearby is selling grilled cheese with some kind of mystery meat folded into the sandwich. You eat that and try not to imagine what it might be. It tastes alright - but food always tastes better when you're committing crime.
A few hours pass. You eat a few more grilled cheeses. You get used to the taste and eventually you ask the old Rover lady how she makes them. She begins to explain her process but before she can give you her secret you hear him. Long before you see his unruly crop of red curls you know this is your mark - he's yelling at the top of his lungs.
As if the frontman of a parade this boychild marches down the promenade. You cannot see his face or any part of him save for his hair - but you can hear him clearly as he approaches.
"Can you not HEAR" he demands, "It's coming UP. Up and UP and UP and UP."
[[Stop him politely and pull him aside.]]
[[Clock him.]]
[[Let him pass and follow.]]You find him. It isn't hard, really.
As if the frontman of a parade this boychild wrapped in bandages marches down the promenade. You cannot see his face nor any part of him save for his unruly mop of red hair - but you can hear him clearly as he approaches.
"Can you not HEAR" he demands, "It's coming UP. Up and UP and UP and UP."
A woman shrinks away from him, refusing to look.
[[Stop him politely and pull him aside.]]
[[Clock him.]]
[[Let him pass and follow.]]He ignores you completely. It's like talking to a brick wall that screams.
[[Clock him.]]
[[Let him pass and follow.]]
It's easy. He's ignoring you. Your fist passes through his nose with all the grace and ease of a knife through a lump of tepid butter. Blood arcs splendidly from his face and he carousels backwards into a foodcart full of half-rotten apples. Mysteriously - you feel your knuckles knock against something sharp and hard. You're bleeding a little.
[["We gotta talk, kid.]]
[[Say nothing but pull him aside into one of the ancillary alleys.]]
He keeps going - you keep following. He keeps to his path, undeviating and delerious. Every so often he gets too close to someone and asks if they can hear "it" - whatever that is. You can see why Fred wants this guy gone - he's fucking weird.
Wait for your moment and [[Clock him.]]
Fuck this, honestly. [[Look around Essex]] instead. You're not beating up some loser maniac in bandages. "We can talk all you like but you wont LISTEN." The bandaged boy protests. He tries to staunch his bloody nose.
"What do you WANT from me, lacky?" He demands thickly, talking around the blood in his mouth.
[["Guy name'a Fred wanted me to kill you. But I'm here about the Signal."]]
[["Follow me, can't talk here."]] You pull him into a nearby alleyway even smaller and dingier than the one you've just left. The sky is a thin ribbon of blue above you and for once - no one is watching.
[[Kill him.]]
[["Guy name'a Fred wanted me to kill you. But I'm here about the Signal."]]
"You hear it?" He asks, incredulous. "The Headwaters?"
[["Yes. I hear it. What does it sound like to you?"]]
[["No. But I want to know what you hear."]] You pull him into a nearby alleyway even smaller and dingier than the one you've just left. The sky is a thin ribbon of blue above you and for once - no one is watching.
[[Kill him.]]
[["Guy name'a Fred wanted me to kill you. But I'm here about the Signal."]]
You got paid to do it. The knife slides easily between his ribs. He expires in seconds. His body is very small, you think, crumpled on the ground like that. You leave.
Return to the city proper and [[Look around Essex]] for more leads. "Screaming. But it's no-one screaming." He explains thickly. "It's like a hundred hundred corpses that were never alive to begin with. I've been hearing it all week. Since that fanged fuck hijacked the radios."
[["I'm not picking up what you're putting down."]]
[["You're crazy. Can you prove it?"]]
[[ANOMALY: "I hear it too."]] "Screaming. But it's no-one screaming." He explains thickly. "It's like a hundred hundred corpses that were never alive to begin with. I've been hearing it all week. Since that fanged fuck hijacked the radios."
[["I'm not picking up what you're putting down."]]
[["You're crazy. Can you prove it?"]]
[[ANOMALY: "I hear it too."]] "I can explain."
The boy reached up to the bandages on his face at the same moment he reaches for your wrist. He wrenches the gauze down and you are treated to a face so disfigured with crystal growth that you're suddenly not surprised he was ignoring you. The kid can hardly see.
"I can hear everything." He explains through crystal-studded lips the color of poison - "I could hear the screams before but they were the ones I already know. These are new screams - and they're nobody's at all."
He tries to pull your hand to touch the crystals that studd the brow ridge above his left eye. These are bleeding from when you punched him.
[[Let him.]]
[[Pull your hand away.]] "Can I fucking - can I fucking prove it?" He demands sharply. "Yeah I fucking can."
The boy reached up to the bandages on his face at the same moment he reaches for your wrist. He wrenches the gauze down and you are treated to a face so disfigured with crystal growth that you're suddenly not surprised he was ignoring you. The kid can hardly see.
"I can hear everything, asshole." He hisses through crystal-studded lips the color of poison - "I could hear the screams before but they were the ones I already know. These are new screams - and they're nobody's at all."
He tries to pull your hand to touch the crystals that studd the brow ridge above his left eye. These are bleeding from when you punched him.
[[Let him.]]
[[Pull your hand away.]] His shoulder sag in relief. "Really? God it's been a week. No one else knows what I'm talking about. No one else believes me. Please - you have to help me. It has to stop."
[["I'm doing what I can. Can you tell me anything else?]]
[[Kill him.]] "I can try - if you promise to help me."
The boy reached up to the bandages on his face at the same moment he reaches for your wrist. He wrenches the gauze down and you are treated to a face so disfigured with crystal growth that you're suddenly not surprised he was ignoring you. The kid can hardly see.
"I can hear everything." He laments through crystal-studded lips the color of poison - "I could hear the screams before but they were the ones I already know. These are new screams - and they're nobody's at all."
He tries to pull your hand to touch the crystals that studd the brow ridge above his left eye. These are bleeding from when you punched him.
[[Let him.]]
[[Pull your hand away.]] Your hand presses against the warm crystal the color of biomass above his eye and suddenly you are not in a dim and dank alley in the bleeding heart of an unfamiliar city;
You are suspended in the Mortis Amaranthine as surely as if he'd knifed you.
An ocean swirls around you - made of you but also other things. And you feel yourself unspooling into the blind eternity.
[[Hold on.]]
[[Let go.]]
[[GRAVE ROBBER or GRAVE ATTUNED: Master it.]]"I can't explain it." He protests. "Let me show you."
[[Let him.]]
[[Kill him.]]
Leave and [[Look around Essex]] for other clues. You can't. This isn't your mind anymore. It's someone else's.
You hear the screams. Hollow, griefless screams that belong to no one. White and featureless suffering cast in the shape of pain but possessing no substance.
You know what he means now. It's horrible. These are not the screams you know.
[[Let go.]]
[[GRAVE ROBBER or GRAVE ATTUNED: Master it.]]You unspool. You relax.
The screams come now, like a choir. Suffering should be a dissonant affair - not this harmonious and clarion pain; this romantic and empty portrayl of the thing you have yourself endured.
It mocks you.
[[Pull away.]]
[[GRAVE ROBBER or GRAVE ATTUNED: Master it.]]This is your domain, not the boychild's.
You know this pain as surely as you know yourself. This empty caricature, this baseless agony that has no color and no end. It disgusts you because it is performative. The screams are no one’s and so they must be claimed.
And they will be yours.
With all the grace and power of your station you cast your mind into the Mortis. This boy is a reflector dish, a kind of psionic antenne you can use to locate the source of this false noise in the Grave Music. And locate it you do.
Far below the ground - deeper than Lascarian tunnels or biomass - you can hear the screaming.
And you realize that those screams do belong to someone - thousands of the same someone.
Your nose begins to bleed. The hallucination fades. The boychild has passed out in front of you.
[[Wake him up.]]
[[Kill him.]]
Leave him and [[Look around Essex]] instead. You pull away. The boychild falls back in an unconcious heap. Your nose is bleeding a little.
[[Wake him up.]]
[[Kill him.]] It takes a few minutes to rouse him. He comes around eventually. There's a lot of blood on his unfortunate face.
[["Alright. I'll take care of this. You gotta stop making noise though. Fred wants you dead. Better to leave."]]
[[ANOMALY: "You're the most powerful psion I've ever met. Why are you here?"]]"You'll take care of it?" He looks relieved - and very tired. "Thank you. My name is Caleb."
[[Tell him to go home and stay inside until this blows over.]]
Excuse yourself without advising him and [[Look around Essex]] for anything else you might have missed. "Because my ma's here." He replies with a shrug. "And what's the point of psionics? Just gets you killed once the Candy Makers find out."
[[Advise him to escape Essex and flee to Bravado.]]
You get it. Family comes first. Excuse yourself to [[Look around Essex]] for anything you might have missed. He nods. "Okay. I'll know when it's over, after all. Probably before anyone else does."
Leave Cuttroat Alley and [[Look around Essex]] "I can't leave my ma." He protests. "She's got shingles."
[[Shake your head. You can't tell him what to do.]]
[[Tell him either flee to safety or you're calling up the Candy Makers.]] He departs back to his home after re-wrapping his face and promising to lay low until this blows over.
[[Look around Essex]] for anything you might have missed.He looks appalled. "You...what?"
[["Either get your magic ass out a town that is literally trying to kill you or I am going to allow you to die."]]
[[Remain silent.]] He glares at you with all the indignation a teenager can muster when his face is mostly crystal. "Fuck you. Fine. We'll leave on the next train to Bravado."
[[Leave it at that.]] He glares at you with all the indignation a teenager can muster when his face is mostly crystal. "Fuck you. Fine. We'll leave on the next train to Bravado. I hope the thing that screams bites your shitty head off, guy."
[[Leave it at that.]]
You shake your head as you walk away from the alley. Poor kid. Shitty life. Probably could make some dope Candy outta his crystals though.
[[Look around Essex]] The spire is one of the tallest structures in Essex, and is a central receiving point for zeppelin and airship traffic arriving in the city. The Cloudskippers, a clan of skyfaring Rovers, collect dues and docking fees from non-Tribes affiliated merchants, but the secure berths and easy access to the Oxline make this an easy expense to justify. Captain Bliss, of the airship “The Soaring Dawn”, is the ranking captain of the faction in the city.
[[Head up to the top of The Spire]] It's busy, busier than any other establishment you've seen since you arrived. There's a whole crew of grimjaws and jackasses here. The atmosphere of the place reminds you of the dives back home. Everyone here either wants to be - or doesn't have a choice.
[[MASTER FINANCIAL INFLUENCE: Talk'em Up.]]
[[This isn't your scene. Maybe some other time.]] You know these crime bosses well enough to recognize them. Maybe one of them will know something. You've got the clout.
You could speak to [[NOMADS: Fuse]], a Diesel Jock with the Sweetwater Clan who organizes vehicle passage at a premium for those that want to avoid the attention traveling by Oxline gathers.
Or [[ELITARIATS: Mr. Harridan]], a Solestros merchant that offers equipment and outfitting for expeditions and delves on behalf of the Railroad Commission. You don't know where he gets the eqipment from - but you expect it's not pretty for anyone involved.
But over there is [[MUTANTS: AEGIS]], a heavily armed and armored former Aggie that escaped the fall of Aggieland. Now, you hear, they now recruits violent criminals to act as mercenaries for those that need brutal efficiency more than they need copious amounts of money.
There's also [[JUNKERPUNK: Mx. White]], a Saltwise recruiter for the Railroad Commision who frequently meets new affiliates at this bar. You understand they keep a private room reserved at all hours.
And finally you recognize [[TRIBES DISPARATE: Mr. Harrow]], a Rover financier for the Longberths. He recruits sailors and shipwrights for the Tribes Disparate and helps provide funding for the docks on the rivers of Essex. Where he gets the money - is anyone's guess.
((Out of Character: Pick the TAG: name that applies to the LC you are portraying))
You head back to Essex Proper to stake out a better drinking barn. Maybe [The Elbow Room?]
Or maybe you just want to [[Look around Essex]] some more. Fuse kicks his chin back and glares at you. But this is friendly behavior from a DJ so you take it as an invitation to come closer.
[["Know anything about the signal from last week?"]]A smooth talker and a smooth walker, Mr. Harridan stands with all the grace of a radtiger. Which you understand is exactly like a real tiger - only covered in radioactive boils and very angry.
"What can I do for you, ser?" He asks as you walk up to his table. He appreciates a well-bred gentleperson and can tell from a distance you suit his tastes.
[["Know anything about the signal from last week?"]]You can't tell anything about this...person. Other than the fact that they're hulked out beneath that armor. They look up at you through a mirroed visor at your approach. "How can we help you?" They ask.
[["Know anything about the signal from last week?"]]Mx. White makes eye contact with you and seems to recognize you as one of their own. They can tell you want to ask something and bid you forward.
[["Know anything about the signal from last week?"]]Mr. Harrow is a gaunt man leaning over a piling of delicious looking food. He can't eat it. When he looks up at you his pale eyes go wide - then narrow and he beckons you forward. "I know you. What do you want?"
[["Know anything about the signal from last week?"]]The crime boss looks at you - a little bewildered at your forthrightness.
They beckon to their second and whisper in their ear. Shortly thereafter you're lead to a small room at the back of the bar. Moments later an woman joins you. She has shockingly red hair, trimmed close to her face and her pantsuit is cleanly pressed.
Ms. Felicity Redfield, CEO of the Railroad Commission and most powerful woman in the Lonestar is standing in front of you, against all odds.
"Know anything about what's going on with that signla?" She asks, hands on her hips.
[["Y-yes ma'am."]]
[["I came to talk to a person who will actually do something. Why the hell are you here?"]]
[[Remain silent and stare.]] "Good. Because I don't. And half my town left on the Ox this morning so you could say I'm concerned." Felicity tosses her copper hair over her shoulder in the way powerful women do when they're concerned about their capitalist paradises being undermined by grassroots movements.
[["Well what CAN you tell me then?"]]
[["Don't worry. The RRC will endure this.]] Half my town left on the Ox this morning so you could say I'm concerned." Felicity tosses her copper hair over her shoulder in the way powerful women do when they're concerned about their capitalist paradises being undermined by grassroots movements. "I came here to do something about it."
[["Well what CAN you tell me then?"]]
[["Don't worry. The RRC will endure this.]] She stares back, unruffled. "Half my town left on the Ox this morning so you could say I'm concerned." Felicity tosses her copper hair over her shoulder in the way powerful women do when they're concerned about their capitalist paradises being undermined by grassroots movements."I need to work together with as many people as possible to solve whatever this is before it bankrupts my town."
[["Well what CAN you tell me then?"]]
[["Don't worry. The RRC will endure this.]] "That the signal came from the ruins below New Bravado - and that those ruins extend all the way here to Essex." She says with a flourish. "And that the person on the radio must be an uncorrupted human or - somthing - from before the Fall."
[["He had fangs."]]
[["Holy shit."]]
[[Remain Silent.]]"Of course it will." Felicity snaps. "But we're going to have to be proactive about it."
[["Well what CAN you tell me then?"]]"Then he's a Semper Mort - whatever. He's a relic of a time so far gone it might as well be myth. I want him - whatever he is."
[[Remain Silent.]] "He's a relic of a time so far gone it might as well be myth. I want him - whatever he is." Felicity insists, steppig closer to you. "Get him for me."
[[Remain Silent.]]She glares at you. "We know when he's from and we know he's underground. We'll delve for him and you're going to help me do it."
[["Oh? Am I?"]]
[["Yes ma'am."]]"You're going to do whatever you need to in order to bring him over to the RRC's side." Felicity explains matter-of-factly. "For the good of Bravado."
[[TRAVELERS: "I'm not even from your town.]]
[[VADOS: "Fine."]]
[["You're asking a lot for a woman who spends her free time persecuting innocent folk for money.]]
"Good. I called you in here because I knew I recognized you. The bosses out there won't do you any good. They know less than me. Keep an eye out. Write me or my secretary if something comes up."
Felicity makes a move to leave but turns around. "If you do this the RRC won't forget it."
Let her go and return to [[Look around Essex]] "Then I'll pay you." She returns flatly. "I know your face. That means you're good enough even I've heard of you. Bring me that man - and I'll bring you the world.
[[Agree]]
Excuse yourself and return to [[Look around Essex]]. "Good. I called you in here because I knew I recognized you. You do good work in our town. The bosses out there won't do you any good. They know less than me. Keep an eye out. Write me or my secretary if something comes up."
Felicity makes a move to leave but turns around. "If you do this the RRC won't forget it."
Let her go and return to [[Look around Essex]] Her eyes go hard and her voice turns to flint. "You're giving a lot of lip for someone I'm trying to hire."
[[VADOS: "Fine."]]
[[TRAVELERS: "I'm not even from your town.]] Felicity nods. "The RRC won't forget this."
Return to [[Look around Essex]].
Essex sprawls out beneath you - a city built on top of cities on top of cities. From your vantage, where the air is colder and the winds sharper - you see Essex as a series of concentric rings - at the very center of which lies the Governor’s Mansion; a diminutive white square overlooking a huge and insignificant cityscape.
You ponder - for a bit - where to search next. Of all the extraordinary things you have seen in Essex today -you do not think any of them extraordinary enough to warrant a time-moored scientist to call you here on high.
[[Look to the East]]
You turn your eyes lazily to the east, hoping to catch another glimpse of the Sand Leviathan. Or the Firebrand Raiders that follow them; seeking to kill their gods to live in their corpses. You think maybe that is poetic - given all your seeking today.
But you do not see the Sand Leviathan. You instead see the thousand-thousand featureless and lurching corpses of a tremendous horde marching towards Essex as inexorably as the night takes the day.
In the distance you hear sirens begin to wail.
You hope this is not what the scientist meant.
[[END]]
Hey there!
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