Steam and Sand Game Thread

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce laughed slightly. "Well, I think we'll just have to see how bad it is. As for an Atrium - I'm not quite sure. Stonehenge Atrium would probably be a bad idea at this time... I don't think it really has any of it's facilities working at all. Course, we don't really need that... but it's still under martial law, so best to give it a wider berth. As for other Atriums... south of that, I'm not quite sure."

He paused, looking at the map. "Hopefully the waters are dried enough to allow a passage at some tide level or another. I don't know how we'd get a flying machine or an aquatic rig out here. But I would prefer not leaving the rig on the shore - but I guess we just have to see..."

He leaned forward to look out the window.

"As I noticed you've been "seeing" Scarlette a bit more noticeably" he whispered to Skinner. "But I do agree, young and fair and attractive true..."

[Aeryenne Tederich]

Scarlette skirting around the others as she continued down to the kitchens - she'd catch up on all they were discussing later on. Reached her destination she took a deep draught from her hip flask, feeling the amber liquid hit the back of her throat and burn a delicious path down to the pit of her stomach. That'd keep her going for a while, no doubt. Then she began to sort out the requested provisions before taking another shot of whiskey and heading back to the main cabin, plate of sandwiches in one hand and glass of water in the other.

"So what've I missed?" She swung back into the room, placing the plate and glass down beside Skinner and leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and completely unaware that they'd been discussing her not twenty seconds earlier - noticing things like that was not her forte. "Do we know where we're headed next?"

[Skinner]

Skinner as in the middle of a rather obscene comment about wanting to 'see more of her' when the devil herself walked in, and she practically jumped out of her skin.
"Ah! OH. Roight, brill', ta fer that." she snatched up a sandwich and took a bite. Oh, that hit the spot. She made a valiant effort of the words "Across Sailsbury, around Stonehenge, and South to Southampton" But it came out more like:

"Mmfph mm Zphmmzphurpmph, rmmhm Zmphmmnmff, mm hmmf nn hmmphmmnfmmn."

At least she didn't open her mouth. She had that much courtesy.

[Aeryenne Tederich]

Scarlette arched an eyebrow, grinning at the muffled noises that she was sure were supposed to be words of some kind.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that last." She pushed herself away from the wall and picked up a sandwich, taking a bite as she waited for Skinner to force down the mouthful and attempt speech once again. There was something strangely...endearing about that. No doubt Skinner would be less-than-happy to be described as 'endearing', but Scarlette couldn't really think of a better word for it.

[Skinner]

Skinner turned slightly blue as she forced her mouthful down, and was glad for the drink of water to push the rest down her gullet.
"Ugh. I said-..." she looked up at Scarlette and blinked. "What?... what's that grin for?" she started to smile, though, too.

"What I said, was, Across Sailsb'ry, Aroun' Stone'enge, and South to Souf'ampton. Hopefully won't take us the rest o' today, but we might have to make camp around Souf'ampton Waters at sundown. Mind, I could use a goddamn kip!"

[Titus Wells]

Red clocked Scarlette and Skinner's little exchange as he entered the room and smiled to himself.

"You guys might want to come have a look at this"

He disappeared back up to the observation deck and gestured across the sands. There, a great jagged line a couple of dozen miles off, was the twisted wreckage of a collapsed Atrium shell.

"Warminster Atrium. Used to be a vast military base once. The charts have it marked down as part of a supply route through this part of the country. I guess whatever 'war' we've rolled ourselves into is being fought with a bit more force than a few scattered bandit raids."

[Skinner]

Skinner hung her head out of the cabin window, looking upon the silhouette as Red pointed it out.

She paled.

"Oh, I say. That's... Blimey." she ducked back inside and breifly slowed the burn in the furnace so they had some time to plan what to do.

"It's impossible to tell from this distance, but it might be deserted. If it is, there might be ammunition, parts, tools, goods that we could scavenge. That's what we're out here for, ent it? But, folk might be armed and crawlin' around in there. If it's in a war zone, it'll have anti-rig guns, an' we don't want to get in range o' them. What's the consensus, gentlemen- err, an' gentlewoman."

She would never get used to girls being on a rig. Grand fun to have, but, strange to address, (without mentally undressing, that is).

[Titus Wells]

"Well, I'd be tempted to stay at a fair range and skirt around. We're not desperately low on supplies and if we can make it to Southampton before dark we should be alright... provided this is the only Atrium to be smashed from the landscape."

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan examined the jagged ruin that stabbed at the skyline like the gnarled teeth of a craftsman's saw.
"I suppose we should stop by the nearest Atrium to see if we can fetch any information on the status of this war zone. We don't want this old rig dodging shells or withstanding blows from war constructs."
He looked out the portholes of the rig, watching the gnarled teeth grow larger. He could almost see a human shape firing into the wreckage. Something lept from the shadows, a bestial shape. The human shape was done away with quickly and dragged into the wreck.
Conlan inhaled a sharp gasp, attempting to motion to the others about the sight. However, the sight was gone before anyone could bother to look.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"Hum..." said Royce. "I'm afraid I'm really not certain about functioning atriums. They're either dead, militarized - or both, like this one here. Even Stonehenge got cracked when the Anglians pushed west."

He paused. He was fairly up to date on most political situations in England, from his last job.

"Hum..." he repeated. "Basically, this is just the continuation of the Cornwall - Anglian war. Anglia believes that they're the real England, with a real monarch to boot and that the real monarch should have the final say. Cornwall's for a parliament. So. lines get drawn, Royalists and Parliamentarians or what have you. The front's shifted east to west and back again for a long time. It's a long war - it's only really heated up now but most people forget the first raids started almost seven years ago."

"So..." he continued. "Most anyone we come across here will be with the military, one of them, or mercenary camps. They'll be focused on their war, but what I'm worried is that they get too paranoid and we become spies in their mind. Either side is apt to detain us if they feel we're a threat. So stopping for directions might not be the best idea. I really have no idea what it's like in Southhampton. But so far, it seems quiet enough. Actually, from the map, I think we're probably in Anglia - their border is a bit further past Stonehenge Atrium. But that doesn't mean there won't be scouts and whatnot out here. I say we run quick and quiet and don't step on any toes - and avoid areas that look to be hot zones. It might even be helpful for us that Anglia is winning - I don't think there's any fighting further south of here. Not trying to frighten any of you - but a good deal of caution would be wise. And really, nothing might happen. But something might. So - eyes and ears open."

[Skinner]

Skinner nodded, and took that tactical reasoning to be a cue to steer the rig south and step on it. She gave the atrium shell a wider berth, stoked the coals, and released a bit more steam into the pistons to get the rig up to an almost evasive speed. Then she grabbed her rifle, and waited tensely to see if anything might come after them.

[Aeryenne Tederich]

Scarlette's eyebrows shot up as she took in the hulking shell of an Atrium that they were steadily approaching. Spears of sunlight glinted on the jagged twists of iron and glass, flaring in a way that tricked the eye into believing it saw movement where there could have been none. At least, she hoped it was just a trick of the light...

Well, tricks or not, it was certainly somewhat intimidating, that was for sure, and she was starting to wish she hadn't left her rifle back in her cabin. Just in case. Better to be safe than sorry, and so on.

As she debated about going to fetch it, she heard Conlan's sharp intake of breath from behind her and dragged her eyes away from the daunting sight before them to glance over, frowning slightly.

"See something?"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Either that or I'm stark raving mad." Conlan said, staring into the shining crags of the war-torn shards of civilisation. A tiny dot appeared in the distance, heading directly for them. Conlan grabbed Scarlet, tossing her to the floor as the window exploded into shards of prismatic blades, Thankfully the porjectile passed through a window from across the rig, exploding on the other side of the of the rig's exterior.
"We're being accosted!" Conlan cried as the sound of roaring motors and squealing hydraulics roarted over the sound of the rigs.
Four quadrupedal motor-cycles charged them, mechanical jaws snapping like ravenous beasts as their riders screamed like wild animals, their black robes billowing behind them as they thrust rifles and crossbows into the air.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"What the hell?!" exclaimed Royce, flattening himself against the wall. Motorcycles?

"Are we being attacked by Anglians?" he asked. "Damn, we had better pull..." His words were interrupted by another barrage. He sneaked a look out and looked in confusion. Dark robed figures - those were definitely not Anglian soldiers, nor soldiers of any nation he recognized.

"Who... what on earth are they?" he whispered aloud, reaching for his gun.

[Skinner]

Skinner opened the throttle and sent the engine screaming into evasion speed, stoking the coals and opening the steam valves manually to ensure they were going as fast as mechanically possible. Then she ducked away from the open windows, and slipped deer slugs into her rifle, and readied a shot out of the window towards the cloaked figures.

"You alright Scarlette?" she double checked loudly as she opened fire. She didn't like how Conlan had thrown her so roughly to the ground, but would thank him later for probably saving her life. One of her shots caught a rider in the right shoulder, sending him off his motorcycle.  She spun away from the window as soon as the shot hit home, and turned back to the engine to check the speed.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce wondered if these cloaks concealed the ones that Conlan had called Druids. Better to get rid of them first, he decided. He exited the back of the cabin, leaning off the side. One cycle came close and he opened up with his repeater gun. He cursed at the strain of shooting the thing with one hand, but the effect was achieved as the closest cycle flipped as it's rider let go of the handles and fell to the side.

Royce suddenly stopped. There was more noise - but along with a hollow clanking - but it didn't seem to be coming from the surrounding desert - almost below them...

He looked in horror as more cycles came from a cave he hadn't noticed in the rock. They must have tunnels going all the way back! He heard more noises and a much larger four wheeled vehicle burst at them from the other side. Black cloaked figures manned it, screaming as they came closer. Royce looked them down with a contemptuous smile as he readied his launcher.

"Hey! Over here!" he called, letting the robed figures see him right as he pulled the trigger, placing a package of high explosives into their vehicle at high speeds. There was one explosion as the vehicles was violently driven off, almost going onto two wheels, then another as it's boiler blew and it flipped completely. Royce would have been pleased, but more seemed to be coming. And they were so damned close to the end of this too...

[Nigel Wetherby]

"These aren't druids..." Conlan growled. "They're scots." His voice was as grave as if they were creatures who housed themselves in human waste.
He loaded his rifle, taking aim as his humanity stayed. His eyes narrowed as for the first time in a long time he let his emotions guide him. His rifle went off sending a black robed figure reeling off the seat of his cycle. His limp body tumbling and flopping against the sand. His hood fell back, revealing messy red hair and a familiar symbol tatooed onto his sand-smeared cheek.
"It's them!" Conlan growled, rushing into the caboose and opening fire,
"Give them no quarter!" He growled, killing a second attacker by destroying one of the machine's legs, crushing them beneath the weight of the toippling steel cyclle.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"Scots? This far south?" murmured Royce. It didn't seem to make much sense at all. But, he supposed Conlan knew what he was talking about. Regardless, this particular group seemed intent on destroying their rig. Could a bandit group of Scots be raiding this far south? They must be led by a genius or a madman. But even seeing a Scot south of Hadrian Atrium was a rare thing. He fired his repeater gun in bursts now, trying to keep them away from the front of the rig - damage to the engine could mean a stop, which would mean death. Already, one was close enough for a man riding on the back to attempt to jump - Royce kicked him off before he even made contact, the shock jarring his leg. He slipped, just holding on. He needed to get back inside...

[Skinner]

Skinner left the engine for a moment to hang out the door and tug Royce back inside the rig by his scruff, bracing against the inside wall for better leverage.
"Careful there matey! Can't loose yeh that easy." As soon as Royce was securely inside the rig, she went back to the engine and pushed her harder.
"Come on lassie, yeh can do it. I know you can! C'mon swee'art!"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"These are raiders with the sigil of the boar." Conlan declared firing another shot into a mass of black robes, causing the cycle to veer drestically to the left, slamming into the side of another cyclist.
"They are savages, killers and brigands who take what they want with little regard for anyone but themselves. They have killed men, women, and children."
He let loose another shot at considerably close range. The skull of a raider was made into a sticy red paste which smeared itself upon the sand.
"Give them no mercy, for they deserve none!"
His teeth gritted to the point in which one could almost hear them crack.

[Skinner]

Skinner snapped, rounding on Conlan.
"You sound like them goddamn Luddites, yeh know that? I don't care! It's not our bloody place to pass judgment, mate, all I care about is that we're gettin' shot at! Now shut thy trap, and shoot to disarm, so they can go back an' tell their mates not to try messin' us around again!"

She turned angrily back to her engine, monitoring the dials, having to reduce the input of coal to avoid the combustion chamber blowing itself to smitherines.

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan exhaled, Skinner was right. He let his rage get the best of him. Without letting his gun down he put his vengeance aside and let his emotions simply burn out like a flame upon a candle.
His shots were more methodical, less deadly and far more precise,
"Aopologies, Skinner." He said with deadpan sincerity as he shot out the left leg of a running cycle.
He let loose another shot, peircing a raider's hand and robbing him of his weapon.
The remaining forces of the raiders slowed down, veering to the side, leaving their wounded and dead behind to bake in the sand, offering to the vultures.
Conlan lowered his gun, fighting the urge to pick off the last of them.
They needed to be alive. He told himself that over and over.
'The boar needs to know I live,'
He whispered to himself, slinging his rifle.
"Once more I am sorry for losing my composure.  I will understand if the captain wishes to reprimand me."

[Skinner]

Skinner didn't slow the rig yet. She wanted them dots on the horizon be"ore she would let her rest.
"I was a Captain, once upon a time." she replied very precisely, because she was fed up of him thinking she was his boss.
"Now, I'm a rig pilot. I may be a Captain again, but not yet, not now. Royce employs us, don't he? So it's him yeh need to call Captain. Not me."

She watched the remainder go, and frowned. "Mind, as a friend, I order yeh to go take a swig of spirits so yeh can calm it down."

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well, if those are orders..."
Conlan  reached into his hefty canvas sack and retreiving a metal flask which splashed and sloshed with liquid contents. He unscrewed the bottle and drank deeply from the steel container. The scrimshaw inlay of the steel was an ornate celtic cross. Conlan exhaled, feeling the holy spirit do its work.
"If its one thing both Irishmen and Catholics know, it's a good drink."
Conlan snickered at his words, a smirk crossing his chapped lips.
"I guess I must learn that not all things in this desert rely on rank alone. In the carbon-wastes of ireland thins differ greatly."
He extended his flask to Skinner.
"Such fine piloting deserves a bit of a toast to their skill. For not only did you steer the rig, but you were able to stop me from going mad out there."

[Skinner]

Skinner took a swig herself and began to calm down.
"Ta mate. Heh, if it's a toast, lessee... it's Friday today, ent it? If I remember correctly, on Fridays, it's "To Wives and Mistresses" she paused, then added quickly,
"May they ne'er meet!"

She laughed loudly and handed back the flask, watching the bandits fall away into the distance, deeming it safe to slow the hurried charge of the engine. "Well, you know, we might just have cut our journey time by ten minutes wi' that lil' burst o' speed. An' it'll take us a while fer the momentum to go back to... to..."

Suddenly Skinner stiffened a little, wobbled, eyes defocusing as her knees gave way. The adrenaline rush, incorrect eating pattern, lack of sleep and too much alcohol had finally made her pass out. She was asleep before she hit the deck, crumpled on her side.