Steam and Sand Game Thread

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"More green?" said Royce. "That's the understatement of the week. This... without an Atrium greenhouse, I don't see how this is possible... to have something like this, it must have lasted through the Event itself. There's no way this could have all just grown back..."

He looked up at the mantle. A series of portraits stared down, the central and largest being a rather imperious looking woman in regal dress.

"Hrm. Victoria. Maybe she was a queen or something pre-event." he mused. He got over his wonder, thinking.

"These things aren't just valuable to us, but could be used to further... well, everything. But there's no way we'll be taking much of it until the rig shows up. Have a look round - this place is bigger than even the houses of the richest people I know..."


------

A sound of engines began to thrum through Southhampton. The folk, already irritated by this first wave of strange folk were moving back inside with bitter mutterings, doors being shut and windows closed. The group moving in was made of various single rigs, open roofed with long treads, surround one larger tracked tank, flying a white flag with red cross. The Anglian team bypassed Southhampton entirely, the tank waiting by the water while the amphibious smaller tracked vehicles splashed into the water and began to move through the sea and mud towards the Isle.

[MWBailey]

Malc looked behind him when the noise reached their position, and said, "er..." He looked to his weapons, to the comparatively gigantic caravan, to the 7-7, to Molly, and said. "er...if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get me things and get in and button up; you lot might want to do the same, and follow that great Lot crossing the drink down there. They're  Anglians, yeah, but they're better'n the bloody Scots!

Malc grabbed his swordbelt and gunbelt and slung them both over one shoulder, and scaled Molly like a great ape scaling a tree, unlocked the driver's hatch, and plopped down in side, and then popped up again in the turret. There were various loud hisses, clanks, and the sound of pistons chuffing very quickly, then slowing down as the gear train caught up, and the APC backed up, making a backward turn to the right, while Malc turned the turret back to the front, and then Molly turned back out to the right again, Malc throwing a salute to Red and the 7-7, and then stopping, obviously waiting impatiently for them to get underway.

"Well, C'mon, then!" he yelled, "get in your rig and get drivin'! They're showin' us the way!" He stuck the stake with the white flag on it into a cavity in the turret where the mount for a Vickers gun had once sat, long ago, and both rigs started driving slowly toward the monstrosity that was guarding the crossing as the smaller craft crossed over. He shrieked the steam whistle, and clanged the boiler-bell (it being the only bell Molly had) to grab the Tank Commander's attention, then remembered the old "two feathers" steam-symbol for peaceful intent, and let two continuous puffs of steam, side-by-side on the mostly-disused signal pipe, billow out as he approached the now-obviously-frighteningly-large tank; taller than Molly by only about five feet, but broader by ten and longer by what looked to be nearly a hundred, with at least two turrets that Malc could see with the light the way it was. The bigger tank loosed a bellowing ocean liner-ish whistle, and Malc stopped Molly approximately fifty feet away, letting his own almost-comically-higher-voiced whistle shriek loud and long in answer. the 7-7 pulling up alongside as Red had said it would.

[Titus Wells]

"Malc, a pleasure to meet you. I'll bring her alongside and let's get to that throng, they must know something about crossing these flats I don't!"

Red leapt back down into the cabin, turned up the boilers and opened the 7-7 full throttle. She pivotted a little too fats on her axis, showing Red's inexperience with maneuvering the great behemoth.

"Skinner!" He bellowed back into the quarters, "I expect you're feeling a little off right now, but we really have to get moving, anyone available to shovel?"

[MWBailey]

The commander of the massive Anglian tank leaned out of an observation port ion t he forward turret, and produced a large rolled plywood megaphone to shout through, and demanded that they state their business.

Malc pulled his own megaphone, a foldable, boiled-leather affair that was no less big than the Commander's whenm unfurled and bottoned in th eproper places. He bellowed through the thing in answer, shouting so as to be heard above the noise,
"MALCOLM, MCCRORY, FREELANCE TANKER AND SOMETIME BOUNTY HUNTER, I SAVED THAT LI'L GIRL FROM THE SCOTS A COUPLE WEEKS AGO," he figured he'd include that, hoping they would have heard of it, and that it might grease the wheels of diplomacy, so to speak.

He continued, "HIS LORDSHIP WITH THE 'BIKE CAVALRY SAID WE WAS TO AID YOU PEOPLE IF WE RUN ACROSS YOU. WE'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE 'OW TO CROSS; CAN WE DO SO WITH YOUR PARTY? "MOLLY" 'ERE'S AN OLD AMPHIB, BUT ME PARTNER, 'ERE, 'IS RIG'S NOT. CAN HE BE CARRIED OVER BY SOMEBODY, OR IS THE WATER SHALLOW ENOUGH TO DRIV E THROUGH?

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan turned around to hear Royce's statement, his backpack bulged with books, looking more like a caterpillar who had swallowed far too many square shaped biscuits.
"I think you're right, perhaps this place was meant to preserve knowledge after the disaster. Like some sort of precaution." A strange humming noise rose through the window. The sound of motors.
"Did the 7-7 get here that fast?" Conlan headed to the window to spot his allies and plan out where else he could store all these books, However, his jaw dropped in abject shock.
"Anglians! Anglians are crossing the water!"
Conlan drew his sword, a look of fury crossing his face.
"We can't let the Anglians get to this stuff! Knowing them, they'd keep it all in a private cache and not let anyone but themselves read it! That's the sort of thing the O'Draigen house wanted to stop! I'll die before I let any of them keep knowledge like this isolated!"

[Titus Wells]

The Anglian commander gave Malc's statement some consideration. They could just make out a hurried conversation with another figure inside the tank. Eventually he raised the megaphone back to his lips and bellowed:

"Alright Merc. We heard about your rescue, carry on ahead of this unit and we'll find you a carrier. You're strictly under Anglian Military Escort though, understand? Bounty hunters have a nasty habit of looking out for their best interests. While you and your rig ride under the Anglian banners you're with us understand?"

The two vehicles pulled in line with the Anglian tank and the convoy ploughed on towards the water.

From the 7-7's cabin, Red could make out the forms of low, steam-driven landing craft lining the banks. These were shuttling across the vehicles pouring to the water's edge. Though they were carrying across the Anglian tanks with no problem Red figured they'd probably have to unhitch the rig's rear carriage to get onto the craft. He hoped Malc would be able to find a convincing story for them, it wouldn't do to set against a contingent of Anglian soldiers.

[Skinner]

Skinner drank the offered brew from Kat, and grimaced.
"...If it's good for me, well... ugh!" and she downed the rest with a hurried "Ta lass" then bolted up into the cabin. She tutted Red aside, and started to turn the 7-7 back into a behaving rig rather than an irrate behemouth.
"Fill me in, Boy-O! What are we doin', and what are them Anglian's doin' there, an'... why is that big island green for heaven's sakes?!"

[Titus Wells]

"No idea why it's green. Conlan, Royce, and Ben have gone over in a canoe to check it out. Meanwhile we seem to have teamed up with a Bounty-Hunter and supply-runner called Malc who's driving that APC alongside. He's talked us into the Anglian posse who seem intent on swarming the Isle for some reason and are going to get us across somehow. Better that than be hauled up before the military courts as bandits and trespassers I suppose."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear looked out the window and got very angry.  "More metal men to take Dear's home away?  Dear won't let them."  Dear was getting scared too there were so many people that this was starting to feel like the fight that made her mama go away.  "There are metal things to make people go away in the basement but Dear can't open the door."

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Royce, I know we have to avoid incidents on such a political scale, but we can't let this technology fall into the hands of Anglians! Knowledge like this needes to be spread around! That damn king of theirs would just lock them all up!"

He whirled around to Dear, placing his hands upon her shoulders and looking into her eyes.
"Dear. Take me to this room of metal things. Maybe I can open the door."

[Stella Gaslight]

"Follow Dear."  She scampered back in to the plush hallway and then down a half hidden staircase.  "Dear used to come here when she was little but they said it was dangerous and that the big man didn't want dear down there so they sent Dear away."  She led him to a masive metal door with a big lock. "See Dear can't make it open."  She tugged hard on the door but it wouldn't budge.

[Mina]

Kat quickly drained her cup and dashed up after Skinner. Her breath caught as she saw the armada of Anglian rigs.
"What the-- what have I missed, and what can I do?"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well this is a fine, frosty mug of annoying..."
He examined the sturdy lock, recalling the same nature of lock within the castle of Draigen. He pressed his ear to the steel of the door, turning the metal vault lock inch by inch, turning it in the opposite direction upon hearing a click, recalling that being the method of the older squires who wanted to see the weaponry and steam armor.
A triumphant Clank let him know the door had become unlocked.
"Hah! yes!" He swung the steel door open to reveal the room within.

[MWBailey]

"Understood, Clearly, Captain." Malc drove at what was about the regular clip for a tank with permission to be where it was in a river crossing join the crossing; he looked for a really big landing craft, and finally spotted a big one down at the end of the line; one of those hinged-bows things that had an actual wheelhouse and smokestacks, which looked like a ferry on tracks. that'd be the ticket to carry the 7-7, and him across, or in different trips, however the captain of teh rig decided to do it or how it finally fell out, whichever happened first. He led the 7-7 around the massed waiting lines, keeping his turret guns socked and pointed at the sky.  

Once, he had to add more coal to the firebox, and thanked providence that he had gone ahead and put in a remote scuttle lever in both the turret and the cab. Once he had gotten both the 7-7 and "Molly" on board the transport, he unlocked the porthole that held the siphon hose, and lowered it to the surface of The Solent. (he had managed a spot close to the railing for both vehicles). He raised it back up, flicked a finger over the tip of teh hose, tasted the water, found it to be fresh without a hint of salt, and lowered teh sipon again, this time letting it sink up to the float he hade glued to the hose so long ago. He stepped to the porthole again, yanked a lever down, and gears sang along to a popping cadence as the siphon pump pulled water into "Molly"'s tanks.

They had found that the guards at the crossing were too busy to listen to his story of meeting up with his old friend Royce, and chumming up with the rig he was captain of, and were waved on in, almost impatiently, since there were a few other large rigs that needed the big transport's service. He wondered what was being done about keeping track of who was where, until an irritatingly persistent blinking light attracted his attention; Morse code impressed itself upon his regimented brain, and he realized the light was transmitting orders and messages to the rest of the convoy.

HE walked over to the one oif teh doors of teh 7-7, up at the front on the part with the cowcatcher, and rapped three times, and waited for them to open the door. When one of them opened up, he said, "I need to talk to Red, so we can coordinate and avoid troubles; I've also got Molly taking on water, and I'll run a hose over to your tanks if you'd like; Might be the last boiler water for a while. Permission to come aboard?"

[Stella Gaslight]

Inside their was a rack of swords and a table full of various kinds of guns.  Below the table ammo boxes were labeled with neat precise handwriting and there were some odd explosives as well.  A huge shell launcher took up a corner and a Gatling gun took up one of the others.  Scattered around were other weapons that Dear didn't know the name of and a few more big machines.  "We can make the other metal men go away now right?"

[Mina]

Kat looked down at Malc as he explained what was going on.

"Er... sure, hop on in. Red's right in here." She led him into the cabin, then fell back into a corner to allow more room for the visitor.

[MWBailey]

Red? Mind if I step in? I thought it'd be a good I dea to get our story straight. so far, I've got about as far as tellin' the guards that your Royce is an old buddy of mine; thats stretchin' it a bit." He chuckled, thinking about just how far it stretched the truth. "We both served in the same unit back a few years ago, in the Yorkshire Guards. I drove for 'im once or twice, but thats about as well as I knows 'im. think he already knows I'm a bounty hunter; I already had a rep back then, even though like now I only did it when I couldn't find anythin' else." he paused for a breath, then continued. "That and tellin' 'em that I saw you lot going by and I recognized Royce is about as far as I got before they waved me quiet and said they didnt have time and didnt care." He changed the subject just to be sure that his offer of water was voiced again: "By the by, I have Molly takin on water; when we gets through here, if we have time, I 'll pump some up from the river for your tanks as well if you like. I checked it, the water hereabouts is fresh. "He shut up, then, waiting to hear any Ideas the fellow or the other crewmembers might have.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Why yes..." He said in an attempt to stay composed. "Yes, we can."
He tossed his standard cutchullan model rifle to the floor, searching for a perfect model and finding it in a sleek, streamlined Irish rifle usually saved for full fledged knights. The black, curved butt was carved with a Gaelic cross inlaid with enamel. Hanging from the rifle was a leather satchel filled with boxes of bullets.
"A weapon storage. Whoever built this place must have wanted this technology defended."

A gigantic shadow cast itself upon the young knight. He turned slowly around to see a suit of steam armor, reclining like a sleeping warrior against the wall of the storage room.
"A suit of steam knights armor! They only give these to the elite knights of Europe!"
The armor bore a black sheen, its pauldrons marked with the symbol of sword wrapped in black thorns. The tip of the blade digging into the belly of a serpent.

[Titus Wells]

"Thanks Malc, we owe you one for getting us this far. I don't know how we'd have got this beast over the water without help. We could use some water too. You really ought to talk to Skinner here, I'm only filling in because everyone else was asleep or investigating the island. Skinner's most likely captain in Royce's absence."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear's eyes lit up.  "I know that big metal thing. Mr Conner used to make it dance for me. He was good at dancing. Dear wants to help keep her home safe  Can Dear have one of these?" Dear knew from earlier that throwing rocks at metal men didn't make them go away.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well, we'll need something that handles like a rock, seeing as how you seem to throw those with pinpoint accuracy."
He stroked the lump on his head, the throbbing pain reminding him of her select set of skills.
He reached out to something hanging off the wall, handing it to Dear. It was a long, sheepskin belt which clacked with round, black orbs dangling off special little loops. A mesh bag hung off the very end of the belt, carrying several more balls. With the balls came a pair of small rings, one wider than the other.
He slipped one ring around her thumb, the other went around the tip of her pointer finger.

"Now if I remember right," Conlan recalled "Those rings are made of flint and steel. Rub them together and you make a spark. When you see an enemy, rub your fingers together over the wicks at the end of each ball. Then, throw them as fast and as hard as you can, just like the rocks. There will be a huge explosion. That ought to keep those damn anglians at bay. I'll stay beside you and make sure they don't Aim for you."

[MWBailey]

"Ms. Skinner, glad to make yer acquaintance." Malc said, extending a hand and shaking with the redheaded pilot. "Malc McCrory's the name. D' you need any water? I've got my siphon ove rthe side out there, and the water's fresh, i checked it myself."

"I  wish I could spare you some coal, but my bunker's only half full just now. I was toyin' with switchin' over to Naptha or alky for a while, maybe get rid of some o' th' creosote in th' flue. but that'll have to wait. it takes about four hours to do the switch right." H# pause dfor a minute, then said, it seem sto me we need to get away from these anglians and get to the mansion chop-chop; thw others just might gettrapped." he pulled an ancient roadmap out of his back pocket, and opened it to the Isle. "Here's where we are; I'd say we're about mid-channel. it'll take at least twenty more minutes to get to shore and the ferry to line up with whatever its setting us off on. I'm guessing it'll be about right here." he pointed to a spot on the Isle's shoreline. "there's this old cart track goin' up on this side; we can make it easy, but lookin at most of their rigs, I'd say they'd have hell with it, and will probably take the Coach road here' as you can see, the cart track will knock off quite a huge chunk of the trip, if we can get disentangled and up there.

i'd say be ready for teh least distraction, an bolt when the opportunity presents itself, you leadin' and me followin' since they just might start shooting and I've giot somewhat to shoot back with."

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"Damn it..." muttered Royce. "Damn." He knew it was near suicidal to defy Anglians in such large numbers. But he knew that Conlan was right. And he was damn stubborn about things like these. He rushed upstairs, just as the front door burst open. A short man in a brimmed hat looked at him in confusion.

"Who the hell are you!" he squawked. A man in a pith helmet and a red coat moved beside him. Royce could see conscripts in brown shirts moving off their rigs, while a small number of redcoats supervised. More men in brimmed hats were drawing on maps and taking notes.

"Me? Well, I'm now part owner of this house. My crew has been here first and I invoke scavenger's law." He realized just how dangerous this was starting to be.

"What?!" squawked the man again. "Do you know what this place is? This house was owned by the British Royal family, pre-event. It thus falls that the house and all things within it are continued property of the Royal Family, you thief!"

"Hmm. I doubt all of this is. I'll let you come and pick what heirlooms you want returned, but you shall do so under our supervision."

"He's bluffing us." said the man in the pith helmet. "I've seen no rig around here. He can't have more than a handful of scum in there. Look here, you piece of trash. My men are unloading the salvaging equipment. I'm giving you fifteen minutes to get out of here."

Royce slammed and bolted the door.

"Damn"

----

Meanwhile, out in the woods, robed figures watched the altercation.

"Once they are done... we move."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear was playing with her rings when she heard the talking from upstairs and went to investigate.  She peered out the front window and frowned at the man in the funny hat.  Dear struggled for a moment but then opened one of the small ventilation windows and popped her head out.  "This is Dear's house so go away funny hat man." She quickly pulled her head back in in case he had rocks to throw at her.

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan strapped on his new rifle, placing a pair of matching, ivory-handled revolvers into the two smaller holsters on either side. Conlan's first objective was to keep the books he had aquired safe. He did this by placing his sack of books into the armored bin attached to the massive steam armor's back to assure they would be unharmed during the skirmish. The conical "Helmet" visor of the armor slid upward as the breastplate of the machine Slid down to permit entrance for the young knight.

Conlan slid both arms into the cavernous, hollow gauntlets of the steam armor, sliding his fingers into the rings within them. Each ring was attached to a silver wire, and as he clenched his fist, the armor did as well. He placed both legs into a special set of bracers and let the chestplate and visor close around him.
He inhaled deeply and smiled warmly, the scent of leather and steel telling him now that he was a knight. Conlan searched for a weapon, finding it in a massive steel mace as large as he was. A triangular shield bearing the O'Draigen emblem lay beside it. He took them up and had to duct to leave the weapons vault. He was fully ready for the battle now.
"Let's see those damn Angs get their greasy mitts on those books now!"

In his steam armor, Conlan towered nine feet tall, and was terribly thankful of the high celing, though he bumped his head on the chandeleirs more times than he cared to mention.

"Royce! I'm ready!" He announced, entering the main hall.