Steam and Sand Game Thread

[Stella Gaslight]

Shamus the Boar was followed by a string of small scale explosions from Dear.  He was too armored and fast for her to take out but she could certanly annoy the hell out of him. Dear peered down at the lone figure struggling to hold on.  He had been holding the white flag before he had gotten hit.  Dear wondered if he knew why the bad men were attacking and how to make them stop.  She set up a tricky shot to illuminate him without harming him or the ship then fired.  Red was lit up like daylight attracting Rowland and his rig.

[MWBailey]

Malc drove Molly in closer to cover Roland's runabout should any surprises come from the front, or close pursuit from the rear. He was actually fairly amazed that nothing had upset or holed the boiler on the relatively-tiny steam carriage -- he blasted the Lewis gun at a group of three bikes and a scout car that got too close; he fired what he expected to be the mortar launcher in mount in te middle of the turret where that part of the tanks had once sported a 75-mm cannon, but instead of teh familiar "THUNNNGGG!" of the spring-loaded Launcher, his ears were assaulted by the sharp "BOOOM" of what sounded like the original 75-mm gun, adn the resulting impact and explosion in the sand flipped the scout car, even though the shell had not actually hit the vehicle; the cannon ejected the casing, and loaded another, apparently by recoil, and the spent casing rolled forward. Malc glanced down and saw that it was, indeed, a 75mm shell." Now wha' inna bleedin'..." he muttered, half inaudibly (no one else being in the tank but him), "I didn' order that!" He decided he 'd keep it for now, however, considering the single-wild-shot elimination of the scout car.

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan dearly wished he could have followed Shamus and crushed his beneath the mace of his steam armor. But there were more important things to deal with, like that bloody traitor.
The chestplate of the armor opened, letting Conlan exit. On the way out of the armor he helped dear out of the steam armor and into the safety of the rig.
He marched up to the space where Red clung for dear life and grabbed his hand, hoisting him to the safety of the back car.
He said nothing, simply glaring at him with a look of utter hatred that could have cut steel.
Then he drew his rifle, aiming it at Red's stomach.
"You endangered the crew, betrayed us to a lot of brutal savages, and put the girl I lo-protect in mortal danger, possibly putting her friends in far worse danger!"
He pulled his rifle away and shouldered it.
"But to return, you must have decided that you must either own up to your actions, or you have a very VERY good reason."

[Skinner]

Skinner couldn't hear anything going on, but she couldn't see Red dangling from the rig. She kept them close to the ravine wall as they began to crest the hill and join the desert plato. There were still pleanty of bandits and Anglian stragglers driving around them, but the rig was fiercely quick. As soon as they came off the Brizzle drive-track, she cut a tight turn and started to head South. Anglians were involved, and the Cornish would probably want to know that whether Mercia liked it or not, they would have a new ally in their war, soon enough.

No matter what creed, or breed or class, if Anglia was attacking them, Cornwall would be sure to aide.

Besides, Skinner thought, A pasty wouldn't do a harm, right now.

They wouldn't be able to keep this speed up for long, though. Though rig was freshly spruced, Charlotte was being too heavy handed on her, and at this rate in a week she'd be in the shop with a valve burst in some awkward place.

"Where's that turncoat bastard gone?" she roared over her shoulder. She couldn't hear what was going on at the back of the rig, some four cars away. "I don't hear any traitors bein' shot, and that needs to change sharpish!"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Because even a rat deserves mercy now and again!" Conlan called in reply to skinner. "Let us give him a moment to explain himself."
He kept the barrel of his rifle trained on him, though he did not let Red see his gun readied.
"I would suggest you make it fast, as Skinner is not as patient as I."

[MWBailey]

Malc and Molly kept roaring out in front of the rig, and pouring fire down the sides, doing his level best to keep pursuers away from the rig. Several times, he used his artillery upgrade (the 75mm gun) to blast a tank to shrapnel or bring an avalanche down from the ravine wall on top of a group of motorcycles. he had fired a total of ten 75's and the thing had still reloaded. He "guesstimated" that Molly must have been gifted with either twenty-shot reloadable flats, or an ammo hopper on the gun; by the sounds of clacks, "Buunnngg" noises and scrapes and clicks, he guessed it must be the hopper.

He looked back and noticed the 75's breech extended into the turret at a level from which the bottom of the breech assembly could be seen, and sayw a green tag back protruding by the election port. so, it had a colored-tag indicator to denote when it was loaded or not. it was a Bunne-Borie breech, then, and those only showed up on those new copies of the old Hotchkiss guns that some firm or other in Brizzle (so he had heard, at any rate) was making from reclaimed metals.

The 7-7 was holding its own, but Malc could see that Skinner was driving her hard, probably too hard; she'd have to slow the rig down sometime soon or blow a seal or a valve, or worse, throw a drive gear. Molly was made to go roaring about at top speed 24 hours per day; the 7-7 wasn't. To Malc's mind that meant that some body had to take their pursuers off the back of the rig. He looked, and saw Conlan pointing his rifle at Red; Flint was driving his Rig, while the others made up their minds to let Red and some Scots bastard aboard or not; that left him alone. "Well, ye allus wanted tae go up 'lone against Shamus'n whatever forces 'e 'ad with 'im, he thought as he smirked. C'mon, Malc, ya wanna live f 'rever?" He got up, ran to and climbed into the turret, popped the hatch, climbed up and resumed driving via the controls just below the hatch opening; he shrieked the whistle four times to get Skinner's attention; when he saw her looking in his direction, he pointed at himself, made a circle in the air, and pointed back behind him, and made gunning motions with that hand.

He couldn't tell for certain, but he thought he saw Skinner's jaw drop as the import of what he meant sank in; before she could give countermanding motions, he hit the brakes, slammed the steering levers in opposite directions, and in effect spun the tank around to face the enemy. Most were now a ways back, having learned it was futile to try and sneak up on either the tank or the rig. Some were obviously looking ahead with spyglasses or other equipment, since two or three of the walker tanks appeared to balk like frightened livestock, when they saw which way he was heading; Two scout cars actually collided and blew up, trying to avoid him ahead of time. Shells shot at him went wide and wild, some falling far short, other overshooting by laughable degrees, and others missed him but hit the ground very close to him; if Molly were a half-ton lighter she would have been flipped by the concussions.

He switched to high gear, opened the throttle wide, and shrieked the whistle long and high and low and made it ululate, as he began firing 75 and 35mm shells all across the front of the Anglian/Boar bandit line. Motorcycles upended, tanks, both walker and tracked, exploded, and lorries filled with infantry stopped or flipped or turned over as the barrage began to hit home. Then, Malc swung out to the left, and then hooked back to the right, running at nearly a 90-degree angle into the front line of the  Anglian/Boar pursuit, ramming and blasting everything in his path. The entire Anglian/bandit force curled in on itself, then, effectively ceasing to move forward after the 7-7, in their collective lust to destroy the annoying thorn in their side.

And then the "dog-pile" began...

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear wanted to know everything in the world.  It was why she peppered Conlan with questions constantly and got in to everything she could, It was why she was watching the standoff between Red and Conlan and trying to understand why someone would try and hurt their friends.  None of this made since to her so she kept watching hoping for illumination.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce looked. He couldn't see Shamus, but there were still a multitude of bandits. And worse they seemed to have them surrounded. Even the 7-7 couldn't stand up against that much firepower alone.

But then they weren't alone. Shapes blacker than the night sprang forth. Royce recognized the black painted rigs. It was the Knights of Mercia! Finally. There was a blaze of guns and the bandits and whatever Anglians were with them were sent packing into the night. Royce called a halt to the 7-7. He stepped out.

"Many thanks." he said. "Nearly had us there."

He looked. The Knights seemed to be ignoring him, standing to attention with a salute. He saw a man in the rig's lights walking forwards.

"Is this the infamous rig that caused all that trouble?" he asked. Royce could see he was an older man.

"Yes." he said. He was getting tired of having to explain this to Mercian officers over and over. "I'm sorry but who might you be?"

The Knights gave him glares. The man smiled thinly. "I am Lord Percival Trenton, the Knight Master of the Knights of Mercia."

"Oh. Well, nice to meet you. Sir."

"I came out this way when I heard of an attack upon a Mercian Atrium - that is unprecedented."

"I know! We need to - "

"Could you spare a moment? I think we should talk in private."

"Yessir. Skinner! See if Red's still hanging on, with whatever friends he has. Interrogate him. But uh... leave him in one piece. I think Conlan's nabbed him back there actually."

[MWBailey]

A late-arriving Knight's rig, escorting a very-cordite-singed APC, its 75 mm gun stil smoking slightly, pulled in to the the makeshift laager of rigs and the 7-7. Malc had nearly run the Knight down, thinking (if it could be called such),  in his haste and battle-madness that the black-painted rig was some kind of night-fighting Anglian rig. Malc and the Knight  both exited and went aboard the 7-7, walking through teh corridor until they found Red and the rest of the crew.

"Excuse me," the Knight said tersely," but do any of you people claim this insane person as a member of your crew?" His voice took on a note of outrage,"there's a veritable trainwreck of Anglians and bandits 'way back behind us, where this lunatic managed to blow up half the Anglian rear, and make the ones he didn't blast to splinters smash into each other trying to ram him; nothing wrong with blasting the enemy to smithereens, but then he nearly attacked my rig! The knight continued, "I understand he was hooked to the rear of this rig, is that right? well, keep his tank attached like it was before, at least until we get clear of the battlefield! Thank you!" and with that, the knight turned on his heel and left.

Malc looked t the others and shrugged. "I had to do somethin', as far as I could telll, I was the only one not dealin' with with Red, 'ere...

[Stella Gaslight]

 Conlan was binding Red's wrists behind his back.  Red looked rather relieved to no longer have a gun pointed at him but Conlan let him know he was not forgiven yet. The big metal men came out of nowhere as Dear watched.  At first she readied her slingshot to fire at them but then she realized that they were like her metal man and helping them.  "Conlan look there a whole lot of things out there like you."

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well of course there are." Conlan said matter-of-factly as Red was carried off by an irate red.
"Knights are all over europe, keeping citizens and royalty safe."

Conlan smiled warmly, observing the work of his fellow knights.
"You see, each knight has a coat of arms, so when you want to make sure that the person is a knight, just look for their coat of arms and they'll help you." He tapped his own pauldron, showing her his own symbol, the crest of blackthorns. "Well, unless their wearing red armor, those are Anglians. Bad men. If you see one of them, tell me right away."

"I am sorry for flying off the handle like that Dear." He said apolagetically. "I just hated the idea that someone I trusted could have been responsible for you almost getting hurt in the atrium."
He turned towards the window, watching the silouettes of mercian knights sprinting across the sandy valleys.

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear took his hand.  "Dear understands. Dear was mad when those bad men hit Martha too.  Being mad paints things in funny colors.  So those metal men are Dear's friends then cause that bad man called Dear a princess.  He was right wasn't he?  Mama said all little girls are princesses but this is more than that isn't it?"

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well, Dear..."
He reached into his pocket, handing her a picture of her pasted onto that of her family. The royal seal was printed upon the upper left corner.
The words "Princess Beatrice of Britannia" were written in bright, cursive letters.
"You are a princess, Beatrice. And because of this, I have sworn to protect and defend you. It's a knight's duty."
He placed his hands upon her shoulders.
"You're here for a very important reason. With you, we can reunite Britain. We can rebuild a nation once more. I know it sounds scary now, but remember all those stories. The brave knight will always be there to defend the princess."
He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes with a gentility only a girl could usher from one such as him.

[Stella Gaslight]

She looked in to Conlan's eyes and let her thoughts bubble and brew.  A lot of things were easy to understand now. "Dear is Beatrice and that is why the bad men came."  She looked as tho that thought was very disturbing to her.  "Dear will have to hide so the bad men don't hurt other people to find her but princesses in stories always have happy endings so Dear gets one too.  Dear doesn't want fancy clothes or a castle somewhere Dear wants to stay here with Conlan.  Cause Dear is Dear."  She put her arms around him and hugged him just like she had seen Martha hug her children.

[MWBailey]

While Conlan was explaining things to Dear, Malc was busy recoupling the APC to the rear of the Rig. When that was finished, he opened the recess within which the corridor extension and the carriage door resided, and got all of that hooked up and ready, then went forward and reported to Skinner.

"Skinner, Molly is recoupled and ready for whatever service is required of her," he announced.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Well then, Dear I will take great pains to make sure you get your wish. You will have your happily ever after."
He hugged her back, his arms wrapping slowly around her at furst, but eventually embracing her fully, her body heat penetrated his armor and the mesh beneath it.
His cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, he was thankful that the light was low enough so that she could not see.
"No matter what you do with your life, I will be there by your side."

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear smiled happy and warm in his arms.  "That is all Dear needs really. We should make sure everyone is alright.  There was a lot of shooting."

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan broke off quickly, his gaze turning to the floor and then the celing, darting about nervously like the gaze of a cockatiel.
"Er, right. Yes. Well, you have a point."
He quickly headed to the head car, passing the room where he had seen Skinner drag red as if it had not existed, and it would continue to not exist until he was sure that Skinner was done and Red was not dead.
He exited the rig, observing the conversation between Percival Trenton and Royce. He kept his hand on his rifle in case things went sour, his suspicions grew even heavier when he saw the head knight smiling. That was until he saw that Royce appeared to be negotiating with the armored figure.
He kept his eye on dear, hoping that the knights, formed to guard the royal family would not recognise Dear's features and make things more public than they needed to be.
No matter how he attempted to focus on the conversation, every so often his mind would slip away into thoughts of Dear. Her bright, somewhat crooked smile seemed to cut through the otherwise grayness of his thoughts.

[Titus Wells]

Red offered no resistance to his hands being tied. An explanation was not forthcoming, Red was unsure how much the knight would believe or accept. For the moment he reckoned being trussed and forced into one of the rig's cubby-holes, doubling as a brig, was about the best he could hope for. At least until the rig was well clear of danger.

[Skinner]

Skinner grunted in reply to Malc's chirped report. She had her revolved in hand as she stomped down the carriages towards the place where Red was held bound. She didn't hesitate to flick off the safety.

"You had promise." She whispered hoarsely. "I thought, perhaps, I could teach you how to manage this girl, jus' like my dad taught me, in case I was killed. Maybe I could get a night off, once in a while, maybe, I could trust you at her helm. But I ent slept in days, boy'o." She patted the sidearm dangerously.

"You lead 'em right to us. Yeh told them what we had, where we were goin'. Singlehandedly, yeh've started a war between Mercia and Anglia. Worst of all, you have exhiled me from my family, my home. My Son. They know that if we hadn't come there, neither would you. Any correspondance I now send to them will be confiscated and destroyed, or worse, they'll be put on trial for endangering Brizzilian lives just by knowin' us. That's what you've done to me, mate. Why don't you tell me why you've ruined my chances of happiness fer a good couple years, eh?"

Her tone was so casual, but so bitter, that she sounded more vicious and cold than when she was just roaring.

[Titus Wells]

"You won't believe me Skinner, but the Anglians were nothing to do with me. I could try and explain to you, but growing up without your parents, you always hope that there's a chance they're still about. It was totally out of order to jump on that bike, tear off in the hope of finding some answers, and, honestly, I didn't think I'd ever be coming back. See, for me this whole world's just a dead heap and we're scratching a living as best we can, but it's not worth a penny most of the time. What matters is family and friends, and I thought I had a chance to find the former, but all I did was lose the latter and cost you your family life as well. Skinner, I wouldn't blame you for pulling that trigger right now, in fact I'd probably do it myself."

[Skinner]

Skinner frowned. She pointed the muzzle of the gun out of an already broken window, where no one else was stood, and fired. To anyone outside it would sound like she had killed him. Once the bullet was discharged, she could put the safety back on and holster it.

Then she turned to leave. Before she reached the door, she muttered, "They still used you to find us. That won't be so easy to forgive. I'm sorry yeh couldn't find yer family."

Then she stalked towards her cabin, got out her pipe and tobacco, alighted from the rig, and wandered a little ways off from the Knights and the Crew, leaving a trail of smoke rising into the sky quite like the loco's did.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce sat down in the interior of the rig, which was surprisingly ornate and comfortable on the the inside. He quickly explained as best as he could the cause of the Anglian interest in Dear.

"The poor girl has no wishes whatsoever as far as politics and royalty go, but King Richard won't let that stop him. He's already been willing to attack an Atrium, using Scottish mercenaries no less."

Trenton sighed. "And what do we do? Go to war? Even Cornwall and Mercia combined couldn't drive back Anglia. Mercia has survived through neutrality and a threatening land. If Anglia invaded, they know that we would fight for every inch. We would blow up our Atriums if there were enough Anglians inside. We would harry them to the last inch of our ground. But fighting in our large, open spaces is much different than assaulting Anglia directly. Mercia simply has not the power."

"Look! Do you think that they won't attack this way when Cornwall is conquered? If we don't deal with them now they will have what they want."

Royce made a silent sigh in his mind. He'd wanted to stay out of things like this but they just seemed to follow him.

"Plus." he added. "Anglia has been spending a lot of resources digging up Pre-Event information and artifacts, even stealing it from others. How long do you think it is before they get something you can't hope to beat? What if they start fielding airships? There would be nothing you could do. No other nation, not even the factories of Lancashire, have a hope of making something like that."

Trenton considered his last words. "Indeed, but only if the other four nations worked in concert could there even be a hope of even checking Anglia's power."

Royce laughed bitterly. "That's an impossibility. I've come from the north. York and Lancashire would rather burn their capitals to the ground than even consider collaboration. There were attempts, after the war. But the raiding and mercenary action is out of control up there."

"I know." replied Trenton, thinking again. "I've had men up there. It would seem, however, that the current chaos has more than a bit of Scottish help. Shamus the Boar was here, you know?"

"Yes. This is the second time we've run into him."

"He's been surprisingly adept and organizing the various warlords. He is a threat greater than York or Lancashire are to each other."

Both men paused.

"If he were to be defeated." said Royce. "Scotland could be easily... contained."

"Then some sort of negotiations could begin. If we had gotten here sooner... I have men after him, but I doubt they'll catch him before the border, which they cannot cross."

Royce could see where this was going.

"Alright. I have some personal hatred for the man. My crew will head north and we'll deal with him. Then with the Warring Roses, if possible."

"You're a brave group. I would help take care of that girl..."

"She's safer on the move and farther north. And Anglia wouldn't hesitate to attack if they knew Mercia was harbouring her directly."

"True. I understand political matters are uncomfortable for some. Let us consider this a bounty. If you bring proof of Shamus' death, I will compensate you."

"Thank you. We'll be off soon. I do have one thing to deal with." He hoped Skinner hadn't killed Red by now... he then heard the shot.

"Well, looks like that's been dealt with..." he said with a sigh.

[Stella Gaslight]

All the knight's steam armors were slightly different and Dear was curious.  "Conlan that one has tread feet, that one has a little head  and that one has a cape.  None of them look like ours why is that?'

[Titus Wells]

Red sighed. Now he'd have to face the others as well. He curled into a ball and shut his eyes tightly, welcoming the darkness that came all too easily.