Steam and Sand Game Thread

[MWBailey]

Malc's blood rose in a tide that threatened to take all of his sanity with it. No... not like this, not now, we've nearly got her free! silently, and then Vocally."NO! Never surrender!" MCRORY FOR THE QUEEN!" and poked the rocket launcher, which had somehow found its way into his hand, out of the porthole, and quick-whipped the turrret around to face front, and fired every weapon he could lay hand to at that second at the enemy APC.

The driver of the Anglian APC needed none of the frantic "encouragement" from the commander in the turret, yet the Commander kept screaming to "BACK UP! BACK UP!" The Anglian APC had actually begun to move back, and was halfway out of the way, when first the rocket struck and blasted through the left-hand loophole, setting off the ammunition at about the same moment that the Lewis rounds, and the four 35mm shells that had been left in the cylinder, crashed home on the armor of the APC.

The resulting hits reduced the Anglian vehicle to flaming, white-hot scrap metal that Molly crashed into and caused to spin to the left, off of the bridge approach; Molly came down directly on top of the scout car that had also parked athwart the road behind the Anglian APC, and crushed and left it behind, plowing into and scattering some of the Scots motorcycle cavalry beyond, and just flat running over most of the rest, barely slowing in her headlong dash away from the bridge. As far as he could tell, the rig, It's own lights on and blazing now, plowed through just as mercilessly as he had done, a few of the crew apparently shooting at the thoroughly-demoralized enemy.

He flashed his rear running lights back at the rig: "WHERE NOW?...WHERE NOW?" And received a rather hurried and unsteady, "XFRID BST SPUD," and figured Skinner was sending in garblecode "OXFORD, BEST SPEED." Luckily, he'd driven that route from this coast with his Da, twenty years before or more; he opened the throttle a bit wider, then put the last gear on, and they were off again, the rig easily keeping pace with the Smaller tank. Malc flipped out through the hatch the big, square carbon Mars Arc-Light that was mounted on an articulated arm for that purpose, and switched it on.

The Mars light's daylight-bright beam circled around in a tight circle, illuminating a wide area on both sides of the roadway and the middle of it as well, for a very long distance ahead; if something or someone jumped out in front of them, he wanted to have time to shoot it. He reloaded the rocket launcher for that purpose, and wished for the thousandth time that day that he had a passenger or co-driver to handle reloading whilst he drove...

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear yawned and curled up in her cot.  "The dragon story please."  It was quite obvious she was barely hanging on to wakefulness.  There was a boom and bright lights but Dear was half in dreamland and didn't notice them.

[Nigel Wetherby]

"Once upon a time..."
He began warmly, the sky burning white hot as the road ahead was revealed. Clouds of sand fluttered and stroked the portholes. If one looked deeply into the amber mist, you could make out the story before them as the rig rocked her like a humming metal crib.
Conlan told a story of a brave steam knight who rode upon a shining steel horse who rode across the carbon wastes to save a fair maiden from a ferocious clockwork dragon crafted by an evil Druid.
She could almost hear the whirring of the horses gears and the clanging of the heroe's blade upon the brass skin of the artificial dragon.
The whirling sands formed the flowing images of the dragon's defeat.
"And so, bright red flowers sprung up from wherever the mighty heroe's blood had hit the sand. Where briars grew and wound around where the dragon's grease had splashed.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

They were at the crossing. There were only a few Cornish tanks here - they looked to be pulling back. The Anglians were about to make the final push onto the island and it looked like they'd be trapped there.

"Alright Skinner, we need this lovely to go faster than she ever has before. One second, I have a little trick for political situations like that."

He quickly ran a flag up from the front carriage, the Ensign of the Cornish Volunteers. It would be impossible to try and pass themselves off as military, but it was common for certain politically minded folk to join up in the volunteer brigades. At least this way they wouldn't get shot at where they were running too - just from behind.

There was continued splashing as the 7-7 roared through the mud, making the cross. Southhampton was deserted, the last of the Cornish tanks pulling back. But the Anglians were all around. One shack was splintered into pieces as one of the Anglian centaur walkers crushed it underfoot. Conscripts stopped and opened fire on them, their rifles thankfully ineffective. Another APC came close, but an Ironside turned his turret and blasted it, assuming the 7-7 was an ally.

"Drive, drive, drive!" he chanted under his breath. He leaned out the back, sending a rocket streaking into the uncomfortably close leg of an Anglian walker. Shells burst, but the rig kept on. Eventually the enemy started to thin. They were not giving a full pursuit past a point, occupied with securing Southhampton and the Isle. Cornwall had been dealt another defeat here, though that was expected - they had the much smaller force, only reacting to the movement of Anglia and not realizing just how much the King wanted this territory. Royce was just glad they had gotten out of it. A blue plume of smoke shot up in the distance - obviously a regrouping point for the Cornish force.

"Just keep heading west." he breathed. "I won't feel safe until I can't see any of this place. We'll get far enough and then mark our course. Maybe back to Brizzle?"

[MWBailey]

It had begun with a slight "tick" every few cycles of the left-hand pillar driver. The cylinders, valves, feeds, everything else was just fine, but that bent guide rod for the left-hand articulated arm frog... it had been bent by the sheer concussion of that Scottish rocket, and Malc had bent it back until the frog slid forward and back again, but that did not mean that it was truly fixed -- and it was getting worse. Not by much, not all at once, but Malc could tell a worsening difference over the next twenty or thirty minutes.

He was still out in front, the Mars light was still showing the way, Molly was still forging ahead, faster than most tanks of her size, thanks to the 'souping up" that Malc had done to her over the years... but that guide rod was causing wear; wear that might need more than just a quick change of rods on the side of the road. it looked as if he might need to ask Skinner or Royce to allow him to latch the rear of the tank to the 7-7, offering Molly's services as a rear locomotive once he fixed the left -hand drive train, in return for the tow while he worked on it.

He wasn't worried about damage to the front end; although it looked like a regular missile carrier cab, it in fact had been re-braced and fortified, the metal plating added to, and large masses of steel welded on both inside and out, both for counterweighting and for strengthening the front end to do the kind of "ram it down or aside" driving that Malc had been doing with it ever since. as the guide rod began clicking at every stroke, whether out or in, forward or back, Malc made his decision; once they reached a stopping point, he'd pull up beside the cabin and ask...

[Skinner]

Skinner didn't know morse code. Perhaps it was the lights misbehaving as she drove the engine hard, or someone had moved around her and flickered the lights. She could barely spell, let alone know any codes.

But she did know how to drive. And she was much keener at avoiding the nasty Ka-Fwump that Molly had endured on the way down the ramp. She moved the rig up beside the tank, keeping pace. She was grinning as she looked out of the cabin window.

"Yeh seem a little tense, boy-o!" She crowed, daring him to race in the otherwise hopeless situation.
"We're almost clear. Chin up, sonny! Full speed till we hit that bend in the coast, there."
She pointed out where the cliff-face jutted out, and would obscure the view of their escape.
"Then up the beach an' onto the land. Then barrel southish, err, northish... that way a bit."
She gestured vaguely west. The general meaning behind it was 'as far away from here as possible, without hitting Wales.'

[Stella Gaslight]

Dear slept deeply curled around her pillow and making small breathing sounds.  He could tell that she was not used to having a space she could stretch out in to sleep.  In sleep she looked quite happy and unburdened by the troubles of the world.  In her dreams she was riding a dragon that made the world behind it a garden while her steam knight walked beside her dropping seeds that grew in to big friendly looking trees.

[Titus Wells]

At the woodland camp, a kilted Jock ran breathlessly into the tent where Richard was inspecting the watch.

"Sire, the Anglians'r shellin' the isle, we 'ave tay move oot."

Richard snapped his hand closed over the timepiece and slid it into his pocket.

"We'll continue at a later date. Guards, take this man away. Treat him well, but keep him bound. He can ride in a sidecar with the command. Move!"

Almost as he was speaking the tents began to come down. Red found himself hauled back into the open air and thrust into a black sidecar emblazoned with the Boar's Head emblem. The Scots were packing their gear into a few bike trailers and mounting up. Every one on a bike but no two the same. Red recognised a number of chopped hogs, Boss Hoss bikes, Pitbulls and a few sportier, off-road types. Most customised, salvaged and converted. Richard himself had seated himself upon a Vincent Black Shadow and pulled a black helm with a canopy beaten into the shape of a tusked boar's head. He pulled on a pair of thick leather gauntlets and gestured for the party to move out. All in, the bandits had broken camp and stowed the tents in under five minutes. These were men used to a life on the road. The engines roared to life and the bike swarm moved off down the track towards the shores on the rear of the island.

[Nigel Wetherby]

Conlan yawned loudly and began to detach his armor, placing it upon a rack he had purchased before their departure. His armor rattled with the turn of the wheels as the weary knight lay down in his own bed, watching as the girl he brought in who had been hurling rocks at him that morning now slept peacefully in a bed beside his own.
"Goodnight beatrice." He sighed warmly, slowly drifting off into sleep. He dreamed of a world full of trees and green, vast planes of emerald grass reached out into the warm, gentle sun. Dear leaped through the trees clothed in full royal regalia. The crown jewels glittering upon her brow.

[MWBailey]

Malc listened to Skinner's instructions, and nodded and saluted. He knew where she was talking about." Ye Mean Brizzle, then!" He shouted through his leather bullhorn. "I know the route," he then yelled, "can I latch on ter th' back o' th' 7-7 in Brizzle, Skinner? Me drive rods have damage needs repair, but they'll last til then. I can do 'er meself, but I need a tow ter do it. Molly can be a rear loco in return when she's fixed! Give me two long whistle-pulls when you want me to start slowing to a stop!"

After he received her answer, he sped up again, and fiddled with the Governor Manipulator, and Molly gained a turn of speed that would have shocked a pre-Event roadrace enthusiast. If Skinner wanted a race, she'd bloody get one, he'd decided. Molly began to pull ahead of the 7-7 once more, apparently surpassing 150kph, the Mars light serving as both illumination and a warning. Once, they Arrowed through a crossroads, Molly's Whistle blowing long  before she herself arrived, and the 7-7's horns, or whistles, or whatever made that noise, sang an ear-splitting duet, causing the driver of a steamvan to slam on his brakes and swerve sideways to avoid them. Faster, and faster still, they blasted through the night, far outdistancing any pursuit that could have been ordered against them.

[Skinner]

For a while, Skinner enjoyed the risky drive. Her father's warnings of night runs rang in her ears as loud as the duet whistle.

She had recommended that everyone- or at least someone- took a nap while they drove, so that there was someone around with energy enough to keep first watch. She sheepishly added that she would take a watch, but she had to drive the train, now that she was the only one that could. She swore under her breath, remembering Red's apparent betrayal with bitter contempt.

At least, she gave them pleanty of chance to sleep. It was nigh on midnight when she started to feel heavy again, and she pulled the long double whistles after she had started to slow the rig down. It was around this time when she realized she had no idea where they were. Maybe somewhere around Gloucester's ruins. The night was clear, though, now the moon was up, and she could make out where the land was starting to undulate in the old Cotswold region. They were nearish to Bristol, yes, but she couldn't handle driving for many more hours. She pulled up beside Molly, and hung out the window, looking a little haggard.

"Look fer some kinda shelter, boy o'. I'm Knackered. I need a good, decent night o' sleep or I'm gonna keel o'er again." she practically begged, leaning heavily on her arm. She was smiling though. It seemed like they had made it through.

"This time we'll search the place high an' low fer Luddites." she chirped, mostly to herself than Malc or the crew. "If you see a big, tall tower, like one from the old Cathedrals, steer us there. Sometimes the ruins, see, they're big enough to stow a rig in, an' they're defendable."

[Titus Wells]

The bikes tore down the road towards the beach, amongst the tattered remains of cottages, whitewash stained and peeling. Tethered at the bay was a longboat with a crude ironwork structure erected over it and filthy beige sails, currently stowed.

The bikes skidded up the gangplank and down into the hold. One of the Scots stomped to the stern of the boat and pulled the ripchords on a couple of outboard motors. With a splutter of smoke the motors roared into life. After about fifteen minutes all were aboard and the boat began to move out into the channel, heading westwards.

[MWBailey]

Malc did indeed "find" an abandoned, ruined cathedral; and hard by Bristol, as well, in the mostly-abandoned, ancient town of Bath, in the skeleton of the old Cathedral of Bath, which had been a regular layover stop of  McCrory Lines Ltd. since just after the Event. He had thought about going instead to an old abandoned brewery outside of Gloucester, but decided that the grottoes below the brewery, where the Beer, ale, and cider cordials had been stored would be too difficult for the exhausted crew to search effectively, or to defend viably; there were just too many holes and exits and sallies to be covered effectively.

So, he had settled on Bath, which was actually just ahead, and much closer to their current position. Apparently Skinner, or whoever was driving by that point, felt no unease about the old ruin, and drove straight up the crumbled and rubbled limestone steps, through the giant Arch, and into the nave, bringing the Rig to a halt among the piles of stone and broken glass, still left behind after so long in ruin. Malc pulled up behind, and barred the door with Molly's bulk, and got out and wedged a few old timbers into the gap between the right side of Molly and the wall on either side of the doorway they had just entered through.

He decided to see, with Skinner's or Royce's permission , if the old Bath springs were still flowing, and if not, to dig and see if he could find them. When he was growing up, all one had to do , if the springs were not already flowing, was to dig through the accumulated sand, silt, dried mud, and rubble until they struck water, and then dig down into and around the place where the puddle was located; that often resulted in a strengthening flow of water, which turned into a fountain in a short time. he wanted to see if it could still be done, and to wash up both himself and a few articles of clothing.

He unclipped the shovel from it's place on the right inside of the APC, above the longboat, grabbed his rifled musket, pulled on the makings bag, and raised the back door of the tank, exited, closedthe tank's rear door, and went to the rear door of the Rig. He found it to be unlocked, and walked aboard looking for Skinner or Royce, to inform them of his intentions.

[Skinner]

Skinner took with her a gas lamp, and her revolver. The lantern was lit, and the engine kept running just in case. She hopped out of the cabin and struck out into the cathedral, grinning all the way. The halls echoed with the noise of the steam, and her foot falls on the glass. Feeling just a little giddy, she snickered to herself and whispering, made a mockery of a catholic prayer.

"Fer Wot we are abou' to park in, may the lowrd make us truely cosy, Amen!"

[MWBailey]

yellow, luminous eyes watched the rig from the shadows in the high places of the cathedral. A low, rumbling growl echoed between the remnants of the spires, as a lithe shape sprang from clerestory, to Nave-window, to chapel-dome, and down to the ground, a path that no human could have achieved, following one of the two humans who had exited the rigs to search out the grounds and try for the cool wetness in the big hole where the The Creature had drunk its fill not an hour before...

Malc had gotten permission to go and find and restart the springs, if he could. he was told to also watch out for skinner; she was out searching for Luddite squatters amongst the ruins, to go and scare them off, Royce said. Malc promise dto be sure and not spook her into shooting him. as he walked along the trail he knew so well, toward the well-remembered bath pools, he heard a noise that he did not immediately remember: a growl, almost like a housecat, from when there were still house cats, only much, much bigger. he glanced down at the trail, and his heart froze. there were footprints that he thought looked to be about Skinner's size, if he was any judge of height matched with foot size -- and even fresher, imprinted on top of Skinner's footprints: The largest cat-prints he had ever seen in his life...

"Good God in Heaven!" He exclaimed; he didnt know if skinner had ever been stalked by a wild animal before, but he was going to scare it off if he had to yell in its face himself! "Skinner!" he yelled, breaking into a run down the trail, toward the largest of the ruined pool tanks. He brought himself up short, just before running out into the former pool areas. there, on a huge limestone building-block, crouched the animal itself, its four-finger-painted spots showing it to be what it was; a leopard, staring him, balefully, in the eye ...

Malc said, "Well, hello then, whotcher doin' 'ere? 'S that you, Grim?" He edged closer, and the cat didn't retreat or balk, instead, it acted for all the world like a regular housecat that was impatient for petting, and easily stepped down, walked over to him, and rubbed its head and jowl on his thigh. Malc squatted down and petted the animal, scratching under its jaw, and stroked her (for it was, in fact, a female)neck, and she opened her mouth, baring her teeth -- all five or six of them. She was so old that it had to be difficult for her to hunt. traces in her coat of such things as toast, sausage, various condiments, showed that some local family or families must have been feeding her.

"Ow, tha's me Grimaulkin'! Ain'tcher? Yeahhh..." he heard the sounds of someone, or more than one someone, coming along the trail, so he said, "OK Grim? Remember? its Scat time!" an  the big cat leaped off into the darkness, leaving only her tracks, and Malc rose to meet whoever was walking the trail besides him in the middle of the night, and shouldered the shovel, as if he had had it there all night ...

[Skinner]

Skinner whirled around, stumbled after Malc's voice, and saw the beast itself. She was about to yell and shoot but she hushed herself and squeeked. Lifting the lantern, she saw for herself what it was.

"Hello spotty..." she whispered, her gun still in hand. She didn't want to shoot it, as tempting as that pelt was.
"Must have ex-caped from a zoo durin' the Event... Could be fourth or fifth generation, I reckon. Did we disturb you, swee'art?" she whispered again, unsure exactly what to do. But while it remained still, so did she.

"Malc, mate... don't, erm, run."

[MWBailey]

"oh, its alright," Malc said, as the creature stopped just outside the light, looking back. "That's Grimaulking, or Grim for short, at least that's the name me and me Da gave 'er, the first time we found her paddin' round 'ere. See, me Da and us used to park the family rig 'ere...back when we still had a a family rig." his mouth twisted bitterly.

"Anyhway, one trip we found 'er livin' in the ruins, chasin' the mice and rats and whatnot that lived here, left over from when it used ter be a regular church, and the town was all inhabited. Malc's voice turned warmly reminiscent. "We guessed she escaped from some Menagerie, or her parents or their parents did, during or after the Event. she sort of guards the place, I guess you'd say. She certainly chased off a buncha robbers one year. So, we never tried to catch or report her." Grim came back into the light, then. "if you lookit her coat, she's got human's foodstuff detritus all innit, so somebody 'round 'ere's feedin 'er."

[Skinner]

Skinner warmed a little to the cat and holstered her weapon, dropping to one knee to get a better look at the leopardess.
"'ere puss puss puss" she chided under here breath, listening to Malc's explaination.

But one thing caught her attention and she frowned, looking up at him.
"Tha' could be bad, though, Malc. If someone's feedin' 'er, someone's about. An' that could be druids or Luddites or gawd know what."
Slowly she stood and looked around, raising the lantern, trying to see higher up into the cathedral. She shuddered a bit from the chill of the open space, her wound in her shoulder making her chest feel a little hollow and colder.

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

"I'm in agreement with Skinner here." said Royce. "I've had enough of other folk for quite a while." he muttered.

"Another point that reminds me of - we're going to have to have a meeting and decide what to do with all this loot. I figure we should split it up, but I know Conlan and Ben will insist that most of the manuals get donated - and they'll want to keep those books. The simply pretty stuff can be sold of for good cash. Even the more exotic stuff - I know a rich merchant or two in Bromwicham who wouldn't mind some of those trinkets."

He looked around.  He was as excited as Skinner, but had a bit of trepidation. One reason he was talking about selling the stuff so soon was that he wanted it off his hands - Anglia wouldn't attack Mercia for this, but he knew how spy networks got around. He'd rather have the cash as soon as possible and avoid a dagger in the night if someone tried to reclaim the goods. Let it be someone else's problem.

[MWBailey]

Yeah, ye've go' a point," Malc said. He began to glance around as well. "I don't think there's any druids here; the newer part of the town, off to the west, has a few lights in it, so its still at least partly inhabited." he considered teh othe ralternative. "Luddites? not sure. th' people what still lived in this part back then, they were on contract wi' us to keep the cathedral up for purposes our use of iut as a parking facility, and were supposed to let any others use it as might need it for legit purposes. 'Course, there's none o' that lot around now," he finished, a lonesome note entering his voice. I'm more worried about them Scots, meself," Malc said, "the fact that they was down as far south as Wight says 'at they's probably all through the whole region.

[Skinner]

Skinner grumbled. "Scotty bastards. Will they ne'er build a wall big enough to keep 'em out?"

Then she looked back at the direction the leopardess had gone.
"Can't say I'm much of a cat person- well, I suppose, yeh could say I am, in a crass sort o' way..." she was referencing a very low-gutter back alley slurr, that perhaps no one knew but her and Malc.

She raised the lantern and walked a little ways away from Royce and the Rig, shining the light around to try and see signs of life- and the nature of the life that might be here.

"An Boss, I agree full heartedly. Sell the loot, an' get the rig all fixed up, maybe even get 'er doin up some. Ey, I didn't see what yeh managed to save. Any jewels, Royce? Big red ruby rings an' the like?"

[MWBailey]

"Its not th' wall, Miss, 's th' people above th' ones on th' wall, neglectin' their duty." Malc said, philosophically, with just a touch of reminiscence.

Malc chuckled a bit in spite of himself at Skinner's joke. "I s'pose it just depends on th' variety o' cat one prefers," he said, and winked with his good eye, although on reflection it probably looked like he had gotten a bit of soot in it and was trying to blink it away. So, he added in the same low voice, "message received, Ma'am; not that I'd try anythin' -- me Da'd have strung me from th' wagstaff, and old threats die 'ard." he snickered a bit despite himself.

"If'n it's no trouble, Skinner,  Cap'n," Malc said,addressingSkinner, an dthen Royce,  "I'll go ahead and hook Molly up ta the rear o' th' 7-7 at first light. I've got a universal Rig coupler and a set o'three adaptor hooks, a rig signal harness, and even an air/steam line for the brakes, if ye like; I'll help us pull out, and take off, and get the rig started down the road, then downpressure and close the lines (th esteam brakeline'll still be on the 7-7's line; mine's got a 5-stage switchable check valve, so she'll stay on yer command for the braking), and fix the rods, or replace 'em; I've got spares of both rods and frogs, so neither should take long."

"Barrin' batt'les or other mishaps, I should be done and ready ta pick up th' back end by Noon, maybe Mid-afternoon. Er, that is, if'n it be alright with ye two," he said, hopefully. "Oh, and I have a canvas corridor shroud ta connect up with a rig (or APC) in suchlike situations, so nobody who comes back ta see whats goin on falls o'er board, he added.

[Skinner]

Skinner nodding, paying slightly more attention to the technical jabber.
"Affirmative, matey." she replied in her strange mix-up of casual language and formal jargon. "Awlright by you, Royce?"

As for the joking, she just grinned more toothily, lowering the lantern so her smirk was illuminated and her eyes shadowed.
"Yeh best not try nowt, boy o, I guarantee it won't end pretty if yeh does. By the by- Yeh've been told about the 'Missus' malarky, now, stop it." she grunted. She only took it from him this time because she was distracted by what seemed to be a little gilded cross lying under some rubble, shown up in the lantern light but apparantly missed over by other riggers. She took it up, turned it over in her hand, then held it to the light.

"Summat fer Conlan, 'ere."

[Vancouver Air Privateer]

Royce smiled.

"I got more than a little of the jewels and the like. I figured with Conlan and Ben there had to be at least one of us three thinking of the pocket book. It'll more than pay for damages and then have a good deal left over. I'll buy all of you a round of drinks in Brizzle for the success of this one."

He yawned.

"Bed seems like a good idea now. Anyone want to volunteer for first watch?"

[Skinner]

Skinner rubbed her jaw. She didn't want to take first watch, but she felt she had a second wind. She grinned suddenly.

"I will- on one condition." she paused dramatically. "I get to pick someone to stay up wi' me. That is, if she'll oblige."