It had been a little over a week since our intrepid adventurer left the fortress, bringing with her only the best five of those who wished to follow her. As they returned to the shelter, the survivors shared their stories.
The flaxen-haired Mindy Wheatley was a soldier in this world’s army, skilled at using the strange thunder-weapons they called “guns”, as well as in the use of their “computers”, arcane devices that could supposedly hold all the knowledge in the world. When the end came, she watched her entire platoon die, turning on one another like savage animals in a frantic bid to survive. She fled for her life, bereft of supplies and gear, only to turn up at the “a-part-mens” where Pandora found her wearing nothing but a silvery suit decorated with colorful patches. She did not wish to talk about where she got her clothes or why she wore them, but refused to part with the suit. When questioned why, she simply responded in a dreadful monotone, “Because life is a party. Honk honk.”
Ali Haines, a well-built Germanic man, was a mechanic before. He used to fix the horseless carriages with which Dora had made ingress to the fortress. He was the one to point out the vehicle that the party used to return to the shelter, a quiet machine that supposedly consumed none of the “gas” that the rest fed upon. Gregarious and cheerful, he regaled the companions with funny stories and crude jokes as they headed for their new home.
A dark-haired Mediterranian woman of swarthy complexion, Verona Shelby used to be a “schoolteacher”, one who specialized in the care and instruction of children. She didn’t want to talk about much of her past, but explained that she was an avid hunter and that those skills had kept her alive when everything went to hell.
The last two were Moors, black of hair and skin, but seemed friendly and trustworthy enough despite that. Jackelyn Waddell was a “nurse”, a kind of wise woman who knew the ins-and-outs of the cure-alls of this advanced age. She had been doing her work, helping the suffering, when the dead began to rise. “My mamma din’t raise no fool. I grabbed me a gun and got me out of there quick as I could. Can’t very well fix people if I get ate. Ended up here with y’all.” Kind and motherly, she tended to Pandora’s scratches before setting off.
The last was a morose young man named Michael Jones. Everyone spoke highly of him, but he affected gloominess, talking so often about how it was “just a matter of time before I die horribly” that the rest had nicknamed him as such. The moniker of “Dies Horribly” did not seem to anger him, however, and his skill in fighting endeared him to Pandora quickly enough.
Piling in to the magic carriage, Dora took the helm with Ali guiding her, and the group set off to build a new life on the ruins of the old world.
AN: Got a week’s worth of notes to write out. I seem to have fallen in love with this style of play, going slowly day-by-day and making notes of the interesting or important things that happen. Might make for a slower game, but I think it will ultimately prove to be a fulfilling one.
