29 December 2011

Unchosen 18

Tex took the lead as we followed the trail of blood. It wasn't that hard to follow for the most part, but occasionally the flatness of streets were broken by rubble and places where the natural world, although much abused, was trying to reassert itself. Tex was simply untouchable when it came to tracking, so it was natural that he lead the way.

As we walked, I found myself drifting into thought, against my better instincts. I told myself to pay attention to my surroundings several times, but I kept fading back into reverie as I followed the others. As disparate a bunch as we were, we'd still reacted with the same precision as we always had. There was more arguing and bickering than there had been when she'd been able to quell it with a word or a glance, but we still worked well as a team. That shouldn't have been surprising, but it was.

It couldn't be denied that she'd been the one thing we'd had in common, the one who took four strangers from across the wastelands and bound us into one unbeatable team. With her gone, I'd expected us to fall apart, or simply implode from our differences. I don't think I was the only one. The others, as young as they were, had lived lives of privation and ugliness too. It was only natural that we'd fail and crumble, as the entire world had before us. Except, we weren't. Not yet, and maybe not ever. It was a disturbing thought, in a way. It was like hope had fled from us, but was now peeking at us from hiding, to see what we'd do.

That line of thought was cut short as Tex suddenly let out a startled sound, then crumpled to the broken pavement.

23 December 2011

Unchosen 17

We took several minutes to catch our breaths as we examined the creatures. They were unfortunate looking beasts, mottled in glaring yellows and bruise-browns, with uneven tufts of greasy hair patchworking their bared bodies. One of them was still squirming and making small sounds. I felt the others drift closer as I went over to stand over it.

Small dark eyes peered out from under a heavy brow at me as it writhed in agony. It was gutshot, and likely the poisons and acids from its stomach and intestines would be causing new levels of pain before it finally bled to death. It's eyes met mine, and it bared formidable fangs at me in a snarl of defiance, and it whined an ugly sound of hate and fear. I stared back at it as I dropped the shells from my revolver, replacing them one by one with practiced ease. Then I lifted the gun, and splattered its head across the pavement.

Chasity, her voice tight with nerves spoke as I reloaded that expended bullet, and the other gun.

"I managed to wing one, as they were fleeing," she said. "We've got a trail to follow."

22 December 2011

Unchosen 16

There was a flicker of motion ahead of me, and I drew my revolvers, not yet lifting them from my hips. My guns weren't for the long shot, but when they hit something, typically it never got back up. There was another movement off to the left, and Chasity shifted her rifle toward it, before another came, slightly off to the right.

"What are they, gramps?" called Doc. Boy wasn't bad in a fight, but he had a tendency to get the nerves in the moments before the bullets were loosed. I ignored him, since I couldn't answer his question anyway. I felt more than I heard him and Tex edging in close behind me. With an unknown number of targets, and thus far no reason to believe they had guns, massing wasn't a bad tactic. It'd get ugly if we were wrong, though.

The howling noises came again, and again, from the left, right, and rear, a few here, and several there. From the sounds, I'd guess we had at least a dozen, but it was obvious they were trying to intimidate us and throw off the count. That was when I decided there wasn't any point in waiting for them to queue the music.

"Chasity, edge forward, slow, steady. Tex, Doc, keep up and cover the rear," I said quietly. I heard a snort from Tex, but when Chasity began half-stepping it forward, I heard them moving along behind us. It had the desired effect.

From the left, I caught a blur of motion, and leveled that revolver and fired, barely glancing to make sure of my aim. I heard a shotgun roar behind me, then the chatter of submachine gun fire, just as a mass of yellow, scabrous forms came hurtling out of the darkened doorway of a wrecked building, spreading out as they came. I didn't have time to look at them closely, so I just brought both of my guns together and let the hammers fall. Directly beneath me, steady as the beasts rushed us, Chasity aimed and fired in a smooth rhythm. Shift, aim, fire. Work the bolt, aim, fire.

All at once, we were the only things standing in that cratered court, as the survivors fled, screaming in rage and fear, leaving their fellows to bleed out their lives on the shattered stones.

10 December 2011

Unchosen 15

We tried to get more information from the men, but beyond a boy's wild tales of 'monsters' taking the couple, there wasn't much to go on. Things didn't look good for Heida and Roy, but we weren't going to leave without at least trying to find out what happened to them. We headed into the ruins, looking for any signs of struggle that might help us out. I was actually a bit surprised when we started finding signs of occupation all throughout the inner edges of the devastated town. Rubble had been cleared, and crude signs had been painted on walls. It was obvious that whoever took Chasity's kin, they weren't simply mindless beasts, and from the signs, they didn't take particularly kindly to strangers. The signs were drawings of skulls of animals and humans, and appeared to have been painted with blood.

Chasity led the way into the ruins, every line of her body tight with anger and fear for her kinfolk. I walked along behind her, trying to look in every direction at once, feeling a queer dread crawling up the back of my neck. Behind me, Tex and Doc carried on a quiet conversation.

"Look," said Doc in a near whisper. "Right there, see it?"

"See what?"

"Right there!" I could hear the exasperation in the boy's voice. "I'm nearly touching it."

"It's just a smudge, man. It doesn't mean anything." Tex's voice was a mix of irritation and superiority.

"It's not just a smudge," insisted Doc. "It's the same marking as on all the others."

"It's a damned cave painting, kid. Some primitive just splashed it all over."

"It's a signature," argued Doc. "We're dealing with someone who takes some sort of pride in this grisly display."

"Whatev-" Tex's dismissal cut off as a crazed howl echoed through the concrete and rust all around us. I could hear the sounds of weapons raised behind me, and Chasity was already kneeling, scanning ahead of us with her rifle. Before I could say a word, the howl came again, this time from a dozen, a score of sources.

Whatever they were, they had us surrounded.

Unchosen: campaign world creation


The steps to create a campaign world for Unchosen should be relatively simple, but able to guide the creation of a variety of worlds and situations, all with fairly robust options. Obviously, much of this will rely on the players ability to engage creatively with the process, but the process itself should be able to reliably assist with creating compelling content.

So, the first thing to determine will be… What happened? What was the apocalypse that we find ourselves post? The most obvious is of course some sort of nuclear war or other such that left the world an irradiated wasteland, with mutants and other horrors lying in wait for the unwary. What are other options? Economic collapse is an underutilized cause of the breakdown of society, although it obviously fails to contribute to monsters and mutants. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it will create a different flavor of wasteland than others. What about an alien invasion that leaves the surface a ‘scorched earth’, with the few survivors and various alien beasties to contend over what few resources were left behind in the wake of the invasion. Perhaps it’s some sort of supernatural apocalypse, a la the Dark Tower novels, and the world has simply “moved on.” There are a number of other options, each of which will create a very different feel to your wastelands.

Next comes the question of… how long ago was the… whatever it was? It’s got to be enough in the past that it IS in the past, but are there still people who lived through it, or are the events of those days lost to myth and stories passed down through generations? This will also have a fairly profound effect on the flavor of your world. Have the people learned to adapt to the hardships of this new world, such that survival of the species isn’t so much in doubt, or are things still so rough that a hard-won niche carved out of the wastes could be wiped away in an instant? Perhaps it’s so long ago that things are beginning to recover, and places can be found where the veneer of civilization is deeper than just the skin.

Once you’ve answered those two basic questions, you’ve got the basis to begin hanging details on. Before we move on though, remember that post-apoc is usually flavored like a western in a lot of ways, though there are lesser and greater extents to which this can be true. Generally, settlements are rough and small. Resources are limited, even if they’re not downright scarce. Strangers aren’t necessarily unheard of, but an outsider is rarely welcomed with open arms. There are usually broad expanses of rough, dangerous and lawless terrain between these settlements. Bandits, restless natives and creatures red in tooth and claw roam these badlands, ready to take from anyone unlucky enough to be weaker than they. Sometimes there will be beauty, but it’ll usually be stark, dangerous beauty, the sort that is all the more rewarding for being both unexpected and surrounded by death. Men and women both are wary and can be treacherous. Trust is rare, but when it’s earned, it’s worth more than water or gold.

After getting a feel for the world, it’s time to nail down some specifics. Mostly what I’m talking about here is locations. There’ll be a list of archetypal locations, some of which simply will not fit in with what you’ve chosen for your setting. Obviously those options should be avoided in this step. What you’re going to be nailing down are locations that your characters have been to, maybe even where they’re from. You don’t necessarily want to create every little junktown and cluster of shacks that your characters may have passed through since beginning their journeys, but you’ll want to detail some highlights, such as important settlements where they may return, or places where significant events occurred.

Some examples of archetypal locations: A junktown, an abandoned Ark, a technological enclave, a slaver’s camp, an old military depot, the ruins of a once-great city, a slaver’s camp, the wreckage of a large vehicle, a trade hub, a tribal village. Some of these locations may be mixed and matched for more interesting locations. Several of them may even be used more than once, though obviously each should be unique in some fashion. If they’re not unique, there’s not much reason to detail them out. 3-5 locations should be good for most groups, though you should make sure that a origin location is included for each character. As you have not created any characters at this phase, this may be somewhat difficult. It’s perfectly okay to come back and create a new location if none of these feels right for a given character once they’ve been created.

Next, it’s time to start getting an idea for the Chosen. It’s likely that, having come up with these locations and possibly sketched out a few ideas as to events that occurred at these locations that you’ve already begun to form a collective picture of your Chosen, which is the intent. An important thing to keep in mind is that the Chosen is probably the most important aspect of the game that will be created before play, because he or she is the catalyst for everything that happens afterward. Your characters will be defined partially by their relationship to this powerful figure.

Where did the Chosen come from? It’s not important to have a solid location in mind, but it’s important to answer this question. Sometimes, the answer will simply be “I don’t know.” Perhaps the Chosen was secretive about their past. Perhaps you want the questioned to be answered in play. It’s also possible that the answer you come up with here will turn out to be an utter lie. The answer isn’t as important as the simple fact of addressing the question. Much of the rest of the background of the Chosen will be similarly defined. Other questions to answer are: What is the Chosen’s name? Is the Chosen a man, a woman, maybe even a child? What was their personality like? Was he the strong silent type? Did she have a silver tongue and use her beauty as a weapon? Was the Chosen death walking, or a negotiator who never missed an opportunity to solve some dispute or another? It’s a good idea to have someone take notes of all of the conclusions about the Chosen. Each person can and should take their own, but centralized notes will make it easier to keep a shared idea of who and what the Chosen was.

This next part is crucial: What was the Chosen’s quest? Every Chosen One to walk in out of the wastelands has some noble or personal goal by the time they start gathering followers. This quest will become a central theme during play, as the actions of the players will address it either by pursuit or neglect of the Chosen’s quest. A litmus test for a good quest is that it should inspire, either by being some grand vision that others can share, or simply by being a stand for something, something that can become a symbol for others. Canonical examples include saving their people from some disaster, vengeance for wrongs done, rescue of kidnapped loved ones, or to return some lost aspect of civilization. Even this may end up being a lie, but don’t decide anything about that during preparation. All efforts to address the quest should be done during play. It should be assumed that your character buys in to the quest in some fashion, be it grudging, fanatical, or anywhere in between.

That’s the final step of setting preparation that needs to be done before you start creating your characters. Many of the items sketched out here will be expanded upon during character creation, and that is by design. By the time you have characters and are ready to play, you should have a pretty solid idea of who the Chosen was, and some of the adventures you’ve shared with them.

06 December 2011

Unchosen 14

"Taken." she said it flatly, no inflection in her voice, no expression on her face. The farmers flinched at her tone nonetheless, and I reached forward to put my hand on her shoulder. Chasity started to jerk away, but I tightened my grip, just the least bit, and she let it be. "What do you mean, taken? Taken where?"

"Into the ruins," the man said, answering the second question first. "They was scavenging on the edges, when it happened. My boy saw it, ran to tell me. By the time we got there, they was gone, no sign of 'em at all."

"You just let them go?" asked Tex, derision heavy in his voice. "You didn't even try to go after them?" Several of the men looked ashamed as they shook their heads.

"We don't go into the city," one of them said. "Horrible things lurk there. No one that's ever gone in has ever come back out. Not ever." Chasity turned toward the speaker, her body tense with outrage. I squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Chas," I said quietly. She shot me a murderous glare, and I dropped my hand.

"We're going after them," she said. I opened my mouth to argue. We knew what sorts of horrors had made their shelters in the corpses of dead cities. We'd all had our share of close scrapes. Instead, I saw something in Chasity's eyes, behind the anger and the fear. I saw her, and I knew that I wouldn't say no. Doc must have sensed something of my feelings as well, because he spoke up behind me.

"Damn right we are."

Unchosen 13

The idyllic impression lasted about half way down to the town, when we were met by most of the the menfolk of Leah, armed with shotguns and rifles. As pretty a place as it was, the residents were still wastelanders, and justifiably touchy about strangers. It took us a little time to convince them that we meant them no harm, and longer still before they'd allow us to come into the town. Once Chasity'd convinced them that she was looking for her family, they all got real quiet.

"You say yer lookin' for Heida and Roy?" said their spokesman, leaning his shotgun over his shoulder, the way she used to.

"Mm hmm," said Chasity, with a smile, because she hadn't quite twigged to their expressions yet. Something was wrong.

"I hate to be the one to tell ya," he starts, then pauses, glancing around to see if anyone else would finish. When no one said anything, and he caught the furrow in Chasity's brow, he sighed and continued. "I hate to tell ya miss, but yer kin... well, they're gone."

"Gone?" Chasity's voice trembled in what could be the beginnings of tears, or rage. "What do you mean gone? Are they dead?"

"I don't rightly know, miss," he replied, glancing back toward the ruined city behind him. "They were..." He trailed off, glancing around again. Still, no one else seemed willing to brave the outburst they could see building in Chasity.

"They were taken."

Unchosen 12

It turned out that Chasity's detour wasn't really on the way at all. It started out that way, but it almost ended up as a dead end, for all of us. Back in the junktown, she'd learned that there was a small settlement out that way that was on the edge of the ruins of what used to be Peoria. Chasity had family there that she hadn't seen since she was a little girl, and she never knew if she'd make it out this way again.

You could see the ruins from a lot farther out than you could see the little settlement where Chasity's kin lived. It was mostly loose rubble and decaying bits of road in the near distance, but on the horizon you could make out the remnants of taller buildings, near what would have been the heart of the city, before the War. We'd mostly stayed out of the ruined cities on our travels before now, because she said they tended to be havens for the worst sorts. Didn't really seem like any good reason to change policy now.

We traded speculation about the city as we approached, when suddenly we topped a small rise, and the little settlement of Leah spread out below us. It was a sight, I'll tell you now. Rather than the rusty remnants and concrete most wasteland towns were made of, this place had actually been built up, and there were small subsistence farms scattered through the town. It was about the prettiest little place I'd seen since well before the world died.

Unchosen 11

Without anything better in mind, we went north. We got our game faces on as we approached the base, but there was a small voice in my head that wondered if this wasn't intentional collective suicide. Still, we went.

We'd lost our heart, but as it turns out, we were still good at killing. There wasn't but a remnant there anyhow, but we slaughtered them to a man, only to find that the whole reason for going there was gone. A little bit of poking around through the decayed old base revealed that after the tragic gunfight in the junktown, most of the hard boys who'd been holding this place cut and ran, taking it with them.

"So, we goin' after them?" Tex asked, hesitantly. I could see in the set of his shoulders that he wanted to, but after the argument the day before, he felt kind of sheepish.

"Why wouldn't we?" replied Doc. "Why quit now?" Chasity just nodded, obviously glad to have a purpose again. As for me... Well, even now I'd do anything for her. I nodded too, and Tex looked relieved.

"Um," Chasity interjected, once the decision had been made. We all stopped in our preparations, and looked at her. "Do you all mind if we take a little detour, on the way?"

Unchosen 10

We left the junktown behind us, but we didn't head to the base. We discussed it, but without saying it out right, we all knew we were rudderless. We were no longer invincible. Maybe we never were, but we knew it now.

"So, what now?" This from Chasity. The question had been asked a dozen times, but as no one had really answered it, it was still very much on all our minds. "What do we do now?"

"We should-" Doc started, but cut off. That had happened more than a few times too. He swallowed, looked around at the rest of us, then north. North was where the base lay. He swallowed again, hard, and cleared his throat. "We should at least try."

"Why?" sneered Tex. "Why should we bother?"

"It's what... What she'd want us to do."

"In case you hadn't noticed, kid," Tex snarled right back, stepping up and into Doc's face, "She's fucking dead. She doesn't get a vote anymore." Even as he said it, his face went pale. I felt a welter of emotions, rage again, pain, sadness. She was dead, and it hit us all hard. That much we shared, though we dealt with it differently.

"Step back off 'im," I said quietly. "Now." Tex spun toward me, his hand dipping toward the 1911 he wore at his hip. I just looked at him. I didn't make a move toward my gun, just looked into his angry blue eyes. He blinked first, and dropped his gaze. I didn't blame him for his anger. No one did, not even Doc. But whatever we did decide to do, we knew that fighting amongst ourselves wouldn't honor her memory.

Unchosen 9

The kid had brown eyes. I remember that very clearly, big brown eyes. I remember the look of stark terror in them as I stood there with the heavy-bore revolver pressed to his forehead. He was crying, and I could hear others crying as well. I didn't care though. This kid's mouth was the reason she was dead, and I was one gentle sigh from pulling the trigger and laying him out on the ground next to her.

"Gramps," Doc said quietly. I hated that nickname, which was probably why he took such pleasure in using it all the time. I looked around at him, but he wasn't looking at me. The others were, but there was no condemnation in their eyes, just the same shocked expression of loss that I felt. Doc was looking around at the junktowners. They were gathered in the street around us. Not a one of them looked hostile, like they'd do anything to stop me from ending the boy. Some of them looked as scared as the boy did, but mostly, they just looked tired.

That's what got to me, I think. The fatigued acceptance of horror and loss. They looked at us the same way they'd looked at those hard boys who lay scattered around the street. No one had ever looked at her like that. There'd been fear, but only from those who'd done something to deserve it. As much as the boy had his share of responsibility for her death, he hadn't killed her. He was still just a child.

I lowered the revolver, the rage gone. I suddenly felt as lost and alone as these poor folk looked.

Unchosen 8

It started so well. We'd found the place, but we didn't want another fiasco like the Red Sands Bunker, so we decided to stop into the nearest junktown and get the lay of the land first. She was at her best, charming and intimidating, all at once. The people in the town were almost competing to give us every scrap of information we needed before we headed over to the old base.

Then they came. They came striding down the main street like they owned the place, and the folk of that little scrapyard acted like they did too. They all got real quiet, and about half of them disappeared indoors. You could tell this was a tough crew, well armed and armored, with that grizzled look that long-time fighters get. You could tell that she knew it too, because she got real still. These were definitely the guys we'd come looking for, but now wasn't the time. Until that damned kid got mouthy.

This kid couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old, but he was real impressed by us. He started talking some junk about how things were going to change, and the hard boys took notice. They would have killed him, but she stepped in. Damned if I don't wish she didn't. In seconds, bullets were flying, townsfolk were running for cover. When the dust settled, all of those tough guys were lying dead.

And so was she.

Unchosen 7

The last days were probably the sweetest. Maybe that's just the hazy glow that memory spreads across everything, but I don't think so. Our little crew had been together, non-stop, for a few months at that point, even the newest addition. We'd bickered and laughed together, bled for each other, killed for each other. We'd wept for our failures, and celebrated our victories. There were still differences between us, and it wasn't rare for those to flare into conflict, but there was a comfortable familiarity even to those.

We were so close to our goal that the excitement often bubbled over at random moments. Jokes were funnier, food tasted better. Soon, everything would be as it should be. Just one more hill to climb, one more fight to win. Of course we were going to win. We'd had our setbacks, but through it all, she'd lead the way, ensuring victory. She was invincible. We were invincible.

I miss those last, glorious days.

Unchosen 6

It's crazy to realize that there are people who don't know who she is. She just walked into town one day and changed everything, but this world is still a big ol' place, even though the humanity is scraped thinly across it these days.

But really, I guess it's not that crazy. I've been with her for months now, longer than the others, and I can't really say that I even know who she is. She's talked about her past some, and what she's looking for plenty, but it's not enough to really get a good feel for who she is. For all that she's shared with us, there is a core to her that she keeps guarded.

She's young, pretty still despite the harshness of life these days. Most of the time, she's got cynicism to spare, but sometimes she'll say or do things that make me realize again just how young she is. The most noticeable thing about her is the fire in her eyes, though. Whether she's staring death in the eye and daring it to blink, or she's talking about what sort of life she'd like to lead once all of this is over, it's there. She's filled with a passion that so few these days retain, and it's contagious.

Unchosen 5

I can't decide which I hate more; muties or gangers.

On the one hand, the muties are pretty horrifying. Anything from a crazed parody of a human whose skin seems to be drooping off of it in folds and nodules to the monstrous worm-like creature that terrorized Nova Vi. Gangers, on the other, are as human as anyone, except that they've left behind the important parts of being human. Kindness, mercy, honesty and a sense for the sanctity of life are completely foreign concepts to them, and I've not met a one that wouldn't cut you just to watch you bleed.

Either one, I've seen more than my fair share, since taking up with her. In the wastes we avoid them where we can, but more than once they've not given us the choice. Even Doc, the kid from Nova Vi who might have become a brilliant surgeon before the War, has learned to kill efficiently, when the need arises. How he tried to stick to that old saw, "First, Do No Harm", but eventually he couldn't stand by anymore. Me? Old skills return quickly, when they've got to. As for her, there's nothing she doesn't seem to excel at, being it talking, or dealing death. She's a whole other order of human.

Unchosen 4

There's a distinct difference between fighting for survival, for profit and for a cause. I did a lot of fighting as a young man, and I was more than good at it. In the beginning, I fought because it was a better living than most back home had. I got decent pay that I didn't really need, and I sent most of it home to my parents. I got regular meals, which a lot of people couldn't claim. Eventually it turned ugly enough that I was fighting for survival, and I barely noticed when I stopped receiving pay chits. My family were dead by that point anyway, when the Chinese launched all their nukes in a last gasp. Never in all my young life did I know what it felt like to fight for something bigger than yourself.

She changed that, for all of us. Even those left in her wake could feel that, and more often than not, they had a new hope for the future. Those of us who went with her were often envied by those who hadn't been chosen to join her fight. The pride that engendered was a big part of what made us such a devastating team, despite our differences. She took us, a ragtag bunch of outcasts, mutants and wasteland scum, and made us into heroes.

02 December 2011

Unchosen 3

One night in the wastes stands out clearly to me, amidst dozens of others. We'd left the last junktown behind us a few days before, and it was quiet around the fire. It was one of those perfectly clear nights, moonless nights when you could forget how blasted the land was in the glory of the stars spread out above us. There were the three of us still, who had followed her from our varied hovels and meager existences. We'd been talking quietly about the new information we'd gained in that last town, and while the initial excitement at being so close had faded, there was still that pleasant glow of anticipation. We all had our own reasons for following her, but her quest had become our own, simply by virtue of being the only thing we really had in common. It was that sense of common purpose, of fellowship that I remember so clearly. It was likely everything was going to be alright.

It was the last time it felt like that.

Unchosen 2

I was a little shell-shocked when I gathered up what little remained to me. I wasn't entirely sure why I was leaving, I only knew that there was little here to hold me. After things had come to a head last night, that was especially true. She'd been here less than a week, and everything was different. The funny thing was that she hadn't even come to town to act as savior and angel of vengeance; She was looking for something that wasn't even here. But when the lines were drawn, she refused to back down. In a night of blood, fire and gunsmoke, I found my way off of my knees, and learned again what it was to be a man. I'd done my best to forget in all the years since the War, but I knew I couldn't go on like that.

Maybe that's why, as the sun rose up before us, I followed along behind her into the blasted wastelands.

Unchosen 1

She walked into town, a sawed-off shotgun slung ever-so-jauntily over her shoulder, wearing beat-up combat leathers and a fuck-off smile. It was sundown, I recall, and there she comes, sauntering in with the sun at her back throwing her shadow before her like a carpet. She walked right past where I was taking my ease on the porch, and mine weren't the only eyes that followed her. My first thought was that she wouldn't leave this hungry, desperate collection of shacks alive, but there was something about the way she gripped the handle of that shotgun that told me that she wouldn't go easily, whatever came. I found myself curious, one of many emotions I'd attempted to kill in myself years before. When she shoved into the corrugated steel shed we used for a pub, I tucked my long knife back into my boot, and followed.