The Doctors of the Apocalypse [Rebel Factions]

[Quilboarian]

[You could begin ICly, or with "command mode" in mind.]

Smitting is a riverside town located in the Wostenian interior, in the East-Central Dominion. It is basically a quiet, sleepy town where not much seems to go on. It's a smaller community, with rows of identical houses, all built with old-fashioned architecture and mostly populated by lower and middle-class loyalist families. The streets are lined with small pine trees, and the grass always looks rather drab.


The local Community Guard does most of the policing around here, in conjunction with the National Constabulary. The Motorpolice Division of the constabulary mainly operate along the region's highways, while the patrols in the town itself are mostly done by the Community Guards- the latter organization mostly consists of "safety officers" in high-visibility vests and red-dyed forage caps, whose only real job seems to be dishing out parking tickets, and levying fines for any petty offenses that people commit. You're not sure how often they use their blackjacks for anything other than beating up the occasional tramp.


All in all, the community is a stagnant place, and you're not exactly sure why you ended up here.


Your little base of operations consists of several campers and trailers set up in a location down by the river- where they are concealed from being viewed by aerial means due to the tall trees. No wandering civilians, uninvited civilians have come across your campsite yet, although you and your members have the ability to go into town without drawing any suspicion whatsoever, it seems. Nobody knows who the hell you are, but they apparently do not care. Or, maybe they didn't recognize any of the new faces, simply due to the size of the town's population. Either way, you can go up into town without experiencing any issue.

 

[Deadkool]

I begin making contact with the town, myself, along with one other in my staff, someone cautious, Adam Levitt. My goal being to establish face with some of those there, attempt to locate anyone sympathetic to our cause, and gather supplies for the next leg of the trip. Once in town I begin to investigate for any sings of a gathering place a bar or common house.

 

[Quilboarian]

There are a few public gathering establishments. Although you find yourself barred from entering a few Loyalty League bars in the town, you quickly find a pub that is located near one of the poorer residential areas of town, which you can enter. Poorer folk tend to be more sympathetic types, regardless.


It should be noted that most of the populace lives in general fear and/or hatred of government-proclaimed "terrorists" and "traitors." Publicly revealing that you have affiliations with a group designated as such- may not be a wise course of action. Odds are, there will be a few Autumn Party-supporting civilians wherever you go. However, some minority portions of the population may be especially sympathetic with rebellious ideas, but you're currently not sure who.

 

[Deadkool]

I enter the bar and take advantage of the town's lack of knowledge of my group. Upon entering, I state "I work with a group of travelling doctors. Does anyone here need healing?" Hopefully this would be taken as a kind gesture and I could tend to some of this town's wounded. My goal was not to replace the Autumn Party with another regime, but give the people a chance to unite. How can someone stand with a crippled leg?

 

[Quilboarian]

One man in the bar leans back on his barstool to get a look at you. He's a gruff-looking, working class sort with a large gray beard. "Does it cost anything?" he asks you.


"And it better not be any herbalist bullshit," remarks a lanky man in a Nationalized Industries utility jumpsuit. "We've heard of it all before."


The government has a universal healthcare system in place, although it is relatively ineffective at times, making your offer of medical services appealing regardless.

 

[Deadkool]

"Heh, no, I sell no snake tonics. Myself and my friends would simply like to tend to your wounded and sick. We are all doctors." A happy smile spread across his face, it was clear that these people had never seen a real travelling doctor. "I myself am a bacteriologist and surgeon. My friend here is anesthetist and we'd be happy to help anyone hurt if you'll allow us to restock on supplies here."

 

[Quilboarian]

You get a good deal of stares from the nearby patrons. Those sitting at the tables located on the other side of the bar still go about sipping their drinks and chatting among themselves, but they've noticed your presence regardless. An unknown man's voice sounds out, asking a question. "Where're you set up?"

 

[Deadkool]

"Like, I said, we're travelling doctors, not set up anywhere." I replied, hoping he wouldn't ask for a more specific answer. I took up a more comfortable posture in the bar, looking more natural and organic instead of stiff.

 

[Quilboarian]

You hear the man mumble slightly, probably just telling himself that he'll ask about it later. Things now seem to return to normal in the pub as the attention garnered by your entry subsides. Patrons just go back to drinking cheap beer and screech, and soon begin watching the regional Superball tournament as they chat among themselves. The old televisions are integrated into some of the walls, and everyone who cares is watching the introductory sequence to the game. They list off the teams, and occasionally there's exclamations and increased chatter from the civilians.


The bartender looks over at you and gestures towards a bar-stool, perhaps non-verbally suggesting that you order something. Afterwards, he simply continues washing the counter.

 

[Deadkool]

I take a seat at the bar as my companion begin watching Superball. He seems quite fascinated in the sport. Meanwhile I say "My name is Raoul, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I suppose I'll have some cheap whiskey, single." A thought drifted across my mind as to if this bartender was attempting to poison me. Hopefully not, meh, what's the worst that could go wrong? Famous last words. I took a moment of humor in that thought, though it likely wasn't visible to anyone outside my head.

 

[Quilboarian]

The barman nods to you and goes over to a nearby cask of lower-grade whiskey, squirting out a mugful of it for you. He sets it down in front of you soon after.


There is a short commercial break before the main part of the Superball game begins. Most of what is shown are public service announcements, although a few Nationalized Industries products are advertised. A particular government TV message is displayed, showcasing a silhouette of a masked, shadowy figure with a petrol bomb in one hand and a pistol in the other. The background consists of flames and crumbling buildings, while "TRAITORIST" is displayed above the figure's head for convenient identification. The screen soon fades to white, and some Autumn words of wisdom soon pop into view:


THEY WON'T BE SO PROUD





ONCE THEY'RE BURNING IN HELL

 

[Deadkool]

(Sorry for the wait)


I do a quick inspection of the drink for obvious poisons by eye, and if I find none, I take a sip. I ask the bartender "Gotta say, I miss the commercials on car insurance and deodorant. So.....Mr.....Bar...guy, have you heard of my traveling doctors?"

 

[Quilboarian]

The barman shrugs as he continues his cleanliness-insurance tasks related to the counter-top, and empty drinking mugs. "I heard you talkin' about it when you first came in," he said. "Not sure why you came in around here, though. There ain't exactly an excess of injured or sick folk," he tells you. "And you can call me Smith."

 

[Deadkool]

"Our constant travel doesn't give us much room to make wealthy friends. Many other establishments might take us in for questioning or interrogation which would slow the trip down by months and frighten some of my more easily scared personnel. While, we'd love to help the hospital, it is also important to help those who cannot go to a hospital. "

 

[Quilboarian]

"Hrm. I suppose there's no harm in having folks like you around. It's always good to have more people on hand, if anything does happen," he tells you. "Well, you can hang around the pub and order drinks when you like. Your first one's on the house," he then tells you.

 

[Deadkool]

I thank the man for his hospitality and order some cranberry juice before asking "So, do you know of anyone here that needs help? Injured in a hunting accident? Fell down the stairs? Got a cough? My group can't stay too long. We're planning a pilgrimage to Central Wostenia and we have a few more stops."


(Any chance my people back at base could be doing stuff while I'm here. E.g. Contacting the Apocs.)

 

[Quilboarian]

[You could always switch to "command mode," if you feel like you're lollygagging. It moves things along at a faster pace, until you decide when to switch back to "character mode" again. You can pretty much switch at any time- you're only forced to remain in character mode if you're ICly getting attacked or something.]


The barman tells you that he doesn't quite know of anything in particular that you could help with; he suggests that you set up somewhere and make your services known, so that people can come to you with their problems, if they have any.

 

[Deadkool]

Command moe activate. Contact the Apocs and ask for a status update from the caravan.

 

[Quilboarian]

[You never established much on what the Apocs were currently engaged with in Cossia. Could you tell a little more about what they're supposedly up to?]

 

[Deadkool]

(Arming Cossian Rebels when they can, giving medical attention to those fighting, and generally assisting the infrastructure of the rebels)

 

[Quilboarian]

You manage to establish contact with one of the Apoc cells in the Cossian Integrated Territory, who report that their recent caravan's supplies managed to reach their destination. The code-word for the name of the settlement is "Mirage."


The cell also reports that they- along with the Cossian fighters they are assisting -have been suffering heavy casualties lately. Government troops have mostly overrun the region, inflicting severe losses on your allies. Even many undercover plainclothes Apocs have been killed, owing to random "purges" that have occurred in the area. It's not that the government actually discovered their affiliations with your group, they were simply caught in the middle of the mass executions that have been occurring. They end up becoming victims after being lumped in with other civilians, since the killings are rather indiscriminate.