Ortho's Journal - Vol. II
Back when he was in still in the service, Ortho went through his share of psychiatric therapy in an attempt to improve his atrocious people skills. He didn't get much out of it except a habit of keeping a journal as a means of organizing his thoughts and contemplating his actions. This portion of the Shelter will be dedicated to "Stone Cold's" ruminations as he wanders the Wasted West. The journal itself takes the form of a special audio-only palmcorder, and the data slug entries he records are transcribed verbatim (or as close as possible) here. His latest entry is posted first, so if you're new to the page, start at the bottom and work your way up. Dates reflect the date of the game session.
12/5 - Still somewhere in the wilds of Utah. Earlier reports of my death were greatly exaggerated, especially by yours truly. Who, might you ask, was the instrument of my salvation? None other than the ever annoying Papergirl. She found me and managed to bind some of my wounds, managing to staunch the bleeding with some her newspapers. Not the most sanitary thing I suppose, but beggars can't be choosers. Hell, it saved my life. Add the fact that she managed to get Two Strokes to safety when the shit started to fly and I'd say we've got the makings of our very own "angel of the battlefield" in her. So, here I am, still talking to you. Can't say some of the others were quite as lucky. Skin bag, of course, is toast (like I didn't see THAT coming), and we having been able to find Max's body. The biggest surprise was the Lunatic, almost torn in two by a swipe from a vengeful "god's" tentacle. So much for that "Eternal hero" nonsense, right? Yeah, that's what I thought too.
As I was resting up for the long journey back to Powellville, a strange luminescent mist began rising up from the Guardian's corpse. Slowly, it began to take on the all too familiar visage of the Lunatic. Well, he noticed me noticing him, and he bellowed for me to gather up the other survivors and bring them to him. Alerting the rest of the posse, we gathered around to see what the ghost of our dead companion wanted (hell, its just not something that happens everyday to a person, so where we all a bit intrigued). First, the spirit praised and congratulated us on helping to defeat the "Blue God". He informed us that the defeat of the creature was apparently the sole reason for his last incarnation's rebirth and existence. After flapping his ghostly gums about it for a while, he led us to the shattered dome-like structure that had apparently been the nesting ground of the moths. He called it a "kiva", some sort of ceremonial chamber I guess, and it turned out to be filled with a king's ransom in gold and artifacts (imagine my surprise)! Of course, there was a catch. Turns out we couldn't touch most of it because it was cursed. The Guardian's spirit told us that each of us would only be allowed to take one item from the pile each, and that he would do the choosing (again, imagine my surprise). Of all the trinkets gained by the group, Straight-Guns gained what I think to be the most unusual: a fist sized hunk of amber with something that looked like a scorpion imprisoned inside. The rest of us got more..."traditional" treasures. I got a ring. Whee.
The last bit of information the Guardian's ghost passed on to us was the most important (at least to him). He stated that the legend of the Guardian needed to go on. Too many people looked to his example for hope, and hope was something in short supply these days. He went on to say that in order for that to happen, one of us would have to take his place and "become" the Guardian for a while. Now of all us survivors, I could only picture two that would fit the bill. Straight-Guns was my first thought (You thought I'd say "me"? Hell, I don't want the job.), mainly because he had traveled with the Guardian for so long - it would be easy for him to step into his shoes. Problem with that though was Kelly has a pretty established rep all his own as the Guardian's side-kick. Then of course there was Otto. Loud, gung-ho and thick as a brick. Just perfect for the job. The Guardian must have thought so as well, because in the end, Otto was his choice. Thus, the grand legend of the Guardian did not die, but would live on to inspire hope in countless hearts across the wasteland. Hoo-ray for us.
With that piece of business behind us the Guardian bid us each a separate farewell in the form of hugs and hand shakes (at least so far as a ghost could do so). This turned out to be more than a polite or amiable gesture on his part, as his touch left an indefinable, eerie sensation throughout my being. Maybe I feel just a little bit more together now, and maybe its just my imagination. I don't know. I can only assume that the others felt something similar. As his form reverted back to mist and settled back into his cold corpse, he told us that he'd catch up with us in fifteen to twenty years in his new form, pending that we weren't pushing up daisies by then (which means that there may be something to that "Eternal Hero" crap he kept babbling about). With a sigh instead of a hearty "Hi Ho Silver" the Guardian passed on...to his rebirth or someplace else is anybody's guess.
We rested for a few days, long enough at least for both Kelly and I to regain the ability to walk around. Following the spirits instructions, we built a pyre in the center of the abandoned city and cremated his remains. A stiff morning breeze came out of nowhere and swept his ashes away. While Kelly and I recuperated, Otto began to acquaint himself with the gatling pistols and the idea of assuming the role of Guardian. Kelly had promised the spirit that he'd stick by Otto to help preserve the illusion and to teach him how to fill the Guardian's boots. Even if we had been ready to leave, we couldn't. The torrential rains had caused a flash flood situation in the canyons, effectively trapping us in the old city. The Papergirl, Fran and Two Strokes did some exploring but nothing else of interest was found. More important I guess was that no moths were either - we had apparently been successful in our original endeavor. When the waters began to recede to a reasonable level, we finally made our way back to the canyon floor. We managed to recover the Papergirl's bike (hate to admit it, but she has pulled some rather impressive tactical maneuvers on the thing), but the supplies and horses we had left them on were of course gone. Well, almost. One thing worth mentioning remained. A horse's head (I think it might have been Kelly's) was found well above the water line, spiked to the wall of the canyon with a long metal rod. If I didn't know better, I would have said the thing looked like an arrow. The only one who seemed shaken by this was Screech, but if she knew what the grisly presentation meant, she didn't let the rest of us in on it.
The trip back through the maze of canyons to Lake Powell was a long (about three weeks), but peaceful one. No moths. No skeletons. Not even Fran firing off an Arson for no apparent reason. Like I said, peaceful. The raft was even right where we left it; a little worse for wear, but definitely "lake worthy". Upon returning to Powellville, we were greeted by Grinner at the docks. We told him his pest problem was eliminated and he swung into another of his "On behalf of the people of Powellville" speeches (great...more fish). He asked some questions about our missing posse members, and we answered more or less truthfully, blurring the truth where the Guardian was concerned, saying that he was "catching up with us later". For the next few days, we were the focus of quite a little celebration (if you like fish).
During the party, we found out that an old acquaintance of the Lunatic and Straight-Guns and the Lunatic was in town looking to meet up with the two of them. Eventually, Grinner managed to set up a meeting with the stranger and his two traveling companions with us in the local saloon. Now, I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what we found. I realize that a harrowed Law Dog and a crazy "Eternal Hero" gunfighter may, along their travels quire a few friends and allies that might "border" on the unusual, but jeez. Tanus (as IT'S name turned out to be) was not only well over the "border", but into the next state of "unusual and bizarre". Its not everyday you see a glowing, green jackal man dressed up like the Egyptian "Giardian of the Dead" in a back-water dive known only for its fishing industry. He even had the fancy head-dress and staff. Kelly greeted him like they were old chums however, so I guess he's okay. The two that accompanied him weren't quite as spectacular. The little guy was obviously a scav, and proved less of a conversationalist than me at first (and that's really saying something). There was something about him though - something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then there was the wrestler. Yeah, you heard right. Wrestler. Big as a barn (smelled about as good, too) and dressed up in black tights, black boots and a black leather mask. Loud geek that smoked cheap cigars and rants in a horrible Spanish accent. This one set off my early warning system: "big, flamboyant and smelly - could cause unforseen trouble in the near future". He even threatened me for mis-pronouncing his name. Of course, once I found out that "El Chupicabra" meant "the goat sucker" in his native tongue and noted his adverse reaction, I refused to call him anything else. We needed a little fresh comedy relief anyway - I was running out of things to pick on the kid about.
So, Kelly got reacquainted with his friend, and we got to know him and his friends. I'm thinking there ought to be some sort of initiation for new bodies to get into our group - it seems way to easy for any random yahoo to fetch up with us. As I watched things from my usual table away from the group, I saw what I thought to be impossible: Kelly was getting drunk. Now, as far as I know, harrowed CAN'T get drunk. Maybe he was just playing out of some sense of remorse for the loss of his friend and he actually psyched himself into thinking the alcohol was having an effect on him. Regardless, it was more than I needed to witness. As I headed for my room, the thought of leaving the group briefly entered my mind again, but I pushed it away. Though I'd never tell them, this group is the closest thing to the old Phantom Brigade that I've come across sense Houston. As much as I...dislike...social entanglements, this group gives me a sense of belonging to something bigger than myself - something important, though I'm not sure exactly what it might be. Its a feeling I haven't felt in a long time. Maybe I'll change my mind later on. Meanwhile, its not like I have anywhere better to go.
After about three days in Powellville it was time to move on, as we continued our journey to Lake Meade. Two Strokes agreed to continue to guide us to the lake under the pay of the town. The first day back on river started out on the mild side, as we all got back into the routine of alternately paddling the craft and holding on for dear life between calm stretches and rapids. Only the occasional blathering boasts of El Chupicabra broke the splendid silence of our down river trek. That is until the second day when the Sky Pirates made their entrance, blowing our pleasant little boat ride straight to hell. It was obviously a set-up, because we couldn't have been in a worse position. We had just entered into a nasty stretch of rapid, shear cliffs rising up on both sides when the first shot narrowly missed the raft, the report of the rifle somehow audible above the roar of the water. Turning in my seat while trying to paddle at the same time, I caught sight of two of the flyers, above and behind us and a third one diving forward into the canyon, hot on out tail. I drew everyone's attention to the problem as paddles we dropped and the group made a mad scramble for their weapons. Unfortunately, with everyone drawing their weapons, that left Two-Strokes trying to drive the large inflatable raft all by himself. With a scream, Two-Strokes began to frantically claw at the water from the rear of the raft as it began to spin out of control, moving sideways into the rapid.
Quickly reassessing the situation, and seeing as my ammo costs more than everyone else in the posse, I re-slung my "little reckoner" across my back and picked up the paddle again. I tried to help, but it began to look like it was too late - the raft was definitely starting to spin, and more rocks loomed ahead out of the rapids. The Pirates were doing their best to keep the group occupied with rifle fire and even a few molotov cocktails. The scav managed an amazing shot and blew one of the flaming bottles out of the air shortly after the pilot dropped it. Another shot from someone managed to hit one of the pilots, and the ultra-light spiraled out of control into the canyon wall, bringing the number we had to get rid of down to two. The explosion rained debris all around us. One flaming piece of wreckage (which we found out later was a burning piece of ghost rock) actually landed in the raft on top of some of the gear. El Chupicabra picked the thing up and lobbed it BACK at one of the flyers, actually hitting it. Perhaps Tanus won't be the only mutant in the group. Then things got REALLY interesting.
Sniper fire erupted from the cliff walls ahead of us on both sides, and the raft was hit at least twice, once above and once below the water line. The kid scrambled to the side of the raft with an innertube repair kit from her bike and did her best to patch the hole she could get to. One round nearly punched Two-Strokes' ticket, but a quick grab from Fran saved his life. Still, he withstood a heck of a chest wound, and he was down, writhing and bleeding in the bottom of the raft...which left the raft completely out of control. The raft spiraled into the rapids, jarring off rocks and slamming through waves as I did my best to keep us away from the walls. Everyone else was holding on with one hand and firing away with the other. The other two flyers were the first to go down. One of them almost managed to get his crippled craft to the top of the cliffs, but a lucky shot from Tanus did enough damage to one of the wings to bringing it crashing back into the river. The snipers were harder to hit, especially considering the precarious and near impossible aiming conditions we were under, but we continued to give better than we received. Coming around a large rock and out of a spin, I managed to glimpse something through the spray up ahead that nearly stopped my heart cold. A barbed chain was suspended low across the river ahead, and we moving straight towards it. If we hit it, the slowly deflating raft would shred like tissue paper. Dropping my paddle, I un-slung my rifle again and tried to get a shot off. The spinning raft and spray proved too much for me though and I missed. I screamed out for Kelly, as he always seemed to hit what he aimed at and seemed our last hope. Quickly assessing the situation, he brought up his rifle, leaned over a pile of equipment in the boat, and fired turning, aiming and firing even as the raft spun. The chain was hit multiple times and broke, sweeping yet another obstacle from our path. Around that time the rifle fire from the cliff tops stopped. We were either out of their range, or we'd gotten them all.
An even more unusual obstacle lay beyond, however. A large net spanned the width of the river. I guessed that it was used to scoop occasional salvage from the river - these guys had a nice little racket going here. The chain would wreck most small craft coming out of the rapid, and the force of the water would carry everything straight into the net. We hit the thing sideways and were brought to a jarring halt. The net was suspended by heavy steel cables that hung down from both walls of the canyon. While the rest of the group recovered their gear and their wits, I sprung into action. Having had enough of boats and aquatic fun for awhile, I made my way to the canyon wall and Spidered my way up to the top to see who was home. What did I find at the top of my climb? The cold steel barrel of a twelve gauge pressed to my forehead.
I let the clown with the gun feel like he had control of the situation, as I slowly climbed over the cliff top and got to my feet. I was already formulating a plan, and had an ace in the hole, so to speak. The brainer gave me the standard "Do as I tell you or you're dead" speech as I looked around to count targets. I counted six, all told; four scavs including Mr. Shotgun, a cleaner, meaner looking fellow with a big, nasty looking gun (who I figured to be the leader), and a withered old coot with a dog who looked to be unarmed. There appeared to be some sort of winch contraption to haul the net up beside a large ramshackle garage-like structure. Piles of rubbish were everywhere, giving the whole area a junkyard kind of feel. I noted that there were two more ultra-lights parked on the other side of the building as well. At this point, the rest of the posse was yelling up to me, trying to figure out what was going on - could barely hear them over the river. Mr. Shotgun told me to call down to them and tell them everything was all right, but I'd had enough. I knew what I needed to know, so I threw down my ace.
My ace was the new power I had acquired - a little trick called Fleshrip. If there was ever a time to test my new toy, it was now. I turned my head and made eye contact with my capturer, smiled and flicked my hands releasing the energy I had built up inside me. The effect was marvelous...his middle just went away, showering me in blood and viscera. He never knew what hit him. The bad news was that I could feel how much the trick had taken out of me. I was tapped, so I'd be performing no more Syker stunts today. I brought my rifle to bear instead and opened fire.
The other three scavs got spooked big time be my little spectacle and began to run for the flyers. I ended one scavs trip before it had even begun. Before I could target the others however, the guy with the big gun opened fire. He missed, but he definitely got my attention - I've seen rail guns in action before, and they aren't to be trifled with. We each exchanged a round with no hits when I got a nice suprise. Tanus came up over the ridge behind me and let loose with a blast from his staff. It split off into five separate bolts of energy (I've seen the trick before - it looked like our new friend was some sort of doomie). Three of the bolts struck the scavs, while the other two slapped the guy with the rail gun. This whole time, the old man with the dog was laughing hysterically.
After we had bested the bandits, we found out that the old man actually owned the scrap yard. The guy with the rail gun (a Junker as it turns out...can't say I'm completely suprised) and his fellows had commandeered the yard and the net from the old timer, stringing the chain across the river as part of the ambush on us. They must have been following us for awhile to set it up - what did they want from us anyway? The old timer (whose name was Rat) was so grateful to us for getting rid of the scum that he let us scrounge through his junk piles, letting us take anything we found useful as a reward. I admit it was mostly water damaged crap, but we all managed to find something of use. I even found seventeen rounds of .50 caliber ammo; part of an old belt-feed system (sure it wasn't in the best of shape, but like I said before beggars can't be choosers...it beats the hell out of more fish, regardless). Hauling the raft up in the net, Rat gave it a look over and determined he could repair the damage it took during the fight without too much trouble, given a little time. That was fine by me as both my body and mind needed some serious down time. Fran and the scav settled down with Two-Strokes and began to tend his wounds as the others made inquiries about local activity. In confirmation of the rumors we had heard back in Dango, Rat told us that there was in fact some green robe activity in and around Lake Meade. Lucky us. As I sit here getting all this down, my head again is filled with questions. What does Silas want at Lake Meade? Who were the Sky Pirates and what did they want with us? Have we seen the last of them? Will I ever get the smell of this river out of my clothes? Whatever we find down river, I just hope the trip was worth it.
- S.C.
11/21 - 11/28 Somewhere in Utah. Sunrise in Cibola. The air was dank and smelled of age and must. We were all on edge. We'd been forced (heh) to kill one of our own during the night, sure...but more than that was the heavy atmosphere of the place. The city gave off an opressive feeling of evil (for lack of a better term). Those of us who had slept barely had enough time to wipe the sleep out of our eyes and tuck into another cold meal from our dwindling rations when a small, dirty "dead looking" little native gut showed up - complete with feathers and war paint. He claimed to know Two-Strokes and our guide vouched for him saying he was a hermit who lived in the canyons around these parts. Apparently he'd been shadowing our group for awhile (might explain that feeling I was having back in the canyons). But anyway, so far, so good, so what. In the span of ten minutes the harrowed indian (he's claiming he's not, but I don't buy it) had made perverse advances toward the Papergirl, attempted to "summon the spirits" of the vicinity for "guidance" and had "jokingly" referred to the cliff dwelling we'd discovered with the blood covered walls as his "summer home". Let's just say these statements and behavior pushed ALL of the Lunatics buttons. It took Two-Strokes intervening and talking up a storm to get the indian skin-bag to take back his comments and appologize. To my suprise he was successful. Even so, the Lunatic holstered his gats and let loose with his usual warning/death threat in the indian's face. I know the dirty, dead looking guy told us his name, but he gave off the same vibe as the surrounding area and I had a feeling that our new "friend" wasn't going to be around long. I din't bother to remember it. From that point on I just refered to him as "Skin Bag".
With that behind us, we ventured into the city. It was decided that we should break up into teams of two. Trying as I might to go solo, I ended up paired off with the Lunatic (joy). Our section of the city was less than bountiful (still no damn gold). We did observe throughout the search, however that the city's previous inhabitants seemed to have simply stop what they were doing and leave. Even hundreds of years later we detected the signs of this through the placement of everyday items, such as eating utensils, cookware and the like. Back before everything went to hell, an archeologist or museum would have paid handsomely for this stuff. It was all perfectly preserved. Now its just old junk like so much of the rest of the world. While we continued our search, it turned out that some of the others found items of greater interest. Straight-Guns and the Papergirl came across two of them (as told to us later by Straight-Guns himself). The first was a decorative blue ceremonial mask with three slits carved into it. Kelly was smart enough to leave it be, and even left a pair of handcuffs next to it, letting anyone else who happened upon it the mask that he had been there and thought it might be best to leave the thing untouched (I knew he had been the right person to give the map to). The Papergirl handled her find a bit differently. She found a small cloth pouch on the opposite side of the room of where the mask was found. Now you'd think the girl was a wasteland primitive (or Auto) by the way she reacted to the damned thing. Instead of opening the pouch, getting closer to it for a closer inspection or even telling Straight-Guns about it, she lobs one of her "newspapers" at it, resulting in the distinctive sound of breaking glass or ceramic. Gee, I guess the West is now a much safer place with one less small cloth pouch in it. Max and Skin-Bag happened across something interesting as well - the remains of a previous archeological expedition to the city. Interesting, but not real useful. Just a jumble of old bones and equipment. Straight-Guns and the Lunatic got excited about several old rounds of ammunition for their guns, and Skin-Bag cackled something about "desecrating white men" and some "spirits of vengence" nonsense but that was about it.
The most fascinating discovery was made by Screech. From across the silent city, the sound of rock crashing into rock got our collective attention. We double-timed it to her location and were greeted by a disturbing sight. We found her in some sort of ceremonial building at the back of the city, where she had picked up thirty square foot section of stone flooring and heaved it through the back of the building and through the rear wall of the city directly behind (perhaps teaching her Body Control wasn't such a good idea). Apparently her keen senses had alerted her to a barely visible seam running along the floor. While this act of destruction was impressive, it was what it left revealed that was disturbing. In a large hollow beneath the floor was the same reverse spiral pattern laid out in the sand, but with a few new significant variations. Firstly, it was made out of human bones; the larger ones (femur and such) on the outside and the smaller ones (metacarpals and tarsals) toward the middle (no pelvis bones, though...odd). Three human skulls painted and covered with faded colored feathers (not from any birds around here) were arranged around the spiral, facing inward. At the center of the spiral was large bowl that appeared to be beaten gold filled to the brim with a quantity of a black powdery substance. We figured that it was very old, dried blood and that we were either staring at a sacrificial pit, or the Reckoners idea of interior decorationg (maybe both).
While we were taking in the gruesome art show, someone notice that Two-Strokes had disappeared. With a little tracking effort, the trail pointed out through the hole Screech had knocked in the wall of the building and off through the rear wall of the city. There was a dark, narrow passage between the rear wall of the city and the back cliff wall of the alcove the city had been built inside. The Lunatic was the first one into the breach. When we all heard a yelp from the darkness, followed by the sound of a body following and weird hollow rattling sounds, he rushed in, followed by Screech, Skin-Bag and the Bug-Sniffer. The latter kept wailing about being let up front because he could see in the dark (nothing like advertising your advantages to the world at large...tall, dark and stupid). Kelly was next into the tight passage behind the city wall, followed by the Papergirl. The Junker and I stayed at the enterance hole. After a bit of pandemonium, Kelly called back to the Junker to send up a lantern (apparently he managed to scrounge an old one from the remains of the archeological dig). A short time later we were called up to join the rest of the group. I guess it was a day of disturbing discoveries. This narrow passage had apparently been used as some sort of mass grave - the bones were piled chest high and stretched forward into the darkness outside of the reach of the old latern's feeble glow. The walls of the passage were covered with the now redundant reverse black spiral pattern and more hand prints (although these were arranged in such a way (base of palm to base of palm) as to resemble a bird-like shape...or perhaps a moth).
After spending a bit more time poking around, we realized the day was fading fast and we headed back to the tower we had passed the previous evening in. The others broke up into small groups and mused over the findings of the day. I on the other hand was getting fed up with the whole scene. Three weeks of travel, dwindling supplies and even the "pay" from Powellville was gone. I even caught myself thinking about leaving and hiring myself out to Silas himself - and I HATE that bastard. I shook off that thought pretty quick as I swore I would only stay one more day. That was how long I'd give this venture before I bid this group farewell. Well, as they say about "the best laid plans" and such...
On the last watch of the night, which happened to be me and the Papergirl, the snowball began to roll downhill so to speak. The kid spotted movement inside the city. Using the scope on my rifle, I attempted to track the hostile. I picked up several "blurs" in the darkness, moving in toward our location. Things were starting to happen, so I sent the kid to wake up the rest of the group quietly. It wasn't long before everyone was ready for action, with us on the defensive. By now I could make out the nature of our attackers...skeletons. Honest to god walkin' skeletons. As the rest of the group took up positions, I counted at least twenty of the things shuffling out of the darkness, their eye sockets lit with an erie blue glow. The wall slit didn't provide an overall view of the playing field, so I scrambled up the ladder to the roof of the tower as the Lunatic and Straight-Guns stood by the door as the old wood shuddered under the blows of the skeletons outside. As I began to open the trapdoor, skeletal hands shot downward, barring my way (I nearly lost it and fell, barely managing to hang on). Keeping my composure, I loudly suggested that the roof wasn't the way to go. Down below, Straight-Guns had thrown open the door and began laying into the skeletal horde, using his rifle as a bludgeon. Behind him the Lunatic's gats began to chatter their grim fandango as the smell of gunpowder and chips of bone began to fill the air - so much for the defensive. After I got out of the way, Screech and Bug-Sniffer opened up on the two deaders that had been trying to make it in through the roof, and came up behind me. Max tried to shoulder into his jet-pack as the Papergirl pulled out her little .38 pop-gun and tried her best to help out. Skin-bag wasn't doing anything useful - just kept chanting more indian mumbo-jumbo. Straight-Guns and the Lunatic were slowly working their way out the door, actualy making headway into the crowd of deaders gathered outside. My guess was these were the remains of the folks we had found sealed behined the city wall - I silently reminded myself to thank Screech later for letting them out.
When Screech, Auto and I finally made it to the roof, I wished I hadn't bothered. Off in the distance a blue sphere of energy was emanating from around a domed structure that we hadn't had the chance to check out during the day. The pulsing sphere was growing and moving slowly our way. Blue electrical arcs of destruction lanced forth from the thing, shattering whatever they touched. Surrounding the sphere, almost like a fluttering living shield, were the black outlines of dozens of moths. To top it off, in the heart of the thing loomed a huge "face" - a dead-ringer for the mask Straight-Guns had found earlier (almost lost it a second time). The pre-dawn sky began to rumble ominously as the wind picked up and rain begain to fall outside the protected overhang of the ledge the city rested upon. It looked like it was time to get the hell out of Dodge, so it was back through the trapdoor and down again. Screech (for reasons I can't fathom) decided to hurl an arson at the base of the tower before descending. While this managed to get a few of the skeletons, it also set the wooden door and the wall around the door on fire, making our escape a bit hairier. Despite the added danger, we managed to all escape the "towering inferno" and into the relative safety of the horde of skeletons. By this time the glowing blue "death sphere" and settled into a place immediately in front of the city gates, blocking any hope of escape. Faced with these overwhelming odds, Two-Strokes promptly passed out. The Papergirl (who is a hulk for such a youngster) managed to get the slim guide over her shoulders as the rest of the posse began to put distance in between themselves and the sphere...making our way deeper into the city...
...I'm not sure how long I've been laying here. Been bleeding for awhile...gut wound. Hard to stay focused, but I've got to stay awake. Not sure how much longer I've got left. Can't leave the journal unfinished - it would be unprofessional. So much to tell for such a short ammount of time...
As we moved deeper into the city we got hit with another wave of skeletons - there were so damn many of them. Kelly, the Guardian and Auto laid down a barrage of fire and slowly made their way through as many as they could. Max finally made it out of the tower, got a look at the sphere and promptly lost it. He triggered his pack and roared off over the wall and into the rainstorm (I question how flying into a sky filled with lightning wearing a piece of metal strapped to your back is any safer, but...). Although I'm positive he made it out of the tower ahead of me, Skin-Bag was nowhere to be seen. I took one skeleton down, but a sniper rifle just wasn't the tool for the job at hand. I had an idea, so I slung the rifle over my shoulder and went off to find the building where Kelly had left the mask. The Papergirl, still carrying the unconcious Two-Strokes, followed along both to guide the way and get him out of the combat. After some brief frenzied tracking in the dark, we managed to find the building again and began to check around for anything Kelly might have missed. Though the handcuffs were still there, inexplicably the mask and cloth bag were gone. The Papergirl set Two-Strokes down gently on the remains of an old sleeping mat. On the ceiling I spied an opening to a small room on the second floor - not much there. Three small window-like openings did provide me with a view of the floor show, and it wasn't pretty. A large, swirling black vortex had appeared in the back cliff face, roughly where Fran had smashed a hole through the wall. Three points of pale, blue light were dimly visible at its center. I must have been momentarily mesmerized by the sheer srangeness of the thing and what my eyes were relaying to my brain, because I barely heard the kid squealing down below. She was going on about "finding something" and needling my help. Well, the "something" turned out to be another stone slab (these guys sure liked to hide stuff under heavy slabs of rock). With a little body control and a lot of effort, both of us managed to lift the damned thing (like I said, the kid's a hulk - she could be Fran's little sister).
Our efforts revealed a long, wooden staff-like thing (heh...a big stick...the kid must have been in heaven). She snatched it up as quick as you please and zipped out the door, leaving me behind with several thoughts swimming around in my head. Most importantly the question: what was the glowing sphere of energy? The bone brigade was definitely coming from the whole in the wall and not the sphere. On closer inspection the moths seemed to be...attacking the sphere? The thing did stop at the gates of the city and didn't pursue us. I wanted answers, and not the kind you get from a bullet. I went straight to the source. The rest of the posse continued to whack away at the skeletons as I did the unexpected. Making my way back to the gates, I took a closer look at the sphere, standing mere feet away from it. It dawned on me that I was looking at two spheres, one contained inside the other. The inner one contained the face, afloat in a sea of blue chaos apparently of its own making. The outer one was comprised almost entirely of moth - a literal fluttering "moth ball" as the things swarmed all over each other trying to get at the central sphere and the source of the blue light. Apparently some force was holding them at bay. Meanwhile bolts of electric mayhem continued to spew forth, frying some of the moths and putting on an overall display of brilliant dissonance. Without so much as an after-thought, I waited for a small gap in the moths (so I wouldn't end up huggin' a bug) and leapt straight into the maelstrom. The answer had to be something to do with the mask - wearing it, destroying it, whatever. "Whatever" turned out to be the proverbial door number three. At the eye of the hurricane would be a good way to describe the center of the sphere...calm, almost quiet. Directly before me rose the image of the mask...a huge spiritual manifestation of it. A deep, resonant voice filled my mind as the thing began to communicate with me.
Long story, short. The sphere turned out to be a guardian spirit placed there by the shamans that sealed the city to guard the way to the "well of souls", the prison of "the blue god". The moth things were the servants of the god and had been taking victims to gather power for the god's release. When Fran unearthed that weird "sacrificial pit" with the artistically placed bones, she broke the spell of binding that had been sealing the way to the well, in addition to freeing the bound spirits of the blue god's three shamans. These dark shamans were the source of the vortex - they were prematurely opening the path for their god to re-enter our world. The spirit warned me that if the shamans weren't stopped, the blue god would come forth. That was all of the information I needed, and back into the fray I went.
I found the rest of he posse already at the widening vortex of black spiritual energy. Having finally dispatched the remainder of the skeletons, they had all taken up positions around the "gateway" and were observing the three points of light grow and solidify into the spectral images of three men in feathered ceremonial garb. I noticed that Skin-Bag wore the missing mask and was hopping around, screaming at the spirits at the top of his lungs. The three ignored him and began chanting as the vortex began to pick up speed and a sloping black tunnel began to form behind them and inside of it, leading into the cliff face. An insane piping sound filled the air, rising above even the sound of the wind and thunder going on outside. I tried to let the posse know what the score was, but all the lights and noise made it impossible. Running quickly out of options, I unslung the rifle and fired the first shot. This got the rest of the group going as they replied in kind (I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I saw Kelly walk staight up to the lead shaman, yell something like "Excuse me gentlemen, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the plane." and then start fanning that rifle of his.) That's when my world turned into a kaliedescope of pain.
The shamans unfortunately didn't care for my efforts to warn the rest of the group. They sent their displeasure to me in the form of a spiritual bitch slap that very nearly did me in, ripping a huge hole in my guts and sending me flying (not even that Doombringer we fought when we hit planet did this much to me in one shot). Discretion being the better part of survival, I managed to put up Silence and Chameleon and fade into the background. Everyone else opened up on the evil trio, but they seemed to be shielded from much of what we dished out. Fran emptied her autoshotgun into them, and Auto blazed away with his pistols with little effect. Only the Guardian's gats and Kelly's pistols (which if memory serves he keeps loaded with silver) seemed to have any effect. Max suddenly showed up again, flying hell bent for leather out of the darkness. Drawing his pistol, he roared over the shamans heads and dove straight down the widenening maw of the tunnel, where I lost sight of him. This whole scene blew the kid's mind and she took off running, only to return moments later with the stick she had found, just as Straight-Guns and the Lunatic were finishing the shamans off. The Guardian meanwhile had retrieved the mask from the now smoking remains of the Skin-Bag (guess the real shamans got tired of listening to his babble too) and had put it on, where it actually melded with his features. He called out something in a language I couldn't understand and the sphere began to move away from the gate toward the vortex, shedding moths and electrical bolts as it came. The kid ran right up to him and pressed the stick into his hands. He just nodded grimly and handed his gats (!) to Kelly, who in turn handed his pistols to Auto. Holding the stick like a baseball bat, he strode off into the tunnel at the heart of the vortex, followed by Kelly and Auto. The guardian sphere brought up the rear and drifted into the tunnel after them. The kid wandered around, obviously looking for me but I stayed quiet, barely having enough strength to stay concious. Fran sat patiently at the mouth of the tunnel, calmly reloading her shotgun. All we could hear now was the thunder, wind and sounds of the pouring rain. Everything in the city had become deathly quiet. Time passed slowly as my life continued to slip away.
After a while a grinding noise like stone on stone seemed to fill the air, as the tunnel visibly began to shrink. Fran took off running into the tunnel, and moments later emerged with Auto, the two of them carrying the limp bodies of both Straight-Guns and the Lunatic. As they exited, the portal slammed closed with a sound of crushing rock, hopefully for good. After that, I think I passed out.
That was pretty much the gist of things...think I'll try and make some noise here in a few minutes. That kid has good ears and she might find me. Maybe I'll get patched up...doubt it though. The Holy Roller was the only one with any real healing skill...in the group. Boy, didn't that just bite me in the ass? Talk about ironic. The Junker...Max...had some first aid...but I didn't see him come out before the portal closed. Doesn't matter...lead a good enough life. Hell...if they don't put a bullet in my head...I might come back. Besides death and I...are old lovers. Won't be so bad...to be delivered...instead of being the deliverer...for a change...of pace...they say that variety...is the...spice...have to wait and...