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The three-bodied posse moves on from the next graveyard they've created quickly, knowing they still have a few hours of travel ahead of them before they reach Black Mesa proper. The short journey there is largely unevenetful, save for a group of eight mounted Indians of unrecognizable tribe passing by in the distance; they seem to be heading east, either way, but they either don't notice, or don't care about the group. Once the posse reaches Black Mesa, they find even less than they expected - the "shelter house", a cottage suitable for 8-10 people to rest in if needed, currently without any occupants. There's a well to drink and refill from, an empty fireplace, and otherwise an unfurnished room with wire beds that are prepared for bedrolls and then become semi comfortable.
The group is actually happy that the cottage is empty, and take their rest. Isaac and Bill switch guard duty to allow Adelita to get a proper rest, and end up spending longer time resting than normal, but either way their rest time is uneventful and Adelita is, at least, properly stabilized and rested.
The trio decide to wait until the morning of the next day, as unlike in the wilderness, it's safer to take the trails during the day than night. Once they pack up their things and load the wagon up, they immediately set out on the trail to Santa Fe, and make good distance during the day even though the cow-pulled wagon is slowing them a bit off the pace of horses. The sun seems to be setting when in front of them, another cow-pulled wagon emerges from beyond the horizon, and after it another, then another... they are coming from the direction of Santa Fe, and seem headed directly towards the group, totally it's a caravan of seven wagons, at least from what Bill can determine in the distance.
Bill Williamson keeps his Hawken rifle at his side as the two groups get nearer. Most likely it's a caravan of pioneer types, but he needs to be certain either way. He calls and turns to the others to keep their guns at the ready just in case.
Roll to determine the wagon types (covered, open, etc.) and if there are women and children in the group or just men.
Bill can't be certain at this distance. Some wagons are covered, some uncovered, and they certainly don't appear hostile at this distance. But it's to be determined who the occupants are, how they are armed, etc. The caravan is around 300-500 yards out.
Having recovered quite well, Adelita climbs out of the back of the wagon and sits at the wagoner's bench next to Bill. She squints her eyes at the caravan in the distance and announced confidently: "Homesteaders."
She sees that some are armed, but usually only the wagoners, and she notices child-like movement in some of the wagons, and certainly recognizes women in the wagons, as well. This doesn't necessarily mean the group isn't dangerous, but they at least do not seem openly hostile. They've noticed you as well, and some of the wagoners place their rifles on their laps, but it seems to be out of caution, not intent to shoot you on sight.
The homesteaders don't really stop by to chat, and now that they're closer, you realize they're in a bit of a rush. Adelita doesn't back down, and asks when they pass the next wagon, and the next... until finally, in the middle of the pack, a little girl seems to find Adelita's accent funny, and responds: "First the church in Albequerque was burned down, then our ranches visited by some very bad men! Mum says we oughtta--"
She is muffled by what presumably is her mother, then, and the rest of the caravaners continue ignoring you, either keeping their heads low and not making eye contact at all, or staring straight at you with their knuckles whitening as they grip whatever weapons they have...
Bill Williamson spits and mutters under his breath, using the leather reigns to strike the haunches of the cattle pulling the wagon.
"Peace an' quiet my foot," he spits again, nodding to Adelita. "Trouble brewin' with them thar homesteaders. If'n we stays in town things should be mite fine. Probably Hoosiers, but who knows. Once we rest up some, we's can resupply an' stop by the Sherrif. Check them thar wanted posters, an' see if'n the heads in back match up with any fellers. If'n thar still be a Sheriff that is. If'n thar ain't, we keeps them heads quiet. Plus, Doc can probably whip up some folks a few things an' sech. Sides, I got a hankerin fer a good jug a' corn licker. Ain't had none since afore this mess started."
Not an idea per se, but here's a question. Albuquerque is past Santa Fe. If the church there was burnt down, these people should have found refuge in Santa Fe. Why didn't they?
If they are moving past Santa Fe, i suspect two likely scenarios:
1. Santa fe is not putting up with refugees, or, more worryingly, it's not open to visitors.
2. Santa fe is also burnt down and buggered.
Not long after parting ways with the caravan, the trio sees Santa Fe in the distance, a small town of around 30 buildings and a small train station with train tracks leading south. From a distance as you approach, the town is right now quite dead-looking. There are few signs of activity even as you get closer, and when you all approach the outskirts, you notice something even more odd: some of the outside houses have boarded up windows. Occasionally, when you look at the windows, a face seems to disappear behind curtains, or you spot the glimmer of an eye between the planks when they are boarded up. There are no people outside, no children playing, and you seem to be the only visitors. As you move through the main road, nothing else seems to catch your attention, and neither Bill, nor Adelita or Isaac spot any signs of imminent danger. The first sign of activity is when you get close to the main street, and your small caravan passes by what seems to be a casino. Two dangerous-looking men flank the entrance and eye you from under their hats, arms folded. Adelita notes that under their long coats, they seem to be packing some not very well concealed hardware.
They keep their eyes on them as you pass, but there are no sudden movements, and they don't seem too concerned - just being wary of newcomers. After traversing the full length of the casino, the trio reaches the main square and finds it unusually calm as well. Other than horses, there is no sign of activity except at the top of the square is what seems to partially explain the unusual quietness in the rest of the town. Other than 4 more guards - standing in front of the local bank, leaned against the front railing and observing the commotion from a distance.
As you approach, you catch parts of the arguing - it seems to be the townsfolk mostly yelling at who is obviously the Sheriff, flanked by two of his deputies in front of his office.
The Mexican looking Deputy to the Sheriff's left yells out over the crowd: "Listen up, folks! Shoutin' over one-anotha' isn't gonna help matters, juss' let us explain!"
A beautiful looking, well dressed and groomed woman out front yells out over him. "Shut the hell up, Deputy Jimenez! We don't need explanations, we need action! Call the Pinkertons! The Army! Somethin'!"
The Sheriff raises his hands. He's a well built man, a little rough around the edges, and seems to have not gotten a lot of sleep lately. Seems to be around his mid-thirties, and stands a few inches tall over his deputies. When he does speak, the crowd does seem to calm down and listen.
"Folks, y'all heard the rumors. The Marauders been takin' the whole region to ruin after tha' bold robbery in Albuquerque, and I guess them homesteaders who passed thru' had big mouths and must've shared with everyone about the ranch burnins, even tho' I asked'em ta keep it on the down-low. That may've been unfair to y'all, but we can't have any panic, alrite? What we do, is what y'all have been doin' already - hunker down, keep yer kids in the house, keep an eye open, but stay calm and try ta keep things goin', business as usual. Deputies Jimenez and Frost will be patrollin' the outskirts twenny-four seven, and we'll take volunteers so that they can be paired up, keep a four-eyes policy on'em roads."
The town murmurs, interrupting the Sheriff's speech for a moment, before he again raises a hand and continues.
"We can't stop life in Santa Fe just 'cause we might, maybe, potentially, be a target of some sickos from down south - so keep yer businesses runnin', we'll make sure anyone who gets in town is screened--"
There's another interruption as an older, well-tanned fellow from in front of the bank points to your caravan and yells out to the Sheriff. "Sheriff, those've been screened?!"
The whole town looks at you... and so does Jack "Hardtack" Costigan as he looks out the barred window of his cell-ground level of the sheriff's office, at the commotion. He was supposed to be released this morning after a night spent in the cell for sleeping in front of the saloon and mouthing off to the Sheriff, but the town meeting stopped the Sheriff just short of the release.
There's a map on Roll20 for an idea of how things are looking.
In the interest of this being a pretty niche rulebook, one thing to remind everyone of: we are using the "racist" rules, and Santa Fe, while close to Mexico and more metropolitan than say, Denver, is still a predominately white town here. That means women get an automatic -1 penalty to reactions, and any non-whites get -3.
Because this is so close to Mexico, then for Santa Fe I'm going to adjust reaction to Spanish people to -2 only, but you still get a big malus.
Keep that in mind when speaking to these people... it'll be the last warning I'll volunteer regarding the charisma/reaction rules.
Okay bros- Windwir , 'Stella Brando' now?, Major_Blackhart, had a bit of a q&a with SoupNazi and some inconvenient things came to mind- I'm posting it out here so it doesn't get missed on the chat-
1. As far as the wagons go, I don't think we have a big problem, but, the cattle are branded with the Roman Numeral V. Which if it originated from Santa Fe, leads to the possibility that we(excluding Hardtack) may be considered a bunch of cattle rustlers.
2. Way I see it, anyone keeping an eye on the road would figure we got in from the Dodge City trail. Which means they could inquire about Ghost Rock which is a bit of a 5th Amendment problem, to put it mildly. We can't tell them we come from elsewhere, because were else would we come from? Combine that with the branded cow and we are in a bit of a difficult situation to explain our way out of.
I think one of the better options we have is to mix up the truth with a bit of lies. We set out from Derry's Ford, got ambushed and chased by bandits and our caravan was separated from us, and we took out some of the guys chasing us at Sand Creek. With no option, we took the cows and horses from the spoils and made it here. Original plan was to go to denver and take the train to dodge and then hit the trail to stop at Albuquerque, but on account of the bandits setting on us, that plan is all shot to shit.
Best thing I got, if we get a better one, I'll take it.
We set out from Derry's Ford, got ambushed and chased by bandits and our caravan was separated from us, and we took out some of the guys chasing us at Sand Creek. With no option, we took the cows and horses from the spoils and made it here. Original plan was to go to denver and take the train to dodge and then hit the trail to stop at Albuquerque, but on account of the bandits setting on us, that plan is all shot to shit.
