Seth, Morgan, and Shane reach the outskirts of an abandoned shipping port, leaving the familiar borders of Alexandria far behind. The air here tastes of brine and rot. Giant rusted containers loom like iron titans over the cracked asphalt, and a thick, grey-white fog rolls in from the harbor, swallowing the horizon. A deep, mechanical groaning sound vibrates through the ground, suggesting something heavy is shifting inside the dry dock.
Seth
The cold is seeping into my bones, and my missing hand is throbbing with a phantom rhythm that matches the groaning metal nearby.
Shane Walsh
Shane shifts his weight, his eyes scanning the maze of containers with predatory intensity.
Shane
We should have brought more than just sidearms for this, Seth. This place feels like a grave waiting to be filled.
Morgan Jones
Morgan It is not just a grave, Shane. It is a trap. I can feel the eyes on us from the upper catwalks.
Seth
Then we don't give them a chance to spring it. Morgan, take the low ground. Shane, stay with me. If that metal groans again, we move fast.
+ Scene Quest Added
Investigate the source of the mechanical groaning in the dry dock
“We came to find an old guy one of our scouts said has horses and we are going to try to arrange some kind of deal with him to get the horse's”
SUCCESS (Good Diplomacy, rolled +0)
A figure emerges from behind a stack of rusted containers, leading two restless horses by frayed leather reins. The man is elderly, his face a roadmap of deep creases, eyes scanning the trio with wary precision.
Elder Brenna
You move like wolves, but you smell like men who lost a limb. What do you want with my mounts?
Seth
We aren't here to take them, old man. We need to trade. I have medical supplies and enough ammunition to keep your perimeter secure for a month. We help each other, or we all feed the rot.
Morgan Jones
Morgan (He holds his staff tight, watching the older man's hands for any sign of a weapon.)
Shane Walsh
Shane (His knuckles are white against his holster, eyes darting to the fog behind the elder.)
Elder Brenna
He pauses, considering the offer as a horse whinnies, unnerved by the approaching chill.
A fair trade. But you leave before the fog fully settles, or you become part of the port.
+ Scene Quest Added
Secure a trade deal with Elder Brenna before the fog consumes the port.
“Say how about we take you to one of are communities we got the kingdom and Alexandria they have walls and food houses and people”
SUCCESS (Good Diplomacy, rolled +0)
Seth
Forget the port. You’re rotting away in this fog with nothing but these beasts. We have Alexandria and The Kingdom. Actual walls. Houses. Families. We’re building a future that isn't measured in hours of survival. Come with us, help us hold the line, and you’ll never have to worry about the tide claiming you again.
Seth
He’s hesitant, but the prospect of safety is clearly weighing heavier than his pride.
Elder Brenna
He drops the reins of one horse, his calloused hands trembling slightly as he looks toward the looming, dark silhouettes of the shipping containers.
A community? Not just a hideout? You talk a big game, son, but I’ve seen enough 'leaders' turn tail when the dead start climbing.
Morgan Jones
He lowers his staff just an inch, his posture shifting from defensive to inviting.
It’s real. We’ve fought for it. We’re fighting for it right now.
Shane Walsh
He sighs, his hand finally drifting away from his holster as he scans the fog one last time.
You’re running out of time, old man. Make a move.
“I promise you sir you will be safer there”
SUCCESS (Good Diplomacy, rolled -1)
Seth
I promise you, sir. You will be safer there than you ever were out here in this hell. We have doctors, we have walls, and we have people who give a damn if you wake up tomorrow. You’re trading a slow death in the mist for a chance to actually live.
Elder Brenna
He studies Seth’s face, searching for a trace of a lie, his grip on the horse's lead finally loosening completely.
A promise is worth more than gold these days, though it doesn't stop a bullet. You say your walls hold?
Morgan Jones
They hold. Come on.
The fog suddenly swirls violently, a low, guttural moan rising from the dark containers, snapping the group's attention toward the dry dock.
Seth
Whatever is in that dock, it’s closer than I thought. We need to move now or lose our chance.