Diesel Empire RPG

The Kings Mart Versus The End of the World

TANNER'S CITY. 22-1983. The Silohain War showed up at the border three days ago, and the city has already started evaculations.

The city is on high alert, but corporate is paying you extra to keep Kings Mart #2222 open for business. People still need their video tapes, diesel, and potato chips, and Kings Mart will be there until the bitter end, because that is a damn good sound bite on TV news.

Luckily you don't have much to lose, and a lot of debt to pay.

Tonight, the shift will drag on, but the endless drone of mediocrity won't last. The shadow of this New War will meet with the dark fringes of an Old War, and the hubris of modern science and arcana will shatter against an ancient and primal terror whose sleep has been interrupted by the thunder of death.

No matter what, all of your debts will be paid tonight.

Iron Fire Highway: The Red Plains Fighters

ELAM CITY. 22-1978. TV news calls it "the most dangerous 500 miles on the planet": a war-torn stretch of highway in North Ordhauden that connects 40 million orcs to food, diesel, and bootleg VHS cassettes.

Mercenary crews like yours dodge bullets, rockets, and magic to make those deliveries, but the Corpos are willing to pay obscene amounts of Guilder to make sure every truck arrive intact and on time. It's a King's Ransom burning up in the plains for one reason: securing market loyalty in a region with untold natural wealth.

But the politics don't really matter to you and your crew. All that really matters is your growing nest egg that you're going to turn into a boat and an early retirement in sunny Old Salanda.

The Kings Mart Versus The Last Dragon

DORAAL, 22-1979. A hundred miles away from the nearest major metropolitan center, on the edge of the Anelas desert, you and your crew work the dusk to dawn shift for The Kings Mart #301, selling microwave dinners, cantrip stims, and cheap orc beer to dead-eyed diesel workers, truckers, and late-night executives.

Fortunately, the paycheck is enough to keep a ramshackle roof over your head, bread on your plate, and the local debt collectors at bay. As long as your crew manages to avoid long-lost creatures of legend calling in ancient favors or corporate mercenaries who like getting paid to shoot first, your shift should be a piece of cake.

Then you can take the day-olds home for breakfast.

Iron Fire Highway: The Last Stop

ELAM CITY. 22-1983. You watch your nest egg splatter across the broken remains of semis and trucks littering the Iron Fire Highway.

The airports are overrun with orc and elven refugees, and the roads all lead to border checkpoints where orc rebels capture and execute freelancers like you and your crew. Even the open plains offer no escape: elven fanatics mercilessly attack any target, bent on inflicting righteous vengeance against anyone they find.

Your only shot at an escape shows up in an unusual job offer: rescue a group of elven refugees from the 'burban development zone and your crew wins a few cramped seats on the last ECAF transport flight out of the region.

It's an easy job that doubles as a good deed, so it's clearly a trap, but it's better than being trampled at the airport, shot at a nameless border crossing, or getting beheaded by elves in a burning field. At least you have a chance in the 'burbs.