Diesel Empires RPG

Iron Fire Highway: 10 Tons of Trouble

KORALAIUS FLATS, 22-1981. You either ride out of the Flats rich, or your bones become an omen for the next party of fools. You put your chances at around 50/50.

The semi is full of guns, ammo, and arcana sealed by Bonethorne Port and earmarked for the RPF. It's not an easy secret to keep, but the pay is wild: enough to keep the bills paid and the lights on for the rest of the year. It sounds too good to be true, but Bonethorne is willing to pay to keep its good reputation on the Iron Fire.

The mage says there is a ward on it that makes the trailer near invisible to scrying or divination. It's probably as good as anything the elves can do, but you and yours were never worried too much about magic: people don't need magic to talk, gossip, or get greedy.

And now, sitting on the open flats of the Koralaius, you and the team are getting a little nervous waiting for the broker, and wondering if they're late because of talk, gossip, or greed.

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 refugees, and the roads all lead to border checkpoints where RPF soldiers capture and execute mercenaries 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 High Elf refugees from the residential development zone and your crew wins a few cramped seats on the last Essian Air Force 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.

The Kings Mart Versus The Long Cold Dark

FASSMARE, 22-1985. In the foothills of the beautiful Essian Range, Kings Mart #2255 sits at the edge of Fassmare, the last chance for diesel and chips before the Highway 35 on-ramp.

You and the others work the overnight shift, because the pay is better and the customers are cooler. Fassmare has the rare privilege of hosting a coterie of vampires, who all work at the College. They come in almost every night to buy a 6 pack of Blood-Alike, gossip about the rich kids at the Thaumaturgical School, and recount the wild tales that come from living in Fassmare for three hundred years.

Unfortunately, they aren't around tonight. The snowstorm appeared without warning and completely paralyzed the city. It's so bad that even the undead stayed home. Mostly.

You don't know the vampires who are loitering around the store right now. They're just a little too loud, a little too tipsy, and it might be paranoia, but you are starting to get the impression that they want to try something a little warmer and fresher than Blood-Alike...

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 dawn to dusk shift for The Kings Mart #301, selling instant lunches, cantrip stims, and cheap orc beer to tired diesel workers, red-eyed truckers, and way too perky 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 to eat with your microwave dinner.