Pilgrimage of the Lost Souls

Storms... of the mind, emotions, and wind... some travel too

Four Sessions and no post? Bad GM, No Biscuit....

After the group emerged from the cliffside, the palpable deflation of hopes was evident. A bit of exploration revealed that the fence that stretched as far as they could see carried a warning written in many languages as well as in pictogram. High radiation and a pack of herbs that could aid in resistance to the eventual poisoning if they choose to enter the area. Being as they would be traveling slowly through this desert, and now combating radiation as well, our group traveled the fence line collecting herb packets, a hot box for horse was also created. A decision to try to acquire more provisions was also decided on, and the most plentiful resource being the sea they traveled back to the coast. Upon reaching the coast, the upheaval that had caused the cliffside that they had traversed a few days prior had caused also an even more massive cliff here. While the official measurement was only 1280 feet, it might have been 10 miles to our adventures. Tara offered to help and she would fly down and see what she could do. It was almost dusk and the group was getting concerned when Tara, exhausted and bedraggled climbed back to the mesa. She had caught many fish, too much for her to gain sustained flight with. She had adopted a short burst hopping flight up the cliff, dragging a network of bags of fish behind her.
Now having several herb packets and many pounds of fish that the group had dried and smoked the night before they headed into the desert. The almost month-long travel through the waste would have been dreary and boring if not for a few mishaps and the suffering of mental distress by most everyone. The group started suffering from emotional delusions, for lack of a better term. Wild emotional shifts, not consistent, not encouraged, but very distracting. Everyone falls victim to them, but Tara seems to be the least effected. The general consensus is that she is somehow causing them, but the group cannot fathom why or how. They encountered a trader on a magical flying ship with a motley group of his own about ten days into the desert. Fighting through a language barrier they did manage to replenish their stock of anti-radiation herbs and other necessities. They also survived a haboob and a rift storm while they made their way north. It was with a sigh of relief when they started to see more substantial plants and wildlife. Passing by a similar fence the entire group felt a weight evaporate from their shoulders.
A few days later they came across a depression that had fresh water, overgrown vegetation and an abundance of wildlife. After camping for the night, everyone woke with a very new feeling. Everyone was extremely amorous. Thankfully no one succumbed to their baser desires, as that could have made for difficulties later on. But the preening, flattery and pickup lines were very entertaining to all, in retrospect especially. Tara was almost giddy after discovering a wild patch of berries deep in the thicket. Caught unaware, the group tries several under Taras encouragement. Later, it is discovered that the thicket is the home of faries, and the group has been unknowingly imbibing their magical foods. While quite humorous to the fey, our mostly human pack does not quite enjoy seeing their duplicate in their peripheral view, extra toes, shrinking, phantom voices, and all the other mischievous pranks. Tara’s inability to be affected means that she is at least partial fey; explaining much.
Riding through the rolling hills and plains is a welcome change from the high desert and our group is making their way to the large imposing mountain north. Finding part of a road with some vehicles is a welcome sight, only to discover that they are long abandoned. Seeing a car aloft in a tree has our group questioning things when they are attacked. Almost immediately the group recognizes that it is juicer that is going at them, and they take cover. Still suffering from the effects of the fairy food, they are in no way ready for a fight. Barly able to get a bead on what is happening, Doof takes several damaging attacks, then as fast as it started it was over as the juicer trips in one of his tight 120 mph circles. Tumbling and sliding for a good 150 yards, the group takes their leave at top speed.
The night is tense as the group worries that a sneak attack from the juicer who they believe is at the end of their life and facing burnout. The next morning, they pack up fast and move out, wanting to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the juicer. Mid-morning, what is initially a welcome sight soon turns to apprehension. Someone of the same race as the Angel of Death is coming. She appears simultaneously younger and more battle torn and world weary than the Angel. While not covered in armor, she is wrapped in skins and furs. While sharing some of the feathers and adornments as the Angel, she has many less and no headdress. She is on foot, but is followed by a creature similar to the Angel’s mount. This one does not appear to wear barding and have cyber weapons as the Angel’s mount did, but have large containers strapped to its back and a diminutive rider at the neck. While initially, the rider is thought to be a child due to the size, but this being may be the oldest of the bunch. While the Angel had learned broken english from the visitors to the forest, these two know no english at all. The fur-clad warrior quickly conveys that she is looking for someone similar to herself, and the group understands that these two must be seeking the Angel, but when more details are sought, that’s when trouble commences. Some misinterpretations from the encounters with the Angel now lead to aggression and that quickly turns to hostility. As soon as the group realizes that Allison has said something wrong, they try to show pacificity and attempt to take it back. Everything they try falls on deaf ears as this warrior attacks with a ferocity unseen before. It ends when the mech is turtled, ceasing her rage only when she saw the adapted gun from the Angels mount hung from the base of the mech. Taking it, she haults her relentless attack and continues to ask about the Angel, and the language barrier continues to be a problem. The diminutive rider is lifted off the mount and treated with a reverence similar to the Angel and her mount. The small rider is able to pick up the gun with barely an issue and the massive fur-clad warrior and the diminutive rider have a discussion. They eventually take their leave, allowing the group to retain the weapon and the sword. During the hostilities, the fur-clad warrior embedded one of her knives into the mech’s viewport. While simply a knife to her, it is a short sword to any of our group. Similar to the sword the Angel gave Allison, they are simply designed for these massive warriors and simply too large to be adequately wielded by anyone but Doof in his supernatural form.
As they enter the rugged foothills of the mountain and make camp, they see someone coming down off of a rockslide debris pile. This person slowly approaches and bids them greetings. Welcomed to sit aside the campfire and have some stew, this woman seeks information. She is on the trail of a juicer, who has reached the end of his lifetime. Forlorned, she admits that it is her duty to ensure that he does not suffer or cause any more problems as he is her husband. The group feels for her, and can sympathize. Having a job to do that will cause regret but must be done is something that they all have had to face. During dinner she admits that she encountered the fur-clad warrior up the mountainside, and is not ambitious to rematch. Tanah offers to give her a ride back toward where they encountered him after dinner.

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