DedStop, one of the last bastions of civilization before pushing through the Rockies toward Vegasia, sits in a small valley just past the foothills to the west of what was the city of Denver. As the civilizations of man began to fall, chaos and desperation took hold.
The one known as Ralston grabbed an old steam train, loaded it with as much coal as he could find and a number of cars. He didn’t have much luck scrounging up supplies, but he did manage to find some survivors and power his way out. The train didn’t make it far, just to where the town now rests.
Life was hard in those early years; contending with the elements and the struggle to survive with only the scraps of knowledge shared among the first settlers. Generations have since past, the strains have come to be and the small outpost has carried on. Pure Bloods wrested control of a number of resources and in the process re-established the ancient measure of wealth and prestige – gold. The Pure Blood families, headed up by the Carsons and Mastersons have made dealings with the ‘59ers, a strange bunch of Lascarians who hold dominion over the local mines, Iron Slaves were imported through slavers to pan the rivers and streams for nuggets and to hammer out diamonds, silver, coal and other things minerals.
As the few caravans out of DedStop connected to the wider network of travel through the wastes, other strains began to settle into the area. Natural One tribes, hunting rad-horn sheep and bison have been known to stop in to sell and trade for various goods and supplies. Then there came the rumble of thunder in the day, the smell of oil and fuel, the black clouds of dust and exhaust, the arrival of the Diesel Jocks.
The roads in are rough, but this didn’t stop the gang of motley vehicles making their way into DedStop. At first the Ford Family, devoted members of the Nuclear Family, were a problem for the locals - this gang of Diesel Jocks were antagonistic, abusive and in general a nuisance to the town. Fights broke out and it finally came to a head when three of the family and four towns folk were killed in a brawl over the price of scrap. Ranger Ford, the Father of the family was able to negotiate a peace with the head of the Carson Family, creating a trade agreement that is still active to this day.
As the town grew, Rovers became commonplace as did the stray caravan of Vegasian entertainers. Life was truly thriving for a while, despite the usual natural calamities such as derecho storms, stampedes of bison and packs of vicious coyotes that wreaked havoc on the locals. The Gravemind, not unknown to the inhabitants of DedStop, has recently grown beyond its small presence in the area and manifested a larger morgue on the outskirts of town. Perhaps a herald of things to come, this morgue surfaced and seemingly brought with it great menace upon the inhabitants.
It began with a plague, which affected the young and elderly. The few doctors who had settled in the area worked tirelessly to treat those afflicted, but it wasn’t brought to heel until the arrival of a contingent of Accensorites led by a figure known as the Father General. All members of the Fallow Hopes, the organized and militant force of templars began to combat the illness through faith healing and prayer. The Father General, caught in the rhetoric of his faith declared it was the work of demons and those who were in league with the Gravemind and a witch-hunt began and continues to this day.
As the plague began to clear, the citizens of DedStop found a new enemy seeking their eradication. Attacks in the night by a tribe of raiders began to take its toll. For three seasons the citizens have been combating this force. Little is known of these attackers, save for the strange scrawling marks they leave on buildings and the idols that they leave in their wake. This most recent attack has left DedStop sacked, buildings burned, much of the growth and develop undermined. A call has gone out through the wastes, Alfred Roy Rogers Carson has requested that anyone looking to make a name, to carve out a place for themselves or just make a little gold should head to Dedstop and take up the bounty on these raiders.
Welcome to DedStop.
"Welcome to DedStop, survivor. This here is one of the last bastions of so-called ‘civilization’ ‘fore pushing past the Big Rock Mountains to fabled Vegasia or on through the foothills west to the Denver Waste. Sit a spell, and let me tell you a bit about our history…
In the bygone days, just as chaos and despair (and more than a few rad-bombs) fell upon the world that was, a man named Ralston stole an Iron Horse, loaded it with as much coal and provisions as he could scrape together, and took his kin and a bunch of survivors out of the Mile-Tall city up into the mountains.
He didn’t get far, mind you, just to where we’re sittin’ now. But it was far enough. Now, life was hard in them early years, contendin’ with the wild rad-storms and savage raiders, struggling to scrape together sustenance with only the tattered scraps of Lore the first settlers brought with ‘em. But survive they did. The years passed, and the Strains as we know ‘em started poppin’ up, and still them survivors carried on.
When the Purebloods wrested control of some old mines, they brought back one of the old measures of wealth and prestige – Gold. Two families, the Carsons and the Mastersons, made some shady dealin’ with a group called the ‘59ers, a strange bunch of Lascarians who live in the old mines, and they started importin’ loads of Iron Slaves (suppose we oughta call ‘em ‘Gold’ Slaves, eh?) to pan the rivers and streams for nuggets and dust. They started pullin’ other things outa the earth, too, like coal and silver and all things mineral.
DedStop is where those who didn’t work for the Purebloods came, feelin’ the Gold Fever, to stock up and try their luck in the Big Rock Mountains. Eventually, some caravans started showin’ up, connectin’ us to the network of routes criss-crossin’ through the wastes. And that brough more survivors. Natural One tribes, huntin’ rad-horn sheep and bison stop in on occasion to sell and trade. Rovers and Vegasians, following the new roads, started becomin’ commonplace, takin’ to the Gold Standard like scorpions to boots. Then, one day, there came the rumble of day-thunder, clouds of dust and exhaust, and the smell of oil and gasoline. The Diesel Jocks had arrived.
The roads into DedStop are rough, but that barely slowed the gang of rag-tag and motley vehicles from descendin’ on our little town. Their leaders, the Ford Family, followers of Father Ward and the Nuclear Family, made life a livin’ hell on the locals. There was spittin’ and brawling and more than a few things (and people) disappearin, and it all came to a head a while back when a few of the good citizens of DedStop had enough and called ‘em out. Three Diesel Jocks died that day, and four citizens, too, over the price of scrap.
That’s when the Carsons stepped in. They swooped up from Spring Town in the south, and forced ol’ Ranger Ford, head of the Ford Family, into a trade deal that they still abide by to this day. Things got better, then, for a while. Yup, life was almost good in DedStop, not countin’ derecho storms and bison stampedes and the occasional vicious coyote attack. Not too long ago, though, when I was a youngun, the Gravemind changed everything. It planted a morgue right there on the edge of town. There used to be a small one up that track a bit, but the new one was a doozy. Just as soon as it popped up, life got hard. Again.
It started with a plague that dropped off the young and the elderly. Now, the few doctors and sawbones that settled here, they worked night and day to treat them as was afflicted, but they couldn’t find no cure. No, it wasn’t until the mysterious Father General and his Accensorite followers arrived, unannounced and unexpected, did we start to get the upper hand on the sickness. He came in and started layin’ his hands on the dyin’, and they’d jump up and shout ‘Alleluia!’, hale as the day they was born! I should know, cause I was one of ‘em.
The Father General and his platoon, all followers of the Fallow Hopes, they swore to the townsfolk that this sickness was started by demons. His Templars started huntin’ down the demon possessed and any who were in league with the Gravemind. Hell, they’re still out there huntin’ demonkin. And as they started huntin’, we got better. That is, until something started huntin’ us.
For the last three seasons, DedStop has been fightin’ for its very existence. Strange raiders, bolder and somehow crazier than the others, have been comin’ in the night, burnin’ our buildings, desecrating our farms, and stealing our children. We don’t know much about them, ‘cept they leave strange markings and little idols behind. Things are pretty dire. But Alfred Roy Rogers Carson and his family has stepped in again to save us. He put the call out on the caravan routes, anyone lookin’ to make a name for themselves, and earn a bit of Gold in the process, oughta come down to DedStop and take up a bounty on them raiders.
And so, here you are. Welcome to DedStop."