[center][h2]Neo-Con Lands[/h2][h3]The Patriot[/h3][/center]

"So here we are," the Patriot looked into the heartlands of the Neo-Con, "The homeland of former rebels and enslavers. I cannot say much has changed."
"Yiss..." Kobar hissed, looking on edge, the rumors of what happened to Evols in these cursed lands had reached far and wide, "Ss-ssshall we move on with the plansss?"

With a simple nod, the Patriot turned his back as the wind began to pick up and how faced an array of catapults, each one of them loaded with boxes full of posters which would open in the wind and spread across the hills and swamps. Raising his arm, the crews quickly loaded the machines with zeal, firing them all at once in order. One by one, boxes sailed into the air as the sky burst them open and spread them across the land. Once more the hand went up and crew reloaded their engines and fired again, then again, then again for one last time.

The Patriot looked into the horizon at his work, the posters were full of messages denouncing the Neo-Con, their policies and what he thought was their hypocrisy. Turning around on his heels, he began walking back, "Come my friends, the slavers will be here soon if we do not make haste. There is still work to be done. The badlands tribes need our assistance."

"Sssshould I preepare the "ssspeccialls?" the Evol hissed.

"Yes... They shall be most instrumental in our little siege..."

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[center][h2]The Huachuca Tribes[/h2][h3]League of the First People Territory - Arizona Frontier[/h3][/center]

The night had fallen on the great unending desert planes of Zoria as the Huachuca called it, a place located in what was once Arizona. Campfires and smoke rose to illuminate the starry skies as the unending beating of metal drums echoed in the landscape. Many a men had camped out here for their raids on the lands of the League of the First People, palisades and barricades walled off much of their new settlement from the outside; a network of shallow trenches cut into the ground beyond that with towers and firing positions to assist.

The amount of men here was numerous, hundreds most likely, maybe even thousands. But outside of the warriors and champions was their families and children, the reason they had taken such a journey to raid the League. There own lands were dying, not that it was really ever able to sustain them to begin with, but now the dirt had simply become sand and stone with no chance of coming back. They had to move or they would die.

This newest base was only the first in a chain of havens for the Huachua, all still lead by their General with a Major acting as tribe head. Some would say that this would have disgraced their old world roots in the pre-war American military, but this move had been purely pragmatic. Raiding was once supplementary to their activities, but now it had to be their main stay; farming had failed them and now it would be lucky if their herds could find something to munch on. It was like another apocalypse for them, as if the first one wasn't enough.

Now, their warbands and raiders were once again turned back, bruised and battered. It was at times like this which the War Council had to gather in the most unfavorable of atmospheres. The air around them was black and gloomy, news had it that the League was using armored vehicles, something they had to leave behind at their old home. Twas truly dark times, dark enough for words of using the legendary metal monsters. The debate flamed on for hours into the night with no end in sight until dawn, but no matter the debate on the rising of the old world beasts, the next day was going to be their attack once more in force. This was no longer a war for resources or glory, it was a fight for the survival of their people, a last stand against the darkness which would descend upon them had they failed.