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Brink's blog

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real story


A curious article about boars, radiation and hunters.




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The folk of Overlook Ridge

It was two years ago that I claimed the Plateau to be cleared of large maneaters. From the trailers of Toro Valley, a prime hunting ground where the majestic natural slope makes it easy to set up a machan for blind hunting, and over the treacherous Dry Flats where the worms call themselves the only hunters, all the way down to Westreach - a bleak place where food is sparse and predators crafty. 

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Steak Tartare

The story goes that the recipe was inspired by the Tatars, a horse-riding tribe that conquered much of the world a few centuries ago. They would place raw horse meat under their saddle and, as they were riding, the meat would get perfectly tender from pounding and saturated with horse's sweat.  They would eat it raw, ride hard and move swiftly. Because you will be serving the meat raw, be sure to get it from a reputable source, or tell your hunter that you will be preparing it as tartare so he gives you the best cut.


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Where did everyone go?

The guy that manages the slave trade 'round Kingman; the good doctor that works at Pass Chris; the Union principal along with his "Hospital" administrator; The Banker's CFO; the tall guy in Traveler's outfit that nobody knows why he is here, but they kinda do actually; the blind man; the seer and the scribe... all those people you will never meet in person.

We are all here, alive and unwell.

There are no women at this table, no femme fatale to lighten up those somber faces, it's all business and, at its heart - pure survival. As soon as everybody is accounted for the meeting starts, heavy cigars and pipes already bringing the haze.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Let us skip the usual formalities." the tall guy speaks with a heavy French accent. "we have Mr. Hansen here from the Banker's with something worth your attention."

The Banker's CFO in his blue and white livery won't stand up, since he is the oldest man at the table. He crosses his fingers and looks down, as if looking through the table: "Thank you. We have been closely following what is now a trend of falling withdrawals of our sector vaults throughout the Province. At this moment the..."

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A welcome respite

Abandoned Jansen's Farm, somewhere, a piano is playing

I can hear the sound of feet downstairs, bringing the piano melody to stop. Hushed voices. Three persons, boots, probably male. I am not disturbed, bedbound as I am.
Then I can hear those boots marching up the stairs, dragging their feet like they traveled from a far.

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The dark Shepherd (part 1/2 + RP hook)



Somewhere in this Prairie there are blindspots where life is easy. Only the blind can find such spots, for they follow no road. And so it happened to old Jansen, when he was blind on peyote one morning, that he woke up in one such place, just north of Pass Chris. Well not really north. It's more like... west from Watchtower. Well not really west. As I said, it's one of those spots easy to miss and hard to forget.

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Father's love


Ascendant's Ridge, sunset

My dad never loved me.
He didn't want me or need me as a son. Not until the very end, anyway. When Death comes calling you need your children seated around you, with their heads bowed down, so you can die with a speck of dignity and a sense of acomplishment.

My father died under a tree, alone, with guilt gnawing at his heart like a rancid jackal.

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Event - behind the scenes

If you use the pass "fairplay" on the archive uploaded at the start of event you will uncover a text that I copy paste here. Here is the text:


 Encrypted message: 

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Dungeon Crawler event


Dungeon status:


COMPLETED! (But feel free to play this through again and again)

Password for the attached encrypted archive is "fairplay"


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Just another peaceful day

Note left for Larry at the corn farm:


I must move on with the plan and get into the position. Your talk about hope for the peaceful resolution inspired me, so I will not rush anything and wait for your return with the cargo, for one more day. I will be absent though, so you can contact me through a radio set up in my room. You will find the hammer and gear there as well."




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Life in a terrorist cell

South Burb outskirts ~ noon

On the outskirts of South Burb there is a farm. And on that farm there is a wooden house with a porch in the back. And on that porch, next to a cup of lukewarm Sage tea, there is a ledger. In that ledger is a town routine, written down and dissected with the precision of an animal skinner.


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Life in a terrorist cell

Vista camp ~ night

"You are just an angry, old man Brink." - she said, encouraged to see that no young Vista Greenhorns followed Brink into this project of his.

The one eyed man stopped and turned slowly, his face almost confused: "I... don't find anything insulting there? I am angry for a reason, and reaching old age in the wasteland is a feat few are capable of. At times like this, being young and flaccid would be a real insult."

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Trouble in miner's paradise




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Roots - eco terrorist event (prelude)




Three angry figures are standing around a tree stump in South Burb. It's way past midnight and the town around them is asleep.

"Who did this?" - grey haired woman asked without raising her voice.

"One of the new arrivals, he felled a tree to fix up that fence over there, mam." - young man next to her replied.

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Until we fall


Recent chapter in journal

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Unicorn hunt


The story was told by a one eyed hunter to a bunch of Burnside amateur trappers, around a campfire.

"...Let me tell you about Unicorns then. I know, Unicorns don't exist. True. At least, these days they don't. But a long time ago, when they existed there was a medieval recipe how to catch one. Let me tell you about it...

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Terrance, Plateau

Burnside area, noon

Two gaunt figures took turns to scan the area, using an old spyglass: "Hey look! That old hunter is approaching. What is he bringing us this time.... are those dog pelts? Hmpphh... no clone meat? Man, he is so full of these awesome stories. C'mon, let's go and ask him what's he been up to lately."

Second guard took the spyglass and frowned: "I'll pass... He looks just like another braggart to me. I bet he told you he lost that eye wrestling with lions in Terminal Woods."

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Skins, pelts, "no questions asked" meat, leather... sold in Oilville and Terrance!

Hope Springs, the following morning

Brink updates his two lists...

List 1:

High quality furs sold so far: 2
Meat rations sold: 6


List 2:

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Skins, pelts, "no questions asked meat", leather... sold here!



Game and "other meat", skins, leather, pelts, Sandworm acid... will be sold if you can find Brink in the next two weeks in towns around Sector 1 and 2 as he makes his way back to Kaibab hunting grounds. Welcome to my mobile shop.


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The last journey


reason for it all

't was a long time ago and far away.
Now, I can't get the time back, but I am getting closer to this place... far away.

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Sleep instead of death

A stable not far from Trader's Flat. Early morning.

Holding an empty pipe in his hand, Brink breaks the wax seal and opens up a letter that says "Urgent" on the envelope. The letter reads:

"Mister Brink,

A name from our protected list is in danger. We received a request to track down and kill Ursaline, old she-bear of Central Kaibab area. Please intervene! The contact is a man with the purple hat in Dieseltown.

The Combine"

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Amateur hunters - part 2/3 - the Baron



As hunting moved from a subsistence activity to a social one, two trends emerged. One was that of the specialist hunter with special training and equipment. The other was the emergence of hunting as a "sport" for those of an upper social class.

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Amateur hunters - part 1/3 - the Cub

( prequel to the story is here: http://fallenearth.rp-haven.com/blog/brink/tear-stained-entry-hitchhiker... )

Last time I was in Kaibab was two years ago. I found employment as a caravan guard and this brought me all the way to Dieseltown. Thick forest, untamed yet polluted with junk. I swear there are more washing machines in that forest than deer.

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Curiosity killed the cat - part 1


aim for the heart

Half a mile east from Trader's Flat. Noon.

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Thorne's Bluff, windy day

I tried writing yesterday... but I got lazy and just spent another day in bed. So much has happened in the past two months of my recovery. Seems I got carried away for a moment there.
I almost forgot how old I am...

But I got reminded of the fact that I am just a bitter, armed old man.

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Spying on my own people

Thorne's Bluff, nice evening

Curiosity is not a human monopoly.
A dog leaves the verandah to bark at the shadow, a deer leaves the herd to investigate a tuft of grass that no wind agitated... and the waiting leopard is provided with a meal.

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New Flagstaff pipedream (unrelated)

I found this and it looked like New Flagstaff to me.




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Escape in a wheelchair!

Trumbull, pain-numbed morning

Never did the road between Spiderhill and Oasis see a pair like us. A mutant pushing a wheelchair with an armed, one eyed man. We were using shortcuts, and more than once our Geiger counter started singing, indicating what could be a one way path.


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Citizen found, on the brink of death

Toro Bend, deadly morning

Up there in the attic under that collapsed roof an old, one-eyed man is counting his last hours.




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by Dr. Radut