The question rings forth through the blasted rubble that used to be a town.
"Who runs Bartertown?"
"You know who," she replies through gritted teeth."
"Say!" she is commanded.
"Master Blaster," she concedes.
"Say louder!" the voice impels.
"Master Blaster runs barter town!"
The throng gasps in dismay. All except a trio of adventurers who linger for a time in this morass of refuse and debris that masquerades as the remains of civilization. They don't care who, or what, runs Bartertown. They care about board games. It's F:AT Thursday.
My F:AT Thursday started with a mission to tow a work van to Rockaway, New York. This, if you are unaware, is perhaps one of the areas that Storm Sandy hit the hardest. It lies at the very Southern tip of Queens. A thin strip of land in the Atlantic.
To get to this extremity of New York City, one must travel a lovely section of road called the Van Wyke Express Way which traverses the majority of Queens and then one must take a road called Cross Bay Blvd. At first I was thinking that all seems normal here. No big deal.
Then the road crosses a section of water to a small narrow island and it would seem that things were in a bit of a mess but no big deal. The traffic lights had power. Business were open. Life was proceeding despite there being a long line at the VFW hall for supplies and the large lot across the street crammed with porta-potties.
Then across another bridge and I was in Rockaway. Total Mad Max like destruction. The whole place smelled like the silt from the bottom of a pond. The roads were covered in sand and many houses had piles of sodden debris in front of them. The buildings still stand but the water damage to the lower floors is impossible to determine from the street.
Like ants, workmen are everywhere. Striving to bring this area back to some semblance of normalcy. Every where you turn you see some form of commercial vehicle. Plumbers, electricians, HVAC guys.
It is no wonder the company that called me was so desperate to get this vehicle down here as fast as possible. There is still so much to do and a van such as this is probably worth it's weight in gold.
There were many many cops, too. Cruisers on nearly every street corner. Pleasing and disturbing all at once. Are they there to help or to keep the thought of looting far from any ne'er-do-well's mind? Both of course. I imagine those streets, if there isn't power back yet, are as black as the pits of hell at night.
The staging area where I dropped the work van I delivered was reminiscent of an army of old on campaign. Like generals at war, foremen commanded their helmeted workers into the fray. Not from tents of canvas but from containers of steel. I watched as a whole truck load of water heaters was unloaded in about 30 seconds.
A very strange experience indeed.
The trip out of Queens was no pleasure ride. It took about twice as long to leave as it did to get in but the thought of games at the end made it a bit more bearable.
We were three this week as Josh had run away to play games with Matt Loter, Zev, and Will Kenyon. That left Uba, Al, and I and Earth's coldest beer as we met at the Elks.
We played a game of Wrath of Ashardalon. Al was the rogue, Uba was the dwarven warrior and I the cleric. It would be nice to say we kicked ass, that we brought the pain, that we served out justice buffet style...but that would be a terrible lie. We got our butts kicked. I think we made it to about turn four or five before all three of us were down. healing surges were gone, and the "horrid chamber" , the goal of our quest, nowhere in sight.
Uba put it well when she said that she had as much fun losing this game as she ever had at winning and I have to agree. We all got a big laugh out of how absolutely terribly we did.
A great night all around.