The Transiapheian Bulletin

(Iapheia) Gigs, Part 1

While the Iapheian Main has no shortage of ruins, anomalous Zones, and other opportunities for self-guided adventure, many expeditions are requested and backed by some sort of patron.

This isn't a formal arrangement. There are no quest boards or freelancer agencies. Finding a gig is a matter of frequenting the right spots, knowing the right people, and scrutinising the small ads in the newspapers.

Most patrons are businesses or wealthy individuals. City governments do sometimes need to hire help, but they tend to launder the request through an amenable, discreet private citizen; officially sanctioned adventurers draw protests if word gets out. (The breadline stretches halfway down Liberty Street, and you're spending our money on what?)

Here are some sample gigs.

1. Delivery


Max Ernst, The Postman Cheval (1932)

The simple endeavour of moving objects around can be quite a struggle in the Iapheian Main. Some intercity transit routes have survived, but they're often frustratingly indirect, too expensive, or politically compromised. In those cases, overland travel, for all its dangers, is the only option.

Getting to the destination city doesn't necessarily mean you're home and dry. Tracking down the recipient might be a challenge in itself.

What are we delivering?

  1. A case of fragile electrouranic valves reclaimed from angel engines. From Traudl, a salvager trying a bit too hard to seem edgy and suspicious, to the chief engineer at the Haldeman & Sons Cannery on Imperial Row.
  2. A tank full of juvenile ogre crabs of a rare, delicious strain. Time is of the essence - ogre crabs grow very quickly. From Gaspard, a wet, wheezing fence with severe heavensfire scarring, to the kitchens of the ducal estate. Try to look presentable.
  3. A weighty ledger of atmospheric and aetheric data demonstrating a pattern to the recent freak storms. From Odagail, a gaunt scientist who clearly hasn't slept in days, to the Postnational Science Council of Tomorrow. They're probably squatting in the tenements behind the ruined cinema.
  4. The master negative of Unstained, an experimental film depicting St. Hector as a trench prostitute who absolves soldiers' sins in exactly the way you'd expect. From Marguerite, the director's steely-eyed widow, to a radical art militia hiding out in the unfinished western extension of the subway network.
  5. A weather-beaten, slightly bloodstained, but unopened box of premium chocolate truffles. From Szemon, a phlegmy young industrialist, to his aristocratic paramour (whom he has never met). He thinks her townhouse is just off LaSalle Square, but she's stopped replying to his letters, so maybe she's moved?
  6. A message too sensitive to entrust to long-distance radio. From Helmut, a sharp-suited, soft-spoken fellow with several poorly concealed security guards, to an eerily similar man at the Kheshi Classic rag club.

2. Surveying


Cuthbert Hamilton, Reconstruction (1919)

Where some lament all that was lost to the Tribulation War, others see opportunities to build back better. The landscape has changed a lot since it was last mapped, though, and the last thing a bright-eyed entrepreneur needs is to run into an unexpected Retrogonist stronghold or bomb crater. Increasingly, the standard solution is to give a few sturdy fellows a sketch map of the area and send them to fill it out.

Be careful, though: of the dozens of ventures proposed every year, plenty are either wildly unrealistic or straight-up scams. There's still money to be made off these follies, but if they offer to pay you with stock in their new business, run.

What's being built?

  1. A telegraph line. Long-distance radio advanced dramatically during the war, but it's still expensive and unreliable. Let us bring the continent together once more! For Calzetti, a brilliant young electrician with no knowledge at all of anything else.
  2. A railroad. Fully electrified! Guard posts every quarter-mile! Don't think too hard about ticket pricing. For Mr. Baines, an eccentric local politician known for his endearing gaffes and colourful, highly publicised love life.
  3. A canal. Railroads? That's cute. There are thousands of miles of disused waterways crisscrossing the Iapheian Main; let's get them connected again. For Phylia, a ruffled haulage magnate who acts more common and salt-of-the-earth than she really is.
  4. A vineyard. All those millions of artillery shells should have churned up the earth nicely, and booze is one of the few commodities doing better than it was pre-war. For Jeanette and Genevieve, vivacious twin sisters hoping to revive their father's ailing wine business.
  5. A watch station. Something to scare the bandits, restore confidence in intercity travel, and collect a modest toll from grateful voyagers. For Oona, an obsessively neat, slightly unstable veteran officer who longs to feel like a soldier again.
  6. A new settlement. The old cities carry the stink of failure and decline. Let's start a new community in the wilderness. We'll figure it out as we go. For Valter, a firebrand philosopher-demagogue with an ego almost as big as his moustache.

3. Picket Duty


Jose Clemente Orozco, Advance (1940)

Huge stretches of the Iapheian Main are effectively unclaimed, but they don't tend to stay that way for long. The new potentates are keen to snatch up every inch of ground they think they can hold, annexing half-surviving villages and staking out ruins for salvaging. These claims are always opposed, sometimes peacefully, sometimes less so.

In the latter case, it's wise to send out a few disposable goons ahead of the main party, and have them hold down the position for a little while, smoking out any potential threats. If they succeed, a permanent garrison can be established far more easily. If they die, at least you can plan around heavy resistance.

Most picketers are expected to check in daily, or more, with their employers. A semi-portable radio set is usually provided.

Who's contesting this claim?

  1. The locals. Maybe they have cultural ties to a different pre-war nation, or maybe they're just sick of being lines on a faceless higher power's balance sheet. Avoid lethal violence where possible, and brace yourself for a lot of dirty looks and tutting.
  2. Bandits. Threats to their feeding grounds spook them. Their bark is usually worse than their bite - most bandits are not natural killers, and their marks are more likely to surrender if they think they might live - but they're still plenty dangerous.
  3. Cultists. Maybe religious, maybe political, maybe artistic. Public order is shaky in some cities, so you have to be pretty objectionable to be driven out into the wilderness, and pretty violent to survive there. Most cults claim some sort of mystical power; most are lying, but you can't be too careful.
  4. Undead. Probably a rogue battalion that was never decommissioned properly, lashing out against anything that doesn't bear their colours. Durable and fearless, but thankfully pretty stupid... unless someone's gotten hold of their command talismans.
  5. Retrogonists. A radical fringe of the wider Conventionalist movement, shunning all trappings of modernity for a druid-like existence in the wild. You won't be outgunned, but be careful: Retrogonists loathe what you represent with violent fervour, and a sharp rock to the skull will kill you as readily as a bullet.
  6. Another nearby city-state. Even if relations are publicly friendly, all bets are off when it comes to claim-jumping. You'll likely be facing people like you, cunning, amoral vagrants with very little to lose. Good luck.