May Cape
Ocean waves lap at the front yard of Congress Hall, a massive Victorian hotel that may be one of the oldest buildings on the East Coast. Behind it and around it, the town of May Cape sprawls across the southernmost tip of what used to be New Jersey, a collection of structures kitbashed from the rotted husks of once-beautiful Victorian homes and hotels. In the distance, arcades crumble into the sea. The whole place smells of salt, fish, and something sharper: the radiation that blows in across the bay from the Three Mile Fire, which started burning before the Fall and has never stopped.
May Cape was founded almost exclusively by escaped slaves from Aysea, people who crossed the Barrens and the Weird Wastes to reach a place where no one would own them again. The Congress, their governing body, meets in Congress Hall itself: seven members including four escaped slaves, two lifelong locals, and one former high-ranking Aysea slaver who underwent a change of heart regarding her profession. Three laws govern the settlement. No slaves. No violence against each other. No stealing. Everything else is negotiable. The egalitarian spirit runs deep enough that visitors remark on it, though the residents themselves take it as a given. They built this place with their own hands. They intend to keep it.
The port facilities are superior to Aysea's for handling large cargo vessels, and the Saltwise captains who work the Atlantic are particularly fond of May Cape's ships, which are recognized as some of the best on the coast. The town does a steady trade in fish, lima beans, and cranberries. The food is excellent, the hooch flows freely, and caravans on the route between Old York and Points South find it a welcome stop. But May Cape cannot grow. The radiation from the Three Mile Fire keeps Pure Bloods away, and Pure Bloods control disproportionate credits across the wasteland. Without their investment, the town remains a glorified waystation, permanently stunted by the atomic fire that smolders just over the horizon. Most Capes carry a chip on their shoulder about it, taking every chance to prove superiority to the "glamour whores" of Aysea, which only makes them angrier when the slights go unnoticed.
May Cape was founded almost exclusively by escaped slaves from Aysea, people who crossed the Barrens and the Weird Wastes to reach a place where no one would own them again. The Congress, their governing body, meets in Congress Hall itself: seven members including four escaped slaves, two lifelong locals, and one former high-ranking Aysea slaver who underwent a change of heart regarding her profession. Three laws govern the settlement. No slaves. No violence against each other. No stealing. Everything else is negotiable. The egalitarian spirit runs deep enough that visitors remark on it, though the residents themselves take it as a given. They built this place with their own hands. They intend to keep it.
The port facilities are superior to Aysea's for handling large cargo vessels, and the Saltwise captains who work the Atlantic are particularly fond of May Cape's ships, which are recognized as some of the best on the coast. The town does a steady trade in fish, lima beans, and cranberries. The food is excellent, the hooch flows freely, and caravans on the route between Old York and Points South find it a welcome stop. But May Cape cannot grow. The radiation from the Three Mile Fire keeps Pure Bloods away, and Pure Bloods control disproportionate credits across the wasteland. Without their investment, the town remains a glorified waystation, permanently stunted by the atomic fire that smolders just over the horizon. Most Capes carry a chip on their shoulder about it, taking every chance to prove superiority to the "glamour whores" of Aysea, which only makes them angrier when the slights go unnoticed.
Demographics
Behind the doors of those rebuilt Victorian homes is a population of horribly mutated Retrogrades, Remnants, and Darwinists of all varieties. Pure Bloods cannot stand the place; the radiation exposure alone is enough to drive them out within days. The town was founded by escaped slaves, and that origin story shapes the community to this day. The residents are people who chose freedom in a radioactive swamp over servitude in Aysea's glittering towers, and they carry that choice with a pride that borders on defiance.
Darwinist zealots come to breathe in the radioactive clouds, treating the contamination as an accelerant for evolutionary change. The Commission, a Darwinist scientific body, catalogs the effects of long-term exposure on the population. Saltwise captains are regular visitors, fond of May Cape's ships and sailors. The transient population is significant; ships and caravans pass through for the excellent food and plentiful drink, but few stay longer than necessary. Robert "Glowworm" Citglo, head of the Citglo shipyards, is among the most prominent permanent residents, and the Man in the Hat, a mysterious pre-fall scientist, lives somewhere near the town center in a solitude that no one has yet been brave enough to disturb.
Darwinist zealots come to breathe in the radioactive clouds, treating the contamination as an accelerant for evolutionary change. The Commission, a Darwinist scientific body, catalogs the effects of long-term exposure on the population. Saltwise captains are regular visitors, fond of May Cape's ships and sailors. The transient population is significant; ships and caravans pass through for the excellent food and plentiful drink, but few stay longer than necessary. Robert "Glowworm" Citglo, head of the Citglo shipyards, is among the most prominent permanent residents, and the Man in the Hat, a mysterious pre-fall scientist, lives somewhere near the town center in a solitude that no one has yet been brave enough to disturb.
Government
The Congress governs May Cape from within the walls of Congress Hall, the massive Victorian hotel that serves as both seat of government and symbol of the town's identity. Seven members sit on the council: four escaped slaves who helped found the settlement, two lifelong locals who knew the land before the refugees arrived, and one former high-ranking Aysea slaver who changed her profession and her principles in equal measure. The arrangement is egalitarian by design. Three laws hold the community together: no slaves, no violence against each other, no stealing. Beyond those prohibitions, the residents govern themselves with a pragmatism born from the knowledge that they built this place with nothing and no one is coming to save it if things go wrong.
Industry & Trade
Shipbuilding is May Cape's pride. Boats built in the Citglo yards and other workshops along the waterfront are recognized as some of the best on the Atlantic, and Saltwise captains seeking reliable vessels know where to come. The port facilities handle larger cargo ships than Aysea's harbors can accommodate, giving May Cape a logistical advantage that partially compensates for its lack of financial clout. Fishing provides a steady food supply, and the agricultural output of lima beans and cranberries sustains both the local population and a modest trade.
The town is a popular stop on routes between Old York and Points South. When caravans and ships come through, the food is excellent and the drink flows without restraint. May Cape keeps a lower profile than Aysea, which makes it conducive to privacy and discretion for those who prefer their business unobserved. The fundamental limitation, however, is the radiation. Pure Bloods control disproportionate credits across the wasteland and refuse to invest in a place that makes them sick. The only steady business comes from ships stopping briefly and Darwinist zealots who actively seek out the contamination. May Cape remains a glorified waystation with the infrastructure of a major port, unable to grow into the power it has the bones to become.
The town is a popular stop on routes between Old York and Points South. When caravans and ships come through, the food is excellent and the drink flows without restraint. May Cape keeps a lower profile than Aysea, which makes it conducive to privacy and discretion for those who prefer their business unobserved. The fundamental limitation, however, is the radiation. Pure Bloods control disproportionate credits across the wasteland and refuse to invest in a place that makes them sick. The only steady business comes from ships stopping briefly and Darwinist zealots who actively seek out the contamination. May Cape remains a glorified waystation with the infrastructure of a major port, unable to grow into the power it has the bones to become.
Geography
The town occupies the southernmost tip of pre-fall New Jersey, what remains of a historic resort community now mostly reclaimed by fetid, radioactive swamp. The structures that still stand are assembled from the bones of Victorian hotels and homes, their original elegance visible beneath layers of salvage repairs and improvised reinforcement. Congress Hall anchors the center of the settlement, its grand facade facing the ocean. Along the waterfront, port facilities handle cargo vessels larger than anything Aysea's harbors can accommodate.
The radiation is inescapable. The Three Mile Fire burns somewhere across the bay, and radioactive clouds blow in periodically, carrying contamination that causes mutations, ailments, and worse even in the hardiest survivors. The terrain is low and wet, more swamp than solid ground in places, and the ocean continues its slow work of reclaiming the coastline. Arcades and boardwalks that once drew pre-fall tourists now crumble into the surf. The Darwinists consider the environment a living laboratory and flock here to study mutation in real time. Everyone else considers it a place to visit briefly and leave before the radiation settles into the bones.
The radiation is inescapable. The Three Mile Fire burns somewhere across the bay, and radioactive clouds blow in periodically, carrying contamination that causes mutations, ailments, and worse even in the hardiest survivors. The terrain is low and wet, more swamp than solid ground in places, and the ocean continues its slow work of reclaiming the coastline. Arcades and boardwalks that once drew pre-fall tourists now crumble into the surf. The Darwinists consider the environment a living laboratory and flock here to study mutation in real time. Everyone else considers it a place to visit briefly and leave before the radiation settles into the bones.
