Trembling Plains
The ground never stops trembling. Southwest of Star City, past New Austin, the Trembling Plains shudder with the constant rhythm of drilling operations. Oil derricks work day and night, their pumps driving into the earth to bring up the black gold that fuels every iron horse gang, every generator, and every deal worth making in Lone Star.
Pureblood Oilmen families own the derricks but rarely visit. They hire Merican overseers to watch over Iron Slaves who carry out the actual drilling, blasting, and hauling. Lascarians and Iron Slaves descend into the earth itself, using explosives to crack open rock for valuable minerals. Dozens of iron horse gangs range across the open land in exchange for oil at reduced prices, fighting off zed and keeping the pumps unclogged.
Nobody lives on the Trembling Plains permanently. Supply stations and bars on the outskirts serve overseers, Iron Slaves, and travelers between shifts. Buckshots, a popular bar owned by Bobby Fitch, draws workers coming off the rigs. Refined supply stations cater to the Oilmen on their rare inspections. One or two independent gangs have managed to acquire drilling equipment, but they lack the funds to sustain operations against the established families.
Oil prices have been climbing. Hostile gangs raid the edges of the territory with increasing boldness. Drilling operations draw the worst mutants and abominations from the desert. Shambler corpses clog the pumps if not cleared constantly, and every hand diverted to defense is a hand not working the rigs. Three generations of drilling families have bled the earth for its black blood, and the earth has been bleeding back.
Pureblood Oilmen families own the derricks but rarely visit. They hire Merican overseers to watch over Iron Slaves who carry out the actual drilling, blasting, and hauling. Lascarians and Iron Slaves descend into the earth itself, using explosives to crack open rock for valuable minerals. Dozens of iron horse gangs range across the open land in exchange for oil at reduced prices, fighting off zed and keeping the pumps unclogged.
Nobody lives on the Trembling Plains permanently. Supply stations and bars on the outskirts serve overseers, Iron Slaves, and travelers between shifts. Buckshots, a popular bar owned by Bobby Fitch, draws workers coming off the rigs. Refined supply stations cater to the Oilmen on their rare inspections. One or two independent gangs have managed to acquire drilling equipment, but they lack the funds to sustain operations against the established families.
Oil prices have been climbing. Hostile gangs raid the edges of the territory with increasing boldness. Drilling operations draw the worst mutants and abominations from the desert. Shambler corpses clog the pumps if not cleared constantly, and every hand diverted to defense is a hand not working the rigs. Three generations of drilling families have bled the earth for its black blood, and the earth has been bleeding back.
Geography
The Trembling Plains are open flatlands southwest of Star City, past New Austin, named for the near-constant shudder felt in the ground from drilling operations. Oil derricks are the dominant feature of the landscape, constantly at work against a backdrop of harsh desert conditions. Roads crisscross the territory for iron horse gangs who patrol between wells and refineries. No permanent settlements exist on the Plains themselves; supply stations and bars on the outskirts serve as the closest thing to civilization for the workers.
History
Corebook Era
The earliest records name this territory the Tremblin' Plains, after the near constant shudder felt in the ground from the countless oil derricks, mines, and dozens of iron horse gangs that ranged across the open land. The gangs kept the wells and refineries running and the precious few road houses in good supply. The reason this land was patrolled instead of settled was caused by the same boon that made it valuable: all those operations drew the worst zeds, mutations, and abominations that the desert could produce toward the pumps and processors. Staggering shambler corpses could clog the pumps, and if not kept patrolled and cleared, the precious black gold would cease to flow.
