The hot irradiated wasteland that is New South Queensland

stretches out in every direction, covered in a scorching merciless sun.

These lands have seen disaster, apocalypse, apostasy and despair.

But until this moment, they have not seen a sight.

Let it go!

Such as this. seen a sight. Let it go. Such as this.

From a distance, a puff of dirty smoke on the horizon

is all that would warn you of the approach of the dragon friends,

riding as they are on a convoy of battle roos,

ride on mowers and a heavily armed if decrebored four-wheel drive.

As the convoy approaches, you would be able to notice the upright figure of a raider straddling the bonnet,

tears of concentration streaming down his face as he attempts the chords to classical gas again and again,

while gouts of encouraging fire are blasted behind him.

The convoy is, of course, the dragon friends, riding high on a payload of weapons, explosives, vehicles,

and other gifts granted by an overly permissive

dungeon master.

Ahead of them, the city of Brisbane lies, slimy jewel that it is in the nation's

northeastern crown and home of the fabled Freeside Needle, the Dragon Friends' next assignment. Now, Brisbane, of course,

is a compound town and the access to the needle accessible only by helicopter, and huge

walls guard your way. But as the convoy approaches the outskirts of the city, you see movement

at the station, like buzzards around carrion. A shanty town has sprung up

that seems to be full of smoggy vehicles parked haphazardly around the perimeter. It seems that you

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