Independence, Missouri
May 13, 1843
Preparations for the arduous 2,000-mile journey from Independence to Willamette Valley, Oregon had begun in earnest the previous winter. Wagons were loaded with furs, dried meats, tools, bullets, axles, blankets, ropes, and other bare necessities in careful quantity. The five-month trip along the Oregon Trail required a near perfect balance of food and supplies in order to ensure sustenance coupled with swift movement. If all went according to plan, the party would arrive in Oregon in October, just before the first snows.
This party, in particular, was a motley crew if ever one was assembled. They represented all that was left of the noble Town of Kirksville. The “noble” moniker was used mockingly by neighboring towns, due to Kirksville’s reputation as a haven for outlaws, smugglers, and the kinds of people who lived just outside the confines of polite society.
The nickname didn’t bother the citizens of Kirksville all that much – truth be told, they took some pride in it, content to live life on their own terms. They had their own unique code of honor: mind your damn business. It certainly wasn’t flowery, but simple and to the point suited the Kirksvillians just fine.
It had been an unusually hot and acrid summer that year in Kirksville, and late one night in early August 1842, the fields in the northern part of town had caught fire. No one knew for sure how the fire began – there were speculations and accusations amongst the townspeople, of course – but it had spread faster than the buckets could be filled. Kirksville had no official fire department, and the private fire brigades in the neighboring tows of Fort Chester and Unionville had arrived after the fire was beyond control. Many in Kirksville had succumbed to the smoke and heat while they tried to save their town, and the collateral damage was even worse.
Only twelve survived that fateful night after all was said and done. Twelve people were far too few to rebuild an entire town; and a burnt town, at that. After burying the dead and salvaging what they could, the group decided to come together one last time and make the trek west to Oregon. Tales of lush farmland and open tracts of land had begun to trickle east, offering the chance at wealth and prosperity in the new frontier. It was a chance that was hard to resist for the weary Kirksvillians.
They were not a traditional traveling party by any means, but they had already faced social ridicule, uncertainty, and a devastating fire. To their minds, this trek west would be just short of a lengthy vacation. If any party could survive and thrive on such a trip, it would be the noble Kirksvillians. As long as they stuck together.
(For story purposes, WW = Traitors, Villagers = Loyals/Kirksvillians)
The game has begun. It is now DAY ONE, which will end at 12:00AM EST.
