The gala had started without a hitch thanks to the quick arrival of the Courier at the floating castle of Duke Alfons Orlins due to the studious work of Sir Roland Fitzroy, half-brother to the Duke and his Head Knight. The Courier was treated like royalty while the gala continued, the feasting and partying never stopping, even into the early hours of the morning. Ghouls and humans alike mingled among the crowds of the well-dressed from the Strips and the beggars from the outskirts. Brotherhood of Steel agreed to provide security alongside Sir Roland's knights and everyone seemed to be content with the watchful eye over them.
"Well, Courier," said Alfons one morning, observing the Courier sitting next to him, "You seem to be enjoying yourself. Hopefully you have not forgotten that you have mission to do when I drop you at your final destination. I will have messengers keep track of your progress."
Alfons had proven to be very hospitable to everyone, even if some of the guests weren't. One unfortunate fellow had tried to pick a fight with a Ghoul who had supposedly stolen his dance partner was gunned down by the Brotherhood before the man could blink, so not many others after him had tried to be violent or steal from the castle. Watching from an upper balcony, Roland always seemed to be wherever the Courier was, and he had a hungry look in his eyes whenever he saw the Courier talking to the Duke.
"I have not forgotten, Your Highness," the Courier said. "When will be reaching this 'final destination?'"
"We will reach the drop-off zone in approximately three days, judging by the wind speeds and piloting skills of my crew," Alfons said matter-of-factly, as if the Courier would never be able to wait to reach the landing pad. "The Interior Wasteland is a wide expanse of smaller civilizations that survive under the protection of seven different duchies, some of the most notable smaller civilizations being the borough of Rapid City in the Northern Territory and Drybed in my own territory."
"So I'm to take out the Legion in your territory and report back to you, correct?" the Courier asked, repeating his mission. "That's all?"
"Yes, that is all. However, the people in my duchy will not be able to trust you if you look so—what is the word I'm looking for?— so western," the Duke said rather harshly, looking the Courier over. "You see, I pride myself in knowing my people are a little more civilized than those of New Vegas, no offense to you of course. The people in my territory are rather intelligent and well-structured and you look rather barbaric to them, once again, no offense intended. Have Sir Roland set you up with a suit of Royal Armor before you depart from my castle, okay? While my people aren't barbaric, they don't take too kindly to outsiders, but if you bear my crest, they will not dare shoot you or risk my forces."
"Thank you, sir!" the Courier said, looking around. "I'm going to retire to my chambers for the night. Is there anything else I should know before my departure?"
"Yes." Alfons said, "Of all the cities in my duchy, Drybed might be the largest and friendliest, but the city of Eden to the northeast will prove to be the most useful in establishing connections in the region. You see, the people of Eden have the most well-structured society I have ever seen in the Wasteland, and as such have connections with many of the tribes and cities in the area. If you wish to foster relations with any of the people of the land, you should most definitely talk to the Council of Elders at Eden."
The next three days flew by for the Courier as he prepared for his journey into the new territories of the Interior. Sir Roland helped the Courier every step of the way, teaching the Courier the difference between culture in the Interior Wasteland and the Mojave Wasteland, which proved to be difficult for the Courier considering he had been scavenging for food and water for the past few months. He eventually got a grip on the etiquette of the Interior and learned all about the different types of weapons and peoples in the Interior, from the division of the Brotherhood of Steel to a group of immigrants who had fled from the Capitol Wasteland with many stories of the atrocities in the East.
"Goodbye, Courier," said Sir Roland, when the ship had finally docked and the Courier was shuffled out into the warm dry air of his new home. According to his Pip-Boy (updated by a group of Knight for the Brotherhood of Steel) he was just about one mile outside of the city of Drybed, which apparently had at one point been a lake. "I'll have my eyes on you."
The Courier began his travels toward Drybed, a sprawling city that took up most of the dried-out lakebed. Cool breezes blew across the Courier's neck, which was a nice surprise after the unbearable heat of the Mojave Desert. He continued his trek until he reached the front gates of the large settlement of Drybed.
"Halt! Who goes there?" a voice said from atop a sentinel tower.
"The Courier of the Mojave Express and assistant to Duke Alfons Orlins," the Courier shouted up in response, hoping the gates would open.
"So you were the one that the Duke's castle dropped off, huh?" the sentinel said, looking down at the Courier. "You don't seem like much, but if came from the Mojave, you've got to be crazy enough for the Duke to send you. We'll open up the gates, but just know that we'll have our eyes on you."
What was it with people in this godforsaken Wasteland and keeping their eyes on me? the Courier thought as he watched the large gates open and a sentinel walk from his guard position. "I am Chief of Security here in Drybed. The name's Hamilton."
"Nice to meet you, Hamilton," the Courier said. "I'm here to see whoever's in charge on orders of the Duke. I'm supposed to foster good relations with his people."
"If the Duke sent you, I guess I have no choice to show you in," Hamilton said. "Good luck getting the Council to listen to you."