[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/22fHxwx.jpg[/img][/center]

[center][color=#ff8533][h3]C H A P T E R   I[/h3][/color][/center]
[center][color=#ff8533][h3]C A L L   F O R   R E V O L U T I O N[/h3][/color][/center]
[center][color=#ffa366]September 12th, 2309[/color][/center]
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The cool, crisp, air of autumn flowed through the colorful villas and cottages in the district, as colorful, well-dressed nobles walked leisurely through the city, studying an old piece of fine literature or dining on an aged cheese, Order Knights marched down the clean and refined streets, wavering their Laser Rifles with care, and an old, experienced painter finished an excellent piece of work - titled [i]"Savreaux," [/i] the noble ghoul "Arlen Glass" smiled, noting his fine brush strokes and color, truly demonstrating the utter refinement of his home city - the light tinges of green from fresh vegetation, the clay tile roofs, marble walls of white, and a bright, blue sky streaked with clouds above. The city was a hotbed for all artistic, enlightened individuals spanning the wasteland, whether it be a great author, painter, or scientist, the Savreaux District was truly the definition of high-society. It was alive, with various galas and balls keeping the spirit of fun alive, as people attended them throughout the morning light and in the dead of night. There wasn't a place quite like it anywhere in the wasteland, with it's astounding amount of cultivated citizens, a far cry from the rusted sheet-metal towns in the Capital Wasteland, or car tire and wood settlements in the Commonwealth. Order Knights kept the city safe from hostile outsiders and raiders with their precise marksmanship and noble attire, the scarlet and gold standing out from the dirty rags of outside raiders. Life in the Savreaux District seemed impossible to hate - it seemed to be a place where the atom bomb had [i]missed.[/i]

The Savreaux District was a beautiful, glowing diamond in a war torn world filled with pain and chaos; it housed any being that had the caps to afford it; xenophobia being a faraway problem that the power-armored soldiers could deal with in the West and East. It was particularly alive and colorful today - as the breath of autumn gave the city an orange and gold color, the nobles reading literature in open restaurants as food was broiled in front of the, and commoners wandered the streets, in a daze by the paved city streets and the overwhelming quality food and the rich people with their pockets jingling full of caps; it tended to completely overwhelm newcomers, who often dropped their jaw in face of a city that the atom bomb had seemingly no effect on; ghouls marveling that it seemed just like the world that had long gone, super mutants in sheer, utter awe as their simpler minds were completely flooded, synths that looked upon it with an artificial glee, and humans - who seemed to be a complete mix. The painters made murals across walls, keeping the city colorful, Order Knights hung flags of The Order across various clubs, houses, and restaurants to remind the people of who keeps them safe and makes everything there fully possible, and the common people hung decorative, colorful banners across strings to keep the city a moving place of color. The Savreaux District had become a popular place for rich, powerful men to discuss certain business affairs, often on dinner tables overlooking the entire city while being served excellent food, straight from the irradiated animals - a restaurant once having graced a long gone vault dweller, who had wonderful, illustrious stories to tell.

In the heart of the Savreaux District lay a massive, marble brick castle, it's beautiful white walls adorned with red and gold banners waving the flags of The Order, and crawling with Order Knights and Paladins. The massive, wooden gate, said to have been crafted by trees trunks imported from the Glowing Bog itself, opened to reveal a long hallway with red and gold rug leading to a throne. The hall was in impeccable condition, it's long, arched roof letting in cool autumn sunlight. The beautiful, hand-crafted gold and red rug led to the throne itself, on which sat King Louis Savreaux, King of Orleans, the head of each district, commander of the Orleans Order, and descendant of King Henry Savreaux, one of the men involved in the re-enlightenment of New Orleans. King Louis Savreaux was a young man of about twenty-five, with a long, promising future ahead of him - but he was in a sad state of affairs. His once illustrious black locks were tinged with bits of grey, and his golden eyes had lost their wild spark that had kept them alight through his life. Orleans, while seemingly a perfect utopia within the districts, was still a hellish nightmare once you peeled back the layers of perfection that the five families had lain over it; the Mississippi River crawling with Boglurks, Mirelurks, and even Sawteeth, the Glowing Bog growing gradually, the random groups of raiders beginning to push past the bridges and walls to reach the mainland, the Gulf Marauders hitting Orleans with heavier attacks than before, the French Revolution trying to bring down the Order - King Louis was a mess.

A once young, charismatic, and brave king had become a distraught mess, making tough decisions all over, forced to nuke settlements due to being in close proximity to a massive raider camp, watching as settlements and people were swallowed up by the Glowing Bog, and almost losing his toddler, Theo, multiple times to assassination attempts. In other districts, beyond the troubles of King Louis Savreaux, Napoleon V reigned supreme, the French Revolution growing in numbers as she continued her rally speeches and grew in numbers as more and more people, unable to find a home in the Savreaux District, came to her, promising to create "The Directory" after overthrowing King Louis Savreaux, a democracy that ensured the people a safe haven no what, that wouldn't turn a man out into the cold just because he didn't have enough bottle caps from an old, outdated soda company - and so, Napoleon V became a figurehead for change, as Order Knights constantly tried to end her before she started something they couldn't finish. Napoleon V was currently in the Proulx District, the face of poverty with it's dulling brick walls, tattered flags, and dirty streets, sitting atop a mountain of milk crates and speaking to a gradually growing group of people that listened to her charismatic words, some even slinging pipe rifles crafted out of old wood and rusted steel. Napoleon V spoke with a tenderness yet steel in her words; the people truly felt she genuinely cared about each individual yet, she wanted them to fight for their freedom, not hers. Her riot gear armor covered her body, but her face was free to the people, allowing her to emote her feelings passionately.

In the heart of a mysterious, deep, and unknown place, a young woman stirred, her light coffee-colored face hidden behind a dusty skull. Marie Laveau, granddaughter of John Laveau, sat in the Guild of Voodoo itself, the mysterious, omnipresent figure in the Bayou Wasteland, that kept magic alive where others had failed. Marie Laveau was feeling content; her small organization was prospering, it's numbers gradually climbing over time as she sent scribes out to comb through districts in order to gather highly intelligent and tech-savvy people for their "reawakening" as she called it, letting them in on the deepest secrets of the Guild of Voodoo. She was currently sitting in the clean, white complex, that hadn't been found by humans in decades, eating a healthy breakfast of Sawtooth Egg Omelette and Brahmin Milk, a dangerous breakfast to make. In front of her desk lay an assortment of flat screens, each projecting a different image of the Bayou Wasteland, several in districts, several in the Outer Regions, others focusing on individuals - the apparent "Bloodmistress of the Bayou" being one of them, noting the raider queen's apparent interest in nuclear science and radiation. The woman would note a small screen built into her desk - a large map of Orleans, dotted with heat signatures and regions of interest - by tapping several small heat signatures and writing notes on their whereabouts, ensuring that she would send several followers to stop by some time to take note of it. Her office had several glass windows in it, each looking out at an evergreen forest. Unpleased, she tapped several buttons on her desk and the windows shimmered through several ecosystems; a swamp, a taiga, a beach, before finally setting on a grassy, rocky, island.

Deep in the Glowing Bog, under the cover of thick trees and marshy ground, lay the Super Mutant Tribe - a raucous, masculine group of hunters and tinkerers, each bragging about their exploits in the bog or at home - some, discussing what kind of weapons they should make next, whether it be a car-tire attached to a log for a blunt weapon or a sharpened bicycle part wrapped against a street-light, or some discussing the biggest animal they'd hunted as of recent, some stating that they'd tussled with a building sized Boglurk, others bragging that they'd gone one-on-one with a Legendary Sawtooth. The peaceful Ancient Super Mutant Behemoth - Bastion, as he was known - looked over them, a slight smile on his old mouth. His eyes twinkled with a level of peacefulness that no other behemoth would ever reach in their lifespan, and his body language and demeanor demonstrated someone that cared more about the safety of his people than their current edibility status. He was currently sitting in the center of the camp, by the massive fire that kept all the super mutants warm at night and broiled their food, tending to it slowly and delicately. The behemoth had seen lots of things, and did lots of things he regretted. In the Commonwealth a century ago, he had taken a part in the raid against Diamond City, tearing apart Minuteman after Minuteman before being driven away with his brothers. He made disgusting blood bags and painted the walls with blood of the innocents. But Bastion was a changed man. With the help of new found intelligence and people to protect, he was peaceful and happy.

The Bayou Wasteland was alight with life in the cool, autumn sun, ranging from the Western Savreaux District to the Eastern Super Mutants. Caravans traveled down the roads, hiding their weapons and ammunition from passing Order Knights, traders hit the Trading Outpost on the peninsula, and travelers from across the wasteland voyaged into Orleans for the first time.