Andronicus23

How Little We Know

The Pitt - Haven

“Ashur preserve us. Ashur save us. Ashur grant us life.”

Marie stood silently beside the ornate forged steel coffin which was about to be lowered to her Father’s final resting place. It was a simple, yet powerful symbol of his iron rule over The Pitt for these many long years. The monument that would be placed overtop it would be an even greater one; a mighty marble statue of Lord Ashur clad in his power armor looking ever onwards towards a new horizon just beyond. It would forever stand tall in front the courtyard of Haven - allowing Ashur to watch over the mighty city of iron, steel, and fire that he had created from nothing. His tomb to be guarded day and night eternally by a loyal cadre of his most trusted warriors.

As the coffin was lowered, Marie turned to face the assembled mass of warriors and workers who had gathered to watch the burial of their monarch, no: their Lord and Savior. The God-King was dead, long-live the God-Queen.

Twenty years ago this massive host before her that clogged the streets of Uptown would have been nothing more than murderers, chem’d up junkies, and psychopaths: there were still plenty of those, of course, but now there was also so much more: standing before her now was a more populous and productive citizenry of The Pitt: forever grateful to her family for their deliverance. The cure for the Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion had been found: her Mother, Sandra ‘The Blessed Queen’ as the people called her, had managed to engineer a vaccine from Marie’s “miraculous” blood. It was not miraculous of course, no more miraculous than her Father was a god, but the mutation that had given rise to her immunity to the disease was a rare and unusual one. Perhaps, that in of itself, was miraculous.

The distribution of the cure had meant that The Pitt could stop fearing the contagion that had been brutally culling their people for a generation. They could have children again and the ranks of the Trogs stopped growing. That much her Father had delivered on his promise in spades. Others, such as freedom for The Pitt’s slaves, he had not. The Pitt despite its progress was still a hellish smog-choked city scorched by the heat of a thousand blast furnaces. The slaves were still needed to work the mills, run the smelters, and feed the always hungry fires of industry. Slaves were a necessity, and would likely continue to be so until conditions stabilized enough for the work to be tolerable.

Until then, she would have to harden her heart and bear the same burden her father once had.

“Citizens of The Pitt,” She began, her voice echoing throughout Uptown via the network of speakers that were installed on nearly every walkway which connected the upper floors of the pre-war buildings that made up this part of the city.

“Lord Ashur has gone to Paradise, beckoned home by those who he once left behind in order that he might descend unto this hell and raise up a city from its ashes.”

A great wail arose from the assembled crowd, which continued unabated until Marie raised a delicate white-gloved hand up to halt the display of mourning,

“His work is not yet done, however, and it has fallen to me to continue it. I promise you that while there is breath yet in me, The PItt will never fall back into the horror and despair that once reigned here unchecked. Our industrial might is unmatched in the waste and the Raiders which wield the bounty of our furnaces march forth unopposed to bring civilization to the wastes beyond our borders! The Pitt is strong, our great city unassailable, and our future brighter than ever! Glory to Mighty Ashur! Glory to The Pitt!”

Marie outstretched her hands, the long white dress she wore making it appear as if she were unfolding a pair of wings. She was the picture of angelic grace radiating in the depths of hell: a symbol that her Father had gone to very great lengths to cultivate about her person ever since she was a baby.

“All Hail Lady Marie! All hail the Queen of The Pitt!” The crowd cried, their tone taking on an almost zealous fervor.

“Queen of The Pitt! Queen of The Pitt!” They chanted.

Marie lowered her hands and collapsed them together, allowing herself a moment to take in the undulating adoration of her people. Her hands trembled slightly, though she would never allow anyone to see such weakness from her. To her people, she was the daughter of a literal god, a Queen now in her own right and a divine figure worshiped as such like one of the mighty ancient Pharaohs of Egypt. Marie knew the reality - she was not a god, not the daughter of one either and whatever right she ruled by was certainly not divine.

The crowd's fervor reached a boiling point, goaded on by black and red-robed preachers amongst their midst that fanned the flames of devotion. Multitudes of workers and raiders alike surged forward like a tidal wave, breaking through the first cordon of Uptown raiders that had tried to stem the flow. They were now rushing the gates of Haven itself with manic desperation: not out of hatred or rebellious intent - but with outstretched hands begging for a single touch from the Lady of The Pitt.

Marie felt sick, hearing their pleas and cries for any number of things: the cure of an ailment or the deliverance of a family member who had been mortally injured in the Mill. She wished somehow, someway, she could be the miracle-giver they believed her to be. That with a sweep of her hand she could fix all their problems and more. But she could not, she might be ruler of The Pitt, but right now she was only a mortal woman, and a daughter who had just lost her father.

The Haven guardsmen revved their auto-axes and strode forward, intent on ensuring that any fool who dared step a single toe into the sacred grounds of Haven would be swiftly dealt with. Meanwhile Uptown raiders armed with infiltrator rifles took up positions on the gantry above the streets, and began taking pot-shots at anyone who had crossed the cordon. Several workers were hit, and the crowd nearest the gates erupted into a panic.

“Lady Ashur I think its best if you retire now,” One of her advisors, an elderly ex-Brotherhood scribe named Abbadon whispered to her, “Your presence will only incite them to further acts of zealotry. We should return to Haven, let the guard do their jobs..”

Marie thought for a moment and nodded, turning her head only slightly to meet the eyes of her wizened advisor, “Yes...yes you’re right of course. Let's go.”

The old scribe motioned for several of Marie’s female attendants to grab the hem of her long dress and begin making for the doors of the palace. Marie halted them for a brief moment however, and turned back to the guardsmen that were formed up on the steps of the palace.

“Captain!"

One of the Haven Guard, a man covered head to toe in heavy PItt-forged steel armor strode forward and knelt before her.

“Your command my Lady?”

“Ensure there is no unnecessary bloodshed. These people are not here to cause harm to us, they have simply been caught up in the moment. I do not want a massacre to mark my father’s funeral, is that clear?”

“Yes Lady Ashur,” the Captain replied swiftly before beating his chest in a salute and returning to oversee the defense of Haven’s grounds.

Marie left then with her advisors and attendants in toe, closing the heavy doors behind them as they retreated inside. Marie could hear the wails of her people as they watched her leave, begging her to return and grace them with her presence. She could also hear orders and commands of her raider guard ordering everyone back to The Mills.

A new dawn had come for The Pitt, and Marie feared that this was perhaps an ill omen.

How Little We Know

Cincinnati - The Breaking of The Dam

Knight-Commander Braxton looked up and over the barricade, scanning the fog-choked no-man’s land that lay beyond its protective shielding. Corpses of ghouls, mutants, and all manner of abominable FEV-spawned creatures were scattered about in heaps, piled nearly as high as the barricade itself. The last wave attack had been brutal, and they’d expended all but the last reserves of their fusion cells in repelling it, yet he knew this was only a taste of the slaughter to come.

Braxton turned to look at the weary eyes of the men and women around him. Brotherhood soldiers and civilian combatants in broken armor and tattered blood-stained clothing: exhaustion, fear, and desperation evident in their blood-shot eyes. They’d gone without sleep nor food for many hours now, and most were running on sheer adrenaline alone. The few Calculator robots among them were just as battered and beaten, missing limbs and dangerously low on power reserves. They had no more cards to pull, no more gambits to run, this was it. If the mutants broke through with their next wave, and they almost certainly would, there would be nothing stopping them from taking the city.

Braxton steeled himself and gripped his laser rifle tighter, saying a silent prayer to whatever god would listen - so long as it wasn’t that unholy monstrosity the mutants worshiped as their deity. A god whose voice, if the abominations were to be believed, wormed its way into their thoughts and compelled them into action. UNITY, they said, fight for UNITY, die for UNITY, kill for UNITY.

A siren sounded, and Braxton’s heart sank. They were coming again, he could already hear the inane gibbering and half-crazed shrieks of the ferals. They always used them as cannon-fodder, sending them in uncounted droves to soften up a position before the mutants attacked. The soldiers around him nervously took up their positions, steading their weapons upon the top parapet of the barricade. Some prayed for a reprieve, others begged for a mercifully quick death - but none truly believed in victory.

The pounding of Brotherhood artillery came next, followed by distant explosions and inhuman shrieks of pain as the rounds found their mark. It would slow them, thin them out maybe, but it would never stop them. Nothing ever did. Braxton had been there at the fall of St. Louis - watched his home overcome by the cavalcade of monstrosities as he and the remaining Brotherhood forces fled across the river. Once he’d seen The Brotherhood lines break back then, he knew there was no real hope left. The wall had been breached, the dam had broken - and now the enemy would pour in.

“Here they come!” someone shouted, voice tinged with fear.

The thundering horde of screeching ferals began to break out of the fog-line. Braxton saw a glimpse of life in their still human eyes - the tattered remains of Midwestern civilian clothes clinging to emaciated bodies. These poor souls were the result when the Mutants deemed someone unworthy of being turned into one of their brute soldiers - they instead forced them into chambers where they were slowly, and painfully, flooded with radiation and turned to ferals: then hurled at their former comrades. Killing them was a mercy, but no less horrific for that.

Braxton closed his eyes and thought of home for a brief moment, picturing his once peaceful homestead on the banks of the Mississippi.

Then he opened them again, fierce determination filling him once more. He and his soldiers would die, no doubt, but not without a fight. He refused to be captured alive and hauled off screaming to the vats to be dipped. He would die standing his ground.

“For Barnaky!” He shouted, “For The Brotherhood! And for humanity! OPEN FIRE!”

How Little We Know

This is a nation RP intended to be for a limited number of RP’ers only. Applications are currently closed.

How Little We Know

This is a faction RP set in the Fallout Universe ten years after the events of Fallout 4. The East Coast has seen the collective sweeping victories of The Enclave, The Institute, and Ashur’s raiders in their respective domains of The Capital Wasteland, The Commonwealth, and The Pitt. Each one of these factions carving out territory and expanding their forces significantly after crushing their rivals.

Now these factions all eye each other warily, each geared up for a major war between themselves that would decide the fate of the wasteland as they know it - each believing they are destined for greatness and comfortable in the knowledge that they need only destroy the others to dominate. Never once considering that anything else could possibly threaten them.

Unknown to them however a new threat rises in the West. A vast mutant horde led by The Master has taken control over nearly all the land west of the Rocky Mountains: snuffing out the fledgling NCR before it could even truly take root. Intent on conquering the world for their horrific god-like Master, this seemingly endless force threatens to smash the supreme confidence of the Eastern states aside under a rolling tide of super-mutants and abominable FEV mutations: all in the pursuit of total UNITY.

The Midwestern Brotherhood under Barnaky has held the line for a time, stemming the tide with their own vast host of robots and Brotherhood soldiers - but no longer. Vault 0 has been destroyed and Barnaky along with it. Midwestern bunkers and cities are falling like dominos now, culminating in the recent crossing of the mutant army across the former defensive line at the Mississippi River. Now it's only a matter of time before the last lines of The Midwestern soldiers break at Cincinnati.

After that, the fight will come to them.

Eastern factions:

The Institute - Tiberius
The Pitt - Andronicus
The Enclave - MrEnclave

The all-conquering Unity will remain an NPC faction, directed as needed by me or anyone else for story purposes.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Lucy - Sunset Sarsaparilla HQ

Lucy watched with trepidation as the power-armored soldiers entered the room. She had never seen power armor in person before, only heard tales and seen depictions of it in old pre-war military books. Those depictions hardly did the imposing sight of a fully-clad power armored warrior justice however, and Lucy suddenly found herself feeling very small indeed. She’d often wondered how The Brotherhood, despite their small numbers, had managed to take on the might of the NCR - but seeing this soldier standing before her now any doubts she had were erased.

“Yes, I apologize for the confusion,” Lucy replied and motioned to both her Omerta and White Glove guards in the room, “With the marriage of my father, Don Dominic Omerta, to Lady Marjorie of the White Gloves - our two families have become one. I speak for both the Families as a result, and have full authority to do so.”

Irving gestured for one of his bodyguards to stand guard outside with the Eyebot. "Forgive me for not sitting down, but I don't believe the chairs were made for the weight of power armor."

“Of course, of course,” Lucy nodded, “Please do let us know if you or any of your men need any refreshment - we have water and food with us should you want either.”

Lucy then paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts before turning back to look up at the Brotherhood soldier,

“I’ll get right to the point then. Our Family and The Brotherhood of Steel have a common adversary right now: The NCR. It's been made clear to us recently that the NCR, or at least its current leadership in the form of the Van Graff family, have no interest in respecting an Independent Vegas. The Three Families acting as one even recently issued summons to the NCR ambassador to discuss the recent rumors of Legion activity across the Colorado River - and were outright refused. It's now obvious that as far as they are concerned we are a client state at best, and destined for conquest at worst. Mr. House and his Chairmen lackeys won’t do anything about it and are content to just roll over and accept NCR control - we are not.”

Lucy sighed and took a breath, then continued, “The way I see it - we both have aligned goals. Our family wants the NCR’s military and political leadership completely expelled from Vegas entirely and ideally from The Mojave as well - and you are actively at war with them. We can help each other out.”

“Our proposal is this: when the time is right, The Omertas and White Glove families will launch an all-out assault on NCR forces within The Strip, Freeside, and surrounding areas. We have no intention of perpetrating a massacre - and any NCR soldiers who surrender will be captured alive and treated well. No civilians will be targeted. Following this, my father will declare New Vegas free and independent from NCR rule, which The Brotherhood will be asked to formally recognize. Any former citizens of the NCR will be given a chance to become full citizens of New Vegas, along with any captured troopers - provided they lay down their arms.”

“Once that is done,” Lucy gave a warm smile, “We can divide the Mojave peacefully between us. The Families have no interest in locations like Helios One or Repconn, so The Brotherhood will be welcome to permanently occupy such places for their own purposes. Control over Hoover Dam would be shared jointly in the interest of fair distribution of power and water - my family does not have the engineers or scientists needed to operate such a large facility but The Brotherhood obviously does...”

“What’s more, there are things we can offer you in return as well. What our Families lack in brute military strength, we more than make up for in logistical capability - guns, ammunition, and medical chems from The Omertas and access to a vast food surplus from the White Gloves’ extensive network of ranchers and traders all across the southwest…we can provide all of this in bulk to The Brotherhood. Enough to supply a sustained campaign against the NCR, or perhaps The Legion, should you have need of it.”

“There’s a potential for a great partnership here,” Lucy concluded finally, “And a peaceful coexistence in The Mojave. Once the NCR is expelled, we can both turn our efforts to combating and rolling back The Green. Then when that is done, The Brotherhood can finally have a home safe from the aggressive expansion of the NCR - with a firm ally at your back - and we will have our freedom.”

“That was quite a lot to throw at you all at once, ” Lucy said with an anxious chuckle, “So please…let's discuss it further if you have any questions.”

Gomorrah

The receptionist, Clarice, eyed the Vault Dwellers suspiciously but retained her usual polite smile. She still held a grudge against them for that little disturbance they caused in her eternally neat and tidy lobby. If it were up to her, she’d call security and throw the lot of them out onto the street again…..but of course it wasn’t up to her.

“Of course Mr. Nines….one moment,” She said with a polite ‘customer service’ tone that was obviously tinged with subtle resentment. She then dialed a number on the desk phone in front of her and almost immediately someone picked up on the other end, “The Vault Dwellers are here to see The Don. Yes…three of them,” her eyes scanned the trio, first landing on the two ladies and then finally on Daniel, “Mmm hmm, I’ll send them up.”

“Don Dominic will see you now,” She said, and pointed to a series of Elevators across the Casino floor, “First elevator on the left. Take it up to the 9th floor. The Don’s private office is on the right….you can’t miss it.”

---

“Ah Daniel,” Don Dominic said warmly as he stood up from his chair once the Vault Dwellers were let in by the door guard. His office was spacious and lavish, as was to be expected. He walked over and gave Daniel a firm handshake before turning to the two women with him,

“And who are these lovely, drop dead gorgeous, ladies with you? A pleasure to make your acquaintances both of you…” he said, kissing each of their hands in turn like some corny oversized prince-charming.

“Please sit, sit,” He continued, motioning to a nearby couch and a few comfortable looking chairs in front of his desk, “I’m sure you are all here about our arrangement of course. Well let's get down to brass tacks shall we? Four 50 gallon barrels of purified water are prepared and loaded up onto a brahmin carriage, and I have a couple dozen of my best soldiers picked out and ready for your inspection to return back with you. Please let me know if either are in any way not to your satisfaction and I’ll make sure things are made right.”

“Now, that goes for my end of the bargain,” Dominic smiled, folding his hands in front of him, “As for yours….” He suddenly looked up to his bodyguard standing on the inside of the door, and gave the man a curt nod to leave. After the suited guard was gone he turned back to the Vault Dwellers.

“Can’t be too careful…” He said holding up a finger and giving a wink, “Now as for yours…I need some help with a…small matter. What do you all know of a certain Mr. Robert Edwin House?”

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Lucrezia "Lucy" Omerta - Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters, Outer Vegas

Lucy waited patiently within the small boardroom on the upper floors of the old abandoned Sunset Sarsaparilla Factory in West Outer Vegas. The location had been carefully chosen, and then relayed to The Brotherhood of Steel, under the assumption that it would serve adequately as a neutral ground for them to meet. Out of the way, far from NCR jurisdiction, and completely abandoned ever since the encroachment of The Green had driven any would-be squatters away: it was a suitably dreary location for a clandestine meeting.

Lucy’s men had managed to get the boardroom cleaned up and had even hooked up a power generator to give the place some lights and fresh air blowing through it - but it was still a far cry from where Lucy would have preferred to meet. Her luxurious office within Gomorrah would have done nicely, were it not for the ever-present NCR threat on the Strip which, even if extreme precautions had been taken to ensure security, would have posed an unnecessary risk to both parties. Neither the Family, nor The Brotherhood, could afford tipping off anyone within the NCR of this meeting: least of which the Ambassador.

The Omerta Heir-apparent had with her a few dozen Omerta made-men, a similar number of White Glove Society members, and a small squad of heavily armed Iron Forester mercs all spread out throughout the building for security. Ostensibly they were there to protect her if The Brotherhood turned treacherous for any reason: but the harsh reality was that most likely they’d all be dead if that happened. Only the Iron Forester Mercs had any hope of fighting back on anything approaching an even footing: and they had made it very clear that their ‘hazard pay’ didn’t include fighting power-armored Knights if any of those should show up.

It was a gamble then, but Lucy was betting on the odds of The Brotherhood agents not being the shoot-first type. There would be no point in it, and furthermore, nothing to gain. Both sides had interest in hearing each other out: and that was what she was counting on.

Lucy tapped her fingers on the table in front of her and sipped nervously, and somewhat ironically, on the cold bottle of Nuka Cola in front of her. This was perhaps the most important task her father had entrusted with her to date, and she wasn't about to go and screw it up.

Calm…clear head, She told herself, They’re people…not machines. They can be reasoned with.

“Madam…” A calm, airy voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. Lucy looked up to see a White Glove concierge standing before her, giving a slight bow, “The mercenary Scout has spotted what he believes to be a Brotherhood party approaching the factory.”

Lucy gulped and downed that last of the Nuka Cola, tossing the empty bottle to one of her Omerta thugs. She looked up at the concierge, and if there was any note of fear in his face, it was completely obscured by that damned mask of his. Maybe that was the real reason the Society wore those stupid things after all...

“Then let’s welcome them in…”

Minutes later Lucy could hear the footsteps of the Brotherhood agents approaching the Boardroom. As they entered, escorted by the concierge, she stood up from the table and walked over to offer her hand to whoever looked to be the leader.

“Lucrezia Omerta,” She said politely, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance...I hope you had no trouble on the road.”

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

The Omerta Family and White Gloves

The Royal Court was in session: the courtiers, sycophants, and more than a few jesters gathered before the King’s throne. They each sat silently, waiting with bated breath for their liege to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long, for soon Old King Cole himself arrived with his Queen in tow.

Fat Dom took his seat at the head of the long table with Marjorie to his right, and his daughter Lucy to his left. White Gloves and Omertas leadership alike filled up the remaining seats. They sat facing across from each other either on Lucy’s or Marjorie’s side of the table, but all looked to Dominic to explain the reason for this strange impromptu meeting held within the depths of the Ultra Luxe’s inner sanctum.

We’ve got a problem,” Dominic began, folding his large hands on the table in front of him, “And we need to do something about it.”

“I’ll say we do, those Chairman ruffians..” Marjorie started to say, before Dominic quickly cut her off.

“Not the Chairmen,” He said, hushing her, “Not this time. We’ve got bigger problems than some two-bit wanna-be goombahs.”

Dominic breathed in deeply, and then exhaled, his gaze shifted between each of the assembled members of the Two Families who’s collective power in Vegas proper was all but unmatched,

“Our problem is the NCR: or rather the Van Graffs to be specific. Though the two might as well be the same at this point. More and more they’re encroaching on our territory and burning through goodwill, and its clear to me now that they have no interest in respecting Vegas’s autonomy: if they ever did. We all know damn well too that old Not-At-Home isn’t going to get off his lazy ass in his Penthouse and do anything about it, nor is his little crony Swank. They’ve both given up and accepted their fates. So that leaves us.”

“What’s your plan Boss, what are we going to do? We gonna fight?” One of his Omerta’s pipped up.

“We can’t fight the NCR military by ourselves. It's madness.” One of the White Gloves added.

“What afraid of getting some blood on those gloves?” A second Omerta scoffed.

“Perhaps we can outspend them…hire more mercenaries. Perhaps forces from Caesar’s Legion..” Yet another White Glove chimed in.

“SHUT IT!” Lucy suddenly shouted, quelling the outbursts from both sides.

The bickering former tribals fell silent, and once more Dominic had their undivided attention,

“First things first, we need to find out where we stand…gather allies. I’ve spoken with the Vault Dwellers to the North and they are agreeable to friendship…and will undoubtedly prove invaluable in the long run. But they aren’t a military - and we need friends who are.”

“What are you suggesting dear?” Marjorie asked, one eyebrow raised.

“We send out two letters inviting communication. One to the Brotherhood of Steel, and another to Colonel Abernathy himself. The Brotherhood are not our direct enemies - and are actively at war with the NCR. We’d be fools not to hear them out if they are willing. As for Abernathy - he was recently snubbed by Van Graff leadership, and perhaps he’s willing to entertain other options for his soldiers.”

“As for the Legion - that’s exactly why we need to sort out the NCR problem now. If the Legion invades again they’ll likely just pull back and let us get wiped out in a tide of Crimson. We all know what the Legion does - what it plans to do with Vegas.”

“Crosses, spikes, and a rapine pillaging or two,” Lucy added with a sardonic chuckle, “And the women get the honor to be Officer’s wives if they’re lucky…”

“Exactly - the Legion aren't friends - and I’m not going to trust them as far as I can throw a Centurion. If the Van Graffs won’t clue us in on what’s going on across the Colorado - all that means is it's bad news for us.”

“Are we agreed?” Dominic asked finally.

Nods, murmurs, and pounding on the table followed.

So it was decided.

---

Sent through a complex network of Omerta chem dealers, raiders, and finally the Khans. The Brotherhood letter reaches someone in power with this message:

Leaders of the Brotherhood of Steel, Mojave Chapter:

In the interest of a free and independent Vegas, we wish to extend a hand of friendship and discuss the potential for cooperation against our shared foe.

We suggest meeting on neutral ground to discuss terms. Leave a white horse nettle flower on the fountain outside the Ultra Luxe to indicate your agreement.

[A single white glove is enclosed with the letter.]

---

Meanwhile an NCR officer coming back from leave on the strip heads to Camp Golf with a few hundred extra caps stuffed in his pocket, not won at any Casino, alongside a small white envelope containing a letter.

Colonel,

If you are a smart man, which I believe you are, you’ll likely grasp immediately who this letter is from. We’ve both been betrayed by those who are rotting the NCR from within.

If you’re willing to discuss this more, then put someone you can trust absolutely on leave. Let them have a good time, and give us your reply.

We’ll take it from there.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Somewhere in Outer Vegas

The Chairmen were antsy.

Lucy watched with bated breath from her hidden position on the hillside as the two groups below exchanged niceties. On one side was a heavily armed group of Chairmen goons, wearing their usual tan suits. On the other was the caravan group they were making a deal with. Several large crates full of weapons and body armor were stacked neatly behind the caravaner's brahmin: they were arms dealers looking to make a quick load of caps in Vegas by profiting off the recent conflicts.

Despite their always-present smug self-assurance, it was clear the Chairmen were out of their element. The leader of this little war-party kept fidgeting with his suit jacket and playing with a decorative lighter in his hand, flipping it back and forth like some kind of stress relief toy. The rest of the Chairmen shifted uneasily side-to-side, and kept a white-knuckle grip on their 9mm submachine guns.

It wasn't hard to see why. The boys from The Tops rarely left the strip anymore, and when they did it was almost always because they were forced to. The Omerta-White Gloves alliance was starting to choke them out, business was suffering, and they were woefully outgunned. They had to find some way of turning the tables, and seeking out third party arms dealers was about the only option they had at this point to compete with the Omerta’s substantial armory. Conflict was coming, it was inevitable, and they knew that they couldn’t fight to win as things were now.

Lucy intended to make sure it stayed that way.

A deal seemed to be reached, the Chairmen leader shook the hand of the caravan master and some of the Chairmen moved to pick up the crates. They were laughing, joking with each other and with members of the caravan. They were starting to relax: starting to drop their guards as they came to believe that, now, there was no reason to fear.

The caravan master, still laughing, moved off to the side of the road, yelling something loudly about ‘needing to take a leak’. The rest of his group backed up or subtly slipped themselves behind cover. The Chairmen didn’t seem to notice, they were too busy opening the crates and inspecting all the new shiny toys they’d just purchased.

The caravan master suddenly dove into the ditch. That was the signal. Lucy stood up from her hiding spot, as did the small army of Omerta made-men she had with her.

“This is for my mother you bastards!” She shouted, and immediately began unloading the full clip of her 12mm submachine gun. The rest of the Omertas followed suit, unleashing a hail of lead on the Chairmen below. The poor saps barely had time to register what was happening. Some tried to run, others tried to fire back, but most found themselves turned into well-dressed swiss cheese.

In less than a minute it was over, and once the smoke cleared Lucy casually strode down the hill towards the highway. She gave one of the dead Chairmen a firm kick with her high-heeled boot and then spit on the ground.

“Shit you guys don’t mess around,” The Caravan master said as he slunk up next to Lucy after crawling out of the ditch he’d been taking cover in.

“Double the pay as agreed,” Lucy replied as she turned to him with one hand on her hip, and the other holding up her gun, “But we were never here. These Chairmen were hit by raiders, understand? You mention the word Omerta to anyone, and we’ll make sure you wind up with a few extra holes yourself. Got it?”

“You won’t have anything to worry about from us,” The Caravaner replied as he held up his hands, “We’re out of here…heading back to Cali.”

Lucy nodded in approval, then turned to her men, “Let’s go boys. Take the guns, leave the bodies..”

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah Mezzanine

"We do indeed. God bless our partnership. We'll provoke Fate as one."

"Excellent," Dominic smile broadened, "Then we'll be in contact further regarding the details of our arrangement. Please - don't hesitate to contact me directly if you need further assistance in your endeavor as well...military or otherwise. As for the rest, let me know who best to contact and I will send some basic details regarding what sorts of systems we may be dealing with. Their discretion would also appreciated in this matter."

"If I may, I seek to marry my girlfriend in short order. I've arranged the proposal, the wedding lists, the catering, et cetera." He presented a minuscule box and flashed a piece of an aged brass fitting. "Everything except the location. Having recently married yourself, you've likely perused several. Amber admires proper traditional styles, so I figured you'd have advice. Is there any candidate you rejected for its quaintness? That sort of venue ought to sate our tastes."

Dominic laughed a hearty chuckle, "Well as you might imagine, my Marjorie was quite thrilled at the prospect of making her wedding the most expensive, luxurious affair possible. So therefore it was held at her very own Ultra Luxe and there never really was a second choice. But...."

He thought for a moment, giving Daniel's query some genuine thought. He didn't want to appear flippant with a response,

"Naturally either the Gomorrah or Ultra Luxe is at your disposal should you desire either venues...free of charge of course. I would not suggest going to The Tops. Swank, the proprietor, and I have a bit of a...disagreement going on currently and he's quite likely to charge your exorbitantly knowing that we are associates now."

An idea came to his mind, and Dominic perked up, "There is Vault 21...right across from the Ultra Luxe here on the strip. Sarah Weintraub is a good friend to the Omerta Family, and she has an exquisite venue. The Vault hosts a pre-war styled ballroom which may be exactly what you are looking for in terms of aesthetic. I'd encourage you to check it out, and please if you do, mention that Dominic sent you."

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Years Ago in the Mojave

A host of brahmin-skin yurts encircled a great fire deep within a desert valley. Night had fallen on the Mojave, and strange figures danced around the amber glow of the flame, casting menacing shadows which twisted in the flickering light. Each of the dancers were dressed in various animal costumes and horned headdresses, representing individual spirits or demons equal parts worshiped and feared by the tribe.

One figure stood out above the rest, a great headdress surmounted by the effigy of a snake twisted around it. He held out a gnarled staff and raised his arms high to the sky.

“Great Serpent, hear our pleas! Blessed be your servants here gathered. The Slither Kin! We praise you and beseech you to drive out the enemies of your people.”

A young girl, auburn haired, looked on at the proceedings with fear. Her bright green eyes wide with fright while her arms hugged tightly at a well-worn homemade doll. Someone wrapped a comforting hand around her. The girl looked up and smiled, seeing the reassuring matching green eyes of her mother.

“Be still Little Viper,” She cooed, “It will all be over soon. You must be brave.”

“Old windbag,” A gruff voice added and a fat figure sat down next to her, “Great Serpent this, Great Serpent that. Oooooo...spooky. Ha!” The man grinned and looked down on her with a glowing smile, “But you ain’t scared of that old pruny shaman are you?”

The girl giggled at her father’s joke, “No! But Penelope is!” She continued sadly, holding up her doll.

“Ah well I can help with that!” He said, grabbing the doll and hugging it tightly.

The girl laughed at her father’s antics, but her mother shot him a glaring look.

“You shouldn’t make fun during the ceremony…”

“Beh he does it everytime we go on hunt. He just likes hearing the sound of his voice.”

“Great Serpent, protect your brave warriors!” The shaman screeched, and with a resounding thug he cracked his staff against the ground. The costumed figures around the fire immediately stopped their dancing, and fell down in heaps on the ground as if struck dead by some magic.

The girl looked up at her father, who mouthed a “Finally….” And she couldn’t help but giggle again.

Just as the Shaman had finished his ritual someone stepped into the glow of the circle, another member of their tribe,

“They’re here,” He announced solemnly. The girl looked up at her father, and his expression turned dour. Which immediately set her on edge.

“Little Viper run to your tent and go to bed,” her mother urged, “Do as I say, now…”

Without waiting for explanation, the girl leapt up and ran to their yurt. Rather than hiding under her covers, she peeked out the cloth door, watching intently as her father and several other men of the tribe rose to meet whoever was coming.

She held her breath as their guests stepped out of the shadows, and she had to hold a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. A host of nightmarish warriors entered the campire circle, pale skinned and covered head to toe in cloth stitched with innumerable bones. They wore masks carved from human skulls which covered the top halves of their faces, giving them an inhuman visage. Much to her terror, she saw that some seemed to be dragging sacks which oozed blood like a gaping wound.

To the young girl shivering in fear, they were nothing less than living monsters.

A woman, seemingly their leader, stepped forward. She had on a particularly gruesome skull mask with goat-horns sewn ontop, and wore a bloodied cloak made from human skin draped around her shoulders. She was hauntingly beautiful yet utterly terrifying, the image of a demoness right out of the tribe's mythos.

Her father stepped forward, unafraid of the demon woman’s presence,

“Welcome, would you care to share our fire?”

The demon woman shook her head, but did not reply.

“We’d offer to share a meal, but it looks like you’ve already brought some to go,” Her father said, pointing at the sacks. That elicited a few, nervous, chuckles from his fellow Slither Kin, but then the strange woman hissed back a threat,

“Perhaps, you wish to become our breakfast?”

Slither Kin warriors reached for their weapons, as did the cannibals, but no-one made a move. Her father motioned for them all to be calm.

“Where is your Chieftain?” The woman snarled.

“Out on a hunt,” Her father replied quickly, “But I can speak for our tribe here. We all know what needs to be done…”
“The Boot-Riders are becoming a problem,” Her father continued, “They need to be dealt with. Harshly.”

“You propose an alliance,” The woman hissed, “We don’t ally with prey.”

“Nor do we,” He snapped back, “Watch yourself, those little underground burrows of yours are not so-secret to us, and it wouldn’t take much to smoke you out. We’ve done it before, or have you forgotten the taste of our poison?”

Several of the cannibals snarled, baring sharpened teeth like cornered wolves, but the woman ignored her fellow tribesman's anger. She raised a hand revealing a bladed gauntlet streaked with still-fresh blood, and ran a finger along the crimson ichor before bringing it to her lips and sampling it with a devilish grin.

“Never.....very well Slither Kin, what is it you plan to do?”

Her father returned the expression with a grin of his own,

“Wage war.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy awoke suddenly with a start, her brow was streaked with sweat and she was panting hard. Memories she’d never truly forgotten had come flooding back to her, and she stared up at the ceiling of her Penthouse suite in Gomorrah. Images from her dream morphed into her vision, and for a brief moment, she thought the plastered ceiling was the animal-skin roof of a yurt.

She sat up and got out of bed, walking over to a nearby chest. She flipped open the lid and rummaged around inside. Her hands gripped a small object, and she pulled it out.

It was a doll, well-worn and covered in the dirt of the road and faded from the burning sun. She held it tightly against her.

“Some things never really change,” She whispered to it softly.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Dominic Omerta - Gomorrah Mezzanine

Dominic watched with a sly grin plastered on his face as Daniel “Nines” wrestled with the notion of seizing control. He went back and forth with himself, trying to come up with reasons why it would be impossible, but each point was counterbalanced with a separate reason in favor. Finally, he seemed to quell his mind, and settled on a course of action.

"Sir, I'm not excessively fond of indebtedness. I'd like to earn what favors you bestow. I'll allocate space in my schedule to ensure it. My price is a week's usage of a couple dozen experienced soldiers, and two hundred gallons of freshwater. You'd score a valuable ally in exchange, and your pick of the finer elements of our coffers, even after the square trade of labor."

“Done,” Dominic said with barely a moment’s hesitation. The price for having a worthy ally on his side was paltry, frankly, and he’d gladly pay it several times over if it meant having a man in power within the Vaulters that he could rely on. He was glad that his judgment hadn’t failed him here...Daniel certainly hadn’t disappointed.

"Wait, why do I crave authority now? I didn't desire this prior. I've no grand machinations!" Daniel focused his attention to a nit on a nearby wall. "But it's possible..."

“Because you know that your people need you,” Dominic offered as he sat back in his chair, “Because without a firm hand to quell differences, they’ll fall back on infighting. But you also know how to prevent that, and only you know exactly what’s needed to see them flourish.”

“It's not about craving anything Nines,” Dominic continued as he folded his hands on the table in front of him, “It's simply a matter of duty...but if you can also enjoy the fruits of power, well, then so be it...” he smiled.

“Now as for my price…” He said, thinking carefully, “I don’t require much. You see Nines, I have my own, admittedly selfish, reasons for ensuring your success and also why I was eager to meet with you. For one, I need a firm independent ally outside the influence of the NCR, that is paramount above all else, but I also need some...assistance with another matter.”

He leaned in, “I need someone, or a group of someone's, with some considerable expertise in pre-war technology...RobCo security and network systems, to be precise. As I understand it, RobCo was the primary contractor Vault-Tec used to construct much of their computing network: pip-boys, networked computers, Vault security systems... Naturally, I’d hope your people might have some expertise in that field, and that you might be willing to work with me on my own little project.”

Dominic smiled, “It would be a potentially very lucrative partnership, I assure you, and one that could certainly result in some boons for your people. What do you say? Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand to Daniel.