[i]High Elder Gladstone – Electric City, Washington State He felt tired. So, so tired. He had striven as best he could. He’d never wanted this, never wanted any of it. He’d never wanted to be the man who bore the crown. “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” A small wry smile upon a gaunt face. His reflection tilted its head in the mirror. Grey hair, tired brown eyes, not to mention the unshaven face. A small sigh, before he set to work shaving. His morning ritual was ingrained into him. And not five minutes later, he was striding down the streets of the new settlement. Electric City had once been a small settlement of under two thousand people before the war, after the war, it had fallen again. But now? It had its highest level of population it had ever seen in its existence. The streets bustled with citizens, his fellow comrades. A phalanx of Power-armoured paladins marched in lockstep down one side of the street. A hollered command, a dozen arms snapped to salute him as he passed. A return salute, Gladstone paused to watch them pass, before nodding to himself and continuing on his way. Along the grey tarmac roads until, at last, he reached his destination. A simple building, with a single large banner of white bearing a red cross hanging from the upper windows. The Hospital. Stepping inside, the High Elder was immediately met by a Scribe, Gwen, he’d visited a few times, Gwen was the nurse for the patient he was visiting. So he’d learnt her name by now, he doubted he'd remember her after the purpose of his hospital visits faded away. “How is he?” They walked through the corridors of the building, the harsh clicks of his shoes in contrast to the soft footfalls of the woman beside him. “He’s, not long for this world Milord.” Gladstone sighed. “A shame for sure, would that he was able to regain his youth.” A pause. “And Gwen, it’s fine to call me Atticus, I’d like to be humbled once in a while. Lest this position go to my head a little too much.” A smile from the nurse, before they reached their destination. Hesitantly pushing the door open, his eyes were met with half a dozen others. Ah, the family was here. One pair of eyes fell upon him, a gruff voice grinding out through the air. “Ah. You made it did you? Come to die boy?” A smirk from Gladstone. “No sir, I am yester-die.” A shared laugh, the rest of the visitors looked on perplexed by the interaction. Making his way forwards, an apologetic look at the rest of the family as the patient angrily motioned for them to move over to let him through. A teary eyed laugh from the dying man on the bed. “Ah, you were a little runt back then Atticus. Remember it? Redding? You were a knight fresh, and then you were thrown into one of the largest battles of the war.” A nod, the High Elder took a seat next to the man. He could see the yellowing skin, the taught features, the cancerous form before him had once been a roaring titan. A beard now willowy and white had once been a mane of curled auburn. Tired clouded eyes had been sharp and clear full of fire and zeal. He hated it. To see the Warriors of old brought low, by nothing more than the passing of the years. Where was the dignity in that? To die frail and weak? “I remember well Gawain. It was a glorious day.” A weak sigh from the weakened form before him. “Aye, that it was. That it was.” Clouded eyes closed, before opening, a little clearer, a command was given. “Leave us. I’ll not die yet, have no fear, but this is business among Elders.” Even dying, the man still had authority, and within moments, they were alone. Gawain beckoned at him to help him sit up. Atticus did so, before suddenly finding himself being pulled close, Gawain’s rasping voice next to his ear. “I was your last ally boy. And I was a traditionalist. I voted for you as High Elder, and what you’ve done for the Brotherhood has saved it. But know this Atticus, beware the Lodges.” “Why Gawain? Why?” A final sentence, the last words of the dying man to him that would haunt him ever after. “It’s not my place to speak.”[/i] ---------------------------------- [color=8882be]High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood – En Route to New Vegas[/color] The words were ringing in his head. Driving him slowly more and more insane. Gawain had been an Elder. The Elder. He should have been High Elder, not him. The Council was smaller once again. And for once, it had been at full strength but a few weeks again. Already, the position was being fought over. Gawain might have been Traditionalist, but he’d been willing to compromise in the name of survival. Now though? The Traditionalists and the Reformists were at each other’s throats. So, he’d decided to attend the summit in New Vegas to get away from it all. The two factions would counterbalance each other out. If one tried to make a move against the other without him there, they knew that he’d be likely to use what little influence he had to tip the balance against them and in favour of the defendant. Leaning back in his head, the High Elder jumped as the intercom crackled and a voice broke the silence in the cabin. “We are approaching Macarran. Seatbelts advised.” Looking down, Atticus noticed that he hadn’t unbuckled his seatbelt for the entire journey, he’d been too deep in thought. Not a word the entire trip from him. Grimacing as the Vertibird executed a sudden turn as it brought itself to bear for landing, Atticus wondered if maybe it would have been better to have come by truck, or even by one of the APC’s they had. Suddenly, there was a judder, and then that was it. They’d landed. Unbuckling his seatbelt, the High Elder stood, and glanced at his retinue. If House wanted to kill them, there wasn’t much they could do, but short of bringing the whole army, the most they could do was one transport vertibird, six paladins and two scribes. It’d have to do. The rear ramp lowered with a pneumatic hiss, and hot Nevadan daylight streamed into the cabin, he winced, before adjusting to the change in environment after a moment. A Securitron rolled up to greet them. The face of a pre-war police officer greeting them with an official tone. “High Elder Gladstone. This way if you please.” The Journey took fifteen minutes. The two scribes came with him, the rest stayed with the Vertibird. The Monorail was immensely enjoyable, and Gladstone made a mental note to see about having one built at Electric City. At last, they managed to reach the Ultra-Luxe. Entering the room, Gladstone let out a small frown as his appearance was announced by Herald. Before making his way over to an empty seat and seating down. OOC: [url]https://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/fallout/images/0/0b/Arthur_Maxson_concept_art.png/revision/latest?cb=20160105235107[/url](Top Left) is what Gladstone looks like.