[color=7ea7d8]High Elder Gladstone – The Tops[/color]

They’d been divided.

His pen danced over the paper as letters blossomed on the missives. Personal communiqués to concerned parties. Invitations to form embassies to all nations present. Others contained messages requesting an exchange of cultural knowledge. The Brotherhood knew much, but it did not know everything. Knowledge was power, how a nation thought of others, and of itself was telling in a way.

They’d been divided.

He paused, before gently setting his pen down on the mahogany desk. His fingers came to gather, clasping as if in prayer. He wasn’t a pious man, Maxson had been an Atheist, had enforced such views on his own men in the dark days of the march from Mariposa. No god’s, no demons, only men had been his decree.  Atticus disagreed with such thinking. There weren’t any gods, but there certainly were demons. He let out a small sigh, before going through the motions. The letter was folded, and the envelope sealed with a wax seal. Before being lifted up, one of the scribes scampered forwards and took it, and promptly left the room.

They’d been [i]divided[/i].

Squabbling like children, bickering like an unhappy family at dinner. To be expected of course, he didn’t know what House had expected. Had the man expected peace? Peace was an illusion. There was only ever the ceasefire. His fingers rapped on the desk, one hand under his chin as he brooded.

He had a plan. A plan to ensure the security of the Brotherhood. Security without, but to do so, he’d have to ensure order within. His thoughts had taken darker and darker turns. They couldn’t go back, they’d built too much, to go back would eventually be to die alone in the cold and the dark.

To go forwards? Yes. But which way? And how far? He’d heard the rumours, his informants, or at least what passed for informants. And now, a conundrum faced him. The older ranks mostly believed in the old ways, small surprise there. What worried him most were the younger ranks. Some looked to the Midwest, some looked to the NCR, he didn’t know what else they thought.

That was the problem with being at the top, climb to the peak of the mountain, and you can’t see the levels below for the cloud you’ve come through.

As such, it had become clearer and clearer to him as to what he had to do.

And so, standing, the High Elder set his shoulders back and raised his head high.

He had meetings to attend.

[color=7ea7d8]High Elder Gladstone – Ultra Luxe[/color]

Having received the message from Barnaky earlier, and arranging a time, Atticus Gladstone, High Elder of the Western Brotherhood, now stood waiting. He waited before the door, as the guards outside the room informed the, cyborg, within of his arrival.

He’d donned his best robes, a rich navy blue robe trimmed with silver-grey. His right hand bore the signet ring that had been passed down from High Elder to High Elder. A scribe carried materials for signing a treaty. His slow pacing footsteps were interrupted as the guards stamped to attention. Turning to the doors, Atticus straightened his posture and smoothed his robes, before stepping forwards as the doors opened.

The sight that greeted him was, strange. A large human shaped robot. Walking forwards, Atticus halted a few feet away, and bowed as much as he felt proper. Enough to show respect, but not enough to show deference. He paused, to let the scribe lay out the scroll, the wax and the pens, before gesturing for the man to leave them. Once the doors had shut, Atticus turned to the, Lord-Paladin, and spoke.

“Lord-Paladin Barnaky. If I might be presumptive, I suspect neither of us thought this day would ever occur, and certainly not in such circumstances. Or such surroundings.”