Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Andronicus23
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Andronicus23 Rogue Courser

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The Legion - Caesar Lucius, Santa Fe

The cool night air of the desert came blowing in as Lucius stood at the balcony of his chamber and looked out over the sleeping city beyond. So much had happened in the time since the fateful conference in New Vegas a war had been fought and won, and another begun. Alliances had collapsed and lines of battle drawn. A true enemy had revealed itself, one that proved to be far more treacherous than even the great Bear had been. Instead of marching under the banner of false democracy and promises of old world values however, the Cult fought under the banner of their hellish god: Ug-Qualtoth. Lucius had answered the call to this fight because he'd owed a debt to Barnaky and his Brotherhood, but it quickly became apparent that the Cult was a greater evil than any profligate nation could be. To that end, he'd sent Legatus Aurelius with a mission: aid the Brotherhood in wiping away the cult once and for all.

He clutched the missive he'd received moments ago in his hands as he thought about the Legate's forces. The report had indicated that the Legate's legions were on the move, having conferred with Barnaky and organized their offensive. They would be expected to reach Indianapolis soon. Meanwhile, the cohorts sent north to aid Detroit had already arrived. The chess board had been set, and now the play would begin. He'd only wished he could be there himself to lead them.

A twinge of pain struck Lucius as the thought crossed his mind, and he remembered quite well why he could not. Bandages were still wrapped around his torso and shoulder, where Kimball's bullets had tore through and very nearly killed him. The pain had mostly subsided, but the wounds would still take time to heal. The best healers, shamans, and witch doctors in all the Legion's territories had been summoned, but his wife, Hannah, insisted that the doctors of her people: The New Canaanites, be ones to treat him. This had caused great consternation, but seeking to please his wife and set her mind at ease, Lucius had agreed to her request. None could challenge the decision after that.

Lucius understood very well her worry, and he knew that for her sake, he could ill afford to take any chances with his treatment and recovery. The news Hannah had shared with him after he’d survived the battle with Kimball had changed his perspective on life forever. She was pregnant with his child. A child that he hoped to raise alongside her, and perhaps one day see them to become Caesar after him. Yes, he could not be so reckless with his life anymore. Under Sallow: he’d believed that he would die in his service, and thought nothing of a future beyond that. Now….things were very different indeed. He now intended to live for someone rather than resigning himself to dieing gloriously.

As if to drive home the point, Lucius felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find his wife standing beside him, wrapped in the animal fur blankets of their bed. She’d obviously just woken up,

“Sorry I disturbed you,” Lucius said as he squeezed her hand, “There was a rider in the night.”

“What was the message? Ill news?”

Lucius unfolded the slip of paper he held and handed it to her, “Aurelius is marching on Indianapolis with all the legions at his command. We’ve made our first move in the Eastern War.”

“God be with him,” Hannah uttered as she looked over the report and silently reached for the small cross hung around her neck.

“Mars as well,” Lucius once more looked out over the city, “We have to put our faith in the Legatus to do what needs to be done. He’s the finest commander and tactician in the Legion. I, on the other hand, must look to our needs here. The NCR War needs to be put to rest once and for all, and there’s a great many other things I wish to plan for the Southwest that involve The Legion.”

“You speak as if you have something in mind already Lucius.” Hannah replied coyly.

“I do. I wish to invite a number of our neighbors to a meeting. Texas and what remains of the NCR leadership, The Brotherhood chapters, House as well...do you think it would be wise?”

“I think it's a fine idea. Opening The Legion to the world will provide it a path going forward. You’ve already taken many steps Sallow in his arrogance would never have considered. This is yet another my love.”

Lucius smiled and touched her cheek, “I’m glad you approve. I know of no one better to help me ensure its success.”




Letter to all Delegates of the Southwest Conference:

I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Tiberius67
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Tiberius67

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Electric City - Throne Room

“That the Lord Paladin has seen fit to declare this Cult to be scourged is a troubling matter in and of itself", the High Elder exclaimed, after several minutes of deep thought, "I wish to see the evidence that would justify this declaration, and if it be found truthful, know this ambassador. That the steel banners shall be raised, and from here, a force such as to make the word tremble shall be issued. Should it not be worthy however, know that the Western Brotherhood will make no efforts to assist your nation in your war.”

"Of course, High Elder", Ambassador McCarthy replied, gesturing for aides to bring up a push cart with a steel box on it. "enclosed within, is a complete copy of the evidence upon which Lord-Paladin Barnaky based his decision to exercise one of the most solemn and terrible powers a Elder of the Brotherhood can wield. It consists of over 1,500 hours of recorded video, ranging from on-scene documentation of the aftermath of Cult attacks, live interviews of survivors, interrogation records of enemy combatants, as well as after-action reports, technical analysis of captured enemy weapons and materiel, and other items of interest....all indexed to aid in analysis. In addition, is thousands of hours of radio broadcasts emanating from the cult itself."

Macarthy then added, "While this will require time to properly analyze, we have prepared a short presentation that will provide a representative example of what users of this database will find.....if it pleases the High Elder, I can deliver it now, before you."

"Thank you my lord", MaCarthy said, and began at the High Elder's bidding, starting the projector. On screen, stood two grim faced officers, wearing what appeared to be dark blue overcoats, and hats with the Brotherhood insignia on them, waiting for something. Nearby, behind them were several Power armored Knights. Behind them, a a settlement burned. A movieboard was held out, on it was written "Mackinaw City - Commodore Hackett inspects aftermath of Cult attack". As the two officers proceeded through the gates, whcih had been battered in, corpses could be seen hanging from each lamp post down the main street of the settlement. it got worse from there...

"About ten days ago", McCarthy said as the film ran, A large Cult force descended from Canada into northern Michigan. This settlement, Mackinaw City, was their first target. Survivors say they attacked about oh-two-hundred hours Central Time. The occupants of the settlement had no warning, and were overrun in minutes. After a general massacre of the settlement's inhabitants, they moved on, leaving a small force behind for the purpose of holding the Soo Locks, known locally as "The Passage", the highly strategic link between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan. After Commodore Hackett's Marine detachment secured the locks, and settlement ruins, the scene was documented before burying the slain Wastelanders. As you can see here...", as cameraman film caught the elder of the two officers dart out from a courtyard and began retching. The cameraman walking into the courtyard to find a young woman skewered on a spit, being roasted over a fire. Before the film abruptly stopped, a familiar marked container of pre-war BBQ sauce could be seen perched on the rocks around the firepit..."evidence of cannibalism was found, as it has been in many sites occupied by the Cult for any length of time.

The film changed to a night scene, this time the camera was the familiar gren tint of a military FLIR sensor. A Super Mutant was walking towards a old Super Duper Mart, it's sign being altered in a rather lewd fashion. At one point, the Mutant turns, and the camera focuses on it's face.

"This", McCarthy continued, "is Frank Mitchell, First Gen Super Mutant, onetime follower of the Master, and former second-in-command of the Mutant Liberation Army, a long time enemy of our Order. After the MLA's field Army was smashed at the Battle of Lincoln in 2230, we lost track of him. Recently, he was identified as one of the lieutenants of the Cult's field commander in Indiana, "Rog'Resh". That individual is himself a Mutant, rumor has it he is a mutant of the Vault-Tec strain from the Capital Wasteland." the footage shifted to a stoutly fenced compound. Penned inside, were well over a hundred feral ghouls, tended by non-ferals.

"At this position, the defenders were maintaining a large force of feral ghouls. They use them for combat, as well as a terror weapon to compel compliance from the Wastelanders around them. In the database, you will find considerable footage of their deployment in combat."

"In conclusion", McCarthy said, "the following is a radio intercept confirmed to be a speech my the Leader of the Cult, their so called "Blind Prophet"...it appears to be his declaration of War against the Brotherhood and the Integrated Republic of Detroit. It was broadcast throughout the Cult's lands."

"FAITHFUL!" A voice roared, "He who lures beyond has a demand for us! A demand, everyone of us must, and will obey! Nobody of us shall linger, nobody of us shall rest! We, his tools on this world, shall carve his name across every stone, every tree and every soul! We shall honor him, be it in our first scream or in our dying breath! But, there are those, who not share our devotion...

For a moment, there were screams of anger, red and roaring, as accursed devotion was unleashed, and the voices of the Faithful rang through the city. But once more, they died down, as the Prophet raised his hand.

"They, who call themselves the "Brotherhood of Steel" have dared to march against us! To march against Ug-Qualtoth himself! They, who call themselves the "Integrated Republic of Detroit" dare to encroach us! THEY DARE TO DENY UG-QUALTOTH!"

"I call on you! Every single one of you! You shall deliver his Wrath, his crimsion fury! The same fury that has already crushed so much in its path! I call on you...TO DESTROY THEM ALL! I CALL ONTO ALL OF YOU, I CALL FOR A CRUSADE AGAINST OHIO AND ALL LAND THAT LIES BEYOND!

I CALL FOR A CRUSADE AGAINST THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL, AN AGAINST THE REPUBLIC OF DETROIT!"


Omaha, Nebraska

Barnaky read the note Martin had handed him. The Legion had sent it using the SATCOM suite he had arranged to be installed in Santa Fe, at Lucius's request, so there was no question regarding it's authenticity.

"I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark."

"What do you think he is planning?", Barnaky asked Martin.

"The Embassy tells me they were informed that Lucius has also invited The Western Order, the Texas Confederation, Mr House, and even the NCR, sir.", Martin replied. "It would seem Lucius has decided to pursue a Post-War settlement now, rather than later....the success of his arms against the NCR in the recent war does put him in a unique position to be magnanimous towards Shady Sands."

"True", Barnaky replied. "None of us can afford a resumption of hostilities, the way things are heating up out East."

He then looked at Martin and added, "pack your bags, and have the Special Train prepared....we'll be attending."

"Yes, sir."

About an hour later, a encrypted reply was sent both to Caesar himself, and to the Ambassador in Santa Fe.

The Capitol, Omaha

Caesar,

I have received, and an honored by, your gracious invitation to the conference you are convening at your Capital of Santa Fe. Both I and my Secretary of State shall, along with a small retinue of aides, be pleased to attend. We expect to arrive in Santa Fe by rail in about two days time. I look foward to meeting you soon.

With Regards,

Simon Barnaky
Lord-Paladin
Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by MagustheRed
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High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Electric City Throne Room

Reclining on his throne, Gladstone watched in grim silence as the presentation unfolded, his eyes flickering over each scene of horror with a cold analytical resolve. It was as the radio broadcast was played that the High Elder stirred, the creaking of the ancient armour and steel throne quietened by the raging voice emanating from the speakers. He sat frozen in thought, even as the broadcasts echoes faded from the hall, before finally bestirring himself after a minute of contemplation.

“It would seem ambassador, that a quandary is before me. For the voice behind that broadcast does not distinguish between our two respective factions. It refers solely to the Brotherhood of Steel, not the Midwestern Brotherhood, not Barnaky’s Brotherhood, just the Brotherhood.”

Atticus’ jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth, he sighed, before leaning back in his chair, as if exhausted by the weight of the decision he was making.

“You may send a missive to the Lord Paladin, that by fate, it would seem we share a common enemy, a force which breaks the tenants of the Codex, and has declared war against the whole of our estranged factions. Factions if only recently reconciled, which still have something of a gulf between us by circumstances of time and space.”

The High Elder bowed his head, before raising it again with purpose a moment later. His voice directed not at the envoys before his throne, but the guards around the room.

“Order the muster, raise high the black banners my brethren, we march to the Midwest! Let the hammers fall and beat swords straight and sharp. In powered armour and with ancient dread armament equipped, it seems once again we must march. Let us wreath ourselves in glory and blood! Let us break our enemies with our hands and smite them into naught but ash and dust! Let us tear down their monuments to their own kin and rebuild upon them ones to the shame of their own defeat! For the purity of man! For the justice of the Codex! For the memory of Maxson! For the Brotherhood of Steel!”

A roar in reply met his words, spears rose to be shook in defiance of the enemy in the east and the High Elders shouts were repeated as feet crashed in the receiving of the proclamation. The cries turned to chants, the battle-hymns falling upon the warrior’s lips as the hall stirred into action, the doors opening and the herald sweeping out to trumpet calls announcing the decision of the High Elder. Gladstone had no eyes for that, instead, they fell upon the ambassador, his features grim, a half smile as the one side untouched by scar and burns allowed a small upturning of the lip.

“The Lord Paladin will have his war Your Excellency, let us hope there comes no cause to regret it.”

--------------------------------------------------

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – High Elder’s Quarters

Night was falling across Electric city, and from his room high above, Atticus watched it draw its dark quilt over the warmth of the day. Below, a swirling river of lights began to awaken in mirror image to the stars pushing their pinprick lights into the dark above. Staring out across the city, the High Elder felt a twinge of sadness run through his being.

For many, this would be a bittersweet night, on the morrow, they would begin the march to the warfront in the east. Atticus’ gaze briefly swept around the room, who would mourn his loss? He had taken no lover, fathered no children, and nor could he say any true friends remained. All he had was the cold harshness of duty as his companion, and duty brooked no love for any. Even those who remained true to it.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, his rasping voice bidding them enter, a squire with a letter to his hands. The High Elders interest piqued as he recognised the wax seal of the legion on the missive. An invitation to a conference, much like the one at Vegas. Well, it would be good to look outwards once more. Gladstone set the missive aside, dictating his reply to the squire.

“Send a reply to Caesar, we shall be attending. Have the motor convoy readied, we move at dawn.”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Elgappa
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The Warmaster Highway 75 - Somewhere between Waters and Grayling - The Warmasters Camp




Nobody dared to interrupt the hulking beast in human flesh in his prayer. Naked, only coated in ash and blood, the Warmaster was calmly kneeling in front of the black fragment of the Monolith, who filled the tent with a lilac mist, the blessed Miasma of the Monolith itself. Rows of minor Chiefs and Head-Warriors stood behind him, waiting for him to rise. Even his two mutated beasts, who he called his dogs, were calmly chewing on the remains of a scarifice, snarrling at each other, when ever one of them tried to steal his brethren´s meat. Beside that, and the silent whisper of the Warleader, there was nothing heard in the tent for an eternity...

Finally, the Beast in human form rose from the ground. He had been tall back when he had been Cranz, yet he had grown even more, in the radiactive wilderness of Canada. His flesh had withered and died at some parts of his body, giving way to raw muscles, and at some places, steel had to be hammered in place. His armor had been adjusted by enslaved junkers, locked into the wailing mass of useful captives, who followed his army, like a swarm of crippled rats. Their abilities kept them alive and protected...unlike the ones who where found wanting. Their corpses littered the path of the army, like bloody footprints, some just left behind to die, others serving the weakest and desperate as an additional source of nutrition.

This was no army, it was a horde of thousand little gangs, tribes and bands, held together by this naked titan, the embodiment of a dreaming gods wrath. He was the warleader, brought onto this world to bring in a bloody harvest. His hunt in Canada had been bloody, yet granted him a worthy army for his own ambitions.




"Dosh-Novan and his horde have taken Detroit, and sacked the city! They say that the Flames licked the stars itself, so high they have burned! He will raise a mighty monolith indeed.." The Ghoul was wearing a rusty mask, in a grim parody of the helmet the warmaster wore. Zer´g Rilth grunted, as he pointed on the map, before he moved a figure with his massive fingers. "Dosh-Novan is a fool! He could have spread his army out, and razed the rich lands of the Republic, when they were disorganized and weak! This would have been a killing wound, causing a slow, yet secure death...yet this fool went for the heart!" The meaty hand, covered in veins in all colors moved futher, until it moved onto the big spot of Detroit. "Yet now he lacks the strenght to confirm the kill...trapped in a city with long lines of supply..this arrogant fool!" A frail slave quickly followed the pointing of the warleaders hand, and placed a figure on Windsor. "Either Dosh-Novan will cross that river, and rip the heart out...or he will perish in this trap..." Snorting, The Warmaster leaned back in his massive chair, before he reached for the bowl next to it and picked out bloodied chunk of meat, to toss at his hounds. "Tell me about this legion, that fight with the Brotherhood..."

It was the eyeless missonary who spoke up, holding onto his iron staff, the lipless smile unerving for all who still could feel fear. "They once were lead by a man called ceaser...named after a figure of ancient times! Millions of ye... Zer´g Rilth growled, as one of his dogs was looking up to him, begging for a new chunk of meat. "Gaius Julius Caesar! They had books about him, which i read! Some portrait him as a brilliant hero, others as a villian..some where written from the perspective of some tribal warriors, turning him into the butt of vile jokes! Say, missionary! Which of these describe this Caesar the most?"

The missionary glared silently into the fire next to him, before finally finding his voice again. "A..a villian! He claimed to be the son of mars! Some of..of my lesser faithful brethren have tired to link this "mars" to glorious Ug-Qualtoth, yet this is vilest heresy! Said Caesar was a fool and he died like on! On a bed..from a tumor in his brain! The command was taken by a great Warrior named Lanius, who himself fell during the battle..Shattered they were, one could say, but reformed, by the current leader, a man named Lucius, whom they say, has slain the President of the mighty NCR in single combat, while he was riding a horse of steel, while Lucius was riding one of flesh..

"Most intriguing i must say! When we met them in battle, i wish that the captives are presented to me! Some will make for great converts, others i wish to feast on, to gain their strength...and their remains shall be granted to my dogs!" Waving the missionary away, the Warmaster rose from his Throne. "Mighty Warmaster...How shall we respond to Dosh-Novans plead for aid? Shall we send.. The Warmaster raised a hand, to silence the Warrior, before shaking his mighty head. "We send nothing! Dosh-Novan shall proof his worth, or perish! His greatest deed so far, is to stab an old man in the back...he shall earn his right to lead once and for all! But send word to Cleveland,the beast shall be manned, armed and woken. The Brotherhood shall be thought a lesson that their navy will never forget! Yet we shall continue our march to Grand Rapids. And rejoce...soon i will feast on the brain of this perversion that leads the brotherhood! Now, rather the sacrifices and raise the pyres...He who slumbers shall feast when we break camp tomorrow.."



The Lioness of Steel The Ruins of a city, somewhere between Salem and Hamilton - Roof of the M̵̹͙̯̟̯̭̬͚ͧ̾ͦ̑̇̉̌̌͝į̷̨̗̩̥͉̩̑̍͗̈̎͗͊̔̈ͧ͋ͯ̈́̅͑ͬ̅s̡ͫ̾̓̆̌҉҉̵̮͈͇̣̦͇̤̹̻̯̘͈̺͕̙̭k̠̰̟̰͎̬̓ͣͭͫͫ̑̋ͭ̋ͮ͑̋ͪͭ͋̕a̸ͧͩ̇ͩ͌̅͏͎̺̜͚̞̀ͅţ̷̧̨̟̪͕̞͎̦̲̥̫͖̥̹̞̍̉͊̆̓̀͒͆̈ͨ̽̓ͧ͂ͣ̊̀͟ͅȍ̧̨͖͖̱͉̺̰̱͍̦͈͓̥͓̰͕̲̲͔̂͗̾̌ͫ͋̒ͪͦͧͨ̍ͥ͝n̶̨̝̪̱̺̘̲̘̦̝̗ͫͯͣ̽ͣͥͥͬ̆ͫ͗̿ï̍ͩͨ̈ͦ͒̌͂́̇̍̐̉͂͌́͠͡҉̵̣͉̬̲̣̙̫͍͇̺͠c̿̆̍̚͏͜҉̥͈̮̻̖̬ ̸̛͉̠̞̲̓̆͒̏ͪ̅͂́͡͡ University




The swamp had claimed the city in a way, that one almost could think, that it had an bestial desire to let this place vanish away. The Lioness could not help but feel glad over this development, as this place had a foul stench to it, dank and disgusting. Far behind her, she could hear the sound of rapid laser fire, bullets and the roaring of ghouls. The University had been a nest of their vile kind, with halls so packed, that they had formed a wall of living flesh. Yet she had not send anyone into this hell..

She had send in the Pride...

She could hear the Radio-chatter from inside the three Vertibirds, where hectic voices were screaming commands and objections, while the sound of the firing weapons was drenching out an sense of order. Yet, the Lioness knew, that her Pride would get the job done...or die trying! Her leather clad hands formed fists, as she glared into the swampy wasteland in front of her. Maybe she would burn this disgusting place herself into the ground, ridding he world of its stench for all eternity. Some of the ghouls had scales, and were bigger then the common rabble of their kind...their groans had sounded almost like voices! This place was getting to her, reminding her of the great battle, the great defeat and the long march north. So many failures, so many mistakes! Never again, would she be making any foolish decisions, never again would she show weakness.

Now, she could hear the voice of a woman praying, leading her to roll her eyes. "Keep quite, Marcella! We need the stay focused! The pride need all the direction they can get." The missonary looked up from her rosary. "And all help they can get, Lady-Elder.. The Lioness spat out, as she turned her head. "Then pick up a gun and storm into this cursed place with them! But otherwise keep your mouth shut, and remain inside the Bird!" She could see the pain in the womans eyes, yet the Lioness did not care about her illusions. She had led them here, onto the ruins and into the charnel house that were the narrow corridors of the University. The fear of losing her best men and women was pushing deeper and deeper into the Lioness mind, yet her face remained stone, as she kept looking back onto the ruins of the swampy city.

"LADY COMMANDER! WE HAVE IT! RETREATING TO THE ROOF NOW! Glade and Conner are KIA! Cutter is MIA, asking for permission for an rescue mission..." The face of the young knight flashed in the Lioness face. His broad motivating smile and his firm look when he had ventured down below. He was a good man, and a loyal member of the brotherhood.

"Permission denied! We leave now...do you have the book?" A short silence followed, and the Lioness was sure, she could hear curses. "We have the book.. I can hear him scream...he is just there..." The Lioness quickly walked over to the Vertibird, before taking a seat next to Marcella. "Was god taking a break for Conner...or he just hates Gingers?" She recived no answer, as all on board looked at the hole in the ground, only a hundred meters away from them. Then, the flashing light came closer and closer, until finally, seven figures rose from the pit. Their armor was covered in blood and mutated flesh, that the metal barley could be seen anymore. The Vertibird was already hoovering as they were sprinting towards it, Dusk and Colvin covering the retreat by tossing incindiary granades into the hole, before legging it as fast as they could. The Lioness waited on the door, until Vargas finally had reached her. Gasping, he climbed into the Bird, coughing and cursing. "Star Paladin...you have the book.." Tearing his helmet off, Vargas was once more coughing, before he held up a sealed box. "We have it..."



Marie Ashur The Long road to Boston



T̳͙͎h̲̗͚̪̳̘̞i҉͕͎̱͚͍s̪ ̛̩͉̰b̵̪o̞̰̣͕̞̟d̪͖͉̮̞y͙̼̦
̵̜͚͙̣̝S͈̗o̟̹̘̜̥͍͍ ͚̦̼͉̦͟ͅͅl͓̺͓̳͠i̮m̦̠i̞̕ṯ̀ḭ̙͎̻n̯̞̫g̛̤̰̘̰
͏͕T̶̺̲̭̯̫̟h̭̣͖̯͎e̟̮̻͇ ̫̞̟̖̮ͅs̬̥͕͔̮k̴̙̙͓̮̤͍y̗͎̝͎͝
͟s͓̮ͅo ̭̖̣̦͙̲̞r̙̠̙͠ͅe̤̼̱͖̳̦̜͟d̖̫̼̜̟̦
̗͍f͎̜̟͖̰͓̗e͍̭̜̫͜a͎͖̖̗̥ś̖t̶ ̻̠̪̜̱͙o̟̼̬̳̗͚͇͞n̼͢ ҉͙͔̝͓b̞̱l̞̯̦u̵͔͉͔̙͎̰e̵̘̹̣
̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩
͇̰H̴e͏̝̻̝̜ ̹̭̖̥̜
̥͞I s̛h̡̫ͅa̖̲͝l̹̲̭̪l̠ ̥͞I
̮w̫͈̟̹͕̮͕a͖̦̪̺͍k̖̪͔̰̻͕e̮̙̯̝͉̺͘.̴̲̻͎͔̣.͖̹̠̥͚.




A3-18 Boston, CIT, The Institute - Personal Chambers of Doctor Wargner




She was imprisoned, chained to this body of flesh, who was nothing but a parody of life. A digusting abomination, false and reeking of amoniac. Marie wanted to scream, yet she had no mouth for it. All she could do, was to watch herself cutting the strange paste in front of her. Never in her life had she felt so helpless..never so vulnerable. There was a sound in her head, buzzing and roaring behind her.

"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"

"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"

"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"

"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"

Once more, Marie tried to scream, as she pushed against her bounds. A twich went through the body that she occupied, and a gasp left her, as the knife cut into her hand. Breaking her task for a moment, Marie could feel a spark of hope. This was her doing, it had to be hers. She could break this chain that was holding her, take control of this vessel...and finally find out more about this nightmare, this perversion!

"HAND OVER YOUR FLESH! I DEMAND IT!"

The Synth moved a hand to her head, as she dropped the knife. Behind her, Marie heard the sound of...water? It faded, as a door was shoved open, and a man was humming. With a clap, behind him, music began to fill the room. Heavy steps calm closer, as Marie could feel the presence of a human. Joy filled her, as she realize that this place HAD humans inside it! And with it, souls that could see the truth! Souls that could be convinced to tear down these false machines...

"Mhhh, what you cooking, sweet bee?"
The hand moved onto the body she was in, in a way, that send a shiver down her spine. The body she was in wanted to say something, something that turned Maries stomach sick, as she layed eyes on the human behind her, fat and old, his chest coated in grey hair. Then she felt his lips on her neck...




Dr. Wagner was screaming, as he ran out out of his chambers, onto the corridor. Blood was coating his naked chest, as even his boxers by now were drenched in it. Falling down he, crawled away, the knife still resting in his shoulders. "HELP...MURDER...MURDER..." Then the shadow rose over him twiching and struggling. "SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT DOWN...SHUT IT DOWN!" The buzzing in her head was all Marie could hear, as she lifted the wincing doctor up with both hands, starting at him with an fury that no synth would be capable off...

"A3-18 initiate reset. Authorization code Beta 72 Cyclone!" Deep inside her head, Marie could feel the buzzing turn into a roaring current, loud and everpresence. Everything around her was drowned out, by the sound of it. A long scream left her lips, as she lost it...




It was the heat of a laser, that contacted with her shoulder, that woke Marie from the madness that had overtaken her. The pain gave clarity in the middle of the red fury, as her hands had decended onto what was left of Wagner over and over again. "A3-18 EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN AUTHORIZATION CODE Iota 2 Incus!" Marie once more heard the sound in the back of her mind, yet this time, the pain allowed her to cope with it. Raising both hands, blood and dripping, she glared onto the thing that had been fired at her, as well as the woman behind it. Both wore white uniforms and head unhandly guns in their hands. "A3-18 EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN AUTHORIZATION CODE Iota 2 Incus! Wh..what is going on...why is that thing not shutting down..." An uneartlhy shriek left Maries false mouth, as she could feel the fragile neck of the woman in her hand, even through she stood ten meters away from her. Fury overtook her, as she pressed the fingers against the palms. The snapping noise was loudly heard...then her hands felt for the machine at her side. Him she tore limb from limb...



[center] "CODE BLACK IN LIVING SECTOR 8-b! INFORM THE DIRECTOR! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY...ALL AVAILABLE COURSERS TO THIS LOCATION! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!" [/sub]
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Andronicus23
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The Institute, Director's Quarters

“Warning. Code Black in Residential Sector 8B. Warning Code Black in Residential Sector 8B. Warning…”

Thomas’s glasses nearly fell of his head as he shot out of his desk chair once he heard the warnings, the alarms were blaring throughout The Institute.

“HOLY JESUS FUC…” He heard Cait yell as she tumbled of the couch she’d been lazily dozing in only moments before and crashed to the floor. The half drunk bottle of Nuka Cola Grape that had been at her feet spilled over as her body knocked it aside, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?”

As she looked up, she saw a frightened look cross Thomas’s face. One she hadn’t seen on him for a long time.

“No…” Thomas muttered, the dawning horror of what the warning meant sending his mind into a momentary freeze.

Cait pulled herself up, rubbing her sore backside with an annoyed huff, “Goddammit that hurt…oi Tom! What the hell is going on?”

“Code Black,” Thomas replied, as he snapped out of his panic and began striding over to a corner of the room.

“Code Black? The fuck is that?” Cait snapped back. She tried to mentally rewind and remember all the minute details from the protocol briefing that Dr. Watson had given her when she first came to The Institute: she was coming up blank. Probably because she’d fallen asleep halfway through it.

“How the hell am I supposed to remember what that is? Watson had written down like three dozen fuckin’ different safety procedures to follow when someone slips in the damn shower. Tom!”

“Synth Rebellion.” Thomas replied flatly he walked up to the wall. He punched in a code into a small mounted console nearby.

“Wa..” Cait stopped in her tracks, “That’s not supposed to be possible...right?’

“No. Its not. Not with the failsafes I forced The Directorate to implement in the Gen-3 line. Yet here we are.”

The wall Thomas was standing before slid open to reveal a brightly lit hidden storage compartment. As the wall opened up, two large racks of weapons immediately folded out and away to either side of him. The final piece then rolled forward and out of storage: a full suit of power armor. The Institute vitruvian symbol was emblazoned on it atop a coat of bright white paint. The suit was one they’d found after combing ruins of Logan Airport following The Brotherhood's defeat. From the records they’d discovered, The Brotherhood had apparently scavenged it themselves from a place called Adams Air Force Base in the D.C. area. Thomas had the Advanced Systems Division study and improve upon its original design. In her usual way, Dr. Orman had gone above and beyond that call, and it had quickly become an incredibly expensive piece of Institute technology.

Thomas tossed Cait one of the neatly stacked and folded red and white armored jumpsuits stored in the compartment, “Suit up.” He said simply. She quickly stepped into it and zipped it up, feeling the ballistic fiber mesh tight against her skin.

He pulled off his own white lab coat and hastily threw it to the floor. Afterwards, he grabbed one of the many racked Institute rifles and handed it to her, while Cait loaded up on energy cells, along with a cryo grenade or two.

Thomas stepped around to the backside of the power armor, and twisted the release valve, opening the armor swiftly. He stepped inside, and the suit automatically closed around his body, the HUD appearing before him in his helmet gave an indication of the suits status, which was all green. A helpful voice sounded in his ear,

“Welcome Director.”

He squeezed his fist to test the armor and stepped out of the station, and reached for a plasma pistol.

Thomas hadn’t been an actual soldier in the war, the one that had started this whole mess. He’d served as a liaison to the US Army Robotics Division in Anchorage. He was only supposed to be there as part of the arrangement made between The University and the army: a graduate student fresh out and ready to make his mark on the world and help his country. Fighting had not at all been part of his job description, hell there wasn’t even supposed to be a war back then, but he’d nevertheless received some basic training in the event of an emergency situation. The Chinese surprise assault on Anchorage had ensured that the notion that he’d be perfectly safe was so very misguided. There hadn’t been time to get the civilian personnel out, and he did what he had to do to survive. He’d even been lauded as a “war hero” back home, and years after he’d returned he’d still gotten requests to speak at veteran halls and charity events in the Boston area about the importance of “civilian duty” in times of war. In truth he’d been a coward, a coward who’d only fought to save his own skin and in the end, others died so that he could live.

He’d learned an important lesson in Alaska however, one that had served him well when he’d finally emerged into the hell that his own generation had created. The importance of preparation when self-preservation was at stake. He had no idea what the situation outside was like if a Code Black had been initiated, but intended to be ready for whatever it was.

The eyes of his helmet flashed a deep red as he turned to Cait, his voice now emanating from the helmet’s speech emitter,

“Lets go.”




Chaos was what awaited them outside. Thomas and Cait threaded the stream of panicked Institute personnel and their families who were scrambling away from the Sector 8B corridor and towards designated evacuation locations and secure zones. A number of Coursers in their armored uniforms were headed in the opposite direction alongside them, and Thomas took it as a good sign that at least the Coursers were operational and en-route to the situation. Even still, he feared the worst and he was on edge as he approached the ‘ground zero’ of the incident.

It was a horror show. There was no other way to describe it. A female Gen-3 Synth had gone mad. She was tearing apart a Gen-1 maintenance Synth that had responded to the disturbance. Two human bodies lay strewn to the side, the mangled body of a Facilities worker and the bloodied body of a scientist. Thomas did not know the female worker personally, but he knew she’d only recently joined the division and was in-training to become a full fledged Facilities engineer: a future for her that would tragically never be realized. The scientist, however, he knew well. Dr. Harold Wagner. Dr. Wagner was one of the Robotics Division personnel. A member of his Thomas’s own division: a part of his team. Wagner was a bit of a loner, everyone knew it, and he'd always preferred the solitude of his work and the company of Synths to humans. He’d even requested a home assistant Synth for companionship and for help around the house. Wagner had taken to calling the Synth his “wife” which had earned him some strange looks from his fellow scientists, but everyone had assumed it was a harmless eccentricity. One that Robotics division personnel were seemingly becoming known for.

Now he was dead, and lying in a pool of his own blood. It was an ignoble death that he really didn’t deserve, regardless of his oddities. Neither of them deserved this, and it shouldn't have happened. Thomas recalled that a similar situation had happened once before: Dr. Alan Binet’s own “wife” had taken to her role too well. The situation had ended poorly then as well, but the only consequence was Eve’s decommissioning. This was far worse. This wasn’t just a matter of a Synth re-prioritizing their programming: a problem that could be corrected. Something had snapped here.

A line of Coursers was already forming as more of them arrived to the scene: rifles raised and pointed at the rogue Synth. Thomas saw that X6-88 was among them.

“Fucking toasters,” Cait muttered as she raised her rifle, “I’ll send her to the scrap heap..”

Thomas immediately raised an armored hand and pushed her rifle down.

“Wait.” He said simply.

“Orders Director?” X6 asked. None of the Coursers were budging an inch. They were waiting on his word to act. Thomas stepped forward, the heavy footfalls of the power armor reverberating around the area like thunderclaps. The Synth hissed and snarled like some kind of rabid animal and she spun around glaring at the Coursers. Her eyes then fell on Thomas as he came closer to her. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as she glared at him. There was something in the eyes he couldn’t explain, a tempestuous gaze that spoke equally to confusion, abject terror, and madness.

“What is the unit’s designation?”

“A3-18, sir.”

“A3-18. Emergency Override. Director’s Authorization Code 03492 Zulu Arcus Tempest. End all active subroutines.”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 3 yrs ago Post by Wampower
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Gingy
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New Vegas, Ultra-Luxe Casino & Resort
Miss Kate Rowsell


Kate rolled her eyes as she looked down at her drink, one that had now become dry. What kind of dinner party would let one of its guests even get close to seeing the bottom of their wineglass? She lazily held it in the air and the server—a debonair fellow hidden behind an elegant white mask—poured. She nodded and gazed at the rest of the partygoers, completely uninvolved with the conversation that was rolling around the large white table.

As a little girl, she’d coveted and dreamed of becoming one of the leading ladies of yore, sporting a sparkling dress and immaculate hair, becoming a conduit of talent and beauty that not a soul could ignore. Here she was, invading her fourth glass of wine and tuning out the rest of the table. She was surrounded by a patchwork of celebrities and strangers, but the unifying principle was that at the very least, every single guest at the table acted important. She’d never come to consider herself a celebrity, but ever since Miss Rowsell’s residency at the Aces Theatre, she had become one of the most coveted faces in New Vegas.

Kate was, in modest terms, a gorgeous, glamorous, and resourceful woman from California with an intoxicating set of lungs and a private life that was often the interest of public interest and scrutiny. It did not come as a surprise that that she’d been invited to this shiny and shallow dinner. This particular gathering, however, was quite curious; Dean Domino, a legend of pre-war entertainment and now the leader of the Chairmen, sat on the opposite end. She had not uttered a word to him, but the ghoul’s eyes had idly remained affixed to her own from across the table for much of the evening.

“Do you always look so deeply uninterested, Miss Rowsell?” asked the man sitting next to her – a rather handsome dark-haired man, wrapped in a velvet coat and sporting what looked like a 100-cap haircut.

“Oh…I’m just tired, that’s all,” muttered Kate as she looked around. She reached into her purse for a cigarette and plopped one into her mouth. The man did not allow her to reach for her lighter; he offered his, igniting the cigarette. She exhaled a plume of smoke and nodded at the man. “Thank you.” She then glared at him inquisitively. “I don’t recognize you. Are you one of Mr. Domino’s ‘doctors’?”

The man chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “Heavens, no. I am but an investor in happiness, my girl.”

Kate furrowed her brow as she took another smoke. “What in the world does that mean?”

“I am only a representative of this ‘happiness’. I do not know if it is truly my place to describe what it is. My name is Mr. Townley.”

“Kate. Kate Rowsell.”

“Yes, I know. Do you really believe that there is a single soul in New Vegas who does not your name?” Mr. Townley lit a cigarette of his own and smirked. “I doubt that even Mr. House could ignore the likes of you.”

Kate found herself blushing, not because of the man’s rehearsed charm, but the very thought of crossing the mind of the man in the tower. This entire world of theirs had been his brainchild, and she had spent many nights gazing at the Lucky 38, wondering what sort of hidden realm rested within. “You are too kind. But your answer doesn’t satisfy me.”

“I am but a layman of the Starry Glory, Miss Rowsell. A realm of discovery and splendor in this dirty, complicated world.”

Kate grimaced with disgust and crossed her legs in the other direction in dramatic fashion, turning away from the man. “You’re one of the crazies? One of the sales-priests? What the hell are you doing here?” She’d turned away from Mr. Townley with such abandon that her masterpiece of a dress had shown just a hint of the woman’s thigh, a section of her skin that itself was a wasteland of fresh needle-marks.

Mr. Townley stared down at the woman’s leg and frowned. “There is nothing ‘crazy’ about escaping, my dear.” He gently tapped his finger against the flawed skin—the hidden indicator of one of the woman’s darker secrets—and smiled. “And our escape is one that is far more tangible than this one you have here.”

Kate recoiled and fixed her dress. She looked down at her leg in horror; Mr. Townley had seen something impure; something no one there was supposed to see. She frowned and stood up, addressing the older woman at the end of the table. “It has been lovely, Marjorie, but I must retire for the night.” She left abruptly, dragging the back of her sparkling blue dress with her, and took the elevator alone to the lobby.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened and Mr. Townley’s velvet silhouette stood in front of the opening. “How did…? What?” She shook her head and sighed, brushing past the man. Nothing about this evening had made the slightest bit of sense to her.

“You did not give yourself a chance to understand, dear girl. We are what you have been looking for,” said Mr. Townley as he followed and walked alongside her.

“…What? What do you want?”

“You’re afraid, but not of me. Not really. You’re afraid of what this alluring life is going to turn you into.” He pointed at Kate’s leg. “You’re retreating to a world of your own because this one is not all you thought it was. But it could be.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t know you.”

“It is in my line of work to see people as they really are. Often, they themselves cannot see, but we do. Many of those who sit around you, wearing thousand-cap suits and masking themselves in glamor, are the ones who need it most,” said Mr. Townley. “And I see it in you, too. I can see longing beyond your face; I see a girl who is disillusioned with the empty glamor of high society.”

“How do you…nevermind. Your little church just FIXES these people?” asked Kate.

“We give them what they need to fix themselves. The Church of the Starry Glory is not about me. It is not about our prioress. It is about something far greater.” He gave an affirming nod and a bone-chilling smile. His expression then transformed into a far more stoic one. “You can find our home in South Vegas. It is hard to miss. You will be welcome there. All are welcome.”

“I don’t know…”

“Think about it.”

New Vegas, Lucky 38 Casino & Hotel
Mr. House & “The King”


“I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark.”

The King sat down in his plush checkered chair—astonishingly lacking his usual accompanying drink—and slowly nodded as Mr. House finished reading the Legion’s letter. “So…now we’re partying with Caesar?”

“Perhaps. For now. This summit will not resemble the parlay we orchestrated in the Ultra-Luxe. I will be utterly shocked and impressed if the topic is anything other than the Cult from the East.”

“So, we’re going?”

You are going.”

“Oh. Okay, boss. Why me? You saw what happened last time you left me alone with those cats,” said The King with a defeated sigh.

“You won’t be dealing with the NCR. You will be dealing with Caesar. He is far more logical. Perhaps less predictable, but nonetheless, you will do well...I must channel my attention to Big Mountain. Project Aries has begun, and if it sees the light, then the human military I have crafted will be an anthill compared to what’s next.”

“What’s ‘Project Aries’, boss? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“As of now, it is only an endless, shapeless vortex of numbers. But soon, it will be real. And then it will be worth talking about.”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Tiberius67
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SAC HQ Bunker

"BE AWARE, SLAVES OF STEEL!" the old woman screeched as she strode forward, heedless of the carnage around her, "SERFS OF A BRAIN IN A JAR! FOR WE CAN KNOW NO FEAR! IT WHAT SLUMBERS UNDER DUNWHICH WILL AWAKE! AND IT SHALL FIND A REALM UNITED IN ITS WORSHIP! I HAVE SPOKEN THE NAME THAT BURNS!"

A laser beam stabbed into her shoulder, causing her to fall, but then she staggered to her feet and began to move forward again.

Now only a couple yards away from the camera, she looked at them and pointed, glaring at the group. "THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT..." It was then, that suddenly fear appeared on her withered face, and she stopped to scream. "S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Stumbling backwards, she began to crawl away. The camera swiveled to where she had been pointing, at the very spot where Brother Kyle, who looked a bit astonished himself, stood, his laser rifle at the ready. The camera swiveled back to the woman and spat out an order, two solders sprung forward, one grabbing her arms so she could not detonate any suicide charge, the other roughly frisking her.

"No bomb, sir", the second solder said, then none too gently picked up the struggling woman, and carried her to the rear, still shrieking nonsense about her "god" and "souless ones".

"Search her more closely, and put a gag on her", the cameraman said coldly, "I don't want to listen to her bullshit all the way back to base."


"Pause, please", Joseph said, and the screen froze with the struggling woman being hauled off by two Knights. He then looked over at the man, in a red tunic, sitting next to him. "What do you think, Vulpes? It's the same woman we saw in the earlier clip....that is confirmed....I'm not sure what to make of it. One minute, she basically commandeers a Raider gang from it's leader, with almost no protest....then she leads them nearly a quarter of a mile into a head-on confrontation with a platoon of Knights without flinching, only to flee from the least well armed and armored man there.". He grabbed the carafe of water from the table between then and refilled his glass, adding in frustration, "I can't stop thinking about it. I know there is something there....but what it is just eludes me!"

They had covered a lot of ground over the past day, intelligence briefings, support requests...what the Inquisition knew about the Cult...there had been much to discuss before Vulpes flew to Indianapolis Airport. Only a few items were left on the agenda, and this was one of the most important ones. Thirty years of experience screamed at him that something was important about this, but he could not see it, no matter hard he tried. Vulpes was the most gifted intelligence operatives he had ever met...he hoped that a new set of eyes would ferret out the truth that was eluding him.

"The woman?", Joseph replied, "She still lives...the Field unit in Indianapolis is holding her. She's largely her old self again. The Psychologists assure me she is completely, and probably incurably, mad, as most every committed Cult member we've interrogated has been....you'll find her most unpleasant. I'll make the arrangements with Inquisitor Stahl in Indianapolis to transfer her to your custody at your convenience. She'll be a good introduction to the kind of Enemy we face, and perhaps you will spot what I've been missing."

"Lancer-Sergeant Kyle is still in Indianapolis as well", Joseph said, "The Paladin-General's staff is debriefing him, trying to learn what happened in Boston. Spends his free time watching newsreels and films...mostly of our History since the Arrival and the Lord-Paladin himself. I can make arrangements through the Lord-Paladin's office if you would like to interview him as well. He's just as baffled by that woman's behavior as we are."

Capital Westeland - Adams AFB - 1:00 AM EDT

Guided by the IR beacons placed on both sides of the runway, the C-130...running lights off...touched down, executing a perfect 3 point landing in pitch darkness. Slowing as it hurtled down the runway towards the massive wreck of the Satellite Crawler at the other end, it eventually decelerated to taxis speed and followed the marshal's instructions, turning around and stopping at the designated spot, then cutting it's engines. As the rear cargo door began to open, a number of men in black combat armor took up position. Once the ramp was completely open, a tall, elderly, nearly skeletal thin man, visibly armed only with a walking stick that he did not seem to need, and wearing night vision goggles strode down the ramp and approached the leader of the group.

"You are Captain Geisler, Ja?", the old man asked, using a strange accent, as he nonchalantly transferred his walking stick to his left hand, and extended his right.

"Yes, sir", Geisler reached out and shook the old man's proffered hand. Commander Jabsco, back at Bannister, had warned him the client was a stickler for protocol and the people he represented were most definitely not people Talon Company wanted to fuck with. "Dr Strasse, I presume?"

"Korrekt, Captain", Strasse said, idly gesturing with his walking stick for the robots waiting at the top of the ranp to proceed. Six Protectrons, all configured as cargo handlers, descended the ramp, each pair carrying a metal footlocker between them, which they placed on the ground next to Strasse in a row. "I am Engineer-General Dr Wilhelm Strasse...you and your men will address me as Doctor, or Dr Strasse rather than by my rank, verstehen sie?"

"Yes, Doctor", Geisler replied, not recognizing the last words, but figuring out the context all the same. "We are at your service, as has been arranged."

"Excellent, Captain", Strasse said as one of the robots opened each lid, revealing all four boxes were completely full of bottle caps. To demonstrate, Strasse inserted the stick into one box, twisting and turning it until it reached the bottom of the box, then withdrew it. "One hundred thousand bottle caps....the boxes weigh precisely 50 pounds empty should you wish to weigh them." He then added, as one of the Protectrons offered Geisler a clip board before waddling off to join it's companions who were beginning to unload the cargo, "This constitutes payment of our contract with Talon Company in full. Sign for receipt where indicated, please....and forward the red copy to your Commander for his records."

Fort Gratiot Lighthouse, about thirty minutes before sunset

The Republic lookout gazed Northward with their binoculars with astonishment as the largest group of vessels they had ever seen in one place before appeared over the horizon, steaming straight for the mouth of the St Clair at fifteen knots. Soon, the force sailed down the river, ten of the big twin turreted monitors, a swarm of smaller patrol boats, and nearly two dozen freighters of various types and sizes...the six largest, which all looked the same, flew Brotherhood ensigns, most of the rest flew the colors of the various Lakeman clans.

The officer at the lighthouse broke out the new codebook that had arrived from Windsor just a few hours ago and prepared a encrypted message and sent it off. He estimated that the force would be off Windsor by 11pm....the Republic might surive the next few days after all.

Armored Train "Paladin-General Maximus" - near North Platte, Nebraska

Barnaky sat and watched the world whip by the window of the passenger car at 120 miles per hours, noting the bumper crop of grain growing with approval, though he had seen it innumerable times before through the sensors of the agricultural robots that helped tend them. It seemed only yesterday that this area was a barren Wasteland, only abandoned farms, cracked earth and dead trees as far as the eye could see. Time, and Brotherhood intervention, had made this place livable again. It reminded him that he had indeed made a difference, and the consolation that his new life was worth what it had cost him.

Across the table from him, Martin was poring over reports. The Embassy in Santa Fe was reporting that all the major powers had agreed to Caesar's conference, including High Elder Gladstone. The Ambassador in Electric City had notified him that Gladstone had endorsed the Lord-Paladin's Scourge order, and soon the Armies of the Western Brotherhood would be making their way East. Once more, they would stand together against a common foe...gratifying news that bode well for the future. They would need to speak to Caesar about it....if they needed to pass through Khan lands to reach the nearest rail-head at Cheyenne, safe passage would need to be arranged, Caesar's help would be vital in arranging that with the Great Khan.

An aide brought a new message to him, which he scanned, then went and re-read it slowly. He then looked up at the robot quietly gazing out the window. He pitied the Lord-Paladin, in a way. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, confined to a container deep underground in Vault 0. It had been Dr Strasse's idea to adapt the Calculator's control methods to enable him to control a robot...avatar he called it....to enable him to interact with others on a personal level. It seemed to help, though Strasse had been surprised when Barnaky requested that other robot types, such as Assaultrons, be adapted in a similar way to enable him, and the others who had joined him inside the Calculator over the years, to engage in combat. They had found that lag in the satellite feed the Calculator used to expand it's control area made close combat inadvisable, as a proficient foe could exploit it to strike just ahead of the avatar's ability to react. While Barnaky was nonplussed by this, Strasse had a team working on it...with mixed results so far. Martin cleared his throat, then spoke.

"Sir", Martin said, "We've just received a message from Bunker Gamma. A delegation from the insurgents in New Orleans have arrived in St Louis."

"Really?", Barnaky replied, checking and noticing that the message had indeed arrived, and been flagged for his attention, so he read it for himself. "So they have....interesting. It seems they are offering us free navigation of the Mississippi....apparently all we need do in exchange is fight their war for them."

"Well, trade with them would be beneficial", Martin replied, "as well as access to the Gulf...something the Keys has denied us for decades."

"And the dissolution of the Keys Republic would drive a stake through the heart of their so-called 'Co-Prosperity Sphere'", Barnaky scoffed. "Seriously, do they know what the history behind that name was? Somehow I don't think so."

"It would also likely result in the success of the Cult-backed insurgents in Florida", Martin said matter-of-factly, "which would give them a foothold in the South....where we cannot reach them. And if this Pact is not a military alliance aimed at us already, then the Texans, Commonwealth, and Franklin would almost certainly make it so if we back this move.....they fear our power, and helping Secessionists would prove those fears were not without reason. And do we really want to send our Brothers and Sisters to die so the rulers of this 'Southern Liberal Concordat' can drive their slaves in safety, while spouting this 'Every Man a Consul' line they've adopted?"

"So you see the problem we face then, Brother.", Barnaky said with approval. "Our reaction to this will have serious long-term repercussions, that is a incontrovertible fact." He then added, "What do you suggest?"

"Open talks, but don't commit to anything beyond expanding trade ties yet", Martin said, "Use that opening to send in the Inquisition, and perhaps Missionaries, to find out what they aren't telling us, and you take the opportunity to engage in a frank discussion with President Harris on this subject...not to mention their intentions in Oklahoma...in Santa Fe. This also concerns Caesar, as our relations with Texas directly affect him. In my opinion, access to the Gulf now isn't worth making enemies of the Texans permanently given the strategic situation we face. Not to mention, there is more than one way to skin a mole rat....or reach the Gulf."

"I knew I appointed you to this job for a reason", Barnaky replied. "If this thing could smile, I'd be smiling right now."

"Make it happen, Brother."
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Elgappa
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Slick / The Pitt / Work Gang 203




Once, a man named Slick had entered the Pitt, under the false impression, that this was a city, a city, he promised himself not to die in, but to escape and return to his home, far south to where the cult had dragged him out from the basement of a house he had hid in. This had been so long ago, that Slick was not sure, it had not been a lifetime, or maybe even a life before his, caught in a distnant dream. For by now, he knew that the Pitt was not a city...




Groaning like beasts of burden, the animal they had been turned into, the dirty and pathetic rabble of the 203th Work Gang was pushing on the Wagon, while the masked dwarf was sitting on top of it, the whip firm in his hand and his face hidden behind a sack of black fabric. Heavy, from the pig iron it had loaded, the seven slaves had to split. Three had to push the wagon from behind, each having to step down into the tracks to push it, while four were spanned in, like oxen, tugging the cargo towards the city. Slick was among the oxen, his legs muscles burning and his face coated both in ash and sweat. "MOVE IT YOU RABBLE!" The whip of the dwarf was lashing out, yet Slick knew, that he would not aim it at them. Among the petty tyrants of the Masked Overseers, the dwarf was a kind one, who used threats of violence, rather then violence itself. He had not the vile brutality of the crippled giggler, who could flay the skin of a slaves back, with a single lash of his razor sharp whip.

Not that the Dwarf would need to. The Work Gang had made good progress, almost having crossed the empty land that surrounded the holy city. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing. Ruins had been broken down, trees had been cut and everything useful had been scraped or trapped down. In its place, thousands of small smelters had grown, while everywhere the earth had been broken open, with tools, explosives and bare-hands alike, to dig for the so much needed metal. Everything was scrapped, cut down and tossed into the smelters, before being loaded into the wagons, to be carried off, into the holy City.

Slick knew, that a few meters behind them was another wagon, pulled by another work gang. So was one in front of them. This Labor would never end, for when the work-gangs were driven to total exhaustion, they simply would be replaced, and driven into the pitiful barracks, where they were kept alive by a diet of Slop, an recipe picked up from the old owners of this place, even then used to feed the slaves working in the factories. Said owners where long gone, as were their factories, who had been turned into the "Temples of Labor", while their city of old, had grown larger and larger, fed by conquest and blood. Its fires burned day and night, and its Temples never grew silent.




Roaring like a beast, the iron rushed passed them, black thick smoke in its wake. Slick knew that it had to be loaded with guns and ammunition for the war, who´s loot would continue to feed this sickly body of a city. Tracks had been layed, and crude trains, fueled by black coal, transported the resources that needed to move faster and further, then a mere labor-gang could carry it by sweat and muscle alone.The chain in his neck weight heavy, as he stepped into a new track, to push the wagon further. He had learned early, not to count his steps. Only to move onward, endlessly onward.

Pushing into the shadow of the grand city, they came past the outer ring of the holy city. Thousands of ragged, dirty shacks and barracks. Here, the slaves of less skilled labor resided. The smell of sulfur, iron and coal was in the air, as Slicks eye fell onto the hovels, where sweaty men and women in rugs were hammering hot steel into shape. Barrels of blades, stacked crude armor and pyramids of helmets surrounded them, their work overseen by grim Overseers, the white sack hood resting on their faces. These slaves had to fear little, if they did their work fast and efficiently, yet Slick had more then once seen a fool pay the price of defiance, only to be dragged for the sewers, never to be seen again. Children ran over the tracks, small buckets of coal in their hand, rushing to feed the fires to forge the simpler material of war, that needed not, the fine machinery of the temples of labor deeper in the city. Slick´s stomach turned, as he saw one overseer kick one of the kids running, before lashing out on another one, yet the slave had learned to keep his mouth shut long ago.

"HALT YOU VERMIN!" The dwarf on the wagon rose from his seating position, as the procession stopped with an loud groaning. Slick fell down on his knees, as he thanked the heavens for this break. Every second he could rest, could make the difference between live and death!
Looking up from the ground, Slick layed his eyes on the grim sight that crossed the tracks they were pushing the wagon on. A whimpering mass of people, some wearing uniforms, others all kinds of clothing. Prisoners of the distant war, to become slaves of the city that fueled it. Slicks swallowed as he looked over them, once he had been one of them.

Snarling, the sound of giant mole-rats made him rise up from his seating position, as the first of the beasts was rushing past them, as tall as a car, with an overseer riding on its back. The saddle was held in place by iron rings, dug deep into the beasts flesh, allowing the rider to control it by inflicting pain for any trace of disobedience. Vile and aggressive beasts, they were, and their bites easily festered black and green. Two more riders followed, easily overseeing the group, so large, that Slick had given up on counting already. He did not knew where they were going, yet he was sure, to soon see most of them in the barracks, the brand of labor burned in their chests and their eyes filled with grim defiance. They would learn, just like he had...




The tracks soon were clear, and with a hissing of the whip, and a long, breathless curse, the hodded dwarf pushed the work-gang on. Deeper into the city, they pulled the wagon, now with no other wagon in sight in front of them. The Miasma was everywhere, yet with every step closer to the heart, its presence grew stronger, and Slick welcomed it with deep breaths. Exhaustion and pain slowly faded, making way for a grim nothingness, that he knew would fade quickly. A trog and a ghoul was feasting on a body next to the track, yet they only gave a short snarl at the wagon that crossed past them, before continuing their feast on the body of a luckless slave, who most likely had run out of either power or will to carry on. A work-gang carrying a wagon could make do with a pusher less, yet if a second one died, their fate was in danger as well..




The Wagon grew heavier and heavier, as Slicks hands held onto the chain on his shoulder. His fellow slaves were panting, as the distant sound of the forges finally gave them a goal. The heat here was unbearable, as the air was sticky and heavy with ash. The wagon and the work gang soon were dwarfed into a small nothing, in the shadow of the temples of labor and the noise of thousands worshipping inside it, by fueling the endless machinery of war, the cult needed for its ever hungry expansion. Not all of them were slaves, most where faithful, for it needed skill that no whip could beat into a slaves head. Slick felt the envy sting in his chest, as the chain felt ever heavy on his shoulder. They could feast, while he dreamed of bread, they could sleep while he was whipped to work, and they could rest, while he was pulling this wagon. A lash on his back, brought the slave back to the moment at hand, as the group took a turn to the left, right into one of theses temples. Finally...they had reached their goal.

Inside the great hall, the air was even worse, as molten steel was all around them, stamped into plates, to be turned into bullets, tanks and trains. Where ever slaves could be used they were, ragged and dirty, just like he was. But these were the damned, the ones who would fall over one day, blood running from their mouths, as their lungs would be as black as the coal they shoveled, with little splinters of iron ore inside them. These were dead men. "HALT!" The dwarf bellowed, as the wagon finally had reached its place. Men so dark, they could be shadows, rushed towards them, a second overseer behind them, the whip tugged under his arm, and a white hood over his head. Slick knew, that the warriors had no respect for this lot. Too weak to fight true battles, they were left to oversee the slaves, and responsible for their work quotas. Mistakes would be punished...and more then on of them had found himself stripped of his mask and whip, before being tossed into the slave barracks, among the folk he had abused.

These fallen overseers would not survive the night in the packed barracks, torn to peaces by a vengeful mob, once able to gain a glimmer of justice in this place, so devoid of any light or liberty. Two times, Slick had seen it happen, both times, he had torn, stabbed and kicked himself, unleashed all the anger hidden so deep inside him. "ON YOUR KNEES YOU MAGGOTS!" The roaring voice, send the Slave quickly on his knees, togehter with his whole work gang. Soft steps and heavy steps came towards them, yet a mere glimps onto he clean robes were enough to tell Slick, who had been spotted. A blessed citizen...skilled and wise, a master of the machines of the temple of labor. "To increase production, we need more clean pig-iron! From the start, i have been against the use of the primitive smelters..." The steps walked past them, without any care for the group of slaves. Slick knew, that they had their own special place of the holy city. Somewhere, high above the ground, a place mentioned in hushed whispered, they lived, lives of pure, decadent luxury. So wild were the tales, that Slick would have never believed them, but he had been able to get a small glimpse of one of these places.

They were build high on top of the tallest buildings, connected by stable, metal platforms, far away from the three rivers, and above the ground to keep them save from the Trogs and ghouls. He had been send to pull material up to such a place, where he had seen it...plants! Green, living plants! It alone had made it feel like a place so alien and distant to the city below, that it might as well could have been on the moon, yet Slick knew, that these places existed, and that the blessed citizens, missonaries, priests, warleaders and other leaders of the faith resided there...far above this dark city!

The chain was stripped from his shoulders, as the hodded dwarf, released them with a grunt, before driving them into the cattle path of the unwashed masses of slaves, who´s shift had ended. Through caged paths, Slick wandered with the horde, towards the three rivers...towards the barricades. For his shift had ended!



Cthalpol the Iron The Long Path of the Prophet - Point Lookout




Not even a generation ago, the Cult had marched to war before. The Conquest of the Pitt, and the vast hordes new converts, slaves and material, had fueled the prophets ambition, and he had ordered his first wave of expansion. United by the glorious faith in he-who-slumbers, the warleaders had raised the black banners, and pushed outwards. The Scrapper Union of Pennsylvania was crushed in the battle of Phillipsburg, the Army of Überboss Fredrick submitted to the faith, after its leader was beaten to death in single combat by the Warmaster and the most feared enemy of all, the mighty Lone Tree republic, crumbled under the Cult onslaught, with the Skull Monolith in the silent ruins of Charlston being the last remainder of this once mighty city. Nothing seemed able to stop them...

It was the Bristol, that an arrogant Warleader choose as a new treasure to plunder that would for the first time, show the greatest weakness of the cult. Here, an entire host perished, as the People of Franklin had been prepared and waiting. There was no victory for the Cult in these Mountains, as nature itself seemed to be placed against them. Casualties mounted, thousands died...and every inch of ground taken was lost by the end of the week, simply retaken from dead, cold bodies no longer able to defend the conquest. In the end, it was this, that halted the cults advances, as the Prophet declared that it was time to rest, and gather strength, for the true enemies to the west and north. But that had been conquered would remain silent. Its people either converted, enslaved, killed or so deep in hiding, that not even the slave-catchers of the Pitt could hunt them down. One could now wander from Charlston to Phillipsburg and not meet a single soul outside from the cults outposts and fortresses, dominating their land as grim guardians. For they oversaw the slow deportation of everything useful to the City of the Pitt, the slow beating heart of the Realm of Monolith..




Cthalpol the Iron had been send to the Franklin border, to secure the peace of the prophet and guard their conquest. Unlike the rest, he had come as a student, not as a master, eager to once more learn a new way of war. The ancient supermutant had been soaking up every single maneuver his enemies had unleashed on him, noting down every tacticum and every single trick he could witness. The ancient super mutant himself had studied and experimented with his men, testing their mettle again the men of the mountains, and after year, he was content with the result. His iron host was an army worth of his name, and worthy of his banner. And when he had gotten the order to march north, to finally test them again a new foe, Cthalpol had grinned, if he still had a full mouth to do so.

Up, they had marched the long 81, cleaned and repaired, like all of the roads to the holy city where to be, as the holy decree of the prophet had proclaimed. News of the war in the west, north and east had traveled quickly, as the cult was mobilizing the sleeping reserves in the south. Soon, every Warleader would raise his banners, and march to war, for the crusade had been proclaimed. Yet, news of a new ally had spread with it, and Cthalpol, had been send a message of prophet himself.




"SHADAL! SHADAL!"


The Beach and rundown boardwalk had been filled with fires, to allow the Vanguard of the Iron Host to arrive, even in the middle of the fog. Crude boats, cut from the wood of Virginia now littered the beach, as Cthalpol landed in the sand. The ancient super mutant sank deep, as he slowly made his way away from the boats, towards the waiting mass of faithful. "Lord Cthalpol...we have awaited your coming! The faithful have ga.." The Warleader grunted as he walked passed the kneeling missionary. "Unload the boats and provide my host with quarter and food! And bring me to the mortal they call Suttbray!"

"DAL THRO! DAL THRO!"


The Vanguard was chanting loudly, as more and more warriors left the ships, jumping onto the broadwalk and the sandy beach. Material, weapons and supplies were unloaded, orders shouted into the singing, as the gathered people were pulled in, forced to carry and pull ropes. The Warleader left them behind, as he ventured into the city. Quickly, a figure was rushing towards him, daring to remain standing in his presence. With a kick from one of his bodyguards, the worm was kicked onto the ground. "Speak, whelp!" Grunting, the soldier of house Suttbray looked up, before spitting out the worlds, as he looked into the armored super-mutants disfigured face. "Lord Suttbray is one his way back." A grin moved on the mutants lips. "I shall wait here then...tell that to your master, whelp!" Far behind him, the black banner of the Monolith was raised, while the warleaders eyes moved onto Point Lookout. He could not help but ask himself, how many unfaithful may fear its sight inside the city...



A3-18 Boston, CIT, The Institute -




Little was left of the three that had stood before her. The false body was coated in the blood of the two humans, as the first black coated false-men arrived. They were a different breed of the same kind, and Marie felt the same disgust rushing over her, as she looked at them. Her hands shivered, as false lungs took deep breaths, letting the air circulate inside her. Even the air in this place felt wrong, false and sterile. She had to find this place, and tear it apart. This place, and everyone inside it, should not be!

By now, both sides of the corridor were blocked off, as the black robed false-men had surrounded her. The pulsating pain in her head grew greater with every second that passed, until finally heavy boots turned her around, as she looked at titan among the false-men, and a slim womanly figure among them.

“A3-18. Emergency Override. Director’s Authorization Code 03492 Zulu Arcus Tempest. End all active subroutines.”


A high pitched sound filled the body and mind, Marie had found herself in, until something in her mind popped like a bubble. Gravity became an enemy, as she fell. Her body, occupied and not her, turned into a prison. Her eyes twiched, as she was locked away, helpless, dammed to endure..




"ASHUR...ASHUR THEY ARE HERE...DONT LET THEM GET HER..."She could not move, wrapped and locked away, the small window in front of her the sole light around her. Yet there was a scary voice, so far in the distant...but her mother was so close, and there could be no danger when mother was around."ASHUR...oh my god..please NO! NOOOOOO!"




The gaping wound in her head was bleeding heavily, as the body of the Synth was slowly getting back on her feet. Her component resting in her hand, coated in crimson and sparking. It was impossible, for if the lack of the component wouldnt have killed her, the bloodloss sure should have...yet here she stood slowly, glaring at the man in the power armor. With a hissing scream, she tossed the component his way, "I AM THE HEIRESS OF THE PROPHET!" Then her hands took distant hold of the black clothed guards, and from the middle of the corridor she tore and broke bones, with a singular movement of her hands. Flesh and bones were torn under her distant grab, and the first shot of laser hit her, yet by now this body was beyond pain. It was death flesh, kept alive by Maries will, and her wrath for this heretical beings all around her.

"YOU ALL SHOULD NOT BE!"

A neck broke like a twig under her fingers, as she rushed towards the man in the metal armor. Twenty meters were sperating them and his dying guard, but Marie had to get her hands on him, end him once and for all, before more of this appeared. Roaring in anger, her hands reached for him...yet it was not his bones she got her fingers on. Stopping in her tracks, she lifted the woman up, before wanting to smash her against the wall.

This was the moment when the laser hit her right between the eyes and the world around her turned into light...



Marie Ashur The Long road to Boston




Marie woke, strapped to the back of her guardian. Moments passed, until she could move her shivering fingers to her forhead, yet there was no light, nor scar where the laser had hit her. Yet she knew, that her taken body must have been turned into ash, burned to cinder by the heat and leaving nothing behind. Taking a deep breath, Marie streched herself, before giving her guardian a kick. "You can let me down now! I can walk from here.." The deep, monotonous voice of the guardian answered with the same uncaring grunts she was used to, and before long, she was back on her feet.

It was then, that she realized that she was in a tunnel! Dark and silent, the world around her once more shrank down to a mere fraction. "Didnt i told you to evade enclosed spaces..." Her hands began to shiver, as she desperately began to search for the source of light, spotting it far in the distance in front and behind her. "Is the Heiress afraid of the dark.." Marie wanted this brute to die this very moment, yet this was not how it should be. Her mind felt numb, as she slowly climbed back onto her guardians back. "Take us out of her..." She felt sick, and buried her face in her hands. "Just get me back to where i can see the sky...and feel the wind!"

For the rest of the agonizing moments in the Tunnel, Marie could feel the box again, quaking and falling, screams and crying outside of it. She hated these memories, yet also could not deny, that she wished herself back into the box, her mothers warm voice always close and near..
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Bethlehem, Free Commonwealth of PA – Congress

There was a great bevy of activity within the halls of congress. People were scurrying about delivering messages from the front and the outposts along the border. Lt Governor Daniel was reviewing recent communiqués from the front; Governor Sam was sending frequent messages with orders and intel.

He was unsure about the whole campaign against the Cult, however Governor Sam had ensured to swell the ranks of the military with loyalists and had charmed or threatened most congressmen into approving her plan. The Commonwealth had for the longest time, focused on defense and rarely if ever ventured outside its borders. However, Sam had made it her goal to reunite the whole of the state.

“It seems the army is progressing slowly but steadily. Minimal losses,” the governor said to his chief of staff who just nodded as he was deep in thought while reading some reports. Before he could say anything else, a messenger arrived and handed the Daniel a note, “Ah, we seem to have a visitor from the Key Republic.”

His Chief of staff looked up, “What do they want? Come to ask for more coal and steel? Another discount? I swear, that’s all they care for”

“Does not say, they just said it was urgent matter and needed to speak to us. They are in the lobby, come let us go see what they wish.”

Daniel headed down to the lobby and there they stood waiting for him, “Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting…”

Before he could say anything else, the envoy handed Daniel a sealed letter. He opened it and read its content. His face turned pale as he read of the situation in the south. He looked at the Envoys, ‘This couldn’t have happened at a most unfortunate time… I’ll have to convene a council with the governor’s cabinet immediately and recall her from the western front.”
He moved at a quick pace and had one of his aides fetch the members of the Cabinet.

State Capitol – Cabinet Room – Bethlehem PA

“Gentlemen, we must act immediately. We cannot stand by while our allies lose control of their land.” Daniel said as he addressed the members of the Cabinet

“You surely jest, the bulk of our armies are currently engaged in battle out west. The remaining units must remain to secure our borders and towns. Our internal security MUST come first!” replied the Secretary of Agriculture.

“We cannot leave them to fend for themselves. That group under…what was the name … Sutt something,” Said the Secretary Commerce & Industry as she scratched her head trying to remember the name.

“Suttbray” Spoke up one of the Secretaries.

“Thank You… Yes Suttbray, he worries me. He is a cult Sympathizer. Last thing we need is those beast on our southern border.”

“Yes, but should we send troops south, we would stretch ourselves thin and risk the stability we have struggled to obtain. Are we willing to risk the safety of our people because some hicks down south failed to stamp out dissent? Because their leaders lacked fortitude and a backbone?” Exclaimed the Secretary of Education.

“Our Holy Crusade in the west would come to a halt if we were to aid. Worse, we might have to retreat back to our border and our walls. We have a duty to push forward and destroy the infidels, let the keys fend for themselves, they worry me not,” Said the Secretary of the Cross.

“Gentlemen, let’s look at this from a financial standpoint. Our trade with the Keys is vital. Our miners and smelters would suffer, if we lost the Keys as a trading partner. Plus, we need the bio-fuels and goods they provide…” replied the Commerce Secretary as she leaned on the table looking at her co-workers.

“They are luxury goods, nothing else. Our people will have to get used to not having some additional fruits and tobacco. As for fuel, we have the largest deposits of Anthracite coal, I think we’ll be fine,” Replied the Agriculture Secretary condescendingly.

“We must protect our homeland,” said the Secretary of Defense as he removed his glasses and stood up, “We cannot risk the cult being both at our west and southern border. If that were to happen, we would be stretched thin. We must act now and prevent them from gaining a foothold. I recommend we send an expeditionary force south, and strike.”

“Agreed, I recommend we send part of our navy south, our current defenses along the Delaware and the bay are strong we can send them to aid them along with barges of coal and steel.” Replied the secretary of the navy as he nodded to the statement of the Secretary of defense.

“Ladies, gentlemen… let us just take a vote.” Daniel spoke up as he rubbed his temples.


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Vulpes Inculta, SAC HQ Bunker

"What do you think, Vulpes? It's the same woman we saw in the earlier clip....that is confirmed....I'm not sure what to make of it. One minute, she basically commandeers a Raider gang from it's leader, with almost no protest....then she leads them nearly a quarter of a mile into a head-on confrontation with a platoon of Knights without flinching, only to flee from the least well armed and armored man there. I can't stop thinking about it. I know there is something there....but what it is just eludes me!"

Vulpes the playback of video clips, ones that the Inquisition had noted were relevant towards his goal of better understanding the cult. And, more importantly, better understanding how to fight them. He had to admit that the incident in question was...interesting...to say the least,

“You instincts aren’t falling you Inquisitor,” Vuples replied, his eyes squinting at the terror in the face of the woman, “I believe there may be more to this than we assume. However, it's very difficult to say for sure. The woman’s madness could simply be that: madness. What do we know about her?”

"The woman?", Joseph replied, "She still lives...the Field unit in Indianapolis is holding her. She's largely her old self again. The Psychologists assure me she is completely, and probably incurably, mad, as most every committed Cult member we've interrogated has been....you'll find her most unpleasant. I'll make the arrangements with Inquisitor Stahl in Indianapolis to transfer her to your custody at your convenience. She'll be a good introduction to the kind of Enemy we face, and perhaps you will spot what I've been missing."

“Excellent. And what about the soldier? The one to whom she apparently lost her mind in sight of? Where is he now?”

Lancer-Sergeant Kyle is still in Indianapolis as well", Joseph said, "The Paladin-General's staff is debriefing him, trying to learn what happened in Boston. Spends his free time watching newsreels and films...mostly of our History since the Arrival and the Lord-Paladin himself. I can make arrangements through the Lord-Paladin's office if you would like to interview him as well. He's just as baffled by that woman's behavior as we are."

“I would very much like to, please have the details arranged,” Vulpes smiled, “I cannot say whether or not I’ll be able to discern the truth here, but...as a Frumentarius of mighty Caesar, on my honor I will do my best. The Legate will be expecting his report once his legions arrive at Indianapolis. So I would like to move quickly on this. ”

Santa Fe - Capital of The Legion

Santa Fe is the Legion’s largest city and the beating heart of its empire. A sprawling metropolis built atop the ruins of the former old world city. The ruins of downtown Santa Fe contain derelict skyscrapers and pre-war buildings much of which is the domain of scavengers and scrappers looking to pick apart the carcass of its pre-war legacy. Uptown, however, is where The Legion has constructed the new post-war city that now truly defines it. Started under Sallow when he was still Caesar, the city's architecture is a striking mixture of Spanish style adobe buildings reminiscent of its pre-war heritage, and the Legion’s own unique style of architecture which, of course, Sallow based upon that of ancient Rome as well. Large aqueducts, a facsimile of the originals, carry water drawn from the ground to the city. Great forums and open markets where the goods and wares of the wasteland can be found are scattered throughout the city. Livestock of all kinds along with exotic mutated animals are bought and sold alongside great quantities of grain and foodstuffs from the Midwest, and other items that come from as far as the Keys. Slaves too are a common sight, both carrying supplies to and fro or as merchandise themselves. Legion women dressed in distinctive but simple gowns reminiscent of their historical counterparts haggle with merchants to procure the foodstuffs and goods their families’ require, many of them with their children and household slaves in tow. Gold and silver Legion coin are exchanged in great amounts for all these products, and caravaners and merchants alike come from far and wide to trade in the city.

Along with the exchange of worldly goods, come spiritual ones as well. New Canaanite missionaries and traders from Zion walk freely about the city, protected as they are by Caesar’s orders on behalf of his beloved wife. They speak to any who might pass them, and eagerly greet newcomers on the hope of spreading the word of their Lord. While the New Canaanites freely preach the word of their God, the one to whom the majority of the people of the city devote themselves is Mars: the Legion’s God of War and the sole focus of their worship. At the center of the city lies a great temple to Mars: once a great church before the war, that has been converted and expanded upon by the Legion. A statue of Mars crafted from the steel of the old city stands proudly before its doors: proudly holding aloft a Legion styled machete and wearing armor not unlike a Legion centurion. The Priestesses of Mars, a sisterhood that pledge themselves to the God of War, keep this great temple and attend to the faithful of the city, as well as serve as healers and wise women.

Despite the trappings of cultural exchange, the city itself is unmistakably Legion. That becomes clear with the sight of hundreds of Legionaries patrolling the streets. Drilled contubernia march in disciplined formation up and down the streets and alleyways of the city keeping peace and order. The results of which can be seen publicly displayed in gruesome fashion. Crucified criminals line squares of public execution: drug runners, thieves, drunkards, and chem addicts find themselves nailed alongside murders and rapists. The message is clear: those who break the Legion’s laws in its territories are punished severely. Testament to this strict martial control: a sprawling military quarter of the city houses barracks for numerous legionaries and urban cohorts stationed in Santa Fe, as well as training and parade grounds, kennels and stables for legion beasts of war, and blacksmiths and gunsmiths for the Legion’s arsenal. Next to the military quarter, a great arena constructed from metal and scrap walls hosts gladiatorial games and other blood-sports to pit man and creatures against one another. The clashing of blades and beasts can often be heard emanating from it over the usual din of the city.

Finally, the city’s center is the palace of Caesar, the construction of which once served as Edward Sallow’s own vanity project, although he died long before he could see its completion. Sallow himself took the design from illustrations he found in pre-war books on ancient Roman villas: a walled complex with an inner courtyard garden where he might rule the new Empire he intended to create. Although it seems clear the main structure and perhaps the grounds itself are actually a pre-war building modified to look more “roman”. A faded sign reading “Sante Fe Public Library” make that obvious. Praetorians patrol the grounds of the courtyard and guard their posts within the main villa building itself: where Lucius and his inner household reside. Entering into the villa’s doors, guests would find great numbers of items on display throughout the house taken on the Legion’s many conquests as well as mounted trophies of various wasteland animals.

As they enter, delegates would be be greeted by the wife of Caesar, a brown haired New Canaanite woman. She patiently awaits the arrival of each of her husbands invited guests. Like other Legion women encounter in the city, she wears a distinct style of dress, albeit of a higher quality. A small wooden cross hangs from a necklace as the only piece of jewelry she wears.

“Salve,I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

They are then led forward into an adjacent room where a large pre-war wooden dinner table, along with Lucius himself, awaits them. Lucius, while bandaged and still bearing the scars of his battle, is dressed in a crimson Legionary tunic. He looks alive and well and ready to begin the meeting.

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Halls of the Capitol – Bethlehem – Free Commonwealth

Many votes had taken place in congress, almost one after the other, all debating whether to aid the keys or let them sink. The Governor’s Cabinet had narrowly voted to recommend to congress that they aid the Keys. As divided as the Cabinet had been, congress was even more so. There were shouting matches, threats and almost breakout of violence among the delegates.

The Guild of Miners and Bethlehem Steel supported the sending of aid to the Keys. After all, they were big trading partners, partners they did not wish to lose. They were pushing their respective backed delegates to vote in favor. However, they were facing stiff resistance from Farmers United, the main body representing agrarian interests.

Lt Governor Daniel was working hard to convince delegates, but right now he faced his biggest hurdle. A large number of delegates belong to the Amish & Quaker League. They were a large voting block and worse of all they were pacifists for the most part. Unlike the ones from the past, they sometimes do vote in favor of conflict.

“Look, we know you are against conflict. All we ask is that you give this proposal a chance or abstain from voting. If your delegates abstain, we will be able to pass this vote through…” Daniel pleaded with an elderly gentleman dressed in black, dressed in typical Quaker fashion.

“You are asking us to silence our voices by abstaining. You are asking us to give our right to either disagree or agree by doing this. How do you expect us to face our constituents if we do as you say?” The man replied.

Daniel took a moment to ponder, and think of a response, “Simple…You know that this is the right move for this situation. Your constituents demand that we all abstain from violence, yet at the same time demand security. If you vote, you’ll have to go either way, if you abstain…Well, you maintain their wish for peace by not voting for the conflict, and at the same time you’ll keep them secure…”

“You say we’ll be secure, how can you guarantee that? A large number of our forces are out west, if you take another chunk and head south, we’ll be more exposed!”

“Look…Down in Maryland and tin that area, the treacherous Suttbray is raising force, and allying itself with the Cult. If we allow them to gain a foothold, we’ll open the war on two fronts regardless. This way we’ll take the fight to them…If they form in the south, your people’s lands will be the first to be attacked, let us protect you. We’ll vote for the aid and the draft.” Daniel replied placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“…Very well. We’ll abstain…” The quake replied with worried look on his face.

Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Andronicus23
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The Institute, Residential Sector 8B Corridor

Thomas stood transfixed as the Synth stood back up, even after the Director’s Authorization override had been used. That, however, was far from the most terrifying part. The true source of his horror was the fact that, in her hand, she now held the single vital component that was her very being. The equivalent of a living human having just torn out their brain with their own hands: that was what he faced. The utter impossibility of it shook him to his very core. The component clattered to the ground at his feet, but he didn’t even give it a second glance.

"I AM THE HEIRESS OF THE PROPHET!" The Synth shouted, the meaning of the words was lost to him, but he was far from concerned about that right now.

“Orders Director?” X6 asked expectantly, but he was unable to respond.

It was then that one of his Coursers simply….snapped. With its neck, mangled and utterly broken, the Courser fell to the ground almost immediately. Thomas took a step back, had the Synth done that somehow? No...that wasn’t possible.

Half-hearted attempts at explanations entered his mind, but he hardly even had time to truly contemplate the occurrence before the Synth began rushing forward.

"YOU ALL SHOULD NOT BE!" She shouted.

Thomas made no move to stop her as she charged the Coursers. Part of him, he was ashamed to admit, wanted to see what would happen next. He was desperate for a logical explanation...something...anything...that might allow this all to make sense that observing her was the only thing he could think to do.

However, instead of continuing to attack the Coursers, she instead honed in on a new, softer, target. She rushed Cait, and grabbed her, lifting her up with an ease that would have been difficult to achieve even for a Synth. It was then that Thomas came to his senses, he hurled a power armored fist at her torso. It was neither a skillful nor practiced blow, merely a very human reaction to someone he loved threatened.

A3’s body splintered under the force of it, and she was forced to drop her prey. Whatever this thing was...it was mortal at least. With Cait clear of her grasp, Thomas gave the order,

“Kill it!”

The Coursers opened fire, a dozen laser shots tore into her arms and legs, searing synthetic flesh and ripping what was left of A3-18 to shreds.

One Hour Later - Emergency Meeting of The Directorate, Directorate Boardroom

The Directorate had been gathered, each member of The Institute's five divisions seated about the white oval table inside the Boardroom on the top level. At the center of the table on a metal surgical tray was the Synth Component, the one that A3-18 had torn from her head and ‘tossed’ to Thomas. Each of the respective Division Heads, shifted uneasily in their seat. Thomas sat with his elbows on the table, his hands folded in front of his face as his bespectacled eyes were fixed on the component. The uneasy silence was palpable.

Finally someone spoke. It was Dr. Holdren, head of Bioscience,

“Sabotage? Perhaps someone illegally modified the Synth somehow. ” He offered a half-hearted suggestion, it was more to clear the air than anything, “Perhaps Dr. Wagner himself, given that he was a member of Robotics.”

“She tore it from her head, Clayton,” Thomas replied flatly, his eyes didn’t leave the component. There’s no amount of modification that can allow a Synth to do that and still be functional. Initially I had thought we were facing a malfunctioning unit, perhaps even one that had been injected with malicious code to bypass the security safeguards, but this….this is something different.”

“Surely there must be some possible explanation? Can you give an opinion at least, as head of Robotics?”

Thomas was silent for a few moments, before he sighed,

“The only thing I can think of is that someone figured out a way to insert a bootstrap loader into the Synth’s component, an embedded piece of code hidden in memory that we were unable to detect during normal security scans, and which initialized a remote connection to some external process that took over operation of the Synth. When the component was removed, theoretically the Synth may have been functioning off those basic received commands. But that type of technology to allow for direct interface with the Synth’s neuromuscular system without the component is theoretical only. We’re decades away from even prototyping such a thing.”

“That’s a terrifying thought in and of itself...” Clayton replied uneasily.

“On that note, I’m more concerned about the weapon that she used to destroy one of the Coursers,” Dr. Li interjected, “The footage from the security feed seems to indicate that she used some sort of, well for lack of a better term, telekinesis. There’s a number of ways such a feat could be explained scientifically with the right parameters in place, but all of them would require a level of technology surpassing our own.”

Dr. Secord nodded in agreement, “So if this is sabotage, we’re dealing with a group far more advanced than we assumed the surface dwellers were capable of,” She turned to Thomas, an expectant look in her eyes, “So then what do we do?”

There was a brief pause as the room fell silence, each of them looking to Thomas as The Director to make the decision. He unfolded his hands and looked up,

“We deal with the immediate security issue first. Whatever this is….whoever we are facing...we have to assume they have the ability to compromise our Gen-3 Synth network. Any non-essential Gen-3 units will decommissioned for the time being and placed into secure storage. Essential workers will be strictly monitored at all times and only be allowed in designated areas. Gen-2 and Gen-1 units will fill any gaps created in the workforce. We’ll also increase security sweeps throughout The Institute.”

“And the Coursers?” Alana asked.

“If the Gen-3 units can be compromised….we can’t take any chances. I’ll order X6-88 to assume command of the Courser units stationed in The Institute and they’ll be garrisoned temporarily on the surface. A base camp inside the CIT Ruins should do fine.”

“It’s an extreme measure, but I can’t say I disagree,” Dr. Filmore stated, “I’d also recommend we run security scans on the old generation synths, just to be safe. Perhaps install a few more security cameras in the corridors for better monitoring.”

Thomas nodded, “See that it gets done Allie. Next….we need to address what A3-18 said. It’s quite obviously a clue to deciphering the identity of our attackers. Alana, I believe you have something to report in that regard.”

“Indeed,” Alana replied and she pulled out a few manilla folders and laid them on the table in front of her, “A3-18 made mention of an ‘Heiress of The Prophet' when it began to...malfunction. Based on the information our Synth units we able to gather from the Vegas affair, we believe we’ve identified who this is referring to. A one Marie Ashur, currently associated with the group known as ‘The Cult of Ug-Qualtoth.’ We have a number of images captured of her and the other leaders of the Cult that attended the conference including their ‘War-Leader’, a vile looking brute called ‘Dosh-Novan’. We had previously built profiles on all of the attendees to the conference that we could successfully identify, so I can provide her file to you Director if that is acceptable.”

“Please do.”

“So this Cult of Ug-K-ua-ltoth….Ug-Qu-alt…..Uggy…...nevermind. This “Cult”, “A confused look crossed Clayton Holdren’s face, “Your suggestion is that they had something to do with this Alana?”

“Perhaps. Or at the very least, someone wishes us to believe they did. Either way, I suggest we accelerate our plans to investigate them.”

“Agreed,” Thomas said, “To that end. I’ll inform Desmond that he’s to begin his journey to Pittsburgh immediately. Likewise, we’ll begin following up any leads to The Cult that we’ve previously identified. Including those in the Maryland and DC regions.”

“Sir if I may,” Alana shuffled the files in front of her about before pulling out a single sheet, “SRB has discovered a pre-war connection to the cult as well based on the information provided to us by Mr. Lockheart during his stay in Point Lookout. Are you familiar with Dunwich Borers LLC?”

“The mining company?” Thomas asked, a bit surprised, “Vaguely yes. I seem to recall them having a quarry not far from the Salem area. They sold industrial drill bits too I believe. Other than that, I’m confused what connection they could possibly have with this?”

“They’re linked to the cult somehow through the owner, Richard Dunwich. We’re still investigating, but we did a database crawl on some of the pre-war CIT records, and there were a number of references to the company before the war being accused of ‘occultic activities’ in several news outlets. The scandal was not very widespread apparently and was quickly forgotten, but I believe it might be worth further inquiry.”

“The Dunwich Quarry is still there I believe then yes? I’ll task X6 and a few Coursers to comb the quarry and see if there’s any records on the company remaining there. Good work Alana, it's at least something we can follow up on. In the meantime,” Thomas continued, turning to the others, “We’ll consider this an isolated security incident and assure our people that its being dealt with. Let me be clear on something as well, I don’t believe in dark gods or evil powers, magic, or the like. I believe as I’m sure each of your do that there must be rational explanation behind what happened in that corridor. If something can be observed….it can be studied scientifically. Let's find that explanation and learn all we can about it. I’ll ask you all to link your divisions...your resources, work together on this and come to me should you require anything.”

A murmur of agreement came from the Directorate, and after a few thank yous and final words, The Directorate dispersed and left the room, leaving Thomas to his own thoughts. After some time he stepped out of the board room and returned to his own quarters. He had one final matter he wanted to attend to.

He accessed his private terminal, and the read the message he’d received only hours before the incident had occurred. His old colleague had come calling.

ROUND TWO?_ROBERT HOUSE_LUCKY 38 HOTEL & CASINO RESORT_

“I could use some of that cold rationality of yours right about now Robert….,” Thomas muttered and he clicked a button on the keyboard. The data transfer began immediately, but would take some time to complete as it had to bounce through a number of different pre-war satellites before it would finally reach House. The schematics he sent he knew House would be able to understand, perhaps not enough to fully comprehend its workings, but then again he wouldn’t need to. All he needed to do...was build it.
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by LordZell
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The Families of Old York


The Russo Family


Joseph “Crazy” Russo sat in the dining room surrounded by his lieutenants as they ate sweet savory brahmin steak. Each of them laughing and smiling as if the times were good, as if that shit has ever been true. All except two, to his right and two seats down sat the oldest man at the table Tristan “Stats” Crusie he was called stats as he had previously made some name for himself at the tracks getting odds and that’s how he’s lived life ever since, which made it all the more curious that he would stay in the Russo family. Everyone knew the Russo’s were the weakest and that Joe was the youngest, least experienced at leading and the hot headed man out of the five leaders. But for some reason Joseph also called Joey and Tris were close friends, so many assumed that was the reason but the name stats and given how much he relies on it for his life makes others think he sees the russo as the growing power. The other man was a newer guy at the table, prolly sacred shitless because he didn’t know these men or how he got to this table and didn’t wanna die on his first night, he was so new Joey didn’t even learn his name and didn’t really care enough to find out.

Joey simply shook his head before he slammed his fist with a fork in it on the table. The room immediately went silent and everyone turned to see what the noise was “Jesus Joey, why the hell do ya gotta do something like that and ruin the mood.” Russel “Bats” Tony said confused. Joey gave him a death stair and shook his head “Because Rus, you and every single one of you fucks seem to think everything is going swell ere, well let me tell ya. IT’S NOT!” He shouted “Ya see we have to go out of state hell outta country to deliver goods to some god damn southern fucks, then we have to pay fucking Creed from the congress of pennsylvania in the hopes he can get the congress to loosen up the rules so we can see more there. Then let’s not forget, the other 4 families are eating away at us. Stats, how many men have we lost so far?” Tristan slowly turned and pushed up his glassed taking a moment to think “Well, Joey, if my numbers are correct 23 men mostly to the Salintines.” Joey spit “Fuck the Salintines, we need to get moving boys and expand. Otherwise we’re gonna become the next fucking Redcliff family.” Russel looked behind joey and nodded to one of the girls who walked over and put her arms around joey and whispered in his ear “Aww, joey you’re all worked up come on and let take care of ya.” Amber whispered with a smile. “God damn why ya gotta do this, how many time do I say not while i’m working. Well I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson.” Joey stood up and pushed her down pulling out his 9mm pistol and shooting her in the left leg and she screamed. “JOEY OH MY GOD, JOEY!” Joey looked disgusted “Eww, no one’s gonna want you after this ya look horrible and can’t pay ya rent.” “JOEY NO PLEAS-” the gun went off again before amber could continue amber slumped to the floor. Russel stood up as two men rushed in with tommy guns concerned before they saw it was joey and walked back out “Joey, she was a good one why’d ya gotta do something like that.” Russel said as he blinked slowly. “Because, she was troubling me while we were working and I tell her it all the damn time. Now can we continue?” Joey said as he turned around as if nothing happened. “Oh and someone get this filth out of here. Now back to business.” The room now more shooken nodded and listened to Joey’s plans
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by MagustheRed
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High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Santa Fe

The convoy rumbled along the long stretch of highway towards Santa Fe, kicking up a small trail of dust into the air, a harbinger of their oncoming approach. The progress of the convoy attracted much attention from the citizenry of the Legion, perhaps unused to seeing such an unusual formation within their borders. Some slaves even stopping their work to watch the rumbling vehicles stream past them along the cracked highway, before returning to their work before their overseers could crack the whips upon them.

On and on it went, five vehicles in all, two gunmetal grey M3 Scout cars at the front and rear of the convoy respectively. These light fleet-footed automobiles followed or preceded respectively by three turreted M113 Armoured Personnel carriers. Glancing out over the various fields as the roared their way towards Santa Fe, Gladstone allowed himself a moment of quiet admiration for the hardiness of the Legion in carving out such a paradise among such desolation. He allowed that to fade away quickly as the intercom crackled on inside the relatively cramped innards of the APC.

“We’re five minutes out from arrival. All vehicles prepare to disembark. And close up and prepare to slow down, we’re approaching foot traffic, weapons ready.”

Turning his attention to the men within the confines of the carrier, Gladstone ruminated on the new style of uniform he’d ordered for his soldiers. Gone was the ragtag style of ages past, a new order required change. For his soldiers, this meant a new uniform and organisation. The inspiration for these reforms had been from the pre-war world naturally. Previously the brotherhoods forces had been organised along feudal lines. Now, forces were organised in military style, a standing army was implemented, a reserve force was created along with conscription being started to enable a more readily available source of manpower to be raised with minimal fuss.

The old system of knights, paladins and scribes had been mothballed. Skipping over the Midwestern Brotherhood, the organisation of the now silent east coast brotherhood had been found to be the most applicable to the situation. Now, forces were divided among the scroll and the sword. All beginners inducted as initiates, then squires. From there, they either became Knights or Scribes and so, began the steady climb upwards. Outsiders now entered as Aspirants, with the tribes having proved themselves to become brotherhood proper in Gladstone’s eyes, outsiders had now come to mean those from outside the borders of the brotherhoods lands.

The uniform meanwhile, had changed for all branches. A more militant style of dress had been adopted both for combat and non-combat situations. Knights now arrayed in field grey uniforms with an increase in power enabling full combat armour production now, with all the forces dressed in combat armour. Energy weaponry still remained in the hands of the Paladins, but a more diverse array had been opened up for the lower ranks, the standard arms being a combat rifle and 9mm pistol along with a bayonet and grenade. On the parade ground and out of combat, a sharp uniform had been adopted in the vein of the old fascistic army uniforms of the 20th century. Utilitarian, Meritocratic and Technocratic thinking was now the order of the day.

All in all, the Brotherhood had come to feel more an army with a nation, than a nation with an army, the military style had come to dominate the culture. Fashion had shifted away from mediaevalesque robes, and onto buttoned jackets with shoulder straps and suchlike. Breeches and boots, trench coats and peaked caps. Though the Brotherhood hadn’t become entirely militarised, some entrepreneurial tailor had read a book on pre-war fashion and had promptly begun promoting Edwardian fashion which had rapidly caught on among the populace. Gladstone supposed this was a reaction to the past, inward and closeted, conservative and austere, pacifistic and with an air of a managed decline. Now though, the vogue was towards he supposed a more outward look, wanting to conquer rather than be conquered, to have rather than have not.

The sudden jolting halt of the convoy forcibly removed these thoughts from the High Elders mind, as a green light suddenly flicked on inside the carrier and the doors opened up. Blinking furiously as a blinding shaft of sunlight illuminated the cabin, Gladstone winced as the hot air of Santa Fe rushed inside the previously air-conditioned space. Making his way out of the metal cabin, Gladstone stood and regained his composure. Clad in shining black boots with crisp black breeches, a dark grey jacket and white shirt with a black tie, with the only decoration he allowed himself being silver laurel patterned shoulder straps, a simple silvery grey aiguillette around the right shoulder, and a black armband bearing the symbol of the brotherhood also on the right arm.

He limped forwards, his cane striking on the ground as he approached the foot of the stairs where a small smile of amusement adorned his features as he spied the “Santa Fe Public Library” lettering above the entrance to the conference centre. Try as they all did, no nation in the wasteland seemed able to fully cast off the lingering grip of the old world. Clambering up the steps, Gladstone stopped in the main foyer as he was greeted by a single woman and a number of guards.

“Salve,I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

Following the wife of Caesar to the man himself, Gladstone glanced around, seeing that he was the first to arrive, he decided to dive straight in. Clicking his heels together, Gladstone gave a small bow towards both Lucius and Hannah, before standing straight, speaking as he did so.

“Your imperial majesties, I thank you and your citizenry for the warmth of your country towards mine. The journey here was most enjoyable, truly has the Legion wrought a marvellous civilisation from the anarchy that came before. If it pleases mighty Caesar, I would present gifts to you as befitting of such hosts.”

Gladstone turned, ushering forwards a squire who promptly opened and presented a chest towards the two monarchs, or at least the monarch and his consort.

“I bring gifts of fine furs, cultural works and fine jewellery from my people to you.”

The squire set the chest down, before bowing, stepping back and leaving, Gladstone talking to Caesar as this went on.

“As I see that I am the first to arrive, might I be presumptuous, and enquire as to any matters you might wish to raise with the western brotherhood? Might I suggest an exchange of ambassadors and perhaps the establishment of a trade agreement between our civilisations? In additions to any other matters Caesar wishes to raise with my nation.”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Andronicus23
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Desmond Lockheart - On the Road to Pittsburgh, Outside Yonkers

Desmond strained his eyes as he stared towards the towering broken structures of what used to be the old world city of New York. His recent trip via the molecular relay had left him with a stomach churning sensation, and although The Institute’s personnel had assured him that use of the relay conferred no ill effects, he wasn’t fond of traveling with it. He’d seen enough of those cheesy B-movie horror flicks before the war where some brilliant scientist accidentally teleported half of his body or some other poor sod’s right into oblivion. He didn’t like to use it, and would have preferred his own two feet if he could spare the time.

Still, he couldn’t help but admire its efficiency and speed of travel. The Institute had calibrated the relay to the furthest extent of their comfortable transmission range. It had taken a hell of a lot of power, and would it been entirely impossible if not for The Institute’s cold fusion reactor, but it had manage to drop him not far outside the outskirts of New York, which was a rather considerable distance to travel quickly even in the pre-war world.

SRB had loaded him up with enough provisions to last a good long awhile, but he needed information and speedy, discrete, transport to Pittsburgh, if such a thing was possible. He might find both in New York and if not there, then in The Free Commonwealth, his next destination. The potential difficulties of the journey were not lost on him. He’d heard Pittsburgh was a hell-hole after the war, but rumour was that now it was even worse.

“The hell am I doing this for anyway?” He muttered to himself as he heaved his supply satchel up and over his grimy overcoat. He then stared down at his rotten, necrotic hands, rubbing his fingers together lightly as he tried to remember what it felt like to have skin that didn’t peel off every time he touched it. Thomas’s promise of a new body, a return to what he once was, flooded his mind. It was a gamble...but he had to trust the pre-war popsicle to hold up his end of the bargain.

“Right then,” He sighed, and he double checked to make sure his 9mm was secured by his side, “On the road again….for the upteenth time in a fuckin’ century.”

Caesar Lucius, Santa Fe - Palace of Caesar

“As I see that I am the first to arrive, might I be presumptuous, and enquire as to any matters you might wish to raise with the western brotherhood? Might I suggest an exchange of ambassadors and perhaps the establishment of a trade agreement between our civilisations? In additions to any other matters Caesar wishes to raise with my nation.”

“Ave Elder, and firstly, I thank you for the gifts. They were unnecessary, but not unwelcome. I’ll gladly accept such generosity,” Lucius nodded to a couple of Praetorians standing guard at the doorway, and motioned for them to take the chests of finery away so that they would not clutter up the meeting room.

“As for your second question, yes, I think there is a matter we should discuss. Have a seat. The matter I wanted to discuss with you specifically, Elder, and one of the primary reasons for your invitation to this gathering was to allay some concerns. Your recent militaristic reform of The Brotherhood hasn’t gone unnoticed, especially by your neighbors. The Great Khans. The Khans are not allies of the Legion, and indeed many of them still harbor resentment against us after the learned what Sallow had planned for them in Vegas….however we have good enough relations as it stands. And those Khans who are friendly to the Legion have expressed doubts that your intentions in the region will remain peaceful.”

He paused for a few seconds and leaned in, “And so I'll ask you bluntly, are their doubts unfounded?”
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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by MagustheRed
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High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Santa Fe

“Ave Elder, and firstly, I thank you for the gifts. They were unnecessary, but not unwelcome. I’ll gladly accept such generosity.”

Gladstone inclined his head at the thanks, watching as the Praetorians removed the chests from the room, before returning his attention to Caesar.

“As for your second question, yes, I think there is a matter we should discuss. Have a seat.”

The High Elder did as bid, listening to Lucius as he did so.

“The matter I wanted to discuss with you specifically, Elder, and one of the primary reasons for your invitation to this gathering was to allay some concerns. Your recent militaristic reform of The Brotherhood hasn’t gone unnoticed, especially by your neighbours. The Great Khans. The Khans are not allies of the Legion, and indeed many of them still harbour resentment against us after the learned what Sallow had planned for them in Vegas. However, we have good enough relations as it stands. And those Khans who are friendly to the Legion have expressed doubts that your intentions in the region will remain peaceful.”

The leader of the legion paused for a few seconds before leaning in and directing a question towards him.

“And so I'll ask you bluntly, are their doubts unfounded?”

Gladstone’s reply was first a few moments of silent rumination, before finally gathering his thoughts and making them known.

“No. Their doubts are not unfounded.”

The High Elders gaze met Caesars, holding his head high, he ploughed on, making his case for such a reply.

“Raiders to the North, Raiders to the West, a wounded giant in California and now, a war of dreadful savagery in the east unseen since before the Great War. The Brotherhood is surrounded by chaos, anarchy, lawlessness and disorder. We must conquer or be conquered. I make no obfuscations for my reforms and my intent with them. The Brotherhood will expand, we will civilise the wastes in the image we see fit to shape it too. I will not make the mistakes of my predecessors in resting on our laurels, on a managed decline with hazy eyes misting over in remembrance of halcyon days long gone.”

Gladstone leaned back, his voice cold and clear in the hazy Santa Fe heat.

“I will raise up the Western Brotherhood to heights it has never known before, we will stride forth and scour the mutant from the land and purge the barbarism of the raiders. As for the Great Khans, I shall be frank. I do not hold anything against them, if it is Caesar’s wish I shall leave them be.”

A pause.

“Or, perhaps we could carve up their lands between us? An alliance between us would I think be a way to constrain the New Californian Republic from ever moving against us again. An entente against them, you to the south and southeast, and the brotherhood to the north and northeast. I suggest the old highway 80 be the new borders between our lands. And perhaps, befitting of your marital connections, the former lands of New Canaan and all the Mormon territories could be rendered unto Caesar as well?”

Gladstone smirked, his expression predatory, a shark circling in the water, waiting to see if his fellows reaction to such a devils bargain.
Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Andronicus23
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Caesar Lucius

“I will raise up the Western Brotherhood to heights it has never known before, we will stride forth and scour the mutant from the land and purge the barbarism of the raiders. As for the Great Khans, I shall be frank. I do not hold anything against them, if it is Caesar’s wish I shall leave them be.”

“Or, perhaps we could carve up their lands between us? An alliance between us would I think be a way to constrain the New Californian Republic from ever moving against us again. An entente against them, you to the south and southeast, and the brotherhood to the north and northeast. I suggest the old highway 80 be the new borders between our lands. And perhaps, befitting of your marital connections, the former lands of New Canaan and all the Mormon territories could be rendered unto Caesar as well?”


Lucius sighed and sat back in his chair, his mind racing with a number of different thoughts. This was going to prove to be an….interesting start to this meeting,

“You put me in an awkward position High Elder. First, to your offer, I cannot deny that reclaiming New Canaan from the Khans has long been a secret desire of mine. Consider it the sentimentality of a husband to his wife, and the desire to right a wrong that I indirectly played a part in by serving Sallow. Had Sallow not encouraged the White Legs to destroy New Canaan, perhaps those lands would still be in the New Canaanites care and out of the Khans hands. Part of me wishes to accept your offer without hesitation...” Lucius gave a sidelong glance to his wife, waiting out in the foyer. She was not aware of the conversation currently going on in the meeting room, and appeared to be discussing some hospitality matters with a few of the household slaves.

“However,” he continued, resuming eye contact with Gladstone, “As I mentioned before The Legion has amicable enough relations with The Khans, and they've proved to be reliable thus far. Even now, Khan mercenaries are fighting side-by-side with your Brothers, and mine, against the greater foe we face in the east. Does that not give you pause at least to consider the implications of war with them? I wonder too, what Lord Barnaky might say about yet another war flaring up in the west. When the true war now lies east.”

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Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Tiberius67
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Armored Train "Paladin Maximus" - Santa Fe Railyard

"Delightful", Star Paladin Clark, Commander of the Order's elite Brimstone Brigade, said before taking another long pull at the ice cold bottle of Old Chicago Stout he had been given by a aide. "Haven't had a drink since we got out here....hopefully Lucius's reforms will extend to alcohol before long."

He then turned his attention back to the map of Santa Fe spread out on the table before them in the rather crowded conference room onboard the train's Command Car.

"Where was I?", he asked, "Oh, yes...the Eastern defenses are nearly complete, the Engineers estimate it will require a week to complete them. With that, the city's defense lines will be complete. One Legion should be sufficient to hold this city against any likely adversary, including the NCR, for as long as provisions last...", adding "...assuming they manage to reach the city, that is."

"I doubt the NCR will try again anytime soon", Barnaky replied, "Not after the thrashing Lucius gave them...the idiots in Shady Sands can't blame us for losing the War this time, and Lucius sending his prisoners home rather than putting them on crosses made it impossible for them to hide the fact that the NCR was outclassed in every category but technology." He than asked, "You've served with the Legion enough, George....what do you think is the best thing we could do to help them going forward?"

"Artillery, my Lord", Clark replied, "they have a number of pieces, but it's all pre-war weapons in a variety of models and conditions, and aside from a handful of former NCR artillerists that joined the Legion, they have no trained crews...except for the pieces they have here in Santa Fe, but our people haven't had much time to work with the men the Prefect provided."

"Out East", Clark continued, "they'll have our boys to provide artillery support, and if I know Aurelius, once he sees what they can do for him he's going to want units of his own....we may as well get out ahead of that. Providing them with a sufficient amount of ordnance, and the training to operate and maintain them themselves, and they will do the rest...they are very fast learners."

"Good idea", Barnaky replied, "Put that in your report to the Paladin-General and I'll endorse it." He then looked over at Martin, noticing he was checking his watch.

"It time?", Barnaky asked.

"Yes, My Lord", Martin replied, "If we leave now, we should have some time before the conference officially opens."

"Very well then", Barnaky said as he stood up, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

The Palace of Caesar - later

Martin and Barnaky disembarked from the local horse drawn carriage they had hired, and as Martin paid the driver with a gold Ten Dollar coin...which being worth half a aureus the driver was very grateful for....Barnaky paused to look around. What he had seen on the trip from the Railyard was quite impressive, clearly Lucius had made great progress from the reign of his predecessor. While the Legion seemed to be somewhat more willing to execute offenders than he allowed his own lieutenants, that was likely due to the difference in the times and place of the situation they found themselves in. In the Mid-West, even many of the tribals had still remembered the Pre-War world, and how even the most difficult problems could be overcome by working together...in many areas smashing the largest Raider/bandit gang was all it took to win over the long suffering settlers, and even weaker raiders who saw the handwriting on the wall and chose to join the future before it inexorably rolled right over them. Here...the tribes Sallow then Lucius found cared for nothing outside their own lands and had to be dragged kicking and screaming to a better future. Unfortunate...but effective. The Legion's methods may be harsh, but in the end it was what enabled them to maintain their independence from the NCR....and from him as well, which suited him just fine. He didn't want or need to rule the world.

As Martin returned, the pair approached the gate and after presenting their credentials to the Praetorians standing watch there, were admitted inside. A lot of work had gone into the building and grounds, Barnaky had to look hard to spot the reminders of the pre-war library building that the palace had been re-purposed from. Barnaky didn't judge...after all, it was certainly more practical than the 45 story First National Bank Tower in Omaha that the Order, at his behest, had restored and re-purposed into the seat of Government for the Order's lands...restoring the building had cost a vast sum and took a decade to complete. Fortunately the people had taken to it, finding it more accessible and less forbidding than the hardened nuclear bunkers the Brotherhood had traditionally preferred up to that point, a form of tribal behavior in itself.

The Praetorian guards snapped to attention as they entered the front doors of the Villa. along the walls of the foyer, were numerous trophies of both Lucius's skills as a hunter, and successful general. Next to an enormous stuffed Yao Gai, mounted on it's hind legs standing nearly nine feet tall, was a exhibit that looked newer than the others. Inside a glass case, on a carefully folded NCR flag, was a 9mm semiautomatic pistol, a well made leather holster for it marked with the NCR Bear and three stars, and a Tanker's helmet, as well as what appeared to be a red vehicle ID plate emblazoned with the three white stars of a Lieutenant General and a NCR military ID card. On a small brass plate attached to the case was a simple statement "Taken in battle outside Phoenix". Barnaky read the name on the ID card and smirked inwardly.

Kimball. Not many people can nail a hide like that to their trophy wall.

Barnaky, Martin right behind him, ambled on to the woman waiting for them at the end of the foyer. The more expensive cut of her outfit, as well as the small cross hanging from her neck, revealed her identity before she even spoke.

“Salve," she said, "I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

"Salve", Barnaky replied, "I am Simon Barnaky, Elder and Lord-Paladin of the Midwestern Brotherhood, and this is Brother Martin, my Secretary of State. We are honored to accept the gracious hospitality of you and your husband."

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they were led by attendants into the main hall, and shown their place at the conference table. Looking around, Barnaky could see that they were early arrivals, of the attendees he was aware of, only High Elder Gladstone was here, and he was currently in what looked like a rather tense conversation with Lucius, who appeared to be in good health in spite of having nearly been shot dead killing Kimball so recently. He didn't hear what was said, but between the enhanced optics of the robot, and being able to read lips, he caught the last part of Lucius's reply.

"....when the true war now lies east!”

"Well, shit", Barnaky thought darkly, "I don't like the sound of that...what did Gladstone ask of him?"

For the first time, Barnaky realized that his long time goal of clearing his name with the Brotherhood in general may not be reconcilable with his relations with his neighbors. This was disturbing, and something he had to think upon.

"They do not seem to be having a very jovial discussion, my Lord", Martin said, "what do you think..."

"They aren't, and I don't know and intend to find out", Barnaky replied, cutting Martin off before he could finish his question. "Paper and pen, please".

Handed a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen, he scribbled "Is this a bad time?" on the paper, folded it over, and waved over a servant.

"Please give your Master Lord-Paladin Barnaky's regards", and pressed the folded note into her hand, "and give him this as quickly as possible. Thank you."

Barnaky, bidding Martin follow, stepped over towards one of the larger windows and looked out.

"Now we wait", Barnaky said quietly.
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