Andreyich

Fallout: Rust and Steel

One by one the team filled up, other Knights coming in alongside another Lancer, Scribes, an initiate, and the gargantuan figure of Paladin Moss. The Scribe brought a dog with her, which Daniel was very tempted to play with. But he knew it wouldn't be seen as something very professional and thus he quickly set to rationalizing not playing with it in his head. He was in power armour, the little thing might not be friendly, its owner might not let him.

In truth, this all rang very hollow. As a child Daniel's reading informed him of kittens and puppies and quite understandably he felt they should be part of his life. With hopes of receiving one as reward little Daniel did his very best in his studies and training. Yet, he still did not receive the desired pet. In retrospect it was understandable of course, but Chowder still reminded the young Knight of unfulfilled childhood. He didn't ask for play time, he did not ask for comics or radio or anything of the sort. The boy just wanted a fluffy friend yet he got none. Maybe one day, when I am Paladin. That was a lie of course, and he knew it. His adolescent dream wouldn't be incarnate, he knew he'd continue the spartan cycle of his family.

The flight happened. There was chatter of course, but Daniel didn't participate. Moss's emphasis on God raised alongside the Elder raised and eyebrow from the Knight. His parents always had a cross manufactured pre-war in their quarters and among the books they made Daniel read was the Bible. But beyond that he never received any religious instruction. Given all that happened in this world, it really did seem some divine judgement had come upon Earth. But for all the things Daniel didn't know, he knew he wasn't a Mormon like it was said Moss was.

He looked at the landscape below with much curiosity, but also apprehension. He didn't let his fingers off the minigun for he knew at any moment he might have to unleash a lead storm from its barrels. Though no targets came into his eyesight or the targeting modifications of his helmet there were other things to give the Knight pause. The colour of the sky changed, and the landscape too. Much faster than it should have, and very nastily. It was a hellscape exactly like what Daniel had read of before and he didn't like it one bit.

Not much time passed before Daniel's wariness proved fruitful as great turbulence hit. He was flung upwards hitting his head on the roof of the Vertibird and he knew if not for his power armour he would have had his neck snapped. After the hit it was clear he was falling out, and quite powerless to do anything about it. Mid-air he scanned the veritbird, noticing Grimshaw was meeting the same fate as him.

"Initiate!" he roared, a hand shooting out to yank her by a limb before wrapping his arms around her protectively, the pair plummeting helplessly to the ground.

---

Daniel's eyes opened, but they saw only darkness. Now he knew he wasn't dead, he'd either feel nothing, feel pain or feel joy depending on who was right regarding life after the grave. Instead, that nothing he saw was punctuated by the HUD of his power armour, false positives left and right by virtue of the mud upon it. His hands rose to touch his helmet, clearly covered in mud. With a roar he took it off, the action followed by a very slight increase in light and a soft hiss.

A bit better.

He touched his head which hurt a little, before looking about. The Knight noticed Laura and Gregory in the same building while Paladin moss was outside. Daniel came further and further to his senses, and realized in part his recent error. He cleaned out the visor of his helmet, before putting it right back on and noticing there was a very noticeable reading of radiation. Thankfully his suit was modified with lead plating, and so he was more or less safe from the RADS around him.

Then he looked to the Initiate who hadn't been nearly as fortunate as him. Walking over to her Daniel made sure her gas mask was fastened properly lest she inhale a cancerous death delayed by a decade. That done, he gave her some meaningful taps. "Hey there, wake up Initiate. You alright?" he asked. She looked okay and he believed he could get to looking for his rucksack soon but Daniel didn't know what she might have contacted in the skid along this new wasteland dirt with him. "Something happened with the Vertibird. Paladin Moss, the Knight Sergeant, you, and I all fell out of it." the man said by way of explanation.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

Daniel broke out of his thought, looking upon what - from his time in the wasteland - he at first assumed to be a beggar of some sort that snuck on board somehow. He faintly cocked his head to examine the fellow, in disbelief at the words the man uttered. “For… for real?” the Knight asked, the mask of military strictness he put on quickly shattered by this walking, talking spit in the face of the known order. Having lived with Roderick, Daniel knew more than enough about the states of alcohol based intoxication and this was one of them. “Are you sure?” came the dumbfounded followup. Sam looked like shit to Daniel, given how easily he made parallels to Roderick — this made the young man reach to his bag to offer the man water just as to distressed Wastelanders. At least it would help him pass the last of the booze….

Sami paused in an awkward shock, like a Radstag in the spotlight. His cover was clearly blown. 'You're losing your charms, you fool', he thought to himself in a reprimanding tone of self-critique. He had to win over this soldier, he couldn't be thought of a drunk for this mission, because he honestly wasn't one. He'd just indulged a bit too much on his last hurrah.
In replacement of a handshake, the Knight offered a bottle of water, which Sami was happy to accept instead. He opened the bottle and let the lukewarm water gush down his dried-up throat. Much better. He returned the bottle to the Knight, who returned it back to his large holdall once more.

"Don't worry about me, man. I just had a good night last night. I can still fly no problem... if you give me a little bit of time to recover."

As he said that, Sami sat down on his tool bag and yawned. Hopefully there'd be a copilot that would allow him to catch up with existence, but there was no guarantee. He'll be fine. He just needs to shake it off.

He turned to the Knight and said "I didn't catch your name, big man."

“Oh, alright then.” Daniel replied, mollified. He didn’t have it in him to consider maybe Sam was bullshitting him, and so he unquestioningly went along with what his counterpart said. The Lancer just needed a quick breather, that was all!

But then he yawned. Now the Knight wasn’t going to bring this up, but he didn’t like it. There was given how the world worked an equal chance the man had recently awoken to be like this… or he was deprived of sleep by the very same “good night last night”. But though he didn’t say anything, Daniel knew he was much like Socrates and knew he knew nothing about poker faces. So to hide away the inkling of dread he’d crash to the ground thanks to a quick mid-air snooze from the Lancer he instantly got to talking. “Daniel, Sir. Daniel Estevez, Knight. Ad Victoriam.”

Sami was so busy battling his hangover that he the Knight's proclamation of his name was dulled, as if coming from another room. But he heard it well enough. The name Estevez didn't ring a bell, but plenty bells were ringing in Sami's head that would have drowned it out regardless.

[i/]Ad Victoriam.[/i]The Lancer didn't give a shit about the phrase. The Brotherhood's signature catchphrase went rarely spoken by him, Sami thought it was pretentious and dorky. However the people behind the words were usually not to be trifled with, so he kept his mockery to a minimum while surrounded by angry men in power armour. However, in his state he didn't find the strength to repeat the words back, as is the custom. At least not fully.

"Yeah, Ad Victor-whatever", grumbled Sami. "Brown's my surname. I don't think I've heard of you, Estevez. Where you from?"

As he spoke, Sami studied the soldier before him. He looked fairly standard for a Knight, bulky but not gargantuan, and had a plain appearance. He certainly wouldn't turn any heads outside of his armour, but he wouldn't repel them either. Sami wondered why he felt Daniel's appearance so important, he'd just gotten laid and he was far from that desperate. Overall, Daniel Estevez appeared to be a standard Brotherhood soldier on the surface, although a bit young. The Knight had let slip a little of his personality through the use of "Sir" when it didn't need to be said, as they are equal in rank. A polite and well-mannered lad, it seemed. A nice change from the usual rank-and-file hothead that was typical of a Tin Can Man of Steel.

Chances are, there'd be one of those soon to arrive. Knight Estevez didn't look like the sort of soldier who could be fielded alone to get a job like this done. He was young, green and naive in his youth, no doubt. Sami pondered what sort of characters would be making their way to the Vertibird bay momentarily, or so he would expect

Surely they can't all be as hungover as him, right?

Daniel for his part raised an eyebrow at the man’s casual dismissal of the motto. He didn’t hold it sacred but it had fairly powerful symbolism and one’s attitude to it was telling of other things. This Sam clearly wasn’t an ideologue, he wasn’t a believer in the cause. While this obviously didn’t detract from his abilities, it made him suspect and unreliable in the long term. If it was found that somebody had sympathies outside of the group, this would be a prime candidate.

Again to mask his thoughts he quickly replied to what Sam had asked with his own question. "Pardon, what do you mean where am I from?" then he remembered that much time had passed from bunker days, and it wasn't a default that everyone was born into the Brotherhood of Steel. "Oh, Lost Hills Bunker. Born and raised by the Brotherhood. Yourself? It's my first time hearing of you too."

Ah. A Bunker Boy. That explained a lot. He often forgot that many in the Brotherhood led very sheltered lives inside their hidden subterranean domiciles. This often led to narrow-mindedness and a xenophobic sort of naiveté, but sometimes to a misplaced wonder of the dangerous and often cruel world above. No doubt we'd soon see which type Daniel was.

"Rivet City. My pa was a mechanic in the lower decks, so that's what I was too, for a time." Sami rarely thought about home or his past. The chaotic whirlwind of his existence didn't usually offer much time for reflection, but he felt some heartstrings tug at the mention of his home. He wondered what his parents were doing now, as he waited for the activation of what could have been a suicide mission. He didn't know if they'd even still be alive, or whether they'd drank themselves to death long ago.

“Rivet City? That must have been nice.” Daniel replied, though he knew it wasn’t and merely said what he did out of politeness. He hadn’t been there, but he knew it was a veritable shithole. A lot of recruits to the Brotherhood came from there and in all the training and sparring those emaciated and irradiated people would get their asses beat quite handily by the well fed and trained Daniel. It seems the grass was greener in the city than the open wastes, but it was even greener when you could witness it through the lenses of power armour or a vertibird.

Sami's mind snapped back to the present as he cleared his throat, refocusing himself. "Anyway. It's good to meet you Daniel". Sami wasn't exactly sure where he was expected to be when the presumably hard-ass commanding officer showed up, so he asked Knight Estevez, who seemed to be the type to read between the lines of even the most mundane and simplest of orders or dossiers.

"You think we should hang around outside, or get on the 'Bird?".

“Likewise, Samuel.” The Knight said. “Let’s get in, I suppose. No time to waste.” Actually, there was. Both of the men had come early, but time not wasted was time added to use later. He placed his helmet on his head and sealed it, before effortlessly sliding open the door of the Vertibird with the soft noise of servos and hydraulics. A metal hand gestured for the Lancer to get in. “After you.” Daniel said, before getting in himself and grabbing a seat. He opened Henry the Eighth, but then closed it thinking back to his dream. With a sigh he shuffled over to take the responsibility of gunner.

Little sister (18+)

Fuck I had such a good joke just for this

Fallout: Rust and Steel

@Lo Pellegrino all good on my end

Fallout: Rust and Steel

@Cazzer1604 from @Lo Pellegrino

Folks still working on character sheets: I will continue to read submissions. If your character brings something new and fresh to the team you've got a chance. Once we leave the Pyrdwen that door will close until later on.

In essence if you can make one before the GM posts again and the CS is cool then you got a shot.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

I posted and may I say excellent shit so far lads

Fallout: Rust and Steel

The Knight didn’t know exactly what was in store for him, but it didn’t matter much. He was given orders and they’d be followed to their very letter. He looked over his shoulder to see if old Roderick was there but… alas, he’d never be there. Daniel smiled in gratefulness that he wasn’t there to have seen the missive being read out, until feeling a strong shame stab into his heart. “Poor lady.” the lad muttered under his breath as he massaged his temple. He was a great Knight, the man shot better than Daniel in spite of his practice from youth. But what excellence he had in the field did not translate to a better nature back here. He did not have a high alcohol tolerance, but that didn’t stop her from drinking more than those that did have one. He’d almost fallen over the railing in the past but he didn’t take that as a warning apparently. He had a feeling the man would be having a serious talk with a Paladin soon but that was neither here nor there. Well, he still had a fair while and the schedule he’d prepared for himself was thus still in effect. He grabbed his rifle, a few magazines and his bag before heading off.

The Prydwen didn’t have anything like a dedicated shooting range, but with a little thinking one could improvise. He knew nobody would be using the flight deck right about now, and thus it was a perfect place to get in the practice mandated by his parents all those years ago. A metal plate was propped up just perfectly to insure it wouldn’t fall over upon being shot, and then Daniel walked up to do just that. He placed his M14 on its bipod before taking aim and pulling the trigger in an ever practiced manner. BANG-Tink, came the report. The bullet struck fairly close to the drawn on target, but not the bullseye. A magazine was expended before at last the desired red smidge of paint in the centre of the plate turned grey with flattened steel. Daniel exhaled with satisfaction, standing up and walking over to the chunk of metal. He took out a roll of old tattered cloth and put it on the plate. A match was produced and lit, before being brought down upon where the bullets had hit on the metal below. The cloth was taken off before being compared with a similar piece to a frown from the young Knight. His grouping had worsened from his last session and that was very much a nuisance to the Knight. After flipping over the plate he went back with some determination to his position, loading in a higher capacity magazine and flicking his select-fire. Fifty bullets in five seconds spat out from the weapon’s barrel, earplugs just barely protecting the Knight’s hearing from the monstrous sound. He went over again to the plate, taking out a different roll of cloth and was about to repeat the same little routine when it occurred to him he wouldn’t be here tomorrow to repeat this. It was a feeling that brought some unforeseen anxiety, but also much excitement. Quickly he went out of his daydream and compared the grouping of his rifle’s automatic fire with yesterday’s. At least here he was approximately the same as before, perhaps improving by a hair or two. Daniel packed up his things, and then went off to his quarters.

Roderick was back it seemed, or at least a snoring lump about his size on Roderick’s mattress. Shaking his head Daniel went to maintenance of his rifle. Parts were taken out, brushed and then returned. A longer brush was produced to go down the bore of the barrel cleaning out every rifled groove and then a swab was used for other bits he couldn’t get out more easily. A regimen of exercise followed; rusty weights bobbed up and down with the strain of muscles. Both aesthetic and practical parts were trained the tone visible from forearms to biceps to pectorals to the gluteals all the way down to his feet. A pillow was thrown at him by Roderick, something on the themes of “shut the fuck up” coming from his neighbour. Shaking his head Daniel used it to wipe himself off, before throwing it back. “Sorry, boss.” He said, with some sincerity. Anyone else would have called Roderick an asshole, but Daniel took him on calmly. Daniel drained his canteen and then promptly went to bed himself.

---

Daniel awoke. Or, well, so he thought. He combined yawning and stretching before rubbing his eyes like a princess in a pre-War film. It was dark, but only past a perfect circle of light from an unknown light source above. “Roderick?” Daniel called out, standing up on his bed to look at the bunk where his roommate would be. Gone, apparently. Daniel sat in his bed, only to get quite the startle. He was quite literally surrounded! Ghastly figures surrounded him, figures of soldiers many of whom were in old uniforms and armour he only saw in books. A few were present who weren't soldiers, but all present bore wounds that were most certainly enough to bring an end to their receivers.

"Look at him." A voice said.

"Pathetic." came another.

"Sleeping away his failures? Won't be, can't be, how?"

“Pffft, as if.”

“The little shite hasn’t thought of that, no. He accepts his incompetence!”

“Though you’d be bigger, boy. Our family always had a great stature.”

As the words were said, a creeping suspicion came over Daniel as he looked in the assembled unlifery to find a familiar face he had seen but once in a photograph. Yes, the unmistakable moustache from cheek to cheek of Alexander Joaquin Estevez — this was the grandfather of Daniel Estevez and he seemed most grim of all.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the young man demanded, making sure he seized the initiative from the berating spectres. “Leave me alone, you’re all just my imagination… just shit flowing wrong in my head!”

“’Cor, at least you’re honest with that last bit!”

“Shut up!”

“Quiet lads, we don’t have much time. Aye, but a few moments of his sleep, let us get on with it.”

“With what???” Daniel screamed.

“Quiet, you’ll wake the bugger above! Now, shut up and listen!” A voice exclaimed, the latter part a chorus of all those present.

“You failed, today. Your shots wer-don’t try interrupt me you worm!” this came from Anne Becker, grandmother to Daniel.

“You’ve not a lick of war my boy, let alone a real taste. The end of days has come and passed yet somehow you who is to go on some great mission have not even fired at a man. You’ve never beaten a man who wanted to kill you with your fists. I cannot rest knowing you can let down those whose lives depend on you. Do you think we had room for failure when we fought the fascists?” This part of the tirade came from a man with an exaggerated intercontinental accent, a foraging cap on his head whilst one hand was occupied keeping his liver from falling out of torn ribs.

“The communists!” Cried a man in pre-war power armour.

“Heathens o’erseas!” Boomed a man behind Daniel, his translucency not preventing his Knightly full plate from gleaming as if it were real.

“You are as we. You do not have the right to give up, the right to surrender. What will you do when the real world comes forth, what of you when your feeble body is set upon by supermutants and ghouls?”

“You’ve not earned rest, Danie. Have you seen how the Paladin Moss looks at you? Men give better glances to shit they stepped on! A soldier’s life is for the hardest and you are not of the hardest you are of the weakest yet it is your’s. It is too late to turn back coward, and you shall not know rest, peace or solace until you join our ranks.”

“Defeat it! Stop it! End death with death!”

“Go, now. Sleep. Recover what you have lost and think upon what you heard. Do not fail us, do not fail those you serve with. Our honour is on the line, and though you are but a single grain of sand in the dunes of time, the fate of all humanity is in part borne upon your shoulders.”

Daniel wanted to ask them questions that started with “what the fuck” or “how the fuck” or “why the fuck” but he was hushed. Fading hands were placed upon his shoulders, and gently he was pushed down towards his bed. His eyes were closed by cold hands, and the depths of sleep came to him.

---

He awoke with a start, sweat coming down his forehead and cheeks. Cautiously he got off of the bed and circled the room to see if ghosts of the past were here to talk more shit but he found only the sleeping Roderick who may or may not have soiled himself. Stumbling over to his desk Daniel rooted around in the mostly impeccable arrangement until he came upon a can. He looked upon it, until he found what he deemed the culprit of his dreaming. A hole was in the top, ever so tiny! Yet it would surely have been enough to over the centuries make its contents go rotten enough to give fever dreams.

But… something of his supposed ancestors’ message did take root in him. He once more took to his rusted weights, before reading through the manuals of maintenance for all of his weapons.

Perhaps he accepted the message of his forebears, but he certainly acted upon it far from how they wanted.

After the quick attempt to right himself Daniel took to preparing to finally leave. He shaved his head absolutely clean of hair save that on the very top which he trimmed and combed. Cans were stuffed into bags along with stimpacks and Med-X. He grabbed his rather unimpressive savings in caps before working on stowing his galting-laser away. He dressed in his Recon Armour, wrapping long bandage-like cloth around his feet: the knee high footwraps-puttees were much more comfortable and lasting than some shitty socks when going into boots. So far as he could tell that was everything. He’d have to run over to grab some water for the journey and don his power armour but that was about it.

“I’m not going to be about for a while, Roderick.” he said, nodding in thanks at the gurgles he hoped were an “I’ll miss you.”

He went to refill his canteen and water bottles before going to the power armour station. The Knight gave thanks to the Scribes and Initiates present for fixing the servo in his left arm, stepping into the suit. It felt fine, and great in fact and thus he stomped along to Proctor Teagan for his dog-tag and gasmask. It was still an hour until 0400 but Daniel nevertheless came to the waiting Vertibird. After all, the Knight didn’t want the boys from his dream to have another excuse to mosey into his head.

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

I'm not in power to do otherwise

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

It's only possible if there's precedent.

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

@Andreyich I dont recall the mention they still have the nails either. Besides, the nails protruding from Angron's skull are no more than a iconic part of his aesthetic. If he so chose, I imagine he'd be able to manifest without them... Y'know, being a daemon and all.

Again, the question remains-- would the nails even continue to function at all?

@Guy0fV4lor

In Emperor's Gift he still had the nails. Regardless, you're doing a whole lot of speculating when really there hasn't been a single instance of mutations removing the nails.