Andreyich

Accentuate The Positive: A Fallout Roleplay

Shortly before arrival the march to Prescott

---

They looked like they belonged in a battlefield of two centuries ago fighting the Chinese for Anchorage rather than killing poor sods in the wasteland for pay. But here they were on the job.

Except not quite. Today they weren't shooting as part of a gig, but rather to protect future gigs. Fucking Casetti triplets, how could they ignore so many years of a good relationship for a few quick caps? Perhaps they were upset that they were now losing a valuable partner and wanted recompense, but they'd learn today that you have to let go and they would learn this a very, very hard way.

"Do the knock. Then answer."

The terrified lad did as told, the firearm keeping him in line just out of sight for the hatch in the door. Said hatch slid open, and a grumbling was heard from the other side. "You're late. Again. You got the shit?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Alright. Come in." A sound of chains and locks being operated came, and as the door started to open it was kicked in, the man on the other end sprawling to the ground. Three operators rushed in, the one at the rear putting a single bullet into forehead of the door man and another into the the poor kid that got them in. The room was clear, and a signal was given for several more operators to stream in.

They each had memorized the layout of the building and they were armed to match with pistols, shotguns, PDWs, carbines and two machine guns to lock down corridors with suppression. They fanned out across the different paths of the rat's nest with the simple mission of no survivors save the Casettis.

Drug cooking scum, Nathaniel was absolutely furious with them! To be so petty as to threaten to tell the whole Mojave of their joint exploits, even for them sinking so low was… despicable! The Major for the last ten years could not remember a time he had cried, raised his voice, or even given much more than a chuckle to a joke. Naturally it was hard to be this cold of a bastard, and truth was even a corrupt soul as he had to force much of this but he saw it as a necessity for survival in this vile land. But the Casettis had infuriated him such that he was willing to make an exception to his usual calm. They had threatened to tell all the Mojave of their joint ventures if Nathan didn’t pay a hefty sum, one that the Major could not afford if he wanted his long-term plans to succeed. But though he could not pay the bastards off, he could not let them babble about what exactly the Blackjacks had done for all to know; if that happened there wouldn’t be a community left that would welcome them, and even the people looking for a new beginning in the East would not tolerate them. Thus they had to die, and there could not be a man left to tell of what happened; the narrative would be controlled by the Blackjacks who had already paid a few hundred caps to the Garretts and other rumour mills to say the Casettis were targeting caravans to get chemicals for their drug cooking, who in turn had paid the mercenaries to clear up their den. None of this was true of course, but that didn’t really matter did it? Though many who knew better would scoff, the narrative would be that the Blackjacks were heroes.

Moments passed, and already the sounds of automatic gunfire rattled the structure. It was an impressive work of architecture, Nathan had to admit. A warehouse built by a cave, with many cargo containers brought over to connect the two and create new rooms. Many rammed into the sandy hills and into the ground with scaffolds here and there to help hold up soil. If this place was out East in the new land of opportunity he'd have taken it for himself as a hideout.

With the sounds of combat getting more distant Nathaniel slowly started to venture into the structure given his men cleared a path of safety for him. He didn't even bother unslinging his slick FAL, instead cracking open a sunset sarsparilla to refresh him. He walked by a room where one of his operators had just finished interrogating two jet cooks with their hands raised in surrender, and nodded to the Blackjack as signal to execute the surrendered bastards; he used a knife to save on bullets. Nathaniel ran a high end corps but you didn't stay running one if you wasted caps willy-nilly oh no!

The Major motioned for the man to move on, taking a look around the room himself, sitting down on one of the chairs in it. It was a rather large enclosure, something of a rec room for the drug cooks he supposed. The comfy leather chair certainly seemed to concur! Just as he was about to doze off, a closet opened revealing two of the druggie bastards. They locked eyes monetarily, before each party ran for cover. The locals had the advantage, firing their pipe pistols first. There were two of them and they had wood tables as cover as opposed to a leather couch for Nathaniel; not a good situation indeed.

Oh, but he’d show them. Standing up he flicked the select-fire of his FAL and let the weapon rip. He repeatedly switched which of the little shits he fired upon, until eventually there was a deafeningly quiet click from the FAL. Hearing the noise of reprieve, one of the Casetti goons stood up to shoot, but the Major kept count of his ammunition and just as he was running out he kept firing with one hand to draw his sidearm; the foe did not get to aim before the Major’s 12.7mm pistol made a mess of his skull. Having stolen the initiative Nathaniel ran over to the table and gave it a heavy kick before jumping over to shoot the second goon. Wiping sweat off of his forehead Nathan looked up to see one of his mercenaries having arrived in the doorway. “Is it done?”

“Yes, we have them. Tied up like you said, Sir.”

“Excellent.”

They were there, the ugly trio. Tied up and with naught left to do but await their deaths. Nathaniel squatted in front of them, cutting off the rope around their mouths. Looking to the eldest of them he smiled. “You know I didn’t want to do this. But you made me, Michael. We were always partners and you betrayed me. So now you’re going to be slaves. See, I’m not a cruel man! You’re going to stay together, isn’t that nice?” With that he stood up and walked off, only for one of the triplets to call out after looking at all their dead friends beside them: “God will fuck you up for this you sick bastard!”

The Major stopped, his eye twitching faintly at the words. Sliding on a knee to the fellow with his knife once more out he stared for just a second. “I am not the bad guy in this story. I only exist because you do, all of this, all of this death? Its on you. God? If anything I’m the dude’s hand, given I cleaned up this den of evil. Evil. You will speak no evil, your sister hear none, and your brother see none of it. Freddy, you’re creative, I take it you knew what I meant?”

“Yessir.”

“Good, take my blade, do it.” The Major laughed. This would be his little vacation from professional, collected operation. He had gotten away with it yet again, and though this was his closest time yet he knew he’d keep getting away with it.

---

Now the Blackjacks marched at the very end of the column of settlers, their firearms in full display. They were more “tagging along” than part of the expedition of settlers, acting like vultures waiting for some violence to happen surrounding the settlers that would call for them to be hired. For now they took it easy, knowing once they arrived they’d have to take a few little odd jobs around the settlement first to make ends meet. But they were cheery for a new life awaited them, and thus they went along with a marching song on their lips.

Two recruiting Sergeants came through the black watch,
To markets and fairs some recruits for to catch.
All that enlisted were forty and two,
Enlist my fine boy, I’ll make a man of you!
It’s over the mountains, and over the main,
Through deserts and a whole lot of pain,
Get a feather in your cap, the world you’ll see,
Enlist my good boy, and come away with me!
Oh sonny you don’t know the danger that you’re in,
If your horses would bolt and your caps run thin,
This greedy old farmer wouldn’t pay your fee,
So enlist my fine boy, and come away with me!

Ares Solutions Inc. - A modern day PMC Roleplay

"Just fucking kill them!" Bakker roared from his crawl under the Nimr, the heavy calibre bullets creating somewhat of a localized sandstorm for the operators which rather unfortunately sent many grains into his mouth as he spoke. Spitting them out in anger he crawled on. While at his angle he was fairly confident he was safe from the heavy fire of the HMG, he nevertheless waited for it to be directed somewhere specific so that he could do his little dirty deed. Thankfully, he was provided a distraction by the Russian operator who seemed much braver than the rest who at most offered a few moments of blind fire. The fire of both the sniper and the AK hit their targets, but the only report they'd have of what happened on the other end would be from great sparks leaping off of the locals' bodies; they hit plate carriers which were rifle rated, likely class 6 by Russian standard or 4 per NATO given how they barely even flinched at the hits. Nevertheless the rather accurate return fire that they returned gave them pause, which combined with their now largely exhausted magazines left Hypatia with much needed breathing space.

At the same time, Bakker was finally able to poke out with his SKS and unload his entire stripper clip. Two shots into either tire, along with two into either headlight with the rest were aimed as high as possible to the point he couldn't see the weapon with the hope of by chance getting some crucial hit on the engine; hope of course, was something people tended to have in vain as the situation proved. At least he succeeded in removing the lighting for the flatbed, along with its lighting that was serving a double purpose of blinding the Ares operators and having the gunner not be entirely blind in between the many second bursts he would let out from his gun. The vehicle was now immobile and would be far slower to react to any shooting and it would do so far less accurately, but that didn't magically make the 12.7 HMG into a .22 plinker. Brick wondered if he'd have to give the order for the South African to use his grenade launcher; he would really rather not, but if this encounter dragged on it may well end up being unnecessary for no doubt the sounds of this little warzone along with the accompanying lightshow would eventually catch somebody's attention.

War Never Changes 2 : A Post Nuclear Nation Roleplay

What exactly happened to the Legion following its defeat, and is Caesar alive or dead? Also how did Honest Hearts end? New Canaanites with tribal allies might be a fun small faction to play

Battle of the Nations

So "tomorrow" was a lie, but my post is here.

Battle of the Nations

The Dusmane were strangers in a strange land. They were objects of curiosity, everything from their dress to their physical appearance to their language being alien to the rest of the allied army, and they more or less felt the same. Until this war, the vast majority of the nomads had never left their native steppe and likewise nobody visited it. Though the outside world was alien to him, the Khan of the Dusmane answered the call to arms of the parent Empire he was bound to and sent a formidable if outdated force under the command of one of his cousins.

For most of the war they were almost entirely dedicated to harassing logistics of the foe as well as destroying both reinforcements and running down retreats with no mercy given. They knew the enemy saw them as savages so they capitalized upon this. Helmeted heads of cuirassiers dangled from their horses, while the well-hatted faces of officers were pierced with hunting spears so that many an enemy’s last sight would be the death mask of their comrade. But as ever they reached into the enemy’s heartland their assignments morphed from those of a guerilla campaign into those of this century’s uniformed cavalry. It was hard for them to adapt, but they did and they became stronger for it.

Personally, Iouldouz found himself to slowly morph into one of the pale people. So much time with them gave him a taste for their spirits rather than the kumis he spent his life drinking, and he could not deny their dress wasn’t as uncomfortable as many of his kinsmen claimed. But he was still in his heart a Dusmane and he’d lead his people to glory today under their stretched hide banner. He ordered his men to make merry, to drink and laugh and sing and dance for today may well be the last day they could do so. The Khan had heard of the Emperor’s unparalleled tactical acumen and Iouldouz would be a liar if he said he wasn’t frightened of that day to come. This day would be perhaps the first where the Emperor was truly beaten in open battle; all prior victories against him were pyrrhic and often strategic defeats, or were not done in open battle and rather in guerilla campaigns as the Dusmane had mastered.

After uttering a prayer to Father Sky and taking a sip of the foreign firewater, Iouldouz entered the command tent. He was dressed in traditional furs of his folk, though as a courtesy to the foreigners he wrapped them in a way reminiscent to that which they wore them, along with a neckerchief, perfume, and a few other accessories common to them. His right hand man Tyrgutai made no such concessions, in fact making himself as wild as possible in sight, sound and smell (partially out of spite for the poncey bastards). Still more used to sitting upon rugs on the ground, Iouldouz nevertheless took a seat rather graciously after bowing, waiting for the other members of the alliance to arrive. The warrior had some general ideas for strategy, though they all were grounded in the assumption that his comrades were bold and risk taking fellows which - as far as he saw - they had to be if they had any hope of beating the enemy. After all, everyone who had tried beating the Emperor conventionally had failed. Thus it came upon the men assembled to beat them in an unorthodox manner, and the presence of the Chieftain was a posteriori proof.

The Division | Mao Mao & Andreyich

PENNSYLVANIA PLAZA // JAMES FARLEY POST OFFICE

In the tunnel Badger was fairly relaxed, for with a flashlight on him the threat of ambushes was minimal and it was simply a relaxing walk. But the moment the light of day struck the man he became tense, alert. This was the modern day Vietnam or Afghanistan; you were surrounded by civilians but just because they didn't wear uniforms that didn't mean they were non-combatants. To make it worse, the power tripping fucks of the police were now just another gang. Except this gang had experience shooting, and they carried high end weapons rather than zip-guns of all sorts. The people enjoying some fresh air entertainment? Those could easily have been snipers ready to end either agent's life from afar.

The caution about his surroundings seemed to prove itself to be well founded only moments later when the sounds of gunfire broke out. From the sheer amount of it, he decided it was wise to flick the select-fire of his rifle to full auto. The enemy came into view quickly and by God there were a lot of them. They had helmets, vests and automatic carbines. But they had the misfortune in context of being law enforcement, which would mean that while their helmets and vests would be rated for pistols, they weren't rated for rifle rounds and thus both 5,56 and 5,7 would easily chew through the false sense of security their soldier-boy outfits might give them.

Running for cover Badger didn't make a noise. But Firefly said that they had to get their attention, which made the man groan faintly. He would have preferred to use the fact they were in a good position to crossfire to wipe out these traitors in one go, but he supposed this time a more humanitarian approach was technically more important.

Thus, he stood up with his ballistic shield and assault rifle, spraying his entire magazine towards the cops to suppress them and catch their attention. With that he dropped the weapon, getting his entire body behind the shield. He knew some less experienced or simply more gung-ho agents tried to shoot with a pistol while holding one but Badger considered them stupid. What was the point of a shield if you were going to nevertheless expose a chunk of yourself so visibly to overwhelming firepower? Thus instead he approached the foe calmly, making sure his entire body was always behind the shield, ready to throw a sticky bomb come the moment he was close enough to do so accurately.

The enemy was of course moving in to outflank him, they weren't stupid enough to just waste ammo trying to break the shield with volume of fire. But the Agent hoped his action would be enough to catch the attention of the renegades just long enough for Firefly and the other JTF warriors to either reposition and mount a counterattack or to at the very least evacuate.

Battle of the Nations

Its fine my man

I'll be posting tomorrow, if folks couldn't guess my guys are loosely based off of Tatar and Bashkir horsemen from the Russian Empire during the Napoleonic wars usually using bows and hunting lances

Battle of the Nations

Name: Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Physical: Though slightly shorter than the average man Iouldouz is nonetheless an intimidating man. Appearing to be somewhere in his thirties he has short cropped black hair with thin mustache and beard. His skin is the shade given by those born pale but nevertheless oft in the sun, while his green-brown eyes have a slight epicanthic fold. His nose if small but flared, while his chin and cheekbones are regally strong. Iouldouz has put some weight on since his true youth with a somewhat noticeable beer belly, though he is still in generally good shape.
Description: Though Iouldouz has no adoration for the Empire he fights for, an oath of loyalty is an oath of loyalty and thus if he is going to go forth and fight he may as well bring as much glory to himself and his men as possible. He is very loyal to his own warriors and as a result is somewhat overly cautious with his troops when lance armed cavalry should instead be very aggressive. That said his tribal romanticism leads him to often be far too close to battle himself, a severe flaw in any battlefield but particularly in a modern one.
Nation: Dusmane Khanate
Regiments: The Dusmane auxiliaries don't follow a strict regimental structure. There are slightly less than 6,000 of them, the men bearing sturdy spears not quite the size of other nation's lances, steppe sabers and compound bows. Jacks of all trades but masters of none, they cannot match lancers, hussars, dragoons or cuirassiers in their own craft. However their flexibility lets them do a wide array of tasks, and so they will usually split into four groups each emulating one of the international standards for Cavalry Regiments in support of one another to allow for a quasi combined arms attack in a single unit.

Battle of the Nations

Name: Iouldouz Edicoglu Khan
Physical: Though slightly shorter than the average man Iouldouz is nonetheless an intimidating man. Appearing to be somewhere in his thirties he has short cropped black hair with thin mustache and beard. His skin is the shade given by those born pale but nevertheless oft in the sun, while his green-brown eyes have a slight epicanthic fold. His nose if small but flared, while his chin and cheekbones are regally strong. Iouldouz has put some weight on since his true youth with a somewhat noticeable beer belly, though he is still in generally good shape.
Description: Though Iouldouz has no adoration for the Empire he fights for, an oath of loyalty is an oath of loyalty and thus if he is going to go forth and fight he may as well bring as much glory to himself and his men as possible. He is very loyal to his own warriors and as a result is somewhat overly cautious with his troops when lance armed cavalry should instead be very aggressive. That said his tribal romanticism leads him to often be far too close to battle himself, a severe flaw in any battlefield but particularly in a modern one.
Nation: Dusmane Khanate
Regiments: The Dusmane auxiliaries don't follow a strict regimental structure. There are slightly less than 2,000 of them, the men bearing sturdy spears not quite the size of other nation's lances, steppe sabers and compound bows. Jacks of all trades but masters of none, they cannot match lancers, hussars, dragoons or cuirassiers in their own craft. However their flexibility lets them do a wide array of tasks, and so they will usually split into four groups each emulating one of the international standards for Cavalry Regiments in support of one another to allow for a quasi combined arms attack in a single unit.

Accentuate The Positive: A Fallout Roleplay

Fox

Oh mother tell your children,
Not to do what I have done....

Major Nathaniel A. Fox

His story as his comrades know it.

Born around the middle of the 23rd century Nathaniel Fox was in a fairly prestigious position, his family Brahmin ranchers that would ascend to become true Brahmin Barons with the passage of time.

His many siblings were given various roles in the family to help solidify the influence across the NCR, and as the youngest (and hence most disposable) they rather coldly assigned him to join the army. Though he loathed the condition under which they did so, he proudly became a soldier for the NCR.

However, his boyish dreams of the glory of soldiers wouldn’t be. His NCO was a corrupt man, and it didn’t take long for him to influence the teen. Though as his pay increased with his rises in rank, he couldn’t shift the habit in entirety and a visit with his family to celebrate the inauguration of President Kimball exacerbated this.

Swiftly rising through the ranks of the NCR army the man’s corruption grew from a small nuisance to truly harmful on the tactical scale to frontline units. But there was a small halt in this as he met a woman for himself as most men do. But he didn’t get a happily ever after, for after Hoover Dam’s battle he found her murdered by Legionnaires. This convinced him that in this world naught mattered but your own immediate prospects, and what positive influences she had on him disintegrated in seconds.

He served on as a viscous scoundrel defiling the very word Officer. He sold weapons, uniforms, food, and medicine all that could have saved many lives. His men were almost as if a private army, taking caps in exchange for a great amount of firepower being at the disposal of the highest bidder with the attack written off as “defence of Republican logistics.” But with the Second Battle of Hoover Dam Major Fox knew that his lucrative gig was over. He and those previously on board knew that the NCR held nothing for them with the great danger of accounting discovering what they were doing. So he assembled the men that he knew were of one kind with him, and loading up the best supplies they could get onto Brahmins turning their back on the Republic. Thus in independent new Vegas the mercenary corps known as the Blackjacks were officially formed. They were a mercenary concern that did any work you paid them for with more or less no scruples; they were more than happy to take in anyone with experience regardless of their background and took any job provided the caps were sufficient. At times they almost descended to being lowly raiders, preying on beggars and prostitutes in Freeside to sell as slaves elsewhere. But no matter what the Blackjacks were always distinguished by unparalleled professionalism, their tanned grey combat armour & uniforms, and snazzy tuned firearms accompanied by all sorts of tactical equipment. Their reputation would be mixed. Any town they showed up in they would spend a lot of money in. They always paid their tabs in full, helping old ladies carry produce and they would be generally courteous, never causing trouble to locals and indeed not asking any pay for particularly minor tasks like cutting up some molerats. At the same time rumour would spread that the Blackjacks do nasty things. Tales would spread of how they would hunt former Legion tribals not sparing women, children or elderly. They’d take hits from criminal enterprises upon people, and many a person could claim a tale of suffering to be the result of the Blackjacks’ work.

Hearing of the frontier opening up, Nathaniel saw a once in a lifetime opportunity. The market for mercenaries would be grand with all the trouble there, not to speak of the fact many tribals and settlers with military experience be it in the NCR, Brotherhood or Legion would be good hires for the Blackjacks. Perhaps on the frontier they could grow to the point of Nathaniel even being able to lead a peaceful life himself, managing the company from afar.