Andronicus23

War Never Changes

(OOC Cue thematic music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I05rrkffzdc)

Legions of Caesar Lucius, Arizona - Road to Phoenix

Digging his hands into the warm sun baked earth, Lucius scooped out a small mound of the dry red soil and dusted his hands with it. As he did so, he said a silent prayer to Mars and asking the God of War to bless his chosen field of battle. He stood up and surveyed the landscape. Behind him, a retinue of heavily armored mounted praetorian stood silent watch. Among them was Legate Aurelius of Phoenix, his second in command and General of The Eastern Legions.

"As good a place as any for a fight I suppose," Lucius remarked as he stood up and wiped his hands with his own red cloak, which he summarily unfastened and tossed to a nearby attending legionary.

"I never did like Arizona," Aurelius commented gruffly as he watched Lucius mount his war horse.

Lucius gave his Legate a sly look, "Then you're unfortunately named old friend..."

Aurelius grumbled, "I served The Legion in Arizona and commanded the veterans of Phoenix. So I was named thusly. But I never enjoyed the climate. Too hot: always preferred Colorado. Good country there. You remember the Summer Campaign?"

"Aye I remember," Lucius said with a nod as he took a deep drink from his waterskin, letting some of the liquid drip down under his armor to cool his neck and chest, "I recall you nearly drowning in that spring we found because you'd been so excited you forgot to remove your armor."

"Mars above those were some battles too.." Aurelius mused, "It was glorious...fighting hill tribals all day and then bathing in the springs with a woman or two in the evening."

"Or in your case, three or four," Lucius quipped.

Aurelius laughed, "And to think now I stand here devoted to one woman, who'd flay me alive if she heard those stories."

Lucius gave a chuckle of his own, "As would my Hannah." His thoughts then drifted briefly to his wife, imagining her tender face before the sound of fast approaching hoof beats woke him from his revelry.

"Caesar!" The horsemen said as he pounded his chest his salute, "The army of the NCR President approaches. Just as you said."

"Thank you Centurion, dismissed," Lucius replied. Which was followed by a second salute from the rider as he galloped onward.

"Mad fool," Aurelius scoffed.

Lucius shook his head, "Not mad. Supremely confident perhaps. He's hellbent on reaching Phoenix to win a quick victory. He wants to humiliate us, not conquer us. He's moving too quickly for his own army though and now its been split."

"He'll regret that before the day is over I expect..."

"No, he'll regret far more than that," Lucius replied as he strapped on his plumed helm, "Signal the Centurions."

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The sounds of rolling vehicles and quickly marching men and horses filled air as the army of President Kimball rolled into the valley. The army was beset by thirst: the soldiers for water and the vehicles and tanks for fuel. The tremendous dust they were kicking up with their movements further obscured their vision. Only the lead vehicles had an unobstructed view of their surroundings. Heedless of the surrounding danger, the NCR forces pressed on deeper. Suddenly the fast moving vehicles started to become bogged down in unexpectedly muddy soil. What had previously been a dry and arid landscape, had now become a quagmire. The Legion had diverted the waters of a nearby stream into the valley, soaking the earth and caking it with mud.

Once the army was fully committed and now nearly at a halt due to the terrain, Lucius sprang his trap. Legionaries armed with anti-tank weaponry and missile launchers, partly supplied by The Brotherhood, launched the initial attack. Some of the missiles veered off from their intended targets, but several others struck home sending a cascade of panic surging through the NCR forces as a number of their heavy tanks and vehicles went up in balls of flame.

Great horns began sounding from all sides, and the NCR troopers were suddenly aware of the sight of crimson clad legionaries appearing from the hillsides and descending on the mobile column with a fury. They came in from both sides of the valley and the NCR forces immediately began attempting to throw up a defensive line. Gunshots resounded on both sides but the Legion forces kept their momentum, moving forward and crashing into the NCR column.

As the fighting commenced, Lucius waited with his men directly in front of the advancing column, obscured by a small hillock. Quietly, he observed the battle, and watched carefully for the opportunity he was looking for. The Legion force that assaulted from the north side of the valley began falling back as he'd ordered them to. He trusted his Centurions to know the right moment to proceed with the feign and they hadn't disappointed. As the Legionaries pulled back, the NCR forces on the north side of the valley began pushing forward, chasing after them: flush with a taste of victory. Once they'd done so, a gap began appearing in the NCR column, nearly splitting the two defensive lines in half. It was exactly the moment Lucius has been waiting for. All this time, he'd been holding his Legio I Arizona veterans in reserve: until now. Now he would strike where the NCR were most vulnerable.

"Go!" Lucius ordered as he drew his gladius, "Drive for the gap!"

With that, Lucius and his horsemen burst out and over the hill they'd been hiding behind and surged forward, followed closely by a wave of veteran Legionaries. They began closing the short distance between themselves and the NCR rapidly, and the surprised NCR troopers immediately turned to face the new oncoming threat. They began opening fire but the mass of Legionaries and horsemen pressed onward, heedless of the oncoming fire. Lucius spurred his men forward to close the distance quicker,

"Come Legionaries ride with me! Ride! Ride!" He shouted over the echoing din of the battle. They were mere yards from the troopers now, and he could see the horror in their eyes as Legion cataphracts thundered towards them.

"Legio Invicta!" Lucius cried.

"LEGIO INVICTA!" Came the reply from his men. The horsemen dipped lances and plowed directly into the NCR troopers, trampling many and sending others careening to the ground. The cataphracts kept moving, using their speed and momentum to continue driving into the disrupted NCR column. As they did so, the Legionary Veterans who'd been charging behind on foot caught up and joined the fray. Lucius cut down an NCR trooper who'd been charging at him with a lowered bayonet and slashed into the face of another as he rode past him, his gladius now soaked in fresh blood.

Lucius then snapped his attention to the northern hillside where now the Legion forces that had feigned their retreat were now swiftly returning, with added reinforcements brought up by Aurelius himself.

Now what had previously been an orderly defensive formation to repel the ambush, had quickly fallen into a chaotic mass of Legion and NCR soldiers. Lucius's men had driven straight down the center of the column and virtually split it in two, carving up the troops and forcing them to fight far more close quarters than they were used to. Most of the vehicles had all but become bogged down, with only a few of the lighter equipment able to move at all, either due to the mud itself or simply being hemmed in by others who were stuck. They were still able to bring their firepower to bear though, which they did at any cluster of Legion soldiers they could find sending gore and pieces of men flying into the air. The quarters were too close though, and often the tanks would end up blowing up some of their own men who were caught up in the fire. Battle-crazed Legionaries armed with grenades and other explosives scrambled up the tanks, tore open hatches, and threw their ordinance down into the hulls sending burning and disfigured men clawing out from the smoking innards to be dispatched with spears and machetes by waiting Legionaries.

The battle had turned to utter madness and brutality, and Lucius soon found himself dismounted and fighting pell-mell side by side with several of his Praetorian guard. As he grappled with an NCR soldier who he'd only just managed to knock to the ground, an NCR Private armed with a bayonet charged at him yelling bloody murder, and caught him in the back. Lucius yelled in anger, his armor having thankfully protected him from most of the blow. In a rage, he turned and drove his gladius right through the exposed neck of the man and sent a gush of blood spaying from the ghastly wound. In a daze of both pain and confusion, Lucius wiped the blood of the man from his eyes and surveyed the bloodshed all around him. Through the dust and smoke of burning men and machines, he spotted the darkened silhouette of a figure. A man who was standing up out of a tank and directing men and soldiers about him through a radio held to his face. Lucius's eyes widened as if crazed by the sight of the man.

"Kimball!" He shouted manically and he desperately looked around him for his horse. He found it quickly and mounted up, spurring the beast onward towards the man in the tank. As he charged forward like a man possessed, he reached down and plucked a throwing spear from where it had been embedded in the dirt and held it aloft.

"KIMBALL!" He yelled again. This time, the man in the tank heard him. The NCR President saw the charging horsemen and he quickly reached for his pistol which was strapped to his side.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Lucius yelled madly in rage and launched the spear with considerable force at the President. Kimball opened fire and Lucius felt the bullets strike his body, sending him and his horse crashing to the ground. The spear, however, had found its mark. And it embedded itself into the chest of President Kimball with a tremendous sickening thud, impaling him completely. The President looked stunned and bug-eyed at the spear now erupting from his body before he spurt up a mouthful of blood and collapsed against the top of the tank. Dead.

Lucius stared up in a misty haze at the sky. He was flat on his back and a pool of blood was slowly growing around him. His thoughts once more returned to his wife as a squad of NCR troopers began to close in on him, bayonets raised and ready to skewer their hated adversary and the man who'd just slaughtered their President.

"Hannah..." He whispered, and closed his eyes.

"To Caesar!" Lucius heard the words only faintly, but he soon became aware of a thunder of crimson bodies intercepting the onrushing NCR soldiers. They threw themselves at the troopers with no regard for their own lives or safety. A fierce back and forth began over the body of the fallen Caesar with the NCR desperately trying to claw their way to him and The Legionaries fighting ever more fiercely to protect him. After a bloody struggle, Lucius felt himself being lifted up and away.

"Get him out of here!" He heard someone shout, "Get him out of here!"

The bloodloss weakened him, and Lucius felt his eyes closing. The sounds of the horror of battle faded and died away to black nothingness.

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Midwestern Communications Outpost

A rapidly moving Legion courier had rode for miles after the battle non-stop to arrive at a Midwestern communications outpost, setup to help monitor the NCR presence in Arizona. He'd been forced to switch horses several times along the way and bore only a single small scroll buried in his brahmin skin message bag. He rode right up to the outpost and dismounted, handing the soldier on duty the message. It read simply.

NCR incursion force ambushed outside Phoenix by Legions of Caesar Lucius and Legatus Aurelius. All killed or captured. Kimball is dead. Relay news to convention.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Salem Church Clinic
"What watch? If you think cranky over there," she wagged her beer bottle towards Barney, "is gonna pull a double overnight, you're dreaming. And I'm not sure how tough our friend over there is, after getting his ass kicked by his lunch. Sorry. I'm...not used to being surrounded by folks who weren't conditioned from childhood to have a tactical approach to things. You aren't wrong; sadly, we don't exactly have the resources for that, at the moment."

"Sorry," Arthur replied sheepishly, "I don't exactly have a mind for military matters. We had a special division back at the Vault that handled these sorts of things. Its not exactly my area of expertise."

"If they're retreating, it seems most likely they'd raid us for supplies and a place to lick their wounds. Though from what I know of the Gunners, they probably won't be nice about it. Many are armed and armored and most seem coordinated enough to have paid attention to minimal training," she agreed.

"I need a coffee to go," she said at the grumpy waitress, then stood. "I'll walk you back to the clinic, if you like. It's on the way to Brandy's house. I'm going to pick up some ammo and a sweater, then take the first watch.

"If you don't mind then that would be great," Arthur nodded. The idea of bloodthirsty Gunners creeping up on them in the dead of night had him on edge. He'd be glad for the company, even if the Clinic was only a short walk away. But you never know..

After a curt conversation with Barney, Frieda had gotten up and left the Diner, with Arthur following in tow. As they approached the clinic, he could see a trail of blood leading up into the front door of the church. Which meant that Steve had most likely just dumped the body inside. Arthur grimmaced,

"I do hope he kept it away from Miss Summer. Otherwise I'll need to have a word with Barney about that man..." Arthur said.

"For fuck's sake..." Frieda muttered when she saw the trail. "Hold this." Frieda pushed her coffee cup into Arthur's hands. "...uh, sorry. And this," she sheepishly gave him her still-burning cigarette.

"Uh..no problem," He said, as he took the coffee and the cigarette, and awkwardly held it. The smoke from the cigarette wafted upwards towards his nostrils, and he extended his hand to hold the cigarette out further.

With a grunt and a sigh, she picked up the pungent corpse by the shoulders of its shirt and pulled it along the floor and outside the clinic, dragging it back down the stairs and leaving it in the street. It was heavier than she had expected, but she managed. She broke a slight sweat with the effort. "I'll move it on my way back out to the main entrance, but at least it's outside, for now." Frieda held her hands out for her coffee and her smoke. "I'll take those back, now."

"Thank you Frieda," Arthur said with a sigh of relief as he handed her back her effects, "You'll have to excuse me, I have a strict decontamination regiment to implement now, thanks to our friend Steve. I, uh, suppose I'll see you tomorrow? Thanks...thanks again for the drink. I enjoyed our talk. Listen...I know I'm a doctor and not a therapist..but, well, if you'd like to talk more your brother and your...people. Then my door is always open. I think I understand what you're going through better than most...believe me. Have a good night Frieda."

With that, Arthur turned and went inside the church. True to his word, he immediately began cleaning and decontaminating everything on the first floor that could have possibly been touched by the unwanted corpse. As he did so, he muttered under his breath about 'no concept of hygienic conditions' and 'how have these people not all died from infection?'

Even if Steve meant well, Arthur had to chide the man about even considering the idea of using a dead, chem-addled, raider corpse as a 'blood bag'. The fact that he'd apparently thought this was no big deal was testament to just what sort of 'medical treatment' these people were used to. He shuddered at the thought.

After a couple hours of cleaning, and when the clock had nearly struck midnight, Arthur finally sat up from his labors and inspected the now spotless clinic floor. Summer was fast asleep, still recovering from her injuries, and Arthur was glad he hadn't woken her. No doubt the cocktail of medications she was currently on was keeping her quite drowsy and down for the count.

Arthur's thoughts then turned back to the body of the poor sod still lying outside. He stepped out of the clinic and saw it still lying where Frieda had drug it off to. The initial stages of decomposition had already set in and the body was considerably pale. Rigor mortis had not yet affected the body, although it would no doubt occur soon as well.

"I need to get this off the street...this is just unhealthy.." He muttered.

A thought crossed the doctor's mind then, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully.

Well a 'blood bag' was a silly notion, but I suppose there's no reason he couldn't still serve medical science.

Arthur stepped back inside the clinic for a few minutes, and when he returned, he was armed with latex gloves, a filtration mask, and a medical apron wrapped around his labcoat. With a grimace, he began pulling the body around to the backside of the church. There he found what he was looking for: an old cellar door tucked away neatly behind a few rotten bushes. Hesitantly, he opened the cellar door and looked inside, producing a small flashlight he'd taken from the rectory office and shining it around below. The cellar was dusty and ancient, and probably hadn't been touched since before the war. There were a number of shelves, crates, and tables strewn about down below, along with other materials and areas he couldn't yet see.

With a shrug, Arthur rolled the raider body down the stairs and then closed the doors. He briefly returned to the clinic and came back with a small box of equipment: jars, tubes, and various other laboratory items he had stashed away in one of his packs. With some effort, he carried all the items down into the cellar and closed the doors behind him. After which, he lit a candle and propped the body up on one of the nearby tables, setting up his equipment around it. It was a modest setup to be sure, but it would do for now.

"I suppose an autopsy is in order...." Arthur said, speaking to no-one but himself, and perhaps the cold corpse in front of him, "Well my poor decaying friend...time to see what makes you tick."

He then withdrew a small tape from his labcoat pocket and clicked a small button on it to begin recording before setting the device off to the side,

"This is Dr. Arthur West of The Bioscience Division, continuing my personal logs which serve as my usual reports to The Directorate. I understand I've been infrequent with my updates, but now that I've settled in what is hopefully a more stable area, I should be able to send them consistently from here on out. Now to my report, I am currently conducting an autopsy of a wasteland specimen brought to me via one of the settlers in the Salem township. I understand that we've had numerous such studies of surface-dwellers done over the years, but I've always found that redundancy of data analysis is never a bad thing. The individual is approximately 25 - make that 27 years old, with obvious signs of heavy chems use: consistent with behavior typical of those inducted into raider gangs..."

Arthur continued his detailed autopsy of the raider, recording everything he found at cataloging it with all the preciseness that might be expected of someone like him.

OOC: Pausing here in case something happens during the night. If not, then Arthur is just basically going to continue his work and go to bed sometime in the early morning.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Ace's Diner

"I appreciate your discretion. It's one of the swear words in the wasteland, but understandably so. Not many surface rats -- folks, I meant folks, live to tell about when we come to town."

And its certainly not the only one, Arthur thought grimly.

Arthur listened intently as Frieda told him about her brother, about how she'd looked up to him, and how he'd apparently gone missing while out on a mission. It was a heartbreaking story to be sure, and Arthur couldn't help but relate it to his own experiences.

"Everyone moved on, almost like he'd never even existed. His shadow was lifted off of me and my life but I was still almost invisible and no one seemed to care that he deserved better. Hell, that I deserved better. So, I decided to search for closure, myself. If they wouldn't care, I would show Brian that I at least did. That I do."

"Well if its any consolation," Arthur offered, "I understand how you feel. I lost someone as well. A very good friend of mine: a colleague, as a matter of fact, someone I trusted with my life...and who shouldn't have trusted me with his..."

Arthur might have gone into more detail than that, but he was suddenly (perhaps thankfully) interrupted by Steve, who seemed to be carrying an unconscious man on his shoulder....although a closer look revealed that he was as dead as a door-nail.

“Hey doc," he called out, "I found you a blood bag, I’ll leave them at the clinic for you.”

"Oh...well thank you I...wait what?" Arthur's eyes grew wide as he realized just what Steve had meant by 'blood bag', "Oh good lord!" He nearly shouted, "Don't take that..." his voice trailed off as Steve exited the diner, having either not heard or outright ignored his protest, "Good god I hope at least he has the common sense to keep that thing outside of the clinic..."

"Uh..sorry Frieda, you were saying?" He continued, turning his attention back to her.

Frieda took a slow breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. "Honestly, even if I wanted to go back, I'd be shot dead at the door. But if things don't work out, I just might go knocking. I'd rather be executed than die at the hand of...of one of them," she nodded towards the door, heavily implying a reference towards Steve.

Arthur gave an understanding nod, "I...I see what you mean."

"Would you both shut up?" hissed the rude waitress. "We're all tryin' to listen to the news."

Frieda stuck her tongue out at the waitress, then glanced over at Arthur to roll her eyes and wink.

"Rather angry young woman isn't she?" Arthur remarked, before he too tuned into the radio announcement. Apparently, the Minutemen had assaulted a Gunner position somewhere in the city, and emerged victorious. Arthur didn't have much love for the Minutemen, not after certain events, but he knew that the Gunners were a far more present and insidious threat. That became all too clear as well once the radio DJ had stated that a group of them had escaped the attack and were likely to be heading north.

"Well that's not good..." He said, stating the obvious, "Gunners are well armed and well trained. Raiders are one thing...Gunners are quite another. Perhaps we should double the watch for tonight? Or...maybe even call for The Minutemen?"

Or maybe someone else... He thought, giving a glance over to Rick, A single Courser...that's all we'd need.

War Never Changes

I'm interested to see how House responds to all this as well.

War Never Changes

Titus Crassus, Quaestor of The Legion

Once Crassus had finished his speech and sat down, an aide-de-camp of the revered Barnaky of The Midwestern Brotherhood had approached his table and sat a carefully folded envelope slip down in front of him, indicating only that it was for Titus's eyes only and that it was being given courtesy of Midwestern intelligence agents.

Curious, Titus opened the evelope and began reading the provided dossier. Its contents were quite surprising. The Midwest had apparently discovered an NCR invasion force attempting to take Santa Fe by surprise. In addition, Barnaky made his intentions known of announcing this to the assembled delegates, and also indicated that the Midwest had already passed this valuable intel along to Caesar himself.

Titus smiled, and gave a subtle nod to Barnaky, indicating his approval and letting the Midwestern leader know that The Legion was grateful for their support. It was clear that Midwestern military intelligence was second to none. Even the feared Frumentarii would have difficulty keeping up with the Midwest's advanced technology, which could bring to bear things that could only be dreamed up by The Legion.

Barnaky had then launched into an impressive speech condemning the NCR and revealing the status of the "hidden" army force, along with his intent to declare war if The NCR insisted on continuing down this foolish path. Counting on The Midwest's intervention had been an established part of Caesar's battle plan for a potential NCR invasion for some time, and Caesar Lucius had sent word to Barnaky only moments after learning of the imminent likelihood of attack. Now this alliance would be made clear and quite apparent to all present.

The Midwestern leader finished with flair and seconded Titus's proposal. Shortly after he'd finished speaking however, one of the eastern delegates from the strange place known as the "Pennslvania Commonwealth" had spoke up loudly and with no small degree of hatred directed at him.

“IT WILL BE A COLD DARK DAY IN HELL, BEFORE WE SIDE WITH THESE HEATHENS AND SLAVERS! TO US YOU’RE NO BETTER THAN THE CULT!” She shouted.

Titus simply nodded, and stood up once more to take the floor,

"I understand we have our differences," He began, "But I will make my position clear as well, this is not a matter of sympathy for The Legion or even tolerating our ways. This is a simple matter of determining whether or not The NCR acted justly and in good faith when attending this convention, which was ostensibly intended to promote peace. Something that I would hope you might appreciate, if not approve of."

"I would like to add too," He continued, "That I cannot speak to the atrocities of The Cult, as their actions in the east are unfamiliar to us. Which is why Caesar has ordered that a representative from The Legion be sent east to ascertain the full story of what dangers they might pose to us all. Furthermore, I would say that while you may calls us heathens, know that Caesar has done much to protect your faith in his lands, offering sanctuary in the Zion Valley and allowing missionaries to travel in absolute safety throughout Legion territory. Where previously there was tribal war parties and raiders roving the land, now there is order and stability. Sometimes, bringing order to uncivilized peoples requires brute force and an uncompromising position. Our methods may be harsh to someone of your sensibilities, but they are necessary. Perhaps, in time, they will no longer be needed. It is the hope and goal for Caesar to bring a great many changes to his Legion, transforming it from the nomadic band of warriors that it was, to a well organized, stable, and modernized nation, dependent not on conquest but on economic and political ties with its neighbors. It is unfortunate that you would be quick to condemn us to fiery damnation, before allowing Caesar's vision to come to fruition. After all, do not all nations go through periods of trial and tribulation? Is there any nation here which can honestly say they are bloodless in their actions at all times? That they have never brought misery or fear to anyone? If not, then we ask for time, nothing more."

With that, Titus took his seat once again.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West, Ace's Diner

"I shouldn't have assumed and asked you what you liked, first. Would you rather have one of those? Don't be shy, I can tell you're just trying to be polite. Order whatever you want."

"No, no this is fine," Arthur replied quickly, "Really, its...good." He took another sip, but could hardly hold back a gag, which translated to a very odd gulp as he swallowed the liquid. He then pushed the bottle away, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to finish it, "I'm uh...just not a very big drinker," He said, trying to offer an explanation. He wasn't lying of course: he wasn't a drinker, rarely even touching The Institute's synthesized alcohol, but that wasn't the main reason for his discomfort.

She finished off her beer and moved on to Arthur's discarded stout. "Whatever Vault-Tec was trying to do, it must have worked. You definitely don't talk the same as any other surface...person. 'Normal robots,' now that's funny. As far as I know, only that 'Institute' played around with the people-bots. But you can shoot them dead just like the rest of 'em," she shrugged. "I overheard some of the other officers talking, once, saying some of them were programmed to think they were people, had no idea they were robots. Something like, they would break and bleed just like flesh and bone, and they never knew they were anything but a regular human." Frieda nudged him playfully in the arm. "I bet you've stitched up a couple out here in the wastes and never knew it, huh?"

"Oh well...I suppose its possible," He shrugged nervously, while his face turned a bit red from Frieda's touch. She was right. He almost certainly had at some point, in fact. He'd suspected a few now and again, but there was no way of knowing for sure without, well, an autopsy. Although, having lived around them so long, he and many in The Institute had become observant of Synth behavior, and there were some occasional things he noticed that could mean someone was one. A lack of a reaction to certain stimuli for instance, especially where medical treatment was concerned: small, subtle things that even the most observant person could still miss if they weren't looking for them.


"It's a little fascinating, how they've managed to dig themselves out of near-annihilation and all. I love it and hate it, you know? But I'm presumed dead, and frankly, I don't want to go back. There was nothing left for me, there. What's the point of considering yourself greater than the rest of the population, if you won't value your own kind?" She paused, brooding."

Arthur sat silent for a moment, thinking over what she'd just said. It was clear she was, in many ways, just as conflicted as he was about the wasteland. Most in The Institute regarded it either with playful curiosity, like Rick, or outright contempt and fear. The latter being far more prevalent. Arthur found he was straddling both simultaneously. The surface fascinated and disgusted him in equal measure, and he still wasn't sure which of those emotions might win out.

"If..you don't mind me asking," He began, hesitantly, "Why did you leave The E.." He stopped himself, realizing that prying ears and eyes were no doubt all around, and he'd gotten in the habit of always assuming someone might be listening, "..your people..that is, what made you leave? You say you don't want to go back...why?"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West, Ace's Diner

"Me? I suppose you could say I'm not so...optimistic." Frieda rested her bottle on the bar surface and turned it around in her hand. "Mind you, I was thinking about their...capability, myself, earlier when Ace came over to talk to us after the gunshots. Though mainly to the tune of, how do so many manage to survive, and keep surviving?"

"It is surprising that they have, to be honest," He replied with a thoughtful nod, "Down in the...well down in the vault, we assumed most out here were mutated monsters, killers, and psychotic raiders. The odd rare settlement was just that, rare and certainly not the norm. But there are good people out here I've found. Or, at least, they try to be."

"Though perhaps what you've said has quite a bit of merit. I hadn't thought of it that way, before. They figured out how to feed themselves, and each other, and turn it into some kind of trade based economy no less. Maybe there's some hope, at least, for some of them."

"I used to think they were the relic of a bygone age. Doomed to eventual extinction," Arthur remarked, a deep look of introspection crossing his face, "But now..well now I'm not sure. Perhaps...perhaps there is a chance that the surface is not quite beyond saving, and maybe its our duty to try and help them along...I suppose my medical work is my way of doing my part. Even if its only a small one."

By this point, the young waitress had returned with his water and Arthur gladly accepted it. But Frieda stopped her again,

"My friend here needs a beer, too. Something...sophisticated," she flashed a quick wink at Arthur before looking back to the waitress. "How about one of those stouts?"

"Oh that's not really ne..." Arthur was about to say, but Frieda had begun arguing with the waitress, and he thought it best just to keep quiet.

With an annoyed growl, the waitress had returned with a bottle of dark beer, and placed it on the table in front of Arthur,

"Thank you..that's...rather kind of you," He said, trying to be as gracious as he could to Frieda, and not wanting to let on to the fact that he really, really, wasn't all that fond of surface beverages. The last beer he'd had, which a Commonwealth farmer had offered to him as payment for helping his sick child, was irradiated and had come in a filthy re-used bottle. It had nearly caused him to vomit..not to mention the fact it had been flat...

Frieda twisted the cap off for him and then held out her beer, "Cheers," she said.

"Oh..um..of course," Arthur quickly grabbed his bottle and clinked it against hers, "Cheers."

Hesitantly, and with all the care he might take when handling a solution of hydrochloric acid, Arthur slowly brought the bottle to his mouth.

Curse my incessant politeness. He thought to himself.

The beer wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected, and at least it was cold, but he could already sense the tell-tale metallic taste of radiation. It was only slight, but it was still there. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow it.

"So, I'm interested to know, how did a sealed vault have so many scientific, or medical resources? Most, if not all, of them were set up to study certain phenomena of human behaviour, but our records allegedly showed that many of them imploded from the inside by one factor or another. That, or they opened to the world, and who knows what happened to those folks after that." She paused, then flashed a wide, genuine smile. "Sorry, I'm sure you're more than aware of the internal politics of a Vault, being from one, and all. But anyways, how did your Vault make it? Honest question."

Arthur nearly spit out the beer he had in his mouth, and quickly set the bottle down. He'd been so focused on trying to act 'casual' when drinking it that Frieda's question caught him off-guard. He swallowed the beer in his mouth hard and nervously adjusted his glasses,

"Oh..yes...well," He began, trying to think of something to say, "I suppose...I suppose we were lucky. We had plenty of food, water, and power. Our D..Overseer was a brilliant scientist, most of us were scientists actually. I guess that must have been our...experiment. Yeah, you know, pack a bunch of scientists into a vault and see what happens, not sure what Vault-Tec was trying to accomplish with that one. We had also had robots to do most of the day to day things around the Vault, so most of use could just focus on our work. Just normal robots though, nothing really special about them."

He took another quick drink of the beer, nearly coughed that out as well, and looked back at Frieda,

"Good beer," He said, with a smile that was trying to hide a grimace.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Salem Church Clinic Front Door

“Well Frieda, can’t expect us to live in darkness and fear forever. That’s why a good town defense will be necessary. Rook seems on the up and up, plus, in all my experience I’ve never seen a mutie think ahead that far...”

"You'd be surprised," Arthur pipped up, once Ace had finished speaking, "They possess a remarkable brutish cleverness, and certainly are capable of laying a trap or an ambush. However..." He paused for a few seconds, thinking over his next words carefully, "I'm less concerned about the possibility of Rook trying to lull us into a false sense of security than I am about the possibility of him turning aggressive at some point. Its odd that he's remained docile for so long and its well...an anomaly. Perhaps...perhaps I might have the chance to examine him at some point? As a precaution?"

Arthur didn't get an answer to his question as Ace had continued on, only turning back to ask Rick to join him. Meanwhile, Frieda was stewing in clear distaste, having apparently been angered by what Ace had said. She turned to Arthur with a huff and said,

"I'm going home to raid Brandy's fridge, then I'll be at the diner, if you still want that drink." She finished her cigarette, flicked it to the dirt, and quickly took her leave.

"Right, I'll uh...see you there then," Arthur replied with an unsteady wave. He then returned to the inside of the clinic and finished up the remaining work he had in mind for the day, which mostly included ensuring that the girl, Summer, was still stable and able to take care of herself. The fresh bandages and medication she'd received was already visibly improving her condition. Confident that she would be alright by her lonesome and thus give him a few hours of respite, Arthur packed up some of the excess equipment that had been strewn about in the chaos of the morning's events, closed up the clinic, and took the very short walk over to Ace's diner.

Once there, he saw that Freida, just as she'd said, had made her way over to the bar and was nursing a beer. Hesitantly, Arthur approached, and sat down on the stool next to her. Before he could say anything, a young woman approached from behind the counter, carrying a notepad and looking rather disinterested,

"What'll it be Doc?"

"Pardon?" Arthur replied.

The girl rolled her eyes at him,

"What do you want to drink?" She asked, enunciating the question more slowly this time.

"Oh...uh..water, please. Just water. Make that purified water if you have it," He said with a nervous smile. Once the waitress had left, he turned his attention back to Frieda. He cleared his throat, and did his best to break the silence with conversation,

"They are quite fascinating you know," He began cheerfully. He then lowered his voice, leaned in, and whispered the next few words more softly, "...wastelanders that is..." With a nod, he sat back up and continued talking normally, "You can live among them for months and come to the likely conclusion that they're a very simple people, and yet....they still find ways to surprise you. Take this diner for instance, I would never have imagined that out here there would be such a thing as an old-world style diner. Serving, umm...delicious food. Well, serving food anyway."He chuckled to himself and looked around, taking in the sights and smells of the diner around them.

"What about you? What do you think?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

The Angler vs. Group

(OOC: Tried to do this as fair as I could think. I gave an equal chance for each of the team to miss, hit, or critically hit the monster and assigned a hit point value to it as well. Hit was -1 and critical hit was -2. Also gave the creature a chance to counter-attack on everyone but James W., since he's already been critically injured.)

With the wounded Enclave Captain lying on the ground and reaching for his shotgun, the monstrous creature moves in for the kill and pounces on top of him. James fires off both shots of his double barrel and they both hit home, staggering the angler slightly and making it rethink its choice of food. (OOC: critical hit for James W).

The rest of the group then lunges into action, with James C. leveling his rifle and firing three shots at the Angler. Each of the shots hits home, but compared with the hulking mass of the mutated fish, the .44 bullets are unable to bring the beast down, although it now sports some obvious gunshot wounds from where the bullets tore into it. (OOC: hit for James C.) Unfortunately, the Angler is quickly able to spit up another stinking mass of radioactive swamp sludge at him, and this time it hits its mark. James C. is covered in an ugly paste and his thrown back from the impact. (OOC: angler attack success).

Corrine is able to use the temporary distraction caused by the shots to get in close and thrust her spear at the Angler's neck. Owning to her skill as a fisher-woman and a hunter, she's able to successfully drive the spear point home, but the creature's unusually thick hide, which is strange even for an Angler, prevents her from getting the killing blow she was no doubt looking for. (OOC: hit for Corrine) Instead, the Angler lets out a frightening water-logged gurgle of pain before swiping at Corrine with one of its large hands and sending her crashing to the ground. (OOC: angler attack success). It then pulls out the spear she'd embedded in its hide, and in a horrific display of intelligence, throws it at Corrine as if trying to skewer her. It thankfully misses.

Finally, Steve raises his pistol, takes careful aim and fires, hoping to strike a vulnerable spot. His first bullet hits home and the angler reels in pain and clutches at the spot where the bullet entered. Now badly wounded, the angler immediately quickly begins to turn and run off into the fog. Steve's next shots miss the creature by a hair, but a trail of blue-green blood can be found on the ground following in the frantic beast's wake. (OOC: hit for Steve, angler attack failure. All in all, wasn't enough to kill it, but badly wound it).

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Dr. Arthur West - Salem Clinic

"They are a curious group Dr. West. They believe themselves to be descendants of the old world government, the true "remnants" of the US government. Long ago we had contact and they pretty much demanded we submit to their authority."

"Hmmph, a ridiculous notion," Arthur replied with a dismissive huff, "As if any organization has any kind of legitimate claim of being the so-called 'Government' anymore. Did they expect us to just bow to them because their great-great grandfather was a senator for the United States?"

Rick got up from the chair and started to make his way for the door while he continued explaining, Arthur followed suit and made sure he was steady enough to walk,

"However, we did share a common enemy, the Brotherhood of Steel. I always though they were destroyed by them... I guess there were survivors very much like us, after their presumed destruction."

"One thing we have in common then I suppose," Arthur remarked grimly.

"To be honest I doubt many outside their high echelons and intelligence services knew of us. Aside from Brotherhood, we probably were the one other group that could stand against them. " Rick stopped for a moment, "They hate anyone outside the Enclave...they would never be among us "mutants" as they put it... If she's here, it could mean she left the organization or was kicked out, though a secretive organization might have killed her rather than let her go."

"Mutants? Us?" Arthur was surprised at the idea. He had to wonder if The Enclave had truly understood what being a 'mutant' meant. Perhaps Arthur could have illustrated the point to them more...succinctly. He knew all too well.

"In all honesty it's up to you Dr. West whether or not you tell her background, considering she might be suspicious. Just do not tell her of Vault 88. As far as these surface dwellers are concerned, we were destroyed and survivors were scattered through commonwealth."

"Hmm. Noted," Arthur nodded in agreement. He didn't want to tell Rick that he'd already mentioned the Vault to her before. But, then again, there was no real indication that she'd know or even care where the Vault was. Vault 88 had been an unfinished project, so perhaps it wouldn't be listed on any kind official documentation that the Enclave might have access to. Arthur hoped that was the case.

Once they'd descended to the first floor Rick had greeted Frieda and struck up a conversation. Frieda seemed happy, even a bit giddy, and she soon explained why,

"Oh, and, good news! I've decided to work here for you, full time. Security guard-slash-assistant." Frieda paused, finally realizing how bold it was for her to assume. "That is, if you're okay with that. You look like you could use an extra set of hands, and I just thought...ahem." She fidgeted, then, feeling awkward. "If it's agreeable to you, then I'll be sure to carry my gun much more often. I could even go get it right now, if you want?"

Arthur was surprised, she'd taken quite the initiative in setting herself up at the clinic as his assistant. His first thought was that it might be distracting having someone else around here, but he quickly warmed up to the idea the more he thought about it. Having someone who was well-trained and with obvious military experience to guard the clinic and help protect him and his vulnerable patients made perfect sense and might even be necessary. What's more, he had to admit, he did rather like the idea of Frieda sticking around....

"Alright then..." Arthur relied as shook himself out of his imagination, "I could certainly use the help around here and, god forbid, if someone were to ever try and attack this place I'd be well...in a pickle. I don't exactly have any formal weapons training. Although...I don't charge for my services so I'm not sure what I could pay you with. I suppose I could offer to split any food or supplies that the townspeople agree to provide. That is, unless you've worked something out with Mayor Barney perhaps? Either way I..."

Arthur was cut short with the not-so-distant echo of gunshots resounding through the town. The shots seemed sporadic and certainly didn't sound like Ace was out hunting..

"Oh my..." Arthur muttered fearfully, "What's happening you think? Are we under attack?"