@Lady Selune Are you still interested in this RP? Its taking awhile to get in sheets but we're slowly getting there.
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Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle - Siege of Indianapolis
Robert quickly strapped on his flight suit and helmet, heart pounding in his chest as he did so. He’d just received word from the flight commander that he’d be needed to fill the spot of a wounded pilot that had been taken out of action by a anti-air round. His eagerness to finally get back up in the air and be behind the controls of a Brotherhood aircraft was tempered only by his sympathy for the man whose place he was taking. This was war however, and he couldn’t dwell on those sorts of things too much. The Brotherhood needed every bird in the air to evacuate wounded soldiers that were already streaming in from the front lines. His other hope, of course, was that this action would finally prove his worth to the Midwestern high command: finally he could have a chapter and an Elder to serve once again.
Once he was suited up and ready to go, he departed for the helipad immediately. With practiced ease, he warmed up the bird’s engines, did all of the necessary pre-flight checks as thoroughly as if Lancer-Captain Kells was watching him closely from the grave, and once he’d received the all-clear, he was up in the air.
The feel was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but smile even as the battle raged below him. His destination was an evac point a short distance outside the city, and it would only take a few minutes to get there, but he intended to enjoy every moment in the air he could. He could as well have been flying back to the Prdywen after a successful mission, and he could almost smell the salisbury steak and the cheerful looks of his brothers and sisters as they greeted him in the mess,
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you all…” He said, his hand reaching for the dog tags around his neck, “I swear….I’ll avenge you. Somehow...”
He could almost hear their response. It was like the voice of God in his head. One that was forgiving, kind, even gentle. It made him feel immediately at ease.
There’s nothing to avenge. You’re performing your duties admirably...J3-36.
Robert’s eyes widened in horror.
“No...”
Indeed. We need to pull you out of your fantasyland for a brief time. Don’t worry...we’ll put you back. But right now you need to be cognizant. End personality subroutine.
J3’s face lowered. His eyes deadened. He remembered everything. He knew exactly what he was...and he didn’t care.
“How can can I assist Director Secord?”
Watcher pods are gathering as much intel as possible about this battle. This is an information goldmine. It’s everything we wanted and more. Troop movements, supply and logistics information, battle tactics, armor and weapons readouts...we’re getting all of it. You don’t need to worry about all that however, what I want you to do right now...is monitor The Brotherhood’s comm chatter...let's see if we can make some use of you....
Robert quickly strapped on his flight suit and helmet, heart pounding in his chest as he did so. He’d just received word from the flight commander that he’d be needed to fill the spot of a wounded pilot that had been taken out of action by a anti-air round. His eagerness to finally get back up in the air and be behind the controls of a Brotherhood aircraft was tempered only by his sympathy for the man whose place he was taking. This was war however, and he couldn’t dwell on those sorts of things too much. The Brotherhood needed every bird in the air to evacuate wounded soldiers that were already streaming in from the front lines. His other hope, of course, was that this action would finally prove his worth to the Midwestern high command: finally he could have a chapter and an Elder to serve once again.
Once he was suited up and ready to go, he departed for the helipad immediately. With practiced ease, he warmed up the bird’s engines, did all of the necessary pre-flight checks as thoroughly as if Lancer-Captain Kells was watching him closely from the grave, and once he’d received the all-clear, he was up in the air.
The feel was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but smile even as the battle raged below him. His destination was an evac point a short distance outside the city, and it would only take a few minutes to get there, but he intended to enjoy every moment in the air he could. He could as well have been flying back to the Prdywen after a successful mission, and he could almost smell the salisbury steak and the cheerful looks of his brothers and sisters as they greeted him in the mess,
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you all…” He said, his hand reaching for the dog tags around his neck, “I swear….I’ll avenge you. Somehow...”
He could almost hear their response. It was like the voice of God in his head. One that was forgiving, kind, even gentle. It made him feel immediately at ease.
There’s nothing to avenge. You’re performing your duties admirably...J3-36.
Robert’s eyes widened in horror.
“No...”
Indeed. We need to pull you out of your fantasyland for a brief time. Don’t worry...we’ll put you back. But right now you need to be cognizant. End personality subroutine.
J3’s face lowered. His eyes deadened. He remembered everything. He knew exactly what he was...and he didn’t care.
“How can can I assist Director Secord?”
Watcher pods are gathering as much intel as possible about this battle. This is an information goldmine. It’s everything we wanted and more. Troop movements, supply and logistics information, battle tactics, armor and weapons readouts...we’re getting all of it. You don’t need to worry about all that however, what I want you to do right now...is monitor The Brotherhood’s comm chatter...let's see if we can make some use of you....
The Legate Arrives
Siege of Indianapolis
“Mitterent!”
The loud crack of a howitzer sounded out across the battlefield as the latin order to fire was given. Thin smoke trailed around the artillery as the legionaries quickly reloaded in timed and disciplined precision.
“Mitterent!”
A second gun opened fire down the line. Followed by a third, and a fourth and on and on down the battery. A symphony of death had started to sound, and the peels of explosions in the distance registered that the teams were hitting their mark, ripping through men as well as brick and mortar just as easily. Midwestern field artillery commanders looked on with pride and stoic awe at how easy and natural it had been to drill The Legion’s artillery crews to fire their guns like a violinist might play a stradivarius. Now the fruits of their labors were coming to bear. Indianapolis was aflame.The Legion had finally come.
Legatus Aurelius had arrived with all four of the Eastern Legions, more than 20,000 crimson clad legionaries now covered the hills overlooking the city. Legion standards and golden bull banners unfurled, brahmin-skin drums beating and animal horns trumpeting to announce their arrival. There was a cacophony of cries and chanting in latin as Centurions and Decani shouted encouragements and insults alike to their men, extolling them to great feats of valor and to die in the service of Caesar and Mars. Chainsaws and rippers revved, war dogs barked, and horses stamped the ground. The full military might of the Legion was on display to strike fear into the heart of the defenders, and the Legatus was far from done.
Towards the rear of the line, Aurelius himself sat astride his horse alongside Vulpes Inculta and a troop of mounted Praetorians. The standards of each of the four legions at his command, as well as the sacred banner of Caesar were held proudly by Veteran Legionaries standing beside him. Aurelius surveyed his assembled troops with a discerning eye, ready to correct any gap in his legions’ organization and mentally planning how the initial stages of the battle might play out.
“We’ll be inside the city before nightfall,” He said casually to Vulpes, “Denver was a much harder city to crack than this, and we had less than half the men we do now. The Brotherhood has been softening up the defenders for days now, and they’re ready to break. Their courage hangs by the thinnest thread.”
“Desperate men are capable of extraordinary things,” Vulpes replied, “We should proceed with caution regardless of our confidence in victory.”
“Of course. The wise counselor as always Vulpes,” Aurelius turned to his comrade with a grin, “Mars looks ill on the commander that offers celebration before his enemy is broken. We cannot afford to lose his favor now. Not when such demons as the Cult worships are arrayed against us.”
“Perhaps if we lose it, the god of the New Canaanites might bless us with his favor,” Vulpes chuckled softly, “The missionaries already whisper that he’s blessed Caesar. They say their god brought him back from the brink of death.”
“Whatever the case. Mars is the god of bloody war and strife. I would offer no other prayers but to him. It is to him that I dedicate the sacrifice of life that we will beget today.”
A hard riding legionnaire interrupt the pair’s budding theological debate, his horse halting quickly before Aurelius and offering a sharp salute,
“Salve Legatus. The Midwesterners say they are ready to advance. They await your word to attack. You have command of the field.”
“Very well,” Aurelius nodded, and he raised a hand, “Signal the attack. Skirmishers forward, recruits behind. Primes and Veterans remain in reserve for now.” He lowered his hand swiftly and yelled out at the top of his lungs, “ADVANCE!”
Horns sounded simultaneously across the hillside, whilst two great drums the size of a man began to beat slowly and rhythmically. Suddenly a commotion began as legionaries erected crosses all along the line. Crucified victims, spies and captured cult sympathizers that had been captured by Vulpes’ men, were gruesomely tied and nailed to them and screamed in agony as they were raised skyward. A final indignity meant to show that no mercy would be offered, and to terrorize those in the city who still might have hope of victory. Centurions ordered their men to attack, and the legionaries all shouted in unison. The crimson tide surged forward, and the battle commenced.
A Midwestern footsoldier sunk down in his trench as bullets wizzed overhead, the soft thuds of impacts in the dirt behind him was reminder enough to Harlon that he and the rest of his squad were in a deadly crossfire. Positions were advancing all along the entrenchment, and the artillery had done more than its fair share to soften up the defenses, but some key emplacements were still holding strong. He braved a peek out over the trench and could see the fortified position in front of them, sandbags and makeshift walls giving the ghouls within a good firing position. Without power armor, it’d be hell to take. A few well placed shells could do the trick too, but in the heat of battle his squad had gotten separated from the main contingent. They needed to link back up and reorganize the attack.
Cursing his luck, Harlon’s attention was suddenly diverted by the sounds of rushing footsteps. Someone quickly jumped down into the trench along with seven other men following swiftly behind. It was immediately clear who they were. Granted it was hard to mistake a contubernium of Caesar’s soldiers as anything but.
“Ave amicus,” the leading legionnaire greeted him, he held a 10mm pistol in one hand and a machete in the other. The red and white plumed helmet he wore was proof enough he was the officer, “Decanus Quintilius, what’s the situation?”
“It's about time you Legion boys showed up,” Harlon grinned as he began pointing in the direction of the emplacement, “Fortified position about 50 yards ahead or so. They’ve got a good bead on us. Untrained morons can’t hit worth a damn at least though, but we’ve got no cover up ahead. We could use power armor support, but I’m hearing that they’re tied up on other sections. Might be awhile before they can get here.”
Quintillus peered out over the trench at the position, nodded grimly, and then turned back to Harlon,
“We don’t have time to wait. The Recruits are advancing as we speak. Our orders are to clear the way.”
“You mean the first wave is still coming?” Harlon asked, surprised. He'd assumed that this was the main line. He then immediately remembered back to his CO’s briefing on Legion tactics. They advanced in waves. The least experienced soldiers advancing before the veterans, wearing the enemy down before the elites even got to them.
“We’re assigned to the skirmish force. The main group of Recruits for the 5th, 6th, and 8th Cohorts are coming behind us. They’ll be here shortly. If they arrive and we’ve failed to disable this emplacement, I will have failed in my duties. The defenders will dig in deeper, more of our brothers will die and the advance may stall halt.”
“So what’s your plan then?”
Quintillus looked to Harlon, his expression hidden by the goggles and red bandanna he wore over his face,
“Attack.”
Quintillus turned to his Legionaries, they immediately understood what they needed to do,
“Alright you wretched curs!” Quintillus shouted, “Up and over! We’re going to screen the Recruits advance. The eyes of Mars are upon you now! Do NOT shame him! For Caesar!”
“Caesar!” The legionaries replied with a shout, and they began scrambling over the entrenchment. A stray bullet hit home and one of the legionaries fell immediately dead back into the trench. The sheer ferocity of the attack must have surprised the defenders, because the legionaries advanced some distance before their guns were fully brought to bear, but now they were coming under heavy fire from up and down the trench line. The legionaries were taking casualties, but it seemed as if they might actually make it. Soon more and more legionaries were swarming over the position like ants.
“Crazy fools The Legion…” Harlon muttered as he fired his weapon and prepared to follow them in. He wasn’t about to let Caesar’s men have all the glory.
Lucius, Imperator of The Legion
Lucius listened to the Brigadier General speak with an open mind, willing to do what neither Sallow nor Lanius would have ever considered doing, or even had the capacity to do. It was a strange feeling, having even of modicum of respect for someone that previously he would not have hesitated to kill if ordered. And yet here he was.
One the General gave his final word, Lucius pointed to the General as he looked around the room,
“This is why I gladly speak with the NCR’s military and not its politicians. A soldier means what he says and has the discipline required to carry it out. I would trust the word of General Garcia here over any of those profligate snakes that call themselves the NCR Senate….”
“As for Kimball…” He continued, “His remains along with the fallen at the Battle of Pheonix were collected by NCR POWS. I will allow them to return home. They should be buried in their native soil and honored there. Even Kimball. As much as I found the man to be absurdly arrogant and detestable in life, he died with some honor fighting as a soldier should alongside his men. I bear the scars he gave me proudly as a mark of a worthy foe. I trust you do not misunderstand the trophy I display in the hall as that of shaming. I display it not to shame: but to remember a fallen adversary.”
Lucius stood, and motioned for Garcia to stand with him. He offered his hand,
“Then we are agreed. And there will be the peace. I will have my scribes draft the official agreement immediately, which we might sign here today.”
Lucius listened to the Brigadier General speak with an open mind, willing to do what neither Sallow nor Lanius would have ever considered doing, or even had the capacity to do. It was a strange feeling, having even of modicum of respect for someone that previously he would not have hesitated to kill if ordered. And yet here he was.
One the General gave his final word, Lucius pointed to the General as he looked around the room,
“This is why I gladly speak with the NCR’s military and not its politicians. A soldier means what he says and has the discipline required to carry it out. I would trust the word of General Garcia here over any of those profligate snakes that call themselves the NCR Senate….”
“As for Kimball…” He continued, “His remains along with the fallen at the Battle of Pheonix were collected by NCR POWS. I will allow them to return home. They should be buried in their native soil and honored there. Even Kimball. As much as I found the man to be absurdly arrogant and detestable in life, he died with some honor fighting as a soldier should alongside his men. I bear the scars he gave me proudly as a mark of a worthy foe. I trust you do not misunderstand the trophy I display in the hall as that of shaming. I display it not to shame: but to remember a fallen adversary.”
Lucius stood, and motioned for Garcia to stand with him. He offered his hand,
“Then we are agreed. And there will be the peace. I will have my scribes draft the official agreement immediately, which we might sign here today.”
Skaven character incoming yes-yes:
I'd say for humans in general, you can probably come up with a solid backstory that makes sense. Dwarves and Humans normally have decently good relations between the two.
Elves on the other hand....might be able to work them in as a third party or something. I.e. Not with the Dwarves. Perhaps a Dark Elf or two could be found working with The Skaven for some purpose too.
Elves on the other hand....might be able to work them in as a third party or something. I.e. Not with the Dwarves. Perhaps a Dark Elf or two could be found working with The Skaven for some purpose too.
Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay
Warhammer World Map: gitzmansgallery.com/shdmotwow-full.html
Basic Background:
Karak Eight Peaks, also called the City of Pillars, is a place of ceaseless bloody battle. Once a mighty stronghold of the Dwarven race and one of its greatest kingdoms, the city has fallen to hordes of both Greenskin and Skaven defiliers. After years and years of struggle, in which the Dwarfs fought bitterly for every inch of ground lost, the city eventually fell. The underground portion of the Karak, in which lay the majority of the city and its wealth, eventually fell into Skaven hands through the ingenious plotting of the Council of 13, the dreaded governing body of the Under-Empire, who used countless bodies of rat-kin to achieve their eventual victory. While the Skaven control the under-reaches of the City of Pillars, the surface portion is largely controlled by the Greenskins who have seized what they could and defiled the rest of the Dwarfs ancient ancestral home.
The Dwarfs, however, have not yet yielded the city. And with bitter determination, good dwarven steel and shot (along with a few well placed human mercenaries) they vow to reclaim the Karak inch by inch. While their efforts may constantly be thwarted by Skaven and Orc alike, they can at least take comfort in knowing that the two will happily kill each other almost as equally as their own. So far their bloody efforts have yielded little more than a foothold on the surface, but its given the Greenskins pause to consider that perhaps, the ‘stunties’ aren’t quite finished just yet. There’s still a good fight to be had, and they’ll surely relish the chance to clobber some more.
Meanwhile, the Skaven beneath the city continue their insidious scheming. While they may seem the most secure, with the difficulties of breaching the under levels as daunting as it is, they are far from invulnerable. Indeed, Dwarf and Greenskin incursions into their underground stronghold may be the least of their worries, as various Skaven Clans jockey for power over such a valuable prize as the City of Pillars is, and even amongst individual clans: loyalty is a precious commodity in short supply. After all, who best to be the mighty Warlord of the Pillar City but the lone Skaven who is most willing to kill anyone who stands in his way? Fur or no fur.
Characters:
You have the option to choose from various races and groups in the RP. Skaven, Greenskin, Dwarf, and Human being the most likely choices but not necessarily the only. If you can provide a valid, lore-friendly, reason for a character’s inclusion, then it might be permitted. However, you should be prepared to lose your character at any time, and in fact it's encouraged to try out multiple different characters throughout the RP. The idea is that this is a bloody battle unending, and if your character winds up in a situation where they face certain death: then they should.
Character Sheet:
Name:
Character Portrait: (optional)
Race:
Clan/Faction/Country:
Class Descriptor:
Physical Description:
Weapons/Armor and Gear:
Background:
Vulpes Inculta, Indianapolis International Airport- Concourse A
Vulpes read the unsealed message written in latin that Aurelius had sent. The Eastern Legions were closing in on the city. Reports were already coming in of their presence on I-74. From the description of the standard made by the locals, Vulpes guessed that Legio XII Infernus led as the vanguard. If the 12th was leading, that meant that Aurelius was most assuredly at the head along with them, as he was wont to personally command his own legion. Time was short then, he needed to finish gathering the information he and his Frumentarii had been collecting so he might present it to the Legatus immediately on arrival. At which point...the assault would commence and blood would flow.
As Primus Frumentarius, it was Vulpes duty to work closely with the Inquisition to attain the information he needed. To that end, Inquisitor Stahl had been most helpful. Despite being a woman, she’d proven herself remarkably clever and resourceful. A most unusual trait for the fairer sex. She would make a fine wife for a Frumentarius, he’d thought to himself, his mind now treading down a far more dissolute path as it conjured up an image. Normally such primitive thoughts were beneath him, but they occasionally still wormed their way in. Of course as head of the Frumentarii, he would never betray the trust Caesar and the Legatus had placed in him by causing trouble with The Brotherhood in such a manner. Yet the temptation was there.
Snapping his attention back to his duty, he stared down at the envelope of material he’d been handed by the Inquisitor as he made his way down to the debriefing room where the Lancer-Sergeant was being held. He was not being charged with a crime or anything of the sort, but his history and status as a former member of the Eastern Chapter were under investigation, if only because The Brotherhood wished to know that they were dealing with the genuine article. The strange encounter he’d had with the cultic woman had caused no small degree of concern as well. Still, as he understood it, this debriefing was more of a formality than anything, and irregularities were not expected. Vulpes had been asked to perform the debriefing both as a show of good faith to The Legion, and to bring an outside perspective. Of which he was more than happy to do.
Vulpes turned the handle on the debriefing room door and stepped inside. Seated at the table with a single unarmed guard to watch over him was the man he assumed to be Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, formerly of the Eastern Chapter of The Brotherhood of Steel. An unmistakably confused expression crossed Robert’s face when he saw Vulpes enter, dressed in full Legion armor with his machete gladius sheathed at his side. Vulpes suppressed a smirk as he noted the man’s intense confusion,
“Ave amicus, is something the matter?”
“No...no not at all,” Robert stammered out, “I mean...they told me that you….that The Legion was...different, but I didn’t...wasn’t sure what to expect I guess.”
“And now you do,” Vulpes replied curtly as he sat down, “You may wish to get acquainted with the look of a soldier of Caesar. I daresay that will become a much more frequent sight in the future...”
“I understand...apologies if I caused offense Mr...uhh..”
“Inculta, Vulpes Inculta. Primus Frumentarius of The Legion. That is all you need know for the time being. And from the information I have been given, your name is Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, correct?”
“Correct.”
Vulpes began shuffling through the documents he’d been given on the Sergeant, “Formerly of the Eastern Chapter, you say you served under Elder Roger Maxson?”
“I did. In the Eastern Chapter, a Lancer is a rank given to vertibird pilots. I flew regular missions right up until Maxson was killed in action, along with most of the chapter. Men and women I’d serve with for years...and was damned proud to.”
“Sergeant Kyle...I’ve read your file thoroughly which contained all the relevant information The Brotherhood was able to get on you, along with your own account of how you ended up here. I won’t bore you by asking you to repeat it in its entirety. There are however, some interesting pieces of information that I wish to probe you for details on, if you would be so kind.” Vulpes’ tone of voice was calm, polite and even friendly, but there was an icey undertone of cynicism to it that threw Robert off-guard...and frightened him.
“Why did Roger Maxson travel to The Commonwealth with his army?”
“To fight The Institute, or at least, we thought it was to fight The Institute. Now I’m not so sure I guess, but everyone understood that to be the plan. Even those who didn’t go with Maxson knew why.”
“Yes exactly, this ‘Institute’ is what I’m most interested in. Who are they and why did Maxson feel the need to lead such a large expedition northwards to counter them?”
Robert leaned back and thought for a few moments, “Well...I can’t say I honestly know much about them, but from what Maxson told us. The Institute is, or was, some sort of secret society of scientists. They were supposed to be hiding somewhere in Boston and creating all manner of dangerous technology. The type of technology that we in The Brotherhood think needs to be eliminated or at the very least strictly controlled. Maxson believe it was his duty to bring The Institute to heel once and for all and drag the boogeymen out from under the bed and into the light.”
“And so what happened when you arrived in Boston?”
“Well...nothing actually. Nothing at all. We never found The Institute. Maxson had us scouring every corner of The Commonwealth searching for leads. All the while we were burning precious fuel and food resources spinning our heels. Eventually we began to think that, maybe, Maxson was wrong and The Institute didn’t really exist at all. Many people in The Commonwealth told us the exact same thing: that they were just a myth. Finally, I think Maxson began to lose it. He became obsessed with finding them and so he began to turn on the people of The Commonwealth, believing they were “harboring” them somehow. Soon he began to demand tributes of food and supplies, but then that turned to forced conscription...and then things got out of hand from there.”
“Go on,” Vulpes encouraged, “How did it get out of hand?”
“We began to meet resistance from the local populace. Farmers not wanting to give up portions of their crops...mothers not wishing to see their sons taken and trained to be Brotherhood fighters…pretty soon we were fighting The Commonwealth itself.”
“And how did it end?”
“Badly, obviously,” Robert replied, his eyes widened as he thought back, “I was out on a routine verti-patrol when it happened. Logan Airport was attacked by local insurgents. We think, or at least us survivors thought, it was some kind of cooperative attack between elements of a local militia called The Minutemen and a mercenary group called The Gunners. Neither group had got along well in the past, in fact The Gunners had done a number to The Minutemen not long before we got there, but as they say ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and both of them had cause to hate us. I don’t know what happened exactly, but they brought down The Prydwen with hidden explosives I was told, and after that The Brotherhood’s defense just crumbled. Everyone at the airport was massacred, including Maxson. After that, the survivors attempted to rally but we were hounded at every step and too few in number to mount any kind of effective counter attack. Pretty soon I was the only one left…”
“And so you came here after all that?”
“Yes,” Robert nodded, “I felt it my duty to report to the Midwestern Elder what had occured, and to join the fight here. Even if my brothers and sisters are dead...I know that The Brotherhood itself still lives, and that’s good enough for me.”
“One final question, if you please,” Vulpes said, not lifting his eyes from the paper or even checking to see if Robert had agreed, “Do you believe The Institute actually existed?”
“No..I don’t think they did,” Robert sighed, “I think Maxson was wrong...and I think he cost the lives of everyone under his command because he refused to accept it.”
“Thank you,” Vulpes nodded, “You’ve been most helpful.” He then proceeded to pack up the document and close them all back up into the envelop before standing up and stepping out of the debriefing room, “I bid you vale Sergeant Kyle.”
“Uhh….vale? I mean...goodbye.”
Vulpes returned to Inquisitor Stahl with his report, handing her the detail notes he had prepared.
“I do not believe that the Lancer-Sergeant is a cult spy or anything of the sort,” Vulpes mentioned as he let her read through the document, “He is not lying, of that I can be certain of. He has neither the tone, or posture, nor the slightest hesitation in anything he says. I can only conclude then that he believes everything he is saying to be true. I will be honest Inquisitor, the only thing I find strange about his story is the matter of this ‘Institute’ that he refers to. It makes little sense to me why Elder Maxson, who I can only assume was an experienced Brotherhood commander, would risk so much manpower, equipment, and resources traveling north on a lark. Surely he must have had some sort of evidence of their existence to risk so much? Evidence, perhaps, that none but he and his inner circle were privy to. But then to travel all that way, find nothing, and then steadfastly refuse to leave? Its...its not the moved I would expect. I feel as though we are missing some piece of the story that could explain this. Then again, tactical blunders have been made by many so-called great men throughout history. Perhaps this is just another in a long line of commanders who are forever cursed to be relegated to footnotes…”
“In any case my work here is done. I’m sorry I could not be more help,” Vulpes bowed, “I’m afraid that I must ride to the Legatus at first light. We shall meet again soon Inquisitor, when our armies arrive here...we shall deliver the city into your hands. You can be sure of that…”
Desmond Lockheart - New York City
Desmond winced as he finished off the last of the Manhattan he’d ordered. A shiver ran down his spine and he nearly gagged,
“What a piss-ridden cocktail,” He growled as he set the empty glass down, “These post-war fucks wouldn’t know a decent mixed drink if they had to make it to save their life….at least the smokes are decent.”
Desmond puffed a few times on a hand-rolled cigarette as he stared around the longue at a number of well-dressed patrons. He was...unsurprisingly...a bit underdressed for the establishment, but few seemed to mind. The occasional dirty look was worth it to have a quiet place to drink and have a smoke..even if the drinks tasted like piss water. Hey, at least they weren’t trying to kick him out for being a ghoul. That was a courtesy he didn’t often get.
After taking another puff of his cigarette and letting the smoke waft around him, he flagged down the bartender, waving him over,
“You wouldn’t to happen to know where I could catch a ride to The Free Commonwealth would you? Visiting an old friend and such. Long story.”
The bartender rolled his eyes, annoyed to have to play travel agent to his foul-mouthed ghoul in addition to being a bartender,
“Might ask those gentlemen over there, I hear they're in from The Free Commonwealth....you can tell because they’re giving dirty looks to everyone that’s actually having a good time....and they were trying to pass out Bibles earlier...”
“Them?” Desmond pointed to a number of strangely dressed individuals seated to one corner of the bar. The Bartender nodded.
“The fuck? Where the bloody hell am I headed to? The Quaker Oats Kingdom? Goddamnit Thomas...” Desmond smashed his cigarette into a nearby tray and grabbed his hat and bag, “What kind of fucking ‘magical adventure’ did you send me on…”
“The eyes of mighty Caesar are upon you Vulpes, do not fail him. My armies march ever eastward. The vanguard will be in Indianapolis before the Ides. I wish to have your full report when I arrive, and then I will break the city. I will show Brotherhood and Cult alike how The Legion wages total war.” - Legatus of Triumphant Caesar and his Eastern Legions, Aurelius
Vulpes read the unsealed message written in latin that Aurelius had sent. The Eastern Legions were closing in on the city. Reports were already coming in of their presence on I-74. From the description of the standard made by the locals, Vulpes guessed that Legio XII Infernus led as the vanguard. If the 12th was leading, that meant that Aurelius was most assuredly at the head along with them, as he was wont to personally command his own legion. Time was short then, he needed to finish gathering the information he and his Frumentarii had been collecting so he might present it to the Legatus immediately on arrival. At which point...the assault would commence and blood would flow.
As Primus Frumentarius, it was Vulpes duty to work closely with the Inquisition to attain the information he needed. To that end, Inquisitor Stahl had been most helpful. Despite being a woman, she’d proven herself remarkably clever and resourceful. A most unusual trait for the fairer sex. She would make a fine wife for a Frumentarius, he’d thought to himself, his mind now treading down a far more dissolute path as it conjured up an image. Normally such primitive thoughts were beneath him, but they occasionally still wormed their way in. Of course as head of the Frumentarii, he would never betray the trust Caesar and the Legatus had placed in him by causing trouble with The Brotherhood in such a manner. Yet the temptation was there.
Snapping his attention back to his duty, he stared down at the envelope of material he’d been handed by the Inquisitor as he made his way down to the debriefing room where the Lancer-Sergeant was being held. He was not being charged with a crime or anything of the sort, but his history and status as a former member of the Eastern Chapter were under investigation, if only because The Brotherhood wished to know that they were dealing with the genuine article. The strange encounter he’d had with the cultic woman had caused no small degree of concern as well. Still, as he understood it, this debriefing was more of a formality than anything, and irregularities were not expected. Vulpes had been asked to perform the debriefing both as a show of good faith to The Legion, and to bring an outside perspective. Of which he was more than happy to do.
Vulpes turned the handle on the debriefing room door and stepped inside. Seated at the table with a single unarmed guard to watch over him was the man he assumed to be Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, formerly of the Eastern Chapter of The Brotherhood of Steel. An unmistakably confused expression crossed Robert’s face when he saw Vulpes enter, dressed in full Legion armor with his machete gladius sheathed at his side. Vulpes suppressed a smirk as he noted the man’s intense confusion,
“Ave amicus, is something the matter?”
“No...no not at all,” Robert stammered out, “I mean...they told me that you….that The Legion was...different, but I didn’t...wasn’t sure what to expect I guess.”
“And now you do,” Vulpes replied curtly as he sat down, “You may wish to get acquainted with the look of a soldier of Caesar. I daresay that will become a much more frequent sight in the future...”
“I understand...apologies if I caused offense Mr...uhh..”
“Inculta, Vulpes Inculta. Primus Frumentarius of The Legion. That is all you need know for the time being. And from the information I have been given, your name is Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, correct?”
“Correct.”
Vulpes began shuffling through the documents he’d been given on the Sergeant, “Formerly of the Eastern Chapter, you say you served under Elder Roger Maxson?”
“I did. In the Eastern Chapter, a Lancer is a rank given to vertibird pilots. I flew regular missions right up until Maxson was killed in action, along with most of the chapter. Men and women I’d serve with for years...and was damned proud to.”
“Sergeant Kyle...I’ve read your file thoroughly which contained all the relevant information The Brotherhood was able to get on you, along with your own account of how you ended up here. I won’t bore you by asking you to repeat it in its entirety. There are however, some interesting pieces of information that I wish to probe you for details on, if you would be so kind.” Vulpes’ tone of voice was calm, polite and even friendly, but there was an icey undertone of cynicism to it that threw Robert off-guard...and frightened him.
“Why did Roger Maxson travel to The Commonwealth with his army?”
“To fight The Institute, or at least, we thought it was to fight The Institute. Now I’m not so sure I guess, but everyone understood that to be the plan. Even those who didn’t go with Maxson knew why.”
“Yes exactly, this ‘Institute’ is what I’m most interested in. Who are they and why did Maxson feel the need to lead such a large expedition northwards to counter them?”
Robert leaned back and thought for a few moments, “Well...I can’t say I honestly know much about them, but from what Maxson told us. The Institute is, or was, some sort of secret society of scientists. They were supposed to be hiding somewhere in Boston and creating all manner of dangerous technology. The type of technology that we in The Brotherhood think needs to be eliminated or at the very least strictly controlled. Maxson believe it was his duty to bring The Institute to heel once and for all and drag the boogeymen out from under the bed and into the light.”
“And so what happened when you arrived in Boston?”
“Well...nothing actually. Nothing at all. We never found The Institute. Maxson had us scouring every corner of The Commonwealth searching for leads. All the while we were burning precious fuel and food resources spinning our heels. Eventually we began to think that, maybe, Maxson was wrong and The Institute didn’t really exist at all. Many people in The Commonwealth told us the exact same thing: that they were just a myth. Finally, I think Maxson began to lose it. He became obsessed with finding them and so he began to turn on the people of The Commonwealth, believing they were “harboring” them somehow. Soon he began to demand tributes of food and supplies, but then that turned to forced conscription...and then things got out of hand from there.”
“Go on,” Vulpes encouraged, “How did it get out of hand?”
“We began to meet resistance from the local populace. Farmers not wanting to give up portions of their crops...mothers not wishing to see their sons taken and trained to be Brotherhood fighters…pretty soon we were fighting The Commonwealth itself.”
“And how did it end?”
“Badly, obviously,” Robert replied, his eyes widened as he thought back, “I was out on a routine verti-patrol when it happened. Logan Airport was attacked by local insurgents. We think, or at least us survivors thought, it was some kind of cooperative attack between elements of a local militia called The Minutemen and a mercenary group called The Gunners. Neither group had got along well in the past, in fact The Gunners had done a number to The Minutemen not long before we got there, but as they say ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and both of them had cause to hate us. I don’t know what happened exactly, but they brought down The Prydwen with hidden explosives I was told, and after that The Brotherhood’s defense just crumbled. Everyone at the airport was massacred, including Maxson. After that, the survivors attempted to rally but we were hounded at every step and too few in number to mount any kind of effective counter attack. Pretty soon I was the only one left…”
“And so you came here after all that?”
“Yes,” Robert nodded, “I felt it my duty to report to the Midwestern Elder what had occured, and to join the fight here. Even if my brothers and sisters are dead...I know that The Brotherhood itself still lives, and that’s good enough for me.”
“One final question, if you please,” Vulpes said, not lifting his eyes from the paper or even checking to see if Robert had agreed, “Do you believe The Institute actually existed?”
“No..I don’t think they did,” Robert sighed, “I think Maxson was wrong...and I think he cost the lives of everyone under his command because he refused to accept it.”
“Thank you,” Vulpes nodded, “You’ve been most helpful.” He then proceeded to pack up the document and close them all back up into the envelop before standing up and stepping out of the debriefing room, “I bid you vale Sergeant Kyle.”
“Uhh….vale? I mean...goodbye.”
Vulpes returned to Inquisitor Stahl with his report, handing her the detail notes he had prepared.
“I do not believe that the Lancer-Sergeant is a cult spy or anything of the sort,” Vulpes mentioned as he let her read through the document, “He is not lying, of that I can be certain of. He has neither the tone, or posture, nor the slightest hesitation in anything he says. I can only conclude then that he believes everything he is saying to be true. I will be honest Inquisitor, the only thing I find strange about his story is the matter of this ‘Institute’ that he refers to. It makes little sense to me why Elder Maxson, who I can only assume was an experienced Brotherhood commander, would risk so much manpower, equipment, and resources traveling north on a lark. Surely he must have had some sort of evidence of their existence to risk so much? Evidence, perhaps, that none but he and his inner circle were privy to. But then to travel all that way, find nothing, and then steadfastly refuse to leave? Its...its not the moved I would expect. I feel as though we are missing some piece of the story that could explain this. Then again, tactical blunders have been made by many so-called great men throughout history. Perhaps this is just another in a long line of commanders who are forever cursed to be relegated to footnotes…”
“In any case my work here is done. I’m sorry I could not be more help,” Vulpes bowed, “I’m afraid that I must ride to the Legatus at first light. We shall meet again soon Inquisitor, when our armies arrive here...we shall deliver the city into your hands. You can be sure of that…”
Desmond Lockheart - New York City
Desmond winced as he finished off the last of the Manhattan he’d ordered. A shiver ran down his spine and he nearly gagged,
“What a piss-ridden cocktail,” He growled as he set the empty glass down, “These post-war fucks wouldn’t know a decent mixed drink if they had to make it to save their life….at least the smokes are decent.”
Desmond puffed a few times on a hand-rolled cigarette as he stared around the longue at a number of well-dressed patrons. He was...unsurprisingly...a bit underdressed for the establishment, but few seemed to mind. The occasional dirty look was worth it to have a quiet place to drink and have a smoke..even if the drinks tasted like piss water. Hey, at least they weren’t trying to kick him out for being a ghoul. That was a courtesy he didn’t often get.
After taking another puff of his cigarette and letting the smoke waft around him, he flagged down the bartender, waving him over,
“You wouldn’t to happen to know where I could catch a ride to The Free Commonwealth would you? Visiting an old friend and such. Long story.”
The bartender rolled his eyes, annoyed to have to play travel agent to his foul-mouthed ghoul in addition to being a bartender,
“Might ask those gentlemen over there, I hear they're in from The Free Commonwealth....you can tell because they’re giving dirty looks to everyone that’s actually having a good time....and they were trying to pass out Bibles earlier...”
“Them?” Desmond pointed to a number of strangely dressed individuals seated to one corner of the bar. The Bartender nodded.
“The fuck? Where the bloody hell am I headed to? The Quaker Oats Kingdom? Goddamnit Thomas...” Desmond smashed his cigarette into a nearby tray and grabbed his hat and bag, “What kind of fucking ‘magical adventure’ did you send me on…”
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