Alrighty, I'll have an opening post up for sure by this weekend. Ya'll can start thinking about what you'd like to do for your first characters post.
Andronicus23 Member
Rogue Courser
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Fizquik Blacktail
Race: Skaven
Clan/Faction/Country: Clan Skryre
Class Descriptor: Warlock Engineer
Physical Description: A scrawny piebald rat pockmarked with scars and permanently singed hair due to experiments that have gone awry. He’s called “Blacktail” due to having, on one particular occasion, having burnt his tail while testing a new warpflame device , leaving it scarred and blackened.
Weapons/Armor and Gear: In battle, he wears his Warlock Engineer armor with an attached breathing apparatus designed to give him at least a modicum of protection from the warp lighting and warpfire he can unleash with his various devices. His weapon of choice is a warp-infused glaive that is able to channel warp lighting conjured from a small scale warp turbine attached like a backpack to Fizquiks suit. A small, highly unstable, rocket is attached to the glaive that he can ignite and launch out and above fray to rain warp-hell down on unsuspecting combatants. Aside from the glaive, he also carries a pair of repeater warplock pistols of his own design, inspiration from which came from observing the human version of the weapon and then improving it with brilliant Skaven engineering. Of course, Fizquik would never admit that he took an idea from anywhere other than his own brilliant self.
Background: Born into Clan Skryre, Fizquik was quickly destined to become a warlock engineer, having shown the necessary aptitude for tinkering and invention, and a general disregard for his own safety, that is so prized by the mad rat scientists of the Under-Empire. With a great number of successful (at least on his end) inventions under his belt, he was promoted to Warlock Engineer after his previous Warlock mentor had a rather ‘unfortunate’ accident tinkering with a Far-Squeaker. How was poor Fizquik to know that his master was still holding the Squeaker when he sent the Warp-current through it? Now that he’s officially taken his late master’s place, Fizquik has come to the Pillar City to build and test his inventions in the aide of Clan Mors' battle with the orcs and humans. So many new weapons to build, so little time.
Since we've got a decent amount of characters at this point, do you guys want to start with the IC thread and we'll see who else we pick up? I just hate to make people wait to start writing.
To whoever was the random idiot who vandalized the map: screw you we had a backup for exactly this reason.
Are Nipponsese characters OK?
Sure, as long as the backstory etc. seems reasonable lore-wise for how they ended up in Eight Peaks.
Thomas Milburn - El Dorado Substation
“You crazy bastard…a teleporter? If I had even begun to hypothesize molecular travel, I would not have shrouded it in this ancient facility. But I suppose that it is fortuitous that your quick journey has brought you -directly- to New Vegas.”
“Yes...I apologize for the secrecy Robert but, well, you know me...I like to keep things close to the chest...” Thomas looked around stoically at several of the dead individuals who had fell victim to the unfortunate energy discharge, most of whom were charred where they stood, “I’m sorry about your lost workers as well. Hopefully it would be no trouble to replace them. Dealing with energy of this magnitude can be dangerous.”
“It has been so very long, Thomas…centuries, now, since I have seen your face. I hope that you are not disappointed in return; you and I have found different means to weather these many years.”
Thomas gave an understanding nod, “That much seemed obvious. I’m quite curious to know what sort of technology you’ve employed to grant you your longevity, but I suppose that can wait. I’ve heard of a number of different ways others have survived, none of them very pleasant. Perhaps I should begrudgingly thank Vault Tec…”
“I hope, then, that you will accept an invitation into my home. Once you have had your fill of the giant cascade of lights, there is much at work underneath them. We have made it this far because we have visions…meticulous ones…I suspect that they are not terribly different from one another. Enjoy yourself, and pay me a visit in the Lucky 38 when you are ready, my old friend.”
“Vegas it is,” Thomas grinned, “It’ll be fascinating to visit it again. I suppose you finally got your wish, you run the place like a King now. To be honest Robert...I never really understood your fascination with the place before the war. But I suppose I’ll have to see how the post-war version stacks up. I just hope it won’t be like the last time I visited….as I recall the entire engineering department ended up drunk as skunks and I distinctly remember waking up underneath a roulette table clutching some poor ladies footwear…..we didn’t get a travel expense budget anymore after that...”
“Buncha uptight nerds hitting the town. I woulda paid good money to see that…” Cait quipped as she stifled a laugh, “I’m sure everyone was shakin’ when you lot rolled up.”
“You’d be surprised what trouble a group of underpaid, overworked, and perpetually undersexed graduate students can get into in Sin City. We used to joke about that weekend for years after…” Thomas’s train of thought suddenly trailed off, and a forlorn expression crossed his face. Memories of a time and a place that was lost forever to him suddenly flooded back. The reality of the two-hundred year gap between his old life and his new, consistently found a way to worm its way into his thoughts. Even now.
“It's good to see you again Robert, truly,” Thomas said with a slight smile, “I’ll look forward to our reminiscence. In the meantime however…..perhaps you could provide us with some appropriate clothes? I wager we’d stick out like a sore thumb walking down the strip like this.”
Cait’s face lowered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, even accusingly, at Thomas,
“I’ll tell you right now...I’m not going to be wearing some frilly little dress…”
The Vegas Strip
“I can’t believe I have to wear this stupid dress…”
The New Vegas strip was alive with the color of innumerable neon lights and a bombardment of sound. Music wafting in from the casinos mixed with the rowdy noises of teeming crowds of patrons, vendors, and performers. Whatever his reasons for doing so, it couldn’t be denied that House had managed to perfectly capture the spirit of old world Vegas.
Dressed, as House had described, ‘rich NCR patrons’, Thomas, Cait, and the two Coursers made their down the street. Thomas had taken quite a fancy to the well tailored gambler suit he’d been provided in lieu of his lab coat, but the same could not be said of Cait and her own attire, as she pulled at her skirt uncomfortably and seemed unsteady walking in her heels.
“How in the hell do these prissy gambler girls walk around like this? I think that House guy just might be bullshitting me.”
Thomas grinned and shrugged, “It's the fashion trend for NCR tourists supposedly. Besides, like Robert said, if you walked around in combat boots and leather on the strip, you might start drawing the wrong kind of attention…”
“And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Anyone so much as looks at me like that I’ll blast their fuc…”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Thomas interrupted, “We’re not here to cause a scene. We’re here to blend in. We’re just a rich couple from the NCR here to visit the New Vegas strip and all it has to offer, and we’ve brought a couple of personal bodyguards along to keep us safe.” He pointed to the two well-dressed Coursers, now looking like a pair of Triggerman thugs, “Just put on an act and no-one will be the wiser. Oh and, I didn’t want to bring this up, but you may want to lose the accent. I doubt there’s too many Boston Irish girls in California…”
“Lose the…” Cait fumed for a second or two and finally gave a heavy sigh, “Fine. I’ll try.”
She paused in the street for a few seconds and closed her eyes, as if dramatically mustering up some sort of long-latent power, and finally opened them with an over the top smile and the best impression she could muster,
“Golly the Vegas strip is sooooo amazing. Look at all the lights and people! Oh it’s all a girl could ever want and more,” She then slid up to Thomas’s side and grabbed onto his arm, “Darling won’t you show me around? Maybe I can try a cocktail at one of the bars...ooo but maybe that would be too crazy. I don't wish to become inebriated!”
“That’s genuinely terrifying.” Thomas replied with a raised eyebrow, “You know that, right?”
“You asked for it,” She muttered under her breath.
“You there!” A voice suddenly called out from the sidewalk, “Yes you! You look like you enjoy the high life am I right? Could I interest you in some fine jewelry? Maybe a watch or a necklace for the lovely young lady? All high quality and 100% pre-war authentic merchandise. Scavenged from the Boneyard!”
“Oh yes! That would be lovely, wouldn’t it dear?” Cait’s mischievous smile was enough to realize he’d made a massive mistake.
“Ah yes, of course…..” Thomas replied as he walked over to the vendor. The man then opened the briefcase he was carrying and displayed the wares he was offering, all of them neatly folded and tucked into various pockets and folds of the case.
“You said this is all pre-war authentic merchandise?”
“Of course!” The vendor quipped, “100% guaranteed. Real honest-to-god pre-war jewelry. Would have been very high quality stuff back in the day too! Its pricey...but I’m sure you can afford it.”
“Except it isn’t…” Thomas grabbed one of the necklaces and held it up, “The engravings are L&M co.. They were a movie prop and costume company before the war. Lesser known maybe so its understandable...but I know them because I collected replicas of the props they made for a couple of my favorite horror films. Pretty convincing..but they’re completely fake. Where did you say you got them?”
The Vendor appeared crestfallen, as if Thomas had just hit him with a ton of bricks, “The Boneyard, a merchant there told me I could make back three times what I paid for them…”
“Boneyard?” Thomas looked around to one of the Coursers with a confused expression.
“I believe that would be referring to the ruins of Los Angeles.” The Courser replied, tapping into the databank of information SRB had provided them.
“Ah well there you go. Easy explanation then,” Thomas shrugged, “If it's any consolation. The merchant probably wasn’t aware of what they were either.”
“Fuck you buddy. Smart rich assholes...,” The vendor replied and snapped the briefcase closed. He then stalked off mumbling to himself weaving in and out of the tourists.
“Geez….that stupid sod….I mean..” Cait caught herself and paused, “Oh that poor, poor gentlemen…”
Thomas rolled his eyes and pointed down the strip, “Robert recommended we visit The Tops, especially if we wished to revisit old haunts. Can’t say I recall much about the place before the war….”
“Ooo it looks just like a little round spinner!” Cait gleamed, “How delightfu...ah fuck!” The impersonation suddenly dropped as Cait looked down at the puddle of vomit she’d unfortunately just wandered into, “Jesus fu….what the...oh for fucks sake.”
“That lasted about as long as I expected,” Thomas chuckled, “Come on. Let’s see if we can grab a table. Something tells me we aren’t going to have any problems though…”
He then grabbed Cait’s hand and led her away as she continued cursing and rubbing her heel on the pavement. All the while the sounds of Sinatra played out up and over the strip. For a brief time, Thomas felt as if he truly was back home...to the life he’d left forever behind, no longer a man out of time.
Maybe Robert wasn’t so crazy after all to save Vegas….and maybe Thomas could now fully understand why he’d chosen to do so. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Mr. Robert House was a far more sentimental person than he ever appeared to be….before or after the war. That was an oddly comforting thought.
“You crazy bastard…a teleporter? If I had even begun to hypothesize molecular travel, I would not have shrouded it in this ancient facility. But I suppose that it is fortuitous that your quick journey has brought you -directly- to New Vegas.”
“Yes...I apologize for the secrecy Robert but, well, you know me...I like to keep things close to the chest...” Thomas looked around stoically at several of the dead individuals who had fell victim to the unfortunate energy discharge, most of whom were charred where they stood, “I’m sorry about your lost workers as well. Hopefully it would be no trouble to replace them. Dealing with energy of this magnitude can be dangerous.”
“It has been so very long, Thomas…centuries, now, since I have seen your face. I hope that you are not disappointed in return; you and I have found different means to weather these many years.”
Thomas gave an understanding nod, “That much seemed obvious. I’m quite curious to know what sort of technology you’ve employed to grant you your longevity, but I suppose that can wait. I’ve heard of a number of different ways others have survived, none of them very pleasant. Perhaps I should begrudgingly thank Vault Tec…”
“I hope, then, that you will accept an invitation into my home. Once you have had your fill of the giant cascade of lights, there is much at work underneath them. We have made it this far because we have visions…meticulous ones…I suspect that they are not terribly different from one another. Enjoy yourself, and pay me a visit in the Lucky 38 when you are ready, my old friend.”
“Vegas it is,” Thomas grinned, “It’ll be fascinating to visit it again. I suppose you finally got your wish, you run the place like a King now. To be honest Robert...I never really understood your fascination with the place before the war. But I suppose I’ll have to see how the post-war version stacks up. I just hope it won’t be like the last time I visited….as I recall the entire engineering department ended up drunk as skunks and I distinctly remember waking up underneath a roulette table clutching some poor ladies footwear…..we didn’t get a travel expense budget anymore after that...”
“Buncha uptight nerds hitting the town. I woulda paid good money to see that…” Cait quipped as she stifled a laugh, “I’m sure everyone was shakin’ when you lot rolled up.”
“You’d be surprised what trouble a group of underpaid, overworked, and perpetually undersexed graduate students can get into in Sin City. We used to joke about that weekend for years after…” Thomas’s train of thought suddenly trailed off, and a forlorn expression crossed his face. Memories of a time and a place that was lost forever to him suddenly flooded back. The reality of the two-hundred year gap between his old life and his new, consistently found a way to worm its way into his thoughts. Even now.
“It's good to see you again Robert, truly,” Thomas said with a slight smile, “I’ll look forward to our reminiscence. In the meantime however…..perhaps you could provide us with some appropriate clothes? I wager we’d stick out like a sore thumb walking down the strip like this.”
Cait’s face lowered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, even accusingly, at Thomas,
“I’ll tell you right now...I’m not going to be wearing some frilly little dress…”
The Vegas Strip
“I can’t believe I have to wear this stupid dress…”
The New Vegas strip was alive with the color of innumerable neon lights and a bombardment of sound. Music wafting in from the casinos mixed with the rowdy noises of teeming crowds of patrons, vendors, and performers. Whatever his reasons for doing so, it couldn’t be denied that House had managed to perfectly capture the spirit of old world Vegas.
Dressed, as House had described, ‘rich NCR patrons’, Thomas, Cait, and the two Coursers made their down the street. Thomas had taken quite a fancy to the well tailored gambler suit he’d been provided in lieu of his lab coat, but the same could not be said of Cait and her own attire, as she pulled at her skirt uncomfortably and seemed unsteady walking in her heels.
“How in the hell do these prissy gambler girls walk around like this? I think that House guy just might be bullshitting me.”
Thomas grinned and shrugged, “It's the fashion trend for NCR tourists supposedly. Besides, like Robert said, if you walked around in combat boots and leather on the strip, you might start drawing the wrong kind of attention…”
“And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Anyone so much as looks at me like that I’ll blast their fuc…”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Thomas interrupted, “We’re not here to cause a scene. We’re here to blend in. We’re just a rich couple from the NCR here to visit the New Vegas strip and all it has to offer, and we’ve brought a couple of personal bodyguards along to keep us safe.” He pointed to the two well-dressed Coursers, now looking like a pair of Triggerman thugs, “Just put on an act and no-one will be the wiser. Oh and, I didn’t want to bring this up, but you may want to lose the accent. I doubt there’s too many Boston Irish girls in California…”
“Lose the…” Cait fumed for a second or two and finally gave a heavy sigh, “Fine. I’ll try.”
She paused in the street for a few seconds and closed her eyes, as if dramatically mustering up some sort of long-latent power, and finally opened them with an over the top smile and the best impression she could muster,
“Golly the Vegas strip is sooooo amazing. Look at all the lights and people! Oh it’s all a girl could ever want and more,” She then slid up to Thomas’s side and grabbed onto his arm, “Darling won’t you show me around? Maybe I can try a cocktail at one of the bars...ooo but maybe that would be too crazy. I don't wish to become inebriated!”
“That’s genuinely terrifying.” Thomas replied with a raised eyebrow, “You know that, right?”
“You asked for it,” She muttered under her breath.
“You there!” A voice suddenly called out from the sidewalk, “Yes you! You look like you enjoy the high life am I right? Could I interest you in some fine jewelry? Maybe a watch or a necklace for the lovely young lady? All high quality and 100% pre-war authentic merchandise. Scavenged from the Boneyard!”
“Oh yes! That would be lovely, wouldn’t it dear?” Cait’s mischievous smile was enough to realize he’d made a massive mistake.
“Ah yes, of course…..” Thomas replied as he walked over to the vendor. The man then opened the briefcase he was carrying and displayed the wares he was offering, all of them neatly folded and tucked into various pockets and folds of the case.
“You said this is all pre-war authentic merchandise?”
“Of course!” The vendor quipped, “100% guaranteed. Real honest-to-god pre-war jewelry. Would have been very high quality stuff back in the day too! Its pricey...but I’m sure you can afford it.”
“Except it isn’t…” Thomas grabbed one of the necklaces and held it up, “The engravings are L&M co.. They were a movie prop and costume company before the war. Lesser known maybe so its understandable...but I know them because I collected replicas of the props they made for a couple of my favorite horror films. Pretty convincing..but they’re completely fake. Where did you say you got them?”
The Vendor appeared crestfallen, as if Thomas had just hit him with a ton of bricks, “The Boneyard, a merchant there told me I could make back three times what I paid for them…”
“Boneyard?” Thomas looked around to one of the Coursers with a confused expression.
“I believe that would be referring to the ruins of Los Angeles.” The Courser replied, tapping into the databank of information SRB had provided them.
“Ah well there you go. Easy explanation then,” Thomas shrugged, “If it's any consolation. The merchant probably wasn’t aware of what they were either.”
“Fuck you buddy. Smart rich assholes...,” The vendor replied and snapped the briefcase closed. He then stalked off mumbling to himself weaving in and out of the tourists.
“Geez….that stupid sod….I mean..” Cait caught herself and paused, “Oh that poor, poor gentlemen…”
Thomas rolled his eyes and pointed down the strip, “Robert recommended we visit The Tops, especially if we wished to revisit old haunts. Can’t say I recall much about the place before the war….”
“Ooo it looks just like a little round spinner!” Cait gleamed, “How delightfu...ah fuck!” The impersonation suddenly dropped as Cait looked down at the puddle of vomit she’d unfortunately just wandered into, “Jesus fu….what the...oh for fucks sake.”
“That lasted about as long as I expected,” Thomas chuckled, “Come on. Let’s see if we can grab a table. Something tells me we aren’t going to have any problems though…”
He then grabbed Cait’s hand and led her away as she continued cursing and rubbing her heel on the pavement. All the while the sounds of Sinatra played out up and over the strip. For a brief time, Thomas felt as if he truly was back home...to the life he’d left forever behind, no longer a man out of time.
Maybe Robert wasn’t so crazy after all to save Vegas….and maybe Thomas could now fully understand why he’d chosen to do so. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Mr. Robert House was a far more sentimental person than he ever appeared to be….before or after the war. That was an oddly comforting thought.
Yeah the idea is for everyone to hopefully not get too attached to their characters. I'm not saying characters have to die, but part of the concept behind this RP that the GMs were thinking of is that your characters should experience consequences if they get themselves into a tight spot. Whatever those might be. Not just skip by on plot armor.
Plus it'll make it fun to try out multiple characters/factions throughout the RP.
Glad interest in this is growing a bit. No rush on the character sheets.
Plus it'll make it fun to try out multiple characters/factions throughout the RP.
Glad interest in this is growing a bit. No rush on the character sheets.
@Lady Selune Are you still interested in this RP? Its taking awhile to get in sheets but we're slowly getting there.
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.
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