Ordure

Fallout: Orleans

A note to everyone; apologies for taking a while to post in the OOC - I was busy with some outside things. If I don't post within two days of you posting, you can act as the NPC and move things along to meet another roleplayer.

Fallout: Orleans

@Ulstermann

Thanks! Very helpful.

Fallout: Orleans

@Karos

"Hrmph." The paladin grunted, sizing up the small, polite figure before him. "If you truly seek to oeuvre with The Order, then you may speak with Captain Fillimore; he's in the nearby Order Barracks. He may have a mission for someone such as.. yourself."

The paladin would turn around, uncharging his gatling laser - a dash disappointing that the newcomer didn't challenge him to a fight, but at least he saved the janitor the ugly job of sweeping away the dust that would be left of Sebastian Monroe. He'd give the stealth suited figure on long, hard look of curiosity, before continuing on with his job, patrolling the place for stragglers such as the stealth suit. The moment the paladin turned the corner, an ugly dispute would sound - as the argument continued on for a brief moment, a wide berth of lasers would appear next to the castle, and the argument would rapidly end.

In the nearby Order Barracks, located in close proximity to the castle, the entire building was in a state of ugly civil strife - Knights and Initiates turning on each other, everyone arguing as to how the "French Revolution" problem should be dealt with. Each trooper was sitting around a large, circular wooden table, with a paper map of Orleans in the center, drawing various lines and x marks on spots they believed were key points for revolutionist activity; Captain Fillimore seemed to be making many key decisions - a high ranking, uniformed ghoul, his head in his hands with a headache as he watched his troops roar at each other.

@Tuxedo Fox

"Merci. As the head repre-representative of the Ord-Order Trading Federation, it's my duty to inform you of our policies regarding proper trading protocol." The synth said, his artificial yellow eyes lighting up. "This official trading statement provides further information and worked examples on our trading services. The statement forms part of our agreement with you.."

The synth continued droning on blankly, standing stiff as a board with his arms straight at his sides. His eyes had become unfocused as the preprogrammed trading agreement was read, C3-405's voice gradually growing faster and faster it until it was all but a hazy, unintelligible mess of trading licenses and other legal agreements to ensure the safety of The Order in terms of laws. It continued on for at least several minutes, as the jumbled words continued being spewed out of his mouth at a completely impossible to understand rate by any human's standards; even repeating the laws in several long gone languages that he had somehow picked up.

"-until the trading has been completed." The synth had finished his long winded speech, and several sparks hissed from the visible wiring. "If you break any of these laws in any way, shape, or form, you will be prosecuted depending on the severity. Thank you for listening, and enjoy trading in the Trading Outpost of Orleans.

The synth hurried back down along the shore of the river, clutching his clipboard close to his chest as he bobbed and weaved through the crowd of robots, ghouls, and super mutants. The port seemed to be particularly active today; perhaps it was due to the fresh autumn air, or the newest batches of ships arriving, but there was certainly a sense of activity that was usually rare in the trading outpost. Boss would see several Order Knights hurry along, equipping laser rifles and scatter lasers, rushing toward the East Coast of the peninsula, where there seemed to be large explosions, gunfire, and laser beams echoing through the outpost.

@Ulstermann

"Ah, vous parlez français? {Ah, you speak French?}" The knight asked, a mix of inquisitiveness and amusement in his voice. That's rare from outsiders - to most, it's a dead language. You must have done your research."

The knight captain would continue strolling leisurely down the street, with the precision and speed of a man who was used to tucking through crowds of people - a large, marble building coming into view, covered with red and gold banners and flanked by a variety of Order Knights and Paladins, each wielding a laser rifle - some modded, with different scopes, barrels, and grips, others painted, their red and gold flaked laser rifles gleaming in the early autumn sun. Each knight would acknowledge the knight captain as he passed, with a simple Chef. or Sir.

"Et bien, not always. They've been pushing closer as of recen - wait, a little east on the peninsula..? Excuse moi for a moment." The knight captain pulled aside a stray paladin and exchanged quiet words in rapid French. The paladin quickly turned, gathering some men of his own, and began to walk to the far east, laser rifles up. "Thank you for alerting me. And - well, that's not quite a question - des sons more like an offer."

The knight captain opened the door for Tom Carson, allowing him into the large, marble brick building - the inside being a rich, aromatic area. The lighting of the house stemmed from several small candles, illuminating the place and giving it an intoxicating, sweet smell. The entire inside seemed to be paneled with bog wood - beautiful grain spanning it. A large dinner table sat in the center of room, hand-crafted out of bogwood, next to a flickering fireplace with a Radstag head plaque above it. The man took a seat at the head, offering Tom Carson a seat at the opposing end - a nearby chrome Mister Handy unit suddenly reaching out to jab Tom in the arm with a stimpack.

"Bienvenue, fais comme chez toi." {Welcome, make yourself at home.} The knight captain said, his chrome mister handy unit laying out a delicious meal on the table, pouring wine into the glasses. "Do you care for a broiled Radstag flank? I hunted it myself, yesterday night - still fresh. A side of white wine would pair well - ah, Gearington - please play Vivaldi's 'Spring.'

The Mister Handy unit would begin playing an artificial replay of Vivaldi's "Spring" - and the whole scene seemed like something completely pre-war. It was evident Orleans had progressed substantially.

Fallout: Orleans

@Ulstermann

Oh, that's absolutely perfect - if you see any particular glaring error I've made, can you point it out? I'd hate to try to say "Welcome to Orleans!" and end up saying "Death to Orleans!"

Fallout: Orleans

@Ulstermann

Thanks! It makes me wish that that I'd studied harder in French back in school, though - so I could make it as fluent as possible without having to rely on google translate.

Fallout: Orleans

@Tuxedo Fox

"Vous y! Ah-excuse me! The-the vagrant looking fel-fellow, with, the, uh, brown duster!"

A decaying generation two synth began running alongside the shore, rapidly waving at the ship, a clipboard in his left hand. He was clothed in a fine red uniform with golden trim, but his shoulder had a patch with two golden perpendicular lines on it. The synth's face wasn't much to look at - a large portion of it's white neck and forehead missing, revealing the bird's nest of wire and circuitry underneath. The synth appeared to be jumping and waving his clipboard to get the attention of Nobdy.

"I am protocol synth C3-405, the hea-head of trade operations and routing in the trading outpost!" The synth called, retaining his cordial manner of speaking, even whilst running. "Please dock your ship in the set-aside wooden brig!

The uniformed synth continued running, shouting a variety of instructions relating to safety protocol and proper ship maintenance; his speech beginning to get faster and faster as he droned on about how to properly dock your ship and throw down the anchor. The synth garnered odd, inquisitive looks from the local adventurers and merchants as he continued speeding along the shore of the river, waving his clipboard and pointing to the thick sheet of papers clipped on. Artillery sounded in the distance, by the coast.

@Karos

"Arrêt. And what, exactly, do you think you're trying, newcomer?" A large, super mutant Order Paladin demanded, brandishing his gatling laser, his odd accent thick in his deep and guttural voice. "You think you can just walk into the castle, imbécile?"

The super mutant paladin's brow furrowed, staring at the fresh arrival with his odd, black rubber suit and orange lens eyes. He took a step forward, his weapon making the old, light whir as it heated up, ready to unload into the threatening newcomer. It would be easy to melt him into a fine, smoldering ash. A few order knights around him watched the encounter inquisitively - the paladin was known for being highly protective of the king's castle - and that stealth suit wouldn't protect him much.

"Not even the highest, most intelligent of nobles are permittee within this stronghold - so unless you've got anything better, I'm afraid I can't let you see the king." The paladin claimed, as his gatling laser gave a brief red, menacing glow. "Unless you intend to go through me - then the king is not seeing people. He's a busy man."

The Order Knights around him, primarily humans, sized up the newcomer, slinging their laser rifles; aiming down the sights at the stupidly brave new arrival that appeared to be confused. If the stealth suited man did decide to try to take on Rand, then they would have to sound the alerts; ensure that the king remained safe so this mysterious, mercenary-looking fellow didn't try anything stupid in a district filled with knights. Even then, Rand seemed to be challenging Sebastian to a fight.

@Lord Coake

A group of Order Knights guarded the bridge to District Proulx across the river; they appeared to be brandishing cobbled together pipe rifles made out of rusted steel and bog wood. The knights certainly didn't look like the friendliest bunch; their uniforms were torn and bloodied, with multiple bloodstains surrounding the shoulder and chest, the uniform chest covered in bullet wounds; but they themselves seemed to be perfectly fine. The knights appeared to have long, unkempt brown hair and dirtied faces.

"Eh! You there, uh, silver plate, stop!" An "Order Knight" called out, in an obviously faux accent. "This, ah, bridge - it's being reconstructed at the moment. We'll need a tax of 200 caps to letcha pass - otherwise, we may have to act."

The Order Knight smiled, an ugly, toothy grin, as he raised his pipe rifle. A few knights surrounding him raised it in accordance with him. The bridge in the back appeared to be perfectly fine - save for a few chips and chunks missing due to the resultant fire of pipe rifles. A laser rifle dot appeared on the front of Longshot's forehead, as a nearby raider in a tall tree focused his rifle on the head of Longshot. It appeared difficult a situation to get out of; with "Order Knights" outnumbering him ten to one.

@Ulstermann

"Arrêt! Order Knights rushed forth, brandishing laser rifles and gatling lasers, ranging from super mutants to ghouls. "Ami ou ennemi?! Friend or foe?!"

A single, well-dressed one stepped forward - a young man, with rich, dark skin, and clean parted hair - sized up Tom Carson, his eyes sharp with experience and interest. He slowly stepped around the limping man, taking note of his soviet cap, the AK slung over his back, and his notable build - it made the Enclave Officer a far cry from the normal, unkempt, and unorganized gulf marauder - and the man was severely wounded, with a significant bruise on the side of his head, a sharp splinter of wood in his arm, and a bandaged leg.

"Il est bon." The Order Captain said, waving his arm. The Order Knights surrounding him hurried off, continuing to the coast of the peninsula before unloading into the sea. "I can take you to my quarters - you need a stimpack and a home cooked meal, my friend."

The dark man began to walk to the main trading outpost, it's marble brick buildings and red flags coming into view as traders hurried along to avoid gunshots from stray gulf marauders. A good few meters away, an errant synth was running along the shore of the Mississpi River, waving his clipboard and shouting at an old, prewar boat that had three passengers. The captain continued on, waving for the officer to follow, hoping that he wouldn't wander off or unload his PPK into his gut.

Fallout: Orleans

@Ulstermann

The trading post spans most of that small peninsula, so it's pretty big.

@Karos

For any leader or major NPC that pops up, I'll add a couple of responses for people to kind of get a general feel for the character.

Fallout: Orleans

@Tuxedo Fox@Karos

Yup! Was wondering why no one was posting, lol

Fallout: Orleans

C H A P T E R I

C A L L F O R R E V O L U T I O N

September 12th, 2309

---

The cool, crisp, air of autumn flowed through the colorful villas and cottages in the district, as colorful, well-dressed nobles walked leisurely through the city, studying an old piece of fine literature or dining on an aged cheese, Order Knights marched down the clean and refined streets, wavering their Laser Rifles with care, and an old, experienced painter finished an excellent piece of work - titled "Savreaux," the noble ghoul "Arlen Glass" smiled, noting his fine brush strokes and color, truly demonstrating the utter refinement of his home city - the light tinges of green from fresh vegetation, the clay tile roofs, marble walls of white, and a bright, blue sky streaked with clouds above. The city was a hotbed for all artistic, enlightened individuals spanning the wasteland, whether it be a great author, painter, or scientist, the Savreaux District was truly the definition of high-society. It was alive, with various galas and balls keeping the spirit of fun alive, as people attended them throughout the morning light and in the dead of night. There wasn't a place quite like it anywhere in the wasteland, with it's astounding amount of cultivated citizens, a far cry from the rusted sheet-metal towns in the Capital Wasteland, or car tire and wood settlements in the Commonwealth. Order Knights kept the city safe from hostile outsiders and raiders with their precise marksmanship and noble attire, the scarlet and gold standing out from the dirty rags of outside raiders. Life in the Savreaux District seemed impossible to hate - it seemed to be a place where the atom bomb had missed.

The Savreaux District was a beautiful, glowing diamond in a war torn world filled with pain and chaos; it housed any being that had the caps to afford it; xenophobia being a faraway problem that the power-armored soldiers could deal with in the West and East. It was particularly alive and colorful today - as the breath of autumn gave the city an orange and gold color, the nobles reading literature in open restaurants as food was broiled in front of the, and commoners wandered the streets, in a daze by the paved city streets and the overwhelming quality food and the rich people with their pockets jingling full of caps; it tended to completely overwhelm newcomers, who often dropped their jaw in face of a city that the atom bomb had seemingly no effect on; ghouls marveling that it seemed just like the world that had long gone, super mutants in sheer, utter awe as their simpler minds were completely flooded, synths that looked upon it with an artificial glee, and humans - who seemed to be a complete mix. The painters made murals across walls, keeping the city colorful, Order Knights hung flags of The Order across various clubs, houses, and restaurants to remind the people of who keeps them safe and makes everything there fully possible, and the common people hung decorative, colorful banners across strings to keep the city a moving place of color. The Savreaux District had become a popular place for rich, powerful men to discuss certain business affairs, often on dinner tables overlooking the entire city while being served excellent food, straight from the irradiated animals - a restaurant once having graced a long gone vault dweller, who had wonderful, illustrious stories to tell.

In the heart of the Savreaux District lay a massive, marble brick castle, it's beautiful white walls adorned with red and gold banners waving the flags of The Order, and crawling with Order Knights and Paladins. The massive, wooden gate, said to have been crafted by trees trunks imported from the Glowing Bog itself, opened to reveal a long hallway with red and gold rug leading to a throne. The hall was in impeccable condition, it's long, arched roof letting in cool autumn sunlight. The beautiful, hand-crafted gold and red rug led to the throne itself, on which sat King Louis Savreaux, King of Orleans, the head of each district, commander of the Orleans Order, and descendant of King Henry Savreaux, one of the men involved in the re-enlightenment of New Orleans. King Louis Savreaux was a young man of about twenty-five, with a long, promising future ahead of him - but he was in a sad state of affairs. His once illustrious black locks were tinged with bits of grey, and his golden eyes had lost their wild spark that had kept them alight through his life. Orleans, while seemingly a perfect utopia within the districts, was still a hellish nightmare once you peeled back the layers of perfection that the five families had lain over it; the Mississippi River crawling with Boglurks, Mirelurks, and even Sawteeth, the Glowing Bog growing gradually, the random groups of raiders beginning to push past the bridges and walls to reach the mainland, the Gulf Marauders hitting Orleans with heavier attacks than before, the French Revolution trying to bring down the Order - King Louis was a mess.

A once young, charismatic, and brave king had become a distraught mess, making tough decisions all over, forced to nuke settlements due to being in close proximity to a massive raider camp, watching as settlements and people were swallowed up by the Glowing Bog, and almost losing his toddler, Theo, multiple times to assassination attempts. In other districts, beyond the troubles of King Louis Savreaux, Napoleon V reigned supreme, the French Revolution growing in numbers as she continued her rally speeches and grew in numbers as more and more people, unable to find a home in the Savreaux District, came to her, promising to create "The Directory" after overthrowing King Louis Savreaux, a democracy that ensured the people a safe haven no what, that wouldn't turn a man out into the cold just because he didn't have enough bottle caps from an old, outdated soda company - and so, Napoleon V became a figurehead for change, as Order Knights constantly tried to end her before she started something they couldn't finish. Napoleon V was currently in the Proulx District, the face of poverty with it's dulling brick walls, tattered flags, and dirty streets, sitting atop a mountain of milk crates and speaking to a gradually growing group of people that listened to her charismatic words, some even slinging pipe rifles crafted out of old wood and rusted steel. Napoleon V spoke with a tenderness yet steel in her words; the people truly felt she genuinely cared about each individual yet, she wanted them to fight for their freedom, not hers. Her riot gear armor covered her body, but her face was free to the people, allowing her to emote her feelings passionately.

In the heart of a mysterious, deep, and unknown place, a young woman stirred, her light coffee-colored face hidden behind a dusty skull. Marie Laveau, granddaughter of John Laveau, sat in the Guild of Voodoo itself, the mysterious, omnipresent figure in the Bayou Wasteland, that kept magic alive where others had failed. Marie Laveau was feeling content; her small organization was prospering, it's numbers gradually climbing over time as she sent scribes out to comb through districts in order to gather highly intelligent and tech-savvy people for their "reawakening" as she called it, letting them in on the deepest secrets of the Guild of Voodoo. She was currently sitting in the clean, white complex, that hadn't been found by humans in decades, eating a healthy breakfast of Sawtooth Egg Omelette and Brahmin Milk, a dangerous breakfast to make. In front of her desk lay an assortment of flat screens, each projecting a different image of the Bayou Wasteland, several in districts, several in the Outer Regions, others focusing on individuals - the apparent "Bloodmistress of the Bayou" being one of them, noting the raider queen's apparent interest in nuclear science and radiation. The woman would note a small screen built into her desk - a large map of Orleans, dotted with heat signatures and regions of interest - by tapping several small heat signatures and writing notes on their whereabouts, ensuring that she would send several followers to stop by some time to take note of it. Her office had several glass windows in it, each looking out at an evergreen forest. Unpleased, she tapped several buttons on her desk and the windows shimmered through several ecosystems; a swamp, a taiga, a beach, before finally setting on a grassy, rocky, island.

Deep in the Glowing Bog, under the cover of thick trees and marshy ground, lay the Super Mutant Tribe - a raucous, masculine group of hunters and tinkerers, each bragging about their exploits in the bog or at home - some, discussing what kind of weapons they should make next, whether it be a car-tire attached to a log for a blunt weapon or a sharpened bicycle part wrapped against a street-light, or some discussing the biggest animal they'd hunted as of recent, some stating that they'd tussled with a building sized Boglurk, others bragging that they'd gone one-on-one with a Legendary Sawtooth. The peaceful Ancient Super Mutant Behemoth - Bastion, as he was known - looked over them, a slight smile on his old mouth. His eyes twinkled with a level of peacefulness that no other behemoth would ever reach in their lifespan, and his body language and demeanor demonstrated someone that cared more about the safety of his people than their current edibility status. He was currently sitting in the center of the camp, by the massive fire that kept all the super mutants warm at night and broiled their food, tending to it slowly and delicately. The behemoth had seen lots of things, and did lots of things he regretted. In the Commonwealth a century ago, he had taken a part in the raid against Diamond City, tearing apart Minuteman after Minuteman before being driven away with his brothers. He made disgusting blood bags and painted the walls with blood of the innocents. But Bastion was a changed man. With the help of new found intelligence and people to protect, he was peaceful and happy.

The Bayou Wasteland was alight with life in the cool, autumn sun, ranging from the Western Savreaux District to the Eastern Super Mutants. Caravans traveled down the roads, hiding their weapons and ammunition from passing Order Knights, traders hit the Trading Outpost on the peninsula, and travelers from across the wasteland voyaged into Orleans for the first time.

Fallout: Orleans

@Lord Coake

Bootiful.

As a side note, posting the first IC post now. Sorry that it's a bit of a mess, but I had to type this out on my phone, which was a complete pain - but it introduces every leader to the wasteland. Planning on making a character post for each.