Tiberius67

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - The Hull

"Look", Corrine said, "I don't know anything about synths, other than a bunch of 'em went up to Acadia to live in peace. But..." She sighed. "I agree. Synth or person, we need folks to help stand up for our home, and if there's someone lurkin' about trying to take us out before we get that chance, then...you're right." She then added, "What do we do, though? It's not like I know anythin' about tracking a killer. Longfellow's probably the best hunter in these parts and he made his opinion quite clear back at the Plank. What's next?"

"I know where she's hiding", Steve replied. "Problem is approaching her without her bolting deeper into the fog...or worse, us getting shot....she's terrified out of her wits. She probably isn't much safer where she is, though..given what is coming."

"Oh, right," Corrine mumbled, as she fidgeted around in her coat pocket and produced a pistol, by the look of it a N99. "You asked for a gun, well, here it is." She smiled sheepishly. "I don't know anything about how it works or what to do with it, though."

"I'll help you with it", Steve said as he reached out for it. Corrine placed it in his hand, and he examined it. Sure enough, it was a Colt N99...a 10mm automatic that from the sheer numbers still floating around must have been the most popular handgun in the Old World...the "US PROPERTY" Stamp on the side of the frame marked it as military issue. The finish was somewhat worn, but it didn't look to be in bad shape. He popped the magazine out and palmed it, then tried to rack the slide...but it resisted opening.

"That's not good", Steve said with a grimace. "Let's go to that shop so I can get a better look at this."

Together, they descended the stairs back to the alley, and Corrine unlocked the old gun shop and they both entered. Steve turned on the light above the weapons workbench and got to work. The internal mechanism seemed gummed up....Steve was concerned by what he would find if he got it apart, if he could, anyway....but after some effort, he finally managed to open the slide, ejecting a unfired cartridge, it's brass case split at the mouth and green with verdigris. He then locked the slide back and flipped the take-down lever and field-stripped the old pistol. Examining the weapon, he learned the difficulty. Someone had chosen to lubricate it with some kind of vegetable oil, and quite some time ago, by the look of it. While vegetable oils seemed like a good lubricant...they weren't as when they dried they leave a residue that gums up the surfaces it was intended to lubricate. Grabbing a cleaning kit from a shelf of the workbench, he cleaned the gummy substance out of the pistol, finding that under the muck it was still in good condition....the vegetable oil had at least preserved it. The bore cleaned up well, once he got the gunk and verdigris out of the chamber. With all major part groups cleaned and properly lubricated, he reassembled the pistol, locked the slide back and placed it on the workbench. Pulling the magazine out of his pocket, he removed the cartridges and placed them on the workbench. He then disassembled the magazine, cleaned it, then reassembled it again. The weapon now cleaned, he picked up the pistol and inserted the empty magazine into the butt, then hit the slide release. The slide leapt forward into battery with a satisfying "Thwack". He then engaged the safety and pulled the trigger...grunting with satisfaction when it did not fire. He then disengaged the safety and pulled the trigger, and the hammer fell as it should.

"It'll do nicely", Steve said to Corrine with a satisfied air as he began to examine the cartridges that had been loaded in it. Four of them, including the round that had been chambered, were bad....cases that had been reloaded one too many times or were otherwise neglected. The other nine looked OK...but she needed more than that. He began rummaging around in drawers and boxes on the shelves....getting lucky and finding a half-full box of 10mm cartridges that looked good and another N99 magazine.

"Here's how you load the magazine, Corrine", Steve said as he demonstrated by loading one magazine with twelve rounds. he then handed her the other magazine and pushed the box, now with only thirteen rounds in it, towards her. "now you load this one." Once she had loaded it, he demonstrated how to operate the safety, then loaded one of the magazines into the butt and racked the slide, chambering a round, and engaged the safety. He then handed the pistol to her butt first.

"It's loaded now", Steve said, "You have twelve shots, once the last one is fired, the slide will lock back and you remove the empty magazine and insert another like I showed you. Make sure you put the empty magazine in your pocket so you don't lose it...you can reload it later. To fire, disengage the safety. With the safety off, it will fire if you pull the trigger, so watch where you point it." He then handed her the other magazine. "Unless you can open up one of these cans, that is all the rounds you have...don't waste them."

"A few questions", Steve said, "Is there a pre-war military base on this island? I've noticed a lot of stuff that has US Government markings on them, usually that stuff only turns up if there is some sort of military facility in the area."

"Secondly", Steve continued, "Back in the Last Plank, Rose said something about meeting a "Enclave Bastard".....any idea who she meant by that?"

"Also", Steve concluded, "I've got an idea about rigging that boiler they're using to cook Mirelurks to spray scalding water on those giant critters you mentioned.....nothing that can feel pain will stand still for that...who would we talk to about getting permission, not to mention the tools, to do that?"

War Never Changes

Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel - 0300 CT (5:00 AM PT)


Interstate 74, Illinois-Indiana Border (appx 10 miles East of Danville, Illinois)

Small crowds of civilians...some armed...stood on good vantage points along the edge of the town to watch the show. With the recent call-ups, and the general issue of weapons to Veteran's Clubs...not to mention the intermittent firing all day from the artillery positions in the fortifications ringing the town...they knew something big was coming, and what they saw before them proved them correct. Normally, the old Interstate was deserted, especially this time of night, except for the MP patrols, but now it was alive with a level of traffic not seen since long before any of them were born. Hours before, units of mounted Infantry had been spotted traveling the highway, now several massive Behemoths strode down both lanes, followed by columns of marching Infantry, APCs, smaller robots such as Pacification Units, and even a few Tanks. Behind them, were columns of trucks and horse-drawn vehicles, some pulling field pieces, then behind them the rear guard, more infantry backed up by Behemoths. Eventually, they disappeared to the east, and things returned to normal. The mood amongst the civilians as they returned to their homes was generally upbeat....at long last the Lord Paladin was doing something about that damned Cult.

Covington, IN - appx 0330

Inquisitor Wilson, standing exposed from the wast up out of the Commander's Hatch of a APC, impassively glanced at a old Interstate sign as the vehicle rumbled by it.

Indianapolis- 80 mi.
Cincinnati - 189 mi.

He'd likely see both cities eventually, but right now it was the settlement of Covington that demanded his attention. He spat orders to the driver through his helmet microphone, and the APC broke from the main formation and obediently took the off-ramp for Covington, followed by the other APCs and vehicles, not to mention robots, under his command. His mission was to secure the settlement, and oversee the process of integrating it...and it's people...into the Order's lands. Brother Martin's Missionaries had found this fertile ground, so they would have plenty of local help, but nothing could be taken for granted. The Cult was insidious, they undoubtedly had at least some followers here that needed to be purged before they could interfere in the war effort, not to mention other assorted Mutants that had to be rounded up as a matter of racial hygiene.

The column rumbled down the road, coming to a stop near the gates of the settlement, which occupied about a eight of the pre-war city limits. As the Pacification robots strode forward to screen, the Familiars dismounted their APCs and took up a defensive formation. When all was in readiness, Wilson turned on the APC's loudspeaker and spoke.

"Attention people of Covington! I am Inquisitor Wilson, and I speak for the Brotherhood of Steel! Open your gates in the name of Lord-Paladin Barnaky!"

The gate promptly opened, and a tall, thin man with the air of a fanatic strode out. He was wearing a Combat armor chest plate over his rough Wastelander garb, he also wore a black armband with the symbol of the Brotherhood on it and had a IR beacon on a cord around his neck. He carried a AER-9 Laser Rifle by the barrel, which he raised over his head and waved excitedly. His headset crackled and a report came from his assistant inside the vehicle that telemetry from the Pacification Robots was a positive ID for Brother Simon, the Missionary assigned by the Office of State to Covington.

"Praise be to Barnaky!", Simon shouted enthusiastically, "The Jubilee has come!"

Wilson called out a order for his troops to hold fire unless fired upon and climed out of the APC and then down the outside to reach the ground, he then approached the man.

"Greetings, Brother Simon", Wilson said to the man, "What is the situation?"

"My people control the gates, the Sheriff's Office, and the Town Hall, Inquisitor", replied Simon. "Most of the people are with us....Raiders and the Cult have made this fertile ground for Barnaky's Word. There is a Cult cell here, but we've only identified two of them. We've arrested those most likely to be subversives, and posted guards on their property...they await your pleasure. I suggest you talk to the Town Whore, Betty....her information has proven most useful to us, she is responsible for what we have on the Cult cell. We captured one alive, the other shot himself to avoid arrest." He then added, "She'll need to be resettled once this town is purged....her cover was compromised, she lured the one we caught into a trap."

Prostitution was heavily frowned upon in Order lands, though technically legal....if only to avoid forcing it underground. Discouraging their charges from plying the Trade was a significant part of a Block Warden's duties. To the Inquisition, prostitutes did have value as their clients would say the most amazing things to and around them. In the Wasteland, most women only did it out of desperation, such as feeding their children, and an offer of resettlement into Order lands where they could make an honest living and start over without the stigma of having been a prostitute usually quickly get them talking of their own volition. Those that withstood the careful screening tended to prove loyal citizens.

"Make sure that appears in your report, Brother", Wilson said, "and I will see it done." As his men entered the settlement to take control over from the Missionary's Partisans, Wilson patted Simon on the back affectionately and added, "You've done well, Brother."


Evansville, IN

A sizable naval force was assembled in the river just off the city. Four large river monitors, with numerous smaller patrol craft and a couple of rams, all post-war manufacture, ugly but brutally efficient. Towering over them all were two larger ships, clearly of a pre-war design. One had the number 325 painted on the sides of the hull at the bow. The other one closely resembled the first, but different in some details as if it were an imperfect copy. They sat at anchor, waiting. At 0300 precisely, a red flare went up from the shipyard. It was answered by a red flare from the lead monitor. The ships of the Brotherhood's new Ohio River Squadron then weighed anchor, and slowly increasing their speed to ten knots, began to steam upriver, behind a screen of patrol craft, with another group swinging into line behind them.

Bunker Alpha - 0600 CT (8:00 AM PT)

In the busy Operations Room, the reports were coming in from the front. The Central Force was moving forward down I-74 without any significant opposition so far, just scattered Raider bands and a small war-band of Cultists that was quickly dealt with the Mounted Infantry screening the advance. The advance down I-70 was making reasonable progress, though the Raider bands in Terre Haute turned out to be stronger than expected, requiring deployment of two companies of Knights to spearhead a assault. Fighting was in progress but the commanders in the field expected resistance would be broken within twenty-four hours. The Southern force was making good progress, they were on schedule to reach Ferdinand about 1700. The Ohio River Squadron had reached Owensboro, KY and after a short and victorious naval engagement with a group of River Raiders had landed some infantry to clear out their nest...fighting was ongoing but the issue was not in doubt. In the North, Inquisition familiars, backed with troops from the Northern Reserve, were reducing resistance in Gary as the main force continued to advance. The fighting was fierce, but as the enemy had been pushed away from I-90 and I-94, they could not interfere with the Northern Force linking up at the junction between I90 and I-94 around 1000. Current estimates were that it would require two days to secure Gary, but the advance itself was on schedule.

Offut AFB, Omaha - 0300 (8:00am PT)

Three cargo aircraft, and a aerial tanker, took off from the airfield. The largest, a C-5 Galaxy, turned North, the other three West over Legion territory. Over New Mexico, after aerial refueling, the cargo planes parted company, one heading South towards Texas, one West towards the Mojave. the Tanker, it's job done, returned East and landed at Offut. Several hours later, the first cargo plane landed at it's destination, a airfield near Big MT held by the Van Graffs. The other took a route avoiding Texan territory, entering Angels of War airspace and flew to Brownsville, requesting landing instructions.

Arctic Haven Airspace, around 0500 Alaska Time (6:00 AM PT, 8:00 AM CT)
The massive C-5 cruised along at an altitude 0f 10,000 feet. The sun had still not risen, so the lights of the relatively few settlements in what once was Alaska stood out in the inky blackness. About 15 minutes from reaching their destination, the aircraft signaled on the frequency that had been provided to contact Arctic Haven's airfield.

"Foxhound, this is Brotherhood Flight Charlie Five One", the aircraft signaled. "We are inbound, ETA 15 minutes. Request clearance to land and landing instructions, over."

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - Outside the Last Plank

Easing through the door, Steve caught sight of Rose heading away and followed her at a discreet distance. He could tell by her body language and the way she would start when she came across one of the harbormen that she was badly frightened. He knew little of what went on in the Commonwealth, but he had heard a little over the years....if these androids, or synths as Rose called them, were like Harkness, then she was right to be scared...Harkness was the toughest SOB he'd ever met.

Walking down the street, Steve noticed the giant boiler that was being used to cook a Mirelurk whole. Its size, and sturdy construction made wheels turn in his head.

"Perhaps", Steve thought, "that could be converted into a weapon against the mutated creatures the cult commanded". He knew full well what scalding hot steam and water was capable of...he'd seen men die, or wish they were dead, from it's effects...perhaps it would work on them. He couldn't imagine how any living creature could tolerate being doused with scalding hot water for very long, instinct should force it to flee immediately. He made a mental note to bring it up with Corrine if he hadn't burned his bridges with her. He should have given more thought to what he said, but he found it hard to be patient with such stubbornness. Didn't they see they needed every gun they could muster for whatever was coming tomorrow?

Steve showed that thought aside for the moment and kept focused on the task at hand. Near the end of the dock he could see that merc from the bar talking to another man. Rose maneuvered to avoid them and dodged between some buildings. Steve followed, and saw that they had come to the Hull. Steve managed to duck out of her sight as Rose looked around. Satisfied no-one was watching, she vaulted over the wall. Steve approached, seeing her darting off into the mist. He noted the spot she had picked was close enough to the ground so that one could get back up...a dangerous oversight. committing the location to memory, he looked around. The coast was clear, so he went over after her. Pausing to pull his .45 revolver, he checked to make sure the cylinder was loaded and then quietly as he could went after her. Fortunately, the fog was relatively thin, so he was able to catch sight of her fairly quickly. She made for a old boarded up gift shop, moved a old board aside then crawled in and put it back into position behind her.

The fog drifting around the derelict buildings really began to creep him out, not to mention the odd warm feeling that came and went as he moved between patches of fog, but he chanced it and approached the building. From inside, he faintly heard the hissing and squealing of what had to be a radio of some kind over the annoying buzzing in his ears.

"Mercer Safehouse. Come in Mercer..." he heard Rose plead, "Goddammit come in. I need help!"

The woman was clearly terrified. Enough so that he questioned the wisdom of contacting her here, or at least alone. He guessed she would stay here a while, trying to raise help from her friends, and give him time to see if Corrine would help or not. He had no idea what he was going to do if she wasn't there...near as he could tell she was the only resident of the town likely to hear him out. He decided he had better go back. Retracing his steps, he returned to the low spot at the Hull. after carefully listening, and not hearing anyone, he holstered his revolver and jumped up, getting a purchase on the top of the makeshift wall and pulling himself up until he could get an elbow over the wall. Thankfully, no sentry was in sight. Steve then threw a leg over the wall and hoisted himself over. No alarm having been raised, Steve dusted himself off and walked back into town, coming out a past different building and crossing the street and heading for the path to where he hoped Corrine was waiting for him. Heading past the old gun shop, then up the stairs, where he found Corrine, pensively, waiting there for him.

"I knew you'd come", Steve said with great relief, looking around to make sure they were alone. Once satisfied, he turned to her. "I promised I'd explain, so here goes. Back in the Capital Wasteland, I grew up in a settlement called Rivet City, as I told you. About ten years ago, before I left something happened....."

Steve then quickly explained to Corrine his story about Harkness, the security chief of Rivet City, and the story Butch had told him about Harkness's secret...something he had never told anyone else before.

"You see, Corrine", Steve concluded, "Harkness lived among us for years, and no-body suspected him of being a "android", or "synth", or whatever. I certainly didn't. If he could fool us, one of them could fool you harbor-folk, too. Whoever killed Bishop is not a friend to this town, and we can't wish them away. We also cannot be sure they will stop with Rose, either. And however you cut it, letting this killer roam free weakens this town..in fact, it already has. When the Cult comes we're going to need every last man, woman, or child who can handle a gun if we want to make it. Bishop could have helped...but he's dead. Rose needs out help....not only because it's the right thing to do, but because we need her as badly as she needs us." He then looked at Corrine hopefully. "What do you say?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - The Last Plank

Listening to Rose talk about the Institute, and "synths" pretending to be people....a old memory of the last time he'd been to Rivet City floated up to the surface. The Lone Wanderer had been through two weeks before and shot two men down like dogs in the Science Lab....people were still talking about it. Butch Deloria, ever eager to advertise his relationship with the Vault Kid, had plenty to say about it.

The Muddy Rudder - Ten Years Ago
"Wish I'd have seen it", Butch DeLoria said gleefully as he nursed his beer. "That hot brunette down in the Science Lab, Janice, told me all about it when I did her hair last week. She said the old guy, Zim, or something, had been bugging the Dragon Lady (what pretty much everyone outside the Lab called Dr Li behind her back) trying to get her help finding this "android". She thought he was a fruitcake so she wouldn't see him, told Janice to play "Talk to the Hand" with him. Guy hung around for nearly a month, then Richie (DeLoria was proud of the fact he was one of the few people to be on a first name basis with the Lone Wanderer, as he had grown up with him and run off from the Vault himself after they had some kind of riot down there) swings through and talks to the guy and agrees to help him out."

"Did he find him?", Steve asked. "Is that who he shot in the Lab?"

"Nah, man", Butch answered. "He went around asking questions, rumor has it he even went into the bow of this old rust-bucket looking for clues. But about a week later, he rolls into the Science Lab. He goes up to Zim, and tells him he found out who he was looking for. Janice says he whispered the name in his ear so she didn't hear it. But she heard what came next. Zim was all happy with what Richie told him, and paid him off. then Richie unslings the plasma rifle he had slung on his back and holds it up like he was showing it to him.

"He gave me this rifle", Richie said to him, "I think his idea was that I kill you and your friend with it."

Zim laughed and laughed, but Janice said then Richie suddenly got all ice cold.

"But you know what the pity is...", Richie said as he started to take aim at them, "...when I'm paid to do a job, I always follow my job through."

"Then Zap! Zap!", DeLoria said as he held up both hands mimicked with shooting a rifle at something, "he dusts them both where they stand!"

"WTF?", Steve said with astonishment, "Right in front of everybody? That's nuts! Did they arrest him? How did he get out of that?"

"Nope", DeLoria said with a smirk, "Dragon Lady had a cow, but she really got mad when she called Security and they told her Zim and his friend were spies for the Falls and he'd been deputized to off them. Janice says she flipped out and ran up to the Market and had it out with Harkness. She didn't hear conversation but everyone in the Market at the time did...Harkness in effect told her to STFU and get over it, and any other slaver he found on board was getting more of the same."

"Wow", Steve said, "that kid is something else. they ever figure out who that "android" was?"

"Nope", DeLoria said impishly, "Not even blabber-mouth Vera wants to speculate on that, given how the last two people to ask questions literally got scraped off the floor of the Lab. DeLoria then got an off gleam in his eye, and said very quietly. "But do you want to know a secret?"

"Sure", Steve said, "Lay it on me."

Butch then grabbed Steve by the lapels and pulled him close, and whispered in his ear.

"Harkness used to have a Plasma rifle", Deloria whispered, "Used to." He then let go of Steve and patted a cheek with his hand affectionately and winked.

"i'd keep that under your hat if I were you", DeLoria said with a smirk, "If something bad happens, I'd have to tell Richie you knew. You really don't want to be on his shit list. You know, back in the Vault he was quiet and kept to himself...". Deloria didn't finish his thought as he was interrupted by a familiar pleading whine.

"Butchie, baby", Trinnie...the closest thing to a whore Rivet City would allow on board...pleaded said as she wound herself around DeLoria, "My glass is empty...."

"Yeah, Yeah, Baby", DeLoria replied suggestively as he took the opportunity to let his hands roam while she giggled, "Butchie Baby is thirsty, too...perhaps we can help each other out?" DeLoria said as he shifted his attention entirely to the young Lamplighter.

Back at the Last Plank

Rose finished explaining the situation as she saw it, but it wasn't received well. First the old man, who he now knew was named Longfellow, throws a fit about Mainlanders and their problems and storms out, followed by Corrine telling her, in effect, she was on her own as they had problems enough already. As if the locals had actually been doing anything about them.

"Fine," Rose retorted angrily, "I'll handle this myself then. Its not like I'm not used to it. Its been this way from town to town across the wastes. People just shut their doors and hold their ears, and hope that The Institute doesn't take them. Nobody wants to fight back and nobody is willing to risk their lives to help a Synth. I'll figure out what's going on here one way or the other, and I WILL find the person that killed Bishop. All of you 'tough' harbor folk can go back to drinking yourselves into a stupor."

She then slammed some caps on the counter, then picked up her weapon and stalked out, the door slamming shut behind her. The other locals in the bar looked up for a moment, then back to their drinks.

"Well", Steve said quietly to Corrine, "That could have gone better." He then added. "I don't live here, so I figured I'd keep my mouth shut and follow your and Longfellow's lead...that was clearly a mistake." He then looked her right in the eye. "You have a gun? Get it if you don't have it on you and meet me at that spot on the Hull we talked at in fifteen minutes. I have a story of my own about "synths" from the Commonwealth that I'll explain to you then....if you don't come looking I'll assume you don't care. In any case, if what she says is true...and I have my own reasons for believing it is...she is next. And whatever this Institute is, I think I can safely say it doesn't have our best interests at heart. I have no idea who killed Bishop or why...but I'll be damned if I sit around and twiddle my thumbs while some bastard goes around killing people that we, frankly, need badly if we're going to see the sunrise the morning after next."

Steve then got to his feet and headed for the door, cracking it open to see if he could spot Rose. Once he felt he could leave without her spotting him right off, he slipped out, and quietly closed the door behind him, then headed along, doing his best to shadow Rose without being too obvious.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

"Thank you for the directions", the man said. "Have a pleasant day, ma'am." He then nodded and walked back down the hill to the docks.

Mary turned back to her milking, but kept an eye out for the man. After a bit, he came back up from the docks and took the road out of town. She noticed he walked past the fork that led to the Crater, and continued towards the Museum. Her milking complete, the picked up the now full bucket and returned to the house, making sure the enclosure was securely shut behind her. Once in the kitchen, she began filling the bottles she had collected from in and around the house, orking them and putting them in the wheezing old refrigerator that Obediah had managed to get to run again. From the noise it made, who knows for how long the repairs would hold...yet another thing she needed to get done. She could operate most modern (Pre-War) appliances fine, but repairing them was something she had never been able to get a grasp on...much to her irritation. She filled all of her bottles, but still had about a quarter of the bucket still full of milk. Not one to waste good milk, she decided to go out and find more bottles. Pouring the milk into a smaller container that ould at least fit in the fridge, she dropped her .38, which she had since reloaded with real bullets, into a pucket of her dress, and an empty haversack and exited the house, locking the door behind her. Looking around, she decided to start around the diner. checking the mailbox, she found a Nuka-Cola bottle and a whisky bottle that were still intact. She placed them in her bag and moved on. In the alley behind the diner, she found a dumpster, and a few more Nuka-Cola bottles. She then noticed a pile of trash dumped on the ground behind the building to the left, and went to rummage through it, pausing when she found a robot in it.

"Hmm", Mary said as she dragged it out of the pile so she could take a closer look. Didn't seem to be anything wrong with it that she could tell...not that she was any kind of expert. After some searching, she found the cover for the power switch and flipped the switch a couple of times, with no result. Shrugging, she rummaged around in the pile some more, and found two more inoperative robots. One was missing two legs, which she eventually found, the third was intact but had a dent in it's round body, as if something had fallen on it. She also found several Nuka-Cola and Vim bottles, enough...in her estimation...to finish bottling the milk. As for the robots, while Mary had no idea how to fix them, somebody else might...and even as scrap they had to be worth something. She looked around, spotting a old wheelchair, with someone's bones still in it, sitting near the pile. Grabbing the wheelchair, she unceremoniously threw the bones onto the pile, then loaded the intact robot onto it. Once she found a position to make it stay, she wheeled her find triumphantly back to her house, dumping it for now in her living room. As she exited and locked the door behind her again, she heard what sounded like a energy weapon firing nearby. Turning to look, she saw a woman, threatening a enormous green man, who Mary presumed to be one of the "super mutants" she had heard of, he had to be eight or nine feet tall....with some sort of pistol. The green man held what looked like a white flag in one enormous hand. What suprised her though, is the green man seemed to be trying to appease her...instead of tearing her apart. Mary was not sure what to do, she was pretty sure her .38 wouldn't do much more than anger him. As she was considering going back inside to retreive her shotgun, Barney and another man ran around the corner and engaged in a animated conversation with the woman. Eventually, she put her pistol away. As it appeared that the mutant...if that is what it was...had some kind of understanding with Barney, she decided to just let things be and grabbed the wheel chair and headed back to the alley. Loading the robot whose legs had fallen off into the chair, she headed back home, dropped off the second robot then went back for the third, returning a few minutes later. Leaving the robots...and the wheelchair...in her living room for now, she went into the kitchen and washed the bottles she had found, then lit the stove, preparing to boil the bottles before using them.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I trouble you for a second?" a voice called out to her. Mary looked up from her milking to see that the stranger had walked up to the edge of the enclosure. He was a tall, red haired man with familiar tattoos on his face. "I've only just arrived here from up north and I fear I am lost. Could you please help me out?"

"Certainly, Mister", she replied, not showing a even flicker of recognition. "Where are you fixin' to go?"

"My friend Giraud is looking to do some trading", the man continued, "but we've heard that this place has had some...trouble. Specifically, trouble involving the Children of Atom making the area outside the town less than safe. Might you know anything about them?

"The Children of Atom?", Mary said. "I've heard tell of them. The tenets of thier Faith are certainly novel, to say the least. They don't seem to be very friendly, haven't heard a kind word about them since I got to the Commonwealth. They seem to keep to themselves, though....if you steer clear of the places they like they don't go out of their way to vex you none."

"And more importantly", the man added, "can you offer us any information on how we might avoid running afoul of them while we're in and around Salem?"

"Certainly", Mary said as she stood up. She pointed down the road south, past the Diner, where in the distance a large brick structure loomed, shimmering in the afternoon sun. "they don't come in to town that I've seen, as far as gettin' past them jes' follow the road there. The road forks just outside of town, stay right or you'll walk right into them. Follow the road 'til you get to the old Witchcraft Museum there....it's the big brick building down there. Speaking of that, it's safe enough to walk by, but it's not the safest place for prospectin', even in daylight, if you get my drift. The road branches just beyond that, keep going South and you'll get to the Cannery. East of the road is pretty much the Children's...west of it isn't any better, though....Raiders and Gunners, I hear."

"Anything else you need, Mister?" Mary asked.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

Mary sighed contentedly as she relaxed in the old claw-foot bath tub...her first hot bath in many years. As a ghoul, hot baths weren't a good idea as it just accelerated the skin flaking off. Being alone at her shack in the Swamps, she just bathed in the nearby river when she felt the need. But the warmth of the water...and the fallout in it...was deeply relaxing after two days of cleaning the dust and junk out of the house. she wished she had learned of the Children..and their gift...years ago, the longer lifespans of ghouls came at a price...a price she no longer had to pay, thanks to Zachariah and his followers. He had been a very apt pupil...once she showed him he had been playing with things far beyond his understanding at the time...she hoped he would heed her advice to limit his trafficking with the Outer Gods, such as Ub-Qualtoth, to a minimum. They have their own agendas, and they weren't in the interests of their human followers. And then there were the Witch-finders...or whatever they were called now...that were drawn to Cults devoted to such worship as flies to honey. A group of determined mortals with sufficient knowledge could overcome even the most powerful sorcerer...something she had witnessed from the sidelines repeatedly over the centuries...and she had no intention of falling prey to them herself.

With one hand, she poured herself another drink....Whisky and Nuka-Cola as they had run out of wine...then took a sip as she turned her attention back to the ancient tome she was reading. The Malleus Maleficarum...1660 printing in Latin...the very book that had poisoned her husband's mind, and, ironically, led to her being here today, instead of forgotten under a crumbling gravestone in the churchyard with John and poor Abigail. The book itself was almost pure nonsense....a product of a diseased mind that had no exposure to the Mythos that she could tell beyond hearsay....but it gave insight to the mind of her mortal enemies, and the illustrations of witches consorting with demons still had an perversely erotic appeal to her. The reality of it hadn't quite lived up to her imagination, but some of the beings she had made such bargains with could be coaxed into performing adequately.

Obediah...Zachariah...had made use of the portal in her basement to return to Blackhall Manor, so she had the house to herself. Most of the furnishings were useless now, her and Zachariah had piled them up in front of the house until she could find someone to carry them away. At least she was able to salvage a set of box springs and a mattress that wasn't too disgusting....with a sleeping bag it would do until she could find better. She needed to look around, and see what other people had gathered here, perhaps find a way to make a living so she did not have to dip into her supply of caps....a considerable sum....she was going to need them to find what she had returned home for. Rook was a name she remembered....that family had been prominent in Salem even before the War, but from what little Barney said there were few if any people here at all, which did have it's good points. She effectively had a clean slate here, no-one could possibly know of her links to Salem. That suited her just fine.

Faintly, outside, she heard the Brahmin mooing from the crude pen Zachariah had set up alongside the house for her.

Damn....needs to be milked.

Mary reluctantly closed the book and put it on the battered chair next to the tub, getting up and climbing out. She couldn't help but notice herself in the dusty full length mirror attached to the door. A comely wench she was now...that would get attention from men. While not unwelcome, it could be inconvenient, not to mention deadly. She dried off, then put up her hair, then picked up the book and walked out into the bedroom to dress. Placing the old tome on the dresser, the only one she had been able to salvage, she put on a tan button down dress and then socks and boots. she turned to leave, then turned back to the rough woolen robe laid out on the bed. She picked that up and placed it in the empty bottom drawer of the dresser, making a mental note to burn it later. After placing a sheathed combat knife in her right hand boot, she went downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket and a stool, then exited the house from the front door. She walked around the side of the house, noticing a boat had arrived at the pier and a man carrying a large green bag was trudging up the hill. He didn't seem to be behaving oddly, sho she paid him no further mind and and entered the makeshift brahimin pen as the brahmim mooed at her.

"Calm down, Bessie", she said as she put down the stool and placed the bucket under the protesting brahmin. "Mary's here to make you feel better."

She then started to milk the brahmin.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - Dock Entrance

As Steve and Corrine approached the docks, he noticed a small crowd had accumulated at the head of the stairs, where a pair of harbormen blocked the path. They parted immediately to let Corrine through, then just as immediately closed ranks to stop him.

"Docks are closed right now, Outsider", one of the men said. "This is none of your business."

Corrine abruptly stopped descending the stairs and wheeled about and came back.

"He's with me", Corrine said to them curtly as she reached between the two harbormen to take Steve's hand and pulled him forward bodily.

"Oh", replied the Harborman with a shrug. "I guess it is your business then, Outsider." The pair made no further attempt to obstruct him and he began to descend the stairs as Corrine let go of him and dashed ahead.

"Doc, I'm here, what is it?" Corrine exclaimed as she approached the throng at the end of one of the docks, then began trying to wedge her way closer to whatever they were surrounding. "I said, I am coming through, could some of you just -- ".

She never completed the sentence as she tripped and fell face-first into the center of the mass of people. Steve picked up his pace to catch up to her, and help her up if needed.

"Wh-what..." she breathed, her eyes widening. "What is...but he just..." Corrine clutched her stomach and spun around, grasping one of the harbormen by the arm. "What happened?"

Another man charged past him, a elderly but formidable looking man in a pea-coat. Steve recognized him as the man Corrine had been arguing with when he got tot to town earlier.

"Teddy, just what the hell is all the commotion about?" the man bellowed as he came down the steps past the curious onlookers, who parted before him like moses parting the Red sea. He stopped in his tracks as the opening in the crowd revealed a dead body, a man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Oh.", the man said simply.

The harborman next to Corrine, presumably Teddy, gestured for the man to approach. At the same time, Corrine waved him over so steve joined them.

"Right now everyone is thinking he drowned", teddy whispered once they had drawn close. "But I examined him, and he didn't die from a long dip in the ocean. He was dead or dying before he even hit the water. Someone sliced his throat almost to the bone. I thought it best if we didn't tell everyone just yet...don't want to start a panic after all. People start thinking there's cultists all around, and folks are paranoid enough as it is...we don't want to give them more cause to lash out at people."

"Can't keep that up forever Ted," the old man said sternly, "Folks got a right to know."

"I know...I know," Doc Wright said shaking his head, "But its just temporary. Just until we can figure out what..."

"LET ME THROUGH! LET ME THROUGH GODDAMNIT!" The angry voice of a woman broke through the crowd and shortly afterward, a tough looking woman sprinted down the stairs towards them. the Doc looked ready to stop her, but the Old Man waved him off, curtly mentioning that she knew the victim.

The woman kneeled nect to the slaim man, regarding them sadly. She then stoop up, angrily stamping her foot with enough force to crack the board her foot came down on.

"Bastards...", she said, her voice filled with fury, "I knew it! I knew they were here somehow. They must have tracked us from The Commonwealth. Tracked us the whole damn time."

"Who's here?" Doc Wright asked, clearly taken aback.

"Something a lot worse than those cultists," the woman snapped back, "The Institute."

Corrine exchanged a look with the Old Man, Doc Wright, and Steve, then finally, at the woman. She reached out and gently touched her on the arm. "Listen. I know he was yer partner and things didn't go so great for y'all on the island. Why don't we all -- " she made a point of making eye contact with Longfellow, and the Old Man once more -- "head back up to the Plank, have ourselves another drink, and you can tell us about this 'Institute' and what makes it so bad. Leave the doc here to do what he needs to do for yer friend."

"Yes", Steve added, "We should discuss this and what it means before the rumor mill gets ahold of it."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Near Salem - The Museum of Witchcraft

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of the infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.” ― H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

"Let me out, you heathens!", Becky shrieked as she struggled vainly against the bars of the cell, "Let me out NOW!"

Her captors, one a hooded figure, who was male by his deeper voice, and the second, a female ghoul in a tattered pre-war dress, standing in a circle of lit candles, ignored her and kept up with their chanting, as they had been doing for seemingly hours. It was all gibberish to Becky...ridiculous words like Ub-Qualtoth and such...and definitely not what she had been promised when the ghoul lured her away from completing her pilgrimage from Javert Brothers to Kingsport Lighthouse with promises about a "Holy Relic" of Atom. She had no idea what they were up to, but she was not so naive that it did not escape her that they did not have her best interests in mind. She was bitterly regretting venturing on her pilgrimage alone, and not waiting another week for Brother Luis and Sister Tabitha to make the journey with her as they had asked. "The Wasteland is dangerous, it's full of Heathens and worse!", Brother Luis had told her. But convinced Atom would protect her, she obeyed the visions she had received and departed alone. Suddenly, the pitch of the chanting became louder, and then climaxed with a loud incantation:

Y’AI ’NG’NGAH,
UB-QUALTOTH
H’EE—L’GEB
F’AI THRODOG
UAAAH!”

At the last syllable, the candles suddenly went out as a strong, foul wind blew towards her, as if it came from the ghoul. She attempted to speak...to demand again to be set free, but found she could not control her body anymore. She suddenly felt as light as a balloon, floating up towards the ceiling. Even though the room was now dark, she could still see by the light of a lantern placed on a chair behind the robed man. To her horror, she could now see her body, where she had been, pressed up against the cell bars, gripping the bars in a deathgrip. Fear began to well up within her as a inky black cloud vomited up out of the ghoul's mouth, traveling at her through the cell bars as if it had a mind of it's own, and and poured itself into her own open mouth. At the same time, another wind began to push her towards the ghoul. She tried to resist it as best she could, but could not and found herself pushed into the ghoul's open mouth........

"Whatever you're doing", Becky shrieked, "stop it right now, you freak!"

As soon as she heard it, she realized that her voice wasn't her own, but the raspy voice of a ghoul. Also, suddenly her sense of sight and smell had dimmed, as if they were muffled somehow. She also now realized she was outside the cell. And her muscles ached with a dull, throbbing ache. She held up her hands to see, and in the lamplight, she could see the bony and partially skinless hands of a ghoul. She looked up to see herself...still standing pressed up against the cell door....and screamed as a terrible look of triumph appeared on the face that she now understood was no longer her own.

"H..H..H...How?", Becky stammered, still not believing what she had just seen.

"Long ago", "Becky" said as she let go of the bars and reached into the cleavage of one of the mannequins in the cell and pulled out a key, "When I was a young woman, about your age, in fact, they called it "Witchcraft". The men this museum was built to condemn were quite right about that...if nothing else. She then unlocked the cell door, pushing it open and stepping out until she stood before her, cocking her head slightly and looking at her in a inquisitive way. It was then that she remembered that the ghoul had a small revolver in her pocket...she had used it to force her into the cell after they got her Gamma Gun away from her. She reached into her pocket, feeling it's reassuring grip. Her fingers tightened around the butt and she pulled it out.

"Atom save me!", Becky shouted as she drew the revolver, aiming it back and forth between "Becky" and the robed man. "When I tell my Brothers and Sisters about this, they'll purge you with Atom's Holy Fire!"

"I had hoped you would see things differently", "Becky" replied, sadly shaking her head. "But I didn't really expect it to. I'm afraid Atom won't save you....or anyone else for that matter. Atom is merely the latest attempt by Man to give meaning to his meaningless existence....he's just as imaginary as the God I was taught to worship when I was your age. There are "Gods" out there...but I've seen some of them, and I can tell you that you really don't want them noticing you."

"You lie!", Becky screamed as she backed away towards one of the doors, the other being blocked by the hooded man, threatening the pair with her revolver as she moved. Once past the door, she turned and ran for her life. As she ran she heard her own, now Becky's voice, echo down the hall behind her.

"It was nothing personal", "Becky" said, "You had something I needed!"

Back in the room, once an exhibit of a 1690s Jail Cell of the type suspected witches awaited trial in, "Becky" calmly waited for what she knew would come next.

"Why did you let her go, Marie?", the hooded man said, "and why did you leave that revolver in your pocket?"

"The bullets were wax, Obediah....theatrical blanks with only a primer behind them", Marie replied patiently, choosing to answer his second question first. A sudden roar, and a shriek followed by four muffled reports, and a second, despairing, shriek that was suddenly cut off was her cue to answer the first. "To answer your first question", Marie continued, "I didn't."

"If you'll excuse me a moment", Marie said as she grabbed the Gamma gun from within Obediah's robes and followed in the direction Becky had fled, "I'm going to get my revolver back." Adding over her back as she headed into the hall, "Don't follow me....there's only one way it won't attack you, and I doubt if your pride would allow me to do it."

Marie walked down the hallway, into what was once the lobby of the old Museum. her nose crinkled in disgust at the stench of manure and rotting meat, a reminder of the pitfalls of her new form. Near the front, an enormous Deathclaw fed upon the fresh corpse that had been her for over six hundred years. It looked up at her, sniffing the air in her direction, then relaxed and returned to feeding. About ten feet away, she saw her .38 revolver laying on the floor. For a moment, she she stood and watched the Deathclaw feed, feeling a twinge of regret, but it passed as rapidly as it came. She was a predator, Becky was prey....it was that simple. It was the way it was, in the Wasteland and in the vast and uncaring universe that she had long ago learned was what was really out there. She had noted that her body was beginning to fail, so she took another one...and a good one this was. The Cult Becky was part of, the Children of Atom, had a large number of members with a very special mutation....what seemed to be a complete immunity to radiation. It had taken several attempts to find a suitable host with this mutation, but it had been worth the effort. She walked over to the dropped weapon and picked it up, the Deathclaw taking no notice of her as if she were another member of it's pack, noting to her satisfaction her back no longer bothered her to stoop....in fact, the aches and pains she had long gotten used to were completely gone. She put the revolver into a pocket of the rough woolen robe Becky had been wearing, then removed the various ornaments and bangles that Children of Atom so loved to wear to show their devotion, and dropped them into a nearby pile of gore, followed by the contents of her pockets, then the Gamma gun. She then turned and walked back to the "cell" where Obediah waited for her.

"Can we go now?", Obediah asked as he removed the robe and draped it over his arm. "I need to get back to the Manor". Marie noticed for the first time that the young man looked quite handsome, though he would look better in the white suits he favored back home in Maryland rather than the mercenary outfit he was now wearing. Thoughts she hadn't had in a long time flashed through her mind. While she had hardly been celibate all these years, much of her activity in that regard was transactional in nature, or done for other purposes than the sheer pleasure of it.

"Hormones", Marie thought to herself, "Another thing I will need to get used to again....especially now that I could find myself with child."

"Yes", Marie said. "Sun should be up, so you can see me into town. If everything goes as it should, you can head home from there." she then looked at him and smiled. "Thanks for your help, by the way."

"No", Obediah said, "Thank you, Marie. For opening my eyes, and showing me the Way....I've learned much from you these past ten years."

"It's been my pleasure", Marie replied. "But, please, call me Mary from now on...Mary Hawthorne. I'm home now, it's time to begin using my true name again."

As you wish...Mary", Obediah said with a chuckle, "But do remember that I'm Zachariah Blackhall, now."


Later

Mary and Zachariah, the latter leading a Brahmin, walked down the main street past crumbling buildings towards the church, passing a active turret, it's generator chugging away as the stubby gun moved back and forth. Soon they reached the Village Common, now dotted with a collection of abandoned vendor stalls...as if some sort of market had been there. Down a cross street, to their right, was an dilapidated Drumlin Diner.....by the look of it, someone had begun repairs on the abandoned structure. Mary remembered when the place was built....in the 2050s....how the old biddies on the Historical Preservation Committee had shrieked about it. "It'll destroy the historical character of the Village Common!", they bleated. If only they were here today...they'd shit themselves to see how all they'd cared about had crumbled to dust and been forgotten. She'd learned a few tricks from Orne and Hutchinson once she had been introduced by her teacher....not surprisingly they had completely escaped detection by her first husband and his fellow oafs during the Trials...it would almost be worth it to raise one of them up and let them see just how futile their lives had been. Almost. They turned left at the Diner, along what she remembered to be Essex Street, and there it was...her house. Somewhat worse for wear, but still standing after over four hundred years. Fortunately, the doors and windows were boarded up so no one was squatting there...that would have complicated things. they approached the house, tying up the Brahmin to a lamp post, where it contentedly grazed off the overgrown yard as, while Mary watched, Zachariah pulled a crowbar out from the Brahmin's pack and began to remove the boards barring the door. As Zachariah made progress, a voice called out from the street.

"Miss", a man called out, "Do ya have a minute?"

Mary looked over to see an elderly man, rather unkempt, standing in the street, a lit cigarette jutting out of his mouth. He had a rifle slung on his shoulder, but made no sign of reaching for it. He did appear to be anxious about something...though she didn't get the impression he had hostile intent.

"Of course", Mary replied, "Mister...."

"Rook, Miss", the man said respectfully, "Barney Rook. I'm head of the Salem Volunteer Militia." He then chuckled. "hell, I pretty much am the militia right now....hopefully that will change as folk come in." His serious look returned and he continued. "We got plenty of room here in Salem, especisally for a young lady like yourself, but I wouldn't recommend moving into that house."

"Why not, Barney", Mary asked, "is it claimed already?" She then placed the palm of her hand against her head. "I forget my manners, Barney. I'm sorry. My name is Mary Hawthorne. And before you ask, Zachariah here is not my husband, he's a friend of mine."

"Oh, no, Miss Mary", Barney exclaimed, "That house isn't claimed by anyone. Even back before the mirelurks swarmed the town a few years back. Hell, for as long as I can remember." He looked both ways down the street, then leaned forward and continued in a stage whisper. "People say that house is haunted."

"Really?", Mary replied, successfully suppressing the urge to laugh. Inwardly, she smirked with satisfaction. The wards she had placed before her trip to Maryland....about a hundred and ninety years longer than she had intended to stay there, had held all this time. Excellent. She put her hands on her hips in a defiant pose, careful to speak in such a way that it came across that she didn't believe him, but wasn't ridiculing him. "Well, Barney, I don't believe in ghosts, or spirits, or "Gods" named Atom for that matter. I'll take my chances...thanks for warning me though. If there turns out to be something in there that needs shot, I'll come running."

"Hopefully it won't come to that", Barney said with a grunt. "but if it does, I'm usually at the Diner, the Militia HQ over on the corner where the turret is, or in the basement of my old house in the north end of town. Ya can't miss it, it's the only one with power." He then added, "If you do visit, mind the fence...it's electrified. Welcome to Salem, by the way." His duty done, he waved goodbye, and walked back towards the Diner.

"Haunted?", Zachariah asked sarcastically as he levered off the last board, revealing the door. Mary wordlessly waved him aside, pulling a key hanging on a cord around her neck from her robe and inserting it into the lock. "Should I wait outside here, too?"

"Not any more", Mary said as she turned the key in the lock, feeling the spell..a minor cantrip...dissipate as she did so. She then pushed open the door and stepped inside, coughing at the dust disturbed by their passage. A quick check showed all was largely as she had left it...if crumbling from two centuries of neglect and under a very thick coat of dust. A quick check of the attic revealed the roof looked in serious need of repairs...a few more years and the interior would have been ruined. She'd have to do something about it, and soon. Perhaps she could hire Barney?

A check of the basement showed it to be dry..which she expected given the structure was on the top of a small hill, and the more substantial wards she had placed on the hidden sub-basement were undisturbed. Satisfied for now, she went back upstairs, and then up to the second floor and began opening windows. The housewife deep inside her was appalled at the dust and crumbling furniture...not to mention it bothered her new form physically, making her sneeze constantly.

"Think you could stay one day, Zachariah", she asked between sneezes, "I really need to do something about all this dust!"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne

Mary Hawthorne

Name: Mary Hawthorne (aka Marie Leveaux)

Age: 616 (apparent age 18)

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Female

Skills: a rather good cook, and knowledgeable about agriculture and animal husbandry. Can read and write Latin (Classical and Vulgate), German, Greek (Classical and Byzantine), as well as a couple of languages that aren't human. Passably good shot with simple firearms (revolvers, double bbl shotguns and lever action rifles), but doesn't like them and prefers melee weapons such as knives or swords. Highly skilled at what an earlier age would call Witchcraft...though she is very careful about concealing this and the subjects of her display of power normally either don't realize what she is doing or don't live to talk about it....or both.

Personality: Rather attractive by Wasteland standards, 5'6, 115 lbs, with long black hair and blue eyes. Polite and calm, sometimes eerily calm. Occasionally talks in a oddly archaic manner of speaking, especially when speaking about the past. Does not seem to be at all well versed in current Commonwealth history, but seems unusually knowledgeable of the past...can speak on colonial era Massachusetts, and Salem in particular with a particularly disturbing level of authority....and oddly enough the longer before the War the subject, the more detail and knowledge she displays. People who associate with her will know she is very literate and a voracious reader of books, not all of which are in English.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Possesses a .38 snub-nose and a .45 ACP Revolver (the latter a weapon antique by even Pre-War standards), 12 gauge double barrel shotgun, Revolutionary War sword, and several knives. Normally only carries a knife and/or the .38 revolver unless she is expecting trouble....and it is not prudent to display her "abilities". Usually dressed in standard Wasteland attire for women, if appropriate clean pre-war clothes.

(Previous) Occupation(s): Student/researcher/practitioner of the Arcane, medicine woman, housewife

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory: Born in Boston, Massachusetts in November 1671, youngest daughter of Thomas Parker, a wealthy merchant, and his wife Elizabeth. Due to her family wealth, she well well-educated by the standards of the age, receiving a classical education, which included being taught to read Latin and Greek. In 1688, she married John Hawthorne, a County Magistrate and merchant living in Salem, and a devout Puritan. She bore him a daughter, Abigail in 1689 (died of pneumonia in 1691). Aside them the birth (and loss) of her daughter, her life was uneventful until the the events that led to the Salem Witch Trials in 1692. Her husband, was called upon to investigate the allegations being made. Not being familiar with witchcraft, he acquired what were considered authoritative works on the subject, such as the infamous Malleus Maleficarum, and A Tryal of Witches, an account of the witchcraft trials in Suffolk, England in 1663. These works had a serious impact on the still grieving John, who became convinced that his infant daughter was in fact murdered by witches and became obsessed with fighting the minions of Satan who had taken his beloved daughter from him and threatened the Godly people of Salem. They also had an effect on Mary, who, without John's knowledge, read his reference works while he in Court. The loss of her daughter, and to an extent her husband...now obsessed with the trials...had shaken her faith in God, and she found the Malleus Maleficarum's lurid depictions of women consorting with "daemons" strangely exciting. This would likely have not gone beyond prurient fantasies, if the trials had not finally unearthed a genuine "witch".

In 1692, at the height of the Trials, Mary Bradbury of nearby Salisbury, was arrested for witchcraft. Accused of casting spells on ships, and even changing into an animal, she was speedily convicted when a cache of Occult Books was found hidden in her cellar. Both her and her husband strenuously denied any knowledge of them, but Mary was convicted anyway and sentenced to hang for practicing magic. The books themselves had, when not produced at the trial as evidence, been stored in a locked chest in the Hawthorne home. At night, Mary dreamed of something inside the box calling to her, inviting her to open the chest and learn the secrets the books inside held. As she was unable to get the key, she was not able to do so. After Mary Bradshaw's conviction, the books were publicly cast upon a fire and burned before a n assembly of the whole town....at least except for one. Returning from the book burning event alone....she was astonished to find a large leather-bound book, undamaged yet smoking from the fire she had watched her husband cast it in not twenty minutes ago, waiting for her on their kitchen table. She did not realize it at the time, but the entire course of her life was dependent on what she did next. Partly due to her fear of what would happen if it became know the book had inexplicably appeared to her, partly due to to the desire to learn it's secrets, she seized the book and hid it away. The next day, she found herself compelled to read it, but she could not as it was in a Byzantine dialect of Greek that she was not familiar with. That night, she dreamed again. In this dream, she was drawn to the Salem Jail, then to one particular window. That barred window was that of the cell containing Mary Bradbury, currently awaiting execution. Mary greeted her warmly, telling her she bore her no ill will for her predicament. She then explained that the world she knew was but a tiny bubble in the vast cosmos, and the book, an ancient text of great power, was the key to opening the door to the wider universe. While the book had clearly chosen her as it's next custodian, she was not yet ready to learn the truth about Mankind's true place in the universe. However, in exchange for her aid, she would teach her what she needed to know to learn about, and survive in, the Real World. If she wished to escape her existence as a common housewife, and learn wonders beyond all imagination, all she need to was to was bring her a piece of chalk, or charcoal before the end of the night after next, as that next morning she would hang as decreed by her husband. Then she awoke, back in her bed. she thought upon the dream all day, while doing her domestic chores, and what she should do next. That night, she crept out of the house and made her way to the cell in her dream, and without a word, quietly placed a piece of chalk she had purloined from the dry goods store that afternoon, upon the windowsill. Before she could pull her hand away, a arm reached out and grasped hers from the darkness inside the cell and held her in place.

"Know this", Mary Bradshaw whispered, "While I blame ye not for my situation, I will have my revenge against your husband for what he has done. All the others he has done to death or imprisonment were innocent....only I was guilty of what he accused me of...and more that that...and I only fell into his hands through my own carelessness. There is no going back for you now...you've just done him to death as surely as if you cut his throat while he lay sleeping...once I have had my vengeance, we will meet again and your apprenticeship will begin." The hand then released her and she spoke one last time. "Now go, child...and enjoy your husband's bed for what time he has left. You will soon learn how ethereal everything you have been taught really is."

She crept back home, and into bed undetected, filled with dread and anticipation of the future. The next morning, the alarm was raised as one of the condemned prisoners...none other than Mary Bradshaw..had escaped from her locked cell in the night. The only clues being some sort of markings scrawled on the floor in chalk, partially obliterated by the footprints of rats, which infested the jail. The focus rapidly turned outward as it was learned her husband had also disappeared from their home in Salisbury. Suspicion turned to one of the jailers, who was believed to have accepted a bribe from her husband to let her escape, but he denied it vigorously and nothing could be proven. One year and one day after Bradshaw's escape, John Hawthorne was killed. While riding to Salisbury to hear a case, witnesses reported his horse panicked suddenly by the sight of a large blue boar on the Salisbury Road and ran into the Caramec River, and Hawthorne was carried under by the horse and drowned. Shortly after that, State officials began to intervene in the ongoing Witchcraft trials in Salem, and the cases against those awaiting trial fell apart under higher scrutiny, and the Governor pardoned the last group facing trial. At that point, the Witch trials fell apart, and those already tried had their convictions reversed on appeal....including Mary Bradshaw. With the trials having been discredited, Mary Bradshaw and her husband returned to their Salisbury home, and resumed their lives. Shortly after that the Widow Hawthorne, as her apprentice, began her studies in the Arcane, a journey she has continued on to the present day.

Having learned firsthand the perils of discovery, she maintained a low profile. Through supernatural means, she has lived far longer than any human has a right to. To evade detection, she occasionally left Massachusetts for a time, until time, now her ally, made it safe to return. The Great War found her in distant Maryland, a place called Point Lookout, where she joined a coven led by the then Matriarch of the Blackhall family, Constance Blackhall, devoted to the worship of a being known as Ub-Qualtoth. Constance herself had a unaturally long life, due to spells from a tome of great power, known as the Krivbeknih. the coven fell apart after the book was stolen from her, and without the spells within, Constance finally was claimed by old age in 2156. Mary, now calling herself Marie Leveaux after she married Simon Leveaux, a Cajun from Louisiana, meanwhile, had retreated deep into the swamp where the radiation ghoulified her. She then spent the next few decades living as sort of a medicine woman, serving the local Swamp Folk, who had come to accept her, not to mention greatly respected her power. Eventually, Constance's great-grandson, Obediah Blackhall, found a mercenary that was able to retrieve the Krivbeknih from the rival Cult that had stolen it. At first, unaware of the real power the tome had, he used things he gleaned from the book to convince the Swamp Folk he was a priest of Ub-Qualtoth and begin to revive the flagging fortunes of his family line, now down to him and his young grandson, Zachariah. His attempt to enact a ritual sacrifice to Ub-Qualtoth caused a ritual of Marie's own, using the discarded corpse of the sacrificial victim, to backfire and she confronted Obediah. Learning he had the Krivbeknih, the only tome she knew of that would enable her to recover from the predicament she was in, and that he had no idea what he had been foolishly trifling with, she struck a deal and a partnership was formed. In exchange for access to the Krivbeknih, she would take him as an apprentice, and show him things more important than mere earthly power. Obediah has used what he has learned to revive the flagging fortunes of his family, he rules all Point Lookout with a unshakeable grip. Also, in Zachariah, he found a solution to the problem of his mortality.

Marie herself, has continued her own research, and has learned of an artifact of great power, Kremvh's Tooth, whose last known location was in Massachusetts, the land of her youth. With her apprentice's help, and somewhat to his relief as his teacher is his only credible rival for power, she has journeyed back home, to Salem, to reclaim her old home and from there begin her search.