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Chez Nathan & Colonel Denver Abernathy – Fort Golf — Afternoon, October 17th
(A Collaboration with @cymbeline90)

Chez sensed their approach to the Fort before word was passed down to him from the front. There was a subtle ratcheting up of tension, diffusing through the Followers like particles dancing in water. He remained in the back of the wagon, facing outwards, refusing to look at the Fort until the last minute. They were waved through a checkpoint and allowed to draw close to the building that served as the army’s headquarters. A security detail coalesced around them.

“Best behavior, everyone,” Beth muttered.

Chez had seen soldiers act aggressive when conducting security checks, particularly when they were further from the top brass and under less supervision. These men and women, however, were professional and detached. They patted the Followers down and rooted through their cargo with a swift, relentless efficiency. For their part, the Followers offered minimal resistance. Each side understood the delicacy of the situation. They were like strangers forced into proximity at a society dance, going through the steps with stiff formality.

Once cleared, they were signaled to move their wagons closer to the building. Aides appeared, offering to stable and water their horses. The human members of the caravan were invited to disarm and proceed to a mess hall for refreshment, and directions regarding their accommodations.

As they trailed after the aide, Beth muttered into Chez’s ear, “You ever been here before?”

He shook his head.

“I have,” Beth went on, keeping her voice low. “It was a couple years ago. We were on medical dispatch nearby when a couple of NCR grunts got torn up by raiders. We kept them alive until they reached this place.”


“There are more guard towers here now. More dead zones around the Fort, too. They ain’t been idle.”

Chez had been too busy looking at the soldiers and their holstered weapons to notice anything else. Trying to appear nonchalant, he glanced around, and saw that Beth was right.

“Well… ” Chez said, “holding the Mojave isn’t easy.”

“True enough. I don’t reckon givin’ it up will be either.”

Trying not to be discomfited by Beth’s words, he walked the rest of the way in silence. They were shown into a mess hall, and the crew, tired and dusty from the road, fell gratefully upon the plain rations that had been set out for them.

Chez called one of the aides over. “I believe Colonel Abernathy is expecting me.”

The aide nodded. “Someone will be with you shortly, doc.”

Chez found that he had no appetite. He pulled out a notebook and flipped through it, coming to a set of pages filled with disjointed scrawling. Energy conversion, he had written. Airborne pathogen. No survivors?? Unsustainable population growth – infrastructure burden – massive population of displaced peoples. Resource scarcity → conflict inevitable. The Green?? → enormous mass of raw materials. But death by Greenlung — choose. quick death by Greenlung /slow death by resource deprivation.

A young private appeared and bobbed her head at him. “Colonel Abernathy will see you now, Doctor.”

Chez clapped the notebook shut, tucked it away, and followed the private to the colonel’s office.

Colonel Abernathy was a clean-cut and respectable-looking man. Out of uniform, he probably wouldn’t have caught Chez’s eye – or perhaps he would have. There was a sense of restrained power about him. Once you spent more than a few moments with him, you felt that there was something dangerous behind the unassuming surface.

“Welcome to Fort Golf, Dr. Nathan.” Denver held out his hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I want to begin our conversation with an acknowledgement of the resources and time your organization has spent in getting you here. Given our sorted histories with one another I am deeply appreciative that you all have answered our call for aid. I hope that today can be the start of a new relationship between the 3rd Infantry and the Followers.”

Chez took the hand that was offered and tried to make his grip firm and sincere. “The pleasure is mine, Colonel. I believe the people of the Mojave can only benefit from our cooperation. I am ready to pool whatever resources we can for the common good.”

“Indeed it is my concern for the common good of the people of the Mojave that I have called you here today. Please sit.” He motioned to one of the two chairs across from his desk. Denver sat down as well. He paused for just a moment, trying to weigh who this Dr. Nathan truly was. This meeting would be a chance to lay the foundations for a better tomorrow, a safer nation and to heal old wounds. But it depended on how Denver was received and how he presented himself and so he wasted no time.

Chez took a seat in the chair the Colonel indicated. It felt surreal to him to be sitting here with the commander of Denver’s Dogs.

“The Green is a threat to us all. None in the Mojave know this to be more true than your people. Since the first infection of Greenlung in Camp McCarran the Followers have suffered greatly. Both from direct contact and through the societal fallout that the Green has caused. A third of New Vegas covered underneath a mat of vegetation, sporadic outbreaks and now a flood of refugees from the NCR. The Mojave teeters on a precipice and the slightest misstep will send the entire region into a green hell from which there will be no escape.”

“You know this already though or else you would not have come here today. Since you are the one they sent I know that you are not yet hardened against the 3rd or the NCR as a whole. I know you are optimistic and diplomatic. I may not always agree with how the Followers conduct themselves or how you all have responded to certain matters. Nonetheless I trust that your organization and your people have the best interest of others at heart. Therefore I have no option but to trust you.” Denver paused for a moment, allowing Chez to process everything.

Chez listened as the Colonel laid out each blow the Followers had endured. On the one hand, it felt profoundly gratifying to have their losses acknowledged, at last, from someone in the NCR. And the Colonel of all people! He knew, with almost clinical precision, the toll these years had taken on the Followers.

Of course he knows, Chez thought. It’s his job to know the players in the Mojave. That’s how he routed the Brotherhood of Steel, and massacred the Khans. The Followers exist because he permits us to exist. Because we fit into his vision for Vegas. And he knows that we know this. He thanks me for answering his summons, like I had a choice!
“We find ourselves without friends here in the Mojave. The 3rd I mean. The Van-Graff administration in Shady Sands looks at the Mojave and sees an oasis. A dam that provides immense power, a city that bleeds caps and a divided people to be subjugated and taxed. They do not see it for the mirage that it is.” Denver took a breath. “I was born to a dirt farmer back west. I grew up on the land but I am no expert on ecology nor do I claim to be. Yet even I can see the Green for what it is. Inevitable. We cannot fight it. We cannot harness it. We cannot stop it. We must avoid it. For as long as we can. That is why I need your help. You have access to the people capable of performing the work necessary to determine how fast the Green is expanding. How long does the Mojave have? Ten years? Five years? Two? Six months? It isn’t a matter of if the Green conquers the Mojave but when.”

The Colonel was still saying all the right things. Chez, who’d been prepared for the Colonel’s political savviness, found himself being disarmed nonetheless. He’s reminding me that the merchant houses in the capitol view this place as an investment, Chez thought. Their concern for Vegas waxes and wanes with the market. When drought or the Legion incursions lower our value, they’re prepared to cut us off – as they did to his regiment. Now that the dust has settled the vultures have returned. He fought for this place personally. He spent the blood of his own men and women to secure the Bear’s interests in this region. That’s the coin he weighs this land’s price in, not valuations by investors. He even reminds me of his own farming background as he speaks of us toiling the land! Ah, if he hadn’t taken up the rifle, what might this man have achieved with the pen instead? But perhaps it’s good he never studied with the Followers. We already have one Caesar on our conscience.

As the Colonel spoke of the threat posed by the Green, Chez felt a weight settle on his shoulders. The Colonel’s individual words blended together, registered on his awareness, and melded with disparate bits of data floating in Chez’s short-term retrieval. Since Letty had stung him out of inaction, Chez had been rummaging through old Holotapes on the Green, binging on the few reports that remained from back when Followers still had resources to spare.

This Colonel is not a man to frighten easily, Chez thought. And he speaks of the Green as an existential threat to the Mojave. Based on the scattered, outdated data we have, its growth has been explosive, exponential. The Followers should have seen this first. But an organization can only be brought to the brink of extinction so many times before all threats look the same. We’ve been looking inward, trying to rebuild. We cannot see beyond our own immediate survival.

Denver reached over to a small shelf on his desk and retrieved a faded red folder. He opened it, turned it around and slid it across the desk to Chez. Inside was a compilation of reports on the Green, PH sampling of soil, sketches, time-tables of growth, photographs and lists of names, dates, locations. There had been a logic to the way it was arranged but that logic wasn’t immediately apparent.

Chez’s eyes fell on the reports like a herd of Brahmin on clean water. Automatically, his hand slid out and flipped through the top couple of pages. He drank in the neatly tabulated information, dates and images. He felt like a prospector who’d stumbled on a fabled Old World cache.

Then his hand withdrew, as if seared by fire.

He felt the Colonel and himself sitting across from each other, in a nexus of variables, like Bighorn herders in the eye of a radiation storm.

What will the Followers think of me, Chez wondered. Will I be remembered as someone who made the painful choice to work with a ruthless power in order to fight a greater threat? Will I be seen as the traitor who volunteered the Followers’ resources to a warlord? Will I be the stooge who aided and abetted a second Caesar? The truth was, he’d already made the decision. Seeing that folder had only confirmed his choice. The decision had been made when he’d seen the envelope lying on his desk in the medical center, when he’d chosen to come here.

Maybe that’s why the others sent me. So they could have a clean conscience when this goes wrong. So their names will not appear beside mine in future histories of the Followers, when they teach me as a cautionary lesson to the young.

“For the past six years I have worked to learn all I can about the Green. That folder contains some of the most important information I’ve discovered. I offer it to you on the condition that you accept my offer. Work with me, build a team and find out how long we have. If you agree, there will be no secrets between us.” Denver’s eyes held a stern gaze implying there would be consequences if he found out Chez was lying. “If you refuse, you are free to leave. But I will remember your refusal.”

He did not miss the implied threat in the Colonel’s words. But somehow he’d lost the terrible fear of the Colonel that he’d suffered before coming here. The Colonel was a pragmatic, at times ruthless, man. Viewed in that light, his choices made sense. What Chez feared now was how easily he’d been won over. What had the others seen in him that he hadn’t yet seen in himself? He feared how eager he was to take the first step, when he didn’t know how far he might fall.

Chez said, “If what you say is true, this threat is bigger than you or me, Colonel. I may not approve of all your actions, but I can discuss ethics with you. I can’t negotiate with an ecological disaster.” Chez held out his hand. “Consider me on board for this venture.”

Denver felt a wave of cool relief wash over him as the bargain was made. He wasn’t one to trust easily but the Followers were known to be honest people. They spoke directly and clearly even if it didn’t always work in their favor. For that, Denver admired them. Duplicity and selfishness were demons working in the heart of humanity and the Followers were the only people who seemed deaf to them. Still a nagging anxiety chirped within him and Denver thought it best to have some kind of leverage over Chez. If only to assure the man wasn’t agreeing out of fear.

“Thank you. I had hoped you’d agree. However, since we shall be open with each other I have something I must reveal to you.” Denver paused for a moment. He hadn’t yet said these words aloud and wanted to be deliberate with his speech. “Three days ago my rangers recovered irrefutable proof that the Brotherhood of Steel remains active within the Mojave. We captured two provisioners just outside the Gulp ‘n Grub in South Vegas. One of them is being escorted to the NCRCF as we speak, the other is secured within the basement of this building.” Denver paused to let the information settle. Rumors had always persisted about the Brotherhood but most dismissed them. He wanted to be sure that Chez understood the importance of this information.

Chez thought: The Devil and the Deep Green Sea…

Chez felt as though he’d slipped awake from a dream. For a moment, he heard the strains of his mother’s voice, carrying over the rhythmic scraping of a mixing spoon against a bowl, smelled the fragrance of roasting gecko flesh, sweetened by prickly-pear fruit relish.

“I don’t want you…
But I hate to lose you
You’ve got me in between
The Devil and the deep blue sea.”

That’s where I am, Chez thought. Between the Devil and the deep green sea.

So the Brotherhood was still active in the Mojave. And the Colonel had never given up hunting his old enemy. Of course not. Chez could already tell this was a man who hated to leave a job unfinished.

“I believe that someone as educated as yourself is at least partially aware of who the Brotherhood is and more importantly the threat they pose. I’m not ashamed to say that I have a long and violent history with them. I earned my colonelship at the battle for Helios One and I disagreed with my superiors when they ordered me to stand down and allow the survivors to flee into the hills. They believed that the catastrophic losses the Brotherhood sustained during that battle would cement the end of their organization. I knew better. You see Dr. Nathan, the Brotherhood of Steel is not a group of people, it is an idea. A dangerous idea that should’ve been destroyed decades ago. When I was ordered to stop my pursuit that idea was allowed to fester and grow. I did not hunt them with the intent to slaughter them wholesale, I want to make that clear. The wanton obliteration of human life has never been my goal.” Denver put a grim emphasis on his words and suppressed the thoughts of Bitter Springs that bubbled within him. He had done what was necessary.

Chez remembered there had been a name for such strategies in the Old World, back before even the Great War. Before the scientists had split the Atom, and in doing so, had united humanity in fear of their own mutual extinction. Scorched earth tactics, they’d called it. This had been in the period of conventional warfare, before the proliferation of atomic deterrents had made such things unworkable.

“But I did want to destroy them.” Denver continued, “Who they were, how they saw themselves and most crucially how they saw us. The danger of the Brotherhood of Steel lies not in their energy weapons and power armor but in its doctrines and codex. It is an ideology that separates them from the rest of humanity, elevating them to the level of ‘chosen ones’ blessed with the divine right to decide how the rest of us should live. If it were up to them they would watch us die and think themselves the better people for it. I’m sure you agree, Dr. Nathan, that such a worldview is not compatible with the continued survival of humanity.”

A memory came to Chez, surprisingly, from Latin and Ancient History with Arcade Gannon.

There was a city whose people were loved by the goddess Juno,
Above all others on Earth.
Enthroned was she on Tunis’ imperial shore,
Clad in Tyrian purple, her streets of gold,
Her ships swift in fury when provoked to war.

The Carthaginians had struck at Rome’s heart, and the Eagle’s fury in retaliation had known no bounds. The city of Carthage was razed to ashes, so that nothing would ever grow there again. A warning to all Rome’s enemies of the consequences of defiance.

But the Colonel isn’t speaking of that, Chez thought. He claims not to be another Caesar. He speaks of destroying their ideology.

“I have no love for the Brotherhood’s teachings, sir. We respect the democratic principles of the NCR’s constitution, whatever qualms we have about how you put them into practice. The Brotherhood’s ethos, as you say, is elitist, exclusionary, and unlikely to maximize the welfare of the Mojave’s human population, much less the other sentient species. But history has taught us to be cautious about eradicating a people’s beliefs. As any sawbones can tell you, sir, a scorched-earth cure can sometimes be worse than the disease it heals.”

Denver sighed heavily, folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

“Nonetheless, we need their help. The Brotherhood has access to technology and knowledge that cannot be found in any other nation or peoples in the wastes. If we are to accurately predict the spread of the Green we will need their assistance. However, I cannot ask them for help. Even if I knew where they were they would not listen to me. They are stubborn and dogmatic people and highly xenophobic. I’ve interrogated enough of them to know that they revile me and the NCR and would sooner choose death over helping us. I’m not going to give them that choice. That is where you come in. As a leading member of the Followers of the Apocalypse you have a recognized neutrality that allows you to operate freely between hostile factions. Do you understand what I am asking of you? I need you to speak to the prisoner below, get her to talk as she hasn’t said anything to us. Find out where the Brotherhood is and meet with them. Tell them what you are working on and ask for their help. I have no doubt the Brotherhood has been studying the Green for as long as I have and though they may be resistant to working with an outsider, you’ll simply have to make yourself indispensable to them.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I will do my best to negotiate with this member of the Brotherhood in good faith. I swear I will do whatever I can to effect a working relationship with the Brotherhood. I am doing this for the purpose of pooling our resources to combat the Green, which you’ve shown me is a threat to all residents of the Mojave. Beyond that, any hostile intentions you have towards the Brotherhood, whether ideological or military, I cannot be a part of at this time. It would require me to consult with the Followers as a whole to endorse an action that would violate our neutrality towards any other faction. Particularly a faction that is heavily armed and likely to be dangerous to us in our already weakened state. I will follow any reasonable command to combat the Green, but hostile actions against a group of people are of a different order.”

Chez spread his arms, trying to be as open as possible. He looked almost pleading as he gestured towards Denver. “Please understand, sir, the Followers have built up a great deal of goodwill among the people of the Mojave by following our own ethical code. That is the only precious resource we have, and one that would end us if we cast it away. There are many ways to destroy the heart of an organization… and I would not be the one to lead the Followers into darkness.”
In Dwarves! 12 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Alpi Arius Argaven

Alpi sat quietly, his head bowed in contemplation as he tried to slow his breathing. Before him lay a wooden bust of his brother. It had been carefully realized in a roughly hewn stump of sequoia. The features were stern and angular, perfectly replicated from the stylistic reliefs found within the hall of Argaven. He meditated on the life of his brother and the fear and confusion he must have experienced in his time upland. Two years trapped on the surface, at the mercy of the sun and stars.

“It’s time my love.”

Alpi’s breathing calmed at the voice of his wife. She laid her hand on his shoulder and he dropped his head onto it. He looked up into her hazel speckled eyes and smiled softly.

“Aye. Would not be so hard to leave if you were to walk by my side.”

She returned his smile.

“And what shall the children do then? Who shall provide for them?

“My father and mother have always been hospitable.”

Nykia smirked and helped Alpi to his feet. She ran her fingers through his sideburns and gripped them. They looked at each other for a moment, sharing a breath. She kissed him deeply then pulled away and stared at him once more.

“Return to me, Alpi. Come home with your brother. Come home with the Fist. Come home with the whole sky upon your back. Just come home.” She placed her forehead against his. “That be an order my love.”

He kissed her and smiled.

“As you wish.”

She opened the door and Alpi stepped alone into the hall of Argaven. Long rows of benches and tables full of his family lined the walls of the hall. They cheered at his entrance and descended into a low chant led by his father. It would be a traditional Karhider farewell and though Alpi had been to dozens before, this would be the first dedicated to him. His mother approached him, they touched their foreheads and held a large pipe carved from a single piece of bone. He held it high so the hall could see, then lowered and lit it. One by one his family members came forth, took a pull from the pipe and blew the smoke in Alpi’s face. It was an ancient custom and every breath was believed to contain the spirit of those who gave it. Thus as Alpi made his way upland he would be protected by the spiritual breath of his people. His actions would not be his own and every step he took, he took with the support of his people. It was a comforting thought and Alpi knew he would have precious little comfort once on the surface.

As his final cousin finished their breath his father, leader of the chant, came forth, took a pull of the pipe and blew his breath onto Alpi. He turned to face the hall and raised a hand. At once the chant ceased. The ritual was done, and now they would escort him to the grand hall of Thrillem. His father called forth his strongest cousins and they hoisted Alpi upon a palanquin and as his children ran forth to lead the procession the hall of Argaven emptied out into the tunnels of the Dwarven Hold.


Alpi sat awkwardly on the dais raised away from the rest of his family and clan. He had already drunk a considerable amount to ease his nerves but it had instead left him feeling ill-tempered. Among him were the other Dwarfs chosen for the quest. He didn’t recognize them and knew that none were Karhiders or spent much time up in the upper reaches of the hold. He rose slightly unsteadily to his feet and stumbled about till he was closer to the other. Eyeing them he raised his drinking horn and offered a toast.

“Come forth my Thrillems! Come forth! Let us raise our horns and bend a knee. Offer a toast for these heroes three. Chosen by thee in unanimous decree. Heroes all! For they seek an heirloom to free, from a danger we guarantee and who will on their return find a mountain home filled with glee.”
In Dwarves! 15 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Should have a post up soon! Apologize for the hold up! O
In Dwarves! 18 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Are our characters the only members of the expedition or are there other dwarfs with us as well.
In Dwarves! 23 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Before I make my first post I have a couple of questions.

What exactly are the parameters of this expedition?

Has it been explained to our characters?

How was it explained?

How were our characters notified they were chosen and could they have volunteered?

Is this something that happens in Thrillem or is it an unprecedented event?
In Dwarves! 26 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Really excited at this idea! Here is my sheet for consideration!

Kedi & Sentinel Irving - Black Mountain - After Midnight, October 18th
( A collaboration with @crimson paladin)

Kedi breathed heavily as their guide trotted out from the radio station towards the figures. His finger fluttered around the trigger of his pistol. It was hard to see them in the black of night but the passing clouds above occasionally gave a glimmer of reflected moonlight off their metal bodies. Kedi wasn’t sure if they were armored men or robots. Even at this distance Kedi could taste the acidic tingle in the air as their energy weapons hummed with power. One of the armored men stepped forth and spoke in hushed voices with the man Kedi had been following.

The young prisoner had said his people could provide aid for the wounded Khans if they would help him get to the top of Black Mountain. It was time for him to make good on his promise. Kedi looked at Daniel, slumped against the wall just inside the station. His face was drawn and pale, his mouth hung open. In the dark Kedi couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing.

With a whistling buzz of small thrusters came a strange spherical creature. A robot that Kedi had never seen before. The Khans around him tightened and one of them leveled a rifle at the metal ball. Then came the crackle of radio static and a brief message was heard from a speaker which took up the majority of the front of the robot.

"I am Sentinel Irving of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I would like to extend my thanks to the Khans for this act. You may not have known it, but this was a high-value prisoner, and his rescue is of great benefit to our organization and a considerable setback for Colonel Abernathy and his superiors. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this Eyebot. It can make deliveries, serve as a highly perceptive sentry, or simply play the radio, and when needed, can serve as a line of communication with us. And feel free to subject it to your gang's initiation rites, because this particular model is quite durable."

Kedi’s eyes narrowed and the sentinel’s attempt at humor was lost on him. He looked past the robot, the figures were slipping back into the darkness below the summit. Pain and anger soaked his mind and Kedi barked out against them, batting the eyebot away with his pistol.

“You promised us help!” He shouted at the Brotherhood members. “You said your people could help mine. Do it!” He stood just a few feet away, the Brotherhood squad had turned to face him. Kedi lowered himself, weapons at the ready. It had been a blunder but Kedi had never been prepared for delicate negotiations. He was a raider, a drug-runner and far too often a killer. Not a diplomat or a leader.

The robot paused as the Sentinel considered his next words. If the "help" they wanted was weapons or ammo, they'd likely not react so strongly. Judging by the tone and anger of the Khan suggested that the "help" he wanted was pretty serious- perhaps medical assistance or aid against the NCR. The Sentinel looked over at a radar monitor next to the radio, keyed to the Eyebot's sensors- if the NCR had pursued the Khans, they'd need to act quickly.

"...I see. I presume that the Knight you rescued offered you assistance in exchange for escorting him to safety. What matter of help do you require, Khan?"

Kedi turned his attention to the eyebot as a voice crackled to life through its audio emitters. He moved closer to the robot with the slinking motion of a stalking cat. He brought the pommel of his knife down hard upon the top of the eye-bot and it jolted as its thrusters re-adjusted and moved it out of arm's reach.

"You can see me?" Kedi asked, his eyes wide with pain and bewilderment. He was close enough that the visual light-receptors of the eye-bot could pick up the tattoos that covered his forearms. So numerous and uniform in their patterns they gave Kedi the appearance of scaley reptilian arms. His long hair had been braided many times over and tied back in a small onion-like bun at the base of his skull. He lowered his weapons and glanced over at the Brotherhood members. Some held their ground, others continued their descent. Panic welled up in Kedi's chest and he instinctively called out to them before returning his attention to the hovering eye-bot.

"We're shot up real good. We need a doctor and fast."

The Sentinel looked at the grainy, black-and-white monitor that conveyed the Eyebot's visual sensors, looking over the Khan and his companions.

"Very well, Khan, give me a moment,"

Irving pushed the microphone away and pulled up another one, one linked to a radio.

"Change of plans, Head Paladin," a portable radio sounded from Hardin's belt. "Send Scribe Pellin back up to the Khans, they were wounded in a skirmish with the NCR and are requesting medical attention."

"Sentinel, is this really necessary," Hardin asked, holding the radio in his power armored hand. "They knew the risks when they attacked the NCR."

"Knight Keyes promised them aid in exchange for their rescue, and with the NCR attempting to consolidate its control, we need resilient allies on the surface."

"Yes, Elder," Hardin spoke, staving off the urge to crush the radio. He did not like this- the Khans were untrustworthy troublemakers in his eyes, little better than the other raider gangs. However, orders were orders.

"Scribe Pellin," he barked, looking at the much smaller figure. "The Sentinel has ordered you to head back up and given the Khans medical aid."

The scribe nodded wordlessly and headed back up the mountain to where the Khan leader and Eyebot were. He raised his goggles and began to open the myriad pouches on his uniform, revealing stimpaks, bandages, forceps, and various other medical tools.

"Scribe Pellin, Brotherhood of Steel," he formally introduced himself to the Khan. "I've been ordered to provide you and yours with medical aid."

Kedi motioned for the scribe to come inside the radio station and showed him Daniel. The Khan had lost so much blood that he looked dead already. Pellin knew that the Khan wouldn’t make it to sunup. He performed triage on the small group of raiders. He administered a stimpak to accelerate clotting and reduce the pain to all the Khans except Daniel.. Kedi kept insisting that the scribe help the wounded Khan and Pellin had to level with the man that Daniel wasn’t going to survive. He had lost too much blood and Pellin’s time would be better spent helping those who were not so critically wounded. Tears welled at the corner of Kedi’s eyes and he blinked them away. He wanted to unleash his fury at the situation on the scribe. Make Pellin feel the pain he suffered in his heart. But he felt a coolness in his body and his breathing came more regularly. At once a heavy fatigue settled upon him. He crouched low near the door and set his back against the wall. Kedi watched as Pellin stitched up his warriors, his blinking became slower until he slipped into an exhausted unconscious sleep.
Contained below are a few of the major events that have occurred over the last month. Using this information I request that yall create your own faction/character specific timeskip which I will then bring together into one larger detailed post. We'll then go from there.

Colonel Denver Abernethy - Fort Gulf - Afternoon, October 17th

Denver looked over the Crimson Caravan manifest with careful eyes. The weekly re-supply orders were nearly always the same but years in command had trained him to be ever vigilant for any discrepancies in requisition. Such inconsistencies could be evidence that the quartermaster should be reprimanded for negligence or even investigated for theft. It had happened at Camp McCarran and at Forlorn Hope during the war with the Legion. Swift and brutal punishments ensured that such illicit activities were rarely conducted under Denver’s command.

Satisfied with the manifest, he signed his approval and handed it back to the energetic caravan master, Matt Levi, who had been pacing in front of the desk. Matt had been a sergeant in the NCR and even served under Denver during the Mojave campaign. But when Matt’s enlistment papers were up the man took his leave and joined up with the Crimson Caravan.

“Well Colonel that takes care of that. We should be finished unloading within the next hour or so.” Matt smiled and rolled the manifest up and stuck into his trousers. He had to fight the instinct to salute his old commanding officer. Even five years later it was a habit.

“I appreciate it, Sergeant.” Denver rose to his feet and shook Matt’s hand, slipping him some carefully folded NCR bills while doing so.With a practiced smoothness Matt put the money into his chest pocket and started to leave. Once at the door he paused, looked about the hallway outside then turned around and shut the door.

“I got news from the east.”

Denver raised an eyebrow. “How far east?”

“Close to Two-Sun. One of my contacts has a scout in the area. They radioed in last week and I met with them two days ago in Freeside. The Legion is on the move.”

“We’ve heard similar tales as well over the last few years. All of them have turned out to be hearsay and rumor. Lucius and Lanius have maintained their hold upon the Legion ever since Caesar's death. They’ve been content with subjugating their own people and ruling unopposed. What makes you think this is any different?”

“Because of their oracle.”


“A soothsayer. A mystic. Advisors to the Legate.”

“The Legion has had its share of priests and death speakers since the loss of their founder. How does this one change it?”

Matt shrunk slightly from Denver and fiddled about in his pocket like a child returning stolen property. “This is what I was given.”

Denver looked into Matt’s hand. It was a coin, simply made but immediately identifiable as a Legion Denari. Pressed upon its surface was the image of a large eye, arrows crossed behind it and small lines like rays of a sun framed the eye like lashes. Denver didn’t recognize it. He took the coin and flipped it over, the reverse side held a profile of Caesar. That was a familiar and known face.

“This looks freshly minted,” said Denver. Matt nodded in agreement. “How long has this been in circulation?”

Matt shrugged, “Six months, maybe a year? I’m not certain but every trader East of Flagstaff is using them.”

Denver grunted in response. He turned the coin over in his hand and looked out the window of his office down to the front gate. There was some commotion as a convoy arrived and was being searched by the security detail. The Followers of the Apocalypse had answered his call for assistance. He had already been nervous about meeting the doctor sent by the Followers but the news of the Legion unsettled him even more. He looked down at the coin and into the eye and rubbed his thumb over the surface. An oracle powerful enough to be connected with Caesar on their own currency? Now that was news worth considering.

“The scout. Did they give an idea of the mobilization?”

“Nothing specific sir, but they did say it looked like they were preparing for war.”

Denver turned back to face Matt “How so?”

“They said the furnaces glow hot day and night. Slaves toil to bring in the autumn harvests regardless of the weather. All men of fighting age have been rounded up and set into companies for training and armament.” Matt paused for a moment “They’re coming back sir.”

“And so we must be ready for them.” Denver smiled briefly at Matt “I’ll send a scouting party out to confirm and keep an eye on the borderlands. In the meantime I suggest you make your own preparations.”

Matt walked back out of the room and left Denver alone. The colonel sunk into the seat at his desk and stared at the coin in front of him. He knew better than to hope for a different outcome but he couldn;t help but feel as though Matt had spoken true. If the Legion were to return now they would find a Mojave bursting with people and profits but weak and divided in strength. It would be a slaughter unless Denver requisitioned reinforcements. But still, doubtful that the president would believe him, even more doubtful was the Van-Graffs allowing Denver to become the defender of the Mojave. They would use the chaos to replace him, put in their own yes-man. Or worse, strike a deal with the Legion, sacrifice Vegas to save California. Denver chuckled, he knew the Legion well enough to know that bartering with them was like bartering with a coyote. They may take what was given, but they will always return for more.

There was a knock at the door, Denver called them in. It was a young private. She saluted him and stood at attention.

“Doctor Chez Nathan from the Followers has arrived and requested an audience sir.”

Denver stood and slid the coin under some papers on his desk. He straightened his uniform and combed his hair then sat down.

“Send him in please.”

As the doctor entered the room Denver stood again from behind his desk, hands behind his back.

“Welcome to Fort Golf, Dr. Nathan.” He held out his hand for a shake. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I want to begin our conversation with an acknowledgement of the resources and time your organization has spent in getting you here. Given our sorted histories with one another I am deeply appreciative that you all have answered our call for aid. I hope that today can be the start of a new relationship between the 3rd Infantry and the Followers.”

@Crusader Lord That works with me. Keep in mind though that both Searchlight and the airport are fairly radioactive so any humans would have to be settled elsewhere to avoid radiation poisoning. There is a nearby community at Cottonwood Cove that they could live in.

The Rough Riders are based at Wolfhorn Ranch which is somewhat nearby.

Trade with Boomers is an option but I’m gonna go with the route that any vehicle that has been sitting for 200+ years is beyond being salvaged into something flight worthy.
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