Yam I Am

Extracriminal

Ah, 'her and the girls', was it? Tick couldn't help but feel a least a bit nostalgic at the idea - even if her time with the crew was mostly her being the eponymous 'girl'. Good times, at the very least.

Good times here, surrounded by some vaguely same-aged women she had never heard of, except for the adage that they were the, quote, 'most capable criminals this country has never seen', unquote? In their line of work, it was good to remain unseen, sure, but if they had all be seen by this webcam lord with a Matrix nerd basement? Then, really, who was the kidder, here? Clearly none of them covered their tracks well enough to avoid detection to any such degree. There was always the chance this was a sting operation - Tick nervously felt it in the back of her mind as she constantly eyeballed the corners of the room about her -but even now...maybe the idea of escaping from a serial killer with a motley band of ladies wouldn't be so bad.

At least most of them looked competent. Some of them even looked like they knew how to have fun. The brunette looked like she could lighten up, at least, and maybe 'Johnny' could do with developing a sense of workplace humor. At least the blondie had a nice bit of snark to her to break the mood.

"Are we planning to rob a train and tie one of us down to the tracks for ransom money?" Tick joked in turn, "I don't see how anything could go wrong."

God dammit, her accent was starting to come out. Always happened at the worst of times.

Well, if this guy was just going to sit around behind a screen and talk, then sure, Tick could play games. She came here to play games - maybe the stickup-a-bank-van kind and not the "let's play jabber with a 40-something guy over an oversized webcam kind - but...Tick wasn't really giving away too much. Until this guy was going to put some plans up on the table, she hadn't really expected much around here, either. Hey, maybe if it all went down, she might be able to get some of these other girls to run some freight. Might be able to salvage something out of this waste of time, Tick figured.

But until then...

Well, if he was offering...

Tick walked over to the kitchen, found herself the biggest mug-of-a-glass she could, and started pouring the Pinot Noir. It was 2005, too - older than the whole room combined, she bet.

Empire of the Empty Throne

Kingdom of Asceria

Name and Title of Vassal State: Kingdom of Asceria

Ruler: Illyrin Kaçadere

Race:
The native elven peoples of the Sceri Basin, Ascerians are a hardy folk. Derivative from their nomadic ancestry, Acserians typically possess a more tightly-built frame, typically amassing tone over raw mass as they make the most of every muscle. They are also noted for their complex set of pupils - ordinarily green or blue in color - Ascerians are gifted with very keen eyesight, able to discern objects with greater clarity at extreme distances. Most Ascerains possess skin tones that range from snowy pale to dark redwood, though the most common tones which are expressed stand with a distinct, reddish hue. Likewise, their hair most commonly manifests itself from shades of bone-white to blonde or bloody crimson, with black or brunette hair being quite rare. Though gifted with famously long elven lifespans, it's more typical that an Ascerian first die to disease or violence before coming close to the end of their natural dotage - a fact no doubt coupled with their cultural propensity for conflict and adventure. On average, an Ascerian will stand at approximately 190cm, with deviations being based more heavily on ancestry as opposed to sexual dimorphism. There appears to be a discrepancy between the number of births between males and females within Ascerian diaspora, with male births seeming to be considerably lower than their female counterpart, yet the phenomenon as of the present seems to be poorly-understood.

Location:

I talked with Aaron about it some in PMs, the actual area is more concentrated to the East along the river and the mountain range.

History:
From beyond the Eastern Ranges, the elf-folk of the Sceri Basin have long held a less-than-stellar repute from their neighbors. Much has been spoken and told of the acts of they and their brethren, yet few of these tales involve cowardice. They and their ilk have long been touted as pillagers and hellions - with these yarns exaggerated or otherwise. Proto-Ascerian society at that point had largely been comprised of small, individual roving tribes, who had at large only reverted into larger coalitions in order to fuse tribal weddings or drive forth potential alliances for an upcoming incursion. Atop their famed greatwolves, the Proto-Ascerians of the East stormed through settlements with lightning speed, often traveling hundreds of miles per day in hot pursuit of a string of villages or outposts to siege. The times of the era were a harsh one, few could dissent; Clashes with men and dwarf were quite common, and for what the Proto-Ascerians lacked in organization they more than happily took in cultural cannibalism. When tribes or settlements were defeated in Proto-Ascerian battle, customary ritual would foresee the integration of their survivors into the clan of the vanquisher. Feuds between loyalties and bloodlines, then, were commonplace among Proto-Ascerians, and had by in large grossly inflamed tensions not only between Proto-Ascerian peoples and the peoples of the hamlets they now found themselves anthropophagizing, but also between individual clans and even inside of clans themselves. The loose, constantly-shifting nature of Proto-Ascerian society paved way for a chaotic, constantly-shifting arrangement, one where wealth and status was lost as easily as it had been gained, for which the fluidity of life itself was seen, perhaps viciously, as free as life itself. Life was orderless, anarchic perhaps, but certainly never dull.

But, come the Gaulletics. What would soon come to be known as Asceria would be brought unto the fold - if not unto by heel for lack of trying. Initially, the divisions between Proto-Ascerian tribes had long divided not just individual chieftains, but also their many wise-men and witches in council. Some had long foreseen the sheer power that the Dark Men from across the seal could bequeath unto them, yet in that same breath their opposites warned that the strength lent to them from their would-be ally was not their own. The divisive opinions mattered little in the end, for those who would be lent unto the Dark Man would find themselves absorbed along their wind, and for those who might resist would lead to little aside from a chase back unto the Sceri from which they came - and from which they had long not belonged. The clans and battle-families which had long found themselves fighting side-by-side in alignment of their wrongs with the Dark Men of the West divided even their fragmented society greatly, until the vast and varied peoples of the Mountain Pine were solidified and their culture claimed; In that sense, when the dust settled and their people firmly a vassal, Asceria - then - was born.

Aptly, the description to fit the relationship that the Ascerians have toward their overlord is one of acceptance, and little besides. Above all, Ascerians are nothing short of proud, and the aptitude from which the Gaulletics have routinely subverted or thwarted both the efforts of not just Ascerians - but of their friends and foes alike - has earned them something of a...begrudging respect.

Respect and cooperation are not always two sides of the same coin, however, and that is a fact that is a painfully omnipresent statement as to be seen whenever one walks through the lands of the Ascerian. The Mycorian language is only spoken in the most absolute of circumstances, regulated only unto middlemen and adjudicators for Móirens. Metropolitan Mycorian fashion is discarded and disrobed for the native cloth and pelt of Asceria's sparked artisanship, from the ornate stone-and-wood, jagged architecture of Asceria displacing any mention of Mycorian masonwork, such that any Merchant Guild or Embassy shall stand out in the Ascerian settlement as to display it like a zoo. Even the Imperial Cult has been ritualistically cannibalized, butchered and carved before Ascerian totem-poles and prayer flags as saints become spirits and prayers become majicks.

But alas, an Ascerian likewise has long known the mantra of obligation and mercy unto concord. While Mycoria has earned a their respect, the same certainly cannot be said for their friendship. And with the rumors of a rapacious disease tearing apart Mycorian society - one which only afflicts the Dark Ones - the true nature of their relationship shall be brought to bear, and perhaps with it, Mycoria shall witness whether Asceria shall ride into the future atop her majestic greatwolves with her, or toward her.

I'll make a flag and a better claim when I'm not on vacation and I have access to my computer. In the meantime, here app

[CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY] Persona Ω: Antumbra Joker Pandemonium

Yam Ranch - The Ranch House

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The Demon Lord is indubitably an intelligent presence - He had muscled and crawled and scampered through the ranks of the Underworld, and even as a Emberling He showed tenacity to even make a Great One show appreciation. Lord Ahriman - The Fires fuel His soul - has made great strides in the advances of Sheol unto Earth, even rivaling those decadent bastards in the Church! The apostates in the service of the Goddess are nothing but a cabal of villains, rogues, and those who so priggishly defend the former two! They so shamelessly appropriate the tenants of Demonhood and so utterly corrupt them under veils of "light", "restraint", "order", and other such nonsense. It is nepotism, preying on the disenfranchised and desperate, and little besides. We, on the other hand, offer freedom and true merit, and the Demons shall never once cease until ever last agent of light is likewise cast down. In our righteous crusade, Lord Ahriman leads as the forefront of this campaign, coming from our Demonic home of Sheol, Crux of the Underworld.

Yet like clockwork, every time there was the problem. Not quite the same problem each time, but ones so similar as to which their similarities could never be disputed nor refuted throughout Demonkind. Like the Deus Ex Machina of mortal tales, a mystical hero, prophesied to come from a far-flung land, would turn unto the Demons and from the Darkness usher in Light. Some even say it must be the Curse of Saint Zariah, but none expected her revenge to be so...persistent. They are each unassuming, fumbling fools who have bumbled before an unknown world and only spared a fittingly anticlimactic death by Her Clairvoyance. Her Guidance shall propel her champions - Her summoned sheep-in-paladin-dress, and whatever sorry whelps have been drugged by Her meddling - and their inexplicable machinations have thwarted the plans of even the most cunning of Demon Kings.

Well, to Heaven with that! Lord Ahriman did not muscle and grime and plot and plan his perfect revenge for some magical tart to come along and muck it up, all because some cooky, overzealous old crone gave him a magic sword! He has faced a foe far greater than himself several times before, and while he still sits upon his Obsidian Throne, the night shall not fade! He, in all his infernal preeminence, has done far beyond the simple squalor on his crawl to the top: He has studied - quite impressively - and in His findings has so ascertained his study a most intriguing pattern. Her Guidance is a persistent pestilence, but not one without reason. She shall summon weak champions with each one fallen, another to exact her reprise. The sorts by which find their way into our world have all been cut from similar cloth. They are foolish, vain, weak-minded simpletons, devoid of personality and so insufferably lifeless that those who might know better shall call them what they truly are: Mere puppets of Her Will. Yet, such base desires are easily thwarted, for so simple the promise of wine and women may just as soon deter his attention - and his loyalty. Lord Ahriman - in all His eminent brilliance - hatched a most cunning plot, and instead has convened a most supine corps, who shall likewise infiltrate, interlope, and hunt down these would-be "champions". A defeated foe might one day return tenfold stronger for nemesis, but a reconciled one is truly, utterly vanquished. And if they so love to lap the boots of Her Will? Well, we can sure teach them a thing or two on how to lick...

Heartbreaking, isn't it?

---

So, who wants to be an Isekai Hunter?

As perhaps slated by the introductory blurb - and perhaps the tags (insofar that anyone really goes about reading those nowadays...) - Heartbreaker is a different take on your usual isekai romp. You are not the isekai protagonist. You've likely lived here your entire life, in Anime Fantasy Land working in some appropriately relevant field as to ascertain something which is not a life of agriculture or servitude. Her Guidance is a vexing thing, no doubt...but that is why you have sought out the Powers of Sheol, isn't it? The idea of a pre-ascertained life is a...depressing, incarcerating thing, only predetermined to an uneventful life, from which one's eternal soul shall be likewise unceremoniously plucked from its rotting prison and likewise re-incarcerated in its next banal life. But, really, where is the fun in that? Fortunately, Lord Ahriman is quite keen to intervene the affairs of mortals, and is readily here to correct this.

Before you ask: Yes. It does deal with the usual assortment of anime tropes - on the receiving end. Her Clairvoyance gives your very annoying target a surprising amount of foresight and protection, but as with everything that involves plot armor, we should hope that you will be savvy enough to subvert the typical array of augurs our poor hero will be credo to. Not just anyone can be a Heartbreaker, and only the smartest, strongest, swiftest, and serendipitous of souls survive long enough to rightfully call themselves one who might subvert Her Guidance. Yet, any plan which involves an unresponsive enemy ceases to be such and instead turns into fantasy. Her Vengeance shall twist and thwart in turn while she eternally plots in turn, and on the fields of mortals shall engage the greatest battle of wits to ever grace the land.

Expect a usual assortment of absurdist horror and its friend in humor: The Immortals often have a - forgive the pun - demented sense of comedy, and so too when Those Above and Those Below shall clash in the fields of mortals, they shall likewise adapt to their senses. A more "gonzo" sense of humor should be expected - and expect a lot of comedic tropes in anime to be parodied.

Interested? Vunderfaal! Here's a Character Sheet template I made off of this morning's caffeine binge, if you're so engrossed.

Character Sheet

Name: How in the Seven Fires can you be of use to Lord Ahriman if you do not even know your own name?!

Age: Age is just a number: Much like how the prisons of Tartarus are simply rooms. Death is likewise but a mere inconvenience for those in the service of Sheol. Under normal circumstances, Demons cannot be killed: Only banished to Sheol for an indeterminate amount of time. Mortals who find themselves facing an inconvenient demise find their souls under the wing of Lord Ahriman, who shall revive them back unto their old self.

Race: There's all sorts of garden-variety fantasy races out there in the world, and all of them pale in comparison to what truly matters in the eyes of the Demons. One is either a Mortal or a Demon, and whatever other...connotations are preferred are really only window dressing to most in Sheolese society. Those still in the Land of the Living, however, will take more interest. Even the most well-trained of mortals never come close to the near-limitless potential of Demonhood, yet Mortals shall likewise go unnoticed throughout "polite" society, as Demons are easily revealed by Holy objects or Detection spells, no matter how well-trained they are to mask themselves.

Appearance: Cough up a suitably anime-inspired portrait of a figure that bears the likeness of your character. A description will also suffice, but please limit it to a paragraph or two.

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Background: Lord Ahriman posses the time for your life story, but not the patience. He is a prudent fellow (by the "generous" standards of a Demon Lord), but His Excellency insists that you spit it out: Not maunder on like a chattering maidservant.

Skills and Abilities: Something sets you above the usual charlatans thrown at the feet of Lord Ahriman. You are no grovelling aspirant. You are one of His finest and most trusted of henchmen - you are likewise required to prove it. Demons reward the successes of their champions generously with hellish magics and demonic powers, and Lord Ahriman is a most generous soul indeed. He - however - should prefer that you handle things with tact, even if the twisting of Her Guidance is a messy business.

Quips: If you have any miscellaneous character details, quirks, inspirations, 'anime-isms', or what-have-you, feel free to list them here.

Lord Ahriman's Primer to the lands of Hyusis

Hyusis - the favoured land of God, Lodestar of Eminora, Beacon unto the Cosmos, Siren to Her Faithful and Condyle of Naika with Her Seven Lunar Sons - and all other flavourful euphemisms to describe this crater that is this magnet of Metsu-Yun. It is for some perplexingly convenient reason that such is the will of our cosmos to direct energy of the suns unto this northerly waste, but alas, for Her favoured land too produces Akhrana from the eternal foci of its position on Earth. And for what coincidence do her most Holy of lands likewise draw her champions there, like moths to a bonfire!

It is for that simple reason, in my decades of study, that all her champions have convened in this fated territory on this island Naika. It serves as her hallowed ground, and it is from this worldly centre that she finds herself abundant with faraway fellows. Many have called this land their righteous home, and through virtue of conquest has She found it righteous to do proclaim her homeland in the domain of others.

Political "Entities"

The Empire

The so-called "Empire" is such an eclectic mess, permeating the West Banks, which runs so proudly from the Silver Marches, from which the Twin Plumes bellow in eternity to the whispering blue Arratz. It is simply nightmarish collection of noble houses, counties, duchies - all petty kingdoms beneath the banner of its electoral emperorship. It's lords care for the health of their nation once every four months, at the convening of their Diets, and are likewise so thoroughly entangled in their interpersonal affairs that it proves as a seedbed for intrigue. They yammer and squabble with so regular basis that the cries of foul play in the courts of Ouran are likened to the sound of bird song, and for this incessant bickering does it make for fine interloping.

They do love their imitation of the ancients - first-fold of Xandrian's Empire of yore, for which the Ourani do incessantly emulate in their far-forgotten fashions, in futile hope that they might earn but a shred of their long-lost glory - and second-fold in their cannibalization of the High Elves. From its cradling capital of Zariahr, most all the region of Hyusis remains under their nominal peerage. A few stragglers remain, of course, but Zariahr very much loves its vassals under heel. With their manyfold slaves in tow (Ouran insists upon calling its man-property "peasants", "subjects", "serfs", "helots", "servants", and all other manner of epithets - I only call them for what they are) this Empire of Ouran has far moved beyond its eponymous city-state and has transformed into the figurehead of a multi-national empire. Its scenescape varies far from the graceful, temperate lowlands of the Vestia to the ashen, snow-capped peaks of Spitta-Lyir.

The esteemed Lusavor dynasty preoccupies the Ivory Throne - the sixth or so, I believe - and their reign has such proved to be an aggressively conservative affair. Few in the Imperial courts are believed to be happy with their arrangement of iron-lipped dismissals, but even fewer are willing to possibly openly jeopardize their meagre worldly holdings in display to change their dismay. Emperor Lusavor serves as Pontifix Antaram's mouthpiece it so seems, and has thus far not shown much ambition towards ever changing this. His beloved betrothed, on the other hand, is quite the scene for rumour...

Rha-Mara

Ah, the elves. Those in the Ouran Empire are awfully proud of the integration of the High Elves - much like a zookeeper is proud of an old lion. What remain are only the scattered remant of the Low Elven folk of Rha-Mara. They are a fierce folk, with such belligerence and spirit that even an orc chieftain might blush to hear their feats. Many are subject yet to a life of vassalage beneath the Empire, yet there still exist the many who refuse to bow their heads before the Ourani yoke.

The Aran Mountains around which they convene nurture the woods of what they might call, "Great Išnaši". Their subbornness to hold out against the ever-threatening encroachment of the Clions into their sacred lands is nothing short of admirable, if their pursuit appears to be for naught. A good few of their clans stand divided in their approach to how quite deal with the Clionist threat. Quite a few favour a manner of ceasefire, penance, or perchance integration - depending on how deep they are into Ourani's coffers - yet the youngest and best-eyed of their clansmen have taken up a staunch anti-Ourani stance, determined to keep any manner of their influence free from their territory. The Low Elves have sacrificed much, and it seems unlikely that there will be any further appeasement in the near future - but cooperation is another matter, and some of the more "civil-minded" of their ilk seem quite pressed to reach an agreement. As it seems, though, the scenario between them and the Empire remains a tenuous one, for any sort of full-fledged incursion would almost certainly unite the clans into one front.

Sela Orda

The orcs are such an easily...misinterpreted peoples. Coarse hills and jagged badlands far dominate the fields of Uli-Töva from whence they come, to which their peoples have found themselves in incessant conflict with both the elves of the north and the dwarves of the Far East - to say nothing of the humans - for what resources remain in easy access of their native hearth. Most so-called "civilized" nations are quick to dismiss the orc as an avatar of brutishness: They simply treat unkindness with reprisal of their own, and it is by this same virtue that the violence of the Empire is called "law" and the violence of the orcs called "banditry".

Most petty chieftains of Sela Orda are routinely extorted for tribute from Ourani - be it in the form of labour, coin, or promising slave-warriors. Few, naturally, are thus satisfied with this arrangement, but the varied and aeons-old feuds between clans and families deter any attempts at a truly united Orcish political entity. I believe, however, that this might be remedied with a few good marriages of opportunity...

The Church of Clionism

Since the time of The Prophets have there been those so enterprising as to ascertain the whims of those greater than themselves. Their own prophet - the one we now know as "Clion of Arkhaila" Nevertheless, Clionism stands as the primary religious denomination found throughout the land, where they displace the aboriginals of Her favoured land with the same zeal as any might remove any vermin or parasite.

The Church is split into two predominant sects: Xandrian thought and Alytian thought. They have fought many a war to resolve very specific differences over what are largely the same ground tenants. Their most noteworthy symbol resolves the Three-Pronged Cross, for which they adorn almost every last preface with simply confusing iteration.

Holy Orders

The Ecclesiarchy of Clionism - regardless of sect or geography - acts with so utter of impunity it has driven even the most draconian of kings mad with envy. Likewise, any such organization would indubitably need a militant arm, for which they shall stamp out the slightest signs of heresy or witchcraft. Their robber-knights routinely scrounge throughout the Imperial countryside, from where they righteously pluck the promising from their homes and grant unto them a life of but indenturement. These holy robber barons are unbeholden to petty lords, but might be routinely whored out to such nobles with the right circumstances...or connections.

Of note, one might be wary of the ones known as Namissaries in their service. The Namissar (Feminine: Namissara) are undoubtedly among the strongest corps of any Order. Namissaries are an elite cabal of slave-knights which have been granted servitude under the banner of an Order in exchange for absolution - and of course, status, with cattle of their own. Thorughout the years, the status of Namissaries have grown bloated, content to become cliquish with each passing generation, but mistakes shall not be made by insisting these old dogs no longer possess teeth.

Magic and Akhrana

You need me not to describe the painstaking astronomical theories under which the power of the cosmos is projected unto the power of Akhrana. All but the most insignificant of beings are capable of the manipulation of Akhrana, and its minute details for which its implementation are used on Naika would be a fruitless and wasteful endeavour. Primarily, the main cause for concern in regards to the power of Akhrana would be in its incredibly tangible nature; By virtue of being found within every most being on Naika, the more powerful one's instruments in its use, the more its reverberations are echoed, until even the most minute actions by the most powerful of mages sends ripples throughout the world in ways they could never possibly forsee. I would hope not to remind you of the consequences of reckless use of Akhrana, but needless to say, any half-intelligent being would be mindful of the trail one leaves when engaging in the magics.

GM's notes on naming conventions

Decided i'd put these notes here, in the event anyone needs any headway when I make any of these things.

• ECCLESIASTICAL NAMES: The original names for the continent of Hyusis come from Graeco-Armenian and other Early Semetic languages. This includes most of the names for planetary bodies, and the world of Naika itself. The Ecclesiastical language (High Alytian) is still predominantly spoken for religious and ceremonial purposes, and every self-respecting nobleman knows it; Many nobles do not even know the common languages of their holds in question, only speaking High Alytian and requiring manservants to translate their orders.
• IMPERIAL NAMES: Given the multi-ethnic nature of the Ourani Empire, there's all combinations of nomenclatures that could be possible.
• RHA-MARANESE / ELVEN NAMES: I've written Elves to use something based off of Baltic languages. High Elves would use a Western Baltic similar to Old Prussian while the Low Elves of Rha-Mara would use something apropos Old Lithuanian.
• ORCISH NAMES: I used Northwest Turkic languages for my basis here, so think of Kazakh and Tatar.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

Here's my CS, much later than it should've been.

Children of Atom

Name: Church of the Children of Atom

Flag: This is one of several flags they use

Territory: Megaton (under Brotherhood rule), the Glowing Sea, and the western half of Mount Desert Island.

History: The Church of the Children of Atom was a religion worshiping the god Atom that sprung up in the Capital Wasteland around an unexploded atomic bomb, based on the belief that every atom was a universe and that nuclear fission resulted in the creation of new universes. In the Capital Wasteland, the church prospered due to both the economic boon brought on by the publishing of the Wasteland Survival Guide and the increased stability brought on by the Brotherhood's rise to power. Missionaries and faithful set out to find other holy irradiated sites, and one such expedition, sent at the behest of Confessor Cromwell, came to Mount Desert Island.

On the island, the Children of Atom were aided by a synthetic man named DiMA, and settled in what was once an old submarine base, irradiated by the submarine's leaking reactor. Tensions arose, however, when a missionary was murdered in Far Harbor, a tragedy that would cause Confessor Martin to depart from the island. In his place, a ruthless fanatic named Tektus took power, giving himself the title of High Confessor and eliminating anyone he considered might be disloyal to him, and preaching the destruction of both Far Harbor and Arcadia.

Eventually, DiMA chose to act, and had Tektus replaced with one of his synth followers, programmed to believe he was the real High Confessor, with the best traits of both Tektus and Martin. The synth Tektus proceeded to make peace with the other factions on the island and rein in the fanaticism that his predecessor had encouraged, and peace on the island was achieve.

When the Institute survivors took Arcadia, the synth Tektus was upset at this shift in the balance of power, and wary at the new arrivals' much more liberal use of DiMA's fog condenser technology, but the two sides ultimately reached an understanding, where the Institute would control the eastern half of the Island and the Children of Atom would rule over the western half.

In practice, the Children of Atom only control the southwestern part of the island, preferring to leave the northwestern half of "Atom's kingdom" largely untouched and unsullied, aside from a few retaliatory strikes against trappers. They've taken over the Fringe Cove Docks to use as their own harbor, and have taken Brook's Head Lighthouse from the trappers to enable their ships to safely navigate the fog.

Pressing Issues: Currently, the Church is seeking to re-establish contact with its other branches. Last they've heard, the church in Megaton remains strong in the faith and prosperous, but due to being under the Brotherhood's rule, is politically and militarily powerless. The situation in the Commonwealth is much more dire, with many its faithful being violent fanatics. and as a result the church's reputation in the Commonwealth is very bad. Currently, the High Confessor is looking to send missionaries and inquisitors to the Commonwealth to correct the fanatics and their misguided beliefs, and to send messengers to Megaton to ensure that their brothers and sisters aren't being mistreated.

They're not entirely sure what to make of the Institute. It's unclear if they can be trusted, or what their long-term goals are, but what is clear is that they have considerable technical expertise, and so far have been willing to coexist. There might be considerable risk in sharing the Nucleus' tech left behind by DiMA but also considerable opportunity if the Institute's scientists and engineers could make the Vessel- and the base housing it-operational.

As for Far Harbor, they're still upset at their killing of their missionaries, but have agreed to peace, or at least mutual non-aggression. Since the Institute now claims sovereignty over Far Harbor, this has not changed. Most of the harbor's inhabitants are welcome to come to the Fringe Cove docks to trade, except for Allen Marks, whom the Zealots and Inquisitors have standing orders to arrest if he sets foot in Children of Atom territory.

@Crimson Paladin

The sheet looks nice, but just as a heads-up, the image link you've used for their flag seems to be broken.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

It took forever, but here it is.

CPG

Commonwealth Provisional Government

Territory

Greater Boston area (Boston, Providence, Worcester, Manchester), Cape Cod, and Nuka-World.

History

The mushroom cloud over the C.I.T ruin marked the end of constant paranoia and sleepless nights for the people of the Commonwealth. It was finally free from the Institute's gasp and able to venture towards a brand new day. And it was all thanks to the brave men and women of the Minuteman and its leader, General Rafel Pozo. Known as the Sole Survivor, Rafel emerged from Vault 111 and bought forth change to his home. And yet, it was his encounter with Preston Garvey and the remaining survivors of the Quincy Massacre that sealed the Commonwealth's fate.

Even with the Institute gone, Boston still had its own issues that required the Minuteman's attention. And that was what they did. Diamond City, Goodneighbor, and Bunker Hill flourished with help from the General, becoming loyal to the cause. Soon enough, settlers began exploring beyond the Boston Metropolitan Area once space became limited. Cape Cod, Plymouth, and Worcester were some of the pre-war regions found to be suitable.

However, it wasn't until the cleansing of raiders from Nuka-World that secured the Minuteman's fate. General Pozo decided to expand their foothold beyond the Greater Boston region with a significant trading hub under their control. Still, there was some pushback to the idea from several well-known individuals, including Preston Garvey. Garvey and the General argued more and more for the next few years as their disputes were more challenging to regulate.

Recently, both men put their differences aside for a brief moment to help establish the Commonwealth Provisional Government. But, people wondered how long the peace would last.

Pressing Issues

The Glowing Sea: A highly irradiated area next to Boston large enough to produce rad storms for the Commonwealth. And while the local wildlife thrived, many assumed that humans couldn't live in the sea due to the radiation. That was until the Crater of Atom was found by the Sole Survivors after his encounter with the Children of Atom. After the encounter, it was assumed that the religious cult would've left the rest of the Commonwealth alone. But, unfortunately, they were utterly wrong in their assumption.

A House Divided: The division between General Rafel Pozo and Preston Garvey was planted after the Institute's destruction. And since then, that division had grown with each decision questioned by the General's old friend. People of the Commonwealth are increasingly worried that it'll eventually lead to violence, which would impact the Minuteman for the worst. But, for now, they hope that the CPG's formation will lead to the harmony of both men.

The New Nation: The previous attempt to form the Commonwealth Provisional Government led to a bloody massacre at the hands of the Institute. And even with them gone, people were still hesitant to the idea for years. But, it was General Rafel Pozo that took the dramatic step and organized a meeting with the major settlements at neutral grounds. After days of negotiations, the CPG was founded, and representatives were appointed shortly after. Thus, a new nation was born.

@Mao Mao

Nice work, you're in the clear from what I can see.

War Never Changes III: Annals of the East

Have been having a Fallout itch lately, but I don't want to stretch my time too thin. I might do a stupid. Yam knows. I got some ideas. Might need to adjust some things due to neighboring factions but I am very collaborative. Promise.

But you know me, there's always a place for my home city in my heart... so soon, there will be...

Welcome to the Motor City

Name:

The Integrated Republic of Detroit

Flag:

Claims:

Hider

Territory:

To the west of the Canadian Confederation, stretching over the remains of Detroit lies a republic stitched together with duct tape. President Trczinski claims the glory of the republic stretches from the remains of Bay City to Battle Creek and finally, Toledo.

In reality, the Republic is more of a loose alliance of states that believe in the centralized identity that they share with each having significant rivals, threats, and problems. While Detroit itself is the most centralized and defensible, there is a sprawl of dense wasteland between Detroit and its sister cities, the most significant being a irradiated waste between itself and Toledo situated around the ruins of the Nuclear manufacturing center of what was once known as Monroe. The military presence in Woodhaven describe the irradiated wastes that spans from southern Flat Rock over the ruins of La Salle all the way to the edge of Yargerville and Luna Pier. The locals call it “No Man’s Land” and “The Dead Zone”.

With the Great Lakes Confederacy to the north of the Republic, those in the remains of Bay City, Kalamazoo, and Battle Creek find themselves constantly stretched thin despite clear support from the President. With little nuclear wastes between them and the Confederates, a long line of trenches dot the heavily wooded central rivers and fields. The fear of white peace breaking down is a constant anxiety within these cities and that's not even considering the slave trafficking and raider groups that prey on the highways. Those situated south of Battle Creek and such areas, however, find themselves on their own and largely independent, which can be difficult with the roaming bands of supermutants and other factions beyond the old border.

But what the Republic lacks in sheer size it makes up for in organization and work ethic.

History:

The Integrated Republic of Detroit was founded by the scavengers with the idea of restoring a trade center in post-war Detroit, though difficulties began when conflicts collided between these scavengers and the few survivors of the apocalypse that had since become “ghouls”. But eventually these conflicts subsided and the foundations of the IRD were put into place. Descendants of these scavengers, Detroiters, have a common identity and similar goals in embodying their motto and credence (see quote) to the point that there is a shared unity in the greater good of the republic equating to the greater good of the individual.

Detroit endures, despite the challenges it now faces. Some of the key events in its history are detailed below for simplicity:
<sub>- 2198: The earliest version of the Republic is formed.
- 2241: Nathan Frakes is elected President of the Republic. A economic boom occurs some years later.
- 2251: President Frakes dies in his bed.
- 2282: Lifelong Detroiter and diplomatic asset, Montimer Pyke, is elected President.
- 2289: President Pyke is ousted from office after a public scandal. He commits suicide two hours later.
- 2298: Present Date</sub>

Pressing Issues:

Neighbors: Detroit has always seen as a wayward republic and has had many turbulent issues. They have never formally allied or declared war with its neighbors, of which, have significant land that Detroiters fear will lead to its fall if the wrong stone is thrown. A empire of "mobsters" to the south. Rival Michiganders to the north in the Confederacy. 'ronto to the East. With President Trczinski's election and her significant history as a military tactician and ruthless combatant it may strike up tensions and create the idea that Detroit is ready for war.

Political Situation: Trczinski is popular among the unwashed, but not particularly with the upper crust elites who had once controlled the last handful of Presidents. Her own Vice President isn't a fan of hers and has designs on the chair she sits in.

Raiders, Slavers, & Mutants: It's life in the wasteland and just because you stick a 'Republic' on an area doesn't mean that goes away. In Western Michigan a huge network of slavers, raiders, and undesirables has become prevalent. Smugglers dot the eastern side. Supermutants basically live out of No Man's Land in former Monroe, but also in the remains of the Warren Dunes in the west, Niles in south-central, and that’s without mentioning that Lansing is a big shiny hole in the ground that seems to breed the most of them all. Feral ghouls, too. Don’t go to Lansing. You’ll die.

@TGM

Looks fine to me. You get the thumbs-up from yours truly.

Empire of the Empty Throne

I do imagine there'd be some weird shit happening. But like, no children from it.

@Dinh AaronMk

You can probably describe Gaülletic colonial policy as, "any hole's a goal"

Morovia: A Dieselpunk NRP

I have to ask just how a toxin-filled world would even be capable of anthropologically supporting the steps upwards to an industrial revolution. Even fluctuations in weather conditions on a weekly basis could likely lead to a lot of "coastal" settlements along the miasma sea to become virtually depopulated just because of a stray wind pattern. You can't really make the comparison to our own oceans, because the oceans themselves were a symbiotic part of human development. You can't fish or sail from a gaseous sea of aerosol poison. Realistically, it would make virtually anything that would have a remote chance of coming into contact with the miasma sea virtually unnavigable, which itself would stifle most forms of travel beyond the largest and tallest of mountain chains. This is to say nothing on what could come of errant weather's effects on agricultural development. If the peaks of mountains are above the mist, the soil is going to be very rocky and not particularly conductive to anything other than grasses, mosses, and shrub-based plants, as well as some very hardy trees. Couple this with the fact that almost any form of precipitation would result in Acid Rain On Steroids, and I think that all of this immediately rules most forms of agriculture viably.

If anything, the human populations of the world would practically be constricted to - generously speaking - isolated, semi-nomadic tribes that would need to constantly relocate due to shifting wind currents that might threaten to wipe out entire permanent settlements. Barring serious advances in architecture that would likewise require incredible mega-projects - i.e. self-sealed buildings that would be required to have their own virtual atmosphere to be sealed from the miasma - I can't particularly see the justification in any civilization larger than hunter-gatherers, or perhaps even ancient slave-based societies like you might see in Mesopotamia or Anatolia. But I can't envision any society gathering much traction beyond that - nevermind the myriad of advancements that is required for anything beyond nomadic societies: Any serious mining or metalworking operation requires permanence, and when the world as a whole is threatened by stray breezes of miasma that could depopulate whole towns, I don't see any serious advances in technological progress, barring some, "Aliens came and gave us airships" shit.

Extracriminal

The email she got, the client who sent it, and the place she was meeting at were all the usual amount of suspect. But the tape recorder? That's when Maëlle started to wonder if she was walking into a plot of a new episode of Serial Killers.

Getting killed off by a serial killer who really had it out against biker chicks? Maëlle kinda chuckled at the idea. Hell of a way to go, she thought. Even the place was just run down enough to pass for the cover. Not run-down enough to give anyone the impression that the store owner had to run heroin to pay the landlord, but this place wasn't paying for the owner's yacht, either. Just the right mesh of mess and maintenance to live up to the impression of desperate living. Maybe the inconspicuous nature was helped that Maëlle threw on a set of clothes that ran the bill for your usual townie this time of the year: Really puffy rain jacket, and whatever passed for yoga pants.

Parking was always a real shitshow in places like New York, or...well, actually, almost city in America, Maëlle remembered. NYC wasn't as bad as a lot of places in the States - at least this place had a nice little lot around the corner to keep her bike. Always helped to have a quick getaway in situations like this. In Chicago or Detroit, though? Yeah, she'd run around those bends a few times before, and getting anything into or out of anything resembling a parking spot was a big of a pipe dream as American banking coming back. The whole ordeal wasn't something that Maëlle easily shook off in her head, especially when it was almost like the ancient recorder in her hand had almost felt like it was sapping out head from under her while she held it. But there was something there, something that drove her there. She guessed it was the money. Or the times. Maybe the stories? Or...

Well, it was thinking about Detroit that gave Maëlle the reassurance she needed to at least be convinced this wasn't a complete trap.

Pressing open the front double doors, Maëlle did have the glorious storefront reveal itself unto her, with all the secrets of everything a zeroth-year art student could ever want all in her reach. Incandescent fluorescence flooded around her, the artificial brightness of the little paint shop drowning out the evening's dusk of the city's streets. Faint blues from above washed every painting on display into a deep drab, nicely complimenting the chipped floor tiles and dust-speckled wall paint in its air of decrepit depression. And all while she admired it - as one did admire the 50-something flasher in the junkie park - Senior's voice went off without a hitch.

-Mr. Cheng, the shop runner, is an associate of mine. He's in the know about our business ventures, but we need spare him the details. The back room is where you'll head. There's a panel at the back of the freezer - leads to a basement.

('Mr. Cheng', huh?) Old guy, too. Was even paging through a yellowed-out physical magazine. The sight made Maëlle's eyebrows raise; She hadn't even seen a magazine that wasn't a cringe-inducing tabloid on the grocery store shelves that were several years out of print by the time they were put up. She always thought that all they all had gone digital for anyone who really cared about them by now, but as it turns out, the world always had a few surprises in store for old Maëlle. When Maëlle had reached her hand toward the backroom doorhandle, Mr. Cheng hardly exchanged a passing glance over, just as nonchalantly turning his eyes back over toward his late-day reading.

With each step of his instructions, the place was starting to turn from "backroom kickover" to "mastermind lair" with every step. The keypad? Okay, Maëlle had seen a couple in her lifetime before - all in the hands of some real old-school types. They were tried and tested, and at least she could say that they worked for 90% of the time, 25% of the time. That wasn't real out of the place, especially not for a guy like Mr. Cheng. But, the sliding wall? Staircase to a basement? Handprint security, but without the guy to put his hand on the scanner, she-

(Wait, the fuck?!) Maëlle almost shouted, her reaction sending her into a silent shock. The machine hummed to light, opening up the door to what could only be described as a virtual bunker, which reverberated throughout with the electric hum of computer after computer.

(How the Hell did he get my handprints...?)

It was here - at this moment in an ultra-tech basement in a no-name paint store somewhere in New York - that she knew that Senior wasn't just the regular fixer. This guy meant business. He had to know someone to get all of this - and more than likely, probably knew more people than Maëlle had ever met. But, who did she to meet?

Two other women. Every one of them were about the same age. All pretty well-dressed for the occasion. Same expertise too, she imagined. She looked over at her accomplices - first at the blackhead, then at the blonde - put her hands on her hips, and conjured up a look of sarcastic impression.

"Yeah," Maëlle announced, "This is how I end up on one of those serial killer shows."