[color=ed1c24][u][b]The Pitt - Haven
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“Ashur preserve us. Ashur save us. Ashur grant us life.”

Marie stood silently beside the ornate forged steel coffin which was about to be lowered to her Father’s final resting place. It was a simple, yet powerful symbol of his iron rule over The Pitt for these many long years. The monument that would be placed overtop it would be an even greater one; a mighty marble statue of Lord Ashur clad in his power armor looking ever onwards towards a new horizon just beyond. It would forever stand tall in front the courtyard of Haven - allowing Ashur to watch over the mighty city of iron, steel, and fire that he had created from nothing. His tomb to be guarded day and night eternally by a loyal cadre of his most trusted warriors.

As the coffin was lowered, Marie turned to face the assembled mass of warriors and workers who had gathered to watch the burial of their monarch, no: their Lord and Savior. The God-King was dead, long-live the God-Queen. 

Twenty years ago this massive host before her that clogged the streets of Uptown would have been nothing more than murderers, chem’d up junkies, and psychopaths: there were still plenty of those, of course, but now there was also so much more: standing before her now was a more populous and productive citizenry of The Pitt: forever grateful to her family for their deliverance. The cure for the Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion had been found: her Mother, Sandra ‘The Blessed Queen’ as the people called her, had managed to engineer a vaccine from Marie’s “miraculous” blood. It was not miraculous of course, no more miraculous than her Father was a god, but the mutation that had given rise to her immunity to the disease was a rare and unusual one. Perhaps, that in of itself, was miraculous. 

The distribution of the cure had meant that The Pitt could stop fearing the contagion that had been brutally culling their people for a generation. They could have children again and the ranks of the Trogs stopped growing. That much her Father had delivered on his promise in spades. Others, such as freedom for The Pitt’s slaves, he had not. The Pitt despite its progress was still a hellish smog-choked city scorched by the heat of a thousand blast furnaces. The slaves were still needed to work the mills, run the smelters, and feed the always hungry fires of industry. Slaves were a necessity, and would likely continue to be so until conditions stabilized enough for the work to be tolerable. 

Until then, she would have to harden her heart and bear the same burden her father once had. 

“Citizens of The Pitt,” She began, her voice echoing throughout Uptown via the network of speakers that were installed on nearly every walkway which connected the upper floors of the pre-war buildings that made up this part of the city.

“Lord Ashur has gone to Paradise, beckoned home by those who he once left behind in order that he might descend unto this hell and raise up a city from its ashes.”

A great wail arose from the assembled crowd, which continued unabated until Marie raised a delicate white-gloved hand up to halt the display of mourning,

“His work is not yet done, however, and it has fallen to me to continue it. I promise you that while there is breath yet in me, The PItt will never fall back into the horror and despair that once reigned here unchecked.  Our industrial might is unmatched in the waste and the Raiders which wield the bounty of our furnaces march forth unopposed to bring civilization to the wastes beyond our borders! The Pitt is strong, our great city unassailable, and our future brighter than ever! Glory to Mighty Ashur! Glory to The Pitt!”

Marie outstretched her hands, the long white dress she wore making it appear as if she were unfolding a pair of wings. She was the picture of angelic grace radiating in the depths of hell: a symbol that her Father had gone to very great lengths to cultivate about her person ever since she was a baby. 

“All Hail Lady Marie! All hail the Queen of The Pitt!” The crowd cried, their tone taking on an almost zealous fervor. 

“Queen of The Pitt! Queen of The Pitt!” They chanted. 

Marie lowered her hands and collapsed them together, allowing herself a moment to take in the undulating adoration of her people.  Her hands trembled slightly, though she would never allow anyone to see such weakness from her. To her people, she was the daughter of a literal god, a Queen now in her own right and a divine figure worshiped as such like one of the mighty ancient Pharaohs of Egypt. Marie knew the reality - she was not a god, not the daughter of one either and whatever right she ruled by was certainly not divine. 

The crowd's fervor reached a boiling point, goaded on by black and red-robed preachers amongst their midst that fanned the flames of devotion. Multitudes of workers and raiders alike surged forward like a tidal wave, breaking through the first cordon of Uptown raiders that had tried to stem the flow. They were now rushing the gates of Haven itself with manic desperation: not out of hatred or rebellious intent - but with outstretched hands begging for a single touch from the Lady of The Pitt. 

Marie felt sick, hearing their pleas and cries for any number of things: the cure of an ailment or the deliverance of a family member who had been mortally injured in the Mill. She wished somehow, someway, she could be the miracle-giver they believed her to be. That with a sweep of her hand she could fix all their problems and more. But she could not, she might be ruler of The Pitt, but right now she was only a mortal woman, and a daughter who had just lost her father. 

The Haven guardsmen revved their auto-axes and strode forward, intent on ensuring that any fool who dared step a single toe into the sacred grounds of Haven would be swiftly dealt with. Meanwhile Uptown raiders armed with infiltrator rifles took up positions on the gantry above the streets, and began taking pot-shots at anyone who had crossed the cordon. Several workers were hit, and the crowd nearest the gates erupted into a panic. 

“Lady Ashur I think its best if you retire now,” One of her advisors, an elderly ex-Brotherhood scribe named Abaddon whispered to her, “Your presence will only incite them to further acts of zealotry. We should return to Haven, let the guard do their jobs..”

Marie thought for a moment and nodded, turning her head only slightly to meet the eyes of her wizened advisor, “Yes...yes you’re right of course. Let's go.”

The old scribe motioned for several of Marie’s female attendants to grab the hem of her long dress and begin making for the doors of the palace. Marie halted them for a brief moment however, and turned back to the guardsmen that were formed up on the steps of the palace. 

“Captain!"

One of the Haven Guard, a man covered head to toe in heavy PItt-forged steel armor strode forward and knelt before her. 

“Your command my Lady?”

“Ensure there is no unnecessary bloodshed. These people are not here to cause harm to us, they have simply been caught up in the moment. I do not want a massacre to mark my father’s funeral, is that clear?”

“Yes Lady Ashur,” the Captain replied swiftly before beating his chest in a salute and returning to oversee the defense of Haven’s grounds. 

Marie left then with her advisors and attendants in toe, closing the heavy doors behind them as they retreated inside. Marie could hear the wails of her people as they watched her leave, begging her to return and grace them with her presence. She could also hear orders and commands of her raider guard ordering everyone back to The Mills. 

A new dawn had come for The Pitt, and Marie feared that this was perhaps an ill omen.