---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Put-put-put-put

The familiar sound Boss had come to grow accustomed to over the last four months filled the air as the small modified old world barge puttered its way down the Mississippi river. The old ship he rode upon had once been used to clean the very river they rode in; the large rectangular metal frame about as basic as they come. Aside from the dirty metal cabin that housed the steering controls there was no where to take shelter from the sun that could grow rather harsh some days; especially with how slow the actual barge traveled. Because of this his crew, which had originally consisted of fourty experienced caravan hands, had strung up metal poles that they then draped in thick tarps-making a rather effective if somewhat shabby looking form of shelter. The men not only slept beneath their handmade creation but kept the vast amount of goods they hoped to sell down South here.

To say the journey so far had been bad would be an understatement-only three men remaining of the original fourty. Along the way they had encountered every sort of trouble one could imagine; from raiders and monsters that changed from state to state to the very weather itself. Then halfway through the journey over half of the remaining men mutinied; the growing fear of dying for the unknown along with a literal ship full of supplies eventually outweighing the fear of the man who was running the expedition: Boss. This mistake not only cost all the mutineers their lives but solidified the loyalty of his remaining men.

As they wound through Alabama into Mississippi they found themselves at 17 men strong-however this now tight knit group of men and women was doing a far better job of fighting off any threats they encountered along the way. With renewed confidence the group journeyed onwards; having stopped in multiple large and small communities along the way their treasure trove of tradeable goods had grown to encompass rather rare items from all five states they had passed through along the way. The plan, as Boss had told his men time and time again in between puffs of his ever present cigarette, was to reach the coast and finish up any trading along the way; from there they would turn back around and head home with a fortune in goods. Atleast that was the idea.

When they reached Louisiana it seemed like every day was a raider atack-and not only were these attackers more organized then anything they had yet to encounter but worse was the beefed up boats they rode in; crafts that had been modified for the soul purpose of raiding along the river. Needless to say their large rectangular craft was practically a slow floating target.

By sheer luck the trading vessel continued on despite its ever dwindling crew; the handful of men on board now driven by the maddening drive to finish a task that had already taken so much from them.

---

“Boss! Boss! You gotta come see this!” The raspy leather like voice of his ghoulish companion, a man Boss simply called Ted, broke over the constant sputtering of the boats engine.

Boss, who had been taking his turn sleeping, was quickly torn awake-without thinking his hands finding their way to the beat up old pump action 20 gauge he seemed to carry everywhere. Rolling to his feat in what was a rather fluid motion he came up at the ready; his shotgun held level and steady as he scanned the area for would be atackers.

The display made Ted croak out a laugh; the leather jacket wearing ghoul quickly throwing both hands in the air in a display that comically read 'dont shoot.' “Calm down Boss, just thought you'd want to be awake for this. Remember those traders we met a week back? The ones that kept goin on about that city down South-you know, the one that sounded to damn good to be true?”

“What about it?” Boss barked back while simultaneously lighting his first cigarette of the day. Between puffs he picked up the large leather duster he had been using as a pillow the previous night-after a few harsh shakes to get rid of any excess dirt or hiding bugs he quickly put on the draping leather overcoat.

“Oh nothin, just thought you'd wana be awake as we pulled into port. You know, less me and Cat might run off with all the goods. Hell probably shoulda just killed you while you were sleeping come to think of it-actually...”

Boss wasn't sure what Ted said after that; his companions dark humor falling on deaf ears as his gaze came to rest past all the various crates and boxes of supplies that were strewn on the main deck in front of him. He had become transfixed on the sight just down the river; the surreal view of various sea worthy boats and vessels all bobbing to and fro in what was the largest harbor anyone aboard the tiny little barge had ever seen; a sight made even stranger by the diverse and cultured people that went about their day among the sprawling white marble banered covered buildings. Truly, Boss had never seen anything like it.

As Cat, the woman steering their ship, made her way into the peninsula that contained the docks their view of the shore became clearer and clearer. The place was crowded with all sorts people loading and unloading various goods just as rare and foreign as anything on Boss's boat. Unlike his floating monstrosity many of the ships here looked rather decked out in technology or at the very least well taken care of, a fact that made Boss feel more and more embarrassed the closer they got to shore. Honestly the more they neared this crown jewel of trade (which is what Boss had takein to calling this strange port town) the group began to wonder just what sort of place they had discovered. Boss in particular breathed in a sigh of relief; somewhere in the back of his mind he was convinced he had just found his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

With a better view Boss made note of the numerous ships of different varieties; some old, repurposed freighters, others wooden warships from past eras. Also rather eye catching were the men and women adorned in matching scarlet uniforms; the striking color so visible that before they even set anchor Boss was convinced that this group of individuals ran the port-if not the Town itself.

On a cliff, overlooking a nearby raider camp, lay a man, peering through a pair of binoculars. Known as 'Longshot' to the locals, this man was actually Sergeant Dominic Garrett of the NCR Covert Recon. He was currently acting as a mercenary or scout for-hire for the locals of the city of Orleans, though in reality he was sent by the NCR to scout out new territories for possible conquest. At this moment, he was looking over a raider camp he had been hired to wipe out. Watching over the layout of the camp, he noted that the raiders had kept a stockpile of explosive ordnance near their central campfire, a poor choice. Dominic mapped out the plan in his head. Wind direction East, about 6 miles per hour. Distance of about 55 yards. Expected to kill all intended targets. Dominic lowered his binoculars, and drew out his carbine, deploying it on its bipod, and taking aim. With an exhale, and a squeeze, he sent a single 5.56 round at the explosive stockpile, attempting to either ignite the explosives, or send some of them tumbling into the fire, causing a massive detonation. The round flew straight and true, knocking a supply of TNT into the fire, triggering the expected reaction. The entire camp went up in smoke, killing the 5-odd raiders in the area, and finishing the job. Dominic stood and headed back to town to collect his payment...

Sebastian nodded as the Order soldiers pointed him towards the Castle, he'd entered the Savreaux district a short while before after having handed the damn gate guards a bag of 50 caps. He hoped that trader he met on the road was right, there'd better be some good work here if it cost 50 caps just to get into the damn place.

As he walked he was almost dumbstruck by what he saw, a sprawling gated city as proud and as mighty as anything else he'd seen in his time wandering the wastes. It certainly beat anything back home in DC that was for sure.

As he walked he noted the opulent way the various people were dressed, even the soldiers were smartly appointed, and well armed he thought noting the laser rifles approvingly. He made a mental note to see if he could find the commander of these troopers, most officers had some work they needed doing, and he was the type of man to get it done.

As Sebastian continued walking towards the castle he could now see dominating the skyline the other people in town started casting odd looks at him. He guessed he did look rather strange, covered head to foot in black rubber and cloth, save the gold and orange hue of his helmet visor. He didn't really care what they thought, let them stare it'd simply spread the word around. The Shadow had come to Orleans.

He arrived at the castle, it was as extravagant as the rest of the city. It's marble stonework was draped in various banners proudly displaying a golden diamond upon a red field. He came to a large wooden gate where he was stopped by a number of soldiers. Here we go, he thought, time to find some work.

Tom Carson swore as a Marauder’s bullet drove a splinter of wood into his arm. Leaning over the window of the small wheelhouse he fired back. A fierce, savage grin flashed across his face as he saw the bastard he had been aiming at fall backwards with a cry. Blood splashed up the bulkhead behind him as the thug toppled over the side into the grey waters of the gulf of Mexico.
Carson glanced around him; the three Marauder vessels that had jumped them were circling around their boat, sweeping the decks with small-arms fire. Even as he watched one of the Marauder boats swept alongside, her crew blazing away. As Carson ducked hastily back into cover, bullets cracking around him, he could only wonder how in the Hell things had gotten so screwed, so quickly.

He and his fellows had left Port Davis in a small civilian boat, the Betty-Sue, three days earlier. The mission had been simple enough. Land on the coast of Orleans with his small team and proceed to the city. Once there, begin extensive reconnaissance to assess the locals and their political, military, and social structure. When ordered, return to the coast for pickup. A task Carson had accomplished many times before. Granted, sometimes the task became difficult and complex before long, but most of the time he had managed to get to the Operational Area before the shooting started.

No such luck this time, though. As the Sue moved ever closer to the point where his team was to be put ashore with their equipment, three Marauder craft had appeared from behind a small island as suddenly as if they had been pulled from a magicians’ hat. Guardsman Kagney was decapitated by a heavy-calibre bullet before Carson and his men had a chance to react.

And now, Carson thought darkly as one of the Sue’s civilian crewmen staggered back with his chest blown open by a hail of MG rounds, we are in some serious and deep shit.
“Jesus damn Christ!” Archer fell beside him. Blood pooled, sticky and horribly warm, under the two of them.
“Frank!” Carson snapped, looking down at his comrade’s leg, which had a huge bullet wound just over his knee. The man looked up at him, eyes already glazing over. Bullet must have hit an artery, Carson thought as he set his AK-74 barrel on the edge of the wheelhouse. Drawing a bead on the Marauder ship that had just strafed them, Carson fired a tight three-round burst that threw one of the shooters into the Gulf of Mexico with half his head blown off. The enemy ship came in close again, bullets whining. Carson dropped again. “Frank, I’ve got to bind...” His voice trailed off. Frank Archer wouldn’t need anything ever again.
“Shit,” Carson growled. As the Marauder came alongside he stepped from cover, emptying his clip into the side of the ship. A sudden, violent explosion kicked the rear end of the Marauder vessel clear out of the water.
“Eat that!” Carson roared as the ship began to sink. “Eat it, asshole!” He turned to see Oxley swing the minigun he had used to sink the first Marauder to the second ship, which had been preparing to begin it’s own attack. As bullets started flashing across the water from Oxley’s weapon Carson turned to Rufus, the captain. “Closer! You need to get us closer to shore!”
“And run my boat aground?!” Rufus sounded like Carson had just dropped his Mother off a roof.
“If we stay in the water we’ll be feeding the fish!” Carson retorted. Rufus couldn’t argue with that. The boat was taking in one Hell of a lot of water, and her engine was failing.
Carson ran to join Oxley, who was raking the rapidly-approaching Marauder vessel with murderous fire.
“Where is Hartmann?” He demanded.
“Gettin the Armour ready.” Oxley shouted over the roar of gunfire.
Carson nodded. “Good.” The deck shifted under his feet as the Sue made straight for land. The second Marauder ship bored in, taking horrific punishment. Fire began to lick from a ruptured tank on the enemy ship.
Then Oxley was hit. A laser bolt from a Synth crewman seared through his upper arm, causing him to drop the extremely heavy minigun.

“Shit!” He swore, pulling out his pistol as Carson shredded the Synth with a burst of AK fire. Rufus returned fire as well with his heavy revolver. Oxley threw himself into cover and snapped off a couple of quick shots at the looming Marauder ship.
Moments later the pirates hove alongside the Betty-Sue, still blazing away. Carson spat a curse as four of the Marauder crewmen leapt onto their deck. Oxley put a bullet into the nearest guy's head seconds before the second man blasted him into oblivion with a stubby shotgun. Carson leaned around the corner and returned the compliment, slaying Oxley's killer with a tight three-round burst. But three more enemies leapt across onto the Betty-Sue seconds later. Rufus, the captain, yelped like a kicked dog as a Ghoul Marauder sent a round slicing through his left thigh. He staggered but didn't let go of the wheel.
"Just keep us heading for land!" Carson shouted, firing at the Ghoul and missing. "Son of a Bitch." He growled as the Marauders moved towards him.
Then Arthur Hartmann came onto the deck. His suit of T-60 power armour heaved itself from th e lower deck. The gattling laser he carried spat hardlight, sything down the Marauders on the Sue's deck like ripe wheat. Storming forward, Hartmann knocked the remaining foe's plasma rifle aside and lifed him clear off the deck with one hand. The man struggled for a moment, legs kicking, before Hartmann's augmented strength snapped his neck. Carson pumped a fist in the air as his comrade tossed the corpse aside like it was an empty sack.

"We're getting close to shore!" Rufus yelled over the sound of gunfire and the Betty-Sue's labouring engine. As if to confirm several large flashes eruped from the shore.
"The Order?" Carson shouted back at the captain.
"Yeah." Rufus confirmed. "Heavy guns that the King has been using to secure the coastline. I just hope that they don't-"
Towers of water erupted around the battling ships. Another exploded just alonside, drenching Carson.
"Drop too close." Rufus finished, eyes still fixed on the rapidly-approaching coastline.
Hartmann proceeded to walk his fire along the flank of the Marauder vessel, causing several explosions on the waterline. Another explosion, bigger than the last, kicked the Marauder vessel away from the Sue's side.
Hartmann turned, face unreadable behind the T-60 helmet.
"Killed those bastards." He said, voice harsh through the speakers.
"Damn right." Carson answered, reloading his weapon. "You really-"
With that, the Betty-Sue exploded. A shell fired from the shoreside guns landed just on her stern, almost ripping the boat in half. Carson flew, sky, sea, and earth spinning in a wild kaleidoscope as he whirled threw the air. Then a large board, part of the ship's deck, smacked Carson in the side of the head, dropping a black curtain over his vision.

"Major? can you hear me? I need you awake. Major!"
Carson slowly opened his eyes. He was bumping along on someone's shoulder. His head lolled until he shook some of the cobwebs from it.
"Major?" The voice was Hartmann's. Carson lifted his head as his comrade set him down. They were in the shallows, Hartmann still wearing the Power Armour. Carson hissed in pain.
"Bastards got me." It wasn't a question.
Hartmann nodded. "Yeah. a fair-sized splinter in your thigh. I bandaged it up, but you need a proper doctor, Major. And soon."
Carson leaned against the stump of a dead tree. "We're not in the External Security Bureau now, Art. Don't use that title when we're in the field."
Hartmann said nothing, checking his T-60's sensors. "I dragged you out of the water when the boat went up. Thank God the ESB let us take Power Armour with us; we both would have been corpses otherwise."
Carson scanned his surroundings. He could see a pall of smoke rising above the skyline, and lights flickering closer. Looked like handheld torches. He said as much to Hartmann, who nodded.

"The last Marauder wasn't hit, and dropped guys off along the coast. They're closing in on us."
Carson shugged wearily. "Standard decoy doctrine, then?" He suggested.
"I thought as much." Hartmann confirmed, checking the action on his plasma rifle. The gatling laser had been abandoned when the Sue had went up. He handed Carson his AK-74 and PPK.
"I'll head inland." Hartmann said. "Once they are drawn away, head for the Order trading post on the peninsula. You'll find help there. Those bastards won't hang about, the Order troopers will be coming. Can you walk?"
Carson nodded. "I will have to. Contact protocol MB-88?"
"Understood." Hartmann turned to go. "Oh, right." The Power-Armoured operative said. "I recovered this for you."
He handed Carson his cap. "Thank you." The ESB agent said feelingly. It was a Soviet officer's cap, hammer and sickle gleaming from it's front. Carson had taken the cap some years peviously as a momento of a particularly gruelling mission. He would have missed it.

"All right. I'm moving." Hartmann said, readying his plasma rifle. Carson hauled himself upright, slinging his AK over his back and chambering a round into his PPK. He extended his hand.
"Good luck." He said, shaking Hartmann's hand.
"And you." Hartmann turned and loped off into the gloom, T-60 whining as its' hydraulics pushed him along.
Carson limped off in the opposite direction. Minutes later the shooting started, muzzle flashes and laser blasts flashing in the pre-dawn light. Carson didn't stop. He had to keep moving.

@Tuxedo Fox

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

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

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

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

@Karos

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

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

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

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

@Lord Coake

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

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

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

@Ulstermann

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

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

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

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

@Ordure

Sebastian cocked his head to one side for a moment appraising the colossal figure that stood before him. He didn't take kindly to having his intelligence insulted, but considering the rather menacing gatling laser the figure was wielding he let it slide. He looked the creature straight in the eyes hands at his sides to show he meant no threat.

'I've heard it said that a certain Napoleon is causing his majesty some difficulty' began Sebastian, his voice sure and confident. He'd seen this sort of posturing before and it didn't concern him, he knew that if the figure tried anything he could disappear as easily as he'd come. 'If my strange appearance didn't make it quite obvious I have a talent for dealing with such people. I came to humbly offer my services to the king, but if this is not the place to do so, please direct me to whomever I need speak to' he continued politely.

@Ordure

"Ami! Ami! Ne tirez pas!" Carson held up a hand as a squad of red-coated soldiers pointed their weapons at him. He showed his hands, slowly. Their leader, a dark-skinned young man with intelligent eyes, stepped forward and scrutinised Carson for a long moment. Carson watched him back.

"Il est bon." Their leader said at last, and his soldiers dispersed. After offering him medical assistance and even a hot meal the fellow walked off. Carson followed, heading into the trading post. He was impressed by what he saw; the fine  marble buildings and ordered streets made a welcome change from the shanties of DC or the rough and ready frontier towns in the Mojave. Carson limped past an old Pre-War barge that had come in from the river as a Synth bureaucrat laid out docking regulations. Carson limped a little faster to catch up with the Order officer. 

"Les pirates attaquent souvent si proche de vos cotes?" (The pirates often attack so close to your coast?) 

Carson was glad he had taken the time to learn the language of Orleans before  setting out.

"Les pirates qui nous ont tendu un piege sont sur vos terres en ce moment meme. Un peu a l'est de ce peninsule." (The pirates who set a trap for us are on your land at this very moment. A little east of the peninsula.) 

Carson slowed again, not wanting to push his wounded leg any more than he had to. 

"Et si vous me le permettez, j'ai une autre question." (And if you don't mind, I have another question.) Carson hesitated as the officer led him through another crowd of people bargaining their wares in a small market. He filed away everything he saw- people, prices, architecture- for the ESB. 

"Je suis un veteran de nombreux conflits a travers ce maudit continent-je pourrais vous être utile pour le bon prix." (I am a veteran of numerous conflicts across this accursed continent-I could be useful to you for the right price.)

@Ordure

“Best do as the strange talking robot thing says Boss.”

Boss could just hear Ted say from behind while doing his best to tear his eyes away from the large patches of exposed wire and circuits visible in the thing that called itself C3-405. Giving a slight nod in agreement Boss quickly shot back “Yeah, for now anyways. Go hold up in the cabin with Cat till this all gets sorted out though, allright?” The way Boss spoke it was clear this wasn't a question.

“Sure thing, Boss.” Ted croaked while giving a far to enthusiastic salute before scurrying off. Boss simply shook his head in silent humor.

Turning his attention back to the mechanical thing hailing them from the port Boss did his best to follow all the rigorous instructions shouted towards him-in turn he then shouted (his rough voice reaching levels far louder then it had any right too) the orders towards Cat and Ted, both of whom sat in the relative safety of the locked metal.

Just as Cat rather skillfully guided their large clumsy barge into the set aside brig the sound of Artillery ripped through the air, clearly coming from somewhere not to far off. Despite whatever happened next Boss had to admit one thing: he'd be glad to get off that damn river for a while.

@Karos

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

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

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

@Tuxedo Fox

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

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

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

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

@Ulstermann

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

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

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

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

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

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

@Ordure"En effet, j'ai fait mes recherches. Il faut connaitre avant de voyager." (Yes, I did my research. You have to know before you travel.) That wasn't quite true; The External Security Bureau had installed a small cranial implant in his skull that allowed him to learn French at an accelerated rate. 

"...wait, a little east of the peninsula? Excuse-moi for a moment." Carson leaned against one of the Trading Post's clean walls as the officer-captain? Dispatched a squad of troopers off to the east, where distant pop pop pop's showed that the Marauders were still shooting. 

Carson hoped Art Hartmann was all right. 

"... more like an offer." The officer went on as he led Carson to a large, imposing building. 

"Yes," answered the Enclave major, dropping back into English. "Word of the Order travels far. I heard that they pay good caps for a steady gun arm. We were going to offer our services anyway before those bastards jumped us." He stopped for a moment, surprised at the opulent interior of the building. Taking the offered seat, he sighed in relief as a shiny Mister Handy jabbed a stimpak into the flesh of his upper arm. 

"Make yourself at home." The dark-skinned officer said. The robot laid a meal out for the two men, pouring glasses of wine. Carson took a drink, relaxing slightly. He sampled the meal.

"A fine spread." He complimented, taking another pull of the wine. The Mister Handy began a playback of "Spring", a piece of music from a Pre-War composer. Carson said little for the next couple of minutes, eating steadily. 

After clearing his plate, he leaned back. "Thank you. I needed that, and no mistake." He paused. "Word also travels about the...problems the Order has been experiencing. I hear of a Revolution in the underbelly of Orleans. Is it true?" One of Carson's main objectives was to evaluate the severity of the populist insurgency in the region. Hopefully by signing on with the King's men he could get a close look.

He took a thick cigar from the waterproof pocket of his greatcoat. "Do you mind if I smoke?" He asked.

@Ordure

Longshot was caught somewhat off-guard by the 'Order Knights' guarding the bridge. It was blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain that these were raiders of some sort, attempting to make a quick payout with a toll. However, Longshot was in no position to fight the highwaymen, so he pulled a small pouch out of his bandolier, which contained a bit over 200 caps. It was by no means all of his money, but it still put a dent into his funds. He tossed it to the man, saying "That should cover the toll, plus a little extra, since I know you Order Knights have been having a bit of trouble with rebels." He gave the man a wink as he spoke. Longshot hated to give away his hard-earned caps, though he had been told that his clearing out of the raider camp would garner him enough to replace this loss, as long as his employer stayed true to his word. Once given the go-ahead, he would walk across the bridge, eager to make it back to town.

@Ordure
The next few moments were an odd blur of robotic jargon that culminated in a brief shower of sparks that shot out of C3s exposed innards; the whole scene enough to make Boss take a noticeable step back. In all honesty he half expected the odd robot man to just blow up on the spot. However before even having a chance to respond the mechanical man was off; Boss watching as his greeter hurried back down the river obviously off to take care of more important robot duties. Boss really hoped he hadn't missed anything too important when he was having all the rules of the trade town explained to him in rapid succesion; hell, Boss was still just trying to wrap his head around why he had been greeted with a cry of mercy?

Watching C3 disappear into the crowded dockside left Boss feeling slightly uneasy-he was used to ghouls, mutants and even the occasional clumsy robot but never in his life had he encountered anything as seemingly advanced as C3; even more troublesome though was that Boss could already see a fair number of these same hollow men stalking the streets. He pushed the thought aside for now though, returning his attention to the job at hand.

"Allright, were good to come on out Ted." Boss shouted as he turned around and made his way to the cabin of the ship which was in actuality little more then a glorified giant metal box.

"Oh yeah? Whats the password?" Ted spat back, his raspy mischievous voice echoing from within the cabin. Boss also swore he heard Cat laugh soon after.

"Oh fuck off, will ya?" Boss grunted while giving the locked cabin door a slight kick.

The sound of several locks being turned was quickly followed by the painful groaning of the cabin door opening-Ted literally throwing his full weight into pushing the heavy thing open. "Just had to make sure it was you Boss. Can never be too careful, eh?" Ted asked while wearing his signature cocky grin (which on his ghoulish face really looked more like a snarl to the untrained eye.) Leisurely making his way past Boss onto the ship deck the leather jacket wearing ghoul began to do what looked like his own form of stretches accompanied by the rythmic counting of "And 1 and 2 and 3 and 4..."

Boss had to bite his tongue; he liked Ted after all but the mans seemingly endless antics tended to grate on Boss after awhile. It was also completely beyond Boss's comprehension how out of the fourty most experienced Caravaners Ted was one of the last three alive. Luckily Cat had also made it this far, a woman whose perky and quite demeanor was more in line with Boss's personality; but more importantly was the fact that most days she was the one person who kept Boss from throttling Ted to death.

Following in the ghouls footsteps Cat also made her way out of the cabin, the sun bouncing off both her extremely blonde hair that she kept in a tight ponytail and the large black sunglasses she always seemed to wear. Of all three she seemed dressed most appropriately for the weather; her old patched up army fatigues fitting that sweet spot of 'not to cold and not to hot.'

"So, whats the plan Boss?" Cat asked as she stared in the direction of Ted.

For a brief moment Boss wondered if she was staring at the Ghouls ass or the busy trading post directly behind Ted-he really hoped for both of their sakes it was the later of the two.

"Well like normal your in charge of old chucklehead while Im gone-gonna do my best to check out the area, see if I can't find somebody to take a look at this piecea trash before it decides to completely sink." Boss replied while nodding to the extensive dammage that was...well...everywhere. The fact that the little rectangular barge hadn't even begun taking on water yet was a true testament to old world manufacturing.

"Sure thing Boss, bring me back somethin good to eat though. Deal?" Cat asked while flashing a toothy smile Boss's way.

Boss was about to tell Cat ok when he was cut off by Ted. "And some booze for your loyal crew too. Oh and a radio, check out the local scene you know? Maybe one of them robots to? Imagine me, in charge of a robot-hell I'd even dress him up all snazzy, call em jeeves or somethin. Oh! And-"

Boss stepped off the ship before the urge to turn his three man crew into a dynamic duo became to great. No sooner had he set foot on the actual docks was he seemingly whisked away by the current of people moving every which way-like a piece of driftwood Boss just let the crowds guide him for awhile to see just where he would end up. Part of the fun in seeing different settlements, especially the larger variety like this, was just the random exploration Boss thought to himself as a particularly large group of scarlet wearing men strode past him in unison. He couldn't help but let out a sharp whistle as they passed, his eyes lingering on the myriad of laser weapons they openly sported. Whoever these guys were they sure had the caps. He doubted there was any coincidence that they were marching towards the direction of gun fire just outside the settlement.

Before long Boss had found his way to a seedier section of the large outpost; a fact that made Boss chuckle to himself. Leave it to him to always find his way to the shittiest part of town, he thought. Looking for a spot to catch his bearings he decided it would be best to get off the street for a few moments; afterall he stuck out somewhat even among the rather varied populace. Between his duster, scarf, and dirty goggles atop his head it was clear this was a man who still dressed for more arid and dessert conditions-a fact that not only made him stick out like a sore thumb but could no doubt be his downfall in the summer months to come.

@Ordure

Sebastian turned and made his way towards the building that the Super Mutant had indicated. As he walked away he heard the whine of a gatling laser, strange… from the sound of the blasts impacting her could determine that they were erratic. The logical conclusion he thought, either the mutant enjoyed using the weapon too much, or he had an injury of some sort that stopped him aiming it properly.

As Sebastian continued walking he came to another marble building draped with the same banners as before. There were soldiers training in outer courtyards shooting targets with laser rifles and more mundane arms. Whilst others did press ups or spared with one another. This was the place he thought and strode towards the building.

As Sebastian kept walking he looked for a quiet spot, time to make an entrance he thought to himself. He hid himself away behind some crates off to one side and activated his suits stealth field. With the familiar fizz the field engaged. To any observers it would appear as if Sebastian had just vanished into thin air, if they'd looked closer though they might have been able to make out a vague outline of a man who now crouched low. He made his way around the back of the barracks block and waited for a soldier to leave a door ajar. He got his opportunity when a soldier stepped out to smoke, the man didn't even suspect Sebastian might be there, as the mercenary darted through the open door behind him.

Once inside Sebastian was struck by the smell of alcohol and smoke. As he paced around the edge of the room still in the shadows he noted the presence of a ghoul at the head of a large table. Sat around him seemed to be other more junior officers and they were all shouting and arguing gesticulating at a map. Sebastian smiled to himself, this seemed perfect, too many jobs and not enough hands, a perfect opportunity. Sebastian silently drew his sword from its scabbard at his waist and made his way around the edge of the room. Once he was in position opposite the ghoul in charge he strode up to where the troopers were arguing with his stealth field still engaged. In the half-light of the room none of the men seemed to notice, all far to preoccupied with the map. Sebastian rested the tip of his blade in between his feet placing both his hands atop the hilt. Then, he deactivated the Stealth field.

For a moment no one seemed to notice then several figures dropped their cigarettes and so forth and went to draw weapons from their holsters. All except the commander who began laughing, Sebastian remained unmoving looking directly at the ghoul who appeared to be in charge.

'Captain Fillimore?' he inquired in a monotone.

@Ulstermann

"Ah, vous avez entendu?" {Ah, you heard?} The captain took a long drag on a high-grade cigar of his own, his eyes scanning Tom. "The revolution - now that's a group we share a long, dark history with - and I'm sure you'd like to hear it."

The captain snapped his fingers, and the robotic butler ceased his music instantly - the only sound being the flickering of the fireplace behind him, illuminating the entire room in it's hazy orange glow. "Mon nom est Noel Cade - captain of the trading outpost of Orleans. This wasn't always the case, toutefois - I was once Knight Cade, and I doing the road circuit along districts with my squad; ensuring that people made their way through districts safely, protecting caravans - that sort of thing." The Order Knight's eyes seemed far away as he said his piece, his saffron eyes far away as he seemed to take the officer on his story long ago - the thin smoke of the fire billowing up.

"It was late in the night when they attacked us sans provocation - they took us by surprise. The first one to go down was our leader, Paladin Fallow - a generation three synth, she was sniped in the head first. His life was extinguished in a second. She was the one that sponsored me into The Order." Captain Cade said, not sad, but wistful. "The next troop opened fire on us with a minigun - shredded through most of my squad right there. I watched them drop to the ground, riddled with impacte de balles. I managed to escape by ducking behind cover - but I wasn't alone. I got into hand-to-hand combat against one of them with a shishkebab. I hacked off his arm with my rapier, but received severe wounds, so I began to run, unsure of where I was."

"I almost escaped - but not without a cost. The great "voice of the people" herself graced me with my presence." The captain said, bitter. "Napoleon V. The great leader of the French Revolution. She shot me in the leg, and watched as I crawled off, bleeding, dying - and she laughed."

Captain Cade took a deep breath. "Après, I was found by a nearby squadron, luckily. Napoleon V didn't follow. I suppose elle a assumé I would simply bleed out in the middle of nowhere and die alone, knowing all of my companions were gone. I was lucky to have been found, otherwise, you'd most likely be speaking to a completely different man at the moment." The captain sat back in his chair, as the crackling of the fire grew louder. "Je suppose you'll hear the French Revolution's lies soon enough; about how they fight for equality, how they want a democracy. I want them to tell that to the children of my squad mates - look them in the eyes and say they fight for the people."

"I sat in a wheelchair for three years. The people around me - on m'a appelé a hero, that I was brave. I didn't feel like one." Captain Cade would reach down, raising his right pant leg, revealing a mass of metal and wire. "I only recently received the implant. The newly appointed science head for The Order - bénisse - fitted me with this, and allowed me to resume my time as a newly appointed captain."

@Lord Coake

"Uh, wait, what?" The 'Order Knight' said, looking more than surprised that the caps had actually been forked over. "Well.. I'll be damned."

The Order Knight would pick through the bottle caps, ensuring that each one was legit, before waving the pouch in front of his companions with a broad, dirty grin. The laser dot focused on Longshot's head would dissipate, and the 'Order Knights' would step aside, leaving the path to the bridge wide open. As the bridge was passed, a noticeable, disgusting smell would arise, a smell similar to that of three weak old meat left out in the sun for too long - and upon closer inspection, a large cluster of stripped bodies, bloodied and decapitated, were piled on the river's shore, hidden under the bridge, each with a broken laser rifle in hand. In the background, the raiders would heartily laugh, surprised that someone stupid enough to "believe" their disguise had survived in the East End of Orleans.

"Retard."

As the mercenary came up the bridge, the large, marble walls of the district began to grow larger over the horizon - but unlike the usual district, the massive banners draped against it's walls had been tattered and torn, the marble brick walls were severely dirtied and even streaked with blood in some places, and several columns of smoke were arising from the center of town - just another average day for the Proulx District. Upon the district coming into full view, revealing several crowds of poor, dirtied people sleeping and eating around it - too poor to even beg in the streets - the main wooden gate would appear, wide open - and a massive crowd of people could be seen, their old ragged clothes filling the township, almost completely absent of Order Knights.

It would be hard to push past the massive crowd; but upon looking farther through the crowd, down the long, straight cobble road, Longshot would notice a lone figure standing on a pile of milk crates and shipping crates, rallying the people as the figure paced the mountain of junk, far above the rest of the riot - the figure flanked by several riot-gear armored troops wielding an old, duct-taped rifle and the other a shishkebab, the heavy gasoline tanks trapped to the back of the soldier; he was missing his left arm. Order Knights edged the crowd, yelling indiscriminately, but they couldn't be heard above the roar of the people and the figure. If the figure was inspected closely, it would reveal a young - woman, twenty five, possibly, with hazel skin, her blues eyes filled with fiery passion and her ponytail whipping around as she rallied people.

"What are you doing?!" A nearby protester asked, bumping into the mercenary among the wild crowd. "Why're you just - standing around? You know who that is up there?! That's Napoleon V! She heads the French Revolution herself!"

@Tuxedo Fox

"Now, ah, you! You there - the dirty lookin' man, with that duster - say, you're one adventurous lookin' fellah!" A rough, gristly voice would call out. "You look like a man in need of companionship!"

In a small, nearby wooden outpost, a short, stout man would wave over Boss. The man was odd-looking - he appeared to be missing several teeth, his face was portly and scrunched up, and his left arm was missing - replaced by a rusted mechanical one, several wires sticking out in odd places. His little wooden outpost was filled with scores of wires, circuitry, motherboards, and duct-tape. Surrounding the man were multiple old, rusted robots; some out of commission, others alive and buzzing with electricity. Next to the man was a particularly perky looking Eyebot, humming some old blues tunes from the local radio. Above the outpost, rusted and spray-painted over several times, was the sign "Jimbo's Robros" in an old, ugly spray-painted red. A symbol of a broken chain was painted on his wall.

"Now, now, I'm sure you may be thinking - who the hell is this guy? Why is he waving at me? Did he just call me lonely?!" The man said, walking up to Boss. "Well, shut up! I'm Jimbo, of Jimbo's Robros - the leading robot outpost of the T-O-O, and the cheapest, too!"

The man would wave to his outpost, the mass of cobbled-together robots there - ranging from Mister Handy units missing legs and coated in rust, to even a Sentry Bot with it's rocket launcher replaced by a fatman. "Now, these robots aren't quite what you'd get from your average robotics store, with their fancy chrome Mister Handies and fully armed sentry bots - but my bots have personalities! Feelings! Opinions!" The man wrapped his arm around Boss, trying to lead him to his store. "Now, take for instance this plucky little fella' - I lit him on fire, hit him with a shovel, and threw him in the Bog 'cause he wouldn't sell - but he came back a week later and shot my arm!" The man laughed, waving to an Eyebot that chirped playfully.

"And that big ol' clunker - Little Boy - I found him in a scrapyard out by the districts. I fixed him up with this badass fatman I picked up, and brought him here! Real dangerous. Don't let him near kids." The man chuckled. "But seriously, don't let him near kids. Tried that once. Now, sir, what'll it be? Fatty's ten thousand caps - and that's a real deal. That badass could bring down a district by himself. Asshead - that's the flying radio - he's uh, hundred caps. Sure. Probably worth less. Don't let him shoot your arm off. Little asshole. The others aren't for sale - still trying to get them to working order."

@Karos

"He-heh heh.." The captain laughed heartily, as the officers around him cocked their guns. "Eh bien, gamin - you certainly know how to make an entrance, I suppose. Try that again and you'll get your goddamn head blown off, though."

The captain sighed a sigh of relief, propping his boots up on the table. The officers around him, however, still had each of their weapons focused on the man - a super mutant with a combat rifle, a synth with a .44, a woman with a 10mm, and a wide range of other types of species with weapons. The captain grinned, his rotting flesh spreading apart to reveal ivory white teeth - evidently a man who made sure to take care of himself, despite large chunks of his own skin rotting off due to radiation. His cataract eyes focused on the stealth suited man, and despite not seeing Sebastian's face, he seemed to be staring directly into his eyes - his dull eyes somehow being piercing at the same time.

"Captain Fillimore - that's me. The head of all troops in the Savreaux District. The ghoul said, his raspy voice full of confidence. "If you're looking for a job, then you've certainly come to the right place. I send idiots out to die all the time - but judging from that suit of yours, you don't seem the type to be too much of an idiot."

The soldiers surrounding the captain gradually grew to be more at ease, lowering their weapons - several, however, kept them focused directly at the head of the stealth suited figure. The captain lit a cigarette and blew several smoke rings, displaying his prominent lack of stress, despite the fact the stealth suited guy could possibly be a distraction and a sniper rifle could be pointed at his head right now, or the figure could be a French Revolutionist, or the figure could just be there to try to kill him for the hell of it. But the ghoul demonstrated a remarkable calm, as he continued to draw several figures on the paper map in the center in pen, marking out several key points.

"If you're looking for a job - I got one. A riot's been breaking out in the Proulx District over the last couple of days. I marked it on the map. Most Southeastern district. Head there, and kill the girl standing on the milk crates - got that? We can organize a team of soldiers to escort you there, but by judging from the looks of it, you can handle yourself."

@Ordure

Sebastian stands motionless through all of this until the Captain finished speaking. He looks at the markings on the map working out where he needed to go based on his limited knowledge of the local geography.

'I won't need an escort, but I don't work for free captain, how much is this job worth?' said Sebastian as he finished his assessment of the map sheathing his sword. 'Who is this woman, does she have any affiliations of note?'

@Karos

The captain grimaced, his eyes hardening as he stared at the walking stealth suit. "Donc, vous voulez votre argent, non? {So, you want your money, huh?} A mercenary. I'll throw ya' 20,000 caps. Up front, from the king's treasury himself." The captain seemed almost fully aware that he was sending Sebastian Monroe out to die - he hardly expected him to return with her body. "The woman's of.. mild importance. The head of a blossoming revolution that we've been warring with for a few decades. Il est sans importance pour vous, but you'll be doing a substantial favor for The Order. It'll be as simple as stabbing her in the back using that stealth suit of yours."

The captain sighed, before beginning speaking with his colleagues again; discussing the problem of The Revolution as if he hadn't just opted to pay the mercenary in front of him twenty thousand caps to kill the head of the revolution - he knew that while without Napoleon V, the revolution would topple just as quickly as it had begun with no proper, charismatic leader to take her place; but then again, The Order had hired thirty seven mercenaries across the entire nation over the past sixty years to kill the leader of the revolution; ranging from Gunners to Talon Company, everyone had their fair share of killing the leader of the group; and they had all failed.

"If you're looking to do that half now, half later shit, than no dice." The captain said, taking a thick puff of his cigar. "It shows me you aren't professional; you can't trust your own work. I'll give you all or nothing here."

@Ordure

Longshot was somewhat stunned by the crowd, having not seen anything this large since President Walton's inaugural address back home in Shady Sands. He was so caught up in the amazing spectacle, he failed to notice the person bump into him, until they spoke. "Why're you just - standing around? You know who that is up there?! That's Napoleon V! She heads the French Revolution herself!" He head them say, and was quite shocked at the words he heard. "Well if her 'French Revolution' is anything like its Old-World namesake, this won't end well...." Longshot replied, glancing over to the man that bumped into him. Despite being positive that history would repeat itself yet-again with this person, he decided to work his way closer through the crowd, to listen in on what she had to say.

[Pathfinder](if the crowd is too thick to navigate easily.)

@Lord Coake

[Pathfinder] The mercenary would navigate through the crowd with extraordinary ease, bobbing and weaving through the chaotic street, dodging thrown bottles, knife stabs, and gunshots as he made his way to Napoleon Bonaparte V herself.

As the covert scout edged closer to the revolutionary, he would find that the people gradually grew more wild. It went from simple shouts of protest, to the waving of flaming torches, and eventually to pipe rifles and pistols fired into the air out of pure passion. The woman leading all of this, the one who began the riots and chaos in the Proulx District, stood towering over Dominic Garret on her mountain of junk and garbage from the people themselves, offering her a soapbox to stand on and voice her views. The woman was geared in full black riot gear that the scout would recognize as NCR Black Ranger armor, the elite armor used by soldiers in the NCR, but lacked the popular duster.

The multiple soldiers by her, including a riot geared troop with a sniper rifle and a similarly riot geared one-armed troop with a shishkebab, kept the crazed and passionate civilians off of her with nonlethal jabs and shoves, ensuring that their highly charismatic leader wasn't swarmed by her adoring fans. It seemed every word spoken was dripping with dedication, steel, and care, and it was hard not to fall to her extraordinary charisma. The woman was covered in riot gear, but her head was free, and you could truly see the burning passion in her eyes and her flaring emotions that gave her the extraordinary amount of high energy that she left in the civilians.

The woman continuously paced around her high mountain of junk, and in the background, multiple Order Knights and Order Paladins attempted to suppress her; some particularly brave ones even firing laser shots at her - but the soldiers either disappeared under the swarming and unorganized crowd, or her soldiers deflected it with their riot shields and fired back, often instantly killing the troop with a clean, single shot in the head. The woman would always continue on, occasionally even referring to people in the crowd, making them go crazy. Whoever Napoleon V was - it was evident that she was extremely charismatic and made it hard to resist her views.

[Cult of Personality] "-and he sits high in his ivory tower without a care in the world, greedily feasting on his Radstag Flank, while we here die of thirst and hunger as he and the nobles look down on us for scrounging together what poor leftovers they leave for the rest of us!"

Napoleon V continued, her speech constantly growing in strength. As the mercenary listened to her, he would find her views very reasonable; a democracy could be far better than a monarchy couldn't it, especially one like the NCR? The NCR and French Revolution weren't too different; and it didn't seem too unreasonable to consider attempting to join with someone with that amount of charisma..

@OrdureCarson smoked his cigar in silence, listening as the Order captain told his story. Once finished Carson tapped ash from the end of his cigar.

 "Well, Captain, enchante (Pleased to meet you). I am Tom Carson." He took another long drag on his smoke. "I am sorry to see you wounded. Malheuresement (unfortunately) your story doesn't strike me as unique. I've seen many people baying for la Revolution in my travels. Sometimes justified, more often not. Rebels and insurgents use their fanaticism as a shield to hide the moral decrepitude that lies just under the surface." Carson shook his head wearily. "And it's always the ordinary people who pay the price." 

Carson experimentally flexed his leg. Didn't hurt too much. Neither did his arm. The stimpak plus wine had done their job. 

"I, too, know what it feels like to be lauded as something I am not. I was the sole survivor of a gun battle in the Capital Wasteland and people told me I was a hero. All I felt was inadequate. How was it fair that I, a single man with no children, survived whilst others with families were cold in the ground?" Carson chewed on his cigar butt, remembering. He could tell by Cade's expression that he too was thinking back. 

Carson took a deep drag of his cigar, pushing his maudlin thoughts away. The Mister Handy offered him more wine, which he accepted. "Anyway, Captain, thank you for rescuing me. I would have bled out if you hadn't helped me."

He ground out his cigar before lighting another. "But I don't want to impose on you any longer than necessary. So let me be brief. I am here to volunteer as a freelancer for the Order. I have seen from your buildings and settlements that you are not oppressing the people of the wastes. That makes the Revolution and it's followers terrorists in my book." He thought for a moment. "Do you think that the Revolution has widespread support in the lower classes? Or are they being coerced into helping Napoleon V?" As Carson spoke he stood, limping over to the window and staring out. 

Fires flickered in the near distance, and the Enclave officer could hear the sounds of massed small-arms fire now that Vivaldi was no longer playing. He eased open the window slightly. He could hear the growl of a crowd somewhere close by. A big crowd. 

He turned back to mention this to Cade when a bullet snapped past his head, shattering the window. Carson whipped round, PPK appearing in his hand as if by magic. Another bullet buried itself in the brickwork as a group of unkempt men and women burst from the alleyways around the imposing building. Carson  fired a quick double-tap into the torso of a woman wielding a submachine gun. The explosive rounds the little Walther was loaded with ripped her left arm clear off her body. She fell, cartwheeling to the cobbles like a puppet with its'' strings cut.

Carson sprang away from the window as a hail of return fire chipped slivers of wood and shards of broken glass from the window. 

"Vive la Revolution! Vive Napoleon! A mort le Roi et son larbin Cade!" (Long live the Revolution! Long live Napoleon! Death to the King and his lackey Cade!) The huge shout rose above the chattering of small arms fire.

"Mister Handy!" Carson yelled. "Bring me my weapon! It's propped up beside my chair!" 

Here we go again, he thought, hoping that Noel Cade's wound wouldn't prevent him from fighting back.