Cymbeline90

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Chez Nathan -- Freeside, New Vegas

Chez and Ronnie charged into the alley. In the gloom, they barely made out several dim figures, standing around a man who lay prone on the ground. The acrid taste of gunsmoke was thick in the air, overpowering even the stench of the Freeside gutters.

“I’m with the Followers!” Chez shouted. The name carried less power than it once had. But it still had some protective effect, when most other words in Freeside had lost their meaning: republic, freedom, rule of law.

The attackers hesitated. When Ronnie swung his submachine gun into view, with his unmistakeable quiff and Kings jacket silhouetted against the alley walls, the men turned and ran.

Ronnie started after them, then stopped.

“Go,” said Chez. “We need to know who they are!”

As Ronnie disappeared after the gunmen, Chez rushed to the side of the victim and swung his satchel to the ground. He got his portable lamp out and flicked it on.

The young man lay on his back, his blood pooling redly in the harsh orange lamplight. A cowboy hat had slipped from his head. Judging by his clothes, he was a Freesider, but one who was proud of his rancher origins.

The victim stirred, his eyes fluttering, his face locked into a grimace.

"Can you hear me?" Chez said. "My name is Chez. I'm with the Followers. I'm here to help."

There was a dark stain on the man's right side. Chez carefully unbuttoned the man's shirt and pushed the fabric aside. Blood seeped slowly from the wound, too slowly to have come from a perforation in a major vessel. That was good. Chez unwrapped some of his precious sterile bandages and wiped the site clean. He saw a round hole about the size of a bottle cap, located between ribs number six and seven.

"Looks to me like you've taken a single shot," Chez said. "Oughtta thank the man who gave it to you. Nice and clean, shouldn't be a problem for us to extract the slug back at the clinic. I don't think it's gone too deep. I'm gonna patch you up now. But I need you tell me if you've been hit anywhere else."

"Chez Nathan?" said the man, through gritted teeth. "You son of a bitch. 'Course it'd be you."

Chez did a double take, examining the man's face more closely in the lamplight. "Jace?"

"Yep. Long time no see."

"Howdy. Fancy seeing you here." Chez strapped a sterile dressing onto the bullet’s entry site. "I need you to apply pressure on this for me. I'm gonna wrap you up a little. Can you sit up?"

"Can a Texan give his sister a seein'-to?"

Together they managed to get Jace sitting upright. Chez unrolled more bandages and began strapping the wound.

Jace watched Chez's face, his eyes glittering. "You sure you should be helpin' me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"You know I'm an NCR man, through and through."

"We all bleed just the same. Your blood don't look any different to me."

"Speakin’ of blood, I hear your folks have been sheddin’ a fair bit thanks to the NCR. Ain't that mean nothin' to you?"

"The day the Followers let a man bleed out 'cos they don't like his politics is the day the NCR will have finally destroyed what we are, Jace."

"That's a very high-minded attitude."

"Did you see who did this to you?"

"Didn't have to. Some thugs workin' for the Omertas."

"What did you do to offend them?"

"What didn't I do? They came by my Ma's place a few weeks ago, askin’ for protection money. I told ‘em to stick their fedoras where the sun don’t shine. They objected to that some. Damn wops have their greasy paws on everythin’ in Freeside these days.”

“Maybe if your pal Denver had left a few more of the Kings and Followers alive, we could’ve kept the Omertas outta Freeside. Power abhors a vacuum.”

Jace’s face darkened. “I ain’t agree with all of Denver’s actions, but the Mojave is a hard place. It takes a hard man to keep it in line.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as me. I commend your loyalty, Jace, but there’s a point where it becomes suicidal.”

“Speakin’ of suicidal, how many of the NCR boys that you patched up done got right back up and put more bullets in your comrades? I don’t know nothin’ about politics, but I know that a man’s gotta stand for somethin’. My folks were NCR, I was born NCR and I’ll die NCR. You reckon you Followers are the only ones who can die for a lost cause?”

“Hell no, Jace. The Old World was built by men fighting for lost causes. Lord, look at the Wasteland now. The world ended in fire and we’re still scrabbling in the ashes like radroaches. I guess we don’t have the sense we were born with. Well, I got you bandaged up good as I can. Stand up for me now. I’ll help you.”

Jace clambered slowly to his feet, leaning on Chez’s shoulder for support.

“It’s not far to the clinic,” Chez said. “Dr Usanagi’s on night shift, she’s the best we have. I thank God every day we didn’t lose her to the Green.”

As they made their way slowly down the street, Jace said, “You’re a good’un, Chez. It’s too bad things went down the way they did. I wish it could be different somehow… ”

Chez forced a smile. “Hey, this is Vegas, baby! Your luck can change in an instant. We haven't come to the final round, not by a long shot.”

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Chez Nathan –Freeside, New Vegas

It was a cool October night in Freeside. Chez had been called out late to help some new Followers deal with an addict in crisis. The patient had somehow gotten his hands on a Nuka Cola bottle, smashed it, and used its jagged edge to almost gouge out a junior Follower’s eye. The Followers guards had sent a runner to get Chez from the clinic - they hadn’t forgotten the last time Chez had screamed at them for fatally shooting a junkie in the chest.

Thank God that new kid was quick on her feet, Chez thought. She’ll only have a scar on her face for the rest of her life. She could’ve died. I can’t wait for Lettie to find out about this. I know what she’ll say - and the others will agree with her. If we have to choose between a Follower’s life or a junkie’s, we choose ours! We can’t replace our numbers, meanwhile the addicts are multiplying like radroaches! Or do you think we haven’t bled enough for the Mojave? Do you think we haven’t traded enough of our lives for other people’s?

The invocation of the Old Mormon Fort's loss would silence any further discussion. The tragedy lay heavy over everything - a reminder of their near-annihilation, a promise of their coming destruction.

The streets were washed in pale moonlight, dyed with neon patches from the Strip lights. Night was beautiful in Freeside, especially after a couple of glasses of whiskey. Vague memories of coming to Vegas with his father stirred in the shadows of Chez’s mind. He remembered a different city, not this warren of filthy concrete and human degradation, but a fairytale castle filled with rainbow lights, velvet-smooth music, and revellers dressed in fashions from an Old World dream… had that Vegas existed? Or was it the childhood fantasy of some kid from a mining town, getting his first glimpse of a city out of Pre-War legend?

So what if it was a dream, thought Chez stubbornly, his mind sluggish from the drink. Mr House was allowed to have a dream, and people respect him for it. So why can’t I? I just need a hundred killer robots and a billion caps, and I could do something real neat. I could’ve built this city too. And with fewer chem-pushers and more public health initiatives besides.

He and Ronnie, a bodyguard from the Kings, made their way down the street outside Mick and Ralph’s - or rather, Ronnie led the way and Chez followed close behind, slightly unsteady on his feet.

Chez half hummed, half sang as he walked: “Stars shinin’ bright above you… night breezes seem to whisper I love you… ”

Ronnie joined in with enthusiasm. He couldn’t carry a tune, bless him, but then again he could hit a man with a submachine gun at fifty paces with his eyes shut, and swing a bat hard enough to stop a Super Mutant in its tracks, and the Good Lord in his wisdom had given each man different talents for a reason.

They were almost at the gates to the outskirts of the city when they heard it: a sudden babble of raised voices, the crack of gunfire.

Chez had his pistol in hand and was off in the direction of the commotion, his unsteadiness gone. For a long time he had been reluctant to draw his weapon unless his life was in danger, but the days when he could rely on a Followers coat to protect him in Freeside were long since past.

Chez heard loud swearing from somewhere behind him, and then a moment later, soft footsteps told him Ronnie was on his tail, moving with unnerving quietness for such a large man.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Followers of the Apocalypse

Faction Name: The Followers of the Apocalypse (New Vegas Branch) [In progress]

Description: The Followers were originally a secular tribe dedicated to higher learning, egalitarianism and conditional pacifism. Their concern for equality and the common good make them popular with the masses in the Wasteland, particularly the poorest and most vulnerable. Given their medical and scientific expertise, even powerful factions which may regard them as naive, seditious, or troublesome are usually required to tolerate their existence. However, at times the Followers’ resistance to political and military authority attracts anger and violent retribution from the Great Powers in the Mojave.

Territory:

Sphere of influence: Freeside, also diffused through many refugee camps and settlements

Force Composition:

History: The Followers’ existence in Freeside was dealt a crippling blow on the night the King burned. Many Followers were killed in the riots, and the annexation of Freeside and the atrocities committed by Denver’s Dogs only hardened the Followers against the NCR. The Followers opened the Old Mormon Fort and New Vegas Medical Clinic to the remnants of the Kings gang, and others made homeless and destitute by the 3rd Infantry. This swelling of the Followers’ ranks with refugees and malcontents bolstered their numbers, temporarily making up for their losses.

However, a greater blow came with the loss of the Old Mormon Fort to the Greenlung. The riots had taken the lives of many young and active Followers - those with experience in campaigning and fighting. This time, the Greenlung took many scholars and doctors - those with senior leadership experience and technical expertise, which could not be easily replaced by fresh recruitment.

All Followers are required to value life. However, the loss of the Mormon Fort, which had been brought about by helping the NCR, a now hated enemy, strained this principle. The fact that the Followers were forced to withdraw from the Fort, abandoning their most senior and beloved comrades to death, all in the process of helping an invading and persecuting force, pushed many Followers beyond the brink.

The Followers had always been loosely organised, and with many of its senior members gone, and the organisation reeling from successive tragedies, various sub-groups have arisen and begun straining in different directions. The majority of the Followers still favour a non-violent and appeasing approach for both idealistic and pragmatic reasons. They cannot afford to antagonise the NCR with its military might. A significant number of others, however, believe that their very survival, and that of the Wasteland, is under threat unless they divert their resources to armed self-defence.

Both pro-pacifist and pro-force factions of the Followers have begun dispersing their members throughout various locations in the Mojave. While Freeside and the New Vegas Medical Clinic remain their centre of influence, rumours abound of underground safehouses and isolationist, no-contact cells. The Followers’ lack of formal hierarchy makes them well suited to concealing the whereabouts of their factional leaders from their enemies - and from each other.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Chez Nathan

Name:
Chez (Chester) Nathan

Appearance:
Chez is a scrawny Wastelander who looks younger than his 25 years, thanks to his gangling limbs and boyish face. His dark brown skin and wavy black hair suggest some kind of East Indian heritage, but like most Wastelanders, he has little idea of the specific ingredients that seeped into the irradiated melting pot which brewed him.

Chez has a slightly pinched and odd look, like a plant starved of sunlight. However, his unpocked skin, full set of teeth, thick head of hair, and decent height, suggest that his upbringing was kinder than that of many in the Mojave. He might even pass as a well nourished Vault Dweller, except under close examination.

Affiliation:
- Senior Member of the Followers of the Apocalypse, New Vegas Branch.
- Well-liked in Freeside and a longstanding ally of the Kings gang.

Gear/Equipment:

Clothing: 1x scientist outfit, 1x safety glasses/goggles, 1x trenchcoat, 1x stylish fedora worn at allegedly jaunty angle

Weapons: 9mm pistol, switchblade

Consumables: 4x Stimpak, 2x RadAway, 2x Purified Water, 1x Nuka Cola (usually replenished from Follower safehouses)

Background:
Chez's father, Devan, was a physician educated by the Followers. After marrying Madge, Devan moved from rough Westside to the then-peaceful mining settlement of Sloan. An anti-capitalist doctor was welcome in a poor town where crushed limbs and dust-filled lungs were common.

Chez's mother was an… eccentric woman from somewhere out of New Vegas. While physically unremarkable, she had a nervous constitution, and was prone to visions, fits of hysteria, and experiences of a paranormal and religious nature. Whether due to a history of inbreeding, radiation exposure or mutation, she passed these peculiar traits onto her son.

Chez received a strong scientific and political education from his father, and a bizarre hodgepodge of supernatural beliefs from his mother. Chez quickly discovered that his slender frame and mental sensitivity disqualified him from the tough life of a miner. He read voraciously, and from the age of twelve, accompanied his father on working trips to Freeside or the outlying towns.

In Freeside, Chez discovered his two great loves: the intellectually electrifying lectures of the Followers, and the romantic ambience of the stage at the King’s School of Impersonation.

Tragedy struck in Chez’s fifteenth year. Word came to Sloan that Chez’s father had been killed in Westside - according to some, in water riots between NCR settlers and the locals, while others claim it was a gang of chem-addled Fiends.

Life in Sloan became more difficult after this, as Madge’s condition deteriorated, and the locals became increasingly hostile. Chez was not as skilled a physician as his father, and he could not yet earn his keep. Meanwhile, rations were tightening as the NCR appropriated resources for its troops, and the physician’s disturbed wife became the focus of resentment.

Three months after Chez’s father was killed, his mother disappeared. A miner claimed he saw Madge wandering off into the desert after dark, possessed by one of her visions. This was plausible, and Madge had been seeing things more frequently after her husband’s death. The alternative - that one of her neighbours had made her disappear - was too painful for Chez to bear.

Chez waited in Sloan for another half a year, wandering the desert, reading Follower literature for solace, and praying for his mother’s return. When she failed to reappear, he packed up and headed to Freeside, to make a new life with the Followers.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

@Cymbeline90, I love it; one of my guys' parents is a Follower, btw. She visits him from time to time to bring homemade food.

@Letter Bee

Thanks! And awesome, we already have some natural points for our characters' storylines to intersect.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

@tundrafrog1124 Hey, I'm dropping a character sheet for review! I thought I'd make a character first, so I could take more time to consider what state the Followers are in. I got a bit carried away with the character's history!

My Hider

Name:
Chez (Chester) Nathan

Appearance:
Chez is a scrawny Wastelander who looks younger than his 25 years, thanks to his gangling limbs and boyish face. His dark brown skin and wavy black hair suggest some kind of East Indian heritage, but like most Wastelanders, he has little idea of the specific ingredients that seeped into the irradiated melting pot which brewed him.

Chez has a slightly pinched and odd look, like a plant starved of sunlight. However, his unpocked skin, full set of teeth, thick head of hair, and decent height, suggest that his upbringing was kinder than that of many in the Mojave. He might even pass as a well nourished Vault Dweller, except under close examination.

Affiliation:
- Senior Member of the Followers of the Apocalypse, New Vegas Branch.
- Well-liked in Freeside and a longstanding ally of the Kings gang.

Gear/Equipment:

Clothing: 1x scientist outfit, 1x safety glasses/goggles, 1x trenchcoat, 1x stylish fedora worn at allegedly jaunty angle

Weapons: 9mm pistol, switchblade

Consumables: 4x Stimpak, 2x RadAway, 2x Purified Water, 1x Nuka Cola (usually replenished from Follower safehouses)

Background:
Chez's father, Devan, was a physician educated by the Followers. After marrying Madge, Devan moved from rough Westside to the then-peaceful mining settlement of Sloan. An anti-capitalist doctor was welcome in a poor town where crushed limbs and dust-filled lungs were common.

Chez's mother was an… eccentric woman from somewhere out of New Vegas. While physically unremarkable, she had a nervous constitution, and was prone to visions, fits of hysteria, and experiences of a paranormal and religious nature. Whether due to a history of inbreeding, radiation exposure or mutation, she passed these peculiar traits onto her son.

Chez received a strong scientific and political education from his father, and a bizarre hodgepodge of supernatural beliefs from his mother. Chez quickly discovered that his slender frame and mental sensitivity disqualified him from the tough life of a miner. He read voraciously, and from the age of twelve, accompanied his father on working trips to Freeside or the outlying towns.

In Freeside, Chez discovered his two great loves: the intellectually electrifying lectures of the Followers, and the romantic ambience of the stage at the King’s School of Impersonation.

Tragedy struck in Chez’s fifteenth year. Word came to Sloan that Chez’s father had been killed in Westside - according to some, in water riots between NCR settlers and the locals, while others claim it was a gang of chem-addled Fiends.

Life in Sloan became more difficult after this, as Madge’s condition deteriorated, and the locals became increasingly hostile. Chez was not as skilled a physician as his father, and he could not yet earn his keep. Meanwhile, rations were tightening as the NCR appropriated resources for its troops, and the physician’s disturbed wife became the focus of resentment.

Three months after Chez’s father was killed, his mother disappeared. A miner claimed he saw Madge wandering off into the desert after dark, possessed by one of her visions. This was plausible, and Madge had been seeing things more frequently after her husband’s death. The alternative - that one of her neighbours had made her disappear - was too painful for Chez to bear.

Chez waited in Sloan for another half a year, wandering the desert, reading Follower literature for solace, and praying for his mother’s return. When she failed to reappear, he packed up and headed to Freeside, to make a new life with the Followers.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Hey, just dropping in to say that I'm very interested in this scenario. I'm thinking of making a character linked to the Followers of the Apocalypse. It would be fun, but challenging, to play a character and group that don't want to acquire territory, and prefer non-violent methods, but are strongly opposed to many other factions, and want to spread their influence as much as possible.

It might take me a couple of days to get something together, I just wanted to express my interest and run the idea by you first.