AuzHides his eternal pain, but looks rather swagger while doing so!
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STATUS: Except you have a saw... 8 yrs ago
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Bro... What about Halflings = Bavarians?
Slick / The Pitt / Work Gang 203
Once, a man named Slick had entered the Pitt, under the false impression, that this was a city, a city, he promised himself not to die in, but to escape and return to his home, far south to where the cult had dragged him out from the basement of a house he had hid in. This had been so long ago, that Slick was not sure, it had not been a lifetime, or maybe even a life before his, caught in a distnant dream. For by now, he knew that the Pitt was not a city...
Groaning like beasts of burden, the animal they had been turned into, the dirty and pathetic rabble of the 203th Work Gang was pushing on the Wagon, while the masked dwarf was sitting on top of it, the whip firm in his hand and his face hidden behind a sack of black fabric. Heavy, from the pig iron it had loaded, the seven slaves had to split. Three had to push the wagon from behind, each having to step down into the tracks to push it, while four were spanned in, like oxen, tugging the cargo towards the city. Slick was among the oxen, his legs muscles burning and his face coated both in ash and sweat. "MOVE IT YOU RABBLE!" The whip of the dwarf was lashing out, yet Slick knew, that he would not aim it at them. Among the petty tyrants of the Masked Overseers, the dwarf was a kind one, who used threats of violence, rather then violence itself. He had not the vile brutality of the crippled giggler, who could flay the skin of a slaves back, with a single lash of his razor sharp whip.
Not that the Dwarf would need to. The Work Gang had made good progress, almost having crossed the empty land that surrounded the holy city. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing. Ruins had been broken down, trees had been cut and everything useful had been scraped or trapped down. In its place, thousands of small smelters had grown, while everywhere the earth had been broken open, with tools, explosives and bare-hands alike, to dig for the so much needed metal. Everything was scrapped, cut down and tossed into the smelters, before being loaded into the wagons, to be carried off, into the holy City.
Slick knew, that a few meters behind them was another wagon, pulled by another work gang. So was one in front of them. This Labor would never end, for when the work-gangs were driven to total exhaustion, they simply would be replaced, and driven into the pitiful barracks, where they were kept alive by a diet of Slop, an recipe picked up from the old owners of this place, even then used to feed the slaves working in the factories. Said owners where long gone, as were their factories, who had been turned into the "Temples of Labor", while their city of old, had grown larger and larger, fed by conquest and blood. Its fires burned day and night, and its Temples never grew silent.
Roaring like a beast, the iron rushed passed them, black thick smoke in its wake. Slick knew that it had to be loaded with guns and ammunition for the war, who´s loot would continue to feed this sickly body of a city. Tracks had been layed, and crude trains, fueled by black coal, transported the resources that needed to move faster and further, then a mere labor-gang could carry it by sweat and muscle alone.The chain in his neck weight heavy, as he stepped into a new track, to push the wagon further. He had learned early, not to count his steps. Only to move onward, endlessly onward.
Pushing into the shadow of the grand city, they came past the outer ring of the holy city. Thousands of ragged, dirty shacks and barracks. Here, the slaves of less skilled labor resided. The smell of sulfur, iron and coal was in the air, as Slicks eye fell onto the hovels, where sweaty men and women in rugs were hammering hot steel into shape. Barrels of blades, stacked crude armor and pyramids of helmets surrounded them, their work overseen by grim Overseers, the white sack hood resting on their faces. These slaves had to fear little, if they did their work fast and efficiently, yet Slick had more then once seen a fool pay the price of defiance, only to be dragged for the sewers, never to be seen again. Children ran over the tracks, small buckets of coal in their hand, rushing to feed the fires to forge the simpler material of war, that needed not, the fine machinery of the temples of labor deeper in the city. Slick´s stomach turned, as he saw one overseer kick one of the kids running, before lashing out on another one, yet the slave had learned to keep his mouth shut long ago.
"HALT YOU VERMIN!" The dwarf on the wagon rose from his seating position, as the procession stopped with an loud groaning. Slick fell down on his knees, as he thanked the heavens for this break. Every second he could rest, could make the difference between live and death!
Looking up from the ground, Slick layed his eyes on the grim sight that crossed the tracks they were pushing the wagon on. A whimpering mass of people, some wearing uniforms, others all kinds of clothing. Prisoners of the distant war, to become slaves of the city that fueled it. Slicks swallowed as he looked over them, once he had been one of them.
Snarling, the sound of giant mole-rats made him rise up from his seating position, as the first of the beasts was rushing past them, as tall as a car, with an overseer riding on its back. The saddle was held in place by iron rings, dug deep into the beasts flesh, allowing the rider to control it by inflicting pain for any trace of disobedience. Vile and aggressive beasts, they were, and their bites easily festered black and green. Two more riders followed, easily overseeing the group, so large, that Slick had given up on counting already. He did not knew where they were going, yet he was sure, to soon see most of them in the barracks, the brand of labor burned in their chests and their eyes filled with grim defiance. They would learn, just like he had...
The tracks soon were clear, and with a hissing of the whip, and a long, breathless curse, the hodded dwarf pushed the work-gang on. Deeper into the city, they pulled the wagon, now with no other wagon in sight in front of them. The Miasma was everywhere, yet with every step closer to the heart, its presence grew stronger, and Slick welcomed it with deep breaths. Exhaustion and pain slowly faded, making way for a grim nothingness, that he knew would fade quickly. A trog and a ghoul was feasting on a body next to the track, yet they only gave a short snarl at the wagon that crossed past them, before continuing their feast on the body of a luckless slave, who most likely had run out of either power or will to carry on. A work-gang carrying a wagon could make do with a pusher less, yet if a second one died, their fate was in danger as well..
The Wagon grew heavier and heavier, as Slicks hands held onto the chain on his shoulder. His fellow slaves were panting, as the distant sound of the forges finally gave them a goal. The heat here was unbearable, as the air was sticky and heavy with ash. The wagon and the work gang soon were dwarfed into a small nothing, in the shadow of the temples of labor and the noise of thousands worshipping inside it, by fueling the endless machinery of war, the cult needed for its ever hungry expansion. Not all of them were slaves, most where faithful, for it needed skill that no whip could beat into a slaves head. Slick felt the envy sting in his chest, as the chain felt ever heavy on his shoulder. They could feast, while he dreamed of bread, they could sleep while he was whipped to work, and they could rest, while he was pulling this wagon. A lash on his back, brought the slave back to the moment at hand, as the group took a turn to the left, right into one of theses temples. Finally...they had reached their goal.
Inside the great hall, the air was even worse, as molten steel was all around them, stamped into plates, to be turned into bullets, tanks and trains. Where ever slaves could be used they were, ragged and dirty, just like he was. But these were the damned, the ones who would fall over one day, blood running from their mouths, as their lungs would be as black as the coal they shoveled, with little splinters of iron ore inside them. These were dead men. "HALT!" The dwarf bellowed, as the wagon finally had reached its place. Men so dark, they could be shadows, rushed towards them, a second overseer behind them, the whip tugged under his arm, and a white hood over his head. Slick knew, that the warriors had no respect for this lot. Too weak to fight true battles, they were left to oversee the slaves, and responsible for their work quotas. Mistakes would be punished...and more then on of them had found himself stripped of his mask and whip, before being tossed into the slave barracks, among the folk he had abused.
These fallen overseers would not survive the night in the packed barracks, torn to peaces by a vengeful mob, once able to gain a glimmer of justice in this place, so devoid of any light or liberty. Two times, Slick had seen it happen, both times, he had torn, stabbed and kicked himself, unleashed all the anger hidden so deep inside him. "ON YOUR KNEES YOU MAGGOTS!" The roaring voice, send the Slave quickly on his knees, togehter with his whole work gang. Soft steps and heavy steps came towards them, yet a mere glimps onto he clean robes were enough to tell Slick, who had been spotted. A blessed citizen...skilled and wise, a master of the machines of the temple of labor. "To increase production, we need more clean pig-iron! From the start, i have been against the use of the primitive smelters..." The steps walked past them, without any care for the group of slaves. Slick knew, that they had their own special place of the holy city. Somewhere, high above the ground, a place mentioned in hushed whispered, they lived, lives of pure, decadent luxury. So wild were the tales, that Slick would have never believed them, but he had been able to get a small glimpse of one of these places.
They were build high on top of the tallest buildings, connected by stable, metal platforms, far away from the three rivers, and above the ground to keep them save from the Trogs and ghouls. He had been send to pull material up to such a place, where he had seen it...plants! Green, living plants! It alone had made it feel like a place so alien and distant to the city below, that it might as well could have been on the moon, yet Slick knew, that these places existed, and that the blessed citizens, missonaries, priests, warleaders and other leaders of the faith resided there...far above this dark city!
The chain was stripped from his shoulders, as the hodded dwarf, released them with a grunt, before driving them into the cattle path of the unwashed masses of slaves, who´s shift had ended. Through caged paths, Slick wandered with the horde, towards the three rivers...towards the barricades. For his shift had ended!
Cthalpol the Iron The Long Path of the Prophet - Point Lookout
Not even a generation ago, the Cult had marched to war before. The Conquest of the Pitt, and the vast hordes new converts, slaves and material, had fueled the prophets ambition, and he had ordered his first wave of expansion. United by the glorious faith in he-who-slumbers, the warleaders had raised the black banners, and pushed outwards. The Scrapper Union of Pennsylvania was crushed in the battle of Phillipsburg, the Army of Überboss Fredrick submitted to the faith, after its leader was beaten to death in single combat by the Warmaster and the most feared enemy of all, the mighty Lone Tree republic, crumbled under the Cult onslaught, with the Skull Monolith in the silent ruins of Charlston being the last remainder of this once mighty city. Nothing seemed able to stop them...
It was the Bristol, that an arrogant Warleader choose as a new treasure to plunder that would for the first time, show the greatest weakness of the cult. Here, an entire host perished, as the People of Franklin had been prepared and waiting. There was no victory for the Cult in these Mountains, as nature itself seemed to be placed against them. Casualties mounted, thousands died...and every inch of ground taken was lost by the end of the week, simply retaken from dead, cold bodies no longer able to defend the conquest. In the end, it was this, that halted the cults advances, as the Prophet declared that it was time to rest, and gather strength, for the true enemies to the west and north. But that had been conquered would remain silent. Its people either converted, enslaved, killed or so deep in hiding, that not even the slave-catchers of the Pitt could hunt them down. One could now wander from Charlston to Phillipsburg and not meet a single soul outside from the cults outposts and fortresses, dominating their land as grim guardians. For they oversaw the slow deportation of everything useful to the City of the Pitt, the slow beating heart of the Realm of Monolith..
Cthalpol the Iron had been send to the Franklin border, to secure the peace of the prophet and guard their conquest. Unlike the rest, he had come as a student, not as a master, eager to once more learn a new way of war. The ancient supermutant had been soaking up every single maneuver his enemies had unleashed on him, noting down every tacticum and every single trick he could witness. The ancient super mutant himself had studied and experimented with his men, testing their mettle again the men of the mountains, and after year, he was content with the result. His iron host was an army worth of his name, and worthy of his banner. And when he had gotten the order to march north, to finally test them again a new foe, Cthalpol had grinned, if he still had a full mouth to do so.
Up, they had marched the long 81, cleaned and repaired, like all of the roads to the holy city where to be, as the holy decree of the prophet had proclaimed. News of the war in the west, north and east had traveled quickly, as the cult was mobilizing the sleeping reserves in the south. Soon, every Warleader would raise his banners, and march to war, for the crusade had been proclaimed. Yet, news of a new ally had spread with it, and Cthalpol, had been send a message of prophet himself.
"SHADAL! SHADAL!"
The Beach and rundown boardwalk had been filled with fires, to allow the Vanguard of the Iron Host to arrive, even in the middle of the fog. Crude boats, cut from the wood of Virginia now littered the beach, as Cthalpol landed in the sand. The ancient super mutant sank deep, as he slowly made his way away from the boats, towards the waiting mass of faithful. "Lord Cthalpol...we have awaited your coming! The faithful have ga.." The Warleader grunted as he walked passed the kneeling missionary. "Unload the boats and provide my host with quarter and food! And bring me to the mortal they call Suttbray!"
"DAL THRO! DAL THRO!"
The Vanguard was chanting loudly, as more and more warriors left the ships, jumping onto the broadwalk and the sandy beach. Material, weapons and supplies were unloaded, orders shouted into the singing, as the gathered people were pulled in, forced to carry and pull ropes. The Warleader left them behind, as he ventured into the city. Quickly, a figure was rushing towards him, daring to remain standing in his presence. With a kick from one of his bodyguards, the worm was kicked onto the ground. "Speak, whelp!" Grunting, the soldier of house Suttbray looked up, before spitting out the worlds, as he looked into the armored super-mutants disfigured face. "Lord Suttbray is one his way back." A grin moved on the mutants lips. "I shall wait here then...tell that to your master, whelp!" Far behind him, the black banner of the Monolith was raised, while the warleaders eyes moved onto Point Lookout. He could not help but ask himself, how many unfaithful may fear its sight inside the city...
A3-18 Boston, CIT, The Institute -
Little was left of the three that had stood before her. The false body was coated in the blood of the two humans, as the first black coated false-men arrived. They were a different breed of the same kind, and Marie felt the same disgust rushing over her, as she looked at them. Her hands shivered, as false lungs took deep breaths, letting the air circulate inside her. Even the air in this place felt wrong, false and sterile. She had to find this place, and tear it apart. This place, and everyone inside it, should not be!
By now, both sides of the corridor were blocked off, as the black robed false-men had surrounded her. The pulsating pain in her head grew greater with every second that passed, until finally heavy boots turned her around, as she looked at titan among the false-men, and a slim womanly figure among them.
“A3-18. Emergency Override. Director’s Authorization Code 03492 Zulu Arcus Tempest. End all active subroutines.”
A high pitched sound filled the body and mind, Marie had found herself in, until something in her mind popped like a bubble. Gravity became an enemy, as she fell. Her body, occupied and not her, turned into a prison. Her eyes twiched, as she was locked away, helpless, dammed to endure..
"ASHUR...ASHUR THEY ARE HERE...DONT LET THEM GET HER..."She could not move, wrapped and locked away, the small window in front of her the sole light around her. Yet there was a scary voice, so far in the distant...but her mother was so close, and there could be no danger when mother was around."ASHUR...oh my god..please NO! NOOOOOO!"
The gaping wound in her head was bleeding heavily, as the body of the Synth was slowly getting back on her feet. Her component resting in her hand, coated in crimson and sparking. It was impossible, for if the lack of the component wouldnt have killed her, the bloodloss sure should have...yet here she stood slowly, glaring at the man in the power armor. With a hissing scream, she tossed the component his way, "I AM THE HEIRESS OF THE PROPHET!" Then her hands took distant hold of the black clothed guards, and from the middle of the corridor she tore and broke bones, with a singular movement of her hands. Flesh and bones were torn under her distant grab, and the first shot of laser hit her, yet by now this body was beyond pain. It was death flesh, kept alive by Maries will, and her wrath for this heretical beings all around her.
"YOU ALL SHOULD NOT BE!"
A neck broke like a twig under her fingers, as she rushed towards the man in the metal armor. Twenty meters were sperating them and his dying guard, but Marie had to get her hands on him, end him once and for all, before more of this appeared. Roaring in anger, her hands reached for him...yet it was not his bones she got her fingers on. Stopping in her tracks, she lifted the woman up, before wanting to smash her against the wall.
This was the moment when the laser hit her right between the eyes and the world around her turned into light...
Marie Ashur The Long road to Boston
Marie woke, strapped to the back of her guardian. Moments passed, until she could move her shivering fingers to her forhead, yet there was no light, nor scar where the laser had hit her. Yet she knew, that her taken body must have been turned into ash, burned to cinder by the heat and leaving nothing behind. Taking a deep breath, Marie streched herself, before giving her guardian a kick. "You can let me down now! I can walk from here.." The deep, monotonous voice of the guardian answered with the same uncaring grunts she was used to, and before long, she was back on her feet.
It was then, that she realized that she was in a tunnel! Dark and silent, the world around her once more shrank down to a mere fraction. "Didnt i told you to evade enclosed spaces..." Her hands began to shiver, as she desperately began to search for the source of light, spotting it far in the distance in front and behind her. "Is the Heiress afraid of the dark.." Marie wanted this brute to die this very moment, yet this was not how it should be. Her mind felt numb, as she slowly climbed back onto her guardians back. "Take us out of her..." She felt sick, and buried her face in her hands. "Just get me back to where i can see the sky...and feel the wind!"
For the rest of the agonizing moments in the Tunnel, Marie could feel the box again, quaking and falling, screams and crying outside of it. She hated these memories, yet also could not deny, that she wished herself back into the box, her mothers warm voice always close and near..
Dumb Double post is dumb....
The Warmaster Highway 75 - Somewhere between Waters and Grayling - The Warmasters Camp
Nobody dared to interrupt the hulking beast in human flesh in his prayer. Naked, only coated in ash and blood, the Warmaster was calmly kneeling in front of the black fragment of the Monolith, who filled the tent with a lilac mist, the blessed Miasma of the Monolith itself. Rows of minor Chiefs and Head-Warriors stood behind him, waiting for him to rise. Even his two mutated beasts, who he called his dogs, were calmly chewing on the remains of a scarifice, snarrling at each other, when ever one of them tried to steal his brethren´s meat. Beside that, and the silent whisper of the Warleader, there was nothing heard in the tent for an eternity...
Finally, the Beast in human form rose from the ground. He had been tall back when he had been Cranz, yet he had grown even more, in the radiactive wilderness of Canada. His flesh had withered and died at some parts of his body, giving way to raw muscles, and at some places, steel had to be hammered in place. His armor had been adjusted by enslaved junkers, locked into the wailing mass of useful captives, who followed his army, like a swarm of crippled rats. Their abilities kept them alive and protected...unlike the ones who where found wanting. Their corpses littered the path of the army, like bloody footprints, some just left behind to die, others serving the weakest and desperate as an additional source of nutrition.
This was no army, it was a horde of thousand little gangs, tribes and bands, held together by this naked titan, the embodiment of a dreaming gods wrath. He was the warleader, brought onto this world to bring in a bloody harvest. His hunt in Canada had been bloody, yet granted him a worthy army for his own ambitions.
"Dosh-Novan and his horde have taken Detroit, and sacked the city! They say that the Flames licked the stars itself, so high they have burned! He will raise a mighty monolith indeed.." The Ghoul was wearing a rusty mask, in a grim parody of the helmet the warmaster wore. Zer´g Rilth grunted, as he pointed on the map, before he moved a figure with his massive fingers. "Dosh-Novan is a fool! He could have spread his army out, and razed the rich lands of the Republic, when they were disorganized and weak! This would have been a killing wound, causing a slow, yet secure death...yet this fool went for the heart!" The meaty hand, covered in veins in all colors moved futher, until it moved onto the big spot of Detroit. "Yet now he lacks the strenght to confirm the kill...trapped in a city with long lines of supply..this arrogant fool!" A frail slave quickly followed the pointing of the warleaders hand, and placed a figure on Windsor. "Either Dosh-Novan will cross that river, and rip the heart out...or he will perish in this trap..." Snorting, The Warmaster leaned back in his massive chair, before he reached for the bowl next to it and picked out bloodied chunk of meat, to toss at his hounds. "Tell me about this legion, that fight with the Brotherhood..."
It was the eyeless missonary who spoke up, holding onto his iron staff, the lipless smile unerving for all who still could feel fear. "They once were lead by a man called ceaser...named after a figure of ancient times! Millions of ye... Zer´g Rilth growled, as one of his dogs was looking up to him, begging for a new chunk of meat. "Gaius Julius Caesar! They had books about him, which i read! Some portrait him as a brilliant hero, others as a villian..some where written from the perspective of some tribal warriors, turning him into the butt of vile jokes! Say, missionary! Which of these describe this Caesar the most?"
The missionary glared silently into the fire next to him, before finally finding his voice again. "A..a villian! He claimed to be the son of mars! Some of..of my lesser faithful brethren have tired to link this "mars" to glorious Ug-Qualtoth, yet this is vilest heresy! Said Caesar was a fool and he died like on! On a bed..from a tumor in his brain! The command was taken by a great Warrior named Lanius, who himself fell during the battle..Shattered they were, one could say, but reformed, by the current leader, a man named Lucius, whom they say, has slain the President of the mighty NCR in single combat, while he was riding a horse of steel, while Lucius was riding one of flesh..
"Most intriguing i must say! When we met them in battle, i wish that the captives are presented to me! Some will make for great converts, others i wish to feast on, to gain their strength...and their remains shall be granted to my dogs!" Waving the missionary away, the Warmaster rose from his Throne. "Mighty Warmaster...How shall we respond to Dosh-Novans plead for aid? Shall we send.. The Warmaster raised a hand, to silence the Warrior, before shaking his mighty head. "We send nothing! Dosh-Novan shall proof his worth, or perish! His greatest deed so far, is to stab an old man in the back...he shall earn his right to lead once and for all! But send word to Cleveland,the beast shall be manned, armed and woken. The Brotherhood shall be thought a lesson that their navy will never forget! Yet we shall continue our march to Grand Rapids. And rejoce...soon i will feast on the brain of this perversion that leads the brotherhood! Now, rather the sacrifices and raise the pyres...He who slumbers shall feast when we break camp tomorrow.."
The Lioness of Steel The Ruins of a city, somewhere between Salem and Hamilton - Roof of the M̵̹͙̯̟̯̭̬͚ͧ̾ͦ̑̇̉̌̌͝į̷̨̗̩̥͉̩̑̍͗̈̎͗͊̔̈ͧ͋ͯ̈́̅͑ͬ̅s̡ͫ̾̓̆̌҉҉̵̮͈͇̣̦͇̤̹̻̯̘͈̺͕̙̭k̠̰̟̰͎̬̓ͣͭͫͫ̑̋ͭ̋ͮ͑̋ͪͭ͋̕a̸ͧͩ̇ͩ͌̅͏͎̺̜͚̞̀ͅţ̷̧̨̟̪͕̞͎̦̲̥̫͖̥̹̞̍̉͊̆̓̀͒͆̈ͨ̽̓ͧ͂ͣ̊̀͟ͅȍ̧̨͖͖̱͉̺̰̱͍̦͈͓̥͓̰͕̲̲͔̂͗̾̌ͫ͋̒ͪͦͧͨ̍ͥ͝n̶̨̝̪̱̺̘̲̘̦̝̗ͫͯͣ̽ͣͥͥͬ̆ͫ͗̿ï̍ͩͨ̈ͦ͒̌͂́̇̍̐̉͂͌́͠͡҉̵̣͉̬̲̣̙̫͍͇̺͠c̿̆̍̚͏͜҉̥͈̮̻̖̬ ̸̛͉̠̞̲̓̆͒̏ͪ̅͂́͡͡ University
The swamp had claimed the city in a way, that one almost could think, that it had an bestial desire to let this place vanish away. The Lioness could not help but feel glad over this development, as this place had a foul stench to it, dank and disgusting. Far behind her, she could hear the sound of rapid laser fire, bullets and the roaring of ghouls. The University had been a nest of their vile kind, with halls so packed, that they had formed a wall of living flesh. Yet she had not send anyone into this hell..
She had send in the Pride...
She could hear the Radio-chatter from inside the three Vertibirds, where hectic voices were screaming commands and objections, while the sound of the firing weapons was drenching out an sense of order. Yet, the Lioness knew, that her Pride would get the job done...or die trying! Her leather clad hands formed fists, as she glared into the swampy wasteland in front of her. Maybe she would burn this disgusting place herself into the ground, ridding he world of its stench for all eternity. Some of the ghouls had scales, and were bigger then the common rabble of their kind...their groans had sounded almost like voices! This place was getting to her, reminding her of the great battle, the great defeat and the long march north. So many failures, so many mistakes! Never again, would she be making any foolish decisions, never again would she show weakness.
Now, she could hear the voice of a woman praying, leading her to roll her eyes. "Keep quite, Marcella! We need the stay focused! The pride need all the direction they can get." The missonary looked up from her rosary. "And all help they can get, Lady-Elder.. The Lioness spat out, as she turned her head. "Then pick up a gun and storm into this cursed place with them! But otherwise keep your mouth shut, and remain inside the Bird!" She could see the pain in the womans eyes, yet the Lioness did not care about her illusions. She had led them here, onto the ruins and into the charnel house that were the narrow corridors of the University. The fear of losing her best men and women was pushing deeper and deeper into the Lioness mind, yet her face remained stone, as she kept looking back onto the ruins of the swampy city.
"LADY COMMANDER! WE HAVE IT! RETREATING TO THE ROOF NOW! Glade and Conner are KIA! Cutter is MIA, asking for permission for an rescue mission..." The face of the young knight flashed in the Lioness face. His broad motivating smile and his firm look when he had ventured down below. He was a good man, and a loyal member of the brotherhood.
"Permission denied! We leave now...do you have the book?" A short silence followed, and the Lioness was sure, she could hear curses. "We have the book.. I can hear him scream...he is just there..." The Lioness quickly walked over to the Vertibird, before taking a seat next to Marcella. "Was god taking a break for Conner...or he just hates Gingers?" She recived no answer, as all on board looked at the hole in the ground, only a hundred meters away from them. Then, the flashing light came closer and closer, until finally, seven figures rose from the pit. Their armor was covered in blood and mutated flesh, that the metal barley could be seen anymore. The Vertibird was already hoovering as they were sprinting towards it, Dusk and Colvin covering the retreat by tossing incindiary granades into the hole, before legging it as fast as they could. The Lioness waited on the door, until Vargas finally had reached her. Gasping, he climbed into the Bird, coughing and cursing. "Star Paladin...you have the book.." Tearing his helmet off, Vargas was once more coughing, before he held up a sealed box. "We have it..."
Marie Ashur The Long road to Boston
T̳͙͎h̲̗͚̪̳̘̞i҉͕͎̱͚͍s̪ ̛̩͉̰b̵̪o̞̰̣͕̞̟d̪͖͉̮̞y͙̼̦
̵̜͚͙̣̝S͈̗o̟̹̘̜̥͍͍ ͚̦̼͉̦͟ͅͅl͓̺͓̳͠i̮m̦̠i̞̕ṯ̀ḭ̙͎̻n̯̞̫g̛̤̰̘̰
͏͕T̶̺̲̭̯̫̟h̭̣͖̯͎e̟̮̻͇ ̫̞̟̖̮ͅs̬̥͕͔̮k̴̙̙͓̮̤͍y̗͎̝͎͝
͟s͓̮ͅo ̭̖̣̦͙̲̞r̙̠̙͠ͅe̤̼̱͖̳̦̜͟d̖̫̼̜̟̦
̗͍f͎̜̟͖̰͓̗e͍̭̜̫͜a͎͖̖̗̥ś̖t̶ ̻̠̪̜̱͙o̟̼̬̳̗͚͇͞n̼͢ ҉͙͔̝͓b̞̱l̞̯̦u̵͔͉͔̙͎̰e̵̘̹̣
̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩
͇̰H̴e͏̝̻̝̜ ̹̭̖̥̜
̥͞I s̛h̡̫ͅa̖̲͝l̹̲̭̪l̠ ̥͞I
̮w̫͈̟̹͕̮͕a͖̦̪̺͍k̖̪͔̰̻͕e̮̙̯̝͉̺͘.̴̲̻͎͔̣.͖̹̠̥͚.
̵̜͚͙̣̝S͈̗o̟̹̘̜̥͍͍ ͚̦̼͉̦͟ͅͅl͓̺͓̳͠i̮m̦̠i̞̕ṯ̀ḭ̙͎̻n̯̞̫g̛̤̰̘̰
͏͕T̶̺̲̭̯̫̟h̭̣͖̯͎e̟̮̻͇ ̫̞̟̖̮ͅs̬̥͕͔̮k̴̙̙͓̮̤͍y̗͎̝͎͝
͟s͓̮ͅo ̭̖̣̦͙̲̞r̙̠̙͠ͅe̤̼̱͖̳̦̜͟d̖̫̼̜̟̦
̗͍f͎̜̟͖̰͓̗e͍̭̜̫͜a͎͖̖̗̥ś̖t̶ ̻̠̪̜̱͙o̟̼̬̳̗͚͇͞n̼͢ ҉͙͔̝͓b̞̱l̞̯̦u̵͔͉͔̙͎̰e̵̘̹̣
̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩̼̪̘̺͙̲͟s̴͙̮͓̳cr̫͚̯̱̮͞ḛ̡̻̦a̰̩͈̬ͅm̞̟̯ ̹̺̬͕̼i̫̻̺̼n̝̬͎ ̡̮͓̲͎̖̹l̥̗̯̖i̝̠l̺̰̹̮̱̼ị̶̪̣̺̝a̛͙c͙̦͖̫͕̘̩
͇̰H̴e͏̝̻̝̜ ̹̭̖̥̜
̥͞I s̛h̡̫ͅa̖̲͝l̹̲̭̪l̠ ̥͞I
̮w̫͈̟̹͕̮͕a͖̦̪̺͍k̖̪͔̰̻͕e̮̙̯̝͉̺͘.̴̲̻͎͔̣.͖̹̠̥͚.
A3-18 Boston, CIT, The Institute - Personal Chambers of Doctor Wargner
She was imprisoned, chained to this body of flesh, who was nothing but a parody of life. A digusting abomination, false and reeking of amoniac. Marie wanted to scream, yet she had no mouth for it. All she could do, was to watch herself cutting the strange paste in front of her. Never in her life had she felt so helpless..never so vulnerable. There was a sound in her head, buzzing and roaring behind her.
"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"
"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"
"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"
"TAK...ZZZZZZZ"
Once more, Marie tried to scream, as she pushed against her bounds. A twich went through the body that she occupied, and a gasp left her, as the knife cut into her hand. Breaking her task for a moment, Marie could feel a spark of hope. This was her doing, it had to be hers. She could break this chain that was holding her, take control of this vessel...and finally find out more about this nightmare, this perversion!
"HAND OVER YOUR FLESH! I DEMAND IT!"
The Synth moved a hand to her head, as she dropped the knife. Behind her, Marie heard the sound of...water? It faded, as a door was shoved open, and a man was humming. With a clap, behind him, music began to fill the room. Heavy steps calm closer, as Marie could feel the presence of a human. Joy filled her, as she realize that this place HAD humans inside it! And with it, souls that could see the truth! Souls that could be convinced to tear down these false machines...
"Mhhh, what you cooking, sweet bee?"
The hand moved onto the body she was in, in a way, that send a shiver down her spine. The body she was in wanted to say something, something that turned Maries stomach sick, as she layed eyes on the human behind her, fat and old, his chest coated in grey hair. Then she felt his lips on her neck...
Dr. Wagner was screaming, as he ran out out of his chambers, onto the corridor. Blood was coating his naked chest, as even his boxers by now were drenched in it. Falling down he, crawled away, the knife still resting in his shoulders. "HELP...MURDER...MURDER..." Then the shadow rose over him twiching and struggling. "SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT DOWN...SHUT IT DOWN!" The buzzing in her head was all Marie could hear, as she lifted the wincing doctor up with both hands, starting at him with an fury that no synth would be capable off...
"A3-18 initiate reset. Authorization code Beta 72 Cyclone!" Deep inside her head, Marie could feel the buzzing turn into a roaring current, loud and everpresence. Everything around her was drowned out, by the sound of it. A long scream left her lips, as she lost it...
It was the heat of a laser, that contacted with her shoulder, that woke Marie from the madness that had overtaken her. The pain gave clarity in the middle of the red fury, as her hands had decended onto what was left of Wagner over and over again. "A3-18 EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN AUTHORIZATION CODE Iota 2 Incus!" Marie once more heard the sound in the back of her mind, yet this time, the pain allowed her to cope with it. Raising both hands, blood and dripping, she glared onto the thing that had been fired at her, as well as the woman behind it. Both wore white uniforms and head unhandly guns in their hands. "A3-18 EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN AUTHORIZATION CODE Iota 2 Incus! Wh..what is going on...why is that thing not shutting down..." An uneartlhy shriek left Maries false mouth, as she could feel the fragile neck of the woman in her hand, even through she stood ten meters away from her. Fury overtook her, as she pressed the fingers against the palms. The snapping noise was loudly heard...then her hands felt for the machine at her side. Him she tore limb from limb...
[center] "CODE BLACK IN LIVING SECTOR 8-b! INFORM THE DIRECTOR! EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY...ALL AVAILABLE COURSERS TO THIS LOCATION! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!" [/sub]
War Never Changes
Dramatis Personae
T H E C H U R C H O F S T A R R Y G L O R Y
Prioress Cabot The Church of Starry Glory, Vegas Southside
The communion was in full swing, as the Prioress was looking down onto the main hall, where the common faithful gathered in front of the altar, a single shard of stone laying openly on a long table, a fire burning next to it. They had told them, that it had fallen from the stars, an embodiemnt of Starry Glory, the same glory resting in the soul of every human. A pleasant light was shimmering from multiple lamps onto the gathered crowed, filling the hall to such an extend, that the church had to remove benches weeks ago, allowing its sermons only to be witnessed standing..
...at least for the common faithful!
Multiple loges had been build tracing the wall, allowing a discreet and private encounter with the faith, for the ones that valued their privacy, and the caps to pay for it. Few openly admitted to be part of this underground gathering, as it hadnt become "en-vouge" on the strip, yet it was mentioned during cocktail parties, social gatherings and private meetings. The prioress knew, that all private loges were filled. Vegas Starlets, Brahmin Barons, Shot-callers on the strip silently took in the words, just like Captains of Industry and wealthy never-do-well´s did. Many of them would stay, to later have private chats with the priests of this church, or even the prioress herself. Few would leave without making generous donations and promises to soon return for "future services"!
Mr.House knew what was going on in here, so did the King and the other powers that be. For them, it was just a harmless parlor trick, with the prioress herself, confessing in private corespondence with the King himself, right hand to the great Mr. House himself, that this was a business, not a religion! Sinners of the Casino, dreamers of the old Vegas and the broken, could come in here, and lose their worries in a more "social productive" way, then drinking, whoring and gambling like the rest of the hordes that were driven to the Strip. Just another form of escapism from the dark wasteland...
Vanishing beyond locked doors and passing armed guards, the Prioress grinned over how well this con had worked. In her 400 years, she would have never seen herself becoming a priest, yet who could not worship the source of immortality itself? Who could not become devout and faithful, after laying eyes on the monolith itself? She had seen the glory, the endless fire of the stars and the dreamer awake. How pitiful they had been, leeching off a mere spark of the true power that was, is and always will be...
The doors were the heaviest in the whole temple, steel and magnetized locks. They were deep below the church now, and with an easy step, the Prioress entered her brothers personal study. The old fool was still out there, digging for what he claimed were "old Spanish and Indian" ruins. A eccentric, yet reasonable hobby for an well educated and spoken man, with a lack of talent with people. Hundreds of drawings, books, maps and holodisks were tossed around, in this vile battlefield of an obsessed man, driven by the desire to find the second city...
"Poor fool...digging in the dirt for what.." Her hands moved along the tables and chairs, cracking under the weight of knowlage and artifacts, and Jacks thousands of papers, written in great hurry during his long conversations with the prophet himself. She herself had found him almost hilariously boring and overly dramatic, while being more impressed by the young Marie. She had calmly watched her, playing with her puppet, humming and moving blocks with just a glare. How one could prefer the endless ramblings of a mad blind man, over this uniquely gifted girl, was beyond her! But, alas, they had been send here, to found this church, and Emogene had once more returned to her third favorite city in all of the US.
She could hear the mad scratching against the door of the sealed off cage. Growling and snarling, she felt the same pity she always felt, as she reached for the syringe. Her heart was pumping faster, as she took a deep breath, before walking over to the safe on the wall, her eyes narrowing as she slowly undid the lock, before her shivering hands reached inside, taking the glowing rock out. The snarl behind her turned into a whimper, as she could hear the heavy body quickly rushing away from the door. Guilt filled her, as she slowly turned around, the glowing part of the monolith itself, held firm in her hand. "I am sorry dad...this will just take a single moment..."
Walking to the door, she could hear the mad sobbing, the short laughter and then the snarling. The sounds did no longer scare her, like they did when she saw him change into what he was now. She was just glad, that he no longer was able to form words, with what once had been his mouth. Once more, her mind considered the fearful thought, that he may one day not even host blood in his veins, should he change any futher...but once more, she banished this thought, as she unlocked the door.
"Hello father..."
T H E C U L T O F U G - Q U A L T O T H
The Butcher of the Republic of Rust Detroit - Western Coast of the Detroit River
Once more, the city of Detroit was filled with lights, like it had been years ago, before the bombs fell. Yet it was no shades of lamps and electricity or fire that enlightened the streets, but fire...endless fire! For Dosh-Novan, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, as he strolled through the streets, his helmet tugged away below one arm, his hammer held firm in his other hand. This was his victory, his victory alone! No Sarah Lysons, no Maxson, no Warleader to steal it from him. He would forever be known as the man who butchered the republic, who ravaged its decadent corpse and who would errect a shrine to Ug-Qualtoth on its grave, rivaling the Monolith itself in glory.
Pushing away a ghoul with a swing of his hammer, he looked down on the body of a soldier, which said beast had been feasting on. A grim smirk moved on the warleaders face, as he slowly bowed down, in his power armored glory. "My glorious Warleader..." Heavy boots came up behind him, and with a grunt, Dosh-Novan allowed the Worm to speak. "The last defenders have retreated onto the great bridge! Shall we hunt them down..." Dosh-Novan tilted his head a little, looking eye to eye to the corpse in front of him. The mans eyes filled with fear and pain in his last dying moments. "No...let them run! Tonight we sack the city! Gather the captives on the shore...i shall provide an offering that shall wake him-who-slumbers from the Monolith for all time.."
The voice behind him should have known better, but rather then remain silent, it dared to speak up again. "The enemy is beaten...bloodied...we can crush them once and for all! Just give me the word and i see it..."
"GUSH"
The Warrior fell forward, as his head was torn from his shoulders by a mighty blow from the warleaders hammer. Two smaller figures behind the beheaded corpse, quickly fell on their knees, as Dosh-Novan looked down onto them. "See it done! The horde shall not leave a single stone unturned! I want this city to be turned into a monument of what happened here tonight! Let the world forever remember what i have done..."
"Begone now...all of you!"
The steps quickly vanished, rushing away into the sea of fire, blood and screams. For the first time in hours, he was alone on this masterpiece of chaos. Nobody could have done it besides him, nobody could have marched to Detroit, crushing every resistance in his path. This was his victory, his victory alone...
The warleaders eyes grew, as he let go off his helmet and hammer, slowly walking forward with his arms spread wide. "YOU HEAR ME LYONS! YOU SEE NOW WHAT I CAN DO? NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE PRIDE! NOT ENOUGH GUTS....I SAW YOURS WHEN I STABBED THAT RIPPER INTO YOUR BACK YOU OLD BASTARD! NOW LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT I HAVE DONE!" For a moment, Dosh-Novan could feel again, how it was to be Knight Roland. Never good enough, never able to Impress Lyons...never able to get a second look from Sarah..he could hear their laughter from the rooms, when he was passing...their mocking tone hidden behind polit words...
"I AM DOSH-NOVAN! I AM THE WARLEADER WHO SLEW MORE MEN THEN YOU HAVE EVER MET IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE! MY NAME WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR ALL ETERNITY, WHILE YOURS WILL DIE! YOUR DAUGHTER WILL BE FORGOTTEN, YOUR BROTHERHOOD WILL BE FORGOTTEN AND YOUR WORLD WILL BE FORGOTTEN...not got enought...not good enough for your miserable brotherhood..." All the anger once more filled him, as he felt the sweat burn on his face like acid, as he saw the Star Paladin shake her head, declining him the promotion to Paladin. They laughted at him...he could feel it! He knew it...but none of them was laughing now...
"I will go back to Washington! I will find out where they have burried you and i swear onto the monolith, that i will..." A coughing laughter ripped Dosh-Novan from his roar of anger, and with a swift turn, he tried to locate the source. Dry and weak, it reminded him of the sounds Lyons had made, when his ripper had still been in his armor, his eyes fixated onto the monolith in his dying breath. Had he mocked him even in his dying breath? They never had admitted it, but he had known it! From the lowest Initiates up to the elder, they all had mocked him, him who had not been able to become a paladin...who had not been able to join the Pride and who not had been able win Sarah..
"You are pathetic, Dosh-Novan.." It was not the voice of the Elder, but a dying one non the less. Bloodied and broken, she wore the armor of the soldiers of the Republic, and had her hand pressed onto her belly. Blood was smeared over her mouth, as she stared with glassy eyes at the Warleader. "G..gloat in your victory! Gloat like the brute you are! You are just a Pawn...my children are on the other side,
and with them the future of Detroit! T..this is not the end, you dog.." Dosh-Novan felt his hands forming fists inside the power armor, as he stared down at the woman. "We will cross the river tomorrow...i will personally find your brats then..."
The woman leaned back, coughing out more blood, as she closed her eyes. "Y..you wont cross that damn river...You will never set foot onto the other side of this river, but you will die below an foot...Roland!"
Marie Ashur Homer City, Pennsylvania
"Does the heir of the prophet always speak when she sleeps?" The grim Guardian didnt slept, but he sat still for hours when she did, and so she assumed that he took this time off as well. Marie had wanted to go alone, yet the Prophet had insisted on an Guardian. Raising from the bed, Marie streched herself, as she rubbed her eyes. "These were not my words! Just words that were left in a mind in passing. All i did was speaking them out to a beast needing to hear them.."
The Guardian just grunted, as he rose from his seat next to her bed. The ruin they had spend the night in, had been dry, yet the sole bed remaining had been picked for her. Reaching for a bottle of water next to her, she once more looked at her guardian. "You never sleep, but do you eat? We are on the road for three days now, and you havent even eaten anything so far!" Once more the guardian just grunted, his face hidden behind a mask, the little flesh shown scared and disgusting to look at. "This one eats when the heir of the prophet sleeps...he prefers it this way! This one does not like to lose his mask.."
Nodding, Marie ripped open a the box of Fancy Lads cakes, before picking one. The sweet delight had been something she had been able to sneak out of the Palace, knowing fully well, that her high father, did indeed needed food to surive, having a stash of such pre-war delicacies hidden away, to feast on, while his followers had to make due with what the miasma allowed them to grow and breed. She had been keen to avoid mentioning this Hippocratic behavior to anyone so far through.
"So many of my fathers warriors wear masks...why? You men are afraid of your faces after you look at the monolith? Or are you just shy?" She had hoped for a different response, but the Guardian just grunted and crossed his massive arms. "This one never liked his face... Marie rolled with her eyes, as she took another bite, swallowing the sweet pre-war grocery whole, regretting not to have brought more. "ThIs OnE NeVeR LIkeD HiS FaCE...thats what you sound like...Already regret the fact of leaving the Heaven, if you are what counts as my company.." Packing away the snacks, she nodded at the guardian. "Get ready...we are leaving! Its a long way to Boston..."
In
Mon Dieu, Mon Seigneur, Mon Imperateur; Tout pour vous! - A Warhammer 40K Guard RP [High Casual/Low Advanced 3-6 Players]
→
6 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
@Andreyich
Interested! May dig up an old regiment of mine (long range light infantry) or make a new one!
Interested! May dig up an old regiment of mine (long range light infantry) or make a new one!
Selina
Constantin LeBlanc
In civilized country, the smirk that Constantin would shoot at Aveline could be seen as a rightous justification for a duel. Not that Constantin would mind it much. He was a secure shot, and quite able with the blade, and few things caused him more joy, then seeing rich shit wincing in pain, after his bullet has entered and left his stomach. He had done his fair share of duels, mostly for other people, being payed to show up, claiming that they were indisposed and he was there to take over...
But he could as much hope for an sudden shower of gold. "Monsieur can be sure that aint nobody is getting shot..." Nodding to the sherrif, LeBlanc would give Aveline a last grin with his golden teeth, before falling in behind Blackburn, like a grim shadow. The church was a pleasant surprise, and while the rest of the group would follow the priest, Constantin would walk off, towards the next shrine, getting down on one knee, and pulling out his rosary, blood still on his fingers. "Notre Père qui es aux cieux, Que ton nom soit sanctifié, ... He cared little about the ghost rock, nor about what it was doing to this shitty town, and its shitty people.
Car c'est a toi qu'appartiennent le regne, la puissance et la gloire,
pour les siecles des siecles!
Amen.
Walking back to the group in the town center, he had a bit of trouble finding them, before spotting them near the graveyard. Falling in behind Rick this time, Constantin glared over the gravestones with little pity for the poor sods lying below them. "Father, this poision can be found all over the world! I saw it in the Congo, i saw it Guangdong...and i saw it in Sedan! Take strength in the fact that the lord blessed us with Steel and Gunpowder, so that we can crush this poison and burn it out where ever we find it! Burn it and pray for their souls...only way to be sure about it!"
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