AuzHow could someone say something so controversial yet so brave?
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STATUS: Except you have a saw... 8 yrs ago
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General Cassandra Moore (ret.) / Congress Hearing to the alleged crimes against humanity during the North-Western Clearings 2283-85 / 2289 - Shady Sands"I find it naive, yes, presumptuous even, to now, in the luxury of retroperspective, to denounce the clearings of the north-west from 80s settlements and unlawful occupied territory, as brutal and unbecoming of a republic. Have these fools learned nothing from the legion wars? Or the Khans? Yes, these blasted fools, from their coffee-houses in Shady Sands or their vile liberal talking clubs, still engrandise the 80s as "noble savages" rather then the killers, rapists and marauders they were, are and will always be. To remove them, was to bring peace and prosperity to the north-west, yet to spare them, would have brough nothing but another road-horde at our doorstep!"
The End of the World for they who willingly lived in it
It was a strange feeling, to be willing to die, if it meant that someone else would live. More so, since Red Hair had sworn to herself, that she would not allow, the child she had been forced to bring into this world, to remain in it. Till the day she had given birth, she had sworn herself, that she would make Thunderbird pay, for what he had done to her. She would take the heir, he had been so desperate for, and slit his throat. Maybe, just maybe, it would bring a fraction of the pain upon him, that he had brought upon her, when he had abducted her, torn her from her old life, dragged her across the country, and forced her, to be his wife. But now this monster was dead, his body rotting in an unmarked grave in Shady Sands, and their son was still alive, his head still pressed against her shoulder. And Red Hair knew, that nothing in the world would stop her from keeping her child safe from the terror, that was unfolding beyond that yellow door, and the small room, she was hiding out with him.
Outside, the NCR soldiers, militiamen and mercenaries of the Brahmin Barons had finally come for the Cluba-Housa, shelled it with mortars and shot everyone that had tried to run. Now, that the sun had set, and the fighting of the last remnants in the hills surrounding the small settlement had stopped, they had moved in, to burn it to the ground. She could hear the crackling of wood set ablaze by flamethrowers and firebombs, while the thick Californian accents were carried through the wind, burning and screams into passing. "THAT'S FOR NEW RENO, YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!" Shots rang out, roaring into the night. "THAT'S FOR BATTLE HILL, YOU BASTARDS!" Others joined in, shouting out their anger, most likely to make sense of their own cruelty, and to justify it to their own terrified minds. Red Hair could feel her son shivering against her chest. He had stopped crying, or asking her if they would die, when the shelling had stopped. Red Hair felt his hot breath against her skin, as the young boy was clinging onto her, while she held the revolver ever more tightly in her right hand.
It felt like an eternity, that the two hid like that, in the small room, that had no windows, and reeked of chemical cleaners. In here, she had hidden from the shells, as the surrounding buildings had been shattered, yet old pre-war concrete was stubborn and defiant against the weapons of the new world, and the great house, that she had given birth in, all these years ago, had endured. Red Hair had not dared, to try and make a run for it, like so many others had, for she knew, that out in the hills and woods, the mercenaries waited, with dogs and no mercy for any 80 trying to come their way, no matter if man, woman or child. And least of all, for the son of Thunderbird and his wife, Red Hair. Oh, they would care little for the fact, that she never had wanted this life, and that she had hated Thunderbird more than any of them. Maybe, if it had been regular Troops, she could have found a kind-hearted officer, a father himself maybe, to surrender to, and plead her case. But these mad dogs outside were no regular Troops, but men who had fought years of brutal clearings against the 80s, who had defended their homes with tooth and nail. Most of them had never joined Thunderbirds horde south, yet when the NCR had been called onto them to surrender their arms, they had taken them up, and made for the hills. It had been of little use, and only delayed the inevitable for two years. There no longer was any mercy in this bush conflict, not after the horrors of the great raids of Thunderbird, and the battle of New Reno. Cassandra Moore and her Hawks had made it clear, and given out a carte blanch for retribution upon the 80s that would not bow.
It were the steps that came towards the yellow door, that made Red Hair almost scream out in terror, as she got up from the ground, little Thunderfoot still pressed against herself, and the gun raised in her hand. "Big houses always got the good stuff, I am telling you." She could hear the booze in the man's voice, and in the laughter of the man that was with him. "Gonna have to see something from all this shit. I didn't sign up for that.." Then there was a rattling at her door, and Red Hair knew, that she would have to kill both men. Not that it had been something she had never done. In her old life, before all this, she had been a caravan guard, far to the east, near the Capital Wasteland, keeping eyes on her cousins caravan, as they had made their path along the I80. She pulled back the hammer of the revolver, and raised, knowing that the door would open in a few moments. Her hand moved to the ear of her son, and pressed it, making sure that the sound would not harm him. Then the door swung open, and the man, his rifle over his shoulder and his bald head half turned, came into view.
She did not wait for the red mist to vanish, as she pulled back the hammer for a second time. The bald head, fell like a wet sack of flour, as his companion wanted to raise his voice in shock, yet Red Hair was faster. Again, the revolver roared, and the bullet hit the chest of the second invader. He fell backwards, clutching the side of a chair, which he pulled with him as he fell. Only then Red Hair noticed how young he was. His face had only a shade of a beard on it, and his two young eyes looked at her in pure panic. A third time she pulled down the hammer, as the boy before her was clutching the bleeding hole in his chest. "P..please...please don't...I don't want to..oh mommy pleas..." Red Hair couldn't bring herself to fire a third time, as she jumped over the fallen body, her son still pressed against her. Using the hand she was holding the Revolver with, Red hair stabilized him, as she ran, out of the great house, into the burning village outside. She did not know if the shots had alarmed the invaders, or if the screaming of the boy, that began behind them, would. She ran, towards the woods, into the hills. Halfway past the burning huts, she heard the cries of the men, for her to stop, followed by the barking of dogs and the roaring of guns. She ran, to escape the death and hell that was waiting behind her. Homes, that she once had dined in, now aflame and ripped apart by mortar shells. Fellow women of the local Club-Housa, children and the old, some laying on the street, hardly recognizable as humans anymore, others still dying from gunshots or simply cowering in terror as their old world around them ended. Red Hair had no eyes for them, as she ran, faster than she had ever run in her life before. The barking got louder, as she reached the trees, and ran between them. Wood splinters crashed into her face, as the tree next to her was hit by a bullet, exploding into countless pieces. Barking, louder and more terrible each moment. She ran, climbed over fallen trees and rocks, making her way up the hill, her son still clutched against herself. Then she felt the hot bite of a snapping beast by her feet, which she gave a kick as she jumped up a rock, pulling herself up the last few inches, and then ran once more. She lost one of her shoes, and her feet were torn bloody by the rocks and scrub of the ground, yet she was uncaring. The barking returned, and with it, shouting and howling.
It was a red explosion in her lower left arm, the one she didn't hold her child with, that made her tumble, and finally fall. Crying out in pain and agony, she heard Thunderfoot cry as his head hit the ground, and he whimpered and cried. She was uncaring of her wound in her arm, bleeding strongly, as she crawled towards him. "M...MOMMY....MOMMMY!" He cried in pain and fear, and then the barking came close, howling and whisteling with exhaustion. The dog broke out of the shrub and bushes, and descended upon her child. A cry of terror left her mouth, as she pushed herself onward, and threw her bloody arm into the maw, before it could snap at her child. The pain was blinding, yet also gave her a strange focus, as the single desire to protect her son filled her mind. Her hand grasped for the ground, as the dog was tearing, her arm bloody and a bone already visible where the bullet had ripped a terrible wound. She screamed, all the world red in agony and pain. Then, her finger clutched the rock, and with a roar, she smashed it against the beasts head. Over and over again...until the beast was dead, its fangs still clutched in her bloody arm. A ruin of a body part, the ground sticky with her own blood. "I am here, Honey...mommy is here.." She whispered, as she freed her arm, and picked up her son. Red Hair could hear voices in the wood, distant, yet still far too close. She would have to run, ignore her wound, save her child...
The One-Armed Mother of all 80sRed Hair / Salt Lake City / Many years later
She still sometimes felt her left arm, when she woke up in the morning, trying to push herself out of the sheets with it, only to just feel the little stump remaining moving. The follower of the apocalypse, had built a few camps and outpost, offering medical services and supplies for the endless stream of 80s refugees moving east, away from the NCR that had expelled them with increasing levels of force. She had been picked up by a group of young 80s prospects, who had found her half dead in the woods, near a road, alarmed by the crying of little Thunderfoot. By the time the Followers had looked at her arm, it had been infected and reeking so bad, that the boys that had found her, already had suspected that she was dead. They had to it clean off to the shoulder, leaving only a little stump behind, that she could hardly move.
It was another pain, that she could curse Thunderbird over. And cursed she did, when she was laying in the medical beds, next to all the others, wounded and dying, because of his mad ambitions over long-lost legends and a childish dream of being a king of a rubble of asphalt. The followers had taken care of her son, better than she ever could in her state of shock, anger and pure hate for this dead man in Shady Sands ground. When she had woken up, her red hair had been hardly orange anymore, she was so thin, that she could count her rips and so ragged, that she looked like the many oldtimers, without the sunburn. She could tell, that she scared her son, when she came to pick him up, and she could tell, that he was not happy, when she told him, that they would go east, back to her home and folks. It was a mad and stupid ambition, one that luckily, the same doctor that had taken her arm of, could talk her out from. She wouldn't have survived the long journey east, or would even make it out of the state. Instead, he had offered her a job. She spoke the tongue of the 80s, knew their culture and had the respect of a mother among them. She had hated the idea, that this people, she had been forced into, would now be speaking through her, yet at the same time, she knew that they were like her. Women, children and old, expelled from their home, and with no place to go, but forward. So, she agreed, and became the voice for and of them.
It had been years, since she had taken that offer. Years since she had been Red-Hair. Now, she kept her hair cut short, as she could not stand the pale, brittle orange it now was shaded in. She was now the great one-armed mother. 80s were not creative when it came to give names, which was why she suspected they went to such lengths to earn themselves new ones. Still, it was a term of great respect, given to them to their leader in the rubble of Salt-Lake City. It had been many years, since she had been in this city. Back then, she had been Red-Hair, Thunderbirds wife as he called it, but slave in all but name. Here, she had watched this brute of a monster slaughter the white-legs, and carry around the head of Salt-Upon-Wounds on a spike for days. It was here, where he declared the great highway war against the NCR, and where he sentenced the 80s to death.
It was here, where she led the 80s that remained, to rebuild and find a new home. Still, after all these years, new arrivals came almost every week, hearing about the "great Cluba-Housa of Salt and Hope". Feeding them all, still proved difficult, yet their harvest grew each passing year, as her people grew more skilled in agriculture, which was greatly helped by the arrival of Mormon remnants, who, begrudgingly accepted their place as equals, yet not as owners of their home city. Sure, their faith, clashed with the dream of the great highway in the sky, yet like with all 80s that settled down, it was not long, for some of them to adopt their faith, or even mix it with 80s believes. These "born-again" 80s, were in a minority, yet very vocal about their new faith, deeming their expulsion from the NCR has a punishment from God, similar to the expulsion of the Jews from Israel, and as a heavenly demand for penance for their sins. The Mormons hardly had much stock in these new converts, led by one of them, they deemed to be dangerous and lost to drink and anger. Another addition to the many troubles, the one-armed Mother faced every day. Utah had been bled deeply by the wars, the sackings and tribal feuds. By the legion and Thunderbirds hordes. What remained, was hers to heal, rebuild and used to lead her people to prosperity. Yet it was not much, and many still went hungry and thirsty.
At least the fact that the angry and disgruntled fanatics and vicious had left with Red-Wheel, whom she had hoped to make an ally, to protect her new settlement and give her a voice among the remaining warriors of the 80s. But like the mad monster that Thunderbird had been, he had pushed her aside, rallied the warriors and moved west, to fight another senseless war, that brought nothing but death and suffering over all involved. Yet, at least it got rid of the troublemakers and had spared her the risk of a potential rival for the leadership of this place. Yet it also had stripped her of the last remaining forces the 80s in Utah had. Her city upon a hill of Salt was able to fight of bands of raiders or tribal’s, yet she had no illusions about the fact, that if the Legion would come, that they would just take the city, and everything inside. There were no great war-hosts and road chapters to go to war, no countless young prospects to rally to a banner to fight. All she had, was a militia of walker 80s and Mormons, whom she only partly trusted, Mem-ber warriors old and gray, on bikes that looked just like them, and a bunch of unruly boys that wanted to be true 80s. Worst of all, her son was one of them...and her son was gone.
Not a morning passed, that she did not worry about her son, or wished she could go find him. She had sent men after him, yet they had not come back with him. He, that damn idiot Shinji and Burned-her-hair, had left one Sunday night on their bikes, and only left her a note, not to worry, but that it was time for him to see both coasts. She was sick with worries, and hardly ate, yet she knew that she could not go. She was a cripple and her place was here. Without here, this place would simply tear itself apart in search for a new leader, which either would be a 80s brute, a born-again fanatic or even a charismatic Mormon who would seek to return this city to its original people. No, she could not go after her son...no matter how much she wanted to. These people were now all her children, and it was her place to be with them. Thunderfoot was her baby, yet he also had become too much like his father, no matter how much she had tried to stop it.
"We had seen them. Legion scouts and their legionaries at the south. We know what that means.." The voice of Ammon Issac, who had become her most valuable adviser, due to his deep understanding of the land and logistical means of agriculture, had somewhat of a soothing effect on her mind, as she nodded, sipping her dandelion root-coffee. It turned bitter in her mouth, for she knew what it meant. "They will come, with demands! Tribute or boys." She hated the idea, of what many had already rumored about. The legion needed men for their new armies, and if the 80s had something in abundance, it were young mouths to feed, and nothing to feed them with. Her stomach turned, as she found a practical, but disgusting solution for the issue, that would most likely soon present itself. "What if they attack us?" Issac asked, playing with his beard, like he always did, talking about a topic he really did not wish to address. "Then there is nothing we can do to really stop them. But I assume they know it well, and also that there is nothing to gain by conquering the ruins of this place, beyond thousands of hungry mouths to feed. No, they will bully us for one thing or another...and we will have to accept it."
@Duck
Call me interested! How does a city state between the sea and the steppe sound, that has close contact with the nomads of said steppes AND the centaurs in it?
Call me interested! How does a city state between the sea and the steppe sound, that has close contact with the nomads of said steppes AND the centaurs in it?
@seeMysmile Still going strong. Join our discord and introduce your faction
@Relacksed Sounds Intresting
The Good Times that never last, even in the City of Sin
An honest man had no business being in the city of sin, and if anything, Red Wheel was an honest man. He never had felt comfortable around people, and never had he seen so many mingle at one place. He felt a thousand eyes on him at once, the loud noises around him made him feel small and the constant laughter from all sides seemed so wickedly mocking. The blood rider of the road-chief might tower high, above his two companions, yet be felt very distant from them, as he walked behind them, far from their laughter and joking. Thunderbird, great road-captain of the 80s was roaring drunk, clinging to the shoulder of the equally drunk Shout-Thunders, who’s hands missed the backside of a passing gambler, who turned and gave him the finger. Turning her head at him, the woman hurried her step, as Red Wheel just kept on walking. The booze never had the amusing effect on him, that it had on other men. It made him just slower, be it in reaction or wit, so he never understood the desire of other men to get drunken. And here, everyone was drunk, loud and wicked. He turned his nose at a passing whore, her breasts exposed to the night sky, as she tried to lay her arms around him. Without a word, he pushed her away, before closing up to his two friends, ignoring the woman's curses behind him.
[Six hours before]
Even the taste of the steak, that so perfectly laid before him on a plate, seemed off. None of the three 80s had any skill in the usage of fork and knife, and so they awkwardly cut the meat in front of them, before, in a moment when no waiter was looking, began to dig in with their hands, just like they had always done on the road, and their ancestors once had, and still did in the halls of the painted host and freckled maid, high above on the eternal highway. The taste was deep, the spices burned his tongue and even the blood of the brahmin tasted too clean and slick. A cold shiver ran down Red Wheels back, as he placed the meat back on the table, and looked away, yet it was Thunderbirds clear voice, that finally ripped him from his thoughts. "You dont like the women, you dont like the shows, you dont like the booze and you dont like the meat...highway above, why the fuck did I even bring you? Whole world wants to see Vegas and I can haggle them to let me bring two lads with me, and all you do is look like someone pissed on your bike. Is there anything you grim fuck enjoy here?" Red wheel looked at Thunderbird, the tall, sunburned man, with the broken nose, and deep green eyes, who´s hair had been bound in braids, while he wore a suit that gave him such a fitting look for Vegas, that for a moment, Red Wheel wondered if there was a place, this man would ever be out of place. "...your company.." He wanted to say, but instead just grunted and reached for the salt. "That boxing match was nice.." he grumbled, returning to his steak after giving it some salt, trying to wash away the clean and slick taste from it, and somewhat neutralize the spice.
"Yeah, but you sucker placed your bet on the losing fighter. Told you that ghoul had fighting eyes." Shout-thunder took the steak up once more, but this time, a masked waiter came close. "My good sir, may I please humbly ask, that you are following the adequate etiquette of this place? For our tribal guests, we do provide guidance on how to..." For a moment, it looked like Shout-thunder was about to throw the steak into the waiters face. A smile grew on Red-Wheels face, for he would love nothing more, then beat up some of these slick mask wearing folks, reminding them on what the true world was like, outside these walls, where the highways were long and free. He felt his blood boil, but then Thunderbird already had his hand on his companions arm, and stopped him with a stern look. Turing to the waiter, he gave him a disarming smile, and send him off with a wave. "Just use the fucking fork and knife lads...ain't that hard! Besides, when weren't you handy with the knife, blood-brother?" Shout-Thunder nodded shortly, and for a few seconds, Red Wheel felt such emberassment over the fact, that he would have almost ruined the evening for Thunderbird. He had talked about Vegas, ever since he had heard of it, and now, before they would ride along the highway, to the east, he had wanted to see this place with his own eyes.
"One day, I will bring my sons to this place. All of them. And they will eat in here like proper civilized folk." Thunderbird once more picked up the fork and knife, and cut the meat gently. "Gonna come in here, Thunderfoot in one hand, Thunderstone in the other...and I will tell them, about the time that their oil-uncles sat here with me." Shout-Thunder snorted over that. "You better keep the visits to the Gomorrah to yourself, blood-brother. Or to that redhead of yours. Fiery temper that one." Once more, Red Wheel felt the envy inside him. He hated that red haired slut, that Thunderbird had taken during a raid, and become so infatuated with. She didn't appreciate him, she loved that Brat Thunderfoot, not him. Why could Thunderbird not see the snake at his side? And why didn't he hear when he was warning her about her. But he always just said, that it was his way about women, and his general dislike of them, that spoke, not the naturally true intuition he had about her...and that brat Thunderfoot. "You know that I like them fiery brother. Gives me something to live for, besides your depressing company, blood-brothers. And something to come home to, once we have seen the east. For we will ride, brothers! Every Chapta-housa we visit, I shall speak. I shall bring forth all the prospects and form a might chapter...for let me tell you, I came here with you, as a Road-Captain. But when I will visit this place one day with my sons, I will do so as a road-king!" Red-Wheel couldn't help but feel the fire burning inside him. He would follow Thunderbird to the end of the world, and beyond it. For he truly was the kind of leader, old stories told about, worthy of the name of the conqueror of the I90, legendary Thunderbull.
Leaning against the wall, Red Wheel let out a sigh, as the sound of puking assaulted his ears. Shout-Thunder was laughing, like the mindless goon he was. "I fucking...told ya...you cant stomach..all that booze... Far in the distant, the sun was rising, yet this damn city, still wasnt asleep. Nobody here seemed to sleep, as all was unnatural and wicked in this blood place. Red-wheel hated it so much. "I...i gonna...gonna bring...thunderstone...and thuunnderfooot here! And...and Redhair...w--we gpmma..watch the showss in the Tops! And we gonna eat ICE cream!" Stumbling, Thunderbird pushed Shout-Thunder to the side, clutching the sides of Red-wheel. "YOU...BLOOD BROTHER..will come with us! And scare..all them off who wish to harm my sons! You...me...and SHOUTA..THUNDA..." The mentioned blood brother just grunted, as he leaned against the wall blinking and groaning. "Promise that you will protect my sons...when we all go back to vegas, brother...when we all go back to Vegas.."
Red Wheel Road Captain of the Orphans of California - Today, long after the good times
Killing scorpions was easier, then to kill the vermin of the same name. Jet had burned through them, harder than the NCR had done. How they could have remained in Nevada, was a mystery to Red Wheel. The ash and fire of the place, burned in his nose, as he looked at what had become the normal sight for him these days. Another camp, burned and looted, to be sacked fully by his men. Not that the scorpions, or Vipers or Fiends or Khan remnants in the regions had much of anything left. Vegas had bled Nevada dry, turning it into a place of wandering tribes, fearful of the city of light, that always seemed to loom at the night sky.
Red Wheel climbed off his bike, as he held onto his warclub, the smell of death, blood and piss, becoming so attached to the name of Nevada for him, that he hardly could smell it anymore. Turning to his left, he could see his Sergant-atta-armsa approaching. Back his days, he would have been hardly old enough to count as a true Mem-bar warrior, but these days, old men like him were rare, and the young were so prevalent, that Red Wheel felt like residue from a long gone time, even though he was hardly near his 40s. "We took 20 captives worth taking, Road-Captain! Food for maybe a week, and engine-blood for four days! We lost two prospects in the assault.." It felt like he had heard this news countless times. Reports of a raid, the loot made, and the losses suffered. For him, it meant little more, then being able to endure a week more of this. A week more of raiding another shitty village or camp and of nights that seemed so endless, filled with cold rage against the bear to the west, fear for the city of light in the south and guilt for they who had been left behind in the west. "Load them up! We're going to see to it that we trade the captives for further gas and ammo. Kill the rest of the captives. And make sure that the lads don't touch the jet or women."
Walking through the ruins of the camp, Red Wheel had hardly any thoughts for the fallen, be they Scorpions or 80s. So many good men had died in Thunderbirds war against the NCR, what did these losses mean compared to them? He had long given up to hope to see them again on the eternal highway. Hope itself had become a thing of the past, as duty to the chapter was all that remained for him, now that he, who had given his life light and hope, had died. The good days were over. The hard days of the past were over. These, where the days of shit, trapped in Nevada, too weak to face the bear again, too proud to return home and too bitter to bend the knee to the legion. Nevada, once a place of hope, had become a cage, for the 80s of the west to perish in. Yes, they had come with strength and fury upon the scorpions and vipers and all the other scum, but Red Wheel had not the will or charisma of Thunderbird. He led, because he had been the last one standing, the last one willing to ride west. Shout-Thunder had taken his men and road east, but Red-Wheel would not forget, or forgive. They had taken his light from this world, and they would pay...or, so he had thought. For years, he now was trapped in the cage of Nevada, and for years, this was his life. Indeed, this was the time of shit.
Once more, the road trembled under the hundreds of bikes of Red Wheels road chapter. Once more, they were riding north, away from the city of lights. Rumors had it of an untouched town near the NCR border, but still outside their protection. Red Wheel would go there, and if luck would be on his side, the NCR would have some of its soldiers there. Not enough to fend them off, but still enough to give him a taste of revenge against them.
Being the road captain, he rode a few hundred meters before his lads, along a broken highway. It was his place to lead them, to guide them and to protect them. But he no longer could promise them glorious victories, or gasoline to keep their engines running. All he could promise them, was that he would not turn his back on California. That he would stay in Nevada, ready to fall upon the NCR when the day to repay came. Yet it had not come yet, and each passing day, made it seem like it would never come. What was there left for Red Wheel to do? He had given up on the 80s that had fled to the ruins of Salt-Lake City, bowing before the Bull and his protection. For an 80 did not kneel! Redhair was now leading them, and Red-Wheel still regretted that he had not strangled that witch long ago. But he had not, for he had been to heartbroken over the death of his light, his friend...his blood brother. He still could hear his laughter in the wind, his howl when he gave the red bike the final push. But he was dead, hanged in front of a roaring crowd in Shady Sands.
He wished he still had the will, to hope that he would one day see him again, on the eternal highway, where they could ride together, eternal and free. But he no longer had these illusions. All he had were memories and a choking desire for revenge that became more unlikely with each passing day. Once more, Red Wheel increased the speed of his bike, hoping that at least in speed, he could escape it all, be it just a few passing minutes.
----
@Andreyich
Would make a great Legion, I can vouch for him!
The details of the Legion, outside the set things are still up to debate and will be adjusted to the ideas of the players involved. This RP is heavily community driven, with ideas being worked out among players
Would make a great Legion, I can vouch for him!
The details of the Legion, outside the set things are still up to debate and will be adjusted to the ideas of the players involved. This RP is heavily community driven, with ideas being worked out among players
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