MagustheRed

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Santa Fe

It was, troubling. This attachment to nothing more than a band of raiders, Gladstone knew the history of the Khans. Beaten down by the NCR, given a poisoned chalice to sup by the Legion in their darkest hours. A nation of petty chemists who had spread their poison far and wide and had bemoaned their fate when justice had come calling. He’d seen them rise to his east, unable to do anything as he’d clumsily welded together his people in their own new home. And now with a chance to right that wrong, to crush this upstart band, he found himself opposed.

Taut burnt fingers flexed on his cane as Lucius and Barnaky continued speaking. Lucius was neutral it would seem. His honour stayed his hand, but Gladstone knew that when opportunity presented itself, the political beast inside reared its head scenting the blood on the wind. Barnaky though, why would he care about a nation of savages to his west? It was a mix of bemusing and confusing, perhaps his cybernetics had addled his brain? Though then again, Gladstone recalled the reason why Barnaky was where he was. A rebel whose actions had split and weakened the Brotherhood, what those forces could have done if they had remained in the west, if time had allowed the bunkers to swell with future manpower that had instead been spent elsewhere.

And then there was the matter of Barnaky’s proclamation, forbidding the usage of weapons that would shorten this pestilential conflict by weeks, if not months. Gladstone grit his teeth at that, what was this creature expecting? To hamstring his forces in such a war, to tie with one hand behind the back when two hands would be far easier to throttle this cult with? Still, if Barnaky and Lucius wanted to hold their hands above the mud rather than press in and make something of it, who was he to stop such foolishness?

And so, with that in mind, Gladstone bowed his head, and ceded the ground, or at least that which would lead only to disaster. His voice a soft rasping in the hazy summer heat as he made his reply, his watery contract lain out to the Legion and the Midwest.

“Very well then. I shall have to make do with the current state of affairs as regards the Khans. They will have their autonomy if that is your preference your excellencies.”

It didn’t matter he supposed, in the end, he could always bring the Khans into his sphere of influence. With the Legion and Midwestern Brotherhood busy in the east, he could begin arranging the pieces in the west. He could initiate a diplomatic offensive, water and electricity, as many trade goods as could be moved. And then with such weight on his side, he could make a series of gradual moves, whispers against the Legion and Midwest. Reminding them of past slights by the former, and a few untruths perhaps for the latter. After all, it was rather hard to stomach the idea of some entombed brain as a ruler. And robobrains did go mad, who was to say this wouldn’t occur at some point in the future?

And with such a force surrounding them, they would look to the benevolent power in the west making them rich, watering their lands and peoples and powering their homes and suchlike. A few prominent citizens could be bribed, and by the end of the year, perhaps a protectorate could be established. Yes, that would do, soft power in the east, and his forces marching elsewhere to conquer and empower the Western Brotherhood.

After all, If Barnaky planned to use this war to expand his domain east, then two could play at that game. He would strike whilst the attention was elsewhere. Within shadows and hidden from sight would the steel engrave itself onto the Khans. With a scheme in mind to set in motion Gladstone smiled a grandfatherly smile, or at least as much as he could manage with a half-burnt face. The warmth not quite reaching his eyes at the lopsided smile, one side upwards, the other flat and unmoving. His lips continued to move, or at least one side more-so than the other.

“This war is of your making, it is your choice how to fight it. I shall send word for the offending articles to be held back in storage-”

They would find better usage in crushing the savages elsewhere then, in lands which would find themselves tilled by Brotherhood homesteaders.

“-Though perhaps I could call for a list of the other non-Chemical weapons to be forwarded to both of you. I would recommend the deployment of some of these articles, if only for the tactical ability they will afford us. We have multiple MIRV capable Fat Man’s for instance, able to wipe out thousands in the blink of an eye. Along with Gauss minigun emplacements, and thermobaric cluster weaponry deployable by bomber or missile batteries if modified correctly.”

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone - Western Brotherhood of Steel - Santa Fe

Lucius’ first reply brought an internal scowl from Gladstone, outwardly nodding in sympathetic understanding. Gladstone leaned back a little as Caesar continued speaking, and once the man had finished, lay out his plan for the Imperator of the Legion. His voice carrying across the room in as mighty tone as he could muster.

“Then let us divide the Khan lands at the end of this war. This war in the east will finish with our victory. When our forces have returned west, after the appropriate period of recuperation, we can fall upon the Khans from the west and south. Would that be agreeable to you Caesar?”

Gladstone turned to look around the room upon hearing some muffled voices and noted that Barnaky had entered the room whilst he’d been engrossed in conversation with Lucius. The High Elder cleared his throat, leaning forwards in his chair, hands clasped over his tone. Once he felt he had the attention of Barnaky and Lucius, he spoke up.

“Lord-Paladin and Mighty Caesar, might I express my thanks for having such a righteous cause brought to the attention of the Western Brotherhood, and to have such magnificent allies to fight alongside. You will be pleased to know that I have ordered the deployment of the full arsenal; as much of the forbidden weaponry as can be moved marches east against the cult. Chemical weapons to unleash a true plague upon them, along with some of the more savage pre-war weaponry which has proved highly useful in past scourges. No quarter shall be given, all those associated with the cult will burn and die from the highest priest to the lowest serf.”

Gladstone paused, to wet his lips before continuing.

“Such is the nature of the scourge in the laws lain down by the Codex. A full force of ten thousand is being readied as I speak. Along with a further thousand mercenaries as can be hired from the west and north. If you would wish for the Brotherhood to produce any military elements sorely needed in the east, such as tanks and the like, now would be the time to say so. The force will mainly be infantry and artillery, and the vehicles to move them in battle.”

And falling silent, the High Elder awaited the opinions of the two warlords before him.

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Santa Fe

“Ave Elder, and firstly, I thank you for the gifts. They were unnecessary, but not unwelcome. I’ll gladly accept such generosity.”

Gladstone inclined his head at the thanks, watching as the Praetorians removed the chests from the room, before returning his attention to Caesar.

“As for your second question, yes, I think there is a matter we should discuss. Have a seat.”

The High Elder did as bid, listening to Lucius as he did so.

“The matter I wanted to discuss with you specifically, Elder, and one of the primary reasons for your invitation to this gathering was to allay some concerns. Your recent militaristic reform of The Brotherhood hasn’t gone unnoticed, especially by your neighbours. The Great Khans. The Khans are not allies of the Legion, and indeed many of them still harbour resentment against us after the learned what Sallow had planned for them in Vegas. However, we have good enough relations as it stands. And those Khans who are friendly to the Legion have expressed doubts that your intentions in the region will remain peaceful.”

The leader of the legion paused for a few seconds before leaning in and directing a question towards him.

“And so I'll ask you bluntly, are their doubts unfounded?”

Gladstone’s reply was first a few moments of silent rumination, before finally gathering his thoughts and making them known.

“No. Their doubts are not unfounded.”

The High Elders gaze met Caesars, holding his head high, he ploughed on, making his case for such a reply.

“Raiders to the North, Raiders to the West, a wounded giant in California and now, a war of dreadful savagery in the east unseen since before the Great War. The Brotherhood is surrounded by chaos, anarchy, lawlessness and disorder. We must conquer or be conquered. I make no obfuscations for my reforms and my intent with them. The Brotherhood will expand, we will civilise the wastes in the image we see fit to shape it too. I will not make the mistakes of my predecessors in resting on our laurels, on a managed decline with hazy eyes misting over in remembrance of halcyon days long gone.”

Gladstone leaned back, his voice cold and clear in the hazy Santa Fe heat.

“I will raise up the Western Brotherhood to heights it has never known before, we will stride forth and scour the mutant from the land and purge the barbarism of the raiders. As for the Great Khans, I shall be frank. I do not hold anything against them, if it is Caesar’s wish I shall leave them be.”

A pause.

“Or, perhaps we could carve up their lands between us? An alliance between us would I think be a way to constrain the New Californian Republic from ever moving against us again. An entente against them, you to the south and southeast, and the brotherhood to the north and northeast. I suggest the old highway 80 be the new borders between our lands. And perhaps, befitting of your marital connections, the former lands of New Canaan and all the Mormon territories could be rendered unto Caesar as well?”

Gladstone smirked, his expression predatory, a shark circling in the water, waiting to see if his fellows reaction to such a devils bargain.

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Santa Fe

The convoy rumbled along the long stretch of highway towards Santa Fe, kicking up a small trail of dust into the air, a harbinger of their oncoming approach. The progress of the convoy attracted much attention from the citizenry of the Legion, perhaps unused to seeing such an unusual formation within their borders. Some slaves even stopping their work to watch the rumbling vehicles stream past them along the cracked highway, before returning to their work before their overseers could crack the whips upon them.

On and on it went, five vehicles in all, two gunmetal grey M3 Scout cars at the front and rear of the convoy respectively. These light fleet-footed automobiles followed or preceded respectively by three turreted M113 Armoured Personnel carriers. Glancing out over the various fields as the roared their way towards Santa Fe, Gladstone allowed himself a moment of quiet admiration for the hardiness of the Legion in carving out such a paradise among such desolation. He allowed that to fade away quickly as the intercom crackled on inside the relatively cramped innards of the APC.

“We’re five minutes out from arrival. All vehicles prepare to disembark. And close up and prepare to slow down, we’re approaching foot traffic, weapons ready.”

Turning his attention to the men within the confines of the carrier, Gladstone ruminated on the new style of uniform he’d ordered for his soldiers. Gone was the ragtag style of ages past, a new order required change. For his soldiers, this meant a new uniform and organisation. The inspiration for these reforms had been from the pre-war world naturally. Previously the brotherhoods forces had been organised along feudal lines. Now, forces were organised in military style, a standing army was implemented, a reserve force was created along with conscription being started to enable a more readily available source of manpower to be raised with minimal fuss.

The old system of knights, paladins and scribes had been mothballed. Skipping over the Midwestern Brotherhood, the organisation of the now silent east coast brotherhood had been found to be the most applicable to the situation. Now, forces were divided among the scroll and the sword. All beginners inducted as initiates, then squires. From there, they either became Knights or Scribes and so, began the steady climb upwards. Outsiders now entered as Aspirants, with the tribes having proved themselves to become brotherhood proper in Gladstone’s eyes, outsiders had now come to mean those from outside the borders of the brotherhoods lands.

The uniform meanwhile, had changed for all branches. A more militant style of dress had been adopted both for combat and non-combat situations. Knights now arrayed in field grey uniforms with an increase in power enabling full combat armour production now, with all the forces dressed in combat armour. Energy weaponry still remained in the hands of the Paladins, but a more diverse array had been opened up for the lower ranks, the standard arms being a combat rifle and 9mm pistol along with a bayonet and grenade. On the parade ground and out of combat, a sharp uniform had been adopted in the vein of the old fascistic army uniforms of the 20th century. Utilitarian, Meritocratic and Technocratic thinking was now the order of the day.

All in all, the Brotherhood had come to feel more an army with a nation, than a nation with an army, the military style had come to dominate the culture. Fashion had shifted away from mediaevalesque robes, and onto buttoned jackets with shoulder straps and suchlike. Breeches and boots, trench coats and peaked caps. Though the Brotherhood hadn’t become entirely militarised, some entrepreneurial tailor had read a book on pre-war fashion and had promptly begun promoting Edwardian fashion which had rapidly caught on among the populace. Gladstone supposed this was a reaction to the past, inward and closeted, conservative and austere, pacifistic and with an air of a managed decline. Now though, the vogue was towards he supposed a more outward look, wanting to conquer rather than be conquered, to have rather than have not.

The sudden jolting halt of the convoy forcibly removed these thoughts from the High Elders mind, as a green light suddenly flicked on inside the carrier and the doors opened up. Blinking furiously as a blinding shaft of sunlight illuminated the cabin, Gladstone winced as the hot air of Santa Fe rushed inside the previously air-conditioned space. Making his way out of the metal cabin, Gladstone stood and regained his composure. Clad in shining black boots with crisp black breeches, a dark grey jacket and white shirt with a black tie, with the only decoration he allowed himself being silver laurel patterned shoulder straps, a simple silvery grey aiguillette around the right shoulder, and a black armband bearing the symbol of the brotherhood also on the right arm.

He limped forwards, his cane striking on the ground as he approached the foot of the stairs where a small smile of amusement adorned his features as he spied the “Santa Fe Public Library” lettering above the entrance to the conference centre. Try as they all did, no nation in the wasteland seemed able to fully cast off the lingering grip of the old world. Clambering up the steps, Gladstone stopped in the main foyer as he was greeted by a single woman and a number of guards.

“Salve,I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

Following the wife of Caesar to the man himself, Gladstone glanced around, seeing that he was the first to arrive, he decided to dive straight in. Clicking his heels together, Gladstone gave a small bow towards both Lucius and Hannah, before standing straight, speaking as he did so.

“Your imperial majesties, I thank you and your citizenry for the warmth of your country towards mine. The journey here was most enjoyable, truly has the Legion wrought a marvellous civilisation from the anarchy that came before. If it pleases mighty Caesar, I would present gifts to you as befitting of such hosts.”

Gladstone turned, ushering forwards a squire who promptly opened and presented a chest towards the two monarchs, or at least the monarch and his consort.

“I bring gifts of fine furs, cultural works and fine jewellery from my people to you.”

The squire set the chest down, before bowing, stepping back and leaving, Gladstone talking to Caesar as this went on.

“As I see that I am the first to arrive, might I be presumptuous, and enquire as to any matters you might wish to raise with the western brotherhood? Might I suggest an exchange of ambassadors and perhaps the establishment of a trade agreement between our civilisations? In additions to any other matters Caesar wishes to raise with my nation.”

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – Electric City Throne Room

Reclining on his throne, Gladstone watched in grim silence as the presentation unfolded, his eyes flickering over each scene of horror with a cold analytical resolve. It was as the radio broadcast was played that the High Elder stirred, the creaking of the ancient armour and steel throne quietened by the raging voice emanating from the speakers. He sat frozen in thought, even as the broadcasts echoes faded from the hall, before finally bestirring himself after a minute of contemplation.

“It would seem ambassador, that a quandary is before me. For the voice behind that broadcast does not distinguish between our two respective factions. It refers solely to the Brotherhood of Steel, not the Midwestern Brotherhood, not Barnaky’s Brotherhood, just the Brotherhood.”

Atticus’ jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth, he sighed, before leaning back in his chair, as if exhausted by the weight of the decision he was making.

“You may send a missive to the Lord Paladin, that by fate, it would seem we share a common enemy, a force which breaks the tenants of the Codex, and has declared war against the whole of our estranged factions. Factions if only recently reconciled, which still have something of a gulf between us by circumstances of time and space.”

The High Elder bowed his head, before raising it again with purpose a moment later. His voice directed not at the envoys before his throne, but the guards around the room.

“Order the muster, raise high the black banners my brethren, we march to the Midwest! Let the hammers fall and beat swords straight and sharp. In powered armour and with ancient dread armament equipped, it seems once again we must march. Let us wreath ourselves in glory and blood! Let us break our enemies with our hands and smite them into naught but ash and dust! Let us tear down their monuments to their own kin and rebuild upon them ones to the shame of their own defeat! For the purity of man! For the justice of the Codex! For the memory of Maxson! For the Brotherhood of Steel!”

A roar in reply met his words, spears rose to be shook in defiance of the enemy in the east and the High Elders shouts were repeated as feet crashed in the receiving of the proclamation. The cries turned to chants, the battle-hymns falling upon the warrior’s lips as the hall stirred into action, the doors opening and the herald sweeping out to trumpet calls announcing the decision of the High Elder. Gladstone had no eyes for that, instead, they fell upon the ambassador, his features grim, a half smile as the one side untouched by scar and burns allowed a small upturning of the lip.

“The Lord Paladin will have his war Your Excellency, let us hope there comes no cause to regret it.”

--------------------------------------------------

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood of Steel – High Elder’s Quarters

Night was falling across Electric city, and from his room high above, Atticus watched it draw its dark quilt over the warmth of the day. Below, a swirling river of lights began to awaken in mirror image to the stars pushing their pinprick lights into the dark above. Staring out across the city, the High Elder felt a twinge of sadness run through his being.

For many, this would be a bittersweet night, on the morrow, they would begin the march to the warfront in the east. Atticus’ gaze briefly swept around the room, who would mourn his loss? He had taken no lover, fathered no children, and nor could he say any true friends remained. All he had was the cold harshness of duty as his companion, and duty brooked no love for any. Even those who remained true to it.

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie, his rasping voice bidding them enter, a squire with a letter to his hands. The High Elders interest piqued as he recognised the wax seal of the legion on the missive. An invitation to a conference, much like the one at Vegas. Well, it would be good to look outwards once more. Gladstone set the missive aside, dictating his reply to the squire.

“Send a reply to Caesar, we shall be attending. Have the motor convoy readied, we move at dawn.”

War Never Changes

The Western Brotherhood of Steel - High Elder Gladstone – Electric City

"What he has always desired, High Elder, to end the century long separation between us. He also has instructed me to extend his congratulations on your recent success against those who had challenged your lawful authority."

At this Gladstone inclined his head and made a vocal intercession.

“I shall accept the thanks of the Lord Paladin with no small regard for his words. And would gently request of you most venerable envoy, that you pass on my high regards for his words. And my hopes that his reign, strong and stable as it has been, continues as it has done, so that the Midwestern people may not know the horrors of civil strife.”

Falling silent, Gladstone gave a small motion for the envoy to continue.

"In compliance with the agreement between your Lordship and Lord-Paladin Barnaky, I have come to you to present my credentials as the Midwestern Order's Ambassador to your Court."

At this, a guard stepped forwards, accepting the letters of credential and bearing them to the High Elder, who perused them, before nodding. The guard stepped away, another stepping forwards to offer a gift of a bread and wine to the ambassadors.

“I accept you as envoys to this realm. Please, take these gifts and know now that you are protected and shall be given all care as can be given unto you befitting of your rank and status. Might I add your excellency, that I have solid hopes that this moment marks the beginning of a most prosperous relationship between our respective tribes so to speak.”

Gladstone leaned back in his chair, relaxing a little listening to McCarthy continue speaking.

"If it pleases the High Elder-"

A nod of assent from the aforementioned man.

"-It is incumbent on me to notify you of a recent change in the state of affairs in the Midwest. In the Eastern part of what was the United States, a group has arisen that is a threat to civilization, if not the future of Mankind itself. Having recognized the severity of this threat, the Lord-Paladin has devoted all the power our Order can muster to destroying it. With your permission, I will read aloud Lord-Paladin Barnaky's official declaration regarding this group.”

As the declaration was read, Gladstone kept his features calm and inscrutable, and after a few long minutes of silence composing his reply, finally spoke his thoughts on the matter.

“That the Lord Paladin has seen fit to declare this Cult to be scourged is a troubling matter in and of itself. I wish to see the evidence that would justify this declaration, and if it be found truthful, know this ambassador. That the steel banners shall be raised, and from here, a force such as to make the word tremble shall be issued. Should it not be worthy however, know that the Western Brotherhood will make no efforts to assist your nation in your war.”

War Never Changes

The Western Brotherhood of Steel

Night was falling, and with it, so too did the old order. For Charlie Wheatcroft, this was the ending chapter of a horrible story, a nightmare that seemed unending. Shivering in his grey anorak, he clasped the thin coat around himself, watching the herald on the stage reading out from a scroll, bathed in the white halogen glare of the fizzing lights all around them.

“Henceforth, all unapproved societies are suspended. Approval may be sought, all gatherings are furthermore now to be conducted in officiated halls only, and with a custodian on hand. This is to ensure, that all meetings are of a non-political nature, that no such gatherings may be used to ferment dissent and rebellion as has seized our great society these past months.”

The clanking of boots began to drown out the herald’s words towards the end of his speech, a shuffling line of emaciated figures clad in dirty robes and chains pushed forwards up the stairs and towards the waiting lines of the hooded executioners. A small rumbling of murmurs and whispers briefly threatened to break out across from the crowd, but by some unseen signal, the sudden shift from standing to attention to battle-ready stance of the line of power armour figures before the stage was enough to enforce silence.

Charlie found his eyes glancing around the square, at the balconies around, full of fur and leather clad figures, the many tribes of the Brotherhood. They had won the war for Gladstone in the end, the war against the Maxson Lodges, a front for the Circle of Steel. A bomb on the High Elder’s vertibird had knocked the man out of the sky on his way back from the convention, the Lodges had moved into the open, seizing the dams in an attempted coup. A resistance had been formed by the younger and more liberal members, but things had been bleak. And then, word had gone around, of a warlord in the south-east, riding towards Electric City with a horde of savages at his back.

At first, the Lodges had treated it as a mere raider group, sending out a few small parties thinking that a few lasers and power armoured gauntlets would be enough to quell it. Instead, those parties had been defeated, and more tribes had swelled the warlord’s ranks at that point. New tribes had been conquered, the warlord moving to the north, seizing lands and men there, and then back to the south, and then the east, and then circumventing electric city entirely to raise forces in the west. The resistance had been emboldened, and the exploded into activity when Gladstone’s image and voice had seized the airways, stating his return and intent to destroy the lodges and all who harboured them.

The last battle had been at Spokane, the Lodges had been forced to march when Gladstone had raised his banner over the city proclaiming him the one true High Elder of the Brotherhood and calling on the lodges to face him in the field or die in their bunkers. They had marched in full strength and had promptly been harried all the way to Spokane, wherein they found the city empty, and received the news of Gladstone having seized Electric City instead. They next few days, Gladstone didn’t meet the lodges in the field, instead, choosing to hit and run against their limited numbers until at last, forcing them into a small village whereupon he’d subjected the remaining traitors to a sadistic bombardment until they’d surrendered.

And now, they were gathered here, to witness the fate of the defeated. To hear the laws of the new regime. Gone was the calm tempered movements of the old order, in their place a tempest of war and seething anger. Something had happened to Gladstone out in the wilderness among the tribes, the old scholar had died, and in those aged ashes, a warlord had been born. Slowly, a snare drum was tapped, a drummer boy rattling out an execution mass. The prisoners had been seated and with a growing sense of sickness Charlie felt a stab of revulsion at what he knew was coming next, and felt he should turn away, but morbid curiosity stayed his gaze.

The drumbeat grew, a rampaging crescendo building and building, until suddenly it stopped, and was replaced with the flick of a switch, the crackle of electricity, the screams of the guilty, and the smell of acrid smoke. And then suddenly, it was finished, the dimmed flickering lights returning to their full baleful glare, casting down illumination onto the electrocuted dead. The herald steps forward, the ringmaster of the whole sickening affair, his voice loud and clear.

“So unto all traitors, to divide us is to be a heretic against the new order! Let their bodies be cast in gibbets across the land! A warning against those who would seek to divide this new unity!”

Eyes turned up to the sky as a flight of Vertibirds passed overhead, their engines roaring as them made their parade. The eyes keeping there as the herald saluted theretoward, a clenched fist to the sky the symbol of the new order.

“Glory to the Victor and death to the traitor! Strong as Steel!”

And suddenly, they were all moving, either out of fear or love, all moved, raising their hands up, clenching into tight fists, voices rending out that new cry.

“Strong as Steel!”

The shouting went on and on and on, the crowds pressing forwards, arms seemingly stretching higher and higher, as if seeking to prove that they could reach higher than all others, that they could claim to be the most loyal of all. And looking down on those huddled braying people, Gladstone turned away from his stand by a shadowed window, and back to the business at hand. The traitors were dead, order had been restored and eyes turned inward, could now turn outward. His voice was cold as it called out to the waiting squires, a harsh rasp ever since the assassination attempt, since the bomb had burned a third of his face and scoured his throat.

“Have the envoys arrived yet?”

A shake of the head and the bowing of backs, eyes cast down staring at the shadow not the one who cast it, fearful of meeting this new man’s gaze.

“Yes milord. A legation from the Midwestern Brotherhood, they’re awaiting your admittance to the throne room.”

A pained grunt in acknowledgement from the words of the senior-most squire, followed by the rapping of a steel sceptre made walking cane cracked across the floor as the High Elder made his way to the centre of the room. He stood there, eyes resting on the tapestry opposite, of the busts of the High Elders of ages past, his arms raised as if martyring himself before the gaze of the long dead.

“Then armour me squires, for the dawn of a new age is coming, and we must be ready to meet it.”

And with that command, the squires dutifully set about armouring their Elder. The sceptre of the High Elder was gently prised from a scarred grip and lain aside on the table. Already clad in the dark grey recon suit, first to be clasped onto the High Elder’s person was the frame, the Squires working from the torso outwards until it was all fixed and bound ready to receive the armour. In silence they worked, the ornate ceremonial armour of the High Elder of the Brotherhood ever so carefully being fastened like the plate armour onto the knights of old. Dark grey steel traced with etched silver patterns, murals of the old days of Maxson. Here and there, the names of the High Elders carved into the very fabric of the armour, legendary names whose words beheld legendary deeds, upon his death, so too would the name of Gladstone be carved into it.

On this went, until at last, there came the final robing. A black cloak lined with fur bearing the seal of the Brotherhood in gold thread fastened over the armour by a bronze chain. Opened hands awaited their armaments, to one went the sword, and to the other, the sceptre was returned. The head lay bare, and onto it went the steel sword crown of the High Elder. Closed eyes opened and turned as his body pivoted, and with dread purpose moved towards the elevator and from there down to the throne room. Wherein he took his place upon the throne, the cloak moved by the squires around the High Elders body, over the knee with the golden seal of the brotherhood facing out.

Windows were closed, torches were lit, the guards stood at attention with their halberds raised high, at last, they were ready. A nod from the High Elder and the great chamber doors were opened, and in flooded the courtiers, gasps from the easily impressed at the vastness of the chamber, of the great arches above, with rafters holding musty banners from chapters long dead or gathered once again. Drifting pennants holding the oaths of war and battle honours trailed down and silently shifted in the air. The walls holding tapestry after tapestry, scene after scene of glory and honour, of power armoured warriors with their banners high and their enemies crushed beneath them. The stamping of halberds made silent the room as the herald called out.

“His Excellency, the High Elder of the Brotherhood of the Steel, Suzerain of the Mountains and Plains, Warlord of the Northern Wastes, Victor of the Steel Laurels bids you welcome to his court. May his reign be long and stand as strong as steel! All Hail the High Elder!”

Fists were raised, a single shout of “Hail!” ringing out through the hall, and then tribute was paid by the tribes to their Suzerain. The new order cared not for trinkets, henceforth, the tribes paid their tithes in manpower or material. In exchange, aid and protection was promised, patrols were dispatched to secure the borders and engineers to build generators to bring civilisation to a wild land. For hours this went on, until at last, the herald called out the names of the envoys of the Midwestern Order. A hush fell, dispelled by the voice of the High Elder.

“I would speak to these honoured envoys in private, I bid my court depart and gather again once recalled.”

The guards moved quickly, ushering out the crowd until at last, only the High Elder and the envoys remained. Looking down at them with a bored interest, Gladstone’s voice rasped out into the hall and down towards the legation.

“So, the Midwestern Brotherhood has at long last stepped foot inside the Western Brotherhoods halls. A momentous occasion for sure, so come, speak to me, what is it that Barnaky would desire? I think you will find that much has changed since our last meeting.”

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – Western Brotherhood

"We have been apart for far too long, and that estrangement is a luxury that neither of us can afford. While we disagree on a number of things, there are still plenty that we do agree on. We should build on that, and the rest will follow."

Atticus nodded at those words. They held truth.

"I agree to your proposal, Brother Atticus-"

Barnaky stood and extended his hand to the High Elder as he spoke.

"-Our Orders will face the uncertain future...together once more."

Atticus set his drink down, stood and accepted the hand of Barnaky. A deal had been struck, and as such, Barnaky sat back down.

"I will make arrangements to receive a delegation at Omaha, or send one to Electric City if you prefer, to hammer out the details. The first order of business, I think, should be formally re-establishing direct diplomatic relations be exchanging Ambassadors. We'll also need to establish some sort of agreement with the Khans regarding trade routes."

“I have already made arrangements to meet with the Great Khan. A delegation shall be sent to Omaha as soon as a deal is made with him.”
Barnaky made his concluding remarks.

"While we have much to discuss,I think we have gone about as far as we should...here. Unless you have further concerns that can be safely discussed here, of course."

“I think all that has been said is all that needs to be said. If I may Lord Barnaky, I shall bid you a fair day, and take my leave. I have many meetings to attend to.”

Walking over to the door, Atticus paused, before turning, giving a small bow of respect to the Lord Paladin, and promptly exited the room. He had much to do.

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone

"Indeed, It was welcome, but a surprise nonetheless"

Barnaky paused after his reply, as if considering his own words.

"I had feared we could never overcome the circumstances of our departure, I'll be pleased if that turns out to be wrong. I must apologise for the robot, but I've learned over the years that it's easier to interact with others remotely via one of these constructs than through a monitor or set of speakers"

Another pause.

"and my current physical condition is quite disturbing to most to behold."

Atticus nodded as a reply. There wasn't really much one could say following that last remark. At least not without any reply being possibly construed as an insult. Such a thing was to be avoided and so, the High Elder remained silent.

Gladstone refocused his attention on the host, as Barnaky gestured to one of the seats at the table.

"Please, be seated"

Another pause, perhaps a communication lag? Atticus stowed the thoughts away and concentrated on the task at hand.

"we have much to discuss. I must warn you before we begin, however, that we are most likely under surveillance at this very moment."

"Indeed." Atticus added as a word of agreement with the, cyborg.

"If this meeting goes well, we can arrange for follow-up talks in a more, ahem, secure location."

Barnaky then offered the High Elder a drink, proposing to serve it himself. Atticus held up his hand in polite refusal to the offer and served the drink himself, such courtesy was appreciated, but not necessary.

"Now then, High Elder", Barnaky said as he settled back into his chair, "Let us discuss your proposal, I'm eager to hear it."

Sitting in his own chair, Atticus paused to sip his drink and gather his thoughts before replying.

"My proposal Lord-Paladin, is simple. Whilst we have been too far apart for too long, both in distance and in time, as well as the diverging circumstances that have made our respective entities evolve, my hope that we can reconcile to as warm a degree as possible. To that end, I would suggest an accord, of trade and non-aggression, with further clauses acknowledging the shared heritage of our polities establishing embassies for political reconciliation."

Pausing to take a breath, Atticus continued his proposal.

"Following that, I'd then suggest perhaps an exchange of culture and suchlike, with the hopes of overcoming the ingrained differences between our groups, and finally an alliance."

Falling silent, Gladstone sipped his drink, and waited for a reply with cautious trepidation.

War Never Changes

High Elder Gladstone – The Tops

They’d been divided.

His pen danced over the paper as letters blossomed on the missives. Personal communiqués to concerned parties. Invitations to form embassies to all nations present. Others contained messages requesting an exchange of cultural knowledge. The Brotherhood knew much, but it did not know everything. Knowledge was power, how a nation thought of others, and of itself was telling in a way.

They’d been divided.

He paused, before gently setting his pen down on the mahogany desk. His fingers came to gather, clasping as if in prayer. He wasn’t a pious man, Maxson had been an Atheist, had enforced such views on his own men in the dark days of the march from Mariposa. No god’s, no demons, only men had been his decree. Atticus disagreed with such thinking. There weren’t any gods, but there certainly were demons. He let out a small sigh, before going through the motions. The letter was folded, and the envelope sealed with a wax seal. Before being lifted up, one of the scribes scampered forwards and took it, and promptly left the room.

They’d been divided.

Squabbling like children, bickering like an unhappy family at dinner. To be expected of course, he didn’t know what House had expected. Had the man expected peace? Peace was an illusion. There was only ever the ceasefire. His fingers rapped on the desk, one hand under his chin as he brooded.

He had a plan. A plan to ensure the security of the Brotherhood. Security without, but to do so, he’d have to ensure order within. His thoughts had taken darker and darker turns. They couldn’t go back, they’d built too much, to go back would eventually be to die alone in the cold and the dark.

To go forwards? Yes. But which way? And how far? He’d heard the rumours, his informants, or at least what passed for informants. And now, a conundrum faced him. The older ranks mostly believed in the old ways, small surprise there. What worried him most were the younger ranks. Some looked to the Midwest, some looked to the NCR, he didn’t know what else they thought.

That was the problem with being at the top, climb to the peak of the mountain, and you can’t see the levels below for the cloud you’ve come through.

As such, it had become clearer and clearer to him as to what he had to do.

And so, standing, the High Elder set his shoulders back and raised his head high.

He had meetings to attend.

High Elder Gladstone – Ultra Luxe

Having received the message from Barnaky earlier, and arranging a time, Atticus Gladstone, High Elder of the Western Brotherhood, now stood waiting. He waited before the door, as the guards outside the room informed the, cyborg, within of his arrival.

He’d donned his best robes, a rich navy blue robe trimmed with silver-grey. His right hand bore the signet ring that had been passed down from High Elder to High Elder. A scribe carried materials for signing a treaty. His slow pacing footsteps were interrupted as the guards stamped to attention. Turning to the doors, Atticus straightened his posture and smoothed his robes, before stepping forwards as the doors opened.

The sight that greeted him was, strange. A large human shaped robot. Walking forwards, Atticus halted a few feet away, and bowed as much as he felt proper. Enough to show respect, but not enough to show deference. He paused, to let the scribe lay out the scroll, the wax and the pens, before gesturing for the man to leave them. Once the doors had shut, Atticus turned to the, Lord-Paladin, and spoke.

“Lord-Paladin Barnaky. If I might be presumptive, I suspect neither of us thought this day would ever occur, and certainly not in such circumstances. Or such surroundings.”