Avatar of Ordure
  • Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
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    1. Ordure 9 yrs ago

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@Lord Coake

Okay - works out, I can accept an off-screen agreement. Of course - McNulty still hates splitting the bounty too many ways. Which will lead to some interesting situations.
@Letter Bee

Sounds like a plan. Of course - this while most definitely lead to more.. "slight" casualties as McNulty doesn't want to split the bounty too many ways.
@piercetyler1994

I mean, synths are fully allowed, and they are immortal, so ghouls would be allowed too. Also, another person maybe?! Two possible people in one day?! double gasp

Side note - Vault 111 post get.
@Letter Bee

[CH 9] "Oh, why of course, sir! No need to ask - I'd be happy to inform you of our vast and expansive security system, if you'll follow me, sir." The skeletal synth said, waving his wiry and thin arms as he spoke - his voice utilizing a modulated Mister Handy voice chip. Of course, if you have any less than legal intentions, sir - that would require immediate termination."

The skeletal synth would continue walking, each step led on by a limp and dragged foot - his shoes leaving a continous scuffle line that would lead Par Rapids down the vast and expansive bank. The bank was quite the engineering feat, and another testimony to how it had been two-hundred years since the initial apocalypse - it appeared to have been built and re purposed out of an old bank, but it included many more "modern" apocalyptic functions - the most obvious being the series of laser turrets cleanly wired to the walls, the free protectron units out of their chambers and walking the halls, and the series of wall panels hooked up to flamethrowers and plasma lines. The bank itself was rather beautiful, and a reminder of the glory of pre-war life - it's large marble pillars only slightly cracked, growing and green vegetation growing from a variety of marble pots lining the walls, and a massive glass roof (missing some notable chunks) letting in late noon sunlight.

"Now, I'm sure that you've noticed - our defense system is a highly powerful and intensive system. The main motherboard server for the system is located i- LOCATION REDACTED." The skeletal synth said, brushing aside some noble suited bankers. "Now, our main defense system consists of the robotics system. We have twenty-three laser turrets, fourty turrets, ten flamethrowers, and five plasma lines along our walls, sir. The main walk-along defense system consists of our fourty-two protectrons, mult- DEFENSE REDACTED."

The skeletal synth would continue walking down the hall, leading the way as he scuffed a heavy and dusty black line across the red carpet leading to the main vault. Behind him, a disgruntled Mister Handy unit was scrubbing away his scuff marks and muttering angrily to himself about the "pretentious glorified service robot." The main hall leading to the vault was massive, marble pillars keeping the whole place up, mid-noon sunlight streaming through the windows - and a number of smaller vaults lined each side, a camera and bullet turret hanging high above each. On the left and right, about twenty small circular iron vault doors led up to one massive vault door, that could easily fit the likes of a small super mutant behemoth - engraved on the door were the golden numbers, "72." The vault door seemed to be controlled manually - on the right, high above and through a wide window, Par Rapids would notice a silhouette operating a system.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now, sir, but our main vault door is a retrieved vault door from an abandoned vault located a short whiles away in the Everglade Wasteland." He'd note. "It's manually operated and requires a forty digit passcode, two different thumbprints, and a voice phrase to open. Do you have any questions, sir?"
@c3p-0h

A new person! gasp

It's always open - just until it's not open anymore! I haven't posted as much recently ( still posting, though ) because I got a minor fever, which is pretty awkward timing after finishing my workload - but will definitely be posting more since it's entirely cleared up.
@Letter Bee

"Oh, Mike McNulty? That piece'a'shit?" The super mutant bartender grumbled, his voice a low, annoyed growl. He polished off a used glass with a dirty rag. "He's in the backhall, second last door to the left. If you get your fuckin' head blown off, then don't come crying to me, though."

The Wolfe Bar was a dank, disgusting place - mold seemed to cling to the walls, errant and dirtied bottlecaps were scattered around, and there was an undeniable scent of corpse that seemed to reek through the whole place, wafting around the crumbling wooden pillars. The tables appeared to be made out of old and used milk cartons, the chairs sawed barrels that had been through their fair share of woodlice. The few patrons loitering about looked particularly dangerous, some missing legs and hands - one ghoul who's head seemed to have been half blown off by a gunshot was sipping at some of the crappy drinks the place had to offer. Overall, it was a place where an Order Knight would literally never set foot in, because the whole place made you constantly itch at the skin, and the royal garb a soldier wore would most likely fall apart if exposed to the contaminated air here.

As Par Rapids opened the door to the backroom, his body guards flanking him, he would notice a long and winding hallway with a wide variety of doors - most of them were random, most likely having been ripped off of crashed ships or old, demolished houses and placed here. It was filled with a variety of chem-heads, shooting up with Psycho or huffing Jet in the corners - he would have to step over multiple chem-heads to get by, their long, straggly hair and vacant eyes glazed over as they tripped. As he passed by the wide array of doors, he would notice multiple odd scenes going on behind them, through the small glass window peering in. One door hid a super mutant beating up a fat, bloated ghoul, another door hid a circle of mannequins with a corpse in the center, another contained a few teddybears posed in odd scenes such as drinking from shot glasses or playing boardgames.

As he opened the door into the back hall, he would notice a group of heisters sitting around a circular table, layed out with playing cards, drinks, and cigarette butts. Par Rapids, huh?" Mike McNulty said, his voice robotic and stilted, a generation two synth wearing an old and ragged suit and tie and fedora with a tommy gun resting at his side. "Welcome to the club."
@Tuxedo Fox

That's an absolute shame - hate to see you go, you were one of the first people to join. I respect your decision, though - maybe you could rejoin sometime in the future.
@Letter Bee

Oh - you'll be able to rob the bank, just wanted to make sure you got news of that.
VAULT 101 POST GET!

Also, I'm sorry about not responding to Tuxedo and Ulster, but I felt like you two were mostly wrapping it up yourselves - if you'd like me to respond, then I absolutely will make a post.
@Letter Bee

As the five people began to venture into the street, Par Rapids would begin to notice an undeniable feeling of - paranoia. The people and merchants were in perfect order, tending to their goods and bartering out outrageous prices, but it was difficult to shake the feeling of being watched. And if Par Rapids looked closer, taking a keen eye to every occasional merchant and adventurer that glanced at his face - he would notice that undeniably, each merchant was taking the occasional stare at him, looking him over with hardened eyes and a sense of odd knowledge; as if they knew something that he didn't. They each took notice of him - perhaps, evidently, the word that he was in the French Revolution had spread during his nap, and he was certainly feeling the effects of it. As the sun began to set, letting orange and purple blobs streak across the air for a cool, dark night, a young man would call out to him to stop by.

"Avez-vous un compteur Giger?" {Do you have a giger counter?} He asked, waiting patiently, tapping the radio on his small, merchant desk decorated with goods. "I repeat, avez-vous un - ah, screw it; I know you're in the French Revolution anyways. Every knows! Anyway, you heard the announcement on Vox Populi recently?"

The merchant looked around, glancing for Order Knights doing their patrol in the area - only taking notice to a seedy looking mechanics shop and butcher's place. He looked up, grinned, and slowly cranked the radio's dial to a frequency lower than it was designed to go - evidently, this radio had been specially modded to go for it, with a series of wires, circuits, and lights errantly soldered onto it without a care - and it would cut into a repeating dialogue that had just been broadcasted by the Cajun Queen in the Mississippi, and who was currently spreading the news at this very moment through their expansive radio equipment. Through the radio, Par might catch the clear, fluid notes of Napoleon V - and even with his relatively high charisma, it was no match to Napoleon V's as he himself would feel a certain sense of want and awe if he listened to her voice declaring war against the peoples. Accompanied by her speech was a translation for the less-than-French inclined.



"Mes chers concitoyens, hommes, femmes, et enfants de notre ce ville! Ecoutez-moi attentivement! Car l'heure approche de lancer la campagne finale qui otera le Roi et son cercle priviligie qui accable Notre peuple depuis bien trop long temps. Ce jour, attendu depuis tant d'annees, eat enfin proche. Prochainement, mes soldats, armes de foi et d'acier, prendra d'assaut les bastions d'ignorance et de repression que le Roi et ses chiens utilisent pour nos opprimer - la Bastille, dans la mort de la nuit - minuit. Vous joindre à nous, révolutionnaires, et nous allons détruire le symbole de l'oppression et la tyrannie qui sévit dans ce pays depuis si longtemps.

A mort le Roi! Vive le peuple!"

My fellow citizens, men, women, and children of this fair city! Hear me now! For the hour is approaching where we launch the campaign to topple the King and his privileged circle who have weighed down our people for too long. The day, too long in coming, is upon us. Very soon, my soldiers, armed with faith and steel, will assault the bastions of ignorance and repression used by the King and his dogs to keep our noses in the dirt - the Bastille, in the dead of night - midnight. It will be a historic day. Join us, revolutionaries, and we will destroy the symbol of oppression and tyranny that has plagued this land for so long!

Death to the King! Long live the People!




@The Nexerus

The Cajun Queen would continue drifting down the lurching, hazy waters of the Mississippi River - cutting it's way across a century-old river as the wafting scent of the Cajun food of Orleans began to edge past - emanating from the vegetative-covered sides of the river. The river's banks were adorned by old, wooden cabins, dampened by the thick, rough waves that commonly beat at the sides of the houses. The scent of seafood was strong around that little river settlement - the scent of Gumbo, Jambalaya, and Mirelurk Delight - a fresh new side of the wasteland and a far cry from the rust cut flanks of irradiated and mutated beasts lurking around the less-than-savory parts of the wastes. As the boat passed by, broadcasting tunes from Radio Fantasy - several ragged townspeople came out of their abodes to wave at the passerby, some holding steaming bowls of fresh food, others aiming guns at the newcomers, feeling standoffish and aloof.

The settlement of "Riversides" was a small, towny settlement - it had refused countless demands by The Order to be assimilated into the growing monarchy - they were fully aware that if they did, they would be quickly evicted, their town destroyed, and sent as refugees to be scattered across districts. No, they enjoyed a simpler life, their river houses perched on the wet sides of the river, where they cooked thick bowls of stew and defended the town from raider assaults and wildlife attacks. The settlement was in a good place where it stood, located between Proulx and Fontaine. The Cajun Queen would continue on past the waters while still playing an old blues number, and the settlement of Riverside was quickly passed by. As the armored ship continued forth, the crew would begin to notice a certifiable change in atmosphere - the trees on the banks grew thicker, vines hung from the ends, and the vegetation took a sharp upturn in terms of quantity.

As it got deeper and deeper into the territory, all seemed to genuinely quiet down - the waters of the river no longer beat on the ship, the murmurs of the irradiated land animals far away. This place was old. Upon closer inspection - beyond the heavy thicket of vines coating the entire river, one could view the remains of a concrete building that had been seared by nuclear fire two hundred years ago. If they looked closely, they would notice a Nuka Cola machine lying on the banks, a noticeable rusted chunk bitten out of it and the Nuka Cola contents within it long size been emptied out into the river. The place was, without a doubt, a member of the "Outer Regions," the land that The Order had claimed as unrenewable and long-since been reclaimed by the earth and radiation. It was no doubt - even now, every breath was just the smallest contanimation of radiation - and the water was, without a doubt, mortal after a few seconds of soaking in it. It was the closest place you'd get to the Glowing Bog, but without instantly killing you the moment you rode in.

Up ahead, lying on the banks of the river and coated in moss and vegetation, were several Boglurks, lazily laying about, their eyes coated in a yellow film as they rested - most likely after devouring the nearest raider ship that had entered their territory. They eyed the Cajun Queen as she began to pass by, their greedy, gluttonous stomachs rumbling at the thought.
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