The Imagination

Fallout Factions: A NRP

Letter Bee said
@Imagination, great post!

tanks, buddy guy

I found the perfect picture for Father Nilsson hehehehehe...

Fallout Factions: A NRP

Dinh AaronMk said
What is the fascination with posting incomplete applications?

I've been in a thread where just about everyone's app was "to be done". never took off, was dreadful.

Fallout Factions: A NRP

The Victoria Avenue Plains, Essex...

The skies had shifted gray and hollow, clouds bellowing with indigestion above the warrior's heads. Between two armies lay a two hundred yard stretch of death and decay, the Victoria Avenue Plains. A dead forest of trees riddled with sandbags, shallow trenches and burned out automobile fortresses stretched out along the northern wall. It stood before the Armies of the Father like a predetermined goal, a quest already completed with stories of it's victory waiting to be told. Alongside a line of thinly placed barbed wire stood a stout force of exactly two hundred and sixty eight men and women. Father Nilsson was counted as the first, and it was there he stood at the helm of it all. Couldn't have been a year less than seventy five, with a wispy white beard tipped off at his belly. His face wrinkled outward and withered, his shady blue eyes astute and wide open, a book older than himself collects an aura of dust within every page turned. From his wavering voice he shouts to the Intimadatus Commandant whom in turn shouts forth the Father's taunting speech to the heathens.

The words ring hollow, of course, through deafened ears. A foreboding silence chills the air, and the old man steps down from his shambling platform. An elegant golden cross draped over his shoulders, his linen black robes carried off the ground by his servants following closely by, his eyes droop down to the earth beneath him and his heart aches for the many fated for doom this dreary night. Within the fog appears a force of over one hundred and fifty men and women collectively displaying their newly fashioned armor. A clenched fist bearing a spark of electricity is painted proudly upon their center mass, with forged steel draping down their chest and over their stomachs. Their shoulder plating shows paintings of a unique variety to each and every one of their individual characters, with an R-91 'Urban-Assault' Rifle at the ready and two more clips fastened to each of their belts. They line up and crouch along the barbed wire, as another hundred come up behind them. A different force this time, tribals adorned with markings of lightning and thunder draped along their skin and their leather hide garments. A loud clapping sound of thunder echoes throughout the plains as a showering storm of hail and rain address the battlefield. The paint steadily washes over their bare hides, their weapons telling every story of their heritage. Some with roughs on two by fours studded with rusty steel bolts deconstructed off security gates, others with a tightly bundled grouping of three rebar sticks their owners spent months filing down and sharpening to a fine point. Raided depot store sledgehammers, machetes, shears, whips created from extension cords and a few gas bombs created with a little ingenuity. The 'Urban Tribes' certainly had an inventive way with things.

To the right side of the massive force was a thing of legends. Robes fashioned of purple silk and cotton draped over the ankles of eight towering figures, fastened up along their chests with a polished metallic armor which protected the upper torso with additional shoulder plating. Tesla coils erected along both shoulders sprouted an aura of small sparks which visibly fascinated most uninformed tribals and wastelanders. The enemy before them, however, remained unamused. They'd slaughtered four of them before in a display of merciless execution, and they'd gladly do it again. These eight men stood reformed, baptized with hatred and fury, yet remaining calm and collected...methodical. They eerily kept hoods over their visage, a shadowed reminder of their mysterious identities. They grip their AER9's with a fierce determination blatantly obvious in their hooded stance. A lone figure reproaches the platform, adorned in a thick layering of crimson robes. He holds an AEP-7 in his right hand, and from his gray mane he spouts forth the holy indoctrination of the Teslaist Battle Speech. It is time to initiate the Siege of Essex, and everyone couldn't be more ready.

"Exterminatus!" The word shot out of Battlepriest Gabriel like a strike of lightning.

A line of forty troopers laid down suppressing fire from their assault rifles as the siege weaponry advanced. Twelve hollow automobile frames, hauled by two brahmin each, headed straight into the mined plains. When a brahmin was killed by a land mine or a stray bullet, a squad of five troopers escorted another one to take it's place. As the army slowly advanced, many had been bathed in the blood and guts and shit of all things brahmin. The automobile husks could only cover so much land before imploding into millions of bits of shrapnel, and all forty of the brahmin acquired were now sprayed over the battlefield like a tuesday shower. Molten laser fire singed through the wood and sheet metal covering the target fortress, burning the flesh of several enemy snipers and cooking several heathen's brains as the Brothers in Arms advanced behind their forces, electrical tesla discharges raging about their physical aura. Twenty tribesmen had been ordered to charge to last forty yards the brahmin couldn't stretch, ultimately covering the last of the minefield as they blew into a dozen bloody chunks. The final charge tore down a fiery section in the fortresses's frontmost wall as they stormed the hill, and from it's bowels spewed forth the marauding heathens with their bats and knives and bloodied fists. Both sides fought hard and tense, and eventually the heathens would retreat into town where they would be extensively rounded up and massacred in the town center in full view of their women and children. A practice not uncommon amongst the newly regulated Teslaist State of Neo Electros.

--

The TMF is what they were called. A conjunction of loosely rehabilitated raiders turned into an as of yet functioning fighting force. To fight in the Teslaist Militant Front required only two things, your name and your dedication to loyalty and hard work. It's benefits included discounted drugs and alcohol, more meals than what the common folk were eating, and a shitty place to sleep every few nights you had the chance to. It was a better life than serving in the 'Cult Raiders', whom had practically become tribal slave fighters through systematic brainwashing and the destruction of identity. Still, one could never understand the life of a Battlepriest or a Brother in Arms, they were the real 'cult raiders'.

More mysterious than their insane religion... Anya thought, a curl of her violet hair intertwined around her index finger. She snapped immediately into herself as she entered any violent conflict, she found herself an artist of conducting death and pain. It was one of very few things she found passion and a love of interest in, sex and painting being the only other two. For now her hair was matted and stained in blood, a piece of shrapnel lodged itself through her shoulder plating and cut into her flesh. If she hadn't gazed down, she would never have felt the stinging pain of a bullet entering her abdomen and cutting through the other end. Clutching her wound, she aimed a ten millimeter pistol six feet ahead toward a fiery entrance in the collapsing wall of lumber and fencing. She squeezed the trigger and blew a kiss to her assailer, watching his forehead pop open with a cloud of blood in satisfaction.

"Ahck...das no good, buddy." Brutus frowned in his thick accent, immediately taking Anya by the arm and laying her down by a cover of concrete debris.

"Ya, it's flow of the painting, handsome. Me getting shot, it is like a good piece of art, ya?" The wounded dame couldn't help but smile in all her coughing fit.

"Only if you live to paint it, Anya! Up an over, let's go buddy."

As the two friends limped out from the battle, dozens more charged in to take their place. A third of Essex was raised to the ground that night, the following morning would be a grieving sight of the Deathmonks wading through the mud and guts and shit to haul away the dead for burial. The total casualty count was one hundred and fourteen TMF soldiers to be given proper burial and eighty slave fighters, along with two hundred and eighty nameless heathens to be dumped into a mass grave. Within three weeks a hefty haul of various metals, brahmin livestock, a small cadre of captured dogs and ammunition stocks had been escorted back to Neo Electros. Once again southern Detroit would be secured and a foothold could be established upon Olympus Bridge, and the making of an empire could finally be at hand.

Fallout Factions: A NRP

Finna articulate my good self for a minute and fashion up a fine post with swagger and suave intellect.

Er, or at least something like that.

don't reply

most of my heart is already taken up, but i'm sure I can reserve a very special place in my aorta for you.

oh my god it's the best rap I've ever heard

I still think this is better

Fallout Factions: A NRP

" Their primitive weapons could only do so much to put a dent in their plating,"

- Quite the oversight on my part, unless in my mind when writing it I was referring to actually primitive weapons like spears and stones.

Regardless I had in mind the armor's cosmetic effects to be more intimidating than it's actual effects being powerful. I mean, looking at that armor, does it even stop energy bolts aimed at your lower body? It didn't look like there was any plating other than the torso haha

Also, my icon doesn't look bad at all to me, even shrinked up on the map, however I found some alternatives for you if you like them better.



Erm...just found one actually hahah. Can't quite find any other better icon to represent my fated to be doomed peeps.

Fallout Factions: A NRP

I sure hope my application looks fine! I can't wait to jump into this, I've been wanting to play in a fallout faction type roleplay for ages.

Fallout Factions: A NRP

I'll be adding my logo up in a literal few minutes. Sorry if certain parts are too vague as I had trouble remembering certain dates. There also may be a few small things about my nation i've forgotten to mention, but more than likely they'll unravel as the roleplay goes along, if the idea gets accepted that is.

Fallout Factions: A NRP

-- --

Nation: The Teslaist State of Neo Electros

Logo:

Location: Detroit City, Michigan. Capital located within the confines of Saint Anne's Cathedral.

History:

From the transcribed historical records, the truth believed by the majority of the state is that Father Nilsson is the founding father of the Nation of Tesla. In the years following rising tensions, Gabriel Nilsson anticipated the utter demise of the concept of America and immediately conducted plans in motion to set up a new idea, a new nation for the future generations of his friends and family.

Having owned several factories providing for the American War Machine that provided much needed aid to the brass in Operation Anchorage, on top of being well renowned within the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers and having contacts in several unions, he proceeded to build in secret a nuclear fallout shelter beneath the church he preached at. Obtaining blueprints bought off bribed Vault Tec representatives, the design had Nilsson hoping it would secure the permanent safety of his future generations. He was wrong, however sooner problems arose before electrical concerns in the vault were apparent.

Colonel Richards, stationed in the nearby army garrison base, noticed right quick exactly what was going on with the construction "around" the church. He was too clever, nonetheless, and opted for a more corrupt approach to the situation. Three weeks before the bombs fell, twenty soldiers and a Colonel Richards went AWOL along with millions of dollars in confiscated equipment. In the middle of the night a cadre of power armored troops, some few donning an advanced tesla variant, stormed into the cathedral along with the rounded up members of the church fellowship and hand picked members within the IBEW. The vault was forced open early before proper final examinations could be done, and it's supposed permanent residents sealed inside of it on that night for what they believed would be forever.

The catholic preachings had become commonplace, for besides occasional recreational baseball, nothing of entertainment was present in the vault. Three weeks after it sealed, however, came an event known as the Shockwave. It had been made apparent that the effects of the nuclear blasts decimating Detroit reached the vault, Nilsson had been betrayed by Vault Tec and handed failed blueprint designs. Electrical surges fried the vault's reactor killing seven people, and within minutes the vault's generator would have run dry, sealing the vault door forever whilst additionally suffocating everyone inside. As the air grew sparse, the electrical workers accomplished miracles in bringing the vault back to life. Regardless, it was a shortly celebrated relief. For the next two hundred odd years, the vault's residents came to rely on the electrical workers for their very survival. Over time people began to revere them, and eventually they began interpreting certain biblical scriptures in a way that revered technological advancement and the powers of electricity being so detrimental to mankind's survival. Four years prior to the current date, the vault's reactor simply couldn't sustain itself anymore. A council was held and they decided to open it up forever, lest they be sealed within forever and doomed to suffocate. It was at this point they had completely replaced Catholicism with their own forged religion of Teslaism. They spoke two languages, the most common being English of course, and a wild perversion of English and Latin spoken rarely by only the most prominent members of the society.

They first laid eyes upon a city entirely in ruin. Vibrant skyscrapers shown in pictures below now had been revealed as a skeletal husk of a dead nation. Regional suburban warlords took the titles of "County Sheriffs" or "Elected Mayors", constantly fighting one another with looted national guard equipment and surplus supplies. They had sharpened poles of rebar into metallic spears, rock slings with seemingly unlimited amounts of debris and concrete, and of course they resorted to firearms as a last resort measure for ammo had become sparse over looting and fighting over the past dozen years. When these common raiders laid eyes upon four men clad in some advanced form of prototype tesla armor, they had witnessed something they'd never seen before. Their primitive weapons could only do so much to put a dent in their plating, and the laser based weaponry turned some of their fellow brothers into cooked and singed piles of flesh. After a few brief confrontations, the drug addled raiders simply began to throw their weapons down and bowed before the awe-spiring presence of the tesla creations.

Things changed quickly after the integration of the locals. The Code of Teslaism practically puts forth the "Ensured Survival of The Human Race" before literally anything else. It was a swift transition growing up within the vault that turned the majority of the male population to view their fellow women merely as breeding cattle. "Strength In Numbers" was yet another common preaching within the church, and so became the degrading mistreatment of women. In the vault they had been assigned to key male figures, as it opened up and they gained a grasp of the outside world, they followed up by simply herding women into boarding houses where they slept on straw piles or animal hides with rarely any clothing or food. Only the most "genetically superior" females that met the mandated requirements had been placed in comfortable accommodations, however had been forced to undergo the most breeding. They've found themselves nearly five years later with a generation of strong and stout children amongst the elitist class, and a sickly generation of malformed children as a byproduct of the lower class females and integrated raiders riddled with drug addictions and STDs. Tensions have brewed among the lower class, but the elitist "Inquisitors" and "Prophets" continue their effective methods of controlling the population through fear, intimidation and systematic torture and brainwashing. Scouts known collectively as "Teslaist Missionaries" continue branching out toward the outskirts of Detroit and exploring outward into the Midwestern and Northern Wastelands.

Other/Misc/Notes for Consideration:

- The Cathedral of Saint Anne was rebuilt atop the vault by the forced labor of the surrendered raider armies within Detroit. It was renamed the Electros Fort Prophesum of Zeus, or simply known as The Teslaist Cathedral by a majority of locals.

- The vault, having since been forced open, has absolutely no power running through it. It is used as a secret church, fortification and military base as well as a sacred ritualistic ground. It is eerily lit by candles and old pre war lanterns and torches.

- Settlements around Detroit are mostly comprised of shanty town scrapyards, the safest abodes taking shelter within abandoned automobile factories. The largest settlement outside the cathedral is Chryslus, many of it's buildings appearing to be made out of old rusty Chryslus body parts along with other materials like plywood and sheet metal.

- While they haven't made contact with any sizable nation other than "savage" tribals and "uncultured" wasteland settlements, it's not far out to wonder if they might be akin to forging an alliance or even a simple trade agreement with another sizable faction that might rival their own. They do, however, have a crusading mentality about them and would be quick to go to war over their beliefs, leaving their intentions to be easily questioned.

- In actuality, only twelve individuals are known to have donned the advanced tesla armor. Four of which have died since the opening of the vault, having been overwhelmed by a significant force of tribals and literally striped bare as they ran out of ammunition. The remaining eight are reclusive, embarking upon only the most important and conclusive objectives detrimental to the cause.

- Their main fighting force consists of drug addled ex-raiders or brainwashed integrated tribals donning Teslaist symbols on their newly fashioned rusty metallic armor forged from the welding of old Chryslus parts. Occasionally a "Battle Priest" will be seen leading them, adorned in robes and shouting out readings from their scriptures. Only a small percentage of elitists are known to take part in skirmishes donning more standard forms of power armor.

- More to be added later possibly.